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fuckyeahharryhart · 5 years ago

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PART 6

THE ART OF SEDUCTION SEXY HARRY HART FANFIC

HARRY HART FAN FIC: (sing songs) smut, smut, smut! Inspired by Harry Hart and his glass of scotch. And also the one below of him in his shirt, tie and shoulder holster.

HARRY HART/ ORIGINAL CHARACTER M/F

WARNINGS: Mature, Smut, light D/s, lust

Words: 7600

SUMMARY Harry and Gwendolyn, after getting acquainted with each other, share a rare evening alone together in the Kingsman lounge. What starts out as an innocent challenge and a glass of scotch, leads Harry to teach a lesson on the finer points of the gentleman spy's art of seduction.

NOTES: This is part of my main series for KINGSMAN 3, but since this is the chapter with sexy gentleman spy Harry Hart combined with smut that many of us like the most, I decided to also separate it so it's easy to find and read on it's own. If you're looking for the whole story, check out my other fics. Still in progress though

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After working months at his side, whether it be in the field, during training, debriefing in his office, or simply occupying the same space in quieter moments, reading in the lounge with a cup of tea, enjoying a few precious moments of peace, Gwendolyn was no closer at deciphering the gorgeous mystery that was Harry Hart. Her time with him merely reinforced what she already knew. And what she knew had, much to her chagrin, become increasingly and disconcertingly distracting with every moment she shared space with him. He was beautiful, obviously. She determined that the moment she saw him. Even from a distance, he cut a striking figure. But is was the understated way he acknowledged his own appearance, knew that it was pleasing and accepted it with grace, dignity and a matter-of-factness, that only made him more attractive.

His appeal wasn’t just based on his good looks. There were other men who had more classically balanced features. It was significantly more than good genes or the symmetry of bone structure. Not that his purely physical attributes were lacking in any regard. She had already committed to memory every aspect of his form and figure, from his hair, with a distinguished flurry of silver, all the way down to his feet in their gleaming oxfords. No doubt polished with every wearing; they carried him with purposeful movement and long measured strides.

Harry was a tall man. She would never forget the first choke hold he put her in. Often folding his legs as gracefully as possible under tables and desks that were just a breath too short to accommodate a man of his stature. He carried himself differently. Always with a posture, walk, a gait, that had a purpose. Never rushed unnecessarily, he possessed the ease of someone in full control of his physical body. His movements were light, sharp, and kinetic. When he was still, he held himself straight and tall, without strain. In more casual moments, his weight would shift to one side or the other, or he might lean against a support, breaking up the long, precise lines of his full height.

Mostly, this had to do with a hyper awareness of his environment and his place in it. If he needed to calm a new recruit, he might stand with authority, but tuck his hands in his pockets, conveying a sense of ease and familiarity. When confronting an adversary, his stature seemed to grow as he pulled himself to his full height. In those rare moments where he was free from personal and professional obligations responsibilities, as much as he could ever be, his figure would take on smooth curves and relaxed angles. The space he occupied was his to claim, mold, and manipulate. And he did so with his body, his voice, his gaze, his way of dress.

Surprisingly, she discovered that Harry was a man who often communicated through physical touch. As a man of few words, who often guarded his privacy and personal life, she expected him to be even more reserved with his body language, to be even more wary of close physical contact. Quite the contrary, he was often more generous with a hand on the shoulder or a gentle pat on the back as a form of approval or encouragement. Sometimes, he would place his hand over an agents as gesture of support and understanding. He was more demonstrative with contact and touch than he was with using words of praise or comfort. Even his proximity, whether it be as a figure in the distance or his physical closeness, could affect the energy of the room.

Rolling it over in her mind, she realised that it made sense that Harry would be comfortable communicating through touch. In some regards, he was a very tactile man, a sensual man, if not overtly so. He was a man that celebrated the senses.

In his office, though minimalist by Kingsman standards, austere even, there were touches of extravagance not influenced by tradition. All the furniture, as well as being beautifully made, focused on designs that were hospitable as well as functional. The chairs were comfortable. The lounge was upholstered in a dark, rich leather, well oiled and worn smooth by years of use. It was masculine, but also soft and inviting, a piece that you could relax and sink into. A sumptuous throw. Pillows covered in dark velvet that were actually soft, not just decorative.

The items that did adorn his office were obviously selected thoughtfully and with care. The enticingly smooth curves of a vase, seemingly out of place, brilliant jade against the subdued tones of hunter green, tartans and plaid and the deep tones of polished wood and leather. The delicate lines and breathtaking color of a framed butterfly. A small, sterling silver paperweight in the shape of a terrier. A cut crystal decanter, with matching tumblers, no doubt holding an insanely old and very expensive scotch.

There was an emphasis, not on the prestige or price of an object, but on its, color, texture, lines that were pleasing or challenging to the eye. Not as a flaunting of wealth, but a source of pleasure. It wasn’t an ostentatious display of the rich, It was the luxury of selection and taste. Any piece of clothing or fabric that touched his body directly was often luxurious, as well, scarfs, gloves, fine cashmere or calfskin leather. Though she had no way of knowing, she assumed his sheets would be of the highest thread count.

His manner of dress was immaculate and as precise as the polished, clipped tones of his aristocratic accent. He presented himself as a man who was self-assured with his appearance. Whatever he wore, he wore with confidence. He wore it well, without vanity, pretension, ego or conceit. Not that he needed the help of his wardrobe to face the world. His manner of dress seemed to highlight, magnify his innate sense of self. He was not a flashy man, but he appreciated the expert craftsmanship that went into a finely cut suit. That good clean lines, quality materials, understated but interesting details could be the final polish on an already finely honed presentation.

His clothing was the other area where he allowed himself some extravagance. A firm believer in the principle that if one’s self and surroundings are not only presentable, but impeccable, then one will always be prepared for what surprises life may decide to throw in one’s direction. In his line of work, unpredictability was as predictable as the sun rising in the east and setting in the west. His wardrobe countered the erratic nature of life as an agent. Thus, his was a look of man who had his life in order.

He was a man of consistency. His tie was an unfailing full Windsor, tucked under the spread collar of a pristine white shirt. An equally crisp pocket square, folded neatly, peeked from his breast pocket. French cuffs were secured with custom gold links, bearing the Kingsman insignia. His suits were mostly double breasted, in classic shades of black, charcoal, navy and grey and cut in a wool that was appropriate for the occasion, whether solid, pinstriped, or woven with a pattern such as herringbone, or houndstooth. After years as a Kingsman agent, he had amassed a considerable and varied wardrobe that consisted of classic suits, formal wear, overcoats, ties, scarves, for any occasion or any type of mission. Each Kingsman agent also wore a gold signet ring on the pinky of their dominant hand. Harry wore the ring on his right.

Kingsman suits were cut close to the body, but designed with allowances made to accommodate weapons, ensure manoeuvrability and flexibility in all types of action. They were also bulletproof. It was a feature created after decades of experimenting with different textiles and weaves and exploring processes and techniques that would result in a material that could withstand the velocity and impact of of a bullet shot at close range. The lightweight, flexible lining was sewn into every Kingsman suit and many times proved to be a lifesaver.

Shoulder harnesses were used for carrying. Not belt clips. Belts constricted the body whereas a harness allowed freedom of movement. They were also easily and quickly detachable in case they needed to be removed. Belts, on the other hand, though they had their uses, could also cost valuable seconds when needed to be taken off. The carry position prevented printing and maintained the lines of Kingsman’s suits.

The fine, bespoke tailoring emphasized Harry’s height and build. Trousers were slim cut, long and hemmed with a perfect mid break. He preferred the simple Oxford rather than brogues. His shoes would glow with a mellow shine. He styled his hair in a classic, handsome cut, and was always clean shaven, (unless in the field where there was no opportunity for a straight razor shave). His aftershave and cologne were unobtrusive but memorable. Rather than preceding him, the warm and masculine sent of woods and spices, with hints of cardamon, the tactile sensuality of rich leather and suede, would linger after his departure, like a layer of warm dark velvet. Even his hands were beautiful. Beautiful but not delicate. Large wide palms, long elegant fingers, his nails were neat and clipped. They sometimes bore the marks of time spent in the field. They were strong and capable.

Overall, he had the appearance of a man who embraced classics, honoured tradition, but defined his look with his own individual aesthetic personality and sense of style.

In quieter moments, when she had the opportunity to watch him without being too obvious or call attention to herself, she allowed her curiosity to wonder over all the small details and mannerism that were unique to Harry. How his fingertips would gently find the arm of his glasses and rest lightly there, when he was thoughtful or pondering a question, as if it helped him focus or think. The automatic gesture probably developed after years of transmitting information through the eyeglasses, which also functioned as communication devices. Through her experience in human psychology, she recognised this as a self soothing gesture. Finding the comfort of something familiar. She was fairly sure that Harry was aware of this gesture and allowed himself some habits, that were, not particularly productive but, helpful nonetheless. Rubbing his thumb along the band of his signet ring. The way he would always shoot his cuffs when rising from his seat. Or run the palm of his hand along the back of his head, smoothing down the already polished hair.

Never had she met someone who had the ability to asses and evaluate any given situation as throughly and unerringly as Harry. Whether it entailed clearing a room, identifying a mark, or even just something as simple as slowing his pace when she walked along side him so she wouldn’t have to struggle to keep up. He was constantly aware of his surroundings and deconstructing what needed to happen to make the environment more pleasing, the conversation more engaging, the meeting more productive, the mission more likely to succeed. He was nothing if not thoughtful. Thus when she walked with him, he always slowed and allowed her to maintain her own graceful stride.

His physical appearance, his exacting nature, his precise moments, his carefully maintained wardrobe, his formal patterns of speech, his refined accent, not to mention his good looks could intimidate even the most confident agent, let alone a green one. That was until the person in question realised that this outward perfection was merely the layer that he presented to the world.

It would seem impossible for man to be blessed with so many gifts, but Harry Hart proved to be the exception to the rule, for he was as charming and gracious as he was handsome. His quick wit, his clever way with words, as well as his dry, incisive sense of humour could enthral even the most unwilling participant.

He could placate the most difficult handler, assuage the most reluctant agent, enchant the most reserved target, or ingratiate himself into the most inhospitable of circumstances. When he turned on the full force of his charm, the people he met, let alone the men and women who worked with him, frequently found themselves elevated in his presence, their own experience heightened by his vitality and charisma. They left the experience a little breathless, a little awestruck, a little seduced by Harry Hart. She herself was no exception. And she had been spending a lot of time with him.

————

They found themselves alone one evening at the manor. In the lounge, when they both happened to desire a drink at the same time. Most of the Kingsman had already departed for the shop if they were returning to the city. The rest had dispersed to their own private quarters, or were participating in whatever activity they had planned for the evening. The lounge was quiet. They way he liked it. Apparently, it was the way Gwendolyn preferred it as well.

He spotted her the same moment she lifted her gaze at the new arrival. Her eyes narrowed slightly in pleasure at the sight of him. She gave him a small, but welcoming smile. The musical clink of crystal against glass as he poured a scotch from the fully stocked bar was the only sound aside from the cracking logs in the grand fireplace.

The club was a vast space with a vaulted ceiling. The stately fireplace stood on the far wall. Like most of the manor, it was dressed in masculine shades of dark brown and hunter greens, tartan and plaids. Polished hardwood furniture, mostly antique, and historical paintings, displaying the rich history of Kingsman, whispered class and wealth. In the center was an arrangement to accommodate a more substantial group with larger sofas and chaises surrounding a massive polished low wooden table.

Around the room were smaller clusters of tables and leather club chairs tucked into alcoves for smaller gatherings or intimate conversations.

It was at one these clusters that he found her, tucked in a quiet corner near the fireplace.

In the most relaxed arrangement he allowed himself while still on kingsman property, he had his coat draped over his arm. Dressed in his shirtsleeves, tie and shoulder holster, tumbler in hand, he approached her, also with a pleasant but small smile. Pleased that she be the one that was sharing this space with him.

She was dressed quite differently from how he first remembered her. Well, her clothes hadn’t been memorable, but she had been. Since she was not a knighted agent, they weren’t quite sure how to classify her yet, she took the freedom to dress beyond the Kingsman uniform. Though always appropriate and surprisingly on brand, she was not quite regulation. If she was out in the field, she was in tactical, or the women’s version of the kingsman suits. She even had the shop tailor some custom pieces so she could have more diversity. When she was at Kingsman HQ or at the shop in support, she dressed appropriately, but in her own style. There were handfuls of fashionable men at Kingsman. You couldn’t turn around and not run into a gentleman turned out in Kingsman’s finest. But an attractive, stylish woman was a rarer sight. Even he noticed the heads that turned when she walked by.

Walking toward her, he took the time to observe her appearance, he told himself as spies always did out of habit. Today, she remained on the property. Without the need for being in the field, this would be her most ladylike look. She was dressed in a way that was very elegant, but sexy at the same time. Or, perhaps it wasn’t supposed to look sexy. He set that observation aside. Not the time nor the place, he thought to himself.

She was dressed in a slim, knee length pencil skirt in a very deep shade of oxblood red. It was velvet he noted when he saw the sheen of the grain as she shifted her knees in his direction. A matching tailored jacket, that, like him, she had removed and draped over the back of her chair. Topped with a delicate, almost sheer silk blouse the color of sun bleached bone. It had tiny pearl buttons down the front, and lace detailing at the collar, cuffs and similar detailing along the button placket. A narrow dark brown leather belt circled her waist with a gold clasp rather than a prong buckle. Dark brown suede court shoes with a tall, but reasonable heel. Her makeup was minimal and natural. She looked like she just somehow heightened her features, but in no discernible way he could describe.

As he got closer, he was able to notice even smaller details. Her long, wavy, he had to admit, beautiful hair, was twisted up and away from her face and secured in some secret way women have where it would stay perfectly in place by means he could never quite see. Her accessories were feminine and understated. Small gold earrings in the shape of teardrops, a simple gold cuff around her wrist, a Kingsman issue watch on the other. A signet ring on her own pinkie. Her nails were trimmed short and clean, either no polish or something bare. A thin gold chain around her neck with a small solid gold version of the Kingsman pendant.

He didn’t know what he wanted a woman to look like until he first saw her. The first time, on that first chaotic night, he had the same thought. He could give you a basic description of what she was wearing, but he could describe every feature of her face. The way she looked when she was reflective. The line of her jaw when she was determined.

And then, for the very first time he saw her, dressed, properly, walking down the long marble corridor of the HQ manor, when she had the opportunity to present herself on her own terms. He thought, this is what I want a woman to look like. It wasn’t that she was model beautiful, or that her features were perfect. In London, on the streets, you could see plenty of models. They were beautiful, no doubt, and pleasing to look at, but once you were done, you were able to go about your day without a second thought.

Her beauty had substance. The fact that he knew what her skill set included, to know what she had overcome to be where she was, to be the person she was, made her beauty a real tangible thing, regardless of what she was wearing. Perhaps it was that, whatever she wore, she made it part of her. It wasn’t just a pretty skirt or a flattering blouse, it was the way she wore it that made you notice her. She could have look completely different, with the opposite features, petite and curly brown hair and brown eyes. He would have still have felt the same. And he would still say, this is what I want a woman to look like.

This young woman had the capacity to stir his heart. Something that had been quiet and still for a very long time. Even something that he thought no longer had the desire to be moved. It was certainly not something he was seeking. He, long ago, had accepted the fact that the life of agent isn’t one that fosters lasting relationships. Relationships were based on communication and he had far too many secrets as a Kingsman.

He was beyond the time in his life for these kinds of thoughts. He knew he had been handsome in his youth. He had his fair share of relationships and much more than his fair share of sexual encounters. He was aware that his looks had carried him quite well as he got older and that if he wanted, there were women, very desirable ones, that would be more than willing to engage in a casual relationship. He was by no means vanilla. It wasn’t that he was prudish in the least, or one to deny himself physical pleasure. If she wasn’t who she was, then he would have most likely allowed himself to pursue her and enjoyed whatever that relationship had to offer. The crux of it was, that he would not be as attracted to her, or charmed by her if she wasn’t exactly who she was. He would not want her as much as he did if she were any different. But it was who she was, ironically, that kept him from her. She was Merlin’s daughter. It was a knot too tight for him to untie.

——

He set these thoughts aside as he approached her. Even though it was obvious she was alone, Kingsman manners never failed. Never ask a lady directly if she’d like your company. Give her a polite way to refuse without making her say no. She will indicate if your presence if desired.

“Excuse me, miss.” he opened. “Is this seat taken?”

She awarded him with an amused smile. She always enjoyed his little game of manners.

She nodded toward the chair. Please.

Draping his coat on the back of his chair, just as she did, He adjusted his slacks so he could sit down comfortably and gracefully. The club chairs were low and designed to sink back into. He took his seat, adjusted a little until he, too, was settled in.

Since both of them were now relatively stuck in their respective positions, where they couldn’t move without significant effort, he simply raised his glass in her direction. She followed suit.

———

Gwendolyn was pleased when he was comfortable enough to sit in silence with her. It was one of the first tells she would look for in asset or mark. Did they have enough self assurance to be silent? Were they uncomfortable, awkward, fidgety? Did they try to fill the silence with their own words? Most often, if they lacked confidence, she would notice these tells immediately. One of her favourite activities was to sit in silence.

It was also one of her favourite activities to look at Harry Hart. The fact that he was handsome was no surprise. When she initially started at Kingsman, this was simply an objective observation, like masterful way he handled weaponry. Or the fact that he was right handed. The more they were partnered on the field, the closer they became, both in proximity and as colleagues, his physical attributes began to affect her in ways that continued to make her increasingly uncomfortable.

She was aware his body was that of a man that she admired and looked up to. Tall, broad shouldered, slim hipped. Strong, driven, powerful. She became aware of all the things that his body could do. She had the opportunity to observe him every time they were in the field, in combat, in action.

But she also began to discern a softness, a gentleness that he could convey when he gathered her up after a surprising blast had knocked them both off their feet. Hands that smoothed back her hair from her forehead upon waking up in medical after a particularly dangerous mission. A warm hand on her shoulder as she successfully accomplished a challenging task. Arms that held her after a devastating loss.

She was aware that as her mentor, he had a responsibility to maintain a professional relationship. But with escalating frequency, she imagined how it would feel to have him pressed up against her, to feel his body, purposeful and confident. While not in a chokehold.

————

The evening was relaxed. Both of them, without the urgency of an upcoming mission to prepare, took the opportunity to simply rest and unwind. A seldom occasion. Feeling more and more at ease when they were together, she allowed herself a little space to test the waters. When engaging targets, if they seemed comfortable sitting in silence in her company, would they make direct eye contact? She took another small sip of her drink, savoured it for a moment, and swallowed.

Hmmm. She was very curious about Harry and she was feeling surprisingly playful. She wanted to try something. Let’s say an experiment in tradecraft. She waited until she caught his eye. He seemed amused and matched her eye contact with equal directness. She was pleased that he made eye contact and even more pleased when he maintained it. But he was a spy, after all. Making and maintaining eye contact would be elementary for him.

With a little cheekiness on her part, she raised her glass to her lips again and took a small sip. He did not waver. His eyes even took on a little bit of curious amusement. She held the scotch on her tongue, pulled it to the back of her mouth, rolled the scotch around a little bit longer than necessary, before she swallowed.

Neither of them would look away first. She gave him a half smile, half smirk, crinkled her eyes a bit in amusement. She seemed to be saying. Ok. Your turn.

He had never seen her in this kind of playful mood and Harry suddenly found himself enjoying this little match immensely.

He could more than participate in this game. He, literally, had decades more experience than her. An agent may be able to seduce. But a gentleman agent was a master at the art of seduction. And Harry Hart was the consummate gentleman agent. One did not get to where he was in life without knowing how to pleasure a woman. He was often told he had beautiful and talented hands. That may have been years ago, but those kinds of skills, they stayed with a man.

A quick raise of his brow. Darling, challenge accepted.

Holding her eyes with his, he lowered his glass just enough to where it was in her sight line, but slightly off to the side, at the edge of her peripheral vision. She would still be able to hold eye contact, but would have to make an effort not to glance down at his glass. Especially, when she saw what he was going to do with it.

He held her gaze suddenly with an intense focus she was unprepared for. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that he was holding his glass, cupping it in the palm of one hand. He began to simply roll it around gently, as one would while enjoying a proper scotch. He rolled it around harmlessly, in a slow, lazy, rhythmic pattern.

She had to concentrate a little harder not to look away, but she kept his gaze. If she was uncomfortable, she didn’t show it. She hoped her gaze held a similar intensity as Harry’s. His felt, well, piercing, for lack of a more appropriate word.

This was certainly turning out to be an interesting evening, Harry thought. She seemed determined to stick this through. He would be required to dial his technique up a notch. He nested the heavy base in the center of his palm and let it rest there for awhile without moving. Then, once again, he started rolling the glass in his hand, not to stir the liquid, but to feel the surface of glass itself. He bounced the glass, lightly, as if testing the weight and feeling the heaviness.

The movement was subtle, slow, and sensuous. He let his hand explore the texture of the smooth surface. The base of his thumb pressed against the glass in slow, languid circles, sometimes rolling on to the pad of his thumb, sometimes to his finger tip. But he did this as if he were doing it unconsciously, because he was staring at the young woman who sat in front of him with the focus and intensity that said she was the only woman on earth, and that he wanted her.

There was truth to the term, the male gaze. It was not looking at something through a man’s eyes, it was seeing into something as a man. There was a reason why they called this particular look penetrating. It was a gaze of desire, a singularly male want and need. If done properly, it was a way to make love to a woman without touching her. It was far beyond physical contact . It wasn’t hard for him to harness his essential masculine energy. He had done it for years on countless honey traps in his younger days with the agency. He hadn’t thrown the full force of himself to seduce in quite awhile and found that he was enjoying a little flex of his muscle. If desire had a name, at that moment, it would be called Harry Hart. He let his desire roll off of him in waves.

What she didn’t quite understand, was that the game she was playing with him, wasn’t about who could keep eye contact the longest. It was a question of who was going to be seduced and who was going to be the seducer. She was approaching what she thought was a staring contest as a battle of the wills, which was why she was going to fail. Making eye contact may be a test of power and confidence, but that was a quick, brief test. A simple meeting or a darting of the eyes. It was very easy to find out who was going to be able to make and hold contact. However, eye contact for a prolonged period of time, especially between a man and a woman? It became something quite different. It was a game of seduction. It wasn’t a test of power. It was a test of control. Control of two things in this case, the seducer’s own desire, and the desire of the other person. Could the seducer harness his own desire to control the seduced.

She had not faltered yet. He raised to single brow. Would you like me to keep going?

She narrowed her gaze. Please, do.

The expression on his face all but said out loud. “You asked for it.”

He saw the flush in her cheeks when she noticed what he was doing with his glass. Her breathing intensified. Her pupils dilated and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

They were very small movements, but very deliberate movements. He cupped the bottom of the glass in one palm, fingers spread as if he were holding up a small tray. Using only his middle finger, the rest of his hand now cupping the base, he began to stroke the center of the glass. Like he was using his finger to say, come here. In very slow, very deliberate, beyond suggestive movements. His other hand simply rested on the top rim of the glass. Gently holding it in place while he moved his bottom hand. He did this without twitching another muscle in his body, as if nothing had changed.

Her eyes widened. Holy fuck, she thought. With very exact and explicit movements of his hands, he was not just implying, but overtly demonstrating how he used them to give pleasure to a woman. The shock of seeing him within the frame of something so blatantly sexual, all the while looking at her the entire time? It was intensely arousing.

He was not only looking at her, he was positively devouring her with his gaze. She could feel him, his energy in pulses of heat. This wasn’t merely eye contact. This was something unexpected and she was not prepared for it. Harry was suddenly changed, maybe not changed, but different. He was harder, stronger, more demanding. He was more of everything. The polite, honorable, considerate gentleman was still there, but now he added an aspect of himself that she had never seen or experienced before. The man was still Harry, but it also as if a part of him had been unleashed, whatever primal energy that was held in check by the handsome suits and the manners and the chivalry, had been released.

