#there’s maybe a quarter of the next chapter written

[cynical-kitten]

What does it feel like to update your fics on a consistent schedule?

Asking for… a friend.

[deepspacedukat]

Praetor's Pride - Part 6

Y'know, at first I was worried that this would turn out to be a filler chapter, but it turned out to be something else entirely thanks to a plot bunny that halfway ties together two ideas I had. This fic will probably end up being around fifteen chapters, so strap idn for a long journey, and enjoy, friends! I know I haven't updated in ages, but life is busy and writer's block is a bitch.

Part 1 here. Part 2 here. Part 3 here. Part 4 here. Part 5 here.

Cross-posted to AO3 here.

~*~

Praetor Hiren (ST:Nemesis) x Reader; Senator Letant (ST:DS9) x Reader

[A/N: This has smut, so 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI!!!]

Warnings: Interspecies sex, Human/Romulan sex, innuendo, ogling, heavy flirtation, literal sleeping together, dirty talk, implied spanking, mild angst.

~*~

After months of sand swirling around my head, getting in my hair, and nearly blinding me, the cool, climate-controlled environment of Deep Space Nine felt like the height of luxury. The Vulcan heat, I'd discovered, was quite possibly the most stifling climate I'd ever experienced - even Andoria's frigid icy surface was more enjoyable.

When I'd arrived on the former Cardassian station, I'd lowered the temperature in my quarters and practically lived in my bed the first day. It was lazy, it was selfish, but oh stars it felt incredible to not be on the verge of melting for once.

All in all, Vulcan hadn't been completely unpleasant, but the heat was one thing I could definitely do without. Despite feeling as though I was roasting alive every time I walked outside, my spirits during my stay there had been kept rather high by my correspondence with both Letant and Hiren. The letters I received from them were the highlights of my days.

Each had such a unique voice when putting pen to paper - or, I should say stylus to PADD - that I could tell by the very first line which of the two had written it before I glanced down at the signature. Letant was his usual jovial, jaunty self. We'd corresponded semi-regularly prior to this last trip to Vulcan, but his letters were now an almost daily part of my routine.

He spoke, for the most part, as if nothing had changed between us, but he'd stray into romantic territory near the end of each missive. Judging by his tone and how sentimental he waxed, I could discern his mood. If it had been a long, hard day, he veered further into introspective territory.

'I can't help but wonder,' he wrote in one particular message, 'whether I've been selfish in regards to our relationship. A Romulan Senator has no shortage of enemies, as has been demonstrated to me recently, and I must ask you to be honest with me in your next response. Are you absolutely certain that you know what you're getting into?'

I'd responded to him that whatever hurdles appeared before us, we'd conquer them together. Navigating life together - the good, the bad, and everything in between - was, after all, what relationships were all about. He'd comforted me countless times over the course of our friendship, so why shouldn't I do the same for him now that we were romantically involved?

Letant certainly had no objections to my emotional support, becoming ever more amorous in his subsequent correspondence.

And the Praetor's letters...

Oh, Hiren gave me something utterly priceless: a glimpse into his soul. Quoting romantic poetry from all corners of the galaxy, he made me feel as though he...well, adored me. Letant's letters were extremely intimate and romantic, of course, but this side of Hiren was unexpected. I wasn't surprised that he could be that way with a lover, but I never quite anticipated being on the receiving end of such desire.

A small part of me still expected an abrupt shift from acceptance of my Humanity to outright rejection. Maybe that expectation was just my past experience with intolerance rearing its ugly head, but something taut and nervous fluttered through my chest every time I read one of the Praetor's missives. I already felt so much for him. The thought that he might end up thinking no more of me than some of the others I'd met felt like a vice around my lungs. I hadn't yet confided that to Letant, but I knew it would be wise to do so once he arrived on the station.

He'd know precisely what I was feeling, especially if he made use of that telepathy he'd demonstrated to glance into my thoughts. In fact, that might be easier than trying to express what I felt verbally.

They seemingly had no trouble doing so - a fact that never ceased to surprise me, despite the heavy encryption that protected their words.

Something else their letters shared was the presence of oddly capitalized letters. Both could speak Federation standard, but given how random the capitalized letters were, it seemed as thought they'd begun dictating their letters in Romulan using a translation matrix that wasn't quite calibrated correctly, then switched over to Federation standard dictation halfway through. It was odd. Every letter but one contained these odd linguistic characters; Hiren's most recent correspondence was the only one completely free of typos.

For such exacting men, this struck me as odd, but then again, they were both extremely busy. They could simply have not noticed, especially if their wrote their letters at the end of the day before bed. They did have exhausting jobs, and more than once, Letant had alluded to giving himself a...'relaxing massage' while composing a message to me.

I couldn't help but wonder whether Hiren had ever done the same. I reprimanded myself as soon as the thought crossed my mind. He was the Praetor of the Romulan Empire. I really shouldn't have tried to read more into his words than was intended.

But then, that day in the garden still nudged at the back of my mind, reminding me of how deep and sensual Hiren's voice dropped when he was aroused, and I was gone. There was no dragging my thoughts back from the abyss of dirty imagery it had conjured. Maybe it was all that time spent with the Vulcans and their own mental restraint, but I longed for some of my lovers' expressiveness. Their wit and sarcasm, their gentle smiles and gleeful smirks...my heart ached to be with them again.

A week after I'd arrived on Deep Space Nine, I was rereading Hiren's latest message when it struck me:

It was too late for me to guard my heart. For better or worse, he and Letant already held it in their grasp. I was head over heels for the Senator, and I could tell that the same fate awaited me in regards to Hiren.

Could this really work? Could I really be a lover to two high-class, influential Romulans?

Odo opened a comm channel just as I once again skimmed the poetry excerpt from Hiren's last letter. I was still reeling with shock from the realization of how far I'd already fallen.

"Ambassador, I'm sorry to bother you, but there's someone in security who claims that you're expecting him."

How odd.

"Acknowledged. On my way," I answered as I got to my feet. Reluctantly, I put the PADD containing Hiren's letters back into my luggage with the rest and locked it before starting toward the Promenade.

The entire way there, I was stuck in my own thoughts. Was this a risk I was willing to take? Were Hiren and Letant really willing to accept a mate who was so incredibly different? Did they understand just how much we had to learn about each other?

For that matter, did I?

A pair of doors hissed open in front of me, and I realized I'd reached the security office while I was overanalyzing my situation.

"I know you've been here before, sir, but we all have to take precautions. your government's delegation was altered at the last minute. Ah, there you are, Ambassador," the Constable said, and I blinked, taking in the group of people in the office. There were three Romulans. Two wore military uniforms, and when the third turned around, I froze.

"Speechless already? Oh dear, that doesn't bode well for the conference in a few days, does it?" Letant's usual shit-eating grin awoke the hoard of butterflies hiding in my stomach. He was here early! I hadn't been expecting him for another three days at the very least! "Really, Constable, if you recognize me, surely you don't need confirmation of my identity?"

Odo harumphed as if the Senator's question was the height of stupidity.

"It's not your identity I'm concerned with, it's your behavior," he stated bluntly before turning his attention to me. "I wouldn't normally do this, but the last I heard, the two of you were close friends. Can you vouch for him?"

Mischief bubbled swiftly up from within me as I turned to my mate with a serious expression.

"Hm, I don't know. He can be quite the troublemaker. Drinking too much ale...flirting with the Dabo girls...picking fights with Klingon officers..." I trailed off and took two slow steps toward him as my eyes drank him in from head to toe and back again. "Do you promise to be a good boy for me, Senator?"

Letant's eyes darkened with hunger, and his grin transformed from a light, easy, roguish smile to a smirk that promised I'd regret teasing him in front of his officers.

"For you, Ambassador, yes. I do," he murmured, and I turned to the Constable.

"Yes, Odo, I'll vouch for him."

The Security Chief started tapping away at his console.

"Very well. Senator, as you've arrived early, I'm afraid the quarters we were going to have prepared for you are not yet empty–"

"There is no need for a separate set of quarters. I'll be staying with the Ambassador," Letant said, and before Odo could protest, the Senator guided me out with a large, warm hand placed firmly on my back. His guards took up protective positions behind us as we walked, effectively multiplying the amount of people staring at us. "My, separation has made you quite bold indeed, e'lev. Did your stay on Vulcan truly bore you so severely that you would challenge a Romulan Senator in public?"

"Oh please, you dramatic man, there was no challenge. I was teasing you, and you damn well know it."

Letant let out a quiet laugh as his eyebrows rose.

"You don't call publicly asking if I'm going to be a 'good boy' a challenge of my authority?" I started to reply, but he cut me off. "Or were you, perhaps, trying to coax a particular reaction from me, hm?"

The abrupt closure of my mouth told him all that he needed to know.

"Ah, I see. I knew arriving early was a prudent plan. You've been alone for far too long," he murmured as we got into the turbolift. Heedless of his guards' gazes, Letant turned me to face him and backed me up against one of the lift walls. Grasping my waist with one hand and my jaw with the other, my Senator spoke in a raspy whisper. "Congratulations, e'lev. You were entirely successful."

His lips met mine for a moment, tantalizingly rough and sweet at the same time, before pulling back and leaving me dazed as the turbolift continued on its path. From what I'd been told, such displays in front of others, including personal guards, were usually avoided like the plague.

I must've teased him more than I realized after our time apart.

When we reached the doors to my quarters, we were both short of patience. I was stunned that we made it all the way inside before Letant had me up against a wall. And just like that, the fullness of the three months that we'd been separated forced our composure to take a backseat. We became a mess of grasping hands and searing kisses, fumbling our way toward the bedroom.

"Three months is too long to be away from you," he breathed as the sound of tearing fabric heralded the death of yet another uniform top.

--

Sated and lounging in bed that evening, I'd relaxed into an almost trance-like state atop my lover's chest. The hypnotic sensation of Letant's fingertips skimming up and down the length of my back coupled with the rhythmic steadiness of his breathing comforted me in a way that I'd severely missed since I set out for my trip to Vulcan.

"He'll be here tomorrow," he said just above a whisper.

"Hm? Who?" I dragged myself back to full consciousness and looked up at Letant.

"Hiren, of course. He's talked of little else since your departure from Romulus," he murmured brushing his lips against my forehead. "I would ask if he's been writing to you if not for the fact that he practically glowed every time you responded to him."

"How could I not? The Praetor is a charming man with a romantic streak. His knowledge of love poetry is rather extensive - or, at least, I assume that it is, given the vast selection of excerpts that he's been sending me." Tracing my fingers along the column of Letant's throat, I couldn't help but smile at the thought that I'd gotten incredibly lucky.

"How did you like his latest prose, if I may ask?"

"That was my favorite set of lines yet! Oh, that reminds me, he forgot to include the poet's name. I'll have to ask him about that when he gets here. Unless you know, of course?"

With a rumbling laugh, Letant gripped my hips and slipped one of his legs between mine.

"Now, now, have patience, e'lev. I promise you'll have your answers, but not from me. The name was left off deliberately, and Hiren swore me to secrecy. Friend though he might be, I dare not disobey my Praetor. You should have seen him when he was preparing for this trip, though. He must've pulled every set of robes from his bot-unsubstantial wardrobe to ask my opinion on whether you'd find them attractive."

"No," I scoffed in disbelief, but Letant was entirely serious.

"Yes, my girl. It's ridiculous. The man has been married before. He certainly knows how to flirt and has plenty of experience in seduction. There's no reason for him to be this nervous - he's had his head between your pretty legs, for goodness sake - yet he's behaving as if he's not even had his first encounter."

"Bullshit. Hiren would never go to pieces over someone like me. You're exaggerating."

"I most certainly am not. You have reduced the Praetor of the entire Romulan Empire to no more than an anxious suitor. He lured me to the palace, plied me with kali-fal, then proceeded to try on everything he owned in front of a mirror to ask for my opinion. You should've seen him. He struck poses, e'lev," Letant said flexing his biceps as someone might in front of a mirror, and I dissolved in a fit of giggles at the mental image he conjured. "I have told you many times that you are a remarkable woman. Perhaps you'll realize that I spoke the truth before you give the poor man a coronary."

"But surely...? I mean, he must realize that I'm not superficial enough to judge him for his outfit. He'd look good in anything, just like you."

With a mere flick of his hands, Letant maneuvered me atop him so that I was straddling his hips. I braced my hands on his chest, taking in the sight of the beautiful man beneath me. his normally pristinely-groomed black hair was tousled from our exertions, and the smirk stretching his lips brought to mind smug gods from ancient mythology. In such a comparison, I was more than content to be the unwitting mortal who'd fallen so willingly into his bed.

"You think I'd look good in anything?" He asked as a faux innocent expression made its home on his face.

"Now you're just fishing for compliments–"

"Of course I am. You love me. Who better for me to ask than you, my lovely mate?" His hands slid up my sides and caressed the swell of my breasts. "Tell me, what is it like to be in bed with someone so devilishly handsome?"

Scoffing playfully, I started to move off of him, but Letant's renewed grip on my hips kept me firmly in place as he sat up beneath me. With his lips a mere hair's breadth away, I stubbornly kept my hands to myself and my mouth shut.

"Now, now...no need for petulance," the Senator breathed. It was so obscenely easy for him to get what he wanted from me. His arms wound around my torso, holding me close as he spoke. "Just because your partner is almost equal to you in beauty doesn't mean you need to pout."

How was it he always managed to compliment both himself and me in one breath?

"You don't play fair." I just barely managed to hold back a grin, fixing him with a glare instead. Letant laughed, his warm breath ghosting over my skin.

"No, but you've known that for quite some time. Besides..." he said laying kisses slowly down the length of my jaw, "you know I'm right."

The Senator's hands slid farther down my back.

"Now, about that little challenge earlier..."

--

Hiren found the T'Met's commanding officer in his Ready Room, skimming through reports with a look of deep concentration etching his face seemingly in stone. The Riov glanced up as the Praetor entered, and he smiled that same charming smile he'd worn for years.

"Well, well, I was wondering when you'd come see me, old friend. Please, have a seat," S'Talon said shutting off his console and leaning back in his own chair. "I've heard a little rumor, lhhai, concerning you, Letant, and a certain Federation Ambassador. Is that why I've been honored with the task of transporting you to this conference, my Lord Praetor?"

"You know such formalities aren't necessary, Tal," Hiren said as he sank down into one of the plush chairs. "As for the rumors...I don't know what you've heard, so it's a bit difficult to give you an honest answer."

The Riov smirked and tapped the top of his desk in an absentminded sort of way.

"I've heard that you and Letant intend to make a proper triad with her...that the two of you love her."

Hiren lifted his chin. He wasn't sure how the Riov knew that, but he was not ashamed of how he felt or who he felt it for.

"Yes. She and Letant were together to begin with, and I am fortunate enough to be a candidate for the position of their third. I won't be so rude as to presume to speak for her, but for my part, I do love her, yes."

S'Talon practically beamed at him.

"I have no doubt she adores you. I remember how smitten you were with T'Shara. I see just as much light in your eyes...just as much pride as there was when you spoke of her." The Romulan Captain stood and walked around his desk. "She must truly be a marvel to have caught your attention so fully. I look forward to meeting her when we arrive at the station."

"Don't go getting any ideas. I know how charming you can be toward women you find exceptional," Hiren chastised playfully, but S'Talon placed a solemn hand over his heart.

"I am fond of the fairer sex, but you know I would never abscond with a friend's lover. She's yours, you are hers, and I would never dream of coming between you. I'll be on my best behavior, I swear it," the Riov vowed. "I would, however, like to befriend her, if you're comfortable with that."

"I do not choose my lover's companions for her. If she wishes to count you among her friends, I would never stand in your way."

A moment's comfortable silenced passed between the two, and as he leaned back against the desk, S'Talon smiled.

"Have you imagined it? What you'll do once you marry her, I mean?"

"She might not have me–"

"Oh, she'll have you, old friend, I'm certain of it. Now, tell me," the Riov continued, "where have your daydreams taken you when you think of her? You will undoubtedly be the most powerful triad in the entirety of the Empire, but have you given any thought to where you'll live? Your family estate is quite large, as is Letant's, but the Praetor's Palace would obviously have enough space, should you choose to reside there..."

Hiren couldn't help but laugh at his friend's enthusiasm, allowing his infectious joy to flow through him.

"You give me far too much credit, Tal. She's Human. She may not...well, it might be that she is not made for a triad. Who knows? I might make some monumental mistake that costs me her love, or I might simply be too old once she stops to consider the age difference." Hiren gave voice to the fears that had rolled around in his head since her departure from their home planet. He'd told Letant his concerns and had received reassurance in return, but Hiren wanted S'Talon's counsel, as well.

"I cannot pretend to know her mind," the Riov began, "but I do know yours. You are an excellent judge of character. You would not have chosen someone so fickle. I would wager my best bottle of kali-fal that your fears - while completely valid and normal - lack real foundation. She will have you, my dear old friend, and she will not let you go once she does."

Hiren nodded his head, rolling his shoulders as if to banish some of his tension from his frame.

"Would you do me a small favor once we reach the station?" The Praetor has no doubt that he was about to sound even more ridiculous, but he was beyond caring. "Would you...sketch her for me? I'd be happy to pay you. Nothing too elaborate, and she doesn't have to know, it's just..."

He trailed off, unable to think how best to describe his emotions, but Tal just smiled.

"Of course. It would be my honor." The Riov murmured, but he frowned a little. "You know I'd never charge you for that. I would, however, like to know how you met her."

A smile stretched the Praetor's lips as he thought back to that night.

--

Letant lay in bed that night content to hold his mate close as his thoughts whirled in his head behind a carefully constructed barrier. He didn't want them bleeding across the telepathic bridge between his mind and his lover's. She deserved sleep that wasn't interrupted by his guilt.

Was he doing the right thing keeping this from her? But surely, if it was to keep her safe, she'd understand.

Elements, if this involved anyone but her, he'd have no trouble justifying his actions. He'd been a great strategist - he still was - so why was this causing him so much discomfort? He knew that the pain she'd feel would be temporary...that it would all be resolved in a matter of days once it began and that the three of them would live quite happily afterwards, but...

Damn him, the thought of causing her even a moment's pain made him want to wake her, drop to his knees, and plead for her forgiveness. He wanted to tell her everything, but he knew that doing so would endanger her life.

That he could not abide. Her life was much more valuable to him than his comfort, and though she may rage at him later, he was reasonably certain that they could work through any problems together.

She stretched in his arms and nuzzled even farther into Letant's embrace. Precious girl. She murmured something nonsensical in her sleep, and the Senator held her just a bit tighter as he kissed her forehead.

Allowing his mind to brush against hers, he watched her dreams like a holo-vid until he finally dropped into a mostly-peaceful sleep in her arms.

~*~*~

Taglist:

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@slutty-slutty-vulcans @starrynightgardens @toebeans-mcgee

[hey-august]

A Line from Me to You - Chapter 2

Description: Buggy finds a peculiar book on his ship. Enticed by the words contained on each page, the pirate opens up. Anonymity leads to vulnerability. What else will come from this? (Chapter 1, check out the story tag for more chapters) Word count: 1.9k Warnings: This chapter is SFW, but the story will eventually be NSFW - hopefully in the next chapter. Some profanity. Buggy x afab!reader. A/N: Little more plot-building before we get to the spice. Hope yall enjoy!! Tag list: @lostfirefly @rorywritesjunk @theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

You read and re-read the bonus words written into your book until they flowed through your head like a real conversation. An unknown voice whispered in your ear, adding commentary, a few snide remarks and snarky responses, poignant questions, and narrative asides that you couldn’t get enough of. 

The mystery of your anonymous reading buddy sat with you. It was calm and inviting. You weren’t consumed with a desire to dig inside and pull out the truth, but to let the mystery be. To let it exist like this. Yes, you did want to know whose thoughts and memories you were reading, but it wasn’t a dire need. And more than that, you wanted to keep this secret. A shared secret.

Staring at the next chapter you needed to read, the novelty plummeted as you raised a pen. It felt heavy in your hand, weighed by an awkward feeling. The back of your neck prickled, as if someone was already reading your thoughts. You felt stifled by the odd sense of visibility. Unable to connect your desire to give the story your full attention with wanting to share the book with another reader, you tried to flip those feelings and see if they would fit another way.

It was like a game of leapfrog. You read the annotations added after yours, then jumped into the next chapter you hadn’t read yet and filled in the gaps left in the margins, and, finally, you landed in a new chapter. The puzzle pieces connected as you fell entirely into the story.

Traveling with the cloaked figure, Grey, on his journey, your musings were scribed each step of the way. Phrases and words circled, emotive faces drawn near touching moments, and your own personal tidbits littered the pages. The chapter ended with Grey winning over the sullen rock golem who had been living alone as an outcast. The golem accepted Grey’s invitation to join him on a journey to save the royal family.

A few days later, Buggy was surprised to see the book peeking out of its protective hidey-hole like a mollusk. He noted its disappearance and didn’t expect such a rapid reappearance. Although it wasn’t a long novel, completing the entire journey would have taken a sleepless night or two. A small voice questioned whether the owner was upset at the additional vandalism (even if they started it) and decided to abandon the book entirely. 

Filled with unease, Buggy ignored the book and went about his duties. The poisonous voice stayed quiet as the captain threw himself into work, wondering if he might avoid confronting the question and the book. A lifetime of rejection created a wide boundary of protection that the little voice hid behind, hissing unfounded fears.

The sour feelings were chased away with a mouthful of liquor later that night. While heading back to his quarters, Buggy retrieved the book and walked fast to outpace his own negativity. Although it was only the second time he had the novel, reading was easily incorporated into his evening routine. It felt familiar to him. 

Growing up, Buggy was a voracious reader. Sometimes, he wondered if that’s why he needed glasses now. Maybe his eyes were rebelling against all the words he forced them to absorb - short stories, long epics, newspapers, essays, letters, tiny print, large fonts, hand-written, transcribed. Anything he could get his hands on was devoured in his spare time. Sentences were crammed into the few seconds between duties, chapters read by dim moonlight, and pages became speckled with food as he pored over the books while eating.

Over time, Buggy read less and less. People poked fun at the bookworm. They said he should be careful always having his nose in a book, it might get caught in the pages. Even lighthearted remarks about how much he read began to sting. And as he grew up, Buggy had other things to occupy his time with.

Eventually, guilt took hold in his chest. Roots grew whenever he had time that could be filled by a book, his empty hands missed the feel of pages threading through the fingers, or when he looked at the forlorn stories waiting on his bookshelf. He tried to push through the ache by buying new books that remain untouched. He even bought glasses to try and turn a chore back into a hobby, but nothing relit the spark. It all turned into dirt and manure for his remorse to grow. 

