#and i think her begging to keep the Anchor would also cut pretty deep

[midmorninggrey]

[fenristheorem]

Hi can we ask you nsfw headcanons for lance please?

Oh hell yea you can! I suppose since you asked kindly. 😉

*Note: This post is completely nsfw - as asked for - and is, therefore, descriptive and filthy and has lots of swears. There are absolutely no safe / non-descriptive parts through this, so don’t read if you’re uncomfortable with descriptive sexual situations or explicit language.

Also, I sort of inserted Guardienne into this - rather than leaving this without mention of a partner - for the sake of being able to describe things easier.

~Under the cut~

General nsfw for Lance:

To start off, Lance is likely quite large. He’s very tall and is probably very muscular (considering his profession) noticeably very muscular (thanks episode 4), and while that doesn’t necessarily mean that he’s large, it’s clear that his genetics have left him gifted with height and a masculine body (broad shoulders, high cheekbones, etc.) so that likely translates to his manhood as well. He’s not the largest male to ever exist, but he’s certainly larger than average and is generously thick. He has one or two prominent veins that run jaggedly down his length, and leans slightly to the side when fully hardened. His grooming routine is very basic - just enough to keep from things being unmanageable down there - and is completely flexible if his partner would like him to shave or grow out a bit more.

Lance hasn’t had sex for nearly as long as he can clearly remember - and those memories are usually overwritten with nauseating whispers that remind him that that was during a time when he was naive and spiraling towards an inevitable downfall into madness and destruction against Eldarya - so the first time he experiences these kind, pleasurable touches again, when he’s stable and with a clear mind, it’s intense and he truly embraces the feel. He falls into her with a heat and passion that he’s long since forgotten, but has now been remembered and revived by her presence and want for this. However, once the first time is over - it’s over. It stays with him always, though - it was his first time with a woman in years and the first time since he’s righted himself.

His manner changes in time - but only to some degree. He’s less quickly taken by the pleasure and can hold out longer, and he finds that he really likes to torture her with long bouts of foreplay when he can finally manage to restrain himself for that. Of course, he needs to be in a certain mood to do that. It’s much more common for him to tease her until she’s moaning and wet for him, and then let himself indulge in her slick warmth until he loses himself in her. Those times where he tortures her with long, relentless forms of foreplay happen only when he knows he can hold out for hours watching her writhe and moan and pant beneath him, holding her down as sweat glosses her skin and her desperation leaves her begging for him.

That being said: sex becomes a major outlet for him. He’s a warrior, so it’s common for him to practice his fighting skills against other members of the Obsidian guard and release energy and emotions that way, but it’s not very intimate - he has a lot of future opportunities to practice his skills and it gets tiring to be constantly pummeled with attacks - and it does get a bit boring when you learn each and every colleague’s tactics and know so many tactics yourself that it’s not very hard to win. Late nights spent with his woman become cherished moments in between his routine life of fighting, trying to forgive himself, and making sure everyone is kept in check. There are times where he’s soft, gentle - tracing his fingers over her skin as he breathes in her scent and basks in her warmth and kind touch. He’ll take her slowly, keeping their lips locked in deep, passionate kisses while holding her close as he makes love to her. However, there are also times where he fucks to forget. Memories will come upon him - all bad and unwelcoming to the point where he nearly isolates himself for the day to attempt to hopelessly mend himself - or the day will be overly stressful with no feelings of hope, and he’ll take comfort in the pain that lashes across his back as she claws at him, or the way her lewd screams for him will drown out his own internal screams desperately wishing that things turned out differently. He’ll find himself fucking into her until he can’t possibly think of moving afterward - when he seeks to curl up into her arms and sleep away his troubles - and when she’s nearly crying from the erotic pleasure he drowns her in, he’ll be forgetting what it was like for him to have ever been in agony of any sort.

He doesn’t like that second form of sex very much. It’s enjoyable when they’re both in the mood to be rough and fuck each other up, but the mentality he’s in then versus when he fucks because he needs the distraction is very different. He enjoys rough sex on the occasion, but he hates sex that's used to forget and wear himself out - but he’s not sure of any other tactics that will ease him of that pain in the same way rough sex does.

Just as he enjoys rough sex (normal rough sex, not the desperate-to-forget type), he also enjoys softer forms of sex. After years upon years of doing nothing but fighting and suffering in pain, it’s nice to be able to embrace his partner with soft, kind touches as he presses into her - knowing that he could easily go for hours on end and countless rounds without growing tired of the passionate yet relaxed pace he sets. Her touch is gentle and welcoming, always pulling him closer and running over his form as she kisses him sweetly. Occasionally a thought, a comparison sparked from her gentleness, will run through his mind - a reminder that he’s agonized through so much in his fucked up life - but it’s quickly, easily dismissed as he recognizes that things are different now. He has her, and as he anchors his partner completely against him, grinding his hips against hers and filling her slowly again and again, his thoughts are washed away in another way - a subtle, quiet way that’s almost bittersweet until he no longer remembers what began to eat at him. Lance likes to truly embrace her in these soft moments; gently holding her thighs to keep her open for him, resting his forehead against hers and keeping affectionate eye contact, softly tracing the sensitive parts of her skin with a brush of his calloused fingers, pressing passionate, slow kisses to her lips and neck as he urges her to hold him closer. He’ll never once falter as he moves within her, wishing to portray through his touch what words could never say; wishing she could even begin to grasp just how much her companionship means to him.

Rough sex is typically used for him to forget, soft sex is used for him to truly love her.

In terms of where they have sex; he’s not afraid to be a bit adventurous. Although he feels most safe in their bedroom, sometimes the urge is just so overwhelming that he needs to have her in the middle of the day. So take her to their room and have his way with her? Nope, he's been fantasizing about taking her on the conference room table, so that's where it's going to happen if there's no one around. He’ll assess her first, making sure she’s not in a bad mood that could interfere with his advancements and cause a possible scene, and then drag her - subtly - to a secluded corner of the guard and have his way with her, be it on a table, against the wall, or even if he needs to hold her up without any other support - he’s a warrior, he has the strength to suspend her weight on his own. Lance will typically find a place where no one really visits to do this, but occasionally they’ll feel very risky and have a quick round in a currently quiet but semi-active place. Let’s just say that they’ll never view the forge or conference room in the same way... These times in semi-active places are usually pretty late at night, though - when Lance is working a late night at the forge or they know the conference room won’t be busy for a few hours... usually.

An important thing to know is that he sees sex in a very instinctual, carnal way. He’s deeply in tune with his emotions and - being a dragon - his instincts as well. For him, sex is a great way to connect with his partner and blow off steam, but he makes it clear early on that - while he can control himself and back off if she needs a moment to breathe - he can only control himself so much during the moment. Sex is emotional and instinctual; if she’s giving no signs of being uncomfortable then he’s just as much a victim of his overwhelming desires that submerge him in violent torrents of racking need in the same way he does to her. For this reason, their safe-words and touches (in the case where they can’t speak) are very clear and easy to recognize, so he can be quick to realize her distress and reign himself in to back off. The last thing Lance wants is to accidentally hurt her or make her uncomfortable about joining him in bed again - or being around him in general after seeing him in such a vulnerable, feral state - so before they get into anything too crazy he’s quick to communicate concerns with her and form ideas to assure nothing goes wrong. 

Lance would never in a million years reveal his kinks... and Guardienne would be rendered speechless with her face the color of a sunset at a reminder of those nights. What kinks Lance is into that night depends on his mood really. Some days, when he’s feeling good - assertive and possessive - and he’ll advance on her confidently. He’ll pin her down on the bed, holding her wrists above her with one hand while the other evokes his powers to make the skin of his hand ice cold as it ghosts over her in specific ways that perk her senses. Lance may take a soft rope or fabric and tie her wrists or blindfold her - even better if it’s both - and purposefully leave her untouched for a certain amount of time. She’ll grow shy as she knows he’s admiring every part of her, but she won’t have long to think about it before he starts to touch her - the pad of his thumb brushing over her nipple before gently pinching, his other hand ghosting up her inner thigh to rest near her slit, his mouth trailing along her lower abdomen as he kisses lower and lower until his tongue laps at her. The air in the room will grow cold around her as she arches her back and moans, writhing softly against her restraints and his warm touch as the hand Lance rested on her thigh joins his ministrations directly between her legs. Later on, when he’s so deep inside her dripping warmth that his head spins, he’ll take her neck in hand and squeeze, ice blue eyes meeting her lustful gaze with a heat of his own as he fucks her and chokes her. He won’t mind if she claws haphazardly at him - he has scars already, what are a few more that were received during their passionate, late-night romps? Lance isn’t worried about if he’s too rough, either; he’s treated her way worse in the past and they’ve established a clear network of terms and touches if either of them need a break or can’t handle something at the moment.

He’ll enjoy dirty talk as well, whether it’s him or her speaking - although he really enjoys her responses to his comments. His voice will drop octaves lower, a rumbling rasp taking his voice as he speaks and says the most filthy things to her with a faint cruel grin. Some days she’s easily taken by pleasurable touches he inflicts on her, readily begging and pleading for him to appease her needs as she submits to him. Other days she’ll want a fight, responding to his commands with witty remarks - sparked only because she likes the way he looks at her when he’s defied - that urge him to growl and stare at her with burning eyes as he fantasizes her impending surrender. Occasionally those witty remarks - followed by more sensual pressuring from his end - turn into deals; she’ll do this, as he’s been demanding, as long as he allows her to do this to him afterwards. These agreements are nearly always accepted, only rejected in the rare case where Lance couldn’t possibly hold out that long for her to tease him in a certain way, but when they’re accepted they’ve always yielded tantalizing results.

Don’t even begin to tempt him with a good pair of lingerie, though. Sex, again, is a very instinctual, feral thing for him. He has a very hard time controlling his impulses when they’re evoked while his partner is around, especially in private, so when she purposefully tempts him - knowing very well how fragile his sexual self-control is - by sitting him down and stripping and waltzing around his room with nothing but thin, taunting underwear on he nearly loses himself completely. Guardienne knows to use caution when bearing lingerie - it has a heavy effect on Lance as it’s almost guaranteed to throw him into a fit of blind lust, picking her up and throwing her on the bed or pinning her against the wall to hold her still and stare down at her, burning the image into his mind before having his way with her. However, once in a while, Lance will sit obediently as she bears herself, only just faintly breathing as he watches her move in alluring, seductive ways that leave his cock aching and his skin shivering. He’ll wait patiently for her to come to him, but once she settles on his lap she’s fair game, and he’ll quickly take her under him to attack her. He makes a point not to tear the underwear though - he wants to see it again in the future.

He’s fine with nearly any position she wants at the moment, but he does have a few favorites. He loves missionary for a multitude of reasons; he can watch every expression that flits across her features, hear her lewd moans and pleads better (he doesn’t care if that makes her a bit louder than what he’s usually comfortable with), hold her in a variety of ways ranging from possessively / aggressively pinning her down, to tenderly / sensually laying completely against her, he can adjust her legs or entwine their fingers, and kiss her whenever he wishes (which is especially helpful if he feels she’s becoming loud enough to hear through the walls). Doggy is a favorite as well; it’s nice to rest his weight on her back as he grasps her hips and ruts into her, kissing and biting at the back of her neck and having the freedom to wrap his arms completely around her to pull her back into him. He’ll happily hold her up against a wall (or nothing at all) with her legs around his waist or suspended by his forearms, and will eagerly bend her over a table, or - if they’re truly desperate enough to revert to that sort of animalism - will take her right on the floor if they can find a comfortable position. Occasionally Guardienne will ride him, and while he’ll gladly take to controlling the situation from below, he’ll also enjoy being allowed to lay there watching and basking in the wonderful pleasure she inflicts on him.

He knows all of his partner’s sensitive spots; he’s explored her body many times over and purposely takes to memorizing (and testing) which spots make her tick for the sole sake of knowing how to rile her up whenever he wants. It took his partner a bit longer to learn his sensitive spots, but through the deals they’ve made she’s managed to hold him down long enough to discover these gems (yes, she’s had Lance tied up helpless in front of her multiple times to discover this stuff, it’s a sight to behold.) Of course there are the typical sensitive spots like the neck, lips, pelvis, etc., but she’s found a few other specifics in time. Pulling at his hair, gently biting the muscle just behind and below his ear, nipping at his ear, and digging her nails into the lower back of his neck are a few spots that have been discovered over time, bound to draw a rough grunt or a growl from him as he grips her hips or jerks aggressively against his bindings. Clawing at his lower back when she’s under him, especially paired with clinging tightly to him, provokes an assertive quality within that leads him to hold his hips against tightly hers and anchor his upper body around her as he moves within her core without breaking away from her. When she rides him, pressing her hands into the muscles of his lower abdomen while her hips roll rhythmically against his spurs him to arch his back just slightly in an attempt to lift his hips from the bed, beautifully tensing his body in response to her surging movements as he grunts and heaves a breath.

In the end, it matters less on what and where his sensitive spots are, and more on how she uses it to her advantage. His partner will have the most unrestricted access to these spots when his wrists are tied and immovable from above his head - although she doesn’t really like to blindfold him as she can’t see his burning, icy eyes as they lock onto her or flick closed in moments of ecstasy - and they’ve learned in time that they need to use soft rope or chains to keep him bound. Any thinner material and the hold will snap under his strength as he loses himself to the occasional struggle against his restrains, seeking in the moment only to escape and throw her under him so he can have his way with her. The first time they realized this was a rather surprising but thrilling experience... However, when they finally manage to find a material that can withstand his strength, his partner will be the one who needs to hold back on her desires for a while now - for the sake of watching how Lance’s scarred, tanned skin tightens around hard muscles as he groans and pants under her teasing ministrations. Faint beads of sweat will accumulate on his skin, casting a beautiful sheen over him while she kisses and nips at his skin, one delicate hand braced on his lower abdomen while the other brushes along his strong hips, touching anywhere but his hardened, twitching cock as pre-cum wells at the tip. All of the teasing of his sensitive spots are just foreplay up until the point where she finally moves lower, settling down at his hips to take his length into her mouth, dragging her tongue along him and sucking at his head as he growls, snarls, and pulls against his restrains until she’s finally waited enough and leans over him to sink down onto his thickness with a moan. His muscles will ripple under gleaming skin as he fights the clattering restraints again, his partner pulling the hair at the nape of his neck while sucking and nibbling at his upper neck as he grunts husky, cavernous moans. Much of the time she’ll need to make sure he isn’t accidentally pulling himself higher on the bed as he flexes his arms - this is usually solved by anchoring her weight onto his lower abdomen or hips - as he certainly has the strength to do so with ease, and she’ll need to brace herself when she finally releases him from his restrains; he’ll grasp her without mercy and throw his weight on top of her to pin her down and fuck into her at a breathtaking pace - and this is also how she found out that digging her nails into his lower back reinforces his dominating behavior.

This leads to his manner in bed. Lance is quite adaptable with how he treats her - always assuring that she’s enjoying, of course - and his spectrum can range from being a gentleman and taking her softly and quietly to gripping at her ruthlessly and fucking her so hard it’s a miracle that the bed doesn’t break and neighbors don’t complain. The nature of their sex depends on both their moods - if they’re both feeling content and affectionate then that’ll likely translate into tender, slow touches that glide warmly along their skin, passionate kisses and soft moans as they embrace not just a bonding between their physical forms, but also a bonding on a deeper level of their existence. In the times where they’re feeling frisky and searching for a challenge, they’ll wrestle on the bed - fighting for dominance of the situation with tantalizing touches and sultry words - until Lance inevitably pins her down permanently. From this point, he’ll either torture her with pleasurably agonizing touches or she’ll strike a deal with him, agreeing to let her have control if these certain demands are met at some point. However, sometimes they don’t even need to make a deal - Lance is completely fine with being the one writhing beneath her for a change some days, all she needs to do is ask.

Just as Lance enjoys seeing his partner gasping helplessly beneath him, he also enjoys nights where their roles are reversed. He’s completely fine being bound, choked, bitten and clawed at - hell, sometimes he urges her to do so - enjoying seeing her submit to her desires and also because he enjoys the way he loses himself in his instincts as he growls, fights restraints, and grows lightheaded as pleasure overwhelms him. He views sex as an instinctual thing, but he doesn’t always let himself succumb completely to his desires as he knows it may be too overwhelming for her sometimes, so instead of exhausting her whenever he seeks to lose control, he let’s himself be bound so he can submit to his impulses as much as he wants while drawing their appetite out and giving her the satisfaction of the control as she watches him lose himself. His partner learns in time, too, that she can be as rough as she wants with him - especially when he truly succumbs to his carnal instincts - even to the point of drawing blood and leaving scars; he’s a powerful warrior, familiar with pain as it is, and isn’t afraid to incorporate that into his sex life if she’s in the mood to include it.

Lance is very versatile - he can be rough and demanding or soft and affectionate, but he’ll always portray himself in a very feral manner, whether he wants to or not. Due to this, sleeping with him isn’t for the faint of heart. This man would happily drown himself in a full, long night of overwhelming ecstasy with his partner, so she’ll need to be prepared for that possibility by having in-depth knowledge of his weak spots and what makes him tick if she wishes to survive the night and still walk in the morning. Fortunately, once she learns how he works, she shouldn’t have much of an issue in spending long nights with him - but she will need to remain cautious; the more she uses these pleasing tactics, the more he loses himself to his demanding instincts that tell him to pin her down and fuck her until the sun rises. Like that time where they found out that a mere thin cloth wouldn’t bind him; if she’s not careful she could find herself suddenly, unexpectedly beneath a passionately simmering dragon. Although, those times where he accidentally gains the upper hand in a fit of carnal aggression do seem to be much more thrilling and rewarding than when they expected him to be the dominant one...

I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of writing nsfw for Lance lol. I tried to cover a lot of different topics, but there’s certainly more that could be talked about, so I’m happy to do a part 2 if anyone wants to request it.

Thank you for requesting!

Have a request? Ask them here!

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[amanda-teaches]

It’ll Be Fun

Marvel Fanfic

Summary: You finally convince Bucky to attend one of Tony’s infamous parties at the compound, but things go south fast when invaders attack, leaving all of your lives in jeopardy. Bucky’s determined to do whatever he needs to do to keep you safe, even if that means putting his own life on the line.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 3545

Warnings: Intense situations, shooting, mentions of blood/bodies, injury, suggestive content.

A/N: This is for @arrowsandmixtapes​ Better Love Story Than Twilight Challenge. I hope you enjoy this one, Nic! I also included the prompt “Before I do this, I need you to know that I have always loved you” which was requested by @adventureisoutthere98 for my Writer + Reader challenge (my last request to fill!).

There was nothing quite like a Tony Stark party.

You attended your first one not long after you started working at Avengers Tower. Tony had invited you himself, walking his charming self down to your office to introduce himself and extend an invite to a “small get-together” he was having for some of the staff. Of course, you were honored he invited you, but your first instinct had been to decline. You would have too if it wasn’t for the other doctors in your unit descending on you, regaling you with stories about Tony’s “small get-togethers” and how they were anything but small. They practically begged you to go, saying you absolutely couldn’t miss it.

You reluctantly agreed, but you hadn’t really believed them until you arrived at the party and saw Beyoncé was scheduled to sing right after David Copperfield performed. 

You made sure you never missed a Tony party after that.

Over the ensuing years, you’d built real friendships with Tony and the rest of the team. You became one of their most trusted doctors, not only providing care at home but eventually venturing out into the field with them as well. When Bucky had been brought back to the newly-established Compound, you’d shifted gears, heading up his rehabilitation under Steve’s watchful eye. Bucky Barnes became your job.

It took a few good months to gain his trust and even more after that for him to start opening up to the others, but he didn’t open up much. It had been almost a year since he’d begun to call the compound his home, and he still spent the majority of his time with either you or Steve. You took it upon yourself to change that.

“Come on, Buck, it’s just a party.”

You plopped down on his bed, crossing your legs underneath you and staring expectantly at Bucky. He was standing with his back toward you, in front of his dresser with the top drawer open, but he stilled the moment you came in. His hands had stopped rifling around in the clothes when you spoke, and he paused, glancing over his shoulder at you. At the sight of you on his bed, he shook his head and laughed. “Yeah, sure, Y/N, come on in. Make yourself at home.”

“Oh, shush.” You admonished the sarcasm in his tone playfully, standing up and making your way to step in front of him, pressing your back up against the drawer to capture his view. “You act like I’m asking you to spend a night in jail.”

He raised his eyebrows, a teasing glint finding its way to his gaze. “A Stark party? Sounds like a form of capital punishment to me.”

“You’re so dramatic,” you laughed, pushing his chest with the flat of your hand, although it was about as effective as pushing a wall. “It’s not like it’ll kill you, Buck. All I’m asking for is one party. It’ll be fun.”

“Y/N…” You could hear the hesitation in his voice, so you cut him off at the knees.

“James Buchanan Barnes, I am your doctor, and I’m telling you, you’re going to this party. Don’t make me get Steve involved.”

He smirked, reaching one hand behind you to close the dresser drawer, his chest brushing against yours in the process. “Doctor’s orders?” he asked, his playful gaze remaining fixed on yours, the intensity in his eyes quickly accelerating your heart rate, not that you planned on letting him see that.

“Damn straight,” you directed, taking a breath and pushing him back again. This time he let you, moving back just enough for you to shimmy around him towards the door. You heard him chuckle behind you, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you smile in response. “7:30, Barnes. I expect you to be on your best behavior. And, for God’s sake, wear something nice. If you wear a tank top, I swear I’ll kick your ass.”

His deep laugh followed you all the way out the door.

To his credit, Bucky was trying his damndest to make it through this party without killing anyone.

He’d shown up at 7:30 on the dot, dressed in a nice suit you were pretty sure he’d borrowed from Steve, although you’d never call him on it. Taking his arm, you pulled him into the hanger Tony had converted into a party room more than rivaling the one he’d had back at the tower. Bucky stiffened when he saw all the people, but he kept his face neutral, although you knew it must’ve been killing him inside not to turn around and walk right out.

Applying gentle pressure on his arm, you smiled up at him, earning a smile right back. You guided him over to the bar that took up one wall, where Steve was waiting, drinks at the ready. Over the next hour, you watched Bucky resist the urge to grimace and squirm as guest after guest came over to talk with the three of you. Two world-renowned super soldiers were quite the attraction after all, and all of Tony’s high-profile friends were clamoring for a piece of the action. You knew Bucky hated every second.

You smiled and leaned into his side, dropping your voice so only he could hear. “You’re doing great.”

He returned your smile, his teeth gritting a little too hard as his metal arm snaked around your waist. “I’m this close to punching someone.”

“Just a little bit longer, Buck, and then the entertainment starts. Trust me, it’ll be worth it. I heard a rumor Tony’s got Cirque du Soleil lined up.”

“Dear God,” he groaned, his quiet laugh transforming his forced smile into a genuine one. “Nothing like our parties back in Brooklyn. You actually enjoy this stuff?”

“Oh, come on, it’s fun. Watching Tony’s friends? That’s some prime entertainment,” you teased back. “Besides, with these parties, you never know what crazy things will happen.”

He turned his head to look down at you, but whatever words he was going to utter next were lost to the sounds of a large blast from the other side of the room. Thinking it was part of the starting entertainment, you started to twist around, but Bucky grabbed you, hauling you up against him and dropping like a weight down to the floor.

“Buck, what the hell-” you screamed, but he was already moving, pulling you with him and yelling back over his shoulder. You were anchored securely to him, but you shifted your head to find Steve following close behind, his own back shielding you. It was only then that you registered the sound of gunshots echoing all around you and panic began to rise in your throat.

By the time you finally got your bearings, Bucky had dragged you behind the bar, kicking a stool out of the way to clear a space. He plunked you down with a loud thump and reached under the counter, pulling a pistol from its place taped underneath. “Steve, talk to me.”

Steve appeared on the other side of you like a ghost, yanking his own gun out from under the bar top. “I made at least 7, probably more. Came in the south side with a modified explosive device, loaded with semi-automatics.”

They exchanged a glance and raised up at the same time, firing three rounds over the bar top before dropping back down in unison to your side. Bucky glanced over at you. “You ok? You hurt?”

You shook your head slightly, still in shock. “I, I...Wait, how long have you had guns taped under here?”

He smiled at the way the spirit had returned to your voice, shaking his head right back. “Can we talk about that later?” He jumped back up, firing a few more rounds. “A little busy right now.”

Steve drew your attention then, calling Bucky’s name. “I’m going to flank around the back, try to clear the rest of the room, get out any civilians. You got her?”

Bucky nodded. “I’ll cover you.” He stood back up, firing into the open room as Steve ran past you, leaving the cover of the bar and speeding towards the other side of the room. When Bucky stopped firing, he dropped back down next to you, firmly grabbing your shoulder. “We gotta move. I’m out of bullets.”

“What, there aren’t any more secret weapons hidden somewhere?”

He smirked. “Not here. Come on, let’s move. Keep your head low.”

He grabbed your hand and suddenly you were running, trying not to trip in your heels as you all but flew across the room. You could see the carnage of broken furniture and a few fallen bodies behind you, but you shut your eyes tight against the sight, anchoring yourself to Bucky and trusting him to get you out of there. Feeling the shiver course through you, he swept you up against his side, lifting your feet from the ground without even slowing and carrying you the rest of the way.

He made a sharp right at the hallway, adjusting his grip so you were in front of him, shielded from any gunfire, and raced down the corridor, ducking into rooms every time he heard someone approaching. Not that anyone ever got close, because Bucky could practically hear them coming from a mile away. With no obstacles, you quickly made it back to his room where he shut and bolted the door, finally releasing you.

He moved towards the far wall without a word, opening the gun safe you knew he had hidden in a nightstand there. “Buck, what’re you doing? Who are those guys?”

“I don’t know,” he rushed out, pulling two guns out from the safe and tucking one into the back of his waistband. He stood back up and looked over at you, sighing heavily. “Stay here. Lock the door behind me and don’t let anyone in until I come back.”

