#lost her balance as all that weight pulled her right down to the floor

[master-of-47-dudes]

Pictures taken moments before disaster

[ifancyharry]

Ever since New York

what it is: in which YN is Harry Styles's personal assistant, but maybe she should quit her job?

September.

Harry was running late. He knew he was running late because he didn’t even have the time to check on his phone how much late he was running. He hated being late. It wasn’t really in his character. In his manners. It’s not because he didn’t like people waiting on him, he loves being the center of attention; he loves having all eyes on him when he enters a room.

He just didn’t like being late because of the wasted time. Wasted time he took off work. And as of right now, work was pretty much his life. His purpose. 

So being late, was kind of a big deal to him.

Y/N, on the other hand, was used to being late. And she, too, hated it. She hated the attention it came with it. But it was just in her nature, not because she wanted it, but because it happened to her. Like this morning. Her go-to local Starbucks was swamped with people, and she really wanted a pumpkin spice latte, since it was almost the beginning of fall and she still hadn’t had one. 

So, it’s not like she could skip the coffee run. But said coffee run took longer than expected and made her late to her job interview. On top of that, once she exited the cafe, winning cup of coffee slightly burning her hand, it started raining, and of course she hadn’t bought her umbrella, because who brings an umbrella to a job interview?, and plus she really couldn’t be bothered to carry the weight of said object with her all around New York.

So, when she enters the Madison Square Garden Arena, she’s soaked. She almost can hear the squishy sound her Converse make as she walks, her socks feeling rather scratchy against her skin.

She jogs a little towards the backstage area, trying to recall what was said on the email that was sent to her with all the interview details. She’s breathing heavily through her nose, not really used to all the running she had to endure, and she feels hot. She’s positive the heater is on and the sudden contrast with the chilly September air makes her coat feel too warm and her jeans too tight.

She takes a moment to stop herself, trying to calm her heart and breathing down as she takes small sips of her drink. She’s already late, soaked, and sweaty, she might as well enjoy her well awaited drink in peace. She’s sure she’s not going to get the job, anyway. Leave it to her to think she’d fail before even trying.

Harry Styles personal assistant? Yes, she’s known to be a dreamer, but not to that extent. When her friend Anna had told her that her boyfriend had a friend that went to college with Jeff Azoff (she didn’t even know that said Jeff went to college), that he was looking for trustworthy people who could be fit for the job and that he had recommended YN, she thought Anna was pulling a sad excuse of a prank on her. Little did she know, about ten days later, she’d gotten an email from Jeff himself where he asked her if she was down for a little get-to-know-me interview.

Anna knew how much YN needed the job.Young, jobless, and living in New York didn’t really go together too well, and she knew that YN wanted to save as much money as possible to fulfill her life’s dream of studying art in Florence, so she pressured her friend to at least go to the interview. So that’s how she got herself in this situation, sipping her coffee while she regained her breath.

She’s so lost in her own train of thoughts that she doesn’t even realize she stopped in the middle of a hallway. She’s reading a flyer on the wall absentmindedly when she’s hit by a big, sturdy object that makes her loose her balance. She tries to grip her hands onto something to gain some kind of balance, but that only results in her coffee exploding from its own paper cup that she squeezed too hard, the cap flying off and falling on the ground.

“Fuck!” She exclaims as her bum hits the floor with a loud thump. She can feel the coffee on her coat and all over her hands as she raises her eyes from her pumpkin scented, soaked coat and lays her sight on what she thought was an object, but was, actually, a person. Her employer, more like. If she wasn’t convinced enough that she wasn’t going to get the job, she’s sure as hell now. 

“What the fuck!” Harry, who had been running really fast to try and get on time to this stupid interview he had to endure, really hadn’t taken in consideration that someone could be standing in the middle of the hallway he was running down on. 

So, he really thought it was safe to run and check his phone at the same time; big mistake.

It’s not like he was checking his phone for his own personal business, he was just texting Jeff that he was on his way.

“Who stands in the middle of a fucking hallway!” He shouts, but he isn’t even looking at her as he speaks. He’s looking at his shirt, that now has a big, beige colored, stain on it. 

He grips the hem of the shirt with his hands and brings the stained part to his nose, which he scrunches immediately in disgust: “is this regular milk? God, it’s making me sick”.

YN really couldn’t get anything out of her mouth as she slowly gets up from her position on the floor and raises to her feet. She knows she’s supposed to say something, maybe apologize, but it suddenly feels like she doesn’t know how to talk anymore. She’s afraid, if she speaks, she’d blabber something incoherent and make a fool out of herself. Not that she didn’t already.

Plus,  if she’s really being honest, he kind of sounds like an asshole, so she’s not particularly keen on begging for his forgiveness.

“If you were walking like a normal person, this wouldn’t have happened!” She murmurs, but he’s already too far out of reach to hear, otherwise she’s sure he would’ve said something else. She heavily sighs as she walks behind him, careful to leave a big amount of space between them so it doesn’t look like she’s following him.

When she enters the room, after knocking gently on the door, he’s already sat on the chair next to Jeff, a bunch of papers scattered on the desk in front of them. 

She clears her throat a little and Jeff raises his eyes to her, giving her a small smile and gesturing to the chair in front of them. 

Harry, arm bent at the elbow, one hand under the table and the other holding his phone, doesn’t bother to look at who came in until he’s finished reading his emails. He wouldn’t have to read his emails if he hadn’t wasted his time by being late, and mostly by being tackled by a wet puppy looking girl and her stupid pumpkin spice latte. The said pumpkin spice latte that is all over his designer shirt.

When he finally raises his glance, he’s met with a pair of big, wide eyes that remind him of those of a scared deer caught in headlights, and there’s no hint of a joke in his tone as he says: “fuck no.”

...

YN wonders whether she should quit.

It’s not her fault, really, and it’s not like she isn’t trying. She thinks she’s doing a fairly good job.

She’s trying really hard to make up for the coffee incident, and she begged Harry to tell her where he got his shirt so she could at least repurchase it for him, but once he’d told her it was Gucci, she realized it cost more than her rent so she let it go… trying the best she could to watch where she was going as to not repeat the accident again.

Harry is… well, he’s kind of difficult to work with.

She doesn’t know whether it’s because of the coffee incident or because he just doesn’t like her, but he’s really stand-offish.

He doesn’t talk much to her — only when the work demands it, and at first it was fine, YN understood why he’d act like that, but now it’s just getting kind of frustrating, especially because he’s making her job ten times harder than it already is.

She’s determined to show him that just because they started off on the wrong foot, she’s not just some clumsy little girl that had to have friends in the right places to get a job!

“Harry?” She trails off, peeking her head inside his dressing room.

He’s sitting on the couch, his back bent down and his hands fiddling with his shoe laces.

YN notices he’s dressed in his workout clothes (a pair of Nike shorts and a black tee), and she wonders whether he’s going to the gym? Maybe back at the hotel? It would be rather bothersome to go all the way back but she doesn’t say anything since it’s not her place.

When he hears her he raises his head to look at her, his brows hiking up high on his forehead. YN wonders why he’s even surprised to see her… she’s been on his ass for a month straight now, never really leaving his side unless when necessary.

“Hey” he greets her, nodding his head towards her.

“I finished everything you asked me t’do” she smiles, and if she wasn’t sure he’d find a way to piss her off, she would’ve felt at least somewhat triumphant. But she doesn’t.

Because she knows Harry doesn’t like her, so no matter what she does, it will never be good enough to redeem herself.

“Everything, really?” He asks surprised, “hav’you folded all the merch like I asked?” When YN nods he goes on, “ironed my outfit?” She nods once again, “and ‘s my schedule ready for tomorrow?”

“Yes.” She nods swiftly, “I even color coded it” she grins.

He seems to think a bit about his next words, and then, “okay, then. Help me work out, will ya?” he says, refraining himself from smiling a mischievous smile at the sound of her groan.

He’s sure it wasn’t intentional, and she feels extremely embarrassed and hopes he hasn’t noticed or at least won’t call her out on it.

“Let’s go, YN, I don’t have all day” he chuckles darkly, patting her on the cheek as he walks past her.

YN knows she should definitely quit.

...

“What the hell is this! I thought ye said it was all done?”

YN really feels like she could cry. She’s 22 years old and she’s on the verge of crying on her job. A job she begged God to get, a job that’s fundamental to get her in the art school she’s always dreamed of. 

Things haven’t been easy. 

Harry has been a dick to her every day and there’s only so much one can take. 

He’s mean, rude, and always cold. He never smiles even when she brings him coffee (black with no dairy milk because it nauseates him), he never praises her (not even when she color codes his google calendar), and every time she enters a room he hushes as if he’s telling this great secret she’s not supposed to hear. 

Today has been a long day. 

She’d woken up at 5 am to grab him breakfast (not that he demanded it, but she felt as if she needed to in order for them to start the day on a good note — it hasn’t worked, it seems) and after that, she’d watched him workout at the gym in the hotel, the stuffy room nauseating her to the point where she had to beg him to turn the AC on to let the air change. 

After his workout, she’d made her way to the venue. 

He’s playing at Madison Square Garden tonight, and even if it’s not his first time, the tension could be felt in the air and in the way he huffed and puffed at everything she did. 

It’s her job to take care of the merch stand inside the arena, no matter what city they are in, she has to fold the merch and make the stand presentable and organized, so when the staff comes in before the show everything is neat and clean. 

She’s been doing this for a month now so she knows what Harry likes and how he demands it to be cleaned, and until now nothing about her work had disappointed him. So why is he acting like she’s this major screw up that can’t fold clothes?

It’s not the fact that he’s doubting her that hurts her, it’s the fact that he’s doubting her honesty. 

It was all finished. She had folded all the merch like he asked and the stand was in perfectly good tidiness when she left it; sadly, that’s not how Harry had found it, much later and much closer to the show. 

Maybe his pre show jitters made him a little more on edge, because the way he’s stomping his feet and pointing at the merch is making her feel really guilty for not doing her job correctly. Even if it wasn’t her fault, she should’ve checked before telling him she was all done!

“Harry,” she trails off, and she feels pathetic as she hears her voice come out all watery, “I swear, i did like you asked. Why would I lie!” 

She’s almost begging and pleading him, her eyes stinging with the devious tears she’s trying really hard not to let fall. 

“I don’t know why. But why is the stand in this mess? You know this can’t happen before a show, YN!” He reprimands her sternly. 

YN feels like she’s a bad student getting yelled at by her teacher, and she gulps before saying “I know, I’m sorry.” 

“Sorry doesn’t cut it now! Tidy here and then sod off!” 

She nods her head quickly and hurries to get back behind the stand, folding the clothes as fast as she can to fix the mess quickly. She hears him walk away with a grunt, and once he’s out of her line of sight she feels the warm tears start falling from her eyes. 

Finally. 

She chokes down a sob as she keeps tidying up, wondering what the hell happened to the very organized stand she’d left. 

Once she’s done, she double checks everything to make sure (just in case) and then she climbs over the counter to get out. She quickly makes her way to the dressing room as she hears the buzzing of the fans standing outside the venue, waiting trepidating for the gates to open, and she’s thankful she’d been fast, otherwise Harry would’ve fired her on the spot. 

She gathers her work bag and tosses all her belongings inside, sneaking out of the door when she realizes Harry is inside the bathroom showering. 

She doesn’t bother to call a Uber. She chooses to walk, hoping that the fresh air could soothe the headache that crying had left her with. 

It’s a little bit chilly, but she welcomes the cold October weather with contentment, finally free of the heat weave that had populated her summer days. She wishes she could enjoy it more, and if it wasn’t for her mood, maybe she would’ve grabbed a little drink and a sweet treat on her way back. But there wasn’t anything sweet about the way Harry had treated her, so she walks sulkily back to the hotel, ready to pack her bags and leave. She’s decided. She doesn’t want to be his assistant for not even another day. 

It had been a long day. 

…

it’s past 11pm when Harry crosses the threshold of his hotel room, immediately tossing his sweaty clothes on the chair next to the small desk. His room is nice, big but not uncomfortably large to the point of making him feel lonely, and his bed is soft just the way he likes it, and he can’t wait to shower and get under the covers, but… there’s something he needs to do first. 

So, he quickly showers and changes into way more comfortable clothes, a pair of black sweats and a grey treat people with kindness hoodie, slipping his vans on and walking immediately out of the door. 

He’d like to say the uneasiness he feels in his belly is hunger (he had only soup for dinner), but it’s definitely not. He’s nervous. And he feels like a dick. And he doesn’t really know what to say to YN to make it up to her. 

Should he say he was just tense because of the show? In his mind he knows that wouldn’t be too believable, because he’s been doing shows for most of his life, and if he acted the way he did before any of them, he probably wouldn’t have many friends. 

As he’s searching for things to say, he hasn’t even realized he ended up in front of her door, the light beige wood dooming on him and almost making fun of him. 

He closes his hand into a fist and knocks on the door, the pit of his stomach prickling. 

YN opens the door almost immediately, and he wonders whether she was waiting for him. 

He knows she wasn’t as soon as he sees her face fall once her eyes land on him. 

She actually looks pretty cute, all snuggly and sleepy dressed in an oversized sweatshirt and sleep shorts, but when she looks up at him he notices her eyes are a faint red color, and his heart tugs in his chest when he realizes she had been crying. 

It was never his intention to make her cry, and he really does feel bad. 

“What?” She asks dismissively, her body still shielding the room from his view. 

“Know ‘s late but… Can I come in?” He asks wryly, his breath coming out in puffs out of his nose as if he had been running. 

“I don’t know” she ponders. 

“Please, YN” 

She takes a moment to reflect and then opens her door wider (he’s technically still her boss), turning to the side to let him in. 

She closes the door behind him and waits for him to talk with her arms crossed against her chest. He doesn’t really know where to start, whether he should address the fact that she’s been crying or how he treated her, so he settles on “how are you?” And he feels stupid as soon as the words leave his mouth. She sniffles before shrugging. 

“Sorry, that was stupid” he pinches the bridge of his nose as he shakes his head. 

YN doesn’t know what happens next. 

She’s probably just tired, and maybe really hurt by how Harry treated her so she… she starts crying. 

She feels her eyes fill with tears, stinging her water line. And it’s really embarrassing but she really doesn’t care. She figures he’s going to fire her anyway so she might as well let it all out. 

She chokes down a sob, turning her head to the side to be as subtle as possible, but he notices straight away, walking quickly towards her. 

“YN please don’t cry” he pleas, stretching a hand out to her to squeeze her shoulder. 

“I’m sorry” she sobs, hiding her face and her tears behind her hands, pressing the tip of her fingers to her eyelids. 

Harry really doesn’t know what to do. He thinks of himself as a good person and a good friend but this is different. He’s supposed to be her boss. But, he realizes, he’s also the reason she’s crying, and Harry is everything but cruel, so he tugs her by the shoulder into his chest, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, his hand caressing her back soothingly. 

She sobs into his chest, and “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what happened with that stand. I did everything like you asked”. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay” he comforts. 

To really tell the truth, Harry had forgotten all about the clothes. Yes, he had been pissed about the conditions he found the merch stand in, but she had tided up quickly, so in his mind everything was forgiven. He hadn’t really realized how stern he had come off to her. 

“YN I’m not mad about the merch stand. I’m so sorry I was so rude” 

“No,” she’s quick to object, “I get it, you want everything to be perfect. Trust me I know! But I’m trying my best to make everything perfect like you want” she sniffles, pulling her face away from his chest. 

She dries her face with the sleeves of her sweatshirt, sighing heavily. 

“You’re doing a great—“ he starts, but she interrupts him immediately, “I don’t know how to work with you if you’re like this. You’re probably going to fire me for saying this but I can’t stand this anymore” she shakes her head to reinforce her words. 

“Please don’t say that! I don’t want to fire you! I think you’re doin’ a really good job” 

“Really?” She asks surprised, he’s never really told her that. 

“Yes, of course! I’m so sorry I’ve been a dick to you, for this past month. I… I’ve got some trust issues, ya know? and It takes me a while to get accustomed to new people but… I shouldn’t have been so hard on you. It’s not your fault” 

“I thought you kind of hated me” she admits. 

“I could never,” he shakes his head, “I’m so sorry I made you feel that way” 

“Yeah” she sniffles, “you really were a dick” she chuckles once she sees the surprised look on his face. “Plus I’m the only one who knows how to make your little soup” she adds. 

“Oh, you’re right” he agrees, “I could never fire you, then. You’re trapped” 

“Ah! You’re trapped” she giggles, the tears starting to dry on her face and a bit of color returning to her cheeks. 

“But… really, I’m so sorry. I promise it won’t happen again” he says again, looking directly in her eyes to make sure she understands he’s serious.

“Okay” she says softy, sniffling.

“Now” he trails off, “I’m really hungry. Should we go get something to eat?” 

October

“Halloween is not fun.” Harry says, crossing his arms on his chest like a petulant child. 

YN rolls her eyes for what seems like the millionth time, a groan escaping from her parted lips: “but it is!!” She says again. 

The discussion had been opened by Harry himself, claiming he didn’t understand all the excitement YN had claimed to be feeling about Halloween. 

It’s not like he doesn’t like Halloween, he just doesn’t like… scary stuff. 

He hates horror movies and he hates everything paranormal — sure, he loves Twilight (he’s watched it twice already since fall started) but that movie according to him is on a whole other level, and it can’t be described as scary as much as it is angst-y. 

So, when he heard YN all giddy and giggly about this god awful day, he couldn’t just not say what he really thinks of it. Of course she’d love Halloween, Harry thinks. 

“I think you just never truly had the whole Halloween experience” she shrugs from her position on the couch. 

“Trust me,” he says seriously, “I did. Jeff forced me to watch all the Saw movies… it was awful. Couldn’t sleep properly until Christmas” 

YN has to refrain herself from laughing. 

“That’s not what I mean! Watching scary movies is like… the last thing on the list of fun things to do for Halloween” 

“Yeah?” He challenges, turning around in his turning chair to face her, his skin dewy with the moisturizer he’d been massaging on his face. 

“Yes! My favorite is pumpkin painting” she beams excitedly. 

“Pumpkin painting? You have to have made that up” he furrows his brows. 

“What! No! It’s been a thing for… Ugh I don’t know but it’s really fun and I always do it. Come see!” She pats the couch next to her and grabs her phone from the pocket of her hoodie, opening her camera roll and scrolling with her finger until she reaches last year. 

He rolls his eyes at her, getting up from the chair nonetheless. 

He doesn’t sit next to her, instead he towers over her and lowers his head to look at the screen of her phone, his shin touching her knees “ye have a lot of pictures on that damn phone”. 

“Shh!! Here!” She opens the pic and shows it to him: a big pumpkin rests on what seems like a kitchen counter, its previous orange skin painted the brightest shade of pink, with some white splotches of paint that Harry thinks could be little ghosts by their pair of eyes made with two black dots. 

“Wow… that clearly is something…” 

“okay! — she sighs, locking her phone — I didn’t say I was good at it. ‘S just fun an’ I always do it with me mum!” She lifts her head and their eyes lock, his are a bright emerald green today, and she can see herself reflected in them, clearly, and she wonders for a moment how he sees her, what he thinks of her. It lasts only a moment, though, because he averts his gaze quickly, and just as quickly he straightens his posture, towering over her once again. 

“‘S a cute idea” he agrees, taking a step back to put some distance between them. 

YN nods in agreement, picking up her laptop to get back to work immediately. 

Everything is green. 

…

Harry is hiding something. 

He’s been giddy all day and YN noticed first thing in the morning, when she happened to toe his shoe off when he was walking in front of her and he didn’t say anything (it’s the only thing that drives him mad. Like… really mad. He once snapped at her in front of everyone because she kept doing it — accidentally of course). Now, this is not to say Harry can’t have a good day. Since that night in her hotel room, things have been really good between them, and even if their relationship is strictly professional, YN wonders whether a friendship could blossom between them. 

But, she’s also gotten to know him rather well in the two months she’s been working for him, and she knows when he’s hiding something. 

It all started yesterday, when he pretended he had to run some errands alone, and demanded YN stayed at the hotel “to check no one broke into his room” which is a really fucking stupid excuse. When he got back to his room it was late in the night and YN was snacking on some chips, all snuggled up and cozy in his bed, on the verge of falling asleep. 

Nothing seemed different about him since the last time she saw him, and she wondered for a brief minute whether he went out to meet with someone. Having a personal assistant be with you 24/7 can be really invalidating to any romantic relationship someone could want to establish. 

If the only way harry could get a significant other (or even only a sneaky link, YN isn’t one to judge) was to hide from her and demanded her to stay back, it was really pathetic on her part. She pretends like the thought of Harry with someone else doesn’t irritates her. (She’s been stuck all evening in his hotel room while he went out and about!!) 

“Whatcha doin’ in my bed, pet?” He teases once he enters the room, toeing his shoes off and leaving them by the door.

“Your bed is way comfier than mine” she grins, squeezing the comforter closer to her body. 

“I bet” he chuckles. 

“Yeah. But I’m the one working all day so I should get the comfier bed” she shrugs.

“You’re working?” He says, feigning shock as he brings a hand to his chest, “I thought you were my friend willingly!”

“Oh fuck” she sighs, “Jeff told me not to tell you… I must have forgotten” 

“You really are a menace” he chuckles and she giggles, making room for him as he plops down next to her.

“What are ye watchin’?” 

“Just an old episode of How to get away with murder” she says, pressing the “ok” button on the remote to show him the title.

“Never heard of tha’” he furrows his brows, repositioning himself so his legs are stretched out in front of him. 

“You’ve never… what?! That’s crazy! This is probably the best tv show since Grey’s Anatomy went down hill!” 

“Is it scary?” He asks, his brows furrowing on his forehead.

“No, not in that sense at least”

“Okay, then.” He gestures to the remote, “let’s watch it.”

She grins at him and nods, selecting the first episode from the menu. She presses play and when the show starts running, she grabs the chips she was previously nibbling on, putting them between their bodies and telling him that if he wants some to just take them. 

The light from the tv illuminates the otherwise dark room, and YN has to refrain herself from turning her head to look at his profile. 

She smiles Every time he gasps when something unexpected happens, and when the first episode ends, he begs her to put the second straight away. She does, and she listens to his calm breaths that almost lull her to sleep. The bed is comfortable and his warmth from beside her makes her feel safe and soft, and YN thinks it’s really nice he’s doing this with her. She doesn’t stop to wonder what it means. 

…

It’s only the next day that YN gets to finally find out what Harry has been hiding. 

Turns out, he actually wasn’t sneaking out to meet someone behind her back! 

That morning Harry had knocked loudly on her door, tantalizingly sing-songing her name. When she had opened the door, still wearing her pjs and her hair all messy, she had furrowed her brows deeply on her forehead: “Harry!” She had reprimanded him, “it’s 7 in the morning!” 

“Shh, lemme come in” he begged, jumping on his place excitedly. 