The pirate never expected the pain of turning his back on something that brought comfort would be eased by a silly fantasy novel. Despite being a grown man with hair on his chest and alcohol on his breath, Buggy felt like a kid again as he sank under the covers with a good book. Instead of waiting for a tension headache, Buggy pulled out his glasses, swiped the lenses with a small cloth, and put them on. The first thing he read was a note tucked alongside his bookmark.

“Good notes! Although I disagree that the writer is a ‘self-indulgent asshat who sees the world through rose-colored glasses.’ I read ahead through the next chapter and left space for you. Please do the same and put this back in the ‘secret’ spot. I want to see if you change your mind.”

Buggy chuckled to himself. Of course you wouldn’t agree with him, you picked the book in the first place. Maybe if he pointed out more of the author’s blatant self-insert characters used to tout their poorly thought out ideals, you’d reconsider. He took a sip of alcohol and twirled a pen in his fingers. 

Towards the end of the newest chapter, two things caught Buggy’s attention. First, the fucking corner of the page was folded again. Second, was a comment about the golem and “found family.” You wrote about how nice it is to find a place you belong and people you feel at home with. You felt like the golem character when you joined this pirate crew. The rock golem, named Daisy Lee, had sprouted a flower when Grey extended his hand and companionship. The little heart next to that sentence was a punch to the gut.

Buggy the Clown knew first-hand how it felt to find someplace you belonged. In fact, he’s heard that from his crew countless times. After fights, successful raids, parties brimming with alcohol, any situation full of emotions were bound to be followed with freaks professing appreciation for their captain. But this was different. You didn’t know who was reading these words. You didn’t intend to share them with the captain himself. These weren’t words of performative devotion, honeyed sentiments, or feelings brought forth by adrenaline, but inner-thoughts shared during your own personal time.

It was late and his body was tired, which meant his emotions were delicate. That’s why tears collected in the corners of his eyes before slipping down his heated cheeks. Exhaustion and alcohol. Fingers attempted to fit under his glasses to wipe away the saltwater, but the legs tugged on his ears and the frames dug into his forehead. Buggy dabbed away what he could in the confined space and rubbed the back of his hands on his wet cheeks to dry them. With a face redder than it was moments ago, he swallowed the rest of the sober emotion with the alcohol in his glass.

---

The next time you found the book, there was another note for you. A short sentiment and a gift.

“Stop folding the goddamn pages. I don’t care if this is your book, I won’t give it back. Use the bookmark.”

The bookmark guarding the edge of your reading area wasn’t anything special. It was just a bit of paper that could have come from anywhere, but the edges were carefully torn into a long rectangle. The scrap used to mark the other reader’s progress was ripped haphazardly and shaped like a squashed kidney. Rolling your eyes, you folded the corner of your new gift. You’d use it, but on your terms.

You followed the same pattern as last time, reading the new notes, the next chapter, then a new chapter. And your reading partner followed suit. Bookmarks jumped over each other, like checkers. Stories were swapped, emotions unlocked, betrayals occurred (the first of which was you creasing the bookmark, which was acknowledged with a little angry face), foes defeated, heroes injured, feelings exposed, and so much more. You wrote about leaving your family and village behind, like some of the adventurers. The other person wrote about not really knowing their family. Not in a story, but as a passing comment to what you scribbled. Unsure how to respond, you simply wrote that you were glad their journey brought them here.

Weeks passed as the book exchanged hands. One night found you hunched over in bed, following your reading buddy as you raced through the final chapter. The sea was as restless as your beating heart, each wave and thump growing erratic through the climax.

Worn down and weary, Grey and his companions approached the castle. Moss and vines decorated the worn stone structure. An abnormal breeze carried the sweet stench of decay. The rustle of leathery wings and tell-tale stomping emitted from the courtyard ahead. Grey turned to Daisy Lee and Jack, readying himself to go ahead on his own. To his surprise, Jack clapped a hand on the man’s cloaked shoulder and nodded to their stone friend, who marched forwards, toward the dragon.

You silently cheered with each blow the heroes dealt and gasped with every set-back they sustained. The fight raged on in your white-knuckled grip, with Daisy Lee crumbling into a smaller version of themself, and Jack throwing himself in front of Grey, only to be knocked out.

Grey shouted in anguish and charged forwards. Landing a mighty blow on the dragon, the fierce beast collapsed with a pitiful roar. Smoke poured from it’s mouth and nostrils, filling the courtyard. Through the fog, Grey could just barely see the large shadow shrink. As the smoke cleared, a naked figure lay on the ground - the victim of a curse. It was Prince Shaia. Grey’s brother.

The rest of the story was wrapped up in two pages. There was a whirlwind of activity when Grey rescued the rest of the royal family, revealed his lineage to his companions who readily accepted the information, Grey’s rapid ascension to the throne, and the multitude of changes he immediately put into place across the kingdom to end every single plight, hardship, and minor inconvenience he encountered. The story ended with the sun setting on a utopia, with no mention of issues implementing new rules and systems or discourse about the kingdom changing hands to a previously unknown individual.

You sat silently for a moment, mulling over the ending. It was an enjoyable story full of adventure and whimsy, but the conclusion was rushed. Very rushed. The last paragraph had a bracket drawn on the side and an arrow pointing to a little face sticking it's tongue out and a note:

“I haven't changed my mind. This wouldn’t happen so easily, it’s so unbelievable-”

Frowning, you scribbled a retort before finishing the rest of the note. “It’s a fantasy book. Of course it’s not believable.”

“-I have a book we can read next. I guarantee it’ll be better than this.”

A buzzing filled your head and reverberated down to your chest. You kept reading the message, studying each individual letter constructing the words that warmed your body. The beating of your heart stopped using adrenaline as fuel and channeled the rushing endorphins instead. You hoped that this secret relationship would continue, and to see that feeling reciprocated filled you with so many fluttery feelings that you couldn’t tease them apart.

“Okay, I’m trusting you.”

[heygerald]

Falling Without A Harness - Chapter 2

AU where Tom Ryder is still an asshole, just not a psychotic one. When Colt Seavers' sister, Parker, finds the professional asshole in a vulnerable moment, she decides to sideline the attitude to help. Is an asshole still an asshole if no one is around?

read the story here: prev / next

The movie was finished, and, apparently, a whole lot of people were happy and drunk over that little fact. The wrap party was currently being hosted by Gail—producer extraordinaire—and it was quite literally the nicest house that Parker had ever seen in person. White leather couches that cost more than her car dotted the living room floor, decorated with Williams Sonoma pillows, and a Versace rug that spelled the brand name out in big, bold letters. Art hung on every available space, while odd statues were placed at random throughout the living room. There was even a pair of perfectly groomed Afghan Hounds doing tricks near the conversation pit.

The opulence of it all was counteracted by half-drunken executives milling around the pool, very drunk equipment techies playing a game involving dice, a quarter, and a banana in the kitchen, and one particular Colt Seavers miserably attempting a handstand on the back patio.

"It's harder than it looks, you know," he told the crowd of onlookers as he teetered left and right. Venti swatted his shoe when it knocked into the back of her head, while Jody tried to act impressed with some half-hearted clapping. "I did this once—two hours. Could barely talk afterwards."

"Two hours?" she echoed; half doubt, half amusement. "That sounds almost impossible."

"Heh, well, nothing is impossible if you believe hard enough. You're the only one who gets to decide what you will be remembered for."

"Is that written on a poster somewhere?"

"Uh, not exactly—"

Colt's peacocking was cut short when an unfortunately timed sneezed caused the stuntman to lose his balance. He swung his legs wildly in an overcorrection that ended up knocking a full glass of Chardonnay right onto Parker's lap.

She responded in true sisterly fashion: by promptly shoving him as hard as she could on the hip with the toe of her shoe. And though his literal job was to know how to take a fall, the entire patio got to watch as he went ass over face into a nearby potted plant.

Alcohol, a nice sunny evening, good music, and better food made the fiasco a spectacle, and everyone keeled forward at the waist in laughter. Jody, bless her, did her best to muffle her giggles behind her hat while Colt awkwardly floundered on the ground. Parker didn't have such restrictions.

"It was a Taylor Swift quote, actually," she told the camerawoman. It wasn't as funny when she noticed the damage to her pants, and with a sigh she attempted to blot the wet spot with Venti's crumpled napkin. "These are brand new jeans, you ass."

Colt popped back onto his feet with a flushed face. A pair of executives raised their eyebrows at him curiously, and in response he offered his typical awkward smile and wave combo. "What did I tell you about being cool?" he hissed at his sister.

"You're the one attempting cheap Cirque-de-Solei acts on Gail's back deck," she tutted.

"You're not even supposed to be here," he whined while plopping himself down beside Jody. She pretended to sympathize by offering a pat on the back. "How are you even here? You didn't even work on the movie!"

Parker shrugged. "Dan brought me as his plus-one."

"His—? I didn't even get a plus-one!"

"Maybe because you do stupid stuff like a handstand in the middle of a crowded party," she sniped. Colt didn't rise to the bait, however, and instead slumped onto Jody's lap with a long-suffering sigh.

"S'not fair," he muttered into her leg, words half smothered by the denim. "This is my first big party, and you just happen to be invited as well. Oh, the misery."

Parker blew a raspberry.

Colt batted his eyes at Jody and she conceded with an easygoing smile. "I didn't get a plus-one either, babe. But you know what? If I did, I would haven't wanted to bring anyone but you," she cooed while tapping him on the nose.

And—god, it actually worked.

Colt's entire face broke out into a starry-eyed smile.

Parker, still wet and now grossed out, decided that was as fine a time as any to excuse herself. "Well that's officially disgusting. I'm going to try to find a hair dryer and see if I can't dry this before it stains or I throw up."

"There's a loo by the kitchen," Jody pointed.

Colt popped up out of her lap, his tantrum already forgotten about. "Oh, hey! Will you get me another beer? Something cold, domestic maybe. A bud light if they have it. If not, I'm cool with whatever is on tap."

She blinked at her brother. Once, twice, three times.

"Yeah," she shook her head at him. "And I'm the embarrassing one."

"What'd I say?"

Both women promptly ignored that as she asked if Jody wanted something, but the camerawoman was still working on her very much un-spilled glass of wine and therefore didn't need anything. Venti made a general request for some snacks, which Dan quickly seconded.

Parker gave them a thumbs-up before heading inside. The mansion was no less shocking the second time she traipsed through it, but it was certainly more daunting to brave without her date, brother, or Jody and with a giant wine stain near her crotch.

No one seemed to notice her discomfort, however. There were plenty other things to occupy their attention. Between the caterers walking around with trays of fancy finger foods and freshly made mojitos there wasn't any reason to take note of the unfamiliar face in the crowd. She wound her way past whatever game was happening on the kitchen island towards where Jody had said the bathroom was. Unfortunately, the free food and alcohol did seem to have a penance; the line was seven women long.

"Wine?" a waiter offered on a silver tray.

"No thanks, I'm still wearing my last glass off," she joked with a dry smile. The kid followed her line of sight to the large wet spot on her pants and went bright pink.

Still, it couldn't have been the worst thing she had seen before, and with a modicum of professionalism that impressed Parker, she pulled forward a second tray with a variety of fun colored drinks. The one closest smelled of coconut and had a cute umbrella sticking out of it.

"Piña colada?" she asked.

"...yup."

Parker grabbed a glass and didn't hesitate to take a large gulp. And—damn.

Thank you Gail Meyer.

The waitress then leaned closer, glancing pointedly at the bathroom and then Parker's jeans, before saying, "there's two more bathrooms upstairs that are open for guests."

Channeling Jody, Parker grinned. "Brills," she chirped.

She felt a little bad that she didn't have any money to tip the kid, but before she could try to work something out, the redhead was already drifting off through the crowd to offer the other guests her variety of drinks.

"Brills indeed," she said again, even more pleased.

Following suit, she wound through the crowds of people until she reached a large staircase. From there, the crowds seemed to thin out considerably.

A few people sat in conversation at the foyer at the top; a beautiful blonde woman that was the lead actress in the film was chatting with some friends. She was utterly gorgeous, with pearly skin and silken hair, and without even looking where she was going Parker covered her pants with her hand and darted to the hallway on her right.

The first door revealed a linen room with a washer/dryer set that she half considered smuggling out when she left later that night. The second a yoga studio. The third was locked.

The fourth door was tucked all the way on the end of the hallway, hidden between a glass statue of a pelican and a snake plant that was taller than her. It wasn't locked—in fact, whoever had previously been inside had left the door ajar.

Parker stuck her head inside, and was ecstatic to realize it was a bathroom.

A nice one, she thought while stepping inside.

There was a marble counter with a large white sink, a mirror with LED lights, a beautiful tile floor, a clawfoot tub next to a large window that overlooked the back yard, edited photos of Gail on every wall, plants hanging from the ceiling, candles propped across floating shelves, a stunning white rug of questionable descent, and—

Tom Ryder. Hunched over a toilet. Puking.

"Shit."

The sound of her voice echoed in the nearly silent bathroom. Tom jerked upwards, all red flushed cheeks and hazy eyes, and though it took him a moment to realize just who had walked in on him, he didn't manage so much as a glare before he was retching into the toilet bowl.

"Uh, fuck, um—do you—I can totally come back. Sorry. Sorry!" she said, panicked, backtracking towards the door before she not so smoothly slipped on said rug. Parker hit the ground with a squeak, and her piña colada only added to the wet spot on her pants. "Fuck!"

The hurling stopped for a moment as he took in a large, calming breath. And the sudden awkwardness of it all had her freezing in place on the ground, staring.

Always fucking staring when it came to Tom Ryder. Never able to look away.

The white button down he had arrived wearing was discarded haphazardly near the rug. His ripped jeans were bunched on the calves, shoes nowhere to be found, while sweat-dampened tufts of hair were plastered to his forehead.

He looked... well, awful.

Which was a far cry from the first time she had ever seen him on the set, and the three or four times after that in which the pair had equally unfortunate run-ins with one another. Every single one had been filled with witty barbs and well-placed insults. Mostly on her part. Tom seemed to prefer the approach of generally being an asshole in everything he said, did, and thought. It came natural to him, really, and just like their introduction it always ended with Colt playing referee to keep the two from drawing blood.

Well. Colt was nowhere to be seen, and Tom was already down.

Suffice to say Parker certainly had the upper hand if they were going to fight.

But—well, fuck. The dude was lying on the bathroom floor at his producer's house during a party that was practically being thrown in his honor.

Alone. Sick. And looking a little too close to death for comfort.

"Ah, fuck," Parker seconded under her breath. She set aside the cup to shake ice cubes and an orange slice off her shirt. Of course the towels were all white. Wincing, she started to pat dry her, well, everything with a side-eye in his direction. "Are you... okay?"

He scowled. Sorta. It was hard to tell when his face was half hidden in a porcelain bowl. "What the fuck do you think?"

"I don't know. That's kind of the purpose of asking."

"Fine."

"You sure don't look fine."

He glanced at her, eyes darting over the wet spot on her pants to the newly wet spot on her shirt. Somehow, he wasn't too sick to roll his eyes as he pressed his forehead against the cold porcelain. "You're supposed to drink it, not wear it."

"Says the guys vomiting his drinks right back—"

The mention of the word vomit had his face turning a shade of green, and not a moment later Tom pitched forward to throw up once more.

Parker winced. She didn't have a strong stomach, and the sound alone was already threatening her own health. "...er, sorry."

"Can you go bother someone else?"

The vomiting subsided. Parker looked at her pretty pineapple glass with a despondent sigh before she filled it up with cold tap water. He didn't accept it when she offered it, however, and with a defeated sigh she set it onto the sink counter.

"I'm trying to be nice, asshole."

"Hm. Since when are you nice?"

"Well I'm pretty sure if you choke on your own vomit and die, I'll be liable as the last person to see you alive. So," she fluttered her hands at him, unsure of what to do or where to touch, and eventually Parker settled for planting her hands firmly on her hips. "Just—chill out for a moment, okay. I'm going to call Colt and have him find Gail."

"No, no, don't—don't tell Gail."

"Are you kidding? I think you might actually die, dude."

"Just don't," he snapped in a tone that left little room for argument. Of course, it was plenty easy for her sidestep the argument considering he was down for the count on the bathroom floor, but after a moment of a silent stare down, his shoulders deflated with a sigh. "I... she's going to flip. Alright? I'm fine."

"Fine?"

Tom attempted a shrug. "Bad reaction to shrimp."

Parker heard alarm bells ringing. When she spotted a nickel sized baggie on the counter those bells turned into sirens. She pinched it between two fingers while arching a brow at him pointedly. "I know giant shrimp are a thing, but I didn't know microscopic shrimp had started to gain traction."

His lack of a retort was more concerning than the vomiting.

"I think I should get you some help."

"It's not—" he started before stopping when he took too deep a breath. Something darkened in his features; mouth flattening, downcast eyes, furrowed brows. Was that guilt she saw? Or shame? "Just... relax. I took some Xanax and it... well, you know, fucked with the alcohol."

Parker couldn't withhold a snort. "Xanax? Seriously. Are you secretly an unhappy soccer mom or something?"

Whatever look had been curling his eyebrows vanished in seconds, replaced full force by a glare. "Fuck off, alright. I take them sometimes for anxiety."

"What in the hell do you have to be anxious about?" she asked.

There was a long pause. Music thrummed from outside, laughter, chatter, and shouting echoing happily in the summer evening air. The bathroom itself was cold.

Even colder when he said, "you know you can be a real asshole sometimes too."

And—yeah.

That single sentence fucked with Parker. Because upon closer introspection she realized that, shit, he was right. The guy was on the ground, throwing up, in a vulnerable state surrounded by some very powerful people that could easily ruin his career if they found him and here she was kicking him when he was down. Literally.

Pot, meet kettle. You two have a lot more in common than you think.

Disgruntled at being called out—by Tom fucking Ryder of all people—it was Parker's turn to flush red in shame. She tucked the pill baggie into the pocket of her jeans so someone else wouldn't stumble upon it and his piss poor excuse, before sticking her head out into the hallway. Whatever was going on in the landing seemed to be keeping everyone occupied, and the noise wafting from downstairs made it clear that the party would continue with or without her.

Satisfied, she firmly pulled the door shut. Paused. Then locked it for good measure.

The bathroom was surprisingly empty despite all of the decorations. Thanks Kim, now even Gail is part of the minimalist movement. The mirror cabinet was completely empty over then some Q-tips and an extra bar of soap, and there was no space under the sink for storage. Tutting, Parker pulled the hand towel free and stuck it under the tap.

Then, she lowered herself to his level. Physically.

Tom seemed surprised that she hadn't left. Even more so when Parker offered the cup for a second time.

"What?" he asked, a bit dumbly. Fair though, given the circumstances.

"You should drink some water."

"Can't you just piss off?"

She sighed through her nose and gently shoved the cup into his hand. "Drink some fucking water, Tom."

They stared at each other for a long moment before he accepted the cup. He shifted so that his back was now pressed into the shower so he could drink without choking. Parker took advantage to close the toilet lid, flush it, turn on the overhead fan, and crack open a nearby window.

Immediately, it felt easier to breathe.

Tom took two, small sips before setting aside the cup. Patronizing, even when he wasn't trying to be.

"Do you want me to go find one of your friends?" she asked; almost entirely because she couldn't stand not talking.

He shot her a deadpan look. "No."

"O-kay. How about some food?"

He grimaced.

"Right," she clicked her tongue. "Some soda? Ginger-ale might help with the nausea. I don't think you should take any ibuprofen right now or else I would offer some."

"What are you doing?"

"What?"

He gestured vaguely to her, to the room they were in, and then to himself. She could tell by the way that his face paled even that small use of energy was taxing, and Parker shoved the glass of water back into his palm.

"I'm just trying to help."

He harrumphed, but chanced another sip of water. "Why?"

"Because you were... right," she muttered through clenched teeth. He blinked at her through hazy eyes, and she tried not to notice the sweat dripping down his bare chest. "I was, well... being an asshole. And you need help. So."

He still said nothing. Parker tried not to feel super awkward.

After a moment of indecisive staring Tom took another sip of water before letting his head hit the wall with a soft thud. "Is this some sort of trick?"

"How on Earth is me hanging out in a bathroom with you a trick?" she scoffed.

"I don't know," he shrugged, sipped the water, and took a long, hard swallow that made her wonder if he was biting back another round of bile. Subtly, Parker propped the toilet lid open again. "Blackmail, or whatever."

What a fucking asshole, she thought.

"Just because everyone else is dying to get a picture of Tom Ryder doesn't mean that I am," she said. Her attitude did little to convince him of her good intentions if the wary look he shot her was anything to go by. Rolling her eyes, she plucked her phone from her back pocket, waved it dramatically around in the air, before turning it off. When the screen was good and black she half-heartedly tossed it aside. "Happy?"

He grumbled.

Parker huffed. Don't be an asshole, she had to remind herself while clambering to her feet. The hand towel was properly wet and cold by now. She switched off the tap and took a moment to wring out as much water as she could. Then she promptly slapped the wet towel onto his forehead with a thwap.

"What is—?"

"Just shut up and leave it be, okay? The cold water should help with the flush. Once your skin starts returning to a normal temperature, the nausea should be more manageable. I don't know anything about downers, but... it's the best I can do without getting help or using my phone," she said; adding a pointed glared at the mention of her discarded device.

He grumbled a bit louder, but didn't remove the towel. In fact, she watched his eyes flutter contentedly as he smoothed it out along his hairline. "Are you a doctor now or something?"

"On the side. I'm at A-list parties all the time. You're hardly the first celebrity I've found on a bathroom floor with an empty pill baggie."

"...seriously?"

"No. Not seriously, Tom. That was a joke."

He blinked at her. "Oh," he said awkwardly. Then, added, "wasn't that funny."

It was her turn to bang her head onto the cabinet behind her. "Well, sorry for trying to lighten the mood. I'm still a little worried I'm going to get sued or something for this."

"For spilling on Gail's mink rug?"

"That's mink?!" she shrieked, jerking around to give the rug a better glance over. No wonder it was fabulously soft. "Who the fuck keeps a mink rug in the bathroom? Shit! Do you think she'll charge me to clean it? I can barely afford eggs!"

There was a noise half between a grumble and cough, and when she glanced towards Tom he was sporting a crooked smile under the towel. "That was a joke."

"O—oh," she said. Parker glanced at the rug once more. "Well, it wasn't that funny."

"You don't know how to clean mink fur?"

With the panic subsiding from her suddenly too-tight chest, Parker returned to her seat on the ground, and glared. "I guess I skipped over that chapter in my cleaning manual."

