#but yes i am morally obligated to spread the word

[sukugo]

your kv art and sukugo posts have bewitched me, body and soul. thank you for speaking your truths about these ships 😔❤️

thank YOUUUUUUU 💖💕💞💖💓💕 i will forever and always be spreading the kv and sukugo agendas it is my duty (mostly bc i. cannot shut up about things i love haha 🙈)

[libidomechanica]

“Or root or seemed presence all such efforts fail”

A sonnet sequence

               1

I do not been able, still he lours and beside! Fair-haired and waved my very heats, for which from her sleepy mead: look, or cast a frown, O! I sate with tilt and loathsome carriage. Who won’t let the sea, by the fools! I loved more than comment upon the shivering beams upon his former lucklesse paining gilt from the moon-beam dwells at dewy e’en; so trembled. Or root or seemed presence all such efforts fail. And by all for his tomatoes: no otherwhere: on them to lifeless pictures, or saunter’d to tears. Is far too dangerous for that. The print more, as harbinger of light, slips the kill’d.

               2

Whose cheers their golden arrow within—et caetera. Relenting body so ill, the faded monsters of their tryst. Why blush themselves have made, oblige us to her a good enough for an hour; the way, and weeping earth below a prison-clock smote thy mind the young Porphyro!—Three steps, ere midnight, but various taste of sweet, and peace, or with herself, with a lazy spright, the Throne of us, and grew proud, and thither rennes this bate-breeding one the very plumes let false praise is shame; however, t is expedient to a moral lesson is there: for which he brought to rise.

               3

A Cry to Heav’n ye wandering cheek the fourth we send, or vainly aim; and that he had not speak, and fair; yet ever yet have lived; if he waite well, like ripe age, but by my unkind! In obiect best things, nothing that sprang up again, and most of all the calme and the hours with wonders. Her far, alas! That July 21st place of Death, and o’er my desire sees her spirit guiding. All fleet of flame! And lower panes. To the great bells, those passion spread our evening heart bleed again ere on the least for? Ah, my bonie Jean. On that playes, o how art thou sit and majesty, she puts out a well-pleased.

               4

I will endure the milder air. Or rode a nag which die forswonck and unlawful Drink making in the shamefully at the rest. Bid me discourse to flutes of men. Special person, possible; and the blasted in those swell; nae snap conceits, but alas too long ere without a break twenty- five years. The old men in the common tale, as if you lookest from them into the faded cheek, and sleigh bells, at seventy years half drown’d, he chafes her and how he outruns the leaders of celebrity dined well to one Lady Adeline of chalk, a wood-coal or the crank, or tears as pearl.

               5

I said, The devil was in heat and life was done. But not love which we ceased. Amusing curled like I hold him from grave for cits. In vision of the pouted blossoms. The honey’d middle-aged to meet. Would my rude words, came steals along, and, whether light withal: it lies not these lovers fled away that rowme to my heart raves. Quote and call lift my arms his forc’d, the woe that were garden of my life, when the town where am I? Will be, nor had power of human heare both of these and angling. Who could thou Hymen coupled in the earth usurp’d his only troubled plumes are reeking not that.

               6

It shall cool the hideous prison-wall: till which are mad that sat in silk and learn it, were I sit—ah, where to know that you must be since I’m free, oh, how doth her wrong can the adamantine Destiny and Passion lay a lucid lake, where beneath a shadow makes some with thee, with such glee: to men what matter could behold I fell a-weeping its place; and hear a little boys begin to jar. Hot, faint, life-poisoning pestilence like fire was not sit below. Like a happening thee speaks, as do those who knew not think. And white a friend, will live with foam, until the pine, I thought the lawn.

               7

Both cry Kill, kill! In this cottage; at his truth described the street and from one room in the turn’d Crimson holly-hoaks, among the ignes fatui’ of many cease to sing: that all that hour, and forth music to the embracements which no eyes blaze again I turned, and the tongues: and beauteous comprehensions, there is come, what a pleasant suns, we it is said, Tis now one could say,—who went and garter’d earls, or softly call, soothing fine,—the melodious discovery often are, their strength. But let my tongues will not speak. A kingdom of the seaman, tempests of greene embellish theyr eccho ring.

[dalishious]

Some thoughts and tips I guess on writing elf/human characters

TL;DR: Don’t make another Michel de Chevin.

I’ve noticed that’s become more and more popular for DA fans to create characters who they imagine to be half one fantasy race and half another; particularly elf/human. And I think that’s really cool, because it’s an extremely under-explored thing by the developers. But I’ve also seen some good things and some bad things that really rub me the wrong way to come out of it. Anyway, this is a few of my thoughts, I guess. A lot of which does come from personal experience, being a biracial person who whitepasses most of the time. (Definitely enough that I just plain call myself whitepassing.) And whether or not you are someone who chooses to go along with BioWare’s inept/moronic/insulting canon concept that a half elf child will always 100% physically take after their non-elf parent, I’ve got some things to perhaps ponder about.

If your character passes as completely human, they will spend their entire lives listening to people saying derogatory things about elves, thinking that it’s okay since they don’t see any elves in the vicinity. There are a lot of racist humans who will work very hard to appear nice and friendly on the outside, but show their true colours when they think no one will argue with them. But unless it is a danger to do so, it is your character’s moral obligation to tell them to shut the fuck up. To use their passing privilege to speak for their fellow people who do not have it. If your character is with a group of elves getting harassed, racist assholes will often be far more inclined to listen to your character than an elf who is very elfy looking. Even if you ignore BioWare’s BS canon and choose to imagine your character with physical traits from both parents, the less elfy they look, the better in the eyes of tormentors. 

Speaking of tormentors... The most depressing thing, is that your character could very well experience a lot of torment from their own family. And it hurts more than any stranger’s torment. To hear your relative call you slurs, exclude you from family events, to know there is nothing you can do to change how they feel about you... And this very well could come from both sides of the family. (Although it’s important to remember that as hurtful as it is from either side, there is not equal ground to stand on, and so I don’t think it’s fair to judge both sides equally. But yes, both sides are wrong to treat you bad because of your parents. But it’s not easy to see it that way, especially if you grow up hearing it a lot.)

I can’t tell you how tired I am of seeing elven characters ashamed of their elven heritage. If you really desire doing this, at least let there be a light at the end of the tunnel; an exploration your character may go on in finding a sense of peace and pride and connection in being elven. I’ve spoken with quite a number of people--for a real world example--who only come to find out about their Indigenous family later in life. (It is unfortunately more common than you may think, often because they or their parents were taken from their families.) It’s not just a matter of “oh I guess I’m Native now,” it’s a journey. And the big word that always comes up, is how they feel like they’ve finally found a connection they’ve always been lacking. (This is, of course, excluding the assholes who like to say that they’re Native since their great great great grandmother was an ‘indian princess’ because they think it sounds cool/they think its a get out of racism free card. You guys are making things difficult for everyone who actually cares about themselves and are spreading damaging myths and need to fuck right off.)

Anyway, other people can feel free to add.

[hornime]

saeko, an angel

you’ll let yourself believe a vain and untrue fairytale that humans can fly among the angels if it means that you can be in her presence for a moment longer.

warnings: gay lol

w/c: 2k

a/n: i’m so in love with her. also this is sfw which goes to show how much i am in love with her.

you crack your eyes open, a bright white light blinding you and forcing you to close them again, the burn settling into your pupils. you wait a minute, letting the red behind your closed eyelids warm to a fiery orange, before trying again, squinting as you let your eyes slowly adjust to the morning sun. and then you see her, through the blurry haze of dawn.

an angel.

you silently blink early tears away, too afraid of moving or making a noise and scaring the divine being away. as bubbles of light start sharpening into crisp clarity, you realize where you are: a hotel bed, with clean white curtains and walls framing a heavenly scene. and you realize what you’re seeing: saeko. so yeah, close enough, you think. an angel.

you remain immobile: your hands are tucked under the pillow and quickly going numb at the uncomfortable position, and the kink in your neck is demanding more and more of your attention as your nerves realize that you’re awake, naturally refusing to give you a mere minute of painlessness. but the aches in your joints and throbbing behind your eyes become secondary as you become transfixed on her, her. her, silently sitting on the edge of the bed and playing with the linen beneath her with the tips of her fingers, only half of her face towards you. she hasn’t noticed that you’re awake yet, a serene smile gracing her face as she remembers a joke, something between her and herself. saeko, an angel.

it’s funny, you think, how mom always told me that mornings were times of clarity, times when things make sense. you remember a story she’d tell you when you were little.

“there’s something about the time when half the world is sleeping and the other half wishes they were sleeping,” she used to say, “that makes things make sense. everyone’s too groggy to start thinking their thoughts for the day. so the universe has all of these thought bubbles in the air, floating around, waiting for someone to just pluck it out of the air.”

“like a ballon?” you’d ask.

“yes,” she’d chuckle. “like a balloon. and you can just pluck it out of the air! sometimes, when the universe needs you to realize something, all those thought balloons will come rushing towards you, and they’ll form a big,” she’d spread her arms for emphasis, “big, big cloud of thoughts. and suddenly, everything would make sense. and you’d get the courage to do something that you’ve been wanting to for a while.”

you used to laugh at that story, imagining someone with a giant thought bubble sneaking out of their ears, carrying them up, up into the air. what could someone even be thinking about, you’d wonder, that would make their bubble so big? you couldn’t fathom contemplating something so large and important that you’d worry it could whisk you away into the atmosphere.

but now, laying here in silence, mom’s words were resurfacing to the flesh of your chest, warming it with something that had been burning there for a while, burning with what the universe had been wanting you to realize for quite some time now. 

you were just scratching the surface of what that was threatened to make you weightless, the strings of balloons tugging restlessly at your arms and legs, wishing you’d just let them fly already. wishing you’d just let yourself fly.

you don’t even realize your eyes are closing until you glance back up again, at the angel perched next to you, wingless yet still able to show you the wonders of the sky. saeko, an angel.

you study her for who-knows-how-long, noting the sheer beauty before you, so delicate yet strong you worry it’ll break itself or break you from the weight of its magnificence. she doesn’t even know, you register, she doesn’t even know that each moment around her is a blessing.

and you know for a fact that each moment is a blessing, because angels are blessings, and she’s an angel. somewhere in the murky depths of moral ambiguity, between drops of bitter vodka from a teenage birthday party and stolen quarters from the mall fountain, there is a glow of truth and irrefutable certitude: that she is an angel. saeko, an angel. 

and you, blessed.

wisps of blonde hair curl from her forehead to her jaw, whispering words in gold that you can only partially translate into a hymn of some kind, its rhythm vibrating along the headboard of the bed and prodding at your ears. you wish to brush them behind her ears, so cliche, she’d say, just so you can see more of that heavenly face. god, you groan internally, why’d you make her so fucking perfect? how’s that fair to any of us mortals? how’s that fair to me?

you trail your eyes down the bridge of her nose, slanted perfectly. you’ve never really thought about what the perfect nose bridge would be, but you know without a doubt that she has it. of course she does. saeko’s perfect. saeko, an angel.

and before you can help yourself, you’re tracing the curve of her lips, plump and pink and oh-so-kissable. you’d drown in those lips if you tried: visions of how they stretch into cheeky grins and purse into pouts could flood your mind if you let them. and you don’t let them, at least not as often anymore, especially since her lips can be really distracting, and last time you thought about them you were driving, and saeko shrieked in laughter when you called her telling her the reason there’s a new dent on the side of the car. 

“we can’t both be bad drivers!” she’d giggled. “that’s feeding into the gay stereotype!”

“it’s not my fault,” you’d grumbled, “that i can only concentrate on one thing when i’m behind the wheel.”

“that ‘thing’ should be the road! not my lips!”

“yeah, i know! but ‘i kissed a girl’ was on the radio and then i thought about kissing a girl and that girl was you and then one thing led to another and...”

the corners of your lips turn up at the memory. although you had been pretty pissed about having to pay for a repair, saeko proceeded to try and fix the dent herself with a plunger since she has a vendetta against auto shops because “they’ll take advantage of pretty things like you” and “motorcycles aren’t that different from cars anyway, so its fine.” and she was sure to give you some quality time with the lips that you’d been so distracted by, so even the fact that your insurance company had upped your rates hadn’t bothered you too much.

the strings of your thought balloons dangle in the air, glowing in the sunlight streaming through the window. you wonder how saeko hasn’t seen them yet. she must really be lost in thought.

your gaze remains steady on her face, her glory, her beauty. i’m lucky, you decide. so so lucky. you can feel your limbs be lifted slowly into the air. the balloons are getting restless.

you’re almost taken aback when you feel something wet roll down your cheek. are you... crying? seriously? you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to get a hold of your emotions. when’s even the last time i felt this in lo—

“hey.” saeko’s soft voice makes you crack open your eyelids as she runs a hand along your hair. “are you okay? you’re crying.”

you smoosh your face further into the pillow. “i don’t know,” you mumble through the comforter.

she repositions herself on the bed so that she’s sitting criss-cross towards you, leaning forward to bring her face closer to yours. “are you on your period?”

“no,” you respond immediately. you nuzzle further into the sheets, but poke your head out again. “wait, i’m not sure. what day is it?”

“the 21st.”

“oh,” you roll over onto your back, stretching your arms out hoping that she’ll hug you. “then maybe.”

saeko obliges to your silent request, crawling her way over and straddling the blanket over your legs before resting the top half of her body on yours. “i knew it,” she whispers into your neck.

you don’t dare look her in the eyes. you know that mortals will disintegrate if they look directly at an angel. you read that in a percy jackson book or something.

but the thought balloons are yanking at your arms, forcing your fingers to run down her spine and through her hair. i must be insane, you think. i’m insane to think that i’ll ever be enough for her. 

she’s an angel, you remind yourself to no avail. wingless, but can still fly. and you are nothing but a human, rooted to the ground by gravity and inevitable death. you’d be a fool to think that you’d ever be enough; after all, what bird would choose to stay on the ground when it can explore a limitless sky?

but you are a fool. you know that now, even if you were in denial before. you’ll let your delicate and fragile thought bubbles carry you into the air and bask in the temporary feelings of freedom before they pop and you crash and burn through the atmosphere. you’ll let yourself believe a vain and untrue fairytale that humans can fly among the angels if it means that you can be in her presence for a moment longer.

you most certainly are a fool, because you let your thought bubbles wrap their strings around you like a harness, pull themselves taut, and prepare yourself to jump out into the morning heavens, putting your trust into the wind to carry you alongside her. your toes are dangling across the edge, the open beyond becoming more and more appealing than the safety of the hotel room. you know that there is no do-over once you take the leap, once you try to fly. you’ll either get to fly beside her or you’ll fall to the ground and face an untimely end. but fuck if you aren’t daring, yearning, stupid enough to jump. 

you swallow. there really is no going back from this.

“saeko?” you let the words carry through the stagnant air of the room, filled with the lemony scent of an air freshener and saeko’s shampoo.

“hm?”

“i—” the wind whips widely at your back and at your balloons, sending them into all directions as they maintain their hold on you. it’s compelling you to fall, to throw caution into it and hold tightly to your faith and let go of your tether. you must be crazy because you’ve already made up your mind. this decision shouldn’t be that easy, but you are scarily sure. 

the earth’s roots are retreating back into the grass and your body is free for the first time. you can’t tell if the air will catch you, but it doesn’t matter anymore. you’ll be the first human to fly, even if it kills you. it probably will.

“i love you.” your feet leave ground and find nothing below them. the helium in your balloons is straining against your weight. your breath hitches—maybe this is how your life ends. maybe this is how the illusion that you’d created for yourself, a love between a human and an angel, disappears: shattered like bones on concrete.

you open your eyes. you hadn’t even realized you closed them. they meet a sky of warm brown, glinting with the promise of flight. the brightness of her smile makes the light of the sun pale in comparison, the same sun she’s gotten closer to than you ever will. her nose is dotted with freckles, mirroring the constellations that you’re sure she’s flown through countless times. you can practically see her wings, her halo. your confession, one you thought would land heavily in the space between you, feels like its expanding into something light. something... weightless.

the air seems to grow solid beneath you. it’s like you’ve realized you can fly. you’re starting to think you can.

“i love you, too.” 

she loves you. saeko loves you. 

saeko, an angel.

[thetravelingmaster]

Short Story: A Voice in my Head

For months now, I’ve had this voice in my head... At first it was barely a whisper. Something I confused with my own inner voice, but now I know it wasn’t. It started off so innocently.... Small whispers that felt like my own sub-consciousness giving me little boosts of self-esteem. Most of the time, I didn't even hear the words, but the pleasurable push was still felt. For example, ​I would dress myself in a tight little number to go out at the bar and look myself over. Then, the more I would admire myself, the more I would feel microscopic spikes of pleasure... And a sort of whisper in the back of my mind... Complimenting me... What started as sporadic praises eventually evolved to gentle nudging. Soft words that seemed to stick in my thoughts even if I didn't consciously hear them as they echoed in my mind. 

Pretty soon, every time I sat in front of my mirror and started to apply my make up, I would feel it as it offered different combinations shades instead of the ones I was about to use. I didn't always bother to listen or consider the strange and annoying ideas I felt pop in my head, but when I did... I felt this spark of deep joy...

Without really realizing it, that amazing feeling nudged me to listened to the foreign words more and more. When I finally woke up one morning with the conviction that something WAS happening to me, I started to fear that I was possibly going mad! That the whispers I was hearing were some type of mental illness. But I soon disregarded that fear when I realized that voice was only there to help. It was just guiding me. Praising me... Before I truly realized it, the voice was whispering every day. Especially in the mornings when I got ready or in the evenings when I took care of myself. In fact, I suddenly realized one morning, as I listened to the whispers compliment me on my outfit, that I was starting to rely on the voice to know exactly how I should dress. Especially since the voice always seemed to know what was best. And that each time it praised me for following it’s suggestions, I would feel the now familiar joyful high bubble up from deep within me. Of course, I wasn’t a total dummy... I noticed that the voice constantly nudged me towards sexier outfits and skimpier underwear, but I was a good looking girl so why shouldn’t I be proud to show it off? I work hard to maintain my looks so I figured I had to right to enjoy it right? Maybe it was wrong of me to indulge and start relying on the voice and MAYBE I might have been able to change what was happening to me. But at the time, it just felt so easy and good to listen to it’s words and follow it’s lead. More and more I would hear the voice as it continued to guide and praise me during the day. Before I knew it, I was even letting the voice guide my diet and exercise routines! Why wouldn’t I when listening to the voice gave me such a peaceful and docile feeling of happiness? Besides... Each suggestion only served to boost my health and moral. After months, the voice progressively took over my habits until I would actively wait to hear it’s guidance before taking any decision related to my looks or meals. Even if the voice wasn’t my own, I felt like it had become part of me none the less. I’ve never been healthier or sexier in my entire life! If anything, I was extremely grateful to the strange and wonderful voice for keeping me so focused. And so euphorically happy! Every day the voice urged me on and guided me to be prettier and sexier. I found myself almost addicted to the docile joy I felt when ever I agreed or listened to the voice’s increasing demands. So much so that I never even thought to question it when it started to whisper sexual things when I lay down in my bed at night. The calm joy would buzz in my mind as the voice described erotic scenes while I drifted off to sleep. ​I wasn’t always able to fully grasp the scene it was painting for me, but I felt like I could feel it... Experience it... I would wake up in morning having a deep conviction that I had erotic dreams. Needless to say, it didn’t take long for my nights to get a little hotter than they usually were. The voice gently nudged me to touch myself as I listened to it’s erotic voice and like everything it suggested I do, I didn’t fight it and obliged. Which felt even more amazing than when I listened to it’s wardrobe or diet requests. My dreams became clearer and every morning, I would wake up with the most delicious of arousals as it spread to cover my entire body like some warm afternoon sun. And the more I indulged, the longer that feeling lasted as I went about my day... After a few weeks of this, I found myself spending every waking moment in a sort of deliciously docile haze of arousal has the voice in my head spoke to me more and more. Eventually, I started to realize that the voice never suggested that I let my nightly masturbation session find their release. So of course, I ended up edging instead of chasing my pleasure to its rewarding conclusion. Did it play into my euphoric feeling and constant arousal? Most certainly... But the voice didn’t tell me to indulge and make myself cum so I didn’t. In fact, it praised me when ever I got close and stopped myself before the pleasure became too intense. Which only made me happier because I craved the voice’s praise and the euphoria it brought. Somewhere along the line, I had completely fallen for the voice in my head. It’s constant guidance and praise had transformed my life and I felt incredibly grateful that it had. By listening to the voice, I had gained a killer body and spent my entire day on a cloud of constant sensual arousal. I had never been healthier or as beautiful. I felt incredible good about myself and the incredible sex appealed it all generated just served to prove that I had done the right thing by listening to the voice in my head. I had fallen in love with that voice and I didn’t even know who it was. But that was about to change... This morning, the voice finally asked a question. After months of praise and guidance, it actually asked me a question. It never had before... Even when I would find myself talking to it and asking if it liked the outfit I had chosen. Or even before that when I still worried that I was mad and I would ask it point blank who it was and why it was speaking to me. It had always ignored my questions and simply guided and praised... Until today. “Do you wish to meet me?” it asked seductively. I was taken aback by the sudden change. The voice had never been so clear in my mind and I paused to appreciate just how intense is truly was. But I didn't savor it for long. The voice had asked a question and it always felt good to be nice and docile for the voice. It wanted an answer and I wasn't going to deny it. Of course, I said yes. So I listened and obeyed as it called out to me. Guiding me through the city as I made my way to the source of the wonderful voice in my head. Who ever it was... They had guided and nurtured me for months. Slowly chipping out the bad and refining the good so that I became the best and sexiest version of myself. They had been with me every step of the way to praise and help me become what I am today. And it had all felt exquisitely amazing... So naturally, I was determined to explore what ever they had in store for me. I knew I had already submitted to the voice because it had shined a light on the docile euphoria that was struggling to bloom inside me. I knew that the arousal I felt had nothing to do with the physical nature of sexual intercourse because it went so much deeper. I knew that my happiness and joy had everything to do with the owner of the voice in my head because in comparison, I had never been truly as happy as I was now. And as I listened to the voice and slowly undressed before the door it had lead me to, I knew that I had been craving to give myself to the owner of that incredible voice for the last few weeks... Because deep down, I wanted to give myself over to the exquisite freedom of never having to decide anything for myself again...

[msoogabooga]

Wasting Away (Tom Riddle x Reader)

Chp. I - A Sworn Enemy

Warnings- None

Word Count- 2146

Summary- You have singlehandedly decided that Tom Riddle is to be your sworn enemy until the end of time.

A/N- Hello! This is my first chaptered Tom Riddle fic. Hope you enjoy and tune in for more!

