title: ageless
genre: romance / hurt / comfort / horror
pairings: shiemi/amaimon, rin/bon
warnings: very tired authoress, grammatical errors, and lack of communication that might solve everything, but imma keep riding this
"This is a story about the
monsters and the lovers,
This is a story about how
they became the same thing."
—Emily Palermo, Love in the Time of Monsters
chapter five: in which the princess is cornered
Their property line stretched to accommodate a small wooded area that, if any unluck passersby were to wonder into would either find lackluster and barren, or thick enough to be lost in for weeks.
It is a clever trick of cloaking sigils that hid the marvel of Shiemi's garden from prying eyes and gardening magazines. However, sometimes people had a little more Sight than others, but not enough to really put them on the mark. Shiemi is sure Bon wrote a scholarly paper on it once.
Regardless, her garden is not only for her enjoyment, but for True Cross's expenses. It may not be the supply store that her mother and grandmother and great-grandmother ran, but a supply of supplies. Monkshood and Saint John's Wart, bluebells and lavender, all had equal footing here.
And then, the creatures she tamed.
Now, with her hobgoblins following at her heel, she strolls up the grassy slopes into the trees, feeling the deep inhales of early autumn air filling her lungs. This air always did something to her, churned something cold and ill in her stomach, like a half-remembered dream. Still, she persists onward, the dark jar in her basket swaying heavily on her arm.
She moves deftly into the trees, where the leaves blotted out the light and the pine needles made a carpet of the ground. Distantly, she can hear the buzzing of wings, the brief glimpses of light between the tree branches. Her chuchi nest is close.
Three generations strong she still feels compelled to feed them during the daytime, when they are lazy and suggestible, rather than at night, at true night, when their wings glow effervescent and their calls can disorient the mind.
Amaimon had been as cautious about her taming low and mid-level demons when she retired. He was sure his kin would be favorable to her; however, he would often still trail after her whenever she went out to feed them. He would let her work, take up a perch in the trees, sitting statue still with his eyes distant as he gnawed on a nail, deep in thought, only speaking when she spoke to him.
Without him crunching through the pine with her, she feels rather alone in the woods. Without his hand curling into her own. Without his half-hummed songs under his breath. She feels hyper-aware of everything around her, every leaf, every branch, every flower.
It's why she took the babies with her.
It's still weird to wake up every day without him there, without his constant presence wrapping around her like a blanket. She feels cold in the morning and hungry all afternoon. Peaking over her shoulder looking for him, waiting for him, in some strange way between her heart and her bones.
He still hasn't called either.
Unceremoniously, she reaches her destination, the old twisted boughs of a tree with gnarled branches and rising roots. The erosion of time and its inhabitants making it a prime example from her old textbook—a chuchi nest.
Idly, she wonders if Mephisto would approve her students coming to visit so they could see for themselves. A few of them have expressed interest in demonology, and even if not Taming, it would still be a useful skill to nurture. Demon appreciate, that is.
She stops in front of the old wooden trough set up before the tree. Already, she can see a few chuchi lingering in the branches above, the silvery gleam of wings drawing a stark outline against the canopy. Sentries for the morning time when most of the swarm sleeps.
Satisfied with the stilled attention, she reaches into her basket for the jar of goat's blood. Luckily for her, she can purchase it from her mom, though she has been reading about the benefits of raising the goats herself. She simply does not have the stomach, or heart, to do it. As she explained to her students at length last lecture.
Behind her, she hears the resounding gurgle of the hobgoblins. "Hush now." She murmurs and its answering whine follows. "It's not for you."
She hums a low chant, meant to keep her babies at bay while she cracks the seal on the jar.
The reaction is instant. Hundreds of buzzing, tiny wings take to the air, creating a dark silver cloud beneath the tree, but she pays them no mind, she keeps her focus, and carefully pours the blood into the trough. As she takes a step back, her eyes lift to catch the chuchi hovering in mid-air, wings buzzing, waiting, patient.
Once she breaks the chant, her swarm launches their attack, circling and diving as one whole swarm, feasting with hungry, tiny mouths.
Shiemi steps back, resealing the jar and slipping it back into her basket. At her feet, the hobgoblins moan and whine, their baby teeth gleaming in the low light even as the chuchi drink down their bloody offering. Shiemi longs to run her hand over their fuzzy heads and spiny backs to soothe them, but she knows better.
They may be her babies, but they are not pets.
They are demons and, however docile, however tamed, they will never go back on their nature.
And Shiemi does not expect them to.
Shiemi wakes to the sound of something shattering.
She lays in her bed for a moment, staring at her ceiling and the fingers of moonlight peeping through the curtains. Half-asleep, she thinks she's in their old apartment in Osaka; sandwiched between two noisy, nosy neighbors who constantly checked her finger for a ring and tusked like old biddies when she admitted that Amaimon was her boyfriend, not husband.