She fought to maintain her composure. He knew exactly what he was doing. His hands moved expertly, and with ease. His gaze, became even more intense, if that was even possible.

He continued to play and to tease as he held the glass in his palm. She knew where he had his hand. She could feel the exact placement as if it were on her own body. The base of his palm would cup her center, with the rest of his fingers spreading between her legs. His middle finger was still moving in achingly slow circles, one direction, then slowly moving in the other direction. He curled his finger under, using his knuckle, rolling it in tiny circles. Not even really moving just shifting the pressure moving from one side to the other, from top to bottom.

She saw in his eyes, that he knew, that she was not only being affected by his movements, but she was feeling sensations as if he were touching her directly.

It was the most erotic experience of her life.

Here was this beautiful man, still dressed as properly as ever in his dress shirt and tie, his shoulder holster with his side arm. His perfect hair, his perfect face. With all his dignity and respect, relaxing comfortably back into his chair, his legs spread wide, an ankle crossed over his knee, one elbow resting casually on the arm of his leather chair. Radiating such a profound sexual energy, that without even touching her, had the ability to control her body with only his eyes and the the way he moved a glass in his hand. He was so confident in his movements. His expression said, however brief this moment, that he owned her, that she was his, and he knows that she wants it that way. He can see it all over her face. He can see it in her eyes.

——

He wasn’t even close to being done.

He took his other hand, laying his palm over the glass, as if it was resting there. On the other side of the glass, where his thumb fell, he began to roll it around in very explicit, very familiar circles.

He felt himself harden as his own arousal grew. He didn’t try to stop it. Instead of letting it distract him, he channeled that energy through him and into her. Allowing her to witness the physical evidence of his own desire would strengthen his hold. Never underestimate the power of the imagination. She would see it. Her mind would do the rest.

He saw her lips part, even the slightest bit. Her chest rising and falling under her ladylike blouse as her breathe quickened. Her knees pressed tightly together. He watched her face very, very carefully and intently, watching the subtle changes in her expressions as he shifted the movements of his hands, knowing that she was feeling his movements in her body. Every time her brow would furrow, or she took a sharp intake of breath, or would clench her pretty hands, as he moved his own, he knew she was feeling pleasure. And that he was the source of that pleasure.

He knew that there were men who were turned on by violence. For him, however, there was nothing more erotic than the sight of a woman experiencing the pleasure that you were giving her. So, he was especially aroused when he was free to look at the nuances of her face and body freely and openly. Her pleasure had reached a constant as she moved almost imperceptibly to the consistent rhythm of his hand.

And she still did not drop her eye contact. He knew, now that she was fully aroused, she would not break eye contact. She probably couldn’t at this point if she tried. For, half of her pleasure was a result of seeing the man who was controlling her pleasure. And seeing that she pleased him, that he was also sexually aroused, intensified her pleasure. And she wanted to offer that to him, very willingly. He was finding out much about her in these few moments. Things that he wasn’t even sure she knew about herself. Very few women would have been comfortable enough with their sexuality to be purely on the receiving end of pleasure. In the intimacy of their own bedroom in a committed relationship. Let alone in an extremely public and therefore vulnerable way. With a man who may be, slightly off limits. Which, in fact, probably added to her pleasure.

To see just how much she was under his thumb, pun aside, he paused for a moment. He kept his hand, his fingers in the exact same place. He just stilled. And watched her. After a few moments he could see the tiniest furrow of her brow. When he continued to remain still, he saw the movement he waiting for. She probably didn’t even know she had made it. It was the slightest lifting and rolling of her hips. He didn’t realize he could be more turned on, but he felt himself harden even more. It was the motion every woman made, in his experience, when they wanted more, when they were asking for more, and when they were begging for more. The ability to actively listen and comprehend another person was the most profound influencing tactic one could hone in communication, and therefore seduction. Which is exactly what he was doing. In a very non verbal, very physical way.

He began his movements again, with more intensity and purpose. He let his finger, for the first time, slide all the way up the side of the glass, even letting it lift with the upward movement of his palm. He saw her body move as if she were receiving him.

He knew she was experiencing waves of intense pleasure. He could tell she wanted to close her eyes and tip her head back. As he witnessed her need, he went in for his last movements. His palm pressing up into the base of the glass, his thumb rolling in small firm circles and his entire middle finger along the entire length of the glass, the tip almost reaching the top of the rim. As if his finger were deep inside her, he made deliberate strokes while pressing into the glass, slow, but then gradually increasing in speed and pressure.

He knew, that she knew, the exact two parts he was pleasuring.

Her lips parted, her breathing grew heavier. She had no idea what was going to happen next, all she felt were waves of pleasure. The only thing she could concentrate on was not losing eye contact with the man in front of her.

Harry knew at this point, he had let what was a silly, flirtatious game, go too far. He also knew this began as a challenge, and Harry Hart was never one to back down from a challenge. He also knew that he never purposely lost a game. If it took climaxing for her to break eye contact, then so be it.

He also knew he was mesmerized by the sight of her. He didn’t know if he could stop. But it didn’t matter because he didn’t want to. This moment had to hit the list of the top most erotic experiences of his life. Both fully clothed, siting in separate chairs, more than six feet apart. With only eye contact between them. He didn’t know if he’d experienced something more intensely arousing, knowing that he was the one she was feeling when she made herself come.

He began to see the tell tale tremors, the quickening breath, her lips parting with cries that she desperately wanted to make that she would not let herself, and the dear girl, was still trying to hold on. Psychologically she was making it harder for herself, denying her own release would only make it that much more physically intense when she had to give in.

It was at that moment, that a door banged within the manor and someone appeared at the large entrance of the club room.

“Harry. That you?”

Damn it. It was Eggsy,

“Just headin’ out.” Eggsy called over. “What’s up? Looks like you two’re having a staring contest. Whose winning?”

“It’s a tie” Harry replied.

Eggsy held up his hand in a quick wave and left.

He glanced back over to Gwendolyn, where she was still trying to maintain eye contact, wait no, she was just staring into the space behind him, concentrating on something he could not see.

——

She knew she had to stop staring at Harry, so she looked past his shoulder into the empty space behind him. At this point, even the sight of him might set her off. She was still right at the cusp of her climax and her body was still so aroused she was afraid that any movement could push her over the edge. She wanted to tell Harry to leave, but she couldn’t think of a way without embarrassing or offending one or both of them. All she could do at the moment was sit quietly. So that’s what she did. She was waiting for her body to catch up with the rest of her and settle down. He was waiting patiently until she was ready to move or speak.

After a bit of time, she glanced over at him, made sure it was safe. It was, and she began to relax a little, though her body still felt like a flame that was ready to ignite with any hint of friction. She just needed to stay still for awhile.

She saw Harry watching her, his face both concerned and amused.

He broke the silence.

“And that, my darling,” he said pointedly. “Is how one create’s an effective honey trap.”

In an attempt to further diffuse the situation, he wanted to be frank and direct with her and not to brush what just happened under the rug. That would be awkward for both of them. He did not want her to feel embarrassed or ashamed or uncomfortable with him or what had happened. The best way was to be as blunt as possible. He pushed down on his palms and rose out of his chair with minimal effort.

“My dear, I’ve been in the spy business for over 30 years. One does not get this far without knowing how to pleasure a woman.”

He winked at her.

“Not to worry, you’ll get there.”

He reached behind him for his coat, draped it over his arm, but not before she clearly noticed his own erection. Which before had just been a suggestion in the shadows. He’s hard!

The thought made her flame all over again.

“I need to take my leave. Will you be alright, here?”

All she could do is nod. She didn’t trust her voice yet.

Always the gentleman. He leaned over and brushed his lips against the top of her hair.

“Thank you for the lovely evening.”

She still couldn’t look directly at him so she turned her head slightly to the side and gave him a small nod. With a quick squeeze of her arm, she heard his departing footsteps. He was heading to the tunnels. He was going back into the city, He wouldn’t be staying at he manor. She didn’t know if she was glad or disappointed.

She was grateful to him for providing at least a somewhat graceful way to exit the situation, referring to the seduction technique that ALL agents are trained in. He was letting her chalk it up to a learning experience.

She opened her mouth. Nothing came out. She tried again.

“Fuck.”

It was the first word that she had said all evening.

——

“Fuck.”

Harry thought as he boarded the train back into the city. He had actually planned on staying at the manor, but with what just happened with Gwendolyn, he wasn’t sure if that would be the best course of action. It took all of his self control to remove himself from any temptation by leaving the place entirely. Making it impossible for him to act in a way that was inappropriate. Not that what had just happened would qualify as appropriate. At least it had the veil of a lesson on seduction. He wasn’t sure it would convince judges, but he found it a weak, but passable excuse.

Now, the problem for the moment was that all he could see was her face as he pleasured her. How her lips parted, and her breasts underneath her blouse, the flush of her cheeks. He wanted to hear what her cries would’ve sounded like. He wanted to be the one to make her cry out. His sex drive, always healthy, may have had a prolonged dormant period in recent times. But now it was raging like a fire that he unleashed and now he couldn’t put out. By letting the full force of it out this evening, it was fully awake and needed something to do. He had feared that if he had stayed at the manor even a moment longer, he wouldn’t have been able to help himself and would’ve taken her and had her right there.

If he could do that to her with his eyes and just the suggestion of his hands, he couldn’t imaging what it would be like pleasuring her with his entire body. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep until her took care of himself, and when he did, he would allow himself the sight of her trembling, responsive, body underneath his own as he gave her the pleasure he knew she so desperately wanted, him deep inside as he felt her body shudder around him when she climaxed, feeling his own release as he heard her cry out his name in pleasure.

———

If you got this far, thanks for reading! There will be additional chapters, but I thought this could stand on its own. Hope you liked it! Comments are always welcome and appreciated.

Also to come is a chapter when they finally get together :O (Smut is the main reason I started to write about Harry Hart anyway :)

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margueritehall · 4 years ago

Photo

CAN YOU SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME? - YMCULC

all the king's horses, all the king's men, couldn’t put me together again

( the archer ; taylor swift )

marguerite ( maggie ) brynn hall, the gentle bad-ass

“ show me a hero and i’ll write you a tragedy. ”

― f. scott fitzgerald

– BASIC INFORMATION –

» full name: marguerite brynn hall

» nicknames: maggie, mags, margie

» age: twenty seven ( at time of snap ), thirty two ( at time of blip )

» birthday: january eighth, nineteen-ninety-one, ten fifty-five in the morning

» birthplace: philadelphia, pennsylvania

» zodiac sign: capricorn sun, libra moon, aries ascendent

» current residence: new york, new york

» gender: cis female

» occupation: social worker for the stark relief foundation displaced children division, later avenger trainee

– HEALTH –

» physical health: overall, maggie is in excellent health. she works out most weekday mornings and tends to eat a balanced diet. she doesn’t drink too often or smoke at all. she knows that her health conscious habits stem from her need to control everything that she is able to but that doesn’t stop her from being set in her ways.

» scars: she has several small scars from various bumps and scrapes but there is a sizeable scar on the front of her left shoulder from a car accident while she was a freshman in college. a driver t-boned her small sedan in an intersection when she was on her way home from a final exam. when she woke up in the hospital, with both of her parents at her bedside, she had stitches stretching approximately three inches from her clavicle towards her upper arm.

» broken (any) bones: surprisingly, despite being quite active, maggie hasn’t ever broken a bone. she’s quite graceful from taking dance classes since she could walk until she graduated high school.

– MENTAL HEALTH –

» extrovert or introvert: since getting older, maggie has become comfortable with the knowledge that she is a relatively private person. when she was younger, she enjoyed being in crowds however, she now tends to retract into her shell when surrounded by too many people.

» logical or creative: maggie is incredibly logical; she is very formulaic in her thought patterns. when it comes to problem solving, maggie has all but got it down to a science which can be effective but she’d be incorrect to say it was without fault.

» optimist or pessimist: neither term seems to describe the woman very well; she feels as though she’d call herself a realist. the world has let her down more times than she can count so she makes an effort to always adjust her expectations towards the most-likely event.

» phobias / fears:

» problems: maggie was diagnosed with obsessive-compulsive personality disorder and generalized anxiety disorder when she was sixteen. she goes through occasional bouts of depression but she doesn’t find it to be chronic. though undiagnosed, following the death of her parents, she experiences the effects of post-traumatic stress.

– PERSONALITY –

» goals / dreams: maggie has always wanted to improve the world around her. when she was a little girl, she told her parents that she wanted to be the first doctor to go to space. when she found out that she’d have to be in space for months at a time, she quickly changed her plans. the brain always fascinated her and so she dove headfirst into her newfound passion. following the deaths of her parents, maggie wanted to help others like she wished that she had been and so she, once more, switched gears and went into social work.

» quirks / habits: maggie is a creature of habit. each morning, she wakes up and opens the curtains around the house before pouring herself a cup of cold brew coffee with cinnamon syrup and oat milk. she makes her bed and begins her day. when she gets home from work, she turns on her fairy lights and fans before removing her makeup and changing in to cozy clothes. as for quirks, maggie wouldn’t say she has any but her friends would be quick to point out her concentration face-- whenever she gets deep in to a hard task, her eyebrows screw up tightly and her lips purse. she doesn’t like to look in mirrors when the room is dark, she only gets out of bed on the left side, and she habitually sings in the shower even when she isn’t home alone.

» likes: precipitative weather like rain storms or snow ( especially thunderstorms ), vinyl records, lighting candles and allowing them to light the room, cooking or baking anything from scratch, old books with notes in the margin from an owner long forgotten, astronomy and any associated phenomena ( especially eclipses and meteor showers ), fleetwood mac and other classic rock icons, acts of service from loved ones, dogs with smushed faces, taylor swift, watching films (or rewatching films, whether new or old), freshly brewed tea, watching the sun set and staying awake to see it rise again, wisteria vines twisting around a fence, ‘casablanca’, f. scott fitzgerald novels, anything that is a dusty shade of sage green, tom hanks, vanilla bean ice cream (not french vanilla), using a polaroid camera to capture a moment, iced coffee with cinnamon, the beach during winter when the northern shores get a little bit icy, long drives at night with the windows down, sitting on the roof in a companionable silence with a loved one, the color of deep maroon rust, cozy throw blankets and an unnecessary amount of pillows on the couch and bed

» dislikes: too much physical touch, indifference or apathy in the face of injustice, the deafening sound of crickets and cicadas at night, showing any signs of vulnerability, open-toed shoes, powdery or floral scents, olives, thin pillows, overhead lighting (lamps only, thank you very much), lack of a routine, being unable to read situations and prepare adequately, not feeling in control of any situation, harlequin novels, ladybugs and any other insects, disorganization (physically or emotionally.)

» flaws: she feels the need to always be the strong one that she often doesn’t allow herself the freedom to feel without pushing it down. she has a habit of not letting people in, especially people who are new to her, and even when she does, she is always terrified that she’ll lose them like she’s lost most other people that she loved. she is a control freak and can sometimes be a little boss.

– FAMILY –

» parents: ; phillip hugh hall ( father / pierce brosnan ) ; allison marie hall née clark ( mother / jamie lee curtis )

» maternal grandparents: ; richard ernest clark ( grandfather / tony curtis ) ; virginia ruth clark née franklin ( grandmother / janet leigh )

» paternal grandparents: ; hugh alexander hall ( grandfather / kris kristofferson ) ; marguerite joan hall née green ( grandmother / ellen burstyn )

» sibling(s): n/a

» children: n/a

– APPEARANCE –

» height: five feet, two inches

» weight: one hundred fifteen pounds

» eyes: maggie’s eyes are one of her most striking features. the espresso brown orbs are speckled with golden flecks; they’re a rounded, almost almond shape.

» hair: her hair is chestnut brown and it has a tendency to gleam copper and slightly golden when the light reflects off of it. for the majority of her life, she had a tendency of keeping the gentle waves cropped into a side-parted, blunt bob that rested just above her shoulders. she typically wore her hair straight or blown out. following the snap, she allowed it to grow out beyond its typical length. she keeps it trimmed to just below her shoulder blades with a set of wispy curtain bangs to compliment the natural waves that she now maintains.

» face and complexion: maggie has a light skin tone that tans in the sun. she has no freckles on her face but has quite a few down her chest and arms; none of them are very dark. she has a round face which can almost be cherubic but as she’s gotten older, she has developed a sharp jawline that makes her look more mature despite her stature. her rounded almond eyes are lined with thick, dark lashes. she has a small button nose that pinches minutely at its tip as it turns slightly upwards. her brows are full and straight with only a slight arch. she has full cheeks with small dimples that frame her smile. maggie’s lips are typically tinted a red berry shade; her bottom lip is slightly more voluminous than its top counterpart which is home to a sharp cupid’s bow.

» build: maggie is petite, to say the least. she stands just slightly over five feet tall and weighs just over one hundred pounds. though slim, her figure is a narrow hourglass. despite her size, she’s quite agile and strong. years of channeling all of her emotions in to ballet as a child caused a habit that has yet to die. when she feels the need to get rid of excess emotion, she runs or attends a fitness class to channel that away.

» defining marks: when she was eighteen, maggie and her best friend poppy got matching tattoos. on the inside of her left wrist, there is a small crescent moon to match a sun on poppy’s. following her parents death, she got a second tattoo and on the inside of her upper arm, close to the crook of her elbow, there is one of two ravens perched on a branch. several months after the blip, she got another tattoo. on her right side, on her ribs under her bra-line, there’s a small star housed within four concentric circles.

» dress style: maggie’s fashion sense is on the border between classic and trendy. she doesn’t stray too far away from her comfort zone or wear too many patterns. she tends to stick to jewel tones and neutrals. for her work, her style tends to be business casual-- typically a blouse with a skirt or wide legged trousers and a heel. when she’s at home, an oversized sweater and leggings or pajama shorts are her go-to uniform. if she’s out running errands, she loves a flowy skirt or a pair of mom jeans with one of her dad’s old, classic band tees. her shoes are typically a revolving door of plain keds or converse, ankle boots, or a small heel.

» faceclaim: jenna louise coleman

– ROMANTIC & SEXUAL –

» marital status: she is unmarried.

» sexual preference: although maggie is primarily heterosexual, she’s never been closed off to the idea of dating anyone of the same gender if she found that she was attracted to them.

» ever had sex: she had sex for the first time when she was a freshman in college; it was with her boyfriend at the time, nicholas gray. as she’s gotten older, she has had a variety of companions-- some were romantic partners, several one-night-stands, and two attempted friends-with-benefits arrangements.

» opinion on sex: maggie isn’t ashamed to say that she enjoys sex and the freeing feeling that comes with it.

» opinion on relationships: although she likes the idea of a relationship, maggie’s fear of not being in control makes it difficult to maintain one. before the snap, she had only been in one long-term relationship which she abruptly ended after the death of her parents. she found that it was easier to try and turn off her feelings than to deal with them as everything in her life changed. since graduating with her second degree, maggie has been trying to open herself back up to dating and the possibility of a relationship.

» turn ons: the feeling of someone brushing her hair off of her face, being praised, bravery, kindness, interlacing fingers when holding hands, a genuine smile, sincerity, strong hands, bright eyes, taller men, a strong jawline, delicate kisses that gradually deepen into something more, kisses down the neck, deep conversations and debates, cologne that isn’t overpowering

» turn offs: sleazy behavior, apathy towards important issues, party-scene demeanor, bragging, lying, being late, ill-fitting clothes, lacking ambition or drive for moving forward

» past relationships: ; nicholas gray ( first love / ben barnes )

» current relationship: ; n/a

» future relationship: ; steve rogers ( tbd / chris evans ) ; bucky barnes ( tbd / sebastian stan )

– FRIENDSHIP –

» big group of friends or several close friends: maggie would rather have a smaller quantity of people in her life with better quality relationships than to have a large group of friends that she feels as though she doesn’t know.

» best friend: maggie was a relatively lonely child; she spent a lot of her time reading and imagining her life in other worlds. she had some friends but none that ever ventured further than the occasional hangout. when she was a freshman in highschool, she sat next to poppy stewart on their first day of orientation and the two have been inseparable ever since.

» ever lied to a friend: she’s told white lies when necessary but she’s never lied about something earth-shattering.

» the most horrible thing they did to a friend: when maggie broke up with nicholas, she left him a letter on his pillow before she left his apartment one morning. she avoided his calls afterwards and didn’t speak to him for several weeks until he came to her apartment to try and work things out. later in her life, maggie felt extremely guilty that she wasn’t able to confide in poppy about steve’s plan until after he had already left.

» list of friends - ; poppy stewart ( best friend / annie murphy / @petalsofpoppys ) ; pepper potts ( boss, friend / gwenyth paltrow ) ; tony stark ( boss, family friend / robert downey jr ) ; natasha romanoff ( co-worker, close friend / scarlett johansson ) ; steve rogers ( co-worker, friend, boyfriend / chris evans ) ; bucky barnes ( friend, lover, boyfriend / sebastian stan ) ; sam wilson ( friend / anthony mackie ) ; wanda maximoff ( future friend / elizabeth olsen ) ; monica rambeau ( future friend / teyonah parris )

– MORALITY –

» ever been drunk: the first time that maggie got drunk was her senior year of high school; she was at a house party with poppy and she since vowed to never touch any drink with ‘punch’ in the name, ever again.

» lied to a significant other: following the death of her parents, maggie never disclosed her tumultuous emotions to nicholas and so he was blindsided when she left him on one random morning. with an apologetic note of a goodbye, maggie made sure no trace was left behind when she slipped from the apartment in to the warm summer breeze.

» cheated on significant other: maggie would never cheat on a partner. she would rather end things than break someone’s trust in her.

» gotten into a fight: she’s never gotten in to a physical altercation but following her move in to the avenger’s compound, natasha and steve helped to train her tactically. after she moved back to the city, bucky takes up the position of being her trainer.

» deepest regret: not telling her parents how much she looked up to both of them before they died.

» religion: maggie was not raised to be religious. her parents always emphasized the importance of trying to be morally good whenever you could. she identifies as an atheist.

– MISCELLANEOUS –

» playlist: https://rb.gy/kxqfbu

» instagram:

» gifboard:

» character inspiration: leia organa (star wars trilogy), alex parrish (quantico), emma swan (once upon a time), amy pond (doctor who), buffy summers (buffy the vampire slayer), emily prentiss (criminal minds), lily evans (harry potter)

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haphazardlyparked · 4 years ago

Text

the war AU, part 2

the part where it’s not actually a war, and i clearly know nothing about politics but i sure do a lot of BSing. :)))

---

Hikaj couldn't help but compare the double-edged sword he held with the woman who wielded it: High Lady Masara, a knight of the cultish order that half-ruled Amir, from what Hikaj had learned so far of the surprisingly secretive order. The sword itself was light and well-balanced, with unfamiliar runes etched down its length that had Hikaj’s best warmage tearing his hair out. It all reminded Hikaj of the first time he had met the high lady.

She had visited Kas years ago, with one of her king's councilors, and they had both been unfailingly polite. Duke Inarim, High Lady Masara, and their whole, modest entourage. Hikaj knew, because his spymaster had complained that the Amirran servants had answered all of his questions happily, or happily misunderstood them—and his veiled offers of bribes for real information.

At the formal dinners they attended, the high lady said little, but was always polite, and Hikaj had heard her laugh often enough. It had been enough to make him wonder if she knew something incriminating about every person she crossed paths with. Admittedly, he had been a little high-strung those days. Torral was the kind to be happy doing a job competently, but Hikaj's other dear uncle had liked the regency a bit too well. Hikaj had walked a fine line, trying to appear non-threatening while still presenting himself as a future ruler full of potential that his vassal kings and dukes could put their weight behind. It had made him very suspicious about every interaction around him.

But then they had danced, and Hikaj had started to see that High Lady Masara didn't laugh at anyone in particular, but at all the little parts of his court he hardly saw anymore. From the tiny carved woodland creatures that flitted through the ballroom's ceiling to the tendency to change glasses for each new drink at dinner, she had taken delight in the novelty of his court--not laughed at its secrets. She had seemed to know very little about Kas, actually.