He started to move past you but you grabbed his arm, holding him back. “Wait, you can’t go back out there. You have no idea what you’re up against. There’s too many of them, you could get yourself killed.”

“It’s my job, Y/N. There’s people out there who need my help. Steve is out there.”

“Buck…”

He transferred the gun to his metal hand, placing the back of his knuckles on your cheek. Gently, he wiped away the tear falling down it, letting his fingertips brush against your hair. Seeing the fear in your eyes, he gifted you with a smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back before you know it.”

You stepped closer, holding his gaze just as you had that morning, hating the resignation you saw there. “I’ll come with you. I can help.”

His face hardened at that suggestion, and he shook his head resolutely. “No, absolutely not.”

“Buck, I’m not some helpless damsel, I’m a doctor. I can help.”

“No,” he snapped, hard and fast. He closed his eyes at the sound of his own voice and softened his tone. “Please, Y/N. I can’t do this if I’m worried about protecting you. Stay here. Keep the door locked. Please.”

You knew he meant it, that he needed you to agree or he wouldn’t go, so you nodded, reaching out and taking his hand off your face, intertwining your fingers with his. “Be careful, okay?”

“Always am.” He smiled, letting your hand drop from his. He moved to open the door, placing his hand on the doorknob, but before he opened it, he hesitated. Turning back to you, he just stared for a moment, like he was drinking you in, trying to memorize every last detail. “Before I do this, I need you to know that...I have always loved you.”

And, then he was gone, just like that, without another word, leaving you alone and incredibly confused.

What the hell?

What was that supposed to mean, he loved you? Loved you like a friend, a pet dog, what? No, you knew what it meant. No one told you they loved you in the middle of gunfire unless it meant the real thing, the thing the two of you had been dancing around for months, the same all-consuming, heart-stopping love you’d felt for him since the moment he first came to the compound. 

But, seriously, what the hell? Where did he get off telling you that and just leaving, making you stay behind? What were you supposed to do now?

You hadn’t realized you were pacing until you found yourself on the other side of the room, your fists clenched tightly against your sides. You closed your eyes, and all you could see was Bucky’s face, smiling at you as you cried your way through yet another Disney movie or comforting you when you lost a patient.

Damnit, he had no right to do this to you, not like this. You sure as hell weren’t going to let him tell you he loved you and then just go out there to die.

Lifting your foot, you tore one of your heels off, flinging it across the room with the other one following close behind. Stalking over to Bucky’s safe, you punched in the combo he’d taught you months ago for emergencies, pulling out the small .22 you knew he’d left inside. You tucked it into the palm of your hand and moved to open the door, stepping hesitantly out into the hallway, your gun at the ready.

Bucky had taught you how to shoot using a bunch of old cans on the edge of the forest a few months ago, so you felt pretty confident with the gun, but that didn’t exactly mean you were eager to run into anybody. You stayed close to the wall instead, moving slowly and carefully.

The building was all but deserted, and you didn’t see a soul in any of the first few hallways you walked through. That changed as you neared the east side of the compound, where a chorus of sounds and crashes echoed. You stopped with your back against a wall, using it as a shield as you peered around the corner, your grip tightening on the butt of your gun.

It was Bucky, of course. Who else would be crazy enough to be standing in the middle of chaos, one man up against four, all of them heavily armed. The others looked like they had him outmatched, but this was Bucky they were up against. You knew the real odds.

You pitied the others.

He made it look effortless, the way he went through them, as easy and routine as playing a video game. They went high, he dropped low. They came from the back, he spun around to cut them off at the knees. He took three of them down so fast, you almost missed it, but the fourth one got in a lucky hit, slashing him from the side with a knife before he could turn to block it.

“Bucky!” you screamed, and his head whipped around, his eyes making contact with yours and flashing with surprise just before the assailant raised his gun, slamming it down on the back of Bucky’s head. He crumbled, dropping to the floor, and you raised your gun with a shout, firing two shots that made contact with the attacker’s shoulder and neck, killing him instantly.

Rushing forward, you dropped to your knees by Bucky’s side, turning him over and feeling along his chest and stomach for any injuries. “Buck, Bucky!”

He groaned, a whispered string of swear words flying out of his mouth, and opened his eyes. When he turned his head and glared up at you, you realized he was going to be okay and your whole body sagged in relief. “I thought I told you to stay in my room,” he grumbled, blinking a few times to clear his head as he sat up into your waiting arms.

You smiled, taking the opportunity to unbutton his crisp, white shirt and slip your hand inside, feeling the area you’d watched the knife hit. “Yeah, well, I’ve never been great at listening.” Your hand landed on the long cut you’d been searching for and he winced, but you grinned. You knew instantly that the gash was narrow and shallow, easily fixable without needing stitches, especially with his healing ability. Another wave of relief washed over you.

“You really don’t, do you?” he laughed, shaking his head, but he stilled when your hand grazed the bottom of his chin, his breath drawing in with a sharp inhale. You ran your fingers up, tracing the curve of his lip with your thumb before resting the flat of your palm against the stubble of his cheek.

“I do listen to some things,” you whispered, letting the words linger in the air between the two of you. His eyes dropped to your lips, his breaths growing labored in response.

“We should, uh...” he stumbled through his response, clearly growing flustered, but he kept his voice low, gruff. “Find Steve, make sure the compound’s secure, see if anyone needs help.”

“Mhmm,” you muttered, darting your tongue out to lick your lips and relishing the moan you pulled from him in response. “We should.”

“Yeah…” His voice died out as he finally dragged his gaze away from your lips, swallowing hard. “But, later…”

You nodded, your breathing having sped up to match his labored pace. “We’ll talk. As soon as we get a chance.”

Unfortunately, that chance didn’t come for another three hours.

It was nearing midnight, and you were exhausted. You and Bucky had found Steve and quickly split up, with him to handle the security debrief and you to lead the triage effort in the medical suites. You’d been on your feet ever since.

You’d just dismissed the last of your staff and leaned against your desk to close your eyes when the door opened.

“Can I help…” you started, turning to find Bucky standing in the doorway. You smiled in response. “Oh, hey, how was your…”

You never got the chance to finish, because Bucky stalked across the room with four long steps, taking your face in his hands, kissing the air right out of you, and stealing your thoughts right along with it. His lips were gentle, but insistent, and when his tongue prodded at your lower lip, you opened to him, spurring him to lift you up onto your desk, the kiss turning more passionate and unbridled, your hands sweeping into his hair.

When he pulled back, your lips were swollen, your cheeks were flushed, and you were pretty sure if your legs weren’t wrapped around him, you would’ve fallen backwards off your desk. He grinned at the sight of you and ran his hands down your back to rest on your hips. “Shit, I’ve been wanting to do that all night.”

“Just all night?” you teased, your laugh echoing throughout the room. “Here I was thinking you’d been thinking about it for a lot longer than that.”

His face sobered instantly, turning serious as he studied you. “I meant what I said earlier. It’s not just physical for me.”

“Me neither,” you whispered, pulling him in for another kiss, this one leisurely and sweet. You remembered vividly what he’d told you earlier, in the midst of the attack, but you didn’t want to push him to say it again. You knew how strongly you felt about him, but you also knew this was very new for both of you, and he’d had a very long night. “You want to have dinner tomorrow night?”

His smirk came right back. “Like a date?”

For a man who’d just told you he loved you and kissed you with more passion than you’d ever felt in your life, he was being awfully cheeky. “Yes, like a date,” you laughed with a roll of your eyes.

Bucky leaned down, stealing one more kiss. “How about breakfast instead? I can’t wait a whole day to hold you again, sweetheart.”

Your heart leaped at the term of endearment, but even more at the sentiment behind it, and you nodded your agreement. Then, you thought of something you knew you had to tell him, just to see his reaction. “You know,” you mused aloud, “I heard Tony was planning another party for next weekend.”

Bucky’s whole face scrunched up in pain, and you tried really hard not to laugh. “Another party?”

You couldn’t resist teasing him. Running your hands up his chest, you pressed your lips against his throat with a smile. “It’ll be fun.”

“Yeah,” he scoffed, his body shuddering involuntarily at your touch, his voice cracking. “That’s what you said last time.”

“Mmm,” you hummed against his neck, feeling his arms tighten with a groan. “I happen to think tonight was very fun.”

“Oh, just wait until tomorrow, baby,” he groaned. “I’ll show you fun.”

“Hey, Buck?” you whispered, raising your head to gesture at the clock behind you. “It’s tomorrow.”

He growled and captured your lips again, picking you up and carrying you out of the room and down the hall.

Seemed like you’d have no problem keeping that breakfast date after all.

[jeezlouiisee]

Invisible

Hi all! This is a story I’ve been thinking about and I’m finally putting it out there. I’m hoping to do more parts but I hope you like! 

Summary: You were always quiet and shy, until you lost your mother who always encouraged you to put yourself out there. So you do and you’ve caught the eyes of two Pogues. 

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings:Just some cursing

The Outer banks had been your home for your entire life and you had no friends, well except Pope. Pope Heyward was your only friend in the obx. You were both on the math team together, you both gushed over the Hobbit and Lord of the Rings. He had wanted to introduce you to his other friends but you just didn’t want too, not yet at least. Then your mom died, car crash and your entire world fell apart. Your mom was your anchor, your confidant, the person who hugged you and calmed you when your anxiety got bad. She was the one always trying to get you out of your shell. It was hard to not have her for the end of your junior year but you survived. Pope and his friends were having an end of summer party at the bone yard, he of course invited you like he always did. However this time you said yes, you made a promise to yourself and your mom that you were going to branch out this year. This was going to be your summer. It was the Saturday after the last day of school which meant party day. You were standing in your room, sighing as you smoothed out the wrinkles in your dress for the 80th time. You looked good, you looked great, right? Of course you did don’t be stupid. You put on a little bit of lip gloss and mascara before grabbing your bag. 

“You’re wearing sneakers to a bone yard party?” Your older sister asked as she cut up vegetables for dinner.

 “Hey, just because I’m going to a party doesn’t mean I have to wear sandals or heels or something.” You said as you stuck your tongue out.

 “Fine, but meet a cute boy and make out with him.” She replied. Your older sister Shelby was all you had. She was about 5 years older than you and she had two jobs, waiting tables at the wreck and helping Popes dad with his deliveries. Your dad had passed away in a boating accident when you were 2, so you was just you three. Until your mom went too. 

“I’ll see you later.” Was all you said back before walking out the door. You lived pretty deep in the cut, you lived about a 10 minute walk from the bone yard. By the time you got there the party was in full swing, of course Pope and his friends were near the middle of all the commotion. They were laughing and talking with tourons, as they handed out beers. Pope noticed you almost immediately. 

“Y/N! You actually came!” He laughed as he grabbed your arm and pulled you closer to his group.

 “Guys this is Y/N, the one I was telling you about.” You gave a little wave, extremely shy at the moment. 

“Oh yeah,you were both on the math team.”  One of his friends, Kiara said. They all snickered under their breath which left you confused. 

“Is it bad to be on the math team?” You raised your eyebrow, getting a little defensive. Your mom loved that you were on the math team, so you were protective. 

“No no it’s okay, it’s just a little inside joke.” John B said as he pulled his girlfriend Sarah into his side. 

“Oh okay, cool. Uhm so, could I get a beer?” You asked, tilting your head as you looked at JJ who was manning the keg stand. 

“You? A beer?” He simply chuckled before filling up a cup and handing it to you. 

“Yes I want a beer. So what?” You half snapped as you grabbed the beer and taking a sip. You immediately gagged a bit at the taste but continued to drink. JJ smirked at you.

 “That’s why, I’ve literally never seen you around here. Why now? Aren’t you like always with your mom?” Ow. Kiara suddenly jabbed him into the side with her elbow. 

“JJ.” She hissed, watching as you chewed your lip a bit and suddenly downed the entire drink. 

“Right well my mom died three months ago, so I can’t always be with a dead corpse.” You said before handing your cup back to JJ for a refill. JJ looked a bit impressed but also guilty before filling your cup up again. 

“Y/N I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” You simply shrugged, sipping your second cup. “I’ve just decided to branch out, be more social like my mom wanted.” You chewed your lips to stop yourself from crying. 

“Hey, it’s okay. JJ just has one brain cell that he shares with Pope so it’s okay.” Sarah said with a smile as she walked over and randomly hugged you. 

“You’re sticking with us now, got it?” Pope asked as he joined in on Sarah’s little hug with you. 

“Okay deal.” You laughed, still a little weary. You glanced up from your hug and noticed that JJs eyes never left yours. You simply looked away as you ended the hug. 

“So what do you guys normally do at these parties?” 

“Well glad you asked.” JJ grinned as he pulled a blunt out of his pocket. 

“Do you want to try this or stick with your beer?” 

“I’ll think I’ll try-“ 

“You should keep the signal clear Y/N.” Pope said as he gave JJ a disapproving look. You laughed a bit at what Pope said before looking to JJ. 

“Let’s mess this signal up!” You cheered as you drank your beer. Sarah, John B and Kiara just laughed as Pope shook his head. JJ eagerly lit it and took a hit before handing it to you. 

“Do you know how to smoke a blunt?” He asked you seriously as he took a step towards you. Apparently according to Pope the only thing that JJ was ever serious about was weed. You shook your head slowly. 

“Nope, never smoked a day in my life.” JJ groaned and pulled you over to sit next to him on the rock he was on. 

“Okay, so first obviously you suck in a breath, but then inhale so it gets into your lungs. If it doesn’t then you won’t get high and my weed will go to waste, got it?” You blushed a little as you nodded then hesitantly took the blunt from JJ, putting it to your lips as you breathed in. You made sure to inhale so you could feel it in your lungs, they suddenly felt like exploding as you started coughing, grabbing your cup of beer to help subside it. 

“Oh my god, was that supposed to happen?” You chugged the rest of your beer. 

“That was terrible.” 

“You just gotta get used to it.” Kiara said with a shrug. After what felt like years of couching you asked for another refill of the beer. 

“Not tonight, tonight I stick with beer.” You stood up as you got a little confident. 

“You guys dance right? I mean, I can go find someone to dance with?” You were nervous even if you were confident but you wanted to do what your sister suggested. You want to make out with a boy. The boys looked a little confused about your question while the girls suddenly grabbed your arm as they both dragged you over to where people were dancing. 

“So do you like Pope? Or are you just friends?” Sarah asked as you all danced in a circle. 

“What? Pope? And me? No. No! We are just friends.” You started stuttering a bit as you got nervous. 

“Why did he say something to you?” You suddenly asked you didn’t know why, but you never thought of Pope like that. But he was kind and funny, plus he always saw you. 

“Well no.. but I think you two would be cute together.” Sarah grinned at you right before you bumped into someone. 

“Oh my gosh I am so sorry.” You said quickly, turning around. 

“Oh it’s no problem really. I can forgive a pretty girl.” The boy you had bumped into was cute, he definitely seemed like a kook but you just wanted to make out with someone. So what if they were a kook? 

“Go away Kelce.” Kiara interjected before you could say something. 

“She’s not interested.”

“Actually, I am.” You grinned at Kelce. 

“Would you want to dance with me maybe?” The boy whose name you know knew was Kelce lit up like a Christmas tree. 

“I would love too. And your name?” 

“Y/N.” 

“Let’s dance Y/N.” He held out his hand for you to take. Once you did he pulled you close and just swayed with you, nothing too inappropriate. It was nice, he didn’t really try to talk to you which kind of bugged you but you just let it go. You glanced over at the Pogues and you suddenly saw both Pope and JJ stand up, which was odd. Then you knew why, you suddenly felt another pair of arms there were not Kelces. 

“Well aren’t you pretty?” You suddenly whipped your head around and saw Rafe, you knew him instantly. He tried to get with your sister a few times. 

“Back off her.” You heard JJ say, you looked around and saw Pope and JJ directly behind Kelce. 

“But she wanted to dance.” That was Rafe.

“Maybe I don’t want to dance anymore..” You tried to pull away from Kelce but then that just caused you to run into the front of Rafe. You looked over Kelces shoulder and found JJs eyes, you looked at him with a look that just begged for him to help you. Suddenly he and Pope yanked Kelce away from you before JJ pushed Rafe to the ground. That was when Sarah got involved. 

“What the hell is going on?” 

“Uhm so I was dancing with Kelce and everything was great until Rafe came up behind me..” 

You had fear in your eyes, shaking a bit as you suddenly hugged Sarah tightly. She hugged back just as tight and pulled you away to go back to the rocks where you had taken your hit. In the background you could hear fighting and arguing. About ten minutes later Pope and JJ came back looking a bit happy. Pope sat down on your right and JJ stole Sarah’s spot on your left. Apparently John B decides to help fight off Kelce and Rafe so Sarah was checking to see how he was doing. 

“I’m sorry guys...” You mumbled as you looked down at her hands. 

“Y/N what are you talking about?” Pope asked as he hesitantly put a hand on your shoulder. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong alright? Those guys are assholes and they deserve whatever they got coming to them.” This time it was JJs time to talk as he playfully nudged your shoulder, you looked over to JJ and smiled a bit. 

“Thank you guys but I think I’m gonna go home.” You stood and turned to face them. 

“I can too-“ 

“I’ll walk you home-“ Pope and JJ spoke at the same time. 

“Oh uhm, I don’t need anyone to walk me I’m good.” 

“Hey Pope! Come help me with this!” Ki yelled while fiddling with the keg. 

“I guess I get to walk you home.” JJ grinned and stood up. 

“Lead the way.” You started walking, trying to walk a bit fast to make the trip go by quickly. 

“So why did you want to dance with someone?” JJ asked as he walked slower, you sighed because you knew he was walking slow on purpose. 

“I wanted to get out of my shell more, since my mom died my sister has been trying to motivate me to go out and do things. So tonight she told me to find a boy and make out with him.” You blushed when you said the end of your sentence. 

“You could make out with me?” That stopped you in your tracks. 

“I’m sorry what?” You turned to look at him, eyes wide.  

“Make out with me.” JJ repeated, taking a step towards you which caused you to take a step backward but you didn’t realize that there was a tree directly behind you. You left out a squeal at the feeling. 

“You barely know me.... why do you want to make out with me?”

 “Because you’re cute and besides, I want you to be able to tell your sister you kissed a cute boy.” He winked, shrugging.

“Uhm fine okay. I’ll make out with you but just this once okay? And don’t tell a soul!” You jabbed your finger into his chest. JJ simply chuckled and took another step towards her, brushing their lips together. You gasped, wrapping your arms around his neck as you eagerly pressed your lips firmly against his. He gripped your waist as he began to press you into the trees, his tongue softly brushing against your bottom lip. That caused you to gasp which was what JJ wanted so he slowly slid his tongue into your mouth. 

“Y/N!” You suddenly pushed JJ away from you as you breathed heavily, you looked over JJs shoulder to see Pope running towards you guys. 

“Hey I thought I’d help JJ walk you home.” 

“Pope I can handle walking a girl home on my own.” 

“Hey guys really it’s okay, come on it’s like five more minutes.” You ran your fingers through your hair as you started to walk to your house. You felt awkward but this time you definitely could tell that Pope might like you. After the very silent walk you finally arrived to your house, turning to look at them. 

“Thanks for the walk home boys.” You smiled a little, waving to them. 

“You want to hang out with us tomorrow? We’re meeting at the Shipwreck tomorrow at 10. Did you come too? I mean Kie did say you’re one of us now.” Pope said eagerly.You glanced over to JJ who was just grinning at you. 

“Yeah okay sure. Shipwreck at 10 am.” You quickly turned to unlock your front door.

 “Hey Y/N?” You turned to look at JJ. 

“Yeah? Have a good night.” He suddenly kissed you on your cheek and turning to start walking. 

“Pope you coming?” 

“Yeah In a sec.” Pope suddenly kissed your opposite cheek. 

“Goodnight Y/N.” With that he turned and the two boys walked away from sight. You quickly walked into your house and locked the door, leaning against it. Did they both like you? You didn’t understand, you were so confused. You were invisible, you weren’t seen and now all of the sudden you had two attractive boys kissing your cheeks? This was going to be a confusing summer. 

[sleepybutwriting]

Are you okay? | Fatherly!Yamada

_____

Pairing: Fatherly!Yamada x Reader

Summary: Hizashi sees that you, his favorite student, was attacked on the news and immediately goes to check up on you.

Request: “P1. Hizashi's favorite student lives alone and she fights a dangerous villian on her way to go home. She eventually gets out because the police shows up. Hizashi finds out through the news, (please capture his reaction) she goes into her apartment to find him sitting there, looking stern and worried. He's basically like a protective dad to her (just so it doesn't seem weird and inappropriateish) she's all battered and bruised and she tries to aviod the subject by nervously making jokes. P2. He confronts her about and she nervously tries to leave the apartment saying she had a thing going on because she didn't want him to worry about here and he basically cages her/traps her (again, not in a weird way, in a 'you're not going anywhere until you tell me what happened' dad kinda of way) Please make it long.I've requested this to other accounts and I kid you not, people refused to write it because it they didn't read/understand it right and insulted me then called it inappropriate. - Anonymous”

Notes: I had a difficult time keeping Hizashi in character, but I hope this is an okay end result.

_____

You were staying late after school to get extra help with English. It was your worst subject. And even though you hated the class, you loved your teacher. Yamada Sensei was always eager to help you when he saw you struggling. And you would stay after so many days that the two of you naturally grew close.

Your parents had died when you were young and of course, you had mentioned this to him. He was caught off guard at first, but it explained why you were so mature when compared to the rest of the kids in your class. He was ecstatic when you decided to share the information with him, it only succeeded in strengthening your already growing bond. At that moment he had unknowingly taken it upon himself to become your stand-in parent.

It didn’t take long until the two of you became a well-known pair. He was your favorite teacher. And you were his favorite student, and pretty much all of UA knew it. He always hyped you up before matches and cheered you on during. Even when you begged him to stop because it drew unnecessary attention. He even stayed late whenever you needed extra help on an assignment to make sure you understood everything.

“Okay, so which one of these sentences is incorrect?” He questioned, pointing over to one of the questions. They all seemed right to you, but ‘B’ stood out as being slightly odd so you just went with it.

“Yeah! All right, I think you got this down. You keep this up and you’ll rock next week’s test.”

“That’s perfect. I could really use another good grade if I’m going to get my average up.” 

“You’ll do great! Now all ya gotta do is rest up.” He encouraged, glancing down at his watch slightly before speaking up again “Come on, I’ll drop ya off. It’s kinda late.”

“Nah, I’m good. I could use the fresh air.” The two of you often stayed late so it wasn’t uncommon for him to offer you a ride home. He always slept easier knowing that you made it home okay. It stressed him out sometimes knowing that you were home alone with no one to look after you.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, Yamada Sensei, I’m sure.” You assured him. But he still didn’t look like he was ready to give in. “I’ll go straight home. No shortcuts, no scenic routes, just from here to home.” He seemed to ease up slightly at your statement. And after making you promise to go straight home he agreed.

You had made it home fine. It wasn’t until you got there that you remembered that you didn’t really have enough food for dinner. You had forgotten to go grocery shopping earlier in the week and were surviving solely off of takeout. Not sure you could stomach another day of it, you decided to just go grocery shopping now, rather than putting it off for another day. What was the worst that could happen right?

~

After a long day at work, Yamada’s favorite thing to do was just cook. Working three jobs was always stressful. From being a radio host, to being a hero, and teaching, he barely had a moment of free time. But he loved all of it so much he would never give up any of it.

“Our top story tonight…” the news anchor cut in, successfully interrupting the quiet atmosphere in the kitchen, “villains attack.”

“Not this again.” Hizashi sighed, just about ready to change the channel. The one thing he hated more than villains was the media. Villains attacked everyday. And every day, without a break, the media constantly blows it out of proportion. 

Hizashi was just about to change the channel before he saw your picture flash across the tv screen. Immediately stopping him in his tracks.

“Local UA student is believed to have gotten caught in the middle.” 

The remote that was once in his hand had crashed against the floor. His mind was in a panic. Hundreds of questions were swarming to the point where he wasn’t even sure what to ask.

Always working, meant that he never had a personal life. And with no personal life, it meant that no room for a girlfriend or a family was ever able to be made. But he had always seen you as his daughter. You struggled more than the rest of the class to keep up, but that never stopped you from giving it one hundred percent all of the time. He adored you. And the thought of you possibly being injured was enough to just about stop his heart.

He needed to know that you were all right.

~

The police questioning had taken hours. You had been asked the same questions a million times.

“What were you doing out so late?” 

“What did you witness?”

“Did you notice anyone else involved?”

And your personal favorite: “Are you okay?”

That small question had come up more times than any other. From the officers who were the first to arrive on the scene, to the paramedics who you assured that you weren’t badly injured, to even the receptionist at the police station.

By the time the interrogation process was over. you were barely able to tell them your own name. Realizing that they had gotten all that they could out of you, they finally let you return home. One of the officers being kind enough to give you a ride.

But when you opened the door to your apartment, you had really wished they had kept you longer. You would have preferred being asked a hundred more questions to what was about to follow, when you came face to face with a panicked looking Yamada.

He thought that seeing you face to face would calm himself. If he was just able to see you, then he could prove to himself that the media just blew it out of proportion as usual and everything would be okay. But one look at you proved that that wouldn’t be the case.

Barely any part of your body was left without a mark. From small scrapes and markings to bigger bruises. Even your face was littered with them. You had a small cut in your bottom lip, as well as some slight discoloration on your lower eye. Even the way you stood, told him that you were in pain, due to the stiffness in your stance.

“Umm... I’m pretty sure breaking and entering is illegal, but since you gave me an ‘A’ on the last English assignment I’ll let it slide.” You grinned, fidgeting slightly while hoping to break his attention away from your injuries.

“How’d this happen?” he whispered, more to himself than to you. 

