#in the hopes that they will grow softer...because you deserve a brighter world too (doe eyes) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

author-morgan · 5 years ago

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Title: Dread and Destruction

Pairing: Deimos!Alexios x Fem!Reader

Rating: T

Summary: You left the Cult of Kosmos, it’s time he does too.

THE FEVER BREAKS but you still wake in a cold sweat surrounded by darkness. A dull throbbing in your leg returns. The poisoned arrow leaves its mark on you and the minds of the Cultist. You’re no longer immortal to them –your usefulness has run its course.

Out of the darkness, a flickering light appears and grows brighter –larger and reflects off golden armor. Deimos. You’re both relieved and terrified to see him. "They're going to kill you," he says and you draw in a deep breath, looking around the prison for a weapon. You couldn't fight him though, not in this state. Deimos throws down a pack and dark cloak next to you and kneels. You lean back, eyes meeting his –waiting for him to draw his blade to do the Cult’s bidding. "You have to leave," he tells you.

Your brows knit together. Deimos shoves the hem of your stained chiton up and takes a strip of linen, laying it over the wound on your upper thigh and wrapping it tightly. You can’t help the chill that creeps down your spine at the feel of his rough fingers against your heated skin.

You want to ask why he is going to such lengths to help –deep down you already know, but you want to hear it in his own words. Deimos pulls you off the ground and leads you deeper into the cave, past the Cult of Kosmos’s meeting chamber. The path grows narrower and then turns upward. Star and moonlight filters through a dense canopy covering the hidden entrance. A horse is waiting –your sword and bow already secured to the saddle. You turn back to Deimos. "What about you?" The cult would not let him act without punishment –demigod or not.

Deimos shakes his head. "No questions-" he motions to the horse "-go."

You and he are kindred souls, bound by misfortune. Trembling, you surge forward, pressing your lips against his. He seizes your waist, drawing you closer. You’ve always been his source of rapture away from the dread and destruction. Your hand caresses the side of his face, following the scar below his eye –you’d put it there yourself years ago. Stepping back, you mount the pale mare and look back over your shoulder. “I’ll find you,” you promise. Fate had always led you back to one another.

FREE FROM THE Cult’s control, you seek retribution for the years of pain endured under their heel. Freedom makes you see you’d only ever been a puppet in their schemes and Deimos is still their pawn. They’d given you training and praised, called you the daughter of gods, but never once thought what should happen if you went rogue.

Perched in the rafters of a temple –you wait. You’d always been the more patient one. Worshippers rise and flee when he enters. The Cultist kneels, placing a coin at the feet of Plutus in offering. You move in the shadows, then pounce.

Midas slumps against the altar, hand clawing at the open gash on his neck –prayers unheard. Before the gurgling stops, you kick his body over and drive a bronze dagger through his heart. The last thing Midas sees is you smiling with blood on your face. Rising from the slain Cultist, you wipe the blood from the dagger in a stained cloth –not realizing you aren’t alone. The point of a blade digs into your back. "Tell me why I shouldn't kill you right now." The voice is familiar. The Eagle Bearer.

“Because I just did your work for you,” you remark, glancing down at Midas’s lidless eyes.

“Try again,” Kassandra sneers.

You sigh, dropping the dagger you’d had pressed into her side. “I left the Cult,” you tell her. The Eagle Bearer steps back and you present her with the golden artifact that belonged to Midas. She does not sheath the broken spear though. "And I can help you bring them to their knees.” You’d been hunting Cultist and their accomplices like animals. Midas was the thirteenth to fall on your blade.

“I saw you with my brother,” she hisses, disbelieving.

Though before you can say anything else a civilian enters the temple and screams after seeing you and Kassandra standing over the corpse of Argos’s banker. Soon after soldiers and guards are shouting in the distance. "Your brother is the only reason I'm alive," you admit –the thought of Deimos softening your expression. "I suggest we leave quickly."

Kassandra lowers her spear, reluctant and you flee. "Malákas!" The Eagle Bear curses, giving pursuit before she is found standing over the body of Midas –she doesn’t need another mercenary looking to collect the bounty on her head.

WAVES ROCK THE Adrestia to and fro. A lit brazier separates you and Kassandra. Since deciding to work together, five more cultists have fallen, but now it is time for answers that did not come from the dying. The Eagle Bearer demands answers and you offer them freely. "Chrysis always took children in pairs," you explain. "My mother abandoned me the same night yours was told Alexios was dead." Fate had brought them together, just as Chrysis said the Pythia ordained.

"We grew up together. Trained together. Fought together-" the briefest of smiles flash across your lips "-we were unstoppable." People feared the very mention of your names, of the things you could do. Together you and Deimos could bring cities to their knees in a night, could shape the tides of war. Still, despite the titles and praise, you were only mortal. "But we were sloppy sometimes and that came with punishment."

Kassandra clasps her hands together, feels something twist in her stomach. Chrysis will die for the things she'd done. You glance down at the scars on your arms then look to the heavens. "We were taught to expect pain." The world is pain. At first, it was lashes, then brands –if a Child of Kosmos ran out of room for a mark they were discarded.

Though for Deimos and you, the Cult had to become creative in their punishments. A brand did nothing to someone who did not cry out in agony or beg for release. "What they found is they could hurt us more by hurting each other." The first time Deimos let a target escape their grasp, Okytos the Great had carved lines into your back and rubbed salt in the wound. Deimos swore he'd kill Okytos for that.

"What is he like?" Kassandra asks. Her little brother is a stranger to her.

You shrug. "Irascible and stubborn mostly." That tended to be the temperament of most men though, but Deimos is different. He brought the wrath of gods and was like a rock rising from the sea. "Even the Cultist fear him." He was a puppet for the Ghost of Kosmos, but sometimes he tested the length of his leash. There was a time when both you and he commanded the Sages and Adepts.

"He's always been different with me, though," you admit. There had always been a certain degree tenderness in his touches and gaze. Even his words were not harsh. "Softer." Is the word you use to describe the Deimos no one but you know.

The Eagle Bearer's face falls. "You love him." She's seen that type of expression before many times in her travels. It is the look in a woman's eyes as she sends her husband to war.

You look away. "I love the man he could be. I will help you hunt down every cultist crawling over the Greek world-" you rise to your feet. "-but know we're fighting for different people, Kassandra." You return below deck, hoping the memories would let you know peace for one night.

AT THE BACK of the cave is a man garbed in silver and gold armor. You recognize him at once, a few seconds later the Eagle Bearer does as well. Kassandra strides forward, but you grip onto her arm, pulling her back to the cave’s entrance. “Let me go alone,” you whisper. Deimos can kill you if that is what the Cult wishes, but Kassandra needs to live.

"Have you lost your fucking mind?" She hisses. "I can't leave you with him!" Your harsh glare makes her reconsider and alas she turns back, returning to the Adrestia.

You descend into the dim cave. Footfalls silent. “Deimos,” you breathe, pushing back the hood of your cloak. Almost two years have passed since you’d fled execution. Now fate brings you together again.

In two large strides, his hand wraps around your throat, pushing you back against the rock. "You left me," he shouts –voice echoing deep in the darkness.

You wrap a hand around his wrist –terrified of the moment when he decided to squeeze. Despite his strength, his face looks thin –tormented. Dark circles ring his eyes. The Cult chips away another piece of him –of his resolve. "You helped me leave," you tell him, breathing shallow.

His face twists, but he drops you and steps back –chest heaving in sync with yours. He’s dreamt of killing you for betraying him, leaving him, but all it takes is one look and he can’t do it. "They said you abandoned me," he grits out.

Rising, you take a step toward him. “I didn’t.” Your fingers brush over the scar on the back of his right hand. You can leave too." He still won’t look at you, but he doesn’t move when you slip your hand into his. "Come with me," you whisper. "The Cult has used us. Broken us." You had only been able to see the truth after leaving and though you were still on a path of vengeance, it was better than being a puppet. "We can be whole."

Deimos shakes his head, chuckling and turns back to face you. There was no going back, no leaving this life. "Not after the things we've done,” he says.

You let his hand go. "But do we not deserve the chance?" You ask, reaching out to touch the scar below his eye.

He knocks your hand away, knowing your touch would ruin him and bring more pain. "I will not listen to your lies," he snarls.

"Alexios." He lashes out, shoving you. Something in you back cracks as you hit the cave wall. "Don't use that name!" Deimos roars, shoulders shaking.

You sit up, closing your eyes and ignoring the pain. “It’s who you are,” you breathe, hands shaking. Your whole body feels as though it is shaking. You open your eyes. Deimos is crouched down before you, dark eyes full of pain and anger, but there is still a glint of the gentleness you’d known before. Your breath catches and takes that as a queue, kissing you.

You hesitate, mind racing. He may have been about to kill you. One last kiss before death. The cold bite of iron never comes. You lean into him and his anger subsides. His hands run down your arms, finding new scars. “Where have you been?” He asks.

"Searching," you shrug, then the briefest of smiles appears on your lips and makes Deimos want to kiss you again. "To discover who I truly am." You reach out toward the scar on his cheek again, this time he does not resist.

He leans into the touch, unable to admit to himself that he'd missed this. "I cannot leave,” he utters. You already knew that, though. "If they find out you're alive, they'll kill you.” You rest your forehead against his.

You nod, knowing well how the Cult of Kosmos operates. "I would expect nothing less.” Then something akin to fear appears in your eyes. "But what if they gave you the order?" You ask.

Deimos turns his head, swallows hard. "I-" he hesitates – the answer should have been easy, but it wasn't. "I couldn't," he whispers. The words should have brought you relief, but they did not.

You lift your hand to his cheek, bringing his troubled gaze back to you. “We are bound by fate,” you murmur, leaning forward. He grabs the back of your neck, closing the distance between you. You brace one hand on his breastplate, the other tangles in his hair. His kiss is bruising –a punishment in itself. Pulling away, you run your thumb over his lips. When you kiss him, it makes his heart ache and his body go weak. "The gods will always bring us back together," you tell him as you part, hands caressing both sides of his face.

You both rise. He has been away too long, the Cult will begin searching for him. Deimos grips onto your hands before you can leave the cave. "Stay out of my way, please." He doesn’t want to be faced with a decision he'd grow to regret.

You smile and Deimos knows a piece of your former self persists. "Only if you stay out of mine."

#Alexios #Deimos #Alexios x Reader #Deimos x Reader #Alexios Fanfiction #Deimos Fanfiction #Alexios Imagine #Deimos imagine #Assassin's Creed #Assassin's Creed imagine #Assassin's Creed Fanfiction #Assassin's Creed Odyssey #AC: Odyssey #my writing #okay but i really love the idea of Deimos having someone that grew up being controlled too and together they learn how to love #even if the cult doesn't approve they know they can't stop it or risk losing their weapons #also his leisurely strut in that gif is like super hot #and his back in and out of arm: HAWT #i'm not kidding when I say I'd let Deimos!Alexios do <i> anything </i> to me

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curiosity-killed · 4 years ago

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a bow for the bad decisions

canon-divergent AU from ep. 24 (on ao3)

There are seven paths through the mountain, and Wei Wuxian strikes off on one of his own. His fingers still twitch, itch, with the indignation and rage that had licked up his arms when the Wen prisoners were drug out in front of the targets. He draws in long breaths, tries to remember what it felt like to harmonize his qi with the rhythms of the air and the ground beneath him. It’s harder now, with resentment hissing where golden energy once sang. As he passes away from the rest of the participants, winding through the quiet wood, his heart steadies into an easier rhythm, and he can feel his shoulders loosen. “No mess,” he breathes out. He turns in a slow circle, more for the sake of movement than any surveying purpose. Energy winds restless and eager through his limbs, unsatisfied by the long walk up the hills. He’s tired and antsy in a way he can’t wholly blame on the competition.

Since that night, since Jiang Cheng found out, he’s been trying to bully Wei Wuxian into getting more sleep, as if the problem is Wei Wuxian not wanting to rest. It’s sweet, almost. For all that the world has hardened and sharpened Jiang Cheng, it’s nice to know he’s still naïve in some ways.