Now, with the weight of Masara's strange sword in his hands, Hikaj was back to thinking that maybe it was the secrets. When he had recognized High Lady Masara in the knight he'd been told had charged his advance company alone, he felt a little bit like laughing himself. At himself.

They'd gone riding during the Amirran visit, in a large party that scattered into small groups and wended their collective way through the manicured Forests of the Empress-Mother. The ever-changing groups of courtiers flitting here and there again centered around a string of nobles who preferred the most sedate of paces. High Lady Masara had been one of those riders, hesitant in her sidesaddle, good-naturedly laughing at her own inexperience with a shifting tide of the Kassan court. Hikaj decided she simple hadn't had many chances to ride before.

Now, he wondered what kind of rider the knight Masara was. How many more things in Amir were mysteries to him?

***

Hikaj crossed his camp back to the bespelled tent, Masara's sword and scabbard in his hands and a nervous energy quickening his step. He should have let Qemaile go and poke the bear, he was the mage, after all - but Hikaj honestly wasn't sure if Lady Arlis would send poor Qemaile into a uselessly towering rage, or leave him crying and still unhelpful. Hikaj needed his mage, as temperamental as the man was, so he went to the tent himself.

It was guarded, but the flap was tied open for light, breaking the net of spellcloth. They had stopped burning the slightly caustic incense and started opening the tent after the high lady and her squire had each given an oath not to flee. Hikaj had made sure his healers looked after the high lady, too. While Lady Arlis had surrendered with barely a scratch on her, one of Masara's arm was broken and a spear had gone through - luckily enough, the healers told Hikaj - mostly skin and muscle where arm and shoulder met. It was declared to be healing as expected, and it had not seemed to trouble Masara too much on the (admittedly slow) ride back to Amir's capital city.

The ride had taken a week because of the hilly country, which turned large companies of men into slow, winding targets on the narrow roads, but Hikaj had taken the risk. He had also left a rear guard behind, to keep Amir's forces penned up in the blasted mountainous Foothills as a guarantee.

Now the spelled tent - and the bulk of the imperial soldiers - were all camped outside Amirasa's outer walls. At the Sascrin knights' request, the tent's opening faced the city that rose up on a high hill, topped by a sprawling palace that overlooked the cliffs and the sea on one side, and Amirasa on the other.

Hikaj blocked their view of it when he ducked into the tent.

He could tell they'd been looking because Lady Arlis had the intent, stormy look on, the one that seeing his blue-cloaked guards on the walls always provoked. She was leaning forward in her chair, her elbows on her knees, and she reminded Hikaj of a wildcat about to pounce. Masara, of course, was calmly collected by her side. But was she also angry behind that calm? Or was she hiding something else?

Or maybe he was reading too much into what was just polite civility. It didn't help that Masara's attention--but not her expression--shifted as soon as she saw what Hikaj was carrying. Arlis didn't see--she straightened and jerked her head to the side so that Hikaj couldn't see her face when she noticed him. Struggling to control her anger, probably.

She was able to mirror Masara's calm for abut half a second, and then her eyes narrowed suspiciously on Masara's sword.

"Oh, let me guess," the squire immediately snapped. “You have questions.”

Hikaj tried a smile. "There must be something you can speak about," he said, already conciliatory in his preamble. Part of him regretted already starting on the back foot, but the rest of him was focused on High Lady Masara's sudden smile.

She didn't say anything.

"Why should we spill secrets to the emperor we're at war with?" the young and very vocal Lady Arlis demanded.

For a fourteen year old, she was shockingly forceful. But then, she was an ambush-laying, sword-wielding fourteen year old. It didn't help that every time she opened her mouth, the high lady—who was an ambush-laying and sword-wielding noblewoman herself—would nod in agreement, and then cycle through a wide variety of polite looks.

Hikaj opted for what he hoped was the safest answer: technicalities.

"In the purest sense of common accord, we are not at war, because neither your king nor I have declared it,” he corrected Lady Arlis. “I suppose we could call it… armed conflict?”

Arlis gasped with deep offense. “Or more accurately, invasion or attempted conquest!”

Masara turned her steady gaze on Hikaj, and then stoked young Arlis's fire.

“You are correct Imperial General, technically," she said, turning her gracious concession into an elongated but. "Yet I fear my king has been a little busy fleeing your unprovoked… armed conflict... to make war declarations just yet.”

Lady Arlis leapt on that. "Yes! We'll see what the king says once - once he has a chance!" she told Hikaj, furious in her enthusiasm.

Hikaj was a general who knew when to retreat. He didn't quite try to hide Masara's sword and scabbard--there was nowhere to put it--but he lowered his hands and made it clear he wasn’t going to ask any questions about it. Of course Masara would want her weapon back--knights everywhere felt the same about that, Hikaj suspected, no matter how peculiar otherwise they were to him--but Qemaile wanted to study it more, and frankly, Hikaj worried it might scare some of the men if he returned it to her.

That problem for later.

Changing topics, Hikaj did his best not to get kicked out of the tent by the furious silences which had driven him from it before.

"Instead of declarations of war,” he said, in his best diplomatically soothing voice, “would you not prefer peace?"

Masara's neutral expression seemed to consider that, but Arlis frowned deeply.

“We had peace before you came,” the squire eventually said.

Hikaj looked at Masara when he answered. “Did you?”

She met his gaze, but for once, she was the one who looked away first. “Whatever we had,” she mused, “it was certainly not bloodshed from Amirasa to the Foothills.”

Hikaj bit back the dozen different things he wanted to say. He had weighed the risks and made his agreements before the first Kassan soldier set foot in Amir, and even if he was starting to re-evaulate those decisions, now was not the time to throw any plan away. Revealing any inopportune might weaken his leverages in Amir, and no matter how unfortunate this campaign was turning out to be, he did need this kingdom as a bulwark against Lapur.

So he winced and said, "No, it was not, you are correct. But I do believe smaller conflict is justified to avoid greater perils."

"For Kas, perhaps," Masara countered.

"Not just for Kas," Hikaj maintained, though he didn't mention Lapur specifically. He knew Masara would already be thinking of Amir’s other large, imperial neighbor; who west of the sea of sands didn’t? “Regardless of how it began - would you not like the chance to end it?"

That made Arlis scowl, though Masara smiled and dryly observed, “I am sure the terms would be so wonderfully generous."

Hikaj suppressed a shrug. "That is what negotiations would determine, I suppose."

Masara didn't answer, but her unchanging, humorless smile seemed to say, What treaties ever went well for the ones who were forced to the table by a greater military power? Even Arlis didn't say anything, though the naked outrage in her glare made it clear what she thought of this kind of coercion.

"How could we trust an agreement with you?" Masara asked finally. “We have no foundation for trust yet.” She paused, purposeful and considering, then added, before Hikaj could fumble for an answer, “Though we could work on that.”

Hikaj felt weakly grateful for the opening Masara left him. “What would you suggest?”

Arlis bristled again, probably ready to demand that the Kassans leave Amir immediately, but High Lady Masara said, “Something small, to start,” as though she were thinking aloud. “An easy trade. You could answer a question for me, perhaps, and I could answer one for you… or I could give you a demonstration with my sword.”

She didn’t look at the scabbard while she suggested the little deal. Hikaj met her dark, careful eyes, and told himself her offer was probably not a threat, and he definitely did not feel a sudden, thrilling swoop in his chest.

“All right,” he said.

Arlis scoffed and then muttered, just loud enough for Hikaj to hear, “I’ll demonstrate the Lady’s Peace for them.”

That was definitely a threat.

• • •

After whatever Lady Arlis had claimed to have done and Hikaj’s healers’ work, Masara's wounds all looked as though she'd had months to heal, not a little over a week. Her right arm was still in a sling though, so she held her sword in her left hand. She still wore the knee-length blue tunic that the healers had found for her too, as well as her gray knight’s cloak. But whereas her presence usually filled the small spellcloth tent, out in the open, she suddenly looked small and alone. Just one injured woman with a sword, facing off against a dozen archers.

That was probably what Hikaj's men had thought, right before Masara had charged them. He tried not to fall into the same trap when the high lady turned to him, smiled, and raised the tip of her sword with the ease of long familiarity.

“Shall I begin?” she asked.

“No!” Qemaile insisted from where he stood at Hikaj's side. He hopped from one foot to the other in his excitement, and from somewhere in his robes little bells started jingling. “You must explain what spell you plan to use! Incantation! Materials! Something?"

Masara laughed. Not at Qemaile, per se, but Qemaile retorted just the same, guestring out at Masara and her sword. "I want to know what I'm looking for!”

"You will see it," Masara assured him. It didn't really assuage Qemaile’s defensiveness, but she didn’t give him time to argue more. "Please, Imperial General, when you are ready, count to ten and then give the order to shoot."

She turned back to face the archers, who stood some hundred meters off.

Hikaj raised his hand and began to count. Before he'd even finished saying the first number, Masara's sword leapt into action, the tip of a blade tracing a large shape in the air before her. By the time Hikaj got to six, Masara's blade began to glow, first a small point of bright light, one of the etched runes turning to silver light that began to grow, sliding along the blade like liquid before it reflected into a bright arc of light that flashed, and then settled into a faint shimmer in the air. Hikaj reached ten, and lowered his hand. Twelve bowstrings twanged.

Fear flashed hot through Hikaj as the arrows whistled through the air--this was mad--but then all twelve shots slammed against the abruptly solid silver light, metal tips lighting in an incandescent spark before the wooden shafts splintered. Half-melted arrowheads and wood fell to the ground, and High Lady Masara lowered the sword.

"The arrow guard," Lady Arlis said into the silence, after the silver light faded away and Masara's sword was nothing but etched metal again. "It is one of the first things we learn."

“But I didn’t see the spell,” Qemaile wailed.

Hikaj was still staring at Masara. She had shifted the sword to her broken arm, and was holding it awkwardly in the sling so she could use her left hand to wipe sweat off her forehead, or maybe to brush her dark curls out of her face. He imagined her thundering down a narrow path through the Foothills, wreathed in silver spouting from her sword and staring down his men, and he felt a shiver in his spine.

“Figure it out, Qemaile,” Hikaj said. “I want that spell.”

“But my lord, it’s not a spell!”

• • •

In the tent (after Qemaile has asked his hundredth question and Masara had managed her ninety-somethingth evasive reply) the high lady shifted in her chair to turn a flat, expressionless look on Hikaj. It was just the three of them again, and an empty chair, but Masara didn’t even glance at Lady Arlis. The squire, for once, seemed just as unsure of what Masara would say as Hikaj.

“Imperial General,” the high lady said finally. “Who betrayed us?" She asked the question without preamble, firm and direct. Arlis closed her eyes and looked away. Was she surprised?

Hikaj himself was taken aback. Not was there a traitor, but who. How had Masara known? Had she known all along? If she’d known, that would change Hikaj’s understanding of what had gone wrong so far.

“I cannot build a foundation of trust alone, Imperial General.” The quiet, matter-of-fact tone was belied by the intensity of Masara’s brown eyes. She had said they could start with a small trade, an exchange of trust, but Hikaj suddenly realized this question was important to her. Maybe she’d been waiting for a chance to ask this whole time.

“No, of course not,” he agreed. He tried not to hesitate. Maybe the arrow guard had not been such a little demonstration, either. “It was the prince,” Hikaj said. “It was your cousin, Prince Panam.”

Masara closed her eyes, and then nodded once, shortly.

"I thought so," she said, and it was a quiet exhalation that seemed to take the strength out of her. She leaned back in her camp chair and bowed her head.

The silence was too loud; not even Arlis raised her voice to accuse Hikaj of lying. When he looked to the squire, he was shocked to see she had tears in her eyes.

“The High Priest, too?” she asked, her voice a thick whisper. Hikaj thought she was talking about the assassination that had drawn Kas into Amir, at Prince Panam’s invitation. Hikaj had had nothing to do with it, despite Arlis’s most heated accusations, but he had known the prince must have.

Masara didn’t raise her head when she replied. “It would seem so. Our own armed conflict, after all.”

“I’m sorry,” Hikaj found himself saying, feeling awkward and intrusive. “I’ll--I’ll leave you now. Have a good night.”

Then he rose from the campaign chair, flinched as the unstable thing folded loudly in on itself, and fled the tent.

#writing #masara #hikaj #the war au #i love aus #maybe 2021 will just be AUs #but tbh that woudl not be very different from most of the last few years lol #self indulgent 2021

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serenlyss · 5 years ago

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Into Hell Chapter 1

Fandom: Astral Chain Rating: T (violence, hospitalization, near death experiences, injury, amputation) Relationships: Akira & Amane (PC), Amane & Brenda & Hal Summary: Akira is alive. She has no idea how she did it. She’d given one look to the sight of her brother’s body protruding from the body of that thing, and the next thing she remembers is rushing forward, faster than she’d thought possible, the Sword Legion on her chain. And it'd worked. Crossposted to AO3: Chapter 1

---

Akira is alive.

She has no idea how she did it. She’d given one look to the sight of her brother’s body protruding from the body of that thing, and the next thing she remembers is rushing forward, faster than she’d thought possible, the Sword Legion on her chain. She doesn’t know if it’d been her own instincts guiding her, or if maybe her Legion had taken pity on her and guided her, but in that moment, she’d known exactly what she’d needed to do. She’d seen them, faintly, the strings that had connected Akira to the monster who used to be Yoseph.

She’d never felt more in sync with her Legion than when they’d moved, then, the Legion’s bladed arm severing those tiny threads at the same moment she’d lunged forward to spear her X-baton through Noah’s center and shattered its core. She’d bargained everything--her own life, Akira’s, those of every other human still left living on the Ark--in a desperate bid to save the only family she has left. And it’d worked.

He’s not standing, not really. His entire body flickers with red corruption, and though his body above his waist still appears intact, his legs seem to disappear into shifting pixels. They remind Amane far too much of the flickering red shadows she’s seen on occasion within the Astral Plane, and the thought makes her stomach turn so abruptly that she thinks she might vomit. He stares at her in disbelief, having narrowly escaped his own self-assigned death only by the grace of his twin sister’s stubbornness.

Amane’s own legs feel like jelly. The longer she stands in the middle of the ARI’s roof, sucking in exhausted breath after exhausted breath, the more she can feel the numbness creeping up her legs and arms. She takes a few fumbling steps toward Akira at the same time he moves toward her, neither one of them able to stay on their feet for long.

It’s Akira who collapses first, stumbling on his corrupted legs, and Amane barely manages to get her arms around him before she falters herself, and both of them collapse to their knees in a messy heap. Amane clings to him tightly, and for the first time in a long time, she cries.

“You idiot!” She sobs, holding Akira’s head to her shoulder and burying her face in his neck. “How dare you try to die and leave me behind? You don’t get to sacrifice yourself for me, do you understand? And don’t ever make me choose between you and my job again.” She clings to him tightly, scared that if she loosens her grip, he’ll be corrupted entirely and go to a place beyond her reach, leaving only his shadow behind. Even now, she can feel the corruption from his body prodding at her, spreading, infecting her and the area around them, but she ignores it. She’s not going to let something as stupid as this separate them, not after everything they’ve been through.

Akira grips her back weakly, managing a quiet chuckle in the face of her chastising words. “M’sorry,” he manages, but he’s barely clinging to consciousness, and after another few seconds his arms fall limp and his head lulls against his sister’s shoulder. He doesn’t disappear, though, and Amane can feel his shallow breathing against her neck where it’s exposed by her high uniform collar. She continues to hold him close, even as her own body begs for rest.

She doesn’t know how long she sits like this, curled around Akira’s unconscious form, but eventually she’s snapped out of her thoughts by the crackling of her radio, which starts up abruptly after hours of radio silence. The voice on the other end cuts in and out with unintelligible words, and she instinctively reaches a hand up to the radio to answer the call. It takes a few seconds for the audio to clear, but when it does, she hears Olive’s concerned voice come from it.

“...hear me? Am I getting through? If you can hear this message, please respond.” Amane can hear the desperation in Olive’s voice, though the sound is nearly drowned out by the electric noise of the helicopters that land atop the ARI roof all around her.

“I’m here,” Amane rasps, her hand shaking against the radio’s smooth plastic. “Akira’s with me.”

“Oh, thank god!” The relief in Olive’s voice is palpable, the words coming as a sigh of relief. “We lost sight of you in the chaos. Our radios were scrambled and there was too much noise for the radar or biosensors to pick up anything concrete. We only just got the radios working again, but I’ve already sent a medical squad and a cleanup crew to your location.” There’s a pause on Olive’s end, and the sound of muffled words being spoken, and then she adds, “We’re gonna get you out of there, both of you.”

The signal goes quiet, and Amane lets her hand fall from the radio as, all around her, helicopters close in on her location and land on the roof of the ARI. She winces at the noise, gritting her teeth as the doors to the helicopters fall open and the rooftop is filled suddenly with shouting and footsteps and barked orders. Her vision is fuzzy, and she can no longer feel her legs at all, but she clings stubbornly to Akira despite the way her body fights her every move. She’s vaguely aware of being surrounded, and then Brenda’s voice sounds in front of her, drawing her attention.

“Amane? Oh, good, you’re still awake,” she says, brows furrowed in determination as she gives both her and Akira a quick once-over. “Listen carefully to me. Everything’s going to be okay, but we need to get Akira proper medical attention, alright? I need you to let him go so we can help him.”

Amane hadn’t realized how tightly she’d been holding Akira, but she realizes now that the medics surrounding her are trying, carefully, to separate them so they can move Akira onto a stretcher. She blinks, her hazy mind finally catching up to her, and she reluctantly loosens her grip on his half-corrupted form. She has to stop herself from reaching out for him as the medics lift him as delicately as possible and move him a few paces to where the stretcher is waiting. “Is he going to be okay?” she asks, desperation leaking into her voice and making her sound small.

Brenda offers her a small, tense smile. “We’re going to do everything we can, I promise,” she replies, but Amane can read the doubt that underlies her words. “I’m going to go with them, but my team will take care of you in the meantime. I need you to relax, okay? You got pretty roughed up, and I’m worried about your corruption levels, but you’re going to be fine. Just take it easy, everything’s going to be okay.” She continues to murmur soothing words to Amane as she grasps her by both shoulders and slowly pushes her down onto the ground, and dimly, Amane realizes that she’s being laid out on a stretcher of her own. She stares blankly up into the faces of the medics that lean over her, making sure she’s safely in the stretcher before they lift her up.

She feels heavy, dragged down by an invisible weight that lays over her like a thick blanket. She can barely think, and as voices reach her ears, their words turn into garbled, staticy nonsense in her brain. She lets her eyes fall closed, too tired now to even keep them open. The last thing she sees before she loses consciousness is the sky, dark, clear, and dotted with stars she wasn’t sure she’d ever see again.

---

Before shes even fully awake, Amane can hear the voices of people speaking quietly nearby, and the rhythmic beeping of machinery all around her. It’s a gradual reawakening, and it takes several minutes of listening to the muffled noise around her before she finally attempts to open her eyes.

She doesn’t get far. The lights above her head are bright, blinding, and she can’t help the pained groan that escapes her. Her hand twitches, attempting to move so it can cover her eyes and block out the light, but her arm is too heavy.

Immediately, the talking stops, and Amane hears the shuffling of feet on the floor. The lights above her head dim considerably, enough that she can squint against it without feeling like she might go blind. Brenda leans over her, watching her closely. A smile blooms on her face, relief flooding her expression. “Hey, kiddo,” she greets softly. “Take it easy, alright? You were asleep for six days, so it might take a little while for you to catch up to the rest of us. How do you feel?”

Testingly, Amane wiggles her fingers under the thin blanket draped over her. “Tired,” she responds, her voice rough and scratchy from disuse. “Confused. Where am I?”

“You’re in intensive care, at the ARI. You were pretty badly hurt after the Commander went on his… rampage, and you picked up some of Akira’s corruption, too, so we had to be careful to keep that contained and make sure your injuries were taken care of,” Brenda explains. She reaches toward the bed with one hand, and hesitates for just a moment before smoothing Amane’s hair away from her eyes. The gesture is surprisingly tender, coming from the typically no-nonsense Brenda. “Everyone’s been really worried about you, but you’ve always been a sturdy one. Guess it runs in the family.”

The mention of her brother sends Amane’s heart racing with adrenaline, and she bends her arm underneath her in an attempt to sit up. “Where’s Akira? Is he okay?” she demands, but just the motion of lifting her torso off the ground has her head spinning, and she pitches suddenly forward, unable to maintain her balance.

“Woah! Careful, you’re gonna give yourself a concussion on top of the one you already have,” chides an energetic voice, and cold hands steady her by her shoulders before she can tip out of her bed entirely. Amane lifts her head, searching for the source of the voice, and finds herself staring into Hal’s face, his eyes hidden behind his vizor. He’s smiling, though, partly amused and partly relieved. “If you wanted to sit up, you could’ve just asked, you know.”

Amane blinks. “Hal?” she says, surprised. She’s only ever known him to be famously reclusive, so to see him here, in person, is enough to confuse her all over again.

Brenda comes to Amane’s other side, and she and Hal manage to help Amane into a sitting position with her back against the bed’s soft pillows. “Akira’s doing alright,” she assures, offering Amane a small smile. “He was touch and go for a few days while we got the redshift under control, but he’s stable now. He had his surgery this morning, and now he just needs to rest and let his body do the rest until he’s ready to wake up. It’ll be a while still before either of you are back on your feet, but you’ll both recover, with time.”

“Surgery?” Amane echoes, worry creeping into her voice. Her gaze flicks from Brenda to Hal and back again, questioning.

It’s Hal who answers her question. “The corruption on Akira wasn’t… normal. It didn’t turn him into an Aberration like it does with most people, but his Legion didn’t blueshift it like it usually does, either,” he explains. “We were able to clear most of it using Yoseph’s machinery, but we weren’t able to save his legs. They had to be… I guess ‘amputated’ isn’t really the right word? Um, they had to be removed. The corruption there was just too strong.” He shakes his head, pursing his lips into a thin line. “Brenda called me out in person to help build him some prosthetics. Just like mine, you know?” With a grin, he lifts his arm and flexes the robotic limb as he might a real one. “That’s what the surgery was for. He’ll have to do a lot of physical therapy to get used to ‘em, but with time he’ll be running around like nothing ever happened.”

“He’s very lucky to still be alive,” Brenda adds. “I’ve never seen that kind of corruption on someone before. By all accounts, he shouldn’t have survived. Maybe it’s because he’s a legionis, or maybe it’s due to the treatment Yoseph put him through after his fight with Jena. Or, maybe he’s just that stubborn.” She grins at this, amusement in her eyes.

Amane manages a shaky smile in return, and a quiet, raspy laugh. Her eyes start to water, and she lifts a shaky hand to wipe away her tears before they can fall. “I’m so glad,” she whispers. “Thank you for saving him. I don’t know what I would have done if I’d lost him, too.”

“Of course,” Hal says. “I still owe you for Zone 09, after all, and even if I didn’t, this was one call I couldn’t sit out for. As soon as I got the call from Brenda, I came as soon as I could.”

Brenda’s smile morphs into a hint of a smirk, and she leans forward, holding a hand up to the side of her mouth conspiratorially. “It’s the first time I’ve seen him actually come down from wherever he likes to hide. You and your brother must be pretty special to get him to come out of hiding,” she adds, much to Hal’s embarrassment.

“Hey! I come down sometimes! I just… don’t usually need to! I can code from my own home, you know,” he insists, and a hint of red flush creeps out from underneath his vizor.

Amane stifles a giggle behind her hand, a hint of her grin peeking out from between her fingers. She turns her gaze from Hal to Brenda. “Can I… see him?” she asks, somewhat hesitant.

The mood in the room quickly sobers, and Amane watches as Brenda exchanges a hesitant glance with Hal before turning back to her. “Are you sure you don’t want to take a little longer to rest?” she asks. “You’ve only just woken up. A lot’s happened to you that you haven’t really had time to process; I don’t want you to overwhelm yourself.”

