33. She/Her. Minors DNI. There's probably gonna be some NSFW because fuck it, only like 1 person on here who actually knows me. Currently on one hell of a Hazbin kick and enjoying my return to selfshipping!
Check me out on AO3 or search my blog for the tag #doctorwrites to find my posted fanfic
Please keep interacting with this post because when I come to tumblr to procrastinate, this shows up again in my notifications and guilts me into writing again
I know we’ve been through this before and I don’t want to get my hopes up again but you gotta admit The Ides of March would be a really funny time for it to happen
This post has over 50 thousand notes and this is the most baffling response to it I have ever seen.
Yes, Zelda didn’t do anything in a game that she was not in. You fucking got me. In other news, Mario is a bad character because he didn’t do shit in Metroid Prime.
Summary: Alastor is saved by a curious creature while out burying his latest kill. Naturally, he brings it home. AKA The supernatural pet distribution system goes terribly wrong and now he has to deal with feelings.
Tags: Pet Distribution System Gone Wrong, Mild Gore, Mild Sexual Content, Mild Language, Vague Supernatural Knowledge, OC is a Creature but Yadda Yadda Magical Transformation, no beta we die like sir pentious, If I Changed Tenses Shut Up, Descriptions of murder, descriptions of torture, Masturbation, Skullfucking, but imaginary skullfucking, Alastor goes to Hell for a reason, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Mildly Dubious Consent, Canonical Character Death, Alastor has to go at some time right?, Consensual Non-Consent, Degradation Kink, Gun Violence, Wet Dream, Light Masochism, Animal Death, Period Typical Bigotry, Blood and Torture, Fluff and Smut, Loss of Virginity, they fuck in front of a corpse guys, Drowning, k illing those we love, Grief/Mourning, Processing feelers we weren't meant to have bc SOMEONE dies canonically, This gets real sad at the end, but i promise there's a happy ending
Ch.17 Epilogue: 20 Years Later
Nearly 25 years after his death there was very little that warmed Alastor's little black heart more than another successful broadcast. Screaming agony. Unlimited turmoil. Soul-rending torture.
Aaaah. Truly Hell was bliss.
He couldn't help the manic giggle that escaped his chest as he powered down his station. That made his 50th fellow Overlord to join his broadcast! Just a few more and even the most stubborn would have no choice but to cower before him and admit that he was the strongest in Hell.
"Excellent show, Alastor!"
Alastor nearly startled as Vox approached him. He was so focused on a job well done he had forgotten that he had given in to the promising young Overlord's request to watch as he broadcast.
"Of course," Alastor replied breezily.
Vox scoffed and shuffled forward, an act of supplication and often the pose he chose before he rained flattery upon his mentor. "I mean it, Al! Racher was your strongest Overlord yet and you handled him like he was a newly manifested Sinner!"
Alastor hummed as he poured two glasses of whisky; an indication to keep going. To keep stroking the ego of a man who truly didn't need it.
"I can't wait to get to your level. I've got the ideas, sure but I'd be much farther behind without your help." Oh that was very true. Vox had caught Alastor's attention only a few years after the young man's death. His ability to hypnotize and influence small crowds of lower sinners through raucous speech had given Alastor a moment of pause.
There was a hunger to the young man with the TV head that reminded him of himself.
And it certainly helped that they were two sides of the same entertainment coin. Radio and television. A match made in Hell.
"Indeed. And don't you forget it, my friend." And Vox really had become his friend, hadn't he? Or at least as close as Alastor liked to keep. Vox needed to be kept at arms length. This was Hell after all and he couldn't do anything that would risk his immortal life.
Plus, there was only one person he needed by his side.
The persistent pull in his chest snapped, a rubber band against the inside of his sternum. Vox's rambling compliments faded away as Alastor's head snapped towards Earth hanging high in Hell's sky.
Finally!
She'd been gone for damn near six years this time. They were both fairly immortal now but that still wasn't an excuse for her time blindness! He was going to make her keep a damn calendar on hand if she was going to be away for years.
"Vox!"
Vox immediately stilled and shut his mouth with an audible blat of static, his eyes wide as he recognized the tone that would send him away.
"It's time for you to go home," Alastor shoved one of the glasses of whiskey into his hand and turned him around, both hands on Vox's shoulders as he steered him towards the door.
"I—what? A-alastor? Did I do something wrong—?"
"Not at all! But my wife is coming home and I need you gone. What's about to happen is for us alone." Kinky sex was about to happen that was neither safe nor sane but wholly consensual. The type of wild shit that one has after years of separation and unholy powers at one's disposal.
Things that Vox had no business hearing.
"Wi-fe???", Vox's voice cracked in disbelief as Alastor shoved him through the door. He whipped around, his face so blatantly heartbroken it almost made Alastor want to continue breaking him apart. "You have a wife? But you never—"
"My personal life is none of your business, Vincent." Alastor put extra emphasis on Vox's human name, really digging it in that he was just as lowly as the rest of them to someone like him. That they weren't really friends. Vox was just someone who kept Alastor entertained while his wife was gone.
"W-well yeah but you could have at least mentioned—what the FUCK is that?"
Alastor's smile deepened as the sound of a window opening graced his cervine ears. He turned his head just enough to catch sight of the creature that was currently crawling through the window.
Horse-like in nature with red eyes that shone like hellfire under a mane of thick, black hair. Legs that ended in the hooked claws of some bird of prey, each talon giving a little 'tick, tick' as they scraped along the floor of the radio station. Black, bat-like wings held tight to a lean and muscular body, well-fed and ready to remain in Hell until hunger demanded she returned up top.
Alastor turned to fully face the creature that had entered his domain.