The problem isn’t that Wei Wuxian doesn’t want to sleep. He’s been walking around half-exhausted since he stopped using resentment to prop him up during the war. He would love to sleep if it weren’t for the screaming, clawing, raving hands that scrabble across his throat and rip into his chest every time he tries. He’s no longer sure how much of it is from the seal and how much he carries on from the Burial Mounds, wraiths as a reminder of his bargain. Either way, the only way to quiet their wailing is to wait until he’s so exhausted oblivion takes him out at the knees or to drink until everything is sodden and soft-edged. With Jiang Cheng and shijie’s new campaign to ensure he takes better care of himself, he’s been cut off from either option. Instead, he’s left dreading evening, skin crawling at the thought of lying down. It leaves him brittle, dry-edged, like a leaf turning crisped and fragile in autumn. He perches on a fallen tree and sets to playing. It’s a gentle song, softer and brighter than any he played in the war. Monsters like music, it turns out, as long as it’s played right, as long as it sounds like an invitation. He lures them on and into Yunmeng Jiang’s nets and stops when there’s just enough, when he feels the pressure on the mountain ease just-so. He could draw all the creatures of the mountain into their nets. He could lure the dead from their graves and send them dancing all the way to Jin Guangshan’s bedside in the middle of the night. With the seal humming against his chest, there is so very little he cannot do. But – Jiang Cheng doesn’t want a mess. So. Lowering Chenqing, he settles back into his perch and exhales. The air is sweet up here, purified by the trees and the living things growing through the soft soil. Closing his eyes briefly, he drinks it in and lets the sunlight dapple his skin with warmth. He’s tempted to fold his legs beneath himself and meditate in the afternoon quiet. As a kid, he always struggled with their meditation classes, too aware of the rest of the disciples sitting around him and constantly tempted to open his eyes, to check how much time had passed, if he was doing it correctly, if there was something he was missing. But outside of their classes, floating in the cool lake waters or sitting alone in the grasses, he had slipped into it like the softest sea. Listening to the gentle murmurs of the universe, feeling the expanse of his own breath, has always settled him. The way the rhythms of his own body echo those of the tide, the wind, the steady earth, makes him feel small in a way nothing else does: like he is only a piece of a whole, a bud on an endless tree, rather than a child running, bleeding, from hungry dogs. There’s a noise, the quietest scuff of feet on the road, and he shifts, opening his eyes. Lan Zhan walks carefully between the shadows, upright and alone. Sunlight catches on the silver of his hairpiece, the summer blue of his robes. A smile pulls at Wei Wuxian’s lips, instinctive, reflexive, and he straightens up to call out to him. Unbidden, Zewu-jun’s words return to him. I hope you will not be so selfish to the people who care about you. Back when they were young, before, he and Lan Zhan were an even match. Strong enough to challenge each other, to hold each other up. There was a reason they’d worked so well on the hunt for the yin iron. Now, though — how can Wei Wuxian possibly be Lan Zhan’s match? Lan Wangji, Hanguang-jun, the righteous and indomitable. His stomach twists sickly, grief and regret and hurt coiling deep in his low belly. It would be selfish, to try to keep Lan Zhan, to try to bind him to his own dead weight. Steps sound steady up the slope toward him, and Wei Wuxian barely scrambles to his feet before Lan Zhan is there, directly in front of him. “Ah Lan Zhan,” he greets, trying to steady his voice with some of his old lightheartedness, “I heard you were tired of mending your family’s principles in Cloud Recesses.” “I made some progress composing the music score,” Lan Zhan says, “and I wanted to share it with you to see how it works.” Disappointment slides bitter down Wei Wuxian’s throat. Of course he’s only interested in fixing Wei Wuxian, as if he’s ever been anything but a problem. He taps Chenqing against his open palm. “Lan Wangji, who do you take me for? Can’t you leave me alone?” he complains. He’d rather be left on his own than have to deal with this constant nagging reminder of what he’s thrown away. “Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says stubbornly, “who do you take me for?” He swallows, suddenly caught by the earnestness in Lan Zhan’s voice. That bitter part of him, the teeth and claws he grew in the Burial Mounds, wants to bite back that Lan Zhan is nothing, that he is only a mythic hero just like everyone else thinks him and Wei Wuxian has no need of his concern, his presence. Hanguang-jun, it wants to say. I take you for Hanguang-jun, cold and aloof and empty. He can’t. As much as he could lash out and fight back in the war, it never really lasted that long. From that first night in Gusu, the first shuddering connection of his sword against Suibian’s sheath, Wei Wuxian has had a tether sewn into his soul, pulling him always back to Lan Wangji. Now, he breathes out and looks away. “I had once taken you as the one who knew me in this life,” he says. It falls from his lips like spring blooms, delicate and easily bruised. His whole self feels newly raw with the admission, as if he has opened himself to Lan Zhan’s inspection. “I still am.” His eyes flit up to Lan Zhan’s face, startled and unsure. There is no doubt in his amber eyes, no hesitance in his reply. In the face of that certainty, Wei Wuxian is left shaken, rocked. How? he wants to ask. How can Lan Zhan stay so firm in the tempest wake of Wei Wuxian? How can he answer so surely when Wei Wuxian has lashed him with rebuke and insult and distance? It is terrifying to feel that unwavering gaze on him, the weight of his conviction too much for Wei Wuxian’s exhausted shoulders. “Lan Zhan,” he says, because the words are now pressing to his lips, the confession budding on his tongue, “Lan Zhan, there’s something I need to tell you.” His brow tenses, just the faintest line of shadow between them, and Wei Wuxian knows he needs to say it even as he can’t fathom how to begin. It was easier with Jiang Cheng and shijie, when it came out by accident. Now that he’s had time to think and prepare, he finds himself with none of the right words. “There’s— I—” he starts, stumbles. He wants to make it easy, to grab Lan Zhan’s hand and press it against his chest over that gaping hollow gnawing beneath his skin. “Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan asks, swaying half a step closer. Before he can find any word or betray himself by reaching out, Wei Wuxian catches footsteps behind him and twists, tugging Lan Zhan with him. It’s instinct more than anything, paranoia the smallest cost of survival. Annoyance rears up when he catches Jin Zixuan walking alongside shijie, boasting about Lanling Jin’s hunts. Shijie looks miserable, eyes downcast and posture carefully correct. She deserves better than this, deserves someone who brings the smile out on her lips and the brightness into her eyes. Jin Zixuan deserves far more than a single punch to the face. “Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan chides, a hand on his arm, and he subsides with a scowl. He holds out until Jin Zixuan plants his foot firmly in his own mouth and shijie starts stammering, nerves catching up to her. It’s far more patience than he really owes the peacock, he thinks. “Wei Wuxian? Why do you keep showing up?” “I should be asking you that question,” Wei Wuxian snaps back. “Why did you stop her after she rejected you?” For all that he’s tried to respect shijie’s wishes in regards to this match, he can’t understand what she sees in the man. Every encounter Wei Wuxian has had with him, barring a few councils in the war, has further reduced his opinion. He’s less of a peacock and more of an ass draped in fine silk; no amount of gold or perfume can cover that stench. The rustle of his sleeves is all the warning he has before Jin Zixuan has drawn his blade, swinging it down toward Wei Wuxian. He presses back, straightening to better shield shijie, but before he can lift Chenqing, there’s a ringing retort as the blade connects with another, far more familiar. “Hanguang-jun?” Jin Zixuan demands, stepping back in surprise. Lan Zhan lowers Bichen but remains just in front of Wei Wuxian and shijie, as if he’s taken up the role of guard. Despite himself, Wei Wuxian is glad for his presence. Before any more can be said, before he can demand Jin Zixuan explain why he just drew a sword on an ally without provocation, there’s the sound of footsteps from either direction and a flock of descending Jin disciples. Wei Wuxian’s hand tightens briefly around shijie’s wrist in a wishful thought of just turning his back on all of them and walking away. “What happened? Zixuan, did Wei Wuxian cause you trouble again? I’ll deal with him,” one of the Jin cousins declares. He looks familiar in a way that means Wei Wuxian probably ought to know his name, but a cursory search turns up nothing in his memory, and he’s too irritated right now to try harder. “Wei Wuxian, what do you want? Why do you keep troubling Zixuan?” the man demands, shoving forward. Leaning back enough to breathe his own air, Wei Wuxian huffs out a breath and turns to face him fully. “Who are you?” he asks. Immediately, the younger peacock stiffens, all those gold feathers ruffling while Wei Wuxian waits with an eyebrow lifted. This is ridiculous. He just wanted to stop idiot Zixuan from bullying shijie and now this moron wants to take a swing. “How dare you not know who I am?” he blurts out. “Should I?” Wei Wuxian returns, breathing out a laugh. “You—!” He’s kept from drawing his own sword and waving it in Wei Wuxian’s face by Jin-furen’s arrival, along with her apricot-robed attendants. She crosses between the men as if she can’t see them, immediately reaching out for shijie’s hands. Wei Wuxian retreats half a step, lowering his gaze. Jin-furen’s always treated shijie well, cared for her like the daughter she wished she had. He’s glad of that, grateful someone else can see shijie for who she is and want to protect her. He just wishes she didn’t look at him the same way Madam Yu did: like he’s an animal brought in from the woods, something diseased masquerading as a pet that might bite at any time. “A-Li, why do you look upset?” she asks. “I appreciate your concern, Madam Jin, but I am fine,” shijie answers with a small smile. She’s not fine, Wei Wuxian wants to say, but he’d never shame shijie that way. Her eyes are still damp with tears that don’t quite fall, and her smile trembles a little. “Did my intractable son bully you again?” Jin-furen demands. She twists around to glare at Jin Zixuan. “Zixuan, what’s wrong with you? What did you promise me before leaving?” It is, Wei Wuxian will admit, a little satisfying to watch Jin Zixuan bow his head under his mother’s scolding. He holds himself on such an arrogant pedestal he ought to be reminded that the same dirt touches his shoes as everyone else’s. Beside Jin-furen, though, shijie has her head dipped and lips thinned in a way that signals embarrassment, her quiet retreat from the trouble she’ll blame herself for causing. Wei Wuxian steps forward and takes her wrist gently. “No matter what he promised, Jin-furen,” he says, “from today on, he and Yanli will no longer have any association with each other.” A little pull and shijie turns with him to leave. “Wei Wuxian! My aunt is your senior. How can you talk this way? Aren’t you being too proud?”

#mdzs #cql #the untamed #untamed fic #yunmeng siblings #wei wuxian #jiang yanli #accidentally wrote this entire chapter yesterday and it's almost 2k longer than intended :|#@me can you not?

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nicodemusprewett · 5 years ago

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❝ I know I shouldn’t do it, I just do it, and what you think’s got nothing to do with it. Before you were born, I was already sinning. It’s not because the light here is brighter and it’s not that I’m evil, I just don’t like to pretend. ❞ NICODEMUS PREWETT looks a lot like that muggle, LORENZO ZURZOLO, right? Only a SEVENTH YEAR student, that GRYFFINDOR student is sided with the WRAITHS. HE identifies as a CIS MAN and is a PUREBLOOD. [ BEE/BEATRICE, SHE/HER, 22, EST ]

hello !!!!!! i’m bee !!!!!!! i LOVE exclamation points, if you couldn’t tell !!!! i’m super duper stoked to be writing nico. he’s kind of the worst !!! i promise i’m a lot nicer than he is !!! and i also have memes !!!!! if you hit me with a like, i’ll come plot with you !!! also pls bear with me on this intro. there’s no rhyme or reason to it.

aesthetic: silk ties. tweed blazers. crystal glasses. lies that flow from lips like honey. a not-yet-crowned king. the glint of white teeth behind a feral smile. naive rage. a powerful glare. pressed shirts. expensive cologne. cigarette smoke clinging to your clothes, your skin. a need for fine things. lush champagne. a flair for the dramatic. a storming temper. unlimited grandiosity. chaos-touched. perfect but rotten. a disregard for consequence. boyish charm.

rambly bits: ( mentions of child abuse )

— godless hubris

how do you know yourself ? all too well. you know you are sure, you know you are just. there is nothing wrong with you — in fact, you are probably as close to perfection as a wizard could get, and you truly believe that. your blood is pure, you are beautiful, you are capable. you have no flaws ( — none that see the light of day, or that others know of ) and that’s remarkable. you are sure you are going to be known in perpetuity. your name will be next to the greatest the wizarding world has seen. where can you go from here ? only up.

— righteous fury

is your fury yours ? or did you learn it ? orion lestrange gave you attention, and to get more, you listened to what he said. you gleaned his anger until it tasted like your own. suddenly, there was no good or evil, wrong or right. it was simple: what the wraiths said went. you are not one to question something that will bring you recognition, something that will bring you power. you will do what needs to be done to ensure the wraiths ( rather, and deep down you know it isn’t and has never been done for the wraiths, but rather for yourself ).

— hapless melancholia

you remember seeing the weasleys in diagon alley once when you were young. you made a careless remark that one of the children looked quite a bit like yourself. your father gripped your chin in his fingers and made for sure certain that you knew you were nothing like them. you thought little of them again until you saw them on the platform to leave to hogwarts. there were joyous shouts and gleeful exclamations. there were multiple kisses and tight hugs — unexpectedly, your heart ached. you thought you would get over it. you thought you would grow up and grow out of these … childish longings. instead, time went on, these feelings grew stronger. you would wake up, your chest heavy, feeling a desperation for something you couldn’t buy — you wanted to be loved. you wanted soft words and softer touches. you deserved those things, didn’t you ? if those ruddy weasleys had it, why couldn’t you ? this grief over lack of affection all too often turns to anger. you shake and you snap so easily — really, it should be no wonder why no one loves you.

— dark souls, ( dark ? ) dreams

nature and nurture are curious things. your nature ensured that you crave love, but your nurturing ( — rather, your lack thereof ) ensured that you were cruel and callous. your father was a nasty man, harsh and severe, and you learned from him how to be the same. after all, your ploys for attention included acting like him the best you could. you copied his mannerisms, his way of speech. it never did catch you his fondness, but it did warp you into someone unkind and severe. despite being dark, your dreams are lighter than you are in the day. there is love and there is warmth, and things are gentle and soft. but when you wake, you scoff. you’re not sure if you are angry that a part of you is so weak, or if you are angry that you don’t have these nice things.

— bitter glory

heavy lies the head that wears a crown. that won’t be the case with you. you will wear it with ease when you are finally king, you will not be stifled. you have one goal: to be king. what will you do to get it ? anything. you will give up your chances of being loved, you will rid yourself of the chains of being loyal to anyone else. if that causes you ache, this loss, so be it. some things are worth more than others.

wraiths:

— there is something so satisfying about being in charge of all the student wraiths. it’s a taste, more like a tease, of the power he could have once he is out of school. it feels so right, so fitting. but part of the draw to the wraiths had been orion. nicodemus had hoped ( had prayed ) that the man would be something more than his parents had been, something more than anyone in his life had been. it didn’t happen, though. orion offered him power, and the taste of it melted into his tongue sweetly, and that’s what is keeping him involved. tl;dr: are the wraiths right ? who is he to say. is he going to keep with them for the time being because he’s a power-hungry baby megalomaniac ? yes, one hundred perfect.

— his code name is viticomus, meaning adorned or crowned with vine-leaves.

— he has a rune because selling your soul at the ripe age of sixteen ( maybe seventeen, tba ?? ) was totally a good idea for him ! one of the best he’s ever had ! it’s for occlumency and it’s on the nape of his neck under his hair.

prophecy:

— the final betrayer. what does that mean ? nicodemus has wondered but he refuses to say anything certain to anyone. there are seemingly countless people he could betray. orion. his prewett relatives. himself. it leaves a strange taste in his mouth, wondering what it could mean. he doesn’t suppose he wouldn’t betray orion — for all the man had taught him, nicodemus still didn’t have the thing he wanted most — and should circumstances be right, it would be a hard choice. and the prewetts ? it could be argued that he’s already betrayed them, taking the label and beliefs of wraiths. but the last option worries him the most. it would be so easy. give up the things he wants, subject himself to a life that isn’t quite fulfilling.

plot arc:

— nicodemus knows that power is the key to adoration. now at the top of the wraiths, or at the very least, of the students ( maybe some of the adults, or at least in his mind, he is ), the lust for more is nearly palpable. he doesn’t just want it — he needs it. if he isn’t to get it, what has it all been for then ? he cannot wait for the respect, he cannot wait until his name strikes feeling into the heart of those who hear it. only then, will he be satisfied ( —or so he thinks ).

more rambles, less structure:

— can i just say: the duality of man ??? the lust for power, the need for love. these things typically don’t play together. for those who want power, they sacrifice love because the respect and fear they command replace it. sometimes being loving doesn’t command power. nico ( a note: no one calls him nico. it’s too informal, it’s too plebian, but for my sake while writing this intro, i will call him nico ) doesn’t quite understand this. he wants to be on top ( a need for a crown is overwhelming, and he’s only just begun tasting what kinghood is like, glints of power in his hands ) but he also wants to be loved. but does he know what love is ? probably not. he knows it’s in how you care for another person, a feeling that wells up in your chest, but i’m not sure he really knows how to love someone. he knows what it is to want and to lust, but love ? he’s never had it ! he wouldn’t know love if it smacked him in the face ! my poor emotionally-stunted, morally-skewed boy ! ( also i will acknowledge: the wraiths ? bad. nico ? Bad. not good people. not people you should aspire to be ! )

— and let’s talk about the weasleys ! what does he feel when he see them ? anger. jealousy. sadness. he could have been like them, if things were different. he could have known them. he could have been loved by them. and yet, none of those things are true. they’re practically all strangers, but he feels so much around them. for the most part, he hides it, behind snide words and an upturned nose. there is no getting close to them — first, he doesn’t know how to mend years of cruel behavior, but two, what if they turned him away ? for nico, feeling his own hurt and resentment as is is much better than risking getting hurt more.

— onion headlines that give me nicodemus vibes: “ i am the product of a single-nanny household ” “ wealthy teen nearly experiences consequence ” “ somebody should make a movie about my life ” “ i am lost in my own mansion ” “ report: income inequality most apparent during fifth-grade classmate’s birthday party ”

thoughts, few details:

— his parents hate each other and cheated on one another all the time as he grew up. are they a good example of a healthy relationship ? definitely not.

— he’s a scorpio. moody bitch.

— charms his hair brown now that he’s older to look less like a weasley, but can’t be bothered about the maintenance until someone points out he’s looking a little ruddy. the freckles, though ? he charmed them once and he ended up with like a thousand more and he won’t tempt fate again.

— would probably choke if someone liked him. probably ??? would think they’re lying.

— voldemort ? had good methods of control and fear-mongering. could nico be a better leader ? he believes so.

— his parents only had a kid out of obligation and not love. can we imagine the complex that gives a kid ?

— his parents supported voldemort back in the day. they still believed in pureblooded ideals, though, and nico grew up hearing them. this meant that the wraiths weren’t telling him anything he didn’t know when he was readying to join them.

— a note on this: orion tempted him with the allure of family. not pureblooded mania, not the scorn for anyone not entirely witch or wizard, but with family. they were both blacks, slight distance between them both, and blood together was a powerful thing. he had hoped this meant affection — he would have been over the moon at the smallest of fondness — but it seemed ( like voldemort himself — orion would be enthused at the comparison ) the older man was incapable of such.

— nico’s view of love DOES NOT equal real love. he’s dumb and wouldn’t know love if it hit him in the face.

— he thinks he should be loved. like, thinks people should be bowing at his feet, kissing his shoes. he thinks he’s more than deserving of it. how could he not be ?

— his full name is nicodemus vaughn prewett. he’s named after a dead relative. wizards love that.

#/ * about .#rev intros

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batmanandguano · 5 years ago

Text

i could suffice for him, i knew

bruce wayne, jason todd, gen aka: bruce takes jason to a play. title taken from one of emily dickinson’s poems.

There’s something that’s bothering Jason. Bruce can sense it the moment the boy walked into the Manor.

Normally, the boy’s return from school is the highlight of Bruce’s day. While it is Alfred who picks him up, Jason has never failed to materialize before Bruce’s study to toss him a quick smile which already has the billionaire wrapped around the boy’s finger. Bruce loves having Jason around, loves his easygoing smiles and the way he dives into cakes — already the Manor is so much brighter. It’s a wonder that this child that he’s only known for a scant few weeks has this effect on him but truthfully, he thinks he’s never been happier —

And during Jason’s daily pilgrimage to see him, the boy’s shoulders are drooping although the smile that he gives is genuine.