He’s wearing his workout clothes and YN knows from his schedule that he has an appointment with his personal trainer at 7.30.

“What’s wrong?” 

“Tonight, after the show, don’t make any plans. I need you for something very serious and very important.” 

And YN would really like to tell him that it’s not like she’d ever make any plans that didn’t revolve around him, but she nods nonetheless, still a bit startled from his irruption in her room that early in the morning. 

That’s how they ended up here, on the floor of his hotel room, probably more than thirty tubes of paint splattered messily in front of them, and two giant pumpkins resting between their legs.

“It’s officially a week before Halloween!” Harry had said, taking the pumpkin out of the bag and showing it to her triumphantly. 

YN had gasped, her hands coming up to cover her mouth shockingly. Never in a million years would she have thought that was what he planned to do. 

She feels warm inside, like a light has been switched up and is warming all her limbs, her chest, her belly. She doesn’t know if he realizes how much this means to her. 

She carefully takes the pumpkin he’s handing to her and sits cross legged on the floor. He sits down next to her, and their knees are brushing with every movement one of them makes. 

“Pass me the remote, please?” He asks.

She nods and grabs it from the bed behind her, handing it to him. 

“I really need to find out who killed her” he says seriously, turning the tv on. “Is it Sam?”

YN chuckles sitting next to him, shaking her head as she bends her back down to grab a paint brush.

“I’m not tellin’ you! That takes away all the fun” 

“I don’t care, YN. I won’t be able to sleep if you don’t tell me!”

“You’re so dramatic” she giggles.

She hands him a brush too and he thanks her with a mischievous grin, “if I end up dying from exhaustion it’s on you!” 

“Shhh, ‘s startin’” she gestures to the tv and they both turn their head to it.

YN grabs a tube of red paint and opens it, squirting a small pump on the plate Harry had gotten her.

“What are ya making?” He asks her after a while.

“I don’t know” she shrugs, “I was thinking something simple like… red hearts”

“Tha’s cute” he agrees, “should I make it How to get away with murder themed?”

YN starts giggling, pushing his shoulder with hers, “that would be cute I guess”

“I’m just kidding. Although I think I could totally rock that”

“Yeah, you would” she agrees.

Harry ends up making it Mickey Mouse themed, drawing two big red ears a pair of big black eyes. He even helps YN with hers (she settled on something more minimalistic) which is ironic because even though she’s the one that loves art, she’s not really good at it.

Harry even snapped a few pictures to send to his mum, one with YN too, “wait, stay right there. Show the pumpkins!!”

“Harry the paint is still fresh I can’t — ugh fine!” She says lifting her pumpkin by the stem. 

He leans in next to her, their temples almost touching, and Harry snaps the picture, a warm smile on his face, dimples showing and all. “Mum’s gonna love this.”

They watch a couple more episodes of this tv show Harry has gotten obsessed with, and once the clock strikes midnight YN is so exhausted Harry has to finish her pumpkin for her. 

Her eyes are aching and she brings her fingers to press on them, hoping to relieve some of the burning. 

“Everything all right?” He asks turning his head to look at her.

“Yes” she nods, “just forgot my glasses and the tv is hurting my eyes”

“Wait” he tells her, standing up on his feet quickly. He heads over to his bedside table and opens the drawer, rummaging through all the stuff he keeps inside it.

He sits back down after a minute, closer than he was before, and he shows her a pair of glasses, “here”.

She looks at him surprised, and “thank you” she says, grabbing them from his hand and sliding them on.

The glasses are comfortable, with a kind of thick frame, and she understands immediately they are a much better quality than hers.

She’s surprised she can see clearly with them, and she enjoys the much needed rest the glasses provide. She leans her head on the back of the bed behind her and sighs contentedly.

“Better?” He asks.

“Much better.” 

“I didn’t know you wore glasses” he says after a while, his gaze still on the tv, “never seen you wear ‘em”

“Yeah” she agrees, embarrassed, “‘s just… don’t really like the way I look in them. Plus it’s not like I’m completely blind!” She hurries to add “they just get really tired and… yeah”

He turns his head to look at her, his brows furrowed on his forehead and his eyes scrutinizing her face.

She feels embarrassed under his gaze and she squirms imperceptibly in her spot. 

“You look proper cute, actually” he says with a swift nod as to reinforce his words. 

She blushes and prays that he doesn’t notice, mumbling a ‘thank you’ and quickly averting her gaze back to the tv.

She feels once again that warm feeling inside her, but this time it’s all over her body and it’s kind of overwhelming. 

She debates whether she should leave or stay, but Harry’s presence is so comforting beside her, and it’s not like his comment has to mean anything. 

It’s just a compliment. 

Like a friend would to another. Right? 

…

It’s not easy to avoid your boss. 

Harry is everywhere, and it’s not like YN wants to avoid him, it’s just inevitable since she realized she actually has a crush on him. 

On the span of these three days YN tried to tell herself it wasn’t that big of a deal; Harry is handsome, he almost resembles an angel, and he’s funny, and since he’s warmed up to her she realized he’s also nice, and caring, and soft. His smile is bright as the sun. His eyes are a peculiar shade of green she has never seen before and she noticed some nights they turn almost blue and she really would like to ask him why but she figures that’s way overstepping her boundary so she just keeps quiet every time she notices it.

And he’s many things all together. 

And maybe if she avoids him this feeling will go away and everything will go back to normal sooner than later. 

On the fourth day, he catches her on her way back to his dressing room and she almost has an heart attack. She had been so careful up to that point!!! 

She was sure he was still in the shower, and she needed to grab her sweatshirt from the dressing room since it was starting to get chilly, but once she opened the door, there he was, sitting on the couch in only a towel and a sweatshirt. Her sweatshirt. She feels like she could combust any second.

“YN! Hey!” He cheerfully greets her once he notices her, locking his phone and leaving it next to him on the couch.

“Hi, H” she replies “just needed to grab my… sweatshirt” she clears her throat embarrassed, pointing towards his torso.

He looks down to himself and then his eyes widen in surprise, “this one’s yours? I’m so sorry pet, thought ‘t was mine!” 

“Tha’s fine” she shrugs, trying not to dwell too much on the fact that he called her a pet name.

“You wan’ it back?” He asks, grinning.

“No, no that’s fine, I’ll find something else” but before she can even answer he’s already getting up, slipping out of the sweatshirt. He walks towards her and hands it to her, “hav’to get ready soon anyway”.

She nods and as he walks to his clothing rack where his outfit is already displayed, and YN lets her eyes linger for a brief moment on his back, his skin is already moisturized and YN wonders if it feels as soft as it looks, his little moles and freckles look like little constellations on the skin of his back, like the Gods blew stars onto it when they created him, and the color of his skin is almost lunar-like, despite how much sun he gets.

“Feel like I haven’t seen ya in ages” he interrupts the silence after a while, and YN watches as he picks up his tank top from one of the hangers and slips it onto his head.

She nods when he turns to her, the tank top is white and she can see the faint ink of his tattoos, “had so much work to do” she sighs.

“Are you sayin’ I’m overworking you?” He chuckles, and she’s quick to say: “no! No! Just… you know with Harryween coming up there’s so much stuff to do”

“Yeah” he agrees, “maybe tonight we can watch a couple of episodes…?” He questions tentatively. 

YN would really like to say yes. She really would. 

“I’m really tired, Harry…” she trails off, “maybe another night?”

“Yeah of course” he shrugs.

He leans down to slip on his leather trousers, tossing the towel on the couch next to him.

“But you can obviously go on though!! I already know what happened and…”

“What? No! I don’t want to watch it without you, that’s our thing.” He says, shaking his head and furrowing his brows, “‘s okay, I can wait a couple days. Even though I hav’to tell ya… i think I may be in withdrawal… i have been tempted to look up spoilers online”

She giggles at his playfulness, “Harry! I told you not to do that!”

“That’s why I didn’t! But eventually I have to know, I have a couple of ideas on who did it though”

“I’m not saying anything”

“Fine” he groans jokingly, “but you have to admit I deserve an award for putting up with all your torture”

“You’re so dramatic!” She laughs through her teeth.

“Yeah, yeah. Actually!” He starts, and he smiles a malicious smile YN is afraid to know what it means, “everything would be forgiven if you came shopping with me tomorrow”

“Harry! I have so much stuff to do! I can’t just ditch everything to go shopping with you”

“Please!!” He pleas almost like a petulant child, “I don’t want to go alone! ’s boring!”

“Jeff gave me so much stuff… you know how he gets when I don’t get things done” she sighs. She’s still holding the sweatshirt he gave (back) to her, and she squeezes it against her chest.

“Screw Jeff” Harry shrugs, passing a hand through his hair to comb it.

“He’s literally my boss”

“No” he’s quick to say, walking towards her and stopping when he’s in front of her, crossing his arms on his chest “Jeff is your employer. I’m your boss” he chuckles darkly, poking her in the stomach playfully.

“Uggh fine! I’ll come” she sighs, finally giving in to his demand. “But you’re buyin’ me coffee tomorrow”

“Deal” he nods his head swiftly.

She rolls her eyes and gives him a little shove on the shoulder, “see ya after the show! Good luck”

“Thank you pet” he says smiling at her softly.

She gives a small smile back and turns to walk out the door.

Once she’s out, the cold air of the AC hits her, and she’s quick to slip over her head the sweatshirt she actually came to get in the first place.

It’s still warm and his sweet musky scent lingers on it. She buries her nose into it and walks to find Jeff, telling him the new plans for the next day.

…

“I need you to do my makeup”

It’s the 31st of October, just a couple of hours before Harryween, and Harry still isn’t dressed in his Dorothy costume. 

His makeup artist had texted him that she wouldn’t be available to work on Halloween (she has young children and couldn’t miss a chance to spend the holiday with them!), but Harry was so busy he hadn’t paid too much mind to it. He knew if it got to the point where no one else was available, he could do it himself. It’s just makeup, it’s not supposed to be hard.

Well, turns out, it is hard. 

So, YN was really his last hope. 

That’s why he knocked loudly on her hotel door, impatiently waiting for her to open it. 

He heard her groan and then the sound of feet walking quickly towards him. 

“What!” She says before even checking who it was.

“I need you to do my makeup”.

That’s how they ended up in her room, both sitting cross legged on her floor with a bunch of makeup bags opened next to them. 

She would really like to be fussy and pouty about it, because not only he has her working on Halloween (she didn’t specifically ask for the day off, but she figured it wasn’t necessary for her to be at the entire show and he could’ve maybe let her off a little earlier, but, no — he had demanded she stayed through the entirety of the show) plus now she’s going to be late and she probably won’t have time to do her own makeup like she wanted specially for her costume!!

but… how can she possibly complain when he’s sitting in front of her like an obedient puppy, looking at her with curious green eyes every time she takes a product out of her bag?

This little crush she has on him is starting to get out of control! Instead of being annoyed at him she’s referring to him as a cute puppy! what is wrong with her!

“Wha’s that for?” He asks, pointing to the little tube of moisturizer she takes out. 

“Moisturizer. This one’s lighter than the one you use because I have oily skin, but I reckon it could work as well” she pops the cap open and squirts a small amount on the tip of her fingers.

She warms it between her hands before looking at him questioning, silently asking for his permission to touch his face.

He nods immediately once he understands, his eyes fluttering shut. 

“Hold your hair for me please” 

He brings a hand to his forehead and tucks away the curls that fell onto it.

YN feels her heart beat hard against her chest as she gets closer to smear the cream onto his face, massaging his cheekbones and his sinuses to ease the product into his skin. 

Harry sighs once she starts massaging his temples, and he makes sure to thank God in his head for his makeup artist and her children, because YN is really gentle.

She has really soft fingers and her touch is delicate, and he thinks she touches him like something fragile that is worth preserving. And he likes the feeling a little too much.

“All done!” She beams, removing her hands from his face (she even dragged the cream onto his neck!).

“Now I think we should do eyebrows” she takes out a small black spoolie and she starts brushing through his brows, “I don’t think yours need much filling.” She ponders, “maybe just in a couple spots we can make ‘em more thick if you’d like”.

He nods, “I’d like that”.

“Okay!” She grabs her pencil and draws a couple of stray hair. 

“Now… I think mascara. And then we’ll do the blush. Close your eyes” she instructs, unscrewing the tube of mascara and removing the excess on the tip. She brings a hand to his eye and presses her thumb to his eyelid, that way she can see his eyelashes better.

She starts coating them with the mascara, first one eye and then the other repeating the same process as well, “your lashes are so long” she whispers, almost to herself, but she hears him chuckle through his nose nonetheless.

“All done!” 

He opens his eyes and they flutter a couple of times, the new added weight of the mascara kind of uncomfortable at first.

Once he gets accustomed to it, he looks at her with his piercing bright green eyes.

YN looks between them as she closes the tube mascara; they’re the deepest shade of green today, and the black coating his lashes is only making them stand out more. 

“Now?” He asks, and she tries to hide her blush as she tilts her head down to rummage through her bag.

“Blush! I’m thinking lots of blush!” 

She takes out a bright cherry blush and “that’s way too red” he protests, furrowing his brows.

She shushes him immediately, “just trust me on this ‘s gonna look so cute!!!” 

This time he doesn’t close his eyes, but he chooses to look at her.

The concentrated expression on her face is really cute, her brows are furrowed as she applies the blush with her fingers (she explained she prefers fingers because brushes can irritate the skin and cause break outs and she doesn’t want that).

He feels her apply some on his nose too, and he involuntarily scrunches it. She giggles at it and then keeps blending the blush on his skin.  

From this angles YN can see he has freckles on his nose, and she doesn’t know why but it makes her feel warm. He seems more real like this, his nose sensitive and with a constellation of freckles on it. She wonders if they get darker in the sun, and she figures she’ll probably know once the summer arrives.

“Looks proper cute!!!” She sighs dreamily, looking at his face to admire the finished look. “I just know your fans will go crazy” she smiles softly.

He grins at her and gets up on his feet, heading for the bathroom to look at himself.

“Fuck I look good!” She hears him say from the bathroom, “the blush is my favorite part”.  

She smiles to herself as she starts tidying her makeup back into the bags, even if it’s pointless really because she has to do her own now.

She gets up from the floor and checks for the time on her phone that’s charging on the bedside table, just as Harry gets out of the bathroom. She still has a hour and a half to get ready, and she thinks she could make it work.

“Thank you again, pet” he smiles down at her and she suddenly feels too hot and breathless.

“It’s okay, no problem at all!” 

…

It’s past midnight once YN finally returns to the hotel. 

A guy from the crew named Peter (he’s a light technician) invited YN to go out with him and his friends, but she’s so tired she declined politely, promising to make up for it another time.

She doesn’t really know what Harry is doing, and she wonders if Peter invited him as well and if perhaps he declined, but she doesn’t have to wonder much because not even half an hour later she hears a knock on her door.

She’s already wearing her Halloween themed Snoopy pajamas, and if it was any other situation she’d probably feel embarrassed, but she’s so tired she just can’t wait to get to bed.

When she opens the door she sees it’s Harry, and she notices — happily — that he’s wearing his pajamas as well (His consist of a pair of plaid pants and a grey hoodie, but still a pajamas nonetheless), and his face is free of the makeup she’d put on him that same afternoon.

He holds in his hands two full grocery bags, and she looks pointedly at him. 

“Can I come in? My arms are starting to get sore”

She nods and moves to the side to let him in, closing the door behind them after. 

“So.” He starts, placing the bags on her bed, “I was about to go to bed when I realized it’s still Halloween”

She furrows her brows at him, “I thought that was like the whole point of Harryween?”

He chuckles at her, “of course, I know. That’s what I’m saying exactly.”

“I don’t follow?”

“I had you work on Halloween! You told me before how much you love Halloween and I didn’t think to give you the day off”

“Oh, Harry. It’s okay, really! Don’t worry about that, it’s stupid!” She says, but not without blushing a little.

She knows it’s just decent courtesy to remember conversations one shared with another, but she says a lot of stuff and she didn’t really think he would remember! Plus, he doesn’t really like Halloween, so she thought he’d actually regard her interest in celebrating it as annoying.

“It’s not stupid” he shakes his head, “I thought to remedy as best I could. But I have to confess, Jeff did the grocery shopping so I can’t take credit for it.”

She giggles and walks closer to the bed, peeking her head to look inside the bags, “it’s okay. You were busy”.

He laughs and nods, spilling the bags onto the bed. An undefined amount of sweets fall on the bed, and YN gasps at how many choices of candies and chocolates Jeff picked out.

“Fuck! i think he got every possible candy available” he snorts.

She agrees with a laugh, “what are we supposed to do with all this food?”

“I know it’s not the best but I thought we could watch a movie and eat it? But if you want to go to sleep that’s fine I mean I-“

He doesn’t know why he suddenly feels embarrassed.

What was he thinking? Walking into her room like a maniac with two bags full of candy and expecting her to be down to watch a movie with him. She works for him. This is entirely not appropriate and he’s aware of that, but… when he saw her on the side of the stage, singing mindlessly along to Golden, dressed as Princess Belle he realized how cruel he had been to take Halloween away from her.

Not only had he deemed it as “not fun” right in front of her enthusiasm, he also specifically requested for her to work, and even if she had not expressed formal complaints, she probably should have.

Because he had been a dick.

So, in his quick pee break, instead of freeing his bladder, he texted Jeff if he could do him a big favor and grab every single candy he could get his hands of, recommending specifically to get as many choices to pick from as he could (he didn’t know what YN liked and he couldn’t risk it).

YN quickly interrupts his train of thoughts, “okay!!! But I get to choose the movie though”

“Okay, -- he nods amused -- Deal. But — he says, picking up the remote from the coffee table to hand it to her — Nothing too spooky”

YN gets comfortable on the bed next to Harry, the candies resting at their feet. He has a package of Sour Patch Kids resting on his tummy, and every time YN wants one she has to move her arm, and it brushes against his chest. 

She feels… weird. It’s weird to her that he would do something like that, and she doesn’t know what to make of it. If it was any other case, if a guy did something like this for her, she’d immediately thought of it as a date, or a way to show interest in her but with Harry… it’s different.

She doesn’t think he likes her like that.

Maybe he sees her as a friend? She doesn’t think she’s particularly fun, but he always chooses to hang out with her, even after a tiring day…

She gets shaken out of her thoughts once she hears him gasp from next to her.

“Oh God, what happened?” She looks at him pointedly.

“I told you no scary movies!” He whines childishly, closing his lips in a pout.

“Harry! ‘S Caroline! It’s not scary!” She can’t help but giggle at him. 

“It’s scary to me” he huffs, taking a candy from the package and popping it into his mouth. He takes another one and shows it to her, which she gladly takes from his fingers. 

“I promise if you get past the scary part it’s really good” 

“Fine” he nods, “I’ll watch it. But please tell me once it gets scary again”

She smiles fondly at him and nods back, “yes, don’t worry about it.”

...

“You know, you were right… once you see past the scary scenes it’s actually a pretty good-“ 

It’s after the movie has finished that Harry realizes YN has fallen asleep next to him.

He rolls his lips into his mouth to bite back a smile, grabbing the remote to shut off the tv.

She must be so tired.

He has her working non stop while she should be out and having fun at her age. She isn’t that much younger than him, but he knows how much can change from your early to your late twenties.

He also knows he should get up from the bed and go sleep in his own one, but… he’s really comfortable right now and she’s really warm next to him, and she smells like candies and vanilla, the perfect scent to lull him to sleep.

He’s also very tired, and before he knows it, his eyes are closing shut and his mind is already wondering to faraway countries, with cotton candy skies and chocolatey grass.

The air smells like vanilla, and he doesn’t know if he’s dreaming or if it’s her next to him, he just knows he was definitely wrong; Halloween isn’t as bad as he thought. 

it's hereeee and it's halloween themed ;))) (!!!!!) let me know what you think and if you want part 2!!!! taglist: @gem1712 @jerseygirlinca @lexiecamposv @ameerakane20 @lovrave @mema10 @sunshinemoonsposts

[calif0rnia-lovers]

growing pains.

rating: 💙 | pairing: rio x his wife | words: 904

an: can't remember who requested this one, but I adore you. here’s another story I never got around to posting

request: rio and his wife again? but this time she's pregnant and can't get comfortable so rio tries to take her mind off it

Rio's eyes open.

He can breathe. Actually, breathe. That’s the problem.

Rio can never breathe—at least not properly—when he’s in bed with you. He’s become accustomed to waking up with you curled against him, most of your weight pressing him into the mattress. As much as he teases you about your inability to sleep without laying on him, Rio secretly loves it.

The absence of your touch is enough for Rio to fight off the tug of sleep already threatening to pull him back under.

His eyes find the clock on the bedside table.

2:15 A.M.

Lifting his head from the pillow, Rio finds you pacing the length of your dark bedroom.

One hand on your forehead, the other on your hip. Eyes closed, you quietly shuffle past the foot of the bed.

“Keep it up, you’ll burn a hole in the floor,” Rio’s chuckle fills the dark room, the sound of his voice causing you to jump.

You both wince as he reaches over, flicking on the bedside lamp.

“Sorry,” you groan. “I didn’t mean to wake you—”

Rio silently dismisses the apology, pushing the comforter back. “You good?”

Instinctively, you nod.

The action would convince many. Throughout your pregnancy, Rio has learned you’re an expert at masking your discomfort. When your friends and family ask how you’re doing, you instantly reply “I’m fine.”

The problem is, you try to do the same with your husband. Five years of marriage and you’ve yet to realize your husband can see right through you. This is why he can’t help but softly smile as your eyes meet his.

“If that’s the case,” Rio sighs. He comes to a stop before you, hands settling on your waist. “Why don’t you come back to bed?”

“Believe me, I tried. But, it seems I’m carrying the next Ronaldo,” you giggle, the exhaustion bringing your forehead to rest against your husband’s chest. “He’s been restless all night.”

“Sorry, mama.”

Soft kisses press against your forehead, over the bridge of your nose, and down to your lips.

Your hands find his chest, gently applying pressure as Rio leaves a final kiss against your lips.

“I’m fine,” you smile softly. “I’m sure he’ll settle down in a bit. Go back to bed.”

Being up this early in the morning was not ideal. Despite your protest, Rio has picked up much of your responsibilities as your third trimester has begun to wind down. Taking Marcus to school is one. You know he only has a few hours of sleep left before he has to take on the task.

Rio eyes drift to the bedroom door. The smile slowly spreading across his face arches your brow.

——————

“You know…I don’t think I’ve ever said this, but yellow looks good on you.”

Your giggle prompts your husband to glance over his shoulder.

Seated at the island of your kitchen, elbows resting against the surface, you watch Rio carefully balance the cooking pan in his left hand. He pushes the oven door shut with his right, pausing to cut it off.

Rio notes the twinkle of your eyes as you give him a once-over.