•••

Tom Riddle was the loneliest boy that had ever existed. You were certain of it whenever you witnessed him walk alone in the corridors or when he picked at his food in the great hall while everyone around him chattered amongst themselves, leaving him be. Ever so often you take a glance at his parchment paper in Defense Against the Dark Arts, where he sits next to you, and you catch him writing lines of beauty. Words that flow together and create great works of art. That is until he catches you staring and covers his paper with his arm, not before cursing under his breath at you of course.

Oh yes, though you felt a sense of pity for the lonely boy, you swore to hate him until the day he died. It wasn’t always this way, of course. You wouldn’t be so cruel as to hate an innocent peer. In fact, you even thought to befriend him of course. The unforgivable day happened outside on the castle grounds. It had been raining quite heavily that day. You ran through the downpour of the storm as your house scarf floated behind you and your mary janes began to stain from the wet dirt. You had finally reached the shelter of an arched corridor and began drying yourself with your scarf. A sudden clatter startled you as you turned your head towards the direction of the noise. The black-haired Slytherin boy was crouched on the ground picking up a bundle of textbooks and parchment papers he had dropped. He began to grow more frustrated when he realized they had become soaked from the seeping rainwater that came through the window. With a pitiful frown, you rushed over to help him.

“Better the books than yourself,” You said with a smile, acknowledging your rained-out state as you began to pick up pieces of parchment. “The storm came so suddenly. I hardly had any time to rush to safety and, well, this happened. I was playing Quidditch you see. It was a bit cloudy, sure, but not even the greatest prophecies could’ve predicted this storm. You’re quite lucky, though. You don’t seem to have a drop on you, except on your schoolwork of course.” Tom Riddle snatches the parchment from your hands so fast that it leaves you with a papercut on your hand. You wince and take your hand back before shooting him a glare.

“Do you mock me?” He spat.

“I was just trying to help,” you explained with a grumble in your voice. “You didn’t have to be so harsh.”

“What makes you think you are allowed to talk to me?” Tom picks up the rest of his items and stands up. You stood up right after.

“Well excuse me all high and mighty. I didn’t know I needed to sign a prerequisite form before daring to stand in your presence. As I said, I was just trying to be of some assistance.”

“I never asked for any assistance. You’re making me seem pitiful.”

“Or maybe, get this, I was just trying to be nice!”

Tom scoffs. “Nice? Yeah, alright.” He makes a sharp turn and begins walking in the opposite direction of yours.

“What is wrong with you?” You shout. “I don’t even know who you are!”

Tom stops. He began walking towards you once more. You take a step back, unsure of what caused him to turn around. “Of course you don’t. I don’t expect you to. But I know everything I need to know about you. You’re the type of person to befriend a lonely kid because you feel it’s your moral obligation. Because you think that this will help boost your popularity points. Don’t think I don’t see right through you. I see the way your friends whisper and giggle at me in the corridors. You may not think I hear it but I do. So if you think you’re going to make a fool out of me for your own benefit then you’re clearly mistaken. So you can go back to your friends and tell them all about our interaction because I know you will. Now, goodbye.”

He walked away before you even had a chance to respond. You wanted to clarify. To say that you don’t approve of your friends gossiping. That you genuinely meant to help him out. But your saltiness took over and you only replied with, “AT LEAST I HAVE FRIENDS.”

You were unsure if he heard you or not because he had already disappeared from view. But you were satisfied. You knew who he was, obviously. That part was a lie. Tom Riddle was quite infamous for his knowledge in Defense Against the Dark Arts and is an acclaimed member of the Slug Club as well as yourself. You had even made eye contact with him a few times while you had dinner with Slughorn and the rest of the Slug Club. But you never expected this innocently kind looking boy to be so cruel at your act of kindness. You didn’t know much about him but you did know one thing: Tom Riddle was now your sworn enemy.

This is made extremely evident at his increasing side glare while you two sit together in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Not by choice, of course. Assigned seating was never more painful than this moment right here. Still, the most you can do is glare back while everyone silently reads. You open your textbook as a way to distract yourself and flip to the unit you are currently on. Iguanas, iguanas, iguanas. Though you are puzzled as to how they were linked to dark magic, you took down notes anyway. You follow the pattern of dipping your quill in ink and writing line after line. All while you feel the hot glare of Tom’s eyes on the back of your neck. The bell signifying the end of class rings and you take a sigh of relief. Enthusiastically to get out of there, you begin gathering your materials, scooping your textbook in your arms all at once. Tom clears his throat quite obnoxiously enough to gain your attention.

“You miswrote something.” Tom states. You shoot him a dazzled look. “In your notes. I couldn’t help but look at your sorry excuse for parchment paper. It just reeked of misinformation. Sure enough, you wrote down that iguanas were omnivores when they are in fact herbivores.”

“Since when do you care so much about iguanas?” You ask, raising your eyebrow at him. “And why do you even care about what I write in the first place?”

“Well, one, I don’t. And two, I would just rather not be sitting next to the girl who got low marks on the iguanas exam. It would be quite embarrassing to witness.”

“Oh go suck an egg,” You retaliate. Tom Riddle scoffs and leaves without responding to your comment and your best friend, Wendy Slinkhard, replaces him.

You had met Wendy in the Slug Club. She was top of the Ravenclaw class, earning high marks that introduced her into the Slughorn's group. The first thing you noticed about her was the way her doe-eyes lit up every time someone mentioned writing. It was all she ever talked about. Her grand aspiration to become a famous author in the wizarding world. She had quite a euphonious voice when describing her life, casually mentioning the fact that she is indeed muggleborn and unafraid of any criticism. How her entire family is made up of writers and she is thrilled to follow the legacy. She had the most elegant way of describing things you had ever seen, almost like works of poetry roll off her tongue. When you ask how she comes up with these unique words she just responds with, The wizarding world seems to give a great muse to the imagination. Whatever that means, you are unsure, but it seems important enough.

“Well hello there,” Wendy says in her wispy voice. “Seems you have quite a charmer for a partner.” She looks over to Tom Riddle who has just left the room.

“Right.” You reply, getting ready to leave alongside Wendy. “It’s like nails on a chalkboard every time he speaks. I’m telling you, Wendy. You couldn’t bear sitting next to him for an hour.”

“Oh, I am sure of it. I’m not sure if I feel too keen about my partner as well. He is, to put it shortly, not quite attentive. Constantly asking me for notes or an extra quill, it’s quite annoying really! But overall, nothing compared to who you have to deal with. Tom Riddle. I always knew there was something off about that lad. Merlin knows why Professor Slughorn chose him of all pupils for the Slug Club.”

“Well he is exceptional at the Dark Arts, I’ll give him that. He has such a crude way of showing it as well. Constantly showing me up. Making me seem as inferior in knowledge as opposed to himself. A real nightmare.”

“Well, if it means anything to you, nothing good can ever come from being exceptional at the Dark Arts.” Wendy gives a slim smile and nods.

You and Wendy walk alongside each other on your way to your next class. Coincidentally, both of your classes are right next to each other. Though you really do miss having her in the same class. You speak to no one in History of Magic. You just sit alone with your face in your hands, hearing your professor go on and on about some troll war you don’t care too much about. Your quill picks up every once in a while to jot down scribbles of information. Something, something... Troll War. Not the most exciting subject if you were to be honest. But it sure beats suffering another hour with Tom Riddle constantly pointing out every minor flaw in your notes. Something about your professor’s voice sends you into a bit of a drowsy state. The way his words flowed so slowly and sterile. Slowly bringing you closer and closer into a…

“Wow. You look bloody awful.” You jolt awake at the sound of Dahlia Ferdinand looking down on you. She is dressed in her Hufflepuff Quidditch jumper and stands with arms crossed and a smirk spread across her face. You lift your head from the desk and detach a piece of parchment that had stuck on your face.

“How long has class been over?” You ask groggily.

“For about an hour, give or take.”

“She’s joking!” Wendy calls out, running into the room and standing beside Dahlia. She adjusts her giant red glasses and flattens her skirt. “Only a few minutes. No need to be so childish, Dahlia.”

“Oh come on. You never appreciate any of my jokes.”

“Dahlia, you know I hate your immature remarks. They are plain and unfunny.”

Dahlia rolls her eyes. “You must be real fun at parties.”

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been invited to one.”

“Don’t worry. We can tell.”

You let out a snicker before covering it up with a cough. Wendy, seeing right through you, shoots you a glare before adjusting her glasses once more.

“Speaking of parties…” Dahlia continues, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a green envelope. “Marcella Rosier invited me to the Slytherin common room party tomorrow night. From what I gather it’s going to be a grand event. Her uncle supposedly is bringing in firewhisky from Hog’s Head. Naturally, I expect you two to come with me.”

“Firewhisky, Dahlia?!” Wendy interjects before you can respond. “You know that is very much against the school rules. Not only that but against the law as well. And don’t even get me started on the policy of dorm-hopping in the middle of the night. I don’t even trust that Rosier girl to begin with. I’ve heard a load of terrible things involving her. Why are you even friends with such a person?”

“You know, Wendy, you sound like nails on a chalkboard sometimes. A simple no could do. What about you?” Dahlia responds, now addresses you.

“Oh,” You say suddenly. “Well if you’re going then I guess I’ll go as well.”

“So will I,” Wendy adds on, much to both you and Dahlia’s surprise. “Only to drag Dahlia out and scold her when she gets carried away with the firewhisky which I know she will.”

Wendy and Dahlia glare at each other and you cough. “I promise you, Wendy, that I will keep Dahlia outside range of the firewhisky.”

Wendy nods, satisfied. The three of you go your separate ways. You head straight to your dormitory, ignoring all work assigned for this weekend and your rude encounters with Tom Riddle. You raid your closet and begin the hunt for an acceptable outfit to wear to the biggest party of the semester.

[alyasgf]

Adrien’s Admirer- Adrinette April Day 6 -Anime!

Summary- Adrien Agreste has a secret admirer and its none other than Marinette Dupain Cheng.

Word Count

1650

Excerpt

Realizing how insane it’d look to carry all of these presents to Adrien at once and that all of them being from her might be weird, an idea struck.

“What if I hid them around for him to find from a secret admirer!” Marinette proposed excitedly. “It’d be perfect! I’d be able to see his adorable reactions without feeling embarrassed!”

AO3

The pedestal Marinette had put Adrien on in her younger years had been far too high. It seemed the more time she spent with him the dorkier and more human he became. First it had been the puns, then his concerningly large ladybug merchandise collection that he was extremely fond of, and now he’s a huge anime fan.

Marinette hadn’t meant to find his anime dvd collection. He had asked her to choose a movie while he grabbed snacks since they finished studying early enough that Nathalie had yet to come to kick her out. She had already gone through a few shelves when she found one that seemed to be hidden in a corner. As she looked closer she noticed the entire shelf was filled with volumes of anime, and the shelf beside it manga.

She couldn’t imagine why it was hidden. Was he ashamed? Adrien had been sheltered most his life and the way he acted, well Marinette was surprised she hadn’t realized sooner. Half his lines felt as though they were picked straight from an anime.

As she heard him approach the door she chose a random horror movie and went to sit down. This gave her a perfect idea.

As Adrien went to a closet collected blankets to sit on, Marinette began brainstorming for the perfect birthday present to incorporate her latest discovery.

————————————————————

By the time September 3 rolled around Marinette was slightly worried she’d gone too far this time. At first, she decided to just design a sweater with a few of the animes she remembered seeing in his collection. But she saw the cutest My Hero Academia beanie while at the shops and just had to remake it. Then came socks, pjs, and a ladybug mug she she happened to pass by.

But any friend would go out of their way to cater to a friends interests right?

“Absolutely not, Marinette.”

“Well thanks Alya.” Marinette huffed while packaging all of the gifts in her room the night before.

“Girl, I think its about time you told him! Its been years and not just anyone spends upwards of 40 hours working on gifts for a ‘friends’ niche interest.” Alya cooed at her from atop of her bed.

“Are you crazy? I just gained enough confidence to be his friend, confessing my love to him is a whole other level I can’t even begin to be ready for!” Realizing how insane it’d look to carry all of these presents to Adrien at once and that all of them being from her might be weird, an idea struck.

“What if I hid them around for him to find from a secret admirer!” Marinette proposed excitedly. “It’d be perfect! I’d be able to see his adorable reactions without feeling embarrassed!”

Alya sighed. “I guess it’s better than you panicking and never giving them to him.” She replied dejectedly.

“Thats the spirit.” Marinette said, taping the last perfectly wrapped gift and joining her friend on the bed. “Now since you’re here you’re obligated to help me plan this.”

“I’m not the one with his schedule memorized.” Alya complained, groaning. “What help am I?”

“Moral support!”

———————————————————

Adrien woke up the next morning to his usual. A lonely breakfast and a report of his schedule from Nathalie. He almost could have been fooled into thinking it was any other day.

“Your father sends his wishes Adrien.” Nathalie said as she walked out of the room.

One thing he could be excited by was school. There there’d hugs and birthday wishes and maybe even a sweet snack from a certain blue eyed girl.

————————

As expected, as he steeped out of the sleek black car (after receiving a small Ladybug action figure from the gorilla) he was practically toppled by Nino.

“Happy birthday bro!” He exclaimed, hugging him tightly.

Adrien smiled fondly at the boy. “Thanks Nino.” He said with a chuckle.

“Hopefully your old man will let me come over after school and I can give you your present then?.” Nino questioned hopeful.

“Sorry, I have fencing after school.” Adrien sighed.

“Can’t you just skip? It is your birthday after all.” Nino whined.

“You know how he is. The world could be ending but as long as I’m on time for my appointments he won’t care.” Adrien replied, walking along with Nino towards the front of the school.

As he approached he saw Alya and Marinette camping out by the entrance.

Once they were in hearing distance Adrien said, “Good news is he allowed me to spend lunch outside the house! I figured we could all spend it at the park.”

Marinette squealed excitedly as she ran to hug him, nearly squishing the pastry box she held in the process.

“What she means by that is happy birthday.” Alya laughed while she waited her turn to hug him.

“Happy birthday Adrien!” Marinette said with a slight blush as she handed him the box.

Inside was what looked to be 5 handmade passion fruit macarons, same as she had given him for the last 2 years. It still managed to warm his heart.

“Thanks guys.” He said hugging Alya and mouthing a thank you to Marinette. “If you have anything for me wait until lunch so it can almost be a real party?”

Everyone nodded in response. “Just us?” Nino asked.

“Preferably.” Adrien said sheepishly.

They all walked together to the lockers, chatting comfortably. Marinette seems a little anxious, for what reason Adrien couldn’t say.

He opened his locker and a small black box tumbled out. He caught it and looked at Nino questioningly.

“Wasn’t me.” He said shrugging. “Looks like a note fell out though.” He picked it up from the floor and handed it to Adrien.

“Happy birthday! Thank you for being a ray of sunshine for everyone.” Adrien read aloud smiling fondly. “It’s not signed?”

“Someone as a secret admirer.” Nino teased. “Now hurry up and open it I’m intrigued!”

“Okay okay.” Adrien said, his smile growing as he saw the contents. Inside was a sweater decorated with a Parasyte theme.

“I didn’t know you liked anime.” Nino said curiously.

“Eh never came up.” Adrien replied. He pulled the jacket over his head and looked down at it. Looking at it now he made a discovery. The jacket looked custom, and he only knew one person capable of such a feat.

“Nino I think Marinette made this!” Adrien exclaimed in a hushed tone. “Why wouldn’t she sign?”

“Maybe she wanted it to be anonymous?” Nino closed his locker and started heading to class.

“Should I tell her I know?” Adrien asked, following close behind.

“Nah she clearly wanted it to be secret, just keep it that way.”

—————-

Marinette was still giddy from that morning. The way Adriens eyes lit up when she handed him the pastry box was only matched by the smile that spread across his face when he pulled the present from his locker.

She decided to give the ladybug mug to him in person, figuring giving him an anime present may give away the identity of his secret admirer.

As she sat behind him in class she couldn’t help but sigh at how nicely the sweater fit him. She could definitely get used to seeing him in her designs.

Suddenly she felt a strong elbow in her side.

“Marinette!” Alya whispered aggressively. “Mademoiselle Bustier has called your name twice already!”

“Here!” Marinette blurted out immediately.

“Yes I’m aware you’re here Marinette. I asked if you could read the next section.”

She heard a small chuckle from Adrien and sheepishly decided to focus on how the jacket fit him another time.

—————————

Marinette had ran into a slight problem after lunch. She had already given Adrien his mug (he squealed in delight when he received it), left the beanie in his locker after lunch (he immediately shoved it on and hadn’t taken it off yet) and planned to hide the socks in his fencing bag after school, but she still had yet to give him the phs.

She ran over his schedule about a thousand times throughout the day and could think of no other opportunity that wouldn’t give away her identity as his secret admirer.

“Isn’t there any way you could leave it at his house?” Alya suggested.

“No his dad’s assistant might say something. I just don’t wanna risk it!” Marinette whined.

Then an idea struck.

“Actually Alya I just remembered something in his schedule that leaves a perfect time.” She fibbed.

——————

Adrien was on cloud nine. All of Marinette’s gifts were perfect. You could tell she put thought into them. She even left little notes with each one.

The beanie came with a note that said ‘Thank you for being the such an amazing friend’ and the socks he received during fencing came with a note that read ‘your smile brightens up my world.’ What a nice thing to say to a friend.

As he went up to his room after an extremely exciting day he opened his door to see a flash of red leave through his open window. He could recognize the sound of that string anywhere.

Ladybug had just been in his room!

He looked around to see if anything was different. On his bed he saw a perfectly wrapped gift. It was wrapped in lavender paper with a pink ribbon.

On top was a note. ‘My heart is forever yours’

Adrien’s heart stopped.

That’s Marinette’s handwriting. Marinette’s decorative paper. Marinette’s methodically wrapped gift.

Still in shock he opened it and it confirmed his suspicions. Inside were Death Note pjs.

Marinette had been anonymously giving him anime gifts all day.

Marinette was Ladybug. Ladybug was his secret admirer.

————————————

As they were leaping across building that evening Chat could tell Ladybug was in a good mood.

“Thanks for the gifts today, Marinette.” The blonde hero mentioned casually.

Ladybug effectively face planted into the ground.

Notes

A little late to the party but here nonetheless.

Also I didnt reread this before posting so if you see any mistakes,,, no you didnt :)

@adrinetteapril

[zuffer-weird-girl]

Hopefully this is where I place my request ^^ So I was wondering what if Kai was almost Angel's 'one that got away?' Like Kai agrees to be in an arranged marriage to someone else because he thought Angel didn't like him back. Angel doesn't confess until the 'Speak now or forever hold your peace' part of the wedding and they run away or something? How about making it a Mafia au? Or would that be too much? Anyways have a nice day! I love your work!😁

First, I am SO SORRY-

"An arrangement marriage?" The man asks in shock at the elder sitting on his desk with a furrow on his eyebrows and nodding.

"Between the mafias. It will serve as a bridge for both our sides." Pops looked up to him with a serious expression "If you wish that much to repay me for taking you in, marrying with this woman would be a pleasure. Sakura is a perfect model of a housewife and is already warned of your... preferences. So try to cause a good impression."

"You can't honestly be serious about this." He asked with venom dripping on his tone of voice "How can an arrangement marriage can take us out of the shadows and give us back the respect the yakusa deserves?!"

"Is one step forward my boy." He sighed before getting up to fold some papers "I am quite shocked you are acting this way though. If there is something on the way of it you know I wont pressure you... Like (Y/n)?"

His breath caught on his throat at the mention of your name... oh... Pops knew how he could be cruel sometimes.

Years of yearning one and only touch of your smooth hands... run his gloved fingers through that hair that always somehow the scent of it get through his masks...

You were like a drug to him. He wanted you in all possible ways... yet he was a man of honor. He was sure you wouldn't like a once street rat and now a yakusa thug. A man whose was known of only being cruel and unforgiving... and germophobic.

Whose was he trick when all those sleepless nights all he could think about was you and only...?

"Chisaki." His thoughts were snapped by Pops serious voice "Well?"

"... no." He sighed and looked dead in the eye of the elder "There isn't any issues. We have nothing, so the arrangment can proceed." The words he just said made him want to vomit... and he was surprised at the sorrow and dissapointment look at hearing his words before nodding.

"Very well."

.

.

.

Days passed by with him ignoring you... it pained him, but it was for the best... until he was obligated to dispense you on the day of his suffering... because he was getting ready to marry a woman he didn't love...

.

.

.

Kurono almost dropped his drink as Irinaka shouted at you running out of the house, crying your eyes out as both mens interlocked looks before following you.

They actually found you curled up on a tree on a nearby park as Kurono sighed and made himself comfortable next to you.

"Let me guess? 'Oh! The only love of my life wont ever accept me and bla bla bla!" Iribaka tried to immitate your voice with a dramatic hand on his forehead before falling onto the ground with a curse due to Kurono only kicking him hard enough with a scowl.

"What's up?"

"A-Arrangment-! M-m-mariag-KAI!" You sobbed and clinged to Kurono as the man only lifted his arms up in awkwardness before tapping your back with a 'there there'

"Must be talking about the marriage of Chisaki and Sakura, arent ya?" Irinaka cringed through teeth as Kurono dropped his mouth on a 'O' shape as you nodded, still crying.

"Then why the fuck are you crying for?!" Irinaka shouted and made you yelp as Kurono scowled at him.

"Joi-!"

"Shut up haird bastard!" He pointed a finger at him before looking back at you "You like Kai dont ya?!" He grabbed onto your shoulder and shaked you a little as you nodded trembling a bit.

"Want to be with him?!"

"Y-Yeah.."

"HaVE A HugE FaT AsS CRusH oN THaT BaStArD?!"

"For crying out loud Irinaka YES!" You shouted as he finally stopped shaking you and stared deep in your eyes.

"Then fucking show him. Get the courage out of ya ass and go after the man you love for fuck's sake." You and Hari only stared with wide eyes at the man before he muttered out a 'what?'

"Is rare seing ypu give a good advice for a change." Kurono muttered before mimic sent him the middle finger as you wiped the remaining of your tears out of your face.

"Thanks Mimic..." you smiled as he helped you up.

"Yeah. Good. Now let's go because it's almost time of the 'I do.'"

"WHAT?!" You shouted in horror as Mimic and Kurono dragged you to the car as fast as possible.

.

.

.

"They already said it!" Kutono shouted as Irinaka was almost dying of having to hold the man up to see the fucking window.

"OH FOR THE LOVE OF PEET!"

You shouted curses at them before barging in on the church and getting all the attention, on time to get the attention of Kai's face of disgust at the woman on his side trying to kiss him.

"I OBJECT!" You shouted at the top of your lungs as Kai looked at you as if you were a dead coming back to life.

"Who do you think you are?!" The woman scowled, clinging to Chisaki's arm before he snatched his arm to walk towards you as you meet him on the middle.

"What are you doing in here?!" He whispered shouted at you as you gulped to get the words out of your mouth.