Amane winces, tearing her gaze away from Brenda and looking down at her hands, clasped in her lap overtop of the clean white bedsheets. It’s true, she hasn’t had a moment to really sit and just think since they’d all gone to infiltrate the ARI. Maybe Brenda’s right, and it would be better to wait, but she knows she won’t be able to rest properly until she sees him with her own eyes. “It’s okay, I can handle it,” she assures, determination outweighing any apprehension she might feel. “I’d just really like to see him myself, if that’s alright.”

Brenda contemplates this for a few seconds, then lets out a sigh. “Okay, I suppose it should be alright, if you’re sure,” she relents. “Just be careful, okay? Take it slowly, you haven’t been on your feet in nearly a week.” Turning to Hal, she quickly adds, “Hal, you’re good to go rest up for a bit. I’ll call you when it’s time to run a checkup on Akira’s prosthetics.”

“Sure thing, doctor,” Hal agrees, giving a shy little salute. To Amane, he says, “Feel better soon, okay? The whole crew’s anxious to have you back. See you around.” Then, he takes his leave of the room, the automatic door sliding open and shut to accommodate him.

Amane moves her legs testingly, slipping them off of the bed so she can sit on its edge. Brenda holds out her hands, a silent offer of assistance, and Amane puts her pride to the side for the time being and reaches out to grab onto Brenda for support. Experimentally, she pushes herself to her feet, careful to watch her balance as Brenda works to steady her. For a few seconds, she sways, feeling a brief rush of dizziness wash over her that quickly passes; it feels like getting out of bed too fast, her limbs still heavy and weary from resting for so long. Still, she stays on her feet, and after the initial dizziness passes and she starts to feel more secure with keeping herself upright, Brenda drops her hands and smiles.

“That’s the way. Come on, I’ll take you to Akira’s room. He’s not far from here, so you should be fine to walk there,” she explains, leading the way out of the little hospital room and taking a casual pace down the empty white hallways. Unlike how Amane had seen before, the data corruption that had caused the blocky growths from the astral plane to fill the halls less than a week prior are gone, and the Institute looks clean and sterile again. Brenda must catch her looking around, because she explains, “We had to hack our way through all those rocky clumps when we first came back here, but the ICU was mostly untouched, thank goodness. A lot of the corruption was centered on the upper floors, where Doctor Calvert did the brunt of his research, so we were able to get you and Akira set up in here right away. The cleanup crew came and finished with the rest afterward, but a lot of the upper floors are still heavily corrupted. They’ve been cordoned off until they can be properly sterilized.”

Amane half-listens as Brenda continues to babble off updates on the situation at the Ark, the adjustments being made in Yoseph’s absence, and the mundane day-to-day trappings of the other Neuron officers now that the largest of the danger is past. Eventually, Brenda pauses outside the door to a room that’s been sectioned off for post-operative care, holding her key card out to undo the digital lock so the door slides easily open. “You’re clear to go inside, just… know that he looks way worse than he really is.” She casts Amane an apologetic glance. “Oh, and watch out for his legs, try not to jostle him too much. It’s going to be a month or two before they’ve fully healed, so for the next few weeks, he’s on strict bedrest. I need to check up on Akira’s charts and take down a few notes for later, so I’ll be keeping an eye on you from the observation room next door. Just shout if you need anything.” That said, she steps out of the way and gestures with one arm for Amane to go inside.

Despite having requested this in the first place, Amane finds herself suddenly frightened of what she might see. Surely it can’t be worse than when he’d been here last, after recovering from Jena’s stab wound? But all of Brenda’s warnings are starting to give her second thoughts, and she hesitates outside the door, hugging her arms to her chest in a self-protective gesture. She casts Brenda an apprehensive glance, then swallows down her fears and forces herself to take those few steps forward until the electronic door slides shut behind her with a soft whooshing noise.

Akira’s room, much like her own, is composed of white floors and white walls with a single window at the front of the room and a viewing wall to her left, presumably for the doctors. Against the opposite wall is Akira’s bed, which is surrounded by machines depicting several different monitors that track his heart rate, blood pressure, hydration, and more that she can’t make sense of. Half a dozen wires connect Akira to the medical equipment that surrounds him, many attached to the IV in his right arm, some directing oxygen to the mask that covers his nose and mouth. Brenda had been right to warn her; he looks terrible, and it isn’t just the machinery. The skin on his face and arms, exposed by his crisp hospital clothes, are mottled with dark, angry bruises and bandaged lacerations, and his left arm is contained in a sling that keeps it held snugly against his chest. There are stitches in his right cheek under his eye, and the cut, while healing, is purply-red and bruised all the way around it. The sight of it turns her stomach when she first sees it, but she’s quick to compose herself, taking a few more steps into the room until she can approach the end of his bed.

There are blankets folded into a neat stack at the foot of the bed, likely for use overnight, but for now they’ve been removed, which means Amane has an unobstructed view of Akira’s legs, or at least, his legs from the knees down, where they poke out from under his gown. She draws a sharp breath at the sight of the robotic legs, an amalgamation of long tubes and thick plates of metal held together by bolts and joints. She recognizes Hal’s work immediately; they look quite a bit like Hal’s own legs, if a bit newer and cleaner, and Amane feels simultaneously amazed and horrified that this is her brother’s new reality. Akira’s in for a rude awakening, she knows, once his body recovers enough for him to wake up.

Still, all she can do is wait until that happens, so for the time being, she pulls up a nearby chair to sit near the top of Akira’s bed and reaches tentatively for his unbound hand. It feels colder than she remembers, but then again, it’s been a very long time since she’s held his hand like this. Not since they were children, in fact. She squeezes that cold hand tightly in both of hers, as though trying to make up for all the times she’s passed it up before, and swallows back the lump that forms in her throat. “Hey,” she murmurs, speaking softly to ensure that no one can overhear. She’s acutely aware of Brenda on the other side of the observation window, checking monitors and casting them the occasional glance, but she can tell the doctor is doing her best not to interrupt, only supervise. Amane bites her bottom lip. She has no idea if Akira can even hear her, but the silence feels somehow louder than her own voice, so she drowns out her thoughts with whatever comes to her mind. “Looks like we both made it out in one piece, huh? Well, mostly.” She casts another glance at Akira’s healing prosthetics, then pulls her gaze quickly away. “Everything still feels like a dream. Yoseph, Noah, waking up in the hospital… part of me keeps asking when I’m going to wake up, back home in our apartment by the headquarters, even though I’m sure that I’m already awake. Maybe I just need a little more time.” She lets out a sigh, lowering her gaze to Akira’s hand, clasped in hers. She rubs her thumb over his knuckles softly, a nervous gesture meant to help soothe her own anxieties, just to remind herself that he’s still alive. If she focuses, she can feel his heartbeat pulsing in his fingers to the rhythm of his heart monitor, and she lets the steadiness of it lull her into a more relaxed state.

“You really scared me, you know? Saying all that nonsense about how sacrificing you was the only way. You’ve always had a terrible martyr complex. One of these days, I’m scared you’ll really go through with it.” She purses her lips with worry. “I hope you know that if you ever do that again, I’ll be the one putting you in the hospital this time.” The threat is as empty as it can possibly be, but part of her hopes that, somehow, Akira will hear it and take it to heart, if only so she can stop being so damn worried about him all the time. She falls quiet, half-hoping for Akira to banter back to her in the snarky, sarcastic way he’s known for, but all she hears is the steady, quiet beeping of machinery. Against her will, her hands start to quiver, just a little, and she feels her chest tightening with a sudden wave of grief and regret. “I wish it didn’t have to be like this,” she whispers. “I wish I could do more to help. You’re a reckless, stupid, bastard of a brother, and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Reaching up with one hand, she dabs away the tears the form in her eyes before they have the chance to fall, stubbornly refusing to cry out here in the open. She continues to clutch Akira’s hand in hers, comforted by his steady presence at her side and the gentle thrum of his heart under his skin, dutifully keeping him alive.

She falls quiet, untrusting of herself to speak out loud any further, and lets the beeping of the machinery around her drown out her thoughts. She sits for several minutes like this, unmoving, until Brenda comes to rejoin her and let her know that her allotted visiting hours are almost up. Amane can see the sympathy in her gaze as she leans against the doorframe and patiently waits for her to join her, and the sight of it agitates her pride against her better judgment. It’s uncomfortable, having someone feel so sorry for you, but part of her is grateful for Brenda’s constant, understanding presence. Standing up, she drops Akira’s hand and reaches out to brush his long bangs from his eyes, his skin cold and clammy under her touch. Then, reluctantly, she goes to join Brenda by the door.

“Technically, this ward is off limits to visitors entirely,” Brenda explains as she walks Amane back to her room, “but just between the two of us, I’m already making plans for Jin and Alicia to come see you both. They can hardly leave me alone when I’m back at HQ, you know. Constantly pestering me, wanting updates on how you’re doing… they haven’t been the same since you were hospitalized. They’re probably just stressed out, not being able to see you guys in person. I have a feeling that some time away from HQ will do them both some good.”

“Are they really that upset?” Amane questions with a faint smile.

“Of course,” Brenda confirms immediately. “Those two think of you like family, you know. They were your father’s best friends, and they’ve seen you both grow up over the years. I think they like to think of themselves as your aunt and uncle, something like that.” She pauses, frowning thoughtfully. “Well, the way Alicia herds you two around and scolds you, she acts more like your mother than anything else, I think.”

Amane feels her face flushing pink at the implications, quickly shaking her head. “Come on, Brenda, you’re reading too much into it,” she insists, turning her back to the doctor to hide her embarrassment.

She can practically sense Brenda’s amused smirk. “If you insist,” she replies. “In any case, I’ll fill them in when I go back to HQ tonight, let them know you’re both doing alright, and I’ll try to bring them by tomorrow, if time permits.” She tucks her clipboard under her arm and pulls a Neuron radio from her pocket. Amane quickly recognizes it as her own, and Brenda sets it on the bedside table for her. “In any case, you should get some rest. You can visit Akira again tomorrow, if you want. I’ve given you clearance to his room as a family member, just be careful, and use your radio if you need to contact me for any reason.”

After promising Brenda that she’ll do just that, Brenda leaves, looking satisfied with their arrangement, and leaves Amane to her own devices. Glancing at the clock on her bedside table, she knows that it’s only been a few hours since she’d woken up, but as she sits on the edge of her bed and lets the events of the day sink in, she feels inexplicably exhausted. It’s only to be expected, she thinks, after pushing her body so hard for so long before her hospitalization, but it’s frustrating nonetheless to be so weak when there’s still so much to be done. Still, it isn’t like she has much else to do, so after a minute or two of internal turmoil, she resigns herself to getting the rest Brenda’s asked of her, and crawls under the thin hospital blanket to get some sleep.

#astral chain #serendipitousfics #akira howard #brenda moreno #hal clark #harold clark #how do u tag the player character #injury #amputation #hospitalization #pc is named amane just so i have a name to refer to her as #also pc is female bc thats how i played the game the first time thru #idc if the male pc is canon or not #anyway enjoy this self-indulgant fix it fic

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paybackraid · 5 years ago

Text

What You Need To Hear

Summary: Namine cannot, and will not, let her best friends go without knowing they are loved.

Words: 9569

Characters: Namine, Vanitas, Riku Replica

Just a cute not-little Lost Trio fluff fic I wrote because I imagined Namine telling the boys that she loves them! :’) and then it went to town. Complete, possibly part of a series!

Also available under my FFN or AO3 profiles, under YAJJ.

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“Thanks for doing this for me, Sora,” Naminé said, leaning forward to show her friend her brightest smile. Sora was piloting her around the worlds, had kindly offered to do so when she said that she had some otherworldly errands she wanted to run. They weren’t really important, but she missed her new best friends so much. They didn’t live on the same world, like the rest of their friends seemed to gather. One was off “finding himself”, and the other was making a home for himself and the creatures who followed him. Neither of them were exactly people-people, so their seclusion did make sense. As long as they were happy, Naminé was happy. “You’re the best. I love you.”

Sora laughed his wonderful Sora laugh, all big and warm. He swerved out of the way of an asteroid, and flashed her his huge Sora smile. “Don’t even mention it! I’m happy to spend time with you. I don’t see you nearly enough.”

“I’ve been meaning to make it out to Destiny Islands, but between school, and the restoration, there hasn’t been time.”

She felt a little guilty, but only a little, that she was making time for the two strange boys attached to her heart and not the one that saved her. Sora always understood. And she would make it out to Destiny Islands! Just, not yet.

Sora gave her another grin, glancing over his shoulder. “I know! My mom’s making me do tutoring to catch back up which, ugh. And now that Riku and I are both Masters, we have to stay in tip-top shape. I’ve hardly had the time to call Ven, Roxas, or Xion, nevermind everyone else.”

“Well, let me know when tutoring is done, and I promise I’ll find the time to come out, okay?” And Naminé always kept her promises.

“We’ll make a day out of it!” Sora agreed happily. “Maybe even a whole weekend!”

“Sounds great!”

Naminé loved Sora so much, she really did. She made attempts at calling her best friends everyday, but they weren’t always available, and they didn’t always have the right social energy to talk, and she understood that. Even when they did, the two of them were sourpusses at heart. So sometimes, talking to Sora and his cheerfulness and readiness was a nice change of pace.

“So, where to? I know you said you were looking for Vanitas and Riku’s… uh, his replica, but you didn’t say where.”

“It’s Van and Ri,” Naminé corrected softly, smile never leaving her face. Van and Ri—two of the only people she knew of who were as lost as she. And in that loss, they’d found one another.

“Er, right. Van and Ri.” Sora was still a little weird around her two boys. One had tried to kill him and certainly had made attempts at the one locked away in his heart for so long, another looked exactly like his best friend when he was young, and shared memories with Sora of a thing that he couldn’t for the life of him remember. He was trying, but they were all still weird with each other.

“Van lives in Halloweentown, now, remember? So he can let his Unversed run free without being called freaks. He works at maintaining the graveyard there, I guess. Last I heard, Jack Skellington was very impressed.”

“That’s cool, I guess.”

“It’s honest work,” Naminé chirped. “And he’s actually really enjoying it there. He walks me through the Hinterlands when I call him. They’re spooky.”

“That, they definitely are. Okay, we’ll go to Halloweentown, then. Maybe I’ll go visit Jack and Sally, too! What about Ri? Is he still… exploring?”

“Yeah. He was in San Fransokyo yesterday, but he sounded like he was on the move, soon. All this is doing him good, too. He’s finding ways to be a separate person from Riku, even as simple as going to worlds Riku’s never been.”

“Aw, Riku’s a cool person to be,” Sora said with a fake pout. He knew of Ri’s circumstances, but would also say many things to come to the defense of his best friend.

“He is! I always liked Riku, he was so nice. But, Ri just… wants to be different. He’s trying to find a different name that he likes, too, but he hasn’t settled on one.”

“Maybe he should just stick an ‘x’ in Riku’s name and jumble up the letters.”

Naminé snickered, noting the mirth in his eye. “He’s not a Nobody.”

Sora laughed as he steered them toward Halloweentown, the dark and gloomy world already putting a light in her heart. Van may have been the dark half of Ven, once upon a time, but now there was no denying how happy he made her. He was going to be so surprised.

They landed just outside of the square, and Sora quickly cloaked the ship. Before they could step out, he cast the same cloaking magic that Donald used to cast to protect the world order. Out of the ship stepped a vampire, and a girl with webbed hands and feet, gills on her neck and frills around her head, the hem of her white dress dripping around her like water.

“Wow, Nam,” Sora said, looking her up and down while Naminé got as good of an eyeful as she could. This was her first time in Halloweentown, after all. “You make drowning look good.”

Naminé giggled and rolled her eyes. “Whatever, Sora. Come on! I don’t know where the graveyard is so you hafta show me, I bet that’s where Van is.”

“O-okay,” Sora said when Naminé squeezed his hand. “How are you even wet?”

“Let’s go!”

Sora led her around, tossing greetings at the townsfolk. All of them were surprisingly friendly, all waving to Sora and Naminé as if they’d known them their whole lives. That, Van had told her once, was the one thing he didn’t like about living here. For such a spooky town, these townsfolk were far too friendly.

Behind one of the decorative guillotines, Naminé got her first clue without even having to acknowledge Sora. Sitting atop a wall, there was a Flood, watching the sky. They, of course, had no order to protect, and Van didn’t often care one way or the other.

“Flood, Flood!” Naminé cheered. She didn’t bother looking around for its master yet; since coming to live here, the Unversed had become staples of the community, and so were allowed to roam wherever they wanted.

The Flood looked down to her and stared for a second, working out if it knew her or not. It slowly crept down the wall, clinging to the shadows, sticking its little nose out to get a good sniff.

“Aww, don’t be afraid, little Flood,” Naminé cooed, putting out her hand. Normally, she got along splendidly with the Unversed, but she looked so different, and it probably didn’t help that the water on her washed away easy traces of her scent. “You know me, I promise.”

The Flood crooned noiselessly; even now, Van was the only one who could hear them. It touched its snoot to her fingertips and took a deep sniff.

And quickly leapt from the wall to her shoulders, knowing her now. It pressed its head to her wet chin and happily rubbed its head all over, just like a cat. Naminé pretended she could hear the crooning, and happily pulled it forward into her arms, to hug it and kiss its head. These were both Van’s pets, and extensions of Van himself. Showing them as much affection as possible was the easiest way to make sure Van felt loved.

“...Nam? You good?” Sora asked after a moment of fierce affection. He struggled with the Unversed, too. Didn’t get the affection. But he definitely saw Naminé loving on the Unversed, and the Unversed loving on her right back.

“Yeah!” Naminé pulled her face from the Unversed’s skin, smiling so wide it showed off her fangs. “I’m good. Sora, if you want to go see Jack and Sally, I bet this little guy can take me to Van. Isn’t that right?!?”

The Flood happily crooned at her and turned over in her arms to show her its belly and claws. Naminé took that as agreement.

Sora didn’t bother to hide the relief on his face when she said as much. He turned away for a second, then glanced back to ask, “you sure you’ll be okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine! I’d trust him with my life. I’ll just text you if there’s any problems, okay?”

Sora sighed, shaking his head affectionately. “Okay, yeah let me know. Say hi to Van for me, okay?”

“Okay! Thanks Sora!!” Naminé chirped. When Sora turned away, Naminé was quick to say “good bye! Have fun!! I love you!!!”

Sora chuckled to himself and waved goodbye. “Okay, bye Naminé. Love you too!”

Naminé waved until Sora was out of sight, and then turned down to her little companion. “Okay, Flood, show me where Van is.”

Somehow, the little emotion understood her perfectly. It righted itself in her arms and took off out of the square, looking over its shoulder occasionally to make sure she followed. It darted up unnecessarily huge steps that she had to jump up, and then through the gates. Even just through the bars of the gate, she could see her target hard at work tending to some of the Jack o’ lanterns that just grew that way.

The Flood scootched over to its master, but didn’t disturb him, instead watching Naminé as if to see if she saw. Naminé followed it silently. Van didn’t scare easy, but she almost hoped she could startle him.

“Vani!!”

Van yelped when Naminé threw her arms around his neck and dragged him down. She had no balance to begin with and so fell to the side, and whatever balance Van had in his shaky crouch was lost with her weight. He fell on top of her, narrowly avoiding ramming his shoulder into her clavicle.

“What the hell?!?” Van snapped, getting an arm beneath him to get a good look at his attacker. His eyes darted all around her, and he seemed to know her, but wasn’t certain enough.

The Flood who had narrowly avoided death crooned up at him happily and hopped up onto his shoulder, nuzzling its face against Van’s. It must have explained what it knew, because he turned down to look at her, a tiny smile on his face.

“Nam?”

“Hi, Vani. Can I hug you?”

“If I say no, will you let me go?”

Naminé pouted but retracted her arms. He was in one of those moods, huh? “Of course I will.”

“Hnnnn,” Van said, baring sharp incisors. “...Yeah, you can.”

Naminé quickly replaced her arms around his neck and squeezed him tighter, so tight he was probably struggling to breathe. She buried her face into the hair on the back of his neck and laughed to herself. Van wasn’t always a great hugger, but he sure was great at receiving them. Or, sitting there and doing nothing while he got them.

At least sometimes he reacted to them very positively, hugging back when he was in a very good mood or at least pressing in close. At least when he did that, Naminé knew he didn’t entirely hate them.

“What are you doing here?” Van asked when Naminé climbed off of him, sticking one leg between his so he had no choice but to stay seated with her.

“I missed you,” Naminé said very simply, shrugging her shoulders.

“...We are several worlds apart,” Van said very quietly. “That’s insane.”

“I know! But I missed you a lot and I just… wanted to be with you for a bit. Not just talking to you. Touching you.” She grabbed his arm and pushed her claws gently into his skin. She was one of four people he let touch him—the others being Ri, Aqua, and Ventus. She used it to her advantage, but made sure not to overwhelm him too much that he stopped letting her get close. “You’re my favorite.”

Van’s cheeks went a shade of gray, barely detectable in the moonlight, and he looked away from her. She didn’t miss the tiny smile pushing at his mouth. Van had spent far too long not being cared for by anyone, so he was always embarrassed when Naminé, and occasionally Ri, casually said something along those lines. He didn’t respond, but Naminé didn’t expect him to. It was enough when he squeezed his legs together around hers.

“How long will you be here?” Van asked, leaning back and looking up at the moon. “I could show you the Hinterlands, if you wanted. We could go down to the lake.” He poked at her arm and smeared the water on her a little. “Bet this form would like that.”

“That’d be cool!! Sora never mentioned a lake. But I don’t know how long we’ll be here. I want to catch up with Ri, but he mentioned heading out in a few days so I want to get some time.”

“You’re gonna see Ri, too?” Van said. He turned suddenly excited red eyes on her, perking up like a dog. As much as he wouldn’t say so, he did miss Ri terribly.

“Yeah!! It’s quiet in Radiant Garden and I missed you both, and Sora I guess had some time and wanted to roam.”

“...He’s here?” Van peered back towards the gates, scowling. He didn’t exactly dislike Sora, but he didn’t really like him, either. After being sealed in Sora’s heart longer than anyone else, Naminé understood his hesitation. They’d gotten along for as long as it took to drop Van off and make sure he could get himself settled nicely, but after that the two lookalikes had to back off.

“Yeah, he wanted me to tell you ‘hi’ for him. He's visiting with Jack and Sally now, though. You're in the clear.”

Van didn’t bother to hide silent relief. He lifted a hand to scratch at the Flood on his shoulder, who crooned again and affectionately nuzzled his cheek. He leaned back and laid in the dirt crossing his arms beneath his head. Apparently, he was done talking.

Naminé smiled at him anyway. Neither of them were conversationalists, and she didn’t mind at all.

So she scooted in close, pulled her leg back, and laid down right in his personal space, watching him the whole time to make sure that she wasn’t invading too much. He was a little twitchy, but then he often was.

“Hey Van?”

“Hmm?” Van hummed softly, moving his arm a little. When Naminé snuggled in a fraction closer, he adjusted enough to allow it.

Naminé lifted her chin to watch his face, then lifted her head to press her lips against his jaw, kissing the place that used to be permanently covered. “I love you. You know that, right? I love you?”

For just the briefest of moments, Van looked startled. He definitely wasn’t expecting the question. Then he smiled, eyes beyond soft. “Well, you tell me every time we talk, so yeah I figured it out.”

The kiss was new, but Naminé didn’t regret it. He deserved to know and he deserved to feel it. “Good. I love you.”

He laughed a little, just a tiny bit, and squeezed her tight. He didn’t say it back; he never had, but Naminé wasn’t discouraged. She felt it, too, in how differently he treated her and Ri from everyone else, even the ones he got along with. He cared for her in ways he did no one else.

After another moment of peace, Naminé wiggled around and sat back up. Her frills were pressed wonkily around her head, but she didn’t have nerve endings in them so she couldn’t feel it. “C’mon! We might not have the time to explore the Hinterlands, but you can show me around town and we’ll pretend we’re looking for Sora. And your home!! I want to see it!!!”