The softness in his voice had caught you by surprise. Never had you seen your teacher so quiet and at a physical loss for words. He was always so happy-go-lucky, and you didn’t like the change in emotion, that your state brought him too.

“I was just jogging through the park when some killer squirrel came at me,” you joked in an attempt to lighten the mood a bit.

He didn’t seem to find your joke funny. All he did was frown at your attempt to make light of the situation. “How can you even joke at a time like this Y/N? You could have been seriously injured. Do you realize that?”

His scolding was making you nervous. You pretty much raised yourself, having grown up without parents. So this whole ‘father’ vibe he was giving off was something that you didn’t know how to react to. You had never been in this situation before where you made someone worry about you like this.

It made you feel sad. Seeing the worry in his eyes, and the slightly disheveled look of his hair and clothes that were usually kept so well tame. And knowing that you were the cause only added to the unease of this foreign feeling growing inside you. All you wanted to do now was leave before you embarrassed yourself even more by crying in front of the man before you.

“Hello? Y/N, answer me. Do you realize what time it is? What were you thinking going out on your own this late.”

Your hand began frantically searching for the doorknob as you maintained eye contact with him.“On no! The time, I really need to go. I’m late for… meeting… I promised to meet someone so…” Unable to even finish your half-assed excuse, you tried to open the door and leave before he was able to question you further. But he caught on to what you were doing and walked over to you, quickly placing his hand over your head, and closing the door before you could leave. Successfully caging you in, eye to eye, so you were forced to talk to him now.

You were expecting him to continue on with his lecture even angrier than he was, but he surprised you when you heard his voice crack, almost like he was also fighting back tears. “I was so worried when I saw…”  He paused for a second, taking a deep breath in, in an attempt to calm himself. “I don’t know what I would do if you had…” Once again he trailed off, not even able to finish his sentence at the thought of you dying. “Are you okay?”

“Yamada Sensei, I’m fine. It looks worse than it is.”

“That’s not what I mean, Y/N. Are you okay?” He repeated this time with a slight emphasis. The more he repeated the question, the more you felt as if you would break.

“I said I’m fine!” You responded slightly harsher than what was intended.

The weight of everything was slowly coming down on you. You were scared. You were so scared that you weren’t going to make it. And if it hadn’t been for the police coming when they did, you probably wouldn’t have. You felt sick as those thoughts passed through your head. You’d never see your friends again. You’d never see your teachers again. You’d never become a hero.

“Y/N, you’re trembling,” Yamada whispered, slowly bringing his arms down and enveloping you in a hug. Allowing you to cry into his chest as he held you.

No, you weren’t okay. But Yamada would make sure you would be.

[oh-phineas]

I’ll Be Looking at the Moon... | Phineas + Ferb (feat. Bob)

In which Phineas and Ferb reunite two very, very long-lost lovers

Date: 29th January

@ferbmanofactionfletcher

PHINEAS

It had taken a couple of months, but it was finally time. As soon as Phineas had seen the invite for the medieval-themed party, he knew this was the perfect event to bring Bob to, because not only was the whole town invited, but Bob's armor wouldn't stick out the way it might at other events. This also meant that this was Phineas and Ferb's only chance to help Bob find his lost love. For a long time.

So, like, no pressure, right?

Once they arrived at the party, Phineas motioned for Bob and Ferb to follow him to a quieter corner where they could regroup. "Alright, is everyone clear on the plan?" Phineas said, signing along as he spoke.

FERB

Leave it to the rich people of Swynlake to give them the most serendipitous set of circumstances. He had been both surprised and actually not at all that someone was throwing a party where the theme was almost too on the nose to a problem they needed solved.

He had been hoping they could have helped Bob out in the safety of their house, using the power of people's internet fingerprint to track down this person, but it looked like they were having to resort to doing it the old fashioned way. Which made sense, considering the person they were helping was old fashioned.

Ferb nodded his agreement and Bob shrugged, the armor clanking against itself. "I feel safer knowing that you will catch more attention with your attire than I will. What possessed you to dress as a fool?"

PHINEAS

“I dunno, I thought it’d be funny.” He shrugged as he signed the words. “Plus the suit-of-armor thing might be fun for you, but this is way more comfortable.” Phineas looked around for any sign of the man Bob had described. “Have you seen him yet? Anything that matches our research, Ferb?”

FERB

Having not caught Bob's word of judgement, he simply looked between the two and waited. He already felt out of place among the large crowd of people that had turned out for the party, the uncomfortable feeling of knowing that he was only going to cause problems for this mission. Ferb had half a mind to just ask if they wanted him to stay in this corner as a look out instead of following them around like a useless weight. But all he did was shake his head in answer to Phineas.

"What about over there?" Bob asked, distracted and moving without them back into the party.

PHIN

Oh no. Bob was on the move. Phineas could not let Bob out of his sight— what if he made a scene? This was not the place for a duel, and Phineas really didn’t want to call attention to the priceless artifact Bob was wearing.

“Bob! Wait! Stop!” Phineas called, running after him. “You’ve got to stick with me!”

FERB

Like string being pulled, Bob the lead, Phineas going after, Ferb followed the line with only a few seconds of hesitation as he tried to put together what had happened. Phineas' quick movement and body language communicated that he hadn't anticipated, he was just reacting. Which meant Bob had shot off on his own, which meant— probably nothing good.

"Then keep up, lads!" Bob turned to stop, managing to knock into a woman who gasped in surprise and turned around, eyes wide.

PHINEAS

“Sorry!” Phineas shouted to the woman Bob had knocked into. He grabbed onto Bob’s elbow, both to try and slow Bob down and to anchor himself to the knight so that Bob couldn’t run off again. “Did you see something? You’ve got to keep us in the loop, Bob!” 

FERB

"I beg your pardon," Bob said to the woman who took both apologies with a confused but appreciative nod before Phineas moved between the two. Ferb stepped to Bob's other side so that he couldn't escape that way either.

"I thought I had, but the room only continues to move." He turned from one boy to the other. "Are you sure coming here was a good plan?"

PHINEAS

Phineas was increasingly beginning to wonder that, too. They didn’t have much to go on— just Bob’s memories— and it was possible the person they were searching for wasn’t even here. Normally, Phineas would have suggested they divide and conquer, but he was not letting Bob out of his sight. Not after that stunt.

He did his best to sign along as Bob spoke so that Ferb could follow. “It’s the only one we’ve got,” he responded. “This is literally the only place you could go and kind of blend in. So that’s what we’re doing. Do you have a better idea?”

FERB

His brow furrowed as he tried to make out what Phineas was signing, not quite able to catch on to anything but the final sentence. He looked up to see who was being asked that, and was relieved to find Bob and Phineas looking at one another instead of him.

Bob bowed his head, as much as he could within the armor, giving a sigh. "Only to return to what I was doing before all of this. Maybe we should—"

"Wow!" Someone else's voice cut in. A man pointed a finger at the three of them as he approached. "That is an amazing costume! Did you buy it or make it yourself?"

PHINEAS

Bob looked offended. “This is no costume, it’s—“

“A highly accurate replica piece! Bob’s a really well-respected cosplayer, aren’t you, Bob?” Phineas cut in, clapping Bob on the back and then wincing in pain and shaking his hand. That armor was no joke.

FERB

Ferb could only watch the interaction, unable to help Phineas if he needed it. (He probably didn't.) This was why he always felt useless in situations like these where his phone wouldn't understand what conversation to pick up on and his lip reading skills were rubbish. Why had he even agreed to come along instead of insisting Phineas take someone more competent?

"So you just had that lying about?" The man's eyebrows rose as he nod, impressed before he turned his head. "Oi, Martin! Come look at this!"

More people in the near vicinity turned their attention then, too.

PHINEAS

Oh no. Bob was drawing attention from the crowd.

There was a possibility this could work in their favor. Maybe Bob’s lost love would see the crowd gathered around and come over to see what the big deal was. Or it could be a disaster, because someone could realize this was the Green Knight’s armor and try to fight him. Phineas was trying to avoid that.

Ferb would know what to do.

He left Bob’s side (oh well) and went over to Ferb. “People are gathering. What do you think? Should we get him out of here? Or do you think it’ll help him find his guy?” Phineas signed frantically.

FERB

The motion of the crowd turning toward the three of them did catch Ferb's attention, eyes flicking to meet the ones that were catching on the armor the encased Bob. Thinking the opposite to his step-brother, that Phineas would have the plan, he turned to see what he had up his sleeve— only to find it was being asked of him.

He swallowed. Okay, no time to freak out or freeze up, he ignored the churning in his stomach and heat on his skin under the scrutiny of strangers.

"Neither," he signed back. If they left it would end their chances of finding who they came here for and all of this would have been for nothing. If they allowed Bob to become a spectacle and someone turned this party into a fight they would have a bigger problem on their hands. "We need to get the attention off him. We need to— discredit the fit. Make them think it isn't all that great."

PHINEAS

At first, Phineas thought Ferb was going to suggest a distraction which he personally thought he would be pretty good at. But this was a better idea— the opposite of a distraction. They needed to get people to disperse.

Maybe if they could just get Bob to give up this whole Green Knight shtick...

“Bob, listen...” Phineas said through gritted teeth. “I need you to follow my lead.” He took a deep breath. “You know who has a better suit of armor? Uncle Waldo! I saw him somewhere, and he said that if anyone can guess which Knight of the Round Table he’s cosplaying, he’ll buy then a drink! RIGHT, Bob?”

It was the best Phineas could think of, anyway. Uncle Waldo was definitely not here tonight.

FERB

If anyone here was going to convince a crowd that there was something more interesting to look at than the Green Knight's Armor, it was going to be Phineas Flynn.

Ferb only nodded along, at Bob's side, though he had no idea what was being daid.

Bob, disgruntled, still caught on to his helper's meaning. He may not have used it in some time but he was no stranger to the art of subtlety. "Quite right, lad! In fact he was the one that helped me track down this costume! I am more of a uh— a...a what kind of cost-player would you describe me as, Mr. Flynn?"

PHINEAS

"An amateur. Trying his best, but you're really gonna wanna see Waldo's," Phineas said loudly. "I mean, this thing's basically made out of paint and tin foil. Lame."

He looked around. Already, two of the onlookers were starting to argue about whether it was more respectable to have a homemade or store-bought outfit. Okay. Phineas could work with this. Sow a little chaos. They just couldn't get involved and draw more attention to themselves.

"While you're all here-- we found a wallet on the ground! Belonging to a..." He looked at Bob. "What was his name again?"

FERB

As more onlookers turned away, getting back to their night as they were convinced that the display was nothing special, Ferb caught sight of the young woman from before (that Bob had accidentally hit in his excitement) continuing to watch with interest.

"What?" Bob turned to look at Phineas, searching his face for a moment, before catching on once more. "Oh! Oh, yes— erm, a chap by the name of Charles Ellis."

The woman's demeanor changed, her spine straightening as if in recognition. Ferb looked to Phineas, waving a hand to catch his attention. When he caught his gaze he nodded toward the woman.

PHINEAS

Phineas would have missed the woman if Ferb hadn’t alerted him. He was too busy planning his next announcement, thinking about what he could say to disperse the crowd. So when he caught Ferb’s eye, he was grateful that someone was paying attention.

“You said you know him? Charles Ellis?” Phineas confirmed, looking at her searchingly. “Is he here?”

Something shifted in Bob’s demeanor. Phineas waved him over.

FERB

The woman looked a bit stunned at being called out, the couple in front of her moving to the side to allow her to step forward to meet the three of them. With the mystery seemingly resolved and no longer in need of more help, the rest of the crowd that had still been paying attention went back to the party, leaving the four of them to their own.

"Uhm, maybe! I don't know. I'm Sloane Ellis and Charlie, or Charles, is my uncle! He's invited me as his plus one tonight. Though I have never known him to lose anything like a wallet." She smiled politely, nodding to Phineas. "May I see it?"

PHINEAS

"One second," Phineas said, then turned and summarized for Ferb in BSL: "It's Charles's niece. She's here with him. I guess we should tell her there isn't a wallet...? Should we tell her about the armor?"

As Phineas was signing, Bob stepped forward. "Where? Where is he? I've been looking for him for seventy years!"

Phineas winced, wishing Bob hadn't led with that particular detail. "He's... exaggerating."

FERB

Wallet? What—? Nope. It didn't matter, Ferb didn't need to know in order to answer the basic question that was being proposed here: did they tell her the truth or not? He went to answer but Bob stepped forward, blocking his view of Phineas.

Sloane leaned back, blinking wide. "Seventy years? What are you talking about?"

Ferb side stepped around them to stand beside Phineas. He held one hand out flat and brought the other one down on it, perpendicular, the sign for truth, and then pointed to the woman with an encouraging nod.

PHINEAS

Phineas hesitated. What if Sloane didn't believe them? It was kind of an unbelievable thing. But Swynlake was full of unbelievable things, wasn't it? And Ferb had lived here long enough to know what people would at least consider.

So Phineas exchanged a glance with Ferb and took a deep breath. "Okay, it's... kind of complicated. There's magic involved. So you can probably already tell where this is going. It might be simpler if we can explain with Charles here. Do you... know where he might have gone off to?"

But just as Phineas said it, Bob was already wandering off again. "Bob! Stop!"

FERB

Ferb knew it was a long shot to get anyone to believe but he was also of the belief that the truth was better than any lie they could have possibly come up with to get the woman to find her uncle for them.

Her face only grew more confused at the attempted explanation, hesitation making her mouth open on an answer she hadn't decided on yet to say aloud. But Bob was already making it for her.

A man, who was not quite frail but clearly no longer in his prime and dressed in a matching blue tunic to the dress the woman wore, was making his way through the crowd with two drinks in his hand. He nodded to Bob as he passed by, "That's quite an impressive get up you've got there!" only to continue on to Sloane, holding out on of the drink. "I crossed the room and feel like I took a lap around the town! Yeesh, I bet the people who live here get a work out just walking to their front door!"

He took a sip of his drink and then noticed the boys standing with his niece, and swallowed hastily. "I didn't realize you had found company! Hello, who's this lot then?"

PHINEAS

Phineas could handle this from here. If there was one thing he was good at, it was telling a story. He took a deep breath and started, gesturing for emphasis like he was giving a TED Talk. "So, basically, we were wandering around in the woods on Halloween and we were kind of running from a werewolf-- not important-- what is important is that we came across our new friend here, and he asked us if we wanted to--"

"...Charles?" Bob said softly. Phineas couldn't see his expression, but the tone was enough to make Phineas realize he could maybe stop talking right now. That there was something going on here that he might not be the right person to explain. Something powerful. "Charles, it's me."

He stepped back to let Bob have the floor.

FERB

Despite not being able to hear what anyone was saying, Ferb could tell that this man was who they had been looking for. He resembled the picture they had managed to find of Charles Ellis from the regiment number Bob had given. They had the same straight nose and slightly protruding ears, and the smile was almost identical— save for a few more laughter lines.

That smile faded quickly though at the sound of Bob's voice and he turned around again to face the man in the suit of armor he had over looked before.

Ferb watched, beside Phineas and the woman, as the two exchanged words. There was a lot of confusion in Mr. Ellis' face for a long time as Bob's mouth moved, on and on he went, arms moving stiffly in the armor. Every so often they space between them grew a touch smaller as one took a step closer.

Then Mr. Ellis' shoulders dropped and he reached across that space to touch Bob's metal clad chest.  When Bob gave a small nod, finally, that smile returned.

Ferb gently elbowed Phineas, flicking his head toward the two who seemed to be lost in the impossibility of the situation, and then toward the dance floor with a look that said, we should probably remind him of what he came here for.

PHINEAS

Phineas couldn't help it. He got caught up in the moment. As love stories went, this one was pretty epic.

He'd have to fill in Sloane eventually. Maybe once Bob and Charles got their dance. But Ferb was right, that was the important thing right now. Phineas gave Ferb an understanding nod, then quickly signed, Give me one second. Stay right here.

Phineas ran over to the stage where the band was playing just as the song was winding down and frantically asked the pianist if he could make one request. Just one. The band seemed reluctant, but Phineas promised he would make it up, that it was for an extremely urgent cause, and finally, finally, they agreed.

"Alright, I think I've got it," Phineas signed to Ferb, just as the band launched into the beginning chords of an instrumental (and somewhat medieval-sounding) cover of Billie Holiday's "I'll Be Seeing You."

"Bob? Charles?" Phineas prompted.

FERB

Phineas left Ferb and Sloane alone, and he was thankful that she was too taken with the situation to think to ask him anything. They watched as Bob pointed to Charles' hair only for his hand to be batted away, but the expressions on their faces were only filled with awe and fondness.

When Phineas returned he glanced toward the band to confirm, watching them take up their instruments. He followed, standing at Charles's side.

Awoken from their bubble, Bob peered down at Phineas for a moment and let the sound of the music remind him. He turned back to Charles and offered his hand. "I do owe you a dance, don't I?"

Charles looked at it, his hesitancy returning. He looked to Ferb, as if for aid, who only nodded. After only a moment Charles let out a large sigh and took hold of the gloved hand. "Better late than never."

As they walked together toward the dance floor, Ferb stepped up beside Phineas and smiled.

PHINEAS

They made an odd group: A jester, a green-haired boy, an extremely confused-looking woman, an old man in medieval garb, and the Green Knight. But Phineas didn't notice that. If anyone was staring, he didn't care. Something in his heart squeezed, and he was filled with warmth for these people he didn't know and might never see again.

Phineas wanted to believe in true love. He knew it didn't always work that way. People were complicated and life got in the way and sometimes the person you thought you loved turned out to be someone else, and sometimes it was something you made up in your head, or people's hearts just changed. Love went unrequited. Parents split up. People got hurt. But he watched something like this, and...

Maybe Phineas was projecting all of that. Didn't change the fact that he was getting a little misty-eyed.

Because he didn't know if wandering a forest for several decades looking for someone and then immediately recognizing them was true love, but hey, it sure was pretty epic.

He caught Ferb's eye. "I mean, hey, it's no Love Händel, but it's pretty good," he signed.

[erictmason]

THEY’RE GONNA WRECK IT: A “Ralph Breaks The Internet” Review

I don’t know that I ever would have told you that the original “Wreck-it Ralph”, one of the more pleasant surprises of post-Pixar-merger Disney, “needed” a sequel; the original’s story was compelling and complete enough on its own.  But the characters were so much fun to spend time with and the world felt so intrinsically interesting that it also seemed like a prime candidate to give a sequel to anyway.  And to its credit “Ralph Breaks The Internet” starts from a premise clearly designed to keep it from simply being a needless retread of the original, trading the halls of an old Arcade for the world wide web.  Unfortunately, the resulting film, while not exactly a TOTAL wash, also feels like it’s learned all the wrong lessons from its predecessor, taking an anted-up version of the first movie’s playful Video Game in-jokes that were there a mere garnish and here turning them into an inescapable aspect of the entire story that severely compromises its narrative integrity.

(SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT)

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(SPOILER SPACE)

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Said narrative picks up six years after the events of the original, with Ralph happy as can be with his lot in life nowadays: thanks to his friendship with “Sugar Rush” superstar Vanellope Von Schweetz, he’s more than content to just do his job and hang out with her goofing off all night.  Vanellope, however, feels increasingly constrained by the repetitive limits of her closed-off racing world, leading Ralph to try and give her a new surprise or two to cheer her up; unfortunately that just leads to "Sugar Rush” getting broken.  Ralph and Vanellope thus decide to venture into the arcade’s newly connected Wi-Fi system to reach The Internet in hopes of finding the part necessary to fix the game before it’s permanently unplugged.  

Which kind of sounds like a bit of an overcooked premise, and indeed the number of contrivances the movie throws at you more or less right out the gate to get to where it wants to go speaks to the problem at the heart of the whole thing, but to start things out on a relatively positive note: Ralph and Vanellope remain a great pair of characters, and if nothing else the opening few minutes of the movie honestly do make for a pleasant little coda to the first movie.  More to the point, there actually IS something admirable about how this movie chooses to dig into how their characters have changed and where they stand:  now that he has an anchor of affirmation in Vanellope, Ralph is able to find acceptance and fulfillment in the same places he once felt rejected by...but once that anchor is threatened (as it is when Vanellope finds herself increasingly attracted to the idea of staying online in the wild and unpredictable world of an online racer called “Slaughter Race”), all of his old insecurities begin to surface.  Meanwhile the same drive to strive for something greater that drove Vanellope in the first movie has now begun to slowly but surely push her out of “Sugar Rush”; this one’s a bit shakier (and the movie fumbles it pretty much completely in the execution but we’ll get to that) but you really can see the emotional logic it works on in a way that adds up, especially because the movie genuinely has the courage of its convictions and chooses to pursue it to its most logical conclusion rather than try to hedge its bets or chicken out at the last minute.  

As well, basically all of the new characters work.  The obvious highlight is Gal Gadot as Shank, the Boss Character of “Slaughter Race”; even as her presence in the movie overall is surprisingly limited given her importance to the main emotional arc that (eventually) reveals itself as the heart of the story, she is nonetheless an immediately enjoyable presence, at once tough as nails and On The Edge (one of the movie’s better sight gags is how the world of “Slaughter Race” is bathed in the reds and browns that dominated Video Games for most of the mid-00′s and Shank feels right at home in that tone) but also a caring figure who looks at her job with a genuine sense of Duty and Honor.  Likewise Taraji P. Henson’s Yesss is delightful, a beaming bouncing presence whose constantly-changing look is a consistent delight (and who may have the most enjoyably subtle details of animation of any character in the movie with the way her coat lights up whenever she gets excited being a personal favorite).  But even minor characters like the Search Engine curator Knowsmore (our now-traditional Alan Tudyk role) and Bill Hader’s J.P. Spamley are genuinely fun new additions to the overall cast.  You do find yourself wishing they could maybe get a bit more screen time or else be better integrated into the overall story, but even so I really liked just about all of them and they do a lot to buoy the whole thing.

Unfortunately none of them, nor the movie’s clever-if-not-especially-original conception of what “The Internet” would mean to this kind of world (my personal favorite touch might be portraying pop-up ads as old-school Newsies), can really add up to much in the face of the larger problem here.  See, even though they’re a relatively minor presence in the overall movie, the original “Wreck-it Ralph” hyped up the presence of its various Video Game character cameos (many of whom return here), and the attendant in-jokes that came with them.  “Ralph Breaks The Internet” apparently seems to have the mistaken belief that it was this wink-wink nudge-nudge meta-humor at the original’s margins that was in fact the key to its success and thus, using The Internet as a launching pad to broaden its range of targets, has made that element much, much more prominent this time around.  Sometimes that does make for amusing gags; the extended (and heavily-touted) scene where Vanellope meets the other Disney Princesses is indeed a particular highlight, and the one sequence where the movie comes even remotely close with reconciling its desire to indulge in fairly tired meta-textual snark with actually trying to tell any sort of real story.  Far more often we have to deal with things like how a joke about Ralph making the age-old mistake of reading the comments stands in for any kind of actual attempt to show how his old anxieties are resurfacing (in a moment that fails to land almost completely; it is honestly impossible to tell while watching it how seriously the movie expects us to take it), or even more frustrating how Vanellope’s realization that she wants to stay in “Slaughter Race” is told to us through an incredibly ineffectual and far too self-aware parody of the old Disney-style “I Want” song.  That Vanellope would in fact choose to leave Sugar Rush behind is already the biggest buy-in the movie asks us to make of its characters, so that failed short-cut proves especially harmful to the overall arc here.  It all leads to a finale that feels like it could, indeed even should, work for how frankly it chooses to tackle the underlying emotional problems at the heart of the story, but it ultimately can’t because the movie just flat-out has not done the work to really earn it.

There are other smaller problems as well; Fix-it Felix and Calhoun, the primary side-characters from the first film, are here given what feels like it should be the lead-in to an enjoyable and inspired B-story of their own but instead wind up being nothing more than glorified cameos.  I’m also not super fond of how the movie actively begs the audience to question the logical nature of its world and characters as often (and seemingly without much thought) as it does.  But the real fundamental issue here is that “Ralph Breaks The Internet” just plain cannot square its two competing impulses; the desire to actually try and tell a story that meaningfully expands on the original’s characters in some genuinely-daring ways is ultimately undone by the far-stronger drive to weigh it all down beneath a lot of knowing referential humor that feels far less relevant and insightful than the writers think it is.  There really is something good deep in the heart of all of this, but, sad as it is to say, it basically gets wrecked this time around.

[all-the-cliches-lwa]

The Life We Share Ch. 7 (End)

I’m a day late I know ;-; I had a lot of difficulties with my Dianakko week day 7 prompt... and like, it took me way too long to figure out how to do it! I’m.. honestly still all that sure how it came out, but I wanted to get out asap, so here it is!

Oh also s/o to @undersea-anchor. You are lovely and have been such a big help throughout this whole week. I also got inspiration for one line in the middle of the fic from this picture by @bibnella. Completely different context but I mean. I love this pic and I felt like it needed to be said. . 

I hope you enjoyed this Dianakko week! Please feel free to tell you what you thought of this chapter, or my submissions in general. But of course, thank you so much for reading my fic! It’s meant so much to me that you guys read my things.

Day 7: Free day

Summary: In which Akko and Diana finally have their wedding. 

Word count: 5.4k words

ffnet link ao3 link

Diana paused and turned to look at herself in the mirror, for what was probably her fifteenth time in the last couple of hours. She took a second to take in her appearance, and her lips curved down into a dissatisfied frown.

“Honestly Amanda, I haven’t the slightest clue why I let you talk me into wearing this ridiculous suit.”

“Oh c’mon Di, would you quit worrying?! You look hot... Besides, we both know I wasn’t the one who talked you into wearing that.”

Diana looked up at Amanda’s reflection in the mirror and narrowed her eyes.

“You were the one who suggested it, however.”

Amanda flashed a smug grin as she leaned back against the armrest of the couch.

“Yeah? And I remember Akko practically begging you to wear it… and as we both know, you can’t say no to those adorable puppy dog eyes.”