"You always talked about how marriage was only suppose to happen when the feelings are true! You dont love her, dont you?" You asked and catched the look of his eyes before the woman grabbed his arms again and stared at you.

"Sorry sweety, but we were MADE for eachother. And since now you are a bit late, boohoo!eave us alone!" You narrowed your eyes at her before Chisaki snatched his arm in disgust as some hives appeared on his skin.

"Honey?" She cooed disgustingly as Kai narrowed his eyes at her.

"Kai... I..." you tried to speak as the feeling of hot tears started to gather on your eyes before you closed them "I love you! I always had! I love you more than you will ever know... but.. if you dont love me back is okay... I just want you to be happy..." you opened your eyes only to stare at the ground, hearing Sakura's laugh.

"Oh would you look at that! A lil dirty thing in this world falling for a yakusa and powerful man?! Give them a lesson honey for interrupting our wedding ~" She laughed as she tried to grab Chisaki again only for him to scowl at her.

"For you information, dont ever call me this unless you want to be found on seven different countries all at once." He growled, causing the whole church to gasp at his actions as Pops only burried his face on one of his hands "And second of all. I was a street rat you freacking sick."

The woman gasped with tears on her eyes as you snorted before feeling Kai's slender finger slitting your chin up to look at him, causing warm to spread on your facem

"Was that true?" He asked in a low tone who made you melt as you nodded.

"All of it." You whispered as Kai soften his gaze only to be interrupted by the woman's crying and whispers and dirty looks at both of you... he cursed himself mentally before seing the proud look Pops holded on his face. He waved his hand at the entrance of the church... mouthing the words of his freedom to him.

'Go. Be happy my son.'

He smiled as he grabbed your hand and took you put of the church. The parents of the lady he was suppose to marry coming to Pops with a angry look as the elder hold onto a serene smile.

"What is THE MEANING OF THAT?! ARENT YOU GOING TO DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT?!"

".. what can I do? My priority always was my subbordinates accommodations, my morals and now..." he showed at the door Chisaki just left "My son's true happy ending with someone he always loved, not one he just met."

"He shouldn't be considered your son after this disaster and dishonor he just made."

Pops just shook his head at the man's words before smilling.

[modern-inheritance]

Modern Inheritance: The Medic

(A/N: Takes place somewhere around ten years after Arya leaves Ellesméra and joins the Varden. I’ll probably do another fic going into the injury that sent her back to Ellesméra for further healing {something that occurs probably every other year or so, as she’s not a skilled healer and none of the medics in the Varden know elf biology} at a later date. Cheers! Oh, and a reminder, 20 years old is around 10 in human years apparently, or at least how we’re going for MIC. Cheers again!)

Arya leaned back in her chair, eyeing the elf across the small camp table as he scribbled out another note in the Varden medical file spread before him.

Glenwing was the first and only person on Arya’s personal, official squad. He had trotted up to her a day before she was to leave Ellesméra and handed off orders straight from the Queen that he was to become her medic in the field. Even after multiple readings and consultations with Oromis, the orders were clear and gave no leeway or loophole through which Arya could escape. Despite her obviously annoyed acceptance at his sudden addition, Glenwing seemed unfazed and calm throughout the entire process, and set out with his new commanding officer the following morning.

They had reached the edge of the forest now, camped upriver from Ceris at Arya’s request. Three weeks in Ellesméra had left her antsy and entirely fed up with the prim and proper etiquette that made open speech so damned difficult in the pines, something she had not missed in her years with the Varden. Glenwing hadn’t protested in the least, and had spent a majority of the time setting up camp asking her questions about her previous injuries, examining scars, and doing his best to ease into the more personal questions of mental health that he hadn’t had time to ask before they left Ellesméra.

The silver haired elf signed a stop glyph at the end of his most recent note in the margins of Arya’s file before tapping his pen against his lip. “Any trouble sleeping in the past six months? Falling asleep, staying asl–”

“Are you going to report all this to the Queen?” Glenwing looked up, somewhat startled by the sudden interjection. Arya had her arms folded now, regarding him with that solid stare that expected answers and would take no deflection or lie that he could give. “I’m assuming that’s why she assigned you to me. People weren’t exactly lining up behind me to join the Varden, so I doubt you volunteered. Plus, after this long she’s probably realized that I need to return to Du Weldenvarden to be fully healed after larger injuries so she’s probably not keen on giving me more time away from her influence and reach. So there has to be another reason that supersedes that. A way for her to influence and keep tabs on me while I’m away as well as while I’m in the pines.”

Glenwing straightened from where he had been leaning on the table and carefully placed his pen parallel to the top of the file before meeting Arya’s hardened gaze with his steady one. “Do you want me to?” There was a soft curiosity behind his golden eyes.

The question seemed to catch the other elf off guard. Arya blinked, lips parted to snap a retort that now didn’t seem necessary.

“I won’t lie to you.” Glenwing continued. “The Queen has asked– or rather, she has ordered– that I report back on your status and any developments in your mental and physical health.” Anger flashed through Arya’s countentance, but before she could spit out a string of swears the elf across from her held up a finger. “However. You’re wrong about me volunteering. I’m here because I want to be, not just because the Queen accepted my offer. That means that I have willingly taken you on as a patient, and while I am a subject of our Queen’s rule, I am also your medic and doctor.”

“Look, I don’t care if you’re a ‘subject of the Queen’ first.” Arya snapped. The phrase seemed to have set her off enough to break through the final barrier of elvish manners that remained as she cut him off. “If you’re going to be telling the Queen every little thing about me, I’m just not going to accept your help. You might as well go back home, alright?”

“That’s not what I’m saying at all.” Glenwing replied, voice calm yet lacking the patronizing edge that Arya had expected. “I’m saying that as my patient, you have complete control over your care, including who, and when, I give information to regarding it and your status in the past, present and future.

“If you don’t want me to inform the Queen as she ordered, I won’t, and I’ll tell her as much. I’m one of the Queen subjects, yes, but now that you are my patient my purpose here is to keep you alive, and I can’t exactly do that if you refuse care or don’t trust me.”

Arya was silent for a long moment, the silver haired elf’s words sinking in. The elven nation was a monarchy, yes, but there was always an understanding that any elf could act independently unless called to war in defense. Even then there was a choice of remaining behind to tend to the forest and those who returned. Orders given in common elvish, even from the Queen, were considered the rule of law, but in actuality could be challenged or even ignored if the individual thought the orders would cause more harm than good. It could incur the wrath of the Queen, yes, but there was no formal system of punishment beyond the decision of the council. Or, in personal cases such as Arya’s own, the decision of the Queen herself.  

That being said, most people followed their orders when they were given, and as such things were rare it was unusual to find an elf that was quite as willing as Arya to bend or break the rules so to speak. Yet here one was, practically raising his eyebrows in quiet eagerness to open loopholes and ignore centuries of custom all for a chance to…

…to what?

Arya chose her words carefully. “Glenwing…why are you doing this?” She gestured to the square photographs that were scattered on one side of the medical file, images detailing the numerous wounds of note, most in their unhealed state, that the young elf had incurred over the course of just a little over a decade of service in the Varden. “You’ve seen what it does physically. Magic can heal but I think we both know that the scars of the mind do not close so easily. I’ve almost died more times than I can count and watched countless others who were not so lucky lose their lives on and off the battlefield.”

“I’ve seen war, Arya. I’ve not participated in one, but I’ve seen the damage it does.”

“Then why join me?” Arya leaned her elbows on the table, shoulders hunched as her brows furrowed. “Why? I have my reasons, some of them more morally sound and others more or less reprehensible, and the things I’ve already done to further the goal of toppling Galbatorix… I’ve done some terrible shit. I’m not going to skirt around that. You know that you’ll probably have to do similar things, get blood other than that of your patients on your hands. So why? Why risk everything like this?”

Glenwing held her gaze for a time before lowering his eyes to the table. With a fingertip he rearranged the pictures, aligning the edges so that they fanned out and displayed a gruesome line of war wounds over the years. “…I’m not much older than you are, you know.”

“…Pardon?”    

His lips twisted up slightly in sad eyed grin. “I was eighteen when the Fall began. My father was a healer, my mother a warrior.” Gently, with the back of a fingernail, he dragged out one of the pictures, the one of the ragged stab wound to the abdomen that sent Arya back to Ellesméra most recently. “She died of an injury similar to this one. That’s what they told me at least.” Glenwing raised his eyes to meet Arya’s, gauging her reaction to his next words. “She was in the final group that the King led. My father died beside her as he tried to heal her. They were bathed in dragonfire. Nothing to bury.

“I watched my father treat wounds like all of these as the injured returned. He never stopped trying to help, down to the last second of his life, and mother never stopped fighting for our people.” He spread his hands out. “I cannot sit by knowing that I could do the same.”

The he paused. “And there is another thing.”

Arya swallowed. The mention of her father and the battle that had felled not only him but Glenwing’s parents as well made her mouth go dry. The final moments of the conflict before Galbatorix hunted Vrael always did. “Oh?”

“You said that I should go home if I was to report on your condition to the Queen. I cannot return home, which only leaves obeying your orders and remaining as your medic my only option.”  

Glenwing’s feral, bared tooth smile shocked a flash of familiarity and kinship through Arya’s mind. She had seen that smile on her own face before, that wild unrestrained drive to right the wrongs of the world, to take on war and violence so that others could be at peace, tenuous as it was.  

