#I have simply had to wall myself away from all things fandom to ensure I get the work done

[sapphicscholar]

Oh boy. In an attempt to really focus on the dissertation and the academic job application process, I logged out of all my fandom accounts on desktop for over a month. I still check in on twitter and tumblr now and then on mobile, but I let my fandom email sit unopened for idk maybe a month or two? And phew, do I have some reading to do!

[husbandohunter]

Moments of Despair #1 [Genshin Impact/Diluc x Reader]

Synopsis: “The man who was on fire and realized it too late.”

(A series of works where the boys deal with the passing of their beloved).

Albedo's despair

Warnings: angst, tragedy, major character death, graphic depictions of violence perhaps

(A/n): Had these ideas for a while after reading @/serensama To Mourn series of another fandom. So much sorrow and feeling I just was inspired to write 😫

_______________________________________________

The moment you fell lifeless in Diluc's arms, he wanted to disappear.

It was raining again, he had always despised the rain. How it trickles down the slope of your cheek, like tears falling from the heavens. The sight of it mixing with your blood creating a thin stream of red rivers flowing beside him. They patter down obnoxiously because time didn't care, the gods don't care, the world didn't care. You were just a small fragile person to their eyes but to him you were his light. A candle that used to shine in his dark world was now dissipitated by the waters of reality.

Many droplets have passed and he was still holding you. Diluc could do nothing but stare. He hadn't shed any tears nor could he make a coherent sound. Perhaps it was because his tears have long run out when his father was held in the very same way. Or it was because he was heartless. He's usually told for being cold and indifferent. But the pain clenching in his chest was proof that he still had one (proof that it was still beating), much to his dismay. It would be better if he didn't.

So why can't he just look away? Your wounds, your bruised features, everything now etched so deep into the back of his conciousness that is was starting to awaken his worst nightmares. They were the source of the bile growing in his stomach. The irony stench filling up his nostrils felt so sickening. He couldn't turn away. You're dead. You're dead. You're dead. As if reality had yet to register, or maybe he refused to accept it, Diluc helplessly gazed down your body with blank and empty eyes.

"Master Diluc..."

Jean's voice called out to him pitifully. He rises up with his back turned, ignoring the stares given to him, "Leave. The knights of favonius are not needed here."

"But she's a Mondstadt citizen," The anemo user retorts, slightly taken aback by his impassive reaction, "It's my responsibility to ensure this case doesn't go unnoticed."

Unnoticed. Diluc scoffs in his mind, what a tasteless joke.

"It seems you weren't listening," he announces as his head was turned ajar so they could see the deep hatred glowing red in his eyes, "Leave. Now."

Jean's lips trembled before barely being able to say, "Alright" and retreating her knights back to the city. Kaeya narrows his gaze at his bother, the sorrow was evident through his pupils. He steps forward until he was arms length away from his brother. Too little too late, another failure was added to the belt.

Kaeya was a man of many words but for once he was at loss of what to say. No underhanded suggestions, no ideas taunting him to spill his thoughts, he simply asks Diluc, "What are you planning to do now?"

Silence. Kaeya couldn't predict what sort of expression his brother was making as he looks at your corpse. It brought a heavy weight of unsettlement upon him and here he thought he had already grown used to his brother's quietness.

Slowly, he turns around while letting the water pour down his face. Kaeya tightens his jaw as Diluc drags his feet towards him, stopping when their shoulders were parallel, "It's none of your concern."

"You're just going to leave her here?"

There was a slight pause which was enough of an answer. The Cavalry Captain sighs when he watched him walk away, what was the point of asking when Kaeya knew Diluc so well? He glances at your form before swiftly shutting his eyes.

It was his concern.

-------

A week later, the staff of the Ragnvindr household could hardly recognize their Master's appearance. They knew not to bother him when he decides to lock himself in his chambers. Diluc drowns himself with work from hours to no end as he connects the findings of the person that took your life. As expected, it was one of his enemies- a fatui member. The question was, which one?

"Master Diluc, I beg of you, please take care of yourself," Elzer pleads.

The pyro user didn't bother to spare him a glance or look at the tray of food he carried.

Food...you always brought them whenever he had to work overtime.

"I do not remember specifiying anyone to be allowed in my office," he voices aloud, "If it's related to business affairs simply leave that with Adelinde and I'll take a look at it tomorrow."

"I understand. But you've been working all day and night yet refusing to take any breaks in between. At this rate, you'll harm your health."

The feather pen in his grip kept dragging it's course, "This is beyond the duties assigned to you Elzer."

"That's because it was a request sent by your father," he adds, knowing that stepping over his boundaries may cost him, "If Master Crepus was still here, I'm sure he would have said the same thing."

Taking a deep breath, Elzer lays out his last card, "And also your wife."

The pen slows into a halt.

No one had brought you up until now. Elzer anxiously watches his Master shifting in his seat, his red bangs covering half of his face but he could still see the frown pressing firmly on his lips. It wouldn't be a surprise if Diluc suddenly bursted at him for mentioning such a sensitive topic, all that matters was his master's well being and Elzer was willing to risk everything for it. But nothing. Diluc turns his attention ever so slightly at the tray he carried.

"Fine, but I'm not eating that."

"What? Wasn't this was her favourite-"

"Do I need to repeat myself?"

Elzer furrows his brows before sighing, "...No, Master Diluc."

He exits the room while carrying the fresh dish of Once Upon A Mondstadt that you loved so much. The door closes with a soft click and he was alone again.

People found it strange how Diluc seemed so vacant to your passing. He didn't even show up at your funeral. Instead, he continues his duties as a Mondstadt nobleman like usual while taking care of business matters associated with the winery. Except those who were close to him could see the difference in his actions. Apathy, he was so mechanical in every task he did. Like a marionette attatched on strings, a doll without a soul. After all, his soul died the moment when yours did too. What remains was a shadow of Diluc and a being existing solely for revenge and duty. He was nothing but a remnant.

Fatigue begins to wash over him and he fights to stay awake. Because once he gives in it will all be over. Once he closes his eyes, he would see your face with a multitude of images from the past. He would hear your voice calling out his name from a distant space as it echoes off the walls of his mind. He would fall into a dream where you were still with him and as always, waking up to see that it was never real.

I should have pushed you away.

Because what hurt Diluc the most wasn't that you were gone, rather, it was how you were still here.

Then you'd still be-

Something breaks and it turned out to be the pen he was holding so tightly. Only now Diluc realized how fast his heart was thrumming as beads of sweat began rolling down his forehead. Focus. Don't waste time. He won't grant himself the liberty of anything when your murderer was still on the run. Every wound they inflicted on you was going to be returned in tenfold. He'll make sure of it. That's why, he refuses to think about you at all. Diluc occupies his mind with other matters since at this point, work was the only efficient method of keeping his sanity in tact.

She needs you to focus.

The door opens and Kaeya enters the room while holding a document, "We found the guy."

His reaction was immediate, "Where?"

"Hm, now that we meet, it's actually quite debateable," The captain notes wryly, "When was the last time you've gotten proper rest?"

"I don't have time for this, either you tell me or I'll do it by force."

Kaeya couldn't help but sigh, "Apologies but you don't seem to be in any state for a fight. I'm sure you know how it would end up if you were to face your enemy right now."

"..."

"Diluc, this isn't healthy," Kaeya asserts, it's been a while since he sounded so sincere, "I'm not here to prevent you from doing what's necessary however, perhaps it would be better if I finished it in your stead."

"No," Diluc stubbornly answers, "Hand that over."

"...Heh, then there's really nothing I can do to stop you it seems," he whispers with a sad smile, "At the very least, be careful."

"I intend to," The pyro user snatches the paper parchment out of Kaeya's hands before opening the window, "Also, if Elzer returns, tell him there's a few errands I have to take care of."

The night was a full moon and the sky was empty, Diluc leaps off the edge and disappears into the darkness. There was no telling of what could happen next. Since you weren't here, it was up to Kaeya to watch over him.

-------

The claymore dropped to the ground with a clang as it soaks up the blood of the fatui he just killed.

Diluc was tired, so tired.

He slumps down against the wall from pure exhaustion, all that adrenaline and hatred went up in fumes, leaving behind whatever was left in his heart: nothing. Two hours, not even that far from Mondstadt, the fatui hid in an abandoned building as he cowarded for his life. When Diluc arrived, he never expected this monster to be so weak. This was the person who murdered you? A pathetic nobody that was simply following orders? This was the reason why he lost you forever?

In the end, the only one to blame was himself, for being weak and unable to protect you. He was supposed to be your hero ("Darknight hero," you'd always tease), the rock that shields you just as you had been the warmth he longed for many years, did he give you enough? Was this enough? He thought avenging your death would grant him a peace of mind and the justice you deserved but deep down, he knew it will never be enough when it comes to his love for you.

"Diluc."

He closes his eyes, he hears your voice. He was so tired, it wouldn't be a surprise if he started hallucinating.

"Diluc."

"I'm sorry..."

The man lets out a trembled breath as he apologized to the image of you in his mind. I'm sorry I failed you. They were repeated like a mantra in hopes to reach you somehow. Of course that was impossible, his feelings, his emotions, love and sorrow altogether will never reach you again. And your arms that once comforted him and brushed his hair with a soothing voice, saying everything will be okay, where are they now?

"Diluc."

"Stop," he didn't want to hear your voice.

"Diluc, I'm here."

"Stop..."

"Diluc..."

He jolts his eyes open and lets out a yell, what was he saying? He doesn't know. All he needed now was to drown out the fake voices mocking in his head. Diluc grabs the nearest object and shatters it against the floor, the dam was broken and it flooded uncontrollably, breaking everything in it's way. The abandoned house was filled with loud cries of a man sobbing with agony like a broken-hearted child. He crumbles to his knees and falls to his side, lifting his forearms while clutching his face.

And screamed.

Archons, what did he do to deserve this? Why do the people he cherish get taken away from him? Diluc never wanted to be the Darknight hero if it meant having his father perish in his arms. He didn't want the feeling of stabs against his chest with every breath he took. He didn't want to feel cold while knowing it was because you weren't here to hold him. He didn't want your voice, your pictures or your memory.

He wanted you.

"(Y/n)..." he chokes. Rolling to his back, Diluc moves his arms to cover his eyes, letting the tears run down to his ears, "(Y/n)..."

For who knows how long, he lays there in the abandoned building and mourns. Diluc doesn't have the strength to move from his position, he found himself staring mindlessly through the cracks of the roof when his voice had gone hoarse. The corners of his eyes still burned and his head was throbbing with so much pain. Maybe he should just stay here but the thought of being in the same room as your murderer was unfathomable.

Picking up his claymore once again, Diluc drags himself out of the door. Where would he go? It's not like he had a home to return to because home was when he was with you. A doll without a soul, the marionette moves as if the strings have commanded him to do so. Where ever it takes him, he didn't care. He just knew he had to go.

[tarahhnicolee]

An open letter to the original Sanditon Sisterhood,

I have been in the Sanditon Fandom since the premiere of episode one all the way back in 2019 and I am very thankful for the Sanditon Sisterhood I have met along the way since 2019. I cherish these friendships more than anything as we have been through some rough emotional journey’s together. 🤍 While I only speak for myself, I fear after season two I no longer recognize the show, the main character Charlotte, and especially the fandom. The fandom growing was a true blessing at one time (ensuring the show was to continue on), but I am not sure that became the best option - and I say this as an avid campaigner for a continuation of Sanditon. It has been disheartening to see new arriving fans who were just recently introduced to the world of Sanditon disrespecting the character of Sidney, who once gave us so much (of course it’s fair to say took a lot away too), by suggesting that a new arriving actor/character is better than he ever was. This is simply not true and will never be true. I simply recognize the blessing it was to witness live the magic of Sanditon S1 and see Charlotte and Sidney’s relationship bloom (then unfortunately conclude). While at one point I was upset that Theo James left the show and for reasons at the time I didn’t agree with (ie. his comments on Jane Austen) I am beginning to see that maybe he was correct to leave the show when he may have saw the writing on the wall that the magic of Sanditon would no longer be honored within the scripts he received by the new showrunner. Season 2 had potential in episode one and it did excellent off the bat at honoring Sidney’s memory, yet the script did not improve. Charlotte lost her magic and the writers did not even care to give her closure from Sidney in the form of a letter from him - yet everyone else received something. We had been deceived into thinking the season would be unpredictable, open to any storylines they wanted, but instead they change the DNA of Sanditon to just another version of Jane Eyre and Pride and Prejudice. I don’t know about anyone else but I’m not sure I can handle anymore disappointment related to Sanditon, as it only disturbs the great love I’ve always maintained for season one. I will be here for the fandom side of things and fan fiction and so forth but as of now I think I’ve made the decision to watch no more. Those of whom that disagree with my feelings and assessments will call me bitter, but I have to say that it would be true. I am bitter, but only because I care deeply about a show that helped me cope through a rough unpredictable college experience. Once again to the wonderful ladies that I met during the first season, y’all are the real ones! 🤍

[itsclydebitches]

RWBY Recaps: Volume 8 “Ultimatum”

Welcome back, everyone! We had an unexpected break last week due to the horror going on in Texas. I'm glad we did. Not because of any salty "RWBY is bad right now yay free Saturday" feelings, but because keeping to a schedule for a fictional webseries should never take precedence over peoples' safety. I can't believe I need to type that sentence out, but it's true! Over the last seven days I've seen fans who are not merely disappointed by the mini hiatus (understandable) but outright hostile towards the crew because they... were ensuring everyone survived during an unprecedented emergency? Yeah. Given the highly critical nature of these recaps — including today's! — I want to be clear that my thoughts towards Rooster Teeth's creative choices are distinct from any thoughts about the crew itself, including the most basic forms of compassion like, “I sure hope everyone is okay over there.” In an age where it has become horrifically common to harass creators and even send them death threats over stories, it has likewise become necessary to remind people: Don't do that shit. Never do that shit. If I can teach anyone anything at all, let it be that!

Anyway, dark fandom reminders out of the way, let's dive straight into our delayed episode. It was certainly a doozy. Titled "Ultimatum," we open on a trigger warning for flashing lights. Good on Rooster Teeth for including that, though I do wonder if creators shouldn't be including time stamps as well? Or perhaps a note that you can find those time stamps in the credits, avoiding any (minor) spoilers for everyone else? I'm not photosensitive myself, so I certainly don't mean to speak for that group, but my first thought was, "So how would I watch this episode if I was? Hand on the pause button, hoping I stop fast enough as soon as the lights start?" Hard to do given the surprise nature of the scene. Really, my answer would be, "Wait for the fandom to post warnings of their own, likely including where it happens so I know when to skip" which is perhaps an indication that this information that should be included from the get-go.

But I am glad the warning exists, regardless. The episode itself begins with a shot of Ironwood looking down at the kingdom. He's used his windows as a vantage point since Volume 7, so that's nothing new, but something about this particular shot reminded me of Ozpin, looking down from his tower. I'm sure the response from many would be simply, "Ah yes, the two power hungry dictators watching over their victims," but I think there's a much more nuanced reading here about leaders being expected to fix the literally unfixable and what that responsibility does to an individual. Of course, it's a nuance that is absolutely obliterated by the episode’s end, but the implication existed for a hot second!

Two other soldiers are in the room with Ironwood, reporting that Cinder has helped Watts escape. They try to soften this with news that they still have Jacques in custody, but receive only a, "I don't give a damn about Jacques Schnee." Which, fair. He's pretty useless at this point. It's when Ironwood learns that both Qrow and Robin escaped too that he really gets mad, something his subordinates have been expecting given their scared expressions.

Now, I'm treading lightly here because I realize how this is going to sound given the end of our episode, but I still want to note that outside of that ending... this is a weird take? Just hear me out. Since Volume 7 the show has worked very hard to make Ironwood seem scary and unstable — bad setup for what we end with today — but the problem is that none of it works in context and it certainly doesn't work when compared to other characters' actions. They are literally in the midst of an unwinnable battle and thousands of his people are dying. If the audience wants a human being — who also just lost a limb and was betrayed by half his allies — o remain perfectly poised and polite during that, sorry, but that's not how human beings work. But even beyond this, what’s the message here? Ironwood raises his voice, so does Yang. Ironwood hits his desk, Qrow hits a child. If we're going to examine how Ironwood handles his stress and anger, he often handles it better than many of our heroes. Namely, by continually taking that anger out on inanimate objects. I kept waiting for him to attack his subordinates or attack Winter this episode, especially given where we end up, but it never came. Ironwood always has enough control to break the desk or punch the wall, not the person in front of him. Which, of course, would not be a good thing in the real world. I want to be clear given these sensitive subjects that if someone is breaking things in your presence that's a major problem to address. But this isn't the real world. This is a fantasy world in the middle of a war, populated by other characters who express their anger by punching people, slamming them into walls, or screaming at them until they run away. The story wants us to fear Ironwood long before he makes his objectively horrific choices and it tries to achieve that by showing us characters who are clearly terrified in his presence, by giving us a string of broken objects in his wake. But those details don't land well when we compare them to other instances of stress. In the same volume I have watched Ironwood take a deep breath to calm himself down when things have gone horribly wrong. I've also watched Weiss start a conversation by threatening her defenseless brother. So again, what’s the message here? It can’t be that acting violently towards someone = villainous behavior because, as established since Volume 6, that’s common for the heroes. Why are these subordinates terrified about Ironwood slamming his fist on a table, but Whitley has no problem hugging the woman who threatened him? Obviously there is a HUGE difference between our main group and Ironwood when it comes to other actions (cough-bomb threats-cough), but these day-to-day moments don't match up. The show wants to use violence as a way for us to easily identify the Bad Guy while ignoring all the times when our heroes do the same thing. 

All of which isn't meant to be a defense of Ironwood. As we'll see in a bit, there is no defense for what he's done. Rather, it's a way of acknowledging just how badly he's been written. Why does a man who consistently reins in his anger and takes it out on objects suddenly shoot a councilman for literally no reason? Why does a man defined by wanting to save as many people as he can suddenly threaten to bomb his city? Ironwood's characterization is all over the place, in the sense that they keep writing him as the morally gray, sometimes harsh, but ultimately compassionate man he started out as... up until they need a villain. Salem isn't here yet, so Ironwood can shoot Oscar. Salem isn't attacking yet, so Ironwood can shoot the councilman. Salem is currently reforming, so Ironwood can threaten YJR and Mantle. He's the B-plot villain whenever Salem is out of commission, which is a problem for both their characterizations. This filler doesn't make sense for Ironwood and it severely undermines the threat of Salem. You finally introduce the Magical Big Bad and our heroes are facing more of a threat from a guy with a broken army and three loyal allies left? Hmmm.

The tl;dr is that Ironwood's arc is a disaster and, frankly, it's gotten old reading simplified takes of, "It's just a realistic look at what white U.S. men will do in power sweetie :) " RWBY does not have the context capable of conveying that sort of critical take because our world is not besieged by literal monsters and an immortal witch, to say nothing of how real life good guys do not get deus ex machina canes that fix the problem instantaneously. Ironwood is not an example of anti-U.S. imperialism, he's an example of writers who don't know how to write.

Anyway, I'm getting severely off topic. Obviously Ironwood is a major part of this episode, but the problems demonstrated here are two years in the making. This is the culmination of things I've been discussing for months across hundreds of posts... so I should probably stop trying to summarize it all in a few paragraphs lol. Perhaps when RWBY is over — or Ironwood has died — I'll do a single meta on his character, try to pull everything into one, unified argument.

For now though, we have an episode to analyze.

While Ironwood is receiving this news we get flashbacks to Qrow and Robyn. Qrow attacks a soldier in his bird form, which is hilarious. Someone GIF that please. It does raise some interesting questions about this magic though: does Qrow retain his aura and strength in this form (something I thought given his choice to transform during the explosion), or was that soldier just so shocked at being attacked by a crow that he went down easy? We'll never know, because that would require establishing concrete rules for this world. The point is Qrow is going feral in his freedom, throwing punches left and right — did he kill that guard? — while Robyn watches it all from under a rock. They're apparently still somewhere in the facility since all the exits are guarded, but that's not the good thing Ironwood seems to think it is. After all, Qrow is out to murder him. He wants to be there.

We all see where this is going, right? The show is going to ignore Qrow's crazy belief that Ironwood got Clover killed in favor of a "Qrow saved Mantle by murdering Ironwood"/“Qrow got revenge for Mantle by murdering Ironwood” ending. Who cares why Qrow wanted to kill him in the first place now that Ironwood has his finger on the trigger? If RWBY is good at anything, it's writing moments that encourage you to ignore everything that came before it. We'll be seeing more of that in just a bit.