Diana sighed, ignoring her best woman’s little quip, and glared back down at her own reflection, one hand fiddling with the edge of slacks while the other pulled against her collar.  

Months.

They had been planning today for months. Fifteen months to be exact.

What Diana, and likely Akko, had assumed would be a relatively simple affair, one that would take no more than a couple of months, had quickly grown into the greatest trial the two of them had ever faced.

Considering they had literally stared down a possessed missile together in their youth… that was saying quite a bit.

To be honest, if Diana truly had to pick between facing that missile once again and spending hours arguing over something as pointless as how the napkins at the reception would be folded… she would gladly choose facing almost certain death over those damned table cloths anyday.

Never mind the headache that was deciding the guest list.

If Akko and her didn’t have the support of their friends throughout the whole process… there’s no telling how this would have gone.

Still, after all of their preparation, not to mention their years of being engaged, what was to be the biggest day of their lives had finally arrived.

Akko was on the other side of the Cavendish estate, Lotte, Sucy, and Andrew keeping her company. There was absolutely no doubt in Diana’s mind that Akko looked absolutely stunning… If only she could know just what Akko was wearing.

Out of all the details that the two of them had spent forever ironing out, practically burning it into Diana’s mind, the one detail that neither of them were allowed to know, as per Akko’s request naturally, was how the other would be dressed.

All that they knew was that Akko would be wearing a bridal gown and Diana would be wearing a suit.

And while Diana knew Akko’s dress would be nothing short of spectacular, something that would undoubtedly leave her absolutely breathless…

Diana did another once over herself in the mirror and felt her heart drop down to the pit of her stomach.

She felt no doubt that her own attire left much to be desired. After all of  that insistence on secrecy, Akko was probably expecting something that would leave the girl absolutely floored… but this?

“Surely you don’t think Akko was expecting something like this?” Diana pivoted away from the mirror to face her friends.

“What’s so wrong about that?” Amanda asked, a brow raised. “Like I said, you look hot! That Anna sure knows how to tailor a suit. It hugs your waist just right.”

“Amanda would you quit ogling me? I’m serious,” Diana scolded. She then rapidly gestured up and down her suit and let out a defeated groan. “Akko is expecting something jaw-dropping, and truthfully I feel this suit is rather dull.”

“Jeez Diana, stop fussing about it!” Barbara interjected. Diana turned towards the door, where Hannah and Barbara stood. “Amanda’s right, you look amazing. Honestly, Akko’s going to be completely head over heels for you!”

“Well, you know, more than usual,” Hannah added.

“Seriously, knowing her, she might actually fall head over heels during the ceremony.” Amanda chuckled as she sat up on the couch. Diana turned back to her best woman, who was sending her an unsettling smirk.  “Though if you’re really looking to drop some jaws, I’ve got a couple of suggestions.”

“Here we go,” Hannah laughed, as she shook her head, though her lips were curled up in an amused smile.

“If you really want to leave an impression…” Amanda continued, clearly ignoring Hannah’s little quip. “Lose the vest. Oh, and the tie.” Amanda leaned forward and winked, which sent a shudder down Diana’s spine. “Maybe even undo a few buttons off the top. Show off a little boo-”

“Amanda O’neill! I will not be doing any of that!” Diana screamed, causing her bridesmaids to burst into laughter. Diana leaned back against the mirror and crossed her arms, doing her best to ignore the flames that had lit up in her cheeks. “Honestly, I would have thought that, on today of all days, my bridesmaids and my best woman would have the courtesy to hold off on their jokes at my expense.”

“Well, you wouldn’t have picked us for the jobs if we did, now would you?” Amanda laughed.

Diana sputtered at the accusation for just a moment, only to drop her head and chuckle in defeat.

“Perhaps not,” Diana admitted.

“Anyway, you really needed to relax,” Hannah said. “You’ve been worrying over nothing since you woke up.”

“And honestly, we thought this would be the best way to calm you down,” Barbara continued. “Give you a bit of normalcy and try to keep your mind distracted. It worked for Edgar in Nightfall volume 369.”

Diana froze for a moment, staring wide-eyed at the floor below her. Her arms fell to her sides as the words of her friends sank in.

“Have… Have I really been worrying over nothing?” Diana mumbled. When all she heard was the sound of birds outside her window, she looked up, only to see everyone else staring at her with an almost deadpan glare. “... What?”

The three turned to each other for just a second. They shared a brief nod, and Amanda then lifted herself up from the couch and began walking towards Diana.

“... Di, you literally just worried that Akko, the same Akko who actually spent hours drooling because you ‘accidentally’ got your hair cut too short a few years ago, wouldn’t be all crazy about you wearing that fine ass suit,” Amanda said. “Trust us, you need to chill.”

“Yeah Diana, Amanda’s right,” Barbara, who was now standing by Amanda’s left, agreed.

“We get that your nervous,” Hannah said from Amanda’s right. “Who wouldn’t be? But if we’re talking about Akko here… we’re pretty sure you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Diana bit her lip, and her eyes darted down to her black leather shoes. Her hands clenched into tight, almost shaking, fists.

Then, Diana closed her eyes and took in a deep breath.

“... I just want today to go absolutely perfect for her,” Diana admitted. “Something we can look back at together forever.”

“And it will be,” Barbara answered. “As long as it’s you and her together, any day would be perfect for Akko… honestly I can’t tell you how much of my weekly Nightfall book clubs has been replaced with Lotte talking about how excited Akko is.”

And that thought made Diana smile. The thought of Akko gushing about everything to her friends because she just couldn’t contain her excitement. Her eyes twinkling with that trademark thrill that was just so Akko.

“I… suppose you three are right.”

“But, if you need something to calm you down, I think I’ve got just the thing,” Amanda said. Diana opened her eyes to see Amanda digging into the pocket inside of her own suit. “Ah, found it.” Amanda then pulled her arm out and opened up her palm.

Diana looked down, and her eyes widened when she saw red strings, all interwoven together.

“My bracelet…”

“Yeah, remember you told me to hold onto it a few days ago?” Amanda said.

“... Considering the sort of things you had us do on my so-called bachelorette party at the time, could you blame me?” Diana replied. “I’m pretty sure had I worn it that night, I would have truly lost it in all the chaos.”

“Yeah well, nothing says party like-”

“I never wish to be reminded of what transpired that night Amanda,” Diana scolded, much to the amusement of everyone else in the room. “You three did delete all photo evidence of that night, correct?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah don’t worry about it,” Amanda waved off, to the sound of agreements from the others. “But, you gotta admit, you did have fun right? Pretty sure watching what we did gave you some ideas for the honeymoon.”

Diana’s face heated up at the thought, but she refused to acknowledge Amanda’s obvious taunt with a response.

Still, she took the string from Amanda’s hand and nodded gratefully. She wrapped it around her wrist, and a wave of calm rushed over her. She smiled and ran her fingers over the fibres of red string Akko had given her one day in between their months of hellish planning.

Diana then looked up at her bridesmaids, all giving her smiles and grins, and her arms reached out to grab all three of her friends in a tight embrace.

“Thank you,” Diana said, her voice slightly shaky, “thank you all so much.”

“Of course Diana,” Barbara said.

“Anytime,” Hannah added.

Diana continued to tightly hold the three girls in silence, with their arms eventually wrapping around Diana as well.

However, their moment together was cut short by beeping that sounded from Amanda’s wrist.

“Oh uh, well, that’s all fine and great but…” Amanda was the first pull back, and Diana saw her look down at the watch on her wrist, “We’ve got like 10 minutes ‘till you have to meet with Akko… right before you two walk down the aisle.”

Diana’s heart stopped, and the butterflies in her stomach returned, fluttering even more wildly than they had before.

She felt like she was back in high school, waiting on Akko to knock on her door for their first date… and she never wished to be back in that room, hiding beneath her bed covers more than she did now.

Before Diana could act upon any of that, however, Amanda’s hand landed on her shoulder, pulling her out of her thoughts.

“C’mon Di, wouldn’t wanna keep Akko waiting right?” Amanda said. “Besides, I can’t imagine how freaked out she is right now.”

Diana took another deep breath and gave a nervous smile.

“Yes… yes, we should go,” Diana said. “Thank you.”

“Alright, Han, Barb, I’mma take Di down myself,” Amanda said.

“Fine, fine” Hannah said. “You make sure she gets down in one piece, or you’re not hearing the end of it from either of us, right Barbara?”

“Yeah Amanda!”

“Ha, ‘aight,” Amanda laughed. Then she looked back at Diana. “Let’s go.”

And Diana nodded, doing her best to calm her, now absolutely stampeding, heart as they began making their way out of the room.

However, even she knew she wouldn’t be able to. Her heart was just beating far too fast.

And who could blame her? She was about to meet her fiancée-

“Diana! Don’t forget about your brooch!”

Diana stopped and turned towards the table at the center of the room, only to see she had, indeed, forgotten her family’s brooch, a pin in the shape of the Cavendish familiar, a unicorn.

“Woops, can’t leave that Di,” Amanda chuckled.

“... Right, my apologies.”

Akko paced back and forth along the west wall of the entrance hall, each of her steps accentuated with the loud clack of her heels slamming against the tiles. All the while, her attention was centered on the east corridor. Just waiting for Diana to make her entrance.

She could faintly hear Lotte, Sucy, and Andrew conversing behind her, but she couldn’t really tell what they were talking about over the sound of her own hammering heart, threatening to burst out of her chest.

Akko knew she should probably calm down. Try to stay still and not scuff up the floors that Anna and the rest of Diana’s house staff had spent so long cleaning… but she couldn’t help it! No matter what she tried, she couldn’t find anyway to stop her legs from bouncing, kicking, or stomping on the ground. Couldn’t find a way to stop her arms from shaking.

And, of course, with every second that passed, that excitement coursing through her veins only continued to build.

After all, the moment that Akko had been waiting for forever was about to come.

Soon, she would finally get to see how amazing Diana looked in her suit!

When Amanda made the suggestion all the way back when they first started planning, Akko would be lying if she said she wasn’t immediately on board with it. Ever since that day, Akko had spent so much of her free time just daydreaming about it!

Sure, she could have gotten a chance to see what Diana looked like a long time ago… but there was that thing about seeing the bride in their wedding outfits being bad luck. And sure, Diana told her that was just some silly superstition but… Akko didn’t want to take any chances.

She’d already burned all of her luck by having Diana in her life.

But, if Diana didn’t walk in through those doors in the next five minutes, Akko swore she would stomp through the halls and get Diana herself!

… Thankfully, she didn’t need to do that.

A click echoed from the door across the room, and Akko froze, her heart jumping high up into her throat.

Butterflies scrambled around in her stomach, and her heart felt like it would explode at any moment.

Then the doors split open.

The very second Akko laid eyes on Diana, they popped out of her head, and her knees immediately buckled. Thankfully, Lotte and Andrew were quick enough to catch her before she collapsed onto the ground, providing the support her legs could no longer give.

Sure, this was just a little pathetic, but who could blame her?!

Akko always knew Diana would look absolutely gorgeous wearing a suit. There was just something about the way Diana radiated cool and confidence that made it painfully obvious…

But damn.

How the suit just… hugged Diana’s waist and hips in all the right ways. The way its dark fabric showed off Diana’s flawless, alabaster, skin and fluffy, blonde tresses, swaying with every single step.

It all left Akko completely breathless. Her eyes couldn’t help but roam up and down Diana’s figure multiple times, burning every last detail into her mind. The silver brooch pinned onto the lapel. The dark blue vest and tie, further emphasizing Diana’s wonderfully fair skin.

Heat poured into her face, and her mouth felt completely dry.

The second Diana looked up, and Akko could finally look into Diana’s icy blue eyes, which, more than once, sent shivers down her spine, Akko felt her mind halt.

Before Akko knew it, words began to form on her lips, her mind far too consumed by her fiancée’s sheer beauty to even think about stopping them.

“H-Holy shitto da.”

Diana spent the entire trip from her dressing room to the entrance hall taking deep breaths and calming her nerves.

After all, as Amanda and Andrew had told her multiple times throughout the months, one of the suit’s strongest points was how it could exude the wearer’s own confidence and poise.

Well, that’s what Andrew had told her.

Amanda had told to ‘strut’ her ‘stuff’, with absolutely no care. Which was essentially the same, given Amanda’s own way of speaking.

However, the very second she walked into the entrance hall and saw Akko standing before her… she felt all of her composure fly away. The world froze around her, and everything else melted away, leaving just her and this angel alone together in a void of white.

All at once, the butterflies returned to wreak havoc in her gut, and her palms once again began to sweat. Just like in her dressing room, Diana suddenly felt like she was back in high school, only this was far worse on essentially every level.

Diana knew she could never have been prepared for what was to come. She knew that no matter what she tried, no matter how long she spent visualizing and imagining, Akko would leave her stunned speechless, would leave her, for lack of a better term, completely bewitched, trapped under her spell.

Even so, as Diana stared at Akko, at how the bodice, beautifully decorated in ornate, lilies and roses, clung onto Akko’s curves in a way that should have been absolutely criminal, at the skirt, which softly flared out from Akko’s hips down to hem on the floor, Diana found herself more lost for words than at any point in her life.

And that feelings only grew worse as, somehow, she was now standing right in front of her positively stunning fiancée. Diana’s eyes couldn’t help but wander, starting, of course, from Akko’s beautiful face. From those wide, absolutely hypnotizing red eyes, down towards the pure white, strapless dress that had, once again, left Diana truly speechless.

Carefully, Diana inched to reach for Akko’s hand, desperate for a touch, to know that this was all real… yet afraid that it would all slip away if she moved too quickly.

The very second Diana felt the soft skin of Akko’s hand in hers, her entire body filled with warmth, and her eyes had suddenly begun to sting, herself overwhelmed with joy.

Diana felt a soft thumb wipe away a tear, only to cup her cheek. She then stared into Akko’s alluring red irises, and slowly felt herself drawn towards them, slowly getting lost within.

Before she knew it, soft lips pressed against her own, and the whole world, once again, faded away.

Outside of the Cavendish Estate, at least a hundred people were seated, waiting for the ceremony to start. Rows and rows of chairs were lined up into two separate aisles, and pink and light blue lilies floated overhead, all thanks to Constanze and Jasminka.

Music played around the courtyard, setting up the sort of light, yet romantic, atmosphere Diana and Akko both said they wanted.

The sky was perfectly clear too, with not even a single cloud floating overhead.

It was, probably, the perfect time for an outdoor wedding, just like Akko had wanted.

… There was just… one problem.

“Amanda! You said you brought Diana down to Akko right?” Hannah scolded.

“Yeah, of course I did!” Amanda said. “Do you really think I would have let that mess walk through the house alone?”

“Then where are they?!” Hannah asked. “Akko’s parents have been wondering when the ceremony is going to start! And I don’t know what to tell them because it was supposed to start ten minutes ago!”

“Look, I brought her to meet with Akko at the entrance, and Lotte, Sucy, Andrew, and I gave them their privacy, just like we all planned!” Amanda said. “Good thing we left too, cause I swear those two were about to-” Amanda’s eyes shot open “-you dont think…”

“By the Nine, of course that’s what they’re doing!” Barbara groaned. “Jeez, they really are like-”

“Edgar and Arthur yes!” Lotte gushed.  After a quick second, however, she suddenly stopped, and her eyes widened, clearly in fear. “Wait, no this isn’t good.”

Sucy just started snickering behind everyone.

“Of course those idiots would do something like this.”

“Well, I suppose one of us will have to go and get them,” Andrew cut in. Amanda then saw him stare right at her, a twinkle in his eyes. “And I do believe that job should go to the best man, or woman as it were.”

“What?!” Amanda screamed. “I don’t wanna see that!”

“Just earlier, you were checking Diana out in the dressing room,” Hannah quipped. “I’m pretty sure you wanna see that.”

Amanda glared at Hannah, but all she got was a shrug and a chuckle. She then slumped, and peeked outside.

The guests were beginning to talk, wondering where the happy couple was. Thankfully, none of them were really mad, they did all know who Akko was, after all, but… who knows how long that would last.

Then Amanda caught Jasminka, looking back at her from the front row, and she immediately felt a shiver run down her spine.

“Fine,” Amanda groaned. She took her wand out from the inner pocket of her jacket and opened it up. “The things I do for those two.”

Amanda made her way back to the entrance hall, hoping that maybe, just maybe, those idiots were still stuck staring into each other’s eyes. Hoping that maybe she wouldn’t walk in on them... for probably the second time in her life.

She knew it was pointless, but, still, a girl could hope.

Amanda stopped in front of the wooden doors and took in a deep breath, preparing herself for what was inside.

“Yo! What are you guys doing?! Akko, your parents are wondering where the hell you two ar-” Amanda immediately froze when she saw Diana pinned against the wall, Akko’s hand tangled in tousled blonde hair, and the look of horror on the, apparently extremely, happy couple’s faces.

“... Jeez you two, I’m all for breaking the rules, but I’m pretty sure you can’t have the honeymoon before the wedding.”

“Yera Retoure!”

Light flew out from Amanda’s wand, encircling both Diana and Akko. Instantly, the reversal spell returned their clothes - disheveled from their… ‘activities’ - back to their original state.

“Please do not tell anyone about this,” Diana pleaded, her face absolutely scorching, as she, Akko, and Amanda made their way outside.

“Oh trust me Di, everyone already knows,” Amanda said. “And those who don’t can definitely put two and two together when they see the marks Akko left on your neck.”

“What?!” Diana screamed. She immediately reached into her pocket to grab her phone to use as a mirror. When she saw small dark marks scattered all around her neck, she nearly fainted, overwhelmed by the mortifying embarrassment that filled her being.

“Don’t worry! I can fix it!” Akko immediately cheered. “Tiosel Sol Aré!”

Diana felt herself engulfed in a warm, soothing light, and one by one, each offending mark faded away.

Diana let out a sigh of relief, as she inspected herself to find that, thankfully, Akko’s spell had worked completely.

“Thank you so much Akko,” Diana said, turning to send a smile towards her fiancée.

“No probs!” Akko answered, a bright smile on her face. Almost instantly, however, that smile grew more impish, sending a tingle down Diana’s spine. “Besides, there’ll be more of those tonight!”

“Akko!” Diana quickly scolded, and Amanda burst into laughter in front of them.

“At least you’re leaving it for tonight,” Amanda chuckled. “Now let’s go! Everyone’s waiting.”

The ceremony went by in a blur.

Just as they had rehearsed countless times, Akko and Diana’s entourage walked down the aisle first, Diana’s on the right and Akko’s on the left.

Then, Akko and Diana walked down the aisle, hand-in-hand, as Akko's parents guided them towards the front where Professor Ursula stood, ready to officiate their wedding.

All the while, Akko and Diana focused solely on each other. Hands joined together, as they gazed into each other's eyes. Diana marveling at the bright light of joy radiating off of Akko's smile. Akko lost in the warm love held within Diana's crystal blue eyes.

“Now, it's time for the couple to exchange a few words. Akko?”

Then, before they knew it, the stage was theirs.

Akko felt Diana squeeze her hands, saw Diana’s smile soften, and her heart filled with a familiar warmth. A warmth that could make any day better, one that enveloped her and made her feel safe. Just like a hug from her dear fiancée.

Akko took in a deep breath and let that warmth guide her.

“Diana, I… when we first met, I… I never thought that we’d even really be friends. You were perfect in so many ways and could do everything I couldn’t. It was… really frustrating. Then there were all the times you scolded and lectured me! I thought you were so mean… but I, I was wrong.”

Akko paused, her voice having begun to crack. She shut her eyes and let out a shaky sigh, trying to calm down.

“You… weren’t anything but nice. You were always looking out for me, trying to make sure I didn’t get hurt. You were always just… taking care of me. And when I’m with you, I just feel so safe, so happy. I… everyday is fun with you, and you help me be the best me I can be! I.. always want to feel like this. To be with you.”

Akko looked back into Diana’s eyes, which were also moist with tears. Akko chuckled and reached up to wipe a drop from the corner of Diana’s eyes. “I know that I can’t keep talking about everything I love about you… cause if I did we’d be kind of here forever… but I love you so much. And I hope I can keep doing whatever it is that makes you want to keep me by your side.”

Diana stood still, locking her jaw in place and trying desperately to hold back the tears that were threatening to flood down her face. The only things keeping her together were Akko’s hand gently caressing her cheek and the face splitting grin on Akko’s face, as her fiancée also tried to fight back her own tears.

“Akko, I… I love you too. Far more than I could ever hope to put into words,” Diana said, as she leaned into Akko’s hand. “So forgive me for making this brief… but otherwise, just as you said, we would all be here forever.

As a child, I allowed the weight of my own responsibilities to pull me down, letting it slowly dull the color of my world. And then you came into my life, blindingly bright and full of vibrant colors. It was… distracting. Irritating. It showed me just how colorless I’d allowed my life to become… how the wonder I used to have for the world had just faded away. And I could not stand it, so I tried to run away from you.

But, no matter what, you found me. You, you brought color back to my life. You let me experience that sense of wonder once again, experience the joy of being a child, at least every once in a while. I’d… always assumed I was destined for one thing, and one thing only, but you showed me that I didn’t have to let that destiny shackle me from reaching out for other things.

You’ve given me a world of unlimited possibilities Akko, and I cannot thank you enough for that. A world where I don’t always have to be strong, a world where I can do anything I wish. And, truly, with every fibre of my being, I always hope… that I can do the same for you. No matter the cost, I swear that I will always be by your side when you need me most.” Diana finished, her tears falling down her face.

It was quite clear Akko wasn’t doing much better.

Diana smiled and took out the handkerchief from her suit. First, she used it to wipe away the tears from Akko’s eyes, and then did the same for herself.

When the two looked at each other, eyes red and puffy from tears, but their lips still smiling, full of love for one another, they both completely regretted the fact that they were not allowed to kiss until the very end of the ceremony.

“And so… Akko,” Diana said, doing her best to wrap up her final part, as quickly as possible. She removed the brooch from her lapel and held it on Akko’s dress, right above her heart. “Would you do me the great honour of joining my family?”

Akko bit her lip and nodded furiously, causing Diana’s heart to melt.

“Very well,” Diana said. She pinned the brooch onto Akko’s dress and smiled. She then turned to Professor Ursula and nodded. “You may continue.”

Professor Ursula smiled, wiping a tear from her eye.

“Understood. The rings?”

“Of course,” Andrew said, as he and Amanda walked up towards Akko and Diana. “You two look a mess.”

Akko and Diana both looked at Andrew and Amanda and struggled to hold in their laughter when they saw just how red their eyes had become.

“So do you,” Akko said, allowing her and Diana a moment to chuckle. “The both of you.”

Andrew just rolled his eyes while Amanda laughed alongside Diana and Akko. They both took out a ring from their respective suit pockets and gave them to the couple, Andrew to Akko and Amanda to Diana. The two then walked back to their spots beside each to-be spouse.

Akko and Diana both turned back to each other, and they slipped the rings onto each other’s fingers.

“And now, could the couple please clasp each other’s left hand?”

Akko and Diana both reached out, and with the clack of their new rings, held their hands together. Diana looked down and smiled, looking at the bright blue string on Akko’s wrist, one to match the red on her own.

“Very good, now may we please have the ribbons?”

Lotte and Sucy, as well as Hannah and Barbara, walked up to the front of the aisle, holding two red silk and two blue silk ribbons, respectively.

Hannah and Barbara began to wrap the blue ribbons, starting from Diana’s forearm down to Akko’s. Lotte and Sucy did the same with their red ribbons, wrapping it above the silk blue ribbons, beginning from Akko’s arm down to Diana’s.

Professor Ursula finished the job, pulling out a purple ribbon from under her sleeve and wrapping it around Akko and Diana’s hand.

Akko and Diana looked at their hands, smiling all the while as they felt each other’s heart beating in time with their own. They then gazed back at each other and giggled, finally, officially, tied together in life.

Professor Ursula stood straight up and placed her hand atop Akko’s and Diana’s.

“May the Nine witches, both old and new-” Professor Ursula winked “-bless this wedding. May you two be blessed with a long, happy life, full of the love you both share… and by the power vested in me, by both the country of England and the Council of Magic, I now pronounce you two officially married!”

The second Professor Ursula announced those words, Akko leapt up into the air, in time with her jumping heart, cheering out in celebration along with the crowd.

However, the second she landed, her foot slipped, and she fell backward onto the grass, pulling Diana along with her.

Akko looked up to see Diana, just inches above her, surprised and in shock.

And as the crowd joined together in a chorus of laughter, causing Akko’s face to heat up with embarrassment… she could only really say one thing.

“I, uh,” Akko giggled, “It looks like I fell for you!”

Diana sputtered, before breaking into a chuckle of her own. She shook her head and rolled her eyes in amusement.

“You are such a silly girl.”

Akko looked into Diana’s eyes and grinned, her wife’s giggle causing her heart to stampede in her chest.

“But I’m your silly girl right?”

And Diana’s heart skipped a beat. Her eyes quickly darted down towards Akko’s lips, and she smiled.

After all, the formalities had concluded, and the ceremony simply needed one last act to be completed.

She quickly leaned down pressing a kiss upon her wife’s lips, and her entire body filled with warmth as that thought rang through in her head.

Akko was her wife. And she was Akko’s. Officially.

Finally.

Diana lifted herself up and couldn’t help but laugh at the dazed look on her wife’s face. She then leaned back down, to the side of Akko’s head, and whispered a wish.

One she sincerely believed would come true.

“Of course, Akko. Now, and forever.”

[inspiredink]

Waiting

By Ahn

The parking lot is quiet except for the sound of crickets filling up the air. In the distance, the overpass rising above the palm trees is crowded with car tires grinding against the gravel street. I want to say I can hear the ocean but it might just be my imagination.

You’re asleep inside the motel. I should be in there, curled up with your spine pressed against me and your hair tickling my nose. It’s three in the morning and I’m standing out in the cold itching to write you love letters, itching to write you so much love, you might get better. I take a shaky breath and remind myself you can’t love someone out of anything. I want to say I believe myself, but we both know I’m still trying to love the sadness out of you.