"Hello, love. You are late."
He ignored Vox's little exasperated, "What the fuck?", and opened his arms wide.
Vox even screamed as The Mare lunged towards them, powerful back legs letting her cross the room in a single leap, front claws outstretched and mouth open to reveal sharp teeth.
But what landed in Alastor's arms was not some weird fucked up horse.
No. What Alastor caught, was a woman. Vox watched in shock as the pair promptly locked lips, Alastor's tentacles rising up to cover the naked woman's modesty as his hands, which hardly ever touched anyone, clenched the woman desperately. Possessively.
The woman pulled away first, the hand in Alastor's hair idly twirling the scarlet strands. "I'm here now," she said in a voice that would absolutely match the damn Radio Demon. Deep. Sonorous. Elegant. She'd give Lilith a run for her money if she was capable of singing.
"Indeed you are," Alastor replied softly, his voice low and gravely as he dropped the fake high pitch he used for his performances.
"Uhh…", Vox held up a finger and then pointed towards the door. "I'm just gonna…I'm gonna…go?"
Alastor responded by slamming the door in his face, close enough that had Vox possessed a normal head he was sure his nose would have been smashed.
On the other side The Mare tilted her head quizzically, mouth twisted as she pointed with her lips. "Who was that?"
Alastor spun her around, waltzing towards his desk and backing her against it before deigning to speak. "No one you need to worry about Little Mare. A passing fancy."
His lips fell to hers again, kissing her softly before moving his way along her jaw and neck, sharp teeth drawing just the barest hint of blood before moving on. Every gasp and moan he drew from his foul other half was bliss, the voice given to her in Hell fueling the desire that stirred only for her.
We made it! Can you believe it? I am NEVER writing a multichapter fic without an outline again ohmagawd. If I left plot holes or contradicted myself, no I didn't. The amount of times I wrote myself into a corner because I made a random decision in an earlier chapter is offensive. But you know what? It was worth it. For those who have ever commented on this fic, for those who have it bookmarked and liked, and for those lovely, amazing people who continued reading to the end.
Thank you all so much for coming on this silly little journey with me that started out as daydreaming on my work commute!
Summary: Alastor is saved by a curious creature while out burying his latest kill. Naturally, he brings it home. AKA The supernatural pet distribution system goes terribly wrong and now he has to deal with feelings.
Tags: Pet Distribution System Gone Wrong, Mild Gore, Mild Sexual Content, Mild Language, Vague Supernatural Knowledge, OC is a Creature but Yadda Yadda Magical Transformation, no beta we die like sir pentious, If I Changed Tenses Shut Up, Descriptions of murder, descriptions of torture, Masturbation, Skullfucking, but imaginary skullfucking, Alastor goes to Hell for a reason, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Mildly Dubious Consent, Canonical Character Death, Alastor has to go at some time right?, Consensual Non-Consent, Degradation Kink, Gun Violence, Wet Dream, Light Masochism, Animal Death, Period Typical Bigotry, Blood and Torture, Fluff and Smut, Loss of Virginity, they fuck in front of a corpse guys, Drowning, k illing those we love, Grief/Mourning, Processing feelers we weren't meant to have bc SOMEONE dies canonically, This gets real sad at the end, but i promise there's a happy ending
Ch.16 …And Some Part Of Me Is Mortal Yet
~ Three weeks before Alastor's "Death" ~
If he didn't have plans of his own, this was where he would gladly lay down and die. Just place a gravestone outside the cabin:
Here Lies Alastor Renée Laveau
Ridden to death
January XX 1890 - December XX 1932
Completely embarrassing and yet in the heat of it, he did not give two shits. The world seemed to pause when he was with His Mare, the world outside their little cabin dull and silent and wholly uninteresting unless there was some poor fuck running for their life out there.
And then his attention was brought back to the present, hands gripping soft hips in a death grip as he thrust up as hard as he could. Head thrown back and neck exposed just perfectly so that sharp teeth could press against his skin, the cold pain of them piercing his flesh and the flash of warmth as his blood spilled before being sucked into the Mare's mouth finally throwing him over the edge as he came for the first time that day. Above him she hummed thoughtfully, releasing her jaws from his shoulder and coquettishly wiping a singular drop of blood away with the back of her hand.
He always felt a pang of jealousy as he watched his life's blood disappear into her mouth. Time and time again he had tried to pierce her own flesh with his teeth, unnaturally sharp for a human as they were, and yet the most he could do was bruise. Maybe even leave a nasty love bite that would fade within the hour and leave no proof that he had been there.
That he was ephemeral. Some soft short-lived thing that would be gone in a blink of her infinite life.
Anger ran through him, a flash of his horrendous true nature that he was allowed to indulge in, as he reached up to grab his Mare by the back of the head. It was not a squeal of pain or fear that escaped her when he threw her down on her back and caged her between his arms but one of amusement as his teeth attempted to tear into her neck, to break into the flesh within and partake in her blood as freely as she did his own.
Of course, nothing happened. No rush of warmth. No tang of copper. Just the throb of a vein against his tongue as the flesh refused to yield.
He scoffed as he came back up, temporarily bitter as he lowered his chin to rest between her breasts and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. "It's unfair you know," he pouted.
"Hmmm?" The Mare answered lazily, claws finding their way into Alastor's hair and lightly scratching at his scalp in a way that would have him dozing the afternoon away if he let it.
He let himself have the moment of peace, tilting his head so her fingers scratched at a sensitive spot behind his ear. "You get to have my blood whenever you want," he groaned in pleasure as she pulled lightly at his hair, "It's not very courteous of you."
