#it took several twists as it just kind of unfurled underneath me

[redrobin-detective]

all is well

Death is nothing at all, I have only slipped into the next room I am I and you are you Whatever we were to each other, that we are still. ~ Henry Scott Hollard

AO3 link

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He hadn’t meant to say it, that much was clear. As much as she wanted to hate him for it, claim it was some sort of cruel manipulation; she knew he was just as distressed as she was. The ghost boy had covered his mouth, bright green eyes wide with panic as his misspoken words brought their battle to a screeching halt. Even the ghost the three hunters had been fighting stopped and stared before flying off. No one moved to stop them. Phantom looked at her fearfully, then over at her companion before vanishing without a trace.

It was a slip of the tongue, an accident, so why did the ghost boy calling her Mom make her blood run so cold?

“I’ve knew a kid who called the teacher Mom one time but I’ve never heard it from a ghost,” the Red Huntress said with a sarcastic chuckle. But her shoulders were tense and it was clear the situation made her uncomfortable too. “You okay, Mrs. Fenton?”

“My son isn’t dead,” Maddie said quietly. She would admit there were times where she’d look at Phantom and see Danny overlaid on top of him but those moments were becoming more and more rare. Maddie liked to think it’s because she could find more differences than similarities between the two but honestly, she couldn’t say who her son was anymore. She saw this damned ghost more than she saw the child living in her own house.

“I know, I’ve seen him around,” Huntress said with steady conviction. It made Maddie pause, as it always did, to wonder just how old Amity’s other human ghost hunter really was. Or how young rather. “It was a mistake, he’ll probably avoid you for a bit out of embarrassment but then things will go back to normal.”

“Yeah, a mistake,” Maddie muttered to herself, finally lowering the gun even though the fighting had ended several minutes ago. Why was this whole thing so unsettling to her? Phantom had said much worse things to her, called her a fake scientist and more obsessive than a ghost. He’d even called her a bad mother once when he’d been particularly riled up. She remembered how offended and angry his unnatural eyes had been as they’d glared accusingly into her.  

“You know his parents are still alive,” Huntress said suddenly. “I found out by accident a little while ago.” She was still standing on her hoverboard about 3 feet off the ground, her gaze was trained away from Maddie. “They don’t know that he’s a ghost, that he’s Phantom,” the girl’s head was still turned away from Maddie but she had a feeling she was being watched none the less. “Maybe you remind him of his mother.”

Maddie felt liked she’d been slapped.

“And why does that matter to you?” she questioned defensively to cover how much the conversation was shaking her - they didn’t know how could they not know, how could they not miss - “I thought you hated him as much as we did.”

“I don’t like him,” the Huntress said vehemently. “He’s annoying and acts like he’s the only hunter in this town who can actually do the job. But I,” she paused, “I think I understand him, just a little bit. Enough that I’ve been combing through Amity’s missing children files in my spare time. Of course, it’s no good if no one reported him missing in the first place. Phantom doesn’t want me prying but it’s not right for a kid to die and no one to care.”

“He’s just a ghost,” Maddie said, her words weak even to her ears. Was that why Phantom was stuck here? Because he died forgotten and unmourned? The thought of one of her children, her babies, dying without her knowing... she was going to be sick.

“Yeah, he is,” Huntress nodded, “but he wasn’t always. And humans deserve to be remembered, even if they don’t want to be.” That said, the girl sped off into the setting sun, the varying shades of orange glinting off of her suit. Maddie stood in the middle of the street for a little while longer, gun pointed limply at the ground as her whole world spun.

She drove home slowly, taking the long way around to try and put her conflicting feelings into words before she talked to her husband. When she and Jack first began their research into ghosts, they told themselves that they had to divorce themselves from the people the ghosts had been before. If you focused on the lingering traces of humanity in every monster then they would never be put in their place. But she was human and she had kids around the ghost boy’s age, despite her attempts to stick to logic her heart ached with sympathy.

“And you call yourself a mother,” the Phantom in her memory spat at her, filled with hatred but underneath it all was grief. “Where are your kids now? All you care about is the dead but when are you going to care for the living?” Maddie tightened her grip on the steering wheel to keep her hands from shaking.

“Mads! You’re home!” Jack grinned enthusiastically as she quietly entered the house. “Jazzy has her nose in her books and you know Danny, in and up to his room without a word so I made us grilled cheese!” He held her a plate with a flourish, “they’re ghost shaped!” The world tilted itself a little more onto it’s proper axis, no matter how crazy things got, Jack would always be her true north.

“Gracias,” she said accepting the plate. “Can we talk, privately?” She gestured her head down to the basement. Conversations from the kitchen could easily be heard upstairs and she really didn’t want her children to overhear her asking if she was a bad mom. She didn’t want their confirmation that she was right.

Jack’s goofy grinned smoothed out into something softer and he put one hand gently on her back as they walked down to basement. He kicked her usual stool her way and they sat in silence while they ate their dinners, staring at the swirling vortex of the portal.

“You remember that time Phantom called me a neglectful mother?” Maddie asked quietly after a few minutes.

“Mads, you can’t let that sneaky spook get to you. Everyone knows you’re a great-”

“Jack,” she interrupted harsher than she needed to but she didn’t need comfort from a husband but the unbiased opinion of a fellow scientist. “He accidentally called me Mom while we were fighting today, I don’t - I don’t think he meant it, he looked more scared then I’ve ever seen him before he ran off. Huntress was there too, she said.” Maddie gripped her plate tightly in her hands. “She said that Phantom’s family is still alive, that they don’t know about him.”

“Not know? You mean about him being-”

“Apparently,” Maddie squeezed her eyes shut to fight off the unwanted sympathy she felt. “He’s always been the Ghost Boy, the Ghost Kid. I never - I never fully absorbed what that meant. He looks,” Maddie set the plate aside and dropped her head into her hands. “He’s about Danny’s age.”

“Maddie,” Jack said softly, setting aside his own plate and wheeling himself closer. “Whoever that boy was, he’s gone now and all that’s left is an echo, an obnoxious and powerful echo but he’s not... he’s not a child. Not anymore.”

“But he remembers,” Maddie gasped, angry she was letting herself get all worked up over a stupid ghost. “He called me Mom, Jack. Huntress, she said maybe I reminded him of her and,” her eyes filled with tears now. “He’s comparing me to someone who didn’t even notice that he’d died. What does that say about me? About my relationship with our children? I feel like all I do is argue with Jazz these days and god knows where Danny goes to half the time-”

“Maddie, don’t do that to yourself,” Jack said softly, tilting her face up towards him with a gloved hand. “Once you go down that rabbit hole, there’s no digging yourself out. I think it’s just part of being a parent, always worrying that you’re not doing things right. Sometimes,” Jack gaze dropped, troubled. “Sometimes I enter the room and Danny looks at me and freezes like he expects me to do something terrible... He’s just easily startled but it still hurts.”

“Phantom is an echo, not a child,” Maddie nodded quietly to herself, trying to fall back on her usual logic but it tasted wrong in her mouth. He was a ghost... but also a child. “I wonder what he was like when he was alive? His personality seems remarkably preserved, he must have been a vibrant young man.”

“Or his death was particularly traumatic,” Jack mumbled. “Painful deaths usually leave powerful ghosts. And most healthy teens don’t just drop dead for nothing.”  A chill fell over the lab.

“How could they not notice?” Maddie whispered with horror. “What sort of parent wouldn’t see that their child was dead, what? Now two years in?”

“Not everyone is as good a mom as you are, Mads,” Jack said, pulling her into his chest. “Neglectful parents are a dime a dozen sadly. He could’ve been a runaway too, ran off and died leaving his folks still holding out hope that he’d come home. Or maybe...” he frowned, “maybe he’s pretending he’s still alive.”

“No, he couldn’t keep the charade for this long,” Maddie gasped but the horrible idea had been planted none the less. Phantom always seemed in such a hurry, like he had somewhere else to be. Was another woman tapping her feet as she waited for her boy to return like Maddie often did, not knowing her child was long gone?

“He’s a wily one, incredibly solid for a spirit. Sometimes I look at him and swear I see his chest moving like he’s breathing. Dampen his glow, dye the hair, change his clothes, he could probably pass as human so long as you didn’t look too close.”

“Jack,” she pulled back and looked at her husband in a panic. “Jack, if he’s pretending to be human when he’s not fighting then there’s a good chance he goes to Casper.” Her and Jack’s eyes widened with realization at the same time.

Their children’s high school has had an unprecedented amount of ghost attacks since the portal opened. They could never figure out why the ghosts targeted that school and ignored the other elementary, middle or even the other public high, Wendy. “What are we going to do, should we pull out Danny and Jazz? Even just until we figure this out.”

“That might tip the ghost off,” Jack said evenly but his teeth were biting into his cheek with worry. “We don’t want to set him off, who knows what he’d do if his cover was blown.” He might look like a harmless teen but Maddie had seen first hand how devastating Phantom could be when threatened. “I think we should tell the kids.”

“What? Why? You know they’re supportive of him!” Well Jazz certainly was, differing opinion on Phantom seemed to be the cause of half their arguments. Danny, truthfully, she didn’t really know his opinions on the ghost boy. He always looked so uncomfortable talking about ghosts with them so they just didn’t.

“Supportive maybe but they’re smart and observant,” Jack countered. “They could be our eyes and ears inside the school. They know better than to provoke a dangerous ghost,” Jack let his eyes drift over to the portal. “Besides, if the worst comes to pass, I want them to be prepared.”

“I don’t like it but you’re probably right,” Maddie grumbled. “If it keeps them safe then I’d do just about anything.” Jack smiled and leaned forward to kiss her gently, his lips a perfect match for her own.

“And this is why you could never be a bad mother,” he said. “Come on, let’s talk to them before they go to sleep.”

“Or Danny sneaks out again,” Maddie said to herself as she followed her husband up the stairs and heard him call for a Fenton family meeting.

It went about as well as Maddie had expected. Jazz alternated between being angry and anxious, telling them emphatically that Phantom wasn’t hiding among them at school and wasn’t a bad ghost to begin with. Maddie didn’t know what had come over her but she hardly recognized this irrational and emotional young lady as her daughter. She hoped it was just Senior year stress and hormones and not some ghostly influenced. Danny, as usual, sat there like he was a piece of the furniture and didn’t say much at all.

“Danno,” Jack said gently as he interrupted Jazz’s rant to engage their youngest. “You would tell us if you noticed anything unusual with one of your classmates, right? You know we’re telling you kids this because we trust you, love you and want to keep you safe.”

“Have you considered that keeping guns around the house, threatening to hunt and torture ghosts doesn’t make me feel very safe?” Danny said quietly, looking down at the table. “So what if he sometimes goes to school, maybe he wants to have something normal in his life. All I know is that if I was Phantom, maybe I would want to hide too. So people like you didn’t find me.” For the second time that night, the words of a teenage boy stopped her cold.

“Danny, what do you-” Danny didn’t elaborate and instead pushed his chair back and headed towards the door.

“Young Man, where are you going? It’s almost curfew and we’re not done here,” Maddie scolded even though she knew that neither her or Jack were in the control of the situation. Danny opened the door and didn’t look back.

“I won’t be long, just a lap around the block. I just, I just need some air, okay?” The house became quiet, no one quite knowing what to say. Jazz excused herself a moment later and walked back up to her room. She slammed her door shut. The ticking of the clock was the only sound to be heard in the suddenly silent kitchen.

“Is that how he sees us?” Jack asked quietly, looking down at his large hands. “Danny used to think what we did was so cool, when did that change?” When did he change? was the silent, unasked question. Or maybe they'd all changed, grown apart so slowly that no one had really noticed. Maddie stood up abruptly and stalked towards the door, strapping an ectogun to her hip as she went.

“Mads, maybe you should give him-”

“You know as well as I do that this is the peak time for ghosts. Danny, he might not trust us but I won’t let a disagreement get him killed.” It was full dark outside and she was halfway down the block before she realized she didn’t know which direction Danny had gone in. The night air was chill for mid-April as it shook off the last dregs of winter. She was feeling cold in her protective hazmat; Danny had left in short sleeves. Maybe she should run back and get his jacket for when she found him.

“Nice night for a walk,” Maddie jumped at the voice to find Phantom lazily floating in the air above her. His posture was casual but his eyes were sharp, searching as he always was. Green eyes glanced at her gun before meeting her eyes. “Looking for someone? Perhaps chasing someone who doesn’t want to found?” No way was she going to let him know her son was out here, alone and vulnerable.

“You actually,” she lied. He raised a disbelieving eyebrow but didn’t call her out. How could he be so expressive and so hard to read all at once? Against her better judgement, she thought again about the ghost as a human. “You called me Mom earlier, I want to know why.”

“What, you’ve never called someone something dumb by mistake?” Phantom flinched, crossing his arms defensively. “It was an accident, I’m just as upset as you are, believe me. Now if you don’t mind, I was trying to have a nice flight to clear my mind. Good luck finding whoever you were really looking for.”

“My husband thinks you’re pretending to be alive, that you’re lying to the town, going to school.” She searched his face for some sign that she was wrong but his expression was still as stone. “You’re putting people in jeopardy, I thought you wanted to play the hero!”

“I’m not doing anything,” He growled, his eyes flashing ominously in the dark. “I’m just doing the best I can, okay? If I go to the Nasty Burger or sit in on English Poetry when there’s no ghosts to fight then who’s hurt? Only me for trying to hang onto something real, something normal!”

“But the ghosts-”

“News flash! The ghosts would be here with or without me because of your stupid portal! I can’t even legally drive and yet you blame me for everything.” He scoffed and looked away, “you really are just like my mother.”

“So I do remind you of her,” she stated. “Your mother.”

