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pccyouthleader · 8 months

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Hedgehog Hodgepodge: A Story of Espionage, Confusion, and an Evil Plan Gone Haywire

Chapter 16: Easy Rider

The sendoff between Aurora and her parents was a lengthy process filled with embraces and terms of endearment. Shadow shifted uncomfortably as he waited for it to subside. Familial affection was still a fairly new concept for him (or at least one he hadn’t experienced in a very, very long time).

Eventually, Aurora accepted a final kiss from her mother and put on her helmet, fastening it snugly under her chin. She nodded to Shadow, who mounted his motorcycle and eased the kickstand back with a “click.” A million thoughts sprinted through Aurora’s mind as he helped her slide onto the seat behind him. Donning his own helmet, Shadow revved the engine and slowly backed down the drive and out into the street. Aurora waved at her parents watching from the door, then slid her arms around Shadow.

Not wanting to get Amy and Sonic riled, he started off at a slow speed away from the house and through the village. Most of the houses and businesses were dark, and the streets were only lit by the bright light of the moon and stars.

When they reached the highway, though, Shadow shifted into a higher gear and increased his speed exponentially. Aurora clung to him for dear life! She had ridden on his motorcycle once before, but that was an easy trek down a small country road. They were on a major highway now, and the wind whipped through the quills peeking out from under her helmet.

After some time had passed and she had gotten used to the speed and wind, Aurora began to relax. But her muscles tensed once again as she became fully aware of just how close her body was to Shadow’s. Her arms encircled him tightly, and his chest fur brushed at her fingertips ever so slightly as the wind blew past. She could feel the hard, muscular lines of his chest beneath his jacket. When she realized how tightly her legs were pressed against his hips, her heart leapt into her throat. His warmth infused her entire body - even the rush of air couldn’t cool her down. The very smell of him was intoxicating. The sound of the motorcycle engine roared in her ears, and she realized her senses were running away with her.

Breathe, Aurora told herself. This may turn out to be a long ride, and Shadow doesn’t need you drooling all over him. Though the thought of a prolonged make out session did sound appealing… Your life is in danger, remember? That assessment did the trick.

For the next several hours she focused on the task at hand - arriving safely at a destination unknown to her - and the passing landscape around her. Tropical hills and beaches turned into craggy rock cliffs on one side and the churning, surging sea on the other. Aurora had never seen this part of Mobius before. And as much as she wanted to drink in every detail of the landscape and climate, her adrenaline rush was quickly waning.

—

As the grip of her arms loosened around him and her head lolled against his back, Shadow knew Aurora was in danger of falling asleep. Up ahead was a small fishing village that included one of his favorite local features. The light of a new morning had barely kissed the sky, and that feature would make the perfect vantage point for a breathtaking sunrise.

Pulling up alongside a long pier, Shadow cut the engine of his bike and surveyed their surroundings.

“Where are we?” Aurora asked, stifling a yawn.

“Pelagia,” Shadow replied. “It means ‘dweller by the sea.’”

Aurora looked around glassy-eyed with exhaustion. “So’s this where we’re gonna stay? Play-gee-ruh?” she slurred, covering up yet another big yawn with the back of her hand.

Shadow laughed softly at her sleepy mispronunciation. “No, we’re just stopping for some breakfast and a show.” He gave her a mysterious smile as he helped her off the bike.

After instructing her to stay at the pier and wait on him, Shadow set off in search of a local restaurant that he knew served breakfast this early. Aurora stretched and rubbed her tired legs, sweeping the landscape with a glance. The pier was much larger than the docks back home in the village. A few tall boats sat bobbing against the pilings, but most had already left in search of a honey hole with an abundance of fish.

As her eyes trailed down it’s considerable length, Aurora could barely make out that the pier ended in a gazebo. Setting out on the weathered boardwalk, she made her way down, wanting to view the ships that had already embarked on their morning adventures. It was still mostly dark, so she took off one of her light inhibitors. The glow of her hand shone brightly on the wooden path beneath her feet.

The gazebo proved a perfect setting for boat-watching, but she couldn’t get the full view with a roof over her head. She had to see more. Climbing a small staircase upward, she emerged on a square platform surrounded by a built-in wooden bench and railing.

Aurora’s breath caught as she took in the scene before her. The first rays of sunlight pierced the dark sky and plunged like a dagger into the depths of the ocean. The sea roared against the distant cliffs violently, yet lapped gently against the pilings of the pier. The far-off mountains were just coming into view when she heard someone approaching.

“I see you’ve found the crow’s nest,” Shadow said as he climbed the steps up to the top of the gazebo.

“The what?” she asked, laughing at the terminology.

“The crow’s nest. Like the ones on tall ship masts,” Shadow explained. “This is one of my favorite places to watch the sunrise. I hope you’re hungry!” He held up a paper bag and a cup holder with swirls of steam rising from two lids.