The Mare shrugged in a way that insinuated that the thought of sharing her blood never occurred to her and frankly, never would again. It would have been irksome if Alastor wasn't already so endeared to her. Instead he pouted deeper, lips thin as his face struggled against its permanent smug grin.
"I'm serious," he eventually huffed and rose to his elbows. "It's only fair I get a taste after you've left," he paused and motioned to the various healing cuts and scars that littered his shoulders, "all this. I can barely wear a loose shirt without looking like an abused housewife." Heaven forbid he walk around his own house in an undershirt and expose his momma to the proof of his depravity.
The Mare huffed in amusement, mouth tilted in a small smile that was reminiscent of a mother indulging her child's bad decision. Like finally letting them have a taste of your whiskey after what felt like weeks of begging only to watch in wry amusement as the prize they so desperately craved was, in fact, as awful as momma said it was.
'Don't get mad at me when you regret this," her expression seemed to say as she pressed him back to sit in her lap.
Alastor watched greedily as she brought her wrist up between them, turning it so that the enticing lines of her veins were visible to him. Skin so thin that it had no right being as tough as it was. She brought a single claw to it, slicing vertically without hesitation and with nary a noise as she cut deep enough to have any mortal scrambling to get to the hospital.
Black blood welled up immediately, oozing thickly, almost tar-like as it pooled upon her skin. The foul smell of sulfur wafted through the air making Alastor hesitate for just a moment before he steeled himself and launched himself at it.
He got a solid mouthful in before the awful taste hit him - bitter and acrid. His eyes began to tear up as it began to burn down his throat, astringent and quite possibly caustic as he pulled away with a violent cough.
'I've made a mistake', would have been the thought that ran through his head if he was currently capable of forming such a thing. Instead it took every bit of his willpower not to throw up in his Mare's lap as he did his best to cough up both lungs and choke on what he was pretty sure was his esophagus turning inside out. He came to a few minutes later, his head placed on his favorite lap as gentle hands rubbed at his back, his Mare humming a lullaby learned from his mother as she waited for him to regain consciousness.
"That…," god his throat hurt, "was awful."
Truly an understatement but thankfully no permanent damage seemed to be done as the burning in his throat was already reduced to a mild irritation. In fact, his head hurt from the coughing fit more than anything else.
"Remind me to never do that again," he grimaced as he rubbed at his throat. Truly it was stupid to have let his own pettiness put his voice in danger. He turned in The Mare's lap to look up at her, still miffed that he couldn't do what he wanted to do. He let her know it too, pouting deep and then deeper as she laughed at him and shook her head. A patient eldritch horror trying her best to make her pet human understand they would always be fundamentally incompatible in certain ways.
"Don't laugh at me woman," he sat up and pointed dramatically into her shit-eating grin, "It's only natural that a man wants to mark his woman. To stake his claim!"
She rose her hands in defeat , smile never wavering as she tilted her head at him, something thoughtful flashing across her features before her eyes lit up in excitement. She brought her claw up to her wrist again and Alastor immediately covered his nose, eyes glaring daggers as she cut deeper. Panic spiked in Alastor's mind as she cut wrist to elbow, claw fully buried in her flesh with her devilish blood overflowing to spill on the bed linens.
The wound widened and instead of red muscle or throbbing veins Alastor only saw black. He dropped his hand, curiosity winning over self-preservation as he leaned forward to get a better look at what she was offering. Inside the widening fissure he saw inky blackness, like black swirling smoke on a surface of India ink. The waving of a hand in front of one's face in the total darkness of a cave. Shades of black so similar that he actually wasn't sure if he was perceiving the swirling inkiness or if his mind was just making something up just so he could comprehend the pure darkness he was looking into.
"Is…is that…you?"
She nodded and dug her claw in a bit more, actually flinching a little as she hooked a piece of pure spirit around it.
Alastor felt him mind continue to struggle to understand what was happening, eyes tracing a serrated claw as it cleaved a piece of spirit away from the wound. It broke with a snap, The Mare's grunt of pain (actual pain) accompanying the movement before she shook her damaged arm whole again.
In her other hand she held a wispy bit of shadow, the edges of it subtly curling as if caught in a gentle breeze. She held it out to him palm open, head tilted and eyes earnest as she offered a piece of herself.
Alastor felt his mouth water, his stupid primal brain desperately eager to finally claim a physical part of her. But his throat…
"Will it hurt me?" He looked up at her, curious and hungry as he shimmied a bit closer. She shrugged and held her palm up higher. Alastor had grown up hearing a few stories about those who had eaten spirits and how it had ruined their lives. Instead of the power and long life the human desired it instead only brought pain, left the human under the control of the spirits or elsewise left them little more than the walking dead.
But this was only a nibble.
Just a trifling little bit of a very powerful spirit.
Like swallowing the toenail of a giant.
The scale of a snake.
He and his Mare had come this far, surely she wouldn't steer him wrong now.
It was cold. So cold it was almost hot against his tongue, slimy and wriggly as it damn near moved of its own volition down his throat. He shivered as he felt the spirit-flesh move down his chest and settle in his stomach. He let his hand rest against it, wondering if the feeling of a cold rock settling in it would ever go away.
And then it exploded.
Well, not literally.
There was a feeling of cold expanding in his stomach much like the fleeting moment of a balloon exploding in your hands. Then a cold tingling radiated out all the way to the ends of his fingers and toes before everything dissipated away and he felt perfectly normal again.
There was no rush of power. No feeling of chains wrapped around his soul. No fogginess in his head as he awaited an order. He was just normal Alastor.
"Well…I," he struggled against the minor disappointment and instead focused on the monumental thing his Mare had just done. "Thank you, darling. I'll keep it safe."