"Is that where you learned the thing about wet rags?" he asked, subtly fixing said wet rag with a sigh. His shoulders relaxed as he settled against the shower glass, and in turn Parker tried to relax as well.

"No. I read that in an old textbook once. A physiology manual from, like, the 1930s. So, I actually have no idea if it's outdated information or not. Guess we'll find out, huh?"

"Why the hell are you reading a physics manual?"

"Physiology."

"Is there a difference?"

"Yes. Like... a lot," she deadpanned. He responded with a blank, empty, no lights-on-behind-the-curtains look. Parker pinched the bridge of her nose before decidedly moving on. "I read a lot."

"Don't you work?"

"Says the guy who reads bad scripts for a living," she retorted. His cheeks had been slowly returning to their normal color, but quickly blushed an irritable red as he scowled at her.

"My movie scripts are not bad," he shot back with just as much heat. "They're million dollar enterprises, that make quite a lot of people rich and famous. Like people here, at this party. What have you ever done?"

"Not have my face plastered on a billboard."

"Exactly."

"Yeah, and thank god for that."

"There's not a chance in hell you would ever."

"Good!"

It took them both a moment to realize that they weren't actually agreeing on anything. Parker thought having her face plastered on a billboard was a horrific nightmare that she would not be able to endure, while Tom clearly took pride in his advertisements spread all over the Hollywood acres. Somehow, though, in their attempt to insult the other, they had missed the mark entirely.

The pair shared mutual glares.

Stopped short when he turned green in the face, pitched forward, and vomited a third and final time.

"Oh, shit," she said, hands waving around and not knowing what to do other than to snatch the wet washcloth from where it had fallen into his lap. Awkwardly, Parker patted him on the back. Once, twice. "Um... better out than in, right?"

"Did you read that in a book too?" his voice echoed hoarsely from the toilet bowl.

And, well, it was such a ridiculous question to be asked while he was hurling into a toilet worth more than her car, that Parker didn't have a response other than to huff.

Which turned into a giggle. Then an actual laugh.

In an even more surprising turn of events, Tom laughed too. "S'not funny."

"No, no, actually," she corrected him to gently lay the cold towel across the back of his neck. "I think that's the funniest thing you've ever said, Ryder."

Some time passed as he focused on taking deep breaths before the nausea passed for good. As he returned to his former position against the wall, hand towel now dripping a trail down his chest, Parker flushed the toilet a second time, and folded her legs into a pretzel so she could lean an elbow on her knee. "I read a lot for work. Out of boredom, mostly," she admitted.

"Bad scripts?" he echoed her earlier sentiments.

"Bad biographies, mostly," she corrected him. He gave her an odd look, to which she shrugged. "I work at a bookstore. Er—own—a bookstore, I mean. I just read whatever I happen to find that day."

Parker wondered if Tom Ryder had ever stepped foot in a bookstore before or if he got too distracted by his reflection in the window outside.

"I don't think I've ever been to a bookstore," he said, almost as if he could hear her. The reason why remained inconclusive. "But I thought the idea was to sell books, not read them."

"Generally, yeah," she conceded with a sigh. It wasn't so funny now and she frowned at the thought of her dilapidated store with shoddy lighting and a half-functional air conditioner. "It's not exactly... well, successful. Not like your movies, anyway. I can't throw giant wrap parties for my employees because, well, I don't have any. I don't get a lot of customers so I read."

"Movies are better than books," he said.

He must have caught the irritated curl of her mouth because he made an amendment to his statement before she could argue.

"I mean," he added in the raw sort of voice one got from throwing up five times in an hour, "they make more money. It's all anyone cares about in LA."

"Yeah, well, maybe I should get a billboard."

Tom snorted. "You wish."

Parker wanted to glare, but... it was a little on the nose. The idea of shelling out money to plaster her face—or even her bookstore's name—on highway billboards went against what she believed in. She liked the idea of having a small, hole in the wall shop where lonely wanderers like herself could take solace in. That's what the shop had been in the decades before she bought it. Then again, her old boss had been all too eager to hand it off to her, and how bill days she suspected he knew that it was a dying market without a hope or a dream.

Only—LA was supposably the land of dreams... right?

"You ever read sci-fi?" he asked.

Thrown by the question, Parker had to shake the static out of her brain before it fully comprehended. "Uh, sure. Loads. There's tons of source material from the 70's and 80's that is pretty fun. They're all considered kind of hokey nowadays though so they don't sell that well."

Tom shifted the towel back to his forehead with a thoughtful tut.

He didn't seem so sickly pale anymore, and his breathing had evened out. Even his chest had dried up a bit.

How didn't he die of lack of service if he was never wearing a shirt when she saw him?

"There's this role that I want to go for, a big sci-fi thing. Gail said that I'm not right for it, though."

"Not right for it?" she echoed, scrunching her nose. "Seriously?"

He gave a half-hearted shrug. "Too pretty, she said. Which—duh—that's a given," he added. Parker responded with an over the top eyeroll, but she refrained from faking a gag. She was a little too worried that they weren't out of the woods yet, and that the sound (fake or not) would provoke Tom to start hurling again. "But it's a smart role. Intense. A great script. I think I'd be perfect for it."

"Can't you audition anyway?"

"I don't know, I—she—Gail tends to know what roles I'm good for, you know. She doesn't think I can pull off a smart, sci-fi type."

Parker snorted. "Why not? All Chris Pine has going for him is blonde hair and blue eyes and he got three movies out of Star Trek. Pretty sure you got that covered. You know, box dye notwithstanding."

Tom shot her a cross look. "I would never use box dye on my hair."

"Even better," she waved a hand at him flippantly. "Audition then."

Something weird happened then. Something so out of character and bizarre that by the next day Parker would convince herself it hadn't really happened; that it was provoked by the bathroom fumes of Febreze and vomit.

But Tom Ryder, A-lister, looked... unsure.

"Yeah, I... I don't know. She's probably right."

Sounded it, too.

Parker didn't even know how to react to that. The guy had been a grade A tool since the moment she met him, and in the several run-ins they had since, he hadn't disproven the label. He basically worshipped himself. Once, she had even caught him admiring a paparazzi photo taken of him wearing low riding swim trunks in a cheap magazine.

Seriously!

The guy loved himself, talked about himself, and never let people forget who he was! What could ever provoke a moment of self-depreciation like this?

Oh, duh. Drugs.

"Jesus, how much Xanax did you take? You don't even sound like yourself."

The question pulled him from whatever pensive moment he had been having, and Tom's response was to promptly chuck the wet towel at Parker. It landed atop her head with a smack.

She plucked it off with a grimace. Wet pants, wet shirt, now wet hair. She would have to go home after this to save herself the sheer embarrassment of being an utter disaster at her first mansion party. And by the time she glanced back over at him he was back to his normal mode of self-importance as he started to run a hand through his damp hair, singular moment of weakness already forgotten.

"Is my hair okay?"

Parker sighed.

It was nice while it lasted, she thought.

"Yeah, Ryder," she deadpanned while ambling onto her feet. She fixed her own hair in the mirror while he finished the last of his water. He actually looked close to normal—because, of fucking course he looks fine after coming down from a bad drug cocktail—and she avoided the mink rug entirely to pick his shirt up off the ground. "Your hair looks fine, Chris Pine. Your shirt is probably all wrinkled though."

"Fuck. That's Dolce & Gabbana."

"I thought it was linen," she snarked.

There was some groaning and whining as he teetered onto his own feet, and while Parker was half afraid that he might just keel over and die on her, he seemed more scandalized by the fact that she was touching his designer clothes.

Snatching the shirt out of her hands, Tom huffed, "do you even know what linen is? I thought all you knew how to wear is that polyester crap you seem to like so much."

Wow. What a fucking asshole.

It was her turn to take a deep, calming breath as he ambled towards the mirror. He didn't seem sick anymore, his breathing was normal, shoulders relaxed, and he was able to stand on his own. Somehow, even his skin had bounced back with a lively, bright sheen.

Fuck, even his back was beautiful. How did—?

A wrinkled Dolce & Gabbana shirt was slung over his back, effectively cutting off her gazing. Parker ran a hand through her hair a second time. When she glanced in the mirror, however, she found Tom smirking at her.

"Staring ain't free you know. The pap pay a lot for this," he said.

For fuck's sake! she thought as her mouth curled sourly.

Shaking herself of both her stupor and kind hearted feelings, Parker snatched her phone off of the ground. She didn't miss the way that he was ogling her back side in the mirror, and she flushed a bright shade of pink without meaning to. That only incensed his smirk further.

"Yeah, um, Tom? I did lie," she admitted, pausing in the doorway to bat her eyelashes at him as dramatically as she could. She wasn't an actress, but she was pretty sure the point got across when she cooed, "your hair looks awful."

She watched his jaw slacken in the mirror with a sharp smile, before Parker swung the bathroom door open, and made her way back to the party.

.............

And the love/hate continues.

[paranormal-peri]

Hey! Just wondering how’s the chapter progress going! Also how’s school atleast for me the first quarter is almost finished and so many tests and projects 😭 very fun and stressful 😀

Anyways just checking up on u :)

Paranormal Peri: Chapter 12 SNEAK PEEK!

Knock Knock

"Wanda? Cosmo? Are you there?"

Hazel waited at her neighbor's door for an answer.

She's been trying her best to not interrupt their search. They've been so worried about finding Peri.

"H-Hazel?! Oh! Uh, yeah we are here! Did you need something?"

Wanda spoke through the door.

"I was just wondering how you guys were doing, did you find Peri?"

"Uh, hold on, just give us a second… Where did I put my wand…? OH!"

Sounds of tripping. Something crashed down.

“Oh! Wanda, my wife! Are you ok?! Don’t worry, I’m coming over there!”

“Cosmo, wait! No!”

More sounds of tripping. There was a louder crash.

"What's going on?! Hello?"

Hazel opens the door.

A few miscellaneous papers escape out to Hazel's feet as the door opens.

Hazel is astonished to see the huge mess before her. The room was highly cluttered with stacks of custom papers printed with the word "Missing" that varied in heights. Most were taller than Hazel, which made it hard to see the edges of the room. It was like walking through the tall grass of a safari. Hazel tried to walk through the mess at the door, to search for her fairies in the jungle of disorganization, only to reveal how much deeper the clutter went.

A trashcan in the corner was overflowing with crumbled scrap papers of failed drawings and ideas. The center of the floor was entirely decorated with a chaotic spiderweb pattern of red string and pins that connected photos, files, and sticky notes that laid on top of eachother. It was a web of possible leads that must have started on the wall, but had extended to the floor for more need of space. Speaking of space, even the ceiling was messy; There were hoops of red string that swooped down like party decorations that connected one pinned paper to the next on the ceiling above.

Being careful to not step on anything important, Hazel worked her way through the limited small spots of empty space; she was lucky to have small feet for this. Behind the barely-recognizable couch, she found her fairies.

Wanda and Cosmo on the floor dizzy from the trip. Two previously tall stacks of papers now lay scattered below and on top of the pair

"Whoa, what happened here?"

"Ah! Watch your step!"

"Oop-!"

Hazel quickly redirects her footing.

Hazel reaches down and picks up the paper she had almost stepped on.

It was a hand-written poster with an old photo taped over a failed drawing of their son.

Hazel read the paper in her head. The poster had large bolded red words that read "MISSING: PERIWINKLE FAIRYWINKLE COSMA"

Below the title was a long description that turned into a writing expressing their sorrow and love and pleading for their beloved son's return. The hand-written poster's writing fades into smaller and smaller text at the end to fit in many more words; they had so much to say. It was bittersweet how much they deeply cared about their missing son.

They were equally heartbroken.

"Wow, you guys have been busy."

"Haha, what do you mean? We're cool, we're fine, yeah yeah, totally calm and chill"

"Yeah yeah, we're uhh… what’s it called…? Straight vibing! Very chill!"

Wanda and Cosmo tried to mask their dread, but their eyebags and state of their house did nothing to reflect that.

Another pile of paper falls over in the silence for comedic effect.

It's not just the house that's a mess.

"You still haven't found Peri?"

"Nou..."

The couple breaks in a squeak with big wet eyes

"We haven't gotten a wink of sleep, how can we?!"

"We don't know what we are missing. We've been calling everyone we can in Fairy World all night and we still can't find any leads!"

"Hmm… maybe you guys should get some fresh air, that always helps me clear my mind!"

"You're right Hazel, we should get some good wind blowing in here, that will get our minds spinning right!"

Wanda remarked. She grabbed onto her wand previously lost under the couch, and poofed to the nearest lightswitch and flicked on the fan without thinking.

The fan began to spin. They all noticed the deep mistake made.

Not only did papers begin to fly and scatter around the room, but the fan suddenly caught onto some of the red string that hooped down on the ceiling. The red string quickly became tangled in the fan as it kept spinning faster. Pins that previously held down string and paper at points went flying to different parts of the room, Hazel ducked down to avoid the crossfire.

Wanda flicked off the fan to prevent further damage, but it was too late; the entire line of connected clues soon all became undone and scattered with the spin of the fan.

"Oh dear."

Hazel poked her head out from the sea of scattered paper that filled the room.

Cosmo did the same, but his face was covered in pins.

"Oh Cosmo, are you hurt?"

Wanda swam over.

"No… except for my heart."

The couple wept in each other's arms.

"Are we never going to find our little Poofie?"

—————

I love writing these adorable idiots sm.

We aren’t gonna get much Peri in this chapter, but we are going to get very important scenes with the other characters as we see them beginning to solve the case of their dear missing Peri.

Also… we will see how Irep is tied into this complex storyline. Things will continue to get deeper.

[sensgrave]

"How the hell did cupid get bullets?"

Thanks for enjoying the prologue while I was with family over the holidays. As a treat, I've made the first chapter double-length, and you get a nice map of the base too.

Hope y'all like the big chapter, and sorry for any spelling/grammatical differences. Blame it on Australia. Minors do NOT interact, even if the chapter is SFW. Don't feed my shit to AI. Don't be an asshole, etc.

Today's GoFundMe that's been chosen: Help save 4yo baby Issa's vision.

Start from the beginning

Previous chapter

Next chapter (not posted yet)

Word count: ~2.0k Warnings: None really. Very slow burn. Swearing, maybe?

After landing, a car picks you up and takes you around the outside of the base. There’s no way in hell to tell where you are, but the scenery is nice at least. A little forest-y – but that’s probably for the better, if the required confidentiality is anything to go by. You peek through the few sections of gates into the base, sandwiched in between towering walls that leave everything to the imagination. The car could barely be even called a car at this point, it’s closer to a gigantic and fearsome beast. A beast in the shape of a heavily armoured truck. There’s the whir of the engine underneath your seat as you finally turn, pulling up to the administration building and security checkpoint.

Making your way through security to the inside, there’s not much hustle and bustle through the buildings.  It takes a minute until your suspicion of this potentially being governmental or military related work is confirmed, by two soldiers in tactical gear sprinting ahead of you as they bicker to each other. The uniforms do utilise the same insignia you saw on your introductory paperwork, as well as – if you’re being honest to yourself – the incredibly attractive and sleek black colour throughout. There are minor accents here and there across some of the smaller details.

Where’s all the noise though? Shouldn’t there be a LOT more people for a structure like this?

It seems to be more intimate of an affair than you originally thought. As you’re led down the hall, and through headquarters you can’t help but take in the scene around you. A few meeting rooms, one with a group of the same uniformed soldiers discussing back and forth about something on the projector inside. Another group is pawing through documents strewn across the table, notably with more than a few empty energy drink cans about. There’s a break room, and looking through the door you notice an incredibly large fridge, couches, tables - even a little balcony attached to it. Excellent amenities you’ve seen so far. Another good sign.  Before you emerge from the hallway, there’s a closed door on the left. The blinds are down on the windows, and there’s a small golden placard on the door that reads ‘War Room 1’ in an elegant script font. Exiting the hallway, you see what you assume to be the gym, and the barracks themselves. Shuffling through your papers, your itinerary shows that you’ve been given quarters in barracks building A. Though looking again at the map, there’s a little star marked that could’ve told you a lot quicker. No biggie. You’re on the top floor, and each floor seems to have roughly six sets of quarters. They’re quite tall buildings, and when you finally find your door – you figure out why. Each set of quarters is unbelievably enormous. A big queen bed, a dresser, wardrobe, and vanity – a kitchenette AND an ensuite bathroom? Complete with a big bathtub?

Surely there’s been a mistake, right? Maybe this is just visitor accommodation?

You cross-reference with the map and your documents. It all checks out. Room S10 in the ‘specialist operations wing’ has your name written on it as plain as day. There’s even an embroidered towel with your initials in the bathroom. Sweet touch, albeit extravagant. There’s your suitcase on the bed, now open and bursting with your possessions. The steps you take around the room fuel your curiosity for poking about and getting a feel for the place. You didn’t shut the door however, so you do get a bit of a startle when there’s a man leaning against your doorframe. Completely undetected and unnoticed, he had leaned against the frame and simply watched you go about the area with intrigue. Studying your actions like an animal in a zoo, then fixing up his dirty blond hair before returning to his original posture.

You certainly jump, that’s for sure. And let out an incredibly large…

“Motherfucker!” It fires out of your mouth faster than a bullet from a gun as you jolt upright, hand immediately moving over your chest as the shock makes it feel that the air has been stolen from your lungs.

Probably shouldn’t have yelled that, especially not at a potential coworker.

“Good evening to you too! Sorry I spooked ya.” He chuckles as a grin casually spreads across his face. “I take it you’re inspecting your surroundings?” There’s a slightly smug aura about him, you’d usually ask where someone like this gets the audacity – but those blue eyes could get anything at this point.

“God! Sorry, I’m so sorry! Yes, I am. Didn’t expect any company with that though. It’s quite big, I’m almost worried there may have been a mistake made.” You manage to blurt this out fast enough to elicit further amusement on his face. He looks at you with a knowing glance.

“There’s no mistakes ‘round here usually. You seem to have the same quarters as everyone else. If you want, we can chit-chat for a bit about anything unclear. You’re the university hire, aren’t ya?” He drawls. A lovely bit of southern twang dripping from the way he speaks. Before you can even introduce yourself, he continues, “Don’t worry. I know your name, saw it earlier on the paperwork. Though at this point you’ve already earned a nickname, unfortunately in front of the king of stupid nicknames. Considering the skittishness, I think we’re going to call you skittles. Sound’s fun, right?”

“Certainly does. Again, real sorry about that.” You quickly apologise once more.

Less than a day in, and I’ve already got a nickname for doing something dumb. Not a great omen, but not a bad one either.

“Ah, it’s no issue. Sometimes I can be a bit quiet, habit of the job.” He beams. The man’s clearly got pride in this place, and who could blame him? Seems very comfortable and oddly welcoming so far.

“So, you’ve got my name, and I’d like to not call you ‘motherfucker’ each time I see you. What’s yours?”

I am NOT making that mistake again.

“Graves. Phillip graves. I-“ He can’t even finish the rest of his sentence before you interject.

“Phillip Graves… Phil Graves… Fill. Graves. Are you kidding me? Your name is a fucking pun on it’s own, it sounds cool – and I get called ‘Skittles’ for likely, forever?” You fire back, enjoying the small changes in his face when you let out a small giggle.

“Seems to be. Maybe if something else pops up, we’ll change it. Can’t take credit for the pun though, that one’s courtesy of my mama. Suits me, don’t ya think?” He flashes a cheeky grin, the jovial attitude certainly making you forget about earlier.

“I can’t disagree there.” A slight smile, with that look in your eyes gives just enough of a tug on his brain that he’s gotta recollect his thoughts. Not that you’d be able to notice that small of a difference, yet.

“Well…may I come in?”

Fuck. I’ve just been talking at him while he stands in the door, I completely forgot that he was kind of glued there. He could’ve already come in. It’s nice he still waited and asked though, another good indicator.

“Yes, absolutely, of course you can. Though, would you know why it’s so fancy around here? Everything seems great, and I’m just taken aback somewhat.”

It IS weird though. The status quo is to treat your employees like fodder for a capitalistic machine. It’s to give them the bare minimum so that they can’t quit, but are unable to demand more. Seeing how far you can push the line of violating labour laws before you get into trouble is a strategical normality in the business world. It’s not right, it’s not good, but it’s what we’re stuck with in the late stage, so – what’s the catch?

He saunters forward through the room, making his way towards you. Nicely dressed, a little bit of sway in his step – with a sandalwood and mint aftershave carrying itself through the air as he moves.

“Well, you take care of your people, and they’ll take care of you. Simple as that. The company hires small, pretty hand selected. Gives incentive. Ain’t no way that people will give a shit about how we perform and what we do if there isn’t any real recognition. Gotta be somethin’ tangible. Gotta make the wins personal to everyone, not just a bunch of top-brass pockets. The work’s important, and if we do well – we’ve got a big payday among few. Besides – these people are living here, workin’ here, it’s certainly an odd setup. Their families put their trust in us to take care of ‘em. If they don’t have enough to live a better than good life, then what’s the point of the effort? I know money isn’t everything in life – but the company will be damned if it ever lets its’ people go without. People make this place, Skittles.” His chest puffs up with a touch of pride, and you can genuinely feel his love and admiration for this place. A very good sign.

That’s actually real fucking reasonable. It’s kind of sad that an attitude like this is so rare. I thought I would see pigs fly before I got a decent job.

“I wouldn’t doubt that in a second, but I’m just kind of surprised that this thinking is across the entire workplace. It’s strange. I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, though. Seems like they’ve thought of everything.” Your reply increases the puff in his chest just a little bit more. He shifts his weight onto his other foot, just the most minute hint of anticipation in the way he carries himself.

Graves finally lets out a breath that he didn’t even know he was holding in. There was just something about this entire thing, maybe the excitement of having a fresh face around here? Unbeknownst to you, pretty much the entire workforce had been hand selected by him. Probably just some jitters. Never done this before. He assumes.

Almost out of habit, he runs a hand through his hair again. “So, has anyone taken you for a tour ‘round here yet? I’m hoping your answer’s ‘no’ because it’s one of my favourite parts with new recruits.” Always smiling, but now with an eyebrow raise. He certainly is hoping.

You smile, flattered by the gesture. It’s on your itinerary to have a tour after you’re done unpacking, but something tells you that you’d much rather have a tour by him instead. He’s confident, charming, and has a good grip on what goes on around here. You do also like a man who’s certainly got manners, and a concept of boundaries. He’s done the work on himself already, even if he’s still a little rough around the edges.

Fuck unpacking, I’ll do it later. No way am I passing this up.

“I haven’t had a tour yet, no.” You reply sweetly. “I’d love to join you for it.” Before you can even finish your sentence, he’s already got an arm presented.