"Damn it!" Ironwood yells, because the show is leaning into its cursing. He orders that the subordinates not return until "you have Qrow Branwen in custody." Here we have another great example of the show conflating what the audience knows with what other characters know. See, we know Qrow has a vendetta against Ironwood. We know their relationship is the important one to the story and that Robyn is incidental. Ironwood doesn't know that. There's no reason for him, as a character, to specify that they only bring Qrow back, but it makes sense for the audience who has the whole, thematic picture. Our understanding of the situation is influencing Ironwood's dialogue, which is... not great.

This entire scene we've had creepy music to hammer home just how evil Ironwood is. Except, as said, he takes a breath to calm down and the music fades. Instead of flying into a rage, hurting someone, or doing anything the music suggests he might, Ironwood calmly calls in for an update — which is when the explosion hits.

It's MASSIVE, seeming to originate from a lightning strike, which is weird, since it's coming from inside the whale, but whatever. The animation is very dramatic and pretty, as we've come to expect of RWBY, but the actual plot is lackluster at best. It's funny though because I thought for a hot second, when Winter and the Ace Ops were caught in the blast, that RWBY had actually done something exciting. I mean, holy shit! There are the deaths we expect from a battle like this. My god, what is everyone going to do when they realize that Oscar's needless attack took out five characters, including Weiss' sister —

No wait, never mind. They're fine.

Let's talk about that "needless" descriptor for a moment though. Do you all remember, two weeks ago, when I went, "Hey, why isn't anyone telling Oscar that that Ace Ops are approaching with a bomb? They're on a time limit! If someone would just mention that Very Important Information then Oscar wouldn't keep standing around to fight Salem." See, at the time I was frustrated because of how the plot was needlessly allowing Oscar to put himself in danger (especially when the whole point of this mission was to rescue him). Now, I'm frustrated because that same plot needlessly wasted the most powerful weapon the group had. There was no reason for Oscar to use literal lifetimes worth of stored energy when the heroes already had a bomb to do the same job! What was the point of that? I guess he took out the other grimm too, but without the whale that still would have been a challenge with a finite end, one Ironwood's army and the remaining huntsmen should have been able to handle. It doesn't feel justified to have Oscar use a weapon kept on the bench for lifetimes when there was another option literally minutes away.

There's so much wrong with this I need another list. So:

Ozpin's cane supposedly stores kinetic energy, which may contradict what we've seen from it before. Regardless, we’ve never heard about this. The all powerful weapon comes out of nowhere

It also begs the question of why Ozpin wouldn't use that power at Beacon and why he wouldn't insist that they try to get their cane back while captured. You had an out this whole time! But we’re going to ignore that because Oscar is a little hesitant? 

Which makes YJR's presence even more useless than it originally was, which was already pretty useless. Oscar essentially rescued himself

This kinetic energy miraculously doesn't hurt any people or buildings, just grimm

So what is the point of Silver Eyes? That's been their MO since they were first introduced. Sure, Silver Eyes can be used far more often than Ozpin's cane, but it still feels like a let down to learn that the Big Secret behind this weapon is... the exact same thing Ruby has been doing for years

Like Ruby, Oscar likewise didn't need any practice or training. He just set off this massive attack perfectly and without issue

We have now eliminated the biggest threat to the cast instantaneously — the whale and the other grimm — with no effort from the rest of the heroes. Like the Hound, the stakes are obliterated with no satisfying work on the part of our protagonists 

Instead, as said, the actual plan already in place never happened. The bomb just... goes back. Kind of like how Cinder attacked and then just went back to Salem. Penny woke up and then just got knocked out again. We continue to go in circles 

This is because no one took two seconds to tell Oscar, "There's a bomb on the way"

Because this threat is gone the show needs a new one, hence Ironwood randomly threatening Mantle with said bomb

The one way we might have justified Oscar blowing up the whale instead of Winter is if he did it to save Hazel, but Hazel is implied to be dead

Maybe he's alive, but if he's not that happened off screen and we're not sure how. It couldn't have been because of the blast itself — everyone else is fine — so what, Salem somehow killed him before she was blasted to bits? While he was holding her? 

And there's no body?

Salem was torn apart multiple times during that fight and reformed instantaneously, yet now, conveniently, she's taking her time

None of the characters mention the issues above. None of them admit that there was no reason for Oscar to waste LIFETIMES worth of power when they already had a solution in the works. Fantastic

I need to take a moment to acknowledge that so far this recap feels... bad. Disjointed. Bit all over the place. Which makes a certain amount of sense because that's where my thoughts are at. There's so much going on in this episode — so much wrong with it — that I don't know how to boil it all down into a few, neat claims. This episode is a mess! We're barely a few minutes in and the combined issues of Ironwood's characterization and Oscar's choice have left me reeling. So if you're still reading this, bless your patience, I think we'll both need it for the rest of this journey.

Let's snag a neater plot-point to discuss. Amidst all the chaos Neo literally skips away with the Lamp, clearly thrilled at how her own life is going. Later in the episode she'll text Cinder with the obvious: Salem is going to be pretty pissed when she realizes this is gone. “If you want her name you know what you owe me." 

So wait... what is Neo leveraging here? Is she agreeing to give the Lamp back so Cinder doesn't get in trouble with Salem? Give Salem the password she's been looking for? Or give Cinder the password to use the Lamp for herself? What would Cinder even want the Lamp for when she's after the Maiden powers? I'm confused about what Cinder is being blackmailed with. Regardless, she needs the lamp for something and presumably what she "owes" Neo is Ruby. We get a cut to her just to hammer that home.

(Side note: both pictures of Neo are hilarious.) 

Before that though, back at the whale, everyone is taking stock of the situation when Marrow cries, "Hey, they were still in there!" I feel like this is another scene meant to make him look like the one good guy in the group — he cares about YJOR while the others can’t be bothered — but as always, that reading doesn't fit well with the situation as a whole. The others have barely had time to realize they're alive. I don't think it's a moral failing that they didn't instinctually worry about four betrayers, one of whom attacked them, while they're still checking that they have all their limbs intact. Besides, why does Marrow assume they're dead? The Ace Ops were caught in the blast as well, yet miraculously came out unharmed. They clearly didn't set their own bomb off, so it's logical to assume that YJOR did something themselves. It feels weird to have a "Marrow mourns them and Winter is the only other character who cares" moment when everyone is recovering from bomb shock and no one even knows if the others are dead. But, of course, the show is out to portray only two of these characters as good people, so ignore the logic and run with the emotion of the scene.

All of which is bolstered by Elm pulling away when Vine puts a hand on her shoulder. Why is she acting cold towards him now? Because they're not friends, remember?

While we get more ridiculous relationship dynamics, Ironwood calls in and congratulates them on the bomb working, but tells them to get back because they have another problem in the works. That would be Qrow and Robyn. Winter decides to tell him about the bomb in person.

We cut to Watts and Cinder watching the remnants of the blast from a rooftop. Cinder has tried calling, but no one answered. Unsurprising, given that Salem doesn't have any other allies left. Cinder says that the plan hasn't changed, she's still going to take the Winter Maiden's power for herself, and Watts can help her by bringing Penny here. He explains that he doesn't have full control over her. Rather, he implemented a virus that is setting her on a single path: open the vault, then self-destruct. Cinder, as one might expect, is furious.

She snags Watts by her grimm arm and threatens to toss him over the side of the building. Thus begins the best part of the episode, hands down. Despite the danger he's in, Watts throws common sense out the window in favor of dragging Cinder in the most satisfying manner possible. 

“You think you’re entitled to everything just because you suffered, but suffering isn’t enough. You can’t just be strong, you have to be smart. You can’t just be deserving, you have to be worthy! But all you have ever been is a bloody migraine!”

It's true! You know what else is true? This speech could apply to our heroes as well. Accusations of entitlement and reminders to be smart as opposed to just strong hit hard, considering those are the same flaws our protagonists are struggling with. The difference is that Cinder, miraculously, listens, pulling Watts back to safety and going to cry by herself. That moment is simultaneously more growth than Ruby has gotten and more sympathy than Ironwood has gotten. The woman who murdered Pyrrha is treated more kindly by the narrative than one of our initial heroes and our very first villain has taken more time to reconsider her choices than our title character. You know a show is falling apart when excellent choices are applied to the worst possible character.

So Cinder is crying while Watts looks guilty and we cut back to YJOR's group post-blast. Yang is finally able to answer a call from Blake who is obviously overjoyed to see her. Weiss gives them directions to the mansion and they ask what in the world they'll do with Emerald, currently on her knees, mourning Hazel.

Thus begins the third most frustrating part of this episode. See, on the way back the group continues the conversation about what to do with Emerald, with Yang and Jaune distrusting her vs. Ren and Oscar encouraging cooperation. I can't believe I'm saying this after's Ren's speech and Oscar's entire existence... but I'm team Jaune and Yang here. Look, what Oscar and Ren say — the literal words coming out of their mouth — is nonsense. Ren goes, “We can’t let all of our actions stem from fear," as if Yang and Jaune are being ridiculous for mistrusting Emerald, one of the established villains, after years worth of harm from her. It’s weird that Yang points to her arm as something Emerald is responsible for, rather than being framed or the deaths at Beacon, but the general sentiment of, “She’s done horrible things!” is true. Ren’s perspective is the same simplification that was applied to Ironwood last volume, wherein everyone acted as if he was crazy for fearing an attack on his kingdom... post an attack on another kingdom and pre an attack on his kingdom. Putting generic lines in Ren's mouth about not being afraid makes him sound willfully ignorant, as if choosing to believe that someone is good will magically make them so, to say nothing of thinking it will erase all the harm they've already done.

Oscar at least acknowledges the difficulty here, but then follows this up with, “You don’t have to forgive her… just give her a second chance."

Oscar, honey, that amounts to the same thing in this situation. Allowing Emerald a second chance means working with her, which means trust, which means emotionally reaching a point where these characters can put aside the harm she's done them in an effort to give her that chance in the first place. This actually ties into a post I saw last night, one I've come across before, that claims redemption arcs don't require any suffering on the part of the person who has done wrong. I agree in theory, that prolonged suffering doesn't help anyone, but the problem is that people tend to conflate suffering with consequences and someone who has done this level of harm should face consequences for their actions. The problem with redemption arcs is not that the bad people suffer too much —  emotionally and physically beating on them as a form of revenge  — but that the people they've harmed are put into situations like this one. If Yang and Jaune let Emerald go like she suggests, they are agreeing that she doesn't have to face any consequences for the damage she's done (which, keep in mind, involves multiple deaths, not including all the lost lives here in Atlas). If they agree to give her a second chance, they are forced to jump straight to some level of forgiveness. We might claim they don't have to forgive Emerald to work with her, but from a practical perspective how are they meant to function, especially during a warzone? Anything she provides them with — information, watching their back in a fight, undertaking missions, etc.  — requires trusting her enough to allow those things to happen: working with that info, letting her protect them, allowing her that responsibility. It's all about trust, trust she has yet to earn. In order for a redemption arc to be successful, the power has to be in the hands of the victims. They need to be able to see some justice for what was done to them, be offered some proof that the person in question has truly changed, and have the ability to walk away if they decide no, I don't forgive you, glad to hear you've improved, but please stay out of my life. Jaune and Yang have none of that. There are currently no systems in place for Emerald to face consequences for her choices, she has offered them no proof of her remorse or true motivations, and the other half of the group is pressuring them to give her that second chance without closure or reassurance. None of that makes for a good redemption arc and reducing that to, "So you want to see poor Emerald suffer, huh?" ignores the suffering she has already caused. The group are her victims and they are under no obligation to give her a second chance, particularly under these circumstances, which makes the story's choice to have Ren and Oscar act like Yang and Jaune are being stubborn or inconsiderate a problem. The conversation boils down to, "Give the woman you know to be a liar, manipulator, murder accomplice, and servant of our enemy a second chance based entirely on unfounded faith. If you don't you're letting yourself be ruled by fear."

RWBY's touchy-feely themes really don't sit well within its realistic, morally gray premise. We cannot continually have these characters go through hell one moment and then have others accuse them of being paranoid the next. The fact that all of this is wrapped up in the group trusting Robyn, Emerald, and Hazel over their established allies remains beyond frustrating.

Because yeah, you know how Oscar finishes his speech? “I’ve already gotten a lot of help today from someone I don’t exactly trust right now." Meaning Ozpin.

The story is trying to compare Emerald and Hazel to Ozpin.

"Oh hey, I kept a secret from you after lifetimes of watching that secret lead to betrayal and death. I keep apologizing for my mistakes while ignoring that I had no reason to trust a bunch of kids with such world-shattering information and also that you tore it from me in the most traumatic way possible."

"Oh hey, I willingly joined our world's version of the devil and helped her destroy your school, leading to numerous deaths including your friend and headmaster. It was his death that put Oscar in this position in the first place! I then continued to attack your group, leading to another near death of a friend, and a kidnapping, and the destruction of Amity, until I became scared enough to make a run for it."

Which one of these characters is granted an instant second chance? You'll never guess who!

And I do think the word "instant" is important here because just like Jaune and Yang have the right to have distance and justice from Emerald, they had that right with Ozpin too. The difference is they got it. They had the power in the situation, as evidenced by their use of the Lamp and physically attacking him. Ozpin heard what they needed from him — leave us alone — and did that without complaint. They were given months to come to terms with the secrets he kept. They were offered apologies and acts of service to demonstrate intent: saving them in the airship and continually saving Oscar. I don't believe Ozpin ever needed a redemption arc, but even if we think he did, he had it. After three volumes of material Oscar's perspective is still "I don't exactly trust [him] right now" but Hazel and Emerald have earned at least the same amount of trust in a matter of hours? They're really having my boy look at the guy who has tried desperately to do right by him despite unimaginable circumstances, and the guy who tortured him to get information for Salem, and went, "That first guy. He's the one we need to watch out for."

To make things even worse, Oscar tells the others that Ozpin took on all the torture so he wouldn't have to. So he did that and they still don't trust him? If you had told me back in Volume 6 that two years later the group would still be hostile towards Ozpin, while simultaneously urging one another to trust Emerald, I would have said you were lying. RWBY has its problems, but it's not that bad. Yet here we are. I suppose the one silver lining here is that Ren smiles when he realizes Ozpin is back? So at least one of them isn't prepared to draw their weapon at the mere mention of his name.

Both these moments raise more questions though. How in the world did Ozpin take on that torture when we clearly saw Oscar getting pummeled for a good portion of the kidnapping? Is that a weird merge thing the story hasn't bothered to explain? I wouldn't be surprised, considering Oscar said last episode he didn't want to use magic because it hastened the merge, he uses the biggest explosion of magic we've ever seen, and nothing has changed. Ozpin is still in the back of his head, thanking him for the tinniest shreds of decency they get. Ren, meanwhile, seems to be back to mindreading. How in the world does he know that Ozpin is back? I assume it has something to do with his semblance, but we don't know what. They could have shown us Oscar from Ren's perspective, perhaps with two distinct emotions swilling around to imply that he sees two different people now, not a useless shot of Emerald with purple flower petals, whatever purple means.

Oh, but no, we shouldn't have gotten either of these scenes. Remember that Ren's aura broke a very, very short time ago? Is it back already? Can he use this part of his semblance without it? Considering it was near impossible to see Ironwood's aura breaking in the Watts fight and we were then mistakenly told he used his semblance in the office, I'm going to go with, "The writers forgot."

Oscar explains that the cane had "lifetime after lifetime" of power in it and though there's still some left, "we have to be careful with how we use the rest." He says that Ozpin trusted his judgement and of course he did! Ozpin also didn’t know that there was a bomb on the way. Yet funnily enough, no one else mentions that, whoops, your choice made in ignorance was a waste and that's due entirely to us prioritizing hugs over basic mission information.

Also, all these explanations take place in front of Emerald. Half the group doesn't trust her, but they'll freely discuss their powers and limitations here. Remember how the group once wanted to talk about magical relics in front of the old lady they'd just met? Yeah, they've learned nothing.

Combine all this insanity with the fact that Ozpin's magic saved the day before Ironwood's bomb could do the same... while Ruby sat in a mansion drinking tea. Who's our hero again?

So things are a hot mess, to put it lightly. Their conversation finally ends when they hear voices and round the corner to find all the Atlas citizens huddled in the subway. For once the show actually writes them in a sympathetic manner, emphasizing how terrified and helpless they are. This image doesn't lead the group to any revelations though, certainly not anything that would tie back to Ren's earlier speech in the snow. No, once again the justified criticisms here are ignored as we hear that “However this fight ends, we could really use someone like you, [Emerald.]” That's it then. Discussion over. We knew as soon as it started that blindly trusting her was being presented as the "right" thing to do and now here we are, deciding that conclusively, despite Jaune and Yang's complaints. By the time the group reaches the mansion, Oscar is defending Emerald from Ruby. We're supposed to just accept that she's a part of the group now, only minimal pushback allowed.

Before that though we return to Ironwood getting news that their bomb never went off. He briefly wonders who else could have done that, but puts the currently unanswerable question aside for what he does know. They still have the bomb and it could be "useful." See, this moment — like shooting Oscar and the councilman — is when Ironwood just randomly goes off the deep end. One minute he's talking about what they've lost and cradling his new arm, 

the next he's saying that he should have tortured Qrow to get Penny to obey him! Which doesn't even make sense since I'm pretty sure Penny hasn't ever spoken to Qrow. She wouldn't want anyone to suffer, true, but it's not like Ironwood had a close friend like Ruby to use as leverage. Qrow is just Some Guy to her. Regardless, he thinks Yang, Jaune, and Ren are decent replacements, despite Penny also having no relationships with them. This is what happens when your characters only start breaking up their teams eight years into the story, the response to Ironwood wanting to torture Ren to hurt Penny is, “Does Penny know Ren exists?” But, you know, torture is torture, right? Maybe. Probably not. I mean, if they're going to turn Ironwood into a cartoon villain, they could at least keep him smart.

Because all of this is just the height of stupidity. Ironwood wants to torture people Penny barely knows to make her listen (so just grab some civilians? It would do the same job...). Ironwood wants to shoot down empty ships, even though no one, including us, knows where in the world those ships would have gone. Ironwood wants to destroy an entire city to try and save another city. He wants to use a bomb meant for a comparatively small whale and acts like that alone will take out the majority of a kingdom. None of it makes sense! And I know the easy comeback for that is, "Well yeah, Ironwood is crazy and evil" but he's not. I mean he is. Threatening torture and bombings is obviously evil, but he's never been insane, or stupid. As said before, his arc (or lack thereof) is an absolute disaster. The fandom assumes so many things about Ironwood given the opportunity — the whale is a suicide mission. He expects the Ace Ops to die on his order — and the writing hints at so many things that never happen — he's going to hurt his subordinates, attack Winter for disobeying him — and every time what we actually get is a far more compassionate, level-headed character... until he randomly does a 180 and goes, "Let's murder a whole city now!" I never wanted Ironwood to be the bad guy, but they could have at least given me a persuasive decent into this level of horror.

So... yeah. Ironwood has got to die by the end of the volume, yeah? Between Ruby warning the whole world about him and him going into full villain mode, there's no coming back from this.

Neo sends her text to Cinder and the group makes it back to the mansion. Remember Yang's criticisms of Ruby's leadership? The ones she conveniently forgot about when Ren started to agree with her? Yeah, those are entirely gone as the sisters hug it out and, presumably, forgive one another for... daring to admit that things are bad? Look, I'm not going to deny that Ironwood's scene with Winter was creepy as fuck, 

but I'm not of the opinion that the heroes are any better when it comes to the theme of obedience. They've attacked one another, screamed at one another, and any dissent from Ruby's leadership results in the questioner being left behind in the snow. We'll accept you again when you fall back in line. I used to adore the relationships in this show, but watching them now is just discomforting. The show might be 100% more obvious with Ironwood, using creepy music, a smile, and that hand on Winter's shoulder, but the concept of, "Sorry I dared to question you before! We won't ever do it again :)" isn't healthy either. The fact that the show keeps erasing theses problems with hugs — Weiss hugs Whitley now, Yang hugs Ruby, someone will probably hug Emerald soon — doesn't make the circumstances any less uncomfortable.

None of this even gets into the Blake and Yang hug. First of all, why is Blake acting like they had a fight and Yang might not want to see her? She's hiding inside rather than rushing to greet them, ears down in a devastated expression until Yang touches her. Combine this with Yang's "Do you think she's mad at me?" and it feels like the writers cut a fight in the final script and then didn't bother to remove the fallout from that. Seriously, where did any of this come from? You can't just have characters act like they've been fighting when they haven’t.