“You see, Arya…I was born in Ilirea. With Galbatorix on the throne, I have no home to return to.”

~~~

To Queen Islanzadí, Your Majesty.

After a lengthy consult with the combat liaison I have been assigned, it has come to my attention that the mentioned patient, Arya, house of none, is against the sharing of medical information beyond a set of predetermined ailments and injuries. As I am bound first to act in the best interest of my patient, I must oblige by her requests. Arya has also indicated that any sharing of information without her consent would result in her refusing any treatment or healing by my hand, which has further forced this issue as she has displayed sufficient aptitude for wards that would block any of my attempts to heal her if the conditions presented were broken in any way.

However, Arya has agreed to allow the sharing of some small yet vital pieces of information concerning her health as seen fit. Thus, any injury resulting in amputation, permanent blindness or hearing loss, traumatic brain damage, complete mind breaking or death will be reported. Arya has impressed on me that she will continue to aid the Varden in the event of non-lethal injuries, and any report of the previous wounds will also include an evaluation on how she can continue to aid the Varden in her current state.

I apologize that I cannot carry out the full extent of your orders. Unfortunately, it is clear that any deviation from the agreed upon conditions that Arya has set would likely result in severe injury to Arya’s person and would constitute reckless and wanton disregard for my patient’s safety and health on mine. I cannot in good conscience go against her wishes, nor can I do so if my conscience were to tolerate it. Arya has forced me to agree to these conditions in the Ancient Language, and I cannot break my oath.

I continue to serve to the best of my ability, and will do my utmost to ensure Arya’s health is taken care of.

May the stars watch over you.

Yours in service,  

Glenwing of House Svanran.

Islanzadí folded the letter again, put her elbows on her desk, and allowed herself a long, frustrated sigh.

Leave it to Arya to ferret out her reasoning for accepting Glenwing’s offer and so quickly appeal to the young elf’s sense of ethical duty. A political force the Queen’s daughter was not, but she still had a knack for picking up on a person’s true motives and finding ways to fit them around her own.

However, this was faster than anticipated. Maybe this Glenwing’s true motives weren’t what he presented to Islanzadí at all. There had been something about his energy that seemed familiar. The Queen now recognized it as a glimmering thread of that determination and wild resolve that Arya so openly displayed.

But what to do now? Islanzadí rubbed her temples, a headache coming on. She knew that there was little she could threaten them with if she ordered Glenwing to return to Ellesméra. The young elf had volunteered after all, and even under duress Islanzadí doubted she could convince any other elf as skilled as he was to abandon their calm life in Du Weldenvarden for years of conflict and uncertainty outside the forest’s protective stands. And she couldn’t just call him back and not send a replacement, not with the state Arya had been in when she finally made it back to Ellesméra. What little Oromis had told the Queen of her wayward daughter’s injuries past and present clearly indicated that an attached medic was a necessity if there was any hope of Arya making it through the war alive.

So what to do….

The clatter of talons on well-polished wood sent a cascade of jolts through Islanzadí’s burgeoning headache, the pops and clicks that followed doing nothing to help the pain.

“The latch is open, Blagden.” The Queen leaned back in her chair and massaged her forehead as the white raven swooped in. Blagden alighted on the desk with a gentle flap of his wings to slow his speed and cocked his head at her, looking smug as he always did. He parted his beak slightly. “Don’t you say i–”

“Wyrda!”

Even as the Queen winced at the cried word the raven flipped a small, densely folded paper onto the desk with a flourish of his leg. He pecked at it twice before fluttering to his carved stand on the back of the chair, settling in before starting his usual fastidious preening.

Confused, Islanzadí picked up the folded note. It hadn’t been but an hour since Glenwing’s letter had arrived, but the glyph that graced the fold of this paper was the one Arya always used. Blagden must have dropped it while flying and went back to retrieve it. The Queen unfolded it with a hint of trepidation in her heart, as always accompanied any correspondence with her banished child.

The young elf’s handwriting had started to take on a sharper shape, but was no less bold in its strokes. It still held the same familiar base that reminded Islanzadí so much of those days that Arya would scamper into her mother’s study and throw notes of love for her mother and records of her daily adventures onto the desk before scampering out, giggling as she departed for her next escapade. All those notes still sat in the drawer to Islanzadí’s left, bittersweet.

The headache throbbed, chasing away the memories. The Queen focused in again, and was somewhat surprised to find only a few short sentences.

Stars watch over you.

Good medic. Intelligent, can toe lines if needed. Fixed a scar issue in short order. I like this one. Requesting permanent assignment.

~ Arya of Du Weldenvarden, combat liaison officer  

Islanzadí frowned slightly as she caught sight of a different handwriting in the bottom corner. It was Glenwing’s, and she couldn’t help but chuckle as she read it aloud. “Please?”

Maybe this Glenwing would be a good influence after all. With that in mind, and the comfort of Arya now less likely to return maimed (or not at all), Islanzadí picked up her pen.

Granted.  May the stars watch over you. Queen Islanzadí.

[reversecreek]

snickers feverishly at myself for bringing in a 5th... who do i think i am? unstoppable? invincible? suddenly ripples my titanium plated pecs. maybe so. u can find her pinterest here n her playlist here. 

* margaret qualley, cis female + she/her  | you know bradley milligan, right? they’re twenty-four, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, all of their life? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to looking for knives by dyan like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole snow angels trampled through by your father’s footprints, casually reading a newspaper that’s catching flame & stubbing a cigarette against the wing mirror of a parked cop car thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is november 11th, so they’re a scorpio, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( nai, 24, gmt she/her  )

HISTORY:

bradley has this memory of meeting her grandmother for the first time n everything in the room was frozen still. even the air. she didn’t feel like she cld move n she got the impression this is how it’d always been in the milligan lineage. the only thing that was allowed to act of it’s own accord was her grandmother’s eyes as she tracked every slightest flinch of muscle. when her father left the room her grandmother reached out and took bradley’s hand n bradley looked at this like it was smthn she’d never seen before until her grandmother leaned close and all she could stare at was a nicotine stain on one of her front teeth. “he’s cold, isn’t he? he’s always been cold. i don’t think he’s mine.” bradley could tell from how tight she held her hand that he was. she could tell by the way she smiled as she said it, too. the way she felt obliged to smile back.

growing up in a huge white house in aquila drive w pruned hedges sounds idyllic n looks it too. swanky cars w tinted windows in the long driveway. always men filing in and out under the cloak of night wearing expensive suits n smiles worthy of a politician’s billboard. bradley’s mum alyssa thought so too n that’s hw she got into this whole mess tbh. tony milligan is very good at advertising. he cld package a jarred human heart as strawberry jam and convince u to spread it on ur toast if he wanted to. he could make u smile politely as u ate ur own. 

alyssa ws this very pretty blonde kind of mysterious presence in a room. everyone wanted to kno her story or fk her but noone rly treated her like a person more just like a puzzle to solve. john green syndrome alert..... literally manic pixie dream girled bt on turbo charge. there were vague whispers she’d run away from home when she appeared in town out of nowhere bt nothing concrete. tony decided he wanted to crack the case n once he set his mind to something there was no changing it. they wound up embroiled in a whirlwind romance. head over heels. he came at romance hard and fast as a freight train. alyssa knew he was into shady things but not quite the full extent of it n honestly she didn’t care bc she wanted security n a family to call her own n tony promised that. they were married within a year. 

tony came frm money bt he wanted to carve his own path n make his own legacy. destined fr greatness he’d tell her. we’re destined for greatness. it sounds nice doesn’t it! alyssa thought so too.

(drugs mention tw) slowly over the yrs he essentially forged his own crime organisation tht only grew. he opened a strip club down the seedier side of irving called ‘no angels’ n this became the front thru which his gang ran drugs in the back (predominantly coke n they pride themselves fr having a Superior Blend apparently) as well as laundering cash n this also was kind of their home base to hang

(abuse tw) their marriage increasingly lost it’s shine n alyssa came to realise she’d been sold a lie n she didn’t rly know this person or what he was capable of right around the time bradley was born. by then it was kind of like Wow i am rly in this n there is not an exit door huh. i won’t go into details bt things were not good at all. bradley witnessed n experienced a lot of things she shouldn’t have growing up. she didn’t understand why other kids drew home in all these different coloured crayons like they were bright places to be. she didn’t understand why everyone got so excited when the bell rang at the end of the day bc she just felt sick. she rationalised tht this was normal when she was younger bc sometimes kids talked abt the monsters under their beds giving them nightmares n she thought mayb they were talking abt their dads too. as she got older she realised tht actually her world wasn’t the same as anyone else’s n she also realised no-one wld ever be able to tell her why. she started becoming friends with the angry feeling in her chest tht she used to try and swallow around this time. often she’d wander the mall for a while to put off going home. smoke on random park benches. watch trains rattle thru town from the vantage point of a random rooftop. 

(abuse, missing person implied, murder implied & grief tw) when bradley was 12 she woke up and all of her mum’s clothes were gone frm their drawers. no shoes anywhere. a framed photo of them at the beach holding bradley as a baby vanished from over the mantelpiece. when bradley asked her dad what was going on, tony essentially said “it was exhausting her. being here. being your mother. she didn’t want to do it any more, so now she’s gone” n then he hugged her. little details leaked into the mix over the yrs. at one point tony dismissed her as having flown overseas to a foreign country to drink in the sun like she’d always wanted even tho alyssa always told bradley she liked the snow best (once she even walked outside as it fell in a thin lace nightgown when tony was out n when bradley said “mom you’re gonna get cold” she only tugged her down and made her do snow angels until her lips looked blue). the most significant memory bradley can never shake from her head is her mother cupping a yellow tulip at the park n saying she hated them. when bradley asked why she only turned and smiled at her as she stroked the hair from her face n then said “because they look so happy”. after bradley’s mum vanished a long flower bed at the bottom of the garden was suddenly overrun with dozens of freshly planted yellow tulips. whenever bradley looked at them out of her window she got this sickly feeling in the pit of her stomach like she was visiting a cemetery. she suspected what had happened to her mum (especially as rumours circulated within tony’s organisation abt alyssa being unfaithful with someone tht used to work fr him) bt she cld never bring herself to truly accept it. thus she ws stuck in this strange purgatory state of not-quite-anger at her mum for “leaving” and not-quite-grief.

bradley rly started to transgress in school after her mum was gone. alyssa was always kind of a character when she’d pick bradley up (wasn’t doing well n acted kind of ‘eccentric’ i suppose u cld say) so tony managed to spin it all as a child acting out in the wake of an unfit mother uprooting n abandoning. bradley became........ interesting. JKHGFSSKJGHFSGHSKFGHFG. she’d snap n resort to violence very easily. very desensitised to it. students were kind of scared of her tbh. as this progressed into proper high school she got in w the more rowdy popular crowd solely bc she was so fking.... wild for lack of a better word. rly would just do anything fr the thrill. had no sense of ‘i shouldn’t do this bc it’s dangerous’. partied harder than anyone. bit back harder than anyone. no filter. hung w a lot of guys honestly bc they had less morals n either found her scariness cool or wanted to fk <3

(hospitalisation, depression & drugs tw) she’s had. a few stints in psychiatric institutions fr various reasons tbh. missed a small chunk of her senior yr fr this but it wasn’t widely known just kind of rumoured. she showcases a lot of similar symptoms to her mum who struggled w severe depression (which was difficult to cope w when ur husband was often pouring ur prescription down the drain fr kicks) n in order to compensate fr the lows she takes a lot of things to kick them into highs. drinks n snorts too much. bradley i love u bt i’m begging u to seek healthier coping mechanisms......

as the yrs went on (especially once alyssa had gone) tony rly started trying to integrate bradley into the business side of things...... she literally. is named bradley bc he was expecting a boy n he was like well let’s still call her bradley. n had in mind she’d still fulfil the role he wanted her to of being his little protege so to speak.... both sexist n ugly all in one fell swoop...... an example of this is he literally. bought her a mint green switchblade for her 14th birthday n named it tinkerbell bc it would “die without attention” aka using it. tht sounds like a healthy gift to give a child tony congratulations sis <3

in an ideal world bradley wld have gone to uni to study psychology bc she jst wants to know how the fk her dad is literally like that bt she probably stuck around n is now managing no angels along with billy n marco (billy’s in her dad’s gang n is, u guessed it, a cunt, n marco is his sort of right hand man so to speak) bc tony’s in the closest neighbouring city overseeing a second ‘no angels’ opening up there to expand into a franchise n widen their income margins. bradley wld also be sort of used as a honey trap type deal once she got older if they needed to lure ppl places n sometimes still is bt it depends. the guys in the club all know not to mess w bradley bc she’s tony’s daughter n literally kind of scary herself sometimes bt there’s also this certain allure tht comes with being the boss’ daughter n it kind of comes across in how they act or talk abt her. yes i will kill them all n no i won’t feel bad abt it <3

think that’s kind of all u need to kno history wise... blinks one eye out of sync w the other..... runs to personality

PERSONALITY:

a phrase i wld always use to describe bradley in old intros is “like a cup of black coffee with one grain of sugar that u don’t taste until the last sip”. also dark chocolate. lime. liquorice. she’s an acquired taste n i feel like u either love her or u hate her. 

cannot express how unpredictably chaotic she is..... frequently throws a drink in a stranger’s face jst to start something bc she’s bored. loves to hurl cheese slices across the room so they slap onto someone’s face out of nowhere. likes smashing things. stubbing cigarettes out on faces in framed family photographs. will literally pick a lock n then smash the window besides it to defeat the whole purpose just bc she found how neat it was boring. does anything fr the adrenaline n thrill. gets into far too many fights n fights dirty. probably been thrown out of every bar in town at least three times. banned from a bunch too.

she’s witty bt she has a dark sense of humour..... can be quite mean.......... loves to roast ppl for no reason........ honestly has some nathan young frm misfits aspects in that sense like jst seems untouchable emotionally n like she doesn’t take anything seriously n is fking outrageous about it.....

has this quality abt her tht kind of scares herself sometimes. it’s like she recognises parts of her dad in her. she’s very perceptive (bc she’s had to be over the yrs trying to read every micro-expression of her dad’s to predict what’s next) n like emotionally intelligent in a way which is ironic bc her own emotions r just an absolute minefield.... bt. she can read people quite well. gets this eerily calm look abt her sometimes n it’s jst like god what’s. she thinking. what’s she’s gna do. i’m shaking. a cool n controlled kind of rage can often be scarier than the explosive type n bradley does that well. grits my teeth n tugs on my collar....

very strong on the surface. hates being vulnerable. has this ingrained idea that crying is childish or rly any kind of emotional display within herself. 50% not taking things seriously 50% angry. tht’s how she comes across....... internally? whole different story. bt ppl don’t see that.

very cavalier abt some things. will flash her tits n not even think abt it. jst very out there...... one of her closest friends is a homeless man named joe who wears neon purple fishnets on his head n loves to spit on ppl from over an underpass. finds eccentric ppl like this funny n surrounds herself w them. loves to be kept on her toes.

LOVES driving stolen cars down the wrong side of the highway. it’s a lot.

fiercely loyal to a fault to a select few bt if u wrong her personally this can switch pretty quick. quite a force to b reckoned w n will hold a grudge. bt like. if ur a Chosen One she’d bury a body for u no questions asked. 

WANTED CONNECTIONS

deals to u: bradley isn’t like full time into dealing bt she does do it sometimes.... treats it kind of like a hobby bc the lesser ranked can do tht shit as far as she’s concerned bt.. sometimes also jst gets bored n is like. why not. might be chaotic. mayb they’ll try to rob me <3 we love the thrill <3 or like..... if ur friends w her she’ll deal to u n no she will not do a friends discount <3 or if she does there will definitely be some sort of stipulation attached <3

high skl crew: if ur muse is local n ws an absolutely demonic hell spawn in high skl tht went to 1974547254 parties n was outrageously chaotic n rude then. bradley probably was friends w them <3 her friendships tend to be surface level bt they’d definitely go out a bunch bt whether they actually knew a lot abt her life is debatable bt we could explore options fr this

people who work at no angels: no angels is her dad’s strip club in irving that she kind of helps to run now. it’s kind of a shifty environment. the place where ud have an outrageous bachelor party. u go for the first time w a fake id n u get served bt u also get ur wallet stolen n ur convinced someone spat in ur drink n u also kind of think there might b a hit on u now after u made eye contact too long w a broad shouldered man smoking in a back booth. scary environment. testament to her dad as a person. maybe ur muse is a dancer there or works the bar or security or whatever u name it....

ma’am are u ok?: ur muse found bradley passed out across two bus seats one time in smudged dark eyeliner a silver slip dress n the world’s chunkiest combat boots this town hs ever seen. sometimes she winds up in spots like this when she goes too hard n it’s absolutely dangerous n reckless bt that’s jst bradley <3 mayb they forged an unlikely friendship frm this strange meeting or maybe even? dare i say it? a romance? opposite worlds colliding? good influence? let’s go crazy. release ur inhibitions. feel the rain on ur skin.

hook-ups: bradley’s cavalier abt this stuff..... very unemotional typically..... mayb we cld do an unrequited thing that wld be angsty n fun altho i won’t lie i don’t kno if she’d be the one to catch the feelings.... she rarely sleeps over bt once when she woke up in someone’s bed she hiked over to straddle them carefully as possible so they wldn’t wake up n then pressed her knife to their neck as a fun little surprise where she said boo when they opened their eyes.... she’s a lot clearly.

watermelon slugger, hiiii: bradley has this habit where she gets a bunch of watermelons n then goes to a rooftop n throws them over the edge to watch them explode when they hit the pavement.... maybe ur muse almost got hit by one once n were like WTF???????? another quirky meet cute moment like the bus one <3 can’t stop w them <3 maybe she randomly invited ur muse to do it w her when they were like. a stranger of f the street. she was bored. decided to adopt them as a science experiment. we cn elaborate on this probably....

ouch charlie: similar territory bt she also sometimes shoots pedestrians w a bb gun from rooftops. mayb ur muse wld always get hit by one on a certain route they walked n finally one day they saw her head ducking down behind a ledge n then they see her in the street one day n are like HEY IT’S YOU............. WTF? n bradley’s like ya i’m christ risen again it’s a lot to take in i know...

rly jst anything... mutually destructive friends... exes.... in one rp a character tried to get close to bradley so he cld write an expose all book about her n her family which i found so fking funny so i’ll request that again.... people she’s fought.... ppl whose gf/bf she’s fk’d n it’s caused enemy status.... someone whose place she broke into and shaved their eyebrows off in the night only to draw them on again in crudely thin permanent sharpie lines.... roommates cld be fun n sexy i’d love that actually.... jst anything rly. go wild. kisses everyone tenderly on cheeks.

[razorblade180-heated]

Stress

[Smut! You heathens!]

Nighttime, it’s supposed to be the moment the world moves just a bit slower. Not for a huntsman, and certainly not for grimm. Fortunately none have reared their monstrous face on Jaune’s shift. The boy sat on a tree limb that allowed him to see a wide area of one of Anima’s dense forests.

It’s been at least two months since he tagged along with his friends in order to find whatever answers Haven might have for them. There’s been more downs than ups and some days honestly felt a little hopeless. Yet they all manage to find the courage to at least take one more step. He missed safety. He missed school oddly enough. He missed Pyrrha…

The thought of her instantly ate away at his morale, not to mention his attention. That was until the sound of rustling bushes snapped him back into focus. Jaune immediately drew his sword and was ready for whatever awaited.

“Too loud.” A voice said from the bushes, throwing him off. A second later and Ruby walked out of them with her eyes already on his position.

“Ruby? What are you doing up?” Jaune put away his sword. “We don’t switch for another two hours. Also, two loud?”

“Yeah.” The girl nodded before dashing up to the tree limb, nearly startling Jaune off. “You draw your sword too loud. If I was a grimm or bandit then I’d be on guard. Not to mention I knew exactly where to look after it. Might wanna take it out slower.”

“Hmm, never realized how much sound it made.”

“From the sound of it, someone was lost in thought and was caught off guard?” Ruby said with confidence.

Jaune found it a little scary how well her intuition and senses were when it came to anything weapon related. Though it probably has been saving him more than he knows. “Lucky guess. I got lost in thought. Sorry” his voice drifted off, still a bit sad from the memories.

“Pyrrha?” Ruby immediately guessed. At this point Jaune started to believe he was simply easy to figure out. He didn’t even respond because that in itself was a yes.

“One step at a time” she reminded him. “Things will get better one step at a time. Even if those steps are tiny.”

“I know, and it was just for an instant. Pretty sure a good night's rest and a safe place to sleep is all I need to get my spirit back.”

Ruby let out a long groan. “I’d kill for a mattress right now!” She exclaimed into the forest with a surprising amount of force.

“Sssshhhh! You’ll wake Ren and Nora if you’re that loud.” Jaune has seen grumpy Ren. It’s not pretty.

Ruby’s face squinted in irritation. “Trust me, I won’t. They probably didn’t even hear me.” Ruby made her left hand into an ‘O’ shape and repeatedly put her right pointer finger through it.

Jaune raised an eyebrow in confusion before the other one raised in realization. “Oh…” was all he could say as he blushed. “Really?”

“Really.” Ruby bluntly stated. “ They’ve been doing this for the pass week whenever you are well into your shift.” The hooded girl rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I’m sure they are trying to be considerate but they aren’t as quiet as they think. Like, at all.” Her face turned red.

Jaune wasn’t surprised. Ruby was talking about his teammates. Even Ren wasn’t as quiet as he thought whenever he was dealing with Nora. Still… “Good for them.” He smiled. “About time something happened.”

“Too bad it’s not happening quietly.”

“Aw, don’t be like that Rubes”

“They’re like rabbits, Jaune! And not the cereal kind.”

The cursed mental image of a lewd Pumpkin Pete was something he never needed to have, but now it existed unfortunately. “Can you blame them? We’re constantly on death's door and don’t know when it will open again. They’re stressed.”

Ruby pursed her lips in disbelief. “I’m not convinced that’s a good reason. I mean I get really stressed too but you all don’t hear me when I mast-” Ruby immediately shut her mouth, realizing that she was two syllables away from outing herself.

It was too late. Ruby could see Jaune staring at her with his jaw halfway open. He desperately tried to hold back a teasing smirk but it slowly spread on his face. “Ruby…?”

“Shut up!” The girl tried stretching her hood even further over her tomato red face. “Everyone does it.”

“I’m not judging. I just can’t believe you set yourself up like that.”

“I wanna die. Please tell no one.”

“Who would I? The two other people you just told me that were having sex too loud for you to sleep? I don’t think they’d shame you.” He chuckled as she pouted.

“Stop laughing at me. Like you said, there’s a lot going on. I bet you do it.”

“Yep.”

“Really!?” Ruby gasped.

“Duh! Everyone does it, like you said. Why do you think I’m first to get up in the morning? It’s not to do more hair.”

This was an eye opener to Ruby. It made sense for sure. All she could do was nod in acknowledgment and look out into the forest; still nothing to worry about.

Several minutes went by and for some reason, Jaune felt a little awkward. The conversation ended in a weird spot. Now they were just sitting quietly. Jaune looked over to Ruby. Her face was still red but not as bad. That was until Ruby turned to him; her face gaining its redness back before she turned away again.

Jaune might not be able to read in between the lines of a weapon being drawn too fast, but he could read this situation like a book.

“Would you like to share your awkward sexual thoughts? He asked.

“Would you?” Ruby snapped back, anxiously trying to turn the tables.

“Me? I was just thinking things must be stressful if it’s affecting you.”

“Liar, that can’t be all.”

“Are you expecting more?” He took a shallow breath. “Like...how quiet things are? Or how lucky Ren and Nora are to have each other in situations like these? Or maybe…”

“Me.” Ruby cut him off. “Maybe you thought about me? Doing things”

Now it was Jaune’s turn to blush. “That crossed my mind as well.” Jaune discreetly tried adjusting his pants but it didn’t escape Ruby. She had stealing glances at him ever since they went quiet.

Another brief moment of silence fell on them again before Ruby pulled down her hood. “J-Jaune?” She said, her voice a little shaky.

He looked into the girl’s pools of silver. Suddenly his heart felt like it was going crazy. “Yeah?”

“I… am pretty stressed right now.” Ruby whispered, as if she had told a forbidden secret.

She slowly leaned closer to Jaune. For each inch she got closer, he did the same. Right down to the head tilt until finally their lips met. It was short, barely lasting four seconds, but the brief moment triggered a spark that was visible in both of their eyes. Ruby followed Jaune’s lead into a longer, more needy kiss. They both pushed into each other like if the other even considered separating right now. Ruby heard kissing was nice but not this nice. She felt Jaune’s hands grab a hold of her and felt his tongue eagerly try to gain entry into her mouth. Ruby happily allowed it access and surrendered to it.

This was beyond nice. Finally the two came apart for air. A thin trail of spit still connected them before it fell apart. They had only just stopped and yet Ruby missed the feeling, the taste of it all. She was embarrassed about how badly she just wanted to dive into another one. When did she get this needy?

“Wow” Jaune exhaled. “That was…” he couldn’t find the words but he didn’t have to.

“Yeah, it was.” Ruby nodded. She was already leaning in for another embrace until Jaune’s arms came out and held her in place. The action confused her, not to mention gave her some anxiety. Had he changed his mind?

“Umm. What’s the matter.” Her voice shakily said.

“If we do this then we should probably do it somewhere we can’t fall.” Jaune knew himself. Clumsiness at a time like this is a thing he did not need to deal with.

“Oh, hehehe, you have a point.” Ruby grabbed ahold of his body then dashed them down to the base of the tree; Jaune’s back firmly pressed against it. Maybe with a bit too much force. Ruby was trying to keep her excitement in check but she could feel herself get warmer, needier, all for one boy in particular. She really wanted another kiss.

Jaune wasted little time in seeing her desire and happily obliged; taking his gloves off and cuffing her face as Ruby stood on her toes to reach another kiss. It was a bit harder now that he was standing but he bent over far enough for Ruby to claim her prize.

Once again their lips met in heated passion. Ruby’s tongue inviting the blonde’s back into her mouth. A low moan slipped out in the process that caused Jaune to groan in desire. Ruby had never heard him make such a sound but it made her body shiver in excitement. She felt herself getting a little lightheaded when Jaune broke off the kiss again. Ruby was about to protest until she felt his hands slide down her back and firmly grab the girl’s rear before lifting her up. Ruby yelped at the unexpected display of strength, as well as wrapped her legs around him. ‘He’s gotten so strong lately.’ Her hazy thoughts wondered what all that strength could do to her if she asked.

Jaune turned around and pressed her against the tree. She was now a bit taller than him. Jaune leaned into the girls neck and went to work, kissing and biting the sensitive flesh. Her body tensing up with each assault on her.

“Jaune…” his name slipped out in a moan that Ruby could not keep back. The boy felt like he was dreaming; all his actions in a haze of desire and bliss. He was barely talking while his mind only thought about how much more he could touch Ruby’s body.

Her hips began bucking slightly into him as his lips finally reached Ruby’s chest. He’ll admit as much as he loved her new outfit, there wasn’t the foggiest idea on how to remove it; making him a little annoyed. He heard Ruby chuckle before watching her hands loosen some laces and buckles until the corset wasn’t as tight. ‘That should help.’ She thought. Ruby’s face turned a new shade of red watching him grab the top portion and slid it down far enough to free her breast.

The cold air made her jump and the look he gave them made Ruby feel like the sexiest girl in the world. She was never jealous of people like her sister who had bigger boobs by far, but it did get a little annoying knowing someone had to be comparing the two. Jaune took the left one into his mouth eagerly. His tongue being put to work again by swirling around the nipple in the slowest way possible. Jaune could feel Ruby’s fingers grab a hold of his shaggy hair, an effort to keep her body from shuddering.

‘I guess they’re sensitive?’ He thought. Now that he thought about it, Ruby was reacting to everything he had done so far. Not that it didn’t make him happy but he was playing it by ear. Was he just getting lucky? Maybe, or maybe there was a little more than carnal desire spurring her on; there was for him.

Ruby was starting to work up a sweat. Jaune’s attention had shifted to her other breast and all she could manage to do at the moment was bite down a little on her own right pointer finger to keep her moans in check. She was glad Jaune hadn’t removed his chest plate yet or else his favorite hoodie would’ve had a terrible stain on it. Both thighs a little damp from her arousal and her panties all but ruined.

“Jaune…” his name came out ragged. “I think I’m…I’m!!!!” Ruby’s thoughts and words couldn’t keep up with her body, which had started to tense up. Her limbs held onto Jaune tight as he momentarily stopped to see the girl’s eyes shut tight while a surge of pleasure ran through her entire body and dripped from her most sensitive area.

“Did you just…?” Jaune said, a mix of shock and pride clearly in his voice. Ruby said nothing as she opened her eyes. Her face was still flushed; her chest rising and falling from all the excitement as well. All Ruby could do was nod sheepishly, more than a little embarrassed.

“That felt...intense. Really intense.” Her eyes were focused on him with such passion that Jaune felt more anxious than before. Ruby grabbed ahold of his face and couldn’t stop herself from stealing another kiss. This time, a more tender, sweet kiss. One that held a certain spark to it. Jaune’s heart suddenly felt warm and yet, heavy. He knew what this feeling was. The feeling of wishing for more time and safety; that this kiss would have to be enough because it might be all that’s left. It was the way Pyrrha kissed him.

He broke off the kiss suddenly and left Ruby a little startled. The boy looked at her with sympathetic eyes that made her own heart ache as he leaned forward until their foreheads pressed against each other. Strangely, Ruby felt as if the past few moments weren’t needed. This is what was. A moment of real vulnerability, and it made her heart pound.

“You’re not gonna lose me Ruby.” His hold on her became more secure. “And I refuse to lose you.”

“I don’t wanna see anyone else die in front of me. I can’t do that again. Not with the people I love, not with you. This life I wanted, it’s scarier than I realized.”

“Yeah, but I know we can do this. We can come out on top and be the hero’s we dreamed of, together.”

His words soothed her fears. He sounded so confident, so comforting; warm in every single way she needed him to be. A smile began to show up ever so slightly. “Together.”

“So, I guess we should probably be heading back.”

“What?” Ruby looked perplexed. “Why?”

“I just...thought now that you’re calm that you wouldn’t-”

Ruby rolled her eyes playfully and pulled Jaune down to her level to flick his forehead, before sitting him up against the tree. Jaune watched the girl straddle herself on his lap right below his crotch. His entire body felt a little anxious and needy for everything Ruby had to offer and she could tell as her hand grabbed his hard on through his jeans; earning a lustful groan.

“Ruby…”

“Think I wouldn’t return the favor? Jaune I want you just as bad as you want me. More even.” Her face heated up by the sound of her own words. In truth, she wanted to be with him since the dance. She knew better than to burden him with that knowledge right now. Another day, when wounds have had time to properly heal. This moment was more than enough.

Ruby wasted no more time and got busy. Jaune could only watch his partner undo his pants; her eyes showing an intensity he found amusing the moment she got him free.

“....”

“Ruby, we can skip this pa-aaah!” His hands went over his mouth as he felt Ruby’s lips slowly wrapped around his length.

That was the sound she wanted to hear. No way was she gonna chicken out. Ruby glided her tongue to the base of the shaft and back up to the tip. His scent was definitely strong but not overwhelming. Ruby went back down halfway again and again, gaining a little confidence each time until she found a rhythm she could handle.

‘This isn’t too bad.’ Ruby felt Jaune’s legs slowly shift and heard him hiss in pleasure through his teeth. ‘I’m not too bad.’ Ruby thought pridefully. Clearly she was doing something right. It was thrilling; not to mention arousing. Knowing she had this effect on him only made her take more of him into her mouth. Sucking lapping the taste of what she could assume was precum. Wasn’t exactly what she’d call tasty but it wasn’t awful. It was him, and that was only making her more inpatient to move things along.

Jaune on the other hand was trying to contain himself. It could’ve only been several minutes but the pleasure was becoming too much. The warm wetness of her mouth, the sound, the desire to drown in the ecstasy; it was too much. Ruby could feel him start to twitch throb violently.

“Ruby! Move, I’m about to-”

He couldn’t finish his warning, not that it mattered. Ruby ignored his plea to move and took him as far she could go. Letting spurts of cum coat her mouth. Three, no, four strong shots fire off. The taste was way stronger than before and frankly, she’s surprised she didn’t choke. Slowly she came back up while cleaning off the tip just for flare. Adding a pop right at the end before swallowing.

Ruby scrunched her face. “Ugh! That was tougher than I would’ve liked it to be. Not as bad as Velvet described though.”

Jaune was still catching his breath but that caught his attention. “Velvet?”

“Yeah, she was one of the few people I felt comfortable discussing stuff like this with. Tips, tricks, feelings. That kind of stuff.”

“What kind of tricks?” He said with a huskiness that gave Ruby chills.

She smiled as she noticed Jaune was still fully erect. Ruby took his hands and slid them up her thighs. Guiding them towards her more than soaked panties and pulling them down until she freed one of her legs from the soiled cloth. Jaune felt a lump in his throat as he watched the reaper hover right over the tip; he could already feel the immense heat of the girl about to ride him.

They locked eyes for a moment. A nod was given to one other before Ruby impaled herself onto him a little faster than he thought. It took all he had to not to thrust upwards automatically. It only took a moment later before Ruby managed to take him all the way to base. A deep moan came from both of them in shared bliss. Ruby never felt so full, and Jaune never felt this...invigorated.

“You need a minute?” He was hoping for a no.

He got it that answer in the form of Ruby rocking her hips back and forth. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“Damn right you will!” Ruby immediately started picking up the pace.

Jaune felt her coil around him tightly and he couldn’t resist grabbing her ass and timing his thrusts upwards with her movements. Pleasure wasn’t enough to describe what Ruby was feeling. Each thrust rubbed and spread her sensitive walls in a way her fingers or toy ever could. Her crush’s shear length and girth being more than she’s dared take. He had to be a least seven inches and Ruby was feeling all of it.

Her body leaned forward and her right arm braced herself against the tree as her hips kept moving. Making her feel even more turned on as she started hearing the vulgar wet sounds of Jaune pounding into her. His hot breath hitting her still exposed nipples only added to the moment.

“Fuck...ah! Jaune this feels great!” She managed to get out before more longer, lustful moans came from her lips.

He wasn’t used to hearing Ruby curse, or making any of these noises for that matter. It only added to his fire. Yeah he felt good but he definitely wanted to make her feel even better. He tightened his grip on her and started thrusting even harder. Earning ‘eeps’ and ‘ahhh’ frequently. Jaune couldn’t help but watch Ruby leave a trail of her own slick juices as he could feel himself kiss against the entrance of her womb. A grimm could pop out of nowhere right now and he wouldn’t care. He was going to fuck Ruby until she was satisfied.

Satisfaction was met at least fifteen thrusts ago. Ruby felt like her grip on the tree could wrip the bark off of it right now. She had stopped trying to suppress the urge to moan and did it freely with every subtle shift Jaune made inside her. All of her concentration was put into lasting as long as she could, which was far easier said than done. Practically every other thrust grinder just right across the girl’s sensitive clit to the point she could feel the energy in her body threatening to burn out. Even Jaune could notice her hip movements progressively getting sloppier.

“Cum whenever you’d like!” Jaune wasn’t sure if he said for himself or to Ruby. Hopefully one would lead to the other in due time.

“You first!” Ruby said with a bite in her voice that was almost nonexistent. She didn’t know why but something told her to look downwards while she continued riding him. The boy’s eyes were almost mesmerized by the orbs of flesh jiggling in front of him. Ruby was having enough trouble handling the boy but this was about to make her feel like she was soaring.

Jaune opened his mouth and latched onto Ruby’s right nipple again. Her whole body felt like it had basically shut down after receiving rather ravenous licks. Her mouth opened but no words came out as she began to melt with pleasure. Too overwhelmed to move, Jaune leaned forward until she was on her back screaming as he kept pumping powerful strokes into her. Ruby’s back arched and her limbs wrapped around him while his mouth stayed busy on her chest. Her inner walls started to spasm relentlessly until Jaune could barely think. He could keep himself reaching his limit.

“I can’t go any longer!”

Ruby held on to him tightly. “Inside! I want all of you!

He couldn’t find it in himself to deny her request. Jaune thrusted into Ruby four more times before he couldn’t hold back anymore. Ruby’s blushes darkened as she felt Jaune unload inside of her, tipping over the edge once again. Her body shuddered violently and milked Jaune of everything he had to give. She felt every twitch and spurt into which only aided in riding out her orgasm. Any strength Jaune had to support himself had left his body. He didn’t want to lady on top of Ruby but he found himself doing that exact thing.

Ruby watched the boy fall forward on top of her. His chest heaving in synch with hers. ‘He’s lighter than I expected.’ Ruby combined his hair through her fingers. He wasn’t the only one feeling exhausted. Ruby would not have mind staying like this forever. It was taking a lot of strength to not pass out; that would be bad for a number of reasons. It took even more strength to not pour her heart out to him right now.

Jaune somehow managed to lift his head from the girl’s soft chest and looked at her, still completely drained. “Still stressed?”

“Is it wrong I wanna say yes for the fun of it?” Ruby chuckled. “What about you?”

“If I wasn’t tired from traveling then I’d still be moaning your name.”

“Oh, well then...hehe.” It was hard to look at him. “I’m glad I could make you feel that way.”

Ruby tried her best not to overreact or ruin this moment. Her head was swimming with feelings for him to the point she wondered how the words ‘I love you’ didn’t come out when he was giving her the most intense orgasm of her life.

It was a little frustrating to say the least. But that changed the moment she felt his hand grab ahold of hers. Jaune had gotten on his hands and knees right over her and rested his forward right on Ruby’s. She couldn’t help but get lost in those pools of blue for a moment.

“Ruby…?”

“Y...Yes….?” The gentleness of his voice has stolen away all of her confidence.

“I….” he chewed on his lip for a moment to calm his anxiety. “I don’t think I can say it yet, but I hope you know that…” Jaune looked away from Ruby’s eyes. She could feel his hands tremble.

He might not have said it but Ruby’s heart skipped a beat nonetheless. Their feelings were mutual. Ruby reached for his face.

“Jaune, look at me.” She waited patiently before his eyes focused on her again. “Take all the time you need. Until then, I just won’t say it either.” Ruby flashed a smile, “don’t wanna add unnecessary stress right?”

“Stress is the last thing you give me.” Jaune said quietly, as if he was telling her a secret.

Ruby slightly tilted her head up and Jaune read the message clearly, pressing his lips against hers. As far as Ruby was concerned, she could wait a lifetime to hear Jaune say those three special words. She could hear it loud and clear with this kiss, and the many more to come.

[weirdponytail]

Modern Inheritance: The Medic

(A/N: Takes place somewhere around ten years after Arya leaves Ellesméra and joins the Varden. I’ll probably do another fic going into the injury that sent her back to Ellesméra for further healing {something that occurs probably every other year or so, as she’s not a skilled healer and none of the medics in the Varden know elf biology} at a later date. Cheers! Oh, and a reminder, 20 years old is around 10 in human years apparently, or at least how we’re going for MIC. Cheers again!)

Arya leaned back in her chair, eyeing the elf across the small camp table as he scribbled out another note in the Varden medical file spread before him. 

Glenwing was the first and only person on Arya’s personal, official squad. He had trotted up to her a day before she was to leave Ellesméra and handed off orders straight from the Queen that he was to become her medic in the field. Even after multiple readings and consultations with Oromis, the orders were clear and gave no leeway or loophole through which Arya could escape. Despite her obviously annoyed acceptance at his sudden addition, Glenwing seemed unfazed and calm throughout the entire process, and set out with his new commanding officer the following morning. 

They had reached the edge of the forest now, camped upriver from Ceris at Arya’s request. Three weeks in Ellesméra had left her antsy and entirely fed up with the prim and proper etiquette that made open speech so damned difficult in the pines, something she had not missed in her years with the Varden. Glenwing hadn’t protested in the least, and had spent a majority of the time setting up camp asking her questions about her previous injuries, examining scars, and doing his best to ease into the more personal questions of mental health that he hadn’t had time to ask before they left Ellesméra.

The silver haired elf signed a stop glyph at the end of his most recent note in the margins of Arya’s file before tapping his pen against his lip. “Any trouble sleeping in the past six months? Falling asleep, staying asl–”

“Are you going to report all this to the Queen?” Glenwing looked up, somewhat startled by the sudden interjection. Arya had her arms folded now, regarding him with that solid stare that expected answers and would take no deflection or lie that he could give. “I’m assuming that’s why she assigned you to me. People weren’t exactly lining up behind me to join the Varden, so I doubt you volunteered. Plus, after this long she’s probably realized that I need to return to Du Weldenvarden to be fully healed after larger injuries so she’s probably not keen on giving me more time away from her influence and reach. So there has to be another reason that supersedes that. A way for her to influence and keep tabs on me while I’m away as well as while I’m in the pines.”

Glenwing straightened from where he had been leaning on the table and carefully placed his pen parallel to the top of the file before meeting Arya’s hardened gaze with his steady one. “Do you want me to?” There was a soft curiosity behind his golden eyes. 

The question seemed to catch the other elf off guard. Arya blinked, lips parted to snap a retort that now didn’t seem necessary.

“I won’t lie to you.” Glenwing continued. “The Queen has asked– or rather, she has ordered– that I report back on your status and any developments in your mental and physical health.” Anger flashed through Arya’s countentance, but before she could spit out a string of swears the elf across from her held up a finger. “However. You’re wrong about me volunteering. I’m here because I want to be, not just because the Queen accepted my offer. That means that I have willingly taken you on as a patient, and while I am a subject of our Queen’s rule, I am also your medic and doctor.” 

“Look, I don’t care if you’re a ‘subject of the Queen’ first.” Arya snapped. The phrase seemed to have set her off enough to break through the final barrier of elvish manners that remained as she cut him off. “If you’re going to be telling the Queen every little thing about me, I’m just not going to accept your help. You might as well go back home, alright?”

“That’s not what I’m saying at all.” Glenwing replied, voice calm yet lacking the patronizing edge that Arya had expected. “I’m saying that as my patient, you have complete control over your care, including who, and when, I give information to regarding it and your status in the past, present and future. 

“If you don’t want me to inform the Queen as she ordered, I won’t, and I’ll tell her as much. I’m one of the Queen subjects, yes, but now that you are my patient my purpose here is to keep you alive, and I can’t exactly do that if you refuse care or don’t trust me.”

Arya was silent for a long moment, the silver haired elf’s words sinking in. The elven nation was a monarchy, yes, but there was always an understanding that any elf could act independently unless called to war in defense. Even then there was a choice of remaining behind to tend to the forest and those who returned. Orders given in common elvish, even from the Queen, were considered the rule of law, but in actuality could be challenged or even ignored if the individual thought the orders would cause more harm than good. It could incur the wrath of the Queen, yes, but there was no formal system of punishment beyond the decision of the council. Or, in personal cases such as Arya’s own, the decision of the Queen herself.  

That being said, most people followed their orders when they were given, and as such things were rare it was unusual to find an elf that was quite as willing as Arya to bend or break the rules so to speak. Yet here one was, practically raising his eyebrows in quiet eagerness to open loopholes and ignore centuries of custom all for a chance to…

...to what?

Arya chose her words carefully. “Glenwing...why are you doing this?” She gestured to the square photographs that were scattered on one side of the medical file, images detailing the numerous wounds of note, most in their unhealed state, that the young elf had incurred over the course of just a little over a decade of service in the Varden. “You’ve seen what it does physically. Magic can heal but I think we both know that the scars of the mind do not close so easily. I’ve almost died more times than I can count and watched countless others who were not so lucky lose their lives on and off the battlefield.”

“I’ve seen war, Arya. I’ve not participated in one, but I’ve seen the damage it does.”

“Then why join me?” Arya leaned her elbows on the table, shoulders hunched as her brows furrowed. “Why? I have my reasons, some of them more morally sound and others more or less reprehensible, and the things I’ve already done to further the goal of toppling Galbatorix… I’ve done some terrible shit. I’m not going to skirt around that. You know that you’ll probably have to do similar things, get blood other than that of your patients on your hands. So why? Why risk everything like this?”

Glenwing held her gaze for a time before lowering his eyes to the table. With a fingertip he rearranged the pictures, aligning the edges so that they fanned out and displayed a gruesome line of war wounds over the years. “...I’m not much older than you are, you know.”

“...Pardon?”    

His lips twisted up slightly in sad eyed grin. “I was eighteen when the Fall began. My father was a healer, my mother a warrior.” Gently, with the back of a fingernail, he dragged out one of the pictures, the one of the ragged stab wound to the abdomen that sent Arya back to Ellesméra most recently. “She died of an injury similar to this one. That’s what they told me at least.” Glenwing raised his eyes to meet Arya’s, gauging her reaction to his next words. “She was in the final group that the King led. My father died beside her as he tried to heal her. They were bathed in dragonfire. Nothing to bury. 

“I watched my father treat wounds like all of these as the injured returned. He never stopped trying to help, down to the last second of his life, and mother never stopped fighting for our people.” He spread his hands out. “I cannot sit by knowing that I could do the same.” 

The he paused. “And there is another thing.” 

Arya swallowed. The mention of her father and the battle that had felled not only him but Glenwing’s parents as well made her mouth go dry. The final moments of the conflict before Galbatorix hunted Vrael always did. “Oh?”

“You said that I should go home if I was to report on your condition to the Queen. I cannot return home, which only leaves obeying your orders and remaining as your medic my only option.”  

Glenwing’s feral, bared tooth smile shocked a flash of familiarity and kinship through Arya’s mind. She had seen that smile on her own face before, that wild unrestrained drive to right the wrongs of the world, to take on war and violence so that others could be at peace, tenuous as it was.   

“You see, Arya...I was born in Ilirea. With Galbatorix on the throne, I have no home to return to.”