But he just never could keep his mouth shut.
"Not to sound ungrateful but will having a piece of you inside me do anything? Boost my magic? Let me blend with shadows?"
His Mare snorted and shook her head, mouth and hands forming 'I don't know' as she moved to stand at the edge of the bed. 'But I can feel where you are now,' she signed, 'And maybe you can feel me too.'
Alastor felt his head tilting in confusion as she darted away into the other room and then the front door slamming as she sped out into the bayou. He didn't understand, hand reaching up to scratch mindlessly at his chest.
Wait.
It was subtle but he could feel it. A light tugging from behind his sternum. A gentle pull from inside that pointed him due East.
Oh.
It was her. Or the part of her he had eaten trying desperately to get back to the main body. His own personal compass that would ensure his little beastie could never escape him.
A vicious grin stretched across Alastor's face before he scrambled to get dressed. If his little Mare wanted a hunt, well then by God, he'd give her a hunt.
His throat burned as both water and the evening's alcohol escaped him, vomit and water forcing its way through his throat and sinuses as he struggled to breathe again. His ribs positively aching as coughs wracked his body, thin frame shaking and clenching, doing everything it could to force the water out.
Every breath was agony.
Every shuddering gasp made his head throb.
But the pain was proof he was alive.
He let himself fall to the side, ignoring the whimper that accompanied his collapse. He deserved a little moment of weakness after being man handled and drowned by His Mare.
His Mare!
Alastor struggled to sit back up, his limbs weak and unable to work the way he wanted. In the end, he lay back down, head spinning as he stared up at the night sky.
He could not see the stars. The clouds.
The glasses in his shirt pocket would not help him find what he had lost.
His Mare…was gone.
Memories drifted back as his mind settled.
Her hand wrapped in his hair, the weight of her on his back. Water filling his lungs and the weakening of his limbs as he choked and choked and choked.
A glimpse of red eyes as his own opened, fury twisting the most exquisite face he'd ever seen into something fearsome. Ghastly.
Claws had wrapped around his throat as his heart beat again, tightening enough to keep the water trapped in his lungs.
The brush of her warm breath against his face as she leaned in, mouth open and teeth threatening to tear his throat open as she pulled him close.
The touch of her nose against his cheek and the growl deep in her chest before she shoved him back down hard enough to startle his body into expelling the water that did not belong in it.
And now he was here woozy, defeated, and wet under the midnight sky. In his chest something stirred, that subtle pulling in his chest as the consumed bit of His Mare tried its best to escape him. He let his hand rest against it.
The only piece of his Mare that he would ever touch again.
No.
No no no!
He wasn't going to let her go that easily. With a groan he managed to flip over and get himself on his hands and knees, head spinning as he crawled up the embankment and the street above.
He could tell she was going towards The Cabin and if he concentrated hard enough, he swore he could even feel the finality in her heart. Try as she might to escape him but Alastor Laveau would use all his gifts and the one she gave him to hunt her down. She was his and he was hers and she was not allowed to leave him like this.
He had died for her dammit! She did not just get to run away from him!
He needed to see her one last time. For closure. For love.
If this was how they parted then he at least deserved to say goodbye!
He took a break against the walking path fence, chest heaving as he struggled for breath, the crackling in his lungs telling him he hadn't quite cleared them. The world spun again as he vomited, dregs of water dripping from his nose and his knees shaking so hard they knocked together as he struggled to remain upright.
He felt a bit better after that. His shadow spirits finally creeping out of their hiding spots to support their master. He waved them away.
It had taken Alastor longer than he had liked to make it back to his car. First he had to remember where the damn thing was. His body moved slowly as he walked down the busy street, waving off stranger's concerns for the drowned rat in their midst. Everything hurt. His heart. His head. His chest. But he made it, fingers shaking as he fought to fit the key into the door.
He let himself rest before turning the engine over, hands rubbing his eyes until color exploded behind his lids. He groaned in frustration, kicking his foot out and smacking his hands on the wheel just once before reeling himself back in.
He could do this.
He was the Bayou Butcher dammit. Tamer of spirits, murderer of shitty men and the best damn radio host in New Orleans. He could handle a little drowning and driving.
And maybe he was a little grateful that the streets emptied quickly. Surely he must have still had his gods' favor despite losing The Mare because the empty streets were surely supernatural. Fine. He'd take it. He would remain angry at them for what they made him do but he'd have no choice but to crawl back to them if he wanted to continue his murder spree.
Maybe death would have been a blessing.
Ugh. No. He'd only be trading his current chains for the next.
'This is fine," he thought to himself as he turned off the paved road, 'Everything will be fine once I find her.'
He already felt better, the nausea that stirred in his gut when the car first lurched to life had faded and the throbbing in his head eased with a quick cigarette. The pull in his chest offered clarity, a direction both literally and figuratively that his scrambled brain could latch on to.
The bayou was silent. Even the crunching of his tires on the dirt road seemed muted as he drove by instinct towards their bit of paradise. His chest lurched as The Mare's direction changed, away from the cabin and deeper into the swamp. He cursed and continued towards the cabin. He didn't have a choice but to drop his car off there, the hunting trails that led deeper into the swamp were too narrow and too soft for the car to safely tread.
It was better he went on foot anyways. Surely the sound of the engine would scare his Mare off and if she took flight he doubt he'd be able to catch her tonight. No. She would surely flee and he'd be stuck having to travel cross-country to chase her into lands unknown.
He rubbed at his chest again as he pulled up to The Cabin, mind idly wondering how far he'd even be able to feel her. Clearly they could let a few miles get between them, but states? Countries? The seas? How far could his Mare go before he felt the cord between them snap and he was left all alone?