“That’s a great thing to say to some kid you shoot at regularly,” Phantom said, icily, his green gaze boring into her over his shoulder. “What do you want me to say? Yeah, you do. It’s not just your voice or your face but the way you look at me like I’m nothing but a disappointment. How you make me feel like I’m some damaged child you need to hammer into shape.”

“You can’t - I’m not disappointed,” she said before she could think otherwise because how else could she react to such a charged statement? What kind of abusive, miserable home had he come from? Her heart clenched again to be compared to this woman.

“Yeah, I can tell,” Phantom snapped at her sarcastically but, like the time when he’d called her a bad mother, underneath the anger was sadness. “None of this matters, we’re both going to keep doing our own thing without each other’s approval. We’re enemies so let’s just forget this all happened and go back to you shooting at me while I beg for you just stop and listen for one second-”

“Alright, I’m listening!” Maddie shouted back, frustrated and sympathetic against her better judgement. “What is it you want to tell me so bad?” Phantom froze, like he hadn’t expected her to just stop like that. His shoulders hunched and his eyes were wide and he looked so much like a lost teenager that it pulled painfully at her heart. God, why did this one ghost bring out so many contradictory feelings in her?

“I want,” he stopped, swallowed and floated to the ground so they were near eye level. Sometime in the last year, he’d gotten taller than her. She hadn’t realized ghosts could grow, could age. Phantom was always the exception to every rule they had. “I want the same thing you want. I don’t like seeing ghosts coming through and hurting people. Before I was Phantom, I was nobody, I couldn’t help anyone. I can now and keeping people safe, it gives me a purpose I didn’t even have when I was human. Ghosts might just be the untethered remnants of dead people but we still love and feel and value things, just differently than you do. I want to keep ghosts from attacking people but without damaging them, we’re not all evil just... trying to find our own way to the finish line. If you’d just, not attack on sight, I could show you.”

It was perhaps the most she’d heard Phantom say all at once. He was rubbing his gloved fingers anxiously against his thigh and there was a desperate bit of want in his tragically young face. He wanted her to believe him, like a child looking to their mother for approval. As more time stretched on without her speaking, his hopeful look fell into a kind of sad acceptance. He looked like Danny had at the kitchen table not 15 minutes before.

“Okay,” she said finally. “We can give it a try for a bit. It’s not a truce exactly but so long as you’re not causing harm, Jack and I won’t shoot at you.” It wasn’t much but the boy looked like he’d handed her the moon and then some. He floated up a little, his boots jittered with excitement. She gaped when he reached forward and grasped her hand only to shake it enthusiastically. His hand was chilled but solid in her own.

“Yeah, you got a deal! Don’t worry, Mo- Ma’am you won’t have to worry about me, I’ll be a good little ghost, scouts honor! not that I was, uh, ever in the scouts. If things go well, I’d be happy to tell you more about ghosts and the Zone. I’ll even give you a tour if you’d like.” His smile was infectious and she bit her lip to resist the natural urge to smile back.

Maybe Phantom was a ghost, a sad child who’d died far too young but he was also someone’s son. That woman, however, hadn’t been able to protect him, to support him. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to give the ghost boy a chance and maybe Maddie could fill in something his other mother couldn’t. Perhaps she could even learn how to give her own children what they needed too.

“We’ll see,” Maddie hummed. “Now, you were going to go flying and I need to find my son before he catches his death, that is, if he’ll even talk to me.”

“He will,” Phantom said softly. “My mom messed up, hurt me sometimes but I knew she loved me and I love her. I don’t know your son but I do know what it’s like to be a son and your mom is... whether you’re living, dead or in-between, she’s always your mom. Maybe he’s worried you won’t love him, the things he’s done or believes in.” He looked away and rubbed the back of his neck, “Of course, I don’t really know you and your family. Usually try and avoid you guys, being ghost hunters and all. Even your daughter is pretty scary.”

“That would be pretty weird, a ghost surrounded by hunters,” her lips twitched upwards despite herself as she imagined Phantom chatting with Jack and Jazz in the living room. The image wasn’t quite as strange as she’d initially thought. Who knows where this shaky truce would lead them? Phantom took that as his excuse to leave and flew off into the night. Maddie watched him go, she started up the block when she got a series of texts a few minutes later.

Danny: I’m home, sorry for running off like that Danny: I don’t like the way you talk about ghosts the way some people talk about race or gender. I want to make opinions based on facts and understanding, not half baked theories Danny: I’d be willing to talk more, if you’d stop being so stubbornly certain you’re right and just listened for a change Danny: I love you, Mom I don’t think I say that enough. Sometimes I feel scared to, like you won’t understand Danny: Jazz came down and Dad brought out the special fudge Danny: Come home, its cold out

Maddie brought her phone to her lips, looking up in the sky as if she might see Phantom still flying around. That boy still loved his mother, the mother who’d hurt him. She didn’t want to be like Phantom’s mom: distant, cruel, unwilling to listen. If she could hold out an olive branch for her enemy, then she certainly could for her son.

Mom: I love you too, baby, never doubt that. I think I'm ready to listen now. Mom: I’m on my way home, save some fudge for me.

I am waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, Just around the corner. All is well.

[love-and-monsters]

Cavern and Foe

M elf X GN reader, 8,276 words.

After coming across a sworn enemy and shooting him, you both fall into an underground cavern. The only way out is to work together. If, of course, you can manage it. 

You unfurled yourself from your hunting crouch and headed a few steps further into the forest. It was unnaturally quiet in the dusk, and you could feel your stomach grinding hungrily against your ribs- it had been hours since your last meal at dawn, but you still hadn’t managed to catch anything. The only animal you had managed to hit with your arrow had been a deer, and that had only been in the flank. Generally, your ritehood was not going well.

It would be another week and a half before you were allowed back in your village. Hunting wasn’t strictly necessary for the ritehood; there were plenty of people before you who had survived on a diet of plants alone, whether by choice or necessity. But an unwillingness or inability to bring down prey did preclude you from your chosen profession.

You wanted to be a warrior. And that meant proving that you were strong and skilled enough to become one.

Something rustled the undergrowth behind you. You shifted your weight, turning your body toward the noise without making any of your own. With only the smallest, most delicate motions, you removed an arrow from your quiver and threaded it. There were precious few of them left- you were going to need to make this shot count.

The rustling moved closer to you. You squinted through the woods, trying to make out the shape moving between the trees. It was tall. Perhaps a bear? Taking down one of those would surely confirm your path as a warrior. But it would have to be fairly young to be so quiet- bears were usually much heavier.

You caught a glimpse of tanned skin through the trees and loosed your arrow. It plunged straight and true into the flesh of your target.

The scream that went up made your hair stand on end. It was full of raw agony, a nearly human scream, but with a razor-sharp edge that made it sound a little like a wildcat’s. Your heart leapt. A cougar, perhaps? That would earn you a warrior position, surely. Barely breathing, you plunged through the woods toward your target.

What you saw made you stumble to a graceless stop.

It looked almost like a person, wearing off-white robes with an embroidered neckline. From its head, poking through its black hair, rose a crown of short, bone white horns. Its ears were long and pointed, extending almost past the back of its head.

An elf. You whipped out your bow and pointed an arrow at its throat. An elf. With its head, you would be the most respected member of your town. You could be a warrior, if you wanted; you would probably be given a high-ranking position right off the bat. Who would deny you, after you had killed one of your people’s greatest enemies?

The victory was already singing sweet inside your head, so you were too distracted to notice the elf’s tail whipping across the ground. It hooked your ankle with a surprisingly strong grip for its thin size and yanked.

Your feet went from underneath you. Only barely did you manage to catch yourself on your elbows, and by the point, the elf was on his feet, sprinting back into the forest.

Rage flashed through you. In seconds, you were on your feet, plunging after him. You could see him darting between trees and scrambling through the undergrowth. Bright spots of blood stood out against the deep green of the forest, guiding you after him.

He was slowing down, stumbling more and more. The splotches of blood were growing bigger- running seemed to be making the injury worse. You were right behind him, gaining on him with every step. Without breaking your stride, you pulled your bow off your back and nocked an arrow. You trained your sight on him. All you needed to do was get one good hit- just one.

And, before you could blink, he dropped out of sight.

Confused, you staggered, trying to kill your momentum. Where had he-

And then you pitched into the same pit he’d fallen down.

You felt yourself hit the ground in slow motion. One of your arms twisted underneath you. There was a split second of stomach-turning horror where you heard and felt your bone crunch as you landed on it. Then there was one second of nothing.

And then the pain hit you.

Agony. You couldn’t move your arm. You couldn’t fathom moving it. There was nothing to move. Your arm was nothing more than a white-hot blaze of pain. It made your stomach churn with the awfulness of it and you rolled onto your belly so you could vomit. Sobs and dry heaves mingled together, leaving your body convulsing and trembling.

Time lost all meaning for a while, but eventually, you got used to the pain. It was still there, but you were able to take one small part of your brain away from screaming in agony and figure out what was happening.

You were in some kind of small cave. The hole you had fallen through was distant above you, far enough away that you could blot it out with the palm of your hand. The room curved upward, like an inverted bowl. It was only the size of a small room, perhaps ten feet across. Sitting across the room, glaring at you, was the elf you had just been chasing.

There was a long, awkward silence. He was clutching at his shoulder, blood pumping slowly down his front. You moved instinctively for your bow, but froze when you touched it- it had been smashed upon landing, no more than splinters and string. Not that it mattered- you weren’t shooting one handed. With your good hand, you fumbled for your knife, but you weren’t excited about your chances- the broken arm was your strong arm, and you were pretty sure that even injured, he would be able to wrestle the knife away from you.

“It would seem we are at a stalemate,” the elf said. His voice was slightly accented and rather soft. “You cannot kill me, I have no desire to kill you, and we are not getting out of here any time soon.”

You glared at him from across the room, as much as you could manage. It was hard to stop your expression from twisting into a grimace of pain. “Maybe you’re giving up. I’m going to climb out.”

The elf somehow managed to make an eyebrow raise look sarcastic, but he said nothing else. Cradling your broken arm, you examined the wall. Unfortunately, the hole you had fallen through appeared to be roughly at the apex of a dome. Attempting to scale it would mean pretty big sections where you hung nearly upside down, a feat that would be difficult with two functional arms. With only one still working, it was nearly impossible.

That didn’t mean you weren’t going to give it a try. There were a few rocks that jutted out from the wall, creating solid footholds. You braced your good arm against the wall and started to climb.

Your fingers slipped from the stone when you were only couple of feet above the ground. You struck the ground hard, knocking the wind out of your lungs. For a moment, you just lay there, gasping and choking as pain radiated up your broken arm.

It took a few minutes for you to be able to sit up and you risked a glance at your broken arm. You had been avoiding looking at it, mostly out of fear.

Your stomach twisted as you looked at it. The bone had shifted against your skin. It hadn’t broken through, but you could see the unsettling jut of it, twisting the shape of your arm. It took several deep breaths and staring determinedly at the ground before you could settle your stomach.

“You’ll need to set that.” The elf sound smug. “It’ll be useless until then, and worse than useless if it heals like this.”

You looked down at your arm again. Experimentally, you probed it with your fingertips. The pain was bad enough that your vision hazed over for a moment, leaving you trembling and gasping on the ground.

When you came back to yourself, the elf was tearing strips of his toga apart. He wound the strips around the gash in his shoulder, tying it off. The movement of the arm seemed limited, but it was leagues better than yours. He paced slowly along his side of the room, resting his fingers against the wall. You followed the motion of his tail. His expression was smooth and unperturbed, but his tail whipped and coiled behind him, twining close to his legs.

Time slipped by with agonizing slowness. You could only tell it was passing because the light filtering into the cave was gradually growing dimmer. Your stomach growled, adding its own complaint to the aches and pains you were already feeling. You had been trying not to move, since that only seemed to aggravate your broken arm, but finally, driven by your groaning stomach, you shifted to look for your pack.

The elf watched you as you grabbed for your bag. It was small, but it contained a few days’ worth of rations. Looking at them made your nerves flare. There wasn’t enough to last you until your arm healed, and even if it had, you weren’t sure it was going to help. Your arm was not healing properly without being set, and every tiny touch made a nauseating wave of pain roll through you. You weren’t setting it on your own, and if your arm wasn’t set, you weren’t climbing out. Starvation was inevitable. It was only a matter of time.

Your stomach growled and you reached fumblingly for the food with your non-dominant hand. Fuck it. Might as well eat. Nothing would be solved by going hungry. You ripped into one of the strips of dried meat. Ugh. If it was going to be your last meal, you really wished it could have been something that tasted better.

“You have food?” The elf had gone still on the other side of the cave. One of his arms was pressed to his middle, like he was trying to massage away hunger pains. He was staring fixedly at you. In the dim light of the cave, his cheeks looked sallow and his eyes, sunken. Was he starving? You pulled the food bag tighter against your chest. Would you be able to hold him off if he decided to charge? He seemed to be thinking the same thing, eyes flicking over you. You might be able to get a few good kicks in, and if you got a lucky shot on his injury, you could probably incapacitate him. But he could easily incapacitate you, too. It was all up to luck. And neither of you were willing to take that chance.

The tension went out of him after a moment and he slumped against the wall, still staring at your bag. Your eyes drifted to the tight bandage at his shoulder. “Do you know how to set a broken bone?” you asked.

He looked at you cautiously. “I am aware of how to do it. I’ve never actually done it, though.”

“I’ll cut you a deal,” you said. “Set my arm and I’ll give you something to eat.”

His eyes drifted from your bag to you, then back to the bag. “And how are you going to stop me from twisting your arm and stealing the bag?” he asked.

“I’ve still got my knife on me,” you said, indicating the blade at your hip. “If you reach for the bag, I’ll have just enough time to gut you before you grab it.”