How simple those times were, paying rent and living her life, breaking the cycle of Moriyama women for the first time in generations. She felt so free, and terrified of the world at large.
She's not in Osaka though.
She is not a young woman living alone in a cramped apartment, but a retired exorcist living on protected land.
She is alone in her house and there is a noise downstairs.
She shifts in bed and touches her bare feet down onto the floorboards, and listens. The rustling continues downstairs, she can hear it. Slowly, she rounds the bed and finds the bedroom door cracked.
Amaimon had the habit of leaving doors opened. The thought cools her some before the realization sinks into her like honey into tea.
There is a brief moment of non-fear, somewhere beyond the realm of reality and wishes, where Shiemi stands in her nightgown, not breathing, listening to the noises in the house. She can still hear shuffling, but no clicking of talons on the hardwood, or thumps of tiny tails.
It's not her hobgoblins. It's a person.
She picks up her housecoat from the corner of the bed and pulls it around her, knotting the waist.
Slowly, she pulls open the bedroom door, sighing to herself as the door hinge gives with little noise. The rustling downstairs is undisturbed, banging of cabinets and drawers continuing a steady crescendo from—the kitchen? the living room? no, definitely the kitchen. Shiemi inches around the wall, stopping at the corner before the spiral staircase and peering down.
No lights on the first floor.
She begins her descent when the thought hits her that she might be walking into danger. Her muscles of her shoulders are tense and bunched as she slides along the wall, descending into the darkness below. Reaching into her housecoat pocket, she runs her finger along the slips of summoning paper she kept there, thick and textured with their inked sigils.
She hasn't had to summon anything big to defend herself in some time, but she can feel the briny power scraping in her veins. The feeling of adrenaline before a fight—
A step underneath her barefoot creaks, drawing a long low sound that pauses the shuffling in the kitchen. Sounds that are void of all else, holding breath, tense muscles, straining for the sound the signals to one another—
"Shiemi, are you awake?"
She feels her heart rise up in her throat as she descend the next few steps quickly and rounds the corner of the landing into the kitchen to find a dark shape, the faint light of the refrigerator casting a cold blue glow on a long dark coat, green hair, and pale, pale skin—
The figure stills like an animal and the fridge door slams shut. Shiemi snaps the kitchen light on just as fast, as if scared to be left alone in the darkness. She feels foolish as she does it, diving for the light switch like a lifeline, but when the yellow light fills the room, she sees him.
"Amaimon." It's half-question, half-accusation, a mix of both coloring her tone as the realization sinks into her.
Her husband is sitting on the edge of the countertop, kicking his legs.
"Hello," he says, yawning as he waves a spoon. Shiemi stares at him, taking in the ripped jeans, the rumbled hair, the carton of lavender ice cream in his hands.
But he's here. Her mind is keen to supply the last few weeks of absences, of missing him, of wishing for him to be here. After talking with Mephisto she was sure that when she saw him again, she would throw herself into his arms and wrap herself up in him, just like those romance novels she used to read as a teenager.
And now—
Now—
Shiemi presses her lips together, deep in thought. Amaimon looks up at her from his late-night snack, head tipping in consideration.
"Did I wake you?"
Shiemi nods, but she feels as though she has been up for hours.
As if she just finished running a marathon.
She drifts between the kitchen and the conjoining hallway, between the yellow light and the darkness filling up behind her. The crash of adrenaline feels like it's hitting her all at once, the shaky, sweaty feeling in her palms, the race of her pulse. She feels lightheaded, disoriented, tired.
Still, her eyes drink in the sight of him hungrily, and she notes that he too looks tired, eyes too wide and unfocused, bruises of sleepless nights under his eyes.
"Where have you been?" She asks, fingers curling into her robe.
Amaimon's teeth clink around the spoon in his mouth. "Aiding my kin. The situation has escalated."
"Escalated." She repeats, as if it were a valid excuse not to call your wife. "Okay," Her gaze skips over him to the flowerpot on the counter, tracing the jagged edges of the terracotta pot and soil spilling over the sides, the tomato plant sits slumped over on the counter.
It must have been the thing that broke.
Amaimon says nothing when she looks at him again, offers no explanation to either how it broke or how the situation escalated. "Are you leaving m—again?"
The words catch in her mouth. She almost asks him if he is leaving her, but stops herself.
Amaimon lowers his spoon, frown tugging at his mouth. "Yes."
"How long will you be gone?"
"I don't know."
Shiemi curls her fingers tighter. "Can you, could you, at least, tell me where you're going—"
"No."