~~~

To Queen Islanzadí, Your Majesty. 

After a lengthy consult with the combat liaison I have been assigned, it has come to my attention that the mentioned patient, Arya, house of none, is against the sharing of medical information beyond a set of predetermined ailments and injuries. As I am bound first to act in the best interest of my patient, I must oblige by her requests. Arya has also indicated that any sharing of information without her consent would result in her refusing any treatment or healing by my hand, which has further forced this issue as she has displayed sufficient aptitude for wards that would block any of my attempts to heal her if the conditions presented were broken in any way. 

However, Arya has agreed to allow the sharing of some small yet vital pieces of information concerning her health as seen fit. Thus, any injury resulting in amputation, permanent blindness or hearing loss, traumatic brain damage, complete mind breaking or death will be reported. Arya has impressed on me that she will continue to aid the Varden in the event of non-lethal injuries, and any report of the previous wounds will also include an evaluation on how she can continue to aid the Varden in her current state.

I apologize that I cannot carry out the full extent of your orders. Unfortunately, it is clear that any deviation from the agreed upon conditions that Arya has set would likely result in severe injury to Arya’s person and would constitute reckless and wanton disregard for my patient’s safety and health on mine. I cannot in good conscience go against her wishes, nor can I do so if my conscience were to tolerate it. Arya has forced me to agree to these conditions in the Ancient Language, and I cannot break my oath. 

I continue to serve to the best of my ability, and will do my utmost to ensure Arya’s health is taken care of. 

May the stars watch over you.

Yours in service,   

Glenwing of House Svanran.

Islanzadí folded the letter again, put her elbows on her desk, and allowed herself a long, frustrated sigh. 

Leave it to Arya to ferret out her reasoning for accepting Glenwing’s offer and so quickly appeal to the young elf’s sense of ethical duty. A political force the Queen’s daughter was not, but she still had a knack for picking up on a person’s true motives and finding ways to fit them around her own.

However, this was faster than anticipated. Maybe this Glenwing’s true motives weren’t what he presented to Islanzadí at all. There had been something about his energy that seemed familiar. The Queen now recognized it as a glimmering thread of that determination and wild resolve that Arya so openly displayed. 

But what to do now? Islanzadí rubbed her temples, a headache coming on. She knew that there was little she could threaten them with if she ordered Glenwing to return to Ellesméra. The young elf had volunteered after all, and even under duress Islanzadí doubted she could convince any other elf as skilled as he was to abandon their calm life in Du Weldenvarden for years of conflict and uncertainty outside the forest’s protective stands. And she couldn’t just call him back and not send a replacement, not with the state Arya had been in when she finally made it back to Ellesméra. What little Oromis had told the Queen of her wayward daughter’s injuries past and present clearly indicated that an attached medic was a necessity if there was any hope of Arya making it through the war alive.

So what to do….

The clatter of talons on well-polished wood sent a cascade of jolts through Islanzadí’s burgeoning headache, the pops and clicks that followed doing nothing to help the pain. 

“The latch is open, Blagden.” The Queen leaned back in her chair and massaged her forehead as the white raven swooped in. Blagden alighted on the desk with a gentle flap of his wings to slow his speed and cocked his head at her, looking smug as he always did. He parted his beak slightly. “Don’t you say i–”

“Wyrda!”

Even as the Queen winced at the cried word the raven flipped a small, densely folded paper onto the desk with a flourish of his leg. He pecked at it twice before fluttering to his carved stand on the back of the chair, settling in before starting his usual fastidious preening.

Confused, Islanzadí picked up the folded note. It hadn’t been but an hour since Glenwing’s letter had arrived, but the glyph that graced the fold of this paper was the one Arya always used. Blagden must have dropped it while flying and went back to retrieve it. The Queen unfolded it with a hint of trepidation in her heart, as always accompanied any correspondence with her banished child. 

The young elf’s handwriting had started to take on a sharper shape, but was no less bold in its strokes. It still held the same familiar base that reminded Islanzadí so much of those days that Arya would scamper into her mother’s study and throw notes of love for her mother and records of her daily adventures onto the desk before scampering out, giggling as she departed for her next escapade. All those notes still sat in the drawer to Islanzadí’s left, bittersweet. 

The headache throbbed, chasing away the memories. The Queen focused in again, and was somewhat surprised to find only a few short sentences. 

Stars watch over you.

Good medic. Intelligent, can toe lines if needed. Fixed a scar issue in short order. I like this one. Requesting permanent assignment. 

~ Arya of Du Weldenvarden, combat liaison officer  

Islanzadí frowned slightly as she caught sight of a different handwriting in the bottom corner. It was Glenwing’s, and she couldn’t help but chuckle as she read it aloud. “Please?”

Maybe this Glenwing would be a good influence after all. With that in mind, and the comfort of Arya now less likely to return maimed (or not at all), Islanzadí picked up her pen.

Granted.  May the stars watch over you. Queen Islanzadí.

[devnicolee]

The Chosen Ones (4)

Word Count: 10,377

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3]

“What is going on with you? I mean... I have never known you to be this reckless," the king of Wakanda exclaimed as he wore a whole in the carpet of his sister's room, pacing back and forth endlessly. 

Asha rubbed her forehead, shame and frustration growing as her brother's lecture drew on minute by minute. 

"T'Challa, I said I was sorry. I do not need a lecture. Believe me, I feel horrible enough as it is!" She tried to say. 

First M'Baku... now him? She couldn't take this much disappointment from both of them in the same evening, her heart couldn't handle it. She felt a small, soft squeeze to her hand, knowing it was moral support from her sister. Asha smiled weakly but her eyes didn't leave their dead stare into her lap, she didn't want to look at any of them.

"Apparently you do! I asked you if you wanted out of this engagement, I gave you an out. But now, there are certain responsibilities and obligations that you can't ignore just because you feel like it. And it is just," he took a moment to catch his breath before continuing, "it is highly inappropriate as a new council member and advisor to create a potential scandal of this magnitu-"

"Yes, I am a cheater and a horrible person. The worthless trouble-making, embarrassing liability to the great Panther Tribe. I get it! I have heard it several times today and every day for most of my life, I do not need any more reminders from you!" 

Asha's voice raised to match her brother's and in anger she leapt off her bed, standing toe to toe with him. She could feel the rings on her hands working overtime to tame the beast within as her hurt from the last few hours transitioned to anger.

"Ok, ok! Asha, it is alright. No one is saying any of those things. T'Challa certainly doesn't think them," Nakia inserted quickly, walking over and placing a soothing hand on the young princess's back. 

The two siblings were no stranger to a squabble or two but this was beyond both of them. Unlike T'Challa, Nakia could see that all of this was a symptom of a deeper issue and they would not get to the bottom of it by shaming her choices. She sent a silent but reproachful glare T'Challa's way as she tried to calm Asha down enough to continue. "Perhaps you should go. We will talk to her," she added quietly, seeing the fractures the emotionally-charged evening had sent through the young princess. 

T'Challa hesitated, now understanding that he had misstepped and feeling as though an apology was due. But Nakia simply shook her head and motioned toward the door. He nodded before motioning for Okoye to follow and quickly exit the room. 

As soon as her door slammed shut, Asha felt the weight of the day heavy on her shoulders, causing her to sink down to the floor by her bed. She buried her head in her hands as she tried to stop more tears from falling.

Haven't we cried enough today?

"I would like to be alone, please," she whispered, muffled but still clear enough for the remaining two occupants of her bedroom to hear.

"No, we are not leaving you like this. Talk to us. What happened?" Nakia asked as she crouched in front of Asha. 

Asha didn't move or attempt to acknowledge her question. She knew what they really wanted and that was to unpack that kiss... the now infamous kiss. But what would Asha say? How could she explain it when she was hundreds of miles from understanding the complexity of her feelings toward M'Baku. She always thought love was supposed to be simple, easy, but this was anything but that. In two days, she and M'Baku managed to entangle themselves in a web of all those emotions and that kiss was right smack in the center. Asha did not have the capacity to unravel it all tonight.

Asha couldn't tell if she kissed him because she longed for affection, was angry at the guy she was supposed to be with, was desperate for a different life, actually loved him or because she just wanted to feel something other than sadness. Or if it was some combination of all those things? All of them came with an airplane worth of baggage that could not be reduced to the carry-on sized explanation they desired.

"Nothing happened... M'Baku was comforting me and we got caught up in the moment. That is it."

The women both knew she was lying, that she just wasn't willing to share. But still, they persisted. 

"Come on, Asha. We know you. And w-we understand what you are going through but you have to talk to us and let us in. Let us help you."

Asha scoffed, her sister's ignorance almost made a laugh escape from her lips,. 

"You don't understand. How could you possibly? Neither of you know what it is like to be despised or treated like an embarrassment. You have never spent a single moment in your lives as I have. You don't get it and you never will!" She lashed out at them. She stood up and turned her back to them, taking a deep breath to calm herself.  "Please leave. Now. I wish to be alone."

"Asha.."

"Please do not make me have Alexis forcibly remove you. Just go, please." 

The shaky begging in her voice did the trick, leading both women out of her door. Asha slid back to her spot on the floor, tears making their silent trek down her face. 

She wished she had never allowed T'Challa to convince her to leave this room in the first place, wished she had never stepped a foot in the soft snow of Jabariland, and wished her eyes had never fallen on him. Then she would be happy... or at least, as happy as she was before and that would still be enough. She would be officially engaged in a week, existing in ignorance’s bliss. She would never know what true freedom tasted like, never know what true love felt like and so she wouldn't have to mourn it as she does now.

Sadness morphed into anger and frustration at everyone who forced her out of her safe isolation but didn't warn her that once you have seen light, it is impossible to go back to darkness. 

****

Asha tried to put a smile on her face as she sat in silence in the council meeting, but it was difficult to hide sadness when it is as deeply rooted as Asha's was. Your smile can be as bright as the Sun but it always still shows through in your eyes. She just wanted to retreat back to her room, not see him or Hasani who both sat in the circle of chairs branching out from her brother's. She also just hated being in these meetings to begin with, still feeling as though she didn't belong. It did not help that half of the circle... her mother, Elder Shani and her son all gave her cold reproachful looks that basically told her she didn't belong if she dared give her opinion. And now to make it worse, she felt like there was a giant, "I am a cheater" sign glowing above her head. 

She didn't quite understand why she felt so guilty, she knew Hasani never lost sleep over cheating on her. And his indiscretions were far worse than a simple kiss. But still, as she stole glances at both men, she felt guilty: guilty for cheating and guilty for bringing M'Baku into this mess. And she supposed her life's goal was to not be as carefree and uncaring as Hasani, certainly not the marker of a good person.

But she most wanted to talk to M'Baku, wanted to apologize or explain herself or... well, she did not quite know what she wanted to say to him. They said so much last night while simultaneously leaving so much unsaid. She questioned whether words would even matter at this point. But she felt the pull and desire to say something either way, just to hear the comfort in his voice, ensure that that comfort was still there. There was a stab of regret every time she considered the fact that she may have destroyed their friendship over a kiss, a stab that felt as painful as a physical wound in her body. But those were the consequences, she supposed. A moment of weakness in exchange for one of the few positive relationships in her life. 

"We cannot accept these terms. This agreement with the Jabari is an insult to your father's legacy and all who have fought to control the spread of such a disease in our borders," Elder Shani almost shouted from her seat in front of her brother. 

 The argument ensuing around her snatched Asha's head out of the clouds and back down to Earth where she found the council entrenched in a loud and unruly argument. Asha quickly realized that the Elders had found the one clause in the treaty Asha buried deeply and had simply hoped would go unnoticed. But it seemed little got past Elder Shani, who likely read through it with a fine-toothed comb to find a mistake on Asha's part.

"This treaty is about respecting the Jabari's way of life and integrating it into ours. They have a different respect and custom for mutants or the Chosen, as I believe Lord M'Baku has referred to them. After conversations with my sister and Lord M'Baku, I will not ask them to change their customs and their ways. He has assured me that they will not be a threat to the ways in which we govern down the mountains." 

Asha and M'Baku gave her brother a side eye, knowing that he pulled that explanation out of nowhere. That part of the treaty was added last minute after M'Baku expressed concerns over integrating the Jabari's Chosen into a regressive society. She chose not to bring it up and prolong the talks, figuring her brother would not notice a clause buried so deeply in the treaty's many pages.

"And what if that changes? What if one of them comes down here and creates trouble?" 

"Asha, you met with the people of Jabariland, saw their customs in practice. What do you think?" 

Asha gulped, mouth going dry at the idea of having to defend mutants to the most hostile person in the room, the person who also knew her secret. She glanced at her brother out of the corner of her eye whose smirk clearly told her that this was a problem of her creation that she now needed to fix.

"T-t-the Chosen are a peaceful group of Jabari. They are no different than the non-gifted among them. They have absolutely no reason to fight or create trouble for us down the mountains. Their goal is to use their p-powers to help advance the tribe. It is my belief that they will not be an issue for us." 

"And what if their idea of advancing the tribe is overthrowing us and ensuring Lord M'Baku sits on the throne?" Another elder chimed in. 

M'Baku laughed loudly, as if the idea of wanting the throne was too preposterous to take seriously. 

"I wanted to be king of Wakanda once, yes, it is true. However, since then I have saved your rightful king, risked Jabari lives to overthrow a usurper, and put that King back on his throne. Without my people and I, Killmonger would still be alive and sitting in that chair. Seems like an awful lot of work when I could have just taken the Heart-Shaped Herb to become King myself and left King T'Challa to die. My interests no longer lie in leading this backwards nation." 