“Starved!” Aurora said, smiling as she accepted the warm cup of hot chocolate and a soft beignet. Even though it was still summer, the wind whipping around her and left her chilled. The hot drink and freshly made pastry began to warm her from the inside out.

Aurora and Shadow sat in awed silence, watching as the sun made its way over the mountains and into the sky, burning off the damp morning fog as it went. She edged closer to him, snuggling into his side as his arm automatically reached around, pulling her close.

After a few more minutes, Shadow began speaking softly. “Aurora, it really means a lot to share this with you. Being with you is so… freeing. So easy. I’ve had something on my mind that I’ve wanted to tell you for awhile now.”

When she didn’t respond, Shadow was concerned that he shouldn’t have launched into the conversation. Maybe she wasn’t ready?

“Aurora?” he asked timidly. When there was no answer, he looked down at her. Exhausted and full from breakfast, she had fallen fast asleep. Her head sagged against his shoulder and she was snoring softly.

Shadow smiled to himself. “It can wait.”

#FINALLY #That was a long time coming #Almost done with the next chapter #sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #sonamy #amy rose #shadora #sonic fanfiction #hedgehog hodgepodge #aurora belongs to e-vay #aurora the hedgehog #shadow x aurora

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novadorks · 7 months

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finally finished orv after two years . . . what do i do with my life now

#started in junior year hs dropped it for a while then started reading again at the start of this semester and now im finally done !#dont know whether to cheer or just crumple up and start crying bc wow that was a ride #i thought the ending was tragic but then i moved on to the epilogue and oh my godd #the way kdj was crying and miserable bc he missed his companions and he wanted to be with them so Badly #but when kimcom finally Finally chase him down and come back to him theyre too late and hes already disspitated into other world lines #and after that like. whenever kdj pulls some shit and dies the next chapter always starts with an ‘i’#and hes back and alive and kicking and Thinking but after that epilogue chapter there isnt a chapter in his pov theres no more ‘i’s and.#it just made me incredibly sad bc we dont get to see his pov ever again bc hes truly gone unless we as a reader can imagine him alive again #anyways sad things aside it is Incredibly funny that lee hyunsung just became a wanted man in the 1865th round lmaoo #+ uriel sun wukong and black flame dragon forming a band together ??? truly the most randomest thing in the epilogue #++ yoohankim need to stop beating the shit out of e/o and learn to talk their feelings out Please #+++ sooyoung’s love for dokja has me miserable o-|-< she would wait for him an eternity write for him an eternity im so sad #three times she endlessly wrote a novel for him to read three times she waited to see him for so long <//3 #you bet im imagining the happiest conclusion i can for them #they WILL live happily ever after in that big house together as long as i have something to say about it!#orv

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laundrybiscuits · 1 year

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(purify our misfit ways tag | AO3)

Sometimes Steve feels like he’s tripped into a parallel universe. One day he’d been on top of the world, Tommy and Carol by his side, backing whatever dumb idea he had; the next, he’d been wearing a stupid sailor hat, Robin and Eddie roasting him mercilessly. It’s like, there’s Hawkins, and there’s the Upside Down, and there’s Steve’s life which is now maybe sideways from all of that. Like, a third dimension.

He thinks if this was a story, it would be kind of shitty. If he lays it all out, the facts of it, he used to have everything when he was sixteen and now he doesn’t. But really, when he thinks about it, the only thing he actually misses is how automatic everything was. It was so easy, being Steve Harrington.

It just also sucked sometimes.

He’d been bored and annoyed, pretty much all the time. He’d always felt on edge. Not angry, more…ready for things to go bad. Alert, like a guard dog, except the only thing he’d had to guard was himself.

Nancy had felt like salvation. She hadn’t fit in with Tommy and Carol at all, and that’s what he’d loved about her. She pushed back, told him when he was being an ass or an idiot, and he’d loved her more than he knew a person could love another person. Even with the fights and all the monster shit, it had felt like his whole heart was just living inside her. Like when she was gone, there was an empty ache in his chest. It had been a good kind of ache, though, because he’d thought that her heart was inside him, too; he liked the idea of it echoing in her, too. And then it’d turned out—no, he’d been the only one walking around bleeding out. He doesn’t like to think about it too much.

He’d spent senior year trailing around after Nancy and Jonathan. He’d known it was pathetic. You don’t just spend all your time with your ex-girlfriend and her new boyfriend, what kind of loser does that?

But there hadn’t been anything else he could think of to do, so that’s what had happened. Before, when he’d thought my friends he’d meant a crowd of people who wanted his attention. It had felt pretty good, being able to hand out approval like that. Telling jokes and knowing everyone in the room, everyone who mattered, would listen and laugh.

