#thirty-two feet and eight little tails

[flurry-of-stars]

𝒯𝒽𝑒𝓈𝑒 𝐻𝑜𝓁𝓁𝑜𝓌 𝐻𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓈-𝕴𝕴𝕴

⋆｡°✩𝓟𝓻𝓮𝓿𝓲𝓸𝓾𝓼𝓵𝔂⋆｡°✩ 𝕺𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖛𝖎𝖊𝖜 - 𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝕴- 𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝕴𝕴

⋆｡°✩𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕴𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖝 ⋆｡°✩ ⚠️𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓 𝖎𝖓𝖌 ⚠️ Panic attack. Slow burn romance, female reader, small age gap (Fyodor is thirty, the reader is in her early twenties.) No Abilities AU , fluff . 𝒲𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉: 6k ♡

✩ A familiar melody surrounds him as his eyes open slowly. He groans a little, feeling quite groggy as he listens to the soft drumming of rain pouring upon the roof. Slowly, he sits up. His hands press into the soft cushions of the window seat as he sits back, oversized fluffy ushanka dropping from his head. He looks ahead towards the glowing fire that crackles nearby in the confines of the fireplace. To his side, he feels a tiny body vibrating against his leg. His gaze flickers to the tiny black kitten at his side. He curls against his thigh, purring loudly in his sleep. He chuckles, but no sound comes out. His hands caress the kitten’s velvet soft fur as a voice gently calls out to him, “You’re awake....”

His heart twists as he hears that gentle voice. His heart throbs and twists in pain as he looks up. Someone is sitting by the piano, a veil of silk black across their face. Despite the crackling fire behind them, the figure is shrouded in complete darkness. He can't make out a single detail about them. Their fingers move elegantly across each pristine key as if dancing, playing a soft melody. He would recognise that melody anywhere. He knew it better than he knew the back of his hand. Better than he knew the depths of his soul. He rises from the seat, the warm blanket covering him slipping onto the floor, his footsteps silent on the carpeted floor as he approaches the person, watching as their fingers glide across the keys. The closer he gets to them, the deeper the melody seems to grow. The slower their fingers move. From the corner of his eye, he notices the glow of the fireplace slowly dying, fading. The fire sizzles loudly, its embers slowly fizzling out as his pale hand reaches out, grabbing them by the shoulder as the world is drowned in darkness. The figure turns slowly as the last embers of the flame die out.

A breath catches in Fyodor's throat, a heavy weigh forming in his heart, his stomach lurching as he takes one, two steps back when suddenly....

A loud buzzing jolts Fyodor free from the claws of his mind, sending him flying upright so fast and suddenly, the old tabby cat mewls, lunging off his desk in startled surprise. Blood throbs and pounds in his ears. He’s vaguely aware of his heart thundering, beating and fluttering like the wings of a desperate bird trying to escape the jaws of a predator. His hands convulse as his stomach churns like waves during a storm. His throat feels like it’s being crushed by an invisible force, causing choked sounds to escape his lips. His mouth feels bone dry and he swears he can still smell blood and decaying flesh as tears sting the corners of his eyes. He struggles for a moment to breathe normally. It almost feels like his ribcage is closing in on itself like the maws of a beast, squeezing his lungs, crushing them. There’s another loud buzz that startles him a second time. He looks up, remembering that he had gone to his room to finish working on the draft of his latest chapter, his recently written pages scattered at his feet and across his cluttered desk. He lifts a trembling hand, running it through his hair, pulling it back to find it sleek with sweat. He closes his eyes, taking a few shaky, heavy breaths to steady himself.

Another nightmare. That makes eight in almost three weeks. He needs to ground himself. He needs to get control back. Breathe…in… ….Out… You’re safe…it was just a dream… ...Out... …In… He swallows roughly after a few minutes, standing up on trembling legs. He would gather his fallen papers later. Tolstoy gives an annoyed mewl, his tail lashing as he glares at Fyodor. Despite the feline's irritation, he's staying near to Fyodor. A small, weak smile tugs the corner of Fyodor’s lips as he looks at the old feline, his voice faintly trembling. “I’m sorry, old friend. I did not mean to startle you.” The tabby mewls, stepping closer to Fyodor; he twirls between his legs, nuzzling his ankles. It was comforting. Soothing. His rumbling purrs help him shake off the last remaining fragments of that horrific nightmare. Slowly, the shaking stops and Fyodor’s mind clears, despite the heavy feeling in his entire body. The bedroom is entirely dark. The candle positioned on his desk had melted and extinguished itself, leaving a hardened pile of wax behind. He reminds himself to tidy later as he pulls his curtains open, letting in faint rays of sunlight. His ushanka is on the ground, likely having fallen off when he laid his weary head down. He reaches down to pick it up when he hears that deep rumbling again.

His deep eyes flick towards his phone as it rumbles aggressively on the old mahogany desk. He grabs it before realizing it's just the alarm he set just in case he did pass out. With a sigh, he switches it off, his hands still faintly trembling. His gaze turns towards a photo frame propped up on the corner of his desk, sheltered by many old books. He needed to get some fresh air and clear his head. ︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵

You stare at the intricate door, eyes transfixed on it as if it would hold the secrets of the universe. Ever since you first saw it, you were unable to get it out of your mind. You had wondered if it was Fyodor’s room until he had gone to the room near the kitchen to work on his draft an hour ago. Or maybe a study? But if that was the case, why did he act like it didn’t exist? He’d never spared it a glance. When he sat to play his cello, his gaze never drifted to it. When he sat on the same window seat you’re sitting on now, he never looked at it. You hum, tapping your ballpoint pen to your chin. Your gaze drifts towards the archway. You could take a quick peek. It wouldn't hurt, right? It would be just a small look, and he would never know! You're just about to get up when suddenly, a dark furry ball leaps up from under the fold-out table in front of you, causing you to cry out in surprise. "Tolstoy! You scared me!" As you place a hand over your fluttering heart, the feline gives you a side-eye and lets out a rough meow as he begins grooming his paws. You glare at him and mutter, "Did you do that on purpose? I bet Mr. Dostoyevsky sent you here to scare me, didn't he?" You reach out and run your hand through his soft fur. He purrs and nuzzles your palm. "You little devil." "Are you so lonely that you had to resort to talking to the cat, Огонёк?" Fyodor returns to the room, adjusting his ushanka. You jolt and look up quickly to see the teasing glimmer in the Russian’s tired eyes.

"I was only gone for an hour. My goodness, I did not realize you were such a lonely soul," he continues to tease. 

“He scared me!” You insist, the thought 'like owner, like pet' crosses your mind as you keep looking between the tabby cat and Fyodor. As you huff, you decide to return his teasing, "I thought you had sent him to make sure I was still working. Like a little secret agent."

He blinks a few times, giving you a curious look. Then, much to your surprise, a small chuckle escapes him, “Even if Tolstoy could understand me, he is still a cat. I highly doubt he would do anything I ask of him.” As if sensing he’s being spoken of, Tolstoy gives a loud mew, leaping down and sauntering over to Fyodor.

He headbutts his leg as you raise a brow at Fyodor, as if saying ‘see?’ He chuckles once more as he reaches out, grabbing his cloak off the coat rack. You blink in surprise. “What are you doing, Mr. Dostoyevsky? Where are you going?”

“Winter is on the way,” he replies, adjusting the warm fur of his cloak around his neck, the dark fabric rustling around his shoulders. “I wish to go for a walk before it becomes too cold to do so.”

You hum, tapping the end of your ballpoint pen on the fold-out table. Then, you slide out from behind it, tucking your pen into your pocket, “I’ll come with you.” He turns to face you, deep eyes filled with curiosity. “I could do with some fresh air.” He’s quiet as you grab your burnt orange coat from the rack, pulling it over your new turtleneck sweater and black pants. You hear a quiet exhale from him as he nods, “Very well then.” You smile happily as you kneel, adjusting the laces of your boots before you hurry after Fyodor. You eye him as he checks his pocket, presumably for his keys. It’s been a few days since you began cooking for him, or rather since you both began cooking together. He seems to have a little more energy to him now but you could tell he still wasn’t at 100%.  Far from it. By the looks of him, you suspected he may not be sleeping well still. You can still see exhaustion written all over his face. That was troubling. You purse your lips. You could ask him about it during the walk. “Let’s go,” Fyodor says softly, opening the door and allowing you out first. You feel Tolstoy swerve between your legs, shooting off into the open space. You watch the tabby sprint into the woods as Fyodor locks the cottage door, but as you’re about to head towards the familiar cobblestone path, he stops you. “Not that way.” You turn to face him. He nods towards a cluster of trees tucked behind his home. He turns, long cloak billowing in the wind and swaying as he walks. You hurry after him, leaves crunching underfoot as you head for the hidden forest path. As you take your first step into the forest, you are immediately engulfed by darkness and the musty smell of ancient earth. The trees tower above you, like nature's own skyscrapers. On the path, there are occasional spaces overhead where sunlight filters through the thick canopy, illuminating your path. You hear the rustling of leaves and ferns as you walk, but you don’t feel the cool breeze that disturbs them. You walk alongside Fyodor. He inhales deeply as if trying to commit these sights and sounds to memory. His voice finally breaks the silence.

“I prefer to take this path for my walks,” he informs you as a few sparrows fly almost directly overhead. You squeak a little in surprise, turning to watch them fly out as he continues to speak, “Olya and Mitya are lovely people but…” He lets the question hang in the air for a few moments. You suspect he’s about to drop it. You take the initiative, “But what?” He stands a little straighter as he hears your voice. He exhales, then, “They remind me too much of things I don’t want to remember.” Before you could pry much further, he changes the subject, “What do you think of them, Огонёк​?” You think of the elderly couple as you walk, the sound of rustling leaves and scurrying wildlife under the brush surrounding you as you reply, “I think they’re lovely people. Friendly...helpful...I never knew my grandparents but if I could choose them, Olya and Mitya would be my first choice.” A hint of amusement fills your voice as you add, “Although I can barely understand Dima when he starts getting excited over something.” Fyodor chuckles, slowing his pace a little as he nods, “Mitya has always been like that ever since I was a boy.” You look up at Fyodor as you walk past a beam of sunlight. The light caresses his tired features for a moment, turning his dark purple eyes a lighter shade. Within, you see a glimmer of warm nostalgia. “I’m surprised he didn’t begin speaking in Russian to you.”

“I thought he did for a moment,” you reply honestly, earning a chuckle from Fyodor. “It felt rude to tell him I didn’t have a single clue what he was saying so I just kept nodding.” He chuckles again. You see his lips turn upwards in an amused grin, “I can assure you, Mitya doesn’t bite. He will not be upset if you tell him what you’ve just told me.” A comfortable silence falls over you both for a while as you head down this secret path. Your shoulders sag as you feel the stress of your daily life melting away for a while. Out here, it’s just you, Fyodor and the beautiful wildlife surrounding you. Up ahead, under another beam of sunlight, you catch sight of a white rabbit. It appears to be washing its face with its cute paws when suddenly, Fyodor speaks up again, “Огонёк, why did you choose this career? I’m sure if you wanted to, you could have pursued a greater knowledge of languages and become a teacher. So why a literary translator?” As you approach, the rabbit catches the sound of your footsteps and quickly disappears into the underbrush like a bolt of white. You stand there watching it vanish under a fern before you speak, "This is just the beginning for me. I don't intend to remain solely as a translator." You clasp your hands together and keep your gaze fixed on the path ahead. "I don't simply want to work as a translator or editor, I desire to assist in every possible way to ensure that books are published successfully. And who knows, perhaps someday I will write a book of my own to be published." You smile slightly as you finally look up at Fyodor, with a determined glint in your eyes.

He gazes down at you silently for a few moments, as if taking all of you in. Then, “You seem quite driven.” His deep eyes seem to glimmer with praise. “That is an admirable trait to have.” “My dad used to tell me that the only time we truly fail is when we give up.” Your eyes harden slightly. Fyodor blinks a few times, as if surprised at the sight. “So I can’t give up on this dream. Nor can I be swayed from this path.” You look straight ahead again, feeling a steely resolve in your heart with each beat. “I won’t give up.” Fyodor is silent beside you for a long while. You feel his eyes on you. After a while, it begins to feel a little eerie. Right as you open your mouth to speak, Fyodor finally says something, “Your determination is truly admirable, Огонёк. You would do well to not lose that quality about yourself.” You swallow softly as you suddenly feel warmth filling your chest, spreading upwards towards your cheeks. It felt nice to be praised like that, especially by Fyodor. His praises were few and far between. Inhaling, you decide to return the question, “What about you? Why did you choose to become a novelist?” You hear a small huff escape Fyodor's lips. It sounds bitter, but still faintly amused," he admits honestly, "This was not the original career path I had in mind for myself. When I was a child, my mother used to make up stories each night when it was time for bed." His cloak sways elegantly with each stride he takes.

As you glance towards Fyodor, you notice his smile has become bitter. However, he continues to speak, "The stories she told were unlike anything I had ever read before. I have encountered many novels and storybooks in my lifetime, but the way she wrote her stories..." His hand moves to his chest, "They were the very reason that I became an author." "That’s really sweet," you remark, warmth in your tone. “Your mother sounds like an amazing woman. I’d love to hear one of her stories someday.” Instantly, you notice his hand twitching over his heart. He turns his head away, hiding his face behind his black hair. A heavy silence fills the air, and you start to wonder if you said something inappropriate, as the silence becomes almost unbearable. A gentle breeze brushes past you both, ruffling the hair from Fyodor’s face, exposing his eyes. You catch the depth of them. The look that screams more than his usual calm, quiet personality. As raven and grey locks cascade across his cheeks, you see the way his eyes narrow faintly.

It seems like there is a scream trapped inside him that he cannot express. Behind his deep purple eyes, there is a man who is screaming internally, trying to communicate through his eyes.

Suddenly, the tension eases and his hair falls back over his eyes as he lets out a soft and strained sound, saying “We're almost there.” Fyodor walks a few steps ahead of you. You try to catch up with him but find it hard to speak. As you look up, you notice a small clearing ahead where sunlight is streaming in from high above. The trees seem to have moved their swaying branches aside, creating a natural skylight. As you enter, you take a moment to survey the area. It appears to be a small and enclosed space, with thick tree trunks tightly packed together, blocking any further progress. It seems to be a dead end. You notice a wooden bench nearby, crafted from one of the trees in the vicinity going by the color of the timber, causing you to question its age. Evergreen grass surrounds the old timber soilders, with mushrooms sprouting around the bench and tree bases like tiny followers. But that doesn’t keep your eye for long.

Fyodor ignores the bench nearby and instead walks directly towards a small garden. The garden appears to be a decent-sized flowerbed that has wheels attached to the bottom of it for mobility.

As you look at the beautiful display of pink flora, the sweet fragrance fills your senses immediately. Carnations, chrysanthemums, lilies, hydrangeas... Did Fyodor grow these himself? They all looked very healthy and goodness, they smell so elegant. Approaching him, you gasp at the sight of the beautiful carnations. He crouches down and inspects the delicate flowers, his deep eyes scanning each leaf and petal carefully. "Did you grow these?" “I assisted in their growth, yes,” he speaks softly, his eyes fixed on the task at hand. "I'm the only one left who can take care of them, so I'm doing my best to keep them alive." He inspects a few more flowers before checking the soil. 

The man nods and hums softly, expressing his satisfaction that everything is in good condition. After that, he slowly rises while dusting his pants off. He then says, "Do you see that bench over there? Mitya carved it out of a fallen tree that was here in these woods." He walks towards the bench and invites you to follow him. As you approach it, you notice that there are words engraved into the wood, although they are too faded to be read now. “Before this bench, there was a swingset here. He also built that when I was no taller than his knee,” Fyodor goes on to explain. He takes a seat, sighing softly as he looks out at the small blossoming garden. You take a seat beside him, listening closely to his story, “When I outgrew it, he replaced it with this bench. I would read here all the time.” He lets out another sigh, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. You blink a few times, observing as his black locks flow away from his face elegantly. He looks serene, with his head tilted towards the sky, the gentle sunlight touching his pale features as he murmurs, "You lose track of time out here, Огонёк. Especially when you have a good book." A gentle breeze passes through the area again, causing the trees to rustle and Fyodor's black hair to sway. You observe his ushanka moving in the wind while feeling your hair being teased by the breeze. He appears so peaceful out here, completely at ease. “I wouldn’t mind coming out here to do translations one of these days,” you reply, shuffling around as you pull your coat tighter to your body. You slip your hands into your pockets in an attempt to keep them warm, “We haven’t sat outside in almost three weeks now. It would be so nice to even just sit by the lake again.” “Winter will be here soon,” Fyodor reminds you, his voice so soft you almost don’t hear him. “It will be too cold to work outside until Spring.” As those words leave his lips, his eyes slowly open, “Ah…that reminds me…” He slowly tilts his head back down, turning his focus over to you. You blink, placing your hands in your lap as he continues. "I'm not sure if you're aware, but there's a writer's convention that takes place in this town every year during the second week of winter. Vivian has requested that I attend this year, with you accompanying me, as it will be the first time I put my name to one of my published works," he said, letting out a sigh.

His eyes narrowed in annoyance for a few moments before softening. “A few old acquaintances will be attending as well. Fellow authors,” he explains, resting his elbow on the back of the bench as to lean his head on his hand, “I understand if it will be too much pressure for you–” "I've always wanted to go!" you blurt out suddenly. Fyodor looks momentarily stunned by your outburst. You had tried to hold back your excitement, but how could you? You intertwine your hands together, feeling your lips tugging up into a wide smile. "My dad went several times over the years, but he was never able to take me. It would be such an honour to go." Fyodor remains silent for a while, but then he lets out a brief chuckle and smiles faintly. "It's nothing too extraordinary. Our main task is going to be listening to novice writers as they pitch their manuscripts to us and giving them advice. Nobody will even recognize me." “I still want to go!” You plead with Fyodor to let you go and scoot closer to him. Fyodor chuckles and playfully ruffles your hair, making you let out a small noise of protest as he smiles at your persistence. "Very well then. I'll let Vivian know that we'll be attending," he says with a sigh as he pulls his hand back. He turns his gaze back up towards the sky, closes his eyes, and mutters, "Even though I'd rather not attend." A small excited sound escapes you, your feet gently swaying in exhilaration. You couldn’t wait! Your first writer’s convention! And you were going to meet some of Fyodor’s acquaintances? You could hardly wait for Winter to arrive now! 

His voice cuts your thoughts before you can begin to imagine who you’ll be meeting in a few short weeks, “Your father…he’s the reason why you’re doing all of this, correct?” Your heart gives one, strong thump in your chest. You lick your lips, chewing on the inside of your cheek as she squirms a little. You weren’t sure you were ready to discuss this topic but now that it was being opened, you supposed you had no choice. You were impressed that the Russian put the pieces together so quickly. It was your fault for handing the puzzle to him half completed, you supposed. “Yes,” you respond softly, your eyes turning downcast towards your fingernails. You begin to pick at them as you continue, your voice hushed. Every drop of excitement and joy seems to have fled from your body all at once as if frightened off. “Growing up, my dad wrote a lot of stories too, like your mother did. He would buy cheap notebooks and write his stories into them. He even drew the illustrations.”

You give a soft, fond giggle as you remember your youth. “He would give characters their own unique voices. He would act scenes out…it was so much fun.”

Your chest flickers with the warm glow of nostalgia as you keep picking at your nails. Fyodor speaks up, keeping his voice at the same volume as your own, “He went to the convention to try and get his books published.” “Yeah,” you reply, your voice growing even softer. You vividly remember the days when you’d come racing home to that one bedroom apartment as a child, grinning from ear to ear in excitement.

When you burst into the apartment, expecting big news only for your father to smile, shrug and say ‘Maybe next year sweetpea.’ “He never did get his books published,” you inform Fyodor, slowly looking up at the Russian. His eyes carefully gaze into the depths of yours as you offer a small smile. “But he went as many times as he could afford to. Everytime, he took a new book. A new story. And everytime–” “--He was turned away.” Fyodor finishes for you, earning another nod from you. He pauses for a few moments. You see the glow of sympathy in his eyes as a sigh drifts off his lips, “That is…unfortunate to hear. I am sure his stories meant a great deal to you.”

“They mean everything to me.” You don’t mean to but your voice is filled with an abundance of emotion.

Genuine raw emotion; the love for these fantastical stories your father used to weave from pen tip just for you. Anger that his beloved creations were deemed ‘unworthy’ as publishing material. Pain that your father never got to achieve his dream just because a few people decided his stories weren’t good enough for the world. You take a deep breath, flashing the novelist an apologetic smile, “Sorry, I got a little ahead of myself there–” “You do not need to apologize,” the Russian quickly interrupts you. You see a glow of understanding in his eyes as he gazes down at you, the fluffy fur of his ushanka swaying faintly in the breeze. “I understand completely.” “If my mother’s stories were ever labelled as undeserving of publication, I would be just as, if not even more upset than you are.” You see his hand move back over his heart, his hand clenching into a tight fist. His eyes stare into yours, as if he’s trying to speak to the depths of your soul. It’s as though he wants to make sure you remember these words, “Your feelings are completely justifiable.”

You feel a lump forming in your throat, a growing tightness forming there. You take a shaky breath, calming yourself. You don’t need to cry. Not here. Not now. “Thank you…” His lips curl up in a faint smile but he says nothing more as you watch his eyes fall closed once more. As silence descends over you both, you begin to wonder about something, “Hey Mr. Dostoyevsky.” He gives a small hum in response. “Why didn’t you ever put your name to your older novels?” Silence returns for a few moments. The only sound that fills your ears is the sound of rustling trees and the gentle songs of the birds perched somewhere nearby. "Because there was no need for it," he murmurs, keeping his eyes closed as he speaks. "Using a pseudonym was sufficient. I did not desire attention or fame. I did not want the money. But I accomplished what I set out to do.” As the sunlight fades, you ask Fyodor softly, "What do you mean by that? What was your goal?" A large grey cloud covers the sky, and he sighs, opening his deep purple eyes in annoyance. A gentle sigh escapes him as he simply replies. “You’ll know one day,Огонёк.” He lets his eyes close once more, adding quietly, “For now, why not just enjoy the peacefulness of this moment? Before long, we will have to return to work you know.” You sigh. Your curiosity was unsatiated, leaving you disappointed. But Fyodor was right. You should enjoy this break while you have it. Deciding to follow his lead, you close your eyes, listening to the gentle rustling of trees. The distant yips of a fox. The caw of a crow. The fragrance of the flower garden fills your nostrils, making a content sigh escape you. It really was lovely out here. It was a shame you didn’t suggest bringing a picnic with you. You make a mental note to suggest that next time, although you do wonder if Fyodor would be up for the idea. Would there even be time left for a picnic before Winter arrived?

If you waited till Spring, you could get a cute little basket and– You jolt, gasping softly as you’re jostled from your thoughts. You feel something leaning against your shoulder and immediately assume it's Fyodor's hand. However, as you turn your head, you are surprised to come face to face with his fluffy ushanka. You blink a few times as if trying to process the scene before you. Fyodor's ushanka is pressed against your shoulder - the same one he was wearing. You hear faint sounds of breathing coming from him, gentle and quiet. Slowly, you begin to realize that Fyodor has fallen asleep against your shoulder. It seems that there was no need to inquire about the quality of his sleep. You whisper his name, "Mr. Dostoyevsky?", to confirm that he is asleep. He doesn't respond; his head is resting gently against your shoulder, and he continues to breathe softly. You decide against disturbing him. You’d noticed how fatigued and exhausted he’d looked for days, weeks now. You’d thought initially it was just his diet that was lacking, but no improvements to his diet could help a man who was constantly on the brink of exhaustion. You sit quietly, though quite awkwardly, as the novelist sleeps against your shoulder. There wasn’t much you could do here until he woke up and who knew how long that could take? You gaze at the beautiful pink garden as the flowers sway gently in the wind, letting out a wistful sigh. Well, you deserved a break too, didn’t you? ✩

Fyodor let out a deep sigh as he stirs from his restful sleep, the loud call of an owl from the treetops having disturbed his slumber. He shifts softly and raises a hand to rub his aching neck. Besides a few minor aches, he actually felt very refreshed, if a bit cold.

Blinking slowly, he clears his vision as he sat up straight and stretches slightly. It was quite dark, and he wondered how long he had been asleep for. Before he raises to his feet, he pauses, feeling weight pressing against his arm, stopping him. Turning his deep eyes slightly to the side, he frowns as he sees you. Your head is resting against his arm, deep, soft breaths escaping you. You must have fallen asleep waiting for him to wake up. He wonders why you didn’t just wake him up. He appreciates getting the sleep at last but a day of work had been wasted sleeping out here in the forest. Judging by how dark it was, the buses likely had stopped running too, meaning you wouldn’t be getting home tonight. He sighs heavily. You’d have to stay with him. He wasn’t keen on the idea but he wouldn’t let you walk that far home this late at night. There was no other choice. He’s gentle as he slowly tries to rouse you from your slumber, earning a small grunt from you as you try and push his hand away, mumbling, “No…I don’t wanna go to school…” He chuckles softly, his hand squeezing your shoulder as he whispers, “It is time to wake up, Огонёк.” He tries once more to stir you but your whines tug at his heart. He’s almost tempted to not wake you but the temperature outside has dropped since early this afternoon. He didn’t need his translator catching a cold. Especially not when there was an event he knew now you wanted to attend.  He leans in close, whispering into your ear, “Огонёк…come now. You’ll catch your death out here.” You groan. He feels the corners of his lips turning up further as he watches your eyes slowly open. In a gentle, teasing voice he mumbles, “Ah, good morning.” You grumble, raising your hands to rub your eyes. As you yawn and stretch, you groggily reply, “Morning…? It looks more like midnight to me..” He chuckles, reaching down to take your hand as he stands. He knows if he lets you, you’ll go right back to sleep. “Details, details…” Fyodor is slow and careful as he helps you stand. He keeps a hold of your hand, moving slowly as he guides you back down the same path as earlier, now without the assistance of the sun to guide the path. But Fyodor knows this path well. Walking it in pitch blackness is no different than in broad daylight to him. He feels your hand squeeze his as you walk, encouraging him to pull you a little closer. He can still hear your soft yawns and your shuffling footsteps as leaves and twigs crunch beneath your boots behind him. He pulls you closer still, almost pressing your body against his. He doesn't want you to slip and get hurt, the thought of which sends an icy chill down his spine. Fortunately, he manages to guide you out of the secret forest path within a few minutes, relieving both his nerves and your tired body.

“We’re almost there,” he informs you, his tone soft. He reaches for his keys, “Just a few more minutes.” He hears the tired grunt you respond with as he slides his key into the door, unlocking it with a gentle click right as he feels your head falling on his shoulder. With an amused huff, he carefully pushes the door open before scooping you up into his arms. Stepping into his silent cottage, he leaves the door slightly ajar as he carries your exhausted body towards his bedroom.