There’s too much energy pounding inside me, pressing against the cracks of my ribs and begging to tumble out. I’ve never been loud or violent, but still, I find myself fighting the impulse to scream or break something. The more I fight the urge, the more it feels like I’m just breaking myself. 

My fingers are trembling as I send a message to her. It’s all jumbled letters and misspelled words autocorrect doesn’t feel like changing. I can’t be bothered to capitalize or punctuate. Maybe that’s why she calls me within moments; I’m always precise when I type.

The phone rings in my hand. Over and over and over. All I can do is stare down at my fingers and trace how the flickering light above casts deep shadows on my knuckles. Distantly, I realize that these are my hands holding my phone. I have to remind myself that I am here, that I am breathing.

The line falls dead. She leaves a voicemail but it’s only two seconds of silence before she starts calling again. I don’t remember opening the voicemail but the sound of her breath pulls me out of my stupor. I pick up on the third ring, wiping the tears off my phone screen before holding it up to my ear.

“Hey,” I whisper.

My voice is hoarse. Quiet. Falling apart, really.

“You asked me to call.”

And yeah. I think I remember texting that.

White noise fills my head, blending in with the sound of her breathing and the crackling noise of her silent room. My name interrupts my daze.

“Olivia?” 

I don’t respond. I can’t. It occurs to me that I am sobbing too much to answer. I can’t breathe. Ican’tbreathe. 

“Olivia, breathe with me. Come on. Listen.”

She breathes in slowly and I try to copy, hiccuping over my own sobs. We breathe in and out together, and I am reminded of how much I love my best friend. A pained smile cracks my face as I shut my eyes and rub the tears.

“Fuck,” I whisper under my breath, trusting her to hear me, “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, hun.”

I just focus on breathing for a while, focus on fitting myself back into my body because, at this moment, I don’t feel like myself. She waits for me to finish organizing my thoughts. When I speak, I choke out the words I had meant to say.

“I found her.”

Silence. And then, “How was she?”

“Alive.”

And part of me is angry that I have to worry about this. Part of me crumbles at the reminder that I was so worried I’d stumble onto your dead fucking body.

After a moment, I think to say more.

“She wasn’t great.”

“I can imagine. She never is.”

“I found her at the ocean. She was just… waiting, I guess. For a sign? For her to feel ready? F-for me to find her?” 

My voice gets louder as I remember finding you at the ocean’s edge after hours of driving to all of your favorite and my least favorite places (a lot of tall buildings and empty rooms.)

It hurt to find you at my favorite place; I wonder if you knew it would ruin it for me. If you knew the ocean was one of the last few places I had that reminded me of peace. Then, I shake that thought from my head because you could never be that selfish. With a long and slow sigh, I run a hand through my cropped hair. I cut it after you told me I looked prettier with short hair. I wish pretty was enough for you to stay.

“I feel like she’s always waiting for me to find her.”

I’m so tired.

I’m so so tired.

And you’re in there and I’m out here being selfish and calling my best friend because, for once (for the fifth time this month), I need someone else to take in all of the sharp, crumpled up emotions I have balled up in my belly. It tastes like ash and dust when anger surges up my throat and curls on my tongue. This world must be worthless if it makes you feel this way. I want to burn it all down. I want to let myself fall apart. I want to cry. I want to- God, I just want to rest.

“I can’t do this anymore.” It’s a quiet admission.

“You’re not responsible for her.”

I think of you curled up alone in a crappy motel room with the A.C. on blast even though I hate the cold.

“Yeah, I am” I murmur. 

And it’s hard to admit it out loud, how responsible I feel for your breakdowns and your pain. 

“You’re not alone, Olivia.”

I scoff, taking in the parking lot full of empty cars of guests at the motel. Most of them probably snugly in bed. For once, I let myself feel angry. It’s not fair that I’m out here at 3 a.m. pushing all of this weight onto her. It’s not fair but I’m still doing it because I can never seem to hold myself together long enough to do anything right.

When I answer, my voice is sharp and brittle, cruel and cutting. It’s nothing like when I talk to you. With you, I soften the edges of my tone, even though I want to grab you by the shoulders and shake you and ask Why?

“Aren’t I?”

“Isn’t she there? Aren’t you there for her? That means you’re also with her, Olivia.”

I close my eyes and lean my head back until it’s resting on the cool metal of the bench beneath me. I wish I could see her right now. I wish Gracie were here for me to lean on. But you don’t trust her and you don’t want to talk to her. It feels like I’m a traitor for calling her, but who else can I call at three in the morning?

“You know it’s not the same,” I respond with a sigh.

She’s silent and doesn’t have an answer for a painful truth. I’ve grown distant from everyone, pulled myself away as I worried myself sick about you and wondered where you’d gone and what you were doing and if you were even alive. I can’t help it. I feel like doing anything else but look for you is wasting time. After all, your life is on the line. I could never live with myself if I just let you slip through my fingers.

She speaks again and my sobs grow louder.

“I’m here.”

And she’s right. She is. She reminds me to eat when you disappear, comes by to help clean my room, chides me for refusing to shower or sleep. I hate it. I hate that I’m you to her. I don’t know what that says about us, but it has me staying up late researching therapists and psychiatrists. Not for you to go to, for once. I know what it is to worry about someone else, and I wish she never had to worry about me.

I’m trying so hard to fix myself for Gracie. I guess part of me wishes you’d do the same. I wonder if it’s stupid to think you don’t love me that much if you’re willing to keep dragging me through this every month. It’s not true, and I know it, but I can’t help being cruel after years of struggling with the idea of empathy. It was never you that taught me compassion. That was all her. Some loves are greater than others even if they aren’t all romantic. I wonder which of my loves has a bigger hold on me.

Of course, I’m here with you. Even when I’m with others, my mind is with you.

“I love you,” I say.

“I know,” she responds. And then, “We should watch Star Wars again.”

A snort bursts out before I can stop it. “You’re such a nerd.”

“Not denying that.”

“Gracie…,” I sigh. “What am I doing here…?”

“She needs you.” 

It hurts to hear it. It makes me want to leave this city, leave this state, leave this entire goddamn country. I’ve never been needed like this before. I’ve always walked out before I could be wanted, let alone needed.

Tears prick my eyes again. 

“I’m not strong enough.”

We both know it’s true. I focus on her breaths over the phone to calm myself down and deal with the panic washing over me. I wish I could go to the ocean, but I can’t. I want to go to the ocean I knew before I saw you there. I want to go to the ocean that helped me breathe, instead of one that makes guilt rise up within me like bile.

After a moment, she responds and her voice is enough to make me feel better. 

“You don’t have to be. We’re all here for you. All of your friends and all of your loved ones are still here for you.”

I’m nodding even though she can’t see me, swallowing uneasily on the knot in my throat.

“I’m here for you, Olivia. Take all the strength you need from me. Lord knows you’ve given me strength when I need it.”

“Nobody ever talks about this part, Grace,” I whisper, “None of the articles online talk about how hard it is. They tell you what not to say and what not to do. They say get help and that it should get better but it hasn’t. They never talk about what to do when it’s killing you too.”

“I know,” she says, a lifeline floating in the emptiness. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I’m still sorry.”

I take a deep breath and open my eyes to pull out the keys to my truck. I curl my fingers around the edges, finding myself anchored by the hard teeth of the car key pressed into my palm, a reminder that I’m here and I’m alive.

“What if she had died tonight? What would I even do?”

It’s terrible and it’s selfish but this conversation was never about you. It was always about me, falling apart. Me, unable to pull you out of whatever was eating you from the inside out. I hate myself. Grace, my best friend, my platonic soulmate, the person who hasn’t budged from my side for years, somehow finds an answer to the impossible questions I’ve asked.

“You’d live, Olivia. And you’d mourn and you’d cry and maybe you’d want to die. But you’d live. And sometime, definitely not right away but definitely someday, you’d be happy again and it’d be… okay.”

“Okay.” I take a breath and then I take another. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah. I’m gonna be- I’m gonna be okay.”

“I know you’ll be.”

You find me there in the freezing dawn three hours later, bleary-eyed and dazed as I watch the sun creep over the horizon. We get into my car, no real destination in mind, and I turn on the radio to listen to the morning news. You change the station but I don’t really care enough to switch it back. Without realizing it, I drive us to the ocean.

When we swing out of the car, I look over at you and remember how beautiful you are. The ocean breeze pushes your tangled hair out of your eyes and the color is returning to your cheeks after a long night of sleep. You reach out and link your fingers with mine and I feel like I can breathe more easily, I feel like maybe, I can be okay again.

The beach is void of life for miles around. We walk to the water’s edge, let the waves lap at our feet and the seafoam settle around our ankles. I feel the panic rise up in me as I remember seeing you stand here in exactly the same position. For a moment, I can’t feel your hand in mine. It’s as though I cannot see your chest rise and fall in time with the waves or your eyes sparkling with tears as you look out at the water and let the sound of the ocean and the seagulls wash over us.

I’m alone again and I’m far, far away from Earth.

The memory of Gracie’s voice draws me back and I am reminded of how she taught me to breathe when I had forgotten. I am reminded of my friends arriving late at night to cook dinner for me and replace the dying flowers in my kitchen. I am reminded of the many voicemails you left unheard on your phone of people asking how you are and where you’ve been.

As your hold on my hand tightens slightly, as though I anchor you here on this beach, I wonder if you realize that more than one person is saving us.

Ahn writes science fiction and fantasy stories and publishes poetry on her blog. In her free time, she enjoys convincing herself that there are monsters in her garage and misinterpreting MBTI types, classpects, and other personality identifiers. Avoiding social gatherings is her forte and binge-reading fantasy series is her fatal flaw. Read more from her at versesfortomorrow.

[paintedbutton]

Before the Storm

When Sibéal Lavellan first wakes up after the Conclave, she can barely remember anything. This is the story of how she came to interfere with Corypheus' plans and gained the anchor on her hand. 

{also on ao3}

"I can fix this."

The words spilled out of her mouth unbidden. The hunter that had accompanied her, Danyra, looked back with a frown. She hadn't been a full-fledged hunter long, maybe half a year now. In the strange purple light the broken crystals exuded her skin seemed washed out, almost paper thin. The ink on her face stood out in stark contrast. The contraption she inspected was strange, stranger than any they'd seen in these ruins so far. They'd originally assumed it was a library, shelves reaching towards the high, vaulted ceilings stuffed with parchment ready to fall apart at the slightest touch. Laboratory was perhaps more fitting a term. The room they were now in seemed endlessly tall in that ethereal light. In its centre, the contraption stood. Three crystals mounted in equal distance to each other around a circle, magically throwing the room in a latticework of flickering shadow and ethereal light. As if on cue, one of the crystals fizzled and sparked. That single spark seemed to tear at the Veil, making the air ripple with something beyond.

"I don't think -" Danyra started to protest, but Sibéal interrupted before she could help herself.

"Look at all this," she said, her voice hushed, "Look at the sparks. It's more of a danger left untouched than healed." Those words might be true. She didn't know, she'd never even read about such a contraption. But whatever it was, whatever it did, it drew on the energies around it, feeding them towards an unseen purpose. From some angles, it seemed there was another crystal held aloft in the middle of the circle, larger and brighter than the rest. She had to see what it was. It was her duty to her people.

Her companion still seemed unconvinced. "We should tell the Keeper, ask her what she thinks." She made an expansive gesture, back towards the corpses that lay near the high entrance archway, once again lifeless. With the Veil so thin, spirits slipping through had not been surprising. If only they wouldn't become these crazed, half-dead things ... Fixing the contraption might help with that as well.

With that in mind, she was unwilling to concede. Insistently, she said, "The Keeper sent me with you, didn't she? It's why I'm here, lethallan. Just let me do it."

"How then?"

For a moment, she watched the fizzling jolts of energy. Only half of the thing was still present in this world, but if she ... The idea came unbidden, burning through her veins in a sudden realization. Creators, she always hated this part the most. She knew she could fix that, it was so easy. All she needed was, "Blood."

"You know the Keeper doesn't like you using blood magic." Danyra crossed her arms. Whatever hint of agreement had been in her had suddenly passed. If only she could be convincing enough, maybe it would come back.

"It's a tool like any other." An old disagreement, woven into the clan at this point. They disapproved, afraid she would hurt herself, lose herself. They were wrong. It wasn't power she desired, so she couldn't lose herself to it. "And it's the only one we have, unless you saw a pile of lyrium lying around somewhere."

"You know I haven't."

"Exactly. Step back please." She waited until Danyra had reluctantly moved back before freeing the small carving knife from its sheath on her belt. Her right arm, when she rolled the sleeve up, was littered with uneven scars in a testament to her magic use. Blood and pain, suffering. She'd found that this was the place she was sensitive enough to give both without losing her hold on the spell. The scars weren't pretty but she'd always done what she had to. She closed her eyes as she let the blade cut through her skin, murmuring a few words under her breath. They weren't part of the spell, she could hold that silently if she needed to, but a concentration aid she'd used for most of her life now. Taking a deep breath, she drew the magic through herself, directed it at the contraption in front of her, and opened her eyes. Forced apart by the energy, the Veil tore open. Through the tear, the middle crystal could be glimpsed. It seemed to react to her magic, brightening until it was almost unbearable to look at. Blinking against the light, she silently commanded it. Come through. Nothing. Blood was running down her finger tips. She drew another breath and commanded again, but still the thing would not be moved.

"Sibéal ..." She didn't look back at Danyra, couldn't. But she felt why the hunter's voice held warning. A chill crept up her back, ice and death leaking into the chamber. She needed to pull the contraption into reality, she needed to close that tear back up before something terrible found its way through. It wasn't enough.

With a sudden movement she jerked around, fixing Danyra with her gaze. "Come here," she commanded, "I need your help." Something in her gaze or voice must have warned Danyra. She stepped forward cautiously, never looking away.

"What are you doing?" she asked gruffly when Sibéal raised the knife once again.

"It's not enough, I need ... I must close this but I can't draw more power without risking losing control. I need your blood."

Danyra looked like she might protest when her eyes strayed past Sibéal to the tear. Whatever she saw within made her eyes widen, her features harden. She gave a curt nod. "Do it then," she agreed. There was something urgent in her voice. "But do it quickly!"

"I'm sorry, lethallan." The blade carved a blooming wound down Danyra's outstretched arm in one swift motion. If she'd had time to think, she would have placed the cut differently. Instead she raised her bloody fingers, drawing from both wounds now. The crystal had started pulsating, absorbing the magic she threw at it. Faster and faster, the pulses came. Smoke was pouring at their feet. Somewhere, Danyra choked back a pained sob. Sibéal paid it no mind. With a yell, she yanked at the crystal with all her might. A deep, booming sound echoed through her mind, making her stagger back. The crystal gave a heave, pouring smoke into the chamber until she nearly choked on it. With what almost sounded like a shriek, it broke apart. What had remained of the other crystals in the contraption burst into pieces. The shockwave they created threw her off her feet, knocking the air out of her lungs. When she tried to draw in breath, all she felt was smoke. Blindly, she raised her bloody hand. Close! she commanded, drawing all the power she still held within herself and throwing it outward blindly. She couldn't tell if it worked, the suffocating smoke in her lungs took her consciousness a moment later.

 Her right hand was tingling when Sibéal woke with a start. It always did after waking from nightmares. Somehow, the burn scars on her fingertips reacted to her emotions without fail. Night held on like a heavy blanket, cocooning her and the tears she felt prickling at the corners of her eyes. That same old dream ... that same old memory, really. Creators, she hated it. Three years and it still wouldn't let go of her. Danyra had been dead when she had come to, body gone cold and lifeless. She had deserved better than that. Her fingernails created sharp pinpricks of pain where she pressed them into her palms. Sibéal concentrated on the reality of that, willed the smoke and memory to recede. When she finally rolled over, curling herself into a ball beneath the heavy quilt, she hoped vainly her mind would be kind enough to grant her a few more moments of sleep.

 Sleep, naturally, did not come. She finally stumbled from her bed and into the heavy folds of her robe when she heard the birds begin their morning song, signalling the futility of her pretence. She willed the logs in the hearth to burst into flames, settling in front of it with a sigh. If sleep was eluding her, she might as well use the time for more productive pursuits.

 Fog was still lying heavily upon the ground, rising from the bog water outside and hiding the world from view, when a sharp knock at her door broke the early morning silence. Sibéal unfolded herself from where she had been ruminating on ancient texts, sighing heavily. She wasn't expecting much from whoever disturbed her peace at this hour. A villager, most likely, come to beg for a potion or a poison. They feared to tread so deep into the moor. They feared her, too. But they feared their own petty malcontents more. What she wasn't expecting when the door creaked open was a familiar face decorated with rich purple ink surrounding scowling features. What she wasn't expecting was someone who had once been a friend.

"Jaron." His name slipped from between her lips in surprise. The other elf straightened in response. He’d always been tall for an elf. Standing at full height, he could tower over her. It hadn't quite lost its effect in three years of absence.

"Andaran atish’an, Sibéal. You are not an easy woman to find."

"Bog witches never are. We are one like the other, easy to confuse." She couldn't quite keep a tang of bitterness from suffusing her voice. She had been First once, ready to become Keeper herself. Selling protection charms to shemlen villagers was a far cry from her former life, even if it provided ample opportunity to seek out the remainders of history hidden deep inside these woods.

"Bog witch is not what I've heard you called," Jaron replied with narrowed eyes, "I believe the word used was blood." Blood witch, yes. Something to scare your children with. A rather unimaginative name as these things went but you don't tend to choose that for yourself.

"I don't bathe in the blood of their babes, no matter what tales the shemlen spin."

"You wouldn't. May I come in?" He must have seen her eyes narrow, must have seen the brilliant blue of magic break through their usual dark brown, for he held up his hands in a gesture of innocence. "I am not here to harm you, lethallan. I merely wish to talk."

She considered him for a moment. Time hadn't much changed him at all. The cloak he wore was ragged, still the same one she remembered gifting him upon completion of his apprenticeship.  Underneath it he wore no visible armour though she was sure the tunic hid more than just lean muscle. His clear blue eyes shone with caution, yes, but not deception. He'd always been a terrible liar anyway. If he had come to kill her she was sure she would have known by now. With a sigh she stepped aside, letting him pass and latching the door behind him once again. When she turned he was looking around at the general disarray of herbs drying strung up by the hearth, tinctures and poultices mixing with scribbled parchments and small artefacts on every available surface. Something like wistfulness crossed his features at the sight. She gestured for him to take a seat in front of the fire before she eased herself onto the rug next to him. The book she'd been studying was still lying open in front of them.

"What's this?" he asked curiously, pointing to the cramped elvish writing. She closed it sharply.

Still, she replied, "There's a ruin, deep in the woods. A day's travel from here, provided one knows the way. Its library hasn't completely fallen to dust yet."

"You would keep that knowledge to yourself?"

"I've been told my pursuit of knowledge is less than desirable."

"Your methods, yes, not -"

She cut his rising voice off with a glare, his indignation cooling quickly. "Why are you here, Jaron?"

Three years prior she had been made a pariah of her clan, no longer welcome in their midst. She hadn't seen them since that day, none had come to seek her out. That he had now, it had to have some reason beyond simple kinship.

He stared into the flames of her hearth for a moment, shoulders tense, before his entire demeanour changed like all air was suddenly leaving him.

"Have you seen them?" he finally asked. "The mad Templars and their destitute prey? Somehow they seem to think the woods will keep them safe." He waited for her to nod in reply before he went on, "We have been informed that there is to be a conclave held in Ferelden to end all this madness. The Keeper thinks its outcome may affect us as well. We have harboured none of these mages but others may have, and even so the Templars have been suspicious of us all the same. An end to the bloodshed might mean a hunt for remaining insurgents. I am to head to Ferelden and follow the proceedings there, make certain they will not hunt us like their rebels."

"You've come the wrong way then."  In truth, she couldn’t know where the clan was at the moment. But considering how far north they were, it was an educated guess. Her eyes followed the flames licking across his features, alternately throwing them in shadow and stark relief. When he looked at her the corner of his mouth quirked in a way that meant he was at a loss.

"I am no spy, lethallan."

"Neither am I." The only place she could glide through unnoticed was the forest, its magic recognizing hers and folding around her like a cloak. But he had not come seeking a spy, that much she could guess.

"Remember when we snuck into that shemlen city as children? To free the elves from their plight?" She did. They'd barely reached thirteen then, and slipped into the city between bouts of grumbling farmers, hoods pulled low over their still bare faces. Nobody had paid them any mind. Not even the elves they'd come to free. They'd shaken their heads at the strange children calling for rebellion in their midst and went about their business. "I'm still embarrassed those thugs managed to sneak up on us." Ah yes, the shemlen bandits who had thought two elven children alone in the dark alleys would make easy prey. She still remembered the slickness of the blood pouring from the cut in her palm - and then from their blinded eyes. "You saved us both that day."

"So you've come looking for a protector?" She didn't try to hide her scoff.

"I've come looking for a friend."

"Have you now? I seem to recall you turning your back on me when I did the same." She felt him wince, idly noting they'd leaned closer together without conscious thought. With a start, she drew herself upright again. Jaron's blue eyes bored into her but she would not look back.

"I ... there are days where I wish I'd followed you instead," he confided lowly.

Sibéal scoffed. "And days on which you'd spit on my name." His responding laugh was a hollow approximation of what it had been when she'd last heard it.

"Oh no, never that." Jaron's fingers closed around hers, his thumb stroking over the pulse point on her wrist. Sibéal didn't draw away. She didn't move at all. These days, physical contact was not a thing she often had anymore. "I know I've no right to ask anything of you."

"But you're doing it anyway."

"Come with me, please. Help me. I ... have nothing to offer you in return. Perhaps the Keeper -"

"She won't take me back." Not when she still slit her wrists and danced under the moonlight, so to speak. Blood magic didn't have much appeal to her anymore, not after what had happened. But it remained a tool like any other, the only one at her disposal when her innate magic failed to produce the desired results. The Keeper would never see the necessity of it. Their clan was too involved with the human settlements they passed. Simply having her in their midst was a danger to them. Sibéal had come to accept her decision as right. She had never been meant to become a Keeper. Not when what remained of before held more value to her than those under her charge. She'd never been good at caring for others. And what she had done in her arrogance was reason enough to distrust her - she could not fault them for it.

"No, I suppose not," he sighed. His thumb brushed along the old scar on her palm. "Tell me what you want in return then."

You, she wanted to reply, but held her tongue. She missed companionship, someone to look at the wonders she'd seen with the same awe in their eyes. Her best friend. But she couldn't. Instead she finally slipped her hand out of his grasp and stood.

"The trek to Ferelden is long," she said easily, "I'm sure you'll think of something to offer me." She turned from the relief in his eyes to survey the disarray of her home, considering what she would need. From what she knew Ferelden was cold and full of dogs. Marvellous.

  Haven was not quite what Sibéal had expected. She'd seen human settlements before, obviously, and she had lived close to a backwater village for over two years now. She'd heard stories about the discovery of the prophet's ashes somewhere deep in the Frostback Mountains, so she'd simply assumed this one would be similar in its isolation. Clearly, she'd assumed wrong.

Quite the opposite from the small village in the bog, Haven was bustling with activity. Around the ramshackle houses that had clearly been built in times past, new buildings had sprung up and crammed together, taking whatever space they could. People rushed about this way and that, a testament to the proceedings of the conclave, interspersed with contingents of guards - none of their uniforms fitting those of their fellows - slowly patrolling the streets. Near an inn, a small group of mages distrustfully eyed a templar showing a gaggle of enthused children his sword. Dogs barked, sheep bleated, and over it all the chantry towered on its hill, a constant reminder for piety shining in the afternoon light. Of the fabled temple itself, once resting place to the ashes of Andraste, which had apparently been removed to protect them from the throngs of pilgrims eagerly making their way to the mountains, nothing was evident. It had to be built in the mountain caverns then, a fact which might prove unfortunate for their endeavour here. Someone roughly jostled her, his armour marking him as a templar. He gave her a dark look, calculating enough to make a shiver run down her spine. When he didn't stop, she drew her hood further over her face to hide herself away. He couldn't know she was a mage, not without her using her abilities, but the mage hunters had always chilled her. Just the thought of being left powerless by their abilities … Jaron put his hand on her arm, drawing himself up to his full height next to her. Something protective was in that gesture, something reminiscent of old friendship. They'd spent the past few weeks in prolonged silences and awkward attempts at reconciliation. Neither of them had ever been very good with words.

"Where to now?" he asked, his gaze still on the templar's back. Sibéal tilted her head towards the inn and its open door. Finding the temple entrance would not be an issue but it was undoubtedly guarded and guarded well. Two elves, their heritage boldly visible on their faces, would not be able to enter easily. Besides, it was information they wanted. Nobody had looser lips than drunkards and servants. Jaron nodded and took the lead, weaving his way towards the building. She followed hidden deep within her hood, glancing cautiously towards the templar’s retreating form.

 The inn was already overly full, as was to be expected. Mages and templars weren't the only ones interested in what would be negotiated here. The inn keeper gave them an apologetic shrug, handing out ale as he did so.

"Sorry, friends, there's no room to be had here. I can offer you a warm meal and that's about it. Other'n that you'll have to pitch tent with all the others." They'd seen the camps coming in. Strewn about before the large stone walls was a strange amalgamation of all manner of tents. Mercenaries, pilgrims, onlookers - they all shared the same space. Fires had been lit between the tents, offering warmth and a place to cook. They would end up there eventually. For the moment, however, the inn was what they needed.

"A warm meal sounds wonderful," Sibéal answered easily, a smile on her face. The inn keeper seemed harried enough that two strange elves were none of his concern.