And then suddenly he thinks my friends and means Nancy Wheeler and Jonathan Byers eating lunch with him outside even when it gets too cold, talking about shit he doesn’t understand, and knowing he’s lucky to get that much. Hating it, kind of, but grateful anyway.

He guesses that once you face down a monster together, dumb shit like who’s dating who doesn’t really matter anymore. They hadn’t rubbed his face in it or anything, though he thinks Jonathan probably had the right. Still has the right.

It stings like a skinned knee, but then summer comes and it’s so much worse. They’re suddenly busy with their fancy internships and he’s scrambling to get a job, any job, even a stupid job where he has to wear a stupid costume and sling stupid ice cream. Without Hawkins High holding them together like cling film between them and the rest of the world, the tentative friendship they’d built cracks wide open. Of course it was always going to break the way it did, with Nancy and Jonathan on one side, going places in life, and Steve on the other, not going anywhere.

He tries so hard to find something, someone, anyone, but it’s like girls can smell the desperation coming off him. He’s never had to work so hard in his life to get absolutely nowhere. He’s Steve Harrington, charming motherfucker, nice enough to take home to your parents and mean enough to drive you crazy. He knows what he’s doing.

Except apparently he doesn’t anymore. Girls don’t react the way he’s used to, even though he uses the exact same lines, and it’s humiliating. It’s the stupid sailor outfit, he just knows it, but when he’s not at work it just feels way too pathetic to go hang out by himself at the mall. He spends his time running the trails behind his house, mostly. He watches TV. He even tries learning to cook, but it’s harder than he thought it’d be, so he gives up before too long.

For a really long time, he doesn’t even register Robin Buckley as anything except a band geek who hates him. Yeah, he can appreciate that she’s kind of hot in a feral way, but she’s not his type at all. The chains, the mismatched nail polish, the way she makes fun of him and he can tell she means it. She’d told him once, “I’m the weirdest girl in Hawkins,” and she’d sounded like it was a badge of honor, something she was proud of. So: not his type, not even a little bit.

But even though she’s kind of a dick to him, she helps him when it’s obvious he’s never even tried to read the employee handbook. She walks him through things even though he has to ask a few times because it’s complicated and he forgets. She makes fun of him for his hair and the way he strikes out with girls, but she never once makes fun of him for not getting into college, even though she’s probably going to Harvard or something when she graduates.

And she’s one of the funniest people he’s ever met, in a savage kind of way. She reminds him of Tommy H. a little bit, though he knows better than to say that out loud. She doesn’t bother to pretend to like the customers, just serves them with a dead-eyed stare and bitches to Steve about the worst ones. Sometimes she does impressions and Steve laughs so hard his stomach hurts.

So, she’s okay to be around. Doesn’t mean anything. Besides, it turns out that getting to know Robin means getting to know Eddie Munson, too. She mentions his name a lot, just little stuff dropped into conversation like oh yeah and then me and Eddie went down to the quarry or Eddie’s showing me how to play this song on the guitar. Steve thinks it’s pretty reasonable that he assumed Eddie was her boyfriend, right up until he’d actually met the guy and realized that she’d been talking about Eddie “the Freak” Munson the whole time.

Eddie is…different. Steve’s not sure how to feel about him for a really long time. Before, maybe even last year, he’d have written Eddie off as just another loser who couldn’t hack it with the popular kids and was mad about it. But Eddie comes back, and keeps coming back, and Steve can’t help wanting to know more about him even when Robin’s obviously annoyed at Steve’s questions. Just—Robin says they met in concert band, but are there even guitar parts in band? Steve would’ve paid a lot more attention if there were, probably. He can’t picture Eddie strumming some slick black guitar in front of all the tubas and whatever. And Steve’s pretty sure Eddie transferred in from another school because there were a lot of rumors about it in Steve’s freshman year; Robin’s got to know what that was all about, right?

It’s almost a relief when he realizes that even if they’re not actually dating right now, Robin has to have a crush on Eddie. It’s the only thing that makes sense. She gets all spiky and protective of him whenever Steve brings him up, plus she never flirts with Steve even a little bit, so it must be some kind of unrequited love thing. It’s kind of sweet, like a movie. Of course she won’t admit it, but once Steve figures it out, it all just makes sense.

It must drive Robin crazy to be hanging around Eddie all the time. Eddie’s a larger-than-life guy, always trying to make people laugh, always with some new ideas that make slow afternoon shifts zip by. He’s not mean about it, though—not even mean like Robin is, even when he goes on one of his pissy little tirades about conformity or whatever. Steve can imagine what it must be like for Robin, having Eddie so close but not being allowed to curl into his side or lace their fingers together. It must ache.

At first Eddie’s protective of Robin too, always staring at Steve suspiciously, but when it becomes clear that Steve’s not going to hit on Robin, Eddie loosens up a little bit. Whenever Eddie smiles directly at Steve, just Steve, it feels like winning something.