Also, can't forget this.

At this point there's nothing more I can say in regards to RWBY's almost-queer baiting. Is touching foreheads more intimate than the hugs Yang gave the others? Absolutely. Is that an appropriate stand-in for overt representation? Absolutely not. This would have been a perfect time for them to kiss. Take out Blake's nonsensical fear and replace it with them both reuniting after their first separation since Volume 5, working under the knowledge that either one could have been killed, finally admitting their feelings. Hell, they don't actually have to kiss. Not all girlfriends are interested in kissing! But they could use the terminology that makes things unequivocally canon.  Another forehead touch when we got that in Volume 6? It's not enough, especially not when our straight couples have all been allowed their rep.

Ren at least wants to know where Nora is. He's presumably told what happened off screen as Oscar tells Ruby that Emerald is their friend now.

Then an emergency call from May interrupts the reunion and the group learns that Ironwood is bombing the Schnee ships. “Those ships… they were going to save people” Weiss whispers. How? Tell me how they were going to save anyone. Where were you going to take these people where they would be safer than where they are now? RWBY continually asserts things without explaining them, meaning there is precisely zero emotional weight here. Again, Ironwood is far past the point of defense, but I'd be a whole lot more critical of this particular action if I had a better sense of why it's bad. He appears to be endangering the people given May's shout to run — falling debris? — but the further implication is that Ironwood has doomed the people of Mantle by denying them these ships. It's that part that makes no sense based on what we've been told.

Which finally comes to the ultimatum of our episode title: Penny opens the vault, or Ironwood bombs Mantle. Great! So glad this plan is wicked smart and works well for his characterization. It's definitely not a nonsensical, unfounded, overblown change that feels like it belongs in a child's cartoon, complete with dramatic spotlight. Nope. Excellent writing choices all around.

Our final line of the episode is, “I hope you live up to the title I gave you," referring to Penny's job as the Protector of Mantle, and you know what? That line could have been very cool if it was delivered by an Ironwood with a persuasive fall and a halfway decent plan in place. I love that we've twisted the concept of a protector and turned the title into a horrifying, rather than honorable responsibility... I just hate everything surrounding those details. 

So, usual RWBY fare.

(At least we get to see that Nora is awake!) 

Will things get better over the next four episodes? I doubt it. We're still expecting the rest of the Ace Ops + Winter to ditch Ironwood, someone getting the vault open, the fall of Atlas, now the potential destruction of Mantle, and none of that includes Salem who should reform at any moment. Frankly, I'm not looking forward to any of it. The final leg of a season should make its audience excited to see how everything turns out, not dreading it. I've heard from multiple people that this is the volume that finally got them to drop the show and honestly? I'm not surprised.

As a final (happier?) note: we've finally got a bingo! I completely forgot our board last time, which was a terrible oversight, but we can update it now.

Our army of grimm can't kill anyone now that it got KOed by Oscar (that is the third one hit defeat of a major enemy we've seen this volume. Yes, I'm including the Hound considering it was obviously on its last legs after Ruby's eyes.)

I'm likewise including "Ozpin apologizes for everything including his existence" because he's done nothing but apologize since he came back. The emotion is there even if the literal words are not. Oscar reminded everyone of how untrustworthy he is, but kept the group from jumping them again. And Ozpin thanked him for it.

Neo didn't literally backstab Cinder (shame), but the Relic still counts.

So a triple bingo! Is that how bingo works? Idk, I've never played. I feel like I should have thought up some sort of humorous prize, but sadly I've got nothing. If you think of anything, let me know lol

That’s all then, folks. Until next week! 💜

[swiftlymoniquesblog]

Only You: Dean x Reader (Requested)

Requested by: @littlemissmoxley: I was hoping for a Dean x Reader please? I’m fairly new to the fandom so I’ve only seen 3 seasons so far lol. I was hoping for a story where the reader feels like she is constantly compared to Cassie in Dean’s eyes even though she is a hunter too and she confides in Sam but Dean overhears the conversation and tries to convince the reader that he appreciates her for who she is and is sorry if he made her feel differently

A/N: Welcome to the family! We hope you enjoy your stay! I like comparing this fandom to the song Hotel California because like they say “you can check out any time you like but you can never leave!” lol don’t worry, that’s meant as a joke. It’s a very fun and very loving family so I hope you enjoy it!

Had to jump all the way back in season 1 for this and Dean gave me MAJOR feels throughout but totally worth it!

Also I don’t think this is my best work but I did my best

Warnings: Angst, swearing, angry!Dean (that’s a sexy warning) fluff, slight mention of sex but very light

Word Count: 2,752

Taglist requests are open! 

Supernatural Masterlist| Masterlist of all Masterlists

You had been living and working with the Winchester Brothers for the past year after they called on you for a little help with a case. You knew their Dad sort of well at one point in time after he saved you from a rather sticky situation with a vengeful spirit. At the time, you were working late and had gotten off of work when the attack happened but it ended up working out where John came to your rescue and made sure you were okay until he moved on to his next case. However, before he left you, he called his sons and had them come and stay with you longer because you were injured. John Winchester was not a man who would stay behind for an extended period of time to help some civilian but what he failed to learn but Sam and Dean stuck around to learn, was you weren’t a civilian; you were a hunter too. When they got to your apartment that night, you threw them for a loop.

“So what did our Dad say attacked you?” Sam, the youngest brother you found out, asked you.

“He said some kind of mental subject high on meth or something? Some total bullshit if you ask me. I know I was attacked by a vengeful spirit,” you say nonchalantly. 

Both brothers just gave you a bizarre look, like they were freaking out over how you knew what was going on. No one needed to lie to you because you were aware of what was happening and that was unusual to the brothers. 

“Wait, our  Dad told us you were a civilian?” The eldest brother, Dean, asked.

“Yes that’s what he told you but see boys, your Dad didn’t stick around me long enough to know the truth; I’m a hunter too. I guess it was pure luck your Dad was close by when I was attacked because I knew I was getting myself into some shady shit when I had to dig out some corpse to stop a track of killings in Tucson but I wasn’t expecting more than one spirit to be involved here,” you explain, smirking as the tension was drawn away from the brothers. 

A big part of every hunter's existence was to keep the job a secret from civilians; no one usually believes you anyways. So always having to come with an excuse for what happened when civilians almost died is exhausting. Lucky for the Winchesters, they didn’t have to worry about lying with you. After staying with you for a few days to make sure nothing was still trying to come after you, it was Dean who decided to have you live with them. He insisted on it due to how severe your injuries were but it didn’t bother you; you liked his company. Not that he really took care of you, he was just concerned. It was Sam who really took the time to care for you and that was how you and he had gotten so close. In fact, you confided in Sam about everything that was going on in your life so when you started doubting your relationship a year later, you went to him.

“Hey Sam, I need your advice on something,” you asked, going to see him in the War Room. He was currently sitting at the Map table behind his laptop, looking intently at the screen in front of him.

“Hey (y/n) sure, what’s going on?” He asked, eyes leaving the screen and landing on you.

“Well it’s about my relationship,” you say and Sam grows more concerned. 

“Dean’s not hurting you, is he?” He asks, jumping to one of the most extreme scenarios. You had started going out with Dean a few months after you 

“No, no, of course not. He’s been nothing but a gentleman but something seems a bit off.” 

You and Dean started dating a little while after you agreed to go with them on their hunts. It was actually really great and you liked him a lot, but lately, you began to question everything about your relationship.

“Off? Like how?” Sam asks, motioning for you to sit down across from him. 

“Well, he uh, did something odd,” you say, a bit hesitant on sharing what happened. 

“What did he do?” Sam pressed you.

“Well, uh, we were making out the other day and he said another girl's name,” you say, cheeks turning bright red but you knew you could trust Sam. He’s not the kind of guy to make fun of you or tease you that often; he was sweeter than that. Unlike his brother of course, who thrives off teasing you.

“Who’s name did he say?” Sam questioned.

“Cassie? I-I don’t know who she is or where that came from but it was weird. And when I confronted him about it, he blew me off and wouldn’t say anything about it. Not to mention, he won’t even come near me,” You explain everything that happened. 

“Oh….shit,” Sam said, knowing exactly what was going on. 

“Sam? Who-who’s Cassie?” You ask. 

“Cassie was Dean’s, first love. He was crazy about her and we ran into her again about a year ago. She called him because her Dad was killed by some racist truck that was driven by another vengeful spirit,” Sam explained his brother’s odd behavior. 

“Oh, well that explains a lot. He-he probably has been comparing me to her this whole time! And I think I’m failing,” you say, an expression of realization on your face. 

“No (Y/N) that’s not…” Sam tried to call after you but you left the room and went out to the motel lobby.

“How can I help you?” The young girl behind the front desk asked you. 

“Yes, I need to get a room. I’m not sure for how long yet but I can pay for one and I need one as far away from room 113 as possible,” You say, sliding the fake credit card over to the lady.

She quickly took down all your information and put it all through her computer, verifying you wanted a room farther away from Sam and Dean’s room, before she finalized a few things, sliding your card back to you and a room key, bidding you a ‘pleasant stay.’ You walked back to get your belongings from your shared room with the boys and before walking in the door, you scoped the surrounding area to ensure you wouldn’t run into either brother and when you were sure the coast was clear, you frantically start packing your bag, making sure to get in and get out as fast as possible. Zipping the bag, you scribble down a note to Dean, and set it on the table by the front door, and head out. Making your way to the opposite side of the property, you find your room, unlock it and let yourself into your new home for as long as you and the boys would be in town investigating. 

Dean’s POV

“Hey (Y/N/N), Sam, where are you guys?” I called out for the others living in the room with me to see if someone could help me with these groceries and take out what I bought. 

“Hey Dean, let me grab some of that for you,” Sam says, grabbing some of the bags out of my hands and placing them on one of the counters. 

“Where’s (y/n)? She said she was getting hungry earlier and I got her favorite food,” I say, excited to surprise my girl.

“Um, she’s not here,” Sam says, a hint of hesitation in his voice.

“Well, where is she?” I ask.

“She left,” Sam kept his response short.

“Sam, I need a much better explanation than just that.”

“There’s a note for you on the table by the door,” he says, unloading the bags of groceries. 

I walk back to the door and there is, in fact, a note with my name on the top.

Dean,

I think it’s best if we part ways for a while since...well you know what happened; the incident. I talked to Sam about it and he told me who she was. I get it, Cassie was your first love and after just seeing her recently and hooking up with her again, I’d probably say her name too. 

I’m not mad, in fact, I understand. I just think it’s best we aren’t in a romantic relationship since you’re not over her. Makes me wonder if you’ve been comparing me to her this entire time and I believe I fell short. I did a search on her and she is stunning in every way and I simply am not. 

I’ll stay to help you and Sam with the remainder of this case but afterward, I’ll head back home. I know this may seem surprising to you but ultimately, it'll be ideal for all involved. 

-(Y/N) 

“Son of a bitch!” I said, crumpling up the note and throwing it at the floor. 

“What’s wrong, what did the note say?” Sam asked.

“She left me, Sam. We were making out the other day and I said Cassie instead of (y/n) and now she thinks I’m still hooked up on her and that I’ve been comparing her to Cassie this entire time!” I yell, throw punching the wall. 

“Well, she couldn’t have gone too far, she hates being by herself,” he says, trying to add some comfort to the situation. 

“I can’t believe she thinks I still give two shits about Cassie! I haven’t even thought about her in the last year except for that one time,” I say, feeling shitty about this whole thing. I should’ve been more careful and paid better attention to (y/n). She probably thinks I don’t even care about her at all since we’ve been so busy lately with this case. 

“I gotta find her Sammy,” I say, feeling helpless about everything but I at least needed to get started finding her and explaining to her where I’m coming from.

“Let’s go up to the front desk and see if she left anywhere,”  Sam suggests,  making me remember why I’m lucky to have him. I wouldn’t have thought of that on my own.

We head up to the desk and are met with a girl who looks like she’s just fallen in love. Guessing she finds us attractive by the way her eyes travel up and down both of us. 

“How can I help you, boys?” She asks, smirking at Sam. 

“We’re looking for a girl, about yay high, (y/e/c), (y/h/c) she goes by the name (y/n/n)? Have you seen her anywhere?” 

“Oh, she checked into another room,” the girl says and I sigh in relief; she’s still here.

“Great, what room is she in?” I ask.

“I can’t tell you that, Sir,” she says to me, rolling her eyes and popping a bubble with her gum. 

“I’m Agent Ackles, this is my partner Agent Padalecki, (y/n/n) is our partner and we need to know her whereabouts as soon as possible. We believe she might be in danger,” I say, flashing my FBI badge, Sam following my lead, and the girl quickly jumps to the computer and pulls up your information.

“She checked into room 2 earlier this afternoon,” the girl says.

“Where is room 2?” Sam asks, knowing all the rooms we’ve seen have been in the hundreds. 

“On the opposite side of the property; those are the single-digit rooms.” 

“Thank you,” I say, folding the badge and putting it away.

“Do you want me to go with you?” Sam asks.

“Nah, I got this. I’m hoping to work this out with her and if we do well,” I say and smirk, Sam immediately knowing what I was implying.

“Right, well thanks for that. I’m going to head back to the room then and you just call if something doesn’t go as planned,” he says and heads back to our room. 

I follow the directions the receptionist girl gave me and after a surprisingly long walk, I find room 2. That girl wasn’t kidding; it really was on the opposite side of the property. I go over to the door and raise my fist to knock, pausing just a moment to gather my thoughts before finally making contact with the door. 

“Just a minute!” She calls from the other side of the door and then she goes quiet for a while. “What do you want, Dean?”

“Look (y/n) I got your note, can we talk about this please?” I say, almost pleading for her to open up. 

“I don’t have anything more to say to you,” she says.

“But I have plenty! Come one (y/n/n) please, let me explain.” She opens the door and looks pissed off. 

“And why would I do that?” 

“Because you love me,” I test, knowing we haven’t said that to each other yet.

“And how do you know that?” I can tell she was affected by the comment but she kept fighting me.

“Because I know you and if you didn’t care anymore, you would’ve left.” 

“Fine,” she says and steps aside, allowing me into the room.

“Look, (y/n) I’m sorry okay? I don’t know what happened that day. Maybe I was thinking about her subconsciously but I promise you, I am crazy about you and only you.” 

“But you told her about our work; she obviously means a lot to you,” 

“Meant a lot to me, yes, but YOU are the one who means more to me than, I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but more than Baby.” 

Her head snapped over to look at me, she wasn’t expecting that one and neither was I.

“I mean more to you than your prized Baby?” She asks, cocking an eyebrow to see if there were any signs of deceit but I was sincere.

“Yes, sweetheart. You are my girl and I’m crazy about you. You’re the first person I want to see when I wake up in the morning and the last one I want to see before I fall asleep at night. I want to be there when you’re not feeling well so I can cuddle you and tickle you until you feel better again. I want to cook you meals and I want to be able to binge-watch Scooby-Doo with you. I want to play with your hair and see you fall asleep with your head in my lap because you’re so incredibly beautiful and I cannot believe you are mine. I am so sorry you thought you weren’t good enough for me or that I’ve been comparing you to Cassie this whole time because I haven’t been. I’ve been pinching myself every single day I see you and get to kiss you because I’m still thinking I’m going to wake up from a dream and it’ll all be gone. I hope that isn’t true and that this is all real. After all, I can’t imagine my life without you in it because I love you. That’s right, I love you (y/n) and I don’t care who knows it! I am so in love with you that I was going to go insane if I hadn’t told you,” I fully express all my feelings, in a non-Dean way. 

She keeps quiet and just when I think the worst happens, she makes her way over to me and grabs my head, bringing my lips to hers in a kiss. Instinctively, I grab her hips, holding her tight, and push her against the nearest wall. She’s completely trapped as my lips make the kiss more passionate by traveling down to her neck and over the tops of her breasts that were kind of spilling over by her pajama tank top. Just before anything gets too heated, I pull away to make sure we were on the same page, that she was okay with whatever plans I had conjured in my head and when she didn’t seem to hesitate and she lifted her shirt over her head and threw it on the floor beside her, I knew she was all in. I’ll admit, I forgot what I was doing for a minute as I pictured her lying under me as I do some rather fun things to her, but she snaps me out of it and I go out to put a ‘do not disturb’ sign on the door, slamming it and locking it behind me. Yep, she was my girl again. 

Taglist: @calaofnoldor @thinkinghardhardlythinking @tloveswriting @akshi8278 @baby1967impala @deansmyapplepie @marvelfansworld @spnjediavenger

[im-actually-ok]

Fangs

Chapter one

Next

Masterlist

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Ships: Platonic DLAMPR

Word Count: 2276

Genre: Semi angst? Not really, uh hurt comfort? It's not fluff exactly but idk what to put here.

Warnings: Fangs, very slight body horror(the fangs), food, sleep deprivation (i think that’s it but if i missed anything please let me know so i can add it, thank you!!!)

——

“Experiment 4379, fangs,” Logan spoke into his audio recorder, holding it inches from his mouth as he did, “It has been proven that sides can alter their appearance completely to replicate others, I wish to see if a side could alter smaller traits of oneself. Today I shall try to alter my appearance in a minor way to test my theory, to test said theory I will attempt to give myself fangs because, as Remus has said, they are ‘dope as hell’,” he let go of the small button, pausing the recording for a moment to let out a small breath of, “here we go.”

He turned to cross the room to the small square mirror on the wall. He opened his mouth, moving one hand to prod at a tooth for a moment before closing his mouth and squeezing his eyes shut. He had only changed his appearance twice, both for one of Thomas’s videos, but he had never tried to change simply one thing and not on his own, he had had enough trouble returning to human form after the whole puppet thing.

He imagined the fangs in his mind. The sharpened teeth, similar to that of a wolf’s teeth but structured to fit inside a human mouth. He stumbled a little, catching himself on the desk under him. He was always a bit winded after changing, it took quite a bit of energy but while Thomas was recording he did a pretty good job of hiding it. Wait, does that mean it worked?

He stood up quickly, looking in the mirror once more, opening his mouth again and letting out a soft, breathed, happy laugh when he saw the sharp teeth between his parted lips. He moved a hand to prod at a tooth once more but quickly retracted his hand with a small hiss of pain. He saw a small bead of blood on his finger and watched it roll down to his hand. God, he had made these things really sharp, hadn't he?

He picked up his recorder, “experiment 4379 is a success! I was able to replace my teeth with a set of fangs quite easily, though it did take a bit more effort to pinpoint a specific trait, this should make future experiments much easier seeing as I will not have to beg Roman or Remus to take me to the imagination. I will have to conduct more experiments with the fangs later but for now I am going to retire, creating said fangs took quite a bit out of me. Not to self: figure out a way to maintain energy after a transformation. Now all I have to do is transform back which should not be a problem,” he let go of the small button, setting the recorder on the desk again before looking in the mirror once more, admiring his work before closing his eyes again. He imagined his regular old human teeth, focusing on it to try and shift his appearance once more.

He didn't feel anything though. He didn’t feel the usual exhaustion or small tingling sensation. He opened his eyes once more, opening his mouth to find the fangs. Hm. Odd.

He closed his eyes again, his hands gripping the edges of the desk as he squeezed them shut as hard as he could, focusing hard on the image in his mind. He focused on every small detail of the set of human teeth he imagined, trying to will them into existence. But when he opened his eyes once more he was met with the same sight.

Okay. This might be a problem.

----

Logan had tried everything. After an hour of trying to change his teeth back, he finally decided to try and find-- alternate methods. He tried to file them down with one of Roman’s nail files and when it didn’t he used the metal one he used for his work. It did nothing. He was starting to get worried and ended up trying to chew on a rock. The rock broke. He had definitely done something wrong because these were not normal fangs. He was getting desperate. Logan eventually got to the point where he simply tried to pull them out but they would not budge.

God, what would everyone think if they saw? Not only was he now a freak, but he had failed to get himself out of a predicament he had caused due to his foolish curiosity. No. No they could not see, he would not let them.

He stayed in his room for days on end, running on only coffee and crofters though the organic fruit spread was hard to eat with his sharpened teeth. He continued to try different things, trying to find some sort of way to fix this but all of his attempts had failed.

He was currently lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling with a sigh. His hair was ruffled from running his hands through it and his tie that was simply draped around his shoulders. He took off his glasses to rub his eyes, letting his hand hold them loosely as it hung over the side of the bed.

Then he heard a knock.

He shot up in bed, eyes flying open as he opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He cleared his throat and called out a small, “who is it?” with a voice crack that made him inwardly wince.