It would be cruel to force you to sleep on the cramped window seat. Besides, after that rest he finally manages to take, Fyodor's mind is buzzing with new ideas for the next few chapters of his novel. He plans to make the most of the night to make up for the lack of productivity today. But first things first. Fyodor’s bedroom door creaks open eerily. He carries you towards his bed, placing you down on the soft mattress, moving aside a few books before you can squirm and knock them down. He smiles a little as he hears your faint sigh as if relieved to finally be somewhere comfortable and warm. He covers you with the soft, fluffy duvet, adjusting it until he’s satisfied. He watches over you a little longer as he gathers his fallen draft papers, just in case you wake up and need something. His deep purple eyes watch over you in the dark. He watches you squirm, getting yourself comfortable for a long night’s rest, even tugging the duvet over your chin and mouth. Then, quietly, he takes his leave, murmuring, “Rest well Огонёк.” 

The door clicks shut quietly.

Dividers: @/saradika

[kinardsevan]

30 day fluff prompt challenge: day three

"birthday"

It was supposed to be a surprise party. Evan had spent weeks planning it, ordering the supplies, and ensuring everyone in their group had off so that they would all attend. He hadn’t mentioned anything to Tommy about it because he’d wanted him to have this moment. He’d seen the way his boyfriend was around the other people in his life.

Granted, it wasn’t like Tommy ever spelled it out. Still, there was something about how Tommy felt about the outside world, that Evan knew matched inside him. It’s how he could see the little flicker in his boyfriend’s eyes every time Chim laid a hand on his shoulder before he told him a story, or when Eddie called Tommy instead of Buck to hang out. It was the flash of a microexpression every time Bobby invited Tommy to help out on a dish in the kitchen when they got invited over for dinner. 

So of course, when autumn arrived and Evan knew his boyfriend’s birthday was coming, he’d gone all out. He’d set everything in motion. Of course, the one thing he couldn’t plan for was the weather. Or, well, either of them being on call. 

They were coming up on the tail end of wildfire season, and while it had been relatively quiet since mid-September, there had been college kids partying in the Angeles National Forest. A week before Tommy’s birthday, a small brush fire became something bigger. Less than twenty-four hours later, fifteen acres of land had been eaten up. At that point, it became an all-stations alert, and instead of cycling through their typical shifts like they were supposed to, entire stations were barely taking off eight hours to rest and recuperate, more concerned for their hometown than the need to get back to their daily living. The 118 and Harbor were among those stations. 

He’d barely seen Tommy since the start of the fire. They were lucky to pass one another maybe once a day in the middle of their required breaks, if they managed to fall during the same periods of time. Still, even then, they were both too exhausted to do much more than sneak a quick hug and kiss in before heading back in to work. 

It was exhausting. As midnight approached towards Tommy’s birthday, Evan wasn’t sure how much he had left in him. He hadn’t been home since the second night of the fire, not wanting to take the extra time to travel. There were tents set up that stations would hunker down in to rest in shifts. They’d had a singular evening in the middle of that entire week where Tommy had snuck in and fallen asleep next to him two hours before the 118 had gotten back up and headed back in. They hadn’t had a real conversation in the midst of it all due to the circumstances. The most he got to hear out of Tommy during those six days was whenever his voice came over the radio, announcing that he was coming through with a suppressant. 

But then, they got lucky. Around three AM, officially Tommy’s birthday, the rain came. They’d contained about 95 percent of the fire at that point, but the rain coming through on a cold front helped. Many of the firefighters still there were so excited to see the downpour flooding the areas that they’d actually celebrated when it finally hit. 

By five AM, they’d all been called off to go home for at least twenty-four hours. Granted, the fire was still ablaze and plenty of them had every intention of returning the second they were allowed to, but they had also all been out there so long that many hadn’t seen their families over the course of the entire week. 

Evan was dead on his feet then. He’d been awake almost thirty-six hours, unable to sleep on his last break. He had no idea where Tommy was, but he could also barely keep his eyes open as Bobby drove A shift back to the 118, ordered them all to do as the fire chief had said and to stay gone for at least 24 hours from the time they walked out of the building. 

He would’ve called Tommy, but his phone was dead. It had been for three days. Sometimes he remembered to charge it when he went on break, but mostly, he just listened out on the open channel for Tommy’s voice to know he was okay. Anytime he heard him, he tried to radio out for one reason or another, silently return the favor of letting his love know that he was still alive on the ground. 

Still, he didn’t trust himself to drive. His eyes were so heavy that he wasn’t even sure he’d kept them open for more than five minutes during the time he took to shower and change at the firehouse. It was during the 20 minute period that he’d taken to do all of that, that he left his phone to actually charge so that he could order a ride once he was ready. He’d work out the semantics about his vehicle later. 

And like, he knew it was a hike out to Tommy’s; that he’d be paying more money to travel across town in an Uber than he would just driving his own car. He also knew that it was the safer option, and he was about to be paid out for an obscene amount of overtime. 

He fell asleep in the car on the ride over. The guy who’d driven him had been gracious enough, clearly aware of the situation plaguing their home. Plus, he’d picked Buck up from the firehouse, so he could only assume that the driver made inferences. 

He wasn’t sure if Tommy was home when he got there. The truck wasn’t in the driveway, but Evan also hadn’t driven himself, and he didn’t know how long it had been since Tommy had slept. Still, he let himself in with the key Tommy had given him early in the summer, dropped his bag and shoes at the door, and was stripping out of his jeans and hoodie before he was halfway through the house. When he made it to the bedroom, the older man was buried under a mountain of blankets. He kept the thermostat low, and Evan sometimes wondered if that was because Tommy wanted him to cuddle closer when they were in bed. 

Tommy didn’t stir as he settled. Evan was barely awake long enough to let his head fall into the space between his boyfriend’s shoulder blades. 

. . . 

He wakes up to the smell of coffee, and blinds being gently drawn. It makes him groan, tugging the blankets higher over his head. 

“No,” he groans. “Not enough sleep.” 

“Time to wake up, baby.” Fingers tugging at the edges of the blanket. He yanks them higher, burying his face in the pillow. Evan giggles.

“It’s my birthday,” he grumbles against the pillow. “This is rude.” 

Evan’s hand comes down on his back over the blanket, making gentle circles. 

“The chief sent out an all-stations notice. No one is allowed back for at least 48 hours now. I guess they finally have reinforcements coming in, although I don’t really understand the point now that the fire is mostly contained.” 

Tommy huffs, reaching up and pulling the blankets off his head. He glances up at Evan, freshly showered, smelling of his sandalwood and sage body wash. The blond smiles down at him. 

“Hi, sleepyhead.” 

“You suck,” Tommy grumbles at him, even as he reaches for the cup of coffee that Evan is offering him. 

“It’s two o’clock, T,” Evan laughs. “And I made plans for us weeks ago.” 

Tommy raises an eyebrow at him as he takes a long sip from the mug in his hands. Somehow, the first sip always calms down the grouchiness inside of him. 

“But if you really want, I could definitely suck something,” Evan adds. Tommy almost chokes on the hot liquid in his mouth. 

Once he’s swallowed, he sits up higher on the bed, leaning against the headboard. 

“What do you mean you have plans made,” he asks. “I thought we were just doing dinner tonight.”

“Sure,” Evan replies, leaning against his palm on the other side of Tommy’s legs. “Dinner. With twenty-five of our closest friends.” 

“Evan.” 

Evan waves his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry. The wildfire kinda shot that to hell. I’m not about to expect everyone to show up after spending a week out in the forest. Eddie told me not to even text him in the next thirty-six hours, since Chris just got back.” 

Tommy nods. 

“But that doesn’t mean I don’t still have plans,” Evan states, waggling his eyebrows. 

Tommy raises an eyebrow at him. “Should I be concerned?” 

Evan just smirks, leaning forward on the bed to peck him on the lips. 

“Only if you have problems being covered in bite marks,” he murmurs before grabbing Tommy’s bottom lip between his teeth, biting down gently. The older man groans softly, all but tugging Evan back into bed with him. 

“Fuck dinner with all of our friends,” he murmurs once he has Evan pinned back down on his side of the bed, his legs laying halfway across Tommy’s lap. He nuzzles against Evan’s neck, nibbling against the spot below his ear. “I think I can find all of my birthday presents right in this bed.” 

Evan laughs again, though it quickly fades into a moan. 

“Happy birthday, baby,” he says, lifting his arms as Tommy tugs his shirt towards his head. 

Tommy nods, smiling down at him as he discards the shirt, leaning back in for another kiss. “Yeah. Happy birthday to me.” 

[garagepaperback]

fulfilment

“Do you think it’s worth it?”

“Do I think what's worth it?” Malfoy is in the middle of the bed like it’s a pedestal built just for him, lean and still spread out. He’s twenty-two minutes into a thirty-eight minute process involving his fingernails. Harry’s got his feet propped up on the desk but the apathy of the pose doesn't seem to be taking. 

He gestures.

“You do this, you know.” Draco says, not having bothered to look up.

“Do what?” Harry asks. He leans back, the chair protesting.

“Go back to the dregs of a conversation from three days ago as though it’s a perfectly normal tendency.”

Harry bites his lip, considering, but not about that. "It felt unfinished.”

“You stopped talking.” Draco replies, smooth. He's doing the whole nail thing all by hand. The blunt tip of a wand isn’t sensitive enough, he'd explained the first time. Funny to think of magic not being sensitive, of Draco being so acutely careful about something Harry sees as mostly pointless. Though that's being eroded recently along with a few other things - he's not ever going to be concerned with the application of varnish on his own keratin, but he's at least recently stopped being annoyed to even know the word. Maybe if an instrument is held softly enough it becomes something else, gets to grow deeper than blunt usefulness.

Harry hums and then says the thing he avoided saying days ago.

“I don’t know if it will work.”

And, what a misleadingly uncomplicated term - only two lean lines huddled together. Do the mean jab and the quick strike sustain a distance between the i and the t? Will that always be part of it?

It eclipses, blocking out an enormity. Standing for. Heavy and redolent and Harry still doesn’t look directly even though he returns to the bedrock day after day, greedy about the unreal warmth, wanting wanting wanting. Cock-struck, Ron says, but the past month even the frown’s been starting to dissolve, he says it laughing almost. And it's more than that. He's sitting here watching the boring nail thing, for instance.

“What point is there in talking about this.” Malfoy says, holding up the thumb on his left hand for inspection.

Malfoy has this while Harry has it, which Harry thinks means nothing, or means Malfoy keeps the qualifier a little nearer to himself than Harry does, close enough to point at. Under the same sky, at least.

“I don’t know.” Harry rearranges himself, elbows on his knees, holding up his chin. “What if we cock it up?”

Draco’s lip curls up, which Harry suspects is more about the coarse spotlight turned toward the thing between them and not as much a strummed fear of loss, the one that's on of a constant low broil in the moment suspended between Harry's chest and gut. “We probably will.”

“So what’s the point?”

“Come here.” Draco says, glancing up then. He's so handsome there's sort of an ache to look at him, weird and ethereal in the middle of a boring afternoon. He’s pale enough that it makes the world along his edges seem vicious in vividness by comparison. “Let me do yours.”

Up on the bed, Harry lets him. He doesn’t give a shit about fingernails, but supine and barely moving like this, both of them breathing steadily and Draco with his hands over and under and having Harry’s - he thinks maybe here is the holding, this, it, whatever.

“What’s the point of any of it?” Sometimes Harry thinks Draco talks just to linger under the plush shield of his own voice, sometimes Harry thinks he’s really saying something. “Even you don't get to restrain a living thing and demand it stay perfectly still so you can make some notations about the distance from the nose down to the tail. If it's minute or a nice day or a nice few years - a hundred, I don’t know.” Harry looks at him, surprised and Draco hurries past, busily staring at the hand he’s holding. “Not a hundred. Probably two at best.”

Harry laughs.

“But it’s the-” Draco bites his lip, Harry is listening very much. “It’s not about how much. If you’re busy trying to calculate that you’re missing the entire rest of it, the real thing. Isn’t there a phrase? Seeing the eggshell and missing the yolk?”

Harry’s laughing so hard Draco swats his hand to still it. “Oh, definitely not.”

A small, true grin is dawning. “Seeing the skin and missing the organs?”

“You’re disgusting.” Harry’s smiles, too.

“The ineffable stuff, then. I don’t know." Draco’s eyelashes are nearly flush with his cheek, he's talking to the bend of Harry's wrist, the soft curl of his fingers. “Can’t it just be something worthy of awe? Why does it have to be enough?”

“Are you high?" Harry asks, laughing. "Where the fuck did this come from?”

Draco shrugs, Harry's hand still in his. Outside, it’s a really beautiful day, but he’s been forgetting about that, lately. He's finding it increasingly difficult to remind himself of anything else when it feels like the horizon has inverted and lives inside his chest.

Maybe, awe. It seems conceited to demand to know the quantity of a miracle. And who is he to decide a landscape is worth more than a glimpse? 

for day 31 of @microficmay

[screwhope]

THIS WAS A TEST. hydra said as much -- go back in time &* secure our access to the tesseract. if she succeeded , she'd get information on her son -- on henry ; his name was henry mills. not only that , but she'd get a way to her realm -- where her family was from. thirty eight years of living on earth with no trace of a lineage , &* they'd be laid at her feet. it's no coincidence that this offer was made just a few days after telling winter &* steve the truth. hydra must have word that she's planning on escaping -- of turning against them. with powers rivaling wanda's , emma was one of hydra's biggest weapons. it made sense that they'd pull out all the stops to keep her on their side.

they hadn't said when. hadn't explained much of anything as they shoved her into a portal that dropped her somewhere in an alley in new york. based on her clothing , she could wager a guess -- 1930s or 40s. that was all she was given ; a quarter-sleeved dress in teal , curled hair that was pinned up in some high-maintenance updo , &* pointed heels that made her dearly miss her combat boots. she knew so little about hydra or the superhero world , even with her two decade stent working -- they knew that ; knew she'd have no trouble accepting a mission if she had no idea what she was getting herself into.

it's why she can't find words when she's helped up from the ground by a younger , far less brutalized version of winter. SHE CAN'T DO ANYTHING BUT STARE AT HIM FOR A FEW LONG SECONDS , emerald gaze melting in to something sad &* adoring all at once. she knew they had a past with steve -- no specific historical lessons were given on the subject. winter certainly hadn't known to tell her. she's been tailed by hydra ever since everyone came back from the snap -- they knew she'd turn against them eventually. the last thing she wanted was to leave a breadcrumb trail straight to winter. so she's never visited the museum. hydra hardly ever let her leave the lab once winter left. steve was easier to learn about -- hero of world war ii , the assumed fall of hydra at his hand , defrosted just before she joined in , once figurehead of s.h.i.e.ld. turned fugitive. TOP OF THE HIT LIST , NEXT TO WINTER. all she'd learned on her own about winter himself was things she could hear in passing out &* about from news papers or radios or phones -- james buchanan barnes , aka the winter soldier , has been cleared of charges. his name. all she really knew was his name. even that she'd only confirmed through steve -- BUCKY.

even then , she can't help herself as she breathes a name in a soft whisper --- ❛ winter. ❜ she doesn't linger long -- she knows better than to be completely off her game. LIE , EMMA. it was cold ; her gaze falls away from him to take in her surroundings , giving her a leg to stand on as she spots some snow. ❛ --- the winter ice. i slipped. i --- thank you. hurt like hell. ❜ she gives his hand a little squeeze , hesitating briefly before she releases her grasp on him. flesh hands ; both warm &* unscarred. ❛ --- what's your name ? i'm emma. can i buy you a coffee or something for stopping to help me ? ❜ HE'S NOT PART OF THE MISSION. he's not even in the army yet -- there's no way he's related to this at all. just a cruel dagger in her side to punish her for her time with winter. still. ❛ i insist. ❜

[journeythroughjourneytothewest]

Chapter Recap: Chapter Twenty One: The Viharapalas prepare lodging for the Great Sage; Lingji of Sumeru crushes the wind demon

This chapter begins with the fifty little demons, which Sun Wukong had soundly trounced in the last chapter, fleeing back to their cave and telling the Yellow Wind Monster that “the Tiger Vanguard was no match for the hairy-faced monk.” The “old monster…was terribly upset” by this news, and becomes even angrier when informed that the “Tiger Vanguard was beaten to death by the hairy-faced monk and dragged up to our door to provoke battle.” Calling for his armor, the Yellow Wind Monster states that even if the Monkey King “has nine heads and eight tails, I’m going to take him in here to pay for the life of my Tiger Vanguard!” And so the old monster grabs his steel trident and leads the rest of the yaoguai out to do battle.

The find Sun Wukong resting “one foot on the carcass of the Tiger monster and the compliant iron rod in his hands” and demanding that they release Tang Sanzang. The Yellow Wind Monster, however, laughs when he sees “the diminutive figure of Pilgrim—less than four feet, in fact,” and proceeds to call the Monkey king “only a sickly ghost, with nothing more than your skeleton left!” Sun Wukong laughs in turn, telling his opponent that “if you have the courage to hit me on the head with the handle of your trident, I’ll grow six feet at once.” And he does, which both alarms the Yellow Wind Monster and compels him to begin battling the Monkey King in earnest. The two fight for thirty rounds without either one being able to gain the upper hand. So Sun Wukong uses his trick of “body beyond the body” to use his hair to create “more than a hundred Pilgrims; all having the same appearance and all holding an iron rod, they surrounded the monster in midair.” Yet the Yellow Wind Monster now reveals his “special talent”; he “turned to face the ground to the southwest and opened his mouth three times to blow out some air. Suddenly a mighty yellow wind arose in the sky” that was so ferocious it “blew away all those little Pilgrims formed by the Great Sage’s hair and sent them reeling through the air like so many spinning wheels.” Sun Wukong, for his own part, grows alarmed enough to both retrieve his hairs and to try to attack the yaoguai himself, “only to be met by a mouthful of yellow wind right on his face. Those two fiery eyes with diamond pupils of his were so blasted that they shut tightly and could not be opened.” The Monkey King is thus forced to flee in defeat, while his opponent retrieves his wind.

Meanwhile, Zhu Bajie had led Bai Longma and the luggage to a place of refuge “when he saw the violent yellow windstorm arriving and the whole of Heaven and Earth growing dim.” During this episode he had “crouched on the ground and refused to open his eyes or raise his head, his mouth incessantly calling on the name of Buddha and making vows,” but when it is over he peeks out in deep distress and uncertainty until he sees “the Great Sage approaching from the west, grunting and snorting as he came.” Sun Wukong tells his swinish companion what happened, including on how in terms of the martial arts the Yellow Wind King is “just about the equal of old Monkey,” and further can’t stop exclaiming on the power of the wind. Concluding that they’ll “have to wait to rescue Master,” Sun Wukong also wonders if there’s any eye doctor around who can help him with his “sorely blasted” eyes. He also doubts that “the monster has the gall to harm out master,” and so the Monkey King proposes that he and Zhu Bajie find a family to stay with for the night, and that they’ll “return to subdue the monster tomorrow when it's light.”

As dusk is setting in, the pair come across a small cottage. Calling out, they are soon confronted by an old man and “several young farmers, all holding rakes, pitchforks, and brooms.” Sun Wukong explains their situation, and the now sympathetic old man apologizes for their suspicion, as their location “is a place where clouds are more numerous than people, and when we heard you calling at the door just now, we were afraid that it might be someone like a wily fox, a tiger, or a bandit from the mountain.” Sun Wukong and Zhu Bajie are thus invited in and given tea and a vegetarian meal. Yet before they lay down to sleep, Sun Wukong inquires as to whether there’s anyone around who sells eye medicine, and goes on to explain the reason behind why he’s “weeping constantly.” The old man, however, wonders why a “young priest like you” would lie, and goes on to explain that the Great King Yellow Wind wields the Divine Wind of Samadhi, which kills mortals instantly. Sun Wukong merely says that while he “may not be an immortal (for they belong to the younger generation, as far as I’m concerned) …it will take some doing to finish me off!”

Now seemingly convinced of the monkey’s merits, the old man offers Sun Wukong the “three-flowers and nine-seeds ointment,” which is “capable of curing all wind-induced eye maladies.” He dabs some onto the Monkey King’s eyes and tells him that he will be well by morning. After some squabbling with Zhu Bajie and exercising “to cultivate his magic power,” Sun Wukong does fall asleep, and wakes up the next morning with sight “a hundred times better than before!” The pair then look around and find that the cottage had disappeared and that they were “actually lying on a green grass meadow.” It’s soon concluded that it was the deities who were ordered to guard Tang Sanzang which were behind this, and while Sun Wukong is annoyed at their trick he’s soon mollified by Zhu Bajie reminding the monkey of all the help they just gave. They soon go back to their bickering, however, when Eight Rules tells the Monkey King that he should “find out whether Master is dead or alive; if he’s dead, each one of us can tend to our own business; if he’s not, we can do our best to discharge our responsibility.” With that final spat, Sun Wukong goes back to confront the Great King Yellow Wind.

When he arrives at the Yellow Wind Cave, the Monkey King finds all its inhabitants “sound asleep.” He thus transforms himself into a “tiny and delicate” spotted-leg mosquito and gives a ferocious bite to the yaoguai “who was supposed to guard the door [and] was lying there asleep, snoring.” After this little yaoguai opens the first door upon finding that it’s dawn another door inside is opened, “Pilgrim immediately flew in.” He finds the old yaoguai king “giving orders to all his subordinates to be especially careful in guarding the various entrances while they made ready their weapons,” as if the Divine Wind of Samadhi hadn’t killed Sun Wukong, “he will certainly come back today. When he comes, we’ll finish him off.”

The monkey turned mosquito flies further into the cave, and crawling through a crack in a door near the back, discovers “a larger garden, in the middle of which, bound by ropes to a pole, was the Tang Monk. That master was shedding tears profusely, constantly wondering where Wukong and Wuneng were to be found.” The Monkey King “stopped his flight and alighted on his bald head,” and tells Tripitaka that they “must first capture the monster before we can rescue you,” and that while “the wind of the old monster is a powerful weapon…we should be able to capture him today. Relax and stop crying.” Message relayed, Sun Wukong takes off.

The monkey turned mosquito finds the Great King of Yellow Wind at the front of the cave “making a roll call of all the commanders of his troops.” Yet a little yaoguai soon rushes in with the information that he encountered “a monk with a long snout and huge ears…But I didn’t see the hairy-faced monk who came here yesterday.” The Great King of Yellow Wind concludes that Sun Wukong must either be dead or off trying to find help. He then hubristically reveals his only weakness; in reassuring his troops that he’s not afraid of any “divine warrior,” as only “the Bodhisattva Lingji can overcome the power of my wind,” he handed the Monkey King the key to his defeat. And sure enough Sun Wukong immediately goes back to Eight Rules to inform the pig about his discovery, though there is still the problem of neither one of them knowing where the required bodhisattva lives. Yet fortuitously an old man suddenly comes along, which both soon realize is the Gold Star of Venus, and who gives Sun Wukong the precise location and direction for where to find the Bodhisattva Lingji, who resides on the Little Sumeru Mountain. Having given the directions, the Gold Star of Venus transforms himself into a gentle breeze and vanishes, and Sun Wukong tells Zhu Bajie to hide himself and guard the luggage and the horse. Eight Rules agrees to do so, stating that “Old Hog has mastered the law of the turtle: withdraw your head when you needn’t stick it out!”

Pilgrim Sun travels at an astonishing speed to the Little Sumeru Mountain, where he finds a temple where a Daosit is “reciting the name of Buddha.” After they bow to each other, the Monkey King inquires as to the whereabouts of the Bodhisattva Lingji, and is soon led to the room where the bodhisattva is worshipping the Buddha. After Sun Wukong explains his plight, the Bodhisattva Lingji in turn relates how he “did receive the command of Tathagata…to keep the Yellow Wind Monster here in submission. Tathagata also gave me a Wind-Stopping Pearl and a Flying-Dragon Precious Staff.” We also learn that after the bodhisattva had captured the Great King Yellow Wind for the first time, he had “spared the monster his life only on the condition that he would retire in the mountain and abstain from the sin of taking life. I did not know that he would want to harm your esteemed teacher and transgress the Law.” Recognizing that the situation is “my fault” (especially since it was confirmed this yaoguai had a habit of regularly snacking on humans), the Bodhisattva Lingji takes up his staff and travels with Sun Wukong to the Yellow Wind Mountain.

In no time at all they arrive. Bodhisattva Lingji tells the Monkey King that as “this monster is rather afraid of me,” Pilgrim Sun should lure the yaoguai out of his cave so that the bodhisattva can work his magic. Sun Wukong agrees to this plan and, whipping out his iron rod and smashing the door of the cave, demands that the Great King Yellow Wind return Tang Sanzang. This causes the old monster to take up his armor and steel trident as before, but now with the intent to “use that divine wind to blow [the monkey] to death.” The two fight for a few rounds before the Great King Yellow Wind resolves to summon the Samadhi wind again, but at that moment the Bodhisattva Lingji “threw down the Flying-Dragon Precious Staff as he recited some kind of spell. It was instantly transformed into a golden dragon with eight claws, two of which caught hold of that monster’s head and threw him two or three times against the boulders beside the mountain cliff. The monster changed back into his original form and became a mink with yellow fur.”

Sun Wukong is about to kill this small animal, but the Bodhisattva Lingji stops him before then telling the Monkey King the story of this yaoguai: originally, “he was a rodent at the foot of the Spirit Mountain who had acquired the Way. Because he stole some of the pure oil in the crystal chalice, he fled for fear that the vajra attendants would seize him. Tathagata thought that he was not guilty of death, and this is why I was asked to capture him in the first place and banish him to this region.” Yet now that this yaoguai attempted to kill and eat Tang Sanzang, the Bodhisattva Lingji will take him back to the Buddha “so that his guilt may be clearly established.” This decided, the Bodhisattva, after receiving Sun Wukong’s thanks, leaves for the West, mink in tow.  

Soon after, the Monkey King reunites with Zhu Bajie and relates everything that happened. The two then go to the Yellow Wind Cave together and “with their rake and rod slaughtered all the wily hares, the vixen, the musk deer, and the horned deer.” They then rescue Tang Sanzang, who thanks them profusely. Reunited, the pilgrims then enjoy some vegetarian food they found in the cave along with tea and rice before going back on the road West. What struggles they face next is a question that will have to be left for the next chapter.

[hopeful-hugz]

"Weeeeeeell, HELLO THERE and welcome to another hair-raising and thrilling episode of Real-Time Races!"

It's a voice, carrying an announcer's tone of voice, that jolts Melody out of her rather short sleep mode. Scrambling to her feet and glancing around. That hadn't been a voice she knew. Not in the slightest, nor was it a face she knew that popped into reality right next to her.

Donning a skirt and the colorful coat of a gameshow host, he seems to pay her startled yelp no mind whatsoever

"I'm your ever vigilant host, L! Here to bring you only the most adrenaline-pumping of challenges from our lovely contestants!" The microphone he holds is shifted to his other hand, his now-free one pulling Melody in. The FLINCH is wholly disregarded as he continues. "This episode we have a lovely teenager by the name of DLN-000; Melody Raydeo! Recently having been stranded in a barren, frosty wasteland and left to fend for herself, I know she is bound to have the determination to pull through today's challenge!"