“Okay, okay. Let me finish what I was working on,” Van requested. He sat up beside her and ran a hand through his hair. Beside him, most of the leaves on the Jack o’ lantern stems had been trimmed away and neatened up, except a small section where Naminé had interrupted him. He took the shears he had and went back to work, working efficiently and diligently. He threw his scraps in a metal bin Naminé hadn’t seen before, then closed the lid and set the shears on top.

Naminé took his hand but let him lead the way. The lone Flood hopped up onto her shoulder and happily nuzzled her wet cheek.

They artfully dodged Sora, who was being shown things around town by Jack. The first time had been entirely Van’s doing, but Naminé decided to make a game out of it, if only so she could spend just a little more time here. The closer to Sora they got before they had to dodge out of his presence or line of vision, the harder Naminé giggled.

She was also fairly certain that Sora actually knew they were there, or had an idea, but was letting her spend more time with Van rather than rushing her along.

Van showed her all sorts of things. Jack’s house was huge, to account for both his height, and his status as the Pumpkin King. Dr Finkelstein’s lab gave her the creeps, and Van very pointedly instructed his Unversed to stay far away. The fountain was beautiful, even though the water in it was green and goopy. Naminé was pretty sure there was someone in there; she wondered if it was part of her species.

Lastly, he dragged her to the end of the town, bordering the Hinterlands, just to look at it. Apparently, deep in these woods, there were doors to a different holiday world. Easter, Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Independence Day. Van claimed he’d been in a few, but he wouldn’t say which.

They sat amongst huge gravestones, just looking out into the woods. The Flood played in pools of water Naminé left behind, very deliberately getting itself dripping only to climb into Van’s hair and shake off right there.

Van only laughed and shoved the little creature away. Naminé was glad he’d found himself a home and a place he was comfortable; it was clearly doing wonders for his annoyance and anger. It made her glad she had yet to ask him to move to Radiant Garden, with her. He was happier here.

“When we leave, you should come,” Naminé said softly, covering one of his calloused hands with one of her own.

“...Leave where?”

“To see Ri!” Naminé reached a hand up to her shoulder, where the Flood was perched again. “He’s in San Fransokyo, now. He misses you, you know. You don’t call him, do you?”

Van’s cheeks went a shade of gray, and he sharply looked away. “...he doesn’t call me, either. I work a lot.”

“I know,” Naminé sighed. “I know you do, you keep yourself busy and it’s real, honest work and I’m really proud of you for it. But even if he doesn’t pick up, you should still call him. It reminds him that he’s loved. He needs to hear it, too.”

“Yeah, well… whatever,” Van said, cheeks grayer. Though Van didn’t deny that he loved Ri, too, he was embarrassed that it was spoken aloud.

Naminé smiled but rolled her eyes, curling her fingertips around his. “It’s okay, you can tell him yourself when you come with us to see him.”

“Nam…”

“What?” Naminé asked, leaning back a little. The Unversed wrapped around her neck to stare at its master. “You miss him, you love him. You don’t talk enough. It’s an easy fix! And Sora won’t be too jumpy, I promise.”

Van frowned hard, taking his hand back and crossing his legs to lean forward a little, more than a little nervous. Since coming to live here, he had gotten accustomed to letting his Unversed run rampant. Going to other worlds meant he couldn’t do that. Which meant bottling. Ever since he no longer had to, since Master Xehanort’s passing, he hated bottling.

The Flood quickly crossed over from Naminé’s shoulder onto his, as if offering him comfort. It nosed his cheek, speaking to him, pressing closer and closer. Scrapper Unversed started materializing—he was getting very nervous.

If she pushed him too hard, he’d flat out tell her ‘no’. He was nervous, and it was time to back off.

“...But I won't think any differently of you if you decide not to come,” she said instead. He didn’t like having choices stolen from him; at least this way, whether he agreed to come or not, it was his choice, not hers.

“...I won’t make any promises about Mr Sunshine,” Van finally said after a long minute, shoving the Flood off of his shoulder and vanishing the hovering Scrappers. His shoulders were a little stiff, but he seemed a little more at ease.

A huge grin grew over Naminé’s face. She leaned her head down onto his shoulder and squeezed his hand. “Yay! I’m really happy you’re gonna come, Vani! Then I get to spend more time with you. And don’t worry about Sora, not much gets him down so if you don’t talk to him, he’ll get it. I’ll talk to him. I love you.”

Van’s cheeks once again went shades grayer. He mumbled something unintelligible under his breath, but he flashed her a surprisingly shy smile, lips sealed. As much as he could be a cocky asshole most of the time, something about having real friends now always made him clam up and get nervous. “Do what you want.”

“What are we doing?” Sora suddenly asked behind them, nearing from the town square. His sudden appearance made Van stiffen again, and slowly work Naminé off of him. Something about showing affection in front of people.

“Sora!” Naminé didn’t mind that she had been forcefully detached, at least. She squeezed Van’s hand once, then let go and hopped to her feet, leaving Van looking very deliberately away from Sora. “Sora.”

“Hi, Nam. Having fun?”

“Loads! Van and me have just been poking around. Listen, I know I asked him before asking you, but I hoped it was okay to bring Van with us to see Ri. They don’t talk as much as they should even though they’re like best friends.”

“I, uh… I mean, sure, if he wants to! I don’t mind. Wanna come with, um, Van?”

Van was still looking away from him, and did not respond. He still seemed embarrassed about being clung to and found out.

“He’s not feeling very social right now,” Naminé said very quietly, reaching out and touching Sora’s arm. “Nervous.”

“Ahh. Well, that’s okay! You’re definitely invited, Van!”

The Flood crooned up at her silently, touching her webbed feet as if asking a question of its own. She leaned down to scoop it up. “This little guy is probably gonna stay out, because it helps him, is that okay?” She grabbed one of its little claws in her fingers and waved it at him. The Unversed had no care whatsoever.

“Um, I guess, but make sure it doesn’t run around too much.”

“Will do! It’ll probably just stay in Van’s lap anyway; it helps.”

“Nam…” Van said warningly, shooting her a look.

Naminé winced, hugging it tighter in apology and hoping he felt it. “Er, or mine.”

“Okay. Well, if we want to get over to San Fransokyo before it gets too late, we should go! Timing’s a little different there, and you don’t want to miss their sunsets. C’mon!”

Van took a second to catch up, but Naminé waited for him anyway. She looped her arm around his loosely, and flashed apologetic eyes his way. He shrugged, but said nothing more on the subject.

Once they reached the Gummiship, Sora vanished the cloaking spell and let them in. Sure enough, when Van took a seat and was buckled in, the Flood leapt from Naminé’s arms into his lap, curling up like a pet. Naminé halfway expected it to start purring. She took the seat next to Sora again so he didn’t feel forced to be social, and once they were buckled in (Sora happily chirping “safety first!!”), they took off.

Naminé called Ri halfway to San Fransokyo, but hid who she was with and what she was doing to keep it a surprise. She screenshot her call so Sora had an idea of where they were going, then asked what he was up to. She happily shared conversation with Ri for a few minutes, until San Fransokyo showed up on Sora’s Navi-Screen, and she knew they were getting close. She happily turned her head back to look at Van, but he just watched the stars and asteroids fly by, and didn’t seem to notice. The Flood had yet to move.

“Okay, okay, I gotta go Ri! I love you!! See you soon!”

“...What?”

“Uh—nothing! Bye!”

“Smooth,” Van finally spoke up when Naminé hung up, which made Sora start to laugh, trying to at least cover it up with a wrist to his mouth for her sake. He reached over to take her phone when she offered it, saying “that’s where he was last.”

“Well,” Sora said cheerfully. “It’ll either be a huge surprise, or it’ll be small enough that he won’t get too surprised! If he’s anything like Riku, he won’t take surprises all that well.”

“He’s nothing like Riku,” Van snapped from the back, a hand resting on the Flood’s back and digging into its skin. “...But he doesn’t like surprises much.”

“He can be like Riku sometimes,” Naminé said. “He likes Riku. You’re the one who doesn’t.”

“He likes Riku because he thinks he has to,” Van corrected bluntly. “He’s still somewhere between ‘I Am Riku’, and ‘I Am Definitely Not Riku’, and all that self love crap is confusing him.”

“...Well, I hope it’s not crap,” Naminé said under her breath, frowning. Self love was not crap, and it wasn’t conceited either. It was a hard lesson that every person she knew of seemed to need working on, not just her boys.

“...I’m just saying,” Van said, conceding just a fraction.

Sora laughed goodnaturedly then coughed into his elbow when he felt Vanitas’ glare on him, silencing quickly. San Fransokyo was nearly just beneath the ship, so Sora turned the nose down sharply to descend into orbit. Naminé, and Vanitas behind them, both gripped their seats as the landing got shaky—no more than usual, but getting through the atmosphere was always a little disruptive. The Flood even darted into Vanitas’ jacket and poked its little head out to watch.

The massive blue and green expanse they flew above soon gave way to a huge red bridge. Sora excitedly started talking about the first time he got here, flying toward the forest on the other side of the bridge, away from the city. Sora happily chattered about how apparently this bridge, the Torii Gate Bridge, was one of the largest in this world. Naminé supposed that was cool—probably would be cooler, if she lived on this world or visited it regularly.

Still, the bridge was massive. That was cool. There was a semi-secluded clearing not far from the bridge that Sora dropped the ship into. Cloaking themselves apparently wasn’t necessary, so they exited the ship, and Sora cloaked it from view. Van took the Flood from his shoulder and stared at it, nervous. At least with one Unversed out, he could feel through it without being totally trapped. The Flood nosed his face and clawed at his hands happily.

“I bet,” Naminé said, feeling his nerves deep in her soul, “that if you put it in your jacket and don't make a big deal out of it, it’s fine to stay with you.” She couldn’t even imagine what it must be like, to not be able to feel emotions at all, without giving birth to a creature of darkness. That was one particular power of his that he’d never been able to put to words for them. The Unversed at least seemed to take on his emotions, varieties of them, once they were free, so he could feel in small spurts.

“...Yeah.”

“There’s lots of huge buildings too, with like 500 foot roofs at least, that are away from people and easy to get to, so they can, like, go free there,” Sora chirped. “C’mon! The sunset is to die for.”

Naminé gave him affectionate eyes, which she then tossed back to Van to see him lift his jacket and tuck the little critter inside. The Unversed seemed perfectly content to bury its face into its master’s side.

The walk felt long to start, but then Sora flashed a wink at them and took Naminé’s hand, reminding her to have “light feet”, whatever that was supposed to mean. He crouched his knees just a little and waited for a decent sized passing car, and he and she jumped, much to Van’s surprise and hidden delight, on top of it. He followed suit quickly after, and the trip into the big city took much less time.

Naminé was giggling like mad when they finally dismounted from behind, likely startling the driver. Sora waved them off with a sheepish grin, while Van actively fought back the appearance of another Unversed of some kind, hand protectively over his mouth.

“Why didn’t you just glide?” Naminé asked once Van successively fought back the rush of emotion, eyeing Sora. “It’d be easier. Scare less people.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“Did you really just ask,” Van asked, voice strained like he was still fighting back tarry vomit, like it was still balled in his throat, “where the fun is in flying?”

“Besides,” Sora said, ignoring him. “I didn’t think either of you could glide.”

Van frowned and looked away. Naminé mumbled sheepishly about not being that far in her magic. That was all the answer he needed.

“Come on! Can I see your phone again? I’ll take you right to where he was, then I wanna see if I can track down Hiro and the others!”

Naminé passed off her phone. Sora got a good idea of the area, where Ri had been surrounded by round pink bushes, and then took off, Naminé followed closely with Van trailing a little behind.

It was outside of a huge building, but Naminé decided that wasn’t saying much since all the buildings here were huge. The bushes were pretty much perfectly round and absolutely, in Naminé’s opinion, delightful.

Ri, though, was not lost amongst them. This city was much bigger than Halloweentown was and, unlike with Van, there would be no delightful little darkness critters to lead her right to her best friend. They’d either have to hunt him down, or…

“Would the Flood know his scent?” Naminé asked Van, looking at the little blue critter tucked into his coat. “If he was just here?”

“You would be amazed,” Van started, but he obediently removed the little creature, “just how stupid these things are. I doubt it’ll know Ri.”

“Aren’t they extensions of you?” Sora asked, half-innocent. Van shot a positively evil glare on him, and Sora paled and took two steps back. “Um, I’m gonna dash, track down Hiro and them, okay? Just, um, remember the World Order, and call me if you get lost, this world is easy to get lost in. And!! Call me just before sunset, I wanna watch with you guys and catch up with, um, with Ri for a bit. We’ll get ice cream!! Okay?! Have fun!!” Like that, Sora was off. He freeran up the damn building and leapt onto the railing of the highway above them, grinding off quickly.

Naminé waved him off, bouncing on her toes. “Bye Sora!! I love you!!!”

Van shook his head, but now that they were alone again, the affection on his face was much freer to show when he looked at her. “You say that a lot.”

Naminè looked back at him, flashing her best grin. “Yeah, well, it’s true, and everyone should know. Don’t worry, you and Ri are still my favorite.” She surged forward and took his hand, and when he didn’t stiffen which normally meant he was okay with contact, she moved the rest of the way in and wrapped her arms around him, burying her cheek against his shoulder. “I love you.”

“Yeah, well, whatever. C’mon, before we miss him.” Excitement shown on his face, and in the suddenly jittery Unversed. It had been a long time since he had last seen Ri. “Find Ri.”

The Unversed, apparently stupid as Van claimed, just stared at him, shaking a little as Van’s excitement leaked off of it.

“Go.”

If the Flood had been human, its eyes would have been dead.

But Naminé knew what to do. These things were extensions of Van himself, after all. She crouched in front of it and scratched its head, noting the way Van turned his head just slightly as if he could sort of feel it. “Go, find your best friend.”

The Flood stared at her, but this time with less stupidity and more confusion, like it was asking “why are you asking me to find you?” Then its nose twitched, and it whirled around and hopped over one of the bushes, now knowing what it was looking for.

Naminé glanced back to see Van completely gray in the face, blackened blood making his skin turn ashen. If she didn’t know any better, she’d have thought him ill, but she did know, and so knew he was needlessly embarrassed.

“Shut up,” he said, then took off after his Flood. Naminé laughed and followed.

The Flood was sniffing at a spot by one of the bushes that looked recently matted down, as if Ri had been laying there before vacating. Once it got a decent enough scent, it looked back at them as if to make sure that they were catching up. Then, it took off toward the side of the building, melted into the surface, and ascended like it was no problem.

Naminé stared up at the little critter, seeing its shadow in the building but only slightly. She looked to her companion. “You know how to freerun?”

“I think so. You?”

“I hope so.” Naminé gulped, then took Van’s hand and laced their fingers together. “Come on!”

She jumped and he jumped with her, activated their high jump, and angled themselves so their feet touched the building, and she prayed to something. Sure enough, their feet clung to the side of the building, as if gravity was merely a suggestion. After a second, she lost her footing, but as soon as they started moving, gravity forgot to care about them, and they followed the Flood up to the roof. It was a testament to how much time Sora spent here climbing walls, when so few people even noticed.

They soon had to jump to another building, following the Flood’s suggestion, and headed towards the center of town. It lead them up another tall building, where it rocketed right to the top of the building and stopped.

Once Naminé and Van were safely obeying gravity once again, the Flood took off to its final destination, the shoulder of the person standing there and staring at the flying fish things.

Ri started hard, not knowing they were there at all, when the Flood happily launched onto his shoulder and forcefully nuzzled his face. He grabbed it and lifted it away, then realized exactly what it was. “Flood…?” It would make no sense for an Unversed to be here, unless…

He turned in the direction it had come from, eyes absolutely lighting up when he saw its master, his best friends. “Naminé? Van?”

“Ri!” Naminé gasped. She luckily avoided tripping over her feet in her rush to grab him. She launched forward and hugged him so viciously that he lost his footing and hit the roof on his rear. She understood why Van didn’t like being touched, what most of his life had been like before turning to the Light, but she was still really really happy that Ri didn’t have the same qualms. She loved hugging him. He had been, out of everyone she knew and loved, of Sora and Roxas and Xion and Axel and Kairi and now Van, he had been her first friend. She huddled into his suddenly exposed lap and pressed in all the closer, possibly squashing the Flood. “I missed you. I love you.”

Ri was still somewhere between amazed and startled, staring up at Van and eyes darting toward the blond hair not for from his face. After a moment though, he wiggled the Unversed somewhere safe, and hugged Naminé back just as tightly, kissing her cheek for good measure. “What are you guys doing here?”

“Aw, didn’t you miss us?” Van asked, half mocking. There was black tar dripping out the corner of his mouth, which meant Van was attempting to squash emotions and, ultimately, was failing.

“I kidnapped Van.”

“Of course you did,” Ri said with an affectionate sigh. The affection flashed between both his friends, and Naminé knew there was no judgment toward Van for not being the one to decide on his own to visit. Where Ri wanted freedom to be who and where he wanted to be, rather than trapped in a castle or Riku’s heart, Van wanted control over his life and choices, and a place to call home.

Ri shoved Naminé off of him playfully, then got back to his feet, offering the Flood to its master, although the extra outlet for emotion didn't seem like it would do him any good. An Unversed was well on its way.

Regardless, Van stepped forward and opened up his arms, a gesture he had never given to anyone but them. “I’m hugging you,” he said, a semblance of the question they always posed for him. Naminé wasn’t sure if he was telling them that yeah, it was okay and he wasn’t forcing it, or maybe it was him warning himself, but he had always done it and they didn’t question it.

“I won’t stop you,” Ri assured with a laugh. Like Naminé had, he invaded Van’s personal space and buried his face in Van’s shoulder. Despite not being terribly tall, Van was still the tallest of them, and Ri and Naminé always took full advantage of it when he let them.

The hug lasted for five seconds tops, before Van suddenly lurched in Ri’s arms and shoved him to the side, not violently but enough to get him out of the way. A hand flew to his mouth, and he quickly doubled over, gagging. Naminé and Ri’s hands quickly went to his back.

He lurched again, a terrible, bubbled noise coming out of his throat. Thick, black tar flew out and splattered on the metal, more dripping from his mouth to fill out the pool. He coughed and more came up, bubbling out of his mouth. He spat the acrid taste out and shuddered there, hands on his knees, Naminé and Ri rubbing his back helpfully. After a minute, the tar bubbled up again and took life, forming into a Hareraiser who stared up at its master and stepped forward as if to help soothe.

“...Did you have to do that now?” Ri asked, shit-eating grin spreading across his face.

Van shot him a heated glare and pulled a kerchief out of his pocket, a gift from Jack Skellington apparently, judging by the skeleton face in the corner. “You know damn well I don’t have a choice. I should kick you off this building.”

“No!!”

After a moment, the three sat at the edge of the building, staring at the mechanical flying fish. Naminé linked her fingertips with Ri’s and leaned on his shoulder, giving Van the space he needed after so violently birthing another Unversed. The Hareraiser perched on Ri’s shoulders and occasionally nuzzled him happily, very much embarrassing Van again without meaning to.

“Why did you guys come here?” Ri asked after a short amount of time, silver hair swaying in the breeze. He kept his hair back in a low pony now, because he didn’t like his hair getting in his eyes but wasn’t prepared to cut it yet. Kairi had once braided it not long after he was reborn, lamenting how much she missed Riku’s long hair. “I mean, why here. Why now?”

“We missed you, dumbass,” Van snapped.

“We love you,” Naminé said very simply, making Van sigh while Ri tossed her the fondest expression known to man. He squeezed her tight, and stuck his tongue out at Van, who snottily stuck his out back at him.

“She’s become fond of the phrase,” Van explained, although it was hardly necessary.

“Well, I do. And we did miss you, and I had time, and I had Sora. We do miss you. Plus Van doesn’t call you because he’s mean.”

“Oh yeah, he’s the worst.”

“Hey,” Van snapped. “I just spit up some awful bunny for you.”

The Hareraiser raised its ears as if aware it was being spoken of. Van winced when supposedly its voice shrieked in his head.

“Happy birthday to me.”

“Screw this, I’m going home,” Van snapped, although the tone in his voice suggested less. He shoved himself up off the side of the building, turning around to walk away. Ri laughed and released Naminé to lean back and grab at Van’s ankle. The Hareraiser lifted its ears to wrap around his knee, too, forcing Van to a stop. Well, more or less; he was certainly powerful enough to kick them both off without struggle, if he really wanted to.

“Get back here, asshole, we’re only messing with you. Of course I like your awful bunny. It’s wonderful.”

The aforementioned Unversed cheered to itself, waving its ears in delight. Van kicked its ear, and Ri’s hand, out of his way, then obediently melted into the rooftop, crossing his arms over his crossed legs. Naminé leaned her head back and flashed him her best smile.

The trio fell back into silence. Ri was stretched back, one hand knotted in Naminé’s shirt, the other just barely grazing Van’s knee. The wind was cool and gentle, the sun bright but they were protected by the shade of the building. They were so high up that the chatter from down below was pretty much non existent. It was like the three of them were the only people in the whole world.

“...You know,” Ri suddenly said, stretching his hand up to reach for nothing but air. “I think this is the best random hangout session we’ve ever had.”

“I don’t think we’ve had one before,” Naminé said. Since the three of them regularly lived on different worlds, nothing they did could be random. Everything was planned. It was nice, and it worked for them. She’d take what she could get.

“You have sad hangout sessions,” Van commented, flicking his head. “All we’ve done today is find you, hug, I threw up an Unversed, you made me hate you, and this.”

“Thrilling,” Naminé agreed, in such a sardonic Roxas voice that it made her start giggling to herself.

“Shut up Van. Naminé has a point. We haven’t had one before, and that means that legally I’m allowed to call this one our best yet.”

“Legally?” Van asked with a laugh. His laugh had mellowed out since his release from the dark, and Naminé and Ri both found it quite pleasing. “You must not have gotten the memo. You aren’t allowed to do that anymore. CDA’s gonna come and break down your door.”

“CDA? What the fuck is CDA?”

“Oh—wrong world?” Van pulled a face, and Naminé and Ri started laughing with him. Naminé pushed herself back a little and laid back to use one of his knees as a pillow. It was bony, and he was still skinny, but she liked the warmth.

“I agree with Ri,” Naminé said softly. The Flood was in her arms, arguably sleeping if Unversed ever slept. “This is the best, even if all we’ve done is find Ri and watch you throw up. I really needed this.”

“Needed?” Ri asked, turning his head to look at her. And there it was, that protective thing he was always so good at.

“You didn’t say anything was wrong earlier,” Van said, voice suddenly tight. Naminé worried she was forcing on him some sort of emotion that was going to come bursting out in the form of black tar.

“No no it’s… I mean, everything’s fine. Nothing’s wrong, don’t either of you go worrying about me.”

“Legally we have to,” Van protested.

“Shut up.”

“Everything’s fine! I just, I’ve been missing my favorite people a lot, and we don’t always talk as much as I like, and obviously we can’t spend a lot of time together and, I don’t know, I guess I’ve been lonely.”

“Lonely?” Ri sat all the way up, removing himself from Van’s personal space, to look down at her. He shared a suddenly nervous look with Van, who shifted a little to allow the adjustment. “You can’t be lonely. You said you’ve been doing better.”

“I was. And I am! Leon and his team, they’re all awesome. Sora’s awesome. Xion’s awesome. Terra’s—awesome. But they’re not… they’re not… I don’t know. I know I shouldn’t be lonely because I have friends now, loads of them, and it’s great! Kairi calls me every day, all the time, and she keeps saying ‘oh, you should have seen what Sora did this morning!’ or ‘Riku spent the night last night and we were up for hours’. Stuff like that. I just. I don’t know.” Naminé looked away from Ri and Van, going red in the face. She hugged the Unversed closer. She didn’t want to look at either of them, because she knew why they did what they did, and she knew why she did what she did. She didn’t even always feel like this, in fact most often she didn’t, but some days the miss happened, and she called up Sora to drag her all across galaxies. “I don’t know.”