He eyed the knife. “And how do I know you’re not going to try to stab me the second I get within range?”

“Because then I’m not getting out of here either. I need my arm set. And you need to eat. We both need this. I’m not going to be stupid about this if you’re not.” The elf looked at you for a moment, weighing his options, then nodded.

He approached you slowly, eyes scanning your every move. You held as still as possible, keeping your hands low and nonthreatening. When he reached you, he crouched at your side, turning his body away from you. It was clear he was trying to keep any vulnerable points away from you.

His hands brushed your arm and you gave a strangled groan. “Usually, you’d set it with some sort of stick or piece of wood to keep the bone straight as it heals,” the elf said. “But I don’t have any of that.”

You glanced around. Your bow had chunks of wood that were as long as your forearm, but they were all curved. “Arrows,” you said. “I have a couple. Will those work?”

The elf lifted your quiver and slid one of the arrows free. He examined it for a moment, then deftly snapped off the tip and dropped it on the ground. You grimaced. The elf ripped at the hem of his clothes, tearing off another long strip of fabric. When he had a long enough chunk, he lay the fabric and arrow together and took your arm in his hands. Despite everything, his touch was soft and gentle, barely brushing your skin.

“The bone is out of place. I’ll have to shift it back in,” he said. “I can’t guarantee it’ll heal perfectly.”

“I’m good with good enough,” you said. You turned your head away. Looking at your arm was starting to make you feel sick. “Just go for it.”

“Hold on.” He reached down and seized another arrow. After snapping off the tip again, he pressed the body of the arrow to your lips. “Bite on it. It’ll hurt.”

You seized the arrow in your teeth. He nodded and looked back down at your arm. “All right. Three… t-” He hadn’t even finished saying two before he was pressing on your broken arm.

Your vision went white. Agony blazed through your brain. You couldn’t think. Distantly, you thought you could hear someone screaming. There was the vague sense that you were thrashing around. But you couldn’t be sure. The pain commanded all of your attention.

Slowly, the pain diminished. It didn’t go away, but you started being able to have coherent thoughts around it. You were lying down, sweat soaking into the dirt. Fine tremors ran over your body. The elf was sitting over you, looking ruffled.

“You kicked me,” he said. His voice was winded and, as your senses returned, you realized he was clutching his side.

“Sorry,” you said. Your voice was raspy and your throat protested even the simple aspect of talking. You’d said it reflexively, but to your surprise, you realized you were actually sorry. Genuinely, you hadn’t meant to hurt him. “You could, uh, kick me back.” It was a stupid thing to say, but you had said it so often to your siblings that it was nearly automatic. To your surprise, the elf laughed.

“I won’t.” He let out a slow breath. “Don’t move your arm. It’s bound, but it’s not stable. Arrows aren’t the best for splinting.”

Your arm was still throbbing bad enough to make your stomach turn, but you had enough wherewithal to turn and grab your bag. “Here,” you said, thrusting it at him. “Take some.”

He looked at you cautiously, then reached into the bag and started rummaging through your food. It would have been easy for him to drag the entire bag away from you. There was no way you were in enough of a shape to stop him. Instead, he pulled out a tied-off bag of dried fruit and laid the bag back at your feet. Transaction concluded, he retreated to his side of the cave.

It was rapidly getting darker in the cave. The sun was setting, and any light that you once had was fading. You shivered. The cave was chilly. Usually, you managed nights in the woods with a fire, but there was no wood and you weren’t quite desperate enough to sacrifice your clothes. Instead, you lay back on the dirt ground and did your best to cover your body with a coat. Shivering sucked. It made your arm ache even worse. Gradually, the cave dimmed into pitch blackness.

Despite your exhaustion, sleep refused to come. The sickening pain of your broken arm notwithstanding, every noise from across the cave made your eyes snap open again. Could he see you? There were rumors about elves having dark vision. If you fell asleep, it would be simple for him to steal your knife and slit your throat.

Your paranoia kept you from engaging in any but the lightest of sleep. The slightest sound brought you back to full wakefulness, and you never really lost consciousness. You only drifted in the dim, dreamy area between wakefulness and sleep.

Morning came to find you stiff, exhausted, and in a worse mood than you had been in the night. The pain in your arm was more insistent, a constant throbbing that shoved its way to the forefront of your mind. The elf appeared to be in only moderately better shape. He was holding his arm in a strange way, suggesting that his own wound had stiffened overnight, though he looked better rested.

Slowly and uncomfortably, you pushed yourself into a sitting position. The elf watched you, caution in every line of his body. You ignored him, instead scrounging in your bag for breakfast. Rationing was probably a good idea, so despite your weakness, you only ate a few strips of dried meat and a piece of hard biscuit. It barely filled the aching void of your stomach. Trying to distract yourself, you started fussing with the bandages on your arm.

“What do you think you’re doing, idiot?” the elf hissed at you. You paused, looking up at him. He had shifted closer to glare at you. “I went to all that trouble to bind your arm and you’re just screwing it up!”

Irritation flared in your chest. “I am not screwing it up! I’m making it tighter!”

He snorted. “Sure. Just don’t expect me to rebind it again when it comes apart. I’m not looking to get injured by you again.”

The anger grew brighter and hotter. Frustration at being trapped, injured, and afraid spilled over. “If you hadn’t been trespassing in the first place, I wouldn’t have shot at you! What were you doing on our land?” It felt good to vent your spleen on someone.

“Your land?” the elf snarled back. “You can’t own land! Just like a human, to think you can come in here and take whatever you want-”

“We take whatever we want?” Your voice echoed in the small space of the cave. “You stole our crops! But sure, act all high and mighty because we like to make sure our own people get fed-”

“You can’t steal a living creature! What lives belongs to the land and the land is for all! Only a human would want to possess everything!” The elf stormed toward you, jabbing a finger toward your chest.

“Only an elf would claim the moral high ground while stealing food from the mouths of our children!” You rose to meet him, faces inches apart. His features were as delicate as any elf’s beautiful even when twisted in rage. The constant ache of your arm only spurred your anger further.

“We did no such thing! If you have not sustained the land so that it will sustain you, then you only have yourselves to blame,” the elf sniffed. Red haze clouded your vision.

“How dare you! All you elves claim to be so pure and noble, but you’re all just a bunch of smug bastards, lording your superiority over everyone else! I bet if your people had to fight starvation off by tooth and nail every year, you wouldn’t be so damn high and mighty!”

“At least we’re not the ones shooting any human on sight! We’re not a bunch of savage murderers!”

“We can’t trust you not to take our stuff! It’s either that or you rob us blind and we’ll die as surely as if you slit our throats!” You had pushed each other to the middle of the cave, right under the single shaft of sunlight. Your voices echoed off the walls, filling the space with overlapping noise.

“And of course, your first instinct as a human is violence! You couldn’t negotiate to save your stupid hide!” The elf leaned over you, his face barely apart from yours. “All you know is how to shoot and ki-”

Something underneath you groaned. The ground shifted, buckling under the elf’s feet. He wobbled. Directly beneath him, the floor of the cave shuddered. You backed away, skittering toward the wall. The cave floor was unstable. Perhaps it hadn’t been able to take the weight of the two of you standing together. Perhaps your voices had been loud enough to shake something loose. Or perhaps it was just the last straw on the camel’s back.

You saw a look of undisguised terror on the elf’s face as the floor on his side of the cave crumbled away.

It was pure instinct on your part. Perhaps it would have said more to your character if it hadn’t been, if you had made the conscious decision to save an enemy. But it wasn’t. You just saw his look of fear as he went down and lunged to catch him.

Your good hand caught one of his. For a horrifying moment, he kept going, fingers sliding through yours. Just in time, his other hand snapped up and caught your wrist. His fingers were slick with sweat, but he managed to hold on.

You groaned. You weren’t quite lying on top of it, but the position you were in was putting your weight onto your bad arm. It took all your strength to just hold onto him. There was no way you were going to be able to pull him back up and if this went on, he was going to pull you over the edge too. But you couldn’t let go. You couldn’t let him fall.

His legs scrambled at the crumbling ledge beneath him. “I can’t pull you up,” you said. “Can you try to climb out?”

“I’m trying!” He pulled on your arm, trying to climb you like a rope. You kicked your legs furiously, trying to find something to anchor yourself with.

One of your feet caught on a chunk of stone. You wrapped your legs around it, hooking your foot around your ankle. Slowly, sick with the agonizing pain in your arm, you pulled yourself away from the ledge.

He scrambled up onto solid ground as soon as he could grip the ledge. Both of you scurried away from the edge of the pit, huddling together against the wall. Now that your adrenaline was fading, the pain in your arm was crawling to new levels. You must have done something to it when you lunged for him. Cautiously, you probed the bone through the bandage. A coil of pain kicked you straight in the stomach. You rolled over and vomited bile over the ground.

When you were done, you sat back up, back pressed to the wall. Your skin was clammy and fine tremors wracked your frame.

Slowly, you turned your head to look at the elf. He was pressed against the wall, smudged with dirt and a few smears of blood. His eyes were focused on you, wide as saucers. “You saved my life.”

You spat a bit of stomach acid onto the dirt. “Yeah. So, I guess it’s all evened out now, huh? Maybe you can stop yelling at me for almost killing you.”

He blinked at you. “No, I mean- why did you save me? If you wanted me dead, there was no better chance than that one.”

“I don’t know,” you said. “I don’t know why I saved you. I wasn’t thinking. I just saw that you were scared and- I don’t know. It’s one thing to attack a trespasser. It’s another to just… let someone die.”

The elf stared at you for a moment, the whites of his eyes bright against the dirty background of the cave. “Your arm,” he finally said, “is it… okay?”

You didn’t want to look at it. “I don’t know.”

“Sit back against the cave wall,” the elf said, waving his hand toward you. He crawled over to you, settling next to your injured arm. You turned your head away. “I’m going to unbind it. Please try not to kick me again.”

“No promises,” you said, trying to smile through your gritted teeth. You thought you caught a quiet huff of laughter as he bent over you.

Cold fingers delicately unwrapped the cloth bandages and removed the splint. The elf sucked in a sharp breath. Your stomach dropped. “That bad?”

“Um,” the elf said. “You sort of lay on top of it when you grabbed for me, right? I think you, um. I think you pushed the bone a little further out of alignment.” He inhaled and exhaled slowly. There was a measure of unsteadiness to it. “It’s hard to see down here, so maybe it’s not as bad as it looks.”

“How bad does it look?” you asked.

The elf grimaced. “It’s… swelling. And the bruises are bad. And the bone’s out of place again.”

“Fix it,” you said. “You shoved the bone back in place before, do it again.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I can stabilize it, but you’ve jostled it more out of place than it was before. I don’t want to risk damaging anything else.”

You leaned your head back against the wall. “Just do what you can.”

He at least attempted for gentleness this time, but you still had to grit your teeth against the sheer awfulness of the pain. His fingers were nimble, and the warmth of his body against yours was almost comforting. When he leaned away from you, you found yourself missing the contact.

The elf was apparently reluctant to part as well, because even after he finished with your arm, he stayed next to you, close enough that your shoulders brushed. “We need to get out of here,” he said.

“Yes. We established that already. The problem is how,” you said. “I can’t climb out of here even without a broken arm, and unless you’re hiding some impressive wall-scaling abilities, you can’t either.”

Something tapped against your side. You looked down to see the elf’s tail twisting and coiling on the ground. Occasionally, the fluffy tip would hit you, though it seemed to be more incidental than intentional. “No, I can’t. Especially not with an arrow wound.” He moved a hand over it absently. “But there has to be a way out.” He got up and started pacing along the wall, touching it with his palm. His tail waved behind him, swinging from side to side.

“Maybe,” you said, unconvinced. “Or maybe not.”

He fumbled along the wall for a few minutes, before lashing out with a kick. “Dammit! The floor crumbled so damn easy, why won’t these walls?”

He kicked the wall again and again, sending tiny stones skittering across the floor. You watched, wide eyed. The elf slammed a particularly hard kick into the wall and yelped, then started hopping around, clutching his foot. He slumped to the ground, mumbling and cursing.

“You all right?” you asked.

“Just bruised,” he groused. “Sorry. I get grouchy when I’m hungry.”

“We’ve got some more supplies,” you said, nudging the bag closer to him. He snorted, pushing the bag back over to you.

“Not that kind of hungry. There’s no light down here, except that tiny little patch.” He pointed up to the distant hole in the ceiling. The direct sunlight filtered down into the gaping hole in the ground. “I’ve been trying to meditate, but it’s just not effective without the sun. It’s making my skin crawl.” He gave an affected shudder before glancing at you. “How are you managing it? You’ve barely been affected by night-sickness at all.”

You stared at him. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about?”

The elf looked back at you with a similarly confused expression. “Night-sickness. Do humans call it something different? You know, when you haven’t done your light meditation for too long?” You shook your head. “Do you have totally different words for all of it? Look, how do you process the light from the sun into energy?”

“How do we- what?” You were staring to get frustrated. “You’re not making any sense. We don’t convert light into energy or whatever.”

“Then how do you get energy?” the elf said. He sounded well and truly bewildered, like the very idea was completely unheard of.

“We eat food? You know what eating food it. I’ve seen you eat.” Several expressions flitted across the elf’s face, from confusion to surprise to something like guilt.

“You only eat food?” he asked. You nodded. “Ah. That, er. Explains some things.”

“What does it explain?” you asked. “And what do you mean we only eat food? What else would we eat? Rocks?”

The elf chuckled weakly. “Then you would be a lot better position down here. No. Elves need sunlight. Without it, we get sick, and we can die. Food is still necessary, but we don’t need much. We have maybe one meal a day and we meditate to gain our energy other times.” His tail hooked around his chest, curling and twitching. “We can eat more food, but it’s… wasteful, I suppose. Or maybe overly indulgent.”