A large bee adorns his chest, completing the phrase bee happy. The apron he wears matches the yellow, bee-covered, oven mitts protecting his hands from the hot baking pan.

“Every color looks good on me,” Rio chuckles.

“Very true,” you agree, eyes following him as he makes his way around the island. “But, I’m a big fan of this look.”

Rio’s lips meet yours in a brief kiss, his smile growing as you pull away.

The half-eaten cookie you hold soon regains your attention as he slides onto the stool alongside yours.

You’ve lost count of the number of cookies you’ve eaten over the last twenty minutes.

Soft, warm, and chewy, the cookies were loaded with three of your favorite things. Chocolate chips, pecans, and caramel.

Rio had watched you teach Marcus how to make the cookies nearly a dozen times. Usually, while you and his son were busy mixing the dough, Rio was busy stealing chocolate chips and pecans to snack on.

Tonight, it seems the two of you have switched roles. Rio had forced you to remain seated while he focused on preparing the cookies.

“There’s nothing the perfect cookie can’t fix,” you’d once told Marcus after he returned home from a rough day at school.

The family recipe taught to you by your grandmother has become the savior of many stressful situations. And a gift at many celebrations.

They proved to be the perfect distraction from your previous dilemma.

Ignoring the swat of your hand, Rio manages to steal a bite of your cookie, his eyes drifting to the stairs visible from where you sit.

“You better hurry up and eat. Gotta hide the evidence,” he chuckles as you pout.

“There’s plenty of cookies,” you remind him, stealing the cookie out of his hand. “Eat your own.”

Rio shakes his head, his lips pressing a kiss against your shoulder. “I like yours better.”

“I’m eating for two,” you remind him, the smile on your face growing as his eyes roll.

“Funny how that comes out at the most convenient times.”

Primarily when you steal food from his plate. Your eyes drop to the cookie you’d recently stolen from your husband.

“Remember that next time you think about getting me pregnant.”

“Speaking of kids…I’m not taking the blame when Marcus wakes up to find you didn’t share any with him.”

[eilidh-eternal]

Chapter 2 - Places!

Simon Riley x Johnny MacTavish x F!Reader 4.4K words Warnings/tags: 18+ MDNI, mild swearing, feelings of loneliness/isolation, imposter syndrome, feelings of anxiety, reader is oblivious to Johnny and Simon's advances. Masterlist

Delaney O’Riordan, despite her petite frame, pulls you along with a strength that rivals some of your male counterparts in the English National Ballet, iron grip wrapped firmly around your bicep as she berrates you for making her come looking for you. 

“What on earth are ya’ doin’ down here?! An’ drinkin’ no less!” She doesn’t let you get a word in as she hauls you out of the hotel bar away from the two men, through the lobby, and herds you into the lift. “We’ve forty-five minutes to get to the theater and you’re down here flirtin’ with strangers?”

“Laney, it’s fine. My bag is packed and I’m dressed to go, all we need to do is grab it from the room and catch the bus. It’ll take thirty minutes, tops,” you assure the fiery-tempered woman as the doors to the lift close and she presses the button for your floor. “And I wasn’t flirting.” You weren’t, right? You just lost your balance. He’d caught you–they’d caught you–and set you upright again. That was it. No flirting. Even if the way the dark-haired man had called you pretty made your stomach flip-flop the same way it does every time Connor has to toss you through the air in rehearsals, and the way the blond wearing the mask, Simon you think he was called, made your skin warm with the hand that lingered on your back for longer than any polite touch should have.

“Aye, so you admit you were drinkin’ then?” Delaney crosses her arms and fixes you with an admonishing glare.

“It was just a cocktail, a mint julep. There was hardly any liquor in it,” you say in an attempt to placate her, knowing her irritation comes from a place of concern rather than annoyance. “Just something to calm the opening night jitters.” Despite decades of experience and many, many opening nights for productions big and small, for company exhibitions and tours abroad, some of them still had you tapping your fingers methodically over your thighs and shifting your weight from one foot to another every few seconds.

Her gaze softens but her arms remain folded tight to her chest. She knows tonight is important. It’s your first show as the company’s first principal dancer. The prima ballerina of the English National Ballet, dancing the lead role of one of the most quintessential ballets—a night that will define the rest of your career. “You’re going to do just fine tonight. I know it feels different, having the title now, but you’ve danced this role before. You’ll dance it hundreds of times more, no doubt, now you’ve made a name for yourself. The Bolshoi will be beggin’ ya to dance for ‘em in Moscow after tonight. I know it.” 

You scoff at this. “Bolshoi made Swan Lake, Laney, they don’t let just anyone dance for them. Especially for Odette and Odile.” You couldn’t imagine being asked to the Bolshoi Ballet. It’s one of the oldest, toughest, companies to dance with and for. Their dancers are all hand selected, scouted for their looks and physique in their youth, and train with a militaristic intensity to be the best of the best. The Soviet and American schools of ballet are both similar in that way. Aggressive. Emphasizing and attacking their movements and the sharp lines of their form with an energy the English and French schools lean away from. But that was the very reason why you’d been offered a contract with the Kensington-based company. For your ability to dance the part of Odette with the elegance and grace required for the demure damsel, and simultaneously portray the brazen and arrogant seductress Odile, who moves with much darker intentions. A duality that is coveted among dancers.

The soft ‘ding’ of the lift alerts you to the fact that you’ve reached your floor, heavy doors sliding open to reveal the gaudy carpet and busy wallpaper lining the hallway of the hotel you’re staying in for the time being. You nod a brief goodbye to Delaney, promising to meet her in the lobby, and step off the lift. The room is comfortable, has everything you need and is by no means lacking, but still it’s less than ideal. You miss your cozy apartment in the suburbs, the early but peaceful mornings before rush hour and all the sounds that come with it, and the beaux-arts architecture giving way to modern urban highrises. Soho isn’t that different, all things considered, but staying in a hotel until you can find a new apartment in London leaves you feeling out of place and untethered with just a few suitcases full of essentials and a contract for work in your possession. It makes you feel temporary. In this city. In this job. Easily replaced at a moment's notice. You try not to imagine what your life would look like if those things were true, pushing away the poisonous and intrusive notion that at any moment you’ll wake up from this dream and mourn it for being just that–a subconscious fantasy–as you sling your duffel over your shoulder and head back down to the lobby to meet Delaney and catch the bus. 

Backstage at the London Coliseum thrums with the typical pre-show chaos. Last minute adjustments to props and the set before rolling everything into place behind the curtains, mending any overlooked rips or tears in costumes sustained in dress rehearsal, and hundreds of dancers, crew and musicians fluttering about the narrow halls between dressing and storage rooms. Hairspray lingers thick in the air of the dressing rooms and the scent of gels and pomade have a cloying effect that leaves you grateful for the privilege your status as first principal affords you. A green room. 

It’s not very big. Just enough space for a backlit vanity, a rolling costume rack, small loveseat and a powder room. It feels odd, not sharing a room with fifty or sixty other dancers as you prepare for the show. Feels even stranger that someone else is doing that for you now, slicking back your hair and affixing your headpiece, rouging your cheeks and lining your lips in a blush tone. One more thing you’ll have to get used to.

Once the hair and makeup artist deems their work is finished you waste no time breaking in your pointe shoes and allowing yourself a final warmup before leaving your little bubble of calm amidst the chaos of opening night. The sound of the orchestra checking their pitch and tuning accordingly mixes with the chatter of the settling audience, and as the stage manager announces five minutes to showtime the wings of the stage begin to fill with all manner of performers. Everyone stretches, marks choreography, and goes about their pre-show rituals, wishing one another a good performance with smiles and encouraging embraces. Across the stage, you find Delaney smiling at you among the other dancers in the wings. She lifts her hands, presses them together in the shape of a heart over her chest, and you mirror the gesture. ‘Good show.’

“Places!” the final call rings out, and the house lights dim. The audience falls silent as the opening bars played by the orchestra signal the opening of the stage curtain, and with a deep, steadying breath, you leave behind the wings to take the stage.

By the time you step off stage you’re exhausted but elated. You had a stellar performance, a standing ovation from the crowd, and your directors sing their praises to you all the way from the stage after curtain call to your green room. However, the theatrics aren’t quite done for the night. There is to be a rotation of swans to pose with families for photos after each performance, and as first principal you are expected to set an example. That’s how you found yourself back in front of the vanity with another hair and makeup artist taming your hair back into place and making adjustments to your makeup. A costumer comes to help you change, guides a pair of wings onto your shoulders and shows you how to fasten them to your wrists, how to pose with them, and you’re sent off to the lobby.

You greet each child with a hug, mindful of the extra berth required to do so with the wings, and smile for cellphone cameras through the pain radiating from your knees and ankles. Some of the smaller children are too enamored with the feathers and the rhinestone-dusted gossamer to pay attention to their parents, and it takes several attempts to steal their attention away and take a satisfactory photo. Parents throw apologetic smiles your way as the children all take their turns, and you assure those who voice them that it’s really no trouble at all, though the twinging of your right knee would beg to differ. You’re holding a back attitude, relying on the small section of barre hidden behind the small recreation of the lake erected around you to maintain your balance and sustain the pose with your leg high in the air behind you, and you nearly sigh in relief when the child in front of you darts back to their parents once the photo is taken.

That relief is short lived, however, as you come back down on two feet again and turn to greet the next family. You’re wholly unprepared to find the dark-haired, blue-eyed man from the bar, masked, blond companion at his side, towering over you.

“Hello, little bird,” the former greets you and a roguish grin tugs at the corners of his mouth. 

He has a mohawk. You hadn’t noticed in the bar, and you tell yourself it must have been the dim lighting that had kept that detail hidden from you. It certainly wasn’t the way his arm had felt wrapped snugly around your waist, or the way concern shone in his eyes and made them look more like sta-

“Yer friend carted ye off before we could have a proper introduction. Name’s Johnny. Ye remember Simon,” he says with a gesture to the statuesque, masked blond, and you force the shocked expression from your face and replace it with a polite smile, nodding in recognition.

“Yes. It’s… nice to meet you both. Officially. Would- would you like a picture together?”

Simon’s eyes dart towards Johnny and the shorter man turns his face up to meet his gaze. There’s a moment of silence between the two, an internal conversation you’re not privy to. When Johnny looks to you again there’s an impish look about him, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he steps forward, leaving Simon with his phone.

“Si isn’t fond of photos,” he says as he approaches, sidling up to you between the wooden props. He bends down to whisper into the shell of your ear, “We’d like to have a photo of ye though, pretty little bird that ye are.”

Heat blooms across your cheeks, and before your brain can fully process the implication of his words he’s wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you closer. Your lips part on a yelp of surprise as you’re suddenly being hefted into the air and-

He’s perched you on his shoulder, you realize with no small degree of shock, a large, steadying hand firm on your thigh and the other resting on your shin just above your ankle. The look in his eyes and the sultry smile he gives you as he peers up at your shocked expression causes your stomach to flip and you grip onto his other shoulder to balance yourself. “Sorry for the scare, hen, but I can’t have our pretty bird stranded on the ground. Ye should be up there,” he says with a wink. 

What do you even say to that? 

“It’s ok, I just- I wasn’t prepared is all,” you reason aloud and cross your ankles, willing yourself to relax in his hold. When you lift your gaze from Johnny’s you find Simon right where you left him, brows pinched together in what you think is exasperation, but the corners of his eyes crinkle in a way that suggests amusement. 

“Quit your yappin’, Johnny, and look ‘ere,” he grumbles, and Johnny does as he’s told, reluctantly tears his gaze away from you to look at Simon, holding up his phone for the photo.

You plaster a demure smile over your features, hold yourself steady with a hand on Johnny's shoulder, thick, corded muscle rippling beneath- No. Stop. Now is not the time for thoughts like this. This man is a stranger and you’re still at work. You inwardly chastise yourself and extend your free arm above your head, attempting a loose fourth position, posing prettily for the photo, and dutifully ignoring the warmth of Johnny’s hands on your legs, how solid he feels beneath you. 

Just as easily as he’d hoisted you upon his shoulder he guides you gently back to the ground, hands lingering around your waist, unwilling to let you go again. “We want to ask ye somethin’,” he says as Simon steps forward, hand finding its way to the small of his back and Johnny’s hands pull away from your waist reluctantly to lean closer to Simon. “When yer done here with…” He pauses and gestures broadly to your wings and costume, and his smile turns apologetic. “Performance? I’m sorry, I dinnae ken what to call it. But, we’d like to have a proper drink with ye.” He looks hopeful as he slips his hands inside his pockets, and Simon’s head tilts ever so slightly to the side as they wait for your response.

You? They want to have a drink with you? You shift your weight nervously from one foot to the other, fighting to hide the scrunch of your nose as your knee barks under the pressure. “I won’t be done here for at least another hour, it will be quite late.”

“That’s not an issue for us,” Simon quickly supplies. “You’re stayin’ at the Broadwick?”

You nod.

“We’ll meet you there then, at the bar. Same place as before.” His voice is confident. Commanding. He says it like it's a fact, like you’ve already agreed. And at this point, you might as well. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t curious about the two men. Curious about Johnny’s flirtatiousness and Simon’s encouragement of it. And you need friends outside the company. Someone who you can talk to about boring and mundane things like the weather or how outrageous the price of a latte is at that little corner bakery you’d been frequenting. Something other than commiserating over long rehearsals and the blisters they cause, or how the director was in a sour mood with the cast that day over something beyond their ability to control. Anything other than work.

“Ok,” you finally agree, and you think Johnny's face might tear in two if his smile were any wider.

An hour and a half later you’ve returned to the hotel and rushed yourself into the shower, scrubbing at your skin with a soapy washcloth and carefully avoiding getting your hair wet. It’s still done up nice enough, and there's no sense in going downstairs looking like a drowned rat with damp hair when it’s already been… Shit, they’ve been waiting nearly an hour. You speed through the rest of your routine, washing the thick show makeup off your face, digging around in your suitcase for the sweater dress you know is here somewhere- Ah! There, buried under a mountain of leotards, and, graciously, next to the comfy flats you planned to wear with it. You trade the generic hotel bathrobe for the dress and step gingerly into your flats, mindful of the blisters already forming, and spare a few minutes more to swipe some mascara over your lashes and conceal the ever present dark circles of exhaustion under your eyes before heading downstairs.

Your heart pounds behind your ribs the same way it had earlier in the evening standing in the wings at the start of the show, and you take slow, deep breaths as you approach the hotel bar, half expecting to find it empty after you've kept them waiting for so long. You wouldn’t blame them if they’d left already. It’s nearly eleven p.m. on a Thursday, well past late for most of the working professionals in the city.

And yet, there they sit, occupying the same seats at the bar they had hours earlier. Johnny spots you first, beaming at you from over Simon’s shoulder, and your heart calms a bit, flooding with relief at the sight of his smiling face and easing some of your fear that they would be upset having waited so long.

“I’m so sorry for making you wait down here, I didn’t want to show up covered in sweat or looking like I’d come straight from the shower-” you say by way of greeting, and Johnny is quick to smother your apologies.

“Dinna fash, hen,” he interrupts, standing from his seat and guiding you to take his place on it with a warm hand on the small of your back. “We didn't mind waitin’. Had ourselves a nice little chat, eh Si?”

You settle yourself on the barstool and Simon hums thoughtfully beside you. “We did.” 

Johnny takes the open seat beside you, angling his body so that he can brace an arm on the bar top and sit facing you. “So our little bird’s a dancer?”

“‘S a bit obvious, Johnny,” Simon quips.

Johnny huffs an exaggerated sigh as he retorts, “Aye, but what if she’s not really? Could be a spy. The Russians have done it before,” he says and winks in your direction.

Simon groans but you can’t help grinning at Johnny’s teasing. “Yes, I'm a dancer. Not a spy. I don’t think they could keep up with our training.”

Johnny lifts a curious brow and leans forward. “How long do ye train for somethin’ like that?”

You make a show of pausing to think before answering. “Hmm, it’s been a little over twenty years now, twenty-two I think?”

He mutters something under his breath that sounds like swearing. “Twenty-two years?!” 

Simon’s eyes shine a rich, amber color in the low light of the bar, and a glimmer of something akin to recognition passes through them as he nods appreciatively. “Ya must be good at it then, if you’ve worked that long for it.”

You feel warmth blooming across your cheeks and a similar warmth working its way from your chest to your stomach, lower, as his eyes, the only part of his face visible above the mask, continue to study you, and your dress suddenly feels too tight against your skin. “I’m as good as any other dancer who’s worked most of their life for it.” A modest answer. 

“Which one were ye then, on stage tonight? Were ye one of the swans?” Johnny’s voice pulls you out of the hold Simon’s wandering gaze has on you. You blink several times to clear your thoughts, and when you finally turn your attention back to him he's smiling down at you with a glimmering fascination in his own eyes.

You hesitate, briefly consider lying so they don’t make a fuss over the truth, but ultimately can’t find it in yourself to do so. “Yes, two of them actually. Odette and Odile.”

Johnny’s brows furrow, and Simon sighs with feigned annoyance but explains for him anyways, “She’s the swan Johnny. She’s the leading lady.”

“Christ, yer the star of the whole thing and yer playin’ it off like yer just in the background! I’d be tellin’ everyone if it were me.”

“Thankfully she’s not. She has class, something you could use more of,” Simon chides and you laugh quietly to yourself at their back and forth.

Johnny looks as if he’s about to come back with another smartalec comment but the arrival of the bartender defuses his need to have the last laugh as a glass of scotch is pushed towards him, a mint julep for you, and a tumbler of bourbon for Simon. Johnny takes the drink without question, swirling the contents of the glass and taking a slow sip, but it’s your turn now to pinch your brows in confusion.

“I didn’t- I haven’t ordered anything?” 

“The bartender came by while you were explainin’ your trainin’ to Johnny. I ordered for us,” Simon explains.

You look from Simon to the drink in front of you, brows still pinched together.

“‘S what you ordered earlier, would ya rather have somethin’ else?”

“No! No, this is perfect, thank you. It’s just… I don’t think anyone’s ever bothered to pay that much attention to me?” you quickly explain, pulling the mixed drink towards you.

“Aye, he’s a charming bastard like that. Observant to a fault.”

You hum in answer and bring the glass to your lips, taking a slow, savoring sip.

“How long have ye been in london?” Johnny toys with the glass in his hand as he watches you, tracking the movement of your throat and your tongue as it darts out to swipe across your lower lip.

“We’ve just come back from tour a few weeks ago, so not long.”

“And you’ve been stayin’ in a hotel?” Simon seems perturbed at the notion.

“Hard to look for a place to live when you’ve been on tour for three months.” You take a longer sip from your drink this time. You really need to dedicate some time to that this week, maybe contact a real estate agent.

Simon and Johnny share a look, another unspoken conversation between themselves, and that glimmer of recognition returns to Simon’s eyes. “We’re… familiar, with that particular struggle.” When you turn to him with a puzzled expression he explains, “We travel a lot for work.”

“You work together?” 

“Somethin’ like that,” and that’s the end of it. Their closeness makes sense then, if they travel together often. It’s hard not to get close to someone when you're obligated to be with them all the time. Hell, it’s the reason why you and Delaney are so close, having shared a room while on tour. 

“D’ye have a borough in mind?” Johnny asks to redirect the topic of conversation back to you.

“The studio is in southern Kensington, close to Stamford Bridge, and we perform at the coliseum and Royal Albert Hall when we aren’t touring, so I’m hoping I can find something centrally located. Maybe in Belgravia or Westminster.” The few places you've been able to find online are quite pricey, but your contracted salary is enough for a decent flat in either neighborhood. It’s not like you order takeaway every night and your busy schedule certainly doesn’t allow you to party every weekend. Well, maybe the takeaway part isn’t exactly true. Frozen dinners from Tesco don’t count as takeaway, do they? Either way, if you have to spend the money, it may as well go towards a comfortable and conveniently located appartment, even if it’s overpriced. 

“Bit of a highbrow area,” Simon comments and Johnny does his best not to outright snort when he starts to laugh, taking a long swig from his half-empty glass of scotch.

“Highbrow is an understatement. Ye’d be a stone's throw from the palace in either borough,” he seems to agree, and tacks on under his breath as he drains his glass, “The whole south of London is full of posh bampots.”

Simon huffs from behind you and when you peer up at him you’re met with a simmering glare pointed in Johnny’s direction. 

“Och, dinnae gi’ me tha’ look Si. Ah Ken yer fer Queen an’ country, but ye ken well enough how Ah feel aboot-“

You try and fail to hide your amusement, doubling over to clutch at your sides in a fit of giggles and half-suppressed laughter, finding both Johnny’s thickening accent and disdain for the richer neighborhoods and the stuck-up personalities they breed within them comical in an ironic sort of way. You’d always been of a similar opinion, holding contempt for the privileged and entitled attitudes of the people who lived in gated communities—and now you would be one of them. 

When you regain your composure and right yourself once more, your lungs take longer to catch up, breath stalling in your chest as you realize you’re being watched.

In the dim lighting, Johnny’s eyes are luminescent, the reflections of headlights as cars pass by the window like comets blazing a path across the steely-blue night, and it reignites the warmth you’d felt under Simon’s gaze. He regards you with the kind of rapturous intensity you think a soul ascended to the gates of heaven might behold a guardian angel and the heavenly fire they wield, and it leaves you breathless. It sucks the air from the room like a raging inferno, rips the oxygen from your lungs and replaces it with delicate whispers of smoke and a burning need to draw lungfuls of the very thing he’s stolen from you, but all you can do is inhale the intoxicating fumes it leaves in his wake. 

“Sorry, it’s just… the irony, and your accent. I didn’t mean-” 

“No dove, don’t apologize. Not for makin’ such beautiful sounds for us,” he says in a husky voice and that spark of heat flares brighter, low in your belly.

Oh. Oh… Your denial of all his flirty comments and your resolve to ignore them begins to disintegrate as you realize this isn't just some bit for him. He really means it. He simply watches you for a moment longer, and you shift nervously under the scrutiny of his gaze until you think he must know you're having trouble breathing because a slow, confident grin splits his lips as he looks past you, over your shoulder to where Simon leans casually against the bar. His glass of bourbon is somehow empty despite never seeing him drink from it and he’s bent forward at the waist, elbow braced against the bar top and his fist pressed to his temple.

“Think I could get drunk off’a that,” he murmurs, and you know that no other proclamation has ever sounded as delightfully dangerous as those eight words.

En Pointe>>>

©️Eilidh-Eternal.2024 ~ The intellectual property of Eilidh-Eternal is not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or use with AI technologies.

[aaliyg]

In The Back Of My Mind

Word Count: 1.9k+

Pairing: Ayanna Patterson x black!basketballplayer!reader

Prompt: Rivals to Lovers

Warnings: slight angst, reader beating herself up a bit

Dialogue Color Code: Ayanna, Reader

I wanna say a huge thanks to @3xoticyanna for helping me with this one <3

Ever since you started taking basketball seriously in middle school, you and Ayanna had been rivals on the court. Ayanna was known for holding her own under the net, while you sunk down threes like there was no tomorrow. No one could deny that the both of you were talented in your specialties, but that didn’t stop them from comparing you two. Initially you didn’t pay it any mind, understanding that things like this were pointless in the long run. 