"Well, try and find a place then. Bonny'll be with you soon as she can." He turned away before she could do so much as nod. Surveying the room, there wasn't much left in terms of seats either. One of the corner tables held two empty stools situated in the middle of a burly nobleman and a disgruntled dwarven woman arguing with each other. Jaron shrugged slightly when she found his gaze, so they made their way through the mass of people and sat. The dwarf didn't stop her tirade to so much as acknowledge them but the human inclined his head in greeting, something like a smile playing across his lips.

"-and now your Grand Enchanter hasn't even bothered showing up!" The woman was saying. The dark red brand on her left cheek marked her as what the dwarves called casteless, if Sibéal remembered correctly. Another outsider, then, but one much more involved in the proceedings if her indignation was anything to go by. The nobleman frowned, dismissing her ire with a wave of his hand.

"Neither has the Lord Seeker, it seems. They might be looking to avoid getting assassinated, you know."

"Sodding humans and your stupid frilly politics. Let them brawl it out and then buy their lyrium to celebrate I say, this negotiation crap is getting us nowhere!" Her companion sighed, rolling his eyes good-naturedly before turning to them.

"Don't listen to her, dwarven politics aren't so easy either, as I hear it. Nice of you to join us, friends. You look like you've had a long road to travel. Let me offer you a drink. Bonny!" Before either of them could reply, flagons of ale were placed in front of their faces. The human gave a satisfied smile and raised his own. "Maxwell Trevelyan, pleasure to meet you. This here is my associate, Malika of house Cadash, formerly of Orzammar. What brings you here? I don't think the Dalish have much stake in this mess but I might be wrong at that."

"They're here for the same reason I'm here, Max," the dwarven woman, Malika, cut in, "To spy on all these human idiots squabbling with each other."

"And such a good spy you make, my dear." The retort was met with a snort and Malika leaned back, looking them over. Clearly, this table had been the wrong choice. Sibéal drew closer to Jaron, meeting the woman's eyes calmly.

"We are only curious to see what comes of this," Jaron replied easily.

"Aren`t we all? Well, not me, but I don't have much choice in the matter. We're all very pious in my family, you see, happy to lend our aid to the Chantry in whatever endeavour it might be."

"Yes, if only we all had the luxury of being completely unaffected by your religion falling apart." Maxwell's only reply to Malika's words was another smile. These two obviously were familiar with each other, friendly even. An unusual kind of friendship to be sure. "But really now, why are you here? Your mages just traipse about the woods, don't they? They're not buying lyrium, that's for sure. So why should you care what the humans decide?"

"We were unaffected until the other mages began traipsing about the woods as well, bringing the templars with them," Sibéal said curtly. That was the Keeper's motivation according to Jaron anyway. She wasn't so sure that was all there was to it, but it was too late to doubt now.

"Ah. I see how that might be a problem,” Maxwell nodded, taking a swig of ale. Malika merely snorted.

“Sure you do, Max. Don’t think you’ve ever even seen a forest before.”

“I’ll have you know that my family plans excellent hunting parties, my dear.” He didn’t sound the least bit put out at the accusation.

Malika rolled her eyes before she returned her shrewd gaze to the elves. “Fine, you care. Which means you are here to spy, yeah?” They looked at each other, staying silent. What were they supposed to reply? Yes, they were after information on the conclave. Yes, perhaps some might call it spying. Others might simply call it interest. Sibéal locked eyes with the dwarven woman again. It seemed her silence still conveyed enough, as the woman grinned and gave her companion’s thigh a none too gentle slap.

“You'll want a way into the temple as well then, won't you? It must be your lucky day," Maxwell promptly offered, rubbing the offending spot. Malika seemed satisfied at that.

Jaron's eyes narrowed. "That is a rather dangerous offer, is it not?" Maxwell shrugged in response. His entire demeanour was the ease of a human lord, self-assured and missing any hint of worry at the consequences of his actions.

"I'm already getting her in," he said, pointing to Malika, "Might as well add two more bodies to the mix."

"Why?" Sibéal asked, full of distrust. He had no motivations for providing passage to two spies, especially ones he didn't know.

"Why not? You'll find your way in one way or another. The danger you know is always preferable to the one you can't anticipate."

"What do you get in return then?"

"Nothing at all, I suppose. Maybe a little amusement, if you're as subtle as this one over there. If the Qunari catch you it's no skin off my back."

"You know nothing about us," Jaron pointed out, "We could be assassins."

"You could be, sure," Maxwell agreed, "and that temple is filled with the most paranoid bunch of delegates known to man. You might even catch a glimpse of your target, but that's about it."

"Salroka, just shut your mouth. You're not helping your own case." Malika turned to them, shaking her head. "He's just a noble's youngest brat, really. He's bored out of his wits and thinks criminals are fun to hang around with. Take him at his word or don't, but he can get you inside, at least for a bit." Maxwell only snorted with derision.

Sibéal and Jaron looked at each other for a moment. He gave a miniscule shake of his head, but she was already turning back to their companions. "We will accept your offer then."

"What? You can't be serious, lethallan!" Sibéal reached for him before she could think better of it. Jaron looked down at the hand she'd grasped between her own.

"Do you trust me?" The words were quiet, as private as she could make them at this small table.

"I do."

"Then trust me." He looked back at her face, catching her eyes for a moment longer, before finally nodding.

"Ma nuvenin," he simply said. He did not seem happy about it. She didn't let go of his hand when she focused her attention back on Maxwell.

"We will accept your offer," she said again.

"Splendid! I was thinking ... tomorrow night, perhaps? Two more days of arguing ought to leave some evidence behind you could use."

"Very well. We shall take our leave, until then. You will find us -"

"Oh, don't worry. I'll find you," Malika interrupted with a grin.

"That she will. Farewell, friends, until we meet again!"

They stood and left without another word. Only when they'd disappeared into the tent city beyond the walls did Sibéal notice she was still gripping Jaron's hand.

 "Do you ever regret it? Leaving?" Jaron was staring intently at the flames of their little campfire, roasting the rabbit he had snared earlier. They'd set up camp as isolated as possible with so many people milling about. For now, they were alone. She could see figures moving against the backdrop of the many fires in the valley. Sibéal looked at Jaron's back mutely. Did she? She regretted the loneliness, the strangeness of her life. She missed her clan like a constant ache - easy to ignore day to day until it stole her breath for just a moment. Reluctantly, she settled down next to him, watching the flames lick at the rabbit's haunch.

"Sometimes," she admitted, "Everyone has regrets, I think."

"Bel."

"What would you like me to say? That I miss the clan? That I miss sitting by the fire and listening to the hahren spin tales for the children? Hearing Melya scold the halla like they'd listen to her? That I miss you?" She wasn't certain how obvious her helpless longing was. Next to her, Jaron made a sound she couldn't quite place, his hands gripping the spit tighter. "Of course I have regrets. Dwelling on it will do me no good." Abruptly, Jaron pulled the rabbit out of the fire and set it aside. He turned to her, gripping her shoulders and finding her gaze.

"You could come back," he said, "that cottage is no place for you. Just ... stop this madness. Come home."

"I was exiled, Jaron. I'm a pariah to them! Nothing you say or feel will make that any less true!"

"You killed someone, Bel, of course the clan turned against you! But if you just made them see -" His grip on her shoulders was almost painful now. Why was there so much desperation in him? Over this? Over her? She didn't, couldn't understand what she was seeing in his eyes. He had always been her closest friend, her only confidant. When he had turned away from her, it had hurt more than the Keeper's grave voice speaking her judgment. She had never considered that her exile must have affected him as well.

"There is nothing to see! I still seek the same knowledge, I still use the same rituals, and they won't take me back!"

Jaron's face crumbled but his voice was still vehement when he said, "Creators, what do you want me to say? I just ..." He leaned forward then, resting his forehead against hers, and closed his eyes. His fingers loosened their vice grip and trailed down her arms until he could tangle them with hers in her lap. Sibéal remained still. This ... they hadn't been this. Absence might have brought him clarity where it only muddled her thoughts. When he kissed her, so soft and hesitant, she didn't respond. Jaron broke the kiss after a moment, resignation clear on his face, and finally let go of her.

"Jaron," she said, half question, half statement. Her voice was rougher than she would have liked it to be.

"It's alright, lethallan. We don't have to - we should eat." Mutely, she nodded.

 "Jaron," she whispered into the night much later. Sibéal had been staring at the rough canvas of their tent for quite some time, Jaron a still lump next to her. She knew he wasn't sleeping, he'd always been particularly erratic when asleep.

"... Yes?"

"How long have you - have you always - I mean -" She was stumbling over her own words, so she broke off in frustration. The lump sighed and uncurled itself, Jaron turning to face her.

"After you left I spent too long brooding and hurting not to admit it to myself, Bel."

"I see." She did not know what else to say. Somewhere in the distance, a group of mercenaries were singing a drunken shanty. The night was alive with the sounds of the sleeping and the restless in equal measure.

"It won't have to change things, Bel. I ... realize my actions were hasty." Jaron had sat up now, slightly hunched under the low canvas ceiling covering them. Sibéal watched him carefully. He seemed torn between reaching for her and fleeing the conversation altogether.

"Even if it could ... I - you will go back to the clan and I -" will be alone again. She could not finish that thought.

"I could stay." The moment the words had left his mouth, Jaron hunched over further, curling into himself. He obviously hadn't meant to say the words aloud.

"What?"

"I didn't mean to bring it up so suddenly, but I ... I have been considering it," he said quietly. The words were slow, each carefully considered. "I owe you something for coming here with me, and while offering myself is hardly appropriate ... companionship may be a worthy offer?" He looked down at her hopefully, eyes glinting strangely in the dark. Sibéal's mouth opened of its own accord but there were no words she could say. Or perhaps there were too many.

"No," she finally said and watched his face fall. "No, you cannot be serious. You don't even know what you're offering! Leaving the clan, that's ... I ..."

"It would be my choice. You left, didn't you?"

"I was exiled! I made my choices, but leaving would never have been one of them!"

His expression turned stony but she could see the fire in his eyes. He almost hissed his next words. "Fine, I won't mention it again. Let's just finish this and be done with it then." When he lay back down, despite their proximity it was the furthest she had ever felt from him.

 They barely spoke the next morning and went their separate ways as soon as it was feasible. Sibéal, without knowing exactly how, ended up at the inn once again, soon joined by Maxwell. It was barely noon.

"I suppose asking you whether you have any duties to attend to would be futile," she asked more of the room at large than of him. He laughed in response.

"Ah, duties. I'm sure I'll have plenty of those just as soon as my sister finds me. You know these people all know nothing of what goes on inside that temple, don't you?"

"And why would that be?"

"Well, they're here for one." He waved a hand lazily towards the closest table. The people sitting at it seemed like minor nobles, Orlesian most likely. They were turning their noses up at the food they had been brought, taking turns complaining about it. One of them noticed her looking and sneered. Sibéal held eye contact until he turned away, shoulders hunching. "See? The really important people aren't afraid of some elven wench, no matter how wild she looks. If you'll excuse my language."

She turned her glare on Maxwell. "You know nothing about me or what I could do to you, shem."

"Very true, my dear woman, but neither do they." He looked thoroughly relaxed, despite the threat in her voice. "So, my point still stands."

"Where would you suggest I go then?"

"To the Qunari." When he saw her uncomprehending look, he elaborated, "You must've seen them about by now, they're not all on duty at the same time. From what I understand the Divine hired them because big, scary Qunari might at least cow the mages and templars into civility. They're really something to behold. You might find one or two of them at their camp. Not sure how much you can get out of them, but from what I gather they're not real Qunari, so they might be more talkative than the usual kind."

"I see. Ma serannas, I shall go there then." She moved to stand when he sat up, holding up his hands.

"Well, I mean, you don't have to go there right now. You could stay. Share a drink with a poor fellow."

"From what I gather, you're hardly poor. If you'll excuse me." His clasping of his chest in mock heartbreak in response she acknowledged with little more than an eyeroll as she stepped out of the tavern and into the busy street.

 Finding the Valos Kas was not particularly hard. Qunari weren't exactly a common sight in Ferelden, so getting pointed in their direction was an easy task. The man she found lazily stirring something over the fire made her think of the mountains around them. He seemed to be mostly made of muscle, easily twice her height and big enough she briefly wondered whether he even fit through doors. The startling green eyes that fixed upon her almost immediately were shrewd and knowing.

"Gawking or curiosity?" he asked amicably. Sibéal frowned, leaning upon her staff. Even with him sitting he barely had to look up to lock eyes with her.

"Sorry?"

"What brings you here? Gawking at the giant or looking for information?" Ah. So she wasn't the first to seek them out. She tried her best to smile and shrugged in response.

"Curiosity then." He motioned for her to sit, so she took a place on the opposite side of the fire, watching him over the flames. He continued stirring, glancing at her now and again. When she didn't say anything, he finally leaned back and looked her over.

"Out with it then, go on."

For a moment, she hesitated. Then, "I'm curious about the proceedings of the conclave, as you might guess."

"Everyone is."

"Are there any developments?"

"Hmmm. They started yelling at each other." The Qunari snorted, "Before, they wouldn't even look at each other. Now it's all blaming each other."

"Could they reach compromise?"

"Maybe in a year or two, who knows."

She frowned at that. A year was an awfully long estimate, one she couldn't wait out. Even more so, if nothing was being agreed upon, sneaking into the temple might be a futile act as well. The Qunari watched her calmly, still stirring his soup.

"You're awfully forthright about all this."

He shrugged. "Nobody paid us to be silent. Besides, I haven't told you much of anything, have I?"

"I suppose you haven't."

"Hey, Adaar," someone called, "Stop making eyes at pretty elf girls and focus on the damn stew!" The Qunari, Adaar it seemed, rolled his eyes in response.

"There's really not much to tell," he said instead of acknowledging to caller, "It's none of my business either way, we get paid whether or not they decide to stop killing each other. Sorry."

Sibéal hid her disappointment as best she could, standing again and smoothing out the folds of her dress. "Thank you for your time anyway, Adaar. Dareth shiral."

"Whatever that means. Good day to you!"

 "Anything interesting?"

"No. You?"

"No."

They'd hardly spoken a word to each other all evening and it was starting to grate on Sibéal's nerves. She'd never been particularly talkative, even before her years of solitude, but awkward silence was something she hated even more. With a frustrated sigh she turned to Jaron, who was resolutely looking off into the distance. "Jaron, I -"

"Ah, there you are. Come on, it's time." Before she could even start to formulate her thoughts into words, Malika had materialized from the shadows around them. She stood in front of the fire, arms crossed and tapping her foot, until they rose in unison and doused the flames of their small campfire.  Clearly patience was not one of the woman's virtues.

They followed her through the imperfect late-night dark, broken in many places by fires and embers, through the village and towards the temple. When they arrived, Maxwell was already waiting for them, shadowed by the mountains rising above. He was carrying a small torch, one which Malika regarded with annoyance. The flames made his smile strangely crooked and imperfect.

"There you are! Come on, we're working in a very small window here, friends. Once we're inside, I'm no longer responsible for you." His declaration was met with an eyeroll from Malika before she none too gently elbowed him in the hip.

"Let's go then, salroka, before you get cold feet and that tongue freezes up in your mouth," she said, but there was a grin on her lips.  Maxwell nodded, rubbing his hip, and gestured for them to follow his lead.

The walk to the temple itself was quiet, unpopulated at this time of night. The only people they saw were two bored looking Qunari guarding the door. One of them was the man Sibéal had been talking to earlier. Cautiously, she pulled further into her cloak and stepped half behind Jaron, who's only acknowledgment of her actions was a tiny twitch of his brow. Maxwell argued with the guards rather energetically. The haughty tone his voice had taken on grated on her. So far, he'd been nothing but amicable. Now, he was a noble, someone certain of his ability to get anywhere at any time and how dare they stand in his way? Back and forth they went until the Qunari she didn't know threw up his arms and ushered them through. She could almost feel Adaar's eyes burn through the back of her hood when she slipped past him.

The hall that opened up before them was impressive. Dotted around the grand entrance were braziers merrily burning and meant to keep the ever-present ice at bay. Nobody else was here with them. The sight of it tugged at Sibéal, the same pull she felt when stepping into her ancestral ruins. Even with pilgrims and scholars and now politicians trampling all over it, this place still held parts of its ancient air. What could time spent in these halls uncover? Jaron jarred her out of her reverie with a hand at her elbow, making her realize she'd completely ignored whatever conversation had transpired. Maxwell was nowhere to be seen and Malika made her way towards a side passage with quick, sure steps. Sibéal blinked, drawing back into herself. Jaron's hand dropped immediately.

"Negotiations take place through there," he explained quietly, pointing to a door opposite where the dwarf was heading. "Private chambers for the envoy are through there, so I suggest we avoid them. The Divine is apparently also housed there."

Sibéal nodded in agreement and started forward. "Let us hope these humans are as loose with their papers as with their mouths then."

 Arguments and crossed out proposals - that was what the papers they could find consisted of. So far, negotiations clearly weren't going well. Jaron made a noise of frustration, throwing another parchment back onto the table in the middle of the room. Sibéal had lit just two candles, one for each of them, and the light made his eyes into dark pools, unreadable in their flicker. She sighed in response, rolling up the proposal for a treaty she had been reading. The text was blotched with angry red ink in places, singed in others. Whatever mage had gotten their hands on it had not been happy with the restrictions proposed within.

"We won't find anything," Jaron hissed, "I doubt these shemlen even know what compromise is."

Sibéal was inclined to agree. "Whatever conclusion the Keeper might hope for, it will not happen for a long time yet."

"And so we're stuck." And so they were, though she suspected he meant it in a rather more personal sense than his words implied. She set her candle down next to the treaty and took two quick steps towards him, holding up her hands when he leaned back.

"If we are, lethallin, we should talk sooner rather than later."

"Talk about what? You rejected my offer, I understand." He wouldn't look at her. She raised a hand to his chin, tipping his head down. He could have resisted, both taller and stronger than her. Instead, he met her eyes.

"You've been my brother far longer than I have been your love, Jaron." Beneath her hand, he swallowed. "I could never reject you by my side, if I didn't know losing the clan would hurt you much more than losing me."

Beyond the doors, a commotion started. Without thinking, Sibéal conjured a gust of wind, plunging them into darkness. She could feel Jaron stiffening, his breath becoming slower - a hunter in anticipation of prey or danger. Footsteps sounded in the hall, muffled yelling, clanking of armour. They waited in the darkness with baited breath until she could still herself no longer. She tapped a finger against his neck in warning and crept towards the door. Outside, people were running around like frightened deer; nobody seemed to notice her or even pay each other any mind. She stepped out, drawing herself as tall as she could, and grabbed for the next person running past her. It was a human woman, perhaps a Chantry sister or a servant of the Divine. She was only half dressed in her robes, one sleeve still hanging off her shoulder.

"What happened?" Sibéal asked. She hoped, the air of confidence was enough to trick the woman into thinking she belonged in this place. She needn't have worried. The woman barely spared her a glance, pulling her sleeve up her arm.

"A fire," she explained quickly, "in the Chantry! Maker, those texts are priceless! If they burn -" And off she went. Sibéal turned to Jaron, who had stepped up behind her with a frown. She shrugged in response to his unspoken question. Was this good for them? Or bad?

"We should use this opportunity," Jaron finally sighed, "Perhaps there is more to find somewhere else." Sibéal nodded in agreement, eyeing the now open doors. One corridor led to the living quarters, the way Malika had disappeared earlier. The other, a grand set of double doors, seemed to lead further into the temple. Even with this distraction, their luck wouldn't last long.

Straightening her shoulders, she locked eyes with Jaron. "Go that way, I'll check further into the temple."

"Bel ..."

"You're a hunter, lethallin. There is a lot of people that way, you'll have an easier time hiding without me. Meet me back at camp." For a moment, he looked as though he wanted to protest. Then, he shook his head in resignation. He took her hand between his, kissing her fingertips.

"Be safe," he cautioned and disappeared the direction she had pointed. Sibéal took a moment to gather herself before straightening again and making her way towards the doors in quick, sure steps. She needn't be invisible, not in this mess. She only needed to look like she belonged. She took care to close the door behind her.

Like the hall before it, this room was sparsely lit with braziers dotted about. Their flickering light revealed high, arched ceilings glittering with ice and being held up by massive pillars. In front of her, stairs led up and further into the temple. Sibéal passed it all quickly. The history carved in murals around the pillars' base tempted her but that was for another time. Somewhere, faintly, she could hear voices. She'd have to be careful then, it seemed not everyone had noticed the commotion. What they were doing in the depth of this labyrinth in the middle of the night was another mystery entirely. She froze when a woman's voice rang out, louder than the murmurs before.

"Someone, help me!" She shouldn't. For all she knew it was the spirits of this place, calling for attention. But she couldn't refuse her better nature the same way she couldn't refuse bedraggled young girls in search for a remedy for their monthly pains, the same way she mixed tinctures of no consequence for humans, who had sneered at her in the light of day. She'd never had a bleeding heart but living with the clan meant to help where help was needed. And, if anything, this might prove to be whatever the Keeper had sent them searching for. She quickened her steps, following the corridor further and further until she stood before a high set of doors. From underneath, she could see strange green light glimmering through, pulsating. The air was thick with magic. Taking a deep breath, she drew on her own energies and threw the doors open, magic already pulsing in her veins.

"What's going on here?" The scene before her was as strange as it was distressing. A woman in Chantry robes hung motionless in the air, forcibly held there by a group of mages. They looked nothing like the mages she'd seen here so far, not part of the envoy. The creature before them had no possible description. It looked deformed, grotesque, bigger than it should have been. In its long, clawed hand it held something pulsating with magic more ancient than she'd ever felt even in the ruins she visited so often. Both woman and creature turned towards her at the sound of her voice before the woman made use of the distraction, pushing the strange artefact out of the monster's grasp. It bounced to the floor, rolling towards her, and had Sibéal had enough time to think, she would not have touched it. As it was, instinct ruled her. The moment her hand connected, magic shot through her like a force of nature, forcing all air from her lungs in an instant. She struggled to remain standing, to dispel its power, but all thought but the intensity of pain seemed to leave her. Distantly, she heard the creature bellow in rage. And the world exploded.

 All that her mind could conjure of it afterwards were flashes, washed out images, until she found herself back in her body, cold stone floor beneath her. The chains holding her wrists clanked heavily when she moved. Magic was still sizzling through her in pulses but weaker now, not like the hot pain she still felt in her mind from before. The world seemed oddly tilted, not put together right. Or perhaps that was her. She only noticed the guards around her when the door banged open, two women entering. One of them strode forward, angrily.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now. The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you." Sibéal looked up at her, uncomprehending. Destroyed? Dead? The words didn't make any sense. The magic pulsing sluggishly flared to life in a brilliant, painful pulse through her palm when the woman grabbed for her arm and held it up. “Explain this!”

Her tongue moved sluggishly when she tried to speak, slurring her words. "I ... can't." She struggled for clarity but the magic in her arm was flaring and her heart was pounding for a different reason altogether. Dead. All ... dead? Jaron ...

“What do you mean, you can’t?“

"I ..." The woman moved to strike her and magic coiled up on instinct, readying to protect herself. She could hardly cast a spell in her current state but the response was innate. Before she could do anything, however, the other woman stopped her attacker. Her eyes were harsh and bloodshot, likely from too little sleep and whatever had happened that put them all in this room.

“We need her, Cassandra.”

She tried again for words but they were hard to get out. "I ... don't ... understand," she forced through painful breaths.

“Do you remember what happened? How this began?” The woman, who had held back her attacker, asked her. Sibéal shook her head and immediately regretted the action. The world swam out of focus, taking any coherency she might have had with it. What had happened? There were flashes - the pain, a spike of panic ... someone else?

"I ... something was chasing me. I ran?  And then… a woman?”

“A woman?”

"She ... reached for me? But ..." Words failed her. Her head was still pounding painfully, so was her left side. What had been done? The women exchanged glances, a few quiet words, before one exited. The other - Cassandra, wasn't it - pulled her to her feet and unlocked the manacles. She replaced them with rope, but even if Sibéal could have thought about burning them to escape, she didn't have the strength right then. Mutely, she stumbled after the woman. Light blinded her when they first stepped outside. When her eyes adjusted, she stumbled back. The magic in her hand pulsed in response. In front of her, filling the sky, an explosion of magic could be seen casting its dangerous glow. Magic like she'd never seen before now, in all her studies. She could barely hear Cassandra explaining what this was, what they believed this was, as sudden clarity wrecked her. Something had happened, something she had stumbled upon. Jaron was gone. Something ancient had taken root in her. And her world had suddenly changed forever.

[sigrun23]

Light in the Darkness - Chapter 3

A huge thank you to amazing @torestoreamends for her work on this chapter and very useful tips.

Thank you for reading. If you like this story, please leave a like/comment and reblog. Reblogs are especially important for me as they help me to reach more people. I’ll be immensely grateful for that.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12429532/3/Light-in-the-Darkness

http://archiveofourown.org/works/10518825/chapters/25370652

Five days after Albus had woken up, the Healers said that he could be discharged from the hospital. They evaluated his mental state and, to everyone's relief, concluded that he was completely sane. However, they warned Albus and his parents that psychological problems, such as depression or post-traumatic stress disorder, may occur after what happened to him.

The tremors in Albus's hands were almost completely gone, and he needed to take the potion just for two more weeks. The main problem was the residual pain from the Cruciatus Curse. After trying different doses and potions, Healer Austen calculated the right basal dose of a strong analgesic potion, which should keep Albus free from pain for most of the day. He was given a small self-refilling flask of potion which he was to keep with him constantly and take every six hours. Unfortunately, even the strongest potion wasn't always enough, and Albus still suffered from breakthrough pains. In such cases, he was instructed to drink as much potion as he needed. His family, as well as Scorpius and Draco, were taught how to administer the potion in cases Albus was unable to do it himself because of extreme pain.