Several ideas were dawning upon you in the same moment. “That’s why elves don’t have farms. You don’t need them. You don’t eat much, so you can afford to just forage every now and then and gather what you want. Human farms must look greedy to you.”

“It did come across as a little…” He made a vague hand gesture. “A little gluttonous, perhaps. To have so much food and to be so possessive over it felt like an overreaction.”

“But we need it,” you said. “We got dangerously close to famine last winter.”

The elf shrank back. “We didn’t know! We don’t grow our own food! I mean, it’s not fun to go without food, but we can live. The idea of planting and growing living things that only you can harvest is just weird! You plant things because you like seeing things grow and get healthier, not because you have to.”

You kneaded at your forehead. “Are you telling me the war between our species for years has been because we didn’t know you guys eat sunlight?”

“We don’t eat sunlight,” the elf said. “It’s more of an energy transfer process. And you could have asked.”

“You could have asked before stealing our food!”

“We didn’t know it was stealing!” The elf had drawn closer to you as you were talking, and you were suddenly overly aware of how close you were. You could feel the heat of his body against yours. A wave of buzzing heat spread over your body from the pit of your stomach. Your eyes were unsettlingly drawn to his lips. His upper lip was fuller than his bottom one. Your mind wandered, almost casually, over to how it would feel to kiss the upper lips, to explore it with your teeth-

“Okay, get off me!” You struggled away from him. It was hard to tell in the dim light, but you thought there was a red flush staining his cheekbones. “It doesn’t matter how this whole thing started. Maybe, if we can tell people that this whole thing started with a misunderstanding, we can get them to end it. Or at least stop being so belligerently violent toward each other.”

The elf glanced at his injured shoulder. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to try. But, uh. We’re still kind of trapped. We’re not going to be stopping a war if the only thing people find are our skeletons.”

“Which means we need to find a way out of here,” you said. You stood up, your legs wobbling. You hadn’t realized exactly how tired you were. Apparently falling into a pit, breaking your arm, and then rescuing the guy you had previously tried to kill was an exhausting process.

The elf stepped closer to you, eyeing you like he was worried you were going to fall over. “I looked around. I didn’t see anything.”

“Might as well give it another pass,” you said. “Not like we’ve got that much else to do.” You started to pace along the wall, trying to feel for any weak points that might lead to a tunnel. The elf stayed by your side, tail flicking around your ankles.

No matter how closely you examined the walls, they never became anything other than solid stone. “There isn’t a way out,” the elf said. He was starting to look despondent, slumping against the wall. “I’m going to die down here.”

“No one’s going to die down here any time soon,” you said. “We just need to figure out a way out of here! There must be one.”

“Or the only way out is the same way we fell in, which we can’t get to.” He watched as you kicked at the wall some more. “Don’t bother. It’s not going to work. If I couldn’t get out, you’re not going to do it.”

“Don’t be an asshole. Do people let you get away with this all the time at your home just because you’ve got a pretty face?” you snapped, then realized what you’d said. The elf, apparently unable to believe his ears, stared back at you.

“Er- what?”

“Never mind! I wasn’t thinking. It’s the pain. It’s making me loopy.” You gave another kick toward the wall. It remained as solid as ever. “Fuck!”

The elf stood back up. “Kicking solid rock isn’t going to help. You’re so stubborn. Are all humans like that?”

“Well, we don’t all give up like elves do, apparently,” you snorted.

“You waste your energy with fruitless endeavors instead,” the elf replied. He walked over to you, examining the wall. He still managed to have the refined air of an elf, even after spending a while at the bottom of a cave. “It’s not going to collapse.”

You staggered back from the wall. Your leg ached and the wall had suffered absolutely no damage. “Well, we can’t just stand here and do nothing.” You paced away from the wall and toward the pit. You couldn’t see the bottom, though it was already so dark it could have only been a few feet down. A breeze rustled your hair.

The elf sat down next to you. “You’re not thinking of throwing yourself off, are you?”

“No. You could push me, though. If you’re annoyed I’m still here.” It was a very weak attempt at a joke. The elf didn’t smile.

“I’m glad you’re here, actually,” he said. “Even if you’re the one who got me into this. I don’t want to be alone down here.”

“Yeah,” you said. “I, uh. Don’t mind having you down here either. I mean. I’m not happy you’re going to die too. If I could get you out, I would.”

“Me too. I just wish someone knew what we did. Maybe it could help people,” the elf said. His shoulder pressed against yours as he leaned closer to you. You leaned back into him. The contact was nice. He smelled oddly good, despite everything. Another breeze drifted up from the cavern beneath you, stirring your hair.

The elf went stiff next to you. “Did you feel that?”

“The breeze? Yeah. What’s the big deal?”

“It smells like the forest! Like fresh air! There must be a way out down there!” The elf scrambled to his feet. “If we can just climb down, we can get out.”

You looked uncertainly into the pit. The sides were jagged, with plenty of hand and footholds, but you weren’t sure how far you would be able to make it. “You’ll have to go on ahead,” you said. “I can’t scale the wall, not with my arm like this.”

The elf’s face fell. “I can’t just leave you here.”

“If you can get out, you can get help. I’ll be fine.”

The elf’s tail coiled around his legs and his ears twitched frantically. “No. I’m not going to leave you.”

“You’re going to have to! I can’t climb like this, and you’re even more of an idiot than I thought if you’re going to stay here just because I can’t get out. Go!” You waved your hands at him, ushering him toward the edge of the pit.

“No.” The elf planted his feet, fingers curling into fists. “I can get you out of here. You saved my life. I’m not going to abandon you.”

“Technically, I save your life after trying to kill you. So, I would say that sort of evens the whole thing out,” you said. The elf rolled his eyes, glancing around the small cave. “Look, the longer we stand around here chatting, the less time you have to get out of here-”

“No. I have an idea,” the elf said. He fumbled with the hem of his clothes, tearing it into strips. Most of his stomach was exposed, showing off toned muscle. You deliberately did not look at him. It was not difficult because he was definitely not appealing to look at. “Come here.” You took a cautious step closer to him. “No, come here.” He seized your arm and tugged you next to him. “Stand still.” He took the cloth strips, which he’d tied into a long band, and wrapped them around both of your waists, tying you together.

“What’s this going to do?” you asked. One of the elf’s arms fell loosely around your waist, trying to steady himself against you. An odd jolt jumped through your core. You froze.

“It’s a tether between us. I should be strong enough to support at least some of your weight. You can use your good arm to climb and I can support your other side.” You tried to twist your head to look at him, but that put your faces dangerously close together. You looked away. “But we’ll have to work together.”

“I can do that,” you said. The elf’s hand pressed to your back. His tail twined around your leg for a moment.

“Okay. Just watch your step.” It took some careful negotiating of your positions to start scaling down the cliff, but you managed. Your arm screamed with pain, but the elf’s body pressed against yours, bracing you. Climbing down the rock wall was a slow, uncomfortably process. Once or twice you slipped and the elf had to pause and brace himself to support you, and he even slipped once and you had to bear his weight. It was difficult, but you managed to coordinate your movements. Without speaking, you and the elf moved as one. His tail looped around your waist. It couldn’t support your weight, but it was comforting to feel the elf’s presence.

The wall went on and on. Your arm ached from the jostling alone, and you kept bumping it against outcropping stones. The elf’s breathing had taken on a ragged edge- clearly he was struggling to hold up both of you.

“Can you tell how much further?” you asked. The elf squirmed, trying to get a look at the ground.

“No. It’s really dark. Could be a couple feet. Could be further. I don’t know.” The elf leaned closer to you. “This may have been a bad idea. I… I can’t hold on much longer.”

“I know.” Your own arm was trembling. Going up was no longer an option. There was no way you’d make it back to the top. The only hope was that the ground wasn’t much further away.

The elf moved down a couple more feet. You could tell his moves were laborious. Maybe if he hadn’t been helping you, he would be doing fine, but supporting another person was taking its toll. “I’m sorry,” you said. “This is all my fault.”

“Yeah,” the elf said, “it kind of is, isn’t it?” He sighed. “At least we know the reason our species had a feud, though. Even if no one else ever does, we’ll know the truth.”

“Yeah,” you agreed. “I’m sorry I shot you and I’m sorry we ended up down here. But I’m gad we met.”

The elf’s tail curled tighter around your waist. There was almost no light, so you couldn’t see him, but you could feel him next to you. Just the two of you, huddled together in the dark. Even that small comfort felt precious. “I’m glad, too.”

As he moved to take another step down, the foothold he was using crumbled. You heard him yelp and felt him scramble to regain his grip, but his movements were clumsy and fumbling. The belt at your waist tugged and you tried to brace yourself, but it didn’t matter. You were tired and your weak grip was no longer enough. The elf’s weight pulled your grip free and you tumbled into the dark.

You barely had opened your mouth to scream when you slammed into the elf, landing squarely on top of him. He huffed out a breath and wheezed awkwardly as you tried to figure out what had just happened.

“What was that?” you groaned, struggling to push yourself up. There was just enough light to see by, which meant that you got a good look at the elf’s face, which was directly under yours, as he stared back at you. Your noses were almost close enough to touch. You could feel his heart pounding against your chest where you were lying on top of him.

“Um,” you squeaked. The elf didn’t seem to be processing the situation any better. He stared at you, eyes wide.

You recovered first. “We lived!” You scrambled up, wobbling a little. Your legs didn’t seem to be fully aware of the fact that you were alive. The elf made his way to his feet, equally unsteady.

“And you feel that, right?” The elf’s ears were twitching and his tail was waving in a constant, smooth motion. He tilted his head back, focused on the airflow of the cave. “The breeze is stronger. This way.” He took off at a light jog. You jogged after him, arm cradled against your chest.

There was a tiny glow of light in the cave that grew brighter and brighter the further you traveled. The tunnel sloped upward, your calves burning as you continued up the increased grade. The elf kept glancing back at you, making sure you were following him.

You turned a small bend and the light pouring into the cave became blinding. Instinctively, you squeezed your eyes shut. One of your hands fumbled and caught on the elf’s arm. He grabbed you back, and, clinging to each other, you plunged into the undergrowth of the forest.

Your eyes were slow to adjust to the brilliance, but apparently the elf’s were not, because he made a choked noise of horror. You squinted, eyes watering. There were dark shapes around you, humanoid shapes. Relief flooded through you. “It’s okay,” you said. “It’s oka-”

The pointy end of a spear hovered right in front of your chest. You froze. The elf, despite being about an inch taller than you, was trying to retreat behind you. You shifted to stand more directly in front of him, good arm out.

Now that your eyes were more properly adjusted to the light, you could see who was gathered in front of you. It was a hunting party, all four of them holding enormous spears and very ready to plunge those spears into the chest of an interloping elf and anyone who defended him.

“Hey,” you said, keeping your voice was slow and soothing as you could manage. “Guys. It’s me.”

The spear wavered. The man in front, Elias, frowned. “Step away from the elf,” he said. “We can take you back to town, get you some treatment.”

The elf was gripping your clothes tightly. His eyes were wide and he glanced at you uncertainly. You could read the terror in his eyes, the utter fear that you were going to hand him over to the humans.

You braced yourself. “No. Look. There was an accident. He helped me, even after I tried to kill him. He comes with me.”

Bewildered looks were exchanged between the hunting party. “He’s trespassing,” Elias said, but there was no longer as much conviction in his voice. You drew yourself up, trying to look as authoritative and confident as possible.

“He saved my life. And he had important news for us. He stays with me.” You ushered the elf fully behind you, daring the hunters to get around you. They looked at Elias uncertainly, waiting for his say so. He looked back at them. Already, they were lowering their spears, and Elias seemed to sense that they were no longer going to attack confidently.

“All right,” he said. “But the elf stays under guard.”

“I stay with him,” you said. The hunting party fell in around you. The elf squeezed your hand. You could feel a world of gratitude through that small motion.

You refused to leave the elf, even as they questioned him and treated your arm. Explaining about what you had discovered took some time, and there was certainly no small amount of skepticism. But after hours of waiting and repeating yourself, a delegation of elves entered the town.

“Guess you’ll be heading back home soon,” you said. The elf nodded.

“I’m glad of that,” he said. “Though I think… I think I’ll miss you. Isn’t that strange? Missing the person who tried to kill you?”

“Just as strange as missing the person you tried to kill,” you said. “I’m glad I met you, Viatas,” You had learned his name soon after the other elves had arrived.

“I’m glad I met you, too.” He leaned in and gave you a gentle hug, careful not to disturb your arm. He was warm and he smelled surprisingly nice and your heartbeat pounded in your ears as he squeezed you.

“We’ll see each other again,” you promised. “Now that we’re actually talking, I think things are going to get better.”

“I hope so,” said Viatas. He waved to you once more before following the elvish delegation into the forest. You watched him until he had completely vanished between the trees.

Three weeks later, you paced around the entrance to the cave. The sun was low in the sky, washing the area around you in an amber glow.

The foliage rustled. You froze, eyes locking onto the spot where it shifted. There was a moment of silence, then Viatas emerged, hands raised.

“Not going to shoot me again, are you?” he asked. You shook your head.

“Still can’t hold the bow, actually. My arm’s not fully healed yet.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Viatas sat down next to you on a fallen log. “I didn’t make it worse, did I?”

“No. They said I probably never would have been able to use it properly if you hadn’t set it. It’s just a bad break. You saved my life and my arm.” You nudged his leg playfully and he laughed. “I’m glad you got my message.”

“I was glad to hear from you. I’ve been worried. I mean, things are going well in my home, but I wasn’t sure how your people were taking anything. You’ve been all right, haven’t you?” He gave you a concerned look and you nodded reassuringly.