The being's three tails sprawl out from behind him, already giving himself away as a Nagete. Much to Melody's clear horror, evidently. She's not able to say much before the host snaps his fingers, teleporting them out to a random part of the planet. "We now come to you from about a forty-eight hours' trek from this lovely lass' camp!" Leah grins, turning to Melody and placing a hand on her shoulder. "My dear, your challenge is simple! Locate and return to your camp within the next thirty-two hours, with just the things in the bag on your shoulder, and I will give you something that will help your chances here GREATLY!"

"N- now wait just a minute-" The android finally gets a word in, moving the microphone put in her face to the side. "I never signed up for any challenge or chose to participate in such a thing! Nor would I; that would pose an unnecessary danger to myself and my mission!"

The protest gets a laugh from the show host, floating into the air as her does so. "OH MY DEAR! Look around you! We're already out here and I am certainly not taking you back, now that you've been chosen!"

He leans in, grinning.

"Sweet, Sweet Melody: You don't have a choice!"

Then he backs back up. "Then again, when have you had any choices on this life-forsaken planet? In the palm of everyone's hands and claws you are!"

"Good luck, my dear~! Try not to become a drone's next little snack; because the challenge ends the moment your ghost leaves that adorable little body of yours!" With an announcement of "CHALLENGE BEGIN" announced through the air, Leah vanishes after saying an outro to no one she can see and the robot master is left out on her own.

And it actually hits her that she's alone, completely and fully. "Oh sweet Asimov, no..."

Nothing left to do but bring up her phone tracker on her hud and follow the signal of the device still at camp. Hopefully this wouldn't be too hard...

[veiledfox]

An Experiment Most Marvelous [ II ]

"Sixty feet, twenty meters. Lady Kyuushi has reached the depth necessary for her to suffer the effects of the Curse of the Abyss. According to the notes she shared with me from her prior experiments, she experiences the earlier effects of the Curse sooner and sooner with each layer. After her experience with the Fifth's Curse, she should be experiencing the dizziness and nausea of the First upon first beginning her ascent."

Hotaru spoke clear, precise, aloud. Keeping information clear and understandable for the Sovreign behind her. Monitoring the Kitsune's vitals every second, eyes darting from reading to reading quickly. Heart rate elevated a little higher than normal, cortisol still high, oxygen in her blood slowly draining. Everything was fine otherwise so far.

"It's admirable that Lady Kyuushi took such thorough notes of her experience with the Curse. No one would willingly put themselves through the pain it can cause just to understand how it effects them in our 'Realm' as you two call it." Bondrewd spoke up to comment in compliment.

"Lady Kyuushi also asked that you remain quiet. I need to focus and keep watch on her vitals." A slight hint of annoyance in the Doll's otherwise polite tone. Glancing to the distance between her and the Kitsune, seeing it start to be reduced. Immediately catching her heart rate and cortisol both rising further. "She's ascending."

"Fifty feet. Second Layer Curse." Another rise in her heartrate and cortisol. Nothing too alarming still, thankfully, but the more it climbed the closer it got to being dangerous. Even for a Kitsune, who could normally handle much more extreme vitals than Humans could. Hotaru's eyes were glued to the conjured display, keeping track of everything.

"Fourty feet, her ascent is slowing a little. Third Layer Curse." Looking over the readings, her cortisol had thankfully seemed to lower some, but her heartrate kept at the increased pace. Other readings showing hints of odd brain activity and... a hint of dopamine? Whatever was going on, she was growing curious. Though she kept her focus, and she could sense the Sovreign was getting more and more invested in what was happening too, hearing his boots shuffle a bit and a deep long hum.

"Thirty feet. Fourth Layer Curse... Hemoglobin starting to fall... she's bleeding somewhere. It's minor right now thankfully, and... fluctuating? Lady Kyuushi must be using active healing Magicks." The instant she said such a word, the Doll could hear Bondrewd perk up with interest.

"Magic?"

"Yes, Magic, it's a very natural thing in our Realm and Kitsune's generate large quantities of it. Their Magic also becomes stronger the more tails they have. Regenerative capabilities included in their natural repitoir, they reach their peak in such field throughout their seventh, eigth, and ninth tails. Lady Kyuushi, possessing eight of her nine, seems to be utilizing her healing to fend off the effects of the Curse as much as she can."

"Marvelous..."

"Twenty feet. Fifth Layer Curse. Sensory Deprivation should be kicking in about now according to known knowledge of the curse and her notes. Her ascent has slowed to a stop..." Heartrate rising, cortisol climbing again, brain firing off in panic and fear, adrenaline surging through her system. Hotaru could see it all, see how her body was working, fighting against the Curse to continue. "Slow ascent, oxygen starting to run low."

Worry was starting to truly take hold of the Doll seeing the state the Kitsune was in begin deteriorating so quickly. Shifting on her feet, starting to tap a foot on the ground below her, even raising a hand to gnaw at a knuckle a bit. She knew Kyuushi was capable, but this...? Even this was starting to look too dangerous for her.

"Ten feet." Glancing ever so quickly down to the water in front of her, catching sight of bubbles rising to the surface then returning immediately back to the vitals. "Sixth Layer Curse... theoretically..." Kyuushi's status just got worse and worse the more she watched on. Heart rate climbing dangerously high, oxygen and hemoglobin dropping, Kyuushi was somehow still ascending though.

At least, she was. A sudden spike in heartrate and surge in brain activity making the vitals display flash red. Hotaru, immediately, moves to the water's edge to look down into the waters. Bubbles, countless bubbles rising from the Kitsune who, from what it seemed, was within five feet of the surface.

Getting down onto the ground, Hotaru lays herself out flat on her front reaching a hand deep into the water, up to her shoulder, trying to reach for Kyuushi. Calling upon some of her own Magic to extend an ethereal grasp for the Kitsune, feeling around until suddenly he feels an arm. Quickly grabbing on, she uses all her strength to pull the Woman up and out of the water.

Once she had her out of the waters, though, the Kitsune's screaming became clear right away. Horrid, blood curdling, loud. Her body convulsing, twitching, twisting this way and that, Hotaru struggled to move her much further from the waters with it all. Though before the could start attempting to do anything to help her charge, blue flames would suddenly erupt around her, not mere ethereal fire, but true and proper flame.

A pyre, a pillar of blue raging fire, all from Kyuushi's body as it writhes and contorts. The Doll and the Lord of Dawn witness to the pillar climbing higher and higher, growing brighter and brighter, and the searing heat it was giving off. It would be difficult to see through the flames with how bright they were getting, but within was still Kyuushi.

The Kitsune, who's body was creaking, groaning, snapping. Her form starting to shift rapidly and uncontrollably. Her Human guise dropping and giving way to her true Humanoid figure, Kitsune and Oni features both clear as day. Her body shrinking down and changing to her true form. Figure shifting and bending to any and all states that it could possibly take between them.

Skin splitting and healing time and again, bones snaping and setting, hair and fur growing longer, falling out in patches, and regrowing. Limbs twisting in ways they shouldn't, fingers bending impossibly, blood that was being spilled burning away almost instantly upon leaving her body within the inferno. Nothing that was happening should've been possible. It was horrid to watch, but it was all that Hotaru could do, watch on as the Woman who had commissioned her creation broke over and over. As her body degraded, regenerated, and changed.

The Curse of the Sixth layer was anything but a joke, this was cruel, terrifying. She didn't even want to attempt imagining what this could do to a regular person from this Realm. Yet the Man standing just meters away had subjected people to this for his experiments? If not for her concern for Kyuushi, Hotaru felt as if she could tear the foul 'Scientist' limb from limb for what he had been doing.

Between the screams of excrutiating pain, the roaring blue pyre, and the disturbing cackling that had begun from the Sovreign of Dawn, she could hardly hear the high pitched whine starting and stopping from the vitals display. Once they had registered in her mind though, her attention was drawn to the readings. To a heartrate flatlining, spiking into such a rapid pace, evening out, and fluctuating wildly between the three states without any rhyme or reason. To brain activity that was flaring across every part of the mind and other readings registering as errors impossible to track.

She was dying, but at the same time she was fine? A disturbing limbo between life and death that was tearing her body appart while it fought to keep itself together at the same time. This level of healing Magicks though, it shouldn't be possible, not for a Kitsune with eight tails, or even a Kitsune with nine. Not from what Hotaru had researched of healing Magicks. Ancient or modern, it didn't matter which, nothing was as strong as this save for the most powerful artifacts in their World.

Whatever was keeping Kyuushi alive, it couldn't have been her own Magicks. Not at the rate this was going, there was no way she was conscious enough to control her Magick like this. She wanted to wonder what it was, what was keeping her from perishing, but right now all she could bring herself to care for was whether she would survive in the end.

All the while the Lord of Dawn seemed to be thriving as he watched this all unfold. His laughter never ending as he approaches the pillar of flame, arms outstretched as he seems to take in the raging heat it was putting out. "Marvelous! Truly marvelous!" He shouts over it all. "The Abyss demands it's sacrifice! Even from a being not of our world! Yet it can't seem to claim it's demanded life, the Abyss is being denied! What will relent first, I wonder?! The Abyss?! Or our dear Lady Kyuushi?!"

It was almost as if the White Whistle had given a command to the Abyss, as mere seconds would pass after he speaks before everything suddenly calms. The raging pyre becoming reduced from the inferno it had become to a mere enveloping flame as the Kitsune's body goes still. The wildly fluctuating readings on the conjured display stabilizing. Heartrate weak, brain activity low, but the Kitsune was alive.

Turning her attention back to the Woman herself, Hotaru hurries to her side. Carefully reaching toward the still flame-enveloped Mythos, the fires were still warm, but not painfully so anymore. Easing her hand into the flame... ethereal, safe to reach into and touch Kyuushi. Which she would, reaching for the Woman's shoulder to oh so gently turn her over.

Humanoid form again, as she had been when this experiment began. Though her inhuman features were present now, as her Human guise had been undone amid everything that was happening. Beyond checking the Woman's body for any remaining injuries, she would take in and make note of anything that had changed from before.

Looking carefully over her features, her Oni horns looked... longer? They had stood at the same height as her ears, an added six inches above the top of her head, originally. Now they appeared to be twice the length, and to curl further back over the head. Still a shallow curve, but certainly more noticeable now. The blue gradient of skin on her forehead having spread, now reaching down to her brows suggesting it was the entire top of her head now this coloration.

Carefully prying an eye lid open, her sclera were black now instead of white, bloodshot, pupils vacant in her unconscious state. Easing her jaw open, her teeth seemed fine, though her canines seemed sharper now. The Vestigial Oni fangs longer, more prominent, like a secondary set of canines. Continuing her examination of the Kitsune with the sides of her head, briefly feeling the back, then continuing along her neck toward her torso.

Noticing quickly all the fresh wounds healing over, dark marks across her body as the flesh recovers bit by bit. Pressing gently at various spots along her collar, chest, abdomen, and stomach. Her muscular structure seemed more... defined? She took only a quick glance to Kyuushi's arms, only needed a quick glance, to notice the blue gradient that had been crawling up her hands was now farther up her arms too. From what she could see through the sleeves of her shirt, it reached her elbows now.

Had the Curse... given her a 'blessing' instead? Did it utilize her Oni genetics to do so? Her claws were even longer now, larger and sharper too. Yet... if this was the 'blessing' she was given, why was it so different from what transformation Bondrewd had experienced? Why did it leave her so intact and relatively unchanged? Did her adaptation perhaps finally take hold amid everything?

Ever so carefully she would turn Kyuushi onto her side and rested against her knees briefly, moving a hand to retrieve her tails and pull them out from under her. First to count them, then to check their condition. Though right away she could feel that they were heavier, longer, and their core seemed thicker. Their fur longer too, a strange mix of soft and rough, denser for sure.

One, two, three from the central base.

Four, five, six from the right base.

Seven, eight, nine from the left base.

Nine tails. The experiment was an ordeal severe enough to grant the Kitsune her last tail. At only one year past her first century too. It made the Doll worry what the future may have in store for the Kitsune, for her to have her nine tails just past her first century. In what little record of Kitsune history still existed in their Realm, not one notable Kitsune had their full set of tails this soon, and most the population had simply just gained their tails over time, back when their population was more abundant.

It didn't seem Kyuushi was going to wake any time soon, however, nor did she expect that she would. Though with her condition having stabilized, and her healing Magicks clearly subconsciously working to repair whatever damage she was still suffering from, it would surely just take time. Time best spent in the Shrine Lands, instead of here in the cold dark depths of the Abyss under the Sovreign of Dawn's ever present gaze.

"Marvelous!" His damned voice rising again, hands clapping together in applause. His boots clacking against the stone as he makes approach. "The Abyss is defeated! Lady Kyuushi yet lives, and though minor... it does appear she has experienced some changes. I do wonder if she has received the Abyss' blessing in this endeavor. Though I suppose we won't be able to tell unless she awakens and returns to test the Curse again. I would most certainly enjoy being present for such experimentation, whenever it may occur."

Hotaru, hardly paying him any mind, had started to cautiously ease her arms under Kyuushi to get a proper hold and lift her. Carrying her sideways across both arms, held closely and securely to her so she could move back over to where the Kitsune's belongings had been set down. Easing down with her so that she could retrieve everything, setting it in the Woman's lap to be able to bring it with them as she stands again.

"I will be sure to inform her of your... disturbing interest in her suffering." She responds finally, malice on her tongue as she glares back at the White Whistle. "But in her current state, Lady Kyuushi needs rest and care. Good day, Lord of Dawn." Taking a step as a tear opens in reality, letting her step through and closing shut behind her. Leaving Bondrewd on his own, looking over the scorched space where Kyuushi had been while her body was ravaged by the Curse.

The Doll carefully stepping out under the Tori at the center of the lake onto the surface of the water below. Quickly starting to make way back to the homestead atop the white sands to the left. To return Kyuushi to her room, her bed, so that she may rest and be cared for as needed.

[faytelumos]

WHG - Training, pt2

Shryth

Iris and Asa are not my characters.

I've adjusted the prompt to fit into my own world.

previous

---

Misses Velna paced on her big, painted claws. Her clothes flowed and moved like they were in water, which seemed a feat. Materials in the empire were very different than they were at home. She looked down to me, her eyes well above the head of a full-grown man. I looked up at her flatly. She wasn't trying to scare me, at least. But Useveu didn't have facial expressions, so maybe I just couldn't tell.

"I hope you understand how important this is, child," she said in that raspy, reptile voice. She turned her body and slowly paced back the other way. I glanced over my shoulder to where Asa had cleared our primary room. Iris was doing well with her katas.

"I know it's important," I said, looking back. Misses Velna looked down at me with wide eyes and perked ears. The dark blue powder caked beneath her scaly, orange eyes made her gaze sharp.

"You can know something and yet not know it, little thing," she rasped. "This is not actually a game, despite what everyone keeps saying."

"Then what is it!" I hollered. How could one event be so confusing! Nobody here made any sense! This was a game but it wasn't. This was exciting but it wasn't. This was a big chance but it wasn't. What was it! "I'm just fighting other people, right?" I yelled. "It's been eight days! When —"

"This is not about fighting other people," Misses Velna hissed. She was getting taller, towering over me so I had to look nearly straight up. I didn't appreciate the gesture.

"Then what is it about!"

"It's about money!" she trumpeted. I snarled. She was getting aggressive, but I didn't know how to fight someone on four legs. "You silly little girl, you don't —"

"I'm a woman!"

"You're petulant! You're going to die!"

"I'm better trained than over half of the others!"

"You're bite-sized!" she squeaked. I braced my feet, digging in, ready for her to strike. Instead she squeaked again, wordless, whirling away and not even striking me with her tail. "Very well, woman," she hissed, turning to me again. Her gaze was sharp. Heated. "I suppose no one has had the gal to explain to a fledgeling human the true gravity of the situation." She stalked up to me again, her claws sharp on the tile. She lowered her head to be level with me, and when she talked, I could tell how big her fanged mouth actually was. "There are thirty three contestants, and every one of them is fighting for their family. Every one of them has the same drive to win as you do." I nodded. I knew that. "But only one will survive," she hissed. I nodded. I knew that. "No, girl," she breathed, coming closer. I planted my feet again, and she drew a wing slowly out of her flowy cloak, and she pressed a hooked claw to my chest. "Everyone except one will die."

Yes. Yes, I —

"You're going to have to kill people, or you're going to be killed."

No?

"I'm not going to challenge anyone," I said.

"But everyone is going to challenge you."

"Then I'll win."

"Then you'll kill them."

"I —" no, I wasn't going to kill, "I won't take a life —"

"Then you'll be killed."

"But I'm a better fighter!"

"It doesn't matter!" she hissed. She looked much bigger now. "If you are in a fight, it will not end until one of you dies!"

This wasn't right. Killing people wasn't right. How could this be okay? Why was everyone okay with this? There were so many people making this happen, but killing was wrong. There weren't enough people to just kill thirty-two of them!

There was only one survivor. There were people here who had been fighting longer than me. There were people who were faster than me. There were people who were practicing all day with the weapon they were good at.

Misses Velna drew back.

"This meeting is an audition for the nobility's favor," she rasped. "You need it to help you survive."

What? Wasn't this a competition of skill?

"What?" Was I really going to die? "How does the nobility help?"

"They'll give you gifts."

"Gifts?" This didn't make any sense. Who made this competition? Why were the rules like this? Who decided this?

Misses Velna set her wing claw on my shoulder. I looked up to her face. She had fabric and metal bands all down her neck, and it made her look pretty. But somehow, she still looked sad.

"You don't have to understand, little thing. You just have to perform well."

---

Misses Velna dressed us all up that morning. Asa got to wear leather armor that looked intimidating and protective. Iris and I wore dresses. My hair was pulled into twin tails, braided and brushing each shoulder. My dress was white. Misses Velna said it didn't match my complexion, but I had to wear it, anyway. I wanted to wear black like Asa. Like Narak.

I was going to die here.

"Shryth?"

I looked up from the cushion I had been sat on. The skinny Usevuth was looking at me. I got up and followed them into the room, and they closed the doors behind me.

That same raised platform was full of people again. Useveu and humans, all dressed in their poofy clothes, giggling and snacking. I needed them to like me. But I didn't like them.

I wanted to go home.

I walked up to the area in front of them. There was a weapons rack set out. Everything on it was too big for me.

Wait…

I picked up a longbow. I couldn't hope to pull a bow this big for another five years, but I didn't have to use it as a bow. Nothing here was made for me. Nothing here was fair. So I'd just have to… I'd have to break the rules.

It took effort, but I unstrung the bow. I tossed the string aside and rapped the bow against the floor. It was solid, but it was going to hurt my hands. I couldn't have that so close to a fight.

My dress. The cloth was applied in slim strips. I hated breaking things. But I… I had to survive.

I ripped strips off of the skirt and wrapped my hands. Then I struck the bow against the floor again. It would work.

When I looked up, several eyes were on me. Some of the humans, a couple of the Useveu. I had to impress them. I looked around and saw some dummies arranged closely. Well, closely for a fully grown adult. They were spaced a little wide for me. But they'd do. I took a deep breath and walked over to them.

They were tall. They were far apart. And they weren't live opponents. This was going to be awkward. But I didn't have another choice.

I stood between them and took a deep breath. Then I settled, I dug my feet in, I took up my stance, and I let my mind go blank.

Strike, strike, strike, step, sweep, strike, step, strike, strike, step, step, strike, strike, strike.

The room rang with my cry. All empty space and stone edges. I got back into my stance.

Strike, strike, step, sweep, step, strike.

This felt stupid. It was hard to focus.

Strike, step, strike, strike, strike, sweep, strike.

"Excuse me —"

I looked up. Everyone was looking at me now. One of the humans was leaning forward in their seat.

"What is your name?"

She was fully grown, and she wore a lot of metal and jewels. I walked to the raised platform.

"I'm Shryth."

"Shryth, how old are you?"

I gritted my teeth. That's all anyone wanted to know. They acted like my age was anything to gauge me by. Nobody asked me how long I'd been training. They just wanted to know how long I'd been living.

"I'm nine."

The humans and Useveu whispered to each other.

"Why are you here?" I lifted my head.

"I volunteered."

More whispers. More talk about how incapable I was. But I needed to impress these people.

"I can win a fight against a grown-up."

They murmured to each other. One of them laughed in surprise. The one talking to me raised an eyebrow.

"Is that so?" I nodded. The human looked up, around the room, then pointed somewhere. I followed her gaze. A man was coming forward, full-grown. I could tell by how he walked he knew how to fight. He stopped next to me, looking at the others. "Have a go at her," she said. "But be gentle; she looks to bruise easily." I turned to face my opponent, glaring, digging in, dropping the bow.

"Don't hold back," I growled just before I let my mind go blank.

Parry, strike, dodge, strike, lunge, dodge, strike, dodge, step, strike, strike, grab, dodge, grab, parry, twist—

He called out and took a knee, and I let him go and stepped back. He had held back, damn him. I glowered at him as he looked to me with wide eyes.

"Mother of Mercy," the noble uttered. I looked up to see the humans all giving me horrified looks. Oh no. What had I done wrong? "Shryth, where did they get you from?" I looked to my opponent as he got to his feet.

"The north," I said, turning to her.

"And what business does the north have teaching a nine-year-old to fight like this?"

I looked to my opponent. I wasn't sure what she meant by this. All of the others seemed to agree. But I didn't understand the question.

"I started learning when I was three."

There were gasps. What did I say wrong? The Useveu were hissing and murmuring, but the humans were staring at me. Did I mess up? They didn't like me. They weren't going to help me. I was — if I couldn't get help —

One of the Useveu stood up.

"You need smaller weapons?" they hissed. They were skinny, and shorter than some of the others. A male. I nodded. "I'll have you fitted. A servant will meet you in the hall. You may go."

That was it? I was done? Did I do well? Were they going to help?

My opponent turned to show me out. I looked to the Usevaa who spoke to me. He was dark red, and he wore a lot of green and had a thick stripe over his nose.

I let the man show me into the hall.

[justafrogandherumbrella]

Welcome to Nowhere: Bea

Act Two

Gaia never answered you— they didn’t get the chance. Before they could speak, something monstrous came barreling toward you all, knocking Gaia off of their feet. You can’t tell what it is. You’ve never seen anything like it. At least, you don’t think you have. You would have remembered seeing something as horrifying as this, right? The creature is a massive, long blur of yellow fur, twisting and writhing. Was this another monster Gaia had come to slay?

“Bea!” Gaia rises back to their feet, wrapping their arms around the beast. “There you are! Where have you been?”

The creature lets out a happy bark. It lifts its head, and you recognize the shape. This is the head of a dog— a golden retriever, if you’re remembering correctly. The long, golden fur lines up with what you remember as well. Remember? What are you remembering? There’s nothing to remember. This creature may have features similar to that of a golden retriever— but it can’t be one. It’s far too long— and has far too many legs to be a dog. Don’t most dogs have four legs? Two in the front, two in the back? You try to count this one’s sets of legs. One, two, three, four… 

Fifteen. This “dog” has fifteen pairs of legs. Thirty in total. You're pretty sure that's an abnormal amount. Then again, you don't even know your own name.

“Everyone—” Gaia unravels the dog so that they can stand up again— “this is Bea.” They beam proudly at the dog, who is happily wagging her tail. “She’s the best teammate a monster-hunter could ever have. Not only is she incredibly loyal, but she's also the kindest and most considerate creature to walk this earth.”

“She sounds nice,” Emerson says, giving Bea an affectionate look. 

“Oh, she's more than just nice,” Gaia says. “She’s also incredibly skilled— the best tracker there is. She’s the one who led me here. She tracks down each and every monster I kill. Speaking of which—” they lean down, petting Bea—“Is that why you wandered off? Have you picked out your prize?” 

Bea continues to wag her tail, and drops a small, pink bouncy-ball in Gaia’s hand. 

"Good dog,” Gaia says happily. They turn to face you. “So, how did I look?”

“Huh?” Emerson asks, with an expression you think is surprise etched across their face. “What do you mean?”

“How did I look?” Gaia repeats, their chest swelling with pride. “While I was fighting the monster?”

You blink at them. You don’t think you saw the battle, much less what they looked like while it was happening. You’d been preoccupied. You sit there, silent. Emerson looks at you, letting the silence stretch on for another moment. 

“Oh, uhm—” Emerson falters, again looking at you. “I don’t know. I wasn’t looking.”

“Oh.” Gaia sighs. They turn, looking at you. “How about…” they gesture vaguely at the air in front of you, “just… you, I guess, since you don’t have a name. Were you looking?”

You shrug. 

Gaia sighs again. “Well, I suppose how I looked doesn’t really matter…”

Noticing Gaia’s visible disappointment, Bea places her front eight paws up on Gaia's chest, licking their… face. 

A small laugh escapes from Gaia— though you aren’t sure from where. They don’t have a mouth. At least, you don’t think they do. “Aw, you silly girl,” Gaia cooes. “Oh— careful. You don’t want your claws to get caught in my armor.” They gently remove Bea’s paws, placing them back on the blood-stained carpet. 

She is a cute dog, now that you look at her face. While she does have what is probably an absurd amount of legs, she has golden fur and soft, round eyes. She has a friendly face, paired with a little dog-smile. She trots over to Emerson, happily wagging her tail. 

Emerson reaches out a gooey hand to pet the dog, and Bea doesn’t seem to mind the residue left in her fur. 

“She’s a very sociable dog— except to monsters of course,” Gaia says, still beaming with pride. “And would ya look at that, she seems to like you!” 

Bea lets out one bark and excitedly licks at Emerson’s face, resulting in an eruption of laughter from Emerson, briefly shattering the awkward air about him. 

Bea looks over to you, and you reach out your hand to pet her. She stops wagging her tail, instead having it droop down and twitching slightly. Her brown eyes meet yours, and she stalks back over to Gaia. 

Gaia stares at you blankly for a moment, clouds swirling over their planet’s surface. 

“So,” Emerson says awkwardly. “Monster-hunting, huh? What’s that life like?”

The clouds near the surface of Gaia’s planet-face swirl for a moment, clearing up a little so you can see the silvery blue surface. “It’s absolutely wonderful! I get to help those in need, fight in magnificent battles, and travel with my trusty tracker here!” They reach down to pet Bea, who is no longer paying any attention to you. 

Emerson nods. “Sounds… exciting.”

“It is!” Gaia proclaims. “Don’t get me wrong, the lifestyle can be tough– but I’m tougher!” They let out a boisterous laugh. “How about you two? Do you like to wander much? What are your lives like?”

“Oh– uh,” Emerson falters, seemingly taken aback by Gaia’s sudden interest. “I don’t do a whole lot of travel. I mean, a little bit, sure. Although that was really only until I found myself a home which is now… gone… I guess.”

“You lived inside that beast?” 

“I mean— yeah? I wasn’t really aware it was a beast.”

“Oh, you poor thing.” Gaia turns their gaze to you. Bea’s eyes flicker to meet yours, then return back to Gaia almost immediately. “How about you?”

“Oh. Right. I also lived there. I was swallowed but forgot about being swallowed, but then I remembered again and tried to escape.”

“... Interesting.”

“I was getting bored anyway. I don’t think I’m good at staying in one place for very long.”