That was until you two started your junior year of highschool. All of a sudden, Ayanna was getting scouted by colleges like Uconn and South Carolina, while you barely got a glance from anyone at all. It stung, sure, but you swept it under the rug in the name of sportsmanship like your coaches taught you to do. You couldn’t help the envy bubbling beneath the surface, though, as the comparisons began to gnaw at you. Practices that used to be a joyful escape and a reset from the routine of school now felt like hell on Earth.

Ayanna didn’t make it any better either. Every time you saw her name in the local sports column or heard about her latest highlight reel, a mix of admiration and frustration would churn inside you. You tried to focus on your own improvement, pushing yourself harder during drills, working on your defense, and fine-tuning your shot. But it felt like no matter how much effort you put in, you couldn't shake the feeling that the spotlight was always just out of reach. It all came to a head one day when you heard your coach congratulating Ayanna on how well she had fine-tuned guarding people. You waited for her to say that you helped her, that you lost sleep to make her game improve, but nothing of the sort came out. You had asked Ayanna about it, and even though she did apologize, you still felt hurt. After that, the two of you playing together had never been the same, causing an even bigger rift between you two.

You shook your head out of those thoughts. That was four years ago, and you had a game to win now. You pulled your LSU jersey over your head and did one last look over before walking out of the locker room. Your team was hosting Uconn tonight, a rare occurrence, but an event that fans would absolutely pack the stands for. The noise from the crowd was already pounding as you walked onto the court with your team, the energy electric in the arena. You spotted Ayanna on the opposing side, her presence commanding as always, and you couldn’t stop the side eye targeted towards her. She side eyed you right back, making the energy amongst both teams shift dramatically. Flau’jae quckly steered you away before anything could happen. She leaned into your ear, reminding you that people came here to watch a game, not a rivalry. You sighed and nodded, even though you could feel Ayanna’s eyes on the back of your head.

At least you could say you were on the starting lineup tonight. You smirked to yourself a bit as the tip-off began.

It had been 30 minutes of each team going band for band, and the score was 57 (LSU) to 60 (Uconn). Both you and Ayanna were put on the floor to start the fourth quarter, and to say the atmosphere was tense would be an understatement. You and Ayanna took your positions, the tension between you palpable. Despite Flau’jae’s advice to keep the focus on the game, the urge to outshine Ayanna was becoming too strong. You had managed to sink a three in halfway through the quarter, tying the score at 60-60. By now there were only five minutes left, and you wanted to widen the gap. You attempted a pump fake on Ayanna, but your ankle had other ideas. 

You felt the world go into slow motion as your weight was shifted to your good foot, causing you to lose balance. Before you could hit the floor though, Ayanna’s arms were wrapped around your middle to keep you up. 

"You okay?" 

You knew Ayanna had a nice voice, but you had never heard it in this low and surprisingly gentle state. There was an undercurrent of concern in her tone that was in stark contrast to the fierce competition you’d shared on the court. You glanced up at her, momentarily taken aback. For a split second, the rivalry and the game seemed to melt away, leaving the two of you in your own little bubble. You felt your face heat up slightly as you straightened yourself in her arms, trying to regain your composure. By now a trainer was helping Ayanna sit you down on the bench to check your ankle, but you were too focused on how right it felt to be in Ayanna’s arms. Those thoughts got shattered as the trainer moved your foot gently, causing you to hiss in pain. By now, the gym had gone dead silent as the crowd awaited the verdict. 

You could hear the whispers in the crowd when Ayanna didn’t move from your side, but your mind was too focused on what the trainer was going to say to care. Eventually, you were asked to stand on the ankle, and everyone knew your night was over when you almost immediately had to shift to your other foot. 

By the grace of God, LSU took the win at 64 to 61 points. You were icing your ankle in the locker room when Ayanna poked her head in, worry written plainly on her face.

“How’s your ankle?” “It’s- it’s definitely seen better days but I should be ok, thanks.”

The atmosphere got extremely awkward, and you could tell Ayanna had something to get off her chest.

“You’re doing the hand thing you know.”

You winced to yourself at how rude that came across, but Ayanna took it in stride.

“The hand thing?”

If you weren’t in pain you would’ve chuckled at how perplexed the taller girl looked.

“When you get nervous you start wringing and rubbing your hands a lot. Just say what you need to say.”

Ayanna hummed in acknowledgement and took a seat next to you, still fiddling with her fingers. You shifted around to look at her properly, ignoring the throbbing in your ankle for a second.

“Are you ok, Ayanna?”

Ayanna took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts before she spoke. 

“I just wanted to say that I’ve been thinking a lot about our rivalry and everything that’s happened over the years. It was fun, yes, but I didn’t want it to come to this. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt, and I really respect how you’ve pushed through despite everything.”

You furrowed your brow in confusion at her words. As far as you were concerned, your relationship didn’t count as a rivalry if you would always be second to her. The hurt of never quite measuring up, of constantly being in Ayanna's shadow, was something you carried silently. It wasn’t just the games that hurt—it was the unspoken understanding that, no matter how hard you worked, you’d always be viewed as the underdog. You didn’t realize you had started crying until Ayanna’s thumb swiped against your cheek gently. The unexpected tenderness of the gesture was enough to shatter the dam you’d been holding up for years. The floodgates opened, and you broke down, sobs shaking your frame as a tidal wave of emotions crashed all at once.

Ayanna’s hand moved to your back, rubbing soothing circles as she tried to offer comfort. Her touch was gentle, if a bit hesitant, like she wasn’t sure on how to handle the depth of your emotions but genuinely wanted to help. Eventually your sobs puttered off into silent tears, and you couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed. You wiped the last of your tears away and looked down at your lap.

“Sorry about that..”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for. If anything I should be apologizing. I didn’t know how much this whole rivalry was hurting you.”

“I mean it’s a part of it-”

“You hurting and feeling like an underdog should never be a part of it. Never.”

All you could do was shrug, but Ayanna was having none of it. She gently grasped your chin and let out a sad sigh at how defeated you looked. This wasn’t the girl she met in middle school. Seeing you like this twisted her heart in ways she didn’t know was possible. She felt tears prick her eyes as the weight of her contributions -intentional or not- to your predicament pressed down upon her. You sniffled as she cupped your face in her palms, closing your eyes to simply take in the moment. Ayanna took a shaky breath before continuing.

“I’ve been so focused on the competition, on everything I’ve been trying to achieve, but tonight, seeing you like this has made me realize something important. I’ve been so caught up in being the best, I forgot to see what’s right in front of me.”

You slowly opened your eyes, looking at Ayanna through a haze of tears. Her gaze was intense, filled with a mixture of regret and something deeper. You saw the raw honesty in her eyes, something you hadn’t expected.

“Do you remember when we first started playing against each other? I was always so focused on outdoing you, on proving myself. But over the years, I’ve come to care about you in ways I never intended to.”

You were taken aback, the unexpected confession hanging in the air. 

“Care about me?”

Ayanna nodded as she looked up at the ceiling to stall her tears. 

“Yeah. I... I’ve been trying to deny it, but I can’t anymore. I care about you so much. Not just as a competitor or a player, but as someone who’s been a huge part of my life and pushed me to be better.”

She took a deep breath and looked you in the eyes, a concoction of fear, hope, worry, and so much more swirling in those dark brown eyes of hers.

 “I think I’m in love with you.”

You felt your whole world slow to a halt at her admission. You couldn’t tell if the thudding in your body was from your heart or your ankle anymore, but that didn’t matter as you slowly moved closer to her. Before you could overthink it, you leaned in and pressed your lips against hers. The kiss was hesitant, almost shy at first, a gentle exploration that spoke more than any words could of the emotional turbulence you both felt. Ayanna’s lips were soft against yours, and you could feel the tremble in her touch from the vulnerability and relief she was experiencing. 

When you finally pulled away, your breaths were shaky and uneven, and you both looked at each other with a mixture of surprise and newfound tenderness. The silence that followed was heavy, but reflective as the both of you came to grips with what happened.

“Was that too much or-”

“No, no that was alright..”

You fidgeted with your nails and mumbled shyly.

“It felt right, doing that. Like..”

Ayanna flashed her lopsided grin shyly, finding a perfect opening for humor.

“Like it was destiny?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile that graced your face.

“Not quite, but something along that line. So..”

You looked up at her, hope mixing with a tinge of hesitance.

 “What are we calling this now?”

Ayanna looked thoughtful for a moment. She knew this was new territory for both of them, and she wanted to do this right.

“Wanna just take it slow and see how it goes?”

You nodded slowly, your heart lifting at her response.

“I think I’d like that.”

[incompleteth0ts]

You're too sweet for me

Part 1 of ???

Day 3 of Hadercy week

Prompts that will be used: Daddy issues made Percy a slut for older men and Hades Pining after Percy

The underworld was quiet. It was like all of Hades had held its breath.

In the private wing of Hades' palace, the doors to his study have frozen shut. Jagged pillars of black ice clawed their way from out of the ground, cross-hatching over the massive oak doors despite the rising temperatures inside the palace.

Behind the doors, Hades crested over his desk, clutching a pile of papers in his trembling fist.

‘Matter of Urgency’, stamped in red as bright as his wife's lipstick, ‘Your presence is needed on Olympus immediately. King Zeus, 6th born of Rhea.’

The onyx beneath Hades' feet cracked and splintered. The last time he had received a letter of urgency was when his son started a Blitzkrieg. The egotistic masthead even had the nerve to bring up mother. Between cleaning up the damage caused by Gaia and forcing all his staff to work triple the shifts to restore the already fragile balance of life and death, the last thing he has is time to travel to New York.

But a summons is a summons, and he doesn't have the time to upset his brother either.

The ice shattered, firing down the hallway once Hades slammed the frozen doors open.

“Finally worked up the nerve to go and see what the King wants?”

“I have no time for your nonsense, Hypnos.”

The primordial slunk around the corner. The wings that obstructed Hades from seeing his face gave an excited flap. For such a lazy god, he was as nosy as they came.

“Because his summons was just that urgent?” There was only a flap of wings in warning before Hypnos jumped to perch on Hades' shoulder. Hades couldn’t go to Olympus until he shook him off. Zeus was still mad at him and his son for their actions in the Second Titan War.

“Where is your brother, and why is he not holding your leash?”

Hades snapped at the primordial when he pulled at the length of his hair.

“I could say the same about your wife. She was supposed to get back yesterday.”

Hades scowled. His younger brother had held her back another day per the request of Demeter. He’s been in a foul mood since gaining the news. The invite to Olympus has done nothing but spark more irritation.

“Get off; you're making me late.”

“You say that like it means anything. You don't even want to go.”

“But must, so move.”

Hypnos’ neck turned a sharp 360° as he thought the order over. It was a shame that the owl was already Athena's sacred animal.

“When you come back, you must tell me what was said. I get so curious about what goes on up there.”

In a flurry of feathers, Hypnos disappeared from Hades' side, and he was alone once more. One of these days, he would have to try installing a personal space policy, but until then, he would have to carry a spray bottle.

__

“You don’t understand Hermes; you should have seen her in her little tutu; you would have cried too - ah!”

Hades glanced around his new location, less than impressed with what he was seeing. Behind him, Apollo clutched his chest and leaned his weight on Hermes, who was sinking to the floor in laughter.

“You got him good, Uncle!”

“Why do you do that!”

Hades ignored both of their comments to ask his own.

“This is not the throne room. I was hoping you would be in there already.”

Apollo slid his hands through his hair, putting all the individual strands back in place. “Why would I be in the throne room right now? Why are you trying to get there anyway?”

“Your father sent me a letter. It was one of urgency. I figured he would be inviting everyone if he were inviting me.”

Hermes and Apollo looked at each other. Their uncle's reason for being here was lost to them.

“We weren’t told about this. Maybe father just wants to see you.”

As if that possibility was any better than the one he’d come up with.

“I see. I will be off then.”

Hades turned his back to make his way to his brother. If he was lucky he’d run into his wife on the way or an excuse not to show up.

It took Hades longer than he’d care to admit to realize that he had a small party following after him. Turning around, Hades was faced with his nephew's winged shoes.

“What are you doing?”

“Accompanying you.”

Hermes flew a lap around Hades' head before landing at his side. Unlike Hypnos, Hermes was unfortunately able to travel wherever he pleased so if he wanted to listen in as his father rapidly aged everyone that would be present at the meeting, it was all fair game to him.

“What a shame. You make for terrible company.”

“The same has been said about you, uncle.”

Hermes cleared a path for them with a sweep of his Caduceus. The two twin snakes wrapped around it hissed at the crowd and each other. Hades could never be bothered to remember the names of either of them, even though his nephew insisted on everyone knowing the names of his most loyal companions.

‘Well, how would you feel if everyone forgot Cerberus’ name?’

‘Hermes I named my dog Spot.’

“So, what do you think my father has to say to you today? Maybe, it’s another custody battle.”

Hermes slowed his steps so he could walk in time with Hades. Hades doubted it was another custody battle. It’s been 200 years since Zeus humored Demeter with one of those. Hades mentally cursed at the vagueness of the letter. He could only hope that the matter at hand was important and wouldn’t be at his expense.

“Come on, Hades. Why so quiet? You never talk to me anymore; keep this up, and I’ll start to think you don’t love me anymore.”

Hermes stomped in front of Hades, halting his stride. Hermes looked at Hades expectantly with an urgent gleam in his eyes. Brown feathers had begun to sprout from the nape of his neck and arms. He looked like a monochrome parrot waiting for the praise of its owner.

“You’re rarely around to talk nephew. It is not me that’s been avoiding you.”

Hades sidestepped Hermes. He was almost to the throne room and had yet to run into his wife.

“Well, it’s not my fault. Father has been running me dry this century. After the stunt Apollo pulled last year he’s been climbing the walls in paranoia.”

Hades took a deep breath when they made it to the large double doors leading to the throne room. If Tyche was on his side, Zeus would overlook how long he took to get here, and the meeting would go over quickly.

Pushing open the doors, Hermes stepped in front of his uncle to formally announce his presence.

“Now entering Lord Hades, King of the dead, fourth born of Rhea.”

Way to do your job

The throne room was much emptier than Hades had expected. At the peak of the semi-circle that made up the Olympian thrones was Zeus. Sat next to his younger brother was Posideon.

Both gods looked troubled; it was becoming increasingly clearer that no one wanted to be here. The only thing Hades wasn't grasping was why.

Why were they so antsy?

“Hades, how kind of you for finally joining us. I do believe the letter I sent you informed you that the issue brought to your hands was to be handled with urgency.”

Hades would have rolled his eyes at his brother's backhanded complaint if he was a lesser God.

“Forgive me; I ran into many difficulties along the way. As you can see, I even brought one with me.”

Hades flapped his right hand in the vague direction of his nephew, who had made himself comfortable on his throne.

“Calm yourself, brother. The issue that has been brought to us isn't as urgent as you described it to be. Hades pace is the least of our issues.”

It was nice to be aware that even now, Poseidon would still work with him to knock Zeus’ temper down several pegs.

Instead of arguing an endless battle or kicking Hermes out of the room, the central table that was usually sunk to floor level rose and expanded, allowing Zeus to throw down three yellow files.

“These are complaints filed to me in the past four years in response to the second Titan war and the follow-up battle with Gaia, including all the damage created when Apollo battled Python.”

Hades reached forward to flip through the closest file. Papers overflowed through the seams ripping at the packaging. Most of the papers had the same signature stamped across the top.

‘R. Styx’

‘Charon’

Great.

“There is no reason why I should be receiving so many compliments from people who belong to your kingdom.”

“I have been busy restoring the balance of my home just as you have. I don’t know why they felt the need to come to you, but I suggest you take it as a hint to just how much my home has suffered in the last decade because of your careless actions.”

Hades stood up to leave the room only to be stopped by his other brother.

“Hades wait; there is another reason you have been called here.”

“And what is that?”

Hades turned to Poseidon, no longer wanting to be trapped in a stuffy throneroom with two men he couldn’t stomach. He ignored the way Poseidon tightened his grip on his trident. Hades has had lifetimes to make peace with what his family thinks of him.

“I’m here to offer you aid through my son.”

Hades couldn’t hide the shock that flashed across his face. To gain his brother's help was one thing, but to have him offer one of his sons up was another thing. Poseidon was just as overprotective as Demeter.

“Which one, brother? You have quite a few of them. Have you had any more recently that have a knack for problem-solving?”

Hades took petty joy in the way Poseidon’s jaw clenched and the side glance he threw at their younger brother. Hades could see himself looking out for another niece or nephew in the future

“Percy,” Poseidon said through gritted teeth. “Came to me yesterday asking to get in contact with you. He wishes to help the Styx ‘heal’,” Hades and Zeus rolled their eyes as their brother's chest puffed with pride, no longer caring about being the bigger god. “I think it is very noble of Percy to offer his services; he is truly a kind-hearted boy.”

Hades picked up the bright yellow envelope and weighed it in his hand. The underworld condition has steadily declined, with the rivers taking the hardest hits. If he didn’t find a way to save the prosperity of his home soon, his kingdom would fall apart.

Sighing Hades pinched at the bridge of his nose. “Tell your son. I will talk to Styx and get her opinion on his offer. If she agrees I’ll begin putting a schedule together for him. Once it’s made I’ll send it to you so it can be made to accommodate his everyday life.”

Zeus grumbled words of complaint under his breath that neither brother paid any mind to. He would get over it sooner or later; either way, it wasn’t Hades’ problem.

“I will let Percy know what you have said.”

Hades exited the throne room without a word of goodbye, slowing his quick stride so his nephew could walk beside him.

“You should let me deliver the schedule. It’ll excuse me to see Percy and my kids simultaneously.”

“That is exactly why I’m not letting you deliver it, you’ll get distracted before you even make it to his cabin.”

Hermes circled Hades, blocking his path and pausing him mid-stride.

“Uncle,” the way Hermes looked at his uncle from under his Petasos, highlighted just how cheeky he was when left to his own devices. It also accentuated the similarities shared between him and his sister. “Percy’s a good boy with bad taste, and we all know you have a type.”

“What are you trying to say, nephew?”

Hermes spun on his heel and disappeared down the hall.

____

Walking into the underworld, Hades made a beeline to the River Styx. The polluted water pounded on the shore, threatening to drag him underneath the midnight waves if he dared to venture too close.

On the horizon, Hades could make out Charon’s ferry parting through the River Styx like a hot knife through butter. Hades would need to talk to him as well.

“You are quite a walk away from the castle Lord Hades.”

Hades sidestepped away from the towering goddess before she could grab him. She was mad at him, just as she was mad at all his kin.

Gods are not known for their honesty.

She rose out of the diamond froth without actually leaving her domain. Her hair hung limply down her body like an oil spill. The two endless voids that made up her eyes bore unblinkingly down on Hades. She wore a necklace of baby rattles, college diplomas, and wedding rings. Hades tried his best not to stare at it.

The top of her head rubbed against the opal ceiling that made up the constant night sky. Hades could hear the sound of flesh ripping apart and bone against a wet stone.

Hades lowered his gaze and bowed his head. Out of respect or fear, it did not matter. Both emotions were the same as women as ancient as the Styx.

“You have no right to come to me without the Son of Posideon. You will fare well with keeping your distance until you bring me the assistance I seek.”

Like a whale putting on a show for oncoming boaters, she disappeared into the foggy water out of his sight.

The next few weeks were going to be long and taxing.

By the time Hades had managed to verify all the necessary information needed to ensure the safety of Percy’s safety, hospitality benefits, proper pay, health insurance, mandatory breaks, meal preps, homework help, and whatever time-consuming nuisance his younger brother could think of, Lady Styx had grown restless.

The sooner Percy arrived, the better.

Hades’ kitchen was overrun by Hermes and Dionysus, who were arguing about the preferred way to make a cup of coffee.

“What are the two of you doing in my house?”

Hades shoved the pair of brothers away from his coffee machine to refill the pot.

“We’re here to welcome Percy! It would be cruel and unusual to leave him to the mercy of you.”

Dionysus looked up from his wine catalog to glare at Hermes. “I thought you said we were here to bother Persephone when she got home?”

Hermes raised his hands in defense. “That too, but we are also here to show Percy our support for doing such a noble thing.”

Hades and Dionysus were not impressed with Hermes' reason for being here, both of them knowing that there was more to his theatrics.

“Just don’t get in the way and don’t fall into the river because I won’t fish you out of it, and I’ll tell Percy to leave you floating face down in it.”

Once Hades had refilled his cup, he left his nephews to their own devices. He knew that later on in the day they’d find him again and drag him into whatever nonsense trouble they had managed to stir up with his wife.

Hades knew Percy and his father had arrived when the castle felt like it was going to come crashing all around him. His overdramatic brother would have made less of a scene if he had yelled Hades’ name at the top of his lungs.

Phasing through the foundation of his home, Hades greeted his younger brother at the gates leading to his house. Poseidon did not hide the disdain he had for Hades’ domain. Underneath his arm, Percy was pressed tightly against his father.

“Perseus. Poseidon. Nice of you to finally make it. I apologize that Persephone isn’t here to greet you with me, but her mother isn’t bringing her home till later tonight.”

“Mhmm…”

“Umm…Thanks, Uncle, sorry for taking so long, but Dad wanted to make sure I was thoroughly packed.”

Percy rolled his suitcase around himself and tried to escape from his father's crushing grasp but was snapped back to Poseidon’s side.

“...”

Percy looked at his father in poorly hidden embarrassment, shoving his elbow underneath his father’s ribs. “Dad, come on, let go. I have to get going.”

Poseidon looked like the last thing he wanted to do was let go of his son, but Poseidon was only being welcomed into Hades home for so long.

Kneeling, a sight Hades thought he would never see, Poseidon held both of Percy’s hands and brought them to his chest where his heart would have been. “Stay safe, Percy. If you ever need anything, all you have to do is pray. I will be back next weekend to bring you home.”

“Yikes Dad, you make it sound like you’ll never see me again, I’ll be fine. I love you, see you next Saturday.”

“See you then.”

Poseidon gave Percy one last lingering embrace before he left in a gentle golden glow.

“Come inside Percy, I’ll give you a castle tour.”

Marching back into the castle, Hades slowed his stride to allow his sprinting nephew a chance to catch up to him.

“Thank you for giving me a chance to do this Uncle. I was worried you weren’t going to want my help.”

“I wasn’t too excited to accept your help in the first place, but no one else is offering me any help.”

Entering the guest wing of the palace, Hades stopped in front of a navy blue door. “While you are here, this will be your room. If you need anything while you are here let me or one of the staff know and it will be handled.”