“I’m fine. Actually, I asked you here to talk about something. I just got assigned as an ambassador to the elves.”

Viatas’ eyes widened. “Really?”

“Yeah. Apparently an elf will come to my town and I’ll go to yours and that’s supposed to help with interspecies relations. So, uh. I’ll need some help when I go. And I figured that you’d be a good person to ask. I mean, you’re the only elf I really know.”

Viatas frowned. “You try to kill me, kick me when I try to help you, and my reward for getting you out of the cave you were going to die in is more work?”

You sputtered. “You don’t have to! I was just thinking I’d offer-”

Viatas rested a reassuring hand on your arm. “I’m kidding.” He drew closer. In the dim light, shadows played appealingly over his features. You found it a little hard to breathe all of a sudden. “I would love to work with you.” He drew closer still. “In fact, I’ve rather missed you-”

You closed the distance, pressing your mouth to his. He moved in the same moment, lips molding to yours.

An amount of time passed. You weren’t really paying attention to how long. But you broke apart eventually. “You’re better at that than I thought you’d be,” Viatas said in a quiet, awestruck voice.

“Yeah?” you said. “I think you need some more practice.”

“Oh?” Viatas lifted his brows. “Well, perhaps I should get some.”

“Yeah,” you said, leaning close to him. “I think you should.”

[oatsn-honey]

coughing fits, thick blankets, and mario kart

for @cafeaulate_ on instagram!! 

masterlist

ao3

summary: "Kageyama, Shouyou is really sick."When Hinata gets sick on a day off, Kageyama somehow winds up being tasked with caring for him. He has one thing to say -- that boy is a new kind of stubborn. And he's kinda cute. Okay so maybe two things.

notes: this is for my bestie uwu!! for years she tried to get me into haikyuu and i just would not budge!! i wish i had listened to her sooner, because i love these boys sm i swear. i started watching it when i rlly needed a creative pick up, and it came in at the most perfect time-i hope u enjoy!

Kageyama dragged a hand down his face, sighing exasperatedly as he glared at the defiant highschooler in front of him. Why did I think this would be a good idea, again? He groaned before trying again, “Hinata, please, you’ve got to eat something.” Despite his insistence, the redhead would just not listen to reason, turning away from him in his mountain of blankets upon the couch.

“Oh, Kageyama, what a sweet boy you are!” Hinata’s mother, a darling woman, had told him earlier that day, thanking him profusely, little Natsu bouncing in her arms. It was Friday, but a holiday, and she still had to work, and Natsu was still expected at daycare. Normally, something so trivial as leaving your teenage son at home wouldn’t be a worrisome thought, but Shouyou was terribly, horribly sick.

Kageyama couldn’t necessarily blame her for worrying about her child, especially considering how he was. “You can expect me back by 7:30! I left my number on a slip of paper on the countertop -- call me for anything, Kageyama.” Was it too late to call her and say that she chose the wrong person? That he was just as troublesome, just as difficult, as her son? Probably, he reasoned.

Breathing deeply, practicing what Sugawara had taught him for when he got riled up during a game, Kageyama approached the small bundle on the couch, speaking gentler than earlier, “Hinata, would you please try and eat something? Your mom made you some soup and she put me in charge of making sure you get something to eat.” Big brown eyes, bloodshot and clouded with fever, turned to look up at him as he hovered over the sofa. Jackpot. Kageyama got lucky -- using Hinata’s mother had been a rewarding play.

So, obviously, it had taken some coaxing, but now Hinata was seated in a dinner chair in the kitchen, that obnoxiously thick blanket that he had been clinging to all day wrapped around his small shoulders. Humming softly to himself (something that makes him feel oddly and uncomfortably domestic), Kageyama warmed some of the soup over the stove before ladeling it into two adorable bowls, decorated with small cat characters that reminded the setter of ‘Natsu’s’ bento.

“Eat up,” Kageyama declared, setting the bowl in front of the shivering Hinata, who honestly looked like death had warmed over him. He had sunken so far down into his chair that his head had nearly disappeared underneath the table. “Eat,” Kageyama insisted, sitting down with an aggressive huff.

“‘M not hung’y though,” Hinata argued weakly, his congestion making him sound strange and closer to Natsu’s age than a highschooler.

The taller boy’s eyes narrowed. “You have to eat -- ‘else you won’t heal and then won’t get to play volleyball.” Kageyama had struck a soft spot (knowingly, of course), and Hinata stared down at the murky broth, face blanched, as he took his spoon into a quivering hand.

After several agonizing minutes, Hinata had eaten a satisfactory meal -- as Kageyama deemed fit -- which amounted to a measly 8 spoonfuls. The decoy’s face had taken on a greenish tint, and perspiration spotted his forward, where his brows were pressed closed together. Patting the smaller teen’s head, Kageyama took the bowl away and began swiftly washing the dishes.

Eventually, they found their way back to the couch. Kageyama settled at one end, Hinata curling up at the other, resuming his huddled position amongst a fort of blankets. The TV played softly, Kageyama watching whatever was on mindlessly while Hinata dozed off, snoring softly, his breaths rattling in his chest.

Not too much longer after that, Kageyama was startled from his daze by a small, pained groan. He looked over at Hinata sleepily, who was clutching at his head, rubbing at his temples. “You good?” The raven-haired boy prodded quietly, tapping at Hinata’s leg gently.

“‘S my head,” He whined between bated breaths, each one catching in his inflamed lungs.

“Come here,” Kageyama beckoned, leaning forward to help Hinata sit up. The redhead flashed him a sceptical look, somewhere between curious, pained, concerned -- constipated, that’s what the expression was. (At least to Kageyama.) The taller boy guided his partner back down, his head coming to rest on Kageyama’s lap. He unfurled the blanket over the sick boy’s quivering body, smiling gently as he snuggled up to the welcomed warmth. Tenderally, he began carding his long fingers through those monstrous tufts of hair, the strands poking out in all directions -- an untamed beast, but unbelievably soft nonetheless. His hair, despite its fiery tenacity to be unruly, was like clouds along Kageyama’s hands.

Hinata hummed in contentment, pushing back against Kageyama’s fingers. However, after several minutes of a gentle, lulling peace, the ministrations had begun losing their effect, and Hinata was flinching at the pounding headache reintroducing itself, his brows furrowing once again. His body grew tenser, and his small hands, fingers wrapped in bandages, clutched at the blankets. “Hey, what’s the matter?” Kageyama stiffened, his voice urgent and oddly panicked.

“Still hurts,” Hinata breathed, jaw quivering just slightly, eyes clenched shut. Fleeting fingers met his temples and began to rub small, familiar circles. The calluses on Kageyama’s fingers, well earned after years of rigorous training and dedication, were peculiarly soothing as they ran over the soft skin of Hinata’s face. Thankfully, after a short while, the small boy finally relaxed enough for sleep to once again invade his senses. His unsteady breathing abated Kageyama’s worry, and eventually he too was able to relax into Hinata’s warmth.

A persistent, but feeble, poking at his jawline is what brings Kageyama back from his tranquil snooze. Before he has time to crack his eyelids open, anxiety is causing his stomach to sink and his mind is racing. Oh god, what’s wrong- Then he feels that reassuring weight settled atop his legs, and his heart rate slows and the panic is dissipating. “Yama?” The small, croaky voice is what allows him to finally breathe.

“Yeah, Hinata?” He peeked open his sapphire eyes and blinked down at the boy staring expectantly up at him. “What’s up?” He lifted his long arms above his head, stretching. He considers himself fortunate that Hinata doesn’t comment on the small squeak that escapes him.

“I’m bored -- will you play Mario Kart with me?” Kageyama knew that Hinata could be random, but he surely wasn’t expecting… that question. “Pleaseeee,” Hinata drawled, making to sit up, only for a small coughing fit to erupt and rack his body, leaving him clutching at his chest.

“Woah, woah,” Now fully awake, Kageyama surged forward, bracing Hinata’s shoulders. After the bout had subsided Hinata shook off Kageyama’s hands, desperately attempting to cooly catch his breath. “Hey now-,” The setter was interrupted by a pair of pleading eyes, staring sweetly up at him. For a moment, Kageyama was beyond confused, but realized what Hinata wanted. “Sure, I’d love to play.”

So, the esteemed first-year genius of Karasuno found himself playing Mario Kart on Hinata’s Wii, the unmanageable decoy still curled into his side for warmth, doing his best to sound menacing whenever he hurled (very, extremely weak) insults at Kageyama, even though his voice broke in a million places and continuously gave out. Already, 4 rounds of Grand Prix had passed, and the countdown for the last race of their 5th had just begun. “I’ll beat you for sure, Kageyama!” Hinata declared, straightening his back just a touch.

Each and every race, Kageyama had come in the top three. And Hinata had always come in dead last, all but once.

“Sure you will, Shorty.”

The race, taking place on the infamous and formidable Rainbow Road, finished with unsurprising results: Kageyama in 1st (naturally), and Hinata in 12th place. “Hmph, that’s what I thought,” The winner puffed, turning towards Hinata as the award ceremony played on screen.

That’s when he saw it: Hinata staring blankly at the TV, Wii remote limp in his hands, his cherry nose twitching upwards, tears swimming in his eyes.

“Hinata?!” Kageyama exclaimed, dropping his remote in shock. Hinata twisted to look at him, a teardrop clinging to the tips of his light lashes.

He spoke weakly, “You’re so mean, Bakageyama. You’re always better than me,” He sniveled, his face scrunched up. Suddenly, a small cry passed his lips, and a storm of fat tears were rolling down his face.

Placing his head in his hands, eyes blown wide and astonished, profanities flew rampant through Kageyama’s mind. “Hinata, I’m sorry,” He tried after calming his thoughts, but the smaller boy simply cried harder, passing off his apology -- it was a miracle he even made one, for heaven’s sake! After briefly pressing his eyes, Kageyama snatched the remote and shut off the obnoxious TV. He gave it another shot, “Hey, listen, if I had known that it was this important, I wouldn't have been so--” He bit his lip, using no restraint, when he accepted that Hinata wasn’t going to pay attention. He heaved a great sigh. “What can I do to make it better?”

Caramel eyes, glimmering with tears, peaked up through messy bangs. “Mean it?”

With a steadying breath, Kageyama answered in kind, “I mean it.”

“Can I get a hug? And go to bed?” Hinata appealed sheepishly, tucking the majority of his flushed (from fever, Kageyama supposed) face underneath the blanket.

Easy enough, Kageyama supposed as he opened his arms wide, expectantly. Chewing on the inside of his lip, face pressed and tight, Hinata shuffled forward and into his embrace. He exhaled shakily, clumsily, thankfully relaxing into Kageyama’s chest. The majority of his weight was released as his body lost all energy, and he smiled softly, the tears drying swiftly upon his pale, ever-so-slightly freckled cheeks.

It came to Kageyama with no surprise when Hinata began drifting off in his arms. Poking the decoy’s arm, Kageyama muttered, “To bed now?”

Still wrapped safely in the thick blanket, Kageyama guided Hinata throughout the house, hand gently (but firmly lest he stumble) on his teammate’s back. A slow journey later, they reached Hinata’s bedroom and the sick teenager was easily persuaded into bed, where Kageyama tenderly pulled the covers up to his chin. After a small cough, Hinata was long gone, snoring softly in that way that Kageyama once found tiresome, but now endeared him to his partner.

“You’re such a mess.” Kageyama came to murmur softly, warmly, brushing away the residual tears upon Hinata’s cheeks with caring fingertips. “Sweet dreams, sleepy head. Get well soon,” He whispered affectionately, closing the door to the boy who had miraculously wormed his way into Kageyama’s fortified heart.

i'm sorry if it's ooc, but i just finished the second season, so i may not have the most accurate grasps on their characters,, aha also obv hinata is more ooc than anything but! if u happened to read the tags, colds can actually activate that part of ur brain that makes u sad and depressed, and so it can cause mood swings! so that's where that bit of drama comes from- this idea came from when i was playing mario kart today and i started tearing up because i was losing lol (i have a pretty nasty cold rn,,,)

anywhosit! i hope u enjoyed reading and that it wasn't too painfully ooc! (i'm kinda worried my friend won't like it ahhh) pls comment if u want to share what u thought!

[castlebay-crossing]

The Villager in Tent Three: Chapter Three

Summary: When Aisling leaves her hometown for the island of Castlebay, as part of Tom Nook’s Deserted Island getaway package, all she expects is sun, sand and plenty of solitude. But when she gets there, not everything is as the brochure said. Secretive villagers, judgemental neighbours, and an antagonistic photographer turn out to be the least of her worries, however, when the mysterious villager in tent three turns up dead one night after a vicious storm that left the only plane off the island grounded. Someone on the island is a murderer. And it’s up to Aisling to work out who it is. Before they come after her, too.

Warning: Major character death, some description of violence

Other Links: Readable on AO3 and FFN.

A/N: Hoo boy, this one was a labour of love! Bit of a long chapter and a fair amount of stuff happens in it! Next chapter will likely be another long one with a lot of stuff also happening, then we’ll be dialling back to island life for a little while! So I hope you will continue to accompany me on this journey! Thank you to everyone who’s read, liked and reblogged so far! I really do appreciate every interaction! 

.-.-.

March 2nd, 2020 – Morning 

The medicine Muffy bought me worked like a charm. It came in two parts – a soft, sweet-smelling cream and a packet of small pink tablets. “Will cure most (non-fatal) illnesses and injuries!” the label boasted. I hoped I’d never have to test it on anything worse than the occasional sickness bug or ache and pain. Muffy helped me spread the cream along the injury and immediately, I felt the sting fade.

“Good as new, nightshade!” she trilled. “Do you feel better now?”