“Nam—Nam, do you… are you jealous?” Ri asked, poking her bare arm. “Of Kairi? ‘Cause I mean that’s cool, Kairi’s cool, but if you ask me she’s got nothing on you.”

“Are you, like…” Van leaned over her a little, struggling with his words because emotions were hard to feel, let alone talk about. “...sad? That we don’t live on the same world as you?”

“It’s dumb! I know it’s dumb! Because you guys are awesome. You really really are! You’re out there living your best life, Van you have a steady job that keeps you busy and distracts your anxiety that you’re really good at, and you have a home where your emotions can do whatever they need or want to the way that they should, and that’s awesome!! Ri, you’re out here exploring worlds upon worlds upon worlds, you’re finding yourself in this spectacular way and you’re finding out every way that you are and aren’t Riku and that’s awesome. I hate feeling like this. Because it isn’t fair of me to want to uproot you from where you guys are finally happy.” Naminé squeezed the Unversed even tighter, so tight the squeak was nearly audible, but the wince from Van was definitely visible.

Van and Ri shared another look before looking down on her. Van lifted her head and scootched out his knee from beneath. He moved a little and slid down alongside her, laying back so they were side by side. Ri scooted down and laid on her opposite side. The three huddled together like sardines, and for once none of them minded the touch in the slightest.

“It’s okay, Nam. If you miss us. Or if you want to call us up in the middle of the night because world times are fucked up and you want to tell us all about your latest art project. We might not talk but we’ll listen. Well— I’ll listen, Van’ll fall asleep.”

“You—knew damn well how much work I did the day before, you called me then on purpose!”

“Shut up Van this isn’t about you.”

“Pot shot,” Naminé said quietly, reaching over to pinch Ri like Van asked her to every time he made a low blow.

“The point is, we’re still your friends, no matter what. You were my first friend.”

“You were my first friend,” Van agreed softly.

“So we’ll be here, even when you’re lonely and you don’t think you should be.”

Naminé sighed, wiggling her shoulders a little so she came out on top. “I know. In my head, I know. I just… it’s not the same as being with you. Touching you.” She released the shaky Unversed, reaching out both her hands to track down Van and Ri’s hands. “Even when you don’t always like it.”

“...Sorry we can’t be there, then,” Van mumbled. Their pinky and ring fingers locked.

The trio lapsed once again into silence. The Hareraiser once again found Ri’s free hand and was demanding head skritches, so Van occasionally turned his head in a fruitless attempt to get away from the bizarre muted feeling.

“You know what I think?” Van suddenly asked, which was odd considering he didn’t often voice his opinions unless he was being snide.

“What do you think,” Ri asked.

“I think somewhere out there, there’s a world for us. Like how stupid Ventus and his friends have a world practically made for them, and OG Riku and his friends have a world made for them, and even the two carbon copies and their friends have worlds made for them. I think somewhere there’s a world like that for us. Some kind of weird mix of light and dark.”

“Mostly dark,” Ri interjected halfway playfully, watching him. Van was suddenly talking with his free hand, fingers up towards the clouds.

“Oh obviously, light is gross.”

“Obviously,” Naminé giggled.

“What do you think of this world made for us?” Ri asked. “What will we do with it?”

“I dunno. I’m not saying we, like, we move there but. Who knows. Maybe one day, you’ll go there Ri, and you’ll find out its like hella artsy and shit. So you call up Naminé, and because it’s hella dark and there are weird monsters everywhere you call me, and now we have to go check it out, and maybe we just don’t leave.”

“Hmmm…” Naminé said seriously, setting her chin. “We’ll be on the same world.”

“Pretty much all the time.”

Naminé’s smile grew back over her face, in a soft and gentle way that really, Van and Ri both loved. “I think that sounds amazing, Van.”

“Yeah, it sounds pretty cool. I’ll keep my eye out for really super fucking dark but also really super fucking artsy worlds, and I’ll let you know the next one I see.”

“Cool.”

“Until then,” Ri said, squeezing Naminé’s hand, “maybe Van and me can get out to Radiant Garden more. So you’re not so lonely. Would that be okay? Van?”

“...Yeah. I can make it work. But Naminé, you have to show us something cool every time.”

“Legally, or CDA will kill you.”

Naminé looked between her two half-bickering boys, her best friends in the whole multiverse, attempting to make plans that she wasn’t even sure they’d be able to keep, just because she sometimes got lonely. The Flood was nuzzling her chin as its own affection as well as Van’s took over.

“...Okay, I think I can do that. I really love you guys.”

Ri pressed closer to her and leaned his head against hers. Van squeezed her hand tight, and she knew they felt the same.

Sora was right. The sunset was fucking spectacular, especially from the vantage point atop the Torii Gate Bridge. As promised, Naminé called up Sora and they met him on the bridge. Van glared at him, but then he presented bars of chocolate ice cream, and he mellowed out. Sora took a slightly higher vantage point than them, leaving the three to their companionship while still able to interject himself.

Ri had spent the rest of the day showing them cool things around the city and talking about his time there. He only dropped Naminé’s hand when he had to.

He also carried the Hareraiser around all day, and it curled in his lap now, not prepared to leave, apparently. Van mumbled under his breath when he noticed, but didn’t seem all in all too upset that it stayed where it was.

“I feel like we should come back here more,” Naminé said softly. “Just for this part. Or for all of it. Today was great.”

“I’m leaving here the day after tomorrow,” Ri reminded her, poking her head.

“...Elsewhere then. Somewhere else pretty. Oh!! The Caribbean would be cool.”

“We should live there,” Van agreed. “They have ships and you don’t have to talk to people because you can be on the ocean one hundred percent of the time.”

Ri rolled his eyes and smacked a fist on Van’s thigh, making him laugh.

“That won’t work because I need electricity to do digital art and also phones won’t charge.”

“Yeah, Van, you’d die without your phone.”

Van willed an Archraven into existence, then pulled out his phone to consider it. He shrugged, said “eh”, and tossed it over the edge.

“Van!”

The Archraven instantly trailed after the little device, depositing it back in his lap and perching on his shoulder.

“That’s the only way we can contact you when you’re on a different world, asshole!”

Naminé, giggling, dropped her head toward her lap and the Flood, who lifted its snoot to her, ready to be kissed. “Why are you the way that you are,” she said, as Van had asked them a number of times when he was simply too tired to put up with their shenanigans. She took the Flood’s head in her hands and angled it back a little bit so she could easier kiss it.

“Hey, you guys like me this way, that’s not my fault.”

Ri let out a startled laugh and shoved Naminé into him, making them both start laughing as well. The Archraven waved its wings in protest of the movement and clicked its beak at Ri. They settled and left the poor Unversed be.

“...I don’t think I want to go home,” Naminé said. “I love Radiant Garden, but I don’t wanna say goodbye yet. I love you guys so much.”

“We love you too,” Ri said softly, flashing her a warm smile.

“Love you too,” Van agreed, halfway startling Ri and Naminé. They looked at him with huge eyes; he’d never said so before. He showed it, but he’d never said the words.

“...You do?”

“Yes? God, fuck off. Nevermind then.”

“Nono!!” Naminé gasped, flinging her arms around him and squeezing him tight. “I love you too, Vani. I’m just surprised you didn’t throw up an Unversed again.”

“...That really only happens when it’s sudden.”

Naminé squeezed him tighter, enjoying that implication. “I hope it’s okay that I’m hugging you. I forgot to ask.”

“Yeah yeah…” Van said, putting his arm around her. “Just don’t make a habit of it.”

Ri stood from where he was now left alone and slunk over to Van’s other side, putting his arms around him and squeezing him tight too. “I’m hugging you now, since they’re free.”

“Whatever. Last one.”

Naminé leaned her head on Van’s shoulder, looking up to Sora who was smiling very warmly at them. He leaned back and watched the sky, as if they had all the time in the world. Maybe they did. She didn’t know how times worked on different worlds. “Do you love him too, Van? Or just me.”

“Definitely just you.”

“Ouch,” Ri said with a laugh.

“Van!”

“You asked!”

“It’s okay Nam,” Ri said, patting her head. He released Van and let him take some space back. “I know he loves me because a few weeks ago I called him three times on the same day and he only yelled at me for like ten minutes the last time.”

“Three times in one day is unnecessary.”

“It must be love,” Naminé agreed.

“It is,” Van snapped, then he realized he’s spoken alone and his skin went several shades ashier. “Anyone else but you two and I wouldn’t even have answered once.”

That was true.

“Yeah, well, anyone else but you two and I wouldn’t even have called, so it must be love or something.” Ri gently kicked Van’s boot so he knew, and Van kicked back.

Naminé smiled at her friends and leaned back, the sunset now almost totally blocked out by the Flood. “You know, I think today might be the best day ever.”

Ri leaned back. Van sat up between them, but put his hand on her belly to pat.

“I think you’re probably right.”

#my writing #creative aces #kh #khfanfic #lost trio #namine #vanitas #repliku #riku replica #i just really love the lost trio you guys I really really do #vanitas is definitely ooc #and it's only partly because he's healing #not re:mind or kh3 compliant #sorry guys no links i want this to show up somewhere #also reblog or die by my blade

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tiny-maus-boots · 6 years ago

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Queen of Hearts pt 4

A/N: sorry it took so long. pneumonia is a bitch. i’m better now.

A/N 2: thank you to my beta and bestie for doing the thing and posting for me. ilyan @chloes-yellow-cup

04. Playing Loose

Six minutes wasn’t a whole lot of time to get dressed let alone anything else no matter how her body throbbed uncomfortably. Aubrey buttoned a fresh pale lavender shirt and tucked it into her slacks with crisp movements. She couldn’t help the way her gaze kept drifting to Stacie even though she had pressing concerns she needed to be focusing on. Aubrey opted to forgo the vest and tie and shrugged on a navy blue jacket so dark it almost looked black. She could have gone for casual being that she was in her own home but her suits were her uniform and her armor. Aubrey was a different woman under the mantle of expensive Italian tailoring and she needed to be that person when facing federal agents.

“Is Beca going to get in trouble?” Aubrey blinked and raised a questioning gaze at Stacie. “Because right now it looks like she tipped you off about the federal agents coming here.”

The question pulled her attention away from the length of Stacie’s long toned leg and she sighed as she slipped into a pair of wingtip heels. “It doesn’t look great, no. Knowing Mitchell the way I do I would guess she has an answer for any question that comes up, though.”

Stacie pulled on a warm cashmere sweater over her leggings before frowning at Aubrey. “How do you know that?”

“Because she always does. That kid could lie her way out of the devil’s basement.” She had never met anyone that could be bullshit the way Beca Mitchell could. It made her dangerous to bet against and more often than not Aubrey would fold rather than call the detective’s bluff. She reached out and took Stacie’s hand as they wandered from the closet to bedroom and out into the hall. “Listen, Stace. I don’t want you to worry. They’re gonna ask me some questions, go through my things maybe, and leave. You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to. Just be ready to call my lawyer for me just in case.”

They were halfway down the stairs when the knock on the front door came. It was forceful and demanding in the way all cops knocked. Detective Mitchell pushed off from the wall she was leaning against. Their eyes met and Aubrey gave the other woman a brief nod before closing the distance to the door and pulling it open. She had been prepared for feds, had even been prepared for a lot of them, but she hadn’t been prepared for this particular federal agent standing on her front step.

The pinched faced brunette in an off the rack and ill-fitting women’s pant suit and matronly black pumps gave her a smugly superior look at the surprised look on her face. They stared at each other for a long moment before the politely smiling man at her side cleared his throat. Aubrey took in everything about him, from the boyishly innocent smile to the slight apologetic roll of his shoulders. The air of innocence was such a strong contrast to the woman’s pugnacious energy that it threw Aubrey off balance for a moment.

The blonde recovered quickly and let the familiar cool mask of her poker face slide into place. ”More uninvited guests, must be my lucky night.”

The other woman’s face twisted and she pushed past Aubrey into the house with an air of aggressive authority. She stepped back gestured inside as if she’d actually invited the agents in instead of letting them force their way in. Both agents stopped short when they caught sight of Detective Mitchell, each of them raising suspicious brows at her presence.

“Detective Mitchell, I wish I could say I’m surprised to see you here. Let me guess, you were just in the neighborhood? Thought you’d give your pal Posen the heads up about the agents headed her way?”

Beca rolled her eyes and stuffed her hands in the pockets of her leather jacket. Every small gesture was laced with barely contained irritation and utter disdain. “Actually I was conducting an interview for my murder investigation. Which you are now impeding and obstructing.”

“Right, because your little case outweighs federal jurisdiction?”

“Yeah I dunno that I’d call MURDER a little case but okay. Go off then.”

It was just enough of a clue for Aubrey to go on and she shut the door firmly to get everyone’s attention. “Does someone want to tell me why a homicide detective and two federal agents are having a pissing contest in my foyer?”

“We’re sorry. Uh we, I uh apologize Miss Posen. I’m Agent Applebaum and this is Agent…”

“Alice Esposito. I know who she is. We go way back, you and me, don’t we Ali-cat?”

“Agent Esposito.”

Aubrey smirked at getting a rise out of the other woman but gave a nod of acknowledgement. “Okay Agent, what the hell do you want from me?”

“I just wanted to ask you a few questions, but we can make this a more formal interview downtown if you like.”

Aubrey didn’t like the glimmer of glee in Alice’s eyes. It was the idea of marching the blonde into the station after all these years that had her riding in on her high horse and it made Aubrey want to knock her down a peg or two. “Sure we can go downtown. If you have a warrant.” The corner of her mouth pulled slightly in a mocking smirk. “Do you have a warrant for my arrest? You know those are tricky things to get. Being that they require proof of wrongdoing so you don’t finger the wrong man. So to speak.”

Agent Esposito’s eyes narrowed and it only made Aubrey’s smirk grow. Truthfully she was hoping that Alice would lose her temper and say or do something she would regret in front of so many witnesses but the other woman seemed to sense her endgame and clenched her jaw tight to keep from saying anything else. The other agent gave a brief smile but it wavered with uncertainty under the weight of the tension between his partner and her.

“There’s no need for lawyers, we’re here to talk nothing more.” His tone was soft, conciliatory even but there was something under the words that made her re-evaluate him. Yes he was green and inexperienced, yes he seemed surprisingly honest despite the viper pit he worked in, and yes he even seemed to be as boyishly innocent as he looked. But there was something there, something more. She made a mental note to have Happy look into him in the morning before giving him a slight jerk of her head.

“Fine, let’s make this quick. I have plans.”

Aubrey turned slightly and caught sight of Stacie eyeing her curiously, her fiancée’s gaze drifting over to Alice with an unreadable expression. There was a flash of something possessive in Stacie’s eyes before she smiled graciously and stepped forward to slip her arm into Aubrey’s. “Why don’t we all have a seat in the living room?” It might have been phrased as a question with perfect and polite intonation but it definitely was a command and Aubrey felt like the fly in the spider’s parlor as she followed at Stacie’s side to lead the agents and Detective Mitchell further into the house.

Beca had remained quiet so far but Aubrey didn’t trust it. Just like she didn’t trust the amused grin plastered on the smaller woman’s face as she plopped herself down on the couch and gazed back and forth between Alice and Aubrey. It was clear she was content watching the show and for a second Aubrey kind of hated her for it.

Alice perched on the very edge of the sofa as if allowing herself the luxury of sitting fully on it was somehow too much association with Aubrey. The offense at the disrespect it showed warred with the amusement of watching Alice trying to maintain her composure. Her attention was pulled away from Agent Esposito when Stacie’s warm weight settled in at her side, leaning into her body casually.

Aubrey turned her head slightly to watch Stacie cross one leg over the other gracefully before taking her hand. She had never been one for physical demonstrations of affection outside the bedroom, though in all fairness it was probably because she had never really been in love before. Now however, it came so easily she didn’t realize she was doing it.

Agent Applebaum pulled out a notebook and a pen and glanced to Beca. “Detective, you were here when we arrived, would you like to interview Miss Posen first?”

Beca shook her head with a barely contained snort of amusement and leaned further back on the couch, reclining with her hands behind her head. “Nah I’m good.”

He blinked at her for a moment then nodded and glanced to his partner. Alice had her eyes pinned to Stacie and Aubrey linked hands, her focus unnerving in its intensity. “Right. I’ll just…start.” He was uncomfortable but soldiered on bravely. “Miss Posen, do you own a small yacht?”

She had expected a soft question to warm up but he went right for the meat of the visit and it took her a second to consider her answer. “I do.” It wasn’t something she could hide, the yacht was registered in her name and she paid the dock fees from her personal bank account. It wasn’t a secret so she didn’t see the harm in answering in the affirmative. “Why?”

“We have reason to believe it may have been used in the commission of a crime.” Alice pinned Aubrey with a stare and raised her brow. Her tone clipped and a hair too loud where Applebaum’s had been easy and quiet. “When was the last time you took her out?”

Stacie shifted slightly in her spot, more of her body leaning into Aubrey. The blonde gave them a challenging stare. “Last weekend. Is that suddenly against the law?”

It wasn’t the answer they were looking for and her ricocheted question put them on the defensive but Alice pressed on. “How about a few months ago? Say maybe…8 or 9 months. You take your boat out then?”

Aubrey gave a scoffing laugh and shook her head. “Maybe but unless you’re asking something real specific…I just can’t bring anything to mind. Sorry.”

The agents looked at each other, silently communicating their next step before they turned back to her. Alice couldn’t quite keep the sneer off her face when she spoke. “How about the morning of May 17th? You remember taking your boat out then?”

She didn’t give either of them the satisfaction of flinching but her stomach sank. They were nosing around a case that was supposed to be closed already. Beca stirred on the couch and sat up with an interested cant to her head as she eyed the federal agents. Stacie’s fingers flexed in hers.

“I tell you what Posen, you don’t have to think too hard on it. I have an eye witness that can place you and your boat at the scene that day.”

The scene. Aubrey narrowed her eyes at the phrasing of the statement. She hadn’t said ‘at the marina’ or ‘on your boat’. She had said ‘at the scene’. There was only one person that could place her at the scene of anything. Except he was supposed to be dead.

Stacie sat up straighter and sighed. “This is an interrogation and I’ll tell you what Agent Esposito, if you really want to continue this I suggest you set up an interview with our attorney. In the meantime…get the hell out.”

The corner of her lips quirked when Alice frowned in mild confusion. The other woman’s muddy brown eyes drifted over Stacie, taking her in with a critical glance. But her assessment stopped at the glinting diamond on the taller woman’s finger. Several emotions twitched over the agent’s face but she gathered her composure and stood when her partner did.

Detective Mitchell didn’t have to be told to leave, it wouldn’t look good if she stayed. Almost as if she read Aubrey’s mind the homicide detective looked over her shoulder as she retrieved her motorcycle helmet from the front hall.

“This isn’t over Posen, I’ll be back and next time I’ll be picking this place through. Hear me?”

“Don’t make me have to put a restraining order on you, Mitchell.”

Applebaum and Esposito turned to see Beca whirl, her back to them as she stalked forward dangerously. The menace of the moment was ruined by the barely contained laugh on the cop’s face. Aubrey had to hand it to her, Beca’s tone didn’t belie the humor in her expression.

“Let me make this real clear Posen, nothing, not one goddamned thing, is going to stop me from continuing my investigation. I don’t let anyone bully me and I’m not scared of you.”

The Detective turned on a heel and stomped out the front door, brushing past the two agents watching them. It had all been for show, a misdirection to keep the feds guessing. But it rang true and Aubrey wondered if it was because nothing Beca had said had actually been a lie. It was a skilled bluff and she admired the play and the way it was delivered. She really had to give that kid a raise.

Aubrey leaned against the edge of the open door, one hand in the pocket of her slacks, everything about her posture indicating that she wasn’t threatened in the slightest. “See ya around Alicat.” A tremor of repressed rage ran through the short woman and she turned to toss Aubrey an ugly glare before she yanked open the door to a black SUV and shoved herself inside of it.

She gave a snort of amusement and pulled back to shut the door. Aubrey threw the lock and set the alarm quickly, sealing them off from the rest of the world. When she turned around Stacie was standing by table in the center of the large foyer, her expression unreadable. Something felt wrong and she raised her brow in question.

“What?”

“You want to tell me what that was all about?”

Oh. The blonde hung her head and let out a breath. It wasn’t going to be an easy conversation and she wondered how Stacie would look at her after she explained herself. It had been a long time ago but she didn’t feel badly about any of it.

“I knew her from before. We went to the same Catholic school back East. We were friends until I moved to California when I was fourteen. Figured I’d never see her again and honestly I hadn’t thought much about her. Then awhile back, when I was starting to make a name for myself, she walks back into my life. Right into the Dirty Bird.”

It had been clumsy and heavy handed. They should have drawn it out, had them bump into each other casually in a neutral location. They should have made it look like a chance meeting rather than a blunt attempt to force a reunion. It had made Aubrey suspicious immediately but she played the game as expected. Reminiscing and flirting the night away as if she had actually took Alice at face value.

“I had some of my people look into her, her jacket came back exactly what she’d told me. Petty theft, ran with a rough crowd, couple of arrests for prostitution. It was too manufactured, didn’t feel right. So I tapped a different network to get more information.”

Stacie crossed her arms and raised both brows, voice hushed. “The mob?”

“Nah, the vecchie signore at Saint Sebastian’s. Those old birds know everything and all it cost me was a box of cannoli and an afternoon dodging blind dates with grandsons and great nephews.”

She could tell the answer amused Stacie but the other woman wasn’t quite ready to let go of her anger just yet. Her arms did uncross and the frown smoothed out from her brow. “So? What’d you find out?” Stacie was curious as much about Alice as the agent was likely to be about her. “We’re going to come back to this afternoon of old lady gossip later by the way.”

“I found out she was a fed working white collar. I figured she was on to me for laundering, I was getting a little too loose with my game. But I knew what she wanted and I knew if I didn’t give her something I wasn’t going to have time to extricate myself from everything. So I pursued her. Aggressively. We dated and I let her hear just enough to make her think I trusted her.”

“You fucked her.”

She had hoped that she could gloss right past that point but it was clear Stacie wasn’t going to let that happen. Aubrey hadn’t been proud of herself, it wasn’t some fucking game. It was survival. She had done it because it was necessary.

“Look, it was business. It had to look real, Stacie.”

“Her? Really?? What else did you do Aubrey? Might as well get it all out now.”

Whatever goodwill she had bought herself earlier vanished as Stacie bristled with jealousy. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly trying to remain calm. Stacie had questions and Aubrey wanted to be honest with her because she trusted her and didn’t want to start a life together built on lies.

“I fed her misinformation, implicated a well-known councilman that had absolutely nothing to do with the business. I dropped hints and fed her lies for months.”

“Months? You were fucking her for months?” Stacie gave a short unhappy chuckle. “How long were you together?”

“About a year. It took them a long time to build a case and Alice was starting to chomp at the bit. This was gonna make her career if she pulled me and my entire network down. She got too eager and managed to get a warrant for the councilman. It was…highly publicized.”

“But she had the wrong guy.”

Aubrey nodded and shrugged. “By the time she recovered from that misstep I had shut the operation down. I walked away clean and she had nothing. I fucked her career and now she’s trying to get back at me.”

“Jesus Aubrey.” Stacie threw her hands up and paced away from the table. “A fucking year. Did you have feelings for her?”

The idea of it was so foreign that Aubrey could only shake her head for a second. “No!”

“Really? Because I’m not so sure “Ali-cat” got the fucking memo. Seriously? Fingering the wrong man? What the fuck Aubrey?”

Okay. She had to admit that maybe she shouldn’t have poked the bear in front of Stacie. But Aubrey honestly wasn’t flirting. Maybe digging the knife in would be a better way to describe it.

“Stace I swear…I was just fucking with her. I wanted to get under her skin.”

The tall brunette pulled her forward by the lapels of her jacket until they were nose to nose, anger sparking in the depths of her green eyes. “That better be the only thing you want to get under. If you’re with me, you’re with only me.”