Bruce’s always been perceptive and perhaps even more-so with Jason, if only because he feels no peace if Jason has none and when Jason’s happy, that happiness returns to him a thousandfold. Because the truth of the matter is that soft-hearted, sweet, generous Jason is his child and though Jason vehemently denies wanting a parent, his denials have grown a lot softer the longer he’s spent in the Manor and any mention of the boy’s name brings a smile to Bruce Wayne’s lips, his chest puffed prouder than any other parent.

“Is everything alright?” He turns to face him because sometimes Jason has trouble at school. While the boy is academically brilliant, Bruce also knows that in an environment where the only thing that matters is the size of your family’s bank account, Jason has a tendency to get into fights. There’s been more than one incident where both he and Alfred has been called into the principal’s office to witness Jason sitting there, smirking with a busted lip and an ice pack telling him that ‘B — you shoulda seen th’ other guy.’ And more often than not, it’s in defense of someone else because at least, and oh how he has worked to make it so, Jason bears the Wayne name now —

Jason doesn’t look any worse for wear this time. His tie’s askew and the upper button of his shirt’s unbuttoned. He nods his head and grins. “Yeah,” he says before dropping his backpack onto the ground and props his feet onto the coffee table. It’s a little ritual which used to be a little fight between them but Bruce’s absolutely lost the will to tell Jason to take his feet off the table. “You don’t have any meetings, do ya?” he asks and when Bruce shakes his head, Jason pulls out a book from his backpack and starts to read. Two days a week Jason comes over and reads until Bruce’s finished with work and they go out to dinner. There’s a slip of pink paper being used as a bookmark and Bruce turns his head to look at the piece of paper —

Right as it’s snatched back by Jason. “Sheesh, privacy B!” he says before quickly stuffing the page back into his backpack. There’s something uncharacteristic here because Jason’s always been careful with his things, especially papers from school. It draws his curiosity though for now, he’ll let the boy keep this secret. Bruce logs off his computer, tells his secretary to go home early for the day, and grabs his coat and Jason’s backpack.

They don’t call his alter ego the Greatest Detective In The World for nothing and after making a few discreet inquiries to the trophy moms who make up the PTA of Jason’s school, Bruce’s learned that auditions are being held for the school play. Auditions are held the week following the next and practice, in order to placate the academic rigor of the preparatory school (or to keep the kids busy while their parents are closing billion dollar deals or gallivanting off to the Maldives), is held from six to nine in the evenings.

Combine that with Jason’s tendency to sing show-tunes when he thinks nobody is listening and the mysterious piece of paper that’s set him on edge — it’s not hard to deduce that the boy wants to audition. And because Bruce Wayne has no subtly, he brings it up at breakfast. “I hear that they’re holding auditions for Les Miserables,” he says, casually.

Jason sets down the cereal in his hand. “Has anyone told you that your tendency to figure everything out is actually really creepy?” he asks, before picking up the milk.

“Creepier than going out at night dressed like a Bat?” Bruce teases back, before his tone turns pensive. “Do you want to audition?”

Jason waits for a moment before replying, hand twirling the bowl of cereal. “I think it’d be kinda cool,” he admits. “You know — the Jean val Jean’s a complicated character and requires a big vocal range. Though I’m pretty sure that Jeremy’s going to bribe the Drama Head since he’s applyin’ to Tisch this year and need it for his portfolio. I’d like to play Enjolras though,” He’s grinning, despite himself. ”I think he’s got some wonderful ideas B, like overthrowing the bougerois — and the fact that he looks out for everyone there. He’s also got the best song, “Do You Hear The People Sing” is an absolute masterpiece — though I dunno if you like the part about angry men, an’ ”

But then Jason shrugs again, “It conflicts with our other job, an’ it’d probably be awkward telling Miss Brown that I can’t come to practice because the Joker’s escaped Arkham again or that the Penguin’s planning on turnin’ Gotham Park into his personal ice rink. Plus I don’t need to play hero when I actually get to be one,” He offers Bruce a lopsided grin before digging into his breakfast with gusto.

But Bruce doesn’t miss the way Jason’s breath quickens when he speaks about Enjolras and the play. He doesn’t miss the fact that Robin’s prone to theatrics and that there’s a ten page, single-spaced essay that Jason’s wrote last year on classism in Les Miserables which had earned the highest grade in the year. The want in the boy’s eyes as he speaks about plays and musicals and books during the early mornings — the fact that at the very least, Jason deserves to be a child.

In a sense, Bruce knows that bringing a child into his battle against the darkest corners of the night is folly; he’s witnessed that after seeing Dick nearly get shot by one of the Joker’s henchmen. He should not have brought another child into this life and some nights Bruce could not help but worry, even though he knows that Jason loves being Robin. Knows that Jason’s no less capable than Dick Grayson despite the differences in their fighting styles, the way that Jason’s laughter and quips are always tinged with vengeance and pride, different from Dick Grayson’s youthful insouciance.

There’s always a part of Bruce who thinks that perhaps he should tell Jason (and Dick before him) to focus on his studies. That the boy’s seen enough of the rougher side of Gotham and that Batman doesn’t need a sidekick in his war — but he knows how Jason would take it. Jason, despite everything, still feels a need to prove himself — Bruce’s seen the gleam in his eyes, the words made in jest said too sharply, he knows Jason’s fears, of blood trumping nurture, the way he stares down criminals with eyes too old for his age. He knows that Jason wrestles with fears of inadequacy and perhaps it’s Bruce’s own fear after dealing with Dick’s anger, but he knows that he cannot lose Jason, that he cannot let Jason go —

What he wants for this boy is to give him the world.

What he can do is this.

It’s a small sacrifice that Batman’ll have to make but Bruce Wayne’s a father.

“Hey, Jay — have you ever been to a theater?”

They take a trip to Metropolis’ Broadway District where Les Miserables is playing. It’s a new showing, the lead’s quite a famous musical actor and while tickets have already been sold out, there are certain advantages in being Bruce Wayne. Namely the fact that he ends up with the best seats in the theater with complimentary champagne and a meeting with the cast during intermission, plus one.

Jason’s been growing so they take him for his suit fitting and it’s a testament to his excitement that he doesn’t complain even once during the entire process even though Bruce knows that he hates wearing suits. He says that they’re constricting and uncomfortable. Jason does get to pick the tie though and when Bruce sees his choice — a red, silk tie with diminutive little birds — he can’t help but smile. They’ve slicked back his hair and to anyone else in the world, this is Jason Wayne — the second and much loved son of the scion of Wayne Industries and he feels a rush of pride. Bruce wants nothing more to proclaim to the world that this is his son and isn’t his boy wonderful? He swallows down his pride instead because he knows that any mention of father and parent still sometimes sets the boy on edge and claps him on the back instead.

He expects Jason to immediately start chattering and is not disappointed when Jason turns towards him, eyes wide and smile huge as he starts telling Bruce about the various facts he’s learned from the internet and from reading the brochure. “Did you know that the musical requires over five thousand individual pieces of clothing, B? Imagine how hard it would take to wash everything,”

“I assume they send it out to a subcontractor,”

“Yeah but B — it’ll probably have a ton of chemicals. I hope the actors are okay. Oh, and this takes place in 19th centuryParis — you’ve read the book, right? A lot of people think that it takes place after the French Revolution, in English Lit, Conner wrote his report about how the revolution impacted the attitudes towards the French aristocracy during that time but he was wrong. This June Rebellion was before they started chopping off all the heads,”

“The heads of the aristocracy, hm?” That’s one way of putting it.

Jason tries to roll his eyes, but the effect was ruined by how widely he’s beaming. “Don’t worry B — I’ll protect ya,” he grins, magnanimous. “If we were around during that time, I’ll figure out plans to sneak us out even though I’m pretty sure you’d have been on the Marat’s Most Wanted List. Though,” he pats Bruce on the cheek. “I think they’ll take a bit more kindly to Batman, he seems more of a man of the people type — “

He’ll play along. “And how would you orchestrate your escape now that you’re also a part of the ‘One Percent’ as you so like to call it?”

Jason scrunches up his nose. “I have friends, B — plus, I wouldn’t be a useless aristocrat. And neither would you, I feel. You’d be like the Marquis de Lafayette or a Revolutionary version of a Musketeer except far less corrupt. And I could teach you argot probably, that’s the Paris dialect that Eponine speaks in the books. I think I’d like to learn — do you think Mademoiselle Dufarge knows?”

“Didn’t Victor Hugo call argot ‘the language of the dark night’?”

“Yeah and I’m pretty sure — “ Jason leans in close, his eyes shining clandestinely before wagging his eyebrows. “If anything our friend, the Dark Knight, should know how to speak it and should teach it to his brilliant, precocious, and clever ward with a affinity for languages,”

“You mean Dick Grayson?” he teases.

“Bruce! That’s it! I’m not saving you and your batty friend’s ass again — ”

There’s a few people that Bruce had to meet, business associates and the director of the theater who’s here to personally thank Bruce Wayne for his generous donation — it’s tedious work, smiling until his cheeks hurt but Bruce’s played the vapid, doting billionaire patron of the arts for long enough that it’s second nature. He laughs at all the right times and tells a few jokes which sends the gaggle of society matrons and academics into peals of laughter. But the thing with Brucie Wayne is that he never says anything of substance. Bruce’s always been intelligent but Brucie isn’t — a few superficial remarks and some razzle dazzle normally holds enough for him. They’ve been talking about adding him to their board and he’s already running out of things to say when he sees a flash of red tie and curls.

“Hey Bruce,” Jason strides towards them with a glass of — oh, is that champagne? The boy’s much too young to be drinking; they’ll be having this conversation later —

As if Jason could sense Bruce’s thoughts, he holds up the glass and thrusts it in front of Bruce’s nose. “Grape juice. Sparkling,” he says. “There were blueberries in there, but oh — “ His eyes widens comically. “Miss Simone,” he says, turning towards one of the women Bruce’s been speaking to. “I’ve loved your collection of essays on Euripides’ Orestes — and I think you totally deserved that Guggenheim Fellowship more than that bastard Lobdell, honestly — I think we could do with less works analyzing manpain,“

“Oh, I completely agree,” The lady smiles, indulgent. “And who are you, young man?”

Jason holds out his hand before flashing her a toothy grin. “I’m Jason. That guy’s basically my dad,” He says, poking Bruce on the shoulder. That mention of ‘dad’ brings a fierce wave of joy to his chest and he turns and ruffles Jason’s hair free from its gel. Jason, predictably, makes a face. “There’s a business guy looking for you, his name’s Judd or something and it’s regarding Wayne business,”

Bruce nods but not before shrugging helplessly, and dashes away like a — ha! — bat out of hell. “Sorry guys — business calls. I’ll give you the number of my secretary and maybe we can set something up,”

The last thing that he hears is Jason’s voice. “Miss Simone — I hear that you’re writing a criticism on curricular constraints in high school academia? If you need a case study, I’ve been taking this one Milton class but it’s honestly academic censorship at its worst — “

They’re finally seated.

This time Jason’s actually holding a glass of champagne. He’s allowed one glass, it’s high society tradition after all — any more and Bruce’ll actually have words with him but he seems to be enjoying himself, holding onto his pair of tiny opera glasses with the other. Bruce’s not sure what — or who he’s watching but it’s a traditional part of attending a theater production and so Bruce instead leans back and steals a green macaron from Jason’s package of sweets and waits for the curtains to rise. All the people below them look tiny, insignificant from their vantage point and instead he watches Jason, watches as his expression changes to one of awe as the lights dim and the curtains rise.

They launch into a song about the drudgery of the 19th century and he catches Jason mouthing the words, sitting up close in their box. The boy’s practically vibrating with excitement and Bruce knows that he’s made the right decision. He picks up his own glass of champagne and turns towards Jason, clinks their glasses together and goes to enjoy the show.

After Jean valJean ascends to heaven in Fantine’s arms and the final chorale sings of a world freed, Bruce finds himself clapping as loudly as the rest of them but perhaps still a bit quieter than Jason. There’s nearly tears in his eyes and Bruce feels a rush of fondness for this boy because Jason who’s never cried even after nearly getting shot, cries after musicals and after particularly moving books. Bruce, normally not one for musicals or plays or ballet, has enjoyed himself immensely and turns to see Jason watching him carefully.

“Hey B — you alright?” He asks softly, looking suddenly a little bit hesitant. “Hopefully that wasn’t too boring, since I know that’s usually — ” He’s fidgeting with one of his buttons. “What Brucie does and well, I just wanted to say that I’m grateful, I’ve never done this before but it’s well, always been one my dreams growing up. So thank you, B. ”

Bruce reaches over, runs a hand through his hair, easy and proprietary. “I had a great time with you” he says. “And I was thinking that if you wanted to try out for the school play, I think we can push back our hours a little bit. Just for this quarter,”

Jason pauses.

“B, didn’t you say that nothing’s more important than the mission, though?” Jason asks. “I mean that is why you brought me here right,” he adds; at this rate, the button’s going to come off. “With everything here, it’s just — everything’s a disguise for the mission. That’s what you’ve told me, before — ”

Oh, is that what Jason thinks, even now? There’s a sharp implication there that he’s feared. But he needs — Bruce needs to be honest.

There is a sharp awareness in Bruce’s voice. “Jason — I — I want you to be happy,” he murmurs. Words have never come easily to him, he’s always been more of a man of action. “I — “ He could not push the boy away, but he’s already committed to it. He would see this through and it’s a terrifying thought, how much Jason already means to him. “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but I — I think of you as my son. I want you to be happy Jason and I want to be the one to make you happy,” He’s tripping over his words now and Jason’s eyes are very wide. “I — you are happy here, right?“

But the thing about Jason is that he’s a quick study. He looks at Bruce and perhaps there’s something wet in the corner of his eyes but he reaches over and pulls Bruce into a hug because he’s always understood. There’s sticky hands wrapped around his neck and Jason smells like chocolate and fresh air and Bruce leans into the hug, pulls his arms around Jason and finds that his cheeks are hurting from smiling so much. Bruce doesn’t miss the quiver in Jason’s voice, doesn’t miss its open vulnerability.

He thinks -

“I love you too, B —” Jason’s voice shakes.

(He’s going to keep the boy for as long as he can.)

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clary-jace · 6 years ago

Text

the summers of our youth

summary: the summer of nineteen eighty five is the best summer of el hopper's young life and it's not just because she has the worst summers in the world to compare it too. aka, nineteen eighty five makes up for every year before it. pairing: mike wheeler & eleven word count: 3,836 notes: so i wrote this over the course of like three days and originally almost just made it a text post and then i decided that no, it needs it’s own fic. because it’s what my daughter deserves. i hope u enjoy and please let me know what you think !!

read on ao3

Summer 1983

The days still passed in a blur. After years of the same routine day in and day out, nothing surprised Eleven anymore.

It was the same wake up call, the slamming of the door against the wall and a flood of harsh white light into her dark room. Being forced to leave her stiff bed, immediately being followed and guided by the usual men in their dark suits and cold eyes.

Eleven had no idea what day it was. She never did. Every day was exactly the same. Well, not exactly. Sometimes she had celery with her bread at night instead of carrots, or the harsh woman, with her bright red hair and dark lips, would trim the nails on her toes and feet when washing her hair and arms. But most days were exactly the same, no change.

Part of Eleven enjoyed the fact that every day was the same. It gave her time to prepare herself in the mornings, when she would awaken before the door would slam. She always knew what to expect. Of course the things she was asked to do would vary from day to day, but it was always in the same vein, and always involved her powers.

Listen to the Russian men. Find the monster. Kill the cat.

None of them were things that Eleven wanted to do, but she had learned time and time again that it was best not to argue. Papa never liked when she argued. Even on days when his smile seemed a little brighter, or his touch seemed a little softer, he never liked when she argued.

So she didn’t. At least she tried her hardest not to. Even when she was forced in the tank, which was her least favorite. She hated the way the water pushed up against her body, the way the air helmet weighed heavy against her shoulders, pushing her further and further into the water. Those were the days that it was hardest to contain her anger against Papa.

“Now Eleven, I know you hate this, but you’re the only person who is able to do it. So, it’s in your best interest not to argue with me. You know I would never do anything to harm you.” He would say, when he’s in her room at night, touching his finger to her nose. The contact with make her squirm, but she never showed it when he was still there. He hated when she coiled away from him.

Occasionally he would press his cold, lifeless lips to her forehead and she would wait until he was out of the room, the space blanketed in darkness to rub the feeling from her skin against the harsh cotton of the pillow. She would do it with her back turned, so the small camera in the top corner of her room wouldn’t catch her.