It feels so final it catches the breath in her throat. She feels as if she had been slapped, though she hasn't. It still reels through her. The mounting oppression of everything she wants to say to him just on the tip of her tongue and not coming out. Mephisto, Izumo, the chuchi—
The lump in her throat expands against her windpipe, but she bites her lips together, refusing to cry. Not in front of him.
When she looks back at Amaimon, he has his attention back on the ice cream carton, digging the spoon into it with vigor.
"I'm going back to bed. Use a bowl." She says as she turns back to the hall and snaps the light off as she goes. The climbs the stairs quickly, darting up the stairs with her nightgown flying around her like wings.
When she reaches the top of the stairs, she lets the darkness wrap around her. It's cold and thick, but Shiemi can see the silver lining of her bedroom door, the arches of furniture, and spaces of shadow. She is alone. Alone in darkness. The lump in her throat thickens and tears crack from her eyes, hot and salty and gathering under her chin, down her throat.
Her hands cover her mouth, drowning out the noise of her cries.
She can hear the floorboards creak on the first step below, signaling the approaching closing in behind her.
It makes her lunge for her bedroom door, still gaping in the darkness, she turns and slams it, sliding the lock home. She knows the sharp sound of it would be enough to keep Amaimon away, but it still feels so silent, so hollow.
There used to be a time when Amaimon was the only one privy to her tears, her fears, her joys.
Now, she just wants to be alone with herself.
When she wakes in the morning, her muscles are stiff from being curled in a ball against the door and Amaimon is gone.
For the next three days, the clocks in Shiemi's classroom and office seem to tick even louder. It was subtle at first, but steadily in the silence of group meditation, it became more and more noticeable.
Her students have pointed it out. Her coworkers have pointed it out.
But, Shiemi knows its best to not like the constant tick tick tick under her skin.
For the next three days, she throws herself into her teaching, starting off her next round of classes with spiritual enhancing teas and meditation. She makes her own summoning paper, grinds her own ink, casts blessings with sacred oils and perfumes. All the things that strengthens her abilities, only proves that her students don't have her proficiency.
In essence, her class is made up of potential knights and arias, fighters and slayers. Spiritual strength is not lacking in the group and she knows from her conversations with the other teachers that they are a talented bunch. Still, it is not turning out the results that she needs.
And knowing Mephisto, he expects nothing short of multi-talented excellence.
Her own graduating class had been in a league of its own, Shiemi had no shortage of internships or career choices after True Cross. She honed her skills as a Tamer and Doctor, her usage of herbs and demons to heal others was a loving skill, crafted through years of training and under the claw and thumb of the school's academic prowess.
That aside, Shiemi does not want her students to have to go through what she did.
And the clock is ticking.
Her students have been wising up to Shiemi's insistence on their summoning skills and, to her great joy, they seem eager not to disappoint. She leads them through summoning spells and songs. She teaches them about sigils and hand signs. She has stuffed them with enough protein filled treats and spiritual teas to have their breath smelling like St. John's and thyme, but in the end, no dice.
At the end of her rope, she leads them through a guided practice in her private office, one student at a time. A choice that, she knows would be unethical in any other school, but at True Cross it was allowed.
For however strict and buttoned down on protocol True Cross was, the vetting process for teachers placed a high value in experience and success. In experience, Shiemi had spades of missions, patients, and holy wars. Her suggestions were uncontested in faculty meetings.
She had picked up her teaching license during her internship after graduation, but had not truly used it until she formally retired. She taught online classes in Herbology and Demonology, gave pointers on Taming and consulted in cases.
She has never had a student fail.
And even then, she has never seen a student fail in front of her.
Now, in the safety of her office without the prying eyes of peers or Mephisto, the browned summoning paper in Anri's fingers feel like the white flag of defeat. Shiemi has talked her through the summons so many times, Anri boasted about being able to repeat it backwards, but nothing to show for her skill.
Shiemi knows her expression must have shifted because when Anri looks at her, her eyes are watery at the corners. "I'm sorry, Moriyama-sensei, I just—"
"Oh no, sweetheart, no, you're alright." Shiemi says and smiles encouragingly, hands moving for the velvet lined box she keeps her paper in. "We can always try again."
Anri nods, dropping the paper on the table between them. Her eyes skirt across the teacups Shiemi had set up on the table, a traditional set Mephisto had given her for her office. The tiny red flowers seemed to flounce across the cups, aggressively cheerful in the somber moment, an affront to Anri's failure.
"What if I don't get it next time?" The girl's eyes meet hers, a sudden fierceness in them that reminds her of Izumo. A girl from an exorcist family with something to prove to herself and the world. "What if my talents just aren't with summoning. What then?"
As much as Shiemi wants to encourage her, to tell her that everything will be alright, there is a stronger impulse that wants to tell her to stop. Tell her that that is a dangerous thought to have. That, although the thought has plagued her herself, if Mephisto wants one of her students to be able to summon, then one of them should be able to summon.