Stacie pushed her away and took a step back but Aubrey reached out and grabbed her wrist and pulled her back. “I could be in a room full of people but all I see is you. You got me Stace and I got you.” Aubrey brought their lips together in a searing kiss. There was only one person for her and that was Stacie, she couldn’t give a fuck about Alice Esposito and never really had. “Whatever that was before…it’s done.”

“It better be.” She was pushing Aubrey on purpose to get a reaction out of her. She wanted to be sure she had the blonde’s full attention. “I’m not fucking around.”

Aubrey growled and pressed forward making Stacie back into the table. The vase on top with fresh flowers wobbled slightly at the impact but she didn’t care. Long legs wrapped themselves around her waist as she lifted Stacie onto the table. She swept her arm out to knock the vase out of the way to give them room. It toppled to the floor with a crash but she didn’t care, she’d get another one.

Stacie pushed the jacket off her shoulders and yanked open her shirt to send buttons flying in different directions. Hands already roaming every inch of bare skin they could find. There was a desperate urgency in their kisses, the dull throb of their previous desire roaring to life like a wildfire. She was only too happy to claim and be claimed by Stacie, as many times as it took to hammer the point home. Stacie’s body rolled against hers in a slow undulating wave and she smiled. And she was betting that would be an all night affair.

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wisdomrays · 5 years ago

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TAFAKKUR: Part 80

Aging: Part 1

I will start with the cliche: “man is born, grows, ages, and finally dies.” So this cycle of life is inevitable, although at different times in history the speed of this process has varied tremendously. In early times, when there was purity in nature, it is narrated that Prophet Noah lived for 950 years. Whether other people at the time had that long a life span is not known for certain, but this suggests that human beings lived longer lives in earlier times. Later, at some point it was reduced to a mere 30 or 40, years due to wars and diseases like the plague. Nowadays, lifespan depends on the level of prosperity in a society, ranging from 33 in Zimbabwe, for example, to 80 in Sweden. But then, why bother to avoid or prolong a life whose end is inevitable, namely death? If you consider the time needed for a human to mature and be educated, you will see that these days, people are assumed to have gained experienced after the age 30, and that the longer they live, the more wisdom they can gain and impart and the more good deeds they can accomplish for this world and the Hereafter. So prolonging the life span is not just a decadent materialistic pursuit, rather it can actually bear beneficial fruit for humanity, both spiritually and materially.

However, as one’s age increases, most bodily functions peak and then start to diminish. A better aging strategy would be to age in the healthiest possible manner; i.e., keeping the physical and mental functions as sharp as possible, in particular the memory, so as not to lose human dignity in old age.

Aging and Memory

As one ages, reactions start to slow, the speed of understanding and the level of concentration diminish. The precipitous decline of dopamine-containing neurons in the human brain after age 45 is a universal characteristic of the aging process. The nigrostriatal region of the brain is richest in dopamine and undergoes the most rapid aging of any brain area. Age-associated depletion of dopamine also accounts for less noticeable symptoms, like a decline in physical drives and brain functions. These reactions are mostly on a mental or psychological level. In addition to these, wrinkles appear in the skin, hairs gray, and joints become gnarly. Perhaps, most important of all, is that according to recent research carried out on the brain, by the time most people hit 40, their brainpower starts to weaken. This does not mean that people become incompetent, just a bit slower in the cognitive process. This phenomenon is called “generalized slowing” by psychologists. According to James Birren, the Associate Director of the Center on Aging at the University of California, Los Angeles, the first signs of aging appear on tests used to measure mental speed and acuity, in which people count the number of lights flashed on a screen, for instance, or trace a complicated pattern while looking at a mirror.

“But eventually the down-turn affects almost everything we do,” says Birren, “From how fast we hit the breaks when a car pulls in front of us to how quickly we learn new skills on the job or remember old what’s-her-name’s name.”

Then the question is whether the slowing process is unavoidable. According to psychologist Robert Dustman, the answer to this is yes. One of the country’s top experts on aging and the brain, Dustman directs the Neuropsychology Research Laboratory at the Veterans Affairs Medical Center in Salt Lake City. He’s just turned 70 and shows no signs of slowing down himself. “It is true that when we compare 20-year-olds with 60-year olds on almost any test that measures the speed of information processing, younger people on average score significantly better than the older ones,” he says, “But that does not have to be. There is a simple way I can ward off the scourge of slowness,” Dustman says. And the way to do this is to stay in shape.

At first it seems to go against common sense that in some way a mindless act like jogging or striding around a park is relevant to the speed of thinking. But Dustman explains the connection in a very logical way.

Every cell in the body requires a continuous supply of oxygen and nutrients to function at its peak. But surprisingly, no cells need a greater oxygen supply than the gray matter that rests between our ears. The brain, although it makes up only 2% of our body weight, uses up 25% of the glucose and oxygen supply.

Now suppose a person slips out of shape, their heart gets lazy, the arteries get clogged, the blood flow to capillaries slows down, and the oxygen and nutrient supply to the brain falls us. As a result, neurons get less than they need to function properly, the electrical signals slow down, and hence the mind slows down. A recent study shows that blood pressure (or lack of it) is highly correlated to memory; so much so that, a reduction of it causes the memory to weaken.

But getting older does not mean that one must face a full-scale slowdown, Dustman says. The problem is that by 45, when the brain is quickly falling into decline, most of us neglect to perform the activities that keep the arteries open, the heart strong, and blood flowing; namely exercise. Dustman’s own studies suggest that working out might be an antidote. In one of his studies, he ran 60 male volunteers, half in their twenties, half in their sixties, through the standard mental tests. As expected, the younger group had higher mental speeds. But when Dustman looked closely at the older group, he noticed that the ones who were exercising or had remained active had a brain speed that was comparable to that of the younger set.

The tests included actions as simple as pushing a button each time an X appeared in a long string of O’s to memorizing numbers and symbols. “On many measures,” says Dustman “the older men in good condition scored just as well as men 30 and 40 years their junior.” In real life, that is, they could find a number in a phone book or remember that sensible is a synonym for rational.

When one exercise, in other words, the sections of the brain which control movement and balance are fired up, the electrical signals zap back and forth along the nerves from the brain to the muscles and tendons. The eyes, the inner ear, and other sensory nerves all roll into action. The benefits of these can be detected clearly in the brainwaves and electrical impulses recorded by researchers.

Indeed, in Dustman’s study, the older men who were still fit had surprisingly youthful-looking brain waves. They produced more alpha waves, a pattern associated with calmness under pressure, and had steeper peaks and valleys in waves, which signifies an ability to block out distractions. Furthermore, when subjected to a sudden flash of light or a sound blast, they were faster to produce a wave called P-300, which is associated with fast reactions. “People in good shape can really focus,” says Dustman. “They can pen a letter to a friend without the sound of children playing downstairs disturbing them. They can fill out tax forms correctly after reading the directions once.” For someone who’s out of shape, the news is grim. In addition to problems that range from overweight to heart disease and diabetes, the results of a sedentary life style, it turns out that the brain will very likely start to weaken as well. Still, Dustman is optimistic. He once encouraged 42 sedentary people over 55 to exercise (walking or jogging) three times a week. After four months, the aerobic capacity of the volunteers increased 25 % and they scored better on mental speed tests. In light of this study, Dustman thinks that even easy exercise, such as brisk walking can speed up the minds of people after years of inactivity. The time required varies, however. In similar studies, it took about a year to observe an increase in the speed of the brain.

But it is not time that is important here; the goal is rather not to lose brain capacity until a very old age. It would be better if one were always to keep in shape, as it is easier to keep something that works running than to start it up again once it has slowed down. “The real benefit seems to come from making a lifelong habit of staying active,” says Dustman.

It is better to maintain a regular routine of exercises than to start up new ones. Researchers at the University of Illinois compared middle-aged lab rats who padded daily on a running mill to rats who negotiated a complicated obstacle course of rope bridges and seesaws a few times a day. Predictably, both groups got more blood flowing to the brain. But the obstacle-mastering rats had 25% more hard-wired connections between neurons. Assuming the same is true for humans, then exercises which require more brain activity are potentially more rewarding.

Aging and Sleep

The obvious dangers of not getting enough sleep include mental fuzziness, an increased chance of accidents, illness, psychological problems, and decreased productivity at work or school. But Dr. Eve Van Cauter wrote in the prestigious medical journal Lancet that less sleep can actually speed the process of aging. In her informative study, young men who were allowed to sleep only 4 hours each night showed signs of aging in less than a week. Their glucose tolerance dropped considerably, and they started to release cortisol, the stress hormone, at a greater rate than normal.

Sleep offers the body an opportunity to heal and rebuild itself. Pro-sleep nutrients might help in this cause. For example, it has been shown that nutritional supplements containing zinc, magnesium, and pyridoxine (vitamin B6) , among other benefits, help sleep efficiency. A herbal amino acid 5-hydroxytryptophan is another promising sleep aid to use in times of extreme stress. Among sleep promoting herbs from traditional Chinese medicine are ziziphus spinosa (jujube), schisandra chinensis, and bupleurum chinense (Chinese thoroughwax). These herbs seem to relax the muscles and soothe the central nervous system. Sleep is and remains to be the most precious source of energy replenishment.

Melatonin: A God-given Sleeping Pill

Melatonin is a natural molecule made by the pineal gland, which is located in the brain. Melatonin is made from an amino acid called tryptophan. Tryptophan is an essential amino acid, that is, the body cannot make it; we need to get it from the foods we eat. Tryptophan is found in wide variety of foods. As we consume tryptophan during the day, the body converts it into serotonin, an important chemical for the brain that is involved with moods. Serotonin, in turn, is converted into melatonin. This conversion occurs most efficiently at nights.

Melatonin helps to set and control the internal clock that governs the natural rhythms of the body. Each night the pineal gland produces melatonin, which helps us to fall asleep. Research about this molecule has been going on since it was discovered at Yale University by Dr. Lerner in 1958, but recently there has been a great deal more attention being paid to melatonin. About a thousand articles on melatonin are published annually. One major reason is that scientists are discovering that melatonin is not only associated with deep sleep, but also with our hormonal, immune, and nervous systems. Research is accumulating about melatonin’s role as a powerful antioxidant, its possible anti-aging benefits, and its immune-enhancing properties.

Aging and Free Radicals

A free radical is a molecule that contains an unpaired electron through reactions with the essential element oxygen. These molecules “steal” electrons from nearby molecules to complete that final electron pair for stability. Then they are no longer free radicals, but they convert the new combined molecule into a new free radical. In a living organism, this process can cause a chain reaction of severe cellular damage, unless prevented.

The theory that free radicals are agents of bodily destruction is gaining widespread acceptance, as is the value of antioxidants in preventing such an occurrence.

According to the journal Annals of Clinical and Laboratory Science, the excess of free radicals in our body, i.e. “the domino effect”, is a critical factor in many health problems. An interesting and concerning fact about free radicals is that they cause the same reactions within the cells that occur during exposure to radiation. Free radicals released in the body destroy even proteins, the essential constituents of the body that regulate hormones and enzymes and that make up nerves, muscles, skin, and hair. It is usually suggested that antioxidants are used to fight these harmful free radicals. Fruits and vegetables are plentiful in vitamins A, C, and E, the key antioxidants. Polyphenols, which are found in grapes and green tea extracts are potent antioxidants. In fact, scientists have found out that procyanidins are the most promising polyphenols. In Japan, scientists have discovered that they may be 50 times more powerful than vitamins C and E in fighting free radicals. Alpha-lipoic acid, which is soluble in both water and lipids, can neutralize free radicals throughout the body. In fact, alpha-lipoic acid is involved in so many different antioxidant functions that it has been called the “universal antioxidant.” Citrus bioflavonoids and certain fruit and vegetable pigments are also strong free radical fighters.

Deprenyl: An Anti-aging Treatment?

Deprenyl (selegiline) provides selective protection against age-related degeneration of the dopamine nervous system. It is the only inhibitor used in clinical practice. The rate at which dopamine neurons age is quite variable. Before age 45, dopamine levels stay quite stable. Starting at 45, the decrease in average dopamine content in healthy people is linear, at 13% per decade. When it reaches 30%, the symptoms of Parkinson appear.

The sensitivity of the dopaminergic nervous system to oxidizing free radicals has been well established. The protective effect of deprenyl in lessening the neurotoxic effect of the oxidants (6-hydrpxydopa and 6-hydroxydopamine) appears to correlate with increased antioxidant enzyme levels. The increase in the antioxidant level is proportional to the deprenyl intake.

There as yet has been no definitive study of the long-term use of deprenyl in healthy people as a life-extension and cognitive-enhancing drug. But there has been extensive animal research. The lifespan of deprenyl-taking rats is significantly greater than normal rats, in fact, all the control rats died before the first deprenyl-taking rat died. Early research with deprenyl in humans (early-diagnosed Parkinson patients) shows delayed development of symptoms. Deprenyl has also been established as a treatment for Alzheimer’s disease. Eventually, deprenyl has the potential of becoming a general treatment for aging in people above the age of 45.

Conclusion

Although we know for sure that there cannot be an absolute cure for aging, the results of it can be slowed down considerably. Soundness and health of mind are desirable traits for all ages, not just for the elderly. After many years, many elderly people lose much of their memory and mental capacities; this occurs just at the time when they can pass on all their wisdom and experience to the younger generations. Hopefully, with the advent of science and technology, the deficiencies in the brain due to aging can be avoided to a certain extent. The solution lies in a balanced collaboration of modern medicine and traditional natural cures that have been practiced for centuries.

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mysteira6 · 6 years ago

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Christmas SF: A Franstatic Confession

Inspired by @xxkoichiixx on Tumblr. Continuation of A Franstastic Holiday

“I wonder what would’ve happened if I didn’t pass out…”

With his mind fantasising about the many possibilities, Sans’ eyes widened in pure shock. Some of the thoughts swimming in his head were pretty decent, others were…

Oof. He should probably stop agreeing to watch anime with Alphys on his off-days.

“GAAAA! WHAT THE HECK AM I THINKING?!” He hollered, burying himself in his hands in an attempt to shrink himself. His face was a deep cobalt in nothing but embarrassment as the events of last night replayed in his mind.

Meanwhile, downstairs in the living room, Frisk continued to sip her tea, which had long turned cold in her hands. Who asked her to engage in a staring contest with Sans when he wasn’t even looking her a few hours ago? Now it tasted horrible.

Her blush deepened when she heard the skeleton screaming upstairs and instantly remembered how Sans wanted to brew that tea for her that morning. Despite its overwhelming bitterness, she downed the cup to its last drop. “Let’s pretend that I don’t hear anything… ” She muttered to herself as she wondered when Papyrus would come home.

Somehow, after a number of hours, they were still the only two people in the house.

Frisk had opted not to go home despite what her intuition told her, rationalising with the fact that Sans was still slightly sober (after a whole morning? No Frisk, no.) and probably needed someone to help him if he had a bad hangover headache. Especially after considering what he did last night, too.

While she was cooking some lunch for the both of them, the brunette also received a phone call from Toriel, stating that she, Papyrus and some monsters were stuck at Asgore’s house due to a snowstorm last night. It wasn’t very strong, but it brought a lot of snow to the roads, covering the streets with a snow white layer of ice. Undyne, Alphys and Mettaton were safe at Alphys’ house as well. It would take at least a day for all the snow to go away naturally (thank goodness that the sun was up) and even then they needed help to shovel it all away. Guess she was stuck with Sans now.

… Yeah. Stuck with Sans.

Frisk was not one for guilty pleasures, but this was an opportunity she didn’t really want to miss. Yes, she was still embarrassed. Yes, she still dismissed the events that happened last night to be a dream. Yes, she had a gut feeling that he remembered everything he did and was a blushing mess now.

But… what he said last night…

“So Frisk, wanna try calling me ‘cute’… one more time?”

“It feels like you’re underestimating me…”

“And that I’m nothing but a cute skeleton to you… ”

“Then tell me…”

“I wanna hear you say it.”

And, at the beginning… That kiss…

Despite her initial shock, she had to admit; that kiss was sweeter that what she thought. Better than what she had expected from the skeleton. He was lazy, often sleeping and almost never willing to make an effort to flirt with her. Frisk had already loved that about Sans, and with what happened last night, she was falling for him even more.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a moan from upstairs, cueing her to look up and ignore her cooking for a moment. At first, she thought that it might have been from a neighbour, but her guesses were proven wrong when another moan was heard. Must be Sans… She wondered to herself, pouring a glass of water for him. Here comes that bad hangover after drinking all that ketchup. She would never understand how he gets drunk on tomato sauce but that was a question to be answered on another day.

Frisk had intended to walk upstairs with confidence and determination, but it became increasingly obvious that it was not happening. As she climbed the steps, she felt that her heart was in her throat and as soon as she was in front of it, she found that her feet would not dare to step into his room. Her mind just kept walking back to whatever happened in the living room less than a day ago.

Eventually, she steeled enough courage to knock the door. “Sans? You okay in there?” She called out to him.

No response. Maybe he fell back asleep? The brunette had knocked on the door again and repeated the same question but all she got was silence. Not even a scuffling sound.

She eventually gave up and hovered her hand over the doorknob, only to remember that Sans’ room can be really dark and hard to navigate in. The first time she stepped into his room, she could barely find her way around. Instead, she placed the glass near the doorway, figuring that she should probably get him some hangover pills from the medical cabinet in the bathroom.