Pushing the door open, Hades presented Percy’s bedroom. It was easily one of the most impressive rooms Percy’s seen.

Pushed to the center of the back wall was a California king bed fitted with navy blue sheets. The bed was elevated off the floor with marble steps leading up to it. On a lowered platform a ‘C’ shaped linen couch was stationed behind an oak coffee table. A TV was mounted to the wall beside the entrance. To the left and right walls of the bedroom were two floor-to-ceiling double oak doors.

The entire space felt very professional and unlived. Whether that was just the aesthetic that Hades carried or because he didn’t get many visitors, Percy was too afraid to ask. He’d only just arrived, he didn’t want to be rude.

“Um…thank you, Uncle. Sorry that Dad made you do all of this.”

The thought of his knuckle-headed brother making Hades do anything made the older man laugh. Being a family outcast and a King gave Hades an independence that Poseidon didn’t possess. There was very little Poseidon could make him do, underground.

“It was no problem at all, nephew. The Styx and your father demanded that I supplied you with nothing but the best my domain had to offer- and while I know you think that isn’t much-”

“I don't think that.”

Hades stared down his nose at Percy who was now on his knees pulling random assortments of clothing out of his suitcase.

“Pardon?”

“I think your home is plenty providing. After all, it provided me with Nico didn’t it.”

Percy threw a knowing smile over his shoulder as though he was sharing a lifelong inside joke with his Uncle.

Hades wasn’t sure what was so funny about the birth of his son, but maybe that was the joke itself.

“I’ll give you time to unpack. When I return I will give you a formal tour of the Underworld and take you to Styx. You won’t be working right away, but she wants to see you regardless.”

Percy nodded his head and continued unpacking his bags. Hades left Percy to finish unloading, closing his bedroom door soundlessly and walking down the winding hallway until he made his way to his private room.

Falling back on his mattress Hades sent a silent prayer to Clotho that he’d make it through the next several years. The longer he went without his wife the heavier the ache in his core became.

Percy Jackson was, ‘sin on earth’ as his son once phrased it. Having the little minx in his house was bad for his health.

“Having second thoughts, Uncle?”

Sitting up, Hades through his head in the direction of his on-suite bathroom. Peeking out from the crack in the door was headache #1.

“Dionysus, what are you doing in my room?”

Dionysus kicked the door open and walked out dripping in water and naked. Raisin purple hair stuck to his back and thighs as he lurked towards the bed. He looked the way he had a child. Smooth skin pulled taunt over long and knobby limbs. Feral and untrained, beyond ruined and beaten by life.

“I think this entire scenario is more trouble than it’s worth. That boy is trouble and you have weak willpower. I’d hate to have my favorite hangout spot flooded.”

Hades wiped his hands down his face, unbothered when he felt the bed dip beside him and the smell of Grape Fanta.

“You and your brother are getting ahead of yourselves.”

Hades paid little mind to the water that dampened his robes and sheets when his nephew fell into his lap. He was going to need a drink before dinner.

“I’m just looking out for you. And it is my job to make sure my campers don’t get into any trouble during the summer.”

“That only applies when they’re within the camp.”

“You are so unfun, Hades”

_

Hades left Dionysus tucked under the blankets of his bed. He would wake up when dinner was ready like the lazy bastard he was.

Knocking on the bedroom door that led to Percy’s temporary living courters Hades listened to the sounds of Percy bouncing around the room.

“I’m coming!”

The door was yanked open by a disheveled Percy, balancing on one leg to pull the rest of his sneaker on.

“I’m sorry, I was in the shower.”

Hades waved the thought of Percy spread out in the shower from his mind. Persephone would be waiting for him at dinner, which would be enough encouragement for the day.

“I’m going to show you all the more important locations in the castle, the bathrooms, the kitchen, exits, and bedrooms, then I’ll show you the gardens, Persephone works very hard on them, do not mess with anything out there, then I will allow Lady Styx to give you her run down. Do you have your schedule?”

“Yeah, I brought a calendar with me.”

“Good, it will make all of this easier for me.”

The tour through the castle was mundane and straight to the point. Every time they entered a room, Hades expected to walk face-first into Hermes, who was still roaming his domain, or Hypnos, who was as nosey as he was lazy.

Walked out the back of the castle Hades led Percy through his wife's prized garden.

“Oh my gods…”

“Beautiful isn’t it? My wife and her mother take great pride in it.”

Bending down, Hades picked a wild raspberry from the vine and popped it into his mouth. He would convince his wife to make a pie out of the freshly sprouted berries this weekend.

“Is that an orchard over there?”

Percy cupped one of his hands over his eyes and pointed off to the horizon where Hades knew rolling hills of green ran on for miles.

“Yes, apples of all varieties grow there, I would offer you one for hospitality’s sake, but I don’t think your father would take too kindly to my offer.”

Percy flushed a bright shade of pink, looking ashamed of himself.

“No! I was not implying that I wanted one, I've just never seen an orchard as large as that one before.”

Hades took note of the consistent nervous air surrounding Percy. He hoped that Percy would learn to relax more as time went on, it was difficult working with someone as stressed as him.

“Styx is waiting for you. Let's go, Percy.”

The river Styx protruded a foul stench that made Hades grateful that breathing was not a necessity for him. Beside him, Percy gagged on the thick fog that clung to the banks of the Styx.

“You’ve been here before, does her smell still bother you?”

Percy waved a hand around his head, trying to clear his head.

“The last time I was here I was so worried about Kronos killing me that the smell never even crossed my mind,” Percy choked on a cough, wiping at the tears that marred his vision. “Kind of wish I was going through the same danger right now.”

“Just don’t mention the smell or she’ll drag you under, and I don’t think you’ll survive the second round.”

“Noted.”

Reaching the River Styx, Hades braced himself for the arrival of the second most high-tempered woman he knew.

The surface of the river rippled like a stone had tour through the surface. Lady Styx lunged out of the water and threw her body against the shore, scaring Percy into hiding behind his uncle.

“Perseus! You have made me wait for you and now you hide from me? Show yourself!”

Hades stepped aside leaving Percy to handle the Styx's wrath by himself.

“My lady, I’m sorry-”

“Silence! I do not wish to hear your excuses! You,” The river deity pointed a long crooked finger at Hades. “Leave us, you will have your boy savior back when I am done with him.”

As awful as the idea sounded, Hades knew better than to argue with the goddess. “Please return him in one piece. His father will have my head if otherwise.”

The Styx paid no mind to Hades as she scooped Percy in her hands and flew across the water. Hades could only hope that she would return him alive.

__

By the time dinner came around Hades was beginning to think the Styx would never give the demigods back.

It would be a shame to lose a child as capable as Percy, twisted and reborn from the wrath of the Styx. Hades had meant it after all, he did not believe he would survive another swim in the Styx's waters.

Walking into the dining room and hearing the windy chimes of laughter was the first sign of life.

Speeding his footsteps Hades nearly collapsed at the sight.

Sitting at the head of the table was his golden Persephone. Her hair funneled like a fall tornado, a crown of strawberries lost in her auburn curls. Her brothers flagged her sides, asking about her travels, and teased her for her absence.

Demeter liked to hide her from the leering gaze of Olympus. They missed her too.

Demeter was not at the table but there was a plate in front of her chair nonetheless.

The room smelled of spring showers and golden apples, if Hades was not already married to her he would fall to his knees and ask again. He knew she would say yes she always did.

“Persephone.”

The sound was barely a breath of air. Distance made the heart grow fonder but it also made the body weak. Every time Persephone came home Hades was so sure he would never survive the next six-month absence without her.

If she left again he would die, this he was confident certain.

“Hades! There you are, I was beginning to think you would never show up.”

Having her in his arms again was liberating. She smelt of vanilla and cinnamon, it was impossible to imagine his brute of a brother making something so perfect.

“I missed you. I was starting to think your mother would never bring you home.”

“She's been upset about me coming back early so she wanted me to stay for longer.”

Hades paid little mind as his nephews gagged at their seats and made kiss faces at him.

Children the both of them, one of these days he'd kick them out for good.

“And I'll do it again next Summer, Hades,” Emerging from the kitchen like a bad omen was Demeter. “It is unhealthy for me sweet Kore to be down here for so long. It's unhealthy for anyone to be down here, I have no clue how those two,” she threw an uninterested and judgmental hand over her shoulders. “Can stomach being down here?”

“We love you too, Demeter.”

“If you truly feel this way, sister, then why are you still down here?”

ou here?”

Rather than answer the question, Demeter took her spot at the table and flipped through a farmers' magazine.

“So Uncle. When’s our guest of honor going to get here?” Dionysus flicked his nail against the rim of his mocktail, glaring down at the liquid like it was the source of all his problems.

“Guest of honor? Who have you let inside of our house while I was gone?”

From the dining table, Hades could see Demeter smirking over her magazine, ready to comfort her daughter and sweep her away from the ‘no-good cheating man’.

“Percy has offered us his services in cleaning the river Styx. He is currently with her.”

Persephone looked at Hades as though he was missing a head.

“Percy? That Jackson kid? There’s no way.”

Persephone crossed her arms and shook her head like the very thought offended her and needed to leave her mind. Hades didn’t let her go even as her curls whipped his face and got tangled in his own.

“It’s true. I was just as surprised as you, he’s been partially moved into one of the guest rooms, his father and Lady Styx were very thorough in making sure he had nothing but the best.”

“I hope the poor kid wasn’t disappointed when he saw what you had to offer.”

“Mother!”

Hades let go of his wife and allowed her to argue on his behalf. He could admit that he walked into the insult, and he could also admit that this song and dance of theirs was too old to humor.

“All of you, silence!”

Hades was going to have his dining room expanded if any more people joined for dinner.

Everyone watched as the river goddess squeezed her body through the tight opening of Hades’ dining room entrance.

“All you Olympians do is argue like fussy children, have you no shame.”

Perched on the Styx’s shoulder like an overweight parrot was a queasy-looking Percy Jackson.

“Honestly, aren’t they just the worst, my little champion?”

Percy smashed his lips together looking around the room as if hoping someone would stand up to the overbearing goddess for him.

“My Lady, I had not known that you would be joining us for dinner as well. What a pleasant surprise.”

In an attempt to ease the tension from the room when the ancient river entered the room, Persephone offered the deity a glass of wine. One of the better brands that had been created when Dionysus was in the prime of his worship.

The Styx gave a lazy swirl of the glass, not drinking it, but not throwing the wine glass to the floor in disgust.

“I am here because Percy is here. Say hello to him.”

The Styx presented the flustered demigod like he was a blue ribbon show dog. Percy, to the amusement of everyone else, looked the part as well. The clothes he now wore resembled the dressware of a Greek prince in the making.

The Styx had managed to wrangle Percy into a pure white chiton that fell apart into sea foam leaving Percy's legs dripping wet and leaving a mess on the floor. Clutched in his shaking hands was a golden himation that Percy desperately tried to throw over his lap.

A thin gold chain in his hair held a blue and orange jasper to Percy’s template. Matching golden bands squeezed his forearms and dangled off his wrists and ankles.

“Wow Percy, you look tasty.”

The Styx bared her fangs at Hermes, clutching the nervous demigod to her chest. “Perseus is my priest, he only wants to worship me.”

“Of course and it was foolish of me to think otherwise, forgive me, My Lady.”

No one could make fun of Hermes for wanting to move his chair as far away from Styx and Percy as the table allowed him.

“How about we just start eating? I haven’t eaten since I got down here.”

“You are not eating anything your uncle has to offer. Me and your father went through the liberty of making sure any meal prepared for you has been shipped directly from the surface.”

A brigade of skeleton chefs emerged from the kitchen, lumbering giant silver platers of surface food.

Pots of honey and olive oil, cutting boards layered with cheese and fresh bread, room temperature butter, and pitchers of water and ruby red wines that stained the lips of the clay jars.

Roasted boar and bleeding steaks passed between guests, cobs of corn being broken in half and shared from the hands of one person to another. Percy picked apart his plate when the Styx wasn’t rubbing her fork on his lips or refilling his glass with water. Conversation flowed over Percy as though he was a catfish in the Hudson.

Percy paid little mind to the new faces that would join to feast before being torn away from the table by duty and responsibility.

Once Percy felt as though his chiton could no longer contain his belly Percy tried to excuse himself from the table.

“Can I go back to my room, please? I don’t think I’m goin' to last much longer.” Percy rubbed wide circles on the underside of his belly to ease the tension. Wherever his dinner had come from was out of this world.

“Of course Percy. Do you remember where your room is?”

“I know where it is, Hades.” The Styx stood up from her seat and cradled Percy in her arms like he was her baby and not her ‘priest’. Hades watched as she phased out of the room like a phantom and tried not to rub at his nose. Having the Styx this obsessed with the newest and shiniest boy hero was going to be the downfall of his home.

“Hades, are you alright honey?”

Persephone grabbed her husband's wrist, peering at him through the gaps of his fingers.

“I need to start changing the lock in here more often.”

@hadesxpercy-events

I plan on posting the full thing on Ao3 once it's done but for right now all I have are snippets

[deedah]

Protocol

⚠️!WARNING!⚠️— This Fanfic is very lengthy and lazy at times! Do not read if you dislike lengthy Fanfics! (Also a lot of fluff so BE WARNED!) 

VERY CRINGE!!

Have a great ride!

Chapter 1

[N]= True]       <— (This means who’s POV it is btw)

    N tried to comprehend what he just witnessed after he touched that “ZOMBIE DRONES!!!” tape. He began to become lost in his thoughts as he speculated what he saw.

    Those had to have been memories, right? That girl that was smiling.. She looked familiar. And what in Copper-9 is a ‘[n u l l]’? N thought as he tried to grasp what the tape held inside of it. He grabbed the old tape and put it in his bag to keep for later. N swung around and started to walk out the door. He had gone out looking for Uzi when V was being dumb and scared her off. N almost got lost again in his thoughts when he heard a clattering noise above him. 

    N looked all around him, but saw nothing in the dark of the cabin. Probably just the wind, right..? N tried to convince himself. He turned back around to walk to the door when he felt a sharp pain in his side. He looked where something had stuck him. He looked at the hole in his body, a glowy red ooze was in it as it absorbed into the metal of his body. N scooped up some goo onto his finger and looked at it as it absorbed into his finger. N, then, felt extremely tired for some reason. He tried to stay balanced but failed from not being able to hold up his weight.

    Moments later, N passed out from something forcing him into his sleep mode. The last thing that N saw before he blacked out was a pair of green, red, and teal eyes looking down on him.

    “You sure he’s alive?” A voice called out, “I stuck him for a while” they finished talking as another voice rose from another part of the room. 

    “Ah! you barely gave him anything!” The voice protested, “And would you stop poking his ribs! That won’t wake him up any faster!” 

    “Ugh, C, sometimes you worry a bit too much.” A third voice said as they walked around the room.

    N was in darkness as his software was booting up from the shock before. Once his software was fully booted, his eyes slowly opened as he became fully aware of his surroundings. He was still in the cabin, just layed down on the floor and three different drones were looking down on him. 

    “Ello?” The red one said, “Are you alive??” They poked N in his ribs. The touch made N curl up on himself and made him giggle a little.

    “Yehes, I am.” N said as he sat up. Someone behind him put his camping hat on his head. N turned around to see a pale green worker drone standing right behind him, waving at him. 

    “Hey buddy” the Worker Drone said as she smiled mindlessly like V and J. A symbol flashed on her screen that looked like Uzi’s Solver symbol. Except that this drone's symbol was a circle with another thin circle surrounding it. It had three smooth teardrops coming out of the middle circle. And the teardrops ended with circles at the tips of them.

    “Wanna die?” They asked N as they stuck their tongue out.

    N and the drone stared at each other for a good while until..

    …

    …

    …

    …

    …

    “AAAAAÆÆÆÆUUHH” N screamed as he jumped back, pulled out a gun, and started to open fire at the drone. The drone lifted their hand and activated their knock-off Solver to put up a shield to prevent the bullets from hitting them while the red drone scooted back, then ran and hid behind the teal one. N felt his arm get cut off from a blade as he fell backwards onto his butt whilst holding his severed arm. He turned his head to see a teal Disassembly Drone cut his arm off and grab it off the ground with swift movements. 

    “Ok dude! That’s enough from you!” The teal drone yelled at him. She had almost the same hairstyle as him, but her hair was more curly and their bangs swooped to the right and she had.. antenna.. with teal glowy balls on the end of them. She wore a beige shirt under a brown vest. She wore no pants like V but her metal was painted black like a swimsuit. Her legs and feet were like N’s but she had her painted black stockings like V as well (up her thighs). She wore beige leg warmers on her legs that went up below her knee. N saw that she had painted gloves on after she switched her sword for her hand. Her tail was around the same as N’s, except her compartment where her nanite acid was held was in a spherical container with what looked to be a beautiful curled gold claw blade (like heart nori’s claw/hands but metal) coming out of the top of it. 

    “Why don’t we get the introductions out of the way? We have a job and we don’t have all day.. night..? Or.. whatever.” The worker drone said as she sat on the ground in a criss-cross. The Worker wore a beige crop top like the teal disassembly with a darker brown vest on top of it. Her sleeves were folded up but went to her elbows and she had a pale green armband on her left arm that had a skull with a halo over it and the words ‘ANGELICPROTOCOL HOST’. She wore a black dress under her vest as well. She had black shoes, kinda like what N used to wear when he was with the humans in the mansion.. wait.. where did that come from..? He pushed the thought aside as he studied the worker again. She had beige socks that came up to her knees. She had dark brown hair that was pulled into a low messy bun but her two bangs were pulled out of it, one bigger than the other. Her bangs were swooped halfway over her left eye (Deedah here- like Nori cause she my fav) and curled back at the end. Her bun was wrapped with a white tilted bow in the back. “L, give the boy his arm back.” She told the teal drone.

    “Here.” She handed N his arm back but quickly pulled away once N got it back, “Don’t expect me to be nicer though, I’m watching you.” ‘L’ said as she leaned against a wall of the cabin. 

    “Yes, thank you L for the comment. Sit boy” The Worker Drone told N. When he didn’t sit in the first ten seconds, the drone forced him to sit using her knock-off Solver. But she was gentle.

    The worker turned around to the shadows where the red drone stood crossing her arms. Their red lights glowing in the dark. “Come on C, he won't bite.” The Worker said as she patted the ground. The red drone came out of the shadows and sat right beside the Worker. She had silver curtain bangs on both sides of her face and the same antenna like L, but the glowy balls were red. She had her hair pulled into a low ponytail with a green band and a black flower wrapping round her hair. She wore a brown tight dress like J, but it was lined with a lighter beige, like L’s leg warmers, at the end of her dress and at the collar. She had knee length painted stockings and her legs were stick legs. Her stinger was the spherical container like L’s and she had the workers knock-off Solver on her chest but red, it just wasn’t as visible. N also noticed they didn’t have the armbands like him and V, but they had cards on a necklace with their name and a picture of them on it, kinda like Uzi’s mom in pictures.

    C grabbed onto the workers shoulders and pulled them closer towards herself as she wrapped her tail around the two then pointed to N. “Keep your hands off her..” C quietly said to N.

    “D-don’t worry! I have no intent of hurting you” N said as he fixed his arm back on.

    “Then what was that little stunt you tried to do to Wren there?” L asked him as they leaned against the control panel where N found the Zombie Drones tape. 

    “Wren?” N asked L as he looked in a chair, he saw that the stranger drones had put his bag in the chair, and must have gone through it because it was open. He silently prayed that they didn't take out the tape. 

    “That’s me buddy” the worker raised her hand before she paused and started to giggle a little. N was confused for a second before he looked up and saw what made her laugh. C had laid their chin onto the top of Wren’s head and started to make purring noises while her antennas dropped onto Wren’s head. Wren patted C’s hair. “Yeah we get it ya’ big baby. You love attention” Wren said as she rubbed C. She looked at N in a funny way with her piercing green eyes. “So fellow Cyn follower, what’cha name?” Wren asked N. 

    “U-u-uh..” N tried to start. He was very confused by who this ‘Cyn’ was. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure I know who this ‘Cyn’ is, but my name's N! Nice to meet you!” He said as he smiled and did his signature salute. Wren, C, and L all looked at eachother like now they were confused. 

    “How do you not know who Cyn is?” C asked N. “You're definitely one of her murder pets, sooo, how?” C tried to comprehend.

    “It doesn't matter that he doesn't know Cyn,” Wren said as she took her hand off of C’s hair and waved it around, “it’s actually better that he doesn’t know her.” Wren told C as she turned back to N. “Listen, I know you're most likely confused about my ‘Solver’” Wren used air quotations on the word ‘Solver’, “Because it looks so different from your girlfriends.” (Btw N blushed a LOT after Wren said that) “its cause, I don’t have the AbsoluteSolver, I am actually one the first hosts of the AngelicProtocol.” Wren finished as she grabbed something random with her Protocol and floated it in between the four drones. She had grabbed a mug. N looked at it as it glitched out with green text boxes full of code surrounding it that he couldn’t understand.

    “And..?” N started as he was a bit confused. “What’s the difference?” He asked Wren.

    Wren rolled her eyes and went on. “It means I’m a portable Patch really. Ah bup bup” Wren silenced N as he tried to ask another question, “I will explain it. I can pretty much fix your girlfriend so she’s free from the Solver’s control and CYN. I know you don’t know who that is, but she will kill you the first shot she gets if she’s in control. Speaking of that.. I’m sensing that she’s out of control already. We better go and see if she’s alright.” 

    Wren stood up and so did C, still holding on by her tail on Wren’s arm, and all three of the strangers walked outside. N scrambled to get up and follow them.

    He quickly snatched his bag, threw it over his shoulder, and went outside. When he got outside, all three of the drones had their wings out. N pulled his wings out as well, even though he didn’t know what they were doing.

    L turned around and pointed to N as her and N’s feet slowly went through the cold, wet snow. “He should lead the way, he knows where the Solver host is.”

    N was about to object until he thought about a question that was continuing to knock around his head for a while.

    “How..” he started until he thought maybe not to ask it. The more he thought, the more he wanted to know. “How did you guys knock me out, anyway..?” He finally asked.

    When no one answered and just looked at each other awkwardly after a minute, L stepped up and told what had happened. “Me and C have a certain type of acid, even if it ain’t acid, that will force a drone into sleep mode for a while so they're easier to be.. taken care of, k?”

    Wren shrugged with an awkward smile. N also noticed that she had wings and a tail as well. She had some type of moth wings, most likely a Luna Moth (the moth wings bend like a SilkWings from WoF). He looked down to see she had a tail as well, it was like a dragon head that it had multiple green eyes and its ‘lips’ were very sharp as they pointed into teeth. (The tail acts like a Venus fly trap btw with sticky substance inside it) He looked at C’s wings to compare them and he saw that her wings were gold, and so were L’s. He didn’t even question it anymore.