It really was quite remarkable how quickly it worked. Even the swelling looked like it was going down. “Much better, thank you.” I said. “Are you sure I can’t give you anything for the medicine, Muffy? Can I pay you back in some way? I feel bad you had to pay for it yourself.”

Muffy waved her paws at me. “I don’t need any Bells, nightshade! But, I suppose…” she tilted her head, considering. “One thing I do need is a punnet of fresh cherries. I ran out this morning when I used the last on my toast.”

I tried not to think too much about the concept of cherries on toast.

“You’ve seen the cherry trees, right?” she continued. “Even though fruit grows super-quick here, most of the trees near my tent have been picked clean. And the ones growing here aren’t quite ripe enough. But Bill told me there’s a huge patch of them right at the top of the island. I was going to go up but I’m too small to reach the best ones.”

“So you want me to get you… cherries?”

“Absolutely, nightshade!  If it’s not too much trouble, of course.”

It did sound like trouble. Entirely too much trouble. But I couldn’t bring myself to say no to her. She was the first person who had shown me kindness, purely out of the goodness of her heart, in such a long time. Sure, Tom Nook had been kind, especially with the tent and the Nookphone, but it had come out of a package deal that had been bought and paid for. Muffy had done it simply because she wanted to help.

I made myself smile. “Yeah, I can go up and get some for you.”

“Thank you!” Muffy beamed. “I’ll be in my tent the rest of the day so you can drop by any time. And oh, nightshade? You should pick up a few extra while you’re down there. You can bring any items you find to Tom Nook and sell them for Bells. It’s the easiest way to make money.”

Muffy’s advice sound vaguely familiar. It rang a bell, as it were. I snickered to myself, and then cringed at the fact that I’d even entertained such a terrible pun. “Yeah, I think Tom Nook may have mentioned it before,” I said casually, trying to shake off the internal embarrassment.

Muffy nodded. “Well, I better get off home. Thanks again, you’re a solid cat! I’ll be waiting, nightshade!”

She waved me goodbye with one of her chubby paws and toddled away, leaving me sitting alone outside Nook’s Cranny. A wind picked up, lifting the hair from my forehead and leaving the leaves giggling in the trees. Everything else remained still and quiet.

I pulled the Nookphone out and booted up the Island Map. For the first time since arriving on Castlebay, I finally had a chance to look properly at the island’s layout. The whole island was cut into four “parts”, I suppose was the best way to describe it, separated by criss-crosses of river. And as Muffy had rightly said, although the island was fairly covered by trees, they seemed densest at the northern part of the island. But what was the easiest way to get up there?

I set to plotting a route. For all the different sections of the river, only two were passable by bridge. The eastern part of the island – where my tent was – was linked to the central area with Nook’s Cranny, Residential Services and Muffy’s tent. The northern most section – containing Bill and Morgan’s tents – was also connected to my section with a bridge.  I allowed a sigh of relief. It looked like I wouldn’t have to swim up the river or anything ridiculous like that.

It would be a long walk, though. One that would be better started sooner rather than later. I decided that I would call in at my tend and pick up my rucksack, as I didn’t fancy carrying piles and piles of delicate cherries by hand. I tucked the Nookphone back into my pocket, along with the remaining medicine, and set off.

.-.-.

It was lovely to explore the island a bit more. There was sort of a sacredness to the place, this rolling stretch of (mostly) untouched land under a strip of blue sky. The air smelled clean, heady with the scent of woods after rain. Trees lifted their branches up, like churchgoers at worship, gently shaken, but unyielding in the breeze. There was no path once I crossed the bridge into the top section of the island, so I had to wind my way though skinny tree trunks and uneven ground. Sometimes the trees grew so thickly clumped together that I had trouble squeezing past, and other times the terrain opened out into such sparse clearings that I felt exposed and vulnerable, like I was the only other person in the world.

There was a tent pitched about five minutes away from the bridge – a joyful orange in colour with a makeshift post-box stuck haphazardly into the ground. “Bill” was splodged on in blue paint. I took a few minutes to look around the campsite. Aside from a few loose boxes and what looked like the bones of a campfire, there was no sign of life – or Bill himself – anywhere. Muffy had said he liked running. Perhaps he was still off galivanting somewhere.

The cherry trees Muffy promised lay in a small grove twenty minutes away from Bill’s tent. Ahead of the grove, the grass unfurled into a small beach, hidden almost completely from sight by an outcrop of steel-grey rocks. The beach couldn’t have been any more than a few metres in width and length, with a single solitary beach chair set up near the water’s edge. It looked very peaceful. I had to remind myself I wasn’t here to sunbathe. I was here for cherries.

The cherry trees themselves had thin trunks and spindly branches – easy to distinguish from the thick firs and oaks – and the cherries dangled precariously, looking as if they’d drop at any moment under their own weight. The lowest branches hung just above my eye level, so it was easy enough to reach up and pluck the cherries from their stalks. Admittedly, someone Muffy’s height would probably have struggled. A twist of hunger gurgled in my stomach as I breathed in their soft scent. When was the last time I had eaten? I’d had breakfast before getting on the plane at Doveport Airport but between sleeping all day and the sting from the scorpion, I’d not had time to eat anything since. Remembering this, it was like a cavern of emptiness opened in my stomach. The flesh of the cherries was plump, a rich wine-red in colour and I couldn’t resist biting into one. Then another. And then another and another until red stood out around my mouth, my tongue tingled with the mix of sweet and sour, and my belly felt pleasantly full.

Strength returned, I shrugged off my bag, hoping the cherries wouldn’t get damaged when I packed them inside. Hopping from tree to tree, I shook branches and watched the red fruits topple into the grass, gleaming like precious jewels, and then scooped them into my bag. Once I was satisfied, I hoisted the bag back onto my shoulders and walked a few experimental paces. It was certainly heavy, but not enough that it would hinder me on the long walk back. Well, so long as I kept it slow.

With all the tree hopping I’d done I’d wandered away from my original stopping point. I unhooked the Nookphone to get my bearings again. Surprisingly, I found I’d gone far enough that I was closer to Morgan’s tent than anything else. If I squinted and looked across the dipping hills, I could see what looked like the top of a tent among the fronds of leaves.

I could bring Morgan some cherries, I reasoned. He’d come to this place with nothing and nobody, just the same as me. And if we were going to be neighbours, it would make sense to have each other’s backs.

The ground on the way up to Morgan’s tent was messy, littered with branches and weeds, leaving me picking my way across. Several heavy stones stood out like scars, great chunks of them cut away, exposing the ancient layers underneath. I could see Morgan’s tent clearly now, growing out of the hills, a distinctive red that seemed unnatural, bloodlike, against the green of nature.

I was so busy staring at Morgan’s tent that I didn’t notice the hole. My foot slipped on the uneven ground, plunging into a neat little gap. I stumbled and grabbed the nearest tree to steady myself, cursing. The whole tree shook under the impact. Then something dropped heavily to the ground, accompanied by a fury of buzzing.

When I turned my head to look, I came face-to-face with a loose beehive and many small angry bees.

I didn’t wait. Fear gripped my heart; I threw myself to my feet and I ran. Within seconds, the bees followed in one dark cloud, the tempest of buzzing filling my ears. I’d never seen bees behave like this before. Pushing myself through tight clusters of trees, I darted and wove, trying to throw them off, confuse them, but nothing worked. I needed to find cover, quickly.

Morgan’s tent! I’d forgotten about it in the flurry of panic. It wasn’t much, but it was somewhere safe. I pushed harder. The tent flap opened, and Morgan stepped out, his hair tousled, grimacing in the light of the sun.  

“Morgan!” I cried. Let me in!”

He turned towards me, his mouth hanging open. I heard some sort of garbled shout, words crashing into each other, and then I was grabbing him by the arm and pulling him inside the tent with me. We crashed through the open flap and onto the ground, but I immediately pivoted on my knees and scrambled for the tent zipper, the droning noise of the bees still ringing in my ears. With trembling hands, I sealed us inside and sat back, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

Morgan tugged on the back of my bag. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The presence on the bag was a sharp, and unwelcome, reminder. “My cherries!” I gasped, a brief vision of the fruit turning to nothing but juice pushing its way to the front of my mind.

“Your… cherries?”

“Yes, my cherries!” I opened the bag impatiently. Inside, the cherries stared back, some of them a bit bashed, but mostly intact.

“Why do you have so many—”

“One of the villagers asked me to bring her some cherries in exchange for some medicine she bought me because I got stung by a scorpion on the beach in the middle of the night!”

Morgan blinked. “Are you aware just how ridiculous you sound?”

I sighed and unfolded my legs. “Of course I do. And to top it all off, I disturbed a massive beehive…”

“Did you get stung?”

“I don’t think so. I didn’t feel anything.” I checked my arms and legs all the same, but only the sting from the scorpion stood out. “Um… listen, I’m really sorry for barging in.”

Morgan went quiet. He looked around the tent a few times, his sharp eyes darting back and forth. The bees buzzed angrily outside, their tiny shadows flickering on the tent canvas like specks of paint. “It’s fine,” he said eventually. “You can wait until they’ve gone.”

“Thanks,”

Morgan’s tent was pretty much the same as mine – a camp bed, in camouflage green instead of my canary yellow, a radio and a lamp. But most of his floor space was taken up by his camera equipment and, strangely enough, a rack of tools, including a net and a fishing pole.

He caught me staring. “I like to be prepared.” He said, his chest puffed up. “Lots of good photo opportunities if I can catch my own fish and bugs.”

I nodded, struggling for something to say. Inside his tent felt strangely claustrophobic, with so much heavy equipment and so little floor space to share. He was uncomfortably close, and I could feel the heat from his breath. I looked down and ran my fingers over the ground, feeling the blades of grass underneath. The bees still flitted outside.

“Have you met the neighbours?” I eventually asked.

“Just one.”

“Which one?”

“Bill. He came by the tent at six in the morning to say hello.”

“Ouch,” I winced. “I’ve not met him yet. I think he must have been out when I passed by earlier.” Everything I said sounded limp. The sooner the bees went away, the better. Still searching for something to say to fill the silence, I thought of the villager in tent three, the one removed from the map. “Have you met the other neighbour?”

“Muffy? No. She’s not been by yet.”

“No, I mean the other one.”

“What other one?”

“The one in tent three. Have you not heard of him yet? Muffy said his name was Ross, but his location won’t come up on the map, so I don’t know where he lives or if he actually wants to meet anyone…”

Morgan returned a blank look. “I thought we were the only two humans here,” he said with the smallest twitch of his shoulders. Then, with a pointed stare, “Oh well. It’s not like I’m here to make friends anyway.”

I lowered my head, trying to conceal the redness of my cheeks. Neither of us spoke, the silence between us expanding further. Then I realised I couldn’t hear the bees anymore.

“I think it’s safe now.” I said, pushing myself to my feet. “I’ll… get out of your hair.”

To my surprise, he followed me back outside. I looked around, suddenly realising how completely unfamiliar I was with this area. Nothing but trees and the occasional rock. I couldn’t even pinpoint which way I’d come in the first place. I consulted the map on the Nookphone.

Morgan came to stand over my shoulder. I tried very hard not to mind. “If you’re looking to get back to Muffy’s, you could probably get there quicker by going straight over the river.”

I stared at the map. Morgan indicated the river that curved from just beyond his house inward to the centre of the island. A frown tugged at the corners of my mouth. Sure, it looked quicker as the crow flew, but it wasn’t like I could grow a pair of wings and ride a good gust of wind across. I was stuck with stubby legs and no bridges this side of the island.

“There’s no bridges.” I said lamely.

“You don’t need bridges. You can vault over it.”

A vivid image of myself trying to vault the river and ending up soaked head-to-toe played inside my head like a rerunning silent movie. “Morgan, I’m not exactly a gymnast. And the river looks wide. And deep…”

Morgan made a low noise. “Wait there,” he said, disappearing around the side of his tent. A few moments later he returned with a long pole, easily as thick as the widest part of his arm. “You can use this. It’s a pole vault. Nook sold it to me after I went to his crafting course yesterday.”

The pole was at least a head taller than me, and surprisingly supple, but I didn’t trust it as far as I could throw it. Which likely wouldn’t be far. “How does it work…?”

“It’s simple,” he said, although I doubted it. “I’ll show you.”

Using the pole to anchor himself, he cleared the river in one jump after a short run-up. As he landed safely on his feet, I couldn’t hide the fact I was impressed. He vaulted back, a slight smirk curling on the length of his lips.

“Here,” he pushed the pole into my hands. It was heavy, and I struggled to get the balance of it. “If you hop over this river and keep going straight, you’ll end up hitting Residential Services eventually. It’ll be a lot quicker than going all the way back around. Of course, if you can’t manage the vault, you don’t have to. You can do the walk.”

I didn’t dare want to admit that I’d rather walk. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. I’d never been massively physically fit and the idea of throwing myself over a section of deep water with only a wooden pole keeping me from falling in didn’t sit right with me. I forced a smile in its stead.

“Thank you. I can… bring it back later tonight, if you like?”

“Nah. Keep it. I can make another. You look like you need it more.”

I sucked in a breath, undecided if he was insulting me outright or inadvertently. Either way, I felt the smile on my face drop off. “Thanks,” I said stiffly.

“I didn’t mean to insult you.” He didn’t apologise, nor did he even sound sorry. “I just couldn’t help but notice that you didn’t exactly come here… prepared.”

I bit my lip and hoped he would let the subject go. It was hard to come prepared to a place like this from the situation I’d come from.

“You should get down to one of Nook’s classes.” Morgan continued. “He’s got all sorts going on, he’ll teach you everything you need. And if you don’t already have a net or a fishing rod, I’d suggest getting a hold of them. You really won’t last long without either of them.”