When she had been younger, smaller and more prone to trembling and crying loudly in the night, the camera used to be a god send. Papa would come in when he saw her in distress, stroking her head and hugging her tightly to his chest. As a young girl she used to think this meant he loved her, and wanted her to be safe and happy, but she didn’t know if any of that was true anymore.

So, at night she would turn away from the camera, even as her hot and heavy tears would roll down her cheeks, dampening the rough blanket underneath her body. She would pull her knees into her chest, tucking herself into her gown, desperate for any kind of warmth in the cold chill of her room.

Every night she would shiver and shake in bed, her lips going numb and raw from the cool air that would come in through the ceiling, dreaming and wishing she could go somewhere warm. She wondered if the places she saw in her dreams, with warm light and soft ground beneath her feet existed and how far beyond the lab she would have to go to find them.

She knows that they’re only just dreams though, and she’s stuck in her cold, uncomfortable room for the foreseeable future. That she’ll wake up in the morning to the banging of the door and Papa’s tight smile and cold hands against her wrists. She’s been here for days, days that are the same from beginning to end and she knows that she’ll be here for days and days to come.

But gosh, does she hope that someday she’ll be able to feel the warmth she dreams about.

Summer of 1984

Summer in the cabin is stuffy, hot and lonely.

It’s miles better then her life in the lab though, and for that she can’t bring herself to complain about anything.

Because she’s not alone, she has Hopper. Who has to work during the days but sometimes brings ice cream home, letting her have a couple scoops after dinner, even letting her put it on her waffles if she asks nicely. He lets her stay up later too, even letting her watch R rated movies on TV when he doesn’t have to work the next morning.

Sure, she misses her friends and wishes she was allowed to leave, and not just stand out on the porch, which Hopper lets her do sometimes when there’s a nice breeze or a summer rain storm (which El quickly learns is her favorite kind of weather, because it reminds her of that night in the woods all those months ago when she met Mike and Lucas and Dustin), but she has a real bed now, with soft sheets and Hopper never opens the door to her room without knocking first.

It’s progress from the lab, and that’s all matters to El.

Besides, even though Hopper is very strict about her leaving the house and keeping the shades drawn during the day (which El hates the most of any of the rules because it makes the cabin so hot ), he’s stopped chastising her for visiting Mike in the void every night. Which means every night he helps her bring the television into her room and for thirty minutes he busies himself with the newspaper or case paperwork and leaves her be.

She would be lying if she said that these visits to Mike weren’t her absolute favorite part of being in the cabin. Sure, it hurt more than anything that she couldn’t reach out and touch him or talk to him, but seeing him every day and knowing that he was okay, that was enough for her.

He’s grown taller since that fateful night back in November (months are something she’s been learning with Hopper, months and dates, which all started when he had to explain to her what July 4th was when the loud, explosion like noises could be heard in the distance), even though he’s usually sitting when she sees him, sometimes she catches him pacing back in forth the length of the Wheeler basement.

The heat has made his hair grow too, the first time she saw it curled on the ends and in a wild mane around his head she laughed so hard she almost lost her concentration in the void (it wasn’t as funny the next day when she woke up and her hair was a poofy, curly mess, causing Hopper to giggle at her at the breakfast table). Hopper had told her that the humidity made people’s hair grow, El didn’t know what humidity was, or why it made people’s hair grow, but it certainly made Mike look funny.

One day when she saw him, his skin was bright red and she felt her heart stop. It looked like his skin was on fire, and that it would burn her finger if she touched him. He looked uncomfortable, picking at his skin as he spoke softly into his walkie to her. The sight had made her heart squeeze uncomfortably in her chest and instead of just the light sprinkle of tears she usually had when listening to Mike, she exited the void that night sobbing, her chest heaving and tears falling heavily from her eyes.

“It’s called a sunburn, kid.” Hopper tells her the next morning when she mentions it. “A lot of people get them in the summertime. You get them when you spend too much time in the sun.”

“Summertime?” El asks, her voice small and quiet. She’s heard the word before, on television, and when Hopper is muttering to himself about how “damn rowdy” teenagers get in the summer. She has a vague sense of what it means, something to do with school being out and it being warm, but that’s about as far as her knowledge takes her.

“Yeah, it’s what this time of year is called. It gets hot, kids aren’t in school anymore.” El nods. “It’s like when I found you, remember how cold it was and all the snow that was on the ground?”

“Yes.” El whispers, practically shivering. She remembered all too well the time she spent in the woods, twenty eight days, she counted, and how the cold, lonely whiteness had reminded her of the lab. She had been so sure she was going to die out there, get to briefly feel what it would have been like to be normal before having it ripped away from her.

“Well, that was winter time.” Hopper says, taking a bite of his waffle. “It’s a season, just like summer is. Fall is the time of year it was when you met Mike and Lucas and Dustin, with all the leaves on the ground.” El nods, beginning to understand. “And spring was the season we just had, when all the birds started making noise.” Hopper grumbles and El can’t help but giggle softly.

She’s pretty sure that winter is her least favorite of the seasons. She hasn’t quite made her mind up about summer yet.

Sometimes she loves it, like when Hopper lets her sit under the open window at night so she can watch the sunset and the stars decorate the sky. Or when he brings a device home with him one evening, a fan he calls it, and he plugs it in in the corner of her room, sending a cool, but not too cold, breeze, over her as she sleeps.

But sometimes she hates it, like when her hair frizzes around her ears and makes them itch. Or when she sits cross legged on the couch and they stick together because of how hot and sticky it is. She hates how opening the small window in her bedroom, something Hopper allowed her to do when all the lights in the cabin were off, provided no relief.

“Next summer is gonna be better, I promise.” Hopper says softly to her one night as she’s sitting on the couch, still wiping away her stray tears after visiting Mike. He comes to sit next to her, the couch dipping under his weight.

“Really?” She whispers, glancing down at her crossed legs, which even in the early evening are still coated with a sheen on sweat. Tonight had been particularly hard watching Mike, he had been trying his hardest not to cry as he mentioned something about fighting with his dad.

“Really.” Hopper says, moving one arm so it’s draped behind her on the couch. “I’m gonna try my hardest to make sure that next summer you get to be out there with your friends instead of cooped up in here.”

El feels herself smile. Hopper’s said stuff like this before, but this time feels different. That night she dreams of running around in the sunshine with her friends, the warm sunlight on her face and the wind in her hair. It’s the same kind of dreams she used to have in the lab, only now she has hope that someday they’ll come true.

So, El doesn’t quite love summer yet, but she thinks that could change.

Summer of 1985

The next summer is hands down the best summer of El’s life.

Hop teases her when she tells him this, reminding her that she doesn’t have much to compare it to and that she’s only fourteen, but El doesn’t care. She doesn’t think any summer in the future will be able to compare to the summer of ‘85 (she’s wrong, turns out that every summer only gets better and better, but when she’s fourteen she has no idea).

Because the summer of 1985 is exactly the summer that El had always dreamed of. She spends day in and day out in the sunshine, running around with her friends, collapsing in laughter, getting grass stains on all of her new clothes and occasionally pulling Mike behind trees or large rocks so she can press a kiss to the sun kissed, well freckled apple of his cheek away from the prying eyes of their friends.

She learns that summer that she actually really loves summer. But that’s not the only thing she learns.

In the middle of July, July 17th according to the calendar she now keeps above her bed, day two hundred and fifty four according to the numbered days since she returned that Mike now whispers to her in the nightly walkie calls, she learns to swim. At first it reminds her too much of the baths from the lab, of the heavy water against her skin, but with soft whispered words of encouragement from Mike and the cheers of her friends, she manages to swim the length of the Harrington pool without much trouble.

(Turns out that El is the fastest swimmer of all of them, beating even Lucas in a race.)

A couple days later she gets her first sunburn. She wakes up in the morning her skin burning, red and raw against the stretch of her shoulders and on the back of her knees. Hopper chastises her for spending too much time in the sun without sunscreen, but El is just happy that she has a mark on her skin to represent how much time she gets to spend outside.

When she shows the burn to Mike, he tells her that eventually it’ll fade and maybe her sunburns will turn into freckles just like his usually do.

In the first week of August, she finally learns how to ride a bike all by herself. Each member of the party had attempted to teach her at some point, but Will ended up being the one who was able to get through to her. In that moment when he let go and she was actually riding her bike (a well loved, dinged up hand me down that Hop found a yard sale a couple months ago), where the wind was running through her hair and her friends were clapping, El felt like she could do anything.

Those weren’t the only things she loved about summer.

When the heat first started to settle on Hawkins, El feared that there would be a repeat of last year and she would never be able to find relief in the small cabin, but even that was different this summer. One night after work Hop came home with a machine, much larger and more complicated looking then the simple fan that still sat in her bedroom.

“This is an AC unit.” He had said, plugging the device in next to one of the windows, letting the cool air fill the cabin. The air reminded lab for a brief second, but then she caught a glance of Hop’s content smile and she couldn’t help but grin herself.

“I love it.”

Hop doesn’t respond, simply reaches over and rustles the hair on her head, which is longer this year but still wild and curly and frizzy in the heat of the summer. The gesture fills El with a warm pool in her stomach and she decides that she like the feeling. She likes it a lot.

There are other moments that summer where her stomach flips and her heart soars and she feels like she’s floating. A lot of moments, actually.

Like when Max hugs her from behind one night when the gang is trying to catch fireflies, her breath tickling El’s ear as she squeezes her. Or when Dustin laughs at one of her jokes, crisp and clear as they eat peanut butter sandwiches in the Wheeler backyard.

She feels it when Lucas slings an arm around her shoulder and pulls her into his chest after she uses her powers to help them win the game of frisbee they’re playing in the park. Or when Will shares his ice cream with her at Scoop’s Ahoy without her even asking, so they can try each other’s flavors. (She also feels it when Steve winks at her as he hands her a cone over the counter, with a bright, “free of charge, Ellie.” )

But she especially feels it with Mike.

That feeling, the feeling that she wants to bottle up and never ever forget, comes to her often when she’s with Mike. She feels it when he holds her hand as they walk in the woods around the cabin. Or when they hug goodnight on the porch and his heart beats soundly against her chest.

Then, of course there’s the feeling she gets when he kisses her. And while the feeling certainly isn’t new to the summertime, somehow it nearly doubles, no, triples, when Mike and El trade kisses in the bright summer sunshine, or in the warm evening dusk. There’s just something so magicalabout it, El can’t seem to put her finger on why, but she knows that she loves it.

El quickly realizes that there are a lot of magical things about the summertime, things she had only ever dreamed about.

The best day of the summer of ‘85 comes in the final days of August, only a couple days before school starts up again. Joyce and Hop decide that the kids (including Nancy, Jonathan and Steve) deserve a day away from Hawkins, so they pack up the blazer and the Byers cars and take a day trip to a lake a few towns over.

“What’s the difference between a lake and the quarry?” El asks Mike from the backseat of the blazer. Dustin is the only other occupant in the car, who much to Hop’s chagrin had called shotgun, and he turns around to begin to explain, but Mike cuts him off.

“I mean, I guess the difference between a lake, well at least the lake we’re going to, and the quarry is that lakes have beaches.” Mike says with a small shrug.

“And they don’t have gigantic cliffs that you can jump off of.” Dustin quips from the front seat, causing Mike to roll his eyes.

El’s hardly paying attention to them though, she’s instead thinking about what Mike said. Beaches . She’s only ever heard of beaches on television, she’s never even seen one. From what she’s heard about them, people go to them in the summer and swim in the water. She doesn’t really understand what makes beaches so different from pools, but she supposes she’s about to find out.

Turns out, beaches are everything she had ever dreamed of.

“Usually beaches are by the ocean, but the ocean doesn’t reach Indiana so we have to make due to lake beaches, which are still really fun.” Mike says when they get there, shrugging as he helps El from the car, grabbing her bag and shouldering it along with his own.

“And we don’t have to worry about getting attacked by sharks.” Dustin adds, coming up next to them and taking a bite of his candy bar. Hop is already down the beach, setting up a place for the party to drop their stuff, but the trio are walking slowly, letting El absorb the scenery and waiting for the rest of the group to show up.

El is absolutely enthralled.

Kicking off her plastic flip flops, she lets her feet sink in the warm, soft sand, sighing softly when he gets between her toes. There’s a small breeze coming off the water that rustles her hair. El doesn’t think she’s ever felt so at peace.

Soon after, the rest of the party, along with Nancy, Jonathan, Steve and Joyce show up and soon the beach, in which their group are the only occupants of, is full of laughter and loud voices.

About halfway through the day, after eating a lunch of tuna fish sandwiches and bags of potato chips and sharing a orange soda (El’s new obsession this summer) with Mike, El finds herself standing on the shore of the lake, her toes in the water and a soft smile on her face as she watches the people in her life.

Hop and Joyce are situated on one of the blankets, chatting and keeping their eyes on the kids. There are easy smiles on both of their faces and they both look more at peace then El has ever seen them before.

The teenagers, well the older teenagers, have disappeared down the beach, and El can spot Jonathan and Steve shin deep in the water, skipping rocks and laughing with each other. Nancy is sitting in the sand, a book in her lap, occasionally looking up and smiling at the boys. El doesn’t quite know exactly what happened between the three of them, and apparently neither did Mike or Will when she asked, but she’s happy that they’re happy.

In the middle of the lake El spots Max, Lucas, Dustin and Will playing a game in the deep water of the lake. (El had tried swimming in this water, but it reminded her too much of the bath with it’s dark water, so she settles for standing on the edge). Lucas has Max hooked on his shoulders and Dustin has Will on his and Will and Max’s hands are clasped together. El isn’t quite sure what they’re doing, but she can hear their laughter from the shore and it makes her smile.

“Having fun?” Mike asks, suddenly next to her. His hair is a wild mane of black curls around his face and she can already see his cheeks going pink, and the sight makes her smile.

“Yeah.” She nods, looking back out at their friends, who are now cheering as Max sits victoriously on Lucas’ shoulders and Will floats in the water next to them.

“So you like the beach?” He’s grinning at her, his eyes bright. El gulps, suddenly overcome with emotion. She takes a deep breath, looking up at the sky, the sunlight warming her face and filling her entire body with happiness.

Her hand finds Mike’s next to her and she threads their fingers together easily. “It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of.”

And on that August day, in the warmth of the late August sun with Mike’s hand in hers, El decides that yes, she does indeed love summer.

tag list (just some of my faves): @mikewheeler, @stydixa, @fatechica, @janeswheeler, @summer-in-hawkins, @themikewheelers (i just love y’all and think you guys are gr8 & gr8 writers, hope you don’t mind being tagged!!)

#el hopper #mileven #mileven fic #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #fanfic*#this isn't like strictly mileven but they're a major part of it so that's what i'm tagging it as #but yes hi hello #idk why i'm posting this at 1am but here i am #pls validate me #anyways!!!

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heartsofvalor · 7 years ago

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I’m sure we’ve all seen plenty of these floating around and ofc, I wanted to contribute. Not too long ago, I rebooted my blog & moved fresh, yet so many of you followed me without hesitation. I love every single one of you guys and I can’t begin to thank you for everything you’ve all done for me. Your existence alone has changed my life for the better and I honestly can’t express just how grateful I am for that. I’m not that good with words, so I just wanted to say that I love every single one of you reading this (even if you’re not on the list -- that’s nothing to do with you, it’s to do with my very non existent memory & honestly, if I went through my following list -- you’d all be on here and that would be a very very long list). This is basically just a post for me to express my gratitude to the people that have talked me out of some bad times, that have been there through the good times & people that have put up with my endless chatting ! I love all of you and I hope that you start 2018 in the best of ways. Remember that it will get better and that you, yes you, are incredible. You are strong and brave, smart and kind. You deserve all the goodness this shitty world has to offer and I hope you get that goodness. I hope you get that happy ending.

@ofheatguns / @ofcoldguns / @chaosdwelling / @sxdiistic / @brthlxss / @artificiallyimplantedmemories / @moonshadcws / @codeworn / @petrasplaining / @islandhaunted / @jaxonsawyer - @vampiricallyxspeaking / @makochosen / @officerh / @tobeblamed / @warricrsbcw / @godisabitofabastard / @bicornmagic / @moonhurts / @oftroubledsouls / @blindednephilim - @snatchedatlight - @angelblccded / @adoredlife / @zeusbuilt / @patchofstars - @gentlemind / @mccallofthewild / @stilinskinator / @multamusae

under the cut are the rambling parts !!