“Aha!” Gaia shouts, standing up suddenly. “That’s something we have in common! One of my main reasons for wandering. That and glory— and saving people of course.”

You nod. “Yeah. Wandering is… neat, I guess. Better than being stagnant. It’s… different though. Wandering is whimsical, in a sense. I get to see all sorts of new places— most of which are wonder-striking. It’s just… strange.”

Emerson tilts his head to the left. “What do you mean by strange?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. I suppose everything is kind of strange, isn’t it? I’ve been thinking though… it’s not enough.”

This time, it’s Gaia who asks you a question. “Not enough? Why?” Their tone almost sounds offended, as though you’ve insulted them.

The emptiness. The numb feeling. The apathy. The dull ache that drums through your chest, barely even there but painful nonetheless. The constant ache you feel, knowing that something or someone is missing. How do you convey this? What’s the word for it again?  You’re sure you’ve thought of it before…

“It’s lonely,” you say at last. “I can wander all I choose, but I don’t talk, and I hardly ever laugh. All that there is is myself. I didn’t realize what it was like to not be lonely until recently… and even then…”

Gaia nods solemnly. Then, quite suddenly, they run up to you and clap your shoulder. “Exactly!” They shout with enthusiasm. “Well, almost exactly. I am not completely alone. I have Bea with me— and I wouldn’t trade her company for the world.”

Upon hearing her name, Bea lifts her golden head, pressing it into Gaia’s palm. 

“That being said, I do miss the company of people. Often, I am able to speak to those who I save— but only for a short while. Besides, it’s not like they could truly understand a life such as mine…” They sigh dramatically. 

“You know,” Gaia continues, now pacing back and forth. “I’ve been thinking about what it would be like to travel with others. To share my glory. To lead a group of fellow monster-hunters! Or even to train others— passing down a legacy! A legacy! I love that word…”

You’re a little unsure of what to say at the moment, or if you should say anything at all. Gaia is still rambling, pacing and excitedly waving their hands in the air. Emerson looks alarmed. Probably. You think so. His antennae are leaned backward slightly, away from Gaia. That’s probably alarmed, right?

“Say!” Gaia says suddenly, approaching you once again. “You were just saying you were lonely, weren’t you? The two of you could join me! We could travel and slay monsters together!”

“Uhm…” You look over to Emerson. Their expression is unreadable--- at least, it is to you. 

You could wander again. You wouldn’t have to worry about being bored anymore… probably. You wouldn’t be so lonely. It sounds like it could be nice… but would Emerson want to come with you?

“Sure.” You suppose you should at least give this a try. 

“Wonderful! Then we should get going…”

“Uhm—” Emerson interjects. “You— you didn’t ask me.”

“Oh. My apologies. Would you want to come with us then?”

Emerson looks over at you, an expression of doubt written across his face. After a long pause, they answer. “Sure. I’ll come.” Then, muttering under his breath: “Since I don’t exactly have a home to go back to…”

“Alright then,” Gaia decrees, “it’s settled. Let’s be on our way then!” They pause, looking down at their blood-soaked armor. “... After I clean myself up.”

A/N: Act Two updates will be twice a week: every Monday and Friday!

[avocado-writing]

Strange Bedfellows

AND THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED Tangerine x Reader

Rated E, NSFT, MINORS DNI

3k words

Tagging: @honestlywtfisgoingon​​ @white-wolf-buckaroo​ @felhomaly @sinfulrefugy​ @venusthepirate​@lunarpansexual @wanderedaway​y @georgiee-riviere​​ @mushywutty​​ (thank u bullet-train-2022 for the gif!)

God, you hate him. 

You fucking hate him.

He’s arrogant, he’s vain, and you want to rip that stupid moustache off of his face and stamp on it. And there he is, fixing his hair in the sun visor. Calm as anything. 

“You alright back there?”

Lemon’s voice knocks you out of your silent, furious staring. You manage a wan smile. 

“Yeah, sorry.”

Tangerine’s attention is on you now, his smug look reflected back without even having to turn. 

“Take a picture, darling. It’ll last longer.”

You hate him. You’re seething, not swooning. 

You’re not sure exactly when this feeling of abject hatred manifested, but it was probably the first time you met him. You didn’t like to be paired up with people but your handler had told you it was a three-man job. So you were put with the twins. You like Lemon. He’s professional, to the point. 

But every time you catch Tangerine grooming himself on any reflective surface you feel anger bubble up inside you. He’s like a fucking budgerigar. 

It’s late by the time Lemon pulls into the carpark outside of the hotel. It’s only one of those shitty chain ones, but at the moment it looks like nirvana. You’re exhausted. It’s been a long day, and you’ve been on your feet since five this morning. You hate tailing jobs, perhaps even more than you hate the third person in this car. You prefer the ‘wham, bam, thank-you-ma’am’ sort of gigs where you just walk into a room and kill every fucker there. But no. Today you were stuck following thirty feet behind a mark for hours on end before you finally found the place you needed.

The actual non-walking part of the job had only taken about twenty minutes. Then you had to wipe yourselves down enough to walk back out onto the street looking presentable, and that took ages as well; blood has an annoying habit of getting everywhere. Especially when it’s not your own.

All you really want to do is hop into a shower and then a bed, get a solid eight hours, and head home. 

You’ve been so lost in your own thoughts you don’t realise Tangerine’s been holding your passenger seat door open for you. You frown.

“I can open my own bloody door.”

“Suit yourself then,” he sniffs, slamming it in your face. You take a moment to swallow your rage and open it once more, throwing Lemon a can you believe this? look. He shrugs. Lemon has been very clear about not wanting to get in the middle of your little squabbles. Grumpily you have no choice but to grab your overnight bag from the boot like they’ve done, and follow. Lemon locks the car and falls into line behind his brother. 

The receptionist smiles as you walk into the hotel foyer. Ambient music is playing, as if pleasant tunes will cover up the fact that the place is somewhat desperately in need of a renovation. You and Tangerine stand on opposite sides of the room as Lemon deals with the check-in, preoccupying yourselves with not looking at each other. 

Meaning you overhear the conversation at the desk.

“Alright, we have you down for two rooms,” the receptionist says.

Your blood runs cold. Both you and Tangerine snap to face her.

“No, that should be three,” Lemon says. The receptionist looks confused, checks her computer. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, sir. Only two rooms are on this reservation.”

“That’s fine, can we add a third onto that then?”

The receptionist swallows.

“I’m afraid we’re fully booked tonight, sir.”

Lemon sighs, irritated, but keeps his cool. He might be a hired killer but he’s not the type of man who’d be rude to a customer service worker.

“Alright, we’ll make it work. Thank you,” he says, grabbing a couple of the little complimentary mints from the bowl on the desk.

You and Tangerine practically swarm Lemon, hands out ready to get a set of room keys. He looks between you and holds out a single bunch to you both.

“No,” you say quietly, knowing what he wants. 

“Well, I don’t share rooms,” Lemon informs you with a shrug. “Plus, I’ve not slept in the same room as him since I was seven, and I’m not doing it again as an adult.”

Tangerine sighs loudly, takes the keys from his brother. Lemon smiles.

“Thought so,” he says, turns, and heads off. 

You open your mouth to say something to Tangerine. He holds up his hand, stopping you before you can start.

“It’s one night. Are you really gonna cause a problem for this lovely receptionist over here?”

He nods in her direction. The receptionist is staring with pleading eyes.

You groan. No. You can share a room for one night. You probably won’t even have to talk to each other, just get in beds on opposite sides of the room and do your own thing. 

Tangerine watches you relent. 

“Alright. Fine. What room are we in?”

“‘Atta girl,” he says, and you want to shove the bowl of mints so far down his throat he chokes on them, but smells lovely doing it.

You follow him silently up the stairwell, letting him lead you to the prison you’re about to be trapped in for the next few hours with him.

Tangerine slides the key into the lock, turns it. The door opens with a loud creak and the two of you are met with the same, mortifying sight.

One bed. A double. It sits in the middle of the room as innocent as anything. Perfectly made up and invitingly comfortable.

“Oh, absolutely fucking not,” you state.

Tangerine lets out a long, long sigh, and walks in anyway.

“Are you serious? You really want to share a bed?”

“Well, not like we have much of a fucking choice, do we? Unless you want to take the floor, but I’m not doing that to save your pride.”

He puts his bag heavily on the right side of the bed with a sense of finality, and starts rummaging through it. 

You don’t want to share the bed. But you don’t want to prove him right about your pride, either. 

When he next looks up, the door is shut, and you’re looking through your own bag, grabbing your pyjamas and toothbrush.

“Do you want first dibs on the shower?” he asks.

“Yes,” you reply, quickly, and dart into the bathroom. Mostly it’s so that you don’t have to face him any more and you can nurse your wounded ego. 

You strip and climb into the shower cubicle, relieved to find the jet is powerful. You get to using the hotel shampoo to wash your hair. It smells vaguely of apples and does a decent job of getting all the blood out that you didn’t get out earlier. The water swirls red around your feet, then pink, then eventually clear again. 

You’re not quite sure how long you spend there, ridding yourself of the day’s activities, but by the time you turn the shower off you’ve calmed down about the situation.

It’s just one night. The two of you can sleep back-to-back and never speak of it again. Though, with that being said, he probably won’t let it go - you can just see him teasing you about this for the rest of time.

Better beg your handler not to put you on a mission with the Twins again, then. Ever. 

There are a pair of well-used but clean bath towels hanging up. You pick the slightly nicer one and dry yourself off, before brushing your teeth and getting into your pyjamas. 

Tangerine is sitting up against the headboard, a book open in his lap. He raises an eyebrow.

“What?” you snip, feeling your anger growing again.

“Just looking at your pyjamas.”

“What’s wrong with my pyjamas?”

“Oh, nothing. They’re very… sweet.”

Alright, fine. Maybe they’re a cheap and cheerful pair you picked up from the supermarket clothes aisle, and maybe they have a picture of a sleepy kitten on the front. You didn’t expect anyone to fucking see them, did you?

Seeing he’s riled you up Tangerine grins, stands, and heads into the bathroom himself. You fling your dirty clothes into your bag and set about the business of drying your hair. It’s enough time for you to get your temper in check again, and you’re almost calm by the time he walks back into the bedroom.

He’s not wearing a shirt.

He’s not wearing a fucking shirt.

He’s wearing PJ bottoms, yeah, and they look expensive - probably silk or something. But he’s decided against the other half of the set. And good lord, you didn’t quite realise how chiselled the man is. 

You quickly look up at his face, trying to make sure he doesn't catch you staring.

“Aren’t you going to cover up?”

“Nope. Don’t sleep with a shirt on, love.”

Yeah, of course he doesn’t. You don’t let yourself be baited into an argument. Instead you climb into your half of the bed, lie as close to the edge as you can without falling out, and turn off your lamp.

You feel Tangerine climb in next to you. The bed dips a little, but you stay put.

There’s a beat.

“I’m going to read. Is the light going to bother you?”

You try to listen for any teasing when he speaks, but don’t hear any. He might just be… asking you a question.

“No. That’s fine,” you reply, eventually. 

He’s warm. Even though you’ve contorted your body to make sure the two of you don’t touch, you can still feel the heat coming off of him in spades. It’s quite nice actually. It’s a cold night and he’s like a hot water bottle. 

Not that you’d ever, ever admit that to him. 

And then there’s just the sound of breathing. The sound of breathing, and the solid feeling of him in the bed with you. You’re not sure when the last time you shared a bed with another person is. A long time. You don’t have a partner, don’t have time for that. And you’re not really a one-night-stand sort of person either. But it’s sort of comforting to have someone so close to you. You could get used to it.

You’re so wrapped up in your own thoughts that you don’t realise Tangerine is calling you until he’s already said your name three times.

“Hmm?”

“You’re bleeding.”

“Oh, shit.”

You sit up quickly, checking yourself over. Tangerine takes your arm in his hand and lifts it, showing you where you’ve received a wound on your bicep.

“Fuck. A bullet must have clipped me,” you sigh. You remember a couple of close calls today, but thought you’d scraped by. Clearly you were wrong.

“Hang on,” Tangerine says. He puts his book down on his side table and heads into the bathroom. When he returns, he has a first aid kit and a loo roll.

“Clean yourself up, and I’ll dress it,” he says, handing the latter to you. You spend a moment daubing at the blood, trying to stem the flow.

Then he begins to bandage you.

His hands are surprisingly gentle. You silently watch as he dresses your wound, pressing the sterile pad to it before securing it in place. His face is relaxed in the low light, concentrating.

He’s quite handsome.

“Thank you,” you say, eventually. 

“Ah, don’t worry about it. I’ve been on the receiving end of a gunshot myself. Nasty business.”

He looks up, meets your eyes. His are so, so blue.

“So, are you gonna tell me why you hate me so much?”

He doesn’t sound upset about it, like there’s any animosity behind his question. More than anything he just seems curious. 

You don’t really want to tell him. You don’t want to tell him that, actually, you don’t really mind how often he checks his appearance, because he always looks so good. That it’s fine when he’s a bit arrogant because it makes you laugh. That he’s a killer shot, a competent ally, and a brilliant person to have on your side in a fight.

That, actually, if you scrutinised your feelings closely enough, you’d find that you don’t hate him at all. And if you accept that, you open yourself up to a world of hurt if anything happens to either of you.

“Because,” you say, after a long while, “if I don’t hate you, I’m going to do the opposite, Tangerine.”

He seems surprised. His hand, which was at your arm, lifts to your face. He strokes your cheek with his thumb.

When he kisses you, you don’t pull back.

It’s soft, actually. Gentle. His moustache tickles a little bit. 

“I don’t hate you either, love.”

The next kiss is a lot firmer. You slide your arms around his neck, pull yourself into his lap. His hands come to settle on your hips. At first they just sit there, but when he feels your tongue slide over his bottom lip he lets his hold get a bit rougher. Digs his fingertips into your skin to keep you in place.

“Tangerine,” you moan, and hate yourself for it. This man is making you moan the word ‘Tangerine’. You feel ridiculous.

But, clearly, it works for him, because then he’s shifting to lay you back on the bed, pressing one strong leg between yours. His thigh grinds into your cunt over your pyjamas and you gasp, not realising how embarrassingly wet you’ve become from a just kiss. 

“God, I’ve always wanted to tell you how gorgeous you are,” he groans, moving his lips from your mouth to your neck, running his teeth over your sensitive skin. The tiny touch of bite makes you buck up, rubbing your clit against his leg. You gasp, everything beginning to overwhelm you. Every sense is him. The smell of tobacco on him, the taste of the toothpaste from his mouth, the feeling of him pressing you down into the mattress.

A hand reaches up your shirt to palm your breast, squeezing you on the pleasing side of hard. You meet the touch like-for-like, running your fingers down his pectoral, delighting in just how solid it is. This man is a fucking slab of muscle, and he hides it all under his designer suits.

But now? Now, it’s all yours.

Tangerine peppers kisses down your sternum, over your stomach. When you feel his hands at your waistband you lift your hips to let him slide your pyjamas down and off your legs.

He slides you open with his thumbs, running one of them over you to feel the wetness gathered there.

“Gorgeous,” he reiterates, pressing his mouth to you. You groan and throw your head back, sinking your grip into the crisp white bed sheets. His tongue is hot as it slides between your folds. He relishes in tasting the effect he’s had on you.

He presses light sucks to your clit and you think you’re about to fucking jacknife off the bed. Instead, you bury your hands in his hair and pull him closer. Oh, his hair, his fucking hair. So long and well kept and perfectly grabbable. He growls as you tug, and you file that fun little fact away for later.

If there will be a later. Because, to be honest, with the way his tongue’s inside you right now, you’re spectacularly happy to make this a regular occurence.

He presses his face harder between your legs, desperate to chase your pleasure. He rolls his mouth up and down you, leaving long, languid strokes from your entrance to your clit. Every movement pushes you closer to the edge.

You come in his mouth, feeling your orgasm rush over you in waves.  

“That’s it,” he groans, fucking you with his tongue through it still, making the feeling almost unbearable. Stars cloud your vision, and you almost don’t notice when he pulls away, replacing his mouth with his cock. He rubs his head along you for a moment, coating himself in your slickness, before he begins to push inside you.

God, he’s big. You feel yourself being practically split open as he sinks into you. The stretch of his cock is almost orgasmic by itself, but it’s when you catch the way he’s looking at you that really takes your breath away.

Wide-eyed. Devotional. As if he’s trying to commit every detail of this to memory. As if your body is an altar and this is the way he worships it.

As he bottoms out inside you, fully sheathed, you wrap your arms around his neck once again and bring his lips to yours. Your tongues find each other again, moving together in languorous patterns, as he pulls his hips back and slams them home. Each hard thrust threatens to steal away your ability to breathe completely, letting you drown in the ocean of this moment. 

Your cunt is already overstimulated from the orgasm his mouth brought you. The slide of his cock in and out of you keeps you on that knife’s edge, each bump of him into that sweet spot buried deep inside. You come again and he fucks you even harder, the movement of his hips getting more erratic as he chases his own satiation.

You feel him release in hot jets inside you as he finally comes. You’ve never felt so full in your life.

The two of you collapse, still a tangle of limbs with him remaining inside you. The sweat of his skin sticks to yours. You run your hand up and down his back in affectionate little tickles. 

“I still can’t believe you don’t sleep with a shirt,” you mutter. Tangerine barks out a laugh, surprised, and then he’s kissing you again.

The next morning Lemon is already at breakfast. He looks over his coffee cup at the two of you, raising his eyebrows.

“Looks like you two slept well,” he states. 

“Yeah, eventually,” Tangerine agrees, and you choke on your tea.

[demogordon]

How Soon Is Now?

Pairing: Steve Harrington/GN Reader

Wordcount: 8.2k

Summary: Over the course of eight months, Steve finds himself falling in love.

Category: Fluff

Warnings: language, implied AFAB!Reader, lightly implied nudity, some hurt/comfort, reader gets kissed on a date and isn’t entirely thrilled about it, light Stancy mentions, implied Neurodivergent!Reader

Notes: I’ve been writing this for three weeks now, it’s become much longer than I anticipated. Happy Volume 2 Eve, everyone. 

  ----

Dustin Henderson’s instructions had been very specific. On December 15th, the night of the Snow Ball, Steve was to pick him up at eight-thirty. Not eight-twenty-nine, not eight-thirty-one, eight-thirty. Dustin wanted to arrive fashionably early to a party which started at nine, for which he had nothing in particular to be excited about. 

Steve was to take him to the dance. Not like, take him-take him, like drop him there and then buzz off and make himself scarce until eleven-thirty, when the dance would be over. Then he had to pick Dustin up and deliver him back home in one piece.

It was a bit contrived and over complicated, but Steve knew his scheduled dates and his times all too well, even double checking that this would all take place during the p.m. and not the a.m. Dustin had stared incredulously at him for a full and very silent thirty seconds before blinking once and nodding. 

When he gets Dustin’s frantic call on December 8th and can’t get Dustin to relax for the life of him, Steve nearly descends into cardiac arrest, especially when he can’t get the kid on the other end to calm the fuck down enough to explain a single word. After a solid two minutes of the both of them near hyperventilating, Dustin finally spits out, “I don’t have anything to wear.” 

“What?”

“I said I don’t have anything to wear.”

“No. No, I heard you. I just don’t follow.” 

“I need you to take me to Maureen’s. In downtown. It’s on South Main Street.” Steve knows Maureen’s. It’s practically the only place in Hawkins for formal attire, a tiny boutique run by Maureen Angelos, a shrunken and ancient woman who was, despite a sour appearance, extremely kind and just a hair shy of too helpful. 

Steve had gone there for every single nice article of clothing he ever needed, including his suit for junior prom. He really didn’t want to think about junior prom because he went with Nancy and when he saw her standing there, in a satiny pink dress, huge eyes reflecting the tiny glass lights around the room, he’d decided he was going to marry her. That was all bullshit now. But he doesn’t tell any of that to Dustin. 

Instead he says, “I know Maureen’s. Why do you need me to take you?”

“You’re gonna know what looks cool! If you don’t go, then it’s gonna be my mom and you know what she’s like!” Claudia Henderson, despite being one of the nicest women in town, was also one of the most dowdy and frilly. She would likely force Dustin into some awful but very fluffy sweater, printed all over with piss-yellow argyles and little pink cats. Steve can actually picture the sweater and he’s pretty sure it’s because he’s seen her wear it around town.

“Yeah, okay. What time?”

“Now’s good.” With an eye roll, Steve affirms, and then hangs up as he rolls off of his bed onto his feet. He’s mostly spent these past few weeks lounging around feeling bad for himself, drinking more alcohol than usual with melancholy fervor, and being harassed by Dustin. He doesn’t actually mind the last one. He really likes Henderson and all of his friends. Most of his friends. 

He can’t look at Mike, he looks so damn much like Nancy that it hurts his chest and then he gets convinced that he’s having dysrhythmia and lays down to die only to discover that what hurts isn’t actually physical enough to kill him. And the bowl cut kid, the one who went missing a year ago, is so gentle that Steve’s hurt when he thinks about Jonathan Byers swallows itself by the tail, so while he does like Will, he doesn’t want to spend much time with him. Steve feels selfish for it but he wants to cling onto his pain. It’s really all he has right now. 

Steve sort of zones out as he drives, passing places he used to haunt when he was really just a vapor of a person, held together by loutish ego and hairspray. Tommy Hagan’s worn down front door, surrounded by overgrown hedge, where the pair of them snuck beers and cigarettes back in the sixth grade. Carol Perkins’s front yard where the trio of them (Steve, Tommy, and Carol) used to practice using their best swear words. The parking lot of the local church, where he and Tommy used to do doughnuts every winter, which somehow never killed them. The park, where he and Tommy and Carol and whoever Steve was having sex with at the time and maybe Tina or Nicole or somebody used to loiter for hours until Chief Hopper would show up, half drunk and half wild and all delirious and yell at them to, “Go the fuck home!”

Dustin is waiting for him on his doorstep, practically vibrating from anticipation. Steve tries to bring himself to be annoyed that he’s been demanded out of his house on a Saturday afternoon when he’s actually maybe still a little hungover from his one-too-many pity beers last night, but he couldn’t possibly. Weirdly enough, Dustin Henderson is the closest thing Steve has to a real friend right now and it makes him happy to see him bounce his way into the car with the fervor of a puppy that’s been let off of its leash. He shuts the door a little too loudly for Steve’s beer-headache and if he notices Steve’s wince, he doesn’t say anything. 

The drive to Maureen’s is chatty. Dustin likes to talk. Steve also likes to talk but when he’s with Dustin, he mostly listens, which he likes. He didn’t ever know he was a good listener until about a month ago, when he started hanging out with Dustin. Steve parallel parks just out front of Maureen’s, which Dustin is excited about, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t make him feel a little more like his old self. Not the bad one, but the good one, the confident one. 

In the store, Maureen hobbles over and borderline clings to Steve’s arm and rests her whole body weight against him as she hoarsely asks what they need help finding. Steve tells her truthfully that they don’t need any help and pulls Dustin along to look at the dress shirts, of which there are a surprising amount in a whole array of colors. Dustin’s first pick is brown and patterned with abstract purple paisley. When Steve grimaces, Dustin shoves it back. 

Green and yellow is a no. So is the fuschia one. So is the plaid one. And the carmine and cornflower one. Steve eventually starts shifting through the shirts in Dustin’s size himself, finally settling on a turquoise blue one. He produces it and holds it up in front of the kid, who looks at him skeptically. 

“You have blue eyes, yeah? This one will look good.” 

After a few minutes, Dustin steps out of the tiny changing booth to show him. After Steve gives his approval, Dustin averts his eyes sheepishly and asks, “Can you tell me how to tie a tie?” 

Steve pulls two ties off of a nearby rack, to which Dustin starts. “A bow tie.” 

So Steve grabs two bow ties and drapes one over the back of his neck and hands the other to Dustin. Steve shows him, once slowly: cross over, wrap up and over, wrap down and under, loop around, pull out the sides to present a bow. Then he watches Dustin try it several times. He gets it right and then unties it to do it again. 

The bells tied to the door jingle as it opens. Steve can hear Maureen slowly ambling over and in a harsh whisper, asking how she can help. And then, clear as day, the sound of you, laughing and your voice. 

Steve’s stomach drops to his toes. His blood gets cold but his face is unbearably hot and suddenly he’s sweating all over, probably through his shirt, even though it’s December in goddamn Indiana. He glances over at the full length mirror, suddenly wishing he could check up on how he looks, but Dustin is in front of the mirror, retying his tie for the fifth time now. Steve remembers that he has a bow tie tied around his own neck and goes to take it off as fast as he can, but before he can even start—“Hey, Steve!” 

“Hey,” Steve says, trying and failing to act cool. You beam at him and yeah, he gets why they call it that now, because your smile is so bright and warm it makes him want to melt. It actually makes his knees liquefy just a tad, so he shifts a little so you don’t notice how weak his legs have suddenly become. 

“What are you doing here?” He asks, and he wishes it hadn’t come out sounding so accusatory and he semi winces, but you only smile wider, which he didn’t think was even possible. 

“I’m getting shoes for the Winter Concert.” At his clear confusion, you add, “For choir. At school. I’m in the show choir.” 

“Oh.” He laughs and it comes out more like letting out a heavy exhale. You look at him expectantly for a second and it doesn’t click until it does. “Oh! Yeah, I’m here with Dustin. Getting stuff for the Snow Ball.” 

“I like your tie,” you say. He glows and he’s sure you can see it on his face, that he’s lit up like a glow worm. 

He’s known you for a while. During that winter of ‘83, you were a force to be reckoned with, fierce and fiery. Only seventeen and a half hours after he watched you beat the shit out of whatever in God’s name that thing was, you showed up on his doorstep with an approximate fuckton of homemade chocolate chip cookies for him and Nance along with a promise that you were always ready to lend an ear and slash or be a friend. Steve hadn’t taken you up on it much and sometimes he regretted that. 

This past month, he’s had his ass handed to him in front of you by Billy goddamn Hargrove, for whom you had many choice words (“He’s so fucking, he’s just, fuck!” So mad you were borderline shaking even hours later as the group bundled up after the gate’s closure). You also smashed several of the gross, weird dog creature things, pinning them down after whacking them with the biggest kitchen knife he had ever seen and stomping on their skulls with your chunky Doc Marten boots. He questioned your method of using a knife as a bludgeon but he couldn’t deny that it had worked. You’d beaten a dog thing half to death after kicking it off of him and then helped him up off his ass with a surprising amount of strength. And to cap it all off, you’d comforted him a bit about Nancy, providing solace for his bruised and beaten heart. 

Because of your far from standard badassery, you know his biggest and worst secret: Steve is not cool. He’s so uncool that it hurts and you’re so fucking cool that he can’t stand it. 

“Uh, when is this Winter Concert?” 

“It’s on the fifteenth at 8:30. It goes until about 9:30 ish.” Your eyes are full of something that Steve can’t quite read. Excitement, maybe? Apprehension? He’s about to confirm that he will absolutely be there, front row, wielding a giant sign with your name and maybe whatever your jersey number is on it, when Dustin pipes up from the mirror. 