“Thanks for the warning.” I said coolly. “And the pole.” Out of a sense of obligation, I shrugged off my bag and opened it. “Would you like some cherries? I picked too many.”

“You’re fine, thanks. I don’t like them.”

“Alright then. I’ll see you around.”

“See you.”

Leaving Morgan, I walked further down the river. He had turned around and was facing his tent now, but I kept walking. There was absolutely no way I was going to let him see my attempts at vaulting across the river. Especially if I didn’t make it.

Finally, I found a part of the river that looked narrower. I dunked the pole into the water, pushing it down until it hit something solid. I wiggled it to test. Well, it would be as safe as anything else I’d done on this island so far.

I threw my head over both shoulders – just to make absolute sure that nobody was watching me – but something caught my eye in the distance. There was a tent sitting on the summit of a broad, steep hill. Nestled between thick clumps of trees, the tent was almost impossible to notice unless you looked up at the exact right angle. The flat top of the hill was rocky, falling away sharply on one side to cliffs hanging over the beach, and the hill upwards was covered in thick coarse grass and what looked like spiky brambles. It looked like whoever lived up there wanted to make it as difficult as possible for anyone else to reach them.

I pushed the thought away and got ready to make the leap. Trying to remember how Morgan had done it, it took me three “practice” run-ups to even gather up enough courage. On the fourth attempt, I plunged the pole into the middle of the river, pushed myself forward and sailed right over the water.

Landing on the other side, I fought the urge to jump around and cheer, thrilled with my own accomplishment. Even my bag of cherries had made it safely across. But as I turned around and looked back at the tent at the top of the hill, I saw a figure standing between the cluster of trees. The figure waited, unmoving, for what felt like hours. I thought maybe of waving, shouting a greeting, but the words died in my throat.

Eventually, the figure turned away and returned to the tent, leaving me with my heart beating erratically against my ribcage. This was becoming too much. The figure outside my tent, the one in the trees, now the one outside the third mystery tent. This settled it. I had to put all this straight. I couldn’t start a new life with these worries hanging over me like the clouds from an oncoming storm.

I needed to finally meet Ross. Tonight.

[lady-o-ren]

Underneath the Elder Tree

Chapter One

William Fraser had never known a mothers touch in all his young years until he found one under the withering white flowering of an elder tree.

It had happened deep in the forest where the trees grew wild and their branches twined thick, creaking as they swayed from the brisk autumn wind. Their leaves rained down in a golden, sweeping haze, pushing the lad down unfamiliar paths hoping he would notice with just a turn of chin, a maiden fair to care for and she him.

But Willie was deeply distracted searching for frogs, speckled back and green, hoping to find a friend before the forest would cloak in frost and he, stuck in his cabin with only the cracklings of the hearth and his father's chatter for company. 

He peered into the dark crevices of craggy rocks only to find hissing beetles, bent on hands and knees to the wet rot of decaying logs, coming eye to eye with a brood of mice huddled in grey furry warmth that glared at him with scorn at the rude invasion.

Nothing that croaked or hopped.

Willie puffed a disappointed sigh to a wasted morning where all he had to show for his efforts was a runny nose that he rubbed along the arm of his too-big wool coat, breeks muddied at the knees that would earn him a tongue lashing from his father with pockets of uneaten worms writhing for escape in the folds. Not to mention a mucky stench clinging to him that left Willie fearing a bath most of all.

He scrapped a hole in the damp soil with the heel of his shoon, crushing the ring of fungi tops and releasing their pungent tang as he emptied his pockets of the wee limbless creatures that had coiled around one another in a slimy pink cluster. 

Trudging back home through the slippery mud that left a squelching gasp with every step, Willie caught a sight that had him sinking to the sludge. Tucked away amongst thistle weeds and ferns under a crooked elder tree was a woman curled upon herself like a doe lost in sleep. He felt his heart lodge thick in his throat as his father's voice echoed in his head.

"A beauty beheld in the wilderness is to never be disturbed nor trusted, mo mhac, for there is only treachery lurking where their souls aught to be."

It was one of the many warnings from his father's tales told by the hearth where the spritely fires would alight his grizzle-haired face in a molten sheen as Willie sat at his knee in wide eyed captivation with his wooden snake, Sawney, clasped tightly in his hands. 

The stories he'd tell were of witches, faeries, and other vile creatures that dwelled in trees tall enough to blight out the sun so as to snatch a wanderer who'd lost their way, or hide in the rings of standing stones, shaped like jagged teeth as howling wails escaped its maw, waiting for boys such as he.

But there were no towering rocks for the wee folk to hide, nor yet was the sun on it's descent to swallow him in night. No, today he would be like his father. Just as braw, just as brave, if maybe not nearly as tall for the lass in need. 

Squaring his shoulders (blood pounding in his ears), Willie picked up a long weathered stick to wield in his hands on the off chance she was one of the wicked folk and approached her like he would for his much loved hoppers - quietly, with hands and legs ready to sprint into action if things went awry. 

But as he got closer he saw the woman for what she truly was. 

She was clad in a ragged brown coat, thrown open at the waist, where a sullied pale dress could be seen that gathered at her knees. The once fine embroidery depicting spring had succumbed to her travels, unraveling budding flowers with their strange blue leaves (of which Willie had never before seen) and long green vines stitched like the rippling waves of sea. There were rips in the sheer fabric exposing her protruding ribs where faint streaks of blood marked her skin white as snowdrops and white as Willie's face from the startling sight of red. He tore his eyes up to see her tangled craze of curls dark as his own that framed her face gaunt from hunger with lips tinted a deathly kiss of blue. 

Her being was such a lifeless thing that Willie thought her dead. 

Though to be sure, he gritted his teeth (with a stuttering breath that whistled through his nose) and poked her bared calf with his stick. She woke with a blood curdling groan, swatting her hand towards Willie, who promptly dropped his stick to frantically scamper away at having awakened the dead - if only he hadn't tripped over a tree root jutting up from the ground, falling with a graceless thunk.

"Ifrinn!" Willie yelped, sure he was on his way to meet his creator. 

But then the woman of the forest unfurled herself from a pallet of ferns and leaves, parting her dirt-speckled hair that revealed eyes of bewitching amber that glimmered in the rich evening light dappling through the boughs above. They landed on his face, transfixed to hers taut with shock - then darted warily to their surroundings. When nothing stirred from the bushes, the looming shadows of the trees, she found her breath and spoke with a voice gentle and warm as summer rain.

"Did I frighten you, little one?" 

Willie nodded, mouth agape. The sound of her flushing his cheeks. "D - Di' I scare ye?"

She brushed a hand along her calf, as she nodded back too. "Terribly. I thought you were a daring fox mistaking me for its supper."

The word supper raised the fine hairs on the back of his neck as he was reminded once more of his father's words. He dug his fingers deep into the soil grasping for a stone.

"Are ye of the auld folk that steals away boys like me tae feed tae yer weans?" Each word tumbled from the quiver of his mouth that both pained and amused the woman to hear.

"Oh, dear boy, is that what you think of me?" She gave him a smile to reassure him that she was nothing of the sort. "You will live another day and many more until you're very old and grey for I have no interest beyond the elderberries to fill my belly." She then laid her palms open at her lap, fingers numb and stiff. "I promise, you have nothing to fear from me." 

Showing more trust to a stranger than a boy really ought to, Willie let the burning breath he'd been holding pour out of him in a white cloud of relief. But a new worry took hold as he reached forward, grazing a stubby finger against her berry stained ones, icy to the touch.  

"Ye canna eat the berries off the tree, they'll twist yer innards somethin' awful and the black ones do ye worst of all," Willie said with a frown, regretting sharing his last chunk of bread with the wood mice. 

Then a kindness so obvious to a child came to mind.

"Come home wi' me!" He said with bright-eyed sincerity, propping high up on his knees. "We have bread and meat and soup that isna cold and a hearth sure tae roast ye - no' that it would," Willie added hurriedly." And -"

"I don't think your family would want you bringing home a stranger, especially one who has no means to pay such generosity back. Don't worry for me, I'll make do here as I am," she firmly insisted.

But Willie saw how her breath whispered from her lips chapped with cold, and how she shivered in her coat, threadbare and useless to ward against the wind growing sharper, seeping to the bone. And what would shield her from the cruel things that hunted by moonlight? He knew not a thing, he saw those scratches at her sides.

No, despite what she said, whatever she may be, Willie wouldn't leave her be. 

Stubbornly shaking his head, Willie replied, "I ken my, Da, and he would skin me tae my toes fer leavin' ye here in the cold in no' but tatters, hurtin' and alone. But I promise if ye come wi' me no harm will touch ye as long as I'm near."

A flicker of tenderness shined in her eyes, before shutting them tight, bowing her head, feeling faint. She pressed a trembling palm to her brow as her sight began to haze and prickle with white. She needed to send this fool-hearted boy away before the desperate sleep she so sought would take her. Quietly. Finally at peace.

The lad had simply come too late.

So she hardened her voice with all the grit she could muster, hoped it gleamed vile in her eyes like the creatures he thought she was. "You don't even know my name, nor I yours, boy. You owe me nothing. I need nothing. Now go home before the sun falls behind the mountains and you into the fangs of the beastly wicked." 

He flinched hard alright, but clenched his jaw just as quick, undeterred, and kicked himself to his feet with a throaty grunt.

"My name is William James Fraser, your servant," he said, sounding far older than his young years. He waited for a response and after several heartbeats it was given with a heavy sigh. 

"Claire," she answered simply with an exasperated look. "But this doesn't mean - "

"William!"

Came a worrying bellow, startling the two. They turned to see a man off in the distance crashing through the overgrown bracken, flushed red as his hair, frantically searching, searching. . .

Claire's hands balled into fists on instinct, her face marked with distress.

"Tis a'right," Willie said softly, trying to calm her. "It's only my Da. He willna hurt ye. He likes the lasses - I think."

Still, Claire forced herself to her feet, leaning against the trunk of the tree for stability as Willie reassured again that she had nothing to fear before rushing off to his father.

___

"Da! Da! Da!" Willie shouted, barreling into his father, all knooby elbows and knees. 

"Taing do dhia," Jamie breathed as he kneeled and checked his son over for injury, feeling heart throbbing relief that he was whole and safe. Then he grabbed the lad by the shoulders to meet the ire of his eyes.

"Ye wee wretch!" He growled, though not entirely unkind. "Have I no' told ye time and time again yer no' to venture into the wilderness wi'out me. Tis dangerous for you, as it is for me. Yet here ye are again, blackening my temper, tearing my sanity in two. I aught to tie ye hand and foot but I reckon ye gnaw through the rope like the wee ratten ye are."

"I'm sorry, I dinna mean to stray far." But Willie was hushed from speaking more by a gentle shake of his shoulders. 

"That's always yer excuse, lad. Either yer sticking that heid of yers down foxholes or trying to snap yer neck climbing trees to gather bird feathers." Jamie had to refrain from rolling his eyes when informed they were, "No' just any feathers". 

"So what daft thing was it this time?" 

A smile touched Willie's lips, his face aglow. "I found a faerie woman, I'm sure of it. I promised she could come home wi' us, have supper wi' us and ye say it's a mighty sin tae break yer word, bad as lyin'."

"Aye," Jamie said quietly after a moment's troubled hesitation, eyeing him very closely. "I have told ye so." And ran a hand over his sons head, feeling for a bump. "Does this faerie of yers have a name?"  

"Claire," Willie said excitedly. "I'll show ye to her." 

He was then dragged to his feet towards the lone elder tree amidst the mossy sprawl of birch and pine, where the woman proclaimed to be faerie was where she'd been left - leaning against the drooping shade. Only now she was grasping a dagger, staring with eyes large and feral at the man in front of her, whose pulse convulsed at his throat.

Jamie's hand flew to the hatchet belted at his waist that could swing at animals twice his size with a graceful ease, but Willie exclaimed, "No Da!" knowing this as well.

"Claire's only scairt of ye! Please dinna hurt her!" The wee lad planted his feet to the grass and threw his arms around Jamie's hoping to weigh it down. Instead the elder reached with his other hand but with the wooden handle pointed at Claire.

"Does my son tell me true? Do ye hold that blade to protect yerself or to harm?" 

Her blurring gaze jumped from Jamie to Willie, whose face had gone ghost-white, yet still he kept true to his word, and moved to stand between her and his father like a devoted knight. With her eyes beginning to sting and an unaccustomed warmth flaring small beneath her breasts, Claire lowered her hand but kept hold of the dagger that had been hidden in the folds of her ruined dress.

Parting her lips she murmured near breathless, "I - I only lost my way." Then all went deathly black and chilling as she fell to the mottled leaves.

"Ye killed her, Da!" Willie cried as he came to Claire's side.

"How could I when I laid no' but eyes upon her?!" But Jamie too sank beside her, with guilt rippling sickly in the pit of his stomach for raising his hand to one who now looked so pitiful and small. Gently, he rested his hand against her ribs, cringing at how he could feel the starving curve of each one, and found  that she did indeed still breathe.

"She's no' dead," Not yet anyway. She made a small sound, a strangled whimper, in unconscious agreement.  

"Then we bring her home, right?" Willie's voice was an anxious plea, as he smoothed Claire's curls from her face.  

"Seems we must as she has no other." 

Jamie then glanced up to the sky where clouds of stormy grey began to billow and whirl, slowly veiling the last orange rays of sunlight. Swiftly, he took off his wool coat and wrapped Claire tight, holding her flushed to the heat of his chest, wondering how she hadn't frozen before being found.

"What about her dagger?" 

The long blade laid off to the side and rather than leaving what had been aimed at his gullet, Jamie belted it aside his hatchet.