It was a somber thought.
One he could not let come to fruition.
Alastor's legs were surprisingly steady as he exited the car and entered the woods with grim determination. Above him the clouds began to cover the moon and stars, darkening his path. He ignored it, steeling his resolve as he plowed through the underbrush.
He knew this area like the back of his hand. Knew exactly where she was: the very place where they first met.
The sound of a broken branch somewhere to his left drew his attention and Alastor stilled.
Shit.
He had been too loud. To focused on catching up to The Mare.
He had forgotten they weren't the only ones in these woods.
It was hunting season. The only time he had ever avoided performing his little hobby but with The Mare at his side he had grown complacent. He had wandered these woods without a care for animal or man, content to let his Mare chase them away.
He had trusted her to keep him safe.
And now she was gone and he had been creating a racket.
Instinct made him crouch, eyes wide as he struggled to see in what little light the clouds let through. More sounds reached his ears, soft creaking of twigs and the pitter patter of feet. Not human.
Fuck.
He slowly began to inch towards the tree behind him. If those were dogs he was fucked. Monumentally fucked even if he got into the tree. His only saving grace would be to either hope their owner wasn't a racist fuck or that he could get his spirits to—
His spirits!
He could get them to lure the dogs away! Have them break branches and rustle leaves and trick the hunter and their dog away from here. Yes! He could do that! And then he'd be safe to finish tracking his Mare. She was close now. He could do this! He could do this!
The sound of a gun cocking was closer than Alastor had expected and it startled him backwards, his left foot landing on a particularly loud branch. He only had enough time to snap his head up, eyes wide in fear before something warm hit him right between the eyes.
The Mare woke with a start, snorting once before she rose and shook her head to relieve the fading cold sensation from between her eyes.
That… was odd.
She could not remember a time where she suddenly lost consciousness like that. Even at her weakest, unable to remain corporeal as she hid in shadows hoping for something to come by for her to eat, she never just collapsed.
She stood in silence, ears twitching to and fro as she considered what had just happened.
And then she heard something off in the distance. She tilted her head towards the sound, eyes closed as she listened.
The baying of a dog.
She breathed deep, mind focusing as she felt the creature's excitement. Nearby she felt its owner, confused. Scared. Horrified actually.
She caught the smell of gunpowder on the air. Just barely. A whiff really as the breeze hit just right. And the then there was the stronger tang of blood. Human blood.
She sniffed again, upper lip lifting to help her get more information. There was lots of blood. Familiar blood.
She dropped her head and turned towards the source of the smell, ears pricked forward as she processed what that could mean. She took a step forward, nostrils flared as she continued to scent the air.
Dread filled her stomach as she took another step forward.
There was no good reason for blood to smell familiar to her. She never left her victims alive after all and she certainly hadn't killed anyone recently enough for their fresh blood to be on the wind.
Two steps forward this time and she felt the persistent tug in her chest move down and far away, father than even the bit of her that still survived in the cold creature up north that had torn into her so very long ago.
She shook her head, trying to dislodge that awful growing dread that grew in her belly and tingled up her spine. She felt like throwing up as she recognized the blood on the wind.
She ran.
A cheetah running for its life. For the odd sensation in her chest that she did not like the implications of.
She scrambled into a small clearing, chest heaving and body tense for a fight. What she saw was not what she expected. A man stood with his gun clenched to his chest, his eyes wide in fear and his body shaking, covered in sweat, pale as a ghost in the meager moonlight. A dog was before him, tearing at a body on the ground.
Blood oozed from where it worried at a pair of familiar slacks, whining in excitement as it tried to bring its master's kill before it.
She recognized the blood. She recognized the slacks. She recognized the slim hand that rested upon a stomach that no longer moved. Both the man and dog looked up at her entrance, confusion from both of them as the dark feline trotted into the moonlight.
She ignored the both of them. Ignored the growling. For a moonbeam was moving up the body of the man on the ground. She did not breathe until it highlighted the face of the man she loved, his face frozen in a wide smile.
A singular bullet hole right between the eyes.
The dog went first, it's cries of pain echoing through the night as she tore it limb from limb for having the audacity to touch what was hers. A leg hit a tree, ribs torn open and a heart crushed in her grip, a jaw ripped from its skull and a spine degloved as she tore it from the flesh.
The human had ran. As it should. But that would not save it. She found him easily enough and tackled him to the ground. She tore and she tore and she tore until she hit dirt, blood and gore dripping from her face as she tore into his own. She took his nose, his tongue, his eyes, all of it she tore until the skull gave way and she crushed his brain beneath her palm. She grabbed an ankle and slammed what was left on the ground over and over until even she grew tired and held nothing more than a booted foot attached to a broken femur.
She did not want to return to that small clearing. She did not want to face what she saw.
She moved mechanically towards it anyways, the clouds clearing and lighting her way.
Alastor's body lay where the dog had left it. One leg bent out, slacks and flesh torn where the dog had tried to drag him. One hand lay upon his stomach, the other splayed out to the side. She sniffed at his other leg, tugging once at the fabric before placing a small nip at his exposed ankle.
He did not twitch. Did not shoo her away.
She tickled up his leg, lips worrying at his sides hoping to feel his hand pushing her away and the sound of his laughter in her ears. She licked at his hand, turning it up to nuzzle into a palm always ready to give her ear scratches.
It did not hold her face.
She felt her eyes burn as she moved up his chest, muzzle snorting and twitching against the cooling flesh of his exposed collarbone and neck. She pressed it against his throat, eyes closed as she waited for the heartbeat that would not come.
She blinked away tears as she lifted her head to nuzzle at his chin. His mouth was stuck in a wry grin, his eyes half-lidded and unseeing, glasses askew.
