Chapter Text
Inevitably, the time comes where Timmy has to return to Red Fountain. Alfea has curfews and Red Fountain’s wards won’t let him in if he’s back after ten p.m., but the closer it gets to his departure the more panicked Tecna finds herself. He leaves before Bloom, Stella and Aisha get back, offering a gentle hug and a promise to return the next day as soon as he can. On the bright side, tomorrow is Saturday, so there are no classes to contend with – just awkward explanations to the other boys whom Timmy has promised not to tell.
Musa and Flora (with Timmy’s help before he’d left) had eventually court-martialled Tecna from the balcony and taken her to her room. Her left arm is currently cuffed to the bedpost, courtesy of Musa, who had waggled her eyebrows infuriatingly at Tecna as she’d done it.
“This is a very, very bad dream, and when I wake up tomorrow, there will be no handcuffs and no Stormy.” Tecna informs them, pointedly ignoring Musa and settling back against her pillows as Flora brings in a steaming mug of chamomile tea.
“Sorry, nerd brain,” Musa clicks her tongue. She doesn’t sound very sorry, which Tecna thinks is rather poor best friend behaviour. “Unfortunately, the image of Stormy straddling you is forever burned into my skull.”
“I hate the plot of whatever steamy fanfiction this is,” Tecna informs them. “And I will not succumb to its tropes.”
“You tell ‘em, baby girl,” Musa agrees, dropping Tecna’s game controller and headphones on her lap rather unceremoniously. “In the meantime, here’s something to keep you occupied while I take a much-needed bath. Sing out if the others get back before I’m done, yeah?”
Tecna looks dubiously at the controller. “You can’t just placate me like a toddler,” she snaps, though her fingers are itching to do something to take her mind off Stormy. Something that doesn’t involve a vibrator, for the record.
“Digit said she’s free for a round of Street Brawler-something?” Flora sing-songs, to which Tecna sighs.
“Street Fighter VI,” she grumbles, but suddenly she feels lighter. The idea of a violent online gaming session sounds honestly, like the perfect distraction. Besides, since Timmy’s departure, Tecna’s already feeling antsy. Without even realising it, she’s been relentlessly trying to slide her fingers out of the cuffs, and there’s a dull ache in her wrists. “Fine. I suppose I could be tempted to indulge. I hope Digit knows she doesn’t stand a chance.”
Flora smiles broadly. “Amazing! Would you like company?”
The next half hour is positively surreal. Musa has disappeared for her bath and left Tecna and Flora to their own devices. Flora, who has never, ever shown interest in a video game her entire life, is sitting in Tecna’s bed as Tecna beats the shit out of Digit, who’s currently brawling as Ryu. It’s a mark of how frustrated Tecna is today, because she never beats Digit in Street Fighter and she sincerely hopes that Digit feels the keen sting of Tecna’s victory all the way from Pixie Village. Tecna and Flora are both tucked under the covers, Flora gasping every time one of them lands a punch. Tecna is shocked at how well she’s doing, even with one hand twisted awkwardly as it’s attached to the bedframe.
“Oh goodness, it’s quite… um… aggressive, don’t you think?”
“I’m picturing Digit’s avatar as Stormy,” Tecna informs her, punctuating each syllable with a button mash. On-screen, Chun-Li roundhouse kicks Ryu in the head.
“Couldn’t you and Digit play a farming simulator? I heard there’s a good one called, um…”
“Those are not productive outlets for my current mood, Flora,” Tecna says, eyes still glued to the screen.
There’s another long bout of silence between them. Flora is picking at a loose thread on Tecna’s blankets, and Tecna pretends not to notice as she continues to mash buttons and convert all of her sexual frustration to fierce anger.
Then, Flora says. “T? How are you feeling?”
“Great,” says Tecna, through gritted teeth.
“O-okay,” says Flora. “Yeah. I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, it’s just… I’m worried. And you seem… not yourself.”
“Oh,” says Tecna, her voice dripping with sarcasm. The Tecna who is still in there somewhere – the one not addled by the curse and shaking the bars of the cage she’s been imprisoned in deep within her mind – tries to bite her tongue, but the words come out without her permission. “What gave that away, Flora? I am in an incredible amount of pain, and my so-called friends are trying to keep me away from the one thing that might help me, and you’re asking if I’m okay?”
“Pain?” says Flora, her voice soft. “W-we didn’t know…?”
Neither did Tecna. But now that she’s admitted it, she becomes acutely aware of just how aflame her body feels. Her chest is tight, her fingers feel like they’re being stabbed with tiny needles, her thighs on fire. If she doesn’t do something about it, soon, she feels like she’s going to fucking explode.
“Well, you wouldn’t, would you, Flo?” snaps Tecna, meanly. The sane part of her brain is screaming at her to shut up. “You lot care more about our reputation being tarnished than helping me through this.”