Really? How sweet is this guy? Maybe he likes me? No, I’m reading too much into it. He’s probably just being friendly.

“You’re welcome to take my arm if you’re worried ‘bout gettin’ lost, but I get it if you just wanna walk side by side. Not everyone would wanna do that right off the bat.”

Yeah, like I thought. Friendly. Glad I didn’t make an ass of myself. I’ll still take him up on the offer, though.

You link arms, walking out of your potential new ‘home’ for the near future, nothing but your phone, and your lanyard. It’s got a staff ID card on it, a keycard to access rooms, and a little multitool with the company’s name on it. Another nice touch. This place truly pays attention to the smallest of details. Everything’s got thought and a purpose – and not just ‘practical’ shit either, they seem to count ‘for fun’ and aesthetic appeal as purposes too.

You two take your first few steps together, down the hall.

[tojiscrack]

Guess who found your fic on ao3 at 11pm, not noticing the 108k words on the bottom and got so hooked even by the half quarter of the first chapter that resulted in her staying awake until 10 am, reading all 108k words in one sitting. Yes me. Me, who got so hooked she read it all in one sitting. Me, who’s now so emotionally attached to this fic that she’s anxious about your comments under the chapters, stating that THE MAIN PLOT hasn’t even STARTED YET. Me, who knows DAMN WELL the little caterpillars and butterflies and the moths story Megumi and y/n read out is for sure foreshadowing. Me, who’s noticed several butterfly symbolism used over the course of the story. Me, who screamed into her pillow when it was stated that y/n’a dress resembled a butterfly. Me, who’s seen your comment replying to someone, stating that there MIGHT be some kind of drifting apart. Me, who’s well ware of the Heavy Angst tag on the fic. Me, who knows that an author who’s this good at delivering humor and fluff is gonna DESTROY me when the angst is gonna be written. Me, who half regrets now that she’s discovered the story because she’s scared of all that’s about to come.

You seriously have a way with words, dialogue, symbolism, humor, the bond between every character. It’s not so simple to put more than 5 characters in a setting and deal with them all while trying to make it as natural as possible but you SOMEHOW do it SO WELL. I’m just. God. All the thoughts I have on this fic would maybe even rival the 108k words you’ve written up until now but I don’t have the capacity to put them into words as well as you do.

just know that this fic impacted me so much, so badly, years from now on after it's finished, I'll still think about it and re-read it.

so excited (and scared as hell ngl) to see where you'll be going with this story. I may havw joined late but I am sticking around till the end.

love you, great work <3

liar, liar masterlist here:

yayyy, another ao3 reader 😫 welcome to the tumblr crew, i’m so glad you’re hereeee ❤️‍🩹

i had to go back and check whether it really is 108k words and i found myself shocked bc damn, i really wrote that much? 😭 if i put half the effort i put into this story into my essays instead, maybe i’d be a better student but we live and we learn ig 😬

“emotionally attached” to the fic is mind blowing to me 🥹 i didn’t know it’d have this big of an impact on someone but i can’t say i’m displeased. that’s one of the nicest things i’ve heard on here (among other things ofc). ugh, you’re so nice for sending a message on that 🩷

and yes, you are absolutely right. the main plot does not start until next chapter (or more accurately — in terms of drama — somewhere down the line AFTER that) 👀 idk which comment i said that on but i trust ur judgement ‘cause i remember mentioning that somewhere 😭 DON’T BE SCARED, IT’LL BE FUN (and thrilling and scary) BUT STILL 😊

the butterfly thing you mentioned is interesting, actually 🫢 maybe i just really like butterflies (even tho they scare the ever living shit out of me and i nearly killed a few in the london zoo YEARS ago as a child cuz i was fidgeting since they just let them roam free in that greenhouse thingy and i was scared for my life and dying of heat with the humidity?).

YOU MUST HAVE BEEN STALKING MY PAGE BC I DO REMEMBER SAYING SMTH ALONF THOSE LINES I JUST CAN’T REMEMBER WHERE 😭 but i invite you to continue doing so bc i like watching my lovely little liars squirm and then send in their predictions and fear 😋 and this long, juicy message has me giggling to myself and REELING 🤭

yeah, but we’re not holding back on the heavy angst tag… er… buckle up? it’s gonna go downhill from here on out 😟

“you seriously have a way with words” — stop.

“it’s not so simple to put more than 5 characters in a setting and deal with them all while trying to make it as natural as possible but you somehow do it so well” — DOUBLE, TRIPLE, QUADRUPLE, INFINITY STOP OR I’LL CRY 🥹 no one has ever said that about my writing, and in fact, i hadn’t even noticed that myself 😭 i think i’m gonna levitate in glee ✨ to know it flows well enough for it to be commented on (out of ur own free will and not me pressing a gun to ur forehead), it’s just UGHHH so nice and sweet and i’m so glad you’ve joined the liar, liar community 😫 warmest welcome ml <3

gosh you’ve put this story on such a high pedestal, i’m almost scared i won’t be able to meet ur standards, even with everything planned beforehand 😟 but i’m willing to try. if you’re here for the super long ride (my updates are sporadic and will continue to be a such as the time goes on).

it was definitely not a LATE arrival per se — the liar, liar family is still pretty small. i’ve only got about 321 followers, so definitely not as much as the bigger jjk writers on here, and half of those are split between my megumi fic readers and levi fic readers. i now consider you an og just bc this analysis was so in depth and interesting, i found myself smiling so hard my cheeks hurt 🙂‍↔️

but i love you SO much for this. i’d love to see more comments and messages from you. don’t be afraid to spam me if you must (in fact, i encourage it!!!) 😁 i get so giddy and excited and motivated when ppl send me their predictions. it’s one of the greatest things about writing (and the best part imo).

have a lovely day! and i can’t wait for you to see the next chapter and what i have in store for you <3

[haesunflower]

the stars lied | royalty au with zhanghao and ricky

(written in the stars chapter 2)

✩ chapter 1 here, but can be read as standalone ✩ genre: romance, angst

pairing: reader x zhang hao, reader x ricky

about/tags: while you visit your sister, the queen, you're met with a familiar distraction – prince ricky. but king hao doesn't seem happy about it (3k words)

y/n is a princess, hao is a king, ricky is a prince, pining, childhood friends to lovers, love triangle (or maybe it's a square), infidelity, yujin is hao's son

Your sister is with-child for the second time the next time you see her. You’re sitting with her at the butterfly garden, and her first-born is playing near the pond. The young crown prince Yujin looks much like Hao, you think. 

You look at your sister, the queen, and can’t help but think that she was always meant to be that. Since she’s left Astoria, she’s become much tanner, she smells of flowers all the time, and her hair is much longer. She fashions them nowadays with tiny crystals, which glisten in the sunlight when she moves. You tell her it looks like the stars, and she says it’s the only way she can feel connected to home. 

Mariposa, unlike your country, is much warmer. While you haven’t had the chance to explore much, the palace gardens here put yours to shame as it blooms with about a hundred different kinds of flowers. The people that staff the palace are gentle, soft-spoken and remind you of the slight drizzle before a rainbow. You suddenly understand where Zhang Hao gets his disposition from. The king you mean, you suddenly understand where the king gets his disposition from. 

You haven’t seen him since that night. You didn’t even show up to the wedding – it would have complicated things. Instead, you sent your sister a letter and a gift, a small golden telescope. You wonder if your sister has ever suspected anything, if that’s the reason she invited you to stay at Mariposa for the entire Spring. 

“Let me tour you around the palace, sister. Come.” her entire court of ladies move when she does, and you follow suit. She ends the tour at what she thinks would be your favorite place, the royal library. 

The whole place is bright, and the ceiling is incredibly high. The library is two stories, and there is a large staircase that leads to the second floor. The books on the first floor look like they sparkle, with the sun hitting its hardbound spines. You walk in between the tall bookshelves, fingers ghosting over the expanse of the collection. Slowly, the faint sound of a violin enters your ears. 

“He likes to play in here sometimes, up on the second floor”. Your sister, who is beside you, gestures up at the staircase. You don’t want to look. “As expected, the king plays beautifully”, your sister whispers to you. 

“I fear that I’ll disturb his grace's time with you. I’ll retire to my room, sister.” She gently nods at you before making her way up the steps, with prince Yujin following suit. 

You walk to your quarters alone. 

—--⋆⋆☆⋆⋆—-

Your maid, Chaehyun, is busy brushing your hair when she tells you that the gown prepared for you to wear at the spring solstice ball has arrived. The dress is a breathtaking midnight blue, clad in diamonds, and much like your sister’s hair – reminds you of the Astoria night sky. 

A string quartet greets you enthusiastically, their music resonating throughout the ballroom as you enter. The walls are decorated in gold, with paintings of the Mariposa butterflies. The place is filled with Mariposa nobility, but you are also met with royals from other neighboring countries. A few gentlemen ask for your hand in a dance, and you agree. Though your body is moving, your mind is elsewhere. You feel that you are merely floating to the rhythm. 

Zhang Hao sees you first, breathtaking, he thinks. He is standing next to your sister on the platform where their thrones reside. He watches you politely accept dances from strangers, smiling and curtsying at each one. When you move, he thinks it’s like watching the constellations dance in the night sky. Entranced, he keeps his gaze on you.

The queen must have noticed, “my king, would you ask my sister for a dance? she looks like she needs saving.” Hao looks at her, a little bit in disbelief. But she nods firmly, letting him know that he can go. 

You’re at your 4th dance partner already, and the current one talks your ear off about Mariposa and Astoria politics. You’re about to respond with some generic agreement to his opinion, when you hear his voice. 

“Excuse me, prime minister. May I steal the Princess of Astoria for a dance?” his gloved hand is outstretched towards you. You don’t want to take it. Not when he’s looking at you like that, not when you’re unable to speak, and not when your sister is watching you from afar. “Of course, your grace”, the prime minister says as he places your hand on the king’s, and the decision is made for you. 

The music restarts, and a slower song begins to play. He takes your hand and places it on his right shoulder. While one hand holds yours tightly, the other rests on your waist. The butterflies are back, and it dances around your stomach. He’s trying to look at you, but your head is turned. 

“Princess y/n, are you ignoring the King?” his lips are in a smile, and his head is tilted. You appreciate the joking manner in which he speaks, and it gives you the courage to look him in the eye. When your eyes meet, his gaze softens. And since you don’t respond, he follows up with “I must say I was a little offended when you fled the library earlier today without so much of a greeting.” 

“I apologize, your grace. I did not want to disturb your time with my sister, nor your time with the violin.” He spins you around. “I don’t mind an audience, princess.” Again, you don’t know what to say.  So with eyes still locked on one another, you dance in silence, and as the song ends he tells you to make yourself at home here. You curtsy, and you leave the dance floor, running to the balcony.

—--⋆⋆☆⋆⋆—-

The moment your face hits the fresh air, you gasp. You’re breathing heavily, and you make your way towards the banister for support. Your dress feels too tight, too heavy, and you’re clawing at the bodice for release. Behind you, the ballroom is still ablaze with people, chatter, and music. In front of you, a lake full of swans. And beside you, a man dressed in black. 

“Y/N, are you quite alright?” he asks. You turn your attention to him, and you’re met with a healthy distraction from an impending panic attack. He’s much taller than you remember, with broader shoulders and longer hair. Under the night sky, the moonlight reflects on his platinum hair. “Prince Quanrui” you breathe out. 

“Princess Y/N”, he bows at you. “I was looking for you, you know. I was waiting for the chance to ask for a dance, and then that damn king cut the line.” You laugh, Quanrui has always been honest. 

As children, you saw each other yearly for diplomatic meetings of the nations Astoria and Solaria. Your kingdoms were on opposite ends of the map, and while yours is dominated by the moon, his is dominated by the sun. You’ve been to Solaria a few times, the land of people with golden hair. But most of these royal gatherings were hosted in Astoria. 

When you were children, you thought he didn’t talk much. He always sat gracefully, composed, and stoic. Your older brother, Hanbin, was often compared to him growing up as a fellow crown prince. It was only when all the prying eyes of adults left the room where Quanrui, or Ricky, as he liked to refer to himself, would reveal what kind of person he truly is. When it’s just the children in the room – you quickly learn that he says whatever is on his mind, is quite stubborn, and is always at the scene of conflict even if he doesn’t want to be. You remember a time where all the children were chasing each other under the dining hall tables and when the ceramics fell, Ricky took the blame. 

As you were the same age, you spent a lot of time together running around the castle, riding horses, and painting by the garden. You’d also force him to join a tea party or two, especially when your sister was off with extra lessons. He didn’t like doing it, but it gave him a chance to spend time with you. Ricky was the only person in the world who preferred your company over your sister’s. 

But by the time you were teenagers, Ricky started spending more time with Hanbin, sparring at the courtyard for some “healthy competition”. The two princes got along well, and both your parents fostered and encouraged that friendship to ensure the long-lasting alliance of your kingdoms. Every time he visits, he would make sure to ask you to go on a stroll with him at least once. 

The visits started becoming less and far between, after all, relations between Astoria and Solaria are solid than ever – there’s really not much to discuss during the diplomatic meetings anymore. 

On your 17th birthday, he sent over a portrait he painted of you, purely from memory. He apologized for being unable to visit that year as he didn’t have the time to take the long journey to you. In the letter he sent along with the portrait, he said he was busy preparing for the sun ceremony and invited you to come – but you didn’t go. Because Zhang Hao was in Astoria, preparing to marry your sister. 

In the present time, Quanrui stands beside you, “you should have waited, I would have gladly danced with you instead, Ricky.” He looks satisfied with your answer, and pleasantly surprised that formalities have been dropped. He doesn’t have the heart to tell you that he no longer goes by his childhood name Ricky. But the name sounds so sweet being uttered from your lips. So he lets it be. 

“Will you still be here tomorrow?” he asks. 

“Yes, until the end of the season.” 

“Good, I have someone I’d like you to meet.”

—--⋆⋆☆⋆⋆—-

It’s the next day, and you’re in your riding clothes. Ricky is at the grand stables, bringing out two horses, one golden like the sun and one white as snow. “Ricky, when you said you’d like me to meet someone, I didn’t think you’d mean a stallion.” 

He laughs, handing you the reins of the white horse. He gently strokes its hair when he says “this is Celeste, I bring her everywhere with me.” You look at him, making your eyes small and shooting him an accusatory look, “Celeste like, the constellation we made up as kids?” 

Ricky laughs “a funny coincidence, is it not?”. His ears are slightly red, and you are right not to believe him. Eyebrows furrowed in disbelief, you shake your head. 

You’re laughing when you ask “okay, and who is this handsome creature?” You're petting the golden stallion by its neck, waiting for Ricky to respond. Instead, he walks closer to you and asks “may I?”, you nod and he easily lifts you up by the waist to mount the horse. 

“You tell me y/n, he’s all yours.” 

He shoots you a wink and quickly mounts Celeste. He’s gotten a few feet ahead of you when he turns around to taunt you, “well princess y/n, are you coming?” You quickly start to move, catching up to them, with the newly gifted horse that you decide to name Citrine. 

On his own horse from afar, Zhang Hao watches you ride alongside Quanrui. 

—--⋆⋆☆⋆⋆—-

Spring goes by fast, and Quanrui has overextended his stay.

Solaria and Mariposa have a tense history, and their mutual ally Astoria is what prevents further political turmoil. So when Quanrui asks the king if he could buy a horse from him, he allows it. And when Quanrui asks if he, too, can stay until the end of Spring, Zhang Hao makes a retort comment about Solaria needing their crown prince back. The prince responds with “some things are worth more than a country” and upon hearing a response like that, he has no choice but to let him stay.  

King Zhang Hao isn’t blind. He sees that Quanrui is in love with Y/N. Since the spring solstice ball, you have never gotten a moment to yourself. Prince Quanrui is always glued to your side – especially as you stroll through the butterfly gardens, visit the palace museums, and ride the horses. Mealtimes have been hard for Hao, so much so that he has decided to dine alone in his room for the time being. He loses his appetite when he sees you and Prince Quanrui casually stealing glances at each other. 

After dinner, he often retires to the royal library in an attempt to distract himself, getting lost in the violin. The queen is starting to worry, when she points out he’s been playing sadder songs recently. He never knows what to tell her, so he doesn’t say anything. 

Today, as he is about to enter the second floor study, he hears voices. Inside, you’re teaching the young crown prince, Yujin, how to use a telescope. The windows are open, and you’re guiding Hao’s son so that he can see through the device. It’s the golden telescope you got your sister as a wedding gift. You don’t know that Hao has been the one using it as of late. 

“My my, isn’t it too late for the young prince to be awake?” The toddler beams in excitement and gestures to be brought to his father. You bring Yujin over to Hao, who gladly takes him from your arms and coos. “And what did princess y/n show you hmm?” He makes conversation with his child as if he has the ability to respond. King Hao then brings Yujin over to his nanny, who is waiting patiently by the door. “Bring the young prince to bed.” he commands. 

You are also about to excuse yourself when Hao stops you. “Stay” he says.  

You stop in your tracks, and turn around to face him. “Your grace, it’s getting late -” He is desperate to speak to you, evidently grasping at straws when he says “as King, I’m ordering you to stay.” 

Hao sighs loudly, and throws his head up, looking straight into the ceiling. “Sorry Y/N I just, I want the chance to speak with you.” He’s looking at you now, pleading with his eyes. The same eyes he used as he pleaded with you that night in Astoria. 

This time, you want to hear him out. This time, you don’t run away. “Okay, I’ll stay.” 

You sit yourself on the couch, opposite the window where you were standing. Hao follows suit and sits next to you. There’s a long silence before you hear the crickets in the distance. “Did you love me?” he asks. 

Love? You think. Well, he made your heart beat faster than anyone else could. He made you feel seen, he made you question your position in royalty, and he made you wonder what it would be like to be – normal. He almost made you betray your sister. So whatever powerful force that was, if we can even call it love, that is how you felt towards him. 

But all you can croak out is “you are married now Hao – ” Suddenly, you feel 17 again. You feel vulnerable, removing the walls you greatly put up. “– and to my sister, nonetheless.”

You’re scared that you’ll cry, so you look straight ahead at the window so the tears don’t fall. You know that you still haven’t actually answered his question. And he thinks you won’t be able to answer him at all, which is why he confesses ahead, “Y/N I am married, but I do not love her.”

This time, you look at him. Like you, he looks scared. His lips are quivering and he’s afraid he’ll break at any moment. With bravery, you place your hand on his cheek. You feel the tear that falls down and he closes his eyes, basking in your touch. “I’m sorry.” he whispers.

“For what?” you ask. 

“For not doing anything. For letting you go. For not seeing you the next morning. For -” he’s bawling at this point. And you could barely make out those last few words as he lets his tears take over. So you hug him, and his tears pool by your neck. Forget royal conduct, right now you are just a girl, holding your first love tightly. 

His arms wrap around your back, and he clings on to you tightly. How cruel, he thinks. The first time he is allowed to feel the warmth of your skin is also the last time he’ll be able to. Both your eyes are shut as you enjoy the company of being in each others’ arms. For you, healing. For him, mourning. 

When his breathing steadies, he explains himself. “It’s because I thought you might be right, Y/n, about what’s written in the stars for us. But now that I’m here holding you, I’m hoping the stars lied.” 

Your brows are furrowed, and he’s holding both your hands when he says “I so badly want the stars to be wrong.” He says it so quietly, you almost don’t catch it. Your foreheads are leaning against each other, when you whisper back “I’m sorry, too.” 

The soft cries have stopped, and it’s silent once again. The weight of your words slumps his shoulders, and he knows what the apology means. It means, I’m sorry, but it’s too late. I’m sorry that this isn’t in the cards for us. I’m sorry, but I do not love you anymore.  

“to answer your question, I think I did love you, Hao.” And for a split second, he is happy. 

“But I think you wouldn’t be able to love me freely either way, your duty is to your country. You are a selfless King, and even though only I will know your great sacrifice, it is admirable to the highest degree.” 

And Hao knows you are right. His one great love is Mariposa. Unlike other royal families, there is no other person that can rule, the line of succession ends with him as the only son of the late king. And now that he is King, the line shall continue with Yujin. It turns out, you’re right about the stars. Hao is destined to be a great leader, not your lover. 

So he nods, forced to accept his fate. With one last plea, “one kiss before I let you go?” 

You nod, and let him mold his lips to yours. His hands hold your jaw tightly, bringing you close to him. You feel a passion, longing, and a sadness to this kiss, and you relish in it. It’s a kiss that feels like it’s the end. 

Outside, the queen peeks through the keyhole of the door. Then decides to leave you be.

—--⋆⋆☆⋆⋆—-

A/N: this was so long, whew! what do you think will happen next? part three will be out next week, but let me know your reactions!

✩ chapter 1, chapter 3 ✩ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

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[serickswrites]

Lonely Place of Longing II

Master list here (includes bios, summary, and chapter links)

Warnings: captivity of sorts, restraints, torture, unconsciousness, wounds, blood, crucifixion mentioned, collapsed lung, chest tube, medical whump, dislocation, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery, caretaker and whumpee

Halle spent the next couple of days just orienting herself to Tectus as she hadn’t yet completely assumed her duties as Dylan’s keeper, her team’s quarters, and trying very hard to not forget everyone’s names. The latter was proving to be more difficult than she initially thought. Everyone really should have name tags.

The one team member she could remember beside Thomas was Dylan. And who could forget Dylan. The living weapon that she was in charge of. She had not spent any more one on one time with Dylan. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t watching.

Dylan fascinated Halle. In a morbid curiosity sort of way. The weapon only ever left his quarters—which Halle figured was a suite of three rooms: a bedroom, bathroom, and med bay—when Thomas and two other team members came to fetch him. He didn’t even leave to take his meals. Someone always brought Dylan his meal and waited outside while Dylan ate.

Sometimes the team member would speak with Dylan, usually gruffly, but Dylan always murmured his replies. He ducked his head low any time food was brought. He never complained when there wasn’t utensils—Halle realized some team members didn’t feel safe with Dylan having silverware—or when the meager portion was cold. He merely thanked the team member and returned to his room to eat alone.

The most Halle observed Dylan talk was when a team member rolled a library cart into the hall. Dylan was a voracious reader. Halle supposed that was the only thing he could do in his room all day. Dylan gave reviews of each book he returned to the cart whether or not the team member—usually Benjamin—wanted to hear the reviews or not. Dylan made requests each time as well, though some books were harder to get than others.

“I couldn’t find that one here,” Benjamin said as he handed Dylan back the list from the previous week.

“Are you sure? I could have sworn we had the others in our library, perhaps—“

“Well, I couldn’t find it. I asked Thomas to order it. We’ll see when it gets here,” Benjamin snapped.