He had a particular talent at that, finding hidden gems of potential and ripping them out.
Shiemi's Taming capabilities had been useful to him once too.
"We will just have to find your talent then," Shiemi assures and sets the box of summoning paper aside. She steeples her fingers across her lap. "We just have to be sure we do our due diligence in everyone's training. You never know who may have that special talent, right?"
Anri looks dubious. "I suppose. I'm really good at swords-play."
"That's wonderful. I have several friends with that skill. It comes in handy when in a fight."
"Moriyama-sensei, if you don't mind me asking," Anri shifts, eyes lowering once again. "Are you, are you trying to find an apprentice or something?"
Shiemi lifts a brow. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, you've really been trying to get us to summon these last few days. I was wondering if maybe, since you're a famous exorcist and all, if you were maybe looking for an apprentice to teach."
The assumption leaves her feeling stumped. For a moment, flattered that she is thought of as a 'famous exorcist' and then uneasy. She knows she has been pushing her student hard, and they have picked on it, but Shiemi doesn't feel comfortable pushing them any harder.
Shiemi smooths her skirt. "No, I haven't been looking for an apprentice, Anri-chan. But, if I was, I know I have a fine bunch of candidates for the job." Her student nods, sullenly. "Here, you've had enough for today. I don't want to push you."
Shiemi rises from her seat and Anri does too, effectively ending the conversation.
When she opens the door, Shiemi spots a tiny white dog sat on the settee outside her office. The dog is tiny, whiskered, wearing a smart pink suit with a little pocket watch dangling from his collar.
Shiemi pauses a moment, her hand pressed against the doorframe and the handle, creating a wall between Mephisto and her student. It's been three days since they had tea. Almost to the minute. She knows she cannot hold back anymore.
After another moment, she moves out of the way for her student, to let her pass. "Well, it's getting late. When you get back to the classroom, tell the others that we're done for today."
"Oh, but Moriyama-sensei, Shima-san hasn't—"
"That's alright. We'll refocus in our next class." Shiemi waves a hand dismissively, noting the tiny dog stretch from its perch. "I'll bring more cookies with me to class tomorrow."
Anri's brow crinkles momentarily and then smooths as she turns on her heel. "Have a good night, Moriyama-sensei." Then, her student turns down the corridor, turning a corner before disappearing into the maze of True Cross's faculty hall.
When she looks back up, the little white dog is gone.
"I didn't know you baked; I would have shown up sooner." A voice drifts from behind her.
Mephisto has manifested into his true form, that smart pink suit sharpening his shoulders and narrowing his waist as he folds himself elegantly into the chair her student occupied not moments before. He has one of her chocolate chip and rose cookies in his hand, sniffing slightly. "So, no progress, I take it?"
There is something low and patronizing in his tone, sulky almost as if he were actually rooting for her in the beginning.
He pours himself a cup of tea, the heady smell of herbs and blessed mead filling up the office space once again. Mephisto looks intrigued. "I haven't sampled this since the eighteenth century." He mumbles noncommittally, and takes a sip.
Shiemi stares at him for a long moment, before sinking into her own chair, hands folded across her lap. These things, as her mother always said, have to be taken with dignity.
"No, I'm afraid not."
"Afraid," Mephisto's eyes seems to come alive with the word, alight with something not even she knows. "Oh well, these things happen, I understand. Perhaps, we should move forward with my plan, then."
Shiemi can feel the tension in her neck. "What is your plan?"
Mephisto drags his spoon across the rim of his teacup, drawing a long scratching sound. He seems to be truly contemplative, brows furrowed before Shiemi realizes that his gaze is fixed on the photo frame on her desk. It is one of her and Amaimon in their garden several months back, after an exorcist dropped off their litter of hobgoblins, newly separated from their mother.
A phrase which Shiemi knows means that the mother had been killed.
"May I borrow your hobgoblins, Miss Moriyama?"
well, it's been awhile hasn't it? but here i am, with stories to tell and ideas to share.
i've been reading and rereading the manga to pin down one plot point, but i'm still unsure on another, but we will have some plot progress as we go. and more interactions that might result in a mini-school reunion and why this fic is also marked rin/bon (bc, i love). also, some background on izumo and her mysterious baby-daddy. also, mephisto's strange insistence on finding a summoner.
there's always some shit going on with true cross. also, i hope i'm making a point of the shiemi's defense of demons.
regardless, work has been well, i'm out of school for the timing being, so i've been writing a lot. if you're into BNHA i've been writing a lot for them if you're int. pls remember to leave your thoughts, ideas, opinions, or lines you liked in the box below, they really make me smile.
- cafeanna