She fixed them.
Her eyes drifted to the small hole in his head where only a small trickle of blood had oozed towards his hairline. She reached out to fix his hair, her claws coming away bloody when she brushed the back of his head. She did not need her night vision to know that it no longer existed. That the bullet had gone through his brain and shattered the back of his skull. That it was his brain matter and bone that littered the ground above him.
Her Alastor would never move again.
Grief wracked her body as she collapsed beside him, tucked between his arm and chest with her muzzle pressed against his pointed chin. Her body shook with the grief, her breath coming in shuddering gasps as she struggled to process that he was really gone.
And that she was sad about it. Distressed. Heart broken.
Yes. Heart broken. That had to be the word for the awful feeling in her chest, for the pain in her heart and the burning in her eyes and the memories that played over and over in her head.
The first time she had woken up in that containment circle, angry and hurt and ready to kill the skinny human that had put her there. The first time she had gotten ear scratches and the first time she had gotten Alastor to really laugh when she tickled his ear. The hours curled up in his lap as he worked and the hours spent listening to his radio show when he was gone.
The day he had freed her and nearly gotten her banished by Claudette. The stupid look on his face when she took human form for the first time. The confusion, shame and lust that followed him around more potent than any cologne until they embraced each other for the first time beneath the dead gaze of his kill.
The dancing. The drinking. The cooking mishaps. Every hunt and murder, every dalliance beneath the moonlight, every laugh and sigh and moan of lust, she remembered all of it. No Mare was meant to have those moments of happiness, those sweet moments of humanity. No Mare was meant to experience the grief of loss.
She was not made for this.
She was not made to live in a house, to strut around a city in human form. She was not made to laugh and love, to tease and play and dance. She was not made to be loved in return.
She was fear. Horror. The bump in the night. She was the moment of panic you have when you catch movement in the corner of your eye.
And yet…
She had been loved. By an arguably terrible human who was selfish, cruel, callous, vicious, and brutal. A murderer of men with no consciousness and care for anyone besides a select few. And yet she had loved him. She had loved this terrible man enough to change form for him, to help him, to haunt this city until he died from old age.
He had betrayed her, yes, and she was still bitter about The Naming but that hadn't meant she had wanted him dead. Oh, she had thought about it. Nearly tore his throat out herself but love had stayed her teeth. Love had left him on the river bank.
And love should have left him alive in New Orleans.
The sun rose and set and rose again and still The Mare did not move from Alastor's body. She ignored the stiffening of his limbs and the cooling of his body. She chased the bugs and animals away and kept watch for any curious spirits that may inspect the body.
She only moved when she heard the sound of men. Multiple men calling out for a man named 'John' and a suspected dog named 'Buttercup'. She sighed in resignation and stood for the first time since she had collapsed. She grasped at pale wrists, doing her best to maneuver Alastor's corpse onto her back.
Satisfied she moved farther into the bayou. Far away from the search party and where there were no roads. She found them a nice hollow in the roots of a large tree, far enough from water that she would not have to worry too much about moving him. She lay Alastor down gently, using her nose to give him a nice blanket of leaves. She removed his glasses and folded them, nice and safe next to his head and found some pretty rocks to place over his eyes.
And then she sat at the entrance, body curled up and small as she began her vigil again.
She did not leave. She did not hunt. She grew thin and gaunt, skeletal as the days turned to weeks and then months and then a year. She made do with what little animals passed by but she would not stray from his grave.
From her love. From the memories they shared. She would not leave him to be abandoned by the elements and to become food for the bugs that so desperately wanted his desiccated flesh. Alastor belonged to her.
Time passed and she cared not to acknowledge it. She slumbered instead, slipping into a type of hibernation as she let her magic ooze out of her, traces of fear keeping life away and stirring her awake only when creatures of consequence came nearby and eventually even those learned to avoid their hollow.
Until one didn't. The Mare was stirred awake by the presence of magic nearby, something strong and white and wholly antithesis to her own and set her weakened teeth on edge. She glanced over her shoulder at Alastor's remains, safe and sound and exactly where they should be. She turned away and watched patiently as whatever had caught her attention trudged forward with grim determination laced with anxiety.
The Mare's own magic did not dissuade it, her cold push of fear only seeming to urge the person on as they made a beeline for her hollow. She decided she would kill whoever it was. She could use the meal.
But the person who came out of the trees was not one meant for eating.
Claudette leaned heavily on a walking stick as she caught her breath, a spelled compass held out in her hand as she commanded her spirits to scout ahead. The Mare was relieved it was her. That it was someone familiar.
Guilt flooded The Mare's senses as Claudette spied her with a gasp, her eyes welling with tears as she moved as fast as she was able over the uneven ground. She was not the only one who had suffered from Alastor's death. At least The Mare had closure, in a way.
For Claudette, her son and his pet Mare had simply disappeared after a night on the town, never to be seen again.
"You're here!" Claudette sounded tired and The Mare smelled death on the wind. "Where have you been! Damn you! Where have you been?" She shook her fist at The Mare and stumbled forward, her foot catching on a raised root and threatening to topple her over.
The Mare moved for the first time in years, slower than she used to but still fast enough to catch Claudette with her neck. Claudette's familiar scent of incense and spices flooded The Mare's senses and she was suddenly acutely aware of how much she had missed the stubborn woman. Claudette righted herself and set to immediately start batting at The Mare's head in fury, cursing at her for disappearing and leaving her worried sick before she sighed and placed a kiss against her muzzle.
"Oh," she shook as she sighed, "I missed you little mare. I feared the worst for you." Claudette's fingers brushed through her tangled mane, tugging at knots and rubbing at the base of the Mare's ears.