@executiie -- Abby! You have the most beautiful heart and soul. You are never ending kindness to me and I honestly don’t know how to thank you for being in my life. I’m so happy that I know you, really, I am. You’re so important to my life now, so important to how I think and how I am. You’ve helped me through some of the hardest times this year and I can’t fucking thank you enough for that. For being the light in the darkness that I was facing. You are one of the most talented writers that I’ve ever come across and I will never get over how much I love your muses and our muses dynamics. We clicked, just like that. The writing chemistry is insane and I still can’t get over how fast we started to write, and how many things we have now (which is just hilarious to me because we can’t stop hoarding and I love it). When we first started talking, we connected just like that, on a whole new level of friendship. We went straight past awkwardness and right into best friend mode and I’m so, so thankful that I get to talk to you nearly every single day? My days are pretty fuckin’ sad and empty when I don’t get to talk to you though, (damn timezones). But when I do? Oh man. I love talking to you, I love discussing things and plotting things out with you. You’re always there when I need you and I can’t thank you enough. I’m so grateful for your existence in this world and I really, really hope that the new year brings less stress, more happiness and more time to chill (more time to talk to me -- no, I’m kidding). You deserve so much more than what the universe has given you and I hope to aide in making you feel even a tiny bit better, because that is what you better. I want the world to be kinder to you and I want the world to love you more than it does. I know this is rambling but I genuinely can’t express with words, just how truly grateful and happy I am to know you? That the world decided we should talk and we did and now -- now I can’t imagine life without you. I love you. (Also: thank you for taking interest in my OCs and thank you for helping me to develop them. You have no idea how much that means to me. I’m so fucking thankful that you helped to shape Delanie into the person she is today. I am forever grateful that you took interest in my girls, that you helped me develop them and that you’ve helped me to further develop all of my other muses. There isn’t enough words in the world to express how thankful I am for that. For you.)

@giveseverything / @gentleruin / @moontaint -- Rae. I don’t even know where to start with this? Roll back to the time when we vaguely knew each other, when we talked occasionally -- to now, where we don’t go a single day without talking to each other (or try not to at least). A wild contrast, honestly. Did you know that we’ve known each other since 2016? That seems so bizarre to me, that we only just started talking in the last few months, since September (yes I checked, fight me!). But the connection we made in the first few days of really talking was incredible, it was so fast and we just clicked. I don’t honestly know what I would do without your presence in my life now? You’re such an integral and important part of my life that I’d be lost without you. I’m lost on the days where we don’t talk, I feel empty when it’s been hours since we last chatted. I’m honestly a sap when it comes to you because you’re so, so important to me and I can’t thank the world enough for pushing us together when it did. Something so important formed so quickly and I just -- I can’t get over how much you mean to me. You always, always makes me smile. You never fail to make me laugh and you’ve got an ironclad grip around my entire life. There isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t think about you, when I’m not wondering how you are and if you’re doing okay. You have made my life so much brighter by being in it and I’m so happy that I know you, I’m so happy that I get to watch you develop your OCs, that I get to play with them and form such meaningful and long lasting relationships with our muses. You have shaped my life, absolutely for the better, and I don’t honestly know what I’d do without you now. I really hope that this year brings better things for you, I hope that it is kinder and softer and far more gentle on your open soul. I want the world to be better to you. So, thank you, for staying with me - for sticking by me through those really rough patches. You are an incredible human being and I love you to the moon, stars and back again.

@mcmachine / @fatecrossed / @losthunt -- Jill! My shining light. You, my friend, are an incredible human being that I appreciate so, so much. You’re so kind and gentle and you never fail to make me laugh, even when I’m having a hard time. Please remember that you are loved, even when you feel down and out and that I’m always, always here for you. You have helped me in so many ways, helped me development and I feels comfortable talking with you. I love how quickly and easily our friendship developed and I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you. You’ve helped me grow and change and become a better person and you are such a good person with such a kind heart that deserves so much love and gentle care. I really do hope that this year brings more kindness into your life, less stress and less sadness. You deserve to live in a stress free life and you deserve to be happy, all the time. Happiness is such a good look on you. Thank you for putting up with me, through all my bad times (which I know there’s been a lot of recently). Thank you for being there, for always reminding me of the good things, rather than the bad. Thank you for understanding me, for understanding my quirks. I’m so appreciative of your existence and I can’t thank the world enough for letting me get to know you. (Still hecked that we didn’t meet up when you were in the UK though--). Thank you for helping me to develop my muses and thank you for being you, the kind hearted soul that you are. I really do hope that good things come your way this way. I love you!

@valeureux / @drowniingdreams -- Charlie! Can you believe it’s been three years since we first started talking? It honestly doesn’t feel like it’s been that long. You’ve been an amazing friend to me over the years (I can say that, hah!) and you’ve always been so supportive, always listened to me talk shit over the phone and listen to me ramble. You’ve put up with so much crap from me and I honestly can’t thank you enough for sticking around, even though sometimes I’m super difficult to deal with. I really hope that the new year brings you everything that you deserve, because you truly are an amazing person and I couldn’t be happier to know you, honestly. All of our threads and all of our interactions make me the happiest. I love all the development that we’ve put into our things and I love your dedication to your muses (even if you are satan and hurt me with that dedication sometimes). You are honestly such a sunshine and I really appreciate having you in my life. You’re so fiercely protective of the people you care about and that is such an amazing quality to have. I love you!! I love our babies!! I really hope that this year is kinder and gentler to you, because you deserve it so, so much. Thank you for being there for me through the rough times and the good times, thank you for sticking with me and not giving up on me. I can’t thank you enough for just existing in my life and providing me with the kind of support that I really, really needed this year (and the years before). You mean the absolute world to me, you gem! (I kinda rambled here but the general gist is that I love you and I hope this year makes you smile more because you deserve it).

@mkvch / @frednm -- Maggie! The one who acts like the sibling I always needed in my life. I just want to start this off with saying how much I love your dedication to Mickey? To all of your muses? I found you first on your Mickey blog (right in the Height of my Shameless binge) and I was so happy to find someone that understood Mickey in the way that you do. You are funny and you are smart and you’re kind (to me, definitely) and you always make me laugh, you always make me smile and I’m absolutely going to fight you with love, like a brother would if you try to fight me on this. You’ve been there for me and I’m so happy that you exist? Because your dedication is like nothing I’ve ever seen towards a single character. You understand Mickey’s mannerisms and attitude at such a complex depth that I’m just in awe of you? Whenever you write headcanons, I’m always sat at my screen, unable to comprehend how you can know a muse so well without actually being that muse -- I’m still convinced that you might actually be Mickey, we still don’t know to this day -- find out at Ten! Anyway, back to the point -- I think you’re the fucking bee’s knee’s and I will literally fight anyone who says otherwise. I will fight any person that tries to tell me that you’re not an incredible human being because you are. You’re amazing and such a talented writer and I’m so glad that I go to know you, that I got to write with you and that I get to plot with you. I really hope that this year brings better things for you, that things get better, that the world is kinder to you. Because you deserve it and I love you, so so much.

@themythscometolife -- Fi! You have been by my side for what feels like forever, you’ve talked me through some of the hardest things in my life, you’ve understood me on a level that not many people can and I appreciate your existence in my life so much? You make me laugh, you make me smile and you always make me see things logically, you help me through the decisions that I can’t make on my own and I honestly can’t thank you enough for helping to shape me into a better person, into a brighter person. You’ve been there for me through some really tough times and I just... I can’t express how much you mean to me. I’m not good with words, we know this, but I wanted to at least try and tell you that I adore you and you mean the absolute world to me. I’m so grateful that we get to write together, I’m so glad that you got a discord! I’m so glad that we get to chat together whenever we can and I’m just .... so thankful. I love all of your muses and the dedication you put into every single one. I’m still so impressed that you can handle so many with such ease. I’m also super glad that you added Ethan thanks to my somewhat enabling :’) Thank you for staying by my side, thank you for helping me through the rough times. I really hope this year is good to you. I hope that you get all the good things this year. I hope that things turn around for you. I hope the new year is everything you want it to be and more. I love you.

#( bias list. )#rip this took so long to write

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myselfinserts · 4 years ago

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Learning to love you has been the greatest pleasure of my entire life…

He honestly thought this day would never come. Nice things like this never happened to Ceri Aylward. He never got lucky. Never got the guy. Never got happily ever after. For years, he’d resigned himself to a life of eternal bachelorhood. Just him and his pub. Alone again, naturally.

And yet, here he was. In a small room in the garden house, trying to fix himself up to look nice walking down the aisle to see his soon to be husband.

Husband, he thought. I still can’t believe it.

It hadn’t been an easy wedding to plan. Not for them, at least. Finding a good caterer was a struggle, and Ceri had been incredibly tempted to just do it himself. But his fiance had insisted he not do any of the actual work outside of selections, despite not doing the same when it came to their clothes. There were a few nights where they went to bed frustrated and not speaking, but somehow, they managed to talk things out the next morning. It never got to the point where they shouted at each other, and in many ways, that was a relief.

The venue was a lovely rose garden affair, with a small club of sorts that could comfortably house all their guests for the weekend, and had a lovely outdoors patio where the reception would be held. The sky was clear and open, perfect for a summer evening under the stars. Ceri was still in awe at how Étienne was able to get it, as when he’d tried the first ten times, it’d been booked out well within two years.

The entire event wasn’t nearly as big or grand as planning their friends’ affairs, with the guest list being limited to just their closest friends and family.Perhaps that was why it seemed so much more stressful to Ceri compared to other events he’d done in the past. It wasn’t a major party with nearly fifty guests. It was his and Étienne wedding day, with very few people. Ceri could work with things going wrong on the former. Not so much the latter.

This has to be perfect. This has to be perfect for him. Can’t settle for less. I can’t screw this up. I can’t-

“Ack, Ceri, stop fussing with yer hair already!”

Ceri let out a sigh. “Sorry papa. I just...I just want this to be perfect.”

“Just relax, kiddo,” Gary assured gently, fixing up his tie. “Étienne‘ll understand if you look a little flustered. He’s an arse, but he’s a patient one.”

Ceri snickered. “Are you allowed to say that about my fiance?”

Gary smirked. “The kid called me many nastier words over cards the other night. It’s our little thing as in-laws.” His smile turned softer, hands reaching up and fixing the loose strands of hair. “If only Jason were here. Fy ngwr annwyl... Your dad would be so happy for you, you have no idea...”

“I wish he were here too.” Ceri wrapped his arms around Gary, letting out a sigh. “I’m glad you’re still here. I don’t think I’d make it down the aisle otherwise.”

“You’ll be fine, son. I promise you.” With a quick hug, Gary parted ways with him, stopping at the door for but a moment. “Take as long as you need. I’ll be right outside the door.”

Ceri watched him go, waiting but a second before he started pacing, stealing glances of himself in the mirror. He almost didn’t recognize himself. The same heather shirt he was used to wearing was there, but he still wasn’t used to the dark suit. And the soft green of his tie and patch seemed strange in place of his typical red. He looked handsome, he’d admit, but it still felt surreal. Far too good to be true.

What if this is just a dream? I wake up and learn none of it ever happened? What if I get there and he changes his mind? What if he’s only doing this because he feels obligated? He wouldn’t do that. No, of course not. But still...

A gentle knock at the door snaps him from his thoughts, and he turned to the door, not moving from his spot near the mirror. “Come in.”

Slowly, L tip toed into the room, her long black gown trailing behind her slightly. “Hey. Someone thought you might be panicking a little, so I came to check on you.”

Ceri smiled. “I’m fine, really. Just a little nervous.”

“I can see that.” She slipped a small box into his hands, giving them a firm squeeze. “Just relax. It’ll be fine.” Despite her mask still obscuring her eyes, Ceri was sure she had winked. “Don’t hide too long, okay?”

Before he could ask what she meant, L hurried out the door, leaving him alone again. He glanced at the box, slightly smaller than a ring box, fingers tracing along the gold lines over a red surface. Carefully, he flipped it open. He couldn’t help but gasp when he saw a small, gold tie pin with a lovely pear nestled inside. Shimmering in the light, he admired the soft pink sheen the gem had. Also inside was a little note, just big enough to read.

“I’m waiting for you.”

Ceri bit back the tears forming in his eye and hurried to put on the pin. Once it was in place, he gave himself one more look over. He seemed more complete now.

“I better not keep him waiting then.”

Ceri finally left the room, and headed out to walk down the aisle.

Gary smiled, taking his son’s arm. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

The music started. And soon Ceri found himself moving forward. It was as if everything was in slow motion. The scent of flowers in the air. The sun shining brightly on his skin. The smiles of all their loved ones watching happily. Étienne waited at the alter, standing tall in his soft grey suit, a lovely pin matching Ceri’s on his aqua tie. He practically shone gold. A work of art that enraptured him.

You’re beautiful...

“Thank you,” Étienne whispered as they finally stood together. “You’re rather enchanting yourself.”

Ceri’s face burned. “I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did.”

Once everyone was seated again, the minister began his speech. But Ceri had a hard time paying attention. His gaze was fully locked onto Étienne. He still couldn’t believe this was real. It had to be a dream. A beautiful fantasy.

One he hoped he’d never wake up from.

“And now, the exchanging of the vows and rings.” The ordained looked between the two. “Um...who has the rings?”

Étienne nodded to the back row. “She does.”

Right on queue, Honey hopped down from her seat, wearing a lovely dress that matched Étienne‘s tie, a soft green pillow on her back holding the gold bands. Everyone let out a gentle “aaww”, and the cat sat patiently as the rings were retrieved. After her role was done, she scuttled to the front row and climbed onto Chris’ lap.

Well done, Honey, he thought, looking at the ring in his hand. Okay. It’s time.

“Étienne,” Ceri began. “When we first met, I had no idea that this is where I’d end up. Had someone told me that day ‘The man that ran out of your pub just now? You’re gonna marry him someday’ I’d have told them they were crazy.” He took a deep breath, his throat beginning to tighten as he looked him in the eye. “I had resigned myself to spend the rest of my days alone on Elspie, in an empty house shrouded in misery. That I wouldn’t see you again. Instead you...you came back. We talked. And then I finally took that long awaited trip to Paris I’d wanted to take for so long. You’ve built in me a confidence and lust for adventure I hadn’t felt in ages. I grew to love learning about the world again because of you. To get out there and experience life as the adventure that it is, moving forward to the light. I learned that I deserved to look to the future, not just wallow in the past. Growing up, my dad used to say to me, “love always means learning. Learning about what inspires you. Learning about the people closest to you. Love means learning, and learning means living.” It’s written deep into my DNA. Learning is love. And...” The tears started to fall as he slid the ring onto his beloved’s finger. “Learning to love you has been the greatest pleasure of my entire life. Being in love with you is the very definition of happiness to me. I’m not just existing anymore. I’m truly living now. You are my greatest adventure, Étienne. And I promise, to continue to keep learning with you. To grow with you. To fight. To care. To tend to you. Stand with you. And to keep on loving you, until I no longer see the dawn.”

Étienne smiled softly, gently taking Ceri’s hands into his own. “Ceri, let me start out by saying that you continue to be quite the handful.” Ceri couldn’t help but chuckle at that just a little before Étienne continued. “Before meeting you, I was content in my independence. And I knew I’d live a full life doing what I love most, so I was prepared to spend my days without a romantic partner. But having you here in my life now, it’s added a beauty that I hadn’t expected, but greatly welcome. Loving you, being in love with you, is more than an emotion or an action. It’s an extraordinary, once in a lifetime challenge. One that I want to face with you. And I promise to stand by your side through all of it. The good and the bad. I’ll stand by you as you stand by me. As an equal. As a partner. As a husband. Loving you in the ways you deserve to be loved. Until death do us part.”

That was it. Ceri couldn’t hold it in anymore. He broke into a quiet sob, smiling brighter than the stars in the night sky. He didn’t know how long the tears fell. All he could process were the feelings of a hand lightly wiping the tears away with a soft handkerchief, and soothing whispers. He hadn’t even noticed he was now wearing his ring. “I-i’m sorry,” he stammered. “I’m just...I’m just so happy, I...”

“I know, darling,” Étienne said softly. “I know.”

“By the power vested in me,” said the ordained, “I now pronounce you husband and husband. You may kiss the groom.”