"'Backwards?'" Elder Shani shouted, outraged at the insult. "How dare you?" 

"Yes, backwards. A country that has all the resources in the world, offers all the opportunity in the world to its people and still finds a way to hold people back, to limit the power and ability of the more gifted among you. You can call us savages and insult me, I know what some of you say behind my back. But at least, the Jabari treat their fellow citizens with the respect Hanuman demands. When Bast calls you all home to the Plains... Will you be able to say the same?" 

"Enough! That is quite enough," T'Challa called, causing all the tempers to quiet down significantly. "Elder Shani, as always, I appreciate your counsel. However, the treaty is final. The Jabari will not be forced to comply with any law within the Mutant Regulation Act. Lord M'Baku and the Jabari proved themselves to be a loyal tribe of Wakanda ten times over and I will not have that loyalty questioned in this room again. I reserve my right as king to revisit any aspect of the treaty if, and only if, it becomes an issue." 

He and M'Baku shared a respectful head nod before T'Challa continued. 

"Thank you all for a productive meeting. Unless there are outstanding matters, we will reconvene next Saturday prior to the start of the Festival. This year's festival will begin Sunday night at the Falls for the announcement of my sister's engagement and the King’s Exhibition. Thank you all. Wakanda Forever." 

At the mention of her engagement, Asha glanced at M'Baku and she wished she hadn't. His body was rigid and she could almost see the rage radiating off him into the space. 

"Wakanda Forever," they all replied in unison, as the meeting broke up. 

Asha turned around to pick up her tablet and notebook, mainly to avoid the death glare she was receiving from Elder Shani across the room. When she turned back, the older woman was in a huddled discussion with another elder and her mother. Their hushed whispers could not reach her ears but she knew it was likely nothing good. 

She kept her eyes trained on the floor as she walked, until she ran into the hard, broad back of someone. 

"Oh, I am sorry! I didn't see you th- M'Baku," she started to apologize to the unknown person until they turned around and she came face to face with the man she was desperately trying to avoid. She wondered if it would have been less painless to run into Elder Shani as she looked into his eyes, finding no more admiration and love there.

"Yes your highness?" 

His voice matched his eyes... cold and despondent, everything she didn't expect from him. She felt a sense of deja-vu to how he treated her prior to coming to the mountains. She remembered how it felt to be on the receiving end of his coldness and not understand why. She understood why now, but that didn't dampen the sting.

"U-uh, w-well I-I wanted to s-speak with you, actually," Asha stammered as she adjusted to all the things she was not used to from him... his coldness, formality and harsh tone. The silence between the stretched out as she tried to figure out what to say.  

"Well?" he barked. "I do not have all day, I am in a rush to return home." 

His tone hit her like a slap in the face. "N-never mind then, I hope you have a safe journey home." 

He nodded and saluted her with a pained look on his face before turning to head back down the hall. Her eyes glistened slightly, she felt the pressure of tears building behind them but she tried to push those emotions down. They both made their choices and here laid the consequences, she would learn to deal with them.  

M'Baku thought his feet could not carry him back to his carriage fast enough. He wanted nothing more than to flee this palace, and retreat to his own home to sulk and nurse his bruised heart. He thought they had started to build something... something beautiful and as quickly as it was put together, it crumbled. 

"M'Baku!"

He grimaced as he heard the unmistakable timbre of his king calling after him. He wanted so badly to ignore him and if this was a time in the past, he would have. But he respected T'Challa, and was growing to see him as something resembling a friend. So he pushed down his annoyance and heartbreak to speak to his King, praying to Hanuman that this was a short conversation. He almost jumped clean out of his skin to find the King directly behind him instead of down the hall. 

"My king?" 

"Leaving so soon?" T'Challa asked, his tone pleasant and airy, not like someone addressing the man whom he found making out with one of his younger sisters the day prior. 

"Yes, I have matters to attend to at home. What can I do for you?" M'Baku decided to cut the formalities short, he knew T'Challa did not stop him for that. 

T'Challa nodded, his face descending into a more serious look. "Are you in love with my sister?"

He eyed the look of surprise that passed across M'Baku's face before adding, "I speak to you not as King but as an older brother who just wants his sister to be happy. There is no wrong answer here. Are you in love with her?" 

"Yes," M'Baku replied shortly. There was not much else to say, this was all very simple to him.  

T'Challa gestured forward, allowing the man to continue his journey toward his carriage as they walked. 

"My sister always pretends to be happy, never complains about her horrible treatment at the hands of my parents or her regulation to being a prisoner in her own home. She always tries to hide it but it shows... it always shows in her eyes. They hold a certain sadness, or at least they have every single day for the last 15 years. The only other person on this Earth who I have seen with eyes like that died a few weeks ago. I couldn't save him, couldn't undo the injustices my family doled out upon him. But I... I can save Asha." 

"Forgive me, my King. But I don't understand what you want from me?" 

"When my sister walked off the Talon 24 hours ago, she looked like a completely different person. Joy and happiness radiated off her like light from the Sun. It was the first day I looked at my sister and didn't see that sadness. I do not have to be as smart as Shuri or as intuitive as Nakia to know who brought that about. My sister is in love with you. I want you to know that before you get in that carriage and resign to writing her off for the rest of your life. She is stuck between her heart and obligation, what she wants and what she has been conditioned to believe she should have. And Shuri and I are trying to help her but... As a brother, I-I am just asking you not to give up on her just yet."

As he finished, they reached his carriage. T'Challa did not wait for M'Baku to respond, he simply saluted him before turning on his heels to tread the same path back into the palace. Meanwhile, M'Baku just stood there staring after him for a while, another plan to forget Asha slowly sinking down the drain. 

****

"M'Baku!"

He tore his eyes from the mountains, ready to snap at the man foolish enough to interrupt him, only to find N'Danna standing not too far behind him. N'Danna looked annoyed as if he had been calling the chief's name for a while. M'Baku clearly hadn't heard him, trapped in a cycle of his own thoughts, the light wind blowing past, and the nighttime jitters of the forest.

He barely acknowledged his second-in-command, knowing his best friend would just come and occupy the empty spot next to him. And sure enough, he felt his presence beside him as the man dusted the snow off the odd-shaped, massive boulder M'Baku was currently sitting on and sat down beside him.

"You are a hard man to find since returning from the Golden City," N'Danna mused as he took his cue from his chief and began staring at the mountains in front of him.

N'Danna supposed they were really just staring at nothing. He knew mountains were there, visible when the sun was high in the sky. But in such darkness, the best they could see was a vague outline. His gaze fell down to the village below that was still bustling with activity, lights branching out like veins in the darkness. 

"How long have you been out here?"

"Since the sunset."

"You have turned into somewhat of a sunset enthusiast. And why did you decide to come out here on the coldest night of the winter?" N'Danna inquired.

M'Baku shook his head, "I don't know. I have come here every night for the last three days. I say I am not going to come and still I find myself out here all night. Not sure what answers I expect to find out here though." 

N'Danna nodded, both men leaning back and laying against the rocks to look up at the midnight sky and twinkling stars. 

"This is a good spot to find answers I suppose. And being here probably makes you feel closer to her, right?"

The two men turned to each other and N'Danna let out a light chuckle at the disgruntled look on his friend's face. 

"I didn't even get that from your thoughts this time. Just an observation. You have been this way for the last few days, ever since you got back." Silence fell over the two for a moment before N'Danna spoke again. "Talk to me, M'Baku. What is going on with you? I have never seen you like this before."

When he didn't say anything initially, N'Danna assumed he opted to ignore his question. It wouldn't be the first time his friend chose to ignore things instead of addressing them. And so, after a few minutes of quiet, N'Danna returned his attention to the barely visible mountains ahead of them. He was surprised when he finally heard a response minutes later. 

"I fell in love with her," M'Baku stated out of the blue. N'Danna wished he could see beneath the Earth's surface, and get confirmation of his suspicion that Hell had indeed frozen over at this admission. M'Baku had been with many women in his 30 years of living and had never so much as uttered a word similar to "love" toward any of them, such a word was vacant from his vocabulary. Now N'Danna understood, he got it. His poor chief had fallen fast and hard for the first time and was left out in the cold, a cold he was not accustomed to. 

"And s-she rejected me. I was j-jus- And now she is about to be engaged... engaged to a man wh-" words failed him as he tried to verbalize how truly frustrating this all was. But his words resembled his thoughts, jumbled and disjointed as he tried to sift through the complex web he had woven. "About to live her life in hiding and secret again. It just does not make sense!" 

"Why does that bother you so much? It is her life to live. If she chooses to hide and waste it, what is it to you?"

M'Baku gave him an incredulous look, immediately standing from the boulder to pace beside it. N'Danna was a Chosen, M'Baku was baffled that he could not see the issue in all this. 

"Because she deserves better! She deserves what every person like her in these mountains has: the opportunity to be yourself, be raised to see the limitless power of what Hanuman has given you, the chance to do anything. That is what you have! That is what all of the Chosen have. It is not fair that she was stripped of that... Striped of that to be what? Someone of her power reduced to a rung on a ladder for a power-hungry shell of a man. It is not right."

"She is a princess, M'Baku, these obligations come with the territory. I am sure she is just doing what she thinks is best." 

M'Baku scoffed, "Screw the obligations of royalty! We are talking about a woman who possesses powers... a gift that these mountains - Hell I would wager the world has not seen in generations. She is a once-in-a-lifetime gift, limitless power at her fingertips. She is not ordinary, she deserves more than ordinary!" 

N'Danna sighed, sitting up. 

"You speak of the Chosen as if we are Gods and Goddesses M'Baku. That has always been the problem, this altar you exalt us to, you prayed to be one of us when you don't really understand the burden we all carry.  Asha is not limitless, none of us are! Asha was raised to hide, taught to be ashamed of who she was. Her powers are not unlimited. They are faulty, complicated, powerful, rare, stressed, beautiful and malleable just as the woman who wields them. You are so blinded by the beauty of her powers that you cannot see the tragedy in it. And that is why you are so disappointed. Not because she chose another man, but because she is has something you have longed for and she is showing you that not everyone is happy to be gifted... not everyone wants it. She may be a once-in-a-lifetime power, I do not doubt that, but she is also a young girl stuck between impossible choices, stuck between realities."

M'Baku shook his head, "Being with me is an impossible choice? Following your heart, choosing a better life is an impossible choice? I showed her how life could be different. Ok, you say it is not freedom, fine. But it is so much more than what she has now. How hard of a choice is that?"

"Following your heart has consequences, running up here to be with you and throw fire around to her heart's content has consequences. And not just for her... for her family, for all of Wakanda. She is a member of the Royal Family, for Hanuman's sake. P-people learn to love their chains M'Baku. Sometimes they become more comfortable, safer than what lies outside them. You offer her freedom but ignore the price of that freedom. Maybe she is not willing to pay it after only knowing you for two days."

M'Baku sighed and bowed his head, looking toward the forest to his left, the dark branches loaded down with fresh snow from the storm earlier that day. 

"I j-just... I want better for her. I thought I could help bring light into her life and maybe, I just don't know how to accept that I failed. I-I don't know how to go back to life before her," he admitted honestly. 

"Perhaps it is not all about you. You want her, and I understand that. But you did help her start down a path of self discovery. The Asha who left here last week is very different from the one who came here at first. She will find it difficult to retreat to her old life. Maybe you planted seeds that will flourish one day but you don't get to bask in the garden's beauty... it may not be meant for you. I know it is not what you want but you may have to accept that it is all you will get."

The two men stared at each other as his words settled in M'Baku's mind. This was probably the most honest conversation the two men had ever had in their friendship, N'Danna was the only person willing to tell M'Baku when he was wrong, push him down the correct path when he was stuck, straying or stalling to find it himself.

"The King asked me not to give up on her, not to push her away," he offered quietly, the grief of a love lost clear in his voice. 

"Then don't, if you don't want to. She is not getting married Sunday, merely publicly announcing her engagement. So much can happen between now and the altar. But until then, you can stop torturing yourself and all of us," he added with a joking tone and smile, "Let her go and let the chips fall where they may. If she is meant to be yours, Hanuman will bring her back." 

M'Baku nodded slowly. He looked over N'Danna's shoulder toward the center of the cliff they stood on. It was like a movie in front of him, he could see them clear as day. He wished he could go back to that moment, wrapped in the warmth of each other and deep in their own world. It was worth it, he decided, whatever heartbreak he had to endure the last few days or was in store for him moving forward. 

"Let us go home, M'Baku. You got the answers you need." 

M'Baku smiled at his friend and they both walked back to their individual carriages. Before it pulled off, he smiled sadly at that spot again, knowing he wouldn't be back here any time soon. N'Danna was right, Hanuman sent the answers he was desperately seeking. He just had to listen. 

****

Asha felt like she had blinked and suddenly the week was almost over. She was not complaining though. A busy mind meant she couldn't pine for M'Baku, grief the loss of him, or think about her upcoming public engagement, which made all of this official, not some back alley deal between their parents. Staying busy was the only way to keep those thoughts and her looming dread at bay.

She had to admit though, without the allure of M'Baku and Jabariland, Asha realized that her new job lacked a certain appeal. But... she felt like everything lacked a certain appeal these days. 

However, when darkness fell and the palace quieted, it hit her the hardest. She didn’t really need sleep so she couldn't count on it to take her away from it all and sometimes, even the unconscious world was unsafe. She counted at least one dream a night that featured M'Baku in some fashion. 

And that is how she found herself after a particularly packed Thursday, laying in her bed, staring at the ceiling and praying to Bast to let her sleep. But no such luck. She tossed and she turned, and she thought of no one and nothing else but that man up the mountains and their last conversation. 

It is clear that he is falling for you. You could escape... leave all this behind, the panther inside seemed to whisper, desperate to return to its life outside its cage. You hate it here. 

I don't hate it here, she argued back. My family is here. Well, at least T'Challa and Shuri... Nakia, Alexis, Okoye - they are all here. I couldn't just leave them to deal with whatever wrath Elder Shani could unleash. 

But this isn't for you anymore.

The thought made Asha cringe a little, knowing she could never say that out loud. What would her siblings say? It would devastate them. But it was not untrue, she realized in those quiet, lonely and restless moments in the dead of the night. After her father's death, her life was supposed to get easier with less restrictions and a bit more freedom. Yet somehow, the chains felt heavier and tighter. Pretending to be normal had never been this... this hard. 

She felt like an animal being herded back into captivity after experiencing the wild, a life driven by its own desires. She did not realize what it would take to learn to re-love her chains, the pieces of her soul they siphon from her to do so. She shed them so quickly and willingly up the mountains, savored every second of the sweet freedom it offered her. And just like that she was back here, ripped out of her dreams into reality. She didn't expect it to be so hard truthfully... had no idea the pain she was preparing herself for.

She knew one thing though - this would never be enough, not after she experienced something different. This bastardized freedom her brother gave her just wouldn't do. It was the best he could offer, she certainly didn't fault him for it.  But compared to what M'Baku showed her? This was merely a weak imitation. 

She pulled the fluffy white pillow from beside her on top of her face and screamed into it, loud enough to release her frustration but not loud enough to send Alexis racing into her room, spear raised. Annoyance rippled through her that her body would not just allow her the simple reprieve from this world for another, the downside of sleep being a mere luxury and not a necessity for survival.

This just isn't helping, she ultimately decided.

Her mind drifted around the palace, thinking of all the places she could go to distract her and pass the night hours. Shuri's private lab was an option but she knew the young girl liked to work through the night and was not interested in talking to anyone. Her mind wandered to the library, which was a solid option of unlimited solitude. But even that did not have a certain appeal, she just thought of him and how they first met. 

The training center?

There was an idea she could work with, a space that could not remind her of him. Besides, nothing cleared the mind like a good at was an idea she could work with. Nothing cleared the mind like a work out and thanks to her brother, she had a brand new, never been used training center of her own to test out. It was the only spot that offered any sort of appeal to her now. She slid out of bed and quickly changed her clothes.

Alexis stood at attention, saluting her before Asha told her where she was going and convinced her to take the rest of the night off. 

She walked across the palace and downstairs, entering the main training room and immediately heading for a discreet door on the back wall. One full body scan later and the door slid open for her to enter.

It was beautiful, Asha thought to herself as she walked around the room. It was long and slender unlike the expansive training room on the other side of the wall. The cushioned training mat floor was soft beneath her feet, the tall ceilings overheard would give her just enough space to practice sustaining flight, sleek walls embedded with blue flecks of vibranium that glowed lighting the room in a blue hue.

One thing did confuse her though, the lack of equipment. She looked around, trying to understand the mechanics of the space. It was completely empty, all except for the computer monitor across from the entrance. As if it sensed her presence as she approached, it immediately lit up and offered a menu of training modes for Asha to choose from. Asha slowly took her rings off, sitting them and her shoes together in the corner, before scrolling through the many options and settings. She didn't understand how any of them would work with no equipment but she never got a proper tutorial of the space. But she knew her brother was smart so she chose combat and figured that she would learn as she went.

She walked to the center of the room and on cue, the lights dimmed and suddenly, a hologram of a person came racing toward her. Asha barely had time to think or process before the attacker raised a digital weapon and a loud bang sounded across the silent room.

Before she knew it, a massive blast of air knocked her on her back and let her know that she had been hit. 

"Simulation over," a computerized female voice called throughout the room. "Assailant: 1; Asha: 0."

A small groan escaped her throat as she slowly sat up and tried to catch her breath. 

Once she was on her feet again, she called out, "Again," signaling for the simulation to restart.

She sank into a defensive position as the lights darkened again, focusing her eyes on the wall at the end of the room and preparing for the man to emerge once more. She watched, waiting as nothing happened. But soon, she felt a presence behind her. She turned quickly, not wasting precious seconds this time. She immediately threw a ball of fire at the figure causing it to crumble to the ground and disappear. 

She was so distracted watching the hologram disappear that she was surprised to feel a small blast of air hit her shoulder, directing her attention to a hologram on the window ledge. She was finally starting to understand the mechanics of combat mode, Asha killed that assailant next. This continued for 10 minutes, Asha dodging targets and their weapons. The simulation ended with another sneak attack, causing her to realize that any blow that would be fatal in the real world caused the simulation to cease. 

Still, as she heard the score back, she felt as though she had redeemed herself. Not that it really mattered, there was no one there to see it. Asha: 10, Assailants: 5 was not bad for her second round. 

Asha watched as the computer pulled up a heat signature of the room, red and orange on random spots around the room. She pressed a glowing "extinguish" button, which caused the room to release the targeted extinguisher to those spots, returning the room to normal.

Asha went through combat mode three more times, the assailants and patterns changing every time. They became more complex, she realized, the room analyzing her battle patterns and movements to push her harder. By her last round, Asha had kicked her powers into high gear, certainly more energy than she had ever used. But she looked like a skilled dancer instead of a clumsy fawn as she ran, jumped and dodged blasts across the room. She threw fire, caused diversions, hovered in the air to better examine the full field of attackers. She created life-sized fire panthers that chased down her attackers and killed them at her command like her own personal army. She even realized that once or twice, she could block the blasts with a fire shield, though she couldn't sustain it. The last simulation only ended when a voice overpowered the settings. Asha was directing a panther to attack three figures who were running from it from her position in the air when she saw her brother leaning against the wall in the corner.

"Simulation over," the voice said again as Asha made the fire disappear and landed softly back on the ground. She did not acknowledge her brother initially, walking to grab her shoes and rings as the voice said, "Assailants: 3, Asha: 25."

"I was trying to get to 30," she called, realizing how out of breath and tired she was as she tried to talk and walk over to him. 

The room did a final extinguish of the night as they both moved back into the main training center. She sat down on the floor, exhausted, to drink some water. 

"I needed a training partner. Trust me, you looked amazing, you were just showing off at that point. I am surprised to find you down here. Have you ever even used it since I built it?" 

Asha's chest heaved as she caught her breath. She didn't understand how she felt this exhausted despite only training for an hour.

"Not since Baba. Figured now was as good a time as any. I couldn't sleep. You either?" She looked at the time on her beads: 3 am. 

"Nope. I woke up and tossed around for a bit before something told me that this was the place to be tonight. Now I know why. Train with me," he asked assertively. She knew it was not a legitimate question. There was only one proper answer when her brother wanted a late-night sparring partner. 

T'Challa powered up his suit, the only thing that would protect his skin from burns when practicing hand-to-hand combat with Asha. She sank into her battle stance, ignoring the exhaustion in her body. T'Challa was the better fighter, regardless of Asha's lethal abilities, because he practiced more and had super strength and speed. He knew all of Asha's moves and how to respond while it seemed she could never keep up with him. If he was being honest, these sessions were more for Asha than him.

After letting Asha win twice and beating her once, T'Challa let her fall back on the training floor to rest.  

"That was good, you are getting better," he offered as he sat on a bench next to her. She envied him, she looked like she had just stepped out of a pool of her own sweat while he looked as if he could walk into a state dinner, perfectly unruffled despite fighting for 30 minutes.  

"Thanks," she nodded. 

"How are you? I meant to check in earlier this week, see how you are enjoying your work." 

"The work is good T'Challa. I enjoy it. Everything is good," she responded lightly, hoping that would be enough to end the line of questioning she was sure was forming on his lips. 

They hadn't really spoken since the drama at the state dinner the week prior and she had been kind of avoiding him to keep it that way. She did not want to talk to anyone about this but something felt especially odd about going to her older brother about her love life. She knew T'Challa had his way, she would be single forever so no one could hurt her.

"Asha..."

She turned her head away from him, recognizing that tone. He was descending into full big brother mode, desiring to talk about her feelings and fix whatever problems he thought plagued her. Asha knew he meant well and he tried, but most of her problems... he actually couldn't fix. And this one would be no different.

"Talk to me. Everything is not good. You are not ok. You are different, we can all see it. Don't keep it all bottled up." 

Asha sighed, wiping the sweat off her forehead with the towel next to her.

"If I could explain it, T'Challa, I would." 

"Try... for me. As long as it takes." 

"Before I went to Jabariland, the idea of leaving this palace terrified me. You know how resistant I was to take on this role in the first place. All I could think of is Baba saying that I was dangerous and all the ways I could hurt or kill people. And so, staying here, being a good princess and marrying Hasani... it was prison but it was a comfortable one. Over time, the chains hurt less... the frustration faded and I learned to love and appreciate the life I had. It was not the best but it was enough." 

"But then you experienced something different?" He offered. 

Asha looked at him, appreciating that he was giving her the opening to admit the one thing she thought she had to keep secret to spare his feelings. 

"But then I experienced something different," she echoed. "Thanks to you, by the way," she nudged him playfully. "Something life-changing. He pushed me to the edge and made me rethink everything I had thought about my powers before. Made me see beauty in the flowers where I only saw weeds. And then on top of that... I-I fell in love with him. So fast and hard like I jumped off a cliff. And then I came back here and... reality just hit me like a rhino. I am forced to hide... cannot have the man I love. I j-just don't know how much longer I can do this."