The morning he was going to be discharged, Albus was sitting on the bed in his hospital room, waiting for his mum, who was getting final instructions from Healer Austen. Ginny had come in the morning, packed Albus's things, and helped him dress. She said that Lily and James couldn't wait to have him back home, and that Harry was making his favourite meal. Family members were constantly asking when they could come to visit Albus. Everyone was ready for the reunion. Everyone except Albus.

His heart was beating madly in his chest and his hands were trembling, not because of the curse, but because he was terrified. He wasn't scared of going home, actually he couldn't wait to be back in his house where he knew every corner. What scared Albus was the upcoming journey between his hospital room and the Apparition zone.

In the few days he'd spent in this room, he'd learned its layout pretty well. He knew where the bed was, the cupboard with his things, how to get to the adjacent bathroom. And it was a small, enclosed space, so even when he got disoriented, he quickly found something familiar to situate himself. He couldn't get lost in this room.

But now he needed to leave the room and go to the Apparition zone on the ground floor. It was a long journey, in an open and unfamiliar space, full of other people. Albus knew that his mum was going to be with him all the time, but what if they got separated? What if he got lost? He didn't know the hospital; he hadn't been here before. What if he bumped into something and hurt himself? What if he fell down the stairs and broke his neck? What if-

Albus took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. Everything would be fine. His mum would never leave him alone. He trusted her.

The door opened and someone came in.

“Are you ready?” his mother asked.

No, I'm not, thought Albus.

“Yes, I'm ready,” he said out loud instead and stood up.

He heard a rustle as his mother took the bag with his things and a moment later felt her tapping the back of his hand with her fingers. He quickly grabbed her upper arm. Healer Austen said that it was the best way to hold a person who was guiding you.

“Mum?” Albus said quietly.

“Yes, darling?” He could feel that she was looking at him.

“You- you won't leave me alone, right?” He hated himself for being so weak but he couldn't help it. “You won't lose me?”

“That's what's been troubling you?” Ginny hugged her son tightly. “Of course I won't lose you. How could I?”

“You promise?” Albus asked, his face buried in her chest.

“I promise.”

Relieved, Albus broke the embrace and grabbed his mother's arm again.

“Can we go?” Ginny asked gently.

Albus nodded and together they left the room. As soon as they stepped into the corridor, Albus tightened his grip on his mum's arm. He knew he would probably leave bruises on her arm but he was too afraid to lessen the grip. Ginny didn't complain.

The journey through the hospital was slow but uneventful. They used an elevator so Albus didn't have to worry about tripping down the stairs. His mum informed him every time they were taking a turn, walking through a door or through a group of people. Still, Albus felt lost and his only anchor was her arm. There was only darkness around him, and a lot of noises that made him disoriented.

Finally they reached their destination and Albus released a long breath of relief. Ginny grabbed her son's hand and on the count of three Apparated them home. A second later they were standing in the living room.

“Albus!” Before he could regain his composure after travelling miles in a blink of an eye, someone hugged him so tightly that he could hardly breathe.

“Lily,” he said, and hugged her back. Her long hair tickled his nose.

“Lily, let Albus breathe,” said Harry in an admonishing tone, though Albus could hear that his dad was smiling. The moment his sister released him from her embrace, he felt another set of arms around him, strong but gentle. He relaxed as his dad hugged him, and smiled. He felt truly safe.

“It's good to have you back home,” Harry whispered in Albus's ear. “How are you feeling?”

“A bit tired,” admitted Albus. “I need to sit down. I feel a little dizzy.”

Harry guided his son to the couch and sat down beside him. Ginny joined them on Albus's other side. Sensing their concern, Albus sadly smiled.

“I'm fine, really,” he said, trying to dispel their worries. “I'm just tired again. I know I shouldn't be. I sleep over twelve hours a day.”

“That's normal,” said Harry. “Your body and mind were put under extreme pressure. You need a lot of rest and sleep to regain your strength. So don't worry, you can sleep as much as you want.”

Albus nodded and smiled. “But now I'm more hungry than sleepy.”

“That's great because I made your favourite meal,” said Harry, and he stood up, heading to the kitchen.

“Where's James?” asked Albus when he realised that his brother hadn't greeted him. “He didn't visit me in the hospital either. Not even once,” he added, trying not to sound hurt.

The room went quiet. Albus could hear birds singing outside. He felt as if everyone in the room, except him, had suddenly had vanished.

“Are you still here?” he asked anxiously.

“Yes, we're here.” Ginny hurried to reassure him and took his hand. “James, he...”

“Did something happen to him? Is he ill or-”

“No, sweetheart, he's alright,” Ginny said. “He just- Albus, I'm sorry, I tried to persuade him to visit you every day, but he just kept telling me to leave him alone. Today I almost begged him to come downstairs and welcome you back home but he didn't even look at me.”

“Why doesn't he want to see me?” Albus asked, upset. “Is he still mad at me because of that silly argument?”

“We don't know,” answered Harry, his voice travelling from the doorway. “We tried to talk with him but he didn't say a word. But I don't think your argument is the reason for that.”

Albus shrugged, trying to convince everyone, including himself, that he didn't care. But in reality his brother's rejection hurt him a lot.

“James is an asshole,” said Lily, matter-of-factly.

“Lily!” Ginny was outraged. “Don't call your brother such a name!”

“But it's true,” Lily said innocently, making Albus smile.

“Alright,” Harry cut her off. “Let's eat before the dinner gets cold.”

After lunch, Ginny walked Albus to his room. He was tired so she told him to take a nap. But Albus didn't go straight to bed. There was one more thing he needed to do before he could rest.

He walked back and forth around his room, counting and trying to remember how many steps it was from the door to the bed, from the bed to the desk, and so on. He needed to learn every detail of the layout of his room, so he could move as freely as possible, without bumping into furniture. He intended to do the same for the rest of the house. He also organised things on his desk, giving everything a proper place, so he wouldn't have to spend ages looking for them. He thought that his clothes also needed some kind of organisation, probably by colour, but he obviously would need a help in that.

He was still organising his desk when someone knocked on the door.

“Yes?” Albus called.

The door opened.

“Hi, Al. May I come in?” It was unmistakably his brother's voice.

“James?” Albus asked surprised. He hadn't expected that. “Yeah, sure, be my guest.” He said it politely but added a bit of an angry note at the end, for good measure. He knew why James was here and he didn't intend to make it too easy for him.

He felt James passing him and heard him sitting on his desk's chair. Albus sat cross-legged on the bed and waited for James to start speaking.

“What were you doing?” asked James after a moment of awkward silence. “I thought you were sleeping but heard you walking around your room. I came to see if you're alright.”

“I was memorising the layout of the room. That's the only reason you came here? To check on me?  I thought you didn't care,” Albus said harshly.

“Albus, I do care about you.”

“Really?” Albus asked sarcastically. “You didn't visit me in the hospital. You didn't greet me today when I came home. Yeah, that's really caring.”

James was silent for a long time and Albus would have given anything to see his face.

“I'm sorry,” James said finally, and Albus had to admit that he sounded genuinely sorry. “I didn't visit you in the hospital because I was scared.”

Albus scoffed. “Scared? Of what? Of me?”

“I was scared and ashamed,” James mumbled. “I was ashamed because I thought it was my fault that you left the house and was attacked.”

“It's not your fault,” Albus cut him off.

“I know that. Mum and dad explained it to me. But I was scared because I- because I didn't know how to behave around you, how to talk with you-”

“You're talking to me now. How are you doing it?” Albus's voice was dripping with sarcasm.

“Oi, Albus, don't be mean. It's hard to explain, even to myself.” Albus heard a strange, clicking sound, and after a moment he realised that James was playing with a pen. He often did that when he was nervous. “I'm good at jokes and pranks, but I never know how to behave around sick or hurt people. I get uncomfortable around them, I don't know what to say, how to comfort them, I'm afraid that I'll say something insensitive-”

“Alright, alright, I get it,” Albus interrupted his brother. “But I'm still the same old Albus. I haven't changed even though I'm blind.”

“I know,” said James.

“Do you?” Albus was sceptical.

“I really do. I see that now. And I'm sorry it took me so long.”

“You would have realised it earlier, if you had just talked with me,” Albus pointed out.

“I know,” James said. “Are you still mad at me?”

“I wasn't mad. A little angry but mostly hurt. I thought you didn't want to see me. That you rejected me,” Albus admitted.

“No, I would never do that,” James said vehemently. “I'm sorry, I'll try to be a better brother.”

“Sure. We'll see.”

“Albus, have some faith in me,” James said. For a moment they sat in awkward silence, then James spoke again. “Okay, you said you were memorising you room, right? Do you need any help?”

“Actually, yes. I need to organise my clothes, preferably by colour. Obviously I need help with that.”

“Yeah, sure,” said James and Albus heard him getting up and walking towards the wardrobe.

“By the way, don't mess with things on my desk and shelves. Everything now has a proper place so I don't have to look for everything constantly.”

“Right,” said James and opened the wardrobe. “Merlin, Albus, almost everything is black, grey or green!”

“I'm a Slytherin, am I not?” said Albus, who was still sitting on the bed and playing with the dog toy Lily insisted that he kept.

“And I bet Scorpius said that you looked handsome in green and that it suited your eyes.”

“James!” Albus blushed and threw the dog in James's direction.

“You always had a bad aim but now it's terrible,” laughed James.

Albus grabbed a pillow and threw it at this brother. Judging by James's outrageous shriek, he hit him squarely in the head.

In the evening, after finishing his work on Albus's case and discussing his intentions with Ginny, Harry went to his son's bedroom. The lights in the room were switched off so his first thought was that Albus was sleeping and he would have to postpone their talk to tomorrow. But then Harry realised that Albus didn't need lights anymore. It was always dark for him. So he knocked lightly, waiting for response.

“Yes?” came his son's voice.

Harry opened the door and peeked inside. “Hi, Albus. You're not sleeping?”

“No, just resting. Come in,” Albus said, sitting up on the bed.

Harry turned on the light, shut the door behind himself and sat down on the bed beside his son. He looked at Albus and smiled but his smile quickly faded when he realised that Albus couldn't see him. In the last week Harry realised how many emotions and feelings people expressed just through their faces and how hard it was to convey everything you felt just using your voice.

“How are you feeling?” Harry asked Albus, smiling again and hoping that his son could hear that smile in his voice.

“Dad, you asked me this question half an hour ago,” Albus said, rolling his eyes. “I'm fine. You don't have to check on me all the time.”

“Did you take your potions today?”

“Yes, the potion for tremors in the morning and the pain potion just an hour ago.”

“Did you have any pains today?” Harry asked concerned.

“No,” said Albus, a little too quickly.

“Albus, please, tell me. Don't hide it from me.”

Albus hesitated. “Yes, I had,” he admitted with a sigh. “In the morning, before mum came for me. But I drank the potion and it quickly worked. I haven't felt any pain since then.”

“How much potion did you drink?”

“Um- more than a flask,” Albus muttered, almost like he was ashamed of it.

That was a lot. Normally Albus only needed half a flask to stop the pain attack.

“Albus, you know that you can drink as much potion as you need, right? Don't think that you drink too much or too often. It's important that you don't feel any pain.”

“Okay, Dad. Thanks. And I'm fine now. Really.”

“I'm glad,” said Harry and became silent for a while, musing over his next words. “I'd like to talk with you,” he finally said and after Albus nodded encouragingly, he added: “About the attack.”

“Oh?” Surprise was evident on Albus's face.

“I understand perfectly if you're not ready and don't want to talk about it and I won't press you. But I'd like to- well, it's more than just a talk- though if you want to just talk, then I'm always there, whenever you need me- but now I'm asking you to-”

“Dad, say it already. What do you want?” asked Albus, almost sounding amused by Harry's struggle.

“Well, I'd like to hear your testimony.” Harry paused, waiting for Albus's reaction, but Albus was just listening, no emotions on his face. “We had testimonies from eyewitnesses, we questioned many people who may have a connection to this case, but we still haven't moved forward in the investigation. Your testimony is vital and may help us immensely.”

“If I tell you everything that happened, everything I saw, you'll be able to catch him?” Albus asked hopefully.

“I can't promise you anything but I believe your information will be the most useful.” Harry unbuttoned his waistcoat, feeling more confident now, when Albus seemed to be fine with testifying. He had been afraid that Albus would freak out and wouldn't say a word.

“Alright. I'll tell you everything I remember,” Albus said with a resolution.

“Thank you,” Harry sighed in relief. “Normally an eyewitness gives a testimony at the Ministry, in an official procedure, but since I'm the Head of the Department, I can carry out the hearing here. I guess you'll be more comfortable in the house than in an unfamiliar Ministry room.”

“Thanks, Dad. Going to the Ministry doesn't sound appealing at the moment.” Albus picked up Lily's toy dog and started playing with it. For Harry it was a clear sign that he was nervous.

“Your every word will be written down by a special quill on an enchanted paper that you can't erase anything from,” Harry explained. “And I may ask you strange and detailed questions. But if you want to stop, at any moment, just tell me. We can continue later.”

“Okay, Dad. I'm ready,” said Albus confidently, though Harry could see that his hands were shaking just a bit.

Harry summoned the quill and paper, and put them on the desk, where the quill positioned itself over the sheet, ready to write down every word.

“Just start from the beginning,” he said gently to Albus. “From the moment you left the house in the evening on the 7th of August. Do you remember what time you left the house?”

Albus frowned. “About half past nine, I think. I went straight to the park, I like walking there to think or to calm down.”

“Did you see anyone or anything suspicious on your way to the park?”

Albus thought for a while. “No, I passed a few people but I didn't pay them much attention. They looked normal though, nothing suspicious about them. They were all Muggles, I guess.”

“And then you went to the park?”

“Yes, I was walking for about five minutes, and again, I didn't notice anything or anyone suspicious. It was a normal summer evening. And when I was walking down an empty path, I felt-”

Harry took Albus's hand and squeezed it tightly. His heart was beating madly as he was about to hear his son's version of the attack for the first time.

“Suddenly I felt an extreme pain. I collapsed into the grass and started shouting,” Albus's voice was shaking but he carried on, filling Harry with pride. “The pain quickly stopped and when I looked up, I saw a man standing over me with his wand pointed at me.”

“A man? Could you describe him?”

“I didn't see his face, he had a hood on. He was wearing long, black robes. He was about your height, thin, white, and I think he was rather young.”

“And his wand?” Harry pressed.

“It was long and black,” answered Albus.

“Did you hear his voice? Would you be able to recognise him by his voice?” The attacker made sure that the only person who had seen him, was unable to recognise him even if he was captured.

“No, he didn't say a word. He must have cast all his spells nonverbally.”

“Alright. So you saw him and then-”

“I felt the pain again. And this time it didn't stop. It only got worse and worse. I don't remember much, it's all blurry. All I remember is that I was shouting, writhing in the grass, hoping someone would hear me and then-” Albus abruptly stopped. Harry waited patiently if his son would continue but Albus just hugged his knees to his chest and remained silent.

“We suspect that he cast a soundproof spell around you,” Harry said. “That's why no one heard you.”

Albus nodded but didn't say anything. Harry saw tears sparkling in his eyes.

“When Mr Parker found you, you were unconscious and there were no signs of the attacker. Did he leave before you fainted?”

Albus shook his head. “No, I was still under the spell when I finally lost consciousness.”

“And do you remember the moment you went blind?”

“I had my eyes closed, and besides I was in so much pain that I could barely see. So no, I don't remember when exactly I lost sight.”

“We're coming to an end. Just a few more questions. Are you alright, Albus?” Harry asked, stroking his son's hair.

“Yes, I'm fine. Don't worry.” Albus tried to appear strong but Harry could see that he was on the verge of crying.

“Did he- torture you continuously or did he do breaks?” With every question Albus's discomfort seemed to be growing and Harry felt worse and worse, knowing he was the reason of that.

“I don't remember exactly. It felt like I was under the spell all the time, but maybe he did breaks,” Albus said, voice cracking.

“And did he use only magic? Or did he hurt you physically too, like beat you or- touched you?” That was a question Harry had dreaded to ask but he knew he had to.

“Touched me?” Albus raised his head and looked in Harry's direction, surprised. “What do you mean? Oh!” His expression changed to one of pure horror and disgust when he understood what Harry was asking about. “No. He didn't. No, no, no-”

Apparently a thought that the attacker could have assaulted him in some other ways as well, was too much for Albus. He hid his face in his knees, choked sobs shaking his small frame. Harry scooted over to his son and hugged him tightly. Tears were streaming down his cheeks as well.

“Albus. Al,” he whispered. “It's alright. You can tell me everything. There's nothing to be ashamed of. If he did something to you, touched you or-” he couldn't bring himself to say that word aloud.

“He didn't, Dad. I promise,” Albus said between sobs.

“Thank you, thank you,” Harry said in relief, not exactly knowing who he was thanking. He embraced his son even tighter, wanting to protect him from all the harm in the world.

“I'm just so tired,” Albus admitted quietly, after his sobs subsided.

Harry pulled back a bit, so he could see his son properly. Albus's green eyes, almost identical to his own, were brimming with tears, his gaze constantly shifting, but never landing on Harry's face. Harry still couldn't get used to the fact that Albus couldn't maintain eye contact during conversation any longer.

“I'm so tired of pretending that I'm strong and fine,” Albus continued. “I'm not. And everyone-” he paused, looking uncertain and somewhat ashamed.

“Albus? Tell me,” Harry encouraged him.

Albus took a deep, shaky breath. “Everyone thinks that I'm coping with all this so well, but- the truth is- all I want to do is- is lie in a bed and cry. I'm not fine.”

“Albus, no one is expecting you to be instantly fine after what happened to you. You have every right to lie down and cry,” Harry said. “And you don't need to pretend to be strong. You are strong. You're the strongest person I know. The fact that you didn't break under the torture shows your strength well enough. And when I see how well you cope with sight loss and effects of the curse – it amazes and inspires me every day.”

“Inspires you?” Albus asked perplexed.

“Yes, you give me courage and determination to be just a bit as strong as you are.” Harry took Albus's face in his hands and looked him in the eyes. Somehow, Albus's eyes landed directly on his own and for a precious moment Harry could pretend that Albus was seeing him again. “If I were you, I don't think I would cope with such a situation so well. Even if I didn't break under the Cruciatus, going blind would probably destroy me. You're exceptional, Albus.”

“You really mean it?”

“Of course I mean it,” Harry said fiercely. “Every single word. I'm so proud of you.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Albus said, wiping tears from his eyes. “But why did he do it? Why me?” These were the questions that had been haunting him since he woke up.

“I'm sorry, Albus, but you know I can't answer these questions. Though I have a few speculations. The most obvious one is that he was a Death Eater, or a child of a Death Eater, who wanted revenge on me and knew that attacking my child would hurt me infinitely more than attacking me. However, we questioned many Death Eaters and found no trace of the attacker.”

“Dad, do you think that- that Delphi may be behind that attack? That she wanted to retaliate for stopping her last year?” Albus asked anxiously.

“I thought about that too,” Harry said. “I even visited her in Azkaban but she didn't say a word. She's kept in a single cell and all her correspondence is read by guards. And I was told that she hadn't written or received any letters during her imprisonment. So for now nothing indicates that she may have any connection to the attack.”

“I thought it might have been her. It seemed logical,” Albus said, a bit upset that his theory wasn't right.

“I agree. But we must think of other possibilities as well. It may have been a psychopath, an evil man, who just likes hurting other people. It is horrific but there are people out there who take pleasure in causing other people pain. Evil people. It will be even harder to find him if that is the case. We haven't heard of any similar attacks recently.”

“Well, I hope my testimony will help you capture him. And quickly, before he hurts another person.”

“We're doing our best. My team is working on the case all day and night. And your story is going to help us immensely.” Harry ruffled Albus's soft hair. “Are you alright? I hope I didn't press you too hard.”

“I'm okay, Dad.” Albus smiled weakly. “I really needed to tell someone about this. I feel a bit better now. But if you don't mind, I'm quite tired. I'll take a shower and go to sleep, okay?”

“Of course. Do you need any help?” Harry asked, standing up.

“Maybe walk me to the bathroom? But I'll manage on my own with the shower,” Albus stood up as well and grabbed Harry's arm.

“See, that's what I meant when I said that you were strong,” Harry said proudly.

Ginny woke suddenly in the middle of the night. She turned to her husband, but Harry was deeply sleeping, snoring slightly. Not knowing what had woken her, she closed her eyes, ready to fall asleep again. But then she heard strange noises from the next room. She sat up and listened carefully. After listening for a while to whimpers and rustling of bedclothes, Ginny knew that Albus was having a nightmare.

She slipped out of the bed, tiptoed from the bedroom, not wanting to disturb Harry's sleep, and went to Albus's room. She opened the door and peeked inside, casting Lumos. Like she suspected, Albus seemed to be having a bad dream. He was tossing in the bed, whimpering and occasionally emitting a soft cry. When Ginny came nearer, she saw that Albus was soaked in sweat and he was gripping blankets so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

“Albus?” Ginny called softly, sitting on the bed. “Wake up, Albus.” She shook him slightly and called his name a little louder.

Finally Albus woke up with a loud gasp. His eyes danced around the room and an expression of pure terror appeared on his face. He sat up abruptly.

“Albus, it's alright. You had a nightmare,” Ginny said tenderly, taking his hand.

“Mum?” Albus asked in a choked voice. “I can't see anything,” he added, panicked.

“You're blind, sweetheart. Remember?” Ginny said, trying to hold back tears.

An understanding appeared on her son's face when he remembered everything. He nodded and breathed deeply, calming himself.

“I'm sorry I woke you up. I'm fine. Go back to sleep,” Albus said, twisting the blanket in his hands.

“You're definitely not fine. You're shaking.” Ginny conjured a handkerchief and wiped sweat from Albus's face. “Do you want to talk about the dream?”

“Not really. Besides it's nothing new.”

“You had nightmares before?” Ginny asked, worried. “You haven't said anything.”

“I have nightmares every time I fall asleep. Even when it's just a short nap. It's almost always the same dream, about the attack, but sometimes I dream about Delphi and Scorpius too.”

“Do you want a Sleeping Draught?” Ginny suggested.

“No,” Albus said quickly.

“It'll help you to fall asleep and keep you from having bad dreams.”

“I don't want to get addicted to that stuff,” Albus said. “And it doesn't solve problem, it's just a temporary solution. I need to deal with the nightmares on my own.”

“That's very brave,” Ginny said, her heart swelling with pride. “But you don't have to deal with it alone. We're all here to help you. I know that you talked with dad about the attack today.”

“Yes, and I want to talk with you too, just not now. I'm okay, Mum.” Albus gave her a small smile. “I'll just go back to sleep.”

“If you say so,” Ginny said reluctantly, not fully convinced. “But if you need me, don't be afraid to call. I'll come immediately.”

“Thanks, Mum. Goodnight,” said Albus, lying down.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

Ginny kissed Albus on the forehead and tucked him in. She wished him pleasant dreams once more and left the room, leaving the door slightly ajar. After returning to her bed, she lay awake for a long time, listening for any noises indicating that Albus was having another nightmare. Thankfully, she didn't hear anything and finally fell asleep. She dreamed about happy times, before the attack, before the unknown man decided to hurt her son.

[sincerelybluevase]

Fanfic Friday: Lips Touch, Part 12

For @inspoartist, who suggested that ‘Sister Bernadette might have a panic attack and Dr. T has to calm her down’. Now, there was only one situation in which I thought Sister B might have a panic attack, and that is on her way to St. Anne’s… (some of the lines are from the series)

 The drive to the sanatorium starts out in silence. Sister Bernadette trains her eyes on the passing landscape outside so that she does not have to look at the man next to her, so that she does not have to make conversation.

If she was not wearing a habit, she would probably turn to Doctor Turner and confess that she is scared. But you ARE wearing the habit, she quietly admonishes herself, and holds her concerns and fears and feelings close to her heart. If she doesn’t know that it is the TB that rattles in her lungs, she would think that her emotions are pressing on her chest, cutting off her breathing till she feels breathless and light-headed.

The buildings outside had become scarcer as their drive has progressed, and have now completely disappeared, their places taken in by trees. They zip past the window of the doctor’s MG, providing little hold for Sister Bernadette’s wandering mind.

A part of her wants to reach out. It wants to feel the doctor’s hands on hers, his arms around her. It wants her to bury her face against his chest and smell his shaving cream and his Henleys and the scent that is his own. It is this part that takes over at night. The past few months, her dreams have become ever more… carnal is the word she thinks, but it doesn’t feel right; it suggests that there’s only lust, and though her dreams are far beyond the realm of what is appropriate, they are not only based on physical attraction. Sister Bernadette has come to realise that her body and Doctor Turner’s may be very different, but what houses inside is the same; their souls are very much cut from the same cloth.

Another part of her reminds her of the vows she has made. She did not make them lightly, and she’s a woman who finishes what she starts. Having thoughts about the doctor in itself would not be wrong; having them as a nun, however, is a sin.

The problem is that this first part in her seems stronger. When she wakes up in the middle of the night, her breathing shallow and her face flushed, she mourns that her dreams are not her reality. What really makes her feel guilty is the absence of guilt. This may be a paradox, but it doesn’t lessen what she feels.

As her want for –what? Physical intimacy? – something she can’t name grows stronger, Sister Bernadette feels her hands grow numb. The last few days have passed like a dream, or a trance. It is as if she’s ensnared in a nightmare she can’t wake up from, or bewitched. The only thing that seemed real was the cold kiss of Doctor Turner’s stethoscope, and the hot, burning shame of it all. She has dreamed about undressing in front of him, but never like this. It is almost as if fate knew those intimate thoughts and decided to mock them.

Her fingertips turn to ice as she contemplates the coming months. Here she is, about to be whisked away to the sanatorium, removed from everyone and everything she knows. She will have to swallow pill after vile pill to force the disease from her lungs. She’s under no illusions: the triple treatment is her best shot, and she should be grateful that she has fallen ill now, and not a couple of years ago. TB need no longer be a death sentence now that there’s penicillin. Still, the antibiotics will make her feel dreadful and worn-out. It is not the physical discomfort that she fears, but the idea that it may still be for nought.