It doesn’t take Eddie all that long to warm up to Steve, all things considered. It’s not too long before Steve starts feeling like yeah, okay, this could be a pretty good summer after all. Both Eddie and Robin are going back to school in the fall, so at least they’ll be in Hawkins, and maybe by then Steve can get them to start hanging out with him outside of Scoops Ahoy. It makes him feel a little pathetic to think about it too hard, so he doesn’t.

And then Dustin Henderson comes back from that nerd camp he’s been at all summer, talking about Russians, and it turns out Robin really doesn’t like Eddie like that at all, and everything Steve knows about how the world works is knocked off-kilter. Again.

It’s different afterwards, too. For the first time since all this shit started, Steve isn’t licking his wounds by himself in an empty house with all the lights on, falling asleep to M.A.S.H. reruns on the couch. He hadn’t even realized that Robin and Eddie had been holding him at arm’s length a little bit until suddenly they weren’t anymore. Suddenly they’re in Steve’s house more evenings than not. He’s a really shitty host because he can’t focus and he can’t offer them food or beer and he gets tired so easily, but for some reason they keep coming around anyway, bringing him groceries and bullying him into taking the pills that make him even worse at staying alert enough to talk to them.

They’re his best friends, and he thinks—he hopes he’s theirs, too. He thinks even if it’s not completely the same as Tommy and Carol, or Nancy and Jonathan, it could be good. It could be better.

#fic: purify our misfit ways #the new AO3 chapter is FINALLY edited and up so here's the next bit #just a whole bunch of me trying to get at who S3!Steve really is #he's really hard to write!! S4!Steve is difficult enough for me but S3 is a whole new level #not least bc I'm pretty sure he doesn't think about things in a very linear way. E&R both inner-monologue a lot but Steve just...#has a thought-stew going

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slashingdisneypasta · 2 months

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Jim Bickerman being Creepy As Fuck with Elaine in Lake Placid; Final Chapter, 2012.

Hey, now. You like a little nip, huh, sweetcheeks? You sure? Hmm? Made it myself.

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madsmilfelsen · 9 months

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chapter one: toe the line, read on ao3

#midnight mass #monsignor pruitt/reader #so happy to finally use this title #rated e but the first chapter is just spooky island and bad vibes

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dazais-guardian-angel · 2 months

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asagiri.... is that you? are you the real asagiri? are you there, trying to come out again?? can I trust in you? can I have hope again?? Asagiri blink twice if that's the real you again, if the old bsd is back again ಥ‿ಥ

#THIS CHAPTER........... T H I S C H A P T E R.............#don't do that asagiri. don't give me hope 🥹🥹🥹#are we back??? ARE WE BACK TO THE GOOD SHIT??? TO THE SANE WRITING?????#IS THERE A REASON BONES DIDN'T INCLUDE ANY OF THIS IN THE FINALE???????#my conspiracy brain is kicking into overdrive once more and i hate it 😭😭😭 this is the first crumb of hope i've had in months 😭😭😭

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hyperesthesias · 5 months

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Decisions & Desire Part II

Notes: Look, what I want you to take away from this is: 'I love you. Most ardently'. I even got the rain thing going. Song choice for this installment is: Arrival of the Birds by The Cinematic Orchestra.

Context: Anya and Viktor are childhood friends who have reconnected seven months ago. Anya is a mage, and a theoretical physicist; she is also a patron of Viktor and the Academy. They have rekindled their friendship, and are in love with each other. Because Anya is a different species, who lives for hundreds of years, and takes only one mate for her lifespan, Viktor has recused himself from her life, not wanting to cause her further pain. However, Jayce has some choice words for his friend. Anya also learns more about transformation rituals from her temple elder.

word count: 4,411

Tag List: @uniquedeerwitch ; @funcoolchickie (Let me know if you would like to be tagged!)

AO3 link

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Anya kept the company of her kinfolk, while Viktor kept himself confined to his laboratory. She had not seen him in nearly a week – neither had she heard from him, despite her occasional visits to the lab with pertinent information and translations of runework. Whenever she made an appearance there, Viktor always seemed absent, and her work was relayed solely through Jayce, who asked her no questions, neither pressed any agendas about the crystal or her relationship with her friend. It only made her feel more alone.

Despite the happy faces and the welcome invitations from her kin at the temple, Anya felt no desire to join them in preparations for the Autumnal Equinox festival – she had no mirth to contribute to the festival at all, and instead planned on recusing herself from the event. Regardless of where she went, or with whom, the abstinence of her friend’s love, and desire for their bonding, followed her – a horrible shadow that clung to her, even when the Sun shone brightest. His life was fragile, its length short, and she saw his grappling as a hindrance to the time that could be shared between them, despite the obstacles presented to them.