“Uh, hey Lo! It’s Patton! Could ya open the door?” Patton asked, his voice hesitant.

“I’m-- I’m a bit tied up at the moment, Patton. Do you need something?” Logan lied, standing and moving across the room, placing his glasses on the bridge of his nose and pushing them up.

“Come on, Pocket Protector, I can hear you moving around in there,” He heard Roman call. Wait, Roman?

“Roman? You are here as well?” Logan asked, turning to face the closed door from across the room.

“Yeah, we’re all here, Lo,” Virgil said, “Well, most of us. Remus is kinda headless in the imagination but he would be here if he could be.”

So they were all there? Why? “I apologize but I cannot come to the door right now, if you have a concern you can tell me here or you could wait until I am done, if you would like.”

“Of course I’m concerned, you’ve been in your room forever,” Patton said softly

“Patton, I have been in here for a few days, you know I have a lot of work, this is not the first time I have done this so you should not be concerned,” He said plainly, sitting on the edge of his desk.

“Logan you’ve been in there for a week now,” Janus said with a tad of force in his voice that made Logan choke on air.

A week?! How could he let himself lose track of time like that?! He ran a hand through his hair once again in a slight panic. What was he supposed to do? What was he supposed to tell them!?

“Lo? Buddy? You still there?” Pat asked, moving a bit closer to the door until he was inches away.

“I-- yeah,” he moved to open the door, moving a hand to hover near his mouth as he pulled it open.

Patton gave a small gasp and Virgil winced back at the sight of Logan, Janus simply gave Logan an up and down as he surveyed how terrible Logan looked and Roman just said, “Holy hell, what happened to you?”

“I have been-- busy,” he said, covering his mouth slightly to ensure no one saw, “But I almost finished and I will be back to normal shortly, I promise.”

Patton noticed the way Logan had covered his mouth, but he didn’t question it. He sighed and nodded, “yeah, ok, just-- get some sleep tonight, ok?”

Logan nodded, “I assure you, I will.”

----

He did not. He was up all night again. He stood in the mirror, tying the tie around his neck and pulling it up around his neck tightly before combing his hair and straightening out his shirt.

He opened his mouth again, brushing over one of the fangs lightly, as to not cut himself again. He sighed, moving to tuck a pack of flashcards into his back pocket before making his way to the door. He let himself take in a deep breath before opening the door and entering the hall. Here we go.

He moved down the hall and down the stairs where he was met with a beaming Patton, “Morning, Logan! It's nice to see you out of your room!” he said with a small relieved huff.

Logan smiled with a closed mouth and whipped out a flash card that read ‘whatup dawg?’ and held it out to Patton.

Patton looked momentarily confused but simply let out a soft chuckle before saying, “I dunno, what is up with you?-- dawg?” in a quite awkward and choppy manner.

Logan simply nodded and shrugged before moving on, past the living room into the kitchen. Patton watched him as he did with a curious look, Logan was never this quiet, was something wrong?

Logan moved to the fridge, pulling it open and searching through it and letting out a small annoyed huff when he couldn’t find his--

“Looking for this, Microsoft Turd?” Roman asked with a laugh, holding up Logan’s jar of Crofter’s Organic.

Logan shot Roman a look as he closed the fridge, pulling out a flash card that said ‘that’s not very gucci of you’ and flipping it over to reveal the other side that said ‘Throw that back my way’.

Roman laughed, “Wow, prepared today, aren’t we?” and then he simply waited for Logan to respond, but his coy mocking smile fell a little as Logan continued to simply stare at him with annoyed eyes. Roman frowned a little under Logan’s gaze, waiting for him to say something, anything, “Geez, teach, sorry, didn’t mean to press your buttons,” he said awkwardly, not exactly sure how to feel, “uh- here, you can have this back,” Roman tossed the jar at Logan. Bad idea.

Logan was surprised and stumbled to try and catch it, but he had never been the best at catching anything, so it was no surprise when it slipped through his fingers and smashed on the ground.

Roman gasped a little and instantly started uttering small apologies, he just wanted to mess with him a little bit, not break and waste the entire jar!

Logan simply stared down at the floor, first in surprise, then in anger. Goddamn it, Roman! He felt himself bare his teeth a bit as he stared at the broken glass on the floor and even felt a small growl rise in his throat. Wait? A growl?

Logan stopped himself, standing up straight again and clearing his throat before turning away from Roman, making sure the other could not see his mouth but covering it slightly with his hand, just in case, “I am going to retire to my room, do not wait for me to eat, good night,”

“It’s-- It’s 3:30, Logan,” Roman stuttered out, slightly dumbfounded that the side in front of him was leaving to go to sleep so early.

“Good night,” Logan repeated, a tad more aggressively.

“Logan I’m-- I’m sorry, I wasn't thinking, Im-”

“I said good night,” he said, almost turning to bare his teeth at Roman, but he knew better. He simply covered his mouth and continued to move back up to his room, past a confused and speechless Patton and up the stairs. Not like he would have really been able to actually eat the jelly, though. It was so hard to eat anything soft with these fangs.

----

“Logan?” Virgil asked softly, tapping his knuckles lightly against the door.

Logan was sitting at his desk with his head in his hands, frustrated about what had happened earlier and about the fact that he couldnt get these stupid fangs out! “Can I help you?” he asked, just loud enough for Virgil to hear.

“Uh- we were just wondering if you-- if you’d come down for dinner? Eat with us?” He asked in a hesitant manner.

He couldn't go down to dinner, they would see his fangs! He just couldn't! But he hadn’t eaten in quite a while and he couldn’t simply refuse to eat with the others and then take food up to eat by himself, then they would know something was up. How could he say no? How could he say yes!?

“Lo? You still there?”

Logan sighed a bit and nodded even though he knew VIrgil couldn’t see him, “Yeah. I am still here,” he moved a hand up to rub his eyes under his glasses, “I’ll-- I’ll be down in a little bit. Is that alright?”

“O-of course, take your time,” Virgil said before slinking back down the hall, away from Logan’s door. Something was wrong. They could all tell. The way Logan hid in his room, covered his mouth when he was speaking recently, heck, he growled at Roman! So yeah, maybe they were trying to figure out what was wrong, and maybe they were trying to see what Logan was hiding, and maybe they were being paranoid but come on! This just isn’t like Logan! What were they supposed to do?! Talk to him like normal people!? Of course not!

Was Virgil worried out of his mind? Yes. Yes he was.

But he was coming to dinner, that was a step in the right direction, and they could put their plan into motion.

----

Author's Notes!: I kind of forgot about this fic that I wrote a while ago but I never finished, just thought I’d post it to see if anyone wanted to read the second half cuz then I would write it. Enjoy i guess!!!

[cuddlepilefics]

16.    A Christmas Alone

Fandom: GOT7

Sickie: Mark

Caregiver: -

This is about the first Christmas since the group has moved into a dorm together. Might be a bit sad….

 This is the first Christmas Mark would be spending away from home. He had moved into a dorm with his group members. Sadly, unlike them, he couldn’t travel home to his family because they just lived too far apart. Mark was dreading Christmas, he dreaded it every year. At some point growing up, he had established his own little Christmas tradition. Each year without fail, he would catch a stomach bug and be miserable when all he wanted to do was celebrate with his family. When it had happened the fifth year in a row, his siblings had decorated a bucket with holiday-themed stickers as a Christmas gift. Of course, none of his new friends knew about Mark’s tradition and he didn’t want them to. They were all going to visit their families and he didn’t want them to worry about him. He was the oldest after all.

While other people roamed the stores for treats and last-minute gifts, Mark’s Christmas shopping included electrolyte drinks, painkillers and antacids. He doubted that just because he was at a different place than usual, his fate would be different. Though he for sure hoped to be spared this time. At home he was ok with getting sick, he had his whole family around him. They’d take care of him and ensure he’d enjoy the celebrations despite being sick. Here he would be alone.

The members all said their goodbyes, hugging each other tight in the living room, wishing each other a Merry Christmas before heading out to make their separate journeys home. When the evening approached, Mark was alone, the members had one by one trickled out, leaving the dorm unusually quiet. Having dinner by himself, the food didn’t seem as appetizing as it usually would but the rapper decided that was simply because he was eating alone which he wasn’t used to at all. He scrolled through Netflix and got comfortable on the couch. Turning on his go to Christmas movie ‘Home Alone’ he started to get a little emotional and soon turned the TV off. Lacking any distraction that would take his mind off of having to spend Christmas by himself, the rapper went to bed early.

As luck would have it, he didn’t stay asleep for too long, waking up in the middle of the night to his stomach cramping. Unable to go back to sleep, Mark cursed his fate before untangling himself from the sheets. With one arm wrapped tightly around his upset middle, he limped to the kitchen, turning on the kettle to fix himself a hot-water bottle. As he waited for the water to boil, he put some rice into the rice cooker, setting a timer for the device to turn-off when the rice was done. He wanted to have some plain rice ready, if he felt up to eating anything by the morning, so he’d better prepare everything now as long as he still could. You could call it foresight or simply yearlong experience but Mark was almost certain he would not be able to make himself food tomorrow. When the water boiled, he quickly poured it into the hot-water bottle and went back to his bedroom, grabbing a bucket from their closet containing cleaning supplies and took it with him as well. With the bucket next to his bed, he curled up around his hot-water bottle and tried to ignore the cramps, hoping to just go back to sleep.

Having managed to get a few more hours of restless sleep, Mark woke up in cold sweat to the churning of his stomach. He took a few deep breaths through his nose to settle the worsening nausea. It only seemed to be getting worse, so he carefully got out of bed and shakily made his way to the bathroom. He would not use the bucket as long as he still managed to get his sorry ass to the bathroom in time because he’d have to clean the bucket out afterwards and he was certain he wouldn’t manage that without throwing up again. Kneeling in front of the toilet, the rapper stared into the undisturbed waters. He knew the drill by now, so he knew that hoping the nausea would just pass was useless, it wouldn’t. Shivering in his sweat-through sleepshirt, he wrapped his arms around his stomach, squeezing his eyes shut against the cramp that rippled across his abdomen. If he was still younger and if he was still at home, he would’ve woken his mother at that point but he wasn’t. He had a job, he had moved out from his parents and he could handle himself.

Mark had no idea how long he had sat there anticipating. He only knew that he was freezing and the shivering didn’t do enough to warm him. Carefully pushing himself up with one hand against the wall, he grabbed his shower towel off the hook and wrapped it around his shoulders tightly before sitting back down. Apparently, his stomach had disliked the movement and Mark was barely back in front of the toilet when his throat contracted with a gag. Despite not bringing anything up, the young idol could taste last night’s dinner at the back of his tongue. It only hit him now, that this was all really happening. He was sick with his yearly bug and he was alone. Nobody was there or even knew that he felt miserable. His members probably didn’t even think about leaving him behind, too excited to see their families again. Mark didn’t blame them, he’d be too, if he got a chance to visit them. Suddenly feeling lonelier than he had in his life, the tears started to spill from his eyes while he made no attempt to stop them. Who should see him cry anyways.

Mark’s silent crying soon turned into frustrated sobs, which sent his feeble stomach over the edge. A sob turned into a forceful retch that brought up a small trickle of stomach acid. With his throat on fire, the rapper braced himself against the toilet rim, mouth watering as his stomach contracted again and a gush of semi-digested food shot up his throat. His knuckles turned white as he choked for a few seconds. Barely able to catch his breath, Mark brought up two waves back to back as his knuckles turning white from the strain as he held onto the toilet rim for dear life. Gasping for air, he quickly spits into the bowl to get rid of the foul taste, hoping he’d get his stomach to calm down if the taste was gone. He hadn’t eaten for hours, how could he even bring anything up? After two more, much smaller waves, he was officially empty but his stomach just didn’t want to accept that. His body mercilessly tried to throw up more than I had in him to begin with, dry heaves tearing at the rapper’s throat. If anything ever came up, it was just a small dribble of bile, leaving a bitter taste on his tongue which inevitably triggered another heave. Mark just wished, he had forced himself to eat more yesterday because throwing up is one thing, he could handle that but dry heaving is so much painfuller.

The heaves died down eventually and Mark weakly leaned back against the bathroom wall, drying his tears and picking up the towel that had slipped off his shoulders. His sweaty shirt stuck to his back, yet he still felt cold. With his head spinning dizzily, the rapper forced himself to stand up on shaky legs. He knew if he wanted to feel warm again, he’d have to get changed. With the image of his favorite sweater in mind, he clutched the sink, fumbling with one hand to get toothpaste onto his toothbrush. His view of the bathroom kept tilting sideways, so he closed the toilet lid, plopping down to sit while he quickly brushed his teeth, just thorough enough to remove the bitter taste.

Mark was fighting a battle in his mind, he knew he had to stay hydrated and should go grab himself a bottle of water on the way back to his room but all he wanted was to put on a hoodie and crawl into bed. As much as it sucked, the rapper forced himself to take a detour to the kitchen before shuffling back to his room. He pealed off his sticky shirt and replaced it with his favorite hoodie. It was one of Jackson’s old hoodies, the Chinese had grown out of it and had passed it on to Mark because the older found it looked cool, that was only a few months after they moved into a room together. You couldn’t say the two were close, yet Jackson was probably Mark’s closest friend here in Korea and wearing his old sweater brought Mark a sense of comfort. Sitting down on his bed, Mark took a few careful sips from his water before recapping it and putting the bottle onto the nightstand. He made sure the bucket was still close-by as he laid down again, closing his eyes to sleep off as much of this bug as he could.

He slept fitfully on and off for a few hours, till he was awoken again by the loud ringing of his phone. Initially he wanted to ignore it and go back to sleep but when he found the caller’s ID to be his mother, he quickly picked up. Placing the phone on the pillow next to his ear, Mark closed his eyes again.

“Hey sweetie. Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas, mom!” Wow, he only noticed now how strained his voice sounded.

“Hey, did you get sick again?”

“Mhm, just last night after the others left.”

“How bad is it? Are you holding up alright by yourself?”

“I’m ok. After the first bathroom session I slept mostly.”

“Remember to stay hydrated, sweetie and I know you probably don’t want to but try to eat something once in a while. You’re already so skinny.”

“I promise, I’m taking care of myself, mom. I prepared some rice last night, when it all started, I’ll try to have some later. It just doesn’t feel safe right now.”

“Alright, I now you’re already my big boy. It just makes me sad that you’re hurting and not here with us. Should I let you sleep some more?”

“Please. Can we talk again later?”

“Whenever and how often you want, baby. We can also have a videocall tonight if you want to and feel up to it.”

“Yes please. I miss you. All of you.”

“We miss you too. Rest well and get better for us, yeah? I love you.”

“Mhm. Love you too, mom.”

And with that the call ended. Mark’s mom was obviously and understandably worried though she tried so hard to not let it show in her voice. Sure, at the back of her head she knew her son was well capable of taking care of himself but he was still her little baby.

After the call ended, Mark couldn’t go back to sleep. The nausea had returned with full vengeance and he curled into himself whimpering. He didn’t consider going to the bathroom because first of all, he was empty and second, moving seemed like an impossible task right now. Cradling his sore middle with one arm, he fished the bucket off of the ground, hugging it to his chest as he removed the arm around his stomach to prop himself up. As soon as he was upright, a breathy burp escaped his lips and he cringed at the thought of what was to come. The first gag immediately brought up the small amount of water he had consumed earlier, the sound of it splashing into the plastic bucket seemed way to loud for Mark’s liking. He was starting to get a bit dehydrated, resulting in a pounding headache which was aggravated as he retched dryly over the bucket in his lap. Once in a while a thin spurt of stomach acid would come up but other than that he was empty.

What seemed like an eternity to Mark later, the whole ordeal finally came to an end. By now, his head was pounding mercilessly while he slumped over the bucket, any strength he had had zapped. It took a few minutes and deep breaths for the rapper to settle his stomach enough to even consider moving. Despite just wanting to flop back down into his pillows, this wasn’t an option and the young idol had to go clean out his sick bucket. He made his way to the bathroom, swaying as he held himself up against the wall. He only had to heave into the bucket once on the way there and nothing came up, so he considered this a success. There was not much to clean out and he soon fought his way back to his room, the thought of laying down giving him the strength to continue.

Putting the bucket next to his bed again, he reached under his bed and pulled out an electrolyte drink he had bought in wise foresight. He forced himself to down at least half of it, either it would help him rehydrate and ease the headache or the next round of throwing up wouldn’t be as painful, because he had something he could bring up. Either way it would be a win. Curling back up under his blanket, Mark hugged himself both in an attempt to ease the feverish shivers and to feel less lonely. He felt awful and all he wanted was for someone to be with him. Of course, his family would be his first choice but at this point he’d take literally any of his new friends. As long as there was someone and he wouldn’t have to go through this alone. Tears stung his eyes and he let the flow freely. How he envied his friends for being able to be with their loved ones while he was here all by himself and to top it off: sick. He doubted his members even spared him a single thought as they enjoyed their Christmas celebrations with their tradition, as Mark struggled through his own tradition. Being feverish and exhausted, it didn’t take long for the young idol to cry himself to sleep, unaware that his phone was blowing up with loving Christmas wishes and missed calls from his friends, which as the hours passed turned into numerous concerned messages in their group chat as they realized that no one was able to get a hold of their oldest hyung.

Mark would have some explaining to do when he woke up again and maybe he’d realize that there were people, apart of his family, that sincerely cared about him and who were currently going crazy with worry and guilt for leaving him by himself.

[lildarkchapel]

Careless (Hux x reader)

hey guys so this is my contribution to @lovermrjokerr ​‘s writing challenge in celebration of 8K followers! Enjoy :)

Prompt: "Don't you see? I did it to protect you!"

Fandom: Star Wars

Words: 1406

Warnings: Angst

**********************************************************************************

You felt the ground shake underneath your feet. The sound of various blasters and buzzing lightsabers kept ringing in your ears from one corner of the wood to the other. This wasn't just a battle, it was war. You quickly jumped to the side to avoid getting hit by one of the hissing rays while cursing angrily. This wasn't your fault. Yes, after all it was your mission but it would've went just smoothly if Ren hadn't interfered again. He knew that you were perfectly capable of executing this order on your own but that would've meant that he had to admit that you were as nearly as strong as him by now. Deep inside you both knew that in fact you had already outplayed him. You were younger, more focused and less of a chaotic mess than he was. Not that you didn't like or in a way looked up to him - he was your mentor after all and taught you the ways of conquering the galaxy. Still you would've hoped that he’d finally accepted you as a coequal fighter and not just his apprentice. You sighed before repelling one of your enemies with your own lightsaber again. Why couldn't Ren be more like Hux? You snarled. The general was calm and most of the time highly willing to cooperate with you. In a way he also was some sort of mentor regarding manipulating people and earning respect on the ship which was pretty useful in the First Order actually. Especially at the beginning of your apprenticeship you were more than thankful to have him by your side. But maybe he was just decent towards you because he hated Ren from the bottom of his heart and wanted to mess with him. Why did this thought hurt you in a way? Another blast that snapped you back into reality. You growled and killed the piece of scum that had dared to attack you with one hit before he could even react. Before you had left Starkiller Base you had told Hux - just like Ren - to stay there and let you do your job. And the general had fucking stayed there like he was supposed to. Why did Ren have to leave the bridge and thereby reveal them to the Resistance fighters that had sieged this planet for months now? Hux had told you once that it was pointless to try and talk to Kylo Ren civilized as he had a unique ability to assert himself. Well maybe not these exact words but more like "He's a huge child with the ego of a space princess" but you knew what he had meant. You chuckled. Hopefully the general was alright and not the victim of one of Ren's short circuit tantrums again...why did you keep thinking about the red-haired man anyway? You should certainly stop as it could easily distract you and imperil the mission... While still being kept in your thoughts you suddenly saw a burst of light from the corner of your eye. It was too late to move. You quickly closed them and waited for the blazing pain to hit you. So this was the end of your promising life just because you had been careless? How unfortunate. You couldn't even say goodbye...Instead of feeling pain you heard someone moan weakly followed by a drop right in front of you. Your eyes widened with horror as you opened them again and saw a slim figure curled up into a ball on the cold ground next to your feet. It was Hux.

“No!”, you desperately screamed out before feeling all your emotions erupt at once. You couldn’t stop yourself from going berserk. At this point you didn’t care about this mission or Ren any longer. They should lose and get killed, it didn’t matter. All that mattered right now was Hux. The next thing you could remember was you dragging the injured general back onto your ship, while being covered in your own blood as well as the blood of Hux and those doomed fighters you had killed on your way back.

Oh, they would all definitely pay for this.