As he hoisted her up in his arms and walked down the sloping, steep paths home (with Willie uncharacteristically quiet, but with his lone urgent chant of "Hurry, Da" while casting worried glances his way) Jamie pondered who or what he embraced. This woman with eyes like no other being he'd ever known or dreamed of, yet fragile as any mortal man.

Where did ye come from, lass?

___

A/N:

*Willie is the son of Mary MacNab (deceased) in this world. A lot easier to write good things about her then Geneva.

*The Elder tree symbolizes new life and the fairy realm

Thank you for reading!

[missnighttigress]

The Masquerade: Chapter One

Characters: Tony Stark, Fem!Tony Stark, Toni Stark, Loki, Loki Odinson, Loki Laufeyson

Pairing: Toni Stark x Loki (eventually)

Word Count: 2,527

Summary: After the New York incident, Natasha "Toni" Stark threw herself back into the worlds of science and business. She expected everything to go fine until the next attack. She didn't realize fate had something else in store: a visit from an old acquaintance who hurled her out of her penthouse window. She had expected the worst to happen, and was in for quite a shock. Maybe this was the greatest show of them all...

Warnings: mild angst, mild language, more warnings in the possible future

A/N: I started writing this way back in 2012. The original wasn’t as well-written as this, which is an updated version. This is the first chapter in this particular series. I’ve actually been kind of playing with the idea of revamping this so that it includes some turmoil in a love triangle between Toni and Loki and then Toni and Steve. Please let me know what you think!

AO3 Link

Natasha rolled in her satin sheets as her body twisted itself into comfortable sleeping positions. It was the first night she got any real sleep since the battle with Loki so many weeks ago, and JARVIS really didn’t want to disturb her. If he didn’t, she’d be late for her appointment.

“Miss Stark?”

His futile attempt was met with a snore as a response. So, he tried again.

“Miss Stark?”

A moan this time. That was better than a snore.

The steel door at the other end of the long modernly-decorated bedroom clanged open, and a tall tan woman stepped through. Her messy hair was a bright red, almost strawberry blonde color, a navy business suit covering her body. In her firm right hand was an Android tablet. Her eyes glanced up at the ceiling before she spoke in a decibel just above a whisper. “I’ll handle this, JARVIS.”

“As you wish, Ms. Potts.”

Pepper’s navy heels made indents on the plush carpet of Toni’s bedroom as she stepped toward the edge of the king-sized bed and gandered downward at the sleeping head of Stark Industries. She knew the inventor was up late inventing anymore, making modifications to the suit and new renovations to the tower Loki destroyed. However, that night was the Iron Stomach fundraiser, one of the biggest fundraisers Toni held. It wasn’t exactly going to host itself. “Wake up, Toni.”

The woman snarled and rolled over, her foot swinging out from underneath the covers and catching the back of Pepper’s knee as she grumbled, “If I didn’t answer the first two times, what the hell makes you think I’m going to answer the third?”

“How many cocktails did you drink last night?”

Her fingers clenched at the edge of the black comforter as she pulled it over her head. “None.”

“Ms. Stark had six, followed by that many shots of tequila,” the AI answered.

Toni hissed at the ceiling. “I’m going to deprogram you and use you as scraps, you rat. I thought we had something special.”

“We do, Miss. I am merely concerned for your safety.”

“Concern a little less.”

Pepper rolled her eyes and managed to claw the comforter from Toni’s fists. Iron Woman groaned and shrunk into a ball as response. “Don’t yell at him. He’s doing what he was programmed by you to do. When you were out drinking, did you remember what today was?”

“It’s ‘Get the hell out of Toni’s room or so help me’ day, right?”

Pepper’s jaw locked. “No. Today is the Iron Stomach gala at the Ritz.”

Toni unraveled her body and slung an arm over her eyes. “I made you CEO. You handle it. I’m taking a day off.”

“Do you know the kind of preparations we’ve already gone through for this? I gave the title of CEO back to you anyway. This is all on you. Besides, it’ll do you some good to get out of the lab for a little bit.”

The arm peeled away as chocolate eyes opened to glare at the assistant. “But science,” she whined, sounding like a little kid. She didn’t care. Going to that damn fundraiser meant having to get all dolled up. She was perfectly fine being a grease monkey.

“Toni, we’ve already canceled a major event once in the last three months. If we do it again, people will begin to talk, especially the shareholders. You need to do some good press, especially now that you and the other Avengers have damaged a good chunk of the city.”

“At least it was only part of the city and not the whole damn thing. Ever see what happens when Superman tries to save the world? He does more damage than good, I tell ya.”

She rolled her eyes and tugged the blanket the rest of the way off the CEO. “You gonna get up?”

“You gonna get out?”

“Not until I see you up and moving.”

Toni hissed once more but unfurled her body, taking her time to stretch before physically rising from the bed onto her feet. “There. Satisfied?”

“Very. Now get changed. We have to go make the final preparations and make sure everything’s in order.”

Toni growled and stomped to her closet. “All right, all right! Get out. I’ll be down in a minute.”

Pepper grinned wide and nodded. “Very well, Toni. By the way?”

“What?”

“No suit. JARVIS is on lockdown so you can’t create another scene before tonight.”

“God dammit, Pepper!”

“See you downstairs, Toni.”

There wasn’t much that could keep a god imprisoned, not even Asgardian cells. Then again, Thor was the dolt who let the God of Mischief out to aid in battle, so it wasn’t so much a question of the cell’s safety as it was Thor’s sense of judgment. It didn’t matter to Loki, though. He was in Midgard now, and he made sure no one could see him.

Loki stepped from an alley and glanced around at the humans and the bizarre look they were giving him. “Peasants,” he spat as he walked into a crowd of men and women in business suits.

“Are you attending the Iron Stomach fundraiser tonight?” his ears heard one of the women say.

“I don’t know. Stark’s ego is going to be overwhelming thanks to the alien incident. It’s a masquerade anyway. What if I danced with a guy, wanted to go home with him, and I found out he had leprosy or something?”

“You’re so shallow, Maggie. You’re 36! It’s time to settle down.”

The god tuned them both out after that. He had gotten his crucial information from the women, and he was done. Instead, he focused on the large building that said “Stark” on it and grinned wickedly. “Looks like I’m invited to a ball. See you there, Woman of Iron.”

“No! These aren’t the flowers I ordered! I ordered red and gold tiger lilies with dyed roses. What the hell…the centerpieces are all wrong. Come on, people! You’ve had two days and several hours today to prepare this, and it isn’t done? Seriously?”

Toni immediately jumped in and started getting her hands dirty by rearranging the centerpieces when Pepper trotted over. “This is exactly why you should’ve been here instead of the lab the last few days. Everything would be exactly the way you want it.”

“Please tell me you’re on top of fixing this disaster.” Toni leaned toward Pepper’s frame and whined like a petulant child. “You always come through for me.”

“Which is why I did so this time, Toni,” the redhead chuckled, handing her boss a piece of paper. “I have everything arriving within the hour and everything will be exactly like you want it to be. Who’s the best?”

“You are,” the genius grinned. Chocolate eyes wandered around until they rested on a petite blonde girl in a business suit rushing toward them – no doubt, the concierge. “Need something, Tinkerbell?”

She blushed softly and panted. “M-Miss Stark? The florist has arrived, and the catering crew is around back.”

Iron Woman patted the girl on the shoulder. “Thank you, Tink. I appreciate it. Keep doing your job.” When she bounced away, Toni whistled for the decorating crew to gather. “All right, boys. I need you to go lift those flowers and come back in here and rearrange all of this. I promise, you will be supplied with pizza and booze for your efforts. I’ll go grab it right now. Thank you!”

The crew moaned and grumbled, which wasn’t shocking. Toni would’ve bitched herself if she wasn’t a billionaire and had to do this all herself. What was shocking was the one icy grin she was receiving from a man in the back. It was enough to catch her off her guard, she had to admit. There was something about him…

Pepper glanced over to her boss and rolled her eyes. “I know that look, and no, you can’t. You have to stay focused, Toni.”

Breaking out of her trance, dark mocha wavy locks shook with her head. “What? What look? What’s breaking my focus? What?”

“You’re staring at one of the workers. No. You can’t have him.”

“Who said I wanted him?”

“The look!”

“What look?!”

Pepper sighed in exasperation as her hip shot out to the side, her lips turning downward. “The look, Toni. The look you give all your bedded victims-”

“Victims?”

“-And then you screw something up by not calling them and that is how you’ve gained your ‘playgirl’ reputation.”

“Which I’m proud of. As I recall, you were almost victim to ‘the look’ a couple times. Are you bitching about it now?”

Pep blushed and turned on her heel. “You’re cheating.”

“I’m merely using all of the pieces at my disposal. I can’t be blamed for being strategic. I’m heading over to Palmiro’s. Want anything?”

“I’m in the mood for a couple pepperoni rolls, if you don’t mind.”

The brunette grinned. “I see what you did there. All right. I’ll be back!”

It was a beautiful day in Manhattan, really. The sun was shining and it was just the right temperature. It was the perfect day to go for a stroll to the pizza shop. Maybe getting out of the lab wasn’t so bad.

Toni kept her eyes glued to her phone as she walked, running schematics on new suits and getting updates from Pepper about the project. She only glanced up when she finally reached Palmiro’s. “Hey, Poppa P!”

An older gentleman behind the counter grinned and threw his hands in the air. “Ah! Miss-a Stark! Pleasure to ‘ave you! What can we-a do for you?”

Manicured nails took the aviator sunglasses from her eyes and pushed them into her hair. “I need six of your Party Poppas, half with extra cheese, and half with pepperoni. I also need two dozen pepperoni rolls. No one makes ‘em like you.”

Poppa beamed even wider and added the items together on the cash register. “That’s-a why you’re one of my-a favorites! Comin’ right-a up!”

“Thank you,” she sang, her eyes wandering to the walls to the old photographs hanging as proud decorations. Poppa Palmiro was just a boy when his parents had migrated over from the Tuscany province of Italy. His walls were adorned with photos of his old home and his new home, and Toni enjoyed looking at each one. She was thankful his business managed to stay safe after the incident with Loki.

As she continued looking around, she suddenly felt something strong around her. It felt like icy eyes were gazing into her soul. When she turned on her heel, she saw nothing. No one was gazing at her, inside the establishment or out. The only person in the place was a little old woman cutting her pizza with a plastic fork and a knife in a booth in the back. Her chest heaved in a heavy sigh, and she focused on Poppa P behind the counter.

“Greetings, Woman of Iron.”

The way the voice spoke to her made her hair on the back of her neck stand. Growling, she whipped around and saw the very one who threw her from her penthouse at Stark Tower sitting where the old woman had been. There Loki was, donning the familiar black, green, and gold leather and metal garb he was last seen in. “What the hell are you doing here? I thought you were imprisoned.”

Loki tipped his head and snarled. “I was, thanks to you and the other ‘heroes.’ More like misfits from where I’m sitting. I was stuck in that damned muzzle for weeks, until Thor came along.”

Toni’s arms snaked over her chest as she tossed the god a cocky grin. “So you managed to escape. Big deal. We caught you before and we’ll catch you again. Thor will be here any minute to cart your ass back.”

“Come now, Stark, really. Why allow him to cart me back to a place where it’s evident I will escape from?” He offered a vicious grin as the shoulders of his armor rolled. “I mean you no harm now that I’m free of the Tesseract’s wicked hold.”

“You’ve seen what I can construct, and yet you still think I’m dumb enough to buy that you were controlled by that thing? I’m a businesswoman. I can smell shit from a mile away and right now, you reek of it.”

He chuckled darkly and gestured to the booth opposite him with long fingers. “Join me, won’t you?”

She snorted. “You already tried that. Performance issues, remember?” Nonetheless, she walked over and took a seat. What was the worst that could happen, really? “So why are you here, really? If you don’t want to dominate the world, or at least have the tools to, then why are you here? What do you gain from this?”

“So many questions from the businesswoman. I thought business was like the game of Kriger Sjakkspill.”

“What the hell is that?”

“Loosely translated in Norwegian, it’s Warrior Chess. It’s like your pathetic edition, but with more violence and actual living pawns. Either way, it requires strategy. You should be able to tell my true purpose here if you were decent at your job.”

“I’m not a psychic. Why can’t you just answer my questions?”

He grinned and leaned forward, hands clasped together under his chin. “What fun would that be? You should know I enjoy torture, and seeing my very presence seems to dig right under your skin, exactly like I like it.”

Something about the way he purred out that last part made Toni’s skin crawl, in both a good and bad way. She was about to reply when Poppa P called her to take her order. “Here-a we go, Miss-a Stark!” he declared, holding six enormous rectangle boxes with two bags on top of the stack.

Her eyes left the god not even for two seconds, and when they fixated on him again, it was the little old lady. Her lips curled into a small snarl as she rose. “Knocking” her phone out of her own hand and onto the floor beside the woman, she growled, “If you put so much as a trash can lid out of place, I won’t hesitate to destroy you. Keep it clean, and you and I might just get along. Am I understood?”

The old woman offered Toni a small smile, but Toni could see the forest green eyes of the God of Mischief she was previously sitting in front of. “Crystal clear,” he muttered. “It was nice to see you, deary,” the little old lady said.

Toni growled again before rising completely and grabbing her order. “Thank you, Poppa P. See ya later! And hey, stay safe would you?”

“Bye-a bye, Miss-a Stark! Have a good-a party!”

Outside the pizza shop, Toni called JARVIS at the tower. “Jarv, I want the place on high alert. Don’t tell the team, but I just saw Loki.”

“Miss, are you-”

“I wasn’t hallucinating, and yes, I am sure. I don’t want another security breech like last time. I’ll be home shortly.”

“As you wish, Miss Stark.”