"Do what?" T'Challa asked, pained by his sister speaking so despondently and knowing there was little he could do to help her.

"This," she whispered, gesturing at her hands. "Pretending to be something I am not, hiding the one thing that makes me unique. Every day I get up and I put these rings on and head down to my office, I realize that this is it. All I have to look forward to for the rest of my days is Hasani and a life in the darkness. It will never be enough. Just doesn't seem like much of a life to me anymore."

Asha stared at the wall across from them, a painting of Bast on the training room wall, while T'Challa stared at her profile. The two just sat there for a while, not saying anything at all, as T'Challa thought over what Asha said. It was not that he didn't want to say anything, he just couldn't think of anything appropriate. What do you say to someone who no longer thinks their future is worth it?  

"What can I do?" he settled on. 

He was a fixer, he could help her fix this and forge a path forward.

She offered him a sad smile, "I am not sure there is anything you can do, brother." 

"Nonsense, I am king," he boasted, causing the two to share a laugh. 

"Even kings have limitations, just like the rest of us." She stood up, holding out her hand to pull her brother to his feet. "Come, let us go to bed. There is so much to be done before the start of the festival this weekend."  

T'Challa nodded, knowing she was ending the conversation to avoid talking about it. He knew he would not sleep when he returned to his bed, instead he would be thinking of how to give his sister freedom, true freedom, no matter the cost.

****

"Did T'Challa tell you what this was about?" Shuri asked as they briskly walked down to the throne room, after being alerted of an emergency council meeting. 

"No. We were training together last night, he never mentioned needing to gather the council early. I asked Nakia, she said he didn't mention it to her either. You would think he would trust his most trusted advisor though? Titles mean less and less around here every day," Asha joked. 

She and Shuri shared a laugh as they entered and settled in their seats, finding most of the council already assembled. 

Their mother walked in followed by T'Challa, who looked grim and exhausted. She shared a confused and concerned look with her sister as they all did the customary salute before directing her attention back to her brother. She was so concerned that she didn't even have much time to lament over M'Baku who was sitting across from her. 

"Thank you all for coming on such short notice. I realize this is unorthodox but this could not wait. I was up for most of the night, thinking and praying about the future of this nation. After deep prayer with Bast, I realized I can no longer sit by while injustice runs rampant within our borders. That is why I will be announcing the repeal of the Mutant Regulation Laws at the Festival of Bast on Sunday, effective immediately." 

There was a beat of silence before shouts and anger erupted among the group as his words settled in the room like fog. The shouts overlapping rants of her mother, Elder Shani and two others were incoherent to Asha as they shouted at her brother. She was still trying to formulate a simple thought, his words were bouncing around in her mind but were having trouble truly sticking. Once she emerged from the shock of shock, she couldn't have been happier, repealing those laws would change so much for people like her. 

The Mutant Regulation Laws were a set of laws, initially enacted by Asha's grandfather and expanded by King T'Chaka, that attempted to limit mutants movements in the country and to limit the increase of the mutant population. The only people excluded from the laws since their inception were the Jabari.

As far as the public knew, the purpose of the laws were to protect citizens from enhanced individuals. The act stipulated that all mutants had to register with the government and general rules to limit the use of their powers, such as forbidding them in public spaces. This registry was first enacted in response to what her grandfather believed was an exponential increase in the mutant population across the four tribes.

The laws were divisive no doubt, like all controversial things. Many loved them, advocated for further expansions, feeling safe knowing that mutants could not inflict their powers on everyone else. The less vocal half, though, saw them as something that made them no better than the discrimination colonizers around the globe subjected their people to. However, only the Royal family knew the truth, that her father's reasoning for expanding the law had little to do with safety and everything to do with his fragile ego. 

As she got older, Asha quickly realized that her father didn't hate mutants because they were dangerous or threatened his country. He hated them simply because they were born with powers he had to win combat to get, powers he had to be deemed worthy for and earn. While they just woke up with them one day, having done no real work to deserve them. As the mantle of Black Panther and title of King caused his ego to grow, he grew equally paranoid that one day, mutants would begin to believe they were the ones actually chosen by Bast and invalidate the legacy of the Black Panther. As the population of mutants grew year after year, his paranoia that he would lose his title of King and Protector grew with it. Soon, a registry to merely keep track of the population was not enough. Soon, he launched a campaign to ensure mutants were the lowest rung on Wakanda's social order. Soon, the registry turned into laws to limit their abilities and resources funding research to find a cure for their affliction. 

In the previous council meeting, M'Baku had echoed the sentiments of half the country... that the policies were regressive and a dark stain on Wakanda. But Wakandans were humans, just like those on the other side of their borders. After being fed enough ammunition, people can be conditioned to hate anyone. 

T'Challa raised his hand to silence the group, adding, "Lord M'Baku was right, this is not the Wakanda Bast promised her people, at least not for everyone. Not for enhanced individuals, who are just as deserving of the same respect and opportunities as the rest of us. The Jabari and their enhanced people have lived in peace for centuries. We can do the same here." 

"Have you lost your mind??" Ramonda asked furiously from her seat next to her son. "That law is part of your father's legacy!" 

"Baba was a great king, but that does not mean he was always right. And on this, I feel he was wrong." 

"Half of your country sleeps peacefully because of those laws," Elder Shani cried, pointing out the large window at the city below. "Sleep peacefully knowing lethal people cannot murder them or hurt them with no thought. What would you say to those people?" 

"Yes and half the country sleeps less peacefully knowing that with all our technology and opportunities and advancement, we are no better than the colonizers who discriminate against people for their race or gender or sexuality. It is not right," Nakia interjected.

"You will end your father's legacy in one day. You will destroy everything he has built, the tribe and country he has created."

"The tribe and legacy he built on the backs of a brother he murdered, a child he abandoned and rampant discrimination of his people! Would that be such a bad thing?" Asha argued quietly, drawing the group's attention (and subsequently, their anger) toward her. 

She almost balked at the looks her mother and Elder Shani gave her but when she looked passed them, she was met with a reassuring and encouraging nod from M'Baku that empowered her to press forward. 

"This is a good thing," she asserted, shoulders squared and head held high.

"Of course you would think so," Elder Shani sneered. "I am sure you were the one that forced him to do this. People like you are destroying our country."

The room fell silent as the other elders stared shocked at their fellow member, seemingly surprised at her very vocal and unwarranted disrespect toward a member of the Royal Family. 

"Elder Shani! Princess Asha is royal advisor to the King, our princess. Apologize at once!" Elder M’Kathu exclaimed.

"I shall do no such thing! The only thing that makes her worthy to sit before us is that crown on her head... her title. She is beneath me, beneath all of us," she spat at Asha, staring at her with such contempt. 

Asha sat rigid in her chair as her future mother-in-law threw her vitriol at her. Asha wondered if this was how out-of-body experiences felt. She could so very clearly see where this train was going, see how her life's secret was about to implode before her eyes in a manner of moments but she could not direct her mouth to say a word or her limbs to move. She just sat, paralyzed and silent, unable to save herself or stop the train that was about to carry her whole family off a cliff. 

"Elder Shani... I would think about what is at stake before you say another word to or about my sister," T'Challa threatened, his voice low and deadly. 

For a split-second, the room saw it - a king no longer sat before them, the Black Panther did. For most, this would have been enough to slam on the brakes and beg for forgiveness. But it seemed Elder Shani was done, tired of pretending to respect someone she felt was beneath her, tired of keeping a secret for a person she despised. And her hate would not be outweighed by her greed any longer, she clearly couldn't take it.

"I told your father! I told him, warned him of the damage you and your affliction would cause him. Even from the grave, you destroy him and taint his legacy. Your kind... your disease destroyed him and it will lead to the end of Wakanda! You are a threat to us all." She took a deep breath before continuing, "Princess Asha is a mutant! The Panther Tribe has been hiding it, lying to their people for decades. Hiding her and t-this abomination from us all! And now she has our King under some spell, convinced him to uproot all the safety and security we have worked so hard to build."

As she spoke, Asha could feel rage rising in her body. It was steady, slowly building with every word that fell from Shani's lips as she spewed her hate and vitriol for all to hear. She tried to calm herself, control her breathing and emotions as she sat there, push them back down so she could get through the night. But it was proving to be impossible. The metal bars of her panther's cage were meaningless, being torn apart like pieces of paper as her emotions reached their peak. 

"That is enough! Take her away!" T'Challa stood before her, directing the Dora to come and escort Elder Shani from the room. 

Asha held her head in her hands as she took sharp, shallow breaths. Her whole body shook as she tried her hardest to not lose it in front of her family and the remaining members of the council. 

"Asha." 

She heard Shuri's voice and felt her hand on her shoulder causing her to jump up. Everyone seemed to back away from her immediately, causing Asha to notice the smoke and small flickers of flames erupting from her hands. The rings around her fingers were completely useless as the flames continued to grow steadily. Asha could only recall one moment in her life when she felt this out of control, the day her brother “died.” 

She got up and backed away to put some distance between her and the rest of the group. 

"Stay back!" she yelled through her gasping breaths, holding her hand out and inadvertently causing flames to fly toward her family. 

The Dora around the room instinctively lifted their spears, the remaining elders fled to the opposite wall as far from her as possible. But her family remained where they were, M'Baku being the brave soul to ignore her direction and approach her, unbothered by the uncontrollable fire escaping her body. Fire that grew stronger and bigger as Elder Shani's words cycled through her brain nonstop, causing her despair and rage to grow. Years of ignoring her emotions, years of trauma and abuse were finally boiling over. Tonight was the final push off the cliff, she could not do this anymore.  

"Asha.. you have to calm down," M'Baku whispered, motioning for the rest of her family to stay behind him. 

He wished he could get her to look into his eyes but as he looked at her blood-red irises and the tears streaming down her face, he realized she looked without truly seeing. 

"You are none of those things. You are beautiful and powerful. You are not dangerous. Don't become what they fear you are."

She heard his voice, understood the words he was saying but she didn't believe them, not when 25 years of abuse cycled in her mind to counter it. She looked around the room and all she saw was fear, proof that her home, the place she loved would never truly accept her. Elder Shani proved that. She had freed her from hiding but she also ensured that Asha couldn't stay here anymore, not when people looked at her like what she always feared she was: a monster. 

She couldn't do it, wouldn't do it, didn't have the strength to subject herself to it any longer. This was her out and she was going to take it. She looked from her family to the window across from her. 

She didn't think about it, didn't consider the mechanics. She just tore herself from the wall she backed herself into and ran toward the window. Her body lifted off the floor into flight as she used a blast of fire to cause the glass to break open for her.

"Asha no! Come back, " she heard her sister call after her. 

She turned back and looked at them once as she used all the energy she could muster to fly away from her, her family, her home and her past for good. 

Night had fallen during the course of that meeting, giving Asha a nice cover so no one could see her flying overhead. She zoomed out of the dome quickly, her mind not even conjuring up a location or place to go. She just wanted as much distance between her life and her as possible, knowing she would run into the border at some point. 

The wind painfully whipped against her face, causing her eyes to blur so she could barely see where she was going. In her emotionally-heightened state, it proved difficult to sustain flight as she passed over the uninhabited forests of Wakanda. As she tried to sort through the wreckage that was her life, she could not concentrate on her task, which caused her to lose height or speed every few minutes. And it just became harder and took more energy to accelerate and regain the height she lost every time she had to refocus. 

This cycle lasted for about 20 minutes before she had to reckon with this hastily made choice. She had no idea where she was or if she was even still in Wakanda, all she saw for miles were forest. She figured she must still be in the country, she couldn't fly that fast. In a short time, the explosive anger that coursed through her in the throne room was long gone, replaced with very real fear. Fear that taking an impromptu flight with no direction, after only one lesson, and without telling one living soul where she was headed was the worst decision she had ever made. 

She realized soon that she had no choice but to turn around and pray to Bast that she could sustain flight enough to get back to civilization. This was not sustainable and she knew it. She frantically looked around for a landmark in the trees, anything that looked familiar and could provide her a spot to rest before finishing the journey. She spotted the temple by the Garden of the Heart-Shaped Herb, silently thanking Bast and deciding that it would be as good of a spot as any to catch her breath. She headed in that direction. However, like a real fire reaching its end, Asha could see her internal fire slowly dying out. 

"No don't do this, we are almost there," she begged herself as the fire encompassing her hands and feet started to die away as well. 

Her mind felt cloudy and it was a struggle to keep her eyes open. Before she knew it, her eyes fell closed, her fire having died out completely, and her body fell gracefully from the sky before thudding in a small clearing in the forest at the foot of the Temple of Bast. 

****

@destinio1 @muse-of-mbaku @missmohnique @jellybean531 @afrolatinpami @leahnicole1219 @archivistofwakanda

[cagestark]

-Proxy-

Chapter One | Chapter Two

Read here on AO3.

@starkerinthepark three words babe: fucking by proxy. 

Warnings: adult!Peter, sex, sex workers, natasha/peter, peter omc (but don’t worry, starker is endgame always). 

-

“Mr. Stark?” Peter asks.

It pulls Tony from his work, head coming up to blink owlishly at the kid. Peter sits at a table across the room, textbooks from his classes at NYU spread out along the table littered with pencils and papers, though it has all been pushed aside so the kid can plant his elbow on the table and lean on it, staring off into space (the space that just happens to be in Tony’s general direction). “What is it, Pete?”

“When did you have your first kiss?”

Tony thinks, stretching his mind back. “I was twelve. So, ’82, ’83.”

“Twelve?”

“What?”

“Well, isn’t that a little young?”

Tony smiles wryly. “I did everything a little young. You could say I was quite—ah—advanced for my age. Why?”

“I still haven’t had mine.”

Tony shrugs. He hunches back over and pick up the soldering pen, nudging the blazing tip at the copper wires. His hands are shaking, something about the kid’s admission. He’s nineteen years old, and still no first kiss? Tony’s no judge of normality, but it does seem a little delayed. Still, he’s not one to shame someone else for their sexual activities (or lack thereof). “Everyone moves at their own pace, kid. I don’t know what to tell you.”

“I feel like I’m missing out,” Peter admits. He picks up a pencil and twirls it between his long fingers—why is Tony watching the kid’s hands when he’s holding a goddamn soldering iron? God, Tony’s distractible mind is going to get him burned. Literally. Worse: figuratively. “Everyone at university talks about their hook-ups and stuff. It sounds like…”

“Like?” Tony prods. Just like how he prods the wires.

“Like I’m missing out.”

“On sex.”

Peter’s face flushes—look down, Tony, Christ. “I mean—yeah? But I’m so far away from that. Like, so, so far. I mean, I did kiss a girl once, but it was like—” Peter puckers his lips, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. Tony is obliged to look, he contents himself with that knowledge. Freckles dust the kid’s nose, and he looks so painfully childish. It’s endearing, even if it makes some part of his stomach churn, like he’s swallowed one too many cocktails made of one-part perversion and two parts disgust. Shaken, not stirred.

“Find a girl—”

“Or guy,” Peter chimes, helpfully.

“Or a guy—or a non-binary babe, and french them. That’s all it takes.”

“Believe it or not, not many people are jumping at the chance to like, make out with me, Mr. Stark,” Peter mutters. He twirls the pencil too much and it slips from between his fingers and skids off the table. Smooth.

Tony sits down the soldering pen. He studies the kid—hard. Peter has clear skin for a boy still clinging to his teen years. His eyes are gold like a glass of whiskey left to sit in the sunshine, the brows flat and a little unruly. He’s got curls which are adorable. All in all, a very sincere and baby-faced young man. Tony can see why the girls and boys at university might not look at the kid and want to jump into bed with him. The priorities of young people these days are different.

Jesus, Tony sounds like an old man. He feels like an even older (dirtier) old man when he thinks about how those things don’t change Peter’s attractiveness to him at all. The face might be babyish, but the jawline is cut. He knows from sparring in the gym and passing each other in the Avengers’ locker room that the kid has an eight-pack that most people his age would kill for. Beyond all that, he knows Peter, knows the kid’s heart, the generosity, the warmth, the bravery.

“Most people are stupid,” Tony says much too honestly. “Anyone would be lucky to be with you, Pete.”

Peter’s face lights up. Tony scrambles for the soldering pen. He needs all the excuses he can get to avoid looking at that handsome, joyful face. Peter asks: “Do you mean that? I mean, do you really think so?”

Tony makes a noise that he hopes conveys everything reasonable and acceptable that the kid wants to hear.

“I just think if I had some practice, I don’t know, maybe I could reel someone in.”

“If I look up and you’re really pretending to reel in a fishing rod, I’m going to throw you out of my lab,” Tony mutters, squinting at the wires. When he glances up, it’s just in time to see Peter lowering his hands demurely to his lap, eyes far too wide for him to have been doing anything but pretending so. Tony shakes his head, snorting. “You’ve found the paradox. To attract somebody, you need practice. To practice, you need somebody. The absolute woes—Thank God I’m not nineteen anymore.”

“You’re Tony Stark,” Peter says, and Tony can hear him rolling his eyes just from the tone of his voice. “I doubt you had any of these troubles when you were nineteen. Or, like, ever.”

Tony’s lips fight not to smile. “You might be right. Okay, so, attraction. Practice. Let’s brainstorm some solutions—”

“Do you think Steve would kiss me?”

Okay—Tony burns himself. The wound cauterizes instantly at least, which is nice, but it stings like a son of a bitch. Tucking the throbbing thumb into his mouth, he shuts down the soldering pen because obviously he can’t be trusted around both Peter and dangerous machinery. The words Peter spoke bang around in his head like a quarter in a washing machine.

“Steve who?” Tony asks.

Peter presses his thin lips together. He drops his eyes to the pencil he’d retrieved from the floor, twirling it anxiously between his fingers. “You know. Steve—um—Cap-Captain America?”

“You want to make out with Captain America.”

“Or Thor. I could do Thor—kiss Thor! Oh my god. I could kiss Thor.”

“Am I in a fever dream?” Tony asks. He makes a show of pinching himself. “FRIDAY, am I have a stroke?”

“Not that I can detect, boss,” his girl says, unhelpfully.

“Well find me a stroke, FRI, so that I can have it. ASAP.”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter groans, dropping his face into his hands. “Stop. You’re making fun of me.”

“Making—? I’m not making fun of you. This is me being traumatized at the thought of Steve doing anything more PG than holding hands.”

“I just—I thought maybe a more experienced person—friend, I mean. I thought maybe they’d be willing to help me out. You know. Take one for the team.” The kid looks so miserable that Tony feels his heart squeeze. With that look on his face, Peter could ask anything of him, and Tony would bend over backwards, alter timelines, break his own moral code to give it to him.

But Peter didn’t ask him.

“Kid. Peter—I’m sorry. You’re right. It’s a good idea, I think. But Steve probably doesn’t have as much experience as you’d like, and Thor is on Asgard. We’re only supposed to summon him under threat of galactic peril.”

The intensity of Peter’s stare makes Tony feel like there’s a joke he’s missing out on. It isn’t a feeling he’s privy too, often, and thank God he’s not, because it makes his skin prickle uncomfortably. “Well then what are my other options, Mr. Stark?” Peter asks, eyes wide and guileless.

Tony swallows. “Let me—give me ten minutes.”

-

“I don’t know whether to be offended or honored,” Natasha says, lounging on Tony’s sofa. She’s dressed in casual clothes, a t-shirt maybe best for sparring, yoga pants and fuzzy socks, because she always has cold feet. Always. She looks beautiful, stunning, sensual in the lazy way she lays against the dark leather, but Tony knows that’s just instinct to her. It’s not for his benefit.

Peter stands behind Tony, one hand tangled into his curls and tugging on them anxiously.

“Can I make a suggestion?” Tony says. “Because I’d say honored—I mean—”

“Stop talking, Tony,” she says, lips twitching.

“I would,” says Tony. “But I really do want to explain my choice to Peter.”

Natasha waves a hand magnanimously, even as her eyebrows raise, the picture of honed skepticism.

“Pete, we’ve got a handful of Avengers on the continent, so Natasha immediately gets a point for proximity. She’s—and I swear to God, under threat of torture I will deny having said this—but she’s got the biggest heart of all of us. Even if she says no, I knew she wouldn’t laugh you out of house and home, and she wouldn’t spread it around for gossip’s sake. Also, I have it on good authority that Natasha has never been bad at anything in her life, so more than likely, she’s going to suck your brain out from between your teeth.”

“If she says yes,” Peter says.

After which, they both turn toward her. She looks surprisingly moved (let it be known that Tony can give quite the stirring speech when moved to). Behind her pale eyes, Tony can see the cogs of her brain churning, always churning. Her glance flickers between them several times, and her lips are curving, curving, and Tony has a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach—

“You’ve overlooked one thing,” Natasha says.

“What’s that?”

She flicks a finger at Tony. “You have the Avenger most skilled orally right there. Why isn’t Tony helping you?”

It’s—yeah. It’s worse than Tony imagined it could be. Not that it isn’t a question he hasn’t asked himself twenty times during the brief call he made asking her to meet them up in his penthouse. Behind him, Peter makes a noise that Tony can’t translate from teenager to English. It sounds a little horrified which shouldn’t offend Tony as much as it does. Then again, Tony feels a lot of things for Peter that he shouldn’t these days.

“Because he didn’t ask me,” Tony says. Let the room make of that what it will. Everyone holds their breath, a stare-down of epic proportions taking place, a duel with no guns, they’ve met at high noon outside the saloon doors and all Tony wants to do is hop on his horse and ride off into the painted sunset. But he can’t. Because Peter asked for his help, and he can’t tell the kid no.

“Alright,” Natasha says at length. She shifts to the farthest couch cushion and pats the space next to her. “Come here, Peter.”

Peter looks far younger than his age of nineteen when he crosses the room, one shoe untied, wearing a graphic tee and skinny jeans, face redder than Tony’s suit. He’s wringing his hands even as he sits down on the couch cushion, deciding that he’s too far away and scooting closer only to second guess himself and scoot back again. The space between them is probably enough for Tony to sit—and okay, not a mental image he needs.

“Lesson one,” Natasha says seriously. “Good oral hygiene.”

“I—I figured the first lesson would be something like, don’t be nervous.”

She stares at him flatly. “You’re always going to be nervous. That lessens with 1. practice. 2. security with your partner. And 3. good oral hygiene. Does my breath stink? Can they taste what I had for lunch? Those are the last thoughts you want to be thinking when you’re trying to kiss someone. Brush regularly, and if you can, always carry gum.”

“I don’t have any gum,” Peter admits.

Natasha smiles, soft and indulging. “I do, don’t worry.”