**********************************************************************************

Hux slowly opened his eyes while groaning with a raspy voice. A relieved sigh escaped your soft, pink lips. You could tell that even though the medics and droids had done their best he was still in pain. Slowly you reached out to take his hand carefully. The ginger flinched at your move and stared at you with sad greenish eyes. He then quickly turned away to not meet your gaze any longer. You could tell that this whole situation was highly embarrassing for him but he had to face this conversation now. You had enough questions after all.

“Hux…”, you spoke softly hoping that he’d pay attention to you again.

“What?”, he hissed before facing you again. Seeing him like that you felt your emotions overflowing you again. Tears filled your eyes and you tried your best to hold them back. You were so fucking scared and hurt. You didn’t ask him to nearly kill himself for you and now he acted that harsh towards you again. You didn’t understand him…bloody hell you didn’t even understood yourself!

“Why did you do this, you idiot?! I told you to stay on board!”, you cried out sounding more vulnerable but also aggressive that you’d planned. Hux growled before jumping off of the sickbed. Quickly he grabbed your chin before pushing you against the cold metal wall of the med bay.

“What do you think, y/n?” His angry face was just inches away from yours before he pushed you away again. He still felt dizzy. Groaning with pain he sat back onto the edge of the bed, his hands buried deep in his tousled red hair. Even though you had already seen him wounded you had never seen him that hurt before.

“Don't you see? I did it to protect you!”, he mumbled underneath his breath almost too quietly for you to understand.

“What do you mean…?” Did he try to tell you what you thought he did? Of course you had felt it in the force that there was something special about the general but you had never dared to enter his thoughts simply out of respect towards him.

“I did it to protect you!”, he screamed out again, loud enough for the whole ship to hear it. “I…I have the urge to protect you, y/n. Since I got to know you I tried my best to keep you away from danger…but then Ren he… he followed you…I was already so scared that I could lose the only thing that brings me joy in this universe…I knew he’d fuck it up, this imbecile! So I had to ensure that no one would hurt you…then I saw that scum aiming towards you and you didn’t react…it was a panic reaction…you can’t die…no…” Hux felt a deep sob escaping his dry throat. This was so embarrassing. He had made a complete fool of himself in front of you. He was weak. As if you’d ever like him that way, especially after today. He shook his head and silently cried while looking at the grey floor tiles between his feet. He didn’t even notice that during his rant you had begun to cry as well. It was from joy.

“Oh you stupid, reckless but loveable creature…” you knelt down before him and cupped his face into your hands so that he had to look at you. “I was so fucking scared to lose you myself. Never ever do something like that again, promise?” He nodded weakly.

“Good.” You dried the tears on his cheeks with your thumbs before placing a soft, gentle kiss on his pale lips. A small smile spread across his face – it was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.  You chuckled and leaned your forehead against his.

“I’m a big girl I can take care of myself, Hux.” You chuckled.

“I know but allow me to still protect you.”, he whispered against your lips before softly kissing you again.

“You’re an idiot.”, you laughed quietly.

“Yes, but I’m your idiot.”

“Apparently.”

A feeling of pure happiness rushed through your whole body. You’d make sure that no one would ever dare to hurt him again. One day the two of you would rule over the universe - you were sure about that.

[phynali]

I don't know if you're apart of the Supernatural fandom, but if you are, could you do a speech analysis for Dean Winchester? Thank you.

I am! I’ve fallen into (back) into SPN hell recently and gotten a ton of feels I did not expect, thank you very damn much. But anyway, yes I am happy to oblige. 

Dean’s voice is very distinct, but I can see why it’s hard to grapple with for many writers because very seldom does he say what he means and very often when he does it’s wrapped up in humour or pain. It’s often quippy as a means of deflecting emotion or maintaining a status quo or emotional handle over a situation. He uses commands and charm and pop culture references but he’s a very complex character so sometimes that all disappears and he’s open and vulnerable and raw, and those lines can be hard to draw.

-

Notes 

To understand Dean’s focal speech patterns, we first to recognize that we’ve known Dean for 15 years, and that people’s modes of speaking can and will change over time. We’re gonna focus on things that have stayed more or less consistent over time, and his ‘base’ speech patterns that make his dialogue him. I’ll mostly shy away from different eras but may highlight a few things, and the same goes for who he’s talking to because he’s pretty similar with his only major differences being a function of closeness. He’s not much of a conversational mimic so we don’t have to worry about that. 

We’re also gonna state the obvious and contrast the type of conversation he might be having - whether he’s tied up or in danger vs. expressing emotions vs. focused on the job. That’s probably where the meat of this is for people who are interested in these kinds of analyses anyway :)

Also - this is 4200 words so I’m sure there are typos so just acknowledging that up front.

-

Sentence Style

Let’s start with overall style.

Dean’s speech is generally straightforward (when he’s not being referential) with a low proportion of adjectives and a decent amount of degree modifiers (more on that below). He uses simple sentences with clear statements, though will add clauses to clarify, reference, or add degree fairly frequently. 

For example:

”Like you said” is acting here as a way to refer back to a previous conversation. Dean does this more when he’s stating something not about himself/his subjective experience, but stating an absolute (or at least something to be taken as absolute). 

Also something to point out about this example: like I said he uses shorter, simpler sentences. While that isn’t always true of course, it definitely it is the case that he doesn’t tend toward long, breathless sentences. Even here he could have said this in one sentence and instead split it into two concrete points. A person could transcribe it differently (”Like you said, we’re family, and we don’t leave family behind.”) but he tends to speak in this manner that implies full stops between these separate statements. 

(Later I’m gonna completely contradict myself by talking about his longer statements btw. He tends to use longer sentences in more serious conversations, and includes clauses that qualify the statement).

-

Declarative I-Statements

Dean uses a ton of declarative sentences starting with I. Like - a lot of people do. But Dean’s iconic quotes are often “I”, and a large proportion of his sentences are declarative sentences in the active voice centring around him, his opinion, or his experience of the world. From “I think he wants us to pick up where he left off - saving people, hunting things, the family business.” to “I think I’m adorable”, Dean likes to tell us what he thinks and what he is.

You can also extend this pattern to other sentences that might start with different words but carry the same thesis “Demons I get - people are crazy.” It could be reworded just as simply as “I get demons - people are crazy.” But if Sam were the one saying it? “People are crazy” seems just as likely (although I’d put my money on “what is wrong with people?” as Sam’s most likely statement if he were trying to get the same sentiment across). Sam would express it as an absolute about the world or a rhetorical question, rather than one focused around his view of the world. Which doesn’t make Sam less self-focused or idiocentric than Dean, but their speech patterns express different modes of seeing the world, and in some ways Dean’s vocal patterns do more to acknowledge that his view of the world is subjective (but also that his subjective view is all he really cares about anyway).

(see all the other gifs here. Think “I’m proud of us” and so many other lines. So many I-statements).

-

Imperative and Commands

Dean speaks in a lot of commands. Idk what else to tell you. He’s a natural leader and he takes charge of situations, so it’s just kind of a natural facet of his speech. 

He does this with humour:

And without (”He asks, you answer! Then you shut your hole” for example).

Telling people what to do isn’t always met kindly, of course:

And although not an imperative sentence, he also is comfortable using speech to demand compliance:

 -

Word Choices

One thing I like to always examine is word choice, contractions, and negation, so let’s dive in to that. 

Diction

While Dean doesn’t flower up his language much in terms of verb and noun choice, that isn’t because he has a small vocabulary. I’d wager it’s a choice to being unpretentious because of the world he lives in. He never has any issue pulling out technical or clinical language:

(Also seen here: he tends to be very pithy and flippant, especially when he’s unimpressed with someone or with a situation, or wants to express annoyance and frustration. It’s his first-stop for “I dislike this”.)

We’ve seen him use words like Achilles’ Heel and describe how he made an EMF using technical language, so there’s no hesitancy to drop these terms, but for him it’s a matter of expressing what he wants to in a manner that will be easily understood by the person with whom he’s speaking.

-

Negation

For how he uses negation - Dean doesn’t say “ain’t” and he seldom said “[x]’s not”. His typical negation is “isn’t”. 

(Not “this ain’t the Scooby Gang” and not “it’s not / we’re not the Scooby Gang”. Isn’t. And yes, the line “there ain’t no me if there ain’t no you” bugs the hell out of me for this specific reason. When else have we ever heard him say ain’t? “There is no me if there is no you” is way more in keeping with his usual negation style.)  

He also negates using the word Never. “I’ve never had anything this nice.”

Like this. And like this:

This is interesting because it fits into Dean’s pattern (discussed below) of using words (adverbs and swears alike) as ways to modify the intensity of his sentences. A lot of people use qualifiers to create this sense of degree (words like “really” and “very”). While Dean sometimes uses or combines those words with others (”really freakin’ hate this”), he does something that very few people do, which is use the qualifying word ‘never’ to express an absolute quality. Most of us can’t say we’ve never done something. We might say we “didn’t” do something, but we don’t express it as absolute as “never”. Dean does. Dean makes it clear what things simply do not get to be attributed to him or are not to be counted within his sphere of existence.

(He says it under less extreme circumstances too though...)

 -

Contractions

Dean is liberal with his use of contractions and word shortenings. I’d recommend writing his use of words like “freaking” as “freakin’” “nothin’” and so forth. Can’t, not cannot. 

Gonna, wanna. You are going to want to = You’re gonna wanna. (Also “you’re gonna have to trust me”. He tells people what they’re gonna have to do a lot).

He uses other shortenings like “y’know” and “’cause” as well, when he’s relaxed at least. Like all of us, if he’s emphasizing those words he’ll enunciate fully, so try to match the contraction use to what you want to emphasize and to the tone you want to convey.

 -

Addressing Others

I wasn’t sure what else to call these (linguists might have some idea), but I’m talking about the use of words like “man” “dude” and “y’know” (and even his “Listen Velma” above). He uses these words like we all do - to ensure the person we’re talking to is clear that we’re addressing them directly, calling them into the conversation. Dean uses ‘dude’ a frequent amount for Sam (and others) but also “Man” at times (especially when annoyed). He uses “brother” for Benny as well in S8 in the same manner. 

Conversely, “y’know” tends to come up when he’s being sly or pithy. He doesn’t really use ‘Buddy’ except for strangers (but not like Sam who essentially uses it as a threat) and I can’t recall him saying ‘pal’.

-

Positive and Negative Words

Some generic positives: awesome, super (often sarcastic)

Some recurrent negatives: ugly, bad, douch-y

“It ends bloody. It ends bad.”

 -

Expressing Emphasis

Look - Dean doesn’t use a lot of adjectives, but he does use a lot of degree modifiers/adverbs. One of those is “just”. “Just do [x].” “Just so you know.” Just.

(Even here, “I just”).

He also does a very neat thing with the word “Uh.” It’s used not to hesitate or equivocate, like most people might use it, but instead to increase attention to what he’s saying. A false-hesitancy which tends to both emphasize and diffuse what he’s saying a bit.

(It’s so neat!)

-

Swearing

There is absolutely no doubt that Dean is an avid curser. There’s an excellent 4th-wall-bending implication from 3x13 (Ghostfacers) where we see Dean (and Sam) dropping f-bombs and other swears that get bleeped out in the Ghostfacers documentary. Which allows us as the audience to realize they’re swearing all the time, but that the network doesn’t allow that kind of swearing, so we see a watered down version of their dialogue on screen. 

Dean says “freaking” a lot, and I feel like we can assume that 9 times out of 10, he’s dropping an f bomb. His favourite exclamation is “son of a bitch”, but when he’s really pissed off, we get a “motherf*cker”. Seasons 4-8 his favourite thing to call people is a douche or douchebag if he looks down on them. In general my advice to authors would be not to hesitate to have Dean swear, but make sure you’re using them right. 

While many swears are just exclamations or word replacement (”kicked my ass” instead of “kicked my butt”), a lot of the swearing that Dean does is specifically to increase emphasis to something in his speech. Adding in freaking/f*cking as an intensifier is probably its most common use for him. 

For the record, he uses “hell” in a similar fashion. What the hell, how the hell, where the hell - etc. Expressing intense emotions via swears that increase the degree/magnitude/intensity of the statement.

(Oddly enough, although Dean will insult people casually calling them douche, etc, when he’s pressed and angry and aggressive, his insults toward people don’t become vitriolic diatribes. Threats are more common, typically without an upscale in cursing, and so is being pithy to get them mad and distracted.)

-

Questions, Answers, and Emotions

Okay so one thing I have to address: I kind of setup a strawman in the opening about sentence length. Because sure, Dean uses a lot of shorter and more declarative sentences. But he’s a person, which means that the bulk of his speech is just speech. While all else being equal, he uses more shorter, i-statements, and more commanding language than others, he also has conversations. He’s got a great sense of humour and a bit of an acid tongue, even under pressure, so if you’re not writing him with some some glibness or humour (even when it comes out biting, frustrated or falls completely flat) you’re probably missing something.

And often, he expresses himself in questions. This humour and glibness can come out like:  "What are you, the Dog Whisperer now?" in a less strained situation, or it can come out to try to keep his feels under wraps while seeking insight: 

Of course it’s not all questions. Sometimes his glibness, including for his own life, comes out in the form of answers:

He’s being serious but totally glib about life and death, having accepted his fate. (Dean accepting his own mortality is kind of also a must, especially post S1 finale).

And sometimes he expresses pain and feeling as questions without any glibness at all:

So to be clear, don’t write him as only ever using short i-declarations. Pepper those in, but remember that if he’s expressing an emotion or a vulnerability (even if he’s covering it with glibness), he’ll be using this roundabout way with questions or with indirect answers that don’t directly state his feelings but still manage to convey what he’s thinking.

 -

Pleading

One more thing I want to touch on in this section: there are (probably surprising to some who aren’t looking) a lot of notes of supplication when he’s talking to others and feeling vulnerable. It’s very easy to think of Dean as someone who’ll never ask, never beg or plead. Because that’s what he wants you to think, because he’s the cool, in charge Han Solo type. 

But Dean does ask. He pleads. He pleads to God/Chuck, he pleads to his father, to Sam, to Cass. A major difference between he and Sam is actually the situations in which they’re likely to say “please”. Sam’s likely to use it as a first response (and therefore says it waaaay more) but absolutely refuse to under duress. Dean will never ever use it as a first response, but will fall back and resort to it in the end. We could unpack what that means about their psyche, but we’re here for language.

Not too surprisingly, I’m having a hard time getting the gif search to grant me specific gifs of Dean saying ‘please’, but I can recall some instances. S1 finale, when Azazel is possessing John. First he starts with quips and pissing Azazel off, and then it’s “Don’t you let him hurt me!” and then when that fails, he begs his father to help him. 

He pleads in S1 for Sam not to leave, because Sam is all he has left. He pleads with an angelic APB at the opening of S9 for an angel to save Sam. He tells Cass he needs him when Cass his pulverizing his face. “Please, he’s my brother”. Is that what he says to Lilith? Or was the ‘please’ implied there?

Here, instead of single gifs, you should get the full experience of the duress under which Dean will say please:

To God

To his dad

To his dad again

To Bobby

To Sam in an alternate timeline

And when he wants to be left alone the same thing occurs:

To his mother

To Sam

You get the idea. He doesn’t always say please. Sometimes it’s notes of supplication in his voice and sometimes it’s a somewhat desperate “c’mon man” when he doesn’t want to have to ask but he’s at the end of his rope.

(Okay final characterization note for this section - I also think Dean is probably useless against someone who looks up at him with wide sad eyes and says ‘please’ to him. I suspect part of why it’s his final defense is because he himself would be defenseless to that kind of plea from others, because he was hardwired from a young age to look after his infant little brother, and that involves a certain amount of responding to pleading and helplessness).

-

Pop Culture References

Dean uses a lot of highly referential language. He refers to bands and musicians, films, pop culture, current events and modern history, etc. Despite him not being overly tapped into social media (e.g., not knowing what myspace is in early seasons, among other things), it’s equally clear that he’s tapped into film, TV, music - any means through which he can consume content. This makes sense given how much driving time and downtime his life must have, with time in motels and between jobs to watch and rewatch the same media. Try to pepper in these sorts of references in as ways for Dean to describe what’s going on and relate new experiences to what makes sense to him.

If you’re a non-American writing him, or a very young American, it doesn’t hurt to brush up on music and media that were popular from the 80s and 90s, which will make up the core of Dean’s formative years and therefore references. There’s also evidence he knows a lot of pop culture history though so don’t hesitate to make references to films etc from any decade of the 20th century. He’s also a bit of a sci-fi nerd and we know he reads (including Vonnegut) so literary references are perfectly in order. I would shy away from references to historical fiction, Shakespeare, and instead keep it to genres we know he consumes (including cartoons!).

"You were wasted by a Teenage Mutant Ninja Angel?"

(ps - seriously just look at this post - we’ve got scooby doo and blues brothers and batman and I wasn’t even trying to find pop culture references when I gif searched).

 -

Deeper Emotional Conversations

While I mentioned above that he uses questions and answers to roundabout discuss his feelings, not all chick flick moments can be handled in that manner, and many can’t be handled with glibness at all.

For Dean, directly addressing his deeper negative emotions is difficult, and thus becomes a pained pronouncement. The nuance tends to come through in his face and nonverbal cues so focus on those, but linguistic choices are pretty important here. And this is where directly naming his emotions comes in. Unlike that question/answer section above where his thoughts and feelings are conveyed without directly naming his sentiment, sometimes he is called upon to express his feelings more specifically.

Because let’s be honest, he’s got his A Single Man Tear(TM) and he’s got deep, painful feelings, but he sucks at talking about them.

Let’s create an example that isn’t something that specifically happened in canon, but easily could. So - let’s say that Dean might need to say he’s scared of losing Sam. That would come after some pained discussion and Dean will act like he’s having his teeth pulled, but he will say it. And when he does, it’s either an angry proclamation (”you want me to say it? fine! i’m scared, sam - i’m scared as hell that one day i’ll wake up and you’ll be gone.”) or he cracks himself open completely exposed and vulnerable, and all the air rushes from the room when you see it because his eyes are shining and it’s visceral and real and been sitting right below the surface, suffocated until this moment (”i’m scared, sam,” a crack in his voice, an inhale of breath, and he looks a second from losing it. but it’s dean so he won’t, he’ll hold on by the skin of his teeth with his heart spilling out of his mouth, red with the blood of his own truths. “i’m terrified of losing you.”). 

There’s very little in between. There’s almost never any emotionally removed or more clinical discussion of his feelings like you might get with Sam. (”you want me to say i’m scared? of course i’m scared. i’m terrified, dean, but that’s not the point here. the point is -”). Because Dean struggles to accept and avow his painful internal emotional landscape, he struggles to discuss it in a way that’s removed, so it becomes very intense when he does. 

What this also means for writing emotional dialogue is that although Dean does not lack insight into his emotions, where they come from, and why he’s feeling the way he is, he’ll very seldom provide you an in depth explanation. This may make him seem less emotionally mature, but really what’s happening is a struggle to put those feelings into words. Discussion of anxiety, insecurity, and trauma are put into boxes he can more easily communicate - fear, anger, violence. Less “I overreacted because I was scared of losing you” and more “I’m fucking terrified of losing you. And yeah, it pisses me off.” Dean doesn’t tend to use explanatory statements (”because”), he tends to present emotions and even concepts outside of emotional discussions as separate statements, and it becomes your job to then connect those statements (as the one he’s talking to, and as the audience).

Like I said near the start, Dean also uses longer sentences when having serious conversations. “As long as I’m around, nothing bad’s gonna happen to you.” Note the first half of that sentence acting as a qualifier (implying something bad could happen, but not when Dean is around, creating the condition upon which the whole sentence and sentiment hangs).

- 

Less Declarative Expression

Dean expresses negative emotions like disappointment and frustration as well, but unlike his more intense/extreme negative emotions (terror, fear of abandonment, deep anger) he very seldom will declare those emotions. While he might use question and answer format, he might also control the conversation with a straightforward expression that saves him from having to say what he’s feeling while still getting it across.

For example, "Well that's great, because without your power, you're basically just a baby in a trench coat." Instead of saying he’s frustrated, he says something that gets to the point of what he’s mad about without saying he’s mad. (This is especially true when what he’s mad about is the situation. Because while these statements are about people, on the balance of things, they’re not really directed at them. Because often he’s frustrated because of something they can’t solve and he knows that). 

He’s also liable to not-declare-but-express pent up feelings he’s not ready to unpack in the same manner:

He’s obviously stressed and angry, but he doesn’t want to have to avow that anger and unpack all of where it’s coming from. It’s not the feeling of the emotion he dislikes so much as it is the examination of the underpinning reasons for it, because the dredge it up and unpack it is more painful than to let himself to continue to feel it at this low consistent level while he processes.