     N desperately wanted to get back to Uzi and V. He felt a little scared and lonely without them. Ok he was very lonely, and scared, and his fight with V did not help at all. Though he didn’t take back what he said if V really wanted to hurt Uzi.

    “Ok so I’m confused about you and L” N said to C as he pointed to her and L. “You guys definitely aren't Disassembly Drones but your design is kinda close to ours.. So, what are you?”

    C looked at L who nodded then she looked back at N with her red eyes, “We are Teardown Drones. We were made by the humans at JcJenson with the inspiration of you guys, but different in.. ways..” C told him. 

    N looked atop her head to notice the antenna’s once more. He pointed to them, “and those?” He asked.

    C looked up and nodded a little. “Well, us Teardown drones aren’t given the AngelicPrototcol or the AbsoluteSolver. And these are for us to help find oil, but their mostly for the AngelicProtocol hosts. We aren’t allowed to kill workers like you, so we have to either find bins of oil, or natural oil.” C smiled as Wren walked up to the, and looked at C and smiled. “And since we don’t have a heart like any host, we have what we call a MTC, a Memory Transfer Chip. So if we were to damaged we could take the chip out and someone else could rebuild our body.. but once the chip is out, unless it’s plugged into another device, you will never remember the moments after that..” C looked at L with a desperate look.

    “Ready to find this other host?” L asked as they all crouched like they were about to take off.

    “Yeah..” N said. “Follow me, I’ll take you back to the camp..” He took off into the night sky as snow plastered against his cold body.

    N landed on the soft, cold snow as he heard cackling in the distance. He kinda hoped that was V laughing at something, even if it sounded like Uzi.

    “Girlfriends going berserk” Wren said as she walked up beside N. She patted his shoulder and gave him a soft smile, “I promise, I’ll try to fix her” Wren looked as if she was going to say more but then C grabbed her under her arms and lifted her off the ground and away from N. 

    C stuck her tongue out at N and said one, clear word, “Mine.”

    “C!” Wren said she kicked her legs like she was trying to run mid-air before she curled on herself, “I am not a cat! Put me down!” N laughed to himself as he saw C put Wren down. The two drones reminded N of him and Uzi when they goofed off in the past. He saw L walk up beside N, with her hands on her hips, on the other side of him and he immediately straightened out. 

    “How are we gonna calm her down so Wren can use her Patch?” L asked the others, mostly N.

    “Uhh, I can try and get close to her and talk to her, she’ll most likely listen to me” N stated as he felt hands start to push him.

    “Then let’s get a move on” Wren said as she pushed N more. Her hands were on his lower back until she stopped and walked beside N. C and L joined beside N and Wren as they started to run towards the cackling when they heard it once more. They had run a few feet before they heard a boom. They all jumped back from the explosion. N saw some drone went shooting in the sky as a bomb shot them up. They were waving their arms as their pink hollow eyes looked around for help, and they kinda looked like.. Lizzy..? 

    Oh noo.. N thought as he blurted, “You 3 stay behind, don’t let Uzi see you. I’m going to talk to her now.” N spread his wings, not waiting for an answer as he shot himself forward.

    He got to the spot where Uzi was fighting with another drone, N looked closer and he saw that the other drone was V.

    V!! OH ROBO-JESUS, N thought as he slung himself at Uzi. He collided with her right before she was about to stab V with her own tail stinger. N and Uzi rolled and landed on the soft snow. Uzi quickly recovered herself and pounced on N. She held his arms down as she growled in his face. Her visor had the AbsoluteSolver all over it. She even had a tail and wings..? And they looked organic, Yuck..

    “H-hey buddy!” N started, trying to give Wren time for the right moment. He glanced at V to make sure she was ok. V was getting up off the ground and getting ready to take a blow at Uzi.

    “V!” N yelled as he craned his neck to look at tall disassembly who just pulled a stick out her palm with her teeth. Uzi looked at V as well. “Don’t hurt Uzi! Let me handle this!”

    “You look like you're not handling it very well N!!” V said crossly to N, but she didn’t pounce on Uzi, thankfully.

    While Uzi was not paying attention to N, he swung his hands so Uzi’s hands would slip and let go of him. Uzi gave a small yelp as N grabbed Uzi’s arms, spun her around, and set her upright on his lap. He held both her arms with one hand and held both of her hands with his other hand so she couldn’t activate her Solver. 

    Uzi hissed at N and she threw her (very creepy) tail right into N’s face. It’s mouth wide open to hurt N in a second.

    N closed his eyes but held onto Uzi tightly. N heard a grunt from both Uzi and another drone. He opened his eyes to see V pinning Uzi’s flesh tail down onto the snow.

    “Hurry up and do what you need to do to snap her out of it, N!” V screamed at N as the mouth tail tried to throw V off it.

    N almost forgot about the three he left behind. “Wren! It’s time!!” N yelled as loud as he could. Uzi kept thrashing in his arms which made her harder to hold. 

    N looked ahead of Uzi to see a small figure walking, then running up, it was Wren! And she was holding some type of digital cross with with an open hand. 

    Wren jumped onto Uzi’s shoulders, lifted her wings and tail, raised her hand and digital cross in the sky, and dug her four fingers into Uzi’s visor. Uzi immediately stopped thrashing and went limp. Her wings and her tail went back inside her body and she looked like her normal self again, she just had a loading wheel and four deep holes in her visor. 

    Wren got off of Uzi and helped N put her on the soft snow below them. N held Uzi’s head and slowly started to cradle her like a baby (and he hoped no one would comment about him holding her). 

    N saw C and L come behind Wren and stood behind Wren to make sure everything was ok.     V stared at N and the other three drones with hollow eyes until she finally spoke, “wh- You have a lot of explaining to do, N..”

[Next Chapter Comes Out When It’s Ready] = True]

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

[ronqueesha]

Today's thought:

Pre-game Sarit gleefully lays down on the operating table in her hidden lab. A lopsided, confident grin tugs at her lips as her thoughts drift to the near future. When she wakes up, everything will be different.

The cocktail of anesthesia and other drugs she injected into her system have taken effect, and her head swims as she looks upward with bleary eyes, unable to focus on any details anymore. The robots around her, all specially programmed to carry out the procedure she spent months preparing for, count down in a soothing, low mechanical voice. All speaking in unison like a chorus, a deliberate, slow, and calming rhythm meant to further drag her into unconsciousness.

Her last thought is how cold I.G.O.R., the surgery robot's, arms are as they wrap around Sarit's right hand. She realizes this will be the last time she feels anything from the nerves in her limb ever again. The cold, smooth sensation of sterilized metal against flesh.

Darkness overtakes her. And everything drifts away, even the sensation of cold against her skin.

Sarit wakes up what feels like a second later. Although she knows it has been much longer. The feeling of cold is gone, replaced with NOTHING. Not the pained, sore feeling of moving a body after a long nap. Not the sensation of a hand waving through empty air. Nothing happens when she thinks about moving her hand, to grasp again for I.G.O.R.'s cold touch. Nothing. At. All.

Sarit's groggy eyes struggle to open as she once again regards the lab and operating table she had fallen asleep in. Everything is precisely where she remembered it being, except her right arm. A faint trail of blood drips down from the right side of the table, the hint of dried droplets trailing onto the floor and toward the incinerator.

Where her right shoulder used to be, now sits a flat sheet of metal that sits flush with her ribcage, her skin folded and stitched to it with fresh sutures. Other parts of her skin have been twisted around the metal, literally bolted in place with medical-grade titanium. In the center, a port digs deep into her torso, two open holes with a direct connection to her nervous system. Ready to accept the insertion of a prosthetic arm she had been working on for years.

Sarit's eyes widen with a mixture of joy and success, not horror. It worked! Her procedure, the programming of her robots, even the meticulous details of every stitch and nerve connection had been pulled off without a single error!

Her body is off balance and she knows she is woozy from a lack of blood and the sudden change in balance due to missing 5% of her total body weight, but she knows she will adjust in time.

For a brief moment, she considers the fact that there was nothing left of the arm she had been born with. It wasn't injured in a fight or tragically lost in a medical emergency. Sarit Ramesh had torn it off herself (with the help of I.G.O.R.) and tossed it into the refuse, to be burned along with her other trash. A large piece of the body she despised, gone forever.

The moment passed with the blink of an eye and a short huff of air from her sore lungs. No use dwelling on the past. She had upgrades to work on! And if she remained as lucky as she had been on the operating table, her new right arm would just be the first step in a long line of changes she would bring to this sickly frail shell she was forced to live in.

[jerichojemini]

Angsty Narcissa Malfoy One Shot

A/N: this isn’t edited, I was feeling sad so I had to put it on paper and I know if I wait to edit this I will never publish it. So here you go

“You seem to forgotten our lessons. Life isn’t about what right, it’s about what’s necessary,” Narcissa gritted.

Andromeda looked at her baffled, hers eyes as big as the day as she entered the earth. And her mouth wide open.

“You taught me that,” Narcissa pushed her finger into Andromedas chest

“This is necessary,” Andy croaked.

“What, love,” Narcissa said the word as if it left a sour taste in her mouth.

“You can find love anywhere. You can’t find family anywhere.”

“Yes you can and I have, Ted has changed me and I know Alice has changed you too,” Andi tried to get her to understand.

Narcissa saw red, how dare she speak about Alice. Alice moved on fast, once she became aware of Lucius. It was like she had ran straight out Narcissa arms and into Franks. The whole situation was still fresh for Narcissa.

“Don’t you dare talk about Alice,” Narcissa yelled, hot with anger.

“Cissy, please listen to me, you don’t have to do what you don’t want to do,” Andi grabbed Narcissa hands while trying to keep her tears at bay.

“You’re a coward and I refuse to be like you,” Narcissa pushed Andis hands away.

Narcissa pushed so hard Andi lost her balance ending up on the floor.

“I guess I deserve that,” Andi got up off the ground “I love you.”

“You’ve betrayed our family, you don’t love me,” Narcissa turned away to face her window. It was a big window with latches on the bottom to open. She had spent a many nights dreaming about flying in her backyard with Alice and their dream baby. It was her escape from the cruel reality she lived in.

“I wish you didn’t feel like I betrayed you. And I wish you didn’t think you had to serve our family, a family whose main message is hate. Especially when I know you truly don’t believe it. And I wish you loved yourself enough to leave. And I wish that this didn’t hurt as much as it does,” Andy voice broke on the last line.

Narcissa took it all in, as a single tear streamed down her face. She knew it was true, she knew father loathed her and mother hated her. She was the forgotten child, their last hope for a boy. This would’ve been so much easier if she was a boy, she thought to herself. Though she knew that was a lie, Regulus was crumbling under the weight of family expectations just as she was. But she like to believe that it was true.

“I’m sorry I have to go,” Andi wiped her tears making her way to the door.

Narcissa turned on her heels, running over and ingulfing her in a hug.

“I wish our family wasn’t purist, so that you could stay,” Narcissa broke into a sob.

“Me too, Cissy. Me too,” She kissed Narcissa blonde locks.

“I don’t want you to go,” Narcissa sobbed.

“Me neither, but I’ll write to you when I can. And if you ever want to leave, my home will forever be open,” Andi

“I know,” Narcissa whispered.

They stood like that for a while, letting the seconds speed by. It almost didn’t seem like this would be the last time she saw her middle sister, outside of the battle field. It was like she was little again running to Andi after Bella got a bit to rough with her. Or after mother decided to teach her one of the many hard lessons she learned over the years. And andromeda was there to calm her down and heal her wounds. But andi would no longer be her rock, she would truly be on her own.

“I have to go before they get back,” Andi whispered pulling away.

“I cant watch you leave,” Narcissa weak voice chilled the air again, as she pulled Andi closer.

“I have to go, if I want to leave before the wedding,” Andi sighed, trying to gently push Narcissa away.

“No,” Narcissa stomped causing all her books to fly off the shelf.

“Please, don’t make this hard,” Andi whimpered.

“Why does it have to be this way,” Narcissa pushed her head into Andis shoulder.

“I don’t know, Cissy,” Andi tried her best not to cry again, as she ripped Narcissa arms off of her.

“Don’t leave me here,” Narcissa tried to grab her again, but Andi was too fast.

“It doesn’t have to be that way, you can always come with me,” Andi gave her an out again.

But Narcissa only turned away and that was answer enough for Andi.

“See you in the next life, don’t forget about me,” Andi said before shutting the door behind her.

It was all over now, she was truly grown up. What would be expected of her now. Andi was meant to marry Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa never had any marriage plans. Was she meant to marry Lucius Malfoy, he was a whole six years older than her. He wait two years for Andi to finish her schooling. If she was now meant to marry him, would he give her the same opportunity. She was only in fourth year, she should be preparing for her owls next year, but now she was thinking about marriage. How could Andi do this to her, she was supposed to protect but she’s just thrown her to the wolves.

Narcissa stayed there stuck in that position, til she saw Andi enter into the backyard.

Andi looked up into Narcissa window, giving her a small wave. And Narcissa quickly shut her blinds, how could she be so heartless.

She conveniently forgot about Andi offering her an out, because she knew that wasn’t an option for her. Public appearances was Narcissa number one concern. She could deal with a few gryffindor pointing there nose up at her, but Slytherin where a whole different ballgame. They actually go through with there threats. And with all the connections to her family, she’d never catch a break in the Slytherin common room.

“Where has Andromeda gone off too,” Bellatrix bombarded into the room.

Narcissa slowly turned around, pale faced and empty eyes.

“You look like you’ve seen ghost, boo,” Bella laughed plopping down on Narcissa perfectly made bed.

“Mom wants to see Andi, something about a wedding dress. I kind of feel bad for her, but better her than me, right,” Bella chuckled.

Narcissa swallowed the word vomit building up in her throat.

“Narcissa are you okay,” Bellatrix wondered.

Narcissa nodded slipping on the mask she adopted many years ago.

“Well I’m off, I’ve got a new mission from the dark lord. Do good in school and you might be able to come along,” Bellatrix stood up, making her way over to Narcissa.

“I know you’re worried about your owls, but you’ll do fine. Because you come from the noble and ancient house of black,” Bellatrix smiled letting go of Narcissa shoulders.

Narcissa only nodded.

“Oh and remember to tell Andromeda that mother wanted to see her,” Bellatrix smiled before closing the door.

Once the door shut it was like Narcissa could no longer hold back. She collapsed to the floor with a sob escaping her mouth. She didn’t leave her room for weeks after Andromeda left. Her parents punished her for Andis escaping. She never saw again till after the war.

They sat in a coffee shop from opening till closing and had a conversation filled with laughter, crying and apologies. After that day they made a pact to never leave each other again.

[eudaimonia83]

Chapter 4 is posted 😅

It’s much shorter…which is partially intentional, and partially bc I struggle a lot with writing from Gwyn’s perspective.

TW: mentions of SA, PTSD, and violence.

THREE DAYS BEFORE SOLSTICE

Can I tell you a secret?

Gwyn adjusted her stance and centered her weight properly. It was freezing. But the sky was, undeniably, magnificent. It was why she loved coming to the training ring at night now. If the moon was out, it was perfect in the silvery, watery light. Sometimes she could even see her shadow.

Hips over knees. Shoulders over hips. Back straight. Body turned askance, blade extended and angled toward the neck of the mannikin. She loved the science of this, how there was a reason for everything, and how you could train your intuitive behaviors to take advantage of a situation…even when you were disadvantaged, to level the playing field.

Slice. Cut, across, swipe, up.

Cassian had taught them the eight-pointed star, with all its crosses and combinations, but Gwyn had lately taken to thinking of the sparring moves as having names. That groups of them went together as naturally as friends, or sisters.

Angle down, to the side. That’s Emerie. Unexpected, agile. And UP, with all your force, the killing blow to their neck or head. That’s Nesta. Direct, vicious, elegant. Stab, forward and back, quick as the lightning between clouds; that’s Ananke, fast and furious.

Where am I in all of this?

The thought unsettled her to the point that she actually shifted her weight backward onto her non-dominant foot, compensatory for the force of her upward cut. The head of the mannikin, cloth wrapped around sheep’s wool in a loose and sagging approximation of a human face, split into two over her blade. Just like the white ribbon had, all those months ago…

Can I tell you a secret?

She almost lost her balance, leaning too far backward, and corrected. Shift, don’t let them close…

She noted the tiniest flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye. It might have been a mouse. Or a spider. Or…a sinuous ribbon of darkness sliding along the floor of the training ring, keeping close to the edges to avoid detection.

She smiled at that…the warning it had given her…and then, refocusing, squared her shoulders and spun, pulling the practice sword in tight to give herself speed, and then with the new angle, struck under the arm. The weak point in a classic suit of armor, Mor had said during one of her lessons with the newer recruits. But be precise, she’d added. If you close with your opponent to strike them there, they have more ability to strike you, and they’ll have greater reach. Incapacitate with a stab between the upper ribs, and then get away. Speed and distance is your ally.

Gwyn had spent the next month seeking out the hole under the arms in every suit of armor she could find. Researching traditional suits of the stuff, and their weaknesses. It couldn’t hurt to be prepared.

But how could she have been prepared for this…for what Elain had told her in the library…

“You should always mind your surroundings,” said a soft voice.

Gwyn straightened, and tucked her arms in. “Who says I haven’t?”

She bent at the waist and pivoted on her strong foot, throwing up her practice sword with her strong arm and pulling her dagger with the other. Azriel knocked the practice sword aside only to find the blade of the dagger beneath his jaw. That strong, squared jaw…

His hazel eyes narrowed. “Aren’t you going to strike?”

“It’s only practice. Why would I need to?” She turned the blade ever so slightly, pushing at the skin. “Your artery is right there,” she continued, amused. “Two minutes after it’s severed, you’d be dead. No healer could reach you in time.” Anatomy had also been her friend in battle; the positions of tendons and major vessels, where to hit to incapacitate, where to hit to kill. He took a tiny step backward, away from the point; she noted a tiny drop of blood on his chin. It snaked down toward his neck. His scent, cedar, cool in her nostrils…Gwyn suddenly found it difficult to concentrate. The muscles of his jaw that swept down toward the neck of his leathers…the pulse, that had briefly raced under the touch of the blade, slowly soothing toward normal.

“You should take every opportunity to strike; and you should never let me this close to you,” he replied, as a cool edge stroked the underside of her ribs.

Shit.

Truth Teller swept lightly against the leather surface. Greater pressure and her abdomen would be open, her guts hanging out; but he was gentle. A good teacher, when he wanted to be. When the vicious temper, as much a weapon as a sword or a knife, was not engaged.

“Mor told you not to close with an opponent with greater reach,” he said. “Not unless you can be faster.” He smiled. “And I guarantee you aren’t faster than me. Even if you stabbed me in the neck, you’d still die.”

Gwyn relaxed and let the blades drop. She turned away and walked quickly back toward the sparring manikin. Silence fell as she took the oiling rag and wiped her sword clean, then angled it so she could admire the moonlight glinting along the surface. It wasn’t a noble sword, not like Nesta’s Made weapon by any means, but it was sharp and serviceable. And she wielded it competently. But not, as Azriel had just reminded her, expertly. Against all of her better judgment, that stung.

“Did I offend you?” she heard him say. He had approached and was now within the circle her feet had trampled into the sand of the arena. Too close. Not close enough.

“No,” she said, and hated the slight waver at the end of the word. “You’re right, Shadowsinger. I’m just…not focused today.”

The shadows pooled around his feet, shrouding them in blackness until he looked as though he were standing on a piece of the sky that he’d conveniently ripped out of the heavens. They gave a little rattle, a chitter. Not a purr of contentment, as she was used to…a little teeth-chattering of alarm. It reminded her of tiny bones, clinking gently together — a ghostly sound.

“Something happened,” he said. It was not a question, but Gwyn shook her head anyway.

“It’s not important.” She sheathed her blade and turned to go. “I have early service tomorrow…”

“Don’t lie,” he murmured, and the shadows chittered again in concern.

“I’m not lying,” she hissed, anger flaring briefly that he’d caught it so easily.

A glint of hazel beneath a raised eyebrow. “You attend the dawnsong services twice a week, same as the other postulants, and you’ve already done your two or you wouldn’t come up here in the small time you have to sleep.” He crossed his arms, siphons gleaming blue as they caught the moonlight; a flash of cobalt among black, ocean moving restlessly beneath stars. “What ails you, Berdara?”

“Have you been spying on me?” she shot back. “How do you know that?”

“I am the spymaster,” he said, supremely cool and self-assured. A stab of annoyance pierced her, smack in the middle of her chest. Oh? He knew everything, did he? Smug bastard.

“Then you must already know, so why should I tell you?” she challenged him.

The silence that fell chafed at her, enough that she looked up at him — the opposite of what she’d meant to do. He was watching her from beneath hooded eyes, his features blurring into shadow, but she could feel his gaze almost as a physical touch. Seeking, seeking, always wanting to know more…

“What happened is the least important part of an event,” he finally said. Halting. Thoughtful. “The reaction of those involved — that’s the missing half of any story. And that tale can only come from the people themselves. From you…yourself.”

Was he…unsure? The confident shadowsinger? A tremor swept through her. She thought that would’ve made her feel triumphant, but it turned to dust in her mouth even as it happened. And the dust became a pulse of nausea, like the world was falling away.

…Can I tell you a secret?

Elain’s words throbbed in her skull. She put her hands shakily up to her head, her vision blurring, and swayed on the spot.

He was beside her in an instant. One arm swept around her shoulder, the other at her elbow. “Sit down, Berdara.”

It didn’t even occur to her to argue. She bent her knees, intending to slowly sink to the sand floor, but they buckled beneath her and she flopped down with a huff of air. He knelt next to her, wings spread as if to shield them both.

She breathed slowly, swallowing hard, until her vision slowly cleared. Fuck. What would he think of her now? A weak-willed child who couldn’t even bear what was inside her own mind?

He knelt, and she sat, the quiet of the night growing ever colder as midnight ticked by. Until their breath clouded around them. Until finally, finally, in a small and tired voice, she said, “I’m well. I should go to bed.”

“Don’t lie,” he said, the faintest note of amusement tilting his inflection up at the end. It was like hearing him smile. “You’ve not been well for months, Berdara. What happened today to make it worse?”

She shook her head.

A pause. “Was it what I said? Just now?” He shifted away slightly. “I only intended to correct your form —“

She laughed, a burst of a bubble inside her chest. Of course not, how could he be so stupid? “No, shadowsinger. It wasn’t you.”

The secret was so close, wanting so badly to spill out. She couldn’t. She’d promised Elain she wouldn’t. But the weight of it…that Elain didn’t feel protected, the beloved sister of the High Lady. Nesta hadn’t either; and she had been right, they’d sent her to the House of Wind and failed to protect any of them when they were kidnapped into the Blood Rite. Emerie hadn’t either, and her lovely wings were still mangled, breaking Gwyn’s heart every time she stretched them awkwardly. The thought that yet another vulnerable person didn’t feel safe here…that the leaders, who had guaranteed her safety and the safety of the other priestesses, might not have their best interests at heart…it felt like rocks, strapped to her chest and shoulders. Like opening a door to a familiar hallway but finding only open air beyond, and falling helplessly. If Elain went searching outside for answers because she felt she couldn’t trust Rhys and Feyre, how would any of them be able to trust them?