"Where's Alastor, my dear," Claudette sounded tired. "He never came home either. Is he here with you?"
The Mare pulled herself from Claudette grip and turned away, ears flat against her head as her tail wrapped tightly around her own leg.
"Little one? Where is Alastor?"
Claudette's spirits swirled around The Mare's claws, chittering to themselves and reaching up to poke at her in an effort to get answers for themselves. The Mare didn't even have the heart to swat at them. Instead she lumbered towards the hollow, head low as she reached the entrance and pointed inside.
The fear that wafted from Claudette turned The Mare's stomach and she turned away. She would not witness this moment of grief. She didn't even want to hear it but she dared not leave. So she settled down with her back to the hollow and waited.
The cry that tore out of Claudette's throat when she looked into the hollow broke The Mare's heart again. She had never been particularly fond of the sound mother's made when they lost their children and this one was made worse by the love she bore for this one.
Claudette's knees hit the ground with her sob, her hands wrapped around her mouth as she looked upon the mummified corpse of her son. The Mare knew what she would see. She knew that Claudette would recognize those lovely brown curls and the glasses at his head. She knew Claudette would see the faded mark upon his forehead and the missing half of his skull.
She hoped Claudette also saw the tender love and care The Mare had given her only son. And if not then she hoped her banishment was a quick one.
"This isn't—oh my lord," Claudette's voice cracked as she scooted back to place a hand on The Mare's rump. "What happened? Why is he shot? " She gasped before turning back towards her son's corpse.
"It was hunting season when you two disappeared…," her grip on The Mare's rump tightened before she turned to her again. "Was it an accident?"
The Mare watched Claudette warily for a moment before nodding. It wasn't wrong.
Claudette sniffed and she turned towards her son again. "C-could I have some privacy? I'd like to say goodbye."
She did not want to leave but she could not deny her this so she left. Not far, just into the shadow of the trees where Claudette's spirits set up watch themselves, protecting their mistress as she grieved her son.
The sun was setting when The Mare dared to return, her steps silent as she crept up behind the kneeling woman. She nuzzled gently at Claudette's face, using her muzzle to wipe away silent tears and humming deep in her chest as shaking hand reached up to cusp her face.
"You've been with him the whole time, haven't you dear? You poor thing," Claudette sniffed. "I should have thought of tracking you earlier. Could have saved us both three years of grief."
The Mare did not respond, just nuzzled deeper into her neck like a lost pup.
It was too late for Claudette to make it out of the woods on her own tonight. It was a miracle she even made it during the day let alone even attempting it as the sun set. Claudette said so herself before she rose to her feet, cursing a bit as her hip gave her grief.
"We'll come back soon. Give him a proper gravestone. I'll even leave a spirit here to guard him until we return."
The Mare tilted her head quizzically, uncomprehending as Claudette shuffled towards her shoulder. "What? Are you dense girl? You're going to take me home and stay with me while I get a gravestone ready," she said matter-of-factly. Her hand, still strong despite her ailments, wrapped tightly in The Mare's mane as she placed the other on her hip.
"Solitude is bad for grief. Just look at you. All skin and bones," she smacked The Mare's rump and huffed, "I ain't even gonna enjoy my first ride on you because you took it upon yourself to be miserable out here in the bayou. Now kneel down and let me up there. It's time we went home."
The Mare was so startled she agreed immediately, settling on the ground so that Claudette could swing a leg over and get as comfortable as one could on a spine.
As they walked through the trees Claudette talked enough for the both of them. She explained that she had been terrified Alastor was murdered by the Butcher when he never came home. And how that was silly because she knew he was safe so long as he was with his Mare. Then she had wondered if the two of them had eloped, two lovers ('Yes I knew what you two were doing, so help me.') making stupid decisions and leaving the state without telling anyone. It wasn't a common story but it wasn't unheard of.
But it just hadn't set right. So she had checked in with Alastor's friends and the radio station, all of whom hadn't seen Alastor or his lady friend since that night in January. She checked his room, finding things she didn't understand and preferred not to know and held out hope that she would find a letter explaining where the two of them had gone.
She had even made it out to the cabin and was distressed to find Alastor's car but no sign of anyone nearby. She had heard the rumors of how the bodies of a hunter and dog were found nearby, completely torn to shreds and almost beyond recognition. She had suspected it was The Mare's doing but there were plenty other supernatural creatures about that could have done the job so she went back home and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Until her cancer had begun to progress again. "I don't have much time left," she said solemnly, "So I figured it was high time I began to look out here." The Mare brought them to The Cabin, her head turned towards the side so as to avoid looking at the building already beginning to be claimed by nature now that its caretaker was gone.
"And…I figured I should face the music. There's only one reason my boy wouldn't reach out to me for years." Claudette sighed heavily as The Mare kneeled beside her car to let her off. "None of my searching spells ever worked for Alastor because he was gone. But you…I still had a lock of your hair around."
The Mare remembered that day clearly. Claudette had demanded some hair as insurance for if she ever brought Alastor to harm. It would guarantee that The Mare would not escape her motherly justice.
"And wouldn't you know? I found you right away." Claudette hopped into her car and patted the seat next to her. "You comin'?"
The Mare nodded but did not enter the vehicle. Years of neglect had left her charmed bracelet broken awhile ago and she was scared to take human form again. Instead she unfurled her wings and backed up, making her intention to fly clear.
The next two years remaining with Claudette had been a balm to The Mare's broken heart. She had crossed the wards daintily as a black cat, one paw at a time just in case she wasn't recognized. She was met with a warm tingling sensation as she passed the invisible barrier, the house welcoming her back with open arms.