-

Outliers and End Notes

No post can fully capture and analyze 15 years of dialogue. There’s probably a million important elements to Dean’s speech that I missed. I think I want to emphasize a few things before we part. 

First - if you really want to write Dean, make sure you write him as charismatic. He uses humor, charm, deflection, questions, commands, and confidence all to control conversations and he does it seamlessly. Despite his rakish nature, he seldom if ever seems to offend people (unless he’s deliberately trying to piss them off) and you should take that into consideration when writing him. 

Keeping him fully in character will therefore involve a sort of fluidity about his speech, and those references. He is personable and exceptionally confident. He does not tend to hesitate or apologize (except in a flippant, superficial way, or in very strained emotional conversations and then only to those he loves deeply). His volume and tone are probably as or more important than his words, so consider when he’s saying something with a purr vs. with a snarl vs. shouting vs. having his voice crack into a whisper. He’s incredibly expressive with his face, but not overly gesticular with his hands (though he does gesture, just not in a way that stands out a great deal).

If you want or need him to give some type of confession in what you’re writing, you pretty much have two options. Either expressing his emotions in ways I’ve described here, or giving it the good ol’ S12 monologue where he bares his soul (when he’s inside Mary’s head). That should be reserved only for very extreme circumstances though - circumstances like saving his mother from brainwashing, discussing his hell trauma, or declaring that there’s nothing on heaven or earth he’d put before his little brother. Because in general long speeches aren’t his style.

And if you can, give some thought to what season you’re writing in. Is he still calling everyone and everything douch-y? Is he in the later seasons and more capable of unpacking his emotions directly? Is he in the early seasons where he’s trying to be Han Solo and too damn cool and smooth about everything, even his impending death?

At the end of the day - Dean is a wonderful, complex character and I hope this analysis helps some writers understanding his speech and character better!

[dragonologist-phd]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age (Video Games) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Female Cousland/Anora Mac Tir Characters: Anora Mac Tir, Female Cousland (Dragon Age) Additional Tags: Gay yearning, thats it just a lot of gay yearning, I'm Sorry, pre-game Summary:

Anora Mac Tir knows what she wants- she wants to marry Cailan and become the greatest Queen Ferelden has ever known. But on the eve of her wedding, a visit from Sirena Cousland reminds her that there might be other she wants, as well.

(Alternatively, read below!)

It was the night before Anora was to be married, and try as she might she simply couldn’t get a wink of sleep.

Of course she couldn’t. How could anyone expect her to, with such a momentous event looming on the horizon? She’d known her entire life that she was meant to one day become Queen of Ferelden; tomorrow, with her marriage into the Therein family, that destiny would become official. And while any wedding had its share of preparations, the marriage of a future king and queen required a good deal more than a gown and a recitation of vows before a Chantry mother. There were public appearances to be made in front of the Denerim crowds, long speeches to be delivered beneath the Chantry roof, and of course a reception to be held for the visiting nobility who were traveling from all across the country to witness the union.

Anora had never been one to sit back and let others make arrangements in her stead; she had been involved in every step of the preparations, and had poured hours of effort into ensuring that everything would go exactly according to plan. Truth be told, she would be quite relieved when the whole thing was over and done with- the trappings of the wedding were important, a vital part of the image she and Cailan needed to display to the country, but Anora was long ready to turn her attentions to something a bit more stimulating.

She would have the freedom soon enough, she kept reminding herself. She just needed to get through the coming day. And although she knew a proper night’s sleep would help with that, that logic didn’t help as her mind continued to circle over the details she had so carefully planned out for her future.

The restless energy buzzed through Anora like a gnat she couldn’t swat away, filling her with the need to do… something. At last she threw her sheets to the side and rose from her bed, abandoning the pretense of peaceful slumber. What she needed was to move, to occupy herself, to do anything other than sit still and wait for morning. At the very least she could wander the palace gardens- perhaps the fresh air would be enough to free her mind until fatigue finally caught up with her.

As she pulled a warm woolen cloak over her shoulders, Anora told herself she wouldn’t be long. The last thing she wanted was for someone to come across her like this, with undone hair and tired eyes; or worse, for someone drop by her empty room and think her missing.

But as she stepped outside Anora was greeted by a gust of refreshingly chilled wind, and the night sky above was clear and full of stars, and for the first time that day she felt some of the tension leave her body. Even as the hour grew later and later, Anora found herself lingering, her thoughts drifting as she strolled aimlessly along the dirt paths. Perhaps there was no need to rush, after all. She’d memorized the guard’s schedules long ago, and knew how to avoid them; no servants had any business in the gardens this late; any nobles still awake were probably deep in their cups, just as Cailan likely was.

Just as Anora had convinced herself that her solitude was complete, however, a voice rang out across the gardens.

“Anora? What in the world are you doing out here?”

The sudden voice made Anora jump, and she heaved a sigh of annoyance as she realized she’d been spotted. The annoyance fled, however, once she realized who it was that had done the spotting.

“Lady Sirena? Is that you?”

A closer look revealed that it was indeed the Lady Sirena Cousland, who for some reason was perched on a garden wall, one leg hanging carelessly off the side. She laughed and leapt from the wall, heading towards Anora with a grin. “Oh please, don’t lead with the Lady. If you do, I’ll have to call you ‘soon-to-be Future Queen Anora of Ferelden’, and as lovely a title as that is, it’s quite a mouthful.”

Anora fought back a smile. Nobody else would ever speak to her in such a way, but this was Sirena- always ready with a teasing response, hardly worried about any offense she might cause. The Couslands ruled over Highever, and were, along with the Mac Tirs, one of the most respected noble families of Ferelden. That reputation, coupled with Sirena’s disarming smile and easy temperament, was a perfect recipe for the effortless confidence that constantly radiated from the youngest Cousland child.

That disarming smile was now turned upon Anora in full force as Sirena asked, “Really, what are you doing out here?” She tilted her head and raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me I’m interrupting a clandestine meeting under the moonlight? And on the eve of your own wedding?”

A huff of laughter escaped Anora’s lips even as she rolled her eyes. “Oh, banish the thought. I was just thinking how pleased I was to see you, and now you’re making me change my mind.”

Sirena just laughed again and wrapped an arm around Anora’s shoulders, pulling her close for a hug. Her long dark hair smelled of rain, and she wore a thick fur cloak over plain traveling clothes; she must have arrived very recently.

“How was the journey from Highever?”

“Too long, as always,” Sirena answered with a shrug. “But you don’t want to hear about a boring carriage trip through the rain and mud. How are you? I am genuinely curious as to what brings out so late on this of all nights.”

Anora waved a dismissive hand in the air. “It’s not that late. And I couldn’t sleep.”

“Too excited?”

“Too preoccupied, rather. There’s so much to think about for tomorrow. Every time I close my eyes, I remember yet another detail that I want to check up on.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Sirena said. “But don’t you have people to do that sort of work for you?”

“Of course I do,” Anora admitted. “But if you want something done correctly…”

“Do it yourself,” Sirena finished. “You’ve been living that motto since we were children.”

“And it’s still true,” Anora pointed out wryly. “Anyway, I could ask the same question of you. How did you end up out here instead of in our rather lovely guest chambers?”

Sirena shrugged and looked back in the direction she’d come from, her gaze traveling over the garden, toward the training ground, beyond the towers that looked over the Denerim marketplace. “Oh, traveling always leaves me nostalgic. I was just wandering around, revisiting a few spots before they’re filled up with people tomorrow.”

Anora could guess as to which memories Sirena was reliving. They had both spent many days at the Denerim palace, watching their parents go about the duties of nobility, knowing that someday they would take their places.

That knowledge had been with Anora for as long as she could remember; her entire life, she reflected, was a preparation for rulership, and it had always been a perfect fit. Even as a child, Anora had loved listening in on the courtly proceedings and hearings, things that bored Cailan to tears as he dutifully followed her lead. In sharp contrast, the silly games and childish play of the other children had always seemed, to Anora, to all be horribly dull.

But even at a young age, Sirena was hard to miss. Always something of a troublemaker, she was direct and honest and said things as they were without layers of political machinations. Her friendship with Anora was something of a mystery, even to Anora herself. But she had to admit there was something about Sirena’s easy confidence and strangely insightful remarks that managed to hold Anora’s interest where few others could.

“It’s been too long since you’ve visited,” Anora remarked, and Sirena’s focus shifted from the palace grounds back to Anora. Her dark eyes were, for a moment, unexpectedly thoughtful. But only for a moment- they quickly brightened again as Sirena gave Anora a warm smile.

“It really has, hasn’t it? We should catch up. And you obviously need to relax a little.” Her grin took on a mischievous edge. “And I have just the thing for that.”

“I need to sleep, not drink myself into a stupor.”

Sirena gave a bark of laughter as she poured the liquor into two glasses and held one out to Anora. “Cailan and his buddies are getting good and drunk out in the courtyard as we speak. Why should they get all the fun?”

The two women were back in Anora’s quarters, having quietly returned after making a quick detour in the kitchens to pilfer a bottle of spirits. Sirena now sat cross-legged on Anora’s carpet, the very picture of temptation as she waggled the glass in her hand towards Anora.

Anora simply rolled her eyes. “You’re relentless.” And yet despite the scoffing she sat down anyway, gathering her skirts around knees, and graciously took the glass. Sirena had chosen a strong liquor, one of the more expensive selections from the wine cellar; today, the choice seemed appropriate. “But I suppose I can’t refuse a toast on the eve of my wedding.”

“Exactly.” Sirena turned her attention to her own glass, carefully measuring out the drink before holding it aloft. “To the bride, and future Queen of Ferelden.”

Anora brought her glass to meet Sirena’s with a soft clink, and then swiftly lifted it to her lips and swallowed the entire drink in one quick gulp.

Sirena downed her drink as well, then laughed in delight. “That’s the spirit I was looking for! I must say, I’m impressed.”

“Don’t tell me this comes as a surprise,” Anora said with a smirk. “Handling one’s drink is a requisite of Ferelden nobility.”

“Ah, yes, I almost forgot. They fit that right between the lessons on Andrastian recitations and history of the Fereldan Rebellion.

With a grin, Anora held out her glass for more liquor, and Sirena happily obliged. As they drank they fell into conversation, a simple rhythm of chatting and drinking between two longtime friends. It was, Anora had to admit, a situation that she was not particularly accustomed to. Cailan was the one who happily entertained others for hours on end, the one who brought about conversation and laughter. Anora was the one who already was known as serious, severe, domineering. This reputation rarely bothered her- it was a good reputation for a future queen to have.

But simply being a woman chatting amicably with pleasant company was nice, too.

“Tired yet?” Sirena asked eventually. She gave Anora a look that was half-joking, half-sincere. “You can tell me to leave whenever I start to get annoying. Believe me, you wouldn’t be the first to kick me out of a room.”

“No, no, stay,” Anora assured her. “If you begin to annoy me, I will certainly let you know.” She giggled- an effect of the drink, of course, for under normal circumstances Anora was most certainly not a giggler. “Believe me, you wouldn’t be the first I’ve kicked out of a room. I’m not exactly known for my gentle disposition, am I?”

“Oh, please,” Sirena said, rolling her eyes as she poured another glass. “Who needs a gentle disposition?”

“My thoughts exactly,” Anora agreed. “Better that they think my too hard than think they control me. I decided that a long time ago.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Sirena said, raising her cup. She was quiet for a moment then, and Anora thought she may be dozing off. But although her eyes held a distant look, they did not close, and eventually Sirena said, “Anyone who would try to control you is an idiot, by the way. You’re smarter than everyone in this castle combined. They should just…get out of your way and let you work your miracles.”

Anora smiled, surprised to feel heat rushing to her cheeks at the compliments. She blamed the drink for that, as well; she knew her own worth and was hardly unaccustomed to recognition. A simple compliment from Sirena Cousland shouldn’t have such an effect on its own. She looked away, hoping the redness in her face wasn’t obvious to the other woman. “Thank you.”

“And you’re going to make a marvelous queen!” Sirena continued. “Ferelden is lucky to have you. I mean that, truly. Nobody else could do a better job.”

“Well, I should hope not,” Anora said. “I have been preparing for this my entire life, you know.” She sighed, tilting her head back as she thought of all the work she had put forth, and all that lay ahead of her.

Lost in her thoughts, she almost missed the next words spoken quietly by Sirena. “Cailan is lucky, too.”

Anora blinked, startled by the apparent change in subject. Recovering quickly, she gave a thin smile. “Ah, yes. I’m certain he’s thanking the stars that he will have someone to handle the details of his future rule. He’s wonderful with people, of course, but try to talk to him about economics or resource distribution and he’s completely lost.”

“That’s true enough,” Sirena agreed, pushing back a long lock of hair from her face. “Although I did mean something more along the lines of…” She paused, and seemed to fumble for words for a moment. “He’s lucky to be marrying someone he’s actually fond of.”

“Oh.” Anora wanted to say more, but she didn’t quite know how to respond to that. It felt such an odd subject to bring up- but her wedding was tomorrow, after all. Perhaps it was a natural point of conversation, after all.

“Not to pry, of course,” Sirena said quickly, noticing Anora’s hesitation. She paused, chewing on her lip for short moment as she regarded Anora with curious, measuring eyes. “I mean, you are fond of each other, aren’t you?”

“Of course,” Anora said at once. Realizing her reply came a tad too quickly, she sighed and leaned back against the wall, resting her head against the cool stone. “I’m certain you’ve heard me complain about him, and he can be quite the fool at times. But he has his talents, and he loves Ferelden, and he knows better than to try and order me about. We make a good team, he and I. We know each other, our strengths and weaknesses. As far as arrangements go, it could have been far worse.”

Sirena nodded, turning over Anora’s words in silence. She shifted her position until she, too, was leaning against the wall, close enough that their shoulders brushed against each other. “Do you think you could grow to love him at all?”

This time, the question did not take Anora by surprise; in fact, it was something she had often asked herself. “I don’t know,” she said truthfully. “But I hardly think that’s the most important thing in marriage. Especially between rulers.”

That earned her a chuckle from Sirena. “You’ve always been a pragmatic one.” Anora frowned, and Sirena gave her an apologetic smile before she playfully bumped her shoulder with her own. “And right, of course, I know you are. I only hope I’m that lucky if I ever get married.”

Anora was so relieved by the lack of judgement from Sirena that she nearly missed the implication in her words. Almost. Her brow furrowed, and she gave Sirena a questioning look. “If? Certainly you have your pick of suitors.” It only made sense- the Couslands were a family of wealth and renown, and Sirena herself was certainly not lacking in beauty. More than that, she was intelligent and skilled with a blade and easy to speak with; any lord would be lucky to win her hand.

But Sirena only shrugged, a playfully crooked smile on her lips. “Oh, there are plenty of men sniffing around for a chance at marrying into the Couslands. Some are even somewhat tolerable. But…”

“But none quite meet your standards?” Anora finished. Her tone was teasing, but she knew the feeling well enough. After all, if she hadn’t been promised to the future king at such a young age, she would probably have found herself in a very similar situation.

“They’re fine enough. Fine enough for flirting and dancing with at parties. But fine enough isn’t something I went to settle for in the long run.” Sirena sighed and looked down, tracing her finger around the rim of her glass. “It’s just that I grew up watching my parents, never realizing what a rare thing they had. They’re so in love that people have written songs about them. That sort of thing doesn’t happen often. Not when marriage is something for duty and politics and…”

“And pragmatism?” Anora asked pointedly, and Sirena gave her another apologetic grin.

“No offense. Like I said, you have the right of it. Eventually I shall likely choose someone, and I’m sure it won’t be as bad as I’m making it out to be. I know my parents would never marry me off to someone I dislike.” Her eyes flicked up to Anora’s face. “I just don’t think the odds of marrying for love are very high.”

Sirena’s voice was low and sorrowful, a startling change from her usual light tone. Without thinking, Anora reached out and put her hand over Sirena’s. “You never know. The future may surprise you.”

Sirena seemed startled at the contact, and Anora wondered for a moment if she was being too forward. But she didn’t pull away, and neither did Sirena- in fact, the other woman shifted her fingers, securing the grip. They stayed that way for a long moment, until at last Sirena recovered herself enough to straighten her shoulders and give Anora a bright smile. “I don’t know about that. But we’ll see.”

Something unfinished still lingered in her words, but for now she at least seemed comforted by Anora’s presence. Anora knew she wasn’t the most comforting sort of person, even at the best of times, but she was happy that she seemed to be doing some good. She gave a firm nod and continued, “And should you never get married, you would be just as well off. If I had been born to royalty on my own, well…as I said, Cailan and I make a good team. But he needs me far more than I need him.” Anora felt a small twinge of guilt saying that out loud, but it was true, and they both knew it, and saying it made Sirena laugh.

“You’ll hear no dispute from me,” she said. “In any case, I have far more exciting things to look forward to than marriage.” She stopped suddenly, and closed her eyes in apparent embarrassment. “Which is probably not what I should say to someone about to get married, is it? We’re supposed to be celebrating you, and I’ve gone and turned it bleak!”

“Oh, please,” Anora said with a laugh of her own. “I believe I’ve made my position on the whole situation rather clear. And I’m interested in hearing more of these grand plans of yours.”

Sirena still looked sheepish, but she obliged. “Well, Fergus will inherit rule of Highever. First-born gets all the perks. But I’ll still be around to assist. I’ll likely take command of our troops.” A small smile crept onto her face. “That’s something I’d be good at. I’d have them all whipped into shape in no time.”

“And if a lord swept you off your feet, you’d have an entire arling of your own to whip into shape. Troops and all,” Anora pointed out. Sirena looked unconvinced, and on impulse Anora added, “Or you could always come here to Denerim. Become a staple of the court. We certainly have plenty of troops that need the help. And I wouldn’t mind having a…”

Anora stumbled over the word friend. Even under the influence of the drink, it was difficult to let something like that slip out so easily. Anora was not accustomed to having friends. She had Cailan, of course; she had her father; she had servants and fellow nobles whom she trusted to varying degrees. But her friendship with Sirena was something different from any of that.

“…a confidante,” she said finally, hoping Sirena hadn’t noticed her momentary conflict. She glanced at the woman from the corner of her eyes, and was satisfied to see that she looked pleased at the notion.

“A tempting offer, I admit,” Sirena said. A smirk played on her lips. “What would my duties as a confidante entail?”

That smirk made Anora oddly flustered, and she had to glance away before she could respond. “Oh…this sort of thing, really. Keeping me company. Listening to me complain. Suppling me with alcohol.” She smiled and raised her empty glass in the air as an example. “You’re doing a splendid job already.”

“And those are just a few of many talents,” Sirena laughed. “I’m honored by the offer. I’m sure there must be fierce competition.”

“Oh, certainly,” Anora agreed. “But most of the other competitors care less about me and more about the power I will wield. They simply want to be close to the Queen.” She grimaced. “Or the King. It’s difficult enough to reign him in without my own companions making eyes at him.”

“Their loss,” Sirena said definitively. “All of them. Anyone would be lucky to have you as a friend, and as…well, Cailan is an idiot and a fool if he even looks at another woman when he has you.”

Maker, Anora could feel herself blushing. She straightened her shoulders, trying desperately not to show her sudden nerves. “I admit, it’s a pleasant change of pace for someone to rush to my defense like this. I certainly tell Cailan the same often enough. Honestly, I would hardly mind if he could at least be discreet about it. But he never thinks of things in such a way. And it certainly doesn’t help that he’s found so many who are ever so eager to indulge him. I’d be thankful to have at least one woman around who’s not chasing after him.”

It was a jest, but the possibility was a heavy weight in Anora’s chest, and she would be lying if she said it didn’t lighten when Sirena wrinkled her nose in obvious distaste. “Cailan? Maker, no.” Her expression faded into something more contemplative as she looked at Anora. “If I’m to be honest…I was always chasing after someone else.”

That was unexpected- it took Anora a moment to process her words. That same heaviness was back, which made no sense; why should she care if Sirena was holding a torch for someone after all, so long as it was not Cailan? “That’s an unexpected revelation if I’ve ever heard one. What happened to never finding love?”

“Ah. That.” Sirena looked abashed and quickly shook her head. “It would never have worked out. Not with me. They’ve got other things in their life. Other people.”

“Not married, are they?” Anora inquired. She didn’t know why she was still pressing. She didn’t want to know about this person, didn’t want to know who it was Sirena was pining after. But she couldn’t stop the questions from coming.