Dylan hung his head. “Thank you, I really appreciate it.” He took his large stack of books off the cart and retreated back into his room, closing the door quietly.

With a pang of guilt, Halle realized that Dylan had no source of entertainment other than books. He couldn’t go outside except for on missions, he couldn’t roam Tectus, and he didn’t have a TV. These were all things that Halle took for granted.

Halle chased after Benjamin. “Wait!” She called as she hurried after Benjamin.

“Hey, Halle,” Benjamin said as he stopped his cart. “What can I do for you?”

“What was the name of the book?”

“What book?” Benjamin raised an eyebrow.

“The one that Dylan wanted. What’s the name of the book?” Maybe if she could read the book it would give her better insight into the weapon.

Benjamin rolled his eyes. “Oh, that one. Honestly, I don’t know why he wants this book so bad. He’s asked for it about six or seven times. I finally had to put a requisition order in with Thomas. Of course it may take a while for it to come in.”

“What’s it called?” Halle persisted.

“Uhhh Third Star? Or something like that. Honestly, I don’t pay too much attention to what he reads. If we have it, I give it to him. If I can’t find it, I can’t find it. Sometimes someone else finds it. Other times we eventually have to order it.”

“Thank you,” Halle said as she went back to her room. She immediately flicked on her computer and placed an order for delivery the next day for the book. She read the summary—Halle was shocked to learn it was a novel written some years ago about angels and demons and the human that they fell in love with. It wasn’t something she wasn’t interested in reading. But clearly Dylan was.

Thomas came for Dylan late that night. Halle was just climbing into bed when she heard the march of three pairs of boots coming down their hallway. Halle rose quietly and went to her door on the off chance Thomas was coming to talk to her. But no knock came. She cracked open her door to listen, telling herself that she needed to hear how Dylan was feeling and what the mission entailed to better prepare to take care of him.

Thomas’s booming knock echoed in the hall. “Open up,” he ordered. The door opened slowly. Dylan stood shirtless in the doorway, his pale hair tousled with sleep. He was barefoot and bleary eyed. “Yes, Thomas?”

“Put your clothes on, we’re expected to be at the rendezvous point with Bravo Team in,” Thomas checked his watch, “ten minutes.” Dylan’s face sobered instantly. “Am I to know what we are going to be doing or am I just to be dropped in ignorant and blind and expected to survive?” It was the first time Halle heard Dylan use anything but a soft, gentle tone.

“The mission is need to know and you don’t need to know,” Julian sneered. Besides Dylan, Julian was the scariest teammate on Alpha Team. It wasn’t his size so much as his energy, though Julian was taller and broader than Thomas. Halle was glad she was on Julian’s team rather than his enemy because she was pretty sure Julian could squish her like a grape.

Thomas glared at Julian. “The Authority has deemed it unnecessary for you to be briefed at this time.”

“Then allow me to be your blunt instrument to wield as you will, Thomas,” Dylan said coolly, giving a mocking bow. “I will be but a moment.”

“Plan to be gone for twenty-four hours, Dylan,” Thomas instructed.

A whole day. What kind of mission takes a whole day? Dylan returned, stepping out into the hall. He rolled his neck as he walked, cracking each joint loudly. “Shall we?” He was even with Julian and Aubrey. He took care not to touch either team member. That was against the rules, or so Halle had learned. Dylan was not allowed to initiate physical contact with any team member unless the member had previously consented, or it was vital to a mission.

Thomas nodded and Aubrey uncuffed Dylan. “Thank you,” Dylan said softly as he rubbed his wrists as though the cuffs were terribly uncomfortable. Perhaps part of their power suppression was painful. Halle needed to research more about it. Dylan’s eyes flicked to Halle’s door, briefly making eye contact. Dylan’s lips twitched but he said nothing. He strode forward, following after Thomas closely. Aubrey and Julian followed after Dylan, forming a blockade from behind should Dylan attempt to escape.

Thomas and the team members he took with him on the mission did not return that day. Alpha Team quarters were very quiet. Halle knew there wasn’t much to do other than wait. The team members that were left behind seemed unbothered by the tardiness of the team.

“Sometimes they’re late, Halle,” Clay said over dinner.

“You get used to it,” Andrea said as she piled more food on her plate.

Halle could barely eat, she was too uneasy. She could be expected to heal Dylan at any moment. And though she knew Dylan was the only member of the team she was expected to heal, Halle knew she would help whoever needed help.

Loud, aggressive banging woke Halle in the middle of the night the following night. The team still hadn’t returned, but the rest of the team was just as unbothered as they were the day before. Halle’s heart was in her throat as she stumbled out of bed and to the door.

“Halle,” Thomas’s low, gruff voice called through the door. “Halle, wake up!”

“I’m awake, I’m awake,” Halle said as she pulled open the door. What she saw before her had her freezing.

Aubrey and Maximus held Dylan between the two of them. Dylan hung limply between his two teammates. His head lolled back on his neck, revealing his heavily bruised face. His eyes were closed, though Halle wasn’t sure if Dylan would have been able to open his left eye as it was crusted over with blood. Blood dripped onto the floor from his limp fingers. Halle couldn’t see the full extent of Dylan’s injuries, but what she could see were terrible. Both Aubrey and Maximus were bruised, but they would heal.

“What…What happened?”

“Get them to the med bay,” Thomas ordered. “Hurry.”

Aubrey and Maximus hurried down the hall and to Dylan’s suite. Thomas kicked open the door and they hurried through. Halle rushed to keep up. “What happened?”

“We were ambushed. There were too many. Bravo Team’s been decimated. Dylan managed to draw most of the enemy combatants to him. But then he was overtaken.”

Halle listened as she directed the others to lay Dylan on the exam table. Dylan’s limbs flopped as he was moved to the table.

“Carefully,” Halle said softly as she watched the teammates lay Dylan on the table.

Halle began opening drawers and cabinets, pulling out the implements she thought she would need. “I’m listening. Go on. I need to know everything, Thomas.”

Halle listened as she worked, quickly cutting away Dylan’s tattered clothes leaving Dylan completely naked. Halle was sure that Dylan was used to it, and besides, Halle needed to see all of Dylan to determine what wound needed treatment. Dylan was bleeding on his chest and his hands, his pale skin a mosaic of bruises and varying shades of black, blue, and deep purple. Halle was pretty sure one of Dylan’s knees had been dislocated. Dylan’s breaths were shallow and wheezing, but he was breathing regularly enough that Halle felt that could wait. She needed to conduct her assessment.

Thomas’s words trickled in. Dylan had been captured. And tortured by the look of it. “We found him nailed to a wall and left to hang,” Maximus added to Thomas’s narrative.

Halle’s head jerked up. “How long was he hanging for?” She looked around for a stethoscope. She needed to hear.

“Does it matter?”

Halle turned and glared at Aubrey. “Do you have any medical training? Do any of you have any medical training?”

Aubrey’s cheeks reddened. “If you’re saying—“

“What I am saying is I do have training. You don’t. That’s why I’m doing what I’m doing and you’re doing what you’re doing. And you don’t know what is relevant to my job. Just as I don���t know what’s relevant to your job. So when I say I need to know everything. I need to know everything.”

She put her ear pieces in and put the cold stethoscope to the right side of Dylan’s chest. Nothing. There was absolutely no sound. Fuck. She looked at Dylan’s unconscious face, mouth going dry when she realized Dylan’s slightly parted lips were starting to turn blue.

Halle shoved past Thomas. “Maximus, grab the scalpel set from over there. Aubrey, get gauze. Thomas, I need you to hold this very steady while I work. We’re running out of time.”

None of the team moved. “Go. Now!” Halle said exasperatedly as she prepared the chest tube. “Or I won’t be the reason why the unit loses their living weapon. You all will.”

The teammates moved quickly at Halle’s words. “I’m really sorry about this, Dylan,” Halle murmured as she braced to cut. “Normally, we do this under sedation. But I don’t have time and I don’t know how you’ll react.”

And before Halle could lose her nerve, she cut into Dylan’s chest. “What are you doing?” Thomas asked as he watched Halle work. He held out the tube Halle had requested.

“I’m assuming you found him in the midst of being crucified, yes?”

Thomas nodded. “It was sort of a rudimentary one. The combatants had him for several hours before we were able to infiltrate their compound.”

Halle carefully inserted the tube, breathing a sigh of relief as she watched Dylan’s breaths quickly deepen. Dylan never woke, but Halle was relieved. At least she had taken care of the most pressing wound. “Well, he was tortured before you got to him, that much is clear.”

Thomas nodded again. “We figured they wouldn’t want to kill Dylan. They knew enough about Dylan to carry their own pair of cuffs. Whether they were trying to get information or just enjoying hurting a weapon, we don’t know.”

Halle went back to taking inventory of Dylan’s injuries. She really needed to put an IV in and start fluids, but she wanted to be sure she didn’t miss anything else more pressing. “Aubrey,” Halle said without looking up as she placed the IV, “for your information, crucifixion is a very, very painful way to die. And it takes a very long time usually. Victims typically experience dehydration, blood loss, and most suffocate to death because their lungs collapse. Dylan only had one working lung.”

“That was quick acting, Halle,” Thomas said with a smile. “Good work!” He clapped Halle on the shoulder. “You can give me a full report of all of his injuries and how long it will be before he can get back to field work. I need to get these two to the main med bay and check on the others.”

Halle let them leave in silence. She was horrified at what she saw. And even more horrified at how nonchalant her fellow teammates were about Dylan’s injuries. “I’m really sorry this happened to you,” Halle said as she began to dress Dylan’s wounds.

“This is going to hurt, but hopefully you’ll stay asleep. I’ve given you a nice pain killer in your IV. And a sedative.” Halle lined herself up to pop Dylan’s knee back into the socket.

Dylan woke with a scream as Halle set his knee. Halle jumped back as Dylan thrashed beneath her. How was Dylan awake? “NOOOOOOOO! PLEASE! NO MORE!” Dylan screamed as he moved.

Dylan stopped moving as he blinked up at the ceiling, as though he suddenly realized where he was. “Oh,” they croaked as he went still on the table.

“I am so sorry,” Halle said, trying to breathe through her own panic, “I thought I gave you enough sedation and pain killers.”

Dylan shook his head as he heaved another breath. “You probably did. I….I have a high tolerance.” He winced as he tried to sit up again. “I—“

“Need to stay down, Dylan. You’re really, really hurt.” Halle took a step towards Dylan. Dylan was proving to be a very difficult patient.

“I’ve had worse,” Dylan groaned as he managed to roll on his left side. “Oh,” he muttered as he rolled back onto his back. “Maybe I need a minute.”

“Why did you draw all the combatants to yourself?”

Dylan’s answer made Halle’s heart twinge. “Because I knew they wouldn’t kill me. I knew they would hurt me, but they wouldn’t kill me. They would most certainly kill the others. But not me.”

“Because you’re a living weapon?”

Dylan shook his head as he let out a bone weary sigh. “Because they wanted to exact their revenge on me. Well, my kind. I was a good stand in for whatever weapon hurt them before.”

“I’m really sorry that happened, Dylan.” Halle meant it.

“It’s ok. Not your fault.” Dylan stared up at the ceiling with his icy blue eyes. “How long am I out of commission for?” His voice was flat. Halle couldn’t say if that was because Dylan was hoping it would be a short time or a long time.

“Probably a month, maybe more.”

Dylan nodded as he closed his eyes, sighing heavily. Halle could have sworn she saw a tear track into Dylan’s hairline. “Thomas and the Authority won’t be happy to hear.” Dylan slowly sat up. He rose on shaking legs. Halle held out an arm to steady Dylan.

“Well unless they can get me some accelerator, then they’re going to have to deal. You shouldn’t be up.”

Dylan groaned, but took a step forward. “I don’t want to be in here any longer than I have to be. I’d rather be in bed.”

Slowly, very, very slowly, Halle helped Dylan hobble to bed. By the time they made it, sweat poured off Dylan and he was paler than he had been before. Dylan sagged back into the pillows with a quiet moan.

“I’ll be right back.” Halle hurried back to her room and grabbed the book Dylan had requested. She wasn’t going to read it. Maybe it would give Dylan something interesting to do while he was recovering.

“Here,” she said as she put the book in Dylan’s hands.

Dylan stared down at the book in his hands. “How did you find this?” He looked up at Halle, his icy eyes guarded.

“I heard you were looking for it and this came in the mail for me—delivery service made a mistake,” Halle lied smoothly. “But I heard you were looking for it, so I thought you might want it.”

Dylan ducked his head. “Thank you very much, Halle, for everything.”

“You’re welcome, Dylan. Rest well, please. You really need to take it easy.”

“I will,” Dylan said, still not raising his head, his deep voice thicker than before.

He had to be exhausted. Halle quickly excused herself, “I’ll be in to check on you in a few hours.”

“Thank you, Halle. For everything.”

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[st0rmyskies]

Team Bonding Linkshipping Stories

There's been some recent kerfuffle among enjoyers of the little Team Bonding unofficial series, and said kerfuffle has manifested as... a shitton of explicit monsterfucker and Link/Link fics. I hope you have some extra time this weekend for some light reading.

Under the cut for length...

Presented in chronological order, including the three stories in the series I've written...

This story drops some new lore about the Shadow Beasts that it's important to know for later.

Pairings: TP!Link/Shadow Beasts, special guest star Midna.

A battle with the Twilight Beasts takes an unexpected turn for the Hero of Twilight. It's all manner of wrong, and yet... he can't help but find himself enjoying it.

Immediate sequel to To Be Taken by Twilight, two chapters.

Pairings: TP!Link/Midna/Zelda, leans heavily into MidZel.

In the aftermath of the Twilight Invasion, Link, Zelda, and Midna find time to just breathe.

Spoilers: They do WAY more than just breathe in this story.

The original sin in this series, all because someone in a server once talked about the Shadow Beasts being sexy.

Pairings: A little bit of everyone/Shadow Beasts.

During their journey, the heroes were subject not just to the antagonism of the shadow but to the unique perils that plagued each of their eras. When the swirling portal opened above them and heavy stone spires fell to the earth, Twilight felt every hair on his body stand on end.  There was really no delicate way for Twilight to warn his brothers-in-arms of the danger they were all in.

Pairings: Mainly Time/Twilight with Twi/Wild and Warriors/Legend mentioned as well.

There is another legend that is passed down alongside the story of the golden goddesses, although not many remember the tale. It's the story of two devoted lovers, one of whom was the bearer of the Spirit of Courage, who were separated from one another by the cruelty of fate. When no god nor great spirit would aid the hero in being reunited with his lost love, he was forced to turn to more nefarious methods, cleaving his soul in two. Maybe this is why some of the heroes have crossed paths with one another and connected along their adventures in spite of being separated from each other by entire eras. And maybe in this era, fate has given Twilight a second chance.

Pairing: Time/Twilight.

The group lands in Ordon Village, and there just aren't enough places in Twilight's home for eight heroes to sleep. Some of them may end up needing to share close quarters.

Pairing: Time/Twilight/Wild.

“What’s the matter with you, Rancher?” Warriors’ voice was curiously devoid of genuine emotion, but when he turned his attention back to Twilight, his eyes were bright with– something. "Feeling a bit territorial?” Or: following the events of A Dangerous Game, Twilight finally checks on Wild after their romp with the Shadow Beasts. Well, he tries to. It turns out that Time got there first... or Wild sought out comfort in someone else when he usually reached for him. Twilight doesn't know which option feels worse.

Pairing: Time/Wild.

“What if I feel safer next to you.” Wild countered. “What if I feel safer when I’m touching you?” Turning his head to meet Wild’s eyes, Time slowly slid his hand across Wild’s warm thigh, his lips only inches from Wild’s own. “Is this enough?” he said softly. Wild considered for a moment, his hands reaching for and curling over Time’s own thigh in return. It took both of Wild’s hands to cover the same amount of area as Time was touching on him. “We could be closer,” he whispered in reply, and before Time could respond he was kissing him. OR, Wild and Time together before everyone else.

Pairing: Legend/Warriors.

"For while it could take so much for Legend to finally lay down the hypervigilance trained into him after years and years and years of adventures and mortal peril, being trusted to safeguard his rest filled Warriors’ heart pride." Spinning off from A Dangerous Game and the snaps from the same little breaks (in our soul), Legend and Warriors explore their own aftermath following the encounter with the Shadow Beasts.

Pairing: Four/Shadow Beasts.

This is probably a bad idea, a piece of Four thinks as he makes his way down the trail. He has things to do. Or, well, better things to do. It's just... it's not his fault that not-people are so hard to come by. or, Four makes interesting decisions in the wake of Team Bonding

Pairing: Sky/Hyrule/Shadow Beasts.

He shouldn't have enjoyed it, but Sky couldn't help but find his feet carrying him back to the clearing when they'd oh so recently encountered those monsters from the Twilight.

[sabraeal]

A Heart Like Stone Turned to Flesh, Chapter 1

[Read on AO3]

Written for @onedivinemisfit, who has been waiting quite patiently for this little birthday gift for a few months now 😅It was originally supposed to be based on one of her Frimmel artworks-- which, technically, it still is-- but I decided to include one of her other too, and the whole project grew into a multichap with a first chapter that addresses...neither of them. BUT I WILL GET THERE SOME DAY.

“Well.” Fog curls up from Sein’s mouth, sprawling into the same delicate lace as smoke. It's so familiar Frieren half-expects the cloying scent to follow, tobacco clinging to her clothes like a child does his mother’s sleeve. “I’ll give your friend this: that Himmel guy certainly got around.”

She has to crane her neck to catch his face— more than she ever did when he was alive. But this pinch is what’s more familiar to her now, habit narrowing her eyes to a squint against the sun. It’s him, alright; even with the morning light prying its way past her lashes, she can see the cocky tilt to his chin and the sly slant to his smile. “He liked helping everyone. It made him popular no matter where we went.”

Sometimes too popular. More than once she’d caught him sneaking out a window, just to avoid the crush of young girls lingering outside their inn, eager to meet The Hero they’d heard so much about.  He’d been shy about it, nervous those first few times— funny, for a boy his age; she’d always thought human adolescents were supposed to be eager for that sort of exploration, their short lifespans spurring them toward procreation before their brains fully finished developing enough to understand the consequences.

You won’t tell anyone? he’d asked, hanging there by the bedsheets, hair a haystack blown to the four winds. She’d only answered, who would I tell?

The girls, of course, which she did as soon as they’d crowded her at the door. And Heiter and Eisen, once she’d caught up with them in town. They’d laughed for a full quarter hour over it, winding down one moment only to work right up to a full guffaw the next. And when Himmel joined them, tunic sticking to his skin and lipstick smeared across his cheeks, thoroughly harassed— well, they’d started right back up again.

I didn’t say I wouldn’t, she would remind him when he turned those wounded eyes on her. And he’d only whine, I didn’t realize you were being hypothetical!

“If there’s one of these here, then the village must be nearby.” Fern furrows her brow— the way Heiter never would, not unless he was quoting scripture three sheets to the wind and tripping over one of those trumped up Empire words, like pervicacious or abnegation or, on one memorable night, copulation— and peers down the road. “Maybe those directions weren’t so useless after all.”

“See?” Sein thrusts out a generous hand, looking every inch the benevolent priest he isn’t. “Northern wisdom. No one knows this land like the people who live here. If you’d only let me finish talking to that nice older woman, then maybe we would have—”

“We still were wandering for almost three days,” she says, as cold as the mountain pass they’d trudged through trying to get to this valley. “Either that nice older woman didn’t know what she was talking about, or you were too busy staring at her to pay attention.”

Frieren rocks on her heels, just a little smug. “I think I know which one it is.”

One glance at her sends Sein sputtering, tripping over himself to insist, “I’m sure she said she knew a man who went this way once. A merchant, I mean. You know, a regular traveler.”

“I’m sure she did.” The chill in Fern’s tone could give a flame frostbite.

It certainly seems to burn Sein’s hide, since he hurries to add, “She’s given the same directions to other travelers too, and never had any complaints.”

“Complaints aren’t a bad thing.” Frieren tilts her head, gaze sliding up, up, until she meets Sein’s furrowed brow. Not a bad look on him, she has to admit. Thinking looks good on just about everyone; it’s a pity most people don’t do it more often. “It means the directions weren’t so terrible they couldn’t find their way back.”

“Well, sure,” he huffs, more steam rising from his mouth, consternation turning to storm before roiling away into the afternoon air. “But if they found their way, they wouldn’t come back either, unless, er…”

“They were just visiting?” It’s not that she enjoys seeing Sein squirm, it’s just— well, it is funny. A big man like that, a priest— the goddess’s chosen as they used to say— standing around and stammering, his cheeks discovering deeper shades of pink. Doesn’t really get old, no matter how many times she’s seen it. Or who she’s seen it on. “And then they’d be sure to come back the same way, wouldn’t they? To say thank you, at least.”

“H-huh.” His eyes squint— she wouldn’t have noticed, all those months ago, when they first began dragging him along behind them. But now his deflection is like an old friend, one fondly missed in all those years away. “Well, I suppose, uh…”

It’s impossible to meet his eyes— he’s head and shoulders taller than her for one thing, and not inclined to stoop down right now, for another— but she leans in, new snow crunching beneath the thick soles of her boots, and smiles. “Did she then? Have people come back to thank her for the good directions?”

“I didn’t inquire,” he sniffs, arms folded forbiddingly across his chest. “Her credentials seemed unquestionable.”

Fern snorts. “Her cup size, you mean.”

“It just seems like an odd place to put it, doesn’t it?” Stark says, sudden as always, his head still cocked to match his hero’s. “The statue I mean. Don’t they usually like to have a whole town square around these things? Put some garlands on and have a whole festival about it?”

“Not always.” Fern might not spare Himmel another glance, but she does fix one to Stark, for all that he notices. “I’ve seen plenty on roadsides, and more than a few in some glen or gully, all forgotten and worn down.”

“Villages move, plans change.” It’s her third time on this road in a century, and it never ceases to surprise her what things move, and what things carry on just the same, as if the years had never passed. “Especially this far north. People put down roots, and then a river changes, or the harvest doesn’t come in quite right, and they pull them right up again.”

Stark squints. “So this is where the village is supposed to be?”

“Who knows.” Frieren lets her eyes linger where the sweep of Himmel’s hair cuts across his forehead, the work so delicate she’d swear the barest breeze would ruffle it. “Maybe they just liked how it looked.”

“I’m just surprised they had someone around who could make a statue.” Sein’s hands hook behind his head; support for his surreptitious surveying. They’ve been missing that too the past few years— his casual curiosity, a welcome change from Fern’s weary antipathy and Stark’s unreliable attention. An eagerness to dig deep and turn up worms, instead of hurrying along to the next mark on their map. “Nice as some places might be up here now, we Northerners aren’t really known for our fine artisans, if you know what I mean.”