The shadows swirled gently around her, nudging her hair, swirling around her forearms. At least Azriel was here. He was an agent of the Night Court; but was he not also her friend?

She clenched her hands in the sand. Everything was falling apart…

“I can’t figure it out,” she said.

“What?”

“What…to do.” She brought her knees up, then circled her arms around them and curled into a small version of herself. Her hair swept down in curtains around her face. She used to do the same thing in the days just after Sangravah, making herself feel as small as she could, to inventory every part of her body to make sure it was still there, every fingernail and eyelash and nerve ending, so that when she jumped out of sleep in terror — or prickled with anger or fear at the clink of a dinner knife — or kicked away her sheets bc they held her down too tightly to the bed — or bled during her cycle, cramping in her lower abdomen and staining the tops of her thighs — she could start at the tips of where she began and the world ended, and reclaim her body hair by skin cell by blood vessel. It wasn’t a victory, it was survival — and Gwyn knew better than anyone that survival was insufficient. But it was where she had to start. Over and over again. Even all these years later.

“How do I move past this part,” she whispered, half to herself. “when everything always comes back to this? How do I fight it?”

He shifted, leathers creaking gently as he sat cross-legged, leaning backward to rest on splayed hands. “I might not be the best person to ask.”

She lifted her head and looked at him. The moonlight gilded each curl of hair on his head, throwing his eyes into shadow beneath his brows. One of the shadows rested in a misty knot on his shoulder. “Does it come for you, too? Just when you thought things might be getting better?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “When I expect it the least.”

Yes. Yes. Her heart, so lonely and adrift in her chest, reached out with trembling tendrils toward him.

“What do you do?”

“I explore it,” he said. The quiet seemed to magnify. “I want to find the bottom of it. This darkness. This thing that I know could be evil.”

“Why?”

“Because then I’d know how far — or how low — I could go,” he said. “The limit. The border.”

Where he began and the world ended. To know that there was a difference. What part of yourself you owned and what was uncontrollably molded by the things that happened to you. Where the rock ended and the surf began.

She breathed, in and out. The cold of the air prickled in her lungs. Maybe he would understand. Perhaps he’d keep her confidence.

“Elain and I were researching her powers the other day,” she said. “And something she said…it pushed me to that place.”

He held very still, waiting, waiting.

“She told me what happened to her the night Lucien arrived in Velaris. That she was attacked and he saved her. But she didn’t want to tell anyone, because she was worried they’d lock her up and not let her find out what she needed to know…”

“Attacked?” It was the softest whisper. His entire body changed with the shift of his throat, those long muscles tightening. “By whom?”

Gwyn shook her head. “I don’t know. She said it was a lesser fae, in the docks. That maybe she stole some of her power, and Lucien saved her.”

“Stole her power?” Azriel frowned. “That’s not possible. Power can be suppressed, like with faebane. But it isn’t an item to be kept or stolen.”

“I don’t know quite what she meant,” Gwyn admitted. “The only reference I’ve ever heard to stealing power was the witches; but they’re long extinct from Prythian, if that ability was even real.”

“Nesta stole her power,” mused Azriel, half to himself.

“From the Cauldron, under unique circumstances,” Gwyn argued, her spine straightening in defense of her Valkyrie sister. “She can’t take it from anyone else. Imagine what she would’ve done if she could.”

Azriel suddenly barked a laugh. “She would have laid us all out flat. Rhys especially.”

Gwyn gave a shaky chuckle. “Or Lucien.”

Azriel’s eyebrows went up in silent agreement.

Gwyn thought for a moment. “Perhaps Elain mischaracterized what happened. But she was so uncertain, so afraid. Of people who I thought she trusted. Of people I trusted. Listening to her, it made me think: if she doesn’t feel the freedom to tell them, because they don’t understand her or would be afraid of her or try to control her…if she can’t be safe, can’t be…herself, however complicated and unknowable that turns out to be…how could Nesta ever feel that way? How can I ever hope to feel that way?”

Azriel was still, so still that even the shadows, holding close to him, seemed to breathe more than he did.

“You have always been yourself, Berdara,” he finally said, and even though he’d spoken no louder than a murmur, the shape of the amphitheatre amplified his voice enough that she heard him without straining. “If there was anyone capable of understanding themselves in the face of impossible odds, it would be you.”

Tears prickled in her eyes; the cold stung her nose and she sniffled, wiping her face with her sleeve. But something is changing. The time is coming to move forward, and…I am afraid. Afraid to take the next step. Afraid to lose the tiny bit of security I found here, with Clotho, with Nesta, with Emerie.

With you.

“Will you be able to sleep?” he asked. “Do the nightmares still plague you?”

Shocked, she turned, fully meeting his gaze. “You know about those?”

“You used to scream in your sleep,” he said. “My shadows heard it. Even down in Velaris. But it’s not so unusual. Many of the priestesses have them.” A beat. “I still have them.”

Her heart jerked. Not the Shadowsinger. He inflicted darkness, he did not suffer from it. He lived in that little nebula created by the blocking of the light. “You do? What are yours of?”

He shook his head.

Instantly she was consumed with regret. “I’m— I’m sorry. That was nosy of me.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s all right. Many of them I just don’t have words for.”

She had words for hers. They were concrete, crippling, horribly, perfectly consistent; nothing she did ever changed them. She was stuck in that kitchen, desperate to be quiet, finally understanding that she would have to sacrifice silence for speed. Dreams or visions, Elain had wondered aloud; Gwyn wondered the same about her own. They woke her with her cheek hurting, her face throbbing in memory of bruises, sore and sobbing. Cold water helped with the soreness, which was phantom in her abdomen and pelvis, but not in her limbs and neck. That, she could only assume, came from the tossing and turning, the trying to run while trapped, holding back the crunch of the trapdoor so she wouldn’t crush little fingers, and the strain of her shoulders as she’d pushed the table on top of it, barely concealing it before the door to the room had creaked open.

She blinked, remembering what an elder priestess had said when she first arrived. Do not fight the fear. If restrained it will grow. It will consume you. Let the physical world anchor your mind, and your heart will follow. She concentrated hard on the heat of the tears tracking down her face. The softness of the sand under her hands.

She had almost forgotten Azriel was there, he was so quiet sitting next to her. Almost. She stole a glance at him as the tension in her back and neck slowly abated. He had not moved; he could almost be a statue made of ink, under the huge crescents of the wings that blocked the moonlight. His arm was stretched out, supported on his knee; his gaze was obscured. She had seen statues on the religious temples in the human lands that looked like him. Like a fallen angel. Slowly she stretched her legs out, fingers and toes aching from the cold.

“Where will you go after this?” she asked. “Will you be able to sleep?”

“I don’t sleep,” he said. “But I’ll stay here until you can.”

“Here? In the amphitheater?” A beat. “To do what?”

“To train,” he said. “And think. And to be here if your nightmares come back.”

She shook her head. “You can’t stop them.”

“I know.” He stood in a fluid motion and extended a hand to help her up. “But I can secure the building. If it would make you feel safer.”

“I wouldn’t want to trouble you…”

“It’s no trouble,” he said, voice firm and dark.

She considered. It might help. Just to have him here was soothing to her raw nerves. But… “How will you know when I fall asleep?”

He cocked his head as the shadows chittered indignantly, and one streamed over the small distance that separated them in a dusty little streak, to coil next to her ear. The sound of them was like sand falling in an hourglass…whispering, constant, gentle. ��Ah,” she said, more a sigh than a word.

“They will not touch you,” he assured her. “They will only watch and report back to me.” He squeezed one hand into a fist. “If I can help it, Berdara, no harm will come to you. Ever.”

She stroked a shadow with her finger and it ribboned and curled in delight, twisting around her hand. “I like them,” she said, and it was true; they reminded her of the children at Sangravah, seeking attention, hiding while the adults talked, overhearing things they shouldn’t.

“Then go,” he spoke softly, pulling his long black knife from his belt and approaching the abandoned sparring manikin. “And sleep well. As well as possible.”

She nodded. The rhythmic sounds of sparring began behind her, and without turning around, she smiled as she walked back toward the stairwell.

She did not see Azriel’s shoulders slump as her footsteps faded and disappeared into the cloister, and the heavy lock on the door slid closed. He stepped back and adjusted Truth Teller in his hand, flipping it so the balance of the blade rested between his thumb and forefinger; then, with a sudden and deadly grace, flung it toward the manikin. It flipped over and over in flight, then buried itself with a thud into the wooden chest. The shadows crept along the outer edges of his wings. His silhouette shivered in the moonlight.

“Go to the docks,” he said, low and menacing, and two shadows streaked off over the edge of the amphitheatre to plunge through the freezing dark air. “Find out what happened. Who was responsible. And once you do…keep them there. Until I can come collect them.”

He strode to the low wall overlooking the light of the city, unevenly bordered by the Sidra and the mountains. The stars gleamed in frozen silence. He glanced briefly toward the shadowed bulk of the Hewn City, crouched like an ogre waiting to pounce. If it could talk, it might have spoken. Whispered among the airy songs of the dreamers.

You can’t stop what’s happening.

You can’t escape what’s coming.

[starres-stuff]

FFXIV Writes 2023 | Day 4 | Off the Hook

TW: Language, Hints at Fighting/Violence

“Dimitri, Dimitri!!” A groan slipped from the lips of the Elezen who tried for all he was worth to ignore the frantic sounds of voices screaming outside the rickety building the Sharlyan Envoy had called home for a sennight now. He had been up most of the night listening to the dogs barking in the distance and contending with teeth that would not stop chattering. It had been his own fault, in truth, he had given away his warmer blankets to both Azane and Saewara when they complained of being cold, still.

“Dimitri, we caught a thief!” Now his eyes were open, and the first thing he saw was his breath as it appeared in the air before him, and the dry skin that had developed all over his hands. It was also other places, but his hands were the most noticeable. The damn cold was affecting all of them and in the most unbecoming ways. Weland had become depressed, Zehex had lost his patience and he was finding himself more and more angry by the day, even after all the training he had in his youth he was finding it harder to stay calm than ever.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He yelled back as he tossed back the thinner blankets that had covered him to reveal the heavy fury jacket still wrapped around his frame. “Can we have one fucking day without someone else’s bullshit around here!” He wanted to punch something, he could feel the flex in his arm and his jaw. The lack of his morning training regime and the late nights with the workout bag had only made matters worse for him. That delicate balance he needed between order and chaos swiftly slipped away from him.

It took him only a few moments to slip on his fur-lined boots and in two or three steps he moved across the floor towards the door which he slammed open, the bright white snow practically blinding him as it collided with the sunbeams that streamed down onto it. “Alright, I’m up. Where is the bastard who decided to try and rob us.” Quickly he pulled on his gloves, and moved a hand to shield his eyes, and not long after one boot finally pressed down into the snow which crunched and crackled under his weight followed by the other.

“His name is Lucas,” Azane was at his side first “He is barely fourteen or fifteen. He looks like he hasn’t eaten in days. Weland and Zehex want to turn him into command, and Saewara thinks we should as well. Please stop them, he didn’t do anything wrong, he was just trying to find food and we have plenty.” Dimitri found himself looking towards her, her beautiful golden-brown eyes made him feel weak right in the very pit of his stomach. She knew exactly how to play him, get him to do her bidding and he couldn’t resist. He should have, and he knew it, but to make matters worse she bit her lower lip right near the corner, and it brought back such memories that his heart skipped a beat.

“Please Dimitri, they will listen to you. I know they will! They value your advice. He is just a boy. He likely lost his family.” Azane whined softly “For me?” This was where Dimitri should have told her to fuck off, time after time in their lives it had come to this, and right after she would skip away giggling to her latest crush or her newest boyfriend forgetting he was alive or had feelings.

“Fine” The word slipped from his lips and as soon as it did he cringed slightly, if she asked he would pass it off as a sudden chill from the cold, but she didn’t, and off she went to stand at Weland’s side like she never left a satisfied look on her face as she slipped her hand into the much taller Elezen’s, squeezing it affectionately. Dimitri felt his jaw clench and his eyes close for a moment, any other time he would have likely even shed a tear but he was far too concerned with his eyelashes freezing this time and thus nothing formed.

“So I hear our perpetrator is named Lucas then?” Confidently he moved towards his friends, his hands behind his back and fingers interwoven to keep himself from doing anything irrational and once he reached them he looked over the top of his already frosted glasses at the young Garlean that sat on the ground between them. “Well first off let’s get this young man on his feet. Get a good look at him.” What Dimitri was really thinking was that no one, not even a juvenile thief deserved to be sitting that close to the snow unless they wanted to.

“We are going to take him up to the Commander’s barracks.” Zehex growled “Bastard was helping himself to our stores, and that bag of his shows he’s helped himself to others as well. Can’t have that kind of behavior around here or we will all be cold and hungry before long.”

“He could have just asked for food.” Weland grumped, pulling Azane closer into his body to keep her warm. She wasn’t paying a bit of attention to the dark-haired Sharlayan, she was too busy watching Dimitri to make sure that he would make good on his word.

“Now hold on” The redhead’s hand went up and into the circle of his friends he went, holding out his other hand towards the one named Lucas “I want to hear what the boy has to say for himself.” He watched carefully as Lucas took his hand and rose to his feet. Even at his age, he wasn’t much shorter than Dimitri. His skin was pale, his hair platinum blonde, and his eyes a bright ice blue. There were a fair bit of freckles across the bridge of his nose and his clothes were obviously not his. In fact, they appeared to be Garlean, which the soldiers often wore on patrol but they were far baggier than they would have been if Lucas had been enlisted.

“It wasn’t my fault! They made me do it.” The boy protested, his eyes shifting between each face. “Sneak into the camp Lucas, We will let you live if you do. They are a g-gang!! Bullies they are. They wanted me to do their stealing for them! H-here you can have everything back. I don’t want it! I can get my own food from hunting.” Dimitri found his brows pinching together, his face clouding and his throat knotting at the turmoil Lucas had been through. He knew all too well what it was like to be bullied and pushed around. He had endured it most of his younger years since he wasn’t Sharlayan born.

“Ha! Likely story: do you think we were born yesterday?” Zehex shouted at the boy causing him to move closer to Dimitri “I mean it! I was forced to do it.” Pulling up his jacket Lucas showed off his all-too-shallow stomach, he wasn’t eating, and Dimitri didn’t even have to look towards Saewara who specialized in medicine to figure that out. His eyes were well-trained to recognize malnutrition from his own work. The other thing Dimitri noticed right away was the bruises all over Lucas’s sides as if he had been in a fight and someone kicked him with a boot. Something else Dimitri was familiar with when it came to how kids treated other kids.

“Enough” Dimitri barked at Zehex “You are all entitled to your opinion, but from these bruises, he was in fact in a fight.” He motioned for his friends to look over Lucas for themselves if they must, but there was already a look in his eyes that would inform each of them he was not looking to compromise at this point.

“Oh come on Jienuex you cannot tell me you are just going to let him off the hook. Who knows how long he has been sneaking in here to get food.” This time it was Weland, who spoke up, a finger pointing towards the bruises “He could have slipped on ice and rolled down a hill and hit a fucking tree. Sae talk some sense into him.”

“He’s right.” Saewara sighed as she stepped forward, She had seen enough bruises from fights, and looking at Lucas now she could see where the curve of the front of a boot had in fact been driven into his ribs more than once. “Those aren’t from a fall, those are from a fight.” She started to fidget then, her toe scuffing at the snow beneath it and her lip was sucked into between her teeth.

“That settles it then. He has been in danger, where are your parents Lucas?” Dimitri asked as he rested his hands on the young Garleans’s shoulders protectively “Are you staying nearby with them?”

“N-no Ser. They are gone.” The boy's eyes suddenly filled with tears. “First my Mother was dragged off by them, and then my Father. I couldn’t help them Ser, I couldn’t get through the mob of what you all called Tempered. I hid in the house until it got quiet enough and then I ran. That is when the gang caught up with me!”

An orphan, this tugged even harder at Dimitri’s heartstrings. “Yes, I am going to just let him off the hook. We will take him inside. See if we can find him some better-fitting clothes and get him something warm to eat.”

“He is your responsibility then Jienuex” Weland’s face was bright red and angry, but nothing was worse than Zehex’s spitting at his feet as he stormed by “Don’t come crying to me if he ties you up and robs you blind. Fucking Garleans, how the fuck can you trust him.”

The last face he saw as his friend retreated were the eyes of Saewara who looked disappointed in him, her head shaking at him. “If he needs medical care, take him up front. Don’t look for me.” and off she went at a quick step before she changed her mind.

“I am sorry to get you in trouble with your friend Ser,” Lucas said quietly, flinching at the pain in his ribs. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble, I just didn’t want to get beat up again when I came back empty-handed.”

“Oh don’t worry they will come around. Let’s get you inside hmm?”

[sapphire-weapon]

When are we reading the fic HUH you keep teasing us!!

I'm not trying to tease. 🥺 I'm trying to show I'm making progress. 😭 Because I have such a bad habit of hyperfixating on a fic for a total of 48 hours and then abandoning it.

But as a showing of good faith, here's a page +1 extra paragraph of first draft porn.

I haven't even looked at this a second time, much less gone through it with the intention of actually editing it. If it sucks, don't tell me LOL IT'S NOT FINISHED YET. It's on page 9 of 12 that I've reached so far.

-

The surreal nature of this moment wasn't lost on him — nor was the inappropriateness. He'd been sent on this mission specifically to locate, retrieve, and extract a human target while ensuring her safety. By all rights, they should have been on a chopper heading to a military base to get to a plane that would take them home. At no point should this mission have ever involved him holding the president's daughter in his lap while he sucked on her tits — all the while possibly being watched from the shadows by a man who may or may not have been an actual legitimate pirate — but here he was.

He'd be so dead if anyone found out.

It wouldn't be the worst way for him to go out, though. He could think of far worse fates.

Ashley was humming and moaning softly in appreciation for every little movement of his mouth. Her fingers were woven into his hair at the back of his head, and she had her lips pressed against the crown of his head in encouragement. His cock twitched in excitement and anticipation within the tight confines of his pants. The more she sounded off for him, the more desperate he became to bury himself inside of her.

A noise that Leon could have only best describe as a squeak escaped from the back of Ashley's throat as he swapped his attention from her one nipple to the other, and he hummed eagerly against her sensitive flesh in return. His hips instinctually rolled up and into hers, his growing hard-on pressing hard against the soft curve of her ass. Ashley threw her head back in response and sucked in a sharp breath through her gritted teeth.

In that moment, he couldn't help but wonder if she'd ever been brought to orgasm solely by the right amount and type of attention paid to her breasts — and if he could pull off possibly being the first to get her there.

It was a sentiment that was short-lived. Before he could fully register what was going on, Ashley was gently pushing herself away from him in order to slip out from his arms and plant her feet firmly on the floor. Almost instantly, Leon missed the heat of her skin and the pressure of her body weight bearing down on his hips.

She didn't go far. Once her balance was stable, she dragged her hands down the back of his neck, over his shoulders, and stopped to rest them on his chest. As she did, she leaned in and kissed him once more. This one was much slower than the others — warm and tender in a way that made him almost believe that she really, truly wanted him, as opposed to seeing him as just any port in a storm.

After all, that was the only way women had ever viewed him, going all the way back to the night he'd lost his virginity. It was funny in a very depressing way that so much about his life had changed since then, but not this. Never this. He was only ever a body to share heat with — a cock to be ridden and then discarded, and only ever in the most desperate of times.

Leon closed his eyes and settled his hands at the smallest part of her waist as he kissed her back. Just for this moment, he allowed himself to pretend — to buy into the delusion of thinking that Ashley Graham, the First Daughter and one of the hottest women he'd ever been lucky enough to get his hands on, wanted him for him. He granted himself the permission to believe that the tiny sounds of kissing being passed back and forth between them, and the careful, deliberate way that she met his tongue with her own again and again and again was born of a genuine affection for him. A genuine desire. A true longing for him and his touch and his presence and all that he had ever been or would ever be.

[flower-zombie-rob]

what’s stopping me?

Another, much less depressing, R irissona fic! This time featuring @geekyfox2‘s sona Geeky and @ratwhowrites sona Remi. This one’s quite cute so don't worry, so sad angst here! Hopefully I used the right pronouns for these sona characters, I tried my hardest to do my research on what they're like. Enjoy!

It had taken a while for R to come to terms with the prosthetics, even longer to adjust to them. Their balance had been off and they’d toppled across hallways many times, clumsily attempting to get a hang of their sleek new artificial limbs. After the first few embarrassing tumbles, they’d learned the basics of the movement changes and they discovered exactly how to stop the leg from becoming detached mid-step, though they acquired the help of the more patient iris employees. Today they’d made it all the way to the cafeteria! For the first time in weeks they could climb the white plastic chairs and sit alongside those scientists they'd come to know in the years before the accident. The sentiment of their excitement wasn’t theirs alone, it was, most definitely, shared by the employees in the room, unprepared to see R today after the accident.

A familiar face came sauntering into the room, her walking speed rapidly increasing as she caught sight of R sitting at the cafeteria table. Within seconds, Geeky was cuddling the young altr from behind in a long overdue embrace. R wasn’t sure what the name of the feeling bubbling inside them was, but it must have had something to do with the hugs they’d missed from all the medical downtime. It was a really really good feeling, that’s all they could tell. Fuzzy, like the hair of the employee they were currently staring adoringly up at. They turned around, letting out a squeaky apology after bashing Geeky's shin with their new leg(the clunky thing was still too janky to swing around a stool safely). Comforted by the presence of a friend, R rested their head on Geeky’s warm shoulder, the lab coat fabric providing a pleasant pillowcase. It wasn’t lost on them how much they’d missed any sort of closeness while they were stuck in quarantine or kept in the medical wing to re-learn how to walk. Some employees, most, just didn’t have the time to go and visit them. Heading down to the medical wing was a trip for most of R’s common acquaintances, who worked on a completely different side of the facility, so seeing the frumpy scientist again was overwhelming R with joy.

“I missed you, buddy.” Said the taller employee, letting go of them to ruffle their messy, lilac hair. R smiled brightly in response and uttered out a simple sentence, making the effort to speak as well as they could for their friends.

“Missed you too!” They yelled excitedly, shoving their arms around the iris employees neck for their second hug within the same 5 minutes.

Suddenly, as they let go and leaned back, R found themselves hoisted up into the air! They felt the hands of another grumpy scientist friend, peering over their own shoulder to see the face of Remi, who’d put down a lukewarm mug of coffee on the table to swoop R off their feet.