Ceri felt his heart beat loudly in his ears as Étienne pulled him close, and leaned in to meet him halfway.

“CERI! CERI, THE MILK!”

Ceri jumped, quickly removing the pan from the heat and turning off the stove. The last of the milk was ruined. Burned beyond use. And they didn’t have time to go out and get some more. He silently cursed himself for getting distracted. “Sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“You’ve been spacing out all day,” Gary said worriedly.

“Are you okay?” Étienne asked.

“I’m fine, I promise. I just...” Ceri headed out of the kitchen. “I need a minute.” He hurried towards the stairs, not looking back a second.

Gary put a hand on Étienne’s shoulder. “Go check on him. I’ll clean up in here.”

Étienne nodded. “Order take out, too?”

“Sure. From Giraldi’s?”

“Perfect. Sounds good.”

Étienne took his time heading up the stairs, giving Ceri time to be settled down by the time he arrived at their bedroom door. As he crept in, he saw Ceri standing over by the dresser, holding a small box in his hand. Careful not to startle him, Étienne stepped in closer as slowly as possible, until he could see what it was his husband held.

In his hand was a pearl tie pin, and a small note.

“One of the happiest days of my life,” Ceri muttered. “I meant every word of it, you know. Learning to love you was the greatest pleasure I ever knew. And I got really lucky in being able to feel that twice over.” He set the pin back in the jewelry box, closing it with a smile. “I’m just sorry I actually am keeping you waiting this time.”

Étienne stepped in close behind him, wrapping his arms tightly around his shoulders. “I made a promise, remember? ‘To stand by your side through all of it. The good and the bad.’”

“’As an equal, a partner, and a husband.’” Ceri leaned into the touch. “My husband.”

“My Ceri.” He kissed him on the cheek, pulling him just a little closer. “Perhaps once more of your memory comes back, we take a trip to see the gardens again.”

Ceri let out a soft hum. “Can I pack us a picnic? We can eat, then dance under the stars for hours like we did before.”

“That sounds perfect.”

#myselfinserts #mybnhaocs #friends ocs #the au of class #class of aus: amnesia au #I felt like a little wedding fluff and now we got some #Anonymous

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fangirl-writing-fiction · 7 years ago

Text

Acceptance

Pairing: Dean x Castiel

Words: 2,233

Warnings: a bit of fluff followed by some angst followed by fluff (so none I guess)

Summary: Dean acts weird and Castiel is hurt.

Author’s Note: So. This is a first for me, I gotta admit. I’ve never written a Destiel fic before (but honestly, I liked doing this, because I recently turned into Destiel-trash and now I can’t stop crying about these idiots). This is also my entry for @ilostmyshoe-79‘s Sweet Emotions Challenge and my prompt was “Acceptance” (I know, my titles are very creative). I hope that you guys will like the fic and enjoy reading it! Feedback is, as always, welcome!

The first time Cas notices that something is wrong is during their second night together. They have just finished making love to each other (although Dean would probably use a much different word for what they just did) and are now tangled up in each other's arms. Dean's cheeks are still flushed with the exertion of their previous love making and his deep green eyes almost glow with love and adoration. His plumb lips are still swollen from their kissing and Cas thinks about refraining himself from kissing them again, before he leans in to do just that. He had to stop himself from touching Dean way too often. He isn't going to waste another second not touching him. For a moment, Dean is surprised; his eyes open wide, before he melts into Cas' touch, into the soft movement of the angel's lips on his. This kiss is much slower, much tamer, than anything else they did that night and Cas cherishes every single one of Dean's soft sighs and low gasps. He loses himself in how Dean's hand wraps around his upper arm, his fingers press into his skin and Cas' tangles their legs together. His own calloused fingers ghost over Dean's soft skin, taking in every scar and coming to rest on the place where he once gripped him to raise him out of hell. He can barely contain his grace as he traces the now vanished outline (but he knows that if he burns through another lamp, Dean is going to make fun of him being overexcited again). Dean's soul is ringing out to him, shining brighter than ever and Cas' wings flutter lightly, he almost feels like he's vibrating. When Dean brakes away to catch his breath, Cas opens his eyes again and moves away from his boyfriend's lips, turning his attention to the freckles splattered all over his face.

"You know what some people believe?", he asks him in between the kisses.

The green eyed hunter makes an unintelligible sound, conveying that he doesn't know what Cas is talking about.

"They believe that every freckle on a person's face is the kiss of an angel who loves them", he murmurs.

Dean tenses underneath him and Cas stops mid-motion, backing away a bit to get a better look at the other man. His eyes are hard and his jaw tight, but before Cas can ask him what's going on, Dean turns around so that Cas is faced with his back.

"It's late, Cas. I've gotta sleep", is all he says, his voice flat and leaving no room for arguments.

Castiel sits behind him, looking at Dean's steadily rising back and listening as his heartbeats slows down, until he's sure that Dean has fallen asleep. That's when he gets up, dresses himself and leaves their newly shared bedroom to sit down in the bunker's library. He wonders what he did wrong. Maybe he moved too fast, Cas contemplates. They were still only in the early stage of their relationship and as far as Cas knew, Dean had never been with another man before. And Dean never was one for the big words. He didn't speak of love. He spoke about family. About loyalty and trust. And Castiel comes to the conclusion that this must be it. He moved too fast for Dean, too strongly and passionately. And he makes a promise to himself that he will approach the topic of their love during a later stage of their relationship, in a softer manner. For now, Cas is happy and he's sure that they will figure it out as they go. They always do.

But then it happens again. And this time, Cas isn't speaking about love.

Sam and Dean have just finished a hunt. Some djinn had kidnapped children and Cas stayed behind to tend to them while the brothers went after the djinn. He trusts the brothers to handle themselves and somebody had to make sure that the kids got some kind of medical attention. When Sam and Dean come back, Dean's face is bruised and swollen and Sam's got a bleeding cut on his lower arm. He doesn't think about it when he turns to the younger Winchester and lays his fingers against Sam's forehead, healing him in mere seconds. Cas then turns to Dean to do the same. He can't stand seeing him in pain, it fills him with rage and worry to equal parts. But before he's able to touch him, Dean backs away, shaking his head.

"No, Cas", he says gruffly, wiping down the blood from his machete with a piece of cloth.

Castiel squints at him and takes another step towards him.

"You're hurt", he states simply, lifting his hand again, but Dean moves just out of reach.

"I don't want you to heal me, alright?!", he bellows and Cas' eyes widen with shock.

It's been a long time since Dean talked to him like that. And Cas doesn't understand what he is doing wrong. He just wants to stop his boyfriend's pain. Why did Dean react like that? Instead of explaining himself, Dean turns away and moves to the one child they couldn't save. The little boy was the first one to vanish over a week ago and they had been too slow to rescue him.

"Dean", Cas tries again, but is immediately silenced with a "Shut it, Cas!".

Sam moves to stand next to him, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. He's just as worried about his brother as Cas is, but they both know that they can't come through to him when he acts like that. And Cas' heart hurts at that. Shouldn't it be different now, he asks himself. They're more than friends. They're lovers. They share the same bed every night, they hold each other. And Dean always pushes him to talk about what is gnawing away at him. Dean's always there to help him. He doesn't understand why he isn't allowed to do the same.

When they get back to the bunker Cas hesitates to follow Dean into their room. He isn't sure what to do. So he stands in the doorway, unsurely looking between their bedroom and the hallway until Dean calls out to him.

"What are you doing? Come in", he says while he puts his stuff away and Cas does as he says, closing the door behind him.

He fumbles with his coat for a bit and watches Dean moving smoothly through the room, before he takes it off and places it on the back of the chair. He watches Dean until the hunter finally is ready to settle into bed. The green eyed man smiles up at Cas, sitting on the bed, and Cas' heart flutters. He's seen the whole world, the whole of God's creation, but to him Dean was still the most beautiful thing his father ever created. But Cas also feels like that one time he was human and ate a bad burrito. His stomach turns and churns and he knows that he has to talk to Dean about what is going on. But he also doesn't know how.

"What are you waiting for, Cas? Come to bed", Dean says, a small smile on his lips and lifts the covers.

The angel blinks, before he shakes his head at his boyfriend.

"Dean. We need to talk."

Dean's eyebrows go up and he looks at Cas in confusion.

"What's going on? Are you alright? Did something happen?", he asks immediately.

He gets up and eyes Cas worriedly. Maybe he missed something. Maybe something had happened and Cas was hurt. Whatever it is, Dean needs to make it better.

"Why are you pushing me away?"

Dean's lips open slightly and he looks at his angel in confusion.

"I don't know what you mean..."

Cas tilts his head and squints at him, his lips are pressed tightly together.

"Just tell me, if you don't want me at your side any longer, Dean. You know that I don't easily pick up these symbols you humans use. And if you don't want me to tell you that I love you or for me to touch you, just tell me."

He isn't sure where that came from. He just knows that he had to let it out, to tell Dean how he feels. The strange feeling in his stomach lifts up a bit, but at the same time it brings a wave of nausea with it and Cas wonders for a second if he is going to be sick. Dean is quiet and looks away from Cas, down at his feet. His fingers tremble slightly. He knows that this was going to happen. He just never thought that it would happen so soon. And how is he going to explain to Cas what was going on inside him?

"Cas", is all he gets out, before growing quiet again, still looking down.

Castiel hesitates for a second before he slowly places his hand on Dean's shoulder, trying to comfort him.

"Talk to me, Dean."

The green eyed hunter looks up and breathes a deep sigh, his hand wandering of his tired face and he winces when he touches the bruises.

"I deserve this, Cas."

He looks at him. Cas stays silent and waits for him to continue, to explain to him what is going on so that he can finally do something about it.

"It's not about you touching me. Jesus, it's not even about you healing me. That boy died, Cas. Because of me. Because I wasn't fast enough. I deserve this pain, don't you get it? For all this shit I cause, I deserve it!"

His voice shakes as it grows in volume and his are brimming with tears. Cas doesn't understand. He understands that Dean is self-depreciating. He understands that Dean beats himself up for the death of that little boy, even though he couldn't have possibly done anything. He doesn't understand why Dean would deserve any of this.

"You don't", he states calmly and Dean scoffs at him, avoiding his gaze. "There was no way for you to save that boy, Dean. And I'm sorry that you couldn't save him. But his death isn't on you. It's on the djinn. And you got rid of it. You saved all of the other children. You did well. And you don't deserve to hurt. You're worth so much more."

Dean scoffs again, but Cas doesn't let himself get irritated by that. Instead he lifts his other hand and cups Dean's not bruised cheek to brush his thumb over his cheekbone.

"You give yourself up, Dean. All the time. To make sure that other people are safe. To make sure that Sam and me are safe. Not to mention that you give yourself up, every time the world is in danger. You're a good man, my love. And you deserve good things to happen to you."

That's when Dean breaks. He doesn't sob, but he also can't keep the tears from falling any longer. His lips tremble and he crashes against Cas, into his embrace. His hands find their way into Castiel's suit jacket, clinging to him to keep him standing upright. But Cas isn't having any of that and so he lifts Dean from the ground and carries him the few steps to their bed. He strokes the short blond hair that's sticking up in every direction and rubs the hunter's back, soothing him the best he can. Eventually he moves to cup Dean's face again. With a little touch of his grace he heal his bruises, ignoring the little sound of protest Dean gives and instead wipes away his tears. Dean mumbles something underneath his breath. And if Cas hadn't been an angel, he would have never understood it. But so he hears Dean's "I don't deserve you" and everything falls into place.

The problem isn't that Dean doesn't love Cas. The problem is that Dean doesn't love himself.

And Cas' grace almost acts on its own. This man, who saved the world more than once, who saved so many lives and families, thought he wasn't worthy of love.

"I love you", Cas says and Dean flinches.

He tries to move away, but Castiel holds him tight against himself and forces Dean to look at him.

"I love you and you deserve to be loved, Dean Winchester. You are a good man. You are kind. You are brave. You put everybody's needs before your own. You're beautiful, inside and out. And you're not a monster. How ever much you might think that about yourself. You're loved and you're worthy of love. This, Dean, is a fact. And you have to accept that. You have to accept that you're loved."

The older Winchester looks at Castiel like he has never seen him before. His gaze conveys everything he's unable to voice. It shows how uncomfortable he is with the whole situation, but it also shows how much he needed to hear this. How much he craved this. And even though he can't believe Castiel, he's now sure that Cas won't leave him this fast. Without another thought he moves forward and kisses him, deep and passionate and telling him how much he loves him, even though he can't say it. And Cas knows. Not necessarily through the kiss. But through Dean's soul clinging to his grace.

#sweetemotionschallenge #dean x castiel #destiel #supernatural #dean winchester #castiel #supernatural fanfiction #spn #spn fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #castiel fanfiction #destiel fanfiction #deanxcastiel

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championnatalia · 7 years ago

Photo

The words had burned into her brain, she had read the letter so many times.

Natasha Nikolayevna Stepanova,

I hear you were chosen for the triwizard tournament, although it is no longer quite three wizards. As you were chosen last, I expect you will be the weakest on your team. Do not be.

I hope to be pleased when I hear of your first task.

To Mother Russia,

Nikolai Ivanovich Stepanov

She supposed she should have been grateful that she had received a letter at all.

But God, she was burning. Not even dancing had helped ease the anger that dripped through her veins slow as honey, heady as vodka. The rage had started with the tiniest seed of him spelling out her full name--her full name--along with a nickname he knew she hated, like she was a stranger instead of his daughter, and had taken root with every cold word. Did her being last truly mean anything? Her father seemed to think so, his small, smooth handwriting that barely filled the tiny roll of paper making a cold analysis of his only blood left.

He had signed the letter carelessly, not cautiously, the spiky signature slightly smeared and the final "v" veering off into a different direction. He had signed those three, useless sentences off like she was an unimportant line on his oh-so-long to do list.

She shouldn't be thinking about the letter. Not now, not at all. It wasn't important.

The Task at hand was important.

She stood over the lake, which almost didn’t seem big enough to deserve that title, hands stuffed into her pockets to keep the world from seeing that they were trembling like autumn leaves in heavy wind. She had seen such a sight before, in the forests of her childhood, and had wanted to snatch the leaves from the tree and let them crumble under the might of her tiny fingers.

Now she was the leaves, and was bound to crumble at any minute.

She stood up straighter. Put her feet into first position, then second, then fourth, then back into first. She would just think of this as a performance, that was all. This was just another dance.

Nothing else.

A dance of death.

Natalia pressed her lips together. Now was not the time to be rattling off the list of dead champions in her brain. That was almost worse than thinking of her father’s stupid, stupid letter.

Besides, Headmaster Vladmska was approaching, a silhouette against the glittering green of the Hogwarts lake. She forced herself to straighten. A performance. Your makeup is immaculate, your hair is pulled tightly into a bun, your body is warmed up, ready to tell the story of a fail--

No. A hero.

“Champions, are you ready? You'll begin in a minute.”

Darting her eyes from side to side, she nodded. Only Katya looked as nervous as she was; the girl’s face was somehow several shades whiter than its usual pale state. Valeriya was stuck in her constant state of la-di-da, and Valya, as usual, seemed more concerned with everyone else--namely Katya--than themself. “Look sharp, Big Sister,” they said, concern tinging their voice as they patted the tall girl on the back, “you seem like you're about to pass out.”

If she did, Natalia would be the first to move ahead. She could hear her father’s voice in her head: “a good leader cuts dead weight if it can never help them again.”

She would cut her dead weight, if she had to.

Katya muttered a response that Natalia didn’t bother paying attention to, and Valeriya said something annoyingly positive. Sometimes it seemed that instead of talking the girl just spewed butterflies and cupcakes into the world. Which was nice, in a way; it could be relied upon, however irritating it was. Now, Natalia took a bit of strength from Valeriya’s light tone, dipping into a plié too small for anyone to notice, and began to pay attention once again.

“You got this.” Vladmska flashed a toothy smile. “Make sure you stick together.”

They had to, didn’t they? How stupid. Natalia was sure that her expression was utterly derisive, a look that, while she wore it often, was not suited to her softer features, but she didn’t care. It was such a silly rule, and she didn’t mind making clear her disdain for it.

Naturally, everyone else seemed on board with it.