Fern stoops down, one robe-covered hand reaching out to wipe frost and years from the plinth, scowling when all she uncovers is blank stone. “Well it looks like he found one, at least.”

“You’d be surprised what you can turn up in these small villages. A girl who paints masterpieces on cave walls. An innkeep that single handedly slays demons before trudging back to serve his next pint.” She casts a knowing look toward Sein, her mouth taking a sly slant. “The best healer of the age.”

“And some farmhand sleeping in a barn who can sculpt like the great masters?” If he hears the compliment, Sein certainly doesn’t take it. He just snorts instead, shaking his head. “If there’s one thing that Himmel was, it was dedicated to being carved out of stone.”

She can still remember the smell of that workshop— wood shavings and clay, and some other sour note that stung her nose, clinging long after they left— and the way dust motes had eddied around Himmel’s cloak as he turned to her. I just thought I’d like everyone to remember me.

That would have been reason enough; humans were impulsive, short lived. They got tangled up in their sense of mortality, agonizing over legacy, over that second death, when a name is last spoken and all about them fades from memory. But Himmel— Himmel lets the light catch him, the ice of his eyes softening, melting as he tells her, but the biggest reason is so that you won’t be alone.

“Well,” she hums, lingering on the still familiar angles of his jaw, the delicate swoop of his nose. “He did like wasting our time. Almost as much as helping people.”

When her gaze drops, Sein’s is waiting for her, so amused— no, so fond that Frieren can’t help but wonder if he missed them all just as much as they did him.

“We should get going,” he says, both firm and gentle. Confident, maybe; knowing he’ll be heard. “Night’s not going to wait around for us, and I don’t have to tell you, it gets cold when the sun goes down around here.”

Frieren shivers just thinking about it. “Good point.”

Heiter might have teased her about her height— unfair, when Eisen was even shorter; size doesn’t matter when it comes to getting underfoot, that corrupt old priest would say, ruffling her hair— but it’s easy to tuck close to Sein when he walks, to let the heat that escapes even his thick coat warm her through hers. He’s a furnace compared to Heiter and his marble-cold hands— funny, she’d always heard drunks were warmer— and he complains less too, just stilling his arm with a sigh as she settles beside him. As long as the village isn’t too far, they might make it before he even—

Stops. Just like he does now, leaving her to lurch back on her heels to miss his elbow. “Stark?”

There’s tracks in the snow: four of them leading to the statue, making a muddle of slush around the base of it. But there’s only three leading away, the second largest set stuck beneath Stark’s thick boots, lingering right where they left him. Staring— no, squinting up at Himmel the Hero, jaw slack enough even snow might stick.

Fern heaves a sigh, arms folding into their most frustrated angles. “What’s wrong with you?”

Sein just barely stifles a groan. This, she suspects, he hasn’t missed.

“I dunno.” His head tilts, red and black shifting in its starburst. “Do you think…?”

“More than you, certainly,” Fern snaps. “Are you coming, or should we just leave you here?”

“Now, now, give the kid a minute.” Sein may put on his most peaceable tones, playing his priestly part to the hilt, but Frieren doesn’t miss the way his mouth curls, one side of his benevolent smile hitching to a smirk. “We all have our crushes now and again.”

“I don’t have a crush!” Stark yelps, whipping wide-eyes toward them. “It’s just— isn’t there something weird about this statue? You know, something different about it?”

It would be easy to brush off his concerns— Stark might be the strongest of them, but he’s the first to make shadows out of sunshine too, trembling right down to his boots at the smallest creak in the floorboards— but Frieren finds herself turning, blinking up into the late morning sun, tracing her eyes over stony flesh, counting two ears and ten fingers, hair artfully blowing in a wind eighty years gone.

“It looks like every other statue,” Fern informs him, utterly implacable. A fitting look for a mage of her skill— so long as it isn’t aimed Frieren’s way, of course. “Now let’s get going. My feet are going to get cold if we keep standing around in this snow.”

“But isn’t it…?” Stark squints up at the statue, stymied. “Isn’t it more, I dunno…detailed?”

Fern clicks her tongue. “Detailed?”

“You can see his mole!” One gloved hand swings out, jutting up towards a stony cheek. “Most statues don’t even bother with that. And his hair’s kinda all uneven in the back, like he cut it himself—”

“Heiter did.” They’d argue about it endlessly; Heiter, always too hungover to walk in a straight line let alone cut one, insisting that as an avatar of the goddess’s grace and kindness, his skills were unimpeachable, and Himmel, seized by an absurd and exacting bout of vanity, insisting that he try again, only actually good this time. “They were both hopeless with a pair of scissors. I don’t know why he never asked Eisen to try. He had steadier hands, at least.”

Stark juts a hand her way, pointed. “See?”

“Can’t say I see it,” Sein admits after a long moment, slanting a glance down to where she stands. “What do you think? You’re the expert on Himmel the Hero, here.”

The title pricks at her, like needles sinking into her skin. Expert, ha. That’s the whole reason they’re going north to begin with, isn’t it? Because she never really knew him at all.

She shrugs. “I can’t say. At this point, I’ve seen so many they all sort of blur together.”

But he’s right about the mole though. Most sculptors didn’t bother with the imperfections, fixing Heiter’s glazed over stare the mornings he showed up still soused to their sessions, or the kinks sleep put in Eisens beard, and sometimes even giving her one of those benevolent goddess smiles. This must have been a good one. Strange that she can’t quite remember it.

“Why are you spending so much time looking at these statues anyway?” Fern huffs as he finally tromps away, adding a fourth set of tracks beside their three. “It’s weird.”

“It’s not weird!” It’d be a better protest if his voice didn’t crack on the last word. “It’s obvious. Just because none of you have been paying attention doesn’t mean that I—”

Whatever he says is lost to the woods, swallowed up by the thickening firs and their hastening steps. Oh, she could hear them, if she wanted to— they’re not all that far away, and as Eisen always used to grunt, you don’t have all that ear for nothin’— it’s only…

It’s only when she looks at Himmel, she can see the way his mouth is just subtly open, poised not just to stand but to speak. As if he’s just one breath away from calling out to her, hand already half raised to greet her. As if all she might have to do it reach out, and stone might warm in her hand, becoming flesh, and she—

“Do you need a minute?”

She’s not the sort that flinches— never was, at least according to Flamme— but she does shake herself, like a sleeper shaking off a dream.

“No.” Sein lingers behind her, not close, but enough that she can see the furrow bridging his brow, concern burning as bright as any hearth. “Just thinking.”

*

The village isn’t much to write home about; just a smattering of houses that cluster up around a crossroads like nearly every other one they’ve seen since they strolled out of the Empire’s lands and into the deeper, bleaker North. It’s honestly not even too dissimilar from his own, though that’s a detail he’ll refrain from recounting when he finally does get to settle in and pen his letter back home. His brother may be a captive audience for the duration of three sheets of paper— even crossed, which Sein would consider a bridge too far himself— but he hardly needs to harp on the minutiae of being in a small village when that fool still lives in one.

No, he saves his spare inches for stories; ones he’s told by the toothless old men in taverns and the rotating roster of aspiring heroes he’s traveled alongside on his search for Gorilla. Ones he’s lived through himself, as well— nearly being flown off by some bird-monster took two pages of tightly-woven prose to relate, and wandering in some goddess-forsaken dungeon for three days with two hygiene deficient warriors had been a page and a half if only so he wouldn’t have to remember the smell.

The longest, of course, was the month they spent at the village on the Rohr Road, waiting out that cold spell.

I can’t take it much more, he’d scrawled, admittedly a little too deep in his cups. They might say that a little romance is the death of a party, but I’d take it over these two children dancing around each other, trying to find ways to twist the other into moving first! If I’d known I’d have to suffer a schoolroom flirtation, I might never have gone at all.

It’d been nearly four pages, front-to-back and crossed besides; every word of it spent venting his frustration at the futility of youth— and, more specifically, Stark’s inability to understand an implicit invitation. Not that Sein could blame him; Fern was just the sort of girl to roll up a welcome mat from under a man’s feet for nothing but the high crime of perceiving they could stand on it in the first place. He’d nearly burned the letter in the morning— who would want to read his drunken complaints about two romantically confused idiots they have never even met?— but…

He’d sent it anyway. They moved too often for him to get replies now that they’ve traveled beyond the civilized world— or at least, what he had always thought would be the boundaries of it, back in his small village, dreaming of bigger things. But Sein liked to think his brother enjoyed them, these letters from world’s end, smelly companions and luckless young lovers and all. That when he sat at the window of his parsonage, poring over letters by the morning light, he might smile and shake his head, wondering at the strange sights his brother saw.

It was the least he could do, anyway. Give a little of the world back to the brother who gave his up for him.

“That’s the headman’s house.” Stark hops up from his crouch, too young for his knees to creak the way Sein’s would. The lucky bastard. “Right there, on the corner. The big one.”

He thrusts out an arm, finger fixed to where a large log building sits, lintels well-carved and chimneys merrily pushing out smoke.

“That one, huh?” Sein squints, hands hooking on his hips. “I had that pegged as the village hall. Just look at the size of it.”

“Big family, maybe.” Frieren trots up to his elbow, hooking close like a child to their mother’s apron strings, afraid they might get lost on market day. But there’s no market out here, just children playing in the muddy streets and folk lingering at fence posts, wondering at the crowd of strangers that just rolled in. “I’m not sure, but Stark’s sources are unimpeachable.”

“Unim…?” Sein’s teeth snick shut as he traces the tilt of her smirk to find a knot of young girls giggling as they walk away. One waves, a corner of her pinafore caught up in her hands, and Stark hunches into his coat, the tips of his ears burnished a bright red.

“They made him play hero before they’d tell him,” she explains, voice nowhere near soft enough to escape Stark’s notice, no matter how much of a show she made of keeping it behind a hand.

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” he says staunchly, giving the boy an encouraging nod. Around these two ladies, men like them had to stick together. “Stark already is one.”

For all his good intentions, Stark merely moans, sinking further into his collar. It’s Fern that clarifies, “They made him play hero to their forest lady. He had to pretend to get stuck in the mud and need saving at least three times before he begged them to let him go.”

“The hero needing saving?” That was certainly a new one, though by the smug little smirk on Frieren’s face, not unwelcome. “That’s not your friend’s usual narrative when he traipses through a town. You guys run into a little trouble here, once?”

“Not that I can remember,” she admits, and Sein doesn’t think he imagines the hint of disappointment. “But most of these northern towns blend together for me.”

“Really?” Fern tilts her head, wide eyes not curious but incredulous. “But you remember almost everything.”

“Not everything.” It’s Frieren’s turn to sink into her scarf, the ends of her ears twitching, like a cat well harassed. “We only went through twice, and I didn’t see the point of coming so far north, afterward.”

Their party might have a thousand year old elf, one of the handful of First Class mages on the continent, and a favorite of the goddess herself, but yet it’s Stark that thinks to say, “Did Himmel?”

Sein’s boots stutter beneath him, sinking into the muddy road as he turns to stare, stunned at the boy behind him. He’s hardly the only one; Stark shrinks back, hands raised like it might somehow shield him from a well-aimed Zoltraak. “W-what? It makes sense, doesn’t it? You were wandering around for fifty years, he was wandering around for fifty years…?”

“He does,” Fern starts, every syllable begrudging, “have a point.”

“It could be.” Those pale pigtails tilt, ribbons of silver slipping down Frieren’s coat before she shakes herself free of the thought. “I don’t think it’s likely though. It took long enough for us to get here the first time, never mind a return trip. Maybe it was some other hero. Plenty of them came up this way trying to get to the Demon King.”

But not many would have made it this far. “And what about the forest lady? Some local legend? A spirit we should be aware of?”

“Maybe.” Frieren slanted him one of her too-knowing grins. “Or it could be whatever survived of your goddess.”

He stares down at her, unamused. “Pardon me?”

“It happens sometimes, once you get far enough past the Empire’s influence.” She’s got a jaunty little spring to her step now, despite the mud splashing up the sides of her boots. “People settle, stories change, holy books are lost— if they were ever brought in the first place— and you get these sorts of spirits. Benevolent women living in woods and lakes and caves. One time, there was even a well where—”

“A well?” Fern frowns, as stern as Master Heiter never was. “I don’t think the goddess would live in a well.”

“Who’s to say she doesn’t?” Her smile is downright benevolent when she adds, “If church doctrine says that the goddess is everywhere, doesn’t that mean wells too?”

Sein sees the lightning before it strikes; Fern’s mouth furrows as deep as her brow, marshaling all of her best arguments together, a priest’s daughter, through and through—

“Don’t,” he murmurs, holding out a hand. “Trust me on this one.”

Now it’s him that her temper’s aimed at, glaring at the arm he’s held out in front of her. “What do you mean?”

“There’s no point in arguing doctrine with a person who predates it by a good hundred years.” His mouth tilts, only making hers furrow deeper. “Not unless you want her to start in on water closets too.”

The girl blinks. “Water…closets…?”

“We should go talk to the headman,” Frieren calls back, both her and Stark outpacing them now. “Are you two coming?”

Sein raises his hand in answer, hurrying to catch up to Frieren’s much smaller heels, but from behind him, he still hears the soft murmur of, “Water closets.”

*

“It gets colder from here,” the headman warns them, one hand digging into the thick pelt of his beard. He’s a hale man, broad-shouldered and barrel-chested— built like Master Eisen, only twice as tall. The sort of man who might have made a good warrior, Stark thinks, if only he’d been born in his village and not the back end of the world. “Hard to believe, I know, but even with all the snow on the peaks, we stay a good deal warmer than out past them.”

“It’s probably because of the mountains.” Frieren pops up on her toes, squinting toward the sky. Even lifts a hand up to shield her eyes, like she’s some kid trying to peek over her neighbor’s fence.  “They’re blocking you from the wind. This whole valley’s just a pocket of warm air.”

“I don’t know much about that,” the man— Gesund, he’d said, when he first started showing them around the place— says warmly. “But if you folks don’t want to brave the long nights and deep snows, you’re welcome to stay on for winter. We’ve got more than enough room.”

“Might not be a bad idea.” Sein’s got a speculative look on, taking in everything from the mountains peeking up above the tree line to the mud caking to their feet. Funny how they’d been walking in snow just this morning, and now that the day’s got a bit long in the tooth, there’s not a speck of it to be seen. “I don’t imagine there’s many other places around here to take us in.”

“Certainly not as nice.” The headman pats the side of one sturdy, log-hewn home, pride radiating off him. “There’s a few villages once you get out of the mountains, but the pass closes with the first frost.”

It’d already been harrowing enough getting through the first time; Stark shivers just thinking about another. A couple nights ago, it got cold enough for Sein to start talking about how some men in his village got lost wandering around their wood and gutted a fresh-caught stag for somewhere warm to sleep. Fern had scoffed, telling him to keep his gross old man stories to himself, but Stark—

Well, what bothered Stark was that it didn’t sound too bad. Not until morning, at least, which was way too long for him to be considering whether the goats around here might be just as warm, or if he’d have to kill two of them to fit.

“We don’t have much pocket money.” Fern’s mouth is strung as tight as their purse strings, voice pitched only to be heard by the four of them. “If we stay, there won’t be enough for—”

Snacks, that’s what she means to say. It’s the only sort of consequence Frieren understands, since time isn’t a limited quantity. But before she can eke out any kind of dire promise, Gesund says: “Don’t worry about that.”

A mistake on his part; worrying over their budget is one of Fern’s favorite pastimes. If anything, her mouth pulls tighter, brows dropping a dangerous degree. “Excuse me?”

Excuse you, she means, but if Gesund hears it, he waves it off with the rest of their concerns. “I’ve got a spare house. Built it for my son.”

He gestures to a boy who can’t be much younger than Stark himself, though he’s got a lot more limb, proportionally, and a lot less muscle. Nothing a few hard years working the land won’t change, but slower progress than throwing around an axe. Safer, though. By miles.

“For when he marries,” the headman explains, clapping the boy on the shoulder. The kid looks like he’d rather wither into the earth than sit through this particular explanation. “But no one’s caught his eye yet, and what young man prefers to keep his own house when he could have what his mother’s put on the table?”

It’s to Stark that Gesund turns his grin, as if this is some old chestnut all men his age must know: the sky is blue, water’s wet, and a bachelor never cooks his own dinner. And maybe it is; Stark wouldn’t know. He could barely remember his mother, honestly.

“As long as a few of you don’t mind pitching in a hand or two over the harvest, I’m sure it’ll all come out even,” Gesund assures them, the deep rumble of his laugh rolling over them like distant thunder.

“We have Stark,” Fern offers, catching him by the back of his coat. “He likes to lift heavy things.”

“What?” he squawks. “Why am I the only one getting volunteered?”

“You still have things growing?” Sein aims his furrowed brow down the road, as if he might be able to see them from here if he just squints hard enough. “We saw snow on our way in.”

“It’s the weather, I tell you,” Gesund laughs, leading them down the packed earth path. “It stays mild enough here that we can grow most of what we need up until the sun fails us. We’ve still got a week or two left before we’ll have to bring everything in.”

Sein’s frown pulls deeper. “One to two weeks…?”

“Come on then,” the headman says, smile bright as sun on snow. “Take a good look at where you’ll be staying. I’m sure we can work something out.”

*

It’s a nice little cottage, Fern has to admit; one made with quite a bit of thought and care. Even with a pace around the common room, she can’t find a single hint of a draft, nor one bit of the ceiling that might leak. The bedrooms seem fine too; just two— though there’s plenty of space for more, Master Gesund had said, quite pointed, should my boy see fit to fill them up— with windows sealed up tight. Glass, too— a luxury, all the way out here. It seems the headman does well for himself when he does make it down to the Empire’s markets.

“Can you imagine that?” Fern settles in front of the fire Sein helped her start, right before Gesund herded him and and Frieren right back out the door. To look at fields or some such. Adult things, she assumes, since the two of them have been left behind. “Having a house like this, and his son’s not even twenty.”

“I think what gets me is that he keeps talking like that kid should be married,” Stark sighs, heaving off his boots. They clatter beside the door, mud spattering over the towel Frieren left for them. “He’s even younger than us!”

Not even old enough to grow a beard, according to those bare cheeks of his. Or at least, not one worthy of the name. This far north, the length of the hair of your chin marked you as a man, and for someone to shave it off, well— it would have to be truly terrible. Fern had only seen the boy for a moment, eclipsed by the shadow of his father, but she can imagine it— piebald patches of red sprouting from under his chin, a wispy mustache. Nothing that would do his boyish face any favors.

“That’s how it is in places like this, I think.” She spreads her toes on the hearth, watching the wool of her stockings stretch between them “You get married young and start having kids to help out. More hands make quicker work, they say.”

“I guess so.” Stark shucks his coat at the door too, letting it slump to the floor like he’s some child fresh from playing in the snow. She’d scold him— honestly, they all have to live in this cottage together, he can’t just leave things places— but he pads over to her, the clinging fabric of his shirt stretching across his shoulders as he sits. “That’s kind of how it was in my village too. Well, as far as I can remember.”

He lays down— sprawls, really, like he doesn’t know how to keep his limbs all in one place without his coat to remind him they’re there. Another thing she could nip at, if she chose— he’s a buffet of problems, each one more meaty than the last— but Fern only tucks her chin between her knees, keeping an eye on where his toes curl, far too close to the flames. It’ll be his fault if he lets his stockings singe.

“They’d been talking about getting my brother married to some girl, you know?” She doesn’t, of course— how could she?— but she keeps her mouth shut, letting him settle into the warm stones. “At least, they were, before…”

Before. He lets the word hang, a warning and a wish all at once. “Was he very old?”

“Not really.” Stark shrugs, more hands than shoulders. “He was older than me though, by a lot. Maybe…fifteen? I don’t know.”

Her eyes jump to his, surprised. “Young.”

“I guess when you fight demons for a living, every day counts. Or I don’t know, something like that.” His head turns, gaze falling on her with bald curiosity. That’s how he always is, wearing his every thought on his sleeve, too much. “How about you? You’re from the south, right? Was it the same?”

“I…I don’t remember,” she mumbles into her knees. Even her memories of her mother and father are patchwork, a composite of a handful of half-formed moments and none of them clear. What her village had been like— her home, her life— might as well be a mystery. Or it would be, if she cared about remembering it. “I think Master Heiter would have been happy if I never married.”

It must have crossed his mind once, even as young as she was. That’s what little girls did, didn’t they? Grow up and become women who got married, became mothers. And yet he’d never said a word of it. Only encouraged her magic practice, luring her out a teacher with his advanced age and utter shamelessness in taking advantage of it. If it was a father’s job to plan for his daughter’s future, Master Heiter must not have seen one where a man would willingly take on a girl as sullen as her, as unnervingly silent.

“Yeah, I don’t think Master Eisen thought much about it either.” He shakes his head, grin clinging to the corners of his mouth. “Makes sense, I guess.”

Fern casts him a long look. “You think so?”

“Well, I mean, none of them ever got married, did they?” he asks, wide eyes finding hers. “Master Heiter was a priest, right? So that makes sense. But Master Eisen never did either. Or Himmel the Hero. And Frieren, well…”

Pigs might fly before she figures out how something as complicated as love works. Humans already had in the time it took her to figure out friendship. “So you’re saying we were doomed from the start?”

“What? No! That’s not it at all. It’s just…” Stark trails off, distracted. Just looks at the ceiling like if he stares long enough, he might see what fate’s carved for him in the stars. Or at least whether the thatch is leaking. “It’s kind weird to think that if I stayed…I mean, if everyone lived, and my father didn’t toss me out for being a complete disappointment”—Fern valiantly does not remind him of the fifty foot chasm he procrastinated into a cliff side— “that kid might be me right now.”

She lifts her eyebrows. “Not finding anyone you like?”

“No, no. I mean the getting married part.” Skin above his nose wrinkles, knotted up with thoughts, and he mutters, softer, “Well, maybe that too.”

Fern spares him an irritated glare. They’re sitting here, her hip practically touching his shoulder, only the fabric of her skirt and his shirt between them, and yet—

“What? Because it’s impossible that you could ever find anyone you’d like?”

“Yeah, I guess. Out there…” His eyes widen, and he rolls toward her, rising up on his elbow. “No, wait, that’s not, um…I mean, I wouldn’t—”

Fern sweeps up to her feet, an itch scratching just under her skin where she can’t possibly reach. She’s heard quite enough. “You’re so stupid, sometimes, Stark.”