“That’s when the Snow Ball is! It starts at 9:00. Steve’s my ride,” he says, almost absently, like he’s just been reminded of the upcoming event. It’s almost imperceptible, but Steve swears he sees your face fall before you remember not to let it. 

“Well, you guys have fun, I’ve got to, uh, shoes. I’ll see you around!” You say, very hurriedly dashing off. Steve lifts his hand in a tiny wave that you don’t see but someone else does. 

“So that’s what acting like you don’t care looks like.” Steve shoots Dustin a sharp look before ruffling the kid’s hair. 

“Come on, smart guy, let’s get your shit and go home.” 

A week later, Steve is exactly punctual. Dustin is not. Steve knocks on the Henderson’s door and is ushered inside where he waits for him next to the front door, with Claudia ambling around just generally trying to make herself seem busy. When Dustin dashes to the door, his hair is Farrah-Fawcett-fluffy and his bow tie is tied neatly at his throat. 

Steve offers parting words of advice to his small child friend and waits to make sure he makes it into the building and catches a glimpse of Nancy. She’s as beautiful as she’s always been, as most people are. Seeing her makes his stomach hurt and that feeling doubles down when he glances at his dashboard clock. 9:01. On a sudden impulse, Steve puts it in reverse and floors it across the way towards Hawkins High. 

9:12. Every goddamn person in town must be at this thing because Steve is struggling to find any open space. When he finally gets himself nestled into a spot that’s probably a hair too small, Steve shuts off his car and leaps out, almost slipping on the tar of the parking lot. He sees the gym doors, glowing light peeking out and races toward them. He opens the door and tiptoes into the building, somehow managing to avoid causing a distraction as the guy who must be the choir teacher yammers into the microphone. Steve isn’t really listening to him as he stands to the side of the bleachers, tucked out of the way. 

You have a dress on. It’s deep green, school colors, and hangs past your knees but he can see the pair of black flats you must have gotten that day at Maureen’s. They're the pretty kind that have ties around your ankles. You fidget your feet uncomfortably like you’re still not used to them. As soon as the director stops speaking, your head snaps up like you’re worried someone caught you not paying attention. Probably nobody even noticed except for Steve. 

When your group’s last song starts, Steve doesn’t recognize it even faintly. But it's pretty. He can’t even hear anybody but you.

----

If you’re under the age of sixteen, you have to be accompanied by someone over the age of sixteen to be allowed to rent roller skates, Max explains to him. That’s why Steve has to come with her and why she can’t just come by herself. Even if her friends were coming, which they’re not, since Fridays are their D&D night (whatever that means), they couldn’t get skates by themselves anyway. Besides, it wasn’t like he really had anything better to do, something that Max made a point to remind him of. 

The new roller rink in Hawkins blares neon at all hours of the day, even after its 11:30 p.m. closing time, but now, at 8:45 on a Friday night in mid April, it’s crowded to its limits. Max bounces ahead of Steve, not waiting up for him as he wobbles his way clumsily towards the floor. He’d thought since he’d always been so athletic—assigned the prestigious role of co-captain of the Hawkins High swim team for two years running and captain of the basketball team, and though they didn’t win their championship, he was their star player—he would never have any trouble with any sort of athletic feat. He has since been proven wrong. 

Steve feels like a confused baby deer, knees buckling and thighs wobbling and he clings to the railing as soon as he reaches it. Max finally spares him a backwards glance and does an obligatory and very Maxish eye roll before she skates back over to him seamlessly. She holds out her hand and the moment Steve takes it, she yanks him along at top speed. He flails wildly, off balance immediately, but she is completely unfazed. Max is not very big. Steve should be far more difficult for her to tow without even really breaking much of a sweat, but she is nonchalant while flinging him around like a ragdoll. . 

With no warning, his left knee crumbles inward and Steve lets go of her hand to catch himself on his palms and his right knee, which jarrs his limbs incredibly painfully. He scrambles up to his feet, slipping and very nearly falling again before hoisting himself up to anchor to the rail. Max pauses. 

“You need to balance your weight fully on the balls of your feet and bend your knees. You push off with your foot and then bring it back to the ground and glide.” She demonstrates, like it’s the easiest thing in the entire world. Steve lets go of the railing and immediately pitches forward again and in his attempt to not smash his face into the ground, he twists and lands harshly on his ass. 

“Fuck!” Steve yelps, barely noticing the word coming out of his mouth as Max is overcome with sudden impish glee. 

“Hey!” She shouts at someone behind him, behind the railing. She waves wildly, before poking Steve with her toe brake. He isn’t really all that enthused to look like an embarrassing doofus in front of one of Max’s kid friends, most of whom he actually knows pretty well. He’ll never hear the end of it from any of those kids, except maybe the little one with the bowlcut. Steve sulks a bit, not wanting to be noticed by whoever it is that Max is so excited to see. Max turns her attention back to him and snaps, “Are you gonna get up, Steve?” 

Steve grabs back onto the safety rail and hauls himself upward and leans back cooly against the rail. Then and only then does he turn to see whoever Max’s friend is. When he realizes it’s you, Steve wants to retreat into himself as hard as he can, like a very embarrassed turtle. He hopes that you didn’t just see him fall and maybe you didn’t because you’re grinning like you're excited to see him and not like you just watched him make a complete and utter fool of himself. He’s about to let out a deep breath he’s been holding when Max pipes up right as you arrive next to him through garish yellow railing. 

“Did you see Steve just eat absolute shit?” 

You laugh as Steve kicks at her with no real force behind it. 

“I did not. Maybe I’ll get an encore performance.” Your eyes are squinty and happy. You’re teasing him and Steve feels fire swallow him up from the pit of his belly to the tips of his ears. Max looks at him very pointedly, as if she’s trying to communicate something extra with just her eyes. 

“Can you promise not to break any bones while I go race with those guys over there?” Steve gives her a thumbs up after assessing Max’s acquaintances and deciding she’ll be perfectly safe. She takes off immediately. Zoomer. 

When he turns, you’re gone and he thinks for a horrible moment that you’ve left and now he’s going to huddle in the corner until he has to peel Max away at closing time. Then he sees you looping through one of the openings in the railing to head over to him and all is right again. Then he realizes you’re probably here with someone and his heart seizes up again. Steve tries to say something to you, but when he opens his mouth, absolutely nothing comes out. He probably looks like a gobsmacked goldfish. He closes his mouth. 

“So you’re here with Max?” He’s glad that you can act like a person when he can’t. 

“Yeah. What about you?” In his mind he crosses his fingers that it isn’t a date, please don’t let it be a date, please, seriously, he won’t ask for anything else if you aren’t on a date. 

“Oh, I’m here with Kevin. You know Kevin, right?” Steve knows Kevin. Steve has known Kevin since the eighth grade, when he watched Kevin cut his gums while biting his toenail on a dare. Steve does not like Kevin and it is actually mostly unrelated to the whole toenail thing. 

Almost as if on cue, Kevin comes hurtling over with one large paper cup full of something and a bag of popcorn. He flings the cup into your hands over the railing. From this angle, Steve can see it’s full of blue Slurpee, but also from his very close proximity, he can smell that there is a lot of alcohol mixed into it, which he assumes Kevin brought from home. You delicately hand it back to him, pointing at the “NO FOOD OR DRINKS PERMITTED ON SKATING FLOOR” sign. He accepts it back fairly graciously, which Steve finds a little surprising. The silence between you, the three of you, is incredibly tense and awkward until a voice booms over the loudspeaker, announcing the hourly couple’s skate. Steve’s eyes meet yours but he looks away before you say anything at all. Instead, Kevin shoves both the popcorn and the drink into Steve’s arms before leaping over the rail and somehow not killing himself in the process. As Kevin takes you to the center of the rink and Foreigner’s gentle love ballad (I Want to Know What Love Is) begins to play, you look back at him and give him the softest smile he’s ever seen. 

Through the entirety of the song, which is maybe the longest four minutes and fifty-one seconds of Steve’s entire life, you keep glancing over at him. Every single time, he knows you find him already looking at you, but he can’t take his eyes off of you, not when he wants to catch your gaze every time. And it’s because he’s looking so insistently that he catches the end of the song, when Kevin pulls you into his chest tightly, caging you in his arms, and kisses you. You push away after only a few seconds and look a bit frazzled, and you skate off of the rink pretty frantically, not looking at him. Steve’s stomach drops like he’s on a roller coaster but in a bad way. Kevin very nonchalantly comes over to take back his contraband.

“What’s their problem?” He punctuates his sentence with a very loud slurp of his cocktail. Steve shakes his head and starts taking slow, careful roller skate steps in your direction, guiding himself with the rail. He can feel Kevin watching him the entire time, a look of incredulousness on his face. Steve doesn’t actually really care all. He’s focused on getting to where you are, now alone at a little table near the west side wall, which is one giant window. He almost makes it. 

Letting go of the railing, he continues slow, small steps, but starts getting anxious to go faster, to get over to you and check on you. Steve hopes you aren’t crying. He doesn’t want you to cry. He’s so focused on hoping that you’re not crying that he missteps. He knows you see this time, as he careens directly into the ground. He hits his forearm pretty hard and his jaw knocks against something, causing his teeth to all clash together. For a second, he’s decided to just stay there forever so he never has to face you again, when he sees your feet, your roller skates, come into his field of vision. You kneel down next to him.

“Are you okay?” You’re genuinely concerned until he nods, and then you start laughing so hard that you’re shaking and then you do his favorite thing in the whole world, which is when you lose control of your giggle fits and you snort, which always makes you giggle even harder. He can’t help but laugh too as you help him shift into a sitting position. You’re laughing and it’s so not mean and you didn't even laugh at all until you made sure he wasn’t really hurt and that makes him laugh, because he’s fine and you’re not even put off by his extreme lack of grace. 

“We have got to get these death traps off of you, Steve,” you say, pinching the toe of his skate and wiggling it. The intimacy of you untying his shoe and sliding it off is not lost on him. As soon as his skates are off, you take yours off too, swatting his hand when he tries to unlace them for you. Your date with Kevin is all but forgotten, but Steve has never been known for his tact, so he immediately brings it up. 

“Are you okay?” You look almost confused for a second.

“I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?”

“You sort of flew over here, you know, after…” Steve trails off, looking at you expectantly. You shift into a sitting position on the floor next to him, wiggle your feet to get them to wake back up, God, your circulation is awful, and then you scrunch your nose. 

“It wasn’t like, terrible or anything, you know. He just didn’t ask first. And he was holding me too tight, which I really,” you sigh. “You know how I feel about that.” Steve does. You told him one time that when you get hugged too tight, you feel like a teeny tiny little mouse getting suffocated by a boa constrictor, except inside your chest and lungs and around your heart. 

“Plus, he really didn’t smell very good,” you say, frowning, which makes Steve bark out a laugh. You elbow him gently but pointedly in his side, reminding him to Be Nice. 

“Sorry, sorry! I just wasn’t expecting you to say that,” he says, grinning. It drops a little when he asks, “But seriously. Are you okay? Did that, you know, hurt you?” He wants to kick himself. He knows it didn’t physically hurt you, obviously. But-

“No. I’m okay. I mostly just felt stuck, and that’s why I ran off so fast. Thanks for checking on me, though.” 

“Any time.” Steve really wants to tell you that he thinks you look really pretty and that he thinks that Kevin is an idiot, especially for not listening to you, but he’s cut off by someone else plunking down on his other side. Thankfully, it’s just Max. 

“What’s up?” 

“It’s all just couples making out now. Can we go home?” Steve smiles and gets up on his sock feet. When he holds out his hand to help you up, he sees that you’re gazing off into space. Oh, actually you’re not though, you’ve just noticed that goddamn Kevin has found some other girl to skate with and is not at all bothered by your absence. You look a little bit hurt and he can’t stand seeing that look on your face so Steve nudges your cheek gently with his knuckles and you jump a little before grabbing hold of his hand and letting him help you up.

“Do you need a ride home?” Max asks you. “Steve can take you.” 

And Steve takes you home. And then he takes Max home. If she’d noticed anything about you or your date or about Steve in the past few hours, she doesn’t let on. Once Max is safely inside her front door, Steve drives back through the other side of town, ready to collapse face first into his pillow.

And when he drives past the roller rink again, still neon and bright, he sees Kevin, now outside with that other girl. The two of them are sitting on the curb, sharing his popcorn and looking up at the stars and they’re smiling and some of Steve’s dislike of Kevin fades away a little, but he’s not entirely sure why. He just keeps driving home. 

 ----

The pool has been under construction for months. Steve had been working there over summers since his freshman year of high school but a combination of reasons kept him from coming back for the upcoming months. For one, Hargrove got a job there and he can’t imagine trying to converse with him civilly after he tried to kill Steve and at least two of his young charges. For two, his father wanted him to work in the food service industry, something Richard Harrington considered to be far more demeaning than almost any other job. Steve didn’t particularly agree, but he’s really only one fight with his dad away from an eviction notice so he doesn’t point that out. 

It’s the first Friday after the end of the 1985 school year. Steve’s young friends want him to take them to the pool now that it’s open again. It was the day before Henderson was supposed to go off to summer camp in the middle of nowhere. So Steve has agreed to take them, although he did make sure to mention it more than once to you so that he could make sure that you ended up there at the same time. 

Steve ushers in the whole group, Mike and Will and Max and Lucas and Dustin and is immediately disappointed that the pool is A) incredibly crowded and B) there is absolutely no sign of you anywhere. He’s instantly huffy and mopes all the way over to a miraculously unoccupied pool chair, which he flings himself into with a dramatic sigh. At least from here he can keep an eye on his kids. Steve uncaps his sunscreen and covers his whole torso, his arms and his legs before realizing that he won’t be able to cover his own back. He pouts harder before pulling his t-shirt back on. 

After about a half an hour, Dustin comes over to his chair, dripping with water and the smell of chlorine, and pokes Steve in his belly.

“Why are you so sulky? Is it ‘cause your lady friend isn’t here yet?” Steve shoots up from his theatrical recline (in case you walk in at any minute so you can see him from his best angle) to glare daggers at him. 

“First off, I’m not sulking.” He absolutely is. “And even if I was sulking, which I am not, it wouldn’t be because my lady friend isn’t here.” It absolutely is. “I don’t even know who you’re talking about.” He absolutely does.  

“Whatever, you don’t have to be such a weirdo about it,” Dustin scolds. 

“I’m not,” Steve insists, punctuated with an eye roll. He stretches out, arms overhead, groaning quietly as his spine cracks in several spots. Dustin crinkles his nose at him with a frown. 

“Staring isn’t gonna just make them appear out of nowhere.” 

“You don’t know that,” Steve says, forgetting that he wasn’t supposed to know who Dustin was talking about. Dustin mimes jamming his index finger hard down his throat and exaggerated vomiting. The message is clear. Henderson finds his gooeyness utterly nauseating. Steve does too actually. 

He watches the gate for hours, waiting for you to walk in, lower belly tied in knots and palms sweating profusely. Every passing minute makes it clearer that you aren’t coming this time but he keeps hoping and hoping and hoping. He gets dragged in the water for a bit and tries to turn his mind off and just enjoy himself. It doesn’t entirely work but he does manage to have some fun, even when Mike pushes him over in the deep end in a very clear assassination attempt that sends a fuckton of water up his nose. 

Even as he’s ushering his crowd of kids who are still too wet to get in the car, he’s on his tiptoes craning his neck to search around the parking lot for any trace of you. The kids clamor as he shoves them unceremoniously back into the car, Dustin and Lucas spending a full minute arguing over who gets to ride shotgun until Max gives Lucas a dirty look that sends him scrambling to the backseat with her. 

Steve is moodily quiet as he drives home and drops all of his kids off. He saves Dustin for last. The kid scowls at him as they pull up to his house. 

“Do me a favor, Steve, and get this shit figured out before I come back. You have a month.” He doesn’t have to clarify what shit he’s referring to. Steve swats his friend on his shoulder affectionately, punctuated with an eye roll. Dustin takes the swat with grace, using it to propel himself out of the car door.

“Have fun! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Steve calls out through his unrolled window as Dustin walks toward his front door. Dustin responds with a thumbs up and his typical sugary toothless grin. Steve is really going to miss him, even if he is annoying sometimes and thinks he knows everything despite being fourteen. He’s still thinking about it as he pulls into his driveway which is how he misses you at first. 

You’re sitting on Steve’s front step. Your knees are all tucked up into your chest and you’re picking at your fingernails. As much as Steve had spent the day looking for you everywhere, he had to do a double take to make sure it was really you and not his brain inventing visions of you where you weren’t.

When you hear the car you jolt and look up and when you realize that it is in fact, Steve, and not his parents, you shoot to your feet, fidgeting nervously. Steve rushes to park his car and unclip his seat belt and open the door, tripping over his feet on his way over to meet you. You launch at him, screeching to a halt before making contact sort of like you aren’t sure if you should touch him.

“I’m so sorry, Steve! I wanted to go, I promise I had a good reason not to!” It’s like Steve’s stomach melts all the way onto the sidewalk like bubblegum ice cream and he can’t help but smile at you as he lights up inside like the fourth of July. 

“That’s cool,” Steve says, his voice cracking in the middle of it. “Um, I’m feeling pretty worn out after all the sun today. Did you wanna come grab a bite with me?”

He stumbles over his words, but it doesn't seem to matter because you bounce on your toes excitedly, scrunching your nose as you smile. He opens the passenger side door for you, letting you duck under his arm. When he hops in on his side, he glances at you. He expects to find you staring absently out the window, zoned out in that way you get but he finds you already looking at him. The sunset is practically assaulting your eyes, giving their color an almost orange hue, and you squint a little before pulling down the visor on your side. 

“Where were you thinking?” Steve asks, forgetting briefly that he asked you to get food with him. You chew the inside of your cheek thoughtfully as you consider your options. Hawkins doesn’t have a lot of choices, especially now that Benny’s old place has been forcibly reformed into a party house. Steve’s already making his way toward the only other diner in town when you relax back into your seat. 

“I dunno, probably Hawkins Roadside.” Hawkins Roadside is a reformed train car open 24/7 that offers a menu of the greasiest food in existence with the added bonus of minimal seating. It’s usually decently busy, but it usually gets crowded later in the evening when the party kid’s munchies catch up with them and the high schoolers head out on cheap first dates. It’s 8:00 p.m. or so on May 31 so the sun is descending, which means that the two of you would have at least two hours or so before Roadside gets busy but Steve has a heavy suspicion that their business is about to tank because of the new mall downtown. When he parks, he hops out quickly and does a dorky little half jog around to your side to open the door for you. 

It’s empty except for the two of you. The girl behind the counter, probably just a couple years older than Steve, aggressively chews on her gum while she sizes you up, probably deciding how much trouble the two of you will cause for her. She decides the answer is none. Steve is too focused on reminding himself that this is not a date and this is just a casual friend thing. And you, for your part, are usually pretty disarming. 

You aren’t exactly a picky eater but fatty food really isn’t your thing. You get a cobb salad and turn down Steve’s offer of fries or splitting a milkshake. He does keep sneaking fries onto your plate when you aren’t looking at him, though. He gets that opportunity a lot. You don’t like making eye contact very much and you zone out pretty frequently. During the middle of one of his covert operations, you turn your head back from the window that’s captured your attention and catch him red handed, hand over your plate, french fry in his fingers. At your raised eyebrow, Steve chuckles awkwardly. 

“I didn’t want you to be hungry.” 

“Thank you,” you say, eyes teasing as you duck your head a little to take the fry from him with your teeth. Steve leaves his hand outstretched for way too long afterwards, staring at you owlishly. That was totally normal of you so why does he feel so weird about the way your lips semi grazed his fingers? When he realizes he’s still holding his arm out like an idiot, he jerks it back like he’s been burned. You don’t seem to notice. 

“So what kept you today?” Steve asks, trying to be nonchalant about his disappointment. You immediately make a face that reminds him of a guilty puppy. 

“Sorry. I wanted to go, really. I just didn’t feel all that comfortable going to a public pool. I, uh, I can’t swim.” Steve perks up. 

“I can swim!” You tilt your head to one side. “I mean, I can swim, so I could teach you.” 

“Maybe.” You’re a little bit coy about it. “I don’t know how I feel about going to the public pool, to be completely honest with you.”

“I have a pool. We-we wouldn’t have to go to the public pool.” Steve hasn’t gotten in his pool since November of 1983. The night with Nancy and with Barbara. He hasn’t been able to stomach it, thinking about how selfish he had been at that time and how a girl had fucking died in his backyard while he was busy getting his rocks off with a pretty girl. He’s always blamed himself for what happened to Barbara and it didn’t ever help that Nancy started building a resentment for him over it, truly believing him to be responsible. He’s never said any of this to you. 

Your eyes narrow at him like you know there’s something that he isn’t telling you and you reach out and take his hand in both of yours. You don’t push it though, just hold onto his hand. Steve’s palm starts to sweat and he hopes that you don’t notice. You run your thumbs over the back of his hand.

“Maybe we can do that sometime.” Sometime. 

Sometime doesn’t actually come. Only about a month later, Dustin is bursting into Scoops Ahoy with a secret Russian transmission and a dictionary and then, well, the rest is pretty hazy. Something about getting trapped in an elevator for several hours and truth serum and Alex P. Keaton trying to bang his mom. Shit’s complicated. 

Dustin talks about Steve finding his Suzie and Steve thought that maybe he did, but Robin is not that girl even if he wishes she was, if only because she isn’t as scary as you are. 

Ambulances wail in the parking lot and Steve is half deaf for the sound of car alarms. As the pair of them sit side by side, finally losing the end of their truth serum highs, wrapped in thick shock blankets, Robin smiles softly. Its to herself, sort of like a secret.

“Harrington, you know what you were saying in the bathroom earlier?”

“Yeah.” 

“You don’t need me to be your Suzie. You already have yours.” Robin bumps his shoulder with her own.

You’re across the way in his field of vision, hair plastered with blood and Upside Down critter goop, cuts along your face and arms, bruises swelling the side of your face. You’re still smiling as you talk to Officer Callahan, who seems to be exhausted by the evening. When you catch him staring at you, you wave at him. He waves back and then winces because his entire body feels like it went through a trash compactor. 

“No,” Steve sighs, forgetting not to let his daydreams seep out of his head and into his voice. “I have better.” 

----

Mid August has no right to be as hot as it is. Sweat crawls down Steve’s back even as the sun begins its slow descent over the West. Lucas stands on the opposite end of the outdoor basketball court, hunched over with his hands on his thighs trying to catch his breath. They’ve been playing for hours and the kid is good, absolutely good enough to make the team in a few weeks. Sinclair makes him feel old, like his back is ancient. It doesn’t help that his left eye has only just completely stopped hurting constantly. It woke him up pretty much every night, throbbing violently, for weeks after the Battle of Starcourt, long after the bruise had faded and the hyphema had healed. The concussion had been harder to shake. 

 When Steve tried to shower and scrub the caked-on dry blood a few hours after he got home, he’d had a repeat movie theater bathroom incident, where looking up at the ceiling had made him immediately nauseous and he’d slipped down to his knees as his stomach tried to evacuate its contents. It made him feel pathetic and stupid, having to call you and say, “I can’t take a shower.” He hadn’t even entertained the idea of asking anyone else to help him, even if it felt more embarrassing. 

Steve hadn’t had to explain or ask for your help. You were over less than fifteen minutes later, dimming his bathroom lights and running the faucet, asking him how hot he likes the water. You’d tilted his chin up just enough to help him rinse his hair, creating a barrier between his hairline and his face with your hand to keep soap out of his eyes. And for weeks when he was up all night with violent headaches, you stayed up with him until the pain diminished enough for him to slip out of consciousness. He’d lay across your lap and you’d stroke his hair which would eventually relax him just enough to feel a dull ache. 

Steve actually really hates that because it has to come to an end eventually. He’s kind of been able to trick his brain up until this point into thinking that this was enough for him and that he didn’t endlessly wish for more. That he didn’t endlessly wish that he could curl up asleep in your arms in a non platonic type of way that was because you really wanted to hold him and not because he was sick with pain. 

Steve’s head is starting to hurt and his stomach is starting to swim up into his chest. He hopes that Sinclair calls this shit soon because he can’t admit that he suffers from as much pain as he does. He’s still supposed to be the protector. 

They play a bit longer. Lucas is so excited about tryouts but so nervous that he’s practically vibrating over it. He keeps mentioning Max, like that maybe Max will come see his games and maybe she’ll let him back in. Steve has a suspicion that the second part has nothing to do with the basketball team at all. 

“She’ll come around. She’s been through a hell of a lot. I mean, we all have, but she’s never fully understood the way that people are there for each other,” Sinclair says, dribbling the ball around Steve, heading up for a layup. Max will come around. She just needs to relearn trust and emotional intimacy. 

When Steve gets home, he’s so exhausted that he falls asleep with his jeans still on, collapsing into his bed, ready for an intensive dreamless sleep. He’s wrong though, instead haunted by the fear of what happens the second he stops being alert enough to watch out for the others. His kids, his friends, his you, everyone in danger and nothing he can even do about it. As much as he wishes he could, Steve can’t make the Upside Down go away. 

Steve jolts awake. His head starts throbbing the second he sits up, and he ends up just sort of sliding off of his bed and curling into a sad little ball on his bedroom floor, tucking his head underneath his bed because it's darker there. He’s sweating and hot but also clammy and shaky and he needs someone to come help him or to come and care about him. When he was little, he used to crawl into his mom’s bed and bury himself into the covers, regardless of if she was there but he’s grown out of that habit. Now he wiggles enough to reach the landline next to his bed and dial a number that has become endlessly familiar to him. 

“Hello?” Just the sound of your voice makes him feel better, like he can breathe a little easier and like he has something to focus on other than his now spotty vision. . 

“Hey.” 

“What’s up, Steve? Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” he says and there’s a pause at the other end of the line. He pictures you twirling the cord around your finger

“Scale of one to ten?”

“Seven and a half.” 

“I’ll be right there.” It’s only at the disconnected click that Steve checks the clock on the wall and finds that it's 1:34 in the morning. Twelve minutes later, there’s a soft tap on the front door. It's a formality. You know where the spare key is.

“Oh, sweetheart,” you say as you tiptoe into his room. Steve knows he looks a mess, still on the floor, rumpled and sad and scared. You help him off the floor and back into his bed and then reach out and stroke his hair. If it were anyone else, he’d tell them that hair is off limits, but you’re you and that makes you special. You tug on his arms and he lifts them up, allowing you to help him tug his shirt off and then his jeans. And then you go to his drawer and shift through his soft clothes, bringing him a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. After you help him put them on, you pause to look at his face, cupping his cheeks in your hands.

“Big or little?”

“Little,” Steve says, a little sheepishly, but you tuck him into your arms without complaint or hesitation. He hadn’t known that being the little spoon was an option for him until about a month ago and he now steadfastly refuses to give it up. You’re usually colder than he is but tonight you’re extra warm. His hand finds the back of your arm where it wraps across his waist and he grabs onto it with the tender resolve of a bulldog. 

“What’s up?” 

“Nothing.” 

“Steve.”