“Our… reputation?” Flora says, almost in a whisper, like she can’t quite comprehend what Tecna’s saying. “T… No. I care about you. And what you want. And how anything you do in this state is not consensual. And certainly not sexy.” She tacks the last part on with a weak little smile, like she’s trying to appeal with humour to the part of Tecna’s hex-addled mind that she’s hoping and praying is still in there somewhere.
But Tecna is so far gone that she can hardly see Flora sitting beside her anymore. The sight of her fills Tecna with so much disgust that it bubbles from the bottom of her gut and makes her want to vomit.
Unfortunately, she doesn’t get much of a chance to continue from here. There’s a bang from the living room and a sudden cacophony of voices, Stella’s loudest of all. They’ve returned; hopefully with answers.
Without an explanation to Digit, Tecna shuts off the game with a flick of her free wrist and swallows hard. Beside her, Flora shoots her an anxious look.
“We’re in Tec’s room!” she calls out.
The door bursts open and Stella’s the first one in. There’s not a hair out of place, clipped back with tiny silver star pins. The only sign that she’s even been to the Linphean wilderness is the light brown dusting of dirt clinging to the hem of her jeans. Immediately, she zeroes in on Tecna and her eyes flick with mirth to the cuff connecting Tecna’s left wrist to the headboard.
“Hot,” she says.
Tecna scowls, but the reminder of her predicament has her absentmindedly tugging at her restraints in a not-so-subtle attempt to thwart them.
“How did you go?” Flora asks, anxiously wringing her hands together. Normally, she keeps her fingernails manicured and painted with soft pastels, but Tecna can tell how stressed she’s been because she’s bitten them down to tiny stubs.
Bloom and Aisha sidle in after Stella, both of them grim-faced and equal parts exhausted looking.
“Well, we figured it out,” Bloom announces, with the air of breaking the news of a dead relative. Her tone immediately sets Tecna on edge.
“And?”
“You and Stormy pissed off a dryad because you barbecued a few oak trees in that fight. And apparently, dryads don’t like technology. Or Zenethians.” Aisha shrugs. “Sorry, T. Although, judging by the battlefield, I’m gonna say this one’s mostly on Stormy.”
“So she made us horny? What kind of punishment is that?” Tecna is so surprised that she forgets to keep attempting to wriggle out of her cuffs. She can feel Flora’s eyes on her from her periphery, the fairy of nature clearly debating whether or not she should tell the others just how far gone their friend really is.
“Well, she thought it might get you to stop fighting. Unfortunately, I think Stormy’s idea of flirting is pretty similar to her idea of fighting.” Aisha crosses the room, perches on the end of Tecna’s bed and flops backwards so she’s staring up at the ceiling. The weight of her on Tecna’s legs is surprisingly grounding, which is the only reason Tecna doesn’t immediately tell her to get off. “Anyway. The dryad said if you both go to her and apologise very profusely, she might lift the hex.”
“Might?” Tecna echoes, feeling suddenly faint. Her wrist is burning. “Might?”
“Most likely,” Bloom says with a fake smile from somewhere near the doorway. Tecna doesn’t smile back.
A beat, then; “Stormy was there.” Stella says with an expectant clear of her throat.
Tecna stares at her. “What?” If she concentrates very hard, she can smell the lingering aphrodisiac of burning lightning and rain and chaos that’s somehow followed her friends all the way back to their dorm. Tecna wants to take that smell – Stormy’s – and bottle it like perfume. And then she wants to boil herself alive for ever thinking such a thing.
“We ran into Stormy in the forest. I don’t know how we’re going to somehow get you both in one place without you going full feral on us.”
Tecna’s mouth goes bone dry. “She– did she say anything? I mean, she’s affected too, right? I wasn’t wrong?”
“She’s very in denial, but yeah. You’re both hexed,” Bloom looks positively grim as she and Stella exchange looks.
Tecna hates how much the thought of this kind of thrills her, in some sick and twisted way. And she’s about to say something – what, she doesn’t really know – when Musa appears suddenly behind Stella and Bloom. Her hair is wrapped in a towel, and she’s dressed in a deep maroon bathrobe, biting her lip anxiously.
“Uh, hate to be the bearer of bad news, folks,” she announces. “But Stormy’s standing on our balcony waving a literal white flag.”
Suddenly, almost as though a switch has been flicked, Tecna’s tugging harder at her cuffs and lets out a little huff of frustration as all that happens is the metal bites hard into her skin. That aphrodisiac, the scent of a summer storm, is making her dizzy. “Let. Me. Go.” Her stomach floods with heat, her limbs feel like they’re on fire. Stormy is right out there. If they’d just let her go, let her– Her brain feels like it’s been stuffed full of cotton, her limbs like lead, her chest taught like string.
She does not stop to think how it is that Stormy is somehow here, of all places. Perhaps she had followed the others back to Alfea. Perhaps the dryad had helped her along, in the name of encouraging the mischief she had started. All she can think is, what luck!