*

“Look at them. We leave them alone for a few minutes and already they’re not talking.” Sein huffs, breath steaming up from his mouth in a dragon’s lazy curls. He’d probably cross his arms for good measure, too, if they weren’t already walking at a brisk pace, trying to eat up the acres between Gesund’s house and his son’s. “They’re like children— siblings! Turn our backs and they’ve already started picking at each other.”

Fern marches along ahead of them, chin lifted high enough to make Frieren’s neck ache with sympathy, every line of her sharp, officious. All business, Kanne might have said with a laugh— that’s how they talked in the cities now, she’s found. Quick phrases that might have been kennings, were they born a few centuries earlier. She likes it, she thinks. It’s…nostalgic.

Stark, on the other hand, drags miserably behind. He might well be some sort of revenant for how he trudges along, arms limp and head bowed, groaning about how unfair it is to be ignored like this. Frieren hums, muffling her smile in her scarf. “I don’t think that’s the problem here.”

“What? Well, of course not!” Sein snaps, whisper pitched low enough to be kept between them. “Obviously the problem is that they both want to” —he gestures, though it looks more like an explosion, in her opinion, than any suggestion of sexual congress— “but just won’t, for some reason. I thought it might resolve itself in time, but honestly, I think it’s only gotten worse since I was gone.”

Frieren shrugs, just a twitch of her shoulders. It’s hardly her fault— she already told him she wasn’t an expert. “They have been better, mostly. But the winters…”

“Oh, of course. Everything’s fine and dandy when we’re traveling along, just palling around, but they start thinking about being cooped up together— about huddling for warmth, or sharing blankets, or what have you— and now they have to cause problems about it.” Sein tosses back his head and heaves a sigh so weary it settles in her own bones. “Don’t they know they can just have sex? They’re not children.”

If there was ever a time to lift one brow, it would be now. But Frieren never learned, and so she raises both, fixing him with her mildest expression. “Is that something a priest should recommend?”

He presses a hand to his chest, paper-pale in the autumnal chill. “My foremost concern is keeping the goddess’s peace. And she knows full well we won’t be getting any of that until they figure themselves out.”

Frieren settles herself deeper into her scarf and tucks into his side. “They will in their own time.”

“Well, it better be in time to behave at dinner,” he says, louder as they approach the door. “Otherwise I might have to take things into my own hands.”

He spares the both of them a warning look as he knocks at the door, stern as any father— or at least, so she assumes. Frieren doesn’t remember much of hers, and what she does is…distant. A soft presence, if at times disinterested. Like, after all, repels like.

Fern sniffs, turning her chin away from Stark’s desperate, “But—!”

But whatever case he means to make for himself is cut short, the door swinging open, to reveal—

Not Gesund. Not even an adult. Sein drops his gaze and his knees, crouching to meet the rounded eyes that peep around the door’s edge.

“Hello there.” It’s a charming smile he cants the young girl’s way, the kind that says, I mean no harm at the same time it says, but I’m no stranger to trouble. The way Heiter used to— only without the last part. Both priests may have their vices— had their vices— but Heiter’s had always been alcohol, and Sein’s was…everything else. “My name is Sein. I believe your father invited us to dinner?”

Her eyes widen further, white all the way around, and with a gasp, she slams the door in his face.

“Well,” he mutters, rubbing at his nose. “That’s not quite what I expected.”

“I can’t blame her,” Frieren says mildly. “I think I’d do the same thing if you smiled at me like that.”

Her grin must be peeking out over her scarf, since Sein scowls at her as he stands. “There truly is no accounting for taste.”

*

“You’ll have to forgive her.” A smile tugs at the headman’s mouth when he has them seated all around his table, aimed fondly at where his daughter sits, trying to disappear into the bench. “Scheu isn’t much used to strangers. We don’t get many people who travel up this way.”

“And even fewer who stay on long enough to be seen,” his wife adds, a smiling woman who calls herself Froh. They’re all no better than strangers at this point, but when she shakes the bread basket in his direction, urging him to take another roll before it travels around the table, Stark finds himself liking her already. “You’re the first guests we’ve had for a good while.”

Scheu might be shy, hiding behind her hair now that there’s no door to do the job, but the rest of her siblings are loud, squabbling over everything from the best cuts of mutton down to the last bread in the basket. There’s five of them by his count, starting with the kid they met earlier— a younger, ganglier, beardless copy of his dad— and ending with the skittish Scheu; well-behaved bookends for what seems to be a rowdy crew.

It’s…a lot, he’s got to admit. He’d never thought of himself as a quiet kid— not when his father spent most of their dinner reminding him he had to stay seated if he wanted to eat the meal, and Master Eisen learned to distill all that scolding down into a single, disappointed yet devastating glance— but Stark watches one of the girls grab a fork straight out her brother’s hands and eat off it, and well…

Maybe he’s a little more well behaved than he thought. And if he is overwhelmed, then—

Fern’s stiff beside him, plate half-empty and hands knitted neatly in her lap. The picture of poise, the poster child for manners, but— her eyes are all wide, darting between every dish, unable to get a word in edgewise and too polite to just grab. He nudges her— just the littlest bit, one knee knocking gently into hers— and smiles. Maybe if he can help her, she’ll—

“Excuse me,” she says, the steel in her voice hiding its quiver. “Do you mind passing the turnips?”

The kid across from her— a boy, part of what looks to be a matching set— stops bickering with his sister long enough to stare. She nods, encouraging, and he pushes over the dish, jaw slack the whole time. Fern dollops a pointed spoonful right next to her greens before passing it back.

“Hey,” he murmurs, ducking his head down to his shoulder so she might hear. “Good—”

She wrenches her head away with a sniff and asks, pointed, “Master Sein, do you think you could pass me the beef?”

Ah. Stark slumps. So he’s still not forgiven. For…well, whatever he said.

“Gesund says you’ll be here for the harvest,” Froh says, looking him over with an appraising— and approving— eye. “Good for us, I say. We’ll have plenty to bring in.”

Stark swallows down his dinner and shoves a smile on his face. “G-great. I, er, love picking stuff up and putting it down. A bunch.” At least it’ll give him something to do besides wonder just how he screwed up this time. “Is there, uh, someone I’m supposed to talk to…?”

“Well, usually that’d be me, but this year Rustig’s running it. My eldest here.” Gesund elbows the boy, who only startles under his attention. “The one whose house you’re staying in. May be young, but he’s got a lot of experience under that belt of his. He’ll be well-established when the day comes to take a wife, won’t he?”

Stark glances at the kid—still withering the longer his father goes on— and tries a real confident, “Sure.”

“You’re giving him every opportunity to grow,” Sein slides in smoothly, wearing his most benign smile; the one that doesn’t look like a smirk or a grin at all, but just…priestly. “I’m sure he’ll be a real catch for whatever young lady has the pleasure of drawing his eye.”

It’s impossible to say if his father ever puffed with pride over his brother the way Gesund does over his son; Stoltz was younger, his natural talent expected rather than discovered, another illustrious warrior-to-be in their family’s long line of demon killers. If there were marriage talks, there must have been some frank discussion of what Stoltz would bring to the table— other than an eventual mangled corpse— but Stark can’t picture it. Not his stoic father, boasting about his son, his prowess, the home he could give them provided he lived long enough to make it to the altar.

“Well, I’m glad to hear you say it, Master Sein,” Gesund laughs, pounding his boy on the back. “He’ll make a fine husband one day, I can tell. Now Miss Fern”—the headman swivels his great head toward where she sits, interest quivering like an arrow— “Mistress Frieren tells me you’re a first class mage. Even worked in the Empire!”

“Yes.” She sets her utensils gently aside, hands folding over her lap, every inch a proper young lady. All those lessons at Vorig must of have paid off, at least in Stark’s opinion.  “For a short time.”

Gesund nods, impressed. The way anyone would be, faced with a girl like Fern. “Always like hearing about young ladies with an occupation. Getting some experience out in the world.” He clears his throat, stroking a hand over the burly bush of his beard, “You thinking of settling down in the Empire, when all’s said and done, or would you be open to somewhere a little more out of the way?”

Fern coughs. “Excuse me?”

“Well, you’re young yet,” Gesund says, working his way around to some point, Stark’s sure, even if he can’t figure out just what. “But in a few years—”

“That’s a fine statue you have outside of town,” Sein breaks in with a strained smile. “We noticed it on the way in. Just about knocked me out of my boots to see such a good depiction of Himmel the Hero all the way out in these parts! You must have had quite an artist here, and only a few generations ago.”

“Oh, well, it’s only to be expected, isn’t it? The hero did our town a great service.” Gesund draws himself up, proud. “Not just killing the demon king either. Oh no, we had a bit of our own problem, the kind that takes more than just a few good men to go hike out and solve.”

Sein’s shoulders don’t quite sag, but they do drop; a small ceding of ground to relief. “Is that so? We hadn’t heard.”

“Near around eighty years ago, some boy got stolen off by some monster that lived right out of town.” The headman juts his chin toward where Frieren sits, smiling. “Just our luck that the Hero’s Party showed up only a few days earlier and hadn’t yet moved on. The Hero went off in search of him one evening, and came back the next morning with child in tow, none the worse for wear.”

Stark glances at her, waiting for Frieren to get that faint smile she always does whenever someone mentions Himmel’s name, but instead—

Instead, she seems…concerned. “Did he?”

“So you recognized Frieren, did you?” Sein lets his mouth hook into its most compelling smirk. “I wasn’t sure if you had, but your offer to stay for the winter was so generous…”

“Recognize is a bit strong,” Gesund laughs, waving a humble hand. “I wasn’t around then, that’s for sure, and can’t say I’d have picked her out of a crowd. But when an elf comes wandering this far north, knowing all about the road through the mountains, well…I may not be a scholar, but I can string a few lines together.”

“You might have said something,” Fern says, not sharp but conversational. “Most people do, when Mistress Frieren comes through. If they know her, that is.”

“Ah, well, sure, but it was years ago now.” It’s strange to see a man so tall, so broad turn bashful, but the tips of his ears go as red as his beard. “I thought it might be too long to remember. It was just some boy, and the hero went off by himself—”

“That’s not how Paw tells it.”

It’s strange how sometimes all it takes is a soft, little voice to break right through the noise. Scheu sits on her bench, every inch of her quivering from the effort of speaking up, brow knotted up right above her button nose. “He always told me that it was—”

For a big man, Gesund’s gentle as he says, “That’s how it went.”

“But—”

“Scheu.” Froh glances at her husband, uneasy, before turning back to her daughter. “Looks like Paw forgot to come down to dinner again. Do you think he might be gettin’ hungry around now?”

The girl frowns. “I guess so.”

“Why don’t you go bring him somethin’?” Froh grabs a plate, loading it up with meat and turnip. “I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you.”

Scheu doesn’t seem even half-convinced, but her small hands stretch out dutifully, taking the trencher between them. That’s the thing about being that young— it doesn’t matter what you know or what you think, you just have to do it because someone said so.

“It was your father that Himmel saved that day?” Sein asks, once the girl’s tromped out of the room, her tiny feet thundering up the steps to the second floor. “The one that was stolen by the monster?”

“Grandfather,” Gesund sighs, the force of it rattling his lips. “So as you see, Mistress Frieren, we owe you quite a debt. None of us would be here if you all hadn’t come into town when you did. Well, except my Froh here.”

He makes to pinch her cheek, but it seems the headman���s wife is practiced at fending off his affection, waving him away with a laugh and a flush of her cheeks. Sein, however, isn’t as easily put off.

“Your grandfather is still with us?” He sets down his spoon, eyes wide. “He’d have to be well over eighty years old.”

Gesund shrugged, his enthusiasm banked. “Nineties, the last time anyone bothered to count.”

Sein lets out a jaunty laugh, the way men do when they’ve been telling stories over emptied mugs. “Then he must be as hale and hardy as you are!”

“In body, yes.” Gesund grimaces. “In mind…he wanders. And sometimes that means the rest of him goes along with it.”

“I’m sorry to hear it.” Sein's not often priestly, but right now he practically shines with sincerity. “It’s hard when that happens.”

“That it is, that is it.” Gesund shook his great head. “The man practically raised me after my parents died. Sometimes now, it feels like I’m raising him.”

“I’d like to talk to him,” Frieren says suddenly, as welcome as a draft blowing through a window pane. “If you don’t mind.”

“It’s not his best time,” Froh’s quick to offer, darting off a concerned glance toward her husband. “In the summers he can be quick as a whip, but once autumn rolls around, and we start losing the daylight…”

Frieren cocks her head, considering. “Well, we are staying until spring.”

“That you are,” Gesund says with a sincere, if stiff smile. “I suppose there’s time.

*

In the end, she doesn’t have to wait long at all. Funny how things work out like that sometimes.

Well, not for the sheep, really. But as Eisen used to say: sometimes you had to break a few bones to make a good hamburger steak.

Just, er, with sheep this time.

[suzukiblu]

I know you're currently on a YJ bender (which, fair, your thoughts on trans Superman and not-trans Kon have me by the throat) , but I was wondering if you have any Clay Kids crumbs to share? I've been rereading it again and. It is still destroying me

Aw, ty, friend, "clay kids" is one of my more-fave things I've written. ❤️ Haven't worked on it in a bit, alas, but have an excerpt from the next chapter!

They don't find Jet. It's a big city, yeah, but there's only so many places he really goes in it. The fact that they can't track him down . . .

Smellerbee really, really doesn't like that fact. 

"Maybe he just went home," she says doubtfully, because that's the last place she can think of that they haven't checked. Lee doesn't say anything. He hasn't said much the whole search. He looks grim and frustrated and ready to snap. 

At least she definitely knows he likes Jet, she guesses. 

"He might have gotten sick or something?" she tries, although he definitely wasn't acting sick this morning. Not that Jet usually acts sick no matter how sick he actually is, but still. Smellerbee knows him well enough to know when he's not feeling well. 

"He never skips the teashop," Lee says tersely. 

"I know," Smellerbee sighs, because yeah, Jet probably would've gone there even if he were sick. He is . . . way too invested in Lee. To put it mildly. "Maybe he got stuck at a job. Or maybe Song needed him." 

"He was looking for that damn bison," Lee says. Smellerbee frowns. 

"Maybe he found it," she says skeptically. Lee gives her an incredulous look. "He might’ve! It's a big city. Lots of things could be here." 

"Including the Avatar," Lee says darkly. Smellerbee has never heard anyone spit the word like that, except maybe Jet after their plan with the damn dam blew up in their faces. 

"Apparently," she says. 

Lee looks angry. Lee looks angry a lot, so it’s not something new, but . . . 

“What’ve you got against the Avatar?” Smellerbee asks with a frown. She knows Jet’s problems with him, and she’s got problems of her own, but why the hell would Lee even care that the guy existed? Mostly just the people who expect him to fix everything do, and Lee really doesn’t strike her as that type. 

“Nothing,” Lee says flatly, which is a screamingly obvious lie. Smellerbee frowns again. That . . . is really weird. Okay, yeah, Lee’s three-quarters, but . . . 

He doesn’t know Aang, does he? 

“He probably didn’t, anyway,” she says, still eyeing Lee a little skeptically. He doesn’t look any less upset. “It really is a big city.” 

“He’s such a damn idiot,” Lee bites off, clenching his fists. Smellerbee assumes he’s talking about Jet, but maybe he’s not. 

“Let’s try the apartment,” she says, deciding not to touch that one with a ten-foot pole. That’s a Jet kind of problem, whatever it is. That’s the most Jet kind of problem she’s ever seen. 

“Fine,” Lee says, and stalks past her. Smellerbee brings up the rear. She doesn't feel great about this, but she already wasn't feeling all that great about things, so whatever. They're looking for Jet, not a bison or an Avatar or anything else. That's really all she cares about. 

Jet’s been all she cared about more than once in her life, so at least it’s a familiar feeling. 

[lyranova]

Chapter 14: Confessing My Crimes?

Hello everyone! I’m sorry this chapter is extremely late; I started college recently, so my muses and time have been stretched pretty thin lately! But I finally got enough time, energy, and motivation to write the next chapter for this series 🥰. This chapter was written in part by @thoughtfullyrainynightmare through a discord conversation we had a couple of years ago 😆! Also Salutaria belongs to her as well. I hope you all enjoy~!

Word Count: 3,677

Warnings: None

“ Welcome back Captain!” The Golden Dawn saluted as William and his team returned from the mission with the Black Bulls.

He gave them all a small and curt nod before walking past them to go inside the base. Klaus, Yuno, Mimosa, and Neva all exchanged a worried look between them; they had hoped maybe his time away from the Golden Dawn base would help improve his mood…

“ Langris, is the Captain any better?” Klaus asked their Vice-Captain as he began to walk past them.

When Langris let out a disappointed sigh, the quarter already knew what his answer would be.

“ He’s the same, maybe a little worse,” Langris admitted. “ He was nearly ambushed by a few of the mages we were sent to apprehend. I hate to admit it; but if Captain Yami hadn’t been there, there’s a good chance that the Captain would have gotten injured or worse out there.”

The quartet gasped softly before looking at each other; the Captain was worse then they had all originally thought. If this behavior continued, someone, maybe even the Captain himself, was going to get killed! But their gazes averted to the ground, what else could they do? They went and talked to Zera, and they tried to talk to the Captain, but neither one would listen…

“ Hopefully Zera will think about what I said,” Neva muttered under her breath as Langris walked away, Yuno turned towards her with a small frown.

“ What did you tell her?” He asked quietly so Mimosa and Klaus wouldn’t hear. Neva turned slightly towards him.

“ I told her that this break up was literally killing them,” She replied. “ And it looks like I was more right than I initially thought.”

Later That Afternoon

Langris paced slowly up and down the hall as his mind raced. How could he get him and Ms. Cassia back together? Maybe he went the sneaky route and tricked them into being in the same room at the same time? Or perhaps he could just drag Ms. Cassia back to the base and force her and the Captain to talk things out? He sighed in irritation as he ran a hand over his face.

The Captain wasn’t dumb by any means, and would probably figure out Langris’s plan well in advance…

“ Vice-Captain,” A voice called out behind him. Langris slowly turned around to see Alecdora standing there with a worried frown. “ Is everything alright?”

Langris laughed humorlessly.

“ No Alecdora, everything is not alright,” He replied as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “ The Captain’s a mess, and at this rate he's going to get himself killed on a mission all because of his break-up with Ms. Cassia. I keep thinking he’ll get better with time; but it looks like he’s only getting worse instead.”

“ What do you suggest we do then?” Alecdora asked as he crossed his arms.

“ We get them back together by any means necessary.” Langris responded firmly, but frowned when he saw the taller man look hesitant.

“ That’s…gonna be hard to do with her being in jail,” Alecdora explained hesitantly, and Langris blinked at him.

Ms. Cassia…was in jail?!

“ What are you talking about Alecdora? How is Ms. Cassia in jail?” He asked, his tone growing more and more serious.

“ When I went to drop the prisoners off at the Magic Parliament I saw Ms. Cassia heading towards Damnatio Kira’s office,” Alecdora explained. “ So I’m thinking that she probably went there to turn herself in.”

Langris stared at him in disbelief for a moment…Ms. Cassia was turning herself in? This wasn’t good…it wasn’t good at all!

If she turned herself in, and Damnatio found out that she and Captain Vangeance were engaged…he would lose everything! He would lose his squad, his nobility, and there was a good chance he would be thrown in jail too!

Even on the off chance that Damnatio didn’t know the two were engaged it would still be bad. Because if Ms. Cassia was sent to jail and Captain Vangeance could never see or associate with her again…it just might kill him. Literally.

He had to stop this!

Without a word Langris turned on his heel and ran down the hall towards his office, and after that he was going to go to the Captain’s office.

It was finally time that he told him the truth about Zera.

Despite the chaos going on outside in the hallway, William’s office was dead silent aside from the ticking of the clock on the wall.

There were no sounds of paper rustling, or of a quill tip scratching against the rough parchment. There were no heavy sighs as he tried to figure out what to put in his reports. The room was just…silent.

But William’s thoughts were loud.

“ I’m glad, and very touched that you’re trying so hard to make this work. That you’ve even gone as far as to convince yourself that you’re in love with me, but this…all of this…was really just a joke,”

“ So now…now I’m dropping the joke and am letting you go. I don’t want you to feel like you’re being forced to marry someone that you don’t truly love.”

“ I’m not worthy enough to be your wife. Our marriage won’t last. Not when you get to know the real me and all the things I’ve done, so just find someone else, someone more worthy...”

“ I’m sorry…William.”

William sighed heavily and he closed his eyes as the memories from that night appeared in his mind. He knew it wasn’t right or healthy to continue thinking about it; but, he couldn’t stop himself. He replayed the memories over and over, wondering if there was something could have said or done that would have changed the outcome of that night…

He scoffed; this was pointless. No matter how many different outcomes he created in his mind, the reality would be the same. She was gone.

“ Maybe Yami has a point; maybe I should go see her and clear things up,” William thought aloud. “ Maybe that’ll help me get over her.”

“ Or maybe it’ll only make you want her more,” His mind argued back, causing him to sigh in frustration.

He slowly opened his eyes, and they immediately focused on the engagement ring that sat on his desk.

As it sat there unmoving, William couldn’t help but feel like it was mocking him in some way. Mocking him for falling for her trick, mocking him for falling head over heels for her, and mocking him for letting her go…

Why did he let her go?

Suddenly, the door to his office burst open, and Langris walked in.

“ What is it, Langris? I thought I told you I didn’t want to be disturbed unless it was an emergency.” William muttered as his gazed moved from the ring on his desk to the young man standing in the doorway.

“ Well sir, this is an emergency,” Langris said somewhat breathlessly as he walked up to his Captain’s desk with a file in his hands. “ It’s about Ms. Cassia-.”

“ I also thought I told you that I didn’t want to talk about her?” He asked, cutting Langris off.

“ Sir, Ms. Cassia is at the Magic Parliament, and is currently being held in Damnatio Kira’s custody.” Langris said, ignoring his Captain’s words.

William’s eyes widened and he sat up straighter in his chair.

“ Zera’s in custody?” He asked, his tone and demeanor turning serious. “ What happened? How did she end up there?”

Langris looked hesitant for a moment, but eventually he handed William the file in his hand.

“ I’m sure it has to do with this,” William frowned and hesitantly took the file from his Vice-Captain.

“ What is this?” He asked as he opened the file and began to look over the pages.

“ This is…Ms. Cassia’s criminal file,” Langris began hesitantly. “ It has a list of her crimes, most of which are smuggling, and even has a potential arrest warrant.”

William’s eyes moved slowly across the pages; there wasn’t a photo, but the description of this ‘Cinnamon’ person matched Zera to a T. From how they looked, to the things they smuggled, even their alias of ‘Cinnamon’ matched Zera’s last name!