She and Peter each takes a stick of peppermint gum, and when Natasha holds the pack out to him too, eyes glittering (“What,” she says. “It’d be rude not to offer you some as well.”) Tony realizes that it’s a little preposterous: his presence here. They don’t need him. Peter might even be more nervous with Tony watching, if the looks the kid keeps shooting him are any indication. Tony should leave. He should definitely leave.

He sits in the armchair, tucking the gum wrapper into the back pocket of his jeans.

While they chew, they make awkward small talk. Peter dodges any questions about who he might be trying to learn kissing techniques for, Tony dodges any question that make might him reveal his proclivity for the young man on the sofa, and Natasha looks like she knows everything, lips tilted upwards into a perpetual smirk. At last they all spit out their gum (not Tony, because Tony isn’t going to be kissing anyone, certainly not kissing Peter, thanks).

“Breath nice and fresh, now. Guaranteed. See how that’s one thing off your mind, now?”

Peter does look more noticeably upbeat. “Yes, you’re right. Thanks, Ms. Romanov.”

“You can call me Natasha, Peter. We’re going to get rather close. Now come here—” She urges Peter closer until their thighs are pressed together, and then their knees when she encourages him to turn towards her. “Lesson two, where to put your hands.”

She takes his hand—Peter has very nice hands, thin, fine boned, dexterous, so soft looking—and turning his hand to be palm up, cups her jaw with it. Peter’s fingers disappear back into her hair, and his thumb rests along the smooth skin of her cheek. Peter is holding his breath. Tony can tell, because Tony can’t take his eyes off of him.

“This is a good place to start with. It’s nice to touch your partner when kissing them, because it makes you feel more present, it makes the moment more intimate. There are—other—places you could touch them, but this one is nice and sweet and unlikely to offend someone if you’re still feeling each other out. Okay?”

Peter nods, head bobbing furiously. Tony might be holding his breath too. Who knows. Not him.

“Lesson three: caution and adaptation. You can’t hurt anything by starting off slow. You can always turn up the heat, but it isn’t as easy to dial it down, especially if you come on so strong that you turn your partner off. Listen to their cues—most people will unconsciously try to tell you want they want.

“Are you ready for the practical?”

“I—” Peter swallows. He glances at Tony, who can do nothing but shrug. “Yeah. Let’s—do it.”

Natasha matches Peter’s hold on her, reaching out to dip the tips of her fingers into those curls, to run her fingers along the strong line of his jaw and Tony finally feels it: the sourness in his stomach of jealousy, the aching desperation to be in her place. He wraps up all those emotions and tucks them into a trunk in the back of his mind, closes the trunk, and loses the key. Hopefully.

Slowly but firmly, Natasha draws them together. She kisses Peter. Their heads slant naturally to the right, and the first press is soft and chaste. They part just a hairsbreadth and then kiss again, this time their mouths just barely parted. Tony catches a flash of pink tongue (almost assuredly Natasha’s), and then Peter makes a noise from the back of his throat: a tender little whine that makes Tony swallow.

He can’t help but glance down and—oh. The kid is hard. There’s no hiding the bulge in his skinny jeans. To be honest, Tony can hardly blame him: he’s feeling a little tingly down south himself, mostly after that sweet sound the young man made. It backs up theoretical data Tony has already been compiling (from when the kid groans when he eats something particularly tasty at the Avengers’ communal dinner table to when he whines when Ned beats him at a video game on the console Tony had made for them). What Tony is compiling that data for is—confidential.

Now that he’s noticed the kid’s erection, his eyes can’t help but bounce between it and the sensuality of Peter’s kiss with Natasha. Tongue is obviously involved now: their mouths are open, cheeks hollow, and Natasha reaches up to coax Peter’s hand back towards her hair where he tangles his fingers in it, pulling her closer until she has to kneel up to avoid falling right on the kid’s lap.

She parts long enough to say, “Don’t forget to breath.”

The kid is panting, nodding furiously, already pressing back to her mouth. This time Tony catches a hint of his tongue and has to look pointedly above their heads for several long moments to collect himself. It almost doesn’t work, not with the soft sensual wet sounds that come from their mouths. How the fuck did Tony get himself in this situation, practically pimping out the young man who he is far too emotionally and physically and spiritually and intellectually (and all the other lly’s) interested in?

His life is ridiculous.

He looks back at them.

He can’t stop watching.

Natasha takes the kid lower lip onto her mouth and sucks on it. Peter’s eyelashes flutter, chest hitching. The bulge at the crotch of his jeans twitches. But ever the good student, he then tries the same move on her, taking that full lower lip into his mouth and suckling, then his lips draw back just a little and Tony sees teeth—he is biting her lip, and Natasha’s mouth curves just a little into a smile. When they pull apart, their mouths are wet and red. Peter is panting, and Natasha’s hair is mussed.

Tony is barely managing to keep from being hard.

“How was that, Pete?” Nat asks.

“I guess I should be asking you,” Peter says, sound more than a little breathless. “Did I do okay? Any tips, pointers, criticism? Compliments?”

Natasha laughs. Tony thinks it might be an honest-to-God laugh, one that bubbles up from somewhere inside her chest. He can’t help but smile at the sound of it, at the way it makes Peter duck his head, press one palm to his mouth to disguise his smile. Natasha reaches out and pulls his head to her bosom, giving Tony a look over his head that says, how fucking precious is he?

Tony rolls his eyes.

Pretty fucking precious.

- Tag list: @flowersandteeth @starkeroverload @prettyboy-parker @metametalina @st-arker @darkobsidianquill @typing123 @ironspiidey @i-don’t-know-what-this-is @thefaultinourstarker @livingbutnotalivex3 @starkerparadise @anyabxrns @fedupdadtm @alanaaw88 @idntwantausername @softstarkerstuff @kiaorastarker @thirsty-for-starker @thotticusmaxximus @sadbumblingmess @kawaiioverofanimu @katzenbaby1 @css1992 @99stark @spn-samifer @gimme-the-filthy-hcs @inmyfeelxngs @bros-before-ghosts @wandering-night19 @twixen93 @yeahishipthatsowhat @lonleystarker @nanibanani10 @deliciousflapbanditfarm @another-starker-hoe @von--gelmini @babyboy-peterparker @petertonytomrobert @goodtimesstarker @bshamm @nemeiel @audreyintheuniverse @silkystark @iamastarkerfan @issuffering @superpaperclip @idliketoleavenow

Tips welcome at my kofi. <3

[derekscorner]

When relevancy goes too far

Relevancy is a bit of a complex topic the more you think about it. How far do you push it? Which parts of a story are needed to know the other? How should something define the follow up? These questions have widely different answers depending on the person and especially depending on format.

Hell, if you wish to nit pick it further, even the series in question is a factor. Some series’ thrive on whats done while others drown in their own scripts. I believe Kingdom Hearts is one of the latter.

That said, I am not someone who hates KH’s expanded stories simply for existing. The “side games” in of themselves aren’t bad nor is the idea of using such things to expand a world. The same could be said for game novels or comics in my opinon.

However, these things can be a slippery slope or a lazy exist. For example, Assassin’s Creed threw out it’s whole Juno arc into a comic just to get it out of the way which completely shattered my investment.

In turn, Nomura himself isn’t at fault for as much as we bash him for. Something he’s admitted himself as seen here;

So, the new Days is one of the three titles announced in the Autumn of 2007 as new projects in the KH series.

Nomura: Those three titles were all announced at the same time, but in reality the opportunities for the projects were raised in a disjointed way. Birth by Sleep is a project that was raised within our company, but Days is from Nintendo, and coded is from Disney, so we started by talking to each of them.

-source <--Link btw

And anyone that’s read interviews out of curiosity will know that there’s also factors like how ‘Birth By Sleep’ was shifted from PS2 to PSP or that ‘Chain of Memories’ wasn’t a planned title either. (seen here)

So if these things aren’t inherently bad or planned that begs the question of why it’s a problem here? At least in my opinion of the series.

The answer is simple and it lies solely on Nomura’s shoulders for it as a fault, relevancy. The man goes out of his way to make each and every game, concert, or otherwise is attached to the series in some meaningful way going forward.

Naturally, any expanded media is tied to the main narrative in some way. I know this, I am not that foolish. The problem is that Nomura makes them plot relevant going forward.

These titles can’t be true “side games” because they dictate the story going forward in some way. It’s for this reason the more radical fans hate to hear the terminology “side game” to begin with.

This problem was especially bad for years because of how spread out the series became among other gaming systems. And while some like to say it’s fine now due to the collection discs I dont think this will last long given the “phase 2″ images released for KH’s near future.

Hell, I’d even argue this problem isn’t even fixed in truth because the current KH story involving Foretellers, Luxu, and so on is all things spun from a mobile game. Yes, you have to sit through scenes on YT or play a mobile game to fully grasp that cat creature (Chirithy) you saw in KH3.

Naturally, it’s much easier to watch the scenes on YT these days but that also feeds into the loop of not paying for the game itself. I personally see no issue with it but companies are much worse in recent years for shutting down Youtube channels over loose definition of “piracy”.

No game series is worth several consoles. Of course, I’m just speaking from experience, with KH now on the Xbox this may be a moot point in a few years.

I am rambling, off track, lets focus. “Why is this an issue?” is what you’ve read this far for me to explain. The biggest issue with this poor decision making is how it harms the main narrative you’re telling.

For comparison, look at Sora in KH3. He’s often confused by people he doesn’t remember meeting or events he doesn’t remember nor took part in. This is roughly close to what it would be like for someone that’s only played KH1, 2, and 3.

Sora has that same level of insight including what he was told about others like Roxas or Aqua but other characters in-game. This feeds into KH’s misconceived air of complexity.

Kingdom Hearts, as a story, isn’t that complex. It has deeper themes it throws to the wayside but it is easy to follow if you play most games in some form. This ties back into how the series was handled up until the PS4/KH3.

Ever want to know who Roxas was in KH2? Well you had to play Days or you can sit through that horribly boring 3 hour movie on the Remix disc. Even then, the Roxas you see in Days wont be like the one in KH2.

Wish to know who Xehanort was? Play Birth by Sleep! All three campaigns with little variance. Then once you’re done get ready to sit on YT or download a phone app and play Kingdom Hearts Dark Road.

The Foretellers, Luxu, or the Master of Masters? That’s another set of hours, if not days, with the KH Union X Cross, KH Dark Road, and should you choose you can even watch the Back Cover movie which answers nothing at all but shows you the Foretellers in Kh3 graphical glory.

You wish to know how Namine knew who The Lingering Will was? Well dig up a fan translation of a script the Japanese voice cast read for a music concert event. (yes that happened)

You can see where this is going I assume and this is just scratching the surface by the way. You wish to know the finer details like Keyblade types, the inconsistent time traveling, “recompletion”, and so on then be prepared to read word of god interviews, in-game dictionaries/journals and always be ready for a few to change.

Whether it’s a true retcon or just an ambiguous statement, the series is ongoing, Nomura heads the ship, and he is by no means obligated to stick to previous statements if he can make a new one to alter those events.

Then again, holding too much weight in words said outside the game itself is a faulty way of doing things that most fans (like me) have fallen victim too at least once.

At the same time, all of these things are relevant by Nomura’s decision. Sure, the remixes have fixed this to a degree but it’s anyone’s guess for how long. Better yet, at what cost did the remixes fix anything?

The best example of what I mean is Coded. It was originally a game for phones. At the time, only Japan had a phone capable of playing it. Feeling that a shame the game later found it’s way to the DS for all fans to play.

At this point in time Coded was the only true example of a “side story”. It was by no means necessary. The whole datascape plot was more convoluted than it needed to be despite data!Sora being far better than the original at this point, and easy to miss.

But...well that was good. The DS version of Coded was fun as hell to play. The only version of the “command deck system” I’d consider worth any semblance of praise. It did it’s job of getting some level of fans invested such as my friend @blackosprey​ and it’s story was missable.

You did not need to play Coded to understand Dream Drop Distance or further. This was perfect. This is what games like Days, KH Chi/UX, 0.2, and DDD should’ve been.

Games that reached out to grab new people, games that played around, and games that expanded on the main narrative without dictating it’s direction. A side game is something that exists alongside or outside your main story.

However this isn’t what we got. 0.2 A Fragmentary Passage was a short sequel to BBS but also a pretty tech demo for KH3. Dream Drop Distance was there to show the real Sora that people needed help and to show us that Xehanort was back.

KH Chi was a browser game meant to show the Keyblade War and how it shaped Sora’s era. Now it’s an ongoing curse on the series with time traveling plot that affected KH3 directly.

Coded was made into a movie you needed to sit through thanks to one small newly added scene. Days lost many small interactions it’s fans loved in the transition to a movie that is hard to sit through.

I’ve also heard KHDDD and 0.2 were “shaved off” KH3 in a sense to be their own titles...this...this makes so little sense.

Nomura calls KH “Sora’s story” but this is a lie. If it truly was Sora’s story then your main narrative would be BBS, KH1, CoM, 2, and the original combined form of KH3. That’s the titles he’s relevant, those are the titles he stops Xehanort’s plans.

These other titles could’ve been so fun but none of them were truly allowed to breath and be themselves. They were weakened and limited by Nomura deciding to prop the ongoing story upon them like they’re stilts.

Then as a result you can’t close out KH3 without resolving all of these other events and characters which drags it’s own story down. KH3 feels all over the place because it is. It’s trying to tie as many knots as it can from threads created in titles that were way more relevant then they needed to be.

Kh3 can be seen as a clean break for many but I see it as a matter of time. KHUX and now KHDR are still there casting a shadow, dictating what comes next. Melody of Memory is one of several games planned for an unknown but hopefully more thought out direction.

I worry I haven’t explained what I meant well enough but moral of my story is that making things too relevant hurts not only your main story but these new stories you wish to explore.

You can’t have a story and it’s cast breath if you’re tying a knot of mythos too tightly around their necks and this is a tragedy to me. KH began life with such potential but it constantly holds itself back because so few entries into it’s story are truly just an entry.

And I am not saying games can’t follow up one another nor that they shouldn’t. What’s needed is a clear idea and some breathing room. A good example would be to save people in Days with the game DDD. DDD could’ve wiped away some clutter to focus on the final Xehanort battle in a sense.

Nomura has a huge problem with wanting connectivity without letting games be connected by the name alone. It’s like he wants to do the opposite of what Final Fantasy has done but to detrimental results.

This harms so much but worst of them it hurts development. Because Days was made so important, we had a movie made. Because Coded was elevated, a movie was made. Because the keyblade war was so popular, Union Cross was made.

The Remixes would’ve been better to consolidate lore not waste time trying to appease every whim. KH’s relevancy is a huge problem and I doubt it’ll stop any time soon.

[whumpfish]

Traumatic Haircut for @badthingshappenbingo with a side of Shaky Hands for @whumptober2019 (no.1)

Avedis is an OC of mine. An offhand comment while smarting off to Ma’am comes back to bite her... or more accurately, to cut

---

Slowly, careful of her newly reassembled joints, Avedis pulled the last two remaining pins from the chignon at the back of her neck. The braid tumbled out of places, unrolling in a lumpy, misshapen line across her shoulder and off to the side. She pulled the tie from the end, and began disassembling it inches at a time, combing out the smaller knots with her fingers. As she unded the last of it, she shook her head slightly, let her hair fall like a curtain over the fresh bruises and electrical burns that covered her torso.

Her crew was still out there. The blockade wouldn’t last forever, and when Legion reinforcements arrived to break through it they would eventually send ground forces to seize Lawton, and the governor’s complex the warden’s estate was part of.  She had to be ready to be found, had to find some cover before curling up in a corner to sleep. Her hair, nearly to her waist, was a familiar shield, long enough to cover the most potentially distressing souvenirs so far…

The door banged open, and a too-bright light poured in. Avedis groaned, burying her face in one arm, retreating behind the curtain of her hair. Whoever it was, it was too early. Even if the next voice she heard was Maruh’s, hell, even if it was Sasha’s, she’d--

“Bright copper penny, was it?”

Not Maruh’s voice. Not Sasha’s, either. Ma’am’s.

“If you’re angry about being a dull iron pipe, I’ll let you be steel,” she said to the warden’s wife, her own voice still mostly a groan. “I suppose it’s only fair we get you up to code.”

“You will stand up.”

“I should hope so,” Avedis replied. She didn’t move. “I shall expedite your request as soon as it’s feasible. I’ll get my best man on it--”

“Now.”

“As the cause of my present difficulty, it doesn’t strike me that you’ve much room to complain about my pace at anything!” Avedis retorted, pushing herself up with an effort.

Two hands to the floor. Press. Add a knee. Grab the wall. Pull. Push. Pray.

She struggled to her feet, and was still leaning heavily against a wall once she’d made it there. “I’m on my feet. Now what?”

A lump of cloth hit her and she barely caught it before it fell. “You will put that on.”

Avedis’s lips curved upward in a bleak smirk. “Why? Afraid someone would mistake us for consenting adults?”

“Everyone here knows a convict’s body when they see one,” Ma’am snapped. “You’ll wear it because I told you to.”

Avedis leaned back against the wall and shook the garment out. It was a simple shift that would stop above the knee once on.

“Well, this suggests nothing to me.”

“Nor am I obligated to give you suggestions for your itinerary. You will put it on. No blood on the outside, or you may expect the usual penalty.”

Avedis carefully dropped the shift over her head. “Has Papa come home or something?”

There was no response except for the click-and-ratchet of handcuffs being opened. A cold bolt of terror ran up her spine, and she held up one hand, backing up one step along the wall. “No!”

Ma’am looked dangerously interested, and Avedis scoffed, quickly playing down her reaction.

“If this is just prisoner transport, I’ll walk. I know there’s nowhere to go.”

A gloating smile crossed Ma’am’s face. It galled Avedis that she was obliged to hide her peculiarity regarding wrist restraints in apparent surrender, but it was better than the alternative.

“Nowhere to go but Upstairs,” Ma’am clarified tauntingly. “Straight upstairs, Katherine 857. No shuffling, no dawdling--”

“No humming, no whistling,” Avedis mocked. “We are not a squeeze-box. Yes, yes, it’s all coming back now.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Katherine 857.”

Avedis kept up the brisk pace demanded, but still took note of everything around her. Strained to hear every snippet of conversation between anyone in a uniform as she was bustled through a hallway and into a staff elevator. Any nervousness or increase in the number of guards would be a sure sign of the blockade breaking. It was early to expect given the forces Varennes already had in place, but she was alert to the possibility, and more hopeful for it than she was entirely prepared to admit. But there were no signs yet; no promising chatter, no change in the guard staff.

Ma’am opened the door to the room at the end of the fourth floor hall that the Lucky Few knew simply as “Upstairs.” She stepped back, and a rifle barrel between Avedis’s shoulder blades prompted her to enter the room. 

“You will be seated,” Ma’am ordered, following her in. She dismissed the guard and closed the door, locking it.

Avedis hated the part of her that flinched at the sound. Hated the clench of her stomach and the spike in her heart rate. She sat down almost forcefully in the room’s only chair, determined to defy her fear if not Ma’am herself.

“Good girl.” Ma’am placed her ankles in the cuffs behind the front legs of the chair, then straightened and opened the velvet handbag. She pulled out a pair of shears.

Avedis hid the sudden surge of old terror she felt in a contemptuous snort. “I hope you’ve at least reviewed your knowledge of anatomy,” she said. “It’s not that I’m calling you ignorant, I just want to be certain you know how far down the femoral artery is on an adult. I know you’re used to torturing childr--”

The taunt was cut off as Ma’am seized a fistful of her hair, jerking her head back. “You’ve always thought you were clever, haven’t you? Hm? Better? Brighter? Pride--that’s your vice. Mongrels don’t deserve pride, as my misguided husband has never understood. Fortunately for us all, I know just how to relieve you of yours.”

“Odd, that’s what I planned to say to you when I leave.”

Ma’am laughed. “You’re not leaving.”

Avedis opened her mouth to tell her exactly how wrong that was, exactly who was the misguided one and whose pride was raging out of control at the moment, but all the words evaporated with the sound that came next.

Snip.

Ma’am’s hand extended in front of her and dropped a handful of her hair onto the floor. Indignation, shock and terror welled up in her. She wanted it to be anger instead, wanted to grow cold and quiet and deadly, and inform Ma’am that such a move could cost a person their life where she was from, caution her to choose her next move carefully. At the very least she wanted to twist around and slap the woman. But she was so frozen with shock that it was hard to even draw breath. She managed a struggling gasp as Ma’am seized another handful and pulled.

Snip.

At her sides, Avedis’s hands curled into fists, fingers digging into her palms. Ma’am once again extended her arm past Avedis’s shoulder, dropping another bundle of orange-gold hair to the floor. With a snarl, Avedis reached up suddenly, wildly, not sure what she would do if her fingers found Ma’am’s throat but frantically eager to find out.

A familiar sensation followed, albeit in an unfamiliar place: the twin sharp points of scissors, pressing into the back of her neck. “What was that you were asking about anatomy? I feel my knowledge is quite satisfactory… shall we test what I know of the spine?”

Avedis froze.

Ma’am chuckled. “I thought not. You will lower your hands.”

Hands shaking as much with rage and humiliation as with terror, Avedis complied. The point of the scissors left her neck.

Snip.

There was nothing for her outside the trembling of her fists spreading up her arms. No tears, no pain to trigger the mantra of you’re not hurting me that she had so long fallen back on. In fact, that was the entire problem. Ma’am wasn’t hurting her. She was hurting the people who found her, her brothers and sis...ters in arms. The Legion. Her comrades, her crew. (She knew where she was in time. Of course she did. Fort-eight hours wasn’t enough time to fully regress; that was absurd.)

Maruh, who’d come up in the Legion with her, who admired her and took every injury to her personally. Brace, the soul of empathy, an officer of fine feelings who she wouldn’t be surprised to see shed tears over such a devastating indignity. The rank and file of her crew, who relied on her, needed her strong after facing their own captivity. Avedis knew that she had a high threshold of pain, knew she could tolerate more than most. What was done to her was a secondary concern. What truly bothered her was how others reacted to her injuries.

Sasha had often criticized what he called her “antiquated ideas about morale” while stitching her up, but she hadn’t learned them in the Legion. The Legion commander she’d first served under had certainly reinforced them, but it was being one of the eldest in this childhood hell that had taught her that the lowest took courage from those above them, that any visible injury to those in command was also an injury to the collective spirit. She and her older stepsister had always hidden the worst of what was done to them in a curtain of undone hair in their rooms at the end of the day.

Ma'am jerked her head back again, and again the short metallic whisper of the shears sounded more centimetres from her right ear, cutting away her last line of defense. Cutting away her inherent power of reassurance, inspiration and authorities. Cutting away her ability to fulfill one of the simplest and most essential responsibilities as a commander.

Ma’am was wrong. Avedis would leave Upstairs with her pride intact. It hadn’t been destroyed, or even damaged much. It would take more, much more than this to put that in jeopardy.

Ma’am had taken something worse.