“I don’t know, I just wish you wanted me, I guess.” He regrets the words as soon as they’re out of his mouth. 

“What?” 

“Nothing,” Steve backtracks. 

“Who said I don’t want you?” His heart stops. 

“What?”

“I said-”

“I heard what you said,” Steve says as he rolls over. You look apprehensive, incredibly nervous, like you’re worried that he’s pulling your leg.

“I’m sorry, I think I misinterpreted. Or you were thinking about someone different-”

“No. You didn’t.” Steve is staring at you now, headache fading with something else to focus on. 

“Oh.”

“Can you tell me?”

“What?”

“That you want me?”

“Steve, I do want you. I have pretty much since the day I met you. I’m just not very good at showing it, I guess.” Steve wraps his arms around your middle, pulling you in closer to him, crushing you as he squeezes you like a boa constrictor. You squeak and he lets go. 

“Sorry, I forgot-” You put your hand on his cheek, running your thumb along his cheekbone. Steve stares into your eyes as you stare at him, unblinking. 

“I really want to kiss you,” Steve says, mouth dry. 

“Kiss me in the morning,” you say.

“It’s morning now,” Steve says, before closing the gap between you. 

[visd3stele]

Turn back the tides

summary: Can you write a tfota fanfic where During her exile Jude gets killed Cardan sees her dead body, and The next day he is brought back in time to when Jude was still his seneschal in fact he is brought back to when Grimsen first asked to be a smith. Cardan with the knowledge of the future prevents Jude from being kidnapped and tries to win her heart. He can no longer be controlled by Jude through the bargain BTW and Jude begins to realize this. And Cardan ask a request of her for the bargain to stick. (She spends the night with him)

@nish247

tw: a bit of angst at the beginning, a pinch of child abuse, smut implied, cardan's pov lmk if i missed anything

masterlist ; requests

a/n: requested by @fantasyfox10123

first fanart: rosiethorns second fanart: lexaart (found them both on pinterest, i hope the artists are correctly listed as i've taken their names from the comments)

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

One thousand three hundred and fourty four hours. Eighty thousands six hundred and fourty minutes. Four million eight hundred thirty eight thousand and four hundred seconds. Four million eight hundred thirty eight thousand and four hundred and one seconds, four million eight hundred thirty eight thousand four hundred and two seconds.

I lounged on the couch in the anteroom of my bed chambers. Counting. My tail swayed lazily with each number that echoed in my mind. Four million eight hundred thirty eight thousand four hundred and three seconds. Since Jude left.

Well, since I exiled her. But my sweet nightmare is too smart not to have caught on the plan I've devised. Which can only mean she choose to stay.

I twirled on the other side. Perhaps the shift would stir my mind off such horrific thoughts. It used to work - being active as a child, I barely noticed my mother wasn't nearby. She'd pick me up and coo at me, tickle my belly and wrap my tail around her fingers every few days. Before being gone again. "Now, be a good, little fae and don't bother mommy, Cardan. I have so much to catch up since your mean father wouldn't let me have fun as long as you needed my body. Show mommy it wasn't all for nothing, sweetling," she'd say.

Now she has returned. She's here, at my court. Proud of her son, the king. Jude shall come back soon too. We were married after all. The stubborn mortal wouldn't agree with something as unsoundable of as being my wife if she couldn't rip off the benefits. I have proven myself worthy, hence the agreement. Perhaps Jude is catching up with all the time stolen from her in the mortal realm.

I moved again, draping my feet over the couch's nearest arm rest. My tail wrapped and unwrapped from my calf, still counting the seconds of Jude's departure like a loyal pendula. Oh, Jude. Jude, Jude, Jude, Jude, Jude. Come back soon, Jude. Bring that fire with you, burn me and the castle whole. Just come home.

Gulping down the half full wine bottle I threw carelessly at the couch's last night, my eyes closed. Pictures of her flood the darkness. Flashes of her angry frown right before her unseparable blade shone in the moonlight, frames of her deep in thought, cooking the craziest of planes and a crease of stubbornness above her top lip to see it through.

The thoughts got heavier and heavier. I hadn't much control over my mind. Barely aware of my fingers letting the bottle slip, I heard a muffled crack before an irony smell caught to my senses. Scrunching my nose, I looked around. It appears I have fallen asleep. But to what cruel happening do I owe falling asleep thinking of Jude and finding myself in such a dire dream.

There was grease everywhere, even in the air. The walls of what looked like the tiniest house I've seen were moldy at corners, peppered with holes that unraveled them as if they're made of paper. Odd looking objects scattered on the ground between plates, glasses and cutlery: a round, deep vase with handles, another one less deep with only one handle. I even spotted a bottle of wine, broken in two sharp halves.

It looked like a domestic battle field. My tail coiled around my torso, my fingers bowling in tight fists at my side. I crouched on the ground, looking for a hiding spot that wouldn't restrict my sight. But as soon as I was on the floor's level, tears pinched my eyes. My body managed to understand the view before my mind could even begin to wrap itself around it.

Red. So much red. Pouring still from some wound I couldn't spot, hidden under the hair. It used to be so freshly brown. The color of forests. Now it was sticky and darkened by blood, a tainted color like rust and decay. The flames licking at her eyes have been put down, nothing but coldness staring back at me. Cuts, some yellow, leaking with pus, some already drained of blood, some ripped through her clothes, covered her body.

King Eldred has been brutally killed. Even drunk, I could realize it. But he looked so peaceful in his death. Afterward. Like a sleep. Jude didn't. Her face has paled and sunk in her features, looking so much like when she returned from the sea. Drained, tired, scared, broken. Except, she never was broken when she emerged from the sea. Jude could never be helpless. It was strange to see her as such and I doubled back in shame. She would despise such thoughts.

I leaned forward. Shacking her. Screaming for her to wake up. "You can't die! You can't die, Jude! You're no mortal anymore, you're High Queen of Elfhame. Wake up!" I pleaded until my voice has gone hoarse, tasting my tears joined with snot.

Surprising even myself, I heard the door cracking open. See, Jude, the training really worked. I am a good spy. But not even the chance to point out how messily distracted I was didn't bring her back. She truly was gone. And when the large, tall figure stepped inside, carrying a hood reverently in front of her with disturbingly steady green hands, I understood how.

The Red Cape dipped the hood in Jude's blood, my queen's blood and I could do nothing to stop it. I was yanked back to my senses, in a pool of wine splashed on the carpet.

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

A couple of days have passed since the dream. I couldn't catch a wink of sleep, much to my council's despair.

"Maybe Your Highness needs to drink more tea? Instead of wine?" One of them suggested after yet another meeting I was too distracted to fully attend.

My mother made it her prerogative to be part of these meetings. Lately, as I've been unable to do so, even stepping up and aid me in my leading duties.

"Something on your mind, my son?" She asked once the meeting ended. After the dreaded dream I have begun writing to Jude. I intended to give her space after the exile. Calm her undoubting rage, see through my carefully crafted plan, appreciate it, but still punishing me for going behind her back.

But after seeing her dead body violated by the gruesome ritual of a Red Cape, I couldn't bare not knowing of her. I begged her to return with every letter, needing to see her, my queen, my Jude.

"Has the messenger returned?"

"I don't believe so, no. Are you expecting important news?"

"Nothing to concern you, Lady Asha. Personal affairs."

"Oh, dear," she laughed. "You know that if you want to bring a consort or two for company you don't have to hide from me."

"Nothing like that, mother," I hissed. I knew Lady Asha couldn't possibly know to whom I'm writing. And her assumptions aren't far fetched at all. But the thought of calling Jude a mere consort filled me with rage. The mothers of my siblings and all the other consorts, are, of course, respectable faes. But I knew what they meant to King Eldred - and Jude was so much more for me; I know what little power they had in the Kingdom - and Jude wielded and wished to wield so much more.

I rushed to my chambers, yanking the desk's drawers open in search of paper and a quill. The scribbled writing looked rushed, like my unsettling thoughts. The pen leaked here and there, brushing over words with ink pools.

Jude,

Not even responding to my missives is ridiculous and beneath you and I hate it.

Cardan

I stuffed it in my shirt, held in place by my tail, not patient enough to wait until the messenger I have sent earlier this evening to return. Without the letter from today there were three more Jude didn't bother acknowledge. I just needed to know she's fine. Alive. Silence wasn't helping my worries. So, naturally, I had to go see for myself.

Despite myself, being High King grew on me. And seeing the Land witter away by the day because of my despair bore a new feeling of tightness in my chest.

I traveled to the mortal realm stealthy. One time I overheard my sister and Vivienne talk about the latter's house in the land of humans. From what I made of it, it wasn't far from where I was right now. But all these tall buildings, with the many windows and cage-like stairs at each, looked the same. I can't believe Vivienne would leave the luxury of her father's mansion in the Fae realm to live in this.

Thankfully, the mortals sleep during the night - oh, but what they miss! - and I can slip from door to door searching for my queen. I picked at the lock of one of the buildings, only to find out these ugly homes, weren't, in fact, homes. But a multitude of little houses crammed into one another.

And there were so many of them... and so small! How do humans live in these?

Composing myself, I tried the first door. It opened easily and I slid through a small crease, leaving it open for a quick exit in case it's the wrong house. As soon as I've seen the grotesque dolls lined up on a shelf, a collection of watches hanging on a wall and mirrors at every step I knew it can't be Vivi's. Definitely not her style.

I checked five more doors - an angry old lady shoving me away with her knitting needles', one full of drunk revelers (I would have stayed if I wasn't on a such important mission... they even offered me a drink, naive souls!), one where small people talked to a sleeping audience of two lovers wrapped into each other and one where three angry dogs chased me out - before I stumbled over one that gave me chills like never felt before.

The door opened just like the others. But the crack it let out sent shivers down my spine. My blood ran cold. It sounded just like the door in my dream. I took tentatively steps forward, eyes darting all over, hoping I wouldn't miss anything. I got the feeling I'd better be ten times more cautious in this place.

The walls were all the same. Everywhere. I stopped with a start upon turning on the corner. The main room was a mess: furniture arranged untidly, broken glass spreaded like puzzle pieces on the parquet and... holes in the walls. Round, fist shaped holes in the walls by the size of bowls. And the metallic scent, now more frowzy than it was in my dream.

I slid my feet on the floor, testing each step for creaks before leaning on it. It was just a dream. It has to be. Because if not, that meant Jude was indeed dead.

No, I shook my head. No. It's just a coincidence.

And I managed to fool myself until I saw the reddish hood hanged like a beloved portrait of a loved one over the weird box with small humans inside. A Red Cape's hood.

I stumbled back. In a moment of haggard, my tail freed itself from the containment of my clothes, swooshing the air hazardously. My missive fell. I hadn't notice at the time. It was the logical course of events that downed on me later, not sure why or how I could be smoothed enough to entertain such thoughts even after I left the horrendous place.

Jude's tomb.

No! I cried, rushing out of the house. The walls were closing in, the air turning stale. I am not sure I was quiet as I trained to be. All I understood was the image of Jude's cadaveric face, replacing over and over through the tears running down my face.

I didn't see the stairs. Tripped over my own tail like I was a baby again, crying for the ghost of a touch, a smile, a love I shall not receive.

I picked myself up. For a second, as I rolled down the dark hall of the building, the images stopped ponding in my mind. Then they came in in closer shots. I could see it clearer, begun to notice details I have missed the first time: Jude's parted lips and clenched teeth, a small wrinkle at the bridge of her nose, her thumb locked around her little finger, the one a servant in Madoc's house bit off.

Even in the last moments she stood her ground. She kept fighting. If not the Red Cape that attacked her, then death itself. My brave, terrifying queen. Always the fighter.

This can't end like this. Jude can't end like this. Dead in a honorless place, buried without mourners or speeches of her bravery held loud and clear over weeping heads, adorned in gold and richness worthy of only the High Queen of Elfame, the true nobility of the land, after years of ruling through prosperity I knew she'll bring.

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

"Grimsen." He startled, almost dropping the... whatever it was he was making now.

"My Lord, what brings you to my..."

"Have you ever considered time travel?" I cut him off. Maybe being straightforward would cost me more than subtilty would. But I hadn't time to lose.

Well, if what I had in mind could work, I had all the time in the world. That wasn't the point, though. I cannot suffer one more second of life knowing Jude has passed the sill of it.

"Excuse me, My Lord?"

The idea of turning back the time obsessed me. I knew bringing back someone from the dead wasn't an option. Not a viable one, anyway.

All I could think of were "what if's". What if I hadn't exile her? What if she was never captured, so I needn't make no deal? What if I could save her? Because she was a fighter. Though she didn't lack patience and dedication, she would still much rather deal with problems quickly, with her own two hands.

I enjoyed working in the shadows. Thinking, contemplating different ways a variable can work out. More subtle. And what is more subtle than correcting a mistake or two when one has the power to make them disappear?

"Time travel, Grimsen. Don't tell me it never piqued your interest." I arched a brow at him, letting a conspirational smile play on my lips, hoping it would be inviting enough for the old fae.

"Why is my king asking?"

"Call it a curiosity inclined to your craft. A man talented as yourself, with such achievements to pride with, must have thought of the simple, mere time traveling question. No?"

I kept the smile, widening it to seem warmer. I joined the other eyebrow to its mirror, miming admiration. My voice was emptied of any sarcasm, devoid of color as I worded only the truest of my thoughts. Not only to hide my real intention by making myself believable, but also because I could not lie.

Grimsen's shoulders relaxed. A smile boost on his face as he straighten his back and rolled his joints. I cringed at the crack of bones, Jude's figure laying in that house again in front of my eyes.

"Shall I take this change of attitude as a yes?"

The old man at least had the decency to look sheepish. Though if it was but an act I wouldn't be too surprised.

"Apologies, My Lord. I have gotten ahead of myself. The interest your grace exhibits for my work is simply too cajoling."

Fighting the urge to roll my eyes, I nodded my head with a lenient smile.

"The device? Would you have made one..."

"Of course, of course." Grimsen spin around, much too servile to not be suspicious. But he opened a small chest secretively and my attention poured back to why I was here. I couldn't see what he took from the chest until he put it back in the shelf and turned to look at me.

Grimsen dangled the string of a compass on his fingers, showing it off. I almost reached out to it, but he shouldn't take notice of my desperate eagerness.

Instead, I arched an eyebrow, folding my arms over my chest. "Well?"

"It's not a watch, My Lord. Anyone would expect a watch to take you back in time... or forward. It's a compass. No one would think to steal a compass for time travel, these are for directions," Grimsen grinned, obviously proud of himself. Once again the smith's behavior put me off ease. But there were more pressing matters to focus onto.

"Ingenious. How does it work then?"

"Very simple. You position yourself in the desired direction - north for future, south for past, then you press this button and -" he puffed audibly, suggesting a vanishing person. "Pinch it back and face east to return in the moment of your departure, or west to take your travel from scratches."

I pushed back against the delight threatening to overwhelm me. Anyone else would have inquired more. About the making process, the magic used, if it was tested. A better king perhaps would have question a previous usage of it and the purpose of it. Or ask about the eagerness he told me all I needed to know with. Seconds away from pushing me out the door.

I didn't All I cared about was finding my way back to the breath of my life.

I said my goodbyes to the smith and retired to the palace. At dawn, I sneaked back, having memorized where he keeps the compass, and stole it with ease, leaving its chest on the shelf.

"I keep fighting, Jude, like you showed me to. I will fix this, I promise that much."

My murmurs were too loud in the eerie quietness of the land. I didn't know it so silent before. Thoughts of when to go back to and questions of how to save Jude flood my mind, but were drowned by the peacefulness of day.

At last, I made my mind. Faced the south. Pressed the button. And leaped in nothingness.

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

"...Allow me this - grant that I may show you my loyalty in my deeds, rather than binding myself with my words."

From his spot in front of the throne, Grimsen looked up at me, expectedly. I felt a squeeze on my shoulder and I nearly fell from the throne at the sight: Jude. In all her sharp nobility. Not yet the High Queen, but the actual ruler of Elfame.

Her eyes didn't move from the smith when she touched me. I remember I shrugged her hand off the first time this happened. But I couldn't bring myself to do so again. It was a cautionary sign for me, to be as wary of Grimsen as she was. Yet I couldn't shake off the comfort her touch brought. Warm. Strong.

I realized I was staring at my seneschal for too long. Even Jude turned to look at me, having felt the tension in the air rising. Putting on a sweet, dark grin, I removed her hand from my shoulder. Made a show of toying with the rings I had on, lounging in my throne as if I was silly drunk, pretending to ponder over Grimsen request.

Though back when this was all new I cringed at the presence of the smith, I pushed those shivers away, wishing to upset Jude at the time being. This time, with how uncanny he acted before - in the future I hoped wouldn't exist no more - I actually sit on it. There was nothing I could find to reason his behavior. But also nothing to help me understand it. The best would be to keep him close, where I can have an eye on him at all time.

"I accept your condition." I recall saying. "Indeed, I will give you a boon. An old building with a forge sits on the edge of the palace grounds. You shall have it for your own and as much metal as you require. I look forward seeing what you will make for us." The words fell from my mouth like a learned speech. I felt myself easing in the memories of the event, finding my previous actions clearer and clearer by the second. Like my past and my current self became one.

"Your kindness shall not be forgotten," Grimsen said with a deep bow.

As the peculiar smith retreated, I spotted a clocked figure waiting in line. And I remembered what happened next.

I found Mother Marrow not issuing as much mistrust as before. In fact, a soft smile worked on my face as she spoke. I didn't change my past actions, though. Partly to entertain mine and Jude's small banter again, partly because it was what would be expected of me. I shouldn't show familiarity to a presumed stranger.

"The three of us shall see each other again." When she said it this time, she winked at me. As if there was more meaning to her words that what I'd expect.

Jude, the overbearing leader that she was, caught it as well, sending me a questioning frown. I smiled ludicrously at her, a silent comment about Mother Marrow's marriage proposal Jude understood with disgust.

I found it addictive: the way we could communicate so easily, even without words. Perhaps this time around, if I play my cards right, I can make her agree to the wedding for more reason than political upper hand.

My thoughts traveled to Locke. And if either bestowing the desired title upon him had any lingering effects on the dreaded future. The queen of mirth episode playing shamefully on my mind. I had no idea how someone managed to capture Jude. My fierce mortal, out of all people! A spy inside the palace's walls was a reasonable guess. Could it be Locke?

The plan was simpler on the other side of time. Follow Jude around at all times and make sure she isn't captured. We would protect each other. But being back in the position I was in at the beginning of the whole mess, I found that, as mortals say, best laid plans of mice and men oft go astray.

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

I have decided to do things exactly as before, as to not draw unwanted attention on myself. I had the benefit of knowing the future in my pocket, surely I can navigate this travel smoothly and only make small, needed changes.

"What's wrong with you?" Jude asked as soon as we retired from the meeting with the people.

"Is that worry I sense, High King?"

Her eyes widened for a split second, searching the hall for compromising ears. "Have you lost your minds?" She hissed. And dragged me by the arm to the King's compartments. "Are you drunk?"

"Do you think that low of me, my sweetest sin?" I clutched my heart, pretending to be hurt. It was silly and I had so much more important things to focus on. But I couldn't - didn't want to - resist the urge to speak to her so freely.

The way Jude blushes and shots daggers with her eyes. I could tease her all day, always delighted by her responses. It could be a sharp comeback, a reprehension, a swift order or a kiss. A bold, energetic kiss pressed on my mouth. That could lead (and has led, I reminded myself) to more.

Jude rolled her eyes. "Snap out of it, Cardan!"

A command. But I did not feel the compulsion to obey, nor the restriction to go against it. "And what will you do if I don't?" I smirked.

She frowned. "I said shut up. Now's not the time for your antics."

"Perhaps you should try make me, trusty seneschal. You can't order your king, but I may allow you to convince me."

Mouth agape, Jude strolled until she was right in front of me, our bodies almost touching. I jumped on the couch, taking up as much space as I could, legs and arms spread over the fine cushion. And rose my brows expectantly at her.

"What's this? How are you doing this?"

"Don't worry, Jude. If you want to control me still, there are ways I'm open to. I can be malleable for you, if you'd be willing to learn how to play with me."

Her chest heaved with irregular breathing. Quicker. Almost like a pant. Her eyes traced my frame up and down, always returning to my face. My eyes, from which she shied away, my ears, my hair, my lips, where she stopped.

Thoughts of ravish and passion begin to drip in my mind. Filling it if not for the arrow slashing at my neck. Startled, I collected myself in a smaller target. Jude's sword was already drawn, looking for enemies.

I groaned mentally. I have completely forgotten about the attack.

"We need to get you out of here. Somewhere secure."

"Lead the way."

If she wouldn't have been so focused on the prospect of danger, Jude would have shot me a killing look. "I can't believe you won't even be serious in the middle of your own assassination attempt," she mumbled under her breath. "Guards!"

Another arrow flew rapidly in my direction. Jude cut it in half before it had the change to taste my blood. "Guards!" Once again, no one answered to the call.

"Come on," Jude gripped the sleeve of my shirt and yanked, pushing me in the direction of the secret passageway entry. She followed tightly behind, still not letting go of me, sword up in case another arrow needs to be cut. As we slip in the tunnels, Jude blocks the door with a chair.

"It won't hold them off for long."

We didn't stop as she talked. Her thumb brushed circles on the blunt little finger over my shirt. A focused look in her eyes. I could see the thoughts spiraling inside.

"You have to hide until I solve this. Stay at the Court of Shadows."

Well this didn't go well with my plan to keep a close eye on her.

"Tsk, tsk, what did I just say about pushing your king around like this, seneschal?"

Jude glared at me. Using the handle of her sword against my neck she pushed me into the nearest wall. "I don't know what happened, how you freed yourself from my command, but if you want to live, you will do as I say. I think it's in both of our benefits."

"Ask."

"What?"

"I will not do as you say, Jude. But nothing stops you trying to ask." I leaned in sweetly, eying her with intensity and a smug smile playing on my lips.

For a lying mortal, Jude wore her heart on her sleeves. Or, at least when she was with me she did. Distress, confusion, anger, stubbornness. She wanted to know why I was free of her compulsion, what that meant for her plans - perhaps even if it would have been better to end me since Balekin was in prison and Oak would be the only option of a king Elfame had. But she didn't have enough time to think.

Jude fought with her pride and the the feeling of a cold, sloppy snake crawling on her she looked like she had every time she felt she lost in front of me.

"Please, your highness," Jude relented through gritted teeth.

"What was that?"

The grip on the handle tighten. So did the strength she pushed it into my neck.

"Please, your highness, let me save you from the attempt at your life."

"Ah, my dear seneschal, I'm touched. I didn't know I mean so much to you."

Even in the darkness of the secret tunnel, I could see her cheeks heating up in embarrassment.

"Walk."

I snickered, but didn't provoke her further. I took the lead, as she rather stayed behind in case we were followed. At last we reached the Court of Shadows. The room didn't change much since the day I woke up all tied to a chair and a beautiful knight hovering over me.

"Lock yourself in after I'm gone. Don't come out until I come for you. And do not open this door for anyone, no matter what." At the rose of my eyebrow, Jude sighed. "Of your majesty so pleases for his own safety."

I broke into a green and let my body fall on a chair, picking my legs up to rest on the table. "And if it doesn't pleases me?"

"Cardan! This isn't a game. Someone tries to kill you!"

"And should I believe you care, my addictive poison? You can cook up a way to put Oak on the throne without me."

Something in her eyes shifted. She turned to face the door before I could catch a real glimpse of it. It is possible I imagined it, but highly unlikely judging by her stiff, tensed body. "Don't be ridiculous. If you shall die before your time has come, it will be by my hand, and my hand only."

And with that, Jude stormed out of the room.

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

It was wistful thinking, but the way she reacted made me hope Jude might open her heart for me. For my heart already belonged to her. I stood on bricks and nails the first long hours, until I remined myself she wouldn't be captured until after the queen of mirth incident.

As I had time, I went through all I knew will happen, trying to piece the puzzle together. Revels I was too drunk to fully remember, Vivi's girlfriend somehow being enchanted, the threats from the Undersea to marry Nicassia, a plan to use Oak as bait to which the details have been lost on me.

The wedding! Locke and Taryn's wedding. Jude made me seduce the information out of Nicassia. That's when the Undersea will attack. And... Balekin. I remember a short conversation with my brother. He wanted me to free him. He works with Orlagh. But he couldn't have planned Jude's capture while still in prison. He must be as much of a tool to Orlagh as anyone else.

Think, Cardan, think. Jude is taken after the wedding. Locke is still a viable option as a traitor. All he does is for himself and his own amusement. And he does treasure humiliating Jude, even when it jeopardize her life.

But Locke isn't involved enough in politics to be drawn in Orlagh's schems. He gets bored easily and cannot stand following a plan that doesn't immediately satisfy him. His involvement, if any at all, must have been minimal.

Who else, then, could fool Jude, sneak behind her back and take her down in a fight?

"I have to admit, I'm surprised you're still here and haven't went off searching for wine yet." Jude said from where she was staying in the doorframe, arms crossed and a brow arched. She looked more composed now. As if she finally figured the answer of an afflicting question. If only I could have the same luck.

"You're ever lasting trust in me is heartwarming, as usual, dear nemesis."

Jude resumed to a swift eyeroll instead of gracing me with a verbal answer.

"The assassin – or assassins – escaped. But the Bomb and I searched your room for traps. None. You will be safe there. And more comfortable, I presume."

"Have I managed to melt your walls, Jude Duarte? Thinking of my comfort..."

"Shut up!"

"Sorry. Don't take orders from you anymore." I might be stretching this out, but I enjoyed myself too much. As much as I... couldn't stop thinking about Jude and I wished nothing more than to be fully in her control, the compulsion she had over me wasn't what I had in mind. It bothered me, though I didn't want to admit why. Her lack of trust in me shouldn't pain me so.

"Speaking of: how did you do that?"

"You'll have to work a bit harder for answers as from now on, Jude. I hope you didn't think otherwise. It would be far beneath your level."

"Fine. Don't tell me. I don't need to know, anyway. But you're still a target. I've spoken with Nicassia and the Undersea was behind this. We should expect more."

"So you aren't planning to dethrone me, then? Now that I'm not your puppet anymore?"

Another one of those passing looks clouded her eyes. Almost as if she was hurt by the implication of my words. My heart trembled at the thought of Jude actually caring for me enough to be disturbed by my downfall.

It was gone as soon as I've seen it. "Don't be ridiculous. You are competent enough to navigate the court and its tedious, pesky cabal. When you are sober enough, that is. I cannot have my brother on a dangerous throne."

"Therefore I shall be king until you eliminate all threats?"

"Yes."

"And if I disapprove of this?"

"It's your right, High King Cardan. But you need my protection. My spies."

You, I thought, but didn't voice it. Instead, I bowed my head. "Sounds like you are right, seneschal. Very well, then. I will keep you around. But you will have no more secrets from me. I know you can lie. I'd like to believe that in these past months we earned a bit of each other's trust. Enough so, that you will not keep from me. We are in this scheme, to put the crown on Oak's head, together. Only the two of us."