Sirena was quiet for a moment, although her dark eyes never left Anora’s face. “Engaged, actually.”

Anora’s breath caught, and when she spoke the words were soft and quiet. “Engaged?”

“But only for one more night.”

There was soft moment of realization, a quiet oh in the back of Anora’s mind, and before she could think better of it she whispered, “Then you still have time.”

And suddenly Sirena was kissing her. It was soft at first, uncertain, her lips barely hovering against Anora’s, but as Anora leaned in she became more confident and soon enough the kiss had deepened. Sirena brought a hand to Anora’s face, gently caressing her cheek, and Anora threaded her fingers through Sirena’s long hair as she pulled her even closer. It was like nothing Anora had ever experienced; this was no polite show of carefully cultured affection, no hesitant testing of what was expected of her. This was passionate and earnest and real.

Anora wanted more. She wanted to pull Sirena to her bed, to get even closer, to explore every inch of her body, to completely and utterly forget about everything else in the world-

And then it was over. Anora’s eyes fluttered open, and she realized Sirena and was hastily rising from the floor, muttering hurried, half-formed apologies. “I’m sorry- that was stupid of me- I didn’t intend-and tomorrow you’re-Maker, I’m sorry-”

Anora hurriedly stood as well, reaching out for Sirena as the woman was turning for the door. Her fingers brushed Sirena’s wrist, and although the touch was light Sirena froze in place.

“Sirena, I…”

Anora faltered. She was accustomed to knowing what to say. Knowing exactly what she wanted, and how to get it. But now…now she had no idea. She wanted to be the Queen Ferelden needed. She wanted to follow through on the promises she’d made. She wanted Sirena to stay. She wanted too many things, and those desire could not exist in the same space.

She couldn’t hold on to everything. And that wasn’t fair, not to her or Sirena. But it was the way things were.

“I’m sorry, too,” Anora whispered as she pulled back her hand. As she let Sirena go.

Sirena closed her eyes for moment, then nodded and left the room without another word. Anora numbly reached for the bottle she’d left behind and drained what little remained, trying to chase away the taste of Sirena’s lips. Then she went to bed, and once again she did not sleep.

Sirena almost didn’t show her face the next day.

But if she hid out all day she’d eventually have to explain why. So the next morning she dragged herself out of bed, threw cold water on her face, donned her formal attire, and watched Anora get married.

The ceremony passed in a blur, with the songs of the Chant and the words of endless speeches lulling the day into a hazy rhythm. The only moment that stood out was when Anora entered the Chantry. She walked in with her head held high, the picture of beauty and confidence draped in gold and ivory-white. Just looking at her sent a piercing pain through Sirena’s chest.

She was being ridiculous. Childish. Selfish. Sirena cared about Anora, and she knew this was what she wanted, and she had no right to the longing and jealously that burned through her.

What had she been thinking last night? She’d done so well all these years, fighting back those feelings, telling herself it was a passing crush…and then last night it had all come crashing out. Maybe it was Anora’s suggestion to come to Denerim. The idea of seeing her every day, of being so close to her…all while she was married to Cailan.

Sirena wasn’t capable of such cruelty towards herself. But oh, she’d been tempted.

At least the slip in her defenses hadn’t ruined Anora’s wedding. She was still here, betraying not a single doubt or worry as she recited her vows with clarity before the Maker.

And that was a good thing, Sirena told herself throughout the ceremony. The only thing worse than Anora rejecting her advances would be Anora risking everything she had and everything she wanted over her. That was what Sirena told herself during procession back to the palace. That was what she told herself in the reception held in the ballroom for the new husband and wife, when drinks were had in honor of the happy new couple.

Someone thrust a glass of wine in her hand, and Sirena realized with a start she was being called upon to make a toast. She wavered for a moment, looking across the room and meeting Anora eye to eye.

For the first time that day, Sirena thought she caught a hint of something mournful through Anora’s well-practiced mask of assured certainty. She remembered Anora’s lips against hers, wanting, drawing her in closer. She remembered Anora’s hand on her wrist, silently pleading for something she couldn’t voice. She remembered those whispered words. I am sorry.

Sirena raised a glass and gave the room a smile, big and bright, just what they expected from the ostentatious Cousland girl. “To the bride and groom,” she said, her eyes never leaving Anora’s. “To your bright future. I know you will do amazing things for Ferelden, and it is my truest hope that this life brings you every happiness.”

Anora smiled at her- a small, sad smile that that spoke volumes more than any speech and utterly broke Sirena’s heart. It was there and gone in an instant, wiped away as the next person stood to make their toast. But every now and then her gaze would return to Sirena, and that smile would come back. Never for long. Never noticed by anybody else. But Sirena saw it, and she knew she would never forget it as long as she lived.

[rosywrites]

Silent Waves, Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Crashing Waves Fandom: League of Legends Ship: Jhin x Sona

[AO3]

Word count: 4623

Jhin descends the wooden ramp to the stone docks of Piltover. The stones are cleanly cut and precise, just how these machine-tinkering folks love it. The skyscrapers of Piltover are always a sight, drowning in gold, hextech, and a faint air of superiority. He takes one last look at the city before glancing at the nearest clock tower, its bells tolling eleven. 

There wasn’t much time. The cabal stated they would be sending a messenger with his gun by noon. If he wasn’t there in time, there would be troublesome consequences he wasn’t willing to risk. 

Two hours left. He had to make his way down to Zaun and find the rendezvous point. He swallows a longing sigh when a haggard old man approaches him with a knowing smile. He recognizes the cabal’s mark on the elder’s eye prosthetic. He straightens his back and bows his head.

“Back again, I see,” the old man splutters as he taps his cane by Jhin’s feet. “Y’really have no limitation with the way y’treat our technology, do ye?” He urges Jhin to follow him through the dark alleyways of Piltover.

“On the contrary, elder,” Jhin replies calmly. “It is of the utmost importance that I make sure my gun is well taken care of.” He raises his head to the skies, a mysterious look in his eyes. “It’s just that I had picked up a… stray, and she didn’t seem to take too well to it.”

“Oh gob it,” the elder harrumphs. “What else did y’expect, picking up a stray like that in the sea?” He shakes his head disapprovingly. “I never once took ye fer the type, but whatever y’picked up did quite the damage to yer gun.” After a moment of silence, he asks, “What did y’even pick up, anywho?”

Jhin’s eyes squint, but the elder cannot tell if it’s out of joy or anger. “A feisty and frightening little thing, I assure you.”

“Is that so…” the elder mutters as he takes Jhin deeper into the city, where The Gray of Zaun awaits below. “By the way, y’didn’t run into any trouble coming here, did ye?”

On instinct, his hand hovers over his abdomen but brushes it off like he had touched something filthy. “Not that I’m aware of,” he answers. “Why do you ask?”

The elder cackles quietly. “The sea has quite the terrifying creatures around here, boy. Y’would do well to mind your path when you depart from Piltover.” Before Jhin can ask any further, the elder ushers Jhin into a hexdraulic conveyor. He slaps Jhin’s back as he makes his way inside. “Come now, y’don’t want to be late!”

“Please, elder. I have a sensitive back.” A shame Jhin can’t kill this old man. He’s the only connection between the cabal and the technology of Piltover and Zaun, the middleman, repairman, and analyst of broken weapons. Killing him would send the cabal after Jhin’s head. 

“Someone as young as ye? Y’might as well be one of them Chem-punks ‘round here.” The descender dings, and the door opens up to an alleyway much darker than those of Piltover’s. The streetlamps dimly light the path of cobblestones and bridges ahead. The conveyor creaks as the elder sits on the edge of the doorframe. “I’ll be waiting right here. M’sure you won’t take long.”

Jhin hums a non-committal response as he moves on. The stench of Zaun is sickly as always. The chem-fumes wafting out of the dingy chimneys makes him scoff. How vile. The sooner he gets his gun, the sooner he can get out of this place. 

“Where the spirit of this land goes, her followers are near,” a voice says from the dark. 

“The followers the stem, the spirit the blossom,” Jhin answers back. He turns to the source of the voice. “Do you have what I requested?” he asks. 

“Certainly.” A pair of mechanical hands holding a parcel manifests from the shadows. “To deliver a parcel to the infamous Golden Demon himself, it is quite an honor.” 

There is a moment of silence as Jhin unwraps the parcel and holds his newly-repaired Whisper in his hand. The feeling of metal against the palm of his hand sends shivers down his spine. He gives the grip a little squeeze and sighs longingly. Oh, how he missed Whisper…

“Now, shall we talk business?” the figure speaks up. With a metallic clang, a man covered in mechanical prosthetics steps out of the shadows. “I have a job I would like you to accomplish.”

Jhin simply stares at the man in silence. There’s another beat, and the man begins to feel uncomfortable under the scrutiny of his eye. “I understand you’re a client, and I am not one to question them.” He pauses. “Usually. What could a Chem-Baron such as yourself need an actor such as me?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I need power.” He scoffs scornfully. “The only things keep Zaun from falling into chaos are the pillars holding it up: we, the Chem-Barons. Unfortunately, one of these pillars has exhausted their use and refuses to step down. What other choice do I have?”

“Interesting,” Jhin can only say. “Normally, I would take up such a request. It would have been a fantastic piece of work, something as organic as a blossom blooming from within its mechanical cage.”

The baron’s face sours at his words and becomes exasperated. “So, will you do it or not?”

“Unfortunately,” he starts as he points his gun towards the baron, earning a small yelp at the cold touch of his gun’s muzzle to his chest, “I cannot comply.”

“W-wait, what are you doing? I can pay you to do this! A-any amount of money you want!” the baron tries to bargain. He dares not move, or else that bullet will go straight through the core of his body and kill him.

Jhin clicks his tongue in disapproval. “You see, the cabal has its own discreet way of disposing of their messengers.” His eyes squint in pure bliss when he sees the look of terror and desperation in whatever untouched flesh the baron has. Such skin tarnished by dull metallic parts… What a shame, really. “You are my client’s aim, baron. And I will make sure that your death is not meaningless but beautifully ornate.”

 “As if I would let you, demon,” the baron exclaims as his mechanical body begins to hiss with steam and overlap each other with increasing size and parts, the baron disappearing into the suit. Jhin hops backwards and shoots at the chest, but the metal deflects the bullet off-course without a dent. “You really think I would come out here to meet The Golden Demon without preparations of my own?”

“I can’t say I didn’t expect it. After all, even the side character must put some effort into their performance before the final curtain call.” Jhin hops away when the baron slams a giant mechanical fist onto the cobblestone. He slips away into the shadows before the baron can catch him. 

“Bastard, you think you can hide from me?”

“I prefer the term ‘observing’,” he replies. He studies the structure of the baron’s body, making the calculations and notes necessary to bring the stage to the grand finale. 

“You can find the weak point all you want, but it’s useless! This metal is of the highest grade and can deflect any bullet you shoot at me!”

“Weak point? Oh, no, no.” Jhin’s eyes lock onto the tank pumping chemicals into tubes that weave around the mechanical suit. “What I look for is completely different, baron.” He assembles his gun into a rifle and takes a deep breath. Four shots. He shall free this baron from his rusting cage with his art. He shoots.

A tube shatters at the leg. A sickening green chemical sprays everywhere like a spring shower. 

Another shot, and another tube shatters at the fist. As he thought, the tubes acted like hydraulics as well as a power source. 

The baron’s body creaks into a slow stop, but the baron remains unfazed. “You can stop me, but you’ll have to drag me out of this suit in order to kill me!”

“You seem to lack understanding in your own creation then, baron.” Jhin carefully aims, not at the body but at the gauge tank at the neck of the suit. When the bullet strikes the ring connecting the tank to the neck, a high-pitched hissing noise escapes from the broken tube. Within a few seconds, a pained cry comes from inside. “No matter what and how many walls you construct, there will always be a breaking point.”

The baron screams grow louder as the green chemical empties out from the tank. There’s a loud clang when the baron bursts out of the suit, his flesh and prosthetics practically melting from the acid. He tumbles down the suit and attempts to escape. He hears a dull sound of thunder, and he feels vines of flowers sap away his strength as they constrict around him and the alleyway. The baron’s outstretched arm falls like a tree branch pruned to ensure its healthy and beautiful growth.

Jhin sighs in joy at his work. Or, so he thought it would be the result. 

Odd. He doesn’t feel the bliss he’s always felt with every finale. His brows furrow in confusion, unnerved by this feeling. He only feels… dissatisfaction… and a numb pain coming from the wound in his abdomen, like it’s pulsing against his skin to remind him of its existence. Of the siren’s existence. 

“Even at these brinks of euphoria, that blasted siren continues to pull me back like a tide,” he mutters. He sighs helplessly. He can only wonder why the siren holds this kind of power over him.

  “What took y’so long?” the elder asks.

“Just appreciating my work, elder,” Jhin lies. “It was one of my best work yet.”

The elder grunts in amusement. “Sure, whatever get y’going. How’s the gun? Did it do the job?”

“Absolute perfection, if I say so myself.” He tries to ignore the elder’s dissatisfied face at Jhin’s lack of enthusiasm. “Forgive me, I am still caught up in that moment of bliss.”

“Y’always were an oddball, eh? Come. Y’got the job done, so we need to head up top.” The elder pushes Jhin back into the conveyor and ascends beyond The Gray back to Piltover. They watch the murky atmosphere of Zaun turn golden like the setting sun as they approach the top. “Did y’know? This ol’ thing belonged to that Chem-Baron back there.”

For once, Jhin’s brows raise up in surprise as he slightly turns his head to the elder. “I don’t suppose you were my client this time around, elder?” 

The elder taps his cane on the floor of the conveyor at the beat of his cackle. “The baron’s been going ‘round without a goddamn care about the other factions and his own tech!” His cackle slows into a hum. “Did he mention anything ‘bout another Chem-Baron, by any chance?”

“He did.”

“Mm, ain’t it interesting how putting a single idea about themselves into their heads can become so distorted that they become out of touch with their own reality?” the elder says. “The human mind is a fascinating thing.” He shoots Jhin a mysterious look. “Wouldn’t y’agree?”

He doesn’t answer. He feels like he can’t. Jhin feigns an amused chuckle as he turns back to the overview of Piltover. “You are quite the frightening one, elder. I don’t suppose all Piltovans are as mad as you.”

“Not mad,” the elder corrects with a crazed look in his eye. “Just passionate.”

--

Sona lies in the bottom of her tank, stretched out atop one of the several rocks they placed on the sand. She listlessly gazes up at the tarp covering the top of the glass. Faint streaks of sunlight filter through from above. Her lips purse into a straight line.

How can these creatures produce such… sounds?

It’s faint, but it’s constantly there like in the back of her head. She presses her palms to her ears and tries to shut out the cries and voices of the merfolk of this region. Even their songs sound so cacophonous. 

A new siren. A girl.

She’s not from here. She’s come to our home.

This is her home.

She belongs here.

She belongs here. She belongs here. She belongs here.

What a dangerous place this is, and yet the landfolk of this region are oblivious to the creatures that they’ve created. And worse, these creatures have caught wind of her presence. They know she’s here. They will come to take her away. To make her one of them.

She hears two of Jhin’s crew, tasked to guard her tank from any intruders, talking to themselves outside of the tank. In an attempt to relieve her mind of the voices, she swims over to the guards and taps the glass gently. They’re cautious, but for good reason. 

One of them glances at the other with a questioning look. The other returns the look with a helpless one as she approaches the tank. “Can we help you?” They watch her point up and slide her hand up to the lower half of her face, as if she’s putting on a mask. “The captain? He’s not back yet, or at least, we haven’t heard anything from the deck yet.”

Sona makes an impatient face and nods. She sits on the sand and leans back against the nearest rock with her arms crossed. 

“Excuse me?” the other guard speaks up. “If you don’t mind, would you like to join our conversation?” Seeing Sona tilt her head in uncertainty and glance up at the deck cautiously, the guard shakes his head. “The captain’s not back yet. I don’t think it’d hurt to try.”

“We’re the more curious of the bunch here,” the first guard joins in. “We’ve never really seen a siren before, or any sea creatures like the merfolk, so we’re really interested in what you see down below.” She shoots an accusatory glance at the other guard. “Unfortunately, some people don’t really believe that there are certain creatures in the sea.”

“Listen, I gotta see it to believe it. There aren’t such things as krakens the size of a battleship. I’ll believe that there are krakens the size of smaller ships like ours, sure. Bilgewater ain’t full of crazy folks, so I have no reason not to believe them.”

“What!” she exclaims. “You’ll believe them but not me, when I’ve heard those stories from the people who’ve seen it themselves?!”

“They’re just stories!” 

“So you’re saying the Bilgewater folks are fibbing?”

“I didn’t say tha —” A knocking on the glass catches their attention, seeing Sona smile sympathetically. They watch her point to the female guard before nodding. The male guard pales with wide eyes. “Y-you mean they’re real?”

Sona nods. She brushes her hand over the sand and makes an even bigger gesture with her hands, saying there are even bigger and more terrifying creatures in the abyss of the sea. She can’t help but laugh when the other guard pales as well. 

But their conversation is cut short when there’s a commotion from above. The door leading to the cargo hold opens, another crewmember poking his head out the door. “Captain’s here! To your posts!” he whispers urgently.

The two guards scramble away to their posts and wait for Jhin’s arrival. Sona, on the other hand, rolls her eyes and swims to the farthest side of the tank and sits atop the bigger rocks. She waits for that iron door to open. But it never opens. 

Strange. She had expected him to come by with that foolish squint in his eyes as he gazes at his prisoner in amusement. Her shoulders, which she notices had become stiff and tense, relax. No matter. The less he shows his face in front of her, the better.

Suddenly, the iron door to the cargo hold opens, and Sona tenses up again. But instead of Jhin, it’s the same crewmember who had told the guards to be at their posts. “We’ll be heading back out to sea. Captain won’t be coming down here until we’re out of Piltovan borders.

One of the guards furrows her brows in confusion. “Is there a reason why?”

The crewmember grimaces. “We’re being tracked. Someone found out about the siren.”

Immediately, a heavy atmosphere crashes upon those in the cargo hold. Dread pools in Sona’s stomach. She feels like something much worse will occur out at sea. 

The voices of the merfolk that were only whispers in the back of her head just a few minutes suddenly grow in numbers and intensity. She winces at the overwhelming amount of voices and hunches over with her palms against her ears.

They’re going. They’re taking our sister!

How dare they take our new sister!

This is her home!

Come back!

She belongs here!

The voices die into silence as sudden as the next words are uttered altogether in one distorted voice: 

We’re coming for you, sister.

Sona gasps in horror when the voices then spill over like a tsunami in her mind. It’s too loud. It’s too intense. She shoots up to the top of the tank, banging the glass lid and catching the attention of the crewmembers guarding the cargo hold. 

This is about to become a battle. The crewmembers are preparing themselves to fight whoever is tracking them. But she’s not up there to warn them of the creatures in the sea that are coming for the ship. For her.

  Jhin had been careful. He had never mentioned the siren directly in his conversation with the elder. But he supposed Zaunites have eyes and ears everywhere, even in Piltover. Zaunites were known for their experimental demeanors. Some are even passionate enough to steal test subjects for their work.

Mercenaries… are likely. The experimenter themselves wouldn’t go out of their way to face an entire ship of pirates. 

He brings out a golden stopwatch from his pockets and opens it up to his eye level. In the reflection of the glass, he spots a ship in the distance that’s slowly sailing in the same direction as them. The ship flies a Piltovan flag, but he can see Zaun’s technology built into the ship. He hums in thought. He had guided the ship towards Freljord, a region that has no need for Piltovan or Zaunite technology.

Even if Piltover wanted to expand their tech to the north, their ship isn’t built to withstand the harsh conditions of Freljord.

A crewmember steps up to the helm and whispers in Jhin’s ear, “Captain, the siren is acting up. We’re not sure what happened. She suddenly swam up to one of the guards trying to say something to her.”

Jhin furrows his brows as he glances at the gate of the cargo hold. What is the siren up to this time? “Do you know what she’s trying to say?” he asks.

“She’s trying to warn us about something. Something in the water? She keeps pointing to herself and then out to the water.” The crewmember looks concerned. “What should we do, sir?”

Something in the water? Pointing to herself… but out there within the sea… 

“Hey, do you hear that?” a crewmember standing by the rails murmurs to another. “It sounds like… singing?”

“I don’t hear anything.”

“No, no, I hear it! It sounds like a lullaby my mother used to sing for my brother back home.” The crewmember’s eyes suddenly light up, and he leans over the rails. The crewmember’s eyes glaze over, as if he’s in a trance. “That… sounded like mother.”

“What?”