Claudette was waiting patiently on the porch, her arms open in invitation as The Mare happily jumped into them. From there The Mare accompanied Claudette everywhere, a pampered familiar with a little bell on her collar kept snug in a purse whenever they went out. At home she sometimes returned to her mare but the sight always brought a sadness to Claudette's heart. A reminder of who they both had lost.
So a cat she would stay.
She enjoyed the pats from Claudette's lady friends, their knowing comments about her new 'familiar' filling The Mare with pride. Claudette only laughed and stated simply, "The cat is a gift from my son."
She enjoyed chasing mice and feasting on passersby as she accompanied Claudette to her doctor's appointments, spirit appointments and lunch dates. She enjoyed sitting in her lap, purring the day away as the newest crochet blanket covered her head.
Together they healed and took time every month to visit Alastor's grave and reset the wards Claudette placed to make sure he would remain undisturbed. The Mare would stand sentinel as Claudette told her son about the month's adventures, the newest gossip and then they would pour their whiskey and be on their way.
It still hurt to visit but each month the ache in The Mare's chest began to alleviate. There were even some days were the pain was gone, replaced instead by the subtle pull of her missing spirit going down down down.
But time came for them all and Claudette's time was up. The Mare could only watch helplessly as the disease that ran rampant in the woman's hip spread to her bones, weakening her and finally landing her in the hospital.
And cats were not allowed in the hospital.
For the first time in five years The Mare took human form. She had already left one Laveau to die alone, she would not leave another. For three days she stayed by Claudette's side, their hands clasped as the medicine did its job and left the ailing woman in pain-free sleep.
Claudette passed peacefully, her final words before she closed her eyes being, "I hope Allie made it to heaven." The Mare hummed an affirmative, nodding along with Claudette's hope despite being confident that he was in Hell. Murderers don't go to heaven after all but she couldn't tell Claudette that.
She deserved peace in her final moments.
After Claudette passed a new rumor began around the hospital. About a guardian angel who accompanied a dying woman for three days and disappeared. Her dress, left abandoned on the chair she had been occupying, was the only evidence she had been real.
The Mare had even attended Claudette's funeral. Guest had pointed out the black cat, whispers of spirits and familiars flitting through the surprisingly large crowd. She paid them no mind, sitting herself upon a window sill and watching lazily as the funeral proceeded. She listened to the words of heaven and hell, of glory and faith and how Claudette had had grace in spades. She listened to the songs of grief and their solemn joy as Claudette began her journey into the afterlife. She even tried to enjoy the tolling of the bell despite how it made her head hurt and teeth ache as the chiming tried its best to banish her from the hallowed grounds.
Afterwards she had returned to Alastor's grave, her mind filled with thoughts of Heaven and Hell. She suspected both must exist. Five years after his death and she still felt the pull in her chest that led her to the spot of his death. It never waned and sometimes, on the days when the veil was thin, she almost swore she felt it pulse.
If he was gone, truly gone, shouldn't the piece of her spirit within him have died as well? Or at least returned to her? Instead it had gone to wherever he had gone.
Hell presumably.
And did that mean, in some way, he was still alive?
Would she be able to find him?
She wouldn't know unless she tried, now wouldn't she?
She waited until the veil between worlds was thinnest. Samhain. Halloween. She knew this time well and had often played with the spirits that came out at this time. But not tonight. Tonight she would follow the pull in her chest that made her want to crawl down into the earth and claw her way into Hell herself.
She approached that awful place where Alastor had died, the pull in her chest fully palpable as she stood where he fell. She swore she could feel something there, invisible to her eyes but something tugged at the hairs standing along her neck. She lay down on the ground, shifting around until she found a spot where she felt the tugging in her chest at its strongest.
It felt warmer, in a way and when she laid her head down she swore she could almost hear a cacophony of screams on the wind. She let her eyes close and focused on following the pull in her chest, of letting her spirit slip from this world and following the rope between them. The world faded away as her body relaxed and suddenly there was a feeling in her ears like someone had clasped a jar over them, pressure and silence that was so sudden and so discombobulating that she snorted herself back into the living realm.
She shook her head free of the feeling and sighed.
She would try again and embrace the feeling of being underwater instead of fighting it.
So she lay down again and closed her eyes. This time when the strange feeling of being submerged came she did not fight it. She did not shake her head to try and dislodge the pressure in her ears. She did not fight the burning in her lungs as they struggled to find air. She did not even twitch when she felt the rush of air around her body and the strange feeling of falling through an abyss.
And then suddenly the pressure in her ears popped and she began tumbling head over feet. She opened her eyes and wings, momentary panic gripping her as she struggled to right herself. A few more moments and she slowed her descent, wings finally catching a current so she could glide and catch her breath.
Above her a red sky stretched towards the horizon. Two moons hung in the sky: one white and hard to look at, the other dark and covered with a five pointed star not unlike the containment circle she had been trapped in long ago.
Beneath her lie a massive crater, its edges rimmed with tall spires. And within that crater lay a city.
The pull within her chest was impossible to ignore now. She followed it eagerly, joy suffusing her body as she recognized the shape of the towering building it was pulling her towards.
It's really funny to take Spanish with people from different Spanish-speaking countries, because the ones from South American countries are like "Yeah no one uses vosotros, we don't know what it's doing here" and the ones from Europe are like "If you don't give our beloved second-person plural its due respect, the Hounds will find you"
I love how tumblr is full of people who aren’t afraid to hang around on the bottom rung of the moron ladder. You make me feel better about every stupid thing I’ve ever done in my life including the time I glued fake moustaches to my eyebrows.