Little did she know that the silence was intentional.

~~~~~~~~

As soon as she stepped into the bathroom, the teenager headed for the large mirror over the sink, opening it to reveal shelves of medicine, bandages and antiseptic materials. She quickly scanned through all the bottles of pills, spotting out the right one she needed. As soon as she reached for the glass bottle and closed the cabinet door, she heard a low voice behind her.

“Kid?”

She froze for a split second before turning around and recognising the figure behind to be Sans, albeit really groggy and out of place. His eye sockets were drooping and there was a frown inscribed on his face. Wearing nothing but a white t-shirt and black basketball shorts, he placed a hand on her shoulder as if to balance himself.

“Sans! You startled me,” She mumbled, trying to support his surprisingly staggering weight. “You shouldn’t be walking around after having so much ketchup last night,”

“Yeah… last night, yeah…” He muttered under his breath, another hand raising to massage his skull. “Sorry kid but can ya help me back to my room? I’m not feeling too good,”

Hearing his voice all low and unsteady made her worried. Maybe he really bit more than he could chew last night. “Sure thing, Sans,” She reassured him, placing the bottle of pills on the table and wrapping his left arm around her shoulders. She could come back for the meds later, but Sans had to be in bed or he’ll end up getting dizzy and disoriented.

In a slow but steady fashion, Frisk managed to get the sleep skeleton out of the bathroom and walk him down the hall. She took extra care not to accidentally spill the glass of water from earlier and entered his dark room.

“Don’t you ever turn on the lights in here, or you know clean up, Sans?” She asked him, avoiding any obstacle on the floor. She wasn’t really expecting a reply, but got one from the semi-asleep skeleton anyway. “Never… had the need to,” He mumbled.

The human shook her head in disappointment as she stepped towards the bed. “What do mean that you never had the need to? I can barely walk or see anything in here!”

“Good… good…” Sans said again, seemingly oblivious to what Frisk had just said. After that, she gave up on trying to maintain conversation with the skeleton, mostly because of his loopiness.

But that was when something unexpected happened. Right then and there, she heard him lean close to her ear and whisper something she was not anticipating.

“If it’s so dark, that means I have the upper hand,”

In the flash of an eye, Frisk found herself being lifted off the ground and tossed onto a soft, cushioned surface. Before she could even comprehend the fact that she was laying down, she found herself face to face with a pair of piercing, pure white eyes, with one of them slowing changing its colour to an azure hue. There was something in the air, like a fizz, similar to the type of magic Toriel would use to cook on the stove. Only this fizz was much less concentrated, dispersed and spread throughout the room, and she could feel it pecking all over her face.

Hovering over her was a familiar yet foreign face, determined, focused eyes that were looking straight at her own. She felt some tension in her neck and dared not to tear away from that fierce gaze coming from the skeleton. She didn’t even know this could happen.

Before another minute could pass by, he leaned in closer to her face, his skull nearing her lips. Her heart was pounding and she could feel her face warming up. She could only widen her eyes in shock as he connected their lips together in a intimate kiss, just like last night.

Frisk could not move, how could she? Worried if a single shake of her hands would trigger a negative reaction, she remained as stiff and still as a statue. Sans sensed this too easily and broke away from the kiss, his eyes softening to form a deep, concerned expression.

Had he pushed it too far?

“Frisk?” He whispered lowly, a name that he rarely called her. Below him was a full-blown red-faced human girl who was biting her bottom lip and shutting her eyes tight, calling forth his deeper instincts. Part of him wanted to continue, and yet another part of him worried if this treatment was too much for the kid. “You okay?”

At this point, Frisk felt like she had been holding her breath for a very long time and at his question, she was finally able to let loose the air in her lungs. Panting, she replied softly. “W-w-w-what was that?”

Sans smiled sheepishly. “Uh…. Too far?” He murmured in embarrassment. “I thought you liked that kind of stuff though,”

“I-well-um…” Frisk stuttered and turned her head to the side in an attempt to dodge the question, which made her look all the more adorable in his eyes. In fact, everything about her right now was adorable. Huh, if she thought he was ‘cute’ last night, perhaps he should return the favour…

“Oh, I see,” He whispered seductively, placing his left elbow down on the bed as his fingers combed through her hair. “You do like this, don’t you?”

Frisk was speechless. Her throat went dry. Her mind kept screaming some words that she wanted to say to him, but her mouth just couldn’t make a single sound. Again, she was captivated by his glowing blue eye, attracted to it like a moth to a flame.

“Yeah, I bet you even dream of me doing this right~?” Sans continued, shifting the weight of his body to his left arm so that he could caress her face with his other hand. His fingers cupped her cheek while his thumb drew closer to her lips as he began to tease her. “Cat got your tongue, huh? Well, I happen to know the best way to make you talk… Unless you tell me not to,”

Ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-bump… Her heart was drumming in her chest, beating faster and faster by the second. She willed with all of her strength to say something, anything to the monster on top of her.

Meanwhile, Sans chuckled, lowering his hand from her face. “Aw, look at that. I barely said a word earlier and you’re all red because of it. Guess I was being real frisky now, wasn’t I?” He smirked as she raised her hands to cover her face. Despite her embarrassment, he still wanted to see her face a little more. With a snap of his fingers, his levitation magic managed to grab ahold of Frisk’s hands and pin them to the bed, giving him full view of her face. “Don’t hide your face,” He ordered gently. “I like seeing how flustered you get when I talk like this-”

“I LIKE YOU A LOT!”

Immediately, Sans stopped talking. He was almost gonna tell her not to interrupt him anymore that day, but her words shocked him. ‘I like you a lot’? Was that supposed to be-

At the same time, Frisk, who had miraculously regained her voice, began to blurt out many things. “I like how you’re always sleepy all the time and you look cute when you fall asleep! I like how you’re always so laid-back and cool without you even realising it! I like how you care very much about me and always looked out for me ever since I was a little kid even till now! I like how you’re always caring towards all monsters and you love your brother so much and-”

“Woah woah woah, slow down!” Sans stopped her immediately after that last bit, now playing the role as the flustered one. ‘Cool’? ‘Caring’? ‘Cute’ appeared again as a descriptor for himself, but this time, he didn’t really mind.

“Are you…. Are you serious, kid?” Sans inquired, shifting over to the left to sit next to the human girl on the bed. “You think I’m… all those things?”

Frisk sat up as well, curling into a ball and hugging her legs to her chest. There was a small awkward silence between them for a while before she spoke again. “Yeah… I know it’s weird,” She admitted.

The skeleton turned to her in slight disbelief. “Well, I mean… It is uncommon for a human to love a monster,” He began. “But I didn’t say that I hate it or anything like that,”

“What you did just now…” Frisk remarked softly. “Tell me, was it on purpose? Or was it because you’re still drunk?”

Silence.

…

“ … No.”

Surprised, she lowered her legs into a cross-legged position and stared at him. “Really?” She asked in bewilderment.

“Yeah, I wasn’t faking it,” He answered, his face slowly forming a smile. “You know I’ve never really been good with words, kid. And trying to kiss you while I am not drunk is actually really difficult. In fact, I might just conk out now,” And with that, his head dropped to her lap, startling her. “Oh!”

He chuckled again at her reaction. “But if I really have to put it in words,” He continued, reaching out for her face again. “I really do care about ya, Frisk. I’m, uh, pretty greedy and I don’t want to lose you to anyone else, if you catch my drift.”

Hearing this made her smile and even in the dark room, Sans could see it. He could also see her leaning down to plant another kiss on his skull as his cheeks turned blue. “You skele-dork,” She sighed. “This is why I love you.”

“And I love you too,” he replied, kissing her again.

Thanks, Frans-senpai for the inspiration! And I’m so sorry for my late fic for your comic...^ ^;;;;

#sf #sans #frisk #christmas #drabble #my writing #frans #sans x frisk #frisk x sans #literature #confession

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farmerslabseeds2 · 7 years ago

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STUDY SHOWS CANNABIS OIL IMPROVES SYMPTOMS OF CROHN’S DISEASE

Eight weeks of continuous treatment with the help of cannabis oil can cause a great amount of reduction in symptoms of Crohn’s disease. If compared with the placebo, it is much more beneficial and helpful. Cannabis oil can improve the quality of life of the patients to a great extent and reduce their pain too. According to studies presented recently at the European Gastroenterology Conference, the cannabis oil can be an excellent remedy for the patients diagnosed with Crohn’s disease.

What is Crohn’s disease?

Crohn’s disease is one of the chronic inflammatory bowel diseases which can affect the lining of your digestive tract. It is quite common in the adults aged between 19 to 40 years. This disease can to a lot of abdominal pain, fatigue, malnutrition, severe diarrhea and weight loss. For assessing the effects of the cannabis on this chronic disease, many researchers in Israel used a placebo-controlled, randomized study on over 45 people with different cases of this disease. These patients are treated with cannabis oil or placebo for continuous 8 weeks.

What researchers have to say?

Cannabis oil has been used for several years for treating different types of medical conditions. Different studies have shown how people with Crohn’s disease get relieved from their symptoms by simply using the cannabis regularly. Even the lead researcher Dr. Timna Naftali claimed that they have seen a huge improvement in the health of the patients suffering from the chronic Crohn’s diseases. It has successfully reduced the inflammation of the guts. The main of these researches was to investigate the disease and study on it.

Naftali along with her colleagues found that the cannabis oil can be a great way to significantly reduce the various symptoms of this disease. It can significantly improve the quality of life compared to the one who were being treated with the placebo. About 65% of the patients who received the cannabis oil met with some strict criteria for the clinical remission for 8 weeks. But on the other hand, only 35% of the placebo recipient received the same.

The study didn’t reveal any effects of the cannabis oil on the inflammation caused on the guts. According to the lead researcher, Naftali, they have previously explained that the cannabis can produce a lot of improvement in the symptoms of the Crohn’s disease. But Naftali also mentioned that surprisingly, they did not saw any significant improvement based on statistics. On the other hand, the statistical improvements have been noticed for the patients under placebo treatment. On this whole issue, the researcher said that they know that cannabinoids can be highly effective on the anti-inflammatory effects but the study shows a lot of improvement in the symptoms. These symptoms can be treated properly with the anti-inflammatory properties.

What is the future?

Looking ahead, the lead researcher along with her team said that they are looking forward for more investigation on the potential anti-inflammatory effects of the cannabis. They are also looking for the potential therapeutic application for the inflammatory bowel diseases. The researchers specifically want to investigate the interaction of the cannabis with the endocannabinoid system. This is a major regulatory network which is responsible for maintaining and regulating the balance and different functions of the body including the immunity system too.

The researchers are quite hopeful and said they there are good grounds for believing that this endocannabinoid system is a highly potential therapeutic target for the patients suffering from Crohn’s diseases or any other gastrointestinal diseases. But for now, they can only consider the medicinal cannabis as one of the best way to temporarily relieve the symptoms of the Crohn’s diseases.

Conclusion

After a successful research, the lead researcher Naftali is looking forward that after this small number of participant, she will be moving forward to larger and longer group. The new study will soon start regarding the effects of cannabis on the Crohn’s diseases. Based on the previous findings, one can show a lot of effects on managing different symptoms associated with the Crohn’s disease. These researches show a lot of great impact of the cannabis oil on the different patients with various problems related to Crohn’s disease. The new research is on its way and you can read the overview of this research.

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shorthaircutsmodels · 5 years ago

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chicagoindiecritics · 6 years ago

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New from Every Movie Has a Lesson by Don Shanahan: MOVIE REVIEW: Miss Virginia

(Image courtesy of Vertical Entertainment)

MISS VIRGINIA— 4 STARS

One does not have to dig very far on an internet search to find pressing current issues in American’s public education system. In an eye-opening and apropos way, there are so many that Education Week magazine maintains an active A-Z list to sort and track them. You could sing “The Alphabet Song” and ring a bell on just about every letter for matching examples from the real-life inspiration of Miss Virginia chronicling the emergence of school advocate Virginia Walden Ford.

Punctuated by an assertive and impressive performance from Orange is the New Black actress Uzo Aduba, Miss Virginia details the cement roots movement that grew from one woman’s humbling and arduous beginnings fighting for better schools in the crime-stricken neighborhoods of Washington, D.C. If you are a parent of a child in school, no matter if it’s public, charter, private, urban, suburban, rural, or anything else, you owe it to yourself to absorb this kind of tangible and topical story and remember those who had and still have it harder than you.

The year is 2003 and Virginia is a single-mother trying to raise her son James (This Is Us ensemble member Niles Fitch) safely and make ends meet. Through disengagement and bad peer influences, James has become a failing and truant student at his underfunded and mismanaged local high school. At the “focus on the ones that want to be here” hand-wringing consequence nearing expulsion, Virginia tries to muster up enough earnings to send James to a safer, progressive, and enriching selective enrollment private school nearby. When Virigina cannot afford the $7000 tuition bill even on a second job as a custodian for an uppity local politician Lorraine Townsend (the prolific Aunjunae Ellis of If Beale Street Could Talk and When They See Us), her son tumbles back in the dangerous public school.

The wider Virginia searches for help or solutions, the more hurdles and pitfalls she discovers. Venal politicians in different pockets keep antiquated and ineffective policies in place. Community support is a challenge against brow-beaten despondency and gang control. But she believes and she builds.

LESSON #1: BE HEARD — This lesson may be the center of its tagline, but it is spot-on for the necessary initiative. Sure enough, one petition signature at a time, one knocked door at a time, and one microphone opportunity at a time, Virginia impassioned pleas begin to garner sympathy, support, and larger gatherings, including the attention of Congressman Cliff Williams (Matthew Modine). One woman’s lament becomes a movement of many, one that still churns today.

LESSON #1: KIDS COME FIRST — The main rallying call on the protest posters in the movie fits a fine goal to take outside of the theater and into the mission field of our classrooms. Virginia’s efforts weren’t for personal gain. They were for her children. There is indeed a point where school conditions deny children the right to learn. Few things bring communities together better than a successful school. Improve them to become a beacon more than a trap.

Along that lesson’s line, what is wonderfully positive about Miss Virginia is the mindful moderation of glory-hounding in the picture. Uzo Aduba is forceful and the speechifying is high. She deserves high praise for her poise and presence in this inspiring leading role. Also, yes, this movie exists to celebrate the real-life figure Aduba is playing. Nevertheless, the overarching compassion of the titular woman, through the words delivered by the stellar actress, stay on the bigger message and greater goal of Lesson #1. The weight of the issues is not overwhelmed by the light of any hero worship, and that is a rare and appreciable trait among biopics of this sort.

Surprisingly in a film of this class and size, there is real weight to the issues and surrounding drama. Grim honesty is evenly balanced by the soft and sure optimism slowly filling each stakeholder of this historical reflection. The striving spirit is stirring and the capacity for empathy for its causes is formidable. With teen-friendly content, go ahead and show a movie like Miss Virginia right in our at-risk classrooms. Present a victory where others are needed.

Miss Virginia is the feature debut for director R.J. Daniel Hanna and screenwriter Erin O’Connor. He comes from editing world and she from the ranks of executive producing. With solid acumen, keen location shooting, and steady support, they can proudly stand by this first effort. The formula used may be simple, complete with a dollop of a Hollywood-ish pivotal climax, but the effort and dedication is as true as the deserving light being shed on the unvanquished history at hand. Quietly with every tear and loudly with every megaphone in protest, this becomes one of the finer films on advocacy in recent memory.

Let a movie like this do better than get you curious. Let it get you mad. Let it get you fired up to make sure your own community does a better job with its current and future generations. Deny or ignore these bigger needs no longer.

LESSON #3: THE STRUGGLE IS NOT OVER — You may hear many speeches in several circles of discourse, from pundits and politicians to parents and porch swings, that will call equity in education the civil rights issue of our time. They wouldn’t be wrong in that concern. Remember, this movie critic is a school teacher by day. Miss Virginia is just one story of many that could be told. When over 40 states out of the 50 in the union spend double or even triple the amount of money per inmate in prison versus each pupil in a public school, the systemic misalignment of bad policies and worse cycles is all too clear.

LOGO DESIGNED BY MEENTS ILLUSTRATED (#834)

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zizygy · 8 years ago

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Mourning Frost, A Vax Fic

AO3 link [~3,000 words] Spoilers for Ep 103 I was having a lot of Trans Feels™ for Vax while watching episode 103, so here’s a fic about that. --

Vax had thought quite a lot about death.

He had to, because of his god, but even before that it had always been a consideration. Death was the end. Sure, there was an afterlife, he'd seen too much to believe otherwise, but what use was an afterlife if you were separated from the only people you cared about?

Vex had always thought they'd see their mother when they died. She'd lose something, of course, but one family for another wasn't so bad of a trade. Vax would be with her of course, that was never a question. Even if she died first (she wouldn't, he always told her so, he did everything in his power to prevent it) they would see each other again.

Vax was less optimistic. Life didn't grant miracles, so why would death be any different? Their mother would be long gone by the time he and his sister finally left this mortal coil. Death meant leaving the people you love, anything else was irrelevant detail.

So he wasn't surprised to find himself naked and alone in the dark nothingness of death.

There wasn't a lot of feeling in this place. It was nice in a way. As was so often the case with these things, Vax hadn't realized how much he felt until those feelings were gone. The feeling that they were doomed, that crushing certainty that glazed his eyes and bowed his back, it was all gone. There was no worry, no exhaustion, no creeping worry trying to eat through his insides or twitching fingers or feeling of wrongness not within him.

It was nice, that freedom from feeling. Empty, but hadn't he been searching for emptiness? All those nights alone, staring at the stars, at the streets, at the members of the Clasp darting from shadow to shadow? He had always felt too much, he was always looking for a way to not.

But he wasn't completely empty here. There was something tethering him to the ground, a heavy sort of heat in the middle of his chest, right where his heart was, that kept him from floating, or maybe it was sinking, into the cold darkness.

Vex.

His sister wasn't here.

That realization weighed him down, pulled on his soul until his feet were pointing down and he began to drop and as he dropped he began to feel. By the time the platform, the hand, the Raven Queen rose up to meet him, he was afraid again, more afraid than he had ever been before. Was this where it ended? Was this where he finally lost Vex?

He squashed down the panic he felt at that thought, forcing it out of his throat and chest, forcing it down through his body to weigh his feet to the Raven Queen's hand.

His god was inscrutable and infuriatingly still behind her ebony mask and Vax was suddenly very conscious of his nakedness. She didn't move as he shifted under her gaze, fighting the urge to curl up and hide as much of himself as possible. You had to be open with your god, but the Raven Queen knew that she did not command the same sort of awe for Vax that Serenrae did for Pike. Their relationship was based on respect, his for her and her for her champion.

Now she was showing him that the respect she gave was conditional, it had to be earned, but more than that it had to be maintained. Vax closed his eyes, shutting out her piercing gaze and giving himself the briefest of moments to collect himself. He focused on one of those ghostly feelings, not the fear, fear had only ever driven him to stupidity, not the discomfort, which was too broad to use as a focus even if he wanted to, but the hurt, that his god would separate him and his sister, that she would require him to prove himself in this way, after dying in front of a rising god, that was something he could use.

He rolled his shoulders back, lifted his chin and allowed himself the compromise of his arms crossed over his exposed chest. He was still uncomfortable, still defensive, but he could work with this. At least he knew how things stood.

He waited for his god to speak first, ready for the rebuke, the disappointment, the demand to know what had happened.

Instead, her voice was soft, it was warm and its words, a single word, nearly knocked him off of his feet.

"Vax'ildan."

The shock ran through Vax like a lightning bolt and for a few seconds, or maybe hours, or maybe years, all those feelings inside him jumbled up and the world shook before his eyes and he couldn't connect any thoughts together except that's my name, she said my name and then the Raven Queen removed her mask.

A vulnerability for a vulnerability.

An understanding for an understanding.

She called him champion when she asked him to explain what happened. She inquired about Vecna and he tried to convince her to care. He didn't have information for her, he didn't know Vecna's plans, but he tried to make her care. He tried to play a game that he was good at, a game that had only failed him once before, in that room in Emon, when he tried to outwit Silas Briarwood and almost lost himself in the process. He should have known that he couldn't outwit a god, that the Raven Queen had more important things to do than to listen to a scared and bitter half-elf try to explain why this creature that bested him could really destroy the world.

She questioned him of course, the Raven Queen was not one who liked to leave loose threads, but she offered nothing in return.

She asked why it matters so much, why he doesn't just rest now that he has the chance.

My sister died for this! he yelled, or he thought he did, her questions were as much within his mind as within this space and he's losing the difference between saying and feeling and thinking.

Your sister lives.

What? That couldn't be, he saw her die. He wasn't able to look away as she fell to the floor, the life already gone from her eyes.

Vax could once again feel the floor against his cheek, the Delilah's boot on his chest, the cold wind over his body

She was brought back after you fell. The Raven Queen assured him, gently directing him away from the memory. Her fingers rested on the nape of his neck, surprisingly warm against his clammy skin.

Your friends escaped. Your family is still there.

Nothing mattered after that. The meaningless platitudes, the impossible plans, the purrs of my champion. All that mattered was that Vax gets back, that Vax doesn't leave his friends in this mess he helped create, that he doesn't leave his family.

Do you want to join them? she asked.

Yes I'd do anything.

Then you will give everything. And when you are done, you will come back to me, my champion.

Her hand in his hair and her finger on his chin kept him anchored in his physical form, though he wasn't quite sure when they came to be there. The message was clear though, this was a gift, and every gift had a cost. If he went back it was for one purpose and one purpose only, to end Vecna. Everything else was secondary. For the first time in his life, his existence, Vex was secondary.

He nodded slowly, meeting the Raven Queen's dark eyes, holding onto his resolve so he didn't fall into their yawning depths.

If that's what it takes.

She nodded and her hands moved to cup his cheeks and she looked at him in that way Vex'ahlia did when she was worried about him. He tried to shy away but she held him firmly. She pulled his face toward her, expression once again unreadable, and spoke, her voice echoing through Vax's head.

"Wake up."

And Vax did.

He opened his eyes and he was surrounded by unfamiliar trees. Trees that swayed and spun and it took Vax at least minute to realize that _he_ was the one moving, not the trees. Dying, it turned out, was hell on your internal balance.

He let himself sag against one of the trees unsure where to proceed from here. He wasn't in Thar Ampala anymore, he was sure of that at least. But then where was he?

He almost thought that he was in the forest surrounding Syngorn, coming back to life in the place he reluctantly called his home seemed poetic and messed up enough that the Raven Queen might do that to him, but the trees here were too short and twisted to be from Syngorn.

"Not Snygorn" was an unhelpfully broad category and though Vax felt the need to find his sister like a heavy weight in his chest, he felt as if he was trying to move through molasses. His arm didn't respond until seconds after he told it to move and his legs felt clumsy and unused to his weight.

He stumbled forward, wincing as twigs and sticks snapped under his bare feet. He stopped, not trusting himself to move forward until he regained some sense of himself.

In the meantime he had a moment to think, a gift that he probably shouldn't take lightly.

His sister was alive. Vex had been brought back without him needing to pledge his life for her. For once, their deaths were entirely unconnected. And if Pike was able to bring back Vex, that meant she must be okay too. Probably along with the rest of Vox Machina.

They were alive, safe, or as safe as you can get when you're defying an almost god, and he was alive, or as alive as you could get when you're wandering naked through unfamiliar woods after having been brought back by the god of death.

He wished he had a cloak.

He wanted to step into the shadows and just disappear for a while, but he didn't trust himself to move without attracting even more attention so he settled for crossing his arms in front of his chest and hunching forward.

Except...

His chest was smooth. The raised scars he'd gotten so used to were completely gone and in their place was a flat chest. He ran his fingers over the muscles, sure that he must be missing something, that someone had cast seeming or an illusion or something but his fingers told him what his eyes could not, the scars were gone.

In their place was a raven, its wings spread out across his chest and over his ribs, leaving no doubt as to who had given him this.

He was interrupted by the sound of metal scraping against bark and he dropped his hands and looked up at the tree in front of him.

A small gnome, trying to be stealthy in armor that clanged and shone in the dim light clung to the boughs of the tree.

Vax felt his throat close up as he was suddenly overwhelmed with feeling, with gratitude, happiness, a sense of home, as he stared at Pike.

"Hi."

"Stringbean?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, his voice about to break. "Where are we?"

"The fey wild."

Vax looked around. It didn't look at all familiar, but he believed her. Did that mean he was really back? That the Raven Queen had really resurrected him?

Pike wondered the same. She asked where he'd come from, what happened, why he was here, now, naked in the middle of the forest.

He answered to the best of his ability but he only had the faintest grasp on what was going on himself. It was easier to just say he didn't know. He _didn't_ know.

"I died," he said. Unsure what else to say. It was important that he tell her... In case. "Did you know that?"

She nodded. He could see in her face that she knew. Vax had seen death, of course he had. He'd seen it on the streets, with his sister, and he'd seen it within Vox Machina, with Pike, with his sister and Grog and Percy, who of them hadn't crossed the thin line at one point or another? But they had always come back.

This were different now. As excited as he was about his new body, scarless though it was, Vax knew it hadn't been made to last. His death was different. He always had to be different.

They were trying to save him, but what was there left to save?

"Oh fuck." He didn't know what else to say. It was all fucked, wasn't it? They were supposed to be heroes. They were supposed to stand up and fight for everyone who couldn't do it themselves. That resolve had kept him tethered to this world. Had brought him back.

That resolve hardened when he saw his sister, alive, just appear in front of him. Logically he knew she'd come from the tree but he had thought she was dead, he'd seen her die, even though the Raven Queen assured him she'd be here he thought she was dead and when she backed away and told him he didn't really exist, he didn't know what to do but to run up to her and hold her in his arms. She was real, as solid as he was as he rocked her back and forth and they both babbled about how you can't be here, are you really here, I saw you die, this must be a trick.

If it was a trick, at least it brought him back to his sister.

He held her and she held him and they both made sure that the other was real.

They might have stood there all night, staring into each others' identical faces, identical thoughts crowding and filling their heads, had Pike not walked up and put a hand to Vax's chest, her fingers brushing right over one of the raven's wings.

Vax knelt down and noticed, at the same time that Vex put her cloak over him, that there was- that he had a dick. Vex must have noticed at the same time, but she just made some sort of crass comment, as unimpressed as if it had been there his entire life, and Pike completely ignored this new development in favor of listening to his chest.

He looked at Vex, unsure what emotion was showing on his face and to be fair, there was a bit too much going on for him to read her face either, but there was the smallest hint of a smile and Vax let a bit off that giddiness infect him too.

He had... he'd transitioned.

He'd thought about it before of course, ever since he was a little kid, though dealing with his breasts had always been a priority, but after that, once the tissue scarred and he could wear leather again, he fantasized about the day he'd have enough money to talk to a wizard or a cleric so that he could fix downstairs. He'd never had enough money before he met Vox Machina, and then as their family bonds grew stronger, so did their problems, by that point there wasn't time.

He never would have expected the Raven Queen to do it for him.

He never would have thought that dying would allow him to transition.

He was caught between elated and embarrassed, even as the fear and concern and bittersweet sadness raged in his head.

Especially when Vex asked why.

Especially when Percy was unsatisfied with how.

He followed Percy's instructions, the words ringing in his ears. This is what I would do to torture us.

He was right of course. Given the rollercoaster of emotion Vax had felt just from standing here? He couldn't imagine how his family must be feeling.

That wasn't true.

He could.

That was the problem.

Percy's fear that he was an apparition, and later that he was him but he was somehow being controlled, dug deep into his barely beating heart.

He'd been controlled before. He'd shoved his daggers into Percy's back. He walked away when everyone else was dissolving in acid. He yearned for the Briarwoods' approval when he thought his friends were dying.

Even as he submitted to their tests, as Pike raised her holy symbol to his face, he couldn't shake the feeling that Percy was right, that he'd brought nothing but more pain and heartbreak by coming back.

He found himself arguing. He had to argue because he believed him. If anyone could convince him that he was a monster, that he wasn't a monster it was Percy.

Did his new body mean he wasn't him? This was what how he had always imagined himself, but Percy didn't necessarily know that and even if he did, he was right. When did a miracle just happen? They didn't, miracles always had costs.

God he didn't want to be a cost.

He answered their questions. He wished Keyleth would come down and talk to him. He wished Vex would stop looking at him like that. He hoped Keyleth stayed in the tree.

He looked at his chest, at his body. He was himself, wasn't he?

He looked up when Keyleth walked toward him.

"Hi," he said, as she reached out. He clasped her hand in his.

"I thought I killed you," she said, her voice brimming with tears.

He almost dropped her hand, shocked. "You?" Did he miss something? Had Delilah controlled her? Did something happen after he and his sister died?

"I could have done more."

Oh.

Vax closed his eyes. Everyone could have done more. Or they could have done less. But if they hadn't attacked, the world would be in ruins, Vecna would be back, Vecna was back. How were they expected to take on a rising god?

"Nobody could have done more."

Keyleth looked at him for a long moment, trying to see the truth in his words, it was only truth, then moved on.

"You're cold," she said.

She looked at him, at his pale face, his smooth chest, his penis and balls and his bare feet, then put her ear to his chest as if none of that surprised her. She knew his plans, of course he'd told her his plans, but it meant more than he realized that she took the physical changes in stride, that she didn't seem to think he was any less Vax now with them, though she was rightfully concerned about his relative undeadness.

She thought he was going to die again.

He'd never even considered that.

He tried to explain, to tell her, to tell them all, what the Raven Queen told him, did for him, but the words didn't quite come and between the haze then and the fog now he wasn't sure what was real.

He tried to appeal to Pike, but she didn't understand either, she and Serenrae had a very different relationship. More loving, less buisinesslike.

And still Percy's words echoed, when have we ever been given a random miracle?

But it wasn't without its cost, was it?

It wasn't until Grog and Scanlan came down, made their own jokes to lighten the tension, showed him his own ashes, that he realized Percy was right.

Miracles weren't given.

But he had paid a price for this.

He would die again, when all this was over, when his family had a chance to live happy lives. He would have to leave them then, have to leave his sister.

He took a deep breath that he didn't need, exhaustion once again weighing down his shoulders.

It was a heavy price to pay, that was certain. He would never see Pike's smile again, hear Scanlan's songs, test his luck with Grog. He would not see Keyleth lead her people, or Percy coughing after a misfire or his sister-

It was a heavy price, but it was worth it.

He would pay for this miracle.

#critical role #cr spoilers #vax'ildan #trans vax #i really love vax a lot and i had this idea while i was watching the episode #and then i started writing immediately after #it got a bit longer than expected #you should talk to me about ur trans vax headcanons!#my writing

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