Her elder, Nana, was the only one of the temple who asked nothing of her, nor expected her presence in any capacity, except for that of a cup of tea. Nana was seven hundred years old, and she was the oldest and wisest among their community. She had long, silver hair that ran past her feet, and that matched her age; she had weathered skin and a warm smile that crinkled her eyes. Her home resided on the temple acreage, and she tended the sacred trees and flora and fauna that made the grounds lush and vibrant. Her cottage smelled of herbs, and the couch was well worn from visitors who sought her company. She was quick to listen, and slow to scold, but always had advice when it was asked of her.

“I have more ideas about the transmutation spell you asked me about some while ago,” Nana said, and served Anya a cup of berry tea. “I found a codex in the old catacombs of the temple. Don’t tell anyone.”

Anya smiled lightly, and held the cup in her lap. She had no desire to speak.

“There are many legends of shape shifting, as you know,” she continued with a huff and a grunt as she sat down on the couch. “Many talk of our ancient ancestors who could change into jaguars or hummingbirds during the heat of battle. Even dragons. But birds and cats sounds more believable to me,” she eyed her young guest with a simper. “Though much of what is written in these codices are thought of as fantasy by the majority – superstition and stories meant to inspire awe and terror into the hearts of enemies from long ago.”

“Do you believe it is possible?” Anya asked.

Nana looked at her and shrugged as she took a sip of tea. “I’ve seen too much to disregard anything at all. There are some who are gifted with the abilities of magic – like you and your parents; others who can communicate with animals and spirits. Who’s to say there is not a gene somewhere out there, wandering around, that can cause someone to shape shift? Maybe it got lost,” she chuckled.

“Did the codex suggest wanting anything in return for this power?”

Nana looked at her, suspicious, but she conceded: “No, there was no mention of an exchange – it was a power bestowed by the divinities. A gift. There were times it was granted as a way to smite an opponent in battle. Others, it was given as a way to protect a village or a family.”

Whatever the secret had been of transmutation, it was evident it was long lost, and was now regaled into the nebulous mythos of cultural tales. Anya set her untouched tea on the table in front of them, and nodded. “Thank you, Nana. But I do not feel up to having anything at the moment. I think I will leave.”

“What is wrong, my dear?” Nana asked, and held out her hand that she might stay.

“It is nothing. Childish things.” She shook her head, afraid she would think her a fool for her despondency. Viktor’s stubbornness was a sufficient burden, but Nana’s disapproval would be more than she could bear.

Nana gave her a sad smile as she watched the affliction on her soft face. “There is no such thing as too small a grief.”

Anya looked to her, reticent. She debated on what to say, but knew that if there was any one person in her community who could be relied upon, it would be Nana. “It does not feel small,” she admitted.

“This isn’t about runes.” Nana set her cup of tea down.

“No. It is not.” She looked out of the window at the far end of the room, she watched as the wildflowers blew, delicate and limber, in the afternoon sun – their stems and leaves had begun to turn brittle as Summer ended and as Autumn began. Soon, they would be wilted and returned to the earth from which they first grew. Viktor’s ailing health pressed upon her heart and she resisted the stinging in her eyes. She swallowed the hot, salted water that had gathered at the back of her throat, and she kept her head down. “There is someone with whom I wish to bond,” she said. She could not bring herself to say anything more.

“Have they refused you?” Nana asked.

“The desire is mutual. But he will not bond with me.”

Nana could think of no reason why someone would be so indecisive. Anya was well off – finances would never be a concern; there were no wars in which their kind had been involved, in Piltover or in Zaun, that could have amassed prejudice; there were no quarreling families within their own community that would prevent a peaceful union with Anya – a union with her would have been covetous. “Why?” she asked, bewildered.

“He is human,” she said. The tears she fought gathered at the edges of her eyes, and she struggled to keep them at bay as she looked at her elder. She turned away as a droplet ran down her face. “His health is frail, even by the standard of his kind. His lifespan will be cut short. He will not bond with me, so that I will not be alone when he dies.”

“That is honorable.”

“Too honorable,” Anya sniffled.

Nana smiled. There were few who understood and heeded the ways of their species – especially humans. To find someone with such zealous respect was both a blessing and curse.

“Nana – What is it like? To have a bonded who is no longer here.”

She took a long, slow breath, and memories passed her eyes as she thought on what to say. Her own bonded had been gone for nearly fifty years. It felt like an eternity. “I can still feel him – as I always did. When you bond with someone, you can feel what they feel, you can know where they are, and see the world through their spirit. It is the same, even now. He is still alive, somewhere. But not here. I feel that he misses me, as much as I miss him,” she gave Anya a smile, one full of joy and longing. She caressed her face – bright and full of youth and knowing. “This man loves you. Human men make no sacrifices for things they do not love. What will be, will be. Even if you love him from afar.”