Sister Bernadette suddenly and acutely realises that there is a very real possibility that she may die.

Oh, she knew it the moment Doctor Turner showed her the X-ray, could not help but entertain the thought as he brought her to the London to have more tests done, but it didn’t seem real then. Now, ensconced in the doctor’s car, her meagre possessions packed in a battered suitcase, the reality of it all overwhelms her.

Her heart must have started racing, because it beats a painful tattoo in her chest. Her feet have gone numb, just like her hands, and her slip sticks to her skin. Worst of all are her lungs, though; they feel too small for her body, as if they’re constricted by her ribs and can’t draw in oxygen properly.

“Sister Bernadette, are you alright?” Doctor Turner’s voice seems to come from far away, but she can still hear that it is laced with concern.

She presses her hand against her breast. Her breathing is rapid and horrible. It seems as if she’s drawing in broken glass instead of air. “Stop the car,” she gasps.

“What?”

“Stop the car. I can’t breathe. I have to get out.” She nearly chokes on the words. She wrestles the door open and nearly falls out. Her chest hurts so much that she can’t stand up straight.

This is what dying must feel like, she thinks.

Patrick manages to get out of his car only a few heartbeats after Sister Bernadette does. They’re on a deserted country road framed by trees, and he’s glad for it, for it gives them a bit of privacy.

The little nun has stumbled to a birch and clutches its thick stem to keep herself upright. Her breathing is far too rapid, coming out in gasps and wheezes. There’s a sheen of sweat on her face. Her hands are curled around the naked limb of the tree, but even though her knuckles are white with the force of it her fingers still tremble.

She’s having a panic attack, Patrick realises. He recognises the symptoms. He should; after all, he experienced them during and after the war.

For a split second he is torn. He wants more than anything in the world to comfort her, to reach out and let her know that she is not alone, but he fears she would misinterpret his actions. They are colleagues, but they’re also doctor and patient, wavering atheist and nun, man and woman. After impetuously kissing her hand every little action seems to be so much bigger, like throwing a pebble into a pond without being able to oversee the ripples that the little stone will cause. He fears that he has ruined everything that is between them and could have been between them with that kiss. Touching her now, when she is in no position to indicate what she wants, would be worse than disrespectful.

But you are a doctor, and she is in need of medical attention, Patrick thinks. Right now, she needs someone to tell her she’s going to be alright, that she may feel like she’s dying but she will survive, not a man torn by doubts.

“Sister?” he asks, his voice soft. He can see that she has trouble to remain standing, even with the birch to support her.

“Go away!” Normally he would oblige instantly, but he fears that this is the anxiety talking. “You are in need of assistance.” “I don’t want you to see me like this.” The words come in stutters and stammers, one with every rapid exhale.

“I don’t mind.” “But I do! When you had to examine me…” she chokes. “I can’t breathe,” she whimpers, and almost tears the scapular from her neck, clawing at the fabric around her throat.

“Sister, you’re having a panic attack,” he says.

She stumbles. Patrick shoots forward to catch her. Her left hand closes around his like a vice. He can feel the ridge of the scar on her palm. Her fingers are as cold as winter snow. He gently lowers her till she sits on her knees.

“Tell me what you need,” he whispers. Her eyes find his, and he can feel his heart crack at the raw fear he sees there.

“I can’t breathe,” she repeats.

“You’re hyperventilating. I’ll breathe with you. Just focus on me.” He takes a deep breath, holds it for a couple of seconds, and slowly exhales. Sister Bernadette tries to copy him.

“Don’t go away,” she begs.

“Never,” Patrick says, and means it. He presses a kiss to the back of her hand and caresses her knuckles once with his thumb.

“I feel like I’m dying,” she gasps.

“I know that’s what it feels like, but you’re not dying, I promise.”

She laughs at that. It sounds hollow. “But I am. I have been for a time and I didn’t even know it.” A sob claws its way up her throat and she collapses against him, her right hand clutching one of his lapels and her head against his shoulder. Patrick’s arm snakes around her and anchors her to him to keep them both from toppling over.

“I’ve been dying and I didn’t even know it,” Sister Bernadette repeats. “I’m not supposed to be scared of dying. I know there’s a better world after this one. But I’m still afraid, so so afraid. And I feel as if I’m not allowed to feel that way.”

Patrick wants to comfort her, but he’s afraid that speaking now will break the spell, will make the little nun swallow her words till they fester in her lungs.

“What if I never see you again?” she whispers.

Patrick is sure he can feel his heart break then.  

“But you will see me again, and you won’t die. The triple treatment…” “I know the statistics as well as you do, but right now, they’re no comfort to me at all.” Her breath is hot as it ghosts over his neck, sending a jolt of electricity along his spine.

“I’m sorry. You don’t deserve platitudes,” he murmurs. She looks up and their gazes lock. Her pupils dilate and her irises turn a very pretty shade of blue he has not seen before.

“Sister, I…” he begins.

Sister Bernadette disentangles herself from him. Her cheeks are tear-stained, but her breathing is coming more even now.

“We can’t ,” she says, and opens her mouth to say something more. Patrick can see something change in her face, then; it becomes still, unreadable. She loosens her grip on his hand, then pulls away completely. Just like that the walls are up around her once more, placing her far out of his reach.

“We should get back to the car,” she whispers as she puts on her scapular.

Patrick wants to reach out and pull her back in his embrace, wants to continue their conversation, but he doesn’t. He simply helps her up. Her legs are shaking, but she refuses his arm as she makes her way back to the car. He wants to talk to her, but he respects her too much to force her into a conversation she clearly does not want. So, their drive to the sanatorium continues in silence.

Sister Bernadette keeps her eyes trained on the road till they’ve reached St. Anne’s.

When Patrick hands her her suitcase their fingers brush. The urge to hold her again threatens to overwhelm him, but he doesn’t give in. Sister Bernadette’s eyes find his. Gone is the woman he could comfort by pressing a kiss against her hand. Such behaviour would be inappropriate now, so he consoles her the only way he can: by providing her with medical knowledge gleaned from the Lancet. “The triple treatment can be miraculous,” he says, and immediately curses himself for not being able to come up with something better.

Sister Bernadette gives him a wan smile. “We shall see.” She takes a deep breath. “Thank you, doctor. You’ve been… more than kind,” she decides. As Patrick watches her make her way towards the imposing building without looking back once he wonders what words she could have put in that little pause. He keeps thinking about it all the way back to Poplar, spending another drive in silence.

 We all want Doctor T and Sister B to have a good snog, but I feel that these five extra fics are a great opportunity to explore ‘other’ potential kisses. So, again, not a kiss on the mouth, but I hope you guys still enjoyed it ;).

[bxcketbarnes]

New Beta - Part 3

Pairing: Stiles x Reader

Author: @ninja-stiles

Words: 1689

Author’s Note: So this is the last part. This was seriously so fun to write. I want to thank @danny-the-coolest for looking it over for me! Enjoy babes!

Y/N’s POV

I see Stiles black out and I immediately kneel by his side placing both my hands on the sides of his face.

“Stiles?! Stiles c’mon. No no no no c’mon Stiles you need to wake up,” my eyes tear up as I sit and put his head in my lap. I run my fingers through his hair as I beg him to wake up. Scott watches Stiles carefully to see if the bite is healing or not. I sniffle as I lean down placing a kiss to his forehead.

“Please wake up. I need you. I may not show it often but I do, Stiles. Remember when you told me that I’m the only person that keeps you sane? Well, it turns out that you keep me sane as well. I-I don’t think I can live without you, so if you could wake up that’d be great,” tears slide down my cheek as he still remains unconscious.

As bad as the situation is right now he still manages to look absolutely stunning. I look at his pale pink lips wondering what it’d be like to kiss him. I’ll probably never be able to find out because he’s so infatuated with Lydia. I decide to do something ballsy and place a light peck to his lips before placing a pillow under his head leaving Scott’s room to get some air.

I hold back the sobs as I run out the front door sitting on the steps of Scott’s porch. I run my fingers through my hair thinking of the what ifs. What if he never wakes up? I never got to tell him my feelings for him. I stare at nothing as my mind is completely blank and tears run down my pink tinted cheeks. I didn’t notice the sun going until Scott placed a hand on my shoulder. I jump slightly turning around to look up at him.

“I-Is he awake?” I ask with a sad tone in my voice. Scott smiles at me and nods his head.

“Yeah, he is. He’s sitting on my bed if you want to go talk to him.”

I get up quickly running into the house and up the stairs stopping in front of Scott’s bedroom door. I breathe out once before opening the door seeing Stiles sitting on the edge of the bed playing with his fingers. Is he nervous? He only plays with his fingers when he’s nervous.

“Hey, you okay?” I ask and he looks up quickly nodding his head.

“Y-Yeah, I’m fine.” He smiles slightly and stands up in front of me.

“So, is there a reason why you’re so nervous?” I ask looking up at him.

“What makes you think I’m nervous?” He questions tilting his head slightly.

“Well I opened the door and you were sitting here playing with your fingers. You only play with your fingers when you’re nervous,” I point out and he sighs.

“I’m just worried what everyone’s going to think about me becoming a werewolf. I mean Lyd-” I cut him off with a scoff.

“Of course you’re thinking of how Lydia feels,” I spit running my hands through my hair out of jealousy pacing around Scott’s room, “I mean why don’t you ask me about how I felt? I was here the entire time worrying that you were gonna die. If you were so worried about Lydia maybe you should’ve told her that you planned on getting the bite and not me.” I turn to leave the room when I’m stopped by Stiles grabbing my hand.

“W-What was that? I’m not just thinking of just Lydia you know. I’m thinking of the entire pack. They’re so used to me being human that finding out I’m now a werewolf is gonna be a shocker to them. Scott told me how you felt and I immediately hated myself for making you so worried. That was never my intention. I just want to be able to help everyone, but also keep you safe. Can’t you see that by now? That all I’ve been trying to do is keep you safe from all of this! I don’t get why you always think that everything I say has to do something with Lydia unless-” 

I look away from him as a few tears slide down my cheek trying to get my hand out of his before he figures out that I’m jealous. I feel him let go of my hand as his other hand lifts my chin up wiping the tear away. He steps closer to me as my breath hitches in the back of my throat feeling my cheeks burn.

“You’re not jealous are you?” He asks me in a whisper staring deep into my eyes.

“N-No, why would I be jealous of Lydia? Because she’s got pretty strawberry blonde hair while I have regular brown hair, or maybe the fact that she’s got sparkling green eyes while mine are just brown, or is it because she’s got all the guys fawning over her and I can’t even get the one guy I’ve been in love with since I first met him to notice me? So, no Stiles I’m not-” I get cut off by Stiles planting his lips on mine and my eyes go wide.

My eyes flutter shut as I feel his hands move to my hips and I wrap my arms around his neck kissing him back. My hands roam back to both his cheeks as I kiss him with everything I’ve got. God this is amazing. I can’t believe Stiles is kissing me. Stiles moves one of his hands to the back of my head running his fingers through my hair as we pull away slowly, our heavy breathing the only sound in the room.

“W-What um what was that for exactly?” I whisper as he places his forehead against mine.

“I did that because I’ve wanted to do it ever since we met in that grocery aisle,” he says to me as his fingers gently rub my cheek.

“B-But I thought-”

“You thought wrong. I may have liked Lydia before, but Y/N, you were always there for me. You were there through thick and thin, even when I didn’t want to talk to anybody you were still there by my side comforting me. I fell in love with you so quickly I was honestly scared, but knowing that you’re also in love with me kind of gave me the confidence to kiss you just now. I also felt you place a kiss on my lips while I was unconscious unless that was Scott then I need to go have a talk with him,” he chuckles and I giggle along with him shaking my head.

I play with the buttons on his opened plaid shirt with a smile on my face. He loves me too. I look up at him to see him already looking at me before he places his lips back on mine again. I kiss back immediately this time as I pull him closer to me by his shirt. We get interrupted by Scott walking into the room. We pulled away abruptly both of us blushing furiously as Scott stands there with a smirk on his face.

“Am I interrupting something?” He asks knowing he did. I turn around hiding my face in Stiles’ chest as I hear the vibrations of him chucking.

“Um well maybe but, we can finish that conversation another time.” Stiles says smiling down at me.

*Night of the Full Moon*

 The three of us are back in Scott’s room as the full moon starts to rise. We’ve chained Stiles’ hands up as he’s starting to feel the changes. I leave the room not standing the sight of Stiles chained up and in agony. I bite on my nails hearing Stiles continue to growl at Scott to leave and hear Scott tell Stiles that he isn’t going anywhere.

“Listen, Stiles, you need to find an anchor okay?” Scott tells him. I hear Stiles groan and him tugging on his chains. I stand in the doorway watching and Stiles looks up seeing me and our eyes connect. His eyes soften a little as he closes his eyes and looks to be in deep concentration. I look over at Scott worriedly then back at Stiles, it’s so weird to see Stiles as a werewolf, but he still looks really good. His breathing slows and he turns back into his human self.

“Stiles! You did it!” I say excitedly going over to him taking the chains off his wrists. Stiles breathes out a chuckle nodding his head.

“I found my anchor,” he says while looking up at me. I blush slightly looking back at Scott.

“I’ll um just leave you guys alone real quick. Just don’t have sex on my bed!” Scott says walking out the door. I bite my lip softly looking back at Stiles and he slides his hand into mine entwining our fingers.

“So, who’s your anchor? If you don’t mind me asking.” I ask him hoping that it’s me. He chuckles before placing a small kiss on my lips surprising me slightly.

“It’s you obviously,” he laughs lightly tucking a piece of my hair behind my ear, “I don’t know if this is the right time to ask but, would you maybe wanna be mine?” I run my fingers through the front of his hair smiling at him.

“I’ve always been yours Stiles but, to make it official, yes I’ll be yours.” I smile and he smiles back at me before leaning down kissing me for the fourth time this week. We pull away and head downstairs together to see the rest of the pack. They see us holding hands and smiles make their way onto all our friend's faces.

“So, a few things. I’m now a werewolf,” everyone looks at Stiles in shock wondering if he was serious. They all looked to Scott and he nods his head saying that it was true.

“Well what’s the other thing?” Lydia asks looking from me to Stiles a knowing smirk on her lips.

“I finally got the girl,” he says looking down at me and I smile up at him pecking his cheek.

[heartslogos]

seas who could sing so deep and strong [7]

It is not Kore’s intention to linger long at Maroo’s Bazaar.

For one thing, Maroo irritates her. Most people do, but Maroo is exceptional in that Kore has a distinct type of irritation just for her. Kore has a distinct kind of irritation for most traders and merchants. It is not always related to the thoughts of the Corpus and the phantom-memories that the Valkyr warframe seems to carry with it.

Another reason is that Kore is uneasy around so many people. She can’t watch all of them. All of them, however, could easily be watching her. It’s paranoia beyond belief, but it is something that has been printed and rubbed and sanded into her skin through years of training and conditioning. Years of isolation during and after the war. Years of being alone in her own head.

Judge’s isolation presents itself as a tactile need and paranoia of always being in an endless cycle of dream-wake, unable to trust his own senses without external and independent confirmation.

Kore’s rears its head as a violent, snapping and electric mad-scramble in her chest that tries to suck her in like a black hole until she is nothing, invisible, gone. Untouchable as Judge likes to call her, but also unknowable.

(Ironically, it is something in her chest - that same something, or maybe a sister of it - that yowls and scratches and cries to be known. To be understood. To be seen. To be wanted. Not from everyone. From a very specific person. The same person who named her untouchable.

Is to be untouchable the same as unobtainable?)

There is too much noise here, too many moving variables - unpredictable and undeniable. The best Kore can do when navigating the necessary annoyance is to go using some of her most unfriendly warframes.

Nidus, Nekros, Valkyr - the ones that do not invite closeness or any lingering attention.

She’s gotten the most she can get for the dozens upon dozens of blue Ayatan stars she’d been finding. Normally she would just save them until she had enough appropriate statues and then sent them to Maroo for Endo but it’s the third time that a gem has gotten stuck in her Carrier’s vacuum port and she knows it’s only a matter of time before one of her Kubrow chokes on one. Her Kubrow aren’t stupid or as invasively curious as Judge’s Kavat, but she’d rather not risk losing one of her Kubrow to something as stupid as them accidentally swallowing a gemstone and choking to death.

Kore is not here for anything else than that - she is not here to barter, buy, or sell. Kore’s business at this station is done.

And yet -

Nidus and her own attention is drawn to a row of vendors, their wares displayed with bright colors and whizzing machines to catch attention. Kore normally has no need to look at any merchants that aren’t selling weaponry, materials to build weapons, or other such things.

Most things a Tenno could need or want on the physical side of things can be obtained through careful trading. It is not a good idea to be wandering around bartering and buying things for a child’s body when the entire system is unaware of the Tenno’s true origin.

Kore knows how to synthesize nutrient bricks and water packets aren’t especially suspicious to buy. Flavor powder is also easy to synthesize and there are about a dozen different Tenno she knows of that she can get into contact with to trade for some. Kore also knows some Tenno for clothing and other such aesthetic needs. There’s also a chain-group of Tenno who send each other fragments of data for free as long as you contribute back. Kore is part of this group because it requires no talking aside from statements of where, when, and how such data was found.

Easy enough and it can be transmitted through text instead of audio.

But toys? Candy? Games?

Those do not have places in the Tenno network. They do not have places in Kore’s world.

Kore’s focus lingers on a brightly colored display surrounded by children.

Children are not so rare on Maroo’s station. Refugees, escapees, children of outcasts and merchants and soldiers and Syndicate members and other planets.

Kore has a very brief and very nauseating image of herself as one of those grubby children - jostling for position in front of the stand, whining and wishing her parents could spare more credits.

From here she can pick out the things the merchant is describing for them. A quick search of the vendor’s information through Maroo’s database shows that he specializes in replications of Old Earth candy and sweets.

“And this,” The man holds up - Kore zooms in - a small rectangular case and shakes it, “This, children, is chewing gum. You chew it and it starts out hard and dry between your teeth but the more you chew the more it softens and it becomes sweet. Or sour. Or cold. Or hot. All depending on what flavor you pick.”

Kore’s mind flashes to Judge and his bitten lips and his hands that always seem to wander to touch and grip and search for something to hold onto. For something to anchor him to here and now and the promise of reality.

Kore is not here for Judge. Kore is not here for old earth candy and what is most likely a scam. He might not even like it. Maybe Judge would choke on the damn thing.

Maybe Ugly will choke on one.

Nidus’ fingers slowly curl and uncurl at the frame’s side - patiently waiting for Kore’s decision. It should be clear.

Go. Your business is done.

Nidus slowly turns on his heel to head back towards the landing bay docks, a wry curl of are you sure? that winds itself around her soul like a Kavat’s tail. Kore feels her own irritation at herself.

Fucking fine, Kore thinks at her heart, you win.

Nidus goes to find a hidden nook. Kore hates this idea already.

Kore stares down at her kneeling Nidus frame, and reaches her hand out. Nidus leans into her palm. Her skin already feels like it’s crawling and she’s only standing in a narrow niche by the landing bay. No one is even here looking at her. She checked.

No cameras.

Kore takes in a deep breath and Nidus’ hand reaches up to tap its long fingers against the back of hers, slow and sluggish movements with a touch of timeless grace that only the Infested seem to have.

She unzips her hood from her suit, folding it and puts it on Nidus’ lap. Nidus’ other hand goes to hold it immediately. She stares down at the rest of herself and there’s no mistaking that she looks like not a normal child.

Between the pink hair, her eyes, and her somatic scarring -

Kore groans softly and puts her head in her hands. This is a terrible idea.

For once in her damn life she wishes she listened to Ballas and stuck with the creams and golds and pretty blue-greens. That would blend in. That would make her look forgettable.

But here she is in her stark black and white with her gold and pink looking like such obvious - obviousness.

Kore takes a deep breath and then does a quarter turn on her heel. She hears the soft almost squeak of her boot on the shiny floors.

She grinds her teeth and steps out into the light.

Kore isn’t much taller than the other children already at the stall and while she did draw some looks, her own glare was enough to make sure those looks were cut short. She can feel her heart in her palms. She swallows softly as she carefully lingers at the back of the crowd.

Her skin feels like it is literally crawling with Infested maggots. She’s been brushed against, looked at, bumped, jostled, and any plethora of slight touches that are making her mind rapidly retreat into the deepest recesses of her.

And now there’s this crowd of six to seven children that are elbow-to-elbow that she has to somehow figure a way to squeeze into.

Kore can feel herself blanching.

She’s saved, for once, by her own appearance when the merchant in charge of the stall notices her lingering and waves her over.

“Pretty girl, in the pink! You want something sweet to match your face?”

Kore, in a desperate attempt at anonymity, had taken out her piercings and switched the part of her hair to cover her somatic scars. It works as long as she keeps her head down at an angle and is very careful about how she moves.

She grinds her teeth and slowly inches forward, heart pounding so hard against her chest she thinks it’s a miracle that she hasn’t bruised her own organs.

“Don’t be shy, make room brats, make room,” the man waves at the children already assembled who squeeze closer together giving her appraising glances as they make a sliver of space for her.

Kore slots in with a deep breath and forces down the buzzing in her ears.

After a few seconds she realizes the man is still talking to her and she glances up, body tensing at the hand thrust in her face. It’s not the chewing gum he’s holding this time, but something else.

Kore forces her mouth to open, to take in air and she forces the words out - “Chewing gum.”

“Pardon? Speak up, girl!”

Ballas’ voice echoes in her head and Kore feels a spark at her knuckles that she desperately drowns.

“Chewing gum,” Kore repeats, “I heard you had some. Is there still any left?”

“Sure, plenty for a sweet girl like you,” he says and she hears him moving around to - presumably - get some. Kore doesn’t look up from the colorful riot of candy on display in her direct line of sight. “What flavor do you want?”

Kore drags her eyes up just enough to see the many boxes he’s holding. Green, pink, red-orange, yellow, darker-green, white-green and -

“What’s blue?” Kore asks.

He puts the other boxes down and flips the blue one open and rattles it, gesturing for her hand.

“It’s easier to show than to tell, dear. Have a taste.”

Kore slowly raises her hand towards him - the memories are violently threatening to follow that hand and Kore begs them not to. Not here. Not right now.

(Kore kneels, hands raised in front of her as Ballas counts out one, two, three pills. Enough nutrition to keep her alive through five straight days of combat if she moves fast and constant. Not enough for what he wants from her.

“Please,” Kore croaks out, “Master.”

Ballas hums speculatively before dropping two more in her hands.

“Do not waste it.”

“No, Master.”)

Kore puts the small thumb-sized square between her lips. It feels smooth, like a pill. And then she carefully closes her teeth around it.

Just like he said - at first it’s just like nothing. Plastic. But the more she chews the softer it becomes. And then cold. Cold. Bitterly cold as if she had been in Frost on Europa for a few cycles. It coats her mouth and throat and lungs with it.

Kore blinks, startled into looking up and meeting the man’s eyes. Or where his eyes would be if he weren’t wearing a visor screen.

He smiles.

“All the blue ones,” Kore says.

The man pauses, “All?”

“All the blue ones you have,” Kore says - and then, on a whim, “White-blue, white-green, and half of your orange-red.”

The children begin to chatter around her but she ignores them.

“Maybe you should ask your parents first, sweet,” He says slowly but she knows merchants and she knows she has her hook in his gaping mouth already.

Kore moves quickly, jostling children aside until she’s in front of the credit transfer device at the edge of his stall and opens it up.

“How much?” Kore says, fingers at the ready.

Greed is a poison Kore knows how to use well.

“Twenty thousand credits,” He says, “For just all my stock of blue. Another twenty thousand for the white-blue and white-green stock together. Fifteen thousand for half my orange-red.”

“Any bulk discount?” She asks.

The man hesitates and she can see him running the numbers in his head.

“Twenty thousand for the blue, fifteen thousand for the white-blue and white-green combined. I won’t budge on the orange-red.”

“I’m buying you out,” Kore says, “Thirty thousand for the blue, white-blue, and white-green together. Ten thousand for the orange-red. And maybe I’ll come back. Maybe I’ll buy more.”

She knows that if Judge has this problem there are probably other Tenno that do. And she can probably trade this chewing gum for some other things. Or for favors. It never hurts.

“Exactly! You’re buying me out! I should be keeping stock for other children,” The man complains, “Greedy.”

Kore raises a single eyebrow and flicks her wrist, deactivating the credit terminal.

“Suit yourself. I’ll just get pop-rocks at some other vendor,” Kore jerks her head down the row. “I hear they have the same affect.”

Her heart still pounds in her chest.

She does not want pop-rocks. Pop-rocks are too dangerous and are too easy to synthesize incorrectly.

She wants the chewing gum.

Kore forces herself to extract her body from the children and turn to walk away.

“Wait,” The man cries out, “Fine! Who are your parents, girl, that you learned to drive such a hard bargain? You planning on starting a business? Give me warning if you do.”

Kore begs herself to keep an even breath as she turns around and begins the credit transfer. It’s not like she’s using her credits for much aside from DNA stabilizers for her Kubrow and Kavat.

“Maybe,” Kore says, and then patiently waits for the man to pack up the boxes of chewing gum and hand them over to her. “Thank you.”

Kore hurries back as fast as she can without looking suspicious to her warframe.

Nidus is exactly where she left him and looks completely undisturbed.

Kore puts the boxes down and throws her arms around it, focusing on breathing steady. The warframe slowly puts its hands on her shoulders and awkwardly pats.

She pulls back and refastens her hood to her suit - and after a moment - begins to seal it up. Kore doesn’t normally do that, but right now -

The less of her exposed the better.

She needs to disappear.

Kore sinks into Nidus as the frame begins to move and pick up the boxes upon boxes.

No one gives her Nidus a second glance as they leave the station, gum and all.