I could see trains of thoughts speeding behind her eyes. Jude turned my words on all sides, possibly even ones I hadn't consider myself. Finally, she nodded. "Sounds fair. I have spoken to Nicassia. She's the best intel we have, but she won't talk to me much."

She filled me in on her conversation with my traitorous friend while we ascended in my chambers. "The only reason she told me so much is because she is scared for you. She still loves you," Jude finished, not meeting my eyes. Could I have sensed frustration in her voice?

I believe so. Which is why I didn't tease her about it. I kept the knowledge to myself. Maybe if she thinks me less observant when it comes to her, there will be more mishaps in my company. I didn't dare think of a reason for her feelings. I just enjoyed them.

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

The days passed normally. Until the night of the Hunter's Moon came.

Breathing in Jude's neck made her suspicious, so I had to give her more space. Time which I spent with the Court of Shadows. I have realized, upon an unplaced joke about the Roach and the Bomb, that I hadn't befriended them in this time.

But as soon as Locke announced the great revel of tonight, I begin sweating. I was determined to not allow Jude to be the queen of mirth. At least not for Master of Revel's and the rest of the folk pleasure. If anyone was to be humiliated tonight, it won't be my warrior queen.

I was more worried about the ambush of the merfolk. I still had not figured out who kidnapped Jude. Nor how. And I was running out of time.

"You don't look particularly happy for this celebration." Jude commented.

"I would say you are in no position to talk. At how many revels have you partaken?"

"It's a waste of time. But you are usually drunk and all over some beautiful faeries by now."

"No, no, my dear Jude. You've gotten it wrong. They are the ones all over me. What can I say, I'm irresistible."

"I don't know which is worse. That you actually believe this or that no one corrected you."

"Don't be like this. I have seen you watching me. When you're positioned at my door, with the guards, and you can only catch a glimpse inside while I change..." I leaned closer to her, locking our eyes in a tight, daring dance she couldn't refuse.

Jude scoffed. But didn't say anything as we made our way into the garden where Locke build a huge throne for me around which revelers already gathered. At my side, Jude rolled her eyes.

"I'd suggest the wine, but you don't have it in you to anything but wide awake at any given time."

She sent me a weird look, as if she wondered if I can't stand the court just as much as herself, using the wine as a carefully crafted persona to escape. Then she shifted her focus on our surroundings. Always the careful.

I allowed Jude to drink from the wine, having swapt it with mortal one courtesy to Vivi. She drank a whole bottle and, though she swayed on her feet, she wasn't drunk enough to joyfully embarass herself in front of the whole court.

"Dance with me," I said. The clear look in her eyes told me she was merely tipsy.

"What... why?"

"As hard as it seems for you to believe I do not wish to see you humiliated. You are my seneschal after all. But we shall give the viewers some sort of spectacle."

It was obvious I had taken her by surprise. For the first time since I knew her, Jude was rendered speechless. I could blame the wine, but I liked taking on the credit myself.

She nodded shortly and it was enough for me to pull her closer and move us inside the circle the folk made around us. Perhaps it lacked the shame they all craved from their mortal leader, but it gave enough space to speculate so their minds were kept busy.

I hadn't notice when the merefolk arrived. It appears Jude and I danced for more than either would have thought. Jude pushed away from me, running to the first line of defence.

When the threat was gone and we rushed to the meetings' room, I couldn't spot her anywhere. My blood froze in my veins, my breath trapped in my throat for minutes until I spotted her slip inside.

"Madoc is against us. I don't think he supports Orlagh, though. He seem to want war. Blood shed." She whispered in my ear, only for me to hear.

For a second intoxicating bliss washed over me. Jude shared with me, unprompted, information about her own father. But then the words fully registered in my brain. "Of course," I seethed. "He hadn't dip that hood of his in blood for a long while. He must suffer greatly."

Jude frowned at my dark tone, but said nothing as the conversation turned to us.

"Is there anything you're not telling us, mortal?"

"Careful," I spoke before Jude could. "She is my seneschal, my prime advisor, and you all better show more respect."

Jude hide her surprise more skillfully than she did her blush. But she spoke up nonetheless. "I am not withdrawing any information from you, my lords and ladies. I was simply waiting for a confirmation my suspicions are true. Tonight's events was proof enough. Balekin is corresponding with the merefolk."

I pretended to be surprised and even joining in the claims of such news' improbability. I hadn't listen to Jude's explanation. I knew it to be true already. As true as Locke's involvement. I wondered if that was the extention of it or if I should start spying on my friend.

Last time, I have spoken to Nicassia, sending a message that would make the queen of the Undersea see red from the depth of her blueish kingdom. This time I decided to not anger her more than needed.

I followed into my steps as I remembered them, requesting more from my Master of Revels to keep him busy for any eventuality.

Just as I expected, a note from Balekin came during one of the parties. I called for Jude and led her to the secret room behind the throne.

"What is this?"

"I called for no secrets between us and I'm keeping up to my wish," I said, handing her the missive.

"We need more information."

"Another talk with Nicassia?"

"It can't be me. And we can't exactly extract it from her. She's no enemy. Yet."

"You thought of something. I can see it. Well, go on, don't keep to yourself."

"Maybe you should talk to her," Jude mumbled in a small voice. "Use your, uhm, charm. And the feelings she still has for you."

I knew it will come. She asked it of me before, except she doesn't know it. And as much as it pained me to hear her so carelessly talk off my affection as a currency for intel, this time I heard a pang of discomfort that brightened my mood.

"You think I'm charming?" Last time I rehearsed my seducing abilities on her. I may have come to change the past, but I had to be careful with the consequences of those changes. What would be different if I just leave now, no special moment between Jude and I?

Probably nothing, since it is private. But I am not willing to take risks.

"Nicassia thinks you're charming." Jude countered, but the color in her cheeks disputed it.

"Mhm," I hummed, closing the gapt between us. One of my hands brushed some hair behind her hear, resting on her neck afterwards. The other traced the outline of her lips.

"And I'm sure you cannot even begin to understand why."

Jude swallowed. A thick, loud in the silence of the room, bob of her throat. "No."

"Tsk, tsk, you promised not to lie to me, Jude. Or did you think I only meant business? Let me clarify it."

I brushed my lips over her chin. "I," another ghostly touch to her cheek. "Do not," I whispered hovering my lips near her ear. "Want you," I brought my face at hers level again, talking against her own lips. "To lie to me." I ended with a kiss. "Ever."

Jude surprised me with the vigour with which she kissed back. As if she waited a long time for this. Her hands circled my neck when she pulled for air, not giving me time to even smirk as she attached her lips to mine again.

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

When I woke up, Jude was gone. We hand't move forward than making out with our tops off. I was reminded of her words from the original time line. How she only did it to 'get it out of the system'. And she asumed the same waa true for me.

My teeth bit the inside of my lips as I pulled the flannel shirt from yesterday back on and went to find Nicassia. It felt so wrong, moving from Jude's arms to the woman whose mother would have my kingdom leveled under crushing waves and who, herself, cheated on me with whom I thought to be my best friend.

But we a war was knocking on my door. One I wasn't going to lose Jude to again.

I considered wasting time around with the Court of Shadows. I already knew everything Nicassia was going to tell me. But now I had a set of new questions to ask. Perhaps she knew her mother's plan for Jude, a piece of the puzzle I dumbly hadn't consider until it was too late the first time.

"Cassi," I raised my voice for her to hear me over the loud chattering of hangover faes. "Do you have some time to spare?"

"Of course, yes!"

"Some place more private, perhaps?"

Her eyes widened, hope glimmering in her blue orbs. "Take me wherever you want, my king. I'm all yours."

It was hard to feel bad for her, knowing the thoughts she harbors for Jude and the torture she agrees to submit her. But the pang I felt wasn't as much for decieving her, as it was for years of letting her fool me.

"I missed this," I said sincerly. Because even if it was never real and she entertained Locke's fantasies, I did miss the comforting lie they both served me for so long.

"I missed this too." I wondered what she was thinking of to be able to speak these words. Jude may believe she still loved me, but the truth was, she never did.

Forcing a smile to spread my lips, I closed the gap between us, leading her by the waist to an empty room.

When we sat on the couch, Nicassia was slightly climbed in my lap. My fingers caressing all over her covered skin. Her own played with the hair at the back of my neck as she laid her head on my shoulder.

I couldn't stop the image that replaced Nicassia with Jude in my mind. Brown curles instead of blue, warm eyes, not cold. Tensed muscles beginning to relax opposed to the soft skin of the merefolk princess.

Nicassia's free hand came to rest on my chest. "What prompted this change of attitude?"

"I was in dire need of an old friend."

"Mmmm, is that so? What kind of need?"

"Anything you wish to offer. Company, comfort, talk, or more."

"Being High King weights heavy on you."

It wasn't a question, but I answered it anyway, seeing the opportunity I've been waiting. "Yes. I imagine you have an understanding of that too. As the sole heir, you must have been given more responsability Undersea all these years."

Nicassia looked up at me with pitty in her eyes. I was starting to think she never saw me as an equal. But a lost pet she and Locke could take care of. A broken, unworthy fae. Unlike most people in my life, she was attracted by it, in some twisted sense of care.

"I have always enjoyed my mother's trust, yes. She tells me everything concerning our kingdom and its ruling."

"She seeks your aid."

"My advice only. Mother values my input, yes, but she's just teaching me for now. Preparing for the time I will be queen."

"You knew about her marriage wishes, then." It was my turn to phrase a question as an answer I already knew.

Nicassia nodded, letting her eyes fell on her lap.

"And you agree?"

Her eyes snaped back at mine. "What do you want me to say, Cardan? I love you, I have never stopped loving you. But you pushed me away, favoring that mortal..."

"Nicassia," I warned. I wouldn't hear Jude's name being misspoken for. The only person who sees me as something else than the missplaced prince in the noble family. "You speak of me favoring Jude, when I found you and Locke behind my back."

"It's not the same. I don't love Locke."

"Then why?" Was all I could say. My head spinned. Was it that obvious Jude has stolen my heart? And if it was, why did Nicassia accept my advances. Could this be a new plan? And why did she had to be with Locke if she never felt for him? For the sake of betraying me? They both loved to have power and to parade it around hurting those lesser than. Nothing different that what I engaged into, except I never had the power. I wanted to trick myself into believing I did.

"It's... complicated."

I shifted. And she suddenly found herself on the couch. I stood up and poured some of the wine I found on the table down my throat. Half meaning it, half playing on that pity Nicassia harbored for me, perhaps even mistaking it for love.

"Cardan, Locke meant, means nothing to me. It was a stupid request my mother had of me. She wanted Locke to help her."

"Both of my friends, ploting behind my back."

"It's not like that. He didn't knew anything. I told him what to do, promising he'll have some fun and weave a good story. Mother promised she won't hurt anyone. It was just a show of power."

"Is baiting my brother to aupport her with gifts and promises of a throne just a show of power too?"

"Balekin is just a pawn. You are the king she wants. The king we both want. But you wouldn't play your part. You listen to that mortal girls as if she controls you."

At that, Nicassia's pleading eyes found mine, a mute question behind them. I ignored it. "Is this why Orlagh wants to eliminate Jude?"

"Eliminate is such a strong word, Cardan," the merefolk princess rolled her eyes. "We won't kill her. Mother only wishes to talk to her, convince her to cooperate. It's not such a dark plan: you and I married, rulling over our joint kingdoms. Peace and prosperity, think about it."

"How does Orlagh plans to talk to Jude?"

Nicassia groaned and let herself ease more into the soft cushion. "We have a spy she trusted. He'll bring her to us."

A spy Jude trusts. A he. A truly narrowed list, as the decieving mistress of my heart barely trust anyone. Madoc has been recently crossed off the list. Replaced by me, I like to think. The only ones left are the Roach and the Ghost.

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

As Taryn and Locke's wedding was but a few hours due, I grew more ane more resteless. I haven't talk to Jude since I told her Orlagh's plan to act on the wedding's day. I told her to be careful of the spy too, but she still insisted on leaving the palace to spend time with her twin.

"Your worry is appreciated, Cardan, in all its disturbing unexpectance. But I can handle myself."

Of course I couldn't tell her about the attack on her. And she did make it out alive the first time. But nothing could sooth my fears. Nothing but seeing her at all times. Judging with my own to eyes if she is fine.

"Take me with." I pleaded. And I've lost the count of how many times I did so far.

"Stop that! Madoc doesn't know my loyalties lie to you –" my heart fluttered and skipped a bit –" and I want a night spent only with my sister."

"I won't be in your way. I can even wait outside. Playing watch guard from a tree."

Jude pinched the bridge of her nose. This time I hadn't tried to talk to her about what happened in the secret room behind the throne. Which is why she acted normally around me, openly, even.

"Even if I would agree to this, you cannot be seen on Madoc's estate. He isn't yet sworn you enemy, but that is where his heart is. It's too dangerous. Besides, with merefolks haunting about, the vest place you could be at is the palace, with the Bomb as your babysitter."

I made a face at the title. And then relented. "Fine. Just promise me you'll be careful."

"I will," Jude groaned annoyed. Though a little smile pulled at her lips. She was gone withing seconds.

I've waited until I estimated there is enough distance between us so Jude wouldn't spot me and the Bomb will she look back, then turned to my keeper.

"I have to follow her. You can stay here, or come with, but do not stop me."

The Bomb bursted into a jingle of laughes. "You have so lost yourself to her. Calm down, loverboy, Jude can handle herself."

"Listen, she is in danger. And that moment is closing in. And I know she can hold her ground, but I cannot lose her again. I need to make sure she's fine."

"Again? What are you talking about."

I ended up telling the Bomb everything. "And are you sure one of them is a traitor."

I nodded solemnly. I wanted to comfort her, but didn't know how.

"Go." The Bomb said all of a sudden, breaking the silence that has fallen over us. "I will try to find if it's the Ghost or the Roach," her voice broke a bit over the name of the man she loves.

I took the fastest horse in our stables and sped on Jude's trail.

When I caught up to her, she was surrounded by masked faes. Limping. I couldn't determine where they injured her, or how bad it was. But Jude stood her ground fearlessly.

An arrow flied from up somewhere. There must be more of them, hidden in the trees. Or just one, the thought fell in place like the the lackadaisical feeling of being painfully conscious of my own conscious after a night of revels and drinks.

I barely processed it when I already climbed the nearest tree. Precise archer, a sly, silent spy, perhaps the most so out of all of us, a friend. The quietest one.

The Ghost taught Jude the most about the art of spying. How to smoothly move in space as if she was the particles in between. He taught me too. How listening and connecting the dots can have more values than intercepting correspondence, if one place themself in the right spot, at the right time.

I didn't care to think about why the Ghost would work for Orlagh. Or even question my deduction. It has to be him. Once I got high enough between the tree's thick crown, I jumped swiftly to the nearest tree. The more trees I left behind, the more aware was I of the fact I had no weapon on me. And the Ghost knew how to fight, bare handed or not.

My best shot was to take him by surprise. He doesn't know I'm here, he doesn't know his cover has been torn to pieces. And he is focused on Jude. If I can sneak behind his back, I can...

"You were the least I expected to see here, today," the Ghost rasped in my ear. An arrow tip pressed cold against the back of my neck.

"All the more a pleasure for you. Surprise!"

"You shouldn't have come."

"Believe it or not, I keep hearing this since my birth. It never stopped me."

With him distracted in a conversation, Jude's odds bettered. She could deal with the faes on the ground much easier if the threat of arrows from above was stopped. My life depended on how much information Orlagh shared with her spies and on the Ghost's social awareness. If he thought he can kill me because he didn't know of the Undersea's plans to marry me to their princess or not.

"I'm sorry, Cardan. I have no choice."

I frowned. The folk can't lie. But if he believes it true, then it's a loophole. Why would the Ghost think this is his only option? Why would he betray Jude if he's feeling guilty about it?

Darkness overtook my mind before I could even begin to analyze it. Next thing I know when I'm awaken is a terrible ache in my temples and a familiar scent in my nostrils. I shifted, trying to get up and a displeased groan filled the air. Not my own, though.

"You chose the worst time to wake up," Jude mumbled, pushing a hand on my chest to keep me down and fitting her head again on my shoulder.

Heat rose to my cheeks and I was grateful she kept her eyes closed. "What happened?"

"The Ghost is the traitor Nicassia told you about. Tried to kill me with some friends. They're dead now. I don't think the Ghsot was actually here yesterday. There was an archer, but the arrows stopped coming in pretty soon."

"He was. He must have knocked me out after I found him."

My voice seemed to wake Jude up for good because she almost jumped to her feet, an accusatory look in her eyes. "What were you thinking? You could have gotten yourself killed. Or worse!"

"Worse? I'm flattered you hold me so dear in your caring."

"I'm serious, Cardan. You could have been captured, tortured, trapped in a deal like we had. Can you see how bad this would have been for the Land?"

"They weren't here for me, they were here to get you."

"Plans can change."

"Not even Orlagh is daring enough to kidnap the High King of Elfhame. You were the only one in danger."

"And you decided to come to my rescue alone?"

"The Bomb was trying to figure out who the traitor is. I had no one else I could trust to help me. And I did a pretty good job, didn't I? Once you had no arrows to worry about, you took them down without breaking a sweat."

"That's not so true," Jude rolled her eyes. She unfurled her pants. The leaked blood missed my notice because of the clothing's dark material. But Jude's pristine skin was smudged with blood. Different shades forming a pool around an ugly wound in her leg.

So many questions I wanted to ask at once. She seemed to read the all in my face.

"My horse died. Yours fled. I couldn't walk and even if I did, I couldn't carry you too. Leaving you was not even an option," she said before I had the chance to suggest it. "So I tied it up the best I could and tried to keep watch. I must have lost too much blood and fell asleep."

"You need stiches," was all I could foolishly say.

I couldn't convince Jude to let me carry her, but she did agree to lean on me for support all the way to Madoc's estate. Only if I make myself scarce without sight range. "I can walk by my own a few feet, but Madoc cannot see you."

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

Making my way back to the palace, I had time to ponder over the obvious changes that occurred and what they meant. Jude was originally taken from the Tower during the wedding. The Ghost must have lured her there, alone in an ambush since all the guards were posted at the wedding.

It has been a diversion. Making us think they'll do something during the ceremonial party and instead freeing Balekin and taking Jude from the Tower. Would they change their plans now we discovered their spy? Very unlikely. Most certainly they will switch tactics and corner Jude elsewhere, or in a different way. Which means I had to be with her all night.

The Undersea won't risk a second ascend. Not until they think they can fight the Land and win. Orlagh was running out of subtilties and court's plays seeing how much we knew already. And she knew we know.

The queen of Undersea will give up Jude for a bigger prize: the crown of Elfhame. To take it, she must resort to sheer force, as she intended anyway. Until I made the deal with her in exchange for Jude.

My head hurt. Possibly from the hit earlier, but the confusing politic games weren't helping either. I had to protect Jude from Orlagh and the kingdom from war and it seemed impossible to manage both.

Think, Cardan. Jude would kill you if you trade Elfhame for her.

Perhaps if I... Yes, could work. But it was a heavy risk. I might have to fill Jude and the Roach in my little time journey. And...

"My king! A word?" Jude shouted, running with a wincing limp down the hall towards me. I hurried to meet her.

"Alone." She added once we were face to face.

I nodded and we made our way to the secret room behind the throne again. We could hear the last minute preparations for Locke and Taryn's wedding even from here.

"What is it, wise seneschal?"

"Remember what I told you this morning? About," she didn't allow me space to comment on her question, "our enemies attempting to control you?"

"It wouldn't leave my mind," Jude continued, after I hummed my positive answer. "You cannot permit to be tricked, Cardan. We... the Land, Elfhame, cannot afford it."

"I think you made a convincing point in the woods earlier. I am aware of the gratitude of our situation, you don't need to spell it out for me, Jude."

"I know. I surely do hope so, at least. But it won't leave me rest. They have Balekin on their side, does he know your true name? Or," she carried on without a pause for air, "if I gained control over you, it's not so preposterous to fear the possibility of the merefolk succeeding too."

A dark shadow passed over my face. Balekin shouldn't know my name. The only onnes who do – or did – were my parents. One of which was imprisoned with Balekin in this time. Would my mother betray me so? Sweat ran down my spine, cold as the disdain in Lady Asha's scorn lips in every memory I have of her from childhood.

As for Orlagh or one of her people geting a hold over my being, as disturbing and unsettling of a thought it was, I had to entertain it. Take it in consideration.

"Were you getting anywhere with this share of fears, or are you acting on our no secrets deal?"

"There can be only one person controling you. If it gets down to it, you'll have to pretend, but you'll be shielded if someone you trust..."

"You, you mean," I interruped her. "You want me to surrender myself to you again. Willingly, this time."

"I – yes. I do. It's for all of us' sake."

"Don't need to convince me. I will do it. With one – well, two, actually – conditions."

As Jude readied herself for my bargain, I closed in the space between us. "First, I may find myself at your qualms, but you have to keep your promise. Be truthful with me, seek my input, involve me in your plans."

"Fair enough. Very well. It wasn't that bad to scheem with you. And the second?"

"We haven't spoken of our night together..." I trailed off, smirking at the color in her cheeks.

"I don't see where are you going with this. It was just..."

"Don't say we just had to get it out of our systems. You know it's a lie, Jude. It meant more than that for me. And I think it did for you to, am I wrong?"

She caught my eyes and locked our gazes. Conflicted, her thumb brushed rapidely over her blunt finger. In this moment she wore her heart on sleeve. Try hard enough and I could ses it beating hacticly.

"And if it did...?"

"Then let me worship you as you deserve, my queen."

[orchidsea]

Mobula Birostris, the Giant Oceanic Manta Ray

They have wingspans reaching up to 29 feet (8.8 meters) in length, which makes them the largest known ray in our ocean. Not only are they the largest in the field of rays, but they have the largest brain-to-body-weight ratio of any other fish! They generally inhabit tropical and subtropical waters, but they can also be found in temperate waters! While they normally only feed around 33 feet (10 meters) below surface-level, these rays are capable of diving more than 3,280 feet (1,000 meters) into the water. This means their body can withstand more than 101atm of pressure, which is equivalent to 10,233,825(ten million two-hundred thirty-three thousand eight-hundred twenty-five) pascals*. For comparison, your average human can only withstand about 6,300 pascals. On the topic of the sturdiness of these rays, it should be mentioned they are almost completely harmless. They, while having the long tail most will associate with sting rays’ best defense mechanism, lack the barbs within said tail that cause damage. They do have an estimated 300 little teeth as well, yet these teeth are not quite sharp enough to penetrate skin. Oceanic Manta Rays are very docile, in fact! They’re intelligent creatures who will allow humans to approach if not threatened, and they will swim away in the case they do feel threatened (typically at a speed around 24 km/h); However, it’s probably not the best to pet a wild ray just because it’s more than likely friendly. They are coated in a protective mucous film, similarly to slugs and snails, that protects them from threats to their immune system. Touching them could put their health at risk, if you remove this mucous! They actually do have an oddly particular way of survival when it comes to how they process oxygen. In short terms, a manta ray cannot stop swimming without suffocating. As they swim, water is pushed over their gills from the motions of moving forward; Which means that remaining stagnant will not allow them to efficiently intake the oxygen they need to survive. Even if this way of living seems tiring, these beautiful creatures (to our knowledge) don’t sleep at all! I also want to mention their diet only consists of small organisms such as planktonic organisms, copepods, and mysids, but they can also consume smaller fish if they’re in the marker for some. This kind of diet makes them a “filter feeder”, which mainly just means they have an expert way if straining suspended matter and/or food particles from the water for consumption. Another thing I would like to mention are those little fish you will often see on not only Gigantic Oceanic Manta Rays, but other big fish like sharks and whales:

These are Remoras, eight species of suckerfish! Remoras and rays have a mutualistic relationship, meaning both species benefit from one another. Remoras get a safe ride with ample feeding opportunities, and the rays get a free spa-day that rids them of potentially harmful parasites and bacteria! These little guys have even evolved to so specifically ensure they do not cause their host to exert excess energy to carry them along, making their dynamic perfectly harmonious.

* Pascals are a unit of measurement used for the pressure or stress present. One pascal is equal to one newton of force applied across one square meter of area.

[kwritingbooks]

co-written by me & @sunsalutationsss

catch up on: tumblr or wattpad

Did Aurora scare him away? She knew she probably shouldn’t have done what she did, but now she was suffering the consequences regardless. Why was her mind so clouded with this anyway? Why doesn’t she feel like herself?

AU: star-being!harry x astronomy-student!aurora

AURORA'S POV

My alarm boomed through the room, caused by the aftermath of accidentally leaving my phone at maximum volume. I felt Astro immediately stand to her feet and start to growl. It jolted me awake with crusty eyes that burned. I had stayed up a bit too late last night because I was studying for a final for physics class.

I groaned as I rolled myself over, hitting my phone blindly a couple of times before finally slamming the alarm off completely. Astro stared at me, her tongue hanging out of the side of her mouth as she panted.

"I know." I mumbled, pulling the blanket over my head as I closed my eyes for a minute. Mornings were always the hardest to get up, especially at six-thirty in the morning. I laid there for a few moments, contemplating my entire life while thinking about the day I had ahead of me.

When I finally got up, I started my morning routine as usual. Brushed my teeth, washed my face, and took Astro out for a walk. I always took her to the park across the road from my apartment. It was convenient and pretty—a match made in Heaven. It was the usual. Simple and sweet.

I seemed to constantly have a million thoughts racing through my mind in the morning—could have been fictional or non-fictional. Most of it was made up scenarios, though. Typically about me being able to sleep in for once in my life and get a restful eight hours of sleep. A girl could dream, right?

But this morning, I couldn't stop thinking about Harry. Nina and I hadn't seen him in two days and we were starting to get a little worried we may have scared him off. Was it something that we did? I did?

I felt bad that I went through his fridge. I should have known better, but he was drunk and I was just trying to be helpful by getting him a glass of water. Who knew that could've been such a bad move.

Not to mention the whole note thing was a bit weird. The way he was so defensive about me just holding it made me a little uneasy. I couldn't quite place my finger on what was so uncomfortable about it. Maybe it was the slight aggressive he displayed that made my body tense at the thought. I had never seen that side of him before and I hated it.

I tried to chalk it up to him being a guy—some guys really didn't like sharing their feelings. Maybe he was scared that I would make fun of him for the things he wrote on paper, but that wasn't me. I just hoped he knew that.

It also didn't give him the right to act that way towards me, but I still felt guilty regardless. I shouldn't have snooped, even if unintentional.

Astro's barks from outside pulled the attention away from my thoughts. I was grateful for the shift in concentration. I had a habit of doing that a lot—getting stuck in loops of my own thoughts. I wouldn't even realize it until much later when the sky's colors had changed without my knowledge. Luckily this wasn't one of those times. Thanks Astro.

I unlocked my apartment door, pushing the door open with my foot. Astro raced inside as she panted. She immediately went for her water bowl before I could even take her leash off. I chuckled to myself, closing the door. I gave her a pat on the head as I watched her tail pick up in speed from excitement, refusing to break from her water to look up.

"Such a good girl, you are." I cooed to her.