Another tear fell onto Anya’s visage, and Nana gently brushed it away.

Anya returned to her quiet, cavernous home as clouds began to move their way through the sky. She recalled a rainy day in Zaun, where her mother told her to search for a bucket in the scrap heap around the corner from their house. The roof had sprung a leak, and Anya spent the night bailing out buckets of water. She was stricken with the cold, and became bed-ridden and ill, her mother tended to her with poultices and compresses for a week.

Her mansion made of marble had no leaks, and every gutter led to the gardens beneath. There were beds for vegetables and fresh herbs, there were fruit trees and bushes that yielded plentiful stone fruits and berries. She wanted for nothing. Except for the love she could not have.

She sat alone the rest of the afternoon in the salon, with a well lit fire and a hot cup of coffee as the rain began to fall, persistent and dour against the breadth of the windowpanes. She had numerous books on runes and shape shifting spread across the cushions, but she resented each of them. They all reminded her of Viktor.

Viktor arrived at the lab in a foul mood. The previous night left him restless, and what little sleep he gathered was listless and fitful. His mind was tired and overworked, and his heart had grown numb from the final exchange he shared with Anya; it sat on his stomach like a stone, and he felt himself pinned beneath it. Though he gave little credence to the tenements of Fate, he was beginning to believe in something far worse: bad luck. Luck, that he had reconnected with his friend after a decade and a half, and bad luck to have sabotaged his relationship with her. He lost the love of his life. He had no one other than himself to blame.

Viktor said nothing upon entering the lab and he promptly sat at his workbench, hunched over his journal; he analyzed the data he gathered the previous evening, along with several of Anya’s notes taped to the inside of his notebook. He could feel Jayce’s eyes on him from across the room.

Jayce sat not far away – he had been studying the crystal under a lens, having arrived at the lab nearly two hours before his partner. He leaned back in his chair with a deep sigh, his hands ran down his face – every facet of the crystal was beginning to blur into one another, and he could hardly tell the difference between the runes anymore. He looked up towards his friend again, who seemed to share his same, glossy-eyed look.

“You hungry?” he asked.

Viktor gave no reply.

Jayce tilted his head, trying to see the expression on his friend’s face. It was stern, guarded, and unmoving. Viktor was not often outwardly expressive, but he was not devoid of feeling altogether, and he had come to know Viktor well enough to see when his friend was perturbed – despite the few indications he might give evidently. Jayce rolled the chair closer to his partner. “Hey –” he tapped his shoulder.

Viktor started and took a sharp breath. “What?” he growled as he shot Jayce a glance.

“I think we could both use a break. Why don’t we get something to eat.” A drop in blood sugar would explain Viktor’s harsh disposition.

He waved him off. “I am fine, go on without me.”

Jayce stared at him with scepticism. “You don’t look fine.”

Viktor closed his eyes and slowly inhaled. “There are things in my private life I would like to keep private,” he said. Jayce had become a friend – Viktor’s only friend besides Anya; and while his two friends were each other’s acquaintance, Viktor was careful never to divulge more than the superficial in regard to Anya and her background. He had given Jayce no knowledge as to her species, or her capabilities as a mage; the extent of his appraisal had been their friendship in childhood, and her success at the Academy. Nothing more, and nothing less.

Concern built itself deeper into Jayce, and worry furrowed itself into his features. Not long ago, Viktor saved his life from the broken ledge of his apartment. The chill of that terrible night’s air gripped him by the throat, and he refocused himself onto his friend, instead. “You don’t have to suffer in silence.”

Viktor stopped, overcome with the memory of watching Jayce nearly step over the ledge and into death. They never spoke of it. They did not have to. It was a hermetic secret between the two of them, one that was never forgotten, and never mentioned. But Viktor could hear between what was not said. He sighed and turned on the stool, throwing the pencil on the notebook. “There is a dilemma, in my personal life, that has no favorable solution,” he said. “My only choice is to accept the consequence, and proceed with my life. My work,” he motioned to the notebook.

Jayce stared at him, more confused than before, his worries no more allayed. “Are you…getting fired?”

Viktor scoffed. “No. Although, I supposed I could be,” he murmured. His position at the Academy forbade any fraternization with a donor. It was yet another obstacle that bid him forget about whatever childish emotions welled themselves inside of his mind. “My affections for Anya have grown beyond that of friends,” he admitted. The feeling of her soft skin imprinted itself on his hands as he spoke, the feel of her breath as he kissed her, the sweet taste of her – she flooded into him all at once, and his chest tightened.

Jayce’s face softened and he began to smile.

“There is nothing to be done about it.” He turned back to his workbench.

“What do you mean?” Jayce asked, taken aback.