Valya pulled a group of four bottles from their robe pockets, sloshing the muddy mixture around. It had an odd color to it, like pesto from one of those odd Hogwarts dishes gone moldy. “Here's the potion. It will last us the hour that we need. I also enhanced the effects of the gillyweed so that we can move underwater more easily. Hopefully the side effects won't be too much of a hassle.”

Side effects?

Well, if she failed because of those, it wouldn’t be her fault. Besides, Valya exuded champion better than any of the rest of them. They were effortlessly confident as they leaned on their heels and passed the bottles around, smiling winningly like the kind of hero one heard about in history books. Valya couldn’t botch this up too badly if they were a hero, could they?

Headmistress Mercier’s voice cut across the chilly air. “Are you ready, champions? Once I fire sparks, you may begin.”

“We wouldn’t be here if we weren’t,” Natalia muttered, examining the bottle. I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t. I’m ready. I have to be.

Her hand flew to the locket at her throat as the her teammates--and even Headmaster Vladmska--snickered appreciatively.

She was a performer, and this was just the beginning of the show.

A sound like a gunshot pierced the air, whistling through it as sparks flew up from the judge’s table. Valya wasted no time, shoving the bottles of potion into everyone’s hands as they uncorked theirs, raised it aloft like it was a toast, and said “bottoms up”.

Katya wasted little time either, grimacing as she swallowed with a single “cheers”. Valeriya, all for eagerness, downed the disgusting-looking potion in one gulp, eyes bright as she gave everyone a cheery “let’s go!” Seriously, did this girl have any other emotion?

She didn’t have time to think on that. Valya was already diving into the water with one fluid motion. Natalia hesitantly uncorked the bottle, sloshing it around. Some potions didn’t always mix everything into one fluid, and it looked like this one was no different. She could see a paper-thin wing stuck to the side of the bottle, and a little piece of something like seaweed floated up to the top.

It smelled like kelp, hazily salty with a dirty mask.

She held her nose, tipped her head back, and drank.

It was slimy against her esophagus, cold and dank and muddy-tasting. She felt like a worm slid down her throat and a moth fluttered its wings against it, once, before filtering down to its stomach where it beat nervousness against the lining.

Her team was already down. With one quick glance over her shoulder--there was a crowd, and a sun, and Headmaster Vladmska--she dove in.

The first thing she noticed was that it was cold.

It was cold, and her robes were heavy and coarse against her pruning fingers, and pain was blooming on the sides of her neck and her feet--no, not my feet, please not my feet, I need to dance, if my feet don’t come back I swear I will kill Valya--and they were there. Waiting.

“First we need to find this mermaid, right?” Valya’s voice sounded strained; not warbled, but like their voice was a piano that decided to play a newer, higher octave today.

Katya nodded. She looked much more sure of herself underwater, like the salt water had cleared away any creases in her brow and sadness in her heart. “Natalia, you have the locket?”

Natalia felt the chain tighten around her neck. This was it. Her chance.

“Yes, it’s here.” Her voice was even. Controlled. She pulled it out from underneath her robes, the delicate chain sliding against her fingers with each tiny link. “I have a bracelet in case this fails, but it’s a prototype.” And by prototype she meant bad, very bad, in which she recorded her own miserable voice singing without words. But now she looked prepared and competent.

She needed to be prepared and competent. I expect you will be the weakest on your team...do not be…

“I’m sure it will work.” Valya nodded firmly. If she felt like being honest with herself, it was probably to reassure themself, but with Katya’s added affirmation it didn’t sound so terrible. It was easier to lie when more people agreed with the untruth.

“Okay, which direction should we go?” Valeriya asked. Natalia jutted her chin; down, obviously. She wouldn’t be the one to say it, though.

Luckily, after a bit of banter, Katya did, with a bit more dryness than Natalia could muster in an environment so wet, and so they continued.

The environment became even colder, if possible, and browner. Where they had been, closer to the surface, it was a perfect shade or turquoise, light filtering through the little murk there was to create a setting that could have been out of a lush fairytale. Now they were descending into a vague underworld, with blobs that could transform into nightmares floating alongside them.

She felt too fanciful. Life was for business plans as sturdy as oak, not for descriptions that reminded her of a child’s story. Or a ballet, she thought suddenly, and felt her muscles tighten. That was a waste of time, too.

“Does anyone see anything?” Katya asked, her voice vague and senseless. There was a current of anxiety racing underneath it, like the world was too muddled, too senseless.

Maybe that was why she wasn’t uncomfortable with the setting at all. It was home to her, thickly wooded and dense with secrets beyond every trunk. Just underwater without a sprinkle of winter gray that made everything seem more

“This reminds me of a forest. Everything is hidden. So no.”

But just as everything was hidden, everything wasn’t. A glimmer of light caught Natalia’s eye, and she turned towards it, watching it grow steadily brighter and brighter.

“Hey, what’s that?” Valya asked. Their voice was as hushed as it was bold. Natalia didn’t say anything; there was unease growing in the pit of her stomach like a yearling tree.

Katya swam closer, and suddenly it clicked.

“It reminds me of, what was it, a grindylow?” Or was it a hinkypunk? She had never been very good at Care of Creatures, magical or otherwise. Regardless, there was a creature that lured you in with its light for diabolical ends.

“I don’t remember anything about grindylows…”

Natalia tensed; her voice wanted to shout at Katya, tell her to back away. She clamped the need down. “That one creature that lures you in with its light…”

“Yeah yeah, I know what they are. I don't remember them being part of the Task, though?” Valya said. Natalia hummed, pressed her lips together, put these terrible fins in fourth position. A performance.

The light was getting brighter by the second. She could let Katya meet her doom, or show weakness, or…

“All I remember about them is that they are aggressive so let’s go around them.” And that was Valeriya, voice as wispy as her dark side. But she wasn’t calling Katya over, either.

No one was saying anything. Katya was surging forwards, leaving them behind…

Natalia sighed. “How do we know? Katya!”

The light snapped, turning corporeal. A mermaid: her hair was a thousand different colors curled into one, rich browns and stunning auburns with some gold threaded throughout. Her tail was blue, and scaly, and glittered like it was a coin, or a sun…

Natalia felt something curl inside her chest. God, she’s beautiful.

Instinctively, she dropped into a curtsy. She was not underwater, poor by Koldovstoretz robes; she was in a ballroom, at age eight, meeting a woman that looked like her mother for the first time and trying to remember her manners.

The image faded. Valeriya’s eyes burned into her back.

“Not too fast, Natalia,” Valya murmured. “Don’t want to piss her off.”

She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. “I won’t, I promise.”

Her hands were shaking. The mermaid was smiling. Slowly, she began to unclasp the locket. In a moment, it dangled from her fingers, catching what little light was in the nether-regions of the lake.

A light flash, and the mermaid, once smiling and perfect and beautiful, was a slice of silver against the murky background, wriggling around frantically.

“What was that?” Natalia whispered. This now felt so unlike a forest, where she knew everything that might come across her path. She was a trespasser here, something that didn’t belong.

“A trick,” Katya whispered, and it sounded like a swear. As if her voice was a cue, the fish then popped into one of jelly, cloud-like as it bobbed away.

She reclasped her locket. “What a waste of time,” Katya whispered, and Natalia was inclined to agree. There were...how long had they been down here?

A low snarling came from the cluster of rocks the faux mermaid had been. “That was...odd,” Valya said, a frown carving their features like wood.

“You have fifty-two minutes left.”

They had to get moving, or they’d lose, and that was not a letter she wanted to read. “Wands out?”

“No!” Katya said, forceful in every way. “If it’s a mermaid, we could appear to be aggressive. Just...be on guard.”

Of course. Because just being on guard was helpful.

But then again, if they got attacked she could go get the eggs on her own…

“But if it isn’t a mermaid…” Valya clearly was already holding their wand, deep in their pocket.

The snarls were growing louder. Natalia was wobbling, teetering, slowing.

“No, you’re right,” Valya said, looking like they regretted their first response. Natalia did too, all of a sudden. She didn’t want to die, but...they wouldn’t let them die. The Triwizard Tournament had only passed through all the magical governments after severe safety warrants had been put in place.

Besides, they were champions! Chosen for a reason, not their bloodlines or their skills with a wand. There was something inside each of them--well, maybe not the unicorn princess, but still--that caused them to be chosen.

They were smart. They were ready. And her father--

“Yes, I don’t think mermaids make that sound,” Valeriya said, jarring her out of her thoughts. Her wand was out as she moved to examine the source of the snarling: a cluster of rocks.

It was Katya who spoke up for her now: “We’ll be fine, Natalia’s right.”

And Valya: “Careful, Valeriya!”

The blonde girl turned back to the group. “Okay!” she said, slipping her wand into her pocket and rejoining their little cluster.

She didn’t like that they were a cluster, yet she liked it more than she thought she would.

There was a pause, a beat of hesitation. “We’re not defenseless without wands,” she said. Silence was heavy in the water.

And then it wasn’t.

A creature sprang from the rocks, a blur of brown that almost blended into the environment. It could have been a mermaid, but it couldn’t have. Mermaids in Russia were elegant and graceful; Natalia had gotten the chance to meet a few, since they lived by one of her fathers’ farms. This one was a hag, her fingernails long and yellowed, her hair stringy, her eyes slitted like a cat’s.

“Is that a mermaid?” Valeriya whispered.

“That’s it.” Valya’s voice was just as stunned as she felt. “That’s a mermaid.”

Katya’s voice was a tone of knowing disdain. “We’re in Scotland, of course.”

The mermaid screamed, her head thrown back, bubbles shooting out of her mouth like a jetstream.

“I hate the British,” Natalia said.

Valya nodded, bending into a bow. “Stay calm, everyone. Natalia, open the locket.”

She didn’t want to stay calm.

The mermaid swam up to Valya.

Natalia opened the locket.

A tiny stream of song came through when she opened it, but not much of one. She was fairly certain only she could hear it.

Still, she unclasped the locket.

The mermaid was hissing in Valya’s ear: “Restore me to my former glory.”

Natalia’s eyes darted from side to side. Katya looked like she wanted to intervene but instead dropped into a less-than-graceful curtsy. What could the British mermaid mean, restore her to her former glory? Did the British have any glory that didn’t come from architecture, conquering, or Quidditch? Well, naturally there had to be, but--did she need an object? A new voice? A makeover?

The silence, though short, was stretching on too long. Natalia felt as though she was about to fold into herself. “We will do our best.”

Katya looked as though she was trying to prevent herself from panicking. “Will you tell us how to help you?”

Maybe the answer was music all along. Maybe if Natalia just hummed along to the music charmed into her muted locket, the one she should probably reclasp sometime soon...

The mermaid sneered. “I was once beautiful. A young mermaid: gorgeous, powerful, wanted. But I am now reduced to a withering mess. Restore me back to my former glory and I will let you pass.”

Beauty, beauty...Natalia’s mind skimmed over everything that made her feel beautiful. A perfect wing of eyeliner matched equally on both sides of her face, a compliment from her father, the clean serenity of her home forests, a win in a duel of some kind, a jeté, a plié, the tightness of the leotard against her skin, the movement of the music...

Katya mumbled a complaint. Natalia was too busy to listen as she imagined herself at the barre, going through the movements, trying to think. Maybe a duel for beauty could make the mer see her beauty? But tools for a duel for few and far between, down here.

Valeriya whispered to her, “do you know a good charm to change her appearance?”

But that wasn’t needed to feel beautiful...

Valya pulled their wand from their pocket. “Would this help?”

The mermaid glared. “Glamours don’t work.”

“No!” Natalia hissed at Valya, a solution dawning on her. She turned to the mermaid. “I can teach you things. Dance, music. When you perform, it doesn’t matter.”

Katya nodded quickly. “Natalia is right.”

The mermaid appeared confused, her brow furrowed. She had a nice, high forehead. “You...will teach me to dance?” she asked slowly. Natalia didn’t miss how long the mermaid spent on the word dance, like it was a sweet that she had to suck on for a while to be sure she liked it.

“Yes.” A beat. “I’ve been training all my life.” She began to move her fins into open fourth position: one foot directly in front of another, “heels” lined up.

Valya leaned over to her, whispering: “what kind of charm did you put on that locket again?”

Natalia quickly reclasped it, closed it. “A good one.” Did they doubt her? She had spent hours charming the locket to sing as a gift for the mermaids. “But if she wants to be beautiful, this is how. Do you know anything about dance, O Beautiful One?” The title fell easily from her lips; the mermaid had a gleam of intelligence in her eyes, and a childhood surrounded by those richer and more important than her taught her of the golden rule of getting what you wanted: flattery.

“Yes, I can tap dance,” the mermaid said, bobbing up and down in the water.

Natalia grinned, clapping her webbed hands. “Look! You’re practically glowing!”

Valya nodded energetically. The mer asked, “really?”

“Yes! You’re beautiful.” And she meant it. “When you dance, you’re happy, and that means beauty.”

“I hate tap dancing. My mom forced me into it when I was three.”

Well, that was better for Natalia, seeing as she only knew a few moves in tap. “Do you want to try ballet?”

Katya smiled at Natalia, and Natalia was shocked at how much it changed Katya’s expression from that of a girl with the temperament of an icicle to the expression of a girl that maybe, just maybe, Natalia would like to know. If she had ever had a propensity for friends, that is. “A very reliable source told me it’s the most beautiful dance of all.”

She felt lighter, like she was soaring through a jeté and there was nothing holding her down. Maybe she was smiling, soft and sweet. “It is.”

Valeriya nodded in agreement. “I have a feeling you’ll be a natural,” the girl said with a sly smile, exposing a bit of scrappiness she’d yet to show the group. “It emphasizes fluid movements.”

The mermaid growled, “teach.”

Natalia slowly looked the mermaid over. Unfortunately, they couldn’t do anything quite complicated, or even the foot positions, seeing as the mermaid had no feet. The emphasis would have to be on the arms, in order to teach something worthwhile. At least the mer already held herself like a queen; that was something that would take far too long to learn.

Natalia nodded. The mermaid hissed, “all you join.”

But that didn’t register yet. “The real thing about ballet for you will be in the arms. Your posture is excellent, which already exudes natural ballet skill and elegance.” Then: she was stumbling, disappointment tinging the world. “Oh.”

“I don’t dance,” Katya whispered.

“Nor do I. At all. Ever?”

She found it necessary to glare at them.

“Neither do I but we will learn fast.” Valeriya, at least, was willing to play along.

Valya gulped, clearly nervous. “Okay, I’m in.” They better be, especially because the mermaid was flopping her tail and shrieking “ALL DANCE!”

They attempted a spin. At least they were trying. Shaking her head in amusement, Natalia ran through the arm positions in her head. Fifth would probably be easiest to learn, especially high fifth. So she’d start with that.

Gracefully, she started in first position, her hands low on the body, elbows bended, before fluidly bringing them into high fifth--almost entirely above her head, although still able to see her hands, which were six inches apart. “Put your arms like this,” she instructed, watching her pupils attend to the lesson. The mermaid wasn’t doing so well; her hands lay atop her head like she was trying to knock some sense into her skull. Valeriya was probably doing the best of the group, though. While Katya had made a futile attempt to replicate Natalia’s motions and Valya hadn’t done much but their spin, Valeriya’s motion had been semi-fluid, and her arms had arrived at the position they needed too--if a bit too high over her head. Natalia thought to correct it, but there was little time, and it was key to flatter the mermaid senseless. Perhaps it would be best to provide some contrast first? “Valya, what are you doing? Pick yourself up.”

The mermaid growled. Perhaps Natalia better ease back on that point, then, even though Valya was clearly shuffling to get a better sense of posture. “Decent enough, Katya and Valeriya.”

Then she schooled her features into one of awe. “Oh...my...O Beautiful One, you have mastered this move!”

Valya muttered something sarcastic, too quiet to hear even for an experienced eavesdropper as herself. Natalia forced herself to focus, to keep the light shining in her eyes as she looked over the mermaid’s bad form. “I guess, but Valya, look at this creature of beauty. She’s so graceful.”

She could hear the shuffling sounds of her teammates--and God, when had she started to refer to them in such a way?--trying to prove the mermaid’s beauty to her. “I feel inferior,” Katya said, a smile hiding under the words. It was quickly followed up by Valeriya’s “that was great! I told you you’d be a natural,” and Valya’s “She has outshone us all!”

The lot of them were unbelievable.

“You have forty-three minutes left.”

They had wasted nine minutes. No, Natalia had wasted nine minutes. And without any result other than not being attacked, where were they? Had she done any good?