Her friends stand around her, like little toy soldiers, and Tecna is so far gone at this point that their voices are muffled in her ears and they are like nothing but backdrops to the scene of her and Stormy and whatever-the-fuck is going on between them.
“Whoa, no!” Flora grabs Tecna by her shoulders. “No, no, sweetie. You’re staying here, yeah?”
“Let me go! Let me out!” Tecna’s hissing in a voice that doesn’t feel like it belongs to her. It’s like she’s watching herself from afar, her body possessed by someone alien and terrifying. “Please, please, please, Flora, I need to–” she grips Flora’s arm just hard enough to hurt, and the fairy of nature yelps and all but flings herself out of Tecna’s bed like she’s been burned. Aisha sits up suddenly like she’s propelled herself off a springboard.
This time, it’s Musa who takes charge. “Alright, my bad, probably should’ve kept that information from her,” she announces as a lame attempt at an apology to the room at large. Bloom is busy glaring with an expression of utmost frustration, but Musa ignores her. She sidles forward and approaches Tecna gently with the air of someone approaching a wounded lion. “Tec, I need you to think. Come on. This isn’t you. This is the opposite of you, actually.”
Tecna’s so frustrated now, she’s almost in tears, pulling so hard at the cuffs that her wrist feels like it’s been branded by a hot poker. The fire in the pit of her stomach is burning with need. How could her friends do this to her? How could they keep her away from Stormy when she is in so much pain and so desperate and her body feels like it’s being cleaved in two? “Please, Musa, please, I need to g–go.” Her forehead is damp with sweat. Her limbs buzz with adrenaline and electric fire, a mingling of digital energy and the ferocity of Stormy’s lightning which is crackling in the air around them. The dorm itself seems to shake with the violence of a summer storm.
Somewhere towards the doorway, Stella is speaking. Her voice is more menacing than Tecna has ever heard it, but she’s struggling to make out her words through the cotton in her head.
“Stay right where you are,” Stella snaps, addressing someone in the living room beyond.
Tecna’s heart begins to thunder; the implication is not wasted on her. There’s still a keen mind ticking away beneath the haze of insanity plaguing her. Stormy’s here. She’s inside. She knows, all of a sudden, that more than anything, she needs to get out. To reach her.
“Why?” Stormy snarls and the sound of her voice makes Tecna’s breath catch. She pictures the cadence of it low in her ear, Stormy’s lips by her temple, on her neck, her ribs, the curse driving all of the inhibitions and the guilt and the disgust from her brain so that the sudden wave of need that hits her gut is simply all-consuming. “Worried about the virtue of your pet dork?”
“Oh, very original,” Stella grumbles. “You know what, you stupid bitch, Tecna’s a dork, but she’s our dork. Piss off.”
Tecna’s too far gone at this point to be flattered. Instead, her eyes zero in on Stormy, who’s just appeared somewhere beyond the doorway, and she tries to stagger to her feet – grunting with frustration as she fights to wrench herself out of her cuffs. Her wrists feel hot, the cuffs digging just deep enough to draw blood. Somewhere beside her, Musa’s in a panic.
“Tec, Tec, stop! You’re going to hurt yourself!”
But Tecna can’t bring herself to care. Stormy’s there. Her hair is twisted in a bun above her head, curls framing her face and her ears, her lips painted soft red and her eyes rimmed with eyeliner so dark they make the blue of her irises shine brighter than the sun. The ache in Tecna’s wrist is hardly relevant, just background noise to the cacophony in her brain. She’s sweating, literally sweating with need. And just as the rational part of her brain is wondering why Stormy seems hardly as affected as she is, Stormy snaps those perfectly manicured fingers and Tecna’s cuffs open with a gentle click.
It’s like a switch flicks. The moment she’s free, Tecna surges, lunging to her feet and shoving past her friends with a speed she didn’t even know she was capable of. Aisha tries to grab her on the way past, but Tecna grits her teeth, and a shockwave of electrical energy sparks from her skin and forces her friends backwards with pained yelps. Immune, and delighted by the electrical pulse, Stormy just grins at her like a beacon as Tecna’s vision fucking tunnels.
Suddenly, Tecna’s gripping the front of Stormy’s shirt with both hands and pulling her close – so close she can smell the vanilla tang of her perfume mixed with an undercurrent of crackling ozone and the scent of breath mints on her tongue. Stormy lets out a sound somewhere between a yelp and a bark of delighted laughter and grips Tecna’s hips just so–
“No!” Musa shouts, and the sound ricochets so loudly that Tecna drops her grip on the storm witch to cover her ears, gasping with pain.
Then, someone’s wrenching Tecna’s arms behind her back, the warmth of their grip suggesting probably Bloom who’s shouting for someone – Flora? – and there’s a sudden strong, flowery scent and an explosion of pink fog and… suddenly everything is fading. Her friends sound very, very far away and the smell of Stormy’s perfume melts into nothingness and everything goes black.