Viktor rolled his tongue in his mouth, his jaw stiffened and his eyes pierced through the pages of the book underneath his palms. He debated whether to speak of Anya’s species, but if he knew anything of his friend, he knew Jayce understood the value of a secret. “Anya is not like you and me. Her species is capable of living for a thousand years. In that time, they will have only one mate. It is for their lifetime. It is a bond that will last, even after death. My affection for her now will be meaningless in five hundred years.” He swallowed and closed the notebook. “She would be alone. That is not something I will allow.”

“So you’re not going to say anything?”

“I already have.”

“And? What did she say?”

“We have not spoken in a week, since.”

“Well what the hell did you say?”

Viktor rolled his eyes. “I was honest with her. It is what she deserves. I told her my affection, and also told her it was better we do not bond.”

“She deserves the opportunity to decide for herself, Viktor.”

The lines in Viktor’s face drew deeper, and he felt offense flush his face.

“You made the decision for her. What if she wants to be with you?”

“Then it would be better for me to suffer the next thirty years alone, than her for centuries more.”

Jayce stayed quiet as he watched his friend anguish.

“My refusal to bond with her is not out of arrogance or self-centeredness.”

“Viktor, she won’t wait for you forever.”

“That is exactly the point,” he denounced him. “Thirty years from now, I will be dead. And in three hundred years, she will find another she loves.”

“What if she doesn’t find anyone? What if it’s only you?”

“Statistics would argue otherwise.” He sighed and looked away from his friend as he leaned back in the chair. “I would never fault her for wanting to love another. But we will have already been bonded.”

“You say it like it’s a bad thing.”

“No, not bad – foolish. We are not the same kind. We were not meant to bond.” He ended the conversation and returned to his notes.

Jayce gave him a disgruntled frown, though he knew Viktor was unable to see it. He remained silent, and only watched his friend compartmentalize his pain – despite how well Viktor assumed he was hiding it, Jayce could see his grief plainly. They had not known each other long, but knew him to be a lonely, stoic man, who devoted his life to proving his worthiness through science and advancement. He was a good man, who always thought of others before himself. Who thought of the woman he loved before his own desires. Jayce could not say the same about himself. Though he did not know Anya well, he knew she was the only one who could make Viktor laugh and smile without restraint; when they were together, Jayce saw enjoyment in his life – rather than only discipline and hardship.

Perhaps he lived vicariously through his friend – that the merit of perseverance could be met with reward and happiness. Perhaps he resented him for refusing to accept such happiness. Or perhaps he was merely frustrated with his friend’s stubbornness. “You’re fighting this really hard,” he said.

Viktor took a grated breath and threw up his palms, knowing he would not get any work done with Jayce’s ever-optimistic meddling. “What would you have me do?”

“Stop sabotaging yourself.”

“And when she is left alone with no one, with nothing? What then? I will not be responsible for her suffering.”

“You already are.”

Viktor gnawed the inside of his mouth and looked away.

“You can’t live your life in the theoretical.”

Life was incalculably more complicated than the theoretical, or the practical – it was an egregious amalgamation of both, that fit neither descriptor. And sometimes, there were no viable solutions. Sometimes, there was only the best that could be done. Viktor’s parents did the best they could, despite their poverty, despite their flaws and faults. There were times, much like this, he wished he could talk to them. Ask for their guidance and advice, their life experience. But even without it, Viktor did the best he could.

That was all that could be done.

Viktor drove a carriage from the Academy, after Jayce left the lab in the late afternoon. The Sun was setting, and dusk and rain were easily approaching on the horizon – cooler hues of orange and magenta sunk with the dark, impending clouds behind the Piltover skyline, and Viktor recalled a time when he could not see the Sun set, nor when it rose. He drove in silence as he mulled over the arguments of his friend, and the blistered emotions that imprinted themselves within his chest. The ability to intuit the machine beneath his hands allowed his mind to wander freely; he shifted it from each of its gears without fault or hesitation, and his left leg moved with ease to control the clutch and acceleration. The ability to pilot a machine granted him freedom from the physical fetters that plagued him daily – the rare moments in which he felt his body free from restraint, granted his mind clarity and respite.

Anya deserved honesty, he concluded. Honesty – not only in his emotions, but in his actions. There was a distinct line he observed: to deny them both the opportunity of bonding was dishonest, to himself, and also to her. Jayce, for all his meddling, had been correct: Anya deserved to make her own honest decisions, and Viktor was required to trust her instincts, and trust the decisions she made for the course of her future. It was iniquitous, and it was presumptuous to determine her future for her. It was her future. Not his. But together, they could share the present.

The road to her home was winding, along a paved path lined with trees and wildlife. Though her mansion was modern, even by the Kiramann’s standards, the reclusivity and pastoral beauty of its location was something that appealed to him. Her culture revolved around the natural world, around the connection between their species and all life around them. It suited her that her home was deep within the forest. The fresh air of the treeline, and the onset of clean rain was a relief to his lungs, and to the memories of Zaun’s filth that permeated his mind.