What would her father say?

The mermaid started swimming towards a seaweed forest growing on the lake floor. “Thank you for dazzling us, O Beautiful One!” she called, not sure if it would do any good.

The mermaid nodded. Parted the seaweed. And pointed down towards a cave.

Everyone immediately broke out into grins. Natalia curtsied. “You are ever so beautiful and kind. If you wish, I could come back later and teach more?” And she liked the idea of that, she really did. Teaching ballet down in a lake without any students around...it sounded like heaven.

The mermaid nodded, and something swelled inside Natalia’s chest.

“Thank you, beautiful creature,” Valya said with a bow.

“It was an honor,” Valeriya added.

Katya turned back to the mermaid. “Yes, thank you,” she said, before adding in a hushed whisper “remember the time limit.”

The time limit. A mark of Natalia’s imminent failure. Instantly, everything came rushing back: the letter, her father, the Task.

She shivered. She couldn’t think of her father in relation to ballet, or she’d cry, and she was being judged right now. Natalia would not be a tragic hero, she’d be an impenetrable one.

If she was a hero at all.

“You have thirty-nine minutes left.”

Natalia waved goodbye and refused to look back. “We should head to the cave. Are we ready?” Valya asked.

She wished she was ready.

Everyone was already in the cave. Checking herself for dignity, Natalia continued.

The cave was a small aperture in the ground that would have been bigger had stalactites and stalagmites not created jagged teeth all around the entrance of the cave. It looked like the maw of some monster, and if Natalia could have thought of anything, she would have. But she was reduced to asking “Katya? Do you have anything?”

Katya pulled out her wand. “I think so. Spongify!”

The rocks seemed to bounce, becoming rubbery and soft. Valya and Valeriya threw a few useless compliments Katya’s way. “Let’s go,” Natalia said, wishing she’d thought of it herself.

Katya nodded. “No time to waste.” Valeriya pulled out her wand and Natalia followed suit.

“We should be prepared for anything now,” Valeriya assured them. This time her voice had some depth to it, some meaning, like it wasn’t just empty positivity. It, more than anything else she’d said, made Natalia feel a little more at ease. “Does anyone see it?” Valeriya asked as their group entered the cave.

“Lumos!” Valya said. A stalactite brushed Natalia’s arm. It felt furry, almost. Soft. If nothing else could be said about Katya, it was that she was quite the charmer.

There were snorts coming from deep inside the cave. “Caution,” Natalia warned.

Valya hoisted their wand farther forward. “I can’t see anything.” It was as though the darkness would swallow them whole, Natalia thought, and then wanted to shove the thought away.

“Wait, let me set up the barrier,” Valeriya said before muttering the words of the spell under her breath. The air seemed to ripple in front of them, and Natalia gave an almost inaudible sigh of relief.

“Quickly, let’s go,” Katya said just as Valeriya chimed “finished!”

She felt a little less tense. “Let’s find this bad bitch,” Valya said, like they were trying to summon the spirit of some Muggle adventure hero.

Which she could understand, but “no cursing, please.”

This new mermaid was young, and beautiful, and the sight of her made Natalia’s chest thud. “Hey, do you need some help?”

Natalia’s mind raced. What might happen if she were to refuse? She curtsied. “Hello. We would like some help.” Another rule from her father: “accept the outstretched hand, just with metal-tipped gloves on.”

The mermaid smiled, her teeth blindingly white. “Of course! I can help you retrieve the eggs.”

The mermaid knew about their task. Which meant either that social circles were limited under the lake, or that she was a trap.

Katya appeared to have the same thought, warning her: “Natalia…”

“Be careful,” Valya warned.

And she was, she really was, only she was a daughter of Nikolai Stepanov, and she would not back down. She would fight clever with clever.

“Before we do anything, we’d like to thank you for your generous offer. Um…” She fumbled to get the locket off her neck and open it. Maybe, just maybe, if the mermaid liked her charm enough, she could toss it out the cave and be done with her. Or, if that didn’t work, the gift would keep the mermaid from attacking them and causing their downfall. A gift was its own form of flattery.

Tchaikovsky began to stream out of the locket. “Thank you!” the mermaid said, taking it for herself. Natalia felt her eyes widen and suddenly understood Valya’s inclination towards cursing.

“Remember the plan,” Katya told her.

“I’m trying.”

The mermaid swam ahead, sticking close to the walls. “Shh, let’s go,” she whispered. Natalia began to swim ahead, trying to stay close to the group as she asked the mermaid a question in a vain attempt to throw her off guard. The last thing she wanted was to be alone with the mer, especially with the warnings everyone else seemed to be whispering as they swam behind her. She quickly whispered, “what happens if we don’t say anything?” to the group before trying to catch up with the mermaid.

“Be careful!” the mermaid called as she beckoned to them.

“Oh, we are,” Natalia muttered, pressing her lips together. Valya cast a spell to enhance the brightness of the dark cave.

The mermaid turned back to them, whispering. “I'm Alessia. I'm half Siren so I'll be able to sing and charm the Occamy into a lull.”

Valeriya asked, “what about us?”

With a jolt of fear, Natalia realized that Valeriya was right. Sirens...they were the ones who enchanted you with their voice, right? Couldn’t that work on the lot of them and not just the occamy? And if that was Alessia’s plan, then what would she do after that? Rob them? No, that wouldn’t make sense, unless the mer was planning to take their wands.

Natalia gripped hers a little tighter. “Okay,” Valya said, “Keep your spells ready.”

Did they doubt her? Did everyone doubt her? Her mind flew to her father for a fraction of a second, that grating letter, and her body tensed. “Of course.”

“I’ll distract the occamy so you guys can grab the egg!” Alessia said. Natalia was at once struck by how differently she talked than the mermaids in Russia, so informal and cheery. It felt wrong, like a bad chord struck on an instrument. A piano out of tune.

Katya seemed to be in a moment of hesitation, hands in a position that suggested they were about to do something but were unclear what. “This is too easy,” she whispered.

Maybe Alessia really was going to help. Maybe Natalia’s gift had tided her over. Maybe there was a chance.

“She will lull us to sleep as well, remember those ancient Greeks,” Valeriya chided, her eyes filled with worry.

Maybe there was no reason to be. “We can’t fight her,” Natalia whispered. Living with Nikolai Stepanov had taught her that some battles were futile to fight.

“Valeriya could be right,” Katya pressed. “We need to think of something.”

The mermaid started singing. Natalia could feel her body start to sway, like it was an adagio she just had to dance to. Quickly, Valeriya cast “muffliato!”

Katya glanced around at all of them. “Should we proceed with the plan, then?”

There was a moment built from pure hesitation between the four of them. “Well, no need to charm the eggs now,” Valeriya said, breaking the silence.

Valya was twitching nervously. “This is still... unnervingly easy.”

Some things were, Natalia wanted to say. But they were right. This was too easy, especially for a Triwizard Task.

“What choice do we have?” Katya whispered.

“But I can't think of a reason to turn back now,” Valya finished, a look passing between them and Katya.

There was a backup plan, if they needed it. Natalia's hand drifted towards the charm bracelet on her arm. “If we want to scare her away, my prototype wasn't good.”

The muffliato Valeriya cast was wearing away now. Natalia could hear the last few bars of a tuneless song, then a shriek that splintered the air like a knife. “Katya, want to try your x-ray spell?” Valeriya cried out, but there was no response from any of the other champions.

Her insides turned to ice, her heart to snow. No.

The occamy was waking up.

Her teammates’ curses faded into something dull as she numbed, recounting her failures. The mermaid had come up to her, and she hadn't lured Alessia away for safer passage. She hadn't done anything. She was the fourth chosen, and by her father's words, she was useless.

She wouldn't be, she vowed to herself, casting a “glacius!” at the occamy that missed disastrously. She wouldn't be the dead weight that needed cutting.

The occamy’s tail sliced her cheek. “Valeriya…”

Valya flung an obscuro at the occamy. Valeriya started casting the disillusionment charm on Katya.

She felt numb, and dumb, and useless.

“Find the egg!” Valeriya called. Natalia felt something like relief shudder through her. This, this was the task at hand. She would make this a performance worth watching.

With fast fins, she began to try to dart behind the nest, which was behind the occamy and its stinging tail. Only--it wouldn’t work. She was slipping, and sliding, the jagged rocks at the bottom of the cave slicing her fins.

Notmyfeetnotmyfeetnotmyfeet…

She could hear, dimly, the sounds of Katya’s frantic “transparo”s and Valya’s “fuck this!”--even Valeriya’s drone of disillusionment. But what mattered right now was the eggs, huge and heavy-looking in the occamy’s nest. What mattered now was her father’s letter, its formal tone, and the only way to prove him wrong and herself a true Stepanov.

“Guys try not to move too quickly, she can’t see you!”

She had to slow down. She...she had to slow down.

The cave reeked of death. Her feet felt like death.

“I have an idea!” Valya announced. Natalia took a moment to look back at the group--Valeriya, her hair ratty, her brow wrinkled in concentration; Valya, hurling rocks across the cave to distract the occamy; Katya, who, as the tail swung back, was falling, hard, onto the rocky surface of the cave.

Natalia was so close, but Katya wasn’t.

“Serpensortia!” Valya screamed, casting the snake that shot from the tip of their wand away from towards the occamy, who snapped it up quickly.

Thoughts flashed through Natalia’s brain quicker than lightning. “Poison!” she suggested desperately, noting the sudden openness of her path to the nest. Then: “Katya?”

Twenty metres. It was just twenty metres. Why was this so hard?

Her feet stung. Valya was screaming something.

Fifteen metres. I expect you will be the weakest on your team. Do not be.

“Everyone conjure snakes! Towards the opposite side of the room!” Valya’s words only dimly registered. Over her shoulder, she quickly cast “serpensortia!”

Ten metres. With a final spurt of energy, she ran up the slope to the eggs. Almost there. “Should I do anything? I’m closest!” Another serpensortia over her shoulder. I hope to be pleased when I hear of your first task...

“Careful, Natalia!” She couldn’t tell who it was, but the words registered somewhere in her brain. She was almost at the nest.

And then she was there.

It was hulking, and wooden, and each egg looked huge and as Katya hurled another “TRANSPARO!” it looked like something was coming to life, moving and glowing inside these eggs’ silvery shells.

“I THINK IT’S WORKING, KATYA!” Or something was working. But she was built from pure hesitation, and didn’t want to do anything. She was a performer, wasn’t she? Wouldn’t her not grabbing the eggs be quite the show?

I hope to be pleased when I hear of your first task...But did she want her father to be pleased?

Following suit with the rest of the group, she cast a quick “stupefy” at the occamy, then returned her attention to the eggs. She could...she could…

Hands shaking, she cast “reducio.” The eggs immediately shrunk to a size where they could fit in her palm, which is where she put them before stuffing them into the deep pockets of her robes.

She didn’t want to move. “We have to go, now!” Katya yelled.

She rolled the eggs around in the pocket. “Let’s all cast a protection charm! Mine just aren’t strong enough by myself.” Valeriya’s tone sounded urgent for someone who lived in a world where time didn’t exist.

“Bombarda Maxima!” Valya cast at the wall. Natalia forced herself to refocus, rethink. What was she doing right now? Nothing. Nothing important. Shaking her head at herself, she brushed off her robes, trying to maintain some dignity. Katya took her hand and pulled both of them towards Valya and Valeriya.

The cave was doing nothing, despite Valya’s spell. What could cause a gate to open? A key. And what was the key? Her gaze trailed to Alessia. “Singing...What if we sang?”

As if in response, the beautiful mermaid started to shriek. “Damn,” Natalia swore, pressing a hand against the cave wall. It was thick, but if magic was what solved it, there could easily be a hole created big enough for all of them to slip through.

“Sing?!” Valya was incredulous. A pebble knocked against Natalia’s bun, and she hissed in a breath. The cave was raining down rocks on them.

“Hurry!” Valeriya goaded, ducking beneath her hands as the deadly hailstorm of miniature boulders continued. Something seized Natalia’s heart.

“She sang! The cave likes her!”

“The Koldovstoretz Anthem?!”

Katya muttered something. Pressure speared Natalia in the stomach. “Yes! Do it!”

Slowly, voice breaking, Valya began to sing the Koldovstoretz anthem. Katya joined in after a few bars, then Valeriya, then Natalia herself. The sound of their voices grated against her ears, but it wasn’t nearly so bad as the sound of cracking rock above their heads. “IS THIS WORKING?” Valya roared.

She didn’t know, she couldn’t know but “Keep singing! They won’t let us die here!”

Cedric Diggory died during the Triwizard Tournament. So did Adalene Moreau, Teodory Woźniak, Carol Smith--

She began to sing again, her mezzo-soprano voice bouncing off the cave walls. Valya began to move rocks away from one of the cave walls, still singing the Koldovstoretz anthem.

--Anna Karkaroff, Lukas--

The entrance collapsed. Natalia heaved a sigh of relief. They weren’t going to die--at least, not today.

“You have four minutes left.”

Or maybe her father would kill her through his words.

“Go, go, go! Natalia first!” Katya began to usher everyone out of the cave.

“You have three minutes left.”

She began to swim upwards, hand buried in her pocket to make sure the eggs didn’t fall out. The water dragged her and her robes down.

All that mattered was getting to the top. It was so far away…

“Ascendio!” Katya cast, and Natalia felt something like relief wash over her body before she realized that the spell had done nothing but ripple away. The light at the surface was growing brighter, but without help, there was no way they’d be able to make it in the time allotted.

“Valeriya, is there something defensive for this?” she asked. Her arm muscles were straining themselves against the water, and had she not had gills, she would have been gasping for air. Even if it felt foolish to ask the silly girl for something, there could always be a possibility that Natalia had overlooked…

“Natalia! The mermaid!” Katya snapped, and Natalia glanced down to see her protégé slithering out of the rocks.

“O Beautiful One!”

The mermaid was swimming up to meet them, grabbing them all and placing them on her powerful tail. Natalia held on as best as she could, listening to the water rush past her ears and her too-fast heartbeat. She wanted to cry, to scream. “In exchange for getting us up to the surface as quickly as possible, I will dance with you every day that I can,” she promised, feeling her heart sink as she thought of what her father would say to that. You shouldn’t be wasting your time. You are Natalia Nikolayevna Stepanova, and you are the heiress to the greatest tree legacy of all time. Why should you learn to do something for lowborns, for Muggles?

That was the breaking point.

They emerged from the water, coughing and heaving up gallons of water. Everything began to crash down onto her shoulders like it was the lake and she was a mere mortal without the means to breath.

The Task. The letter. Her father’s eyes filled with disapproval, no matter what she did. The forty-nine seconds left on the time that surely, surely, Natalia could have made longer. Otherwise, what kind of champion was she? What kind of Stepanov was she?

She should have quit ballet long ago. She should have quit Koldovstoretz long ago, just lived on her father’s tree farm and waited to come of age to take over the family business.

She should’ve--she should’ve--

Tears like melted snow filled her eyes, and she forced herself to think rationally. Clear her mind and stop focusing only on what her father might think.

She dumped the colorful, tiny eggs onto the dock, half-listening to Valya and Valeriya’s pointless conversation as she waited for the transformation to overtake her body.

The sky was blue. Her feet were numb.

And she was not okay.

She was not able to pretend that her father’s letter didn’t matter, didn’t worry her. She couldn’t. It blazed through her mind like lightning to a sapling, and she was shaking, and it wasn’t from any sort of side effect from any sort of potion. It felt like a forever ago that she had gone under the water and disappeared from the ground, where Nikolai Stepanov graced--or was it cursed?--the world with his presence.

But to him, she was a marionette. And even as Valya put their hand on her shoulder and Katya walked over, even as Natalia made another excuse to keep dancing with the mermaid--Aella, whose appearance now showed off all the beauty she had inside--she felt empty, and alone, and too much like she was being made to dance when she didn’t want to. Her father put the marionette strings around her neck, and if she disobeyed, she felt like she might choke.

What was a world where these three, odd schoolmates made her feel more alright than any blood she had left? What was a world where she was afraid to dance for fear of a reaction? What was she feeling right now, in this cold, empty minute, that made her want to cry?

She was not okay. She was not okay.

She just couldn’t stop performing.

#twtoc #submission #ooc: sorry for how bad the banner is yikes #ooc: but this was so fun...and exhausting...to write #ooc: also if you can find all the water puns props to you

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