By the time he had finished reading the file everything made sense; the ‘harassment’ she was getting from the Golden Dawn members, her jokingly asking if marrying him granted her immunity, her having so many rare and exotic flowers, and her saying that he deserves someone better and more ‘worthy’ of being a Captain’s wife. It all made sense…

“ She can’t go to jail for this,” He muttered under his breath as he closed the file and stood up.

“ Sir?”

“ I won’t let Zera go to jail for something like this. Firstly, there’s more than enough reasonable doubt in this file to exonerate her. Secondly; there’s no proof that she’s still smuggling today, because if there was, we would have already arrested her by now.” William explained as he walked around his desk and began to take determined strides towards the door.

“ But sir, knowing Lord Damnatio he probably won’t care if she’s still smuggling or not,” Langris pointed out as he followed the Captain out of his office. “ He’ll still try her, and when she’s convicted he’ll throw her and her entire family in jail. Including you if he finds out about your engagement!”

William stopped walking.

“ If that happens, then…I guess I’ll just go to jail,” He told Langris simply, making the younger mans eyes widen in surprise.

“ Captain?!”

“ If we’re both being honest here; I should already be in jail for the crimes I committed against the Kingdom,” William pointed out as he glanced at the other man over his shoulder. “ but because Lord Julius stepped in and vouched for me, I was spared. But this time, I won’t allow anyone to step in, and will instead accept whatever punishment Damnatio deems appropriate.”

“ Sir, you could lose everything over this! You could lose the squad, your title, everything! Is Ms. Cassia really worth risking all of that for?” Langris asked, and when he saw the look on his Captain’s face as he slowly turned around, he knew what his answer would be.

“ She’s more than worth the risk, Langris,” William declared firmly, and without another word he turned back around and rushed down the hallway.

Langris stood there stunned as he watched his Captain disappear around the corner.

“ I can’t believe that worked,” Alecdora said in bewilderment as he stepped out from a side hallway. Langris smirked a bit as he turned to face his squadmate.

“ I can. The last time Ms. Cassia was in trouble the Captain rushed out to save her, and when they came back their relationship had improved significantly. I would even go as far as to say their relationship took a step forward after that.” Langris said as he crossed his arms, a satisfied look slowly making its way onto his face.

“ So, the reason you told the Captain about Ms. Cassia’s criminal file was in order to get them back together?” Alecdora asked, and Langris nodded. “ But why? I thought you’d be happy that she was gone since you didn’t like her.”

“ I was happy that she was gone, just like you were. But…after watching the Captain the past two weeks, I’ve realized that he needs her. So, in order to bring our old Captain back and get our squad back on track, I’m willing to put my dislike for Ms. Cassia aside.” Langris responded with a shrug. Alecdora sighed but nodded in agreement.

They would both put their dislike for Ms. Cassia aside in order for their Captain to be happy.

Meanwhile, William rushed down the halls of the Golden Dawn base looking for someone, anyone with Spatial magic. He needed to get to the Magic Parliament now, before he lost Zera for good!

The Magic Parliament

Zera’s heart pounded anxiously in her chest as she stared at the large wooden door that seemed to loom over her. Well, it wasn’t actually looming over her, but it sure felt like it!

She cleared her throat and wiped her sweaty hands on her dress. She had to do this… she had to turn herself in, atone for her crimes, and accept whatever punishment was given to her. That was the only way to make things right with William.

She took a deep breath, held her head up high, and she knocked on the door.

“ Come in,” The voice on the other side called, and she did as he said and walked into his office.

“ Good day, Damnatio sir,” Zera said politely while using her professional voice. Damnatio nodded and waved her towards the chair that sat in front of her desk.

“ Good day. My assistant said you had something to discuss with me.” He said, getting straight to the point, which Zera appreciated. But at the same time it made her just a little more anxious.

“ That’s right, I do. You see, sir, I would like too…” She paused for a moment but then continued. “ Tell you that I’ve been importing flowers, and various plants from other countries as well as ones from Clover.”

Damnatio frowned.

“ And?”

Zera opened her mouth to speak, but a sudden knock on his office door made her stop.

“ I apologize for the interruption,” Salutaria, Damnatio’s assistant, said as she walked into the office and moved towards his desk. “ But I’m here to deliver the documentation you asked for.”

Damnatio nodded as he took the documents from her.

“ You may continue,” He directed towards Zera, who cleared her throat and took another breath.

“ And I…well, there’s been an investigation on it.” She finished softly as she couldn’t help but wring her hands nervously in her lap.

“ So, you mean to tell me that you’ve been importing goods illegally?” He asked sternly, and she quickly shook her head.

“ Well no,” She told him, but added ‘not anymore’ in her head. “ I have all the proper importation documents. At least I think I do.”

“ So, the reason you’re here is because…?” He asked with a slightly confused look.

Zera paused for a moment and a frown worked its way onto her face. Shouldn’t…shouldn’t he have her warrant since it was currently active? So, why was he asking all of these questions? It was as though he didn’t know what she was talking about. Unless…

Unless he really didn’t know what she was talking about, and if that was the case then what exactly was she confessing too?

“ I’m here because…I don’t want Captain Vangeance to get wrapped up in this…mess?” She offered in confusion, which only made Damnatio quirk an eyebrow.

“ Is Captain Vangeance covering for you?” He asked seriously, but she once again shook her head.

“ No, not really. It’s actually the opposite; he and his squad are the ones investigating it. But as I said; I have all the proper documents.” She responded, and the room fell into a confused silence.

“ So…he’s been harassing you?”

“ Well…I wouldn’t say that-.”

“ Because if he has, then that means Captain Vangeance has acted against his duty, which is a crime. His crime to be exact.” Damnatio pointed out, his tone growing serious again. But Zera quickly waved her hands and shook her head.

“ No! You see that’s the whole reason I’m here; I’m the one who committed the crime, not him!”

“ And your crime is…importing plants?”

“ That’s right!” Zera said with a firm nod.

“ With the proper documentation?”

“ …Yes?”

“ And Captain Vangeance has been making sure all the paperwork is legal?” Damnatio questioned, and Zera tilted her head.

“ …Sort of? I mean, he’s seen all the documents at my shop and hasn’t said anything. So, I assume everythings in order.” She muttered in thought.

The room once again fell into a confused silence. A very confused silence.

“ Let me see if I understand this right; you’re here to confess to a crime you’ve committed so that Captain Vangeance doesn’t get caught up in it, but the crime you’ve committed is…importing plants with all the proper and legal documentation?” Damnatio asked.

The room fell silent.

“ Yes…?”

“ And Captain Vangeance himself hasn’t committed any crimes? Well, anymore crimes?” Zera nodded.

“ Yes, sir.”

“ So…based on all of this information, no one here has committed any crimes.” He said after a moment of thinking, and Zera blinked at him in surprise.

What?

“ You mean…I’m off the hook?” Zera asked in surprise, and Salutaria nodded.

“ I’m not sure you were on the hook to begin with,” Salutaria admitted with an unsure laugh.

What?

“ Also, while the two of you were talking I went and checked some of the files and warrants that the Golden Dawn has. The only importing, or well ‘smuggling’, warrant they have is over three years old by now. Which means...” She trailed off, and Damnatio nodded.

“ The Statute of Limitations on the warrant have run out. So even if you were the person who committed those crimes, there’s no way we can prosecute you for them now.” Damnatio explained.

What?!

“ So…you’re telling me the guilt I was feeling, the awful break-up I had with the man I love, and this entire dramatic confession was all for nothing?!” Zera exclaimed in bewilderment as she jumped up from her seat.

Damnatio and Salutaria looked at each other for a moment before looking back at her.

“ It would appear so,” Damnatio said slowly, and his assistant nodded in agreement.

“ So…I’m free? I’m a free woman?” Zera asked, and Salutaria nodded.

“ You are-.” She began but Zera didn’t bother hearing the rest of her sentence as she quickly rushed out of Damnatio’s office; throwing a quick ‘thank you!’ over her shoulder as she ran out the door and closed it swiftly behind her.

As she stood on the other side of the door, Zera felt all of her guilt, anxiety, and stress melt away. It was all just a silly misunderstanding…which meant now she could go back to William, talk to him, and hopefully patch things up and go back to how they were!

But then, her heart sank to her stomach and her excitement died. After how she broke up with him, and after all the things she said that night…there was a good chance that she had completely destroyed their relationship.

Even so, she was still going to talk to him! If their relationship was unrepairable; then she would at least apologize to him, give him closure, and hopefully allow them both to move on.

However, she sincerely hoped that it wasn’t too late and that their relationship could be saved…

“ Zera! Zera, are you here?!” A familiar voice shouted, and Zera frowned.

That voice…that voice belonged to-?

As soon as she turned she saw William round the corner. His face was red and he was out of breath, his hair and clothes were a bit of a mess, and his beautiful purple eyes were wide.

William felt his heart stop dead in his chest as he stared at Zera. It had been so long since he had seen her in person that he nearly forgot how beautiful she was…but he quickly shook his head and proceeded to look her up and down. She wasn’t in handcuffs, and there were no guards around to escort her to jail, so…did that mean she was no longer under arrest?

Before he could open his mouth to ask, Zera ran towards him. As soon as she was close enough she jumped right into his arms, and her arms and legs wrapped around his neck and waist tightly.

Luckily for them, William had already had one hand braced against the wall for support, so the two were able to remain standing.

“ Z-Zera?!” William stammered as his heart began to race and his face began to burn red with embarrassment. But Zera didn’t say anything, instead she just hugged him tighter, which only caused his heart to race even more!

“ What happened with Damnatio? Are you being arrested? Langris told me you came to turn yourself in.” William questioned as he set her down on the ground, but the two kept their arms around each other.

“ William Vangeance; you’re looking at a free woman!” She announced proudly with a bright smile on her face.

“ A free woman?” He repeated, causing Zera to nod. “ What do you mean?”

“ I mean; that the crimes I thought I committed, and well admittedly the crimes I did commit, are no longer valid! So I’m off the hook and I won’t be going to jail!” She explained with a small laugh.

She watched as an unknown look crossed Williams face, and it made her feel slightly nervous. She looked down, and realized that the two were still holding onto each other.

“ Ah…sorry,” Zera apologized softly, and as she went to pull away William’s grip on her tightened and he pulled her close and held her against him.

“ What a relief…I’m so relieved Zera,” William admitted softly as he buried his face into her shoulder.

“ W-William?” She stammered nervously as her heart began to race, but she didn’t try to push him away.

“ When Langris told me that you were here to turn yourself in I…I couldn’t help but fear the worst,” He admitted softly. “ I thought that maybe I had lost you forever, and just the mere thought of that…terrified me.”

“ I’m sorry for scaring you…I’m so, so sorry.” Zera apologized as she buried her face into his shoulder, she could feel some tears pricking at her eyes, but she quickly rubbed them away.

The two stayed like that for a few more moments, but William pulled away slightly to look at her.

“ You and I need to talk,” He told her softly, and she nodded in agreement.

“ We do, shall we go to the Golden Dawn base?” She asked, and he nodded in agreement before he gently took her hand and began to lead her out of the Magic Parliament.

Finally, the two of them were going to talk and clear up all of their misunderstandings.

Thank you all so much for reading and I hope you all have a good day~!

[tryslora]

Nate vs. the Edits

I have a ton of posts partially written, and this particular one will probably touch on some of those themes. Particularly the concept of time (and how little of it there is in a week).

So. Apologies in advance for that. I have swiss cheese brain. I might not even remember if I’m repeating myself. Maybe y’all will forgive me, or maybe not. I figure readers are happy enough to click next/close and move on. <3

The topic I’m thinking about today is how editing and drafting can be inherently antagonistic.

It’s no secret that I owe multiple books right now. I have two that need to be drafted: the next in the Seven Lakes series, so my indie publishing life doesn’t fail before it gets off the ground, and the next Welcome to PHU book, otherwise known as Nate’s book, which uh… I should’ve started drafting two years ago.

It’s also no secret that I am working with Duck Prints Press to bring out paperback editions of the PHU books, starting with the Twinned trilogy. Commit to the Kick is already in print through DPP, and the second and third books are in progress. We’ll Kickstart print editions once they are edited and ready to roll.

Editing is… hard. I mean, it’s probably hard for everyone, but it’s really hard for me because it is one of my mental breaking points. My brain assumes that when something is drafted, it’s done, and making big changes (or even small changes that have big effects) is hard for me to do. I am more than willing to admit to this fault.

It means that when my brain goes into edit mode, drafting mode goes POOF and disappears. And well, vice versa.

Over the last year, I’ve done a lot of work in learning how to edit, and I’ve gotten better at it. I did a first round edit of Into the Split to handle some large issues before DPP starts working on it. I did a big overhaul of a short story and turned it into a much better version of itself that I could submit to a market. But during that time, I couldn’t draft.

Part of that was time being a finite commodity, and part of it was that editing makes me overthink everything. And for Nate’s book in particular, there is a lot to overthink.

Nate’s book (Run Together, or RT in acronym form) is a book where it would be very easy, and possibly even a good idea, to have multiple narrators. While I had considered it briefly for Pels’s book (Not Your Guardian Angel), in the end, that one was a stronger book for being a single POV. This one I can see all the ways that having all three characters allowed to speak could make it stronger. Cass internalizes so much. And Dax… we’ve hardly gotten to see into his head at all in the PHU ‘verse so far. We know about how he handles his Talent, and that he’s a football stats vending machine. But seeing into his emotional side would be nice, especially considering the things he needs to work through during this storyline.

Every time I started working on the book, I thought about all the pieces that had been broken in ITS and needed to be fixed, and I stalled. I couldn’t wrap my head around the best way to tell the story.

I dubbed this problem “Nate vs. the Edits” in my head, which seemed like a decent title for a bout going multiple rounds in my brain with heavy fighting and damage. Like. Yikes.

Editing makes me analytical, and drafting requires me to shove my analytical parts into the background, letting the foreground take inspiration without failing under the anxiety of the details.

I have always trusted my subconscious when drafting. I have a brain like swiss cheese—I can’t hold details in my mind on purpose, but if I trust them to be there (like programming to a base case for recursion—yes, I know this makes no sense to anyone but me) the story works. I can recall things if I don’t try to recall. Trust my subconscious to fill in the blanks.

Right now, I have “outlined” the first maybe… quarter? third? of Nate’s book. I split a few of my pieces of the timeline into enough information to be able to draft three chapters. Except I feel like they aren’t quite right. The pacing is off.

I’ve lost the ability to write for the joy of writing the serial, for the joy of rolling around in drafting fic about the characters who live in my head. Or, I haven’t lost it… not completely. But I’m struggling with it, and yes, continuing to second guess myself. I’ve become my own gatekeeper, constantly concerned about whether I’m doing it right.

Ironically enough, this also affects editing. I haven’t opened the file for MF that I received a couple of weeks ago because I’m a bit afraid of what I’ll see. Like. They are edits and there are already notes in there that I just have to either agree with, reject, or find a different way to do it. Easy peasy, right?

HAH.

Instead, I’ve decided to use blog posts as my palette cleanser. I’ve spent the last half hour after work accomplishing nothing more than eating dinner and reading half a volume of manga. I know I need to write something so here I am, putting words on a page in hopes that it breaks the fiction loose.

Nate’s rattling around in here somewhere. So is Adam (for the 7Lakes book). They are ready to roll. It’s me that’s stalling.

A part of me thinks that when I’m retired, it’ll be easier. Mornings for drafting and afternoons for editing, or vice versa. Chores as palette cleansers between tasks. I hope that turns out to be true.

But for the moment, I’m squeezing in writing and editing like a teenager hiding my viewing of racy videos—hiding in a closed office for thirty minutes and praying I can get to the end before the time is up. Stealing away and closeting myself with my tablet, spewing words onto the keyboard, spilling my mind like blood from a wound.

/exhales

Yeah. I’m full of weird analogies. 

I know that there’s no secret to this. Yes, we all believe that we have a muse when we write, but we also have to put in the work. Editing is work. The paralyzation comes with the territory, and it means I’m learning. I am discovering what I’m doing wrong (and right!) and I need to internalize it.

No magic formula, just… patience. Doing it anyway. Pushing through.

If I have to edit and re-edit the first chapters of RT, it’s okay. It’s a serial, but I always try to get 4-8 chapters in before I start posting. I have time to fix things.

And somewhere, somehow, I have to do the editing for MF, too.

Two entirely different parts of my personality vying for what little time we have.

Best let them get to it, then, huh?

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[eddywoww]

*Spoilers if u post this ask and people haven’t read Close Quarters yet* Ok I have so many thoughts and feelings. First of all Eddie is so NOT all cool and calm. I just know she is LOSING HER FUCKING MIND casually chatting to stevie about fantasies n sex toys. “Not using my hands at all…just laying there taking it”. The fucking THOUGHTS in my head. How is Eddie coping? She ain’t. I can’t breathe. Eddie can’t breathe. We’re gonna die. I cannot WAIT until we get Stevie just laying there and taking it from Eddie. And AND you’re telling me Stevie could go to a sex store with Eddie and chat to her about sexual fantasies but she couldn’t say “hey Eddie, you know how we went and picked out a sex toy together? Could you maybe leave for an hour so I can try it?” Like GIRL I fucking SWEAR. And so help me god if Eddie was awake and heard stevie I will probably fling myself off a cliff but I also need that to happen. I feel like she did or maybe I’m just hoping. I can totally see the next morning Eddie making brief awkward eye contact with Stevie and Stevie just realizing in a second that she heard her last night. And ugh. Also Stevie is just so obviously crushing on Eddie I just wanna tear my hair out and shake her and be like OPEN YOUR DAMN EYES. Oh god I need them to kiss. I need them to kiss so bad. I’m about as desperate as Eddie at this point. You know how when you watch an episode of a tv show and there’s a preview/trailer for the next episode. God I wish that were a thing for fanfiction. I hate myself for reading a WIP instead of waiting til the whole thing is done but I’m in too deep now. You’re fucking brilliant. Bye.

I can give you a very vague synopsis of the next chapter. The library sees some shit, Stevie has to deal with someone she doesn’t like, Eddie fumbles her way through a few things and comes out a winner

I haven’t written it yet but I have a line that keeps popping up in my brain that I’m obsessed with and it’s just “You’re a little liar.” So 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

And thank you for enjoying it enough to send me such a nice msg btw!!!!

[aimmyarrowshigh]

14. What have you been finding frustrating with writing this chapter/fic?

Complain a lil bit at me. I love me some complaining. Brains are the absolute worst, honestly, there has to be a better way to have a consciousness.

GAH, well, since you asked for complaining, haha...

I HAD written all of Lent From Tomorrow. Or, well. I had written fully-fully the first 3/4 of it and had a robust outline and chunklets in the last quarter. So I felt safe to start posting it. I KNOW myself. I am BAD at posting WIPs. I am bad at it. My track record of my entire life illustrates this.

So I started posting it and things were going swimmingly! "Yes!" I told myself. "I'm successfully posting a WIP!"

But then I pulled a WandaVision and went, "oh, dear, everyone consuming this story figured out my red herrings much faster than anticipated, I must CHANGE THE STORY" but not in a "screw the audience over" way like WandaVision, just in a "this reveal comes much sooner than I had written, because otherwise I'm worried it will come across like beating a dead horse to keep dropping hints when y'all already know."

So... that completely undid the back HALF of the story, and I started writing it chapter-by-chapter as I posted, and I was doing okay. It wasn't the weekly update schedule I'd had with the prewritten chapters, but that's fine. It's fanfiction. People go years without updating sometimes, especially me, because I AM BAD AT WIPS. But it was still going okay!

And then April and May happened, and I'm ngl, literally every day of April, something cartoonishly horrible happened in my real life and I did not write a word for the entire month. Or do much of anything. I don't even think I read any comic books. I did zero. And then May was... not much better. Like, maybe something cartoonishly horrible happened every three days instead of every day, but it was still way too much.

I actually wrote more in May than I've written in that same time span since 2024 started, which I'm really proud of myself for -- I wrote 14,000 words (plus like 800 words of unpostable noodling) in three weeks, and that's not, like, Impressive or Enough but it's better than I've been able to produce in a while. I told myself just focus on the drabbles and tiny ficlets that were coming out of the prompt/pairing list I'd set up for myself for MLMay, and I tried not to freak myself out, and words happened, and it was nice! And then the last week of May also happened and we're back to Very Bad Brain Times.

So... I know what happens in the last quarter of Lent. I WANT to be writing it. But my brain is just not "together" enough right now to slip into the mindset for such a heavy-duty, plotty, researchy, emotional longfic, and I'm just spiraling and making myself feel even worse by getting more and more anxious about how long it's taking me to write it.

I know, logically, that it's not a huge deal. If people are gonna stick around to read what comes next, they will, and if they don't, they don't, and that's fine. That's how posting serial fiction works. I mean, that's even how TV used to work in the before-streaming times, and it's not like I worried about the feelings of a showrunner if I got behind on a show or decided it went somewhere I didn't care to follow. That's just serialized art! It's fine! I know logically that it's fine!

But reader, Emotionally, It Is Not Fine. I love this story so much, and I'm so invested in actually finishing something for once and I've stupidly pinned like... a lot of my beliefs about my Worth As A Person on "whether I can finish and successfully post an entire longfic," which, I get it, that in itself is not the biggest issue at play here, but whatever. Baby steps. And I just... it sounds so stupid. And I KNOW that it's small potatoes.

I just want people to like it.*

And I know that every passing day that I don't update, fewer people are going to read it and/or like it, and that also feeds the Bad Brain Spiral. And I don't know.

So tl;dr, the most frustrating part of writing this chapter is myself? I guess????

*Before anyone jumps in to whine about and/or laugh at this statement, I'm not saying "I want it to be a stucky fandom classic," or anything ridiculous like that. I literally just mean that I want the people who choose to read it to enjoy it enough to finish it and maybe have an emotionally positive experience from reading it.

**I also feel very. This is another dumb complaint that I know won't come across right, because internet, but -- I feel very like... separated from stucky fandom (in part because I'm a newer fan who came to the fandom after its heyday, in part because I don't like a lot of currently-popular fanons, in part because I am way too shy for Discord?) and I feel bad bugging uninterested people with thoughts/feelings about my own stories, so I've kind of just... stoppered up my excitement for this story for a long time. Also, an asshole ex-friend of mine straight-up told me that "stuckies are going to hate it because there isn't enough sex and it's really boring for being a fic, especially since it's Steve POV and not Bucky POV" and that just kind of made me feel like. I couldn't squee about the story. And it's HARD to write longfic and not feel like you can share it with people??? IDK. Stuff and thoughts. Whatever. etc.