The carriage pulled into the circular driveway, and he could see a dim light through the many windows of the house. Rain pummelled his shoulders the moment he stepped out, and he hurried with his cane as well as he could across the cobblestone for cover underneath the porch. But the winds were shifting through the forests and mountains around them, and despite the cover of the overhang, the rain smattered him sideways. He pulled a gilded knocker on the door, and tapped it three times. He waited, eagerly, and mulled over everything he wanted to say while he attempted to keep a chill at bay.

Moments seemingly blurred into hours, and, presently, Anya answered the door.

“Viktor?” She stared at him, shocked – misery clung to his features, and she knew he had not slept; hunger drew the color from his face, and the rain drenched him from his hair to his shoes.

Everything he wanted to say, everything he planned on saying – every point he wanted to make suddenly vanished. He stood there – dumb and silenced.

“Are you alright?”

But everything he wanted to say, could be condensed into one singular phrase: “Anya, I love you.” He met her eyes with pleading, and swallowed; he felt bare having said the words aloud. “I do not know anything with certainty, but that I love you. I do not know the future. And I know nothing of magic. But, I try.” Even in the downpour around them, his throat felt parched. “I want to try. For however long the future will have me in this life. If you will have me.”

Anya’s heart raced within her, and she saw their future written plainly on his face: one of happiness, and one of hope – despite whatever hardships they might face. Her smile trembled at the thoughts and images that played before her mind’s eye. She nodded, breathless.

But he shook his head, afraid she had given her blessing too soon. He reached for her, as if to implore her, and petition her grace. “I cannot give you status. I can give you no children –”

She dismissed his fear, and cupped his face. “I do not bond with you for what you can give me,” she said. “My bond is my love for you, Viktor. Always.”

Viktor weakened at her words, and water flushed his face – though from tears, or from the rain, he could no longer distinguish. Her hands were warm, and any part of him that had been frozen or chilled melted at her touch. He nuzzled his cheek into her palm, and took her hand to kiss it – his cane moved to the crook of his arm. He breathed in her scent and revelled in the benevolence of her softness, with the thought of awakening to her beside him every morning, and falling asleep to the sound of her every night. He looked to her one last time: “Are you certain?”

“More than anything.” She brushed the water from the stern lines of his countenance, and gently pulled him towards her.

Gladly, he met her lips and drank in the sweetness of her taste. He caressed his palms around her face, where he left behind streaks of rain on her skin, and on her clothes. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him taut, pressed against her.

Viktor took a breath and leaned against her face as she nuzzled her head into his shoulder. A pang gathered in his throat: not one of sadness, nor of the grief that had so despairingly plagued him the last week, but a pang of great and overwhelming emotion. Which emotion he could not clearly ascertain: happiness, relief, uncertainty and anxiousness of the future. It was akin to the peace and quiet calm that is only left behind after a storm. He felt a tear escape him, amidst the serenity inside of him. “What must I do,” he asked, his voice overcome with whelm and affection, “to bond with you, with the ritual of your people?”

Anya held him tighter with gratitude for his recognition, and moved to see his eyes: “You must find me a feather, and braid it into my hair.”

The carnal intimacy of her sacred hair – to caress it, and comb it, to bring her pleasure with it, seldom occurred to him, but the thought was ardent and clear to him now. He stroked the side of her face, where the back of his hand graced against the edge of her mane; she emanated a quiet purr at his touch, and he relinquished his hand, flustered – though she had made no effort to pull away from him. He took her hand, instead, and kissed it once more.

Anya invited him inside, to warm himself by the fire; he sat on the couch where she had staked herself throughout the afternoon – books were still strewn across the salon, he chose one as he put his leg up onto an ottoman. Before he could protest, she poured him a hot cup of coffee of his own, and offered him a helping of sweet bread and fresh cheese.

“Thank you,” he said, and took the cup and plate.

“You forgot to eat again.”

“Bad habit,” he looked at her, diffident.

She raised a brow. “Which means you have also forgotten your medicine.”

Realization struck him, and he searched his pocket for his pill case. In the wave of ecstasy and emotion, he had not felt the pain in his back and hip, but as his mind anchored itself again, he felt it worm itself into the forefront of his attention.

Anya sat next to him, and leaned against him as he ate, and drank, and swallowed his pills. He looked at her, in the firelight – she was the beauty of a brilliant star, illuminated by the cosmos. He wrapped her in a blanket that was thrown behind them on the couch. He wondered, what life would be like thirty years thence, when he was frail, when he had even less to give her – nothing except the love he would always have for her. He saw his own future with her, as the fire danced across her: lenitive, contented, and a life in which he may always be free from fear. With her, Viktor felt safe. He always had. He always would.

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