“There you are, where have you been, huh?” R squealed in surprise. They were giggling excitedly in pure joy.

“Remi, you should be at your station.” Muttered Geeky, though there was no real weight behind it.

“I needed a coffee! And I’m so glad I got one, I would’ve missed R popping back up around here.” He looked down to inspect R’s new prosthetics, obviously surprised by how much more weight the fake arm and leg added to the tiny altr. “These are cool. Normal arms are for losers anyway.” He leaned down to whisper it, pulling his riding-up lab coat sleeve down.

“Get back to work or I’ll get done for not supervising you.” Geeky cut in. She took R from his hands and helped them back down to the floor, holding their hands as Remi picked up his coffee and waved at the two before shuffling back out and down the hall.

“Come on then,” Geeky encouraged, standing up and heading to the cafeteria exit’s double doors. ”looks like you’re unsupervised so why don’t we go out and get you some fresh air while I check if Bab locked the mothman up properly. They had one job and that was to turn a single key! Is that so hard? You’d do it better than they would, R, you-” she looked back suddenly to realise the altr hadn’t moved from the spot they’d been left in. Geeky beckoned them over, confused and concerned, only for R to shake their head nervously.

“can’t…” They looked down shamefully to their prosthetic leg. They’d only just figured out how to confidently walk from their room to the cafeteria, and that was barely a few metres! There’s no way they’d be able to make their way through all those halls to the outside cells. The dread of falling over when they’d just gotten the hang of walking again crept up on them and kept them glued to the spot until Geeky came over and took R’s hands gently.

“Hey” she spoke softly, moving one hand to rest carefully on R’s shoulder. “You can do this, Bud. Here, I’ll hold your hands and if you fall it’s no big deal, right? You just get back up, like always.” They gave R a little pat on the shoulder and aided them in their first steps towards the double doors, holding their hands tightly all the way through the facility. It was a memory R would recall for the rest of their time relearning to walk. Because no matter how many times they fell over and had their prosthetics fall off and seize up, they’d get back up again. I mean, they thought, if the others believe I can do it, what’s stopping me?

People who may be interested: @intothebutterflyburrow@glass-trash-bab @tahcoo @bondedostae

[riversofmars]

Songs of Love 2023 - Day 3

Rating: G Prompt: Alien Biology Summary: Liv gets injured putting herself in between Helen and danger. It's not the first time either, but it is the time that Helen has had enough: She's quite capable of looking after herself and can't stand the thought of Liv getting injured on her account.

Alien Biology

“Ow, ow, can you just be careful-” Liv grimaced in pain, hobbling along as she clung on to her best friend.

“I am being careful, you need to stop putting weight on your foot, I’ve got you!” Helen shot back, irritated at her friend’s refusal to put her full weight on her. She was only tiny, she could easily hold her up, but Liv Chenka was quite likely the most bullheaded person in the universe - in Helen’s universe certainly - and she insisted on as much independence as she could muster. The fact was, however, that Liv had likely just broken her foot and walking to the medical bay by herself was simply not on the cards. She probably would have found a way to get there on her own, that wasn’t even the issue, it was the fact that the linguist wouldn’t let her out of her sight while severely injured, particularly when she wasn’t entirely blameless in the incident. 

“I can walk!” The med-tech bit back angrily but the moment she tried to put weight on her foot, it gave way underneath her and Helen groaned under the added strain of holding her up as she lost her balance. If only she allowed her to help her along properly without the constant back and forth and trying again.

“You can’t! Now accept some help!” The linguist snapped. She knew her best friend all too well. She hated accepting any kind of help, the best course of action was not to give her an option. Having had enough, she stopped them both so she could readjust their position and pull her friend’s arm across her shoulder properly. “Do NOT put your foot on the floor!” She hissed insistently. 

“Stop being so bossy!” Liv countered but despite her insolent attitude, she obeyed, lifting her foot off the floor.

“Well, someone has to tell you what’s what now and again,” Helen huffed, but a smile drew to her lips regardless as the med-tech rested her forehead against her shoulder, in a brief touch accompanied by the heavy sigh, an apology in not so many words as she likely knew she was being a handful. Her posture relaxed as well and Helen took it as a good sign. She tilted her head against hers, acknowledgement, nothing more was needed, and they set off down the corridor once more. 

“Sorry… you know I appreciate you and your help…” Liv mumbled ruefully once they reached the medical bay that the TARDIS seemed to have moved closer to help them along.

“You must do, else you likely wouldn’t have gotten injured. You wouldn’t have put yourself in danger like that if you didn’t appreciate me…” Helen hummed, at the memory of her best friend putting herself in harm’s way for her. As lovely a gesture as it was, it had left her severely injured and the linguist utterly frustrated. “You know that was incredibly stupid right?”

“Yeah well, better me than you…” Liv huffed, drawing herself up onto one of the medical beds and angling for the scanner on the side of it. Rolling her eyes, Helen passed it over to her so she couldn’t suffer another injury falling off the bed. 

“It’s not actually better you than me!” She protested. There was little she hated more than being painted as the damsel in distress that constantly needed saving. That wasn’t her. That wasn’t who she wanted to be. She had proven many times over that she could hold her own and Liv swooping in to be the hero, particularly to her own detriment, was something she wasn’t content accepting. 

“Yes it is, Helen, trust me,” the med-tech countered as she ran the medical scanner along her leg. 

“Why? Why is that? You keep doing this, putting yourself in danger for me and this time, you got properly hurt! You have to stop that!” Now that Liv was in the safety of the medical bay and seeing to her injury, she could address the things that were on her mind. It was something that had been building up for some time and finally, she had enough. She had stood by and watched for too long. Today, it had been her ankle which surely would heal just fine but what if next time it was worse? Far worse. There was no-one she cared about more in the universe than Liv Chenka. She was her best friend. The closest thing she had to family. And she was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with her - even if that fact thus far was not known to her. Helen knew that was ridiculous, she trusted Liv. She likely wouldn’t think any less of her if she knew, even if she didn’t return her feelings. It was rather the fact that Helen wasn’t sure she was ready for what might happen if she did return them. Though now, after seeing Albie again, maybe it was time for some honestly, maybe she could face those things if they came to pass and not live in the shadow of her past any longer.  

“You were in danger, I was in a position to help. What else would you have me do?” Liv shot back, visibly irritated but she didn’t look up at her. She simply dropped the scanner onto the bed next to her. “I couldn’t help it, it’s instinctual,” she huffed, turning her attention to her injured foot and slowly tried to unlace her boot. “I feel protective over you…”

“And you don’t think that might be mutual?” Helen argued back and swatted her hand away so she could do it for her. “Why else do you suppose I’m so angry with you?” Gently, she tugged the laces apart and the med-tech groaned in pain. 

“I thought it was just ‘cause I wasn’t listening…” she mumbled, looking up at last. 

“It’s because you hurt yourself on my account and that scares me,” the linguist confessed without meeting her eyes. Very carefully she lifted the boot of her foot that looked rather swollen.

“Nothing bad happened, it’s a broken ankle,” Liv’s tone was reassuring, the frustration ebbing away and she bent down to pull her sock off and examine her injury.

“You could have broken a whole lot more than that,” Helen countered, not taken in by her words, however gentle. Her best friend’s safety was a far too important matter to simply put off. She was determined to make her see sense once and for all. “Why are you being so reckless?”

“I’m not,” the med-tech retorted, bewildered, and the complete lack of understanding on her part was the final straw.

“Yes. Yes you are!” Helen snapped, her anger returning in force. “You seem to have this idea about you that I don’t know what I’m doing, that I need help, that I need protecting but I don’t Liv, I don’t! I can handle myself and I won’t thank you for putting yourself in danger over me. I can hold my own, I-” All the things that she had held in for so long were spilling out of her and her friend seemed utterly overwhelmed.

“Helen, Helen stop!” She tried to appease her, holding her hands up, but the linguist ignored her protest.

“No, I want you to listen and understand that it’s patronising and-” she continued but Liv’s hands flew out and she grabbed her upper arms tightly, drawing her focus and halting her onslaught of words.

“Please, Helen, please listen,” the med-tech implored her calmly but firmly. “It’s better me than you, not because I don’t value my life or because I think you’re fragile, far from it. I love my life, the life I have now, here in the TARDIS, and with you. And the Doctor, of course. And I think you are one of the strongest, most resilient and most capable people I have ever met. You are far from fragile or weak,” she gave a hopeful, admiring smile and Helen couldn’t deny that her words had a certain reassuring effect. She huffed and dropped her eyes, her cheek’s pinking at the unexpected compliment, but her friend wasn’t entirely done with her justification: “The simple fact is that I heal much, much quicker than you.”

“What?” Helen’s eyes shot up in shock, she wasn’t sure she had heard her right. 

“I do, really,” the med-tech offered, almost gingerly, bemused by her disbelieving reaction. “Humanity has evolved a bit by my time. Advanced medical procedures and advancements generally have made us more… resistant, I suppose. We live a little longer. We can deal with hostile environments a little better and we heal quicker than average,” she explained and Helen found the whole thing hard to believe. It sounded rather convenient, like an excuse almost. She wasn’t sure she believed her.

“You heal quicker?” She repeated incredulously.

“Yes,” Liv confirmed and she seemed actually serious. “While I’m basically human, it’s not quite the same anymore. There are some slight differences between you and me.” 

“I’ll say. You’re far more pigheaded…” Helen huffed, finding herself quite unable to pass up the opportunity to take another jab at her. 

“I guess that’s a fair assessment,” the med-tech grinned, it was something that was impossible to deny. She seemed, however, to realise that she needed to give her a little more information so she carried on: “There was this one time when I was stuck in London with Molly in the seventies. There was this alien girl who set off what she called a Listlessness Field. It wasn’t dangerous and she didn’t mean to harm anyone, she was merely trying to get away from some bad people, the details aren’t important. But this field worked only on humans, putting them into a state of trance almost, a state of not doing much at all, but I was spared because my biology had evolved from that of 1970s humanity.”

“Are you trying to tell me you’re an alien?” The linguist raised her eyebrows at her. She was beginning to believe her and it opened up a whole new avenue of teasing her. 

“By your standards maybe,” Liv parried easily with a chuckle but turned more serious as she continued: “So you see, I wasn’t trying to be dismissive or stupid… I made a practical choice, knowing I would heal far easier than you would.”

“I see,” Helen found she couldn’t really argue with that. Even though she disliked the whole situation, it made sense. 

“I also wouldn’t like to see you in pain,” the med-tech carried on gently and Helen huffed at that:

“And you think I enjoy seeing you like this?”

“Fair enough…” Liv hung her head, she had scored a good point and the linguist softened her approach, assuming her more susceptible to her reasoning now. 

“Try and be a little bit more careful and look for a less fool-hardy approach next time, maybe?” She suggested gently. “Just because you’re some kind of a superhuman doesn’t mean you have to tempt fate…” Her words were light but there was palpable weight of meaning behind them.

“Well, sometimes I can’t help being fool-hardy around you…” the med-tech answered and there was tenderness in her voice and in her eyes. It was as though she wanted to say more but words failed her. It was the sort of look that made Helen’s heart beat a little faster and tied her stomach in knots as she tried to analyse her words.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She asked but her friend waved it off.

“Nevermind…” Instead of elaborating, she pulled the small wheeled table by the bedside close and started opening drawers, clearly looking for something.

“Can I help in any way?” Helen prompted, looking on. “How is it looking?”

“It’ll be fine, it’s a clean break, won’t need surgery or anything,” the med-tech answered, though her attention remained with the small cupboard from which she pulled a bandage at last. “Just need to wrap it up and not put weight on it for a few days.”

“Will you actually take it slow for a few days then?” Helen challenged and Liv chuckled. 

“I suppose I won’t have a choice.”

“I’ll be holding you to that,” the linguist insisted and her friend nodded along as she started wrapping the bandage around her ankle.

“That’s fine,” she agreed. “The last time it happened, I was only out of it for a few days.”

“The last time?” Helen gaped at the sudden revelation. “You’ve done this before?”

“It was when the Doctor and I were looking for you and got roped into that business in the second World War, it was nothing,” Liv gave another dismissive wave as though she didn’t want to dwell on it.

”I think it’s the very opposite of nothing,” Helen argued back, noticing her anger returning. It was the sort of anger that was born from fear: from the fear she had for her wellbeing. 

“I had an incentive to get better. I had to come and find you,” the med-tech reminded her and noticing the frustrated look in her friend’s eyes she continued: “And not because I thought you couldn’t cope by yourself. You very capably did! But because I wanted to find you.” She tied a neat bow around the top of the bandage and looked up, seemingly eager for her to witness her reaction to her words: “And I put myself in harm’s way for you because I want to as well.”

“You’re an idiot…” Helen huffed, though she couldn’t deny how much her words meant to her. 

“Maybe, but I’m your idiot,” Liv grinned and that was something else the linguist couldn’t argue with, particularly as she considered how much she wanted her to be ‘hers’. 

“Yes… yes you are,” she confirmed, trying to brush over how much her statement was affecting her. 

“Family, remember?” Liv gave her a hopeful, warm smile, echoing her own words back at her.

“Family… yes…” Helen hummed and her heart beat grew faster as she considered all the implications of it. When she had told her friend that she was the closest thing to family she had, she had done so with certain thoughts in mind. Thoughts that hadn’t been fully developed and that she hadn’t felt capable of at the time. Perhaps her statement had a deeper meaning as well?

“Helen, is something wrong?” The med-tech seemed to have noticed how she suddenly turned into herself, digesting her words and gathering courage for some of her own.

“Which part of a family?” She questioned slowly and Liv frowned:

“Huh?”

“When you say we’re family… what exactly do you mean by that?” The linguist pressed on. “Which… part of the family?” Her heartbeat was thundering her ears now but she held her nerve, she had to know, and she was sure Liv could take her meaning from her eyes then, as she curiously searched her expression and seemed to find what she was looking for. The med-tech’s expression softened and she asked:

“Can’t you guess? After all this time? Even if you’re not- but can’t you tell?” She mumbled, her cheeks flushing, her voice far more shaky than Helen had ever heard her and it gave the linguist the assurance she needed, the ability to overcome her own nerves. 

“Because I- I don’t think I want to be like a sister to you…” She carried on shakily. “I’d rather be your-”

And Liv took the words right out of her mouth as she leaned forward and kissed her.

"If you want to be my spouse that can be arranged,” she mumbled and Helen felt a weight lifting off her shoulders and countless possibilities opening up to her. Suddenly, everything made sense, even her friend’s urge to protect her. And she would allow her to, as she intended to do the same thing in return. 

She kissed her back and the pieces fell into place. 

[iironwreath]

Adapt [Ulysses]

Ulysses spent the next two days in a state of torpor. Pain, she knew all too well, was exhausting. She woke only when her body demanded it—to eat something plain in intervals, to drink more water, to pee. 

She knew she couldn’t delay walking forever even with her fatigue and sores. She wanted to make an effort—the longer she put it off, the more her muscles would suffer from disuse. She swung her legs out of bed and tentatively planted her hooves on the wooden floor planks. They weren’t as sensitive as toes and pads, more robust. No more boots for her.  

“Jhira?” she called. Jhira arrived at once. She had been diligent about making sure she was available for Uly’s recovery; only having to trance for four hours a night abetted that.

“How are you feeling, Ulysses?”

“Still shitty, but better.” She wrinkled her nose, digging her new claws into the bedframe. “I hate to ask since you’ve done so much already, but I need your help walking.”

A cursory smile lifted Jhira's lips. “I expected as much, don’t worry. I said I would assist, and that meant whatever entailed.”

Jhira crossed the room, crouched to shoulder-level, and pulled Uly’s right arm around her shoulders, her closest hand securing around Uly’s middle-back. It was clear she’d put some thought into it while Uly was unconscious.

“The hardest part will be balance, I think,” she said. “We’ll go slow.”

Uly kicked aside frustration—it wasn’t directed at Jhira. She funnelled it towards standing instead, activating tired muscles. They quaked every inch of the way up in protest. She wasn't injured, necessarily, but she still felt like she'd been run over by a horse.

Jhira was right; balance was the worst. Pain she could handle, but her bones weren’t the same beyond a certain point, completely shifting her centre of gravity and how she had to stand. She also had a new tail to equate; it chopped at the air while she struggled, automatically trying to find the best position to off-set her.

Finally, she stood, leaning hard into Jhira’s support. They were draped over her, and when they glanced down, they saw beads of sweat surfacing along Jhira’s temple. They used to be the same height, but now they loomed. The ceiling looked closer than ever, like they could reach up and touch it. 

“Fuck me,” she panted. “Am I taller?”

“Yes,” Jhira wheezed. “And heavier. I had that imp help drag you up the stairs before, not that he was much help. That’s fine. But you might need to use the wall at some point.”

The wall wouldn’t tremble under her weight, Uly silently agreed. Jhira moved forward, and Ulysses was forced to follow, her hoof clopping its first real step. What had once been instinctive and innate was foreign to her—her brain was lost, sending light-speed signals to parts that were no longer there. 

Second hoof, then again. Uly dug for a new part of her she hoped existed or would materialize that would just make it click. They made it to the door on tremulous steps before Jhira surrendered her to the wall, puffing as much as Ulysses was. 

“Why did it have to give me fucking hooves,” she bemoaned. Feeling along the doorframe, she hazarded a few more steps. Jhira hovered like a hummingbird. “There are tieflings with toes. I did this to be with Di and now I’m more useless than ever.”

“You’ve gone through a change,” Jhira offered patiently. “You’re not failing, you’re adapting. There’s a difference. Even if you couldn't walk, you would adjust.”

"I know," Uly sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm cranky."

She removed one hand from the wall, then the other, standing with her arms spread-eagled. Jhira slid in front of her, volunteering her hands. Uly locked their forearms together—less stress on Jhira overall, but enough to help.

“Easy does it,” Jhira encouraged. “I'll see about picking up some crutches. Dicentra will flip when she sees you.”

“In the best way, I hope.”

“She will.”

“Take me to the washroom? I want to get in front of a mirror.”

“I could’ve brought one to you,” Jhira laughed.

“It’s not the same.”

—

The trip to the washroom was multi-purpose: she felt like a beached fish rotting in the sun after lying in bed nonstop for hours on end. Water would wake her up and help her fraying state of mind.

Jhira closed the door behind her. Uly wobbled her way over to the vanity, falling onto it more than stopping, her head and shoulders bowed and clutching the edges with both hands. She sucked in a shaky breath through her mouth, exhaled it out, and lifted her gaze to face the glass.

The reflection Ulysses had known her entire life didn’t stare back; a stranger did. Her skin was the same ashy-grey she had become semi-familiar with, but her eyes were the burning orange of cinders, of superheated steel pulled freshly from a forge. 

Twin strokes of orange marked her cheekbones like two extra sets of eyes, similar to the ones on her deltoids. Her freckles were gone. She braced an elbow on the counter and touched her face—her nose and lips and jaw were the same shape, but they were set in a foundation so different she barely recognized them. They were ornaments hung from a different tree, new flesh pulled over the original bones.

Her hair hung the same way, still black as well. Her horns, dark at the base, were twined with spots of yellow, orange, and red—they reminded her of a mushroom she’d seen in the feywild. Everything about her suggested she’d immolate the world by looks alone. 

She pulled up her top lip with a finger. Fangs where her canines were gleamed back in the light.

She knelt to give her legs a break, leaning her head against a cabinet door and shoving the heels of her palms into her eyes. She took care of her appearance before, but she never admired herself longer than necessary. For once, she felt like she was extraordinary to behold, but she was alone for the first time since Aldous.

A fresh wave of determination surged through her. She could do this. She had to.

[seradae]

You can read the previous chapters here or on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43928488?view_full_work=true

The Spire

Chapter 8: Selene Industrial

Erica held Lou's hand as they descended another elevator. She spoke softly, "I know I'm putting your equilibrium through the wringer on this trip, so if you need a break just let me know, okay?"

"What is this place? I couldn't catch what the speakers said -- too many people talking on the train," they said, holding onto her and a handrail for balance.

"Officially, 'Selene Industrial Ring,' but everyone calls it 'moon-lite'," she explained as they felt their weight increase and their clothes started to pull down towards the floor. "Spirans love their puns."

"I was going to point that out, but I really have no room to talk. I'm guessing this place has lunar gravity?"

"Yup! One sixth gee. Most of the glass foundries and chip fabs are here, along with a slew of other industries and a pretty badass trampoline park. But we're not going to see any of that today; pretty sure your inner ears have been through enough." The elevator slowed and then stopped. "I don't come here terribly often, so I'm sorry if I get us lost."

As they walked off the elevator, Lou couldn't help but chuckle. "Okay, so uhhh. Walking is weird here."

"Tell me about it! I still don't really have the hang of it, but if you kind of bunny hop, you'll get where you wanna go."

She led them past some open areas - sparsely furnished - and some non-descript buildings. The walls here appeared to be aluminum, with soft artificial lighting seeming to come from every direction. "This is the polar opposite of the Donut. Like a hospital fucked a submarine."

Erica snickered at that colorful analogy. "Yeah, it's too clean and not seeing the stars sucks. I only ever really come here when there's a special event. Though I'll say, definitely don't punt a vacuum bot if you see one. It's against the rules and totally not a ton of fun in lunar gravity," she said with a wink.

They smiled wide and asked, "really, you of all people abusing robots?"

"Hey, these things are built to handle it," she exclaimed defensively.

Lou chuckled and Erica pulled them toward a hatch set in the wall of a metal building. She scanned her wrist and then she grabbed the handle and opened it up, walking inside.

Along one wall was a large CNC mill, a metalworking lathe, and a row of various enclosed 3d printers. At another was a station filled with metal rods, face shields, gloves, torches, and a variety of welders. The third had a chop saw and racks filled with various metal stock. The floor was marred with burn marks and scuffs. "Holy shit, this is a cool shop! This is the first place I've seen here that actually looks dirty," they exclaimed.

"Pretty awesome, right? People make some incredible stuff here. There are like ten or twelve of these shops, open to all residents. You just reserve it and pay for consumables," she explained, walking around the room. "I was going to show you this later in the trip, but after our lunch I figured it was a good time."

"So," Lou said and then trailed off, turning their back to her.

"So," Erica said softly.

"God, they're going to be so pissed. It's only two weeks until the start of fall semester," they said with a hint of excitement in their voice.

"Wait. Now?!"

"Why wait? I'm already here. And so are you," Lou grinned.

Erica ran as fast as she could in the low gravity and jumped, Lou turning just in time to catch her. They fell backwards, laughing. "I love you so goddamn much, Louisa," she said, tears pooling in her eyes. "Are you sure?"

"I love you too, baby. And you know me: once I'm in, I'm in," they said, pushing her hair back and kissing her softly.

"Well, I guess we have some planning to do."

"Let's hold off on that for a minute. I have something else in mind," they said, kissing her again.