She didn't pay me any mind while I took her leash off and hung it up on the hook parallel to the door. I checked the time on my phone—I had around an hour before I needed to be in class, which meant I had thirty minutes to get dressed and be on my way.

I grabbed one of the iced coffees from the fridge, popping it open. I sipped it gradually as I walked towards my bedroom. Each sip reminded me why I preferred the coffee shop's more. It just wasn't the same, but it would do—even if just for the caffeine spike.

The door opened, revealing the mess I had last left it in. I had neglected it for so long that the clothes in the hamper were overflowing and my bed was covered in dog hair. The view made my nose scrunch with slight disgust. Thankfully I hadn't had guests over to witness it at least.

That was what I got for letting Astro sleep in my bed.

I couldn't help it though. Ever since I got her, she always slept in bed with me. I needed her more than ever. I hated to say that it was because of loneliness and moving far away from my home in Alaska, but Astro had always been there for me. Whether she was there through all my homesickness or general sadness, she got me through. She was my therapy dog, even if she technically wasn't registered. Even more so when I had to move away from my family. When I would wake up in the middle of the night, dazed and confused about where I was and it was too late to call my parents, Astro was there.

Don't get me wrong, I loved Yellowstone, but I also missed Alaska. I missed my mom and dad. Any person would miss them too if they were in my shoes. There had been so many nights that I stayed on the phone with my mom while she tried to talk me through how to cook her homemade casserole. It was such a comfort food for me and something that always made me feel at home.

But I kept burning it.

Every fucking time.

I checked the time once more and knew I had to be out of the door in a few minutes. I had already finished my iced coffee, successfully throwing it into the bin across the room. I hummed to myself with contentment, impressed by my aim that was hardly ever that lucky.

I put on some comfortable clothes. Anything other than comfortable would have made me angry at the world and I didn't need that. Not until I was awake for at least a little while longer. It wasn't going to be a long day at school today anyway. I only had three classes, then I had to head to the planetarium to help Professor Collins for a couple of hours.

But, I was secretly hoping that I would run into Harry at school so I could see if he was okay. I never got his phone number the night that I dropped him off at his house. I didn't think I would have needed it before then. I expected him to be back the next day, but that just wasn't the case.

I made sure to fill Astro's bowl full of food before leaving the house. After double locking the door, I started down the sidewalk towards the college. Yellowstone was a beautiful city and thankfully smaller than most. The college was only a few blocks away from my apartment.

I honestly didn't know why I even invested in a car when I constantly had to walk or get rides from Nina anyway. The extra money would definitely help if I just sold the piece of junk. All it did was sit there in the parking lot all day anyway. I could already feel the imaginary pats on my back by the reduce-reuse-recycle squad that would plaster their fliers across campus. At least there was some positive out of me not using it— and it also made for a really good excuse.

Driving took away my love for walking everywhere. If it was in town, I would much prefer to go by foot. When you're behind the wheel you can't take in all the beauty around you. Living in Yellowstone, I wanted to soak it all in. No matter how many times I saw it, I never got bored. It felt new every day. The familiarity never got boring— the sunsets never set the same way, the birds never cooed the same tunes, the leaves never fell the exact same way. It was always new if I wanted it to be.

When I got to college, I tried not to make it obvious that I was looking for someone or something, but I didn't think I did very well concealing it. Nina had a day off from her classes today, so I was stuck walking the campus alone. Walking by yourself and peering over every corner would look weird to just about anyone, but college kids didn't really care about what others were doing so maybe they didn't notice after all. I crossed my fingers that that remained true at least.

My eyes wandered to each face I saw. I even mentally noted how tall everyone was—just looking for that goofy grin that Harry had on his face all the time—but to no avail. I didn't see him at all. This was a huge college though, so he could have been anywhere. But, his classes should have been in the same building as mine.

Maybe he was just running late. Or maybe he was sick? Classes canceled?

I even walked by one of the classes I knew he took and glanced in, but nothing. He wasn't there either. I gave up. I surrendered to the thoughts of my own guilt. I probably fucked up royally and now he was avoiding me at all costs.

I pressed my body against the door of my classroom, a small huff leaving my lips. My eyes gazed around the room for a moment before I had found a seat in the back. I knew it was a bad day when I chose to sit all the way in the back.

It was like a sign hanging around my neck saying 'Don't bother me.'

It was safe to say I wasn't very attentive in class. My mind was too busy in other places. Professor Collins would ask questions that I already knew and he would look at me expectantly, but I instead stared at him with pure disinterest. I didn't even bother to pretend to be engaged; I kept my gaze out the window as I watched students pass by the windows. Little sparks of hope ran through me as I would see a matching feature of Harry, but on someone else's body.

The professor knew something was up because I was never like that in class. Not unless I was overly homesick or getting my ass kicked by some kind of emotional slump. In those days I typically wouldn't show up at all though.

Most of the time I could just hold my own.

After class, I didn't stay to talk to the professor like I usually did. I grabbed my shit and left in a hurry. I still had a couple more classes to go to before I went to the planetarium.

This day just wouldn't give— dragging on and on.

Classes went by so slowly. I didn't know why. Maybe it was because I was on a mission in my head to see where Harry was. I tried to go over everything in my head that could've gone wrong that night. The only thing that I could possibly think of was me being snoopy.

This was probably all my fault.

Who knows? I wish I did.

Per usual, I arrived at the planetarium on time with a fresh cup of coffee in hand, my tote bag hanging off my shoulder and my sunglasses pushed into my hair. I took a sip of my drink as I pushed through the doors, scanning around the room in front of me. The first morning's coffee buzz didn't last like it needed to, and I was desperate for that spark of life that had yet to break through.

The planetarium was already filled with people. We hadn't been this busy since the last meteor shower—it seemed like every time something happened in the sky, people ran to us to find out more. We weren't complaining. I was just happy to be able to give people the information they had been looking for. It was also just fun. I loved every bit of it.

Stepping back towards the booth, I put my tote bag underneath the desk and set my coffee on one of the coasters.

"Hey." I whispered over to Professor Collins. He hummed over at me, fixing his papers.

"Hello, lovely to see you today." He started, poking his tongue to his cheek. "You okay today?"

I teetered on figuring out if I wanted to delve into that or not. Ultimately, I chose not to. When I looked at him, he was staring down at my shaky hands. Guess that caffeine was kicking in more than I thought.

"Yeah, I'm fine—Hey, where's Harry at?" I quickly spoke, concealing my hands back into my lap.

He looked at me in confusion, tilting his head as a chuckle left his lips. "Mm. He's not working today, actually. He only works on Mondays and Tuesdays. Why?"

"Just wondering." I hummed, looking down at the show we had planned out today. I was working the screening while Professor Collins spoke over it. This was entirely too much fun to be bummed out over Harry. I barely knew the guy anyway. Plus he was weird.

I worked my shift as usual. It was an okay day, all in all. After I left the planetarium, I went home. Astro bombarded me at the door like she always did, but it made me so happy knowing that someone was waiting for me to get home. Not once had she ever changed in that way— it was like seeing me for the first time in years every night I returned.

I walked her in the park while I waited for Nina to come over. She pulled me along the sidewalk, instructing me where to go. We had done this so many times; I had full faith that she knew where she was taking us.

Nina and I made sure, no matter what else was going on in our lives, that we still would have dinner nights. So, she was on her way over to cook with me. She was in charge of the food while I was in charge of the drinks. A nice glass of red wine sounded the best, so I grabbed the first one I saw.

I was really exhausted after a long day of my brain running me ragged, but Nina was always so warm to be around. She always knew how to cheer me up, even without trying.

I stared up at the sky as Astro ran around me, the stars twinkling and shining in space. For a moment, it made me think of Harry. It sparked memories from the first time I met him in that field—the flash of light, the shooting stars, the planetarium.

I couldn't even think about my favorite things without him clogging himself along with them. Great.

I was specifically taken back to the specific memory of me and him sat together at the planetarium while he gazed at the stars shown during the show. The way his hand would pop up at times to tell me he knew what star was what. His eyes would light up with every slide shown above, causing the reflections to twinkle in his eyes.

He was so much like me and I didn't realize that until I lost contact with him. I think I was growing to miss his goofy personality.

I stood from the grass, patting my leg to get Astro's attention. She ran over to me, her tongue hanging out the side of her mouth as her tail wagged.

"Good girl." I smiled down at her, grabbing her leash as we walked back across the street to my apartment. I filled her bowl up with water and food before walking into the kitchen to pull out the different supplies we would need for tonight.

My phone buzzed, bringing my attention to it as I looked down at my wet hands. I sighed out, looking around to find a towel. Unfortunately, I had forgotten to grab one.

"Siri, answer." I said loudly, and the phone answered the call. I hit the speaker with my elbow, my dripping hands raised in the air as I continued to hunt for a clean towel. I resorted to wiping them on my jeans. "Hello?"

"Hey, I'm outside your door. Open up, bitch!" Nina said excitedly. I chuckled, shaking my head as the call dropped and I walked to the closet door, grabbing a hand towel so I would not share the same fate later.

I walked to the door, lapping up the last droplets on the cloth. When I opened the door, Nina stood there with a pizza box in each hand, shaking it around for a moment.

"Surprise! I got us some food!" She smiled wide, walking into the living room. "I thought, why cook? I'll just pick up some pizza."

"You're so sweet." I gaped, shutting the door with my foot before following her to the living room. I threw myself lazily onto the couch, letting my body relax against the cushions. "Quick question, have you seen Harry at all? Around school?"

"Hmm... I haven't seen him since the party. Was he okay, by the way? That was totally weird what happened..." Nina frowned, opening the pizza box. "That girl felt so bad. She really thought she did something wrong."

"I really don't think it's a big deal." I nibbled my lip, grabbing a piece of pizza as I took a few bites out of it. After I swallowed, I turned my body towards Nina. "You know, I think I may have freaked him out a bit..."

"Oh, god. What did you do?" Nina covered her mouth as she chuckled, chewing on the bites she just took. "Did you guys sleep together? Did you ask him to piss on you or something?"

"Eww, what? No. Nina—Jesus Christ." A laugh erupted from me, sinking back into the couch as I sighed. "No. He—he didn't have any food. Or, like.. any cups or plates. Swear. He had one cup."

"Oh?" Nina's face contorted in confusion, her lips pursed. "Well, he said he just moved here, didn't he? I'm sure he will get something for himself soon. I wouldn't worry about it. Living that broke college student life maybe, eh?" She chuckled under her breath, nudging me in the shoulder for my own laugh to come out.

"I guess." I mumbled, tapping my finger against my knee slowly. A smile poked through from her attempt at comforting.

I looked up at the TV. There was another rerun of Rupaul's Drag Race that played across the screen. Nina and I both loved this show. It was almost a ritual that we had to watch at least one episode on our dinner nights.

"Sharon Needles, man." Nina pointed her pizza at the screen. "I'm telling you. She's my dream woman."

"That's so weird coming from you. Sharon Needles is the opposite of you." I laughed out, scrunching my face as I ate the rest of my pizza. I was so full. We still hadn't even touched the wine yet.

"Baby, just ‘cause I got flowers in my hair doesn't mean I can't kick it with the goths." She picked at the strands of her matching puffs of hair atop her head slowly, tilting her head with a big smile. "Plus, I'm open to all types of people. You know that."

For the rest of the night we drank our wine and commented on our favorite drag queens while cutting up about prior things that had happened at the party that night, too. I was pretty sure we covered pretty much any possible topic that swam around in either of our heads.

I ended up falling asleep on the couch around ten o'clock that night, and Nina woke me up to let me know she was leaving and would lock the door behind her.

I didn't bother to get up. I just grabbed the throw blanket that was on top of the couch and wrapped myself around it and went back to sleep.

Today was an exhausting day, but I knew that tomorrow would be a lot better.

I was full of hope that I would see Harry again.

NEXT UPDATE: 03/01/22

a/n: i know this is a shorter chapter w/o harry interacting so i hope you guys aren’t too mad! (🤞) we just really wanted you guys to see the inner turmoil that his absence left aurora. we gotta let everyone get to know our baby aurora, too !!! but don’t worry, we’ve got some fun tricks up our sleeves 😏

[daisylore-au]

The Revival Event - Day 4, Part 5

everyone voted for 1 - to call for help!! guess it’s the only Real choice, right?

warnings: dereality, body horror, c!george neg (but it’s not Really Him and also is just a manifestation of daisy’s biggest fear :’) thought i’d include it anyway just in case lol)

Daisy calls for help.

Nobody comes.

The Thing jeers. “You didn’t think anyone would actually want you, did you?” It asks, words dripping from its mouth. Its voice crawls over Daisy and leaves her shuddering and shivering. “Come on, Daisy. Like I said, you’re more trouble than you’re worth. Always asking questions people don’t want to answer. Always upsetting people. You know it’s just a matter of time before your dad leaves you. Before everyone leaves you.”

Daisy shrinks. “That’s not true,” she says, but her voice is small, “Dad loves me.”

“You remind him of everything he wants to avoid.” The Thing’s Voice shifts into George’s again - it’s so startlingly realistic that it makes Daisy tear up again. “Why do you think I sleep so much? Why do you think people look at you weirdly when you start talking about the stupid Monster? Nobody likes you, Daisy. Nobody loves you.”

“Daisy, it’s not true,” Darian says, strained, “don’t listen to it.”

“Dream won’t love you any more if you bring him back,” the Thing laughs, “he’s going to hate you, Daisy Lore. They all will. Dream will come back, and everyone will hate you for bringing him back to life. And you know what? Your dad will hate you more than anyone. And-”

PAUSE.

��Aaaalright, that’s enough of that,” Wilbur says casually, “not a fan of an omnipotent Void bullying an eight year old kid, not exactly my favourite storyline. And the Undertale reference? Not a fan either. I mean, huge fan of Undertale, huge, huge fan. Big fan of Sans. Love his whole meta-game thing. If I ever meet him, I’m going to beat the shit out of him for all the puns he makes. But that quote... You call for help-”

Wilbur’s eyes glimmer in the darkness. Sometimes, he seems like he’s part of the Void rather than a separate creature.

“But nobody came. You know it, right? Don’t think it holds any place in this story. Not if you all want a happy ending.”

He gets to his feet from his little curled-up position, and stretches lithely.

“I know I said I wouldn’t interfere if she pressed the button, but I’ve always been a bit of a liar. I can’t help myself. Besides,” he adds, and for a fraction of a second, something fleeting and genuine seizes his expression, “I think I owe it to someone to save these two. Small price to pay, isn’t it?”

You feel that maybe he’s thinking about Tommy when he says this.

"Anyway!” If Wilbur had hands, you get the feeling he would have clapped them. “Let’s meddle a little bit, will we? Let’s go back... Hmmm... couple of minutes...”

PLAY.

Daisy calls for help.

It comes in the form of a one block tall cat.

The Thing wearing George’s face stops still at the sight of the cat, and its expression contorts. “You,” it rasps, “Wilbur Soot. You’ve been a thorn in my side for a while now.”

“I try.” Wilbur is smug and unafraid. “I mean, at the end of the day, you’re not even real. Just a void, aren’t you? Just a big old fucking void. Nothing special. Nothing amazing. You’re actually quite boring.”

The Thing, or the Void, begins stretching, and when it stretches, it begins changing, too. Daisy and Darian, in mute fear, stare at the creature as it morphs, and in front of them, becomes a man, no older than thirty, with dark brown hair and a uniform and watchful dark eyes. It seems to unsettle Wilbur, who pauses, genuinely thrown off.

“Very fitting,” the Thing muses, “that the thing you fear most is yourself.”

Wilbur isn’t smug anymore. He still isn’t afraid, though, and when his tail stands up, flicking to one side, Daisy knows it’s out of anger. 

“Very fitting,” Wilbur parrots, “that you think that’s going to stop me from helping them. Darian?”

Darian, who had been watching the whole exchange in frightened admiration, stiffens. “Yeah?”

Wilbur doesn’t turn to look at him. “No matter what you hear,” he tells him, “you and Daisy keep running, and don’t look back. I’ll hold it off for a bit. You understand me?”

“Are you sure?” Daisy says, anxiously, even as the Thing begins morphing again - the blue revolutionary coat turns brown and ripped, the wrinkles on its face more pronounced, mingling with dirt, a cigarette hanging from its mouth. “We don’t want you to get hurt either-”

“Your dad would have made the fucking worst Vice President the server would’ve ever seen,” Wilbur tells her sincerely, “tell him that if I don’t make it out of here.”

The Thing leers. “You-”

Wilbur turns only to smirk at Darian, before raking his claws down the Thing’s front. Shadow billows from it, and the thorny ropes biting into Daisy and Darian’s limbs dissipate into oily nothing.

Daisy is barely on her feet before Darian is grabbing her arm and dragging her in the direction of a swirling smoking portal behind the Thing and Wilbur. “Come on!” Darian roars over the slowly building hum of the portal. “We have to leave!”

“What about Wilbur?” Daisy yells. “We can’t leave him!”

Darian glances back to his cat, and momentarily looks distraught, but takes a deep breath. “He’ll be fine,” he calls back, “I trust him. Let’s go!”

It’s all Daisy has to go on. Listening to her friend, she squeezes his hand tightly, and starts running, ignoring the yowling and snarling from behind her. She doesn’t want to turn and see the fight. 

And then, just as they get to the portal, it splutters, trembles. Daisy and Darian stumble to a halt as the portal splits into two - it’s clear it wants each of them to head through a portal, and split up.

Darian’s hand tightens in hers, unsure. “What do we do?” He calls. “Your call! I’ll do what you think is best!”

Daisy hovers, torn between the two. Do they head through one portal? Or do they split up and both head down a portal each?

------

fifteen minutes to choose what daisy should decide !

1. STICK TOGETHER.

2. SPLIT UP.

[storydays]

Season 1, Episode 1,P1

You snickered as you teased Oogie with an apple over his head, making him do a barrel roll in the air, startling the Airbender family into waking up. "Well, glad to see your awake, cause we're about thirty minutes out." "(Y/N), you haven't been up all night again, have you?" Pema asked, a frown on her lip as Tenzin took the reigns and gently blasted you in the back with your crazy cousins. "I-I couldn't sleep." You began handing out the dumplings you and Pema had made. Tenzin sighed as Meelo was suddenly biting his head, with a sudden burst of energy as Ikki began asking constant questions, making the 30 minutes seem even longer.

"Jinora, Ikki, mind helping me out?" You asked with a grin, at the girl's excitement. They loved doing your hair. You sighed softly, as they got to work fixing your hair so it was similar to a water tribe style, with braids placed here and there, before finally putting it in a low pony tail at the base of your neck. Finally, the village was in sight. And you know that waiting for you was your dear Grandmother. You grinned as you used your glider to reach her before your cousins, hearing your cousins cry out in annoyance. "Hey, no fair!" They cried indignantly. Your laughter echoed in their ears as you flew down where you sensed Gran-Gran's energy. Her blue eyes sparkled as she watched you land in front of her.

Gran-Gran laughed joyously as you brushed the snow off your body, flinching as the snow melted against your skin. "Aah! It's colder than a witches tit out here!" You cry out, dropping your glider, in exchange for getting the water out of your clothes, before smiling crookedly at your grinning grandmother. "Sorry for the language, Gran." She chuckled before engulfing you into a hug. "Your grandfather used to say much worse." You took a step back, sliding your glider into the holder on your back. She gently brushed your bangs back, smiling at your bright blue arrows. You had earned your arrows when you were 6 years old, due to your discovery of creating ice puppets out of drawings. 

You had also earned the title of Waterbending Master and Healer when you were eight. 

Making your family proud of you. 

 "Gran-gran, are you trying to make me face Ikki and Jinora's wrath?" You asked, hiding your arrows again. You didn't like the attention that your arrows brought you, and Korra wasn't aware of you gaining them either. You wanted to see how long until she realized it. Which surprised you, as you've been friends with her since you were a year old and she was just born. 

You snap to attention when your grandmother started to speak, "You've grown into a handsome young man, (Y/N). You're strong and goofy like your father, but agile and gentle like your mother." You smile, rubbing your thumb over your father's ring, and your other hand grasped your mother's pendent underneath your airbender robe. It was one of the material things you had left of your mom, but the memories you made with her, are things no one or anything can replace or change.

Your moment was ruined when Oogie landed with a grunt. You could hear Uncle Tenzin talking over Ikki's chipper voice. "Yes, Ikki. As I have been telling you for the last 15 minutes, we are finally here." The three kids cheered as the girls used air scooters to slide down the bison's tail to get off, following their father, who walked tiredly over to you two. "Hello, Mother. I can't tell you how happy I am to see you. Please help me." Tenzin glared at you as snickered. "Hmph, thanks for the help, (Y/N)." The older Waterbender chuckled, as she picked up her youngest grandson. "Unhand me, strange woman!" Meelo cried, flapping around, in Katara's grip.

"That's our grandmother, Meelo." You chuckle as Meelo blush and flipped out of the Waterbending master's hands, and over to play with Ikki as Jinora ran over. "Gran-Gran, I've been reading all about your old adventures. I've been dying to ask you! What happened to Zuko's mom?" She asked clasping her hands together, looking at Katara expectantly. "Well, Jinora, it's an incredible tale--" You didn't even blink as Ikki suddenly hopped in front of Katara's view. "Gran-Gran, you look old! How old are you? And why is it so cold in the South Pole? Can we make a campfire and all huddle around it and tell scary stories and make snowmen? And then can we make the snowmen move with waterbending and chase us? Wouldn't that be fun? Huh, wouldn't it?" You patted Jinora, who was clearly disappointed and sadden she wouldn't get her question answered yet.

You then used waterbending to make an Ikki snowgirl and began moving her in a circle, before laughing loudly. "Sure was fun to me!" You mocked, before the airbender kids decided to chase you. "Wait! My bad!" You cry out as they began gaining on you. Tenzin chuckled before noting Pema slowly sliding down Oogie's back, before rushing over to her. "Pema, let me help you." He grabbed her hand in his, and braced her back against his hand. "Careful now, careful." "Stop doting on me. I'm not helpless, I'm just pregnant." She chided, looking down lovingly at her bump. She loved her husband, but this was her fourth pregnancy, you'd think he'd calmed down by now.

She smiled when her mother-in-law moved forward to hug her. Backing away slowly, Katara placed a hand on her bulging stomach. "The baby's strong. I see another airbender in your future. Pema frowned slightly, before speaking up, startling Katara and Tenzin. "All I want is one child like me. A nice non-bender, who doesn't blast wind in my face every five seconds." Katara chuckled knowingly, as Tenzin pulled at his beard thoughtfully. "Mommy, look!" Meelo called, making the adults look at them. 

Meelo was a snowman, Jinora was air-skating, and Ikki was building a misshapen snowman. "I'm a snowbender!" The child twirled around, sending snow onto Pema, who rose an eyebrow at her son's antics. Turning to the giggling Waterbender, she asked,"Were Tenzin and his siblings this crazy when they were kids?" Deeming it was safe, you landed next to your Gran-Gran, as your grandmother began speaking. "Kya and Bumi certainly were.But Tenzin has always been rather...serious." Katara winked at you and a giggling Pema."Mother..please." Tenzin stated monotone, before peeking behind you with a well hidden gin. 

You were well aware of the girl behind you, but didn't react until her feet left the ground, and your hands moved on their own. You created a snow beanbag chair that caught the surprised girl. You use airbending to hover over a pouting waterbender. "Heyy Korra. " You grinned at her pout. "Aw, how'd you know I was behind you?" She asked, as you gently let her down, and hugged her properly. "I could sense your movement in the air." You let go as she huffed jokingly. "Korra..look at you, so big and strong. You've grown into quiet the young Avatar." Tenzin placed his hands on her shoulders and looked down at her with a proud smile. "Master Tenzin, I'm so glad you're here!" She started, with an eager grin. 

You frown at your uncle's wince. "Yes, well..." He hesitated before looking at Pema, who pushed him forward. "You're going to have to tell her sooner or later." "Wait, tell me what?" Korra asked, her excitement gone. "You're not staying, are you?" Gran-Gran spoke up. Tenzin sighed sadly, as Korra wore an heartbroken expression."I'm afraid not, we're only staying the night. Then I must return to Republic City." "But no, you're supposed to move here..You're supposed to teach me!" "I'm sorry, Korra. Your Airbending training is going to have to wait." Tenzin said solemnly. 

--That night--

"So, how long until you're ready to teach me?" Korra asked at dinner. "A week, a month?" "It could be much longer." You popped a dumpling in your mouth as Korra continued to ask questions. "I don't understand. Why are you making me wait?" "I have a responsibility to Republic City. I'm one of its leaders, and the situation there is very unstable right now. "But you also have a responsibility to teach me. Believe me, I'd be happy to find another airbending tea-" Korra stopped, and looked at you. You were currently feeding your little companion hiding underneath the table. 

Sensing eyes on you, you looked up to find everyone looking at you. "What? Nevermore isn't hurting anyone." Everyone smiled at your bliss. "I didn't even know you brought Nevermore, (Y/N). Where was she hiding?" The baby dragon crawled into your lap, begging for more. "Wait, what if (Y/N) stays here and teaches me the basics of the spiritual side?" "Huh?" You question as your uncle shot the idea down quickly. "No, (Y/N) has his own responsibilities to handle. I wish there were another way." Frustrated, Korra stormed out into the cold, and you counted to 10 before following her with Nevermore, chirping on your shoulder. 

You found Korra talking to Naga angrily. "...don't understand it, Naga!" She didn't notice your presence until you cleared your throat, sensing she calmed down enough to listen to logic. "Oh, hey, (Y/N). How long have you been standing there?" She asked, sitting on a rock. "Long enough. I didn't come here to pick sides, but I do have a suggestion." You knelt in front of her, and gave a soft smile. "Sneak away, tomorrow morning after we leave. If you keep waiting for permission, you're never going to get anything done. You'll be known as Korra, the Safe Avatar." You smirked to yourself, knowing she was thinking over your words. "See ya in the morning,Korra." 

You left her, before walking to the edge of the water, closed your eyes and slowly began dancing, moving your arms and hips, imitating the waves. The ocean began glowing colors, matching your aura, turning different shades of purple. You were surprised to see this new color; whenever you did this, the water stayed the various shades of blue. "Your aura has changed, child." You smile, seeing your Gran Gran standing behind you with a smile. "Hey Gran, I was just--"(Y/N), you don't need to explain yourself to me." She sat down, and patted the snow next to her, and your curled into her side. 

She began stroking your nose with her pinky finger, and humming softly, just like your mother used to. "Rest now. You've got quiet an adventure ahead of you." You smile and listen and somehow find yourself in a dreamless sleep.

--The Next Morning--

You kissed your grandmother's cheek goodbye, and hopped onto Oogi as Tenzin gently commanded him. "Oogi, yip, yip." The bison groaned lowly, before taking off. Your cousins continued waving goodbye to the South Pole, but you caught Korra's eye.  You smirk, before quickly sending a note into her hand. She tilted her head, curious as to what you wrote, and there in your fancy neat handwriting, was a simple: 

'When you come to Republic City, look for the pro-bending gym, and find two guys named Mako and Bolin, and enjoy the show. 

                                                                                                              Catch ya later, (Y/N).'