“That… sounded… like…” the crewmember’s words trail off as he leans closer and closer to hear better. “Mother…!”

“Whoa, hey, what are you doing?!” the other shouts as he pulls him back onto deck.

“It’s her! It’s mother! She’s in there, don’t stop me!” the former shouts back in rage, swatting away the latter’s grip. When the other doesn’t lose his grip, he pulls out a dagger from his belt and slices the other’s arm.

“Agh!” The latter releases the former’s shirt in pain, but two other crewmembers pull them both back onto deck. One of them kicks away the dagger and pins down their frantically pleading mate. 

Jhin directs his attention to the commotion happening on deck. Then he hears it. He hears singing coming from the waters. It sounds like an opera. The voices sound muffled, but he thinks he hears them sing of art, of Whisper, of his feats and trophies at sea. That there’s more he can do out there. With them.  

His legs suddenly feel heavy, and he feels his foot swing out towards the side of the ship. His mind feels blank like an empty canvas, and the music of the sea is the paint giving it life. 

“Captain!” another crewmember runs out from inside the ship and up to the helm in a panic. “It’s an ambush! We’ve been surrounded!”

He snaps back to reality with a hiss, having sunken his nails into the injury in his abdomen. “By who? The Zaunites haven’t even reached us yet.”

“They’re no Zaunites, sir! They’re merfolk!”

Jhin’s eyes grow wide. Sirens. He hadn’t considered this. Could the siren he captured have called these sirens here? No, she is mute. She hasn’t displayed a single ability to be able to communicate to anyone so far. He shakes his head. The merfolk have been around for centuries. Each region has their own kind of merfolk.

Piltover, the City of Progress. Zaun, the City of Iron and Glass. With the advancement of technology, there would be an equal amount of waste filtering into the waters. His eyes perk up in realization. The toxins. For the merfolk who lived in these waters for so long, they wouldn’t notice how far the toxins can be carried by the water. Therefore, they would eventually die to the toxins.

Or adapt to them. 

“Prepare yourselves!” Jhin announces. “These creatures can affect any of you to kill you! If you see someone who’s affected, hold them back!” He normally wouldn’t bat an eye if two men or three die, but with enemies coming from both within and out of the waters, he cannot afford to lose that many men at once. “Lookout, keep an eye on that Piltovan ship!” He loads Whisper with four bullets and cocks the hammer. “This show isn’t over yet.”

---

The sounds of gunshots and shouting from the deck alerts Sona of the sirens’ arrival, her banging against the glass becoming stronger and louder. The lid refuses to budge. She swings her arms down in frustration and swims over to one of the guards who had spoken to her.

“Miss siren, isn’t there anything you can do?” she asks in a panic. 

Sona nods as points at the lid of her tank. She makes the same gesture to refer to Jhin and then the instrument he had taken.

“Your, your instrument? Can you help if you have it?” When Sona nods firmly, the guard purses her lips in hesitation. She chews the tip of her thumbnail in thought until they hear a metallic clang of the cargo hold’s gate above Sona’s tank. 

As they look up, they watch in horror as one of the crewmember’s body is torn apart by a siren that had managed to jump on board. His blood pours onto the top of the tarp covering Sona’s tank. 

The guard swallows a gag, looking away. “Okay,” she says. She turns back to Sona. “I’ll get you your instrument from his quarters. I, I don’t know if I might make it, but I’ll try.” The guard runs out of the hold, ignoring the other guards’ protests, and makes her way up to the deck. She glances at the helm, the captain now replaced by another hand. 

“What are you doing?” the navigator hisses when she runs past her to Jhin’s quarters. “You’re a dead sailor if he catches you going in there.”

“It’s for the sake of this ship. The siren can help us.” The guard sneaks into Jhin’s quarters and searches the room for the golden instrument. She spots it sitting atop a dresser in the corner of his room, where the siren’s old tank once remained. “There!” Grabbing the instrument and stashing it in her satchel, she runs out of the quarters and back to the deck.

The heavy stench of blood and sea water penetrates her senses as soon as she steps outside. She gags at the sight of dead human and siren bodies littered all over deck. She takes a deep breath, forces herself to look away from the scene, and rushes back down to the hold.

“What have you done?” a guard asks when she produces the instrument from her satchel. “Are you insane?”

“If the siren says she can do something about this situation, I’m willing to take that risk,” she protests. “Get the other guards. We need them to take her up to the deck.”

“Captain will kill all of us!”

“Then what else is there left to do?! I went up there, and we’ve already lost so many hands! The sirens are climbing up the deck! We need her!”

A guard extends out an arm to stop her from climbing up the stairs. “Some of us don’t want to die because of what you did, don’t you understand that?”

“Would you rather all of us die then?” she asks solemnly. The others fall silent. “And if the captain’s more than willing to kill us after all this, then so be it. He’s only losing more of his crew. I’m still going,” she insists urgently. She lunges up the steps to the top of the tank and unlatches the lid. Sona immediately bursts of the water towards the guard, who shields herself thinking she made a mistake of freeing the siren.

But nothing happens. 

Instead, Sona is hunched over the edge with her instrument finally in her hands. She takes a deep breath and looks up at the cowering guard with a grateful smile. “Thank you ,” a voice says with a pluck of the strings. 

The guard’s eyes widen for a moment, but she regains her composure. “Y-you’re welcome.” She leans forward and hovers her hands over Sona’s shoulders. “We can carry you up to the deck.” Her heart nearly leaps to her throat when Sona suddenly grabs her wrist while shaking her head and pointing her finger at the guard’s forehead.

Jhin will kill her. All of them. 

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take.” The guard tucks her arms under Sona’s and lifts her out of the tank. “Come on, we need to get you up there.” One by one, the guards in the hold come up to help her carry Sona down the stairs onto a stretcher. “I thought you didn’t want to get killed by captain?”

“Better than all of us dying to these things… or worse, getting taken for torture and experimentation in Zaun,” a guard mutters, to which the others chime in agreement. 

As they reach closer to deck, the female guard speaks up. “We have enough of us to hold her while joining in the fight. There’s a chance the Zaunites will try to take her too. Two of us need to hold the stretcher while the rest of you surround it and fight whoever tries to come after us, got it?”

“Got it. Ready?” The crewmembers crouch to prepare to run out to the deck. Sona sits up on the stretcher with her instrument at the ready. 

“Charge!”

[cruelangelstheses]

every nasty thought

fandom: dragon age rating: T characters: anders/hawke words: 2.4k additional tags: canon compliant, mental illness, ocd, trichotillomania, angst with a happy ending, intrusive thoughts, solitary confinement, gender neutral hawke description: anders has been dealing with intrusive thoughts his whole life. an exploration of anders’s character through the lens of ocd and trichotillomania. a/n: HELLO i’ve been very busy recently and haven't had much time to write but i’ve been wanting to do something like this for a while based somewhat on my experience (im projecting lol) so i banged this out for day 5 of @proandersweek - neurodivergent anders! title from “obsessions” by marina and the diamonds. for the full tag list that goes into a bit more of specifics wrt the intrusive thoughts, check the ao3 link

read it on ao3

—

After Anders’s magic manifests for the first time, in the quiet solitude of his bedroom, he finds his fingers itching with the power in his blood. It was always there, he supposes, but now he knows it’s there. Now he can feel it, can recognize the fire always pulsing through his veins, the sparks he could bring to his fingertips in an instant if he so willed it. The magic calls to him, like the feeling of standing at the edge of a cliff and wondering how it would feel to jump, or like a book he’s forbidden to read. The world screams danger, but his hands ache to break the rules.

He’s not stupid. He knows what would happen if anyone in the village discovered his powers. Still, it feels strange trying to continue on living as if nothing has changed now that he knows what he is. Suddenly he no longer feels perfectly at home; when he looks around at his friends and neighbors, all he can think of is how he’s different. He no longer feels like one of them.

Anders lives in a small house in a small village, so he doesn’t get a whole lot of privacy. Before he found out he was a mage, he didn’t really mind it. He likes having friends, likes having a group of people he can think of as his second family. He likes talking to the neighbors and helping to take care of animals or children. Now, though, he finds himself wishing for some alone time, a place where he can practice his magic without getting caught. He’ll sometimes conjure ice in his bedroom at night, but other than that, he doesn’t really have anywhere to go. He could maybe practice in the barn when nobody’s in it, but he’s afraid he might harm one of the animals.

The desire to learn spells, the temptation of the taboo, wages war with Anders’s fear of hurting someone. The thoughts come late at night, when he’s lying awake overthinking, but they also come in the middle of the day, when he’s walking around in the village square or talking with a friend: I could kill any one of these people. I could do it right now if I’m not careful. What if I snap and electrocute my father? What if I try to pet one of the barn cats and accidentally freeze it?

Anders has had distressing thoughts before, thoughts of someone he loves dying, or thoughts of being harmed himself. The difference this time is simply that he’s talked about these kinds of thoughts with his mother; he’s had her remind him that his fears are unfounded, that he’s safe, that they’re all safe. He still feels the need to perform rituals, like feeding the animals just the right amount of food or touching both his shoulders with his fingertips when he wakes up each morning, to ensure that nothing bad will happen, but when he has someone in his corner, the thoughts don’t consume him as much as they could if he were dealing with them alone.

Unfortunately, his newest obsessions all have to do with him being a mage. He can’t even attempt to use logic to fight the bad thoughts, because all of his fears are not only possible, but probable. It’s all he’s ever heard about mages. They can snap at any moment. They can kill twenty people in one fell swoop. They can lose control. They need to be locked up, for everyone else’s safety. He can’t confide in anyone, can’t rely on anyone to tell him that he isn’t going to set his friends on fire. So he deals with the thoughts in silence, the fear mounting with every passing day.

It’s around this time, then, that Anders starts pulling at his hair.

He likes keeping it fairly long, though he often puts it up in a ponytail so it doesn’t get in his face while he’s working or playing. There are always stray hairs, though, and soon he finds that they serve two purposes: to give his fingers something to do so that they no longer twitch with energy, and to help him cope with his obsessions. When he pulls, he goes into a trance, his mind almost empty as he focuses on the feeling of the hair on his fingertips, the slight pinch when he plucks it from his scalp. It’s oddly satisfying, even calming, and it makes him feel safe.

—

About a month after that first surge of magic bloomed in his hands, Anders accidentally starts a fire in the barn.

They get all the animals out in time, but his secret is out. His parents saw him trip and fall, saw as his hand shot out a blast of fire. It may have been his body’s method of self-defense, but it doesn’t matter, because now his mother is looking at him with tears in her eyes, and his father is staring at him in horror.

“I—I’m sorry,” he sputters desperately. “I didn’t mean to, I swear, it won’t happen again, I—”

His mother steps toward him and puts her arms around him, but his father might as well not have heard him. Anders has to fight the urge to push his mother away, the terror crowding in his head: You have no self-control. You’re going to kill her. You’re going to kill your own mother like the monster you are.

That night, Anders lies awake in bed, listening to his parents argue back and forth. His mother wants to protect him. His father, however, thinks it would be best to call the templars. Anders can hear the fear in his voice: fear not just of magic, but of him, his own son, twelve years old and a danger to everyone around him.

Anders pulls almost frantically at the hair on his scalp, but it doesn’t feel like enough, so he starts pulling at his eyebrows too, the coarser hair providing a different sensation. If he pulls enough, maybe it’ll serve as penance.

By morning, his eyebrows are half gone, the skin bright red and rubbed raw. His father contacts the templars anyway. His friends and neighbors stop talking to him. All Anders can think is that it wasn’t enough.

—

It’s strange. His obsessions tell him that he is dangerous, that he needs to be locked up to protect everyone else, that he will kill innocent people if left unchecked. Yet, on his good days, days where he’s better able to fend off those thoughts, he decides that the Circle is bad. In his moments of clarity, Anders recognizes his desire to be free. He daydreams about being able to live a life without being a slave to the Chantry or to his own fears. He starts taking an interest in healing spells in the hope that he can challenge the idea in his mind that magic means pain.

Anders soon realizes that everything he’s been told about mages is a lie. He meets mages who are in complete control, who have been studying magic for decades, people who could live outside of the Circle for the rest of their lives and probably never fall prey to a demon or hurt a civilian with their magic. He meets mages who are compassionate and kind. He meets mages that he could dare to love.

His year in solitary confinement is the worst year of his life. Alone with no one but himself and nothing to do but sit and think, his brain has a fucking field day. This is for the best, you know, it tells him the first few days. You should be locked up in here forever, not just a year. You could snap at any moment. You could kill an apprentice. You would’ve if they hadn’t put you in here.

His mind blames him for Karl being transferred to Kirkwall, has been blaming him for years. He got too comfortable. He let himself feel happiness, feel love. He didn’t perform his rituals enough, didn’t pull enough, and because of it Karl is gone.

During his time in the Circle, his obsessions sometimes take a more religious turn, probably due to the immense amount of Chantry ideology that permeates every corner. He’s gone through periods where all he can think about is how he is unworthy in the eyes of the Maker, how his magic is punishment for all the horrible things inside him, and his time in solitary is no exception. He has intrusive thoughts about the intrusive thoughts. You’re an affront to the Maker. You think about killing your peers and loved ones, and for that you’re going to suffer for eternity. He uses praying and repenting as one of his rituals in the vain hope that it’ll make his brain stop, just stop.

Then the thoughts take a turn for the morbid. He has visions of hurting himself, of electrocuting or immolating himself, of digging his fingernails into his skin until he draws blood or hitting his head against the wall so hard he passes out. I could do it. I could do it right now. I could set myself on fire and be done with it. The thought terrifies him. He doesn’t want to die. He just wants to be able to live.

It’s during solitary, though, that he has his revelation, a revelation that he feels he should’ve figured out a long time ago: all of his obsessions are about things that are the exact opposite of what he really thinks or wants. He doesn’t want to kill. He doesn’t want to die. He doesn’t truly believe that the Maker gives people magic to punish them. And he certainly doesn’t believe that he should be locked up forever simply for an accident of birth.

Two things make his time in solitary bearable: that realization, and the cat Mister Wiggums, who listens to him talk about these things without judgment, and who curls up in his lap when he senses that Anders is in distress. He pulls a lot of his hair out, though. When he’s let back out, the other mages comment that he looks like a different person.

—

Anders isn’t sure if merging with Justice has made things better or worse. On the one hand, it’s comforting, having a friend always with him in some way. On the other, now he has a new fear to obsess over: the fear that Justice will take over and hurt someone.

He realizes, though, that that fear is actually just one of his old fears, rebranded to look like something new. He’s come full circle. He’s twelve years old again, unsure how to handle this newfound power, feeling out of control and hurtling into a strange world.

—

Kirkwall’s Circle is awful, and Darktown is...well, Darktown, but the people that visit Anders in his clinic make it worth it.

It’s incredible, seeing ordinary people, refugees from the Blight, who look at him not with fear but with respect and even a sort of reverence. Children whose sicknesses he’s healed gaze up at him with a spark in their eyes and a thank you on their lips. Even people who aren’t sick or injured start to visit him every once in a while, to check up on him or talk to him or even give him a couple bandages, in the case of Lirene. He hears about them sticking their necks out for him when templars comes snooping around—for him, an apostate mage with obsessions that have made him believe he’s nothing but a danger to everyone around him. It doesn’t make the thoughts stop—nothing does—but it makes them easier to bear, at least somewhat.

Anders’s hair has mostly grown back since his time in solitary, but his eyebrows are a bit sparse, and he still sort of looks like he’s balding already, at the ripe old age of thirty-two. He’s not usually very self-conscious about his looks, but he’ll admit, it catches him off guard when the next person to take an interest in him is none other than a fellow apostate and Fereldan refugee named Hawke, who turns to him one night a few weeks after their initial meeting and says, “You know I’m not kidding when I flirt with you, right?”

It comes out of nowhere. They’re heading down to Lowtown to check out a job. Behind them, Hawke’s brother scoffs in annoyance, and the dwarf, Varric, chuckles knowingly.

Anders raises an eyebrow, suddenly aware of how he must look. Hawke is younger and more muscled than he is, with thick, dark hair that’s probably softer and smoother than his. “You’re...not?” he says slowly. He has to refrain from asking, What do you even see in me? He already warned Hawke to stay away from him, and he hasn’t been able to figure out if the subsequent flirting was serious or not.

Hawke laughs. “Of course not. You’re passionate. You’re serious when you need to be, but you’re also funny. You understand me. You’re attractive. You’re—”

Anders holds a hand up, unable to contain the surprised little smile working its way onto his face. “Did you just say I’m attractive?”

Hawke snorts. “That’s what you got from all that?”

“No, I—” Anders lowers his hand as they both laugh. “It’s just...kind of startling. I mean, even when I’m like...this?” He gestures to all of himself. Hawke noticed his hair-pulling not too soon after they met, and Anders decided he might as well explain at least a little bit of his state of mind.

The fact that Hawke didn’t leave after that, didn’t even seem too fazed, was enough for Anders to trust them almost completely. He’s only told two other people about his obsessions: his mother and Karl. Thank you for not running away, he’d said after he told Hawke about Justice, and he felt the need to say it again then. He feels like he needs to say it now, too, like if he says it enough times, it’ll erase everything bad that could ever happen.

Hawke flashes him a soft smile, eyes twinkling. “Yes, even when you’re like that.”

Hawke’s brother gags exaggeratedly, so Hawke turns around and makes an obscene hand gesture at him. In the back of his mind, Anders hears those familiar voices threatening to take hold again, telling him that he’ll only hurt Hawke if he allows himself to get close. They’ll never really go away, he knows, but he has someone in his corner, and that makes all the difference.

[swellwriting]

When You’re Ready

Fandom: Harry Potter

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader

Request: Hi, hey, hello, how ya doin'? If you do blurbs/one-shots/imagines/fics could you do a Draco one with the song "When you're ready" by Shawn Mendes, please? Thanks.

Warnings: angst, Draco being an arse...so the usual

A/N: The type of fic where ideas keep popping into my head and i can’t write them as fast as they are born. “Draco cried” like he did every night, that emo bitch with no healthy coping mechanisms.

Word Count: 3.8k

You were Draco’s from the young age of five, that was when your families decided you would marry. Long before you knew the premise of marriage or the weight the word held.

But if someone told you then, at the age of five that you would have to spend the rest of your life with Draco, you would have been ecstatic. He was your best friend why wouldn’t you wanted to be with him forever, no thoughts of love or how he would change in the future clouded your mind.

You were ten when you started being unable to stand his presence, he was still your best friend, only friend. But he had been spending too much time with his father, learning the family ways, he wasn't the same boy you knew before he had been tainted. He was growing to be rougher around the edges but his soft spot for you never left him. When in a room filled with past death eaters and people too posh to even crack a smile he would look at your from across the large dinner table, you'd already been staring at him waiting for him to notice. Nothing had to be said between the two of you for you to have to fight to hold back laughter; like he had told a joke and you were the only ones laughing.

You were twelve when you got on the train together, got sorted into Slytherin together. He quickly made friends with similar ideals as him, he quickly made enemies with the Potter boy. The boy that you took a liking to when he and Hermione noticed you sitting alone in the library and didn't question sitting down with you. They didn't care about the colour of your tie or the fact that you were often seen with Draco, never seen with him and his friends though. They told you that the only time Draco wasn't unbearable was when he was with you, you laughed as they jokingly thanked you. You sadly stated that he was your best friend, your only friend and Hermione smiled as she opened her textbook and said, “not anymore.”

You were thirteen when he yelled at you in front of both of your families, telling them you barely saw him at Hogwarts once you started hanging around with Potter and the Mudblood. You slapped Draco that night after he said that about Hermione. Draco cried, like the baby he was and you sat next to your mother as you listened to both of your fathers argue in the other room. Lucius yelled that the marriage was off if you couldn't learn to control yourself, if you didn't learn your place. 

Narcissa apologized to you that night, she admitted to a thirteen-year-old girl that her fears had come true, that Draco was learning too much from his father. She begged you to not give up on him, for you still had almost five years until you were eighteen, five years until you would have to marry him.

She ensured you he would be different as he matured, you hoped she was right because the Draco you saw now, the one that showed no compassion to you anymore, like he did when you were younger, you didn't want to live a life with him.

You were fifteen when he asked you to the Yule Ball, when you said no which prompted him to angrily huff, yell obscene things at you and Hermione as she squeezed your hand, thankful Ron and Harry weren't there to witness it. The next morning you would get a letter from your mother, pleading for you to take back your answer, to go with him to the dance. For the sake of your father, for not putting him in a bad place with the Malfoy’s because dark times loomed and an alliance with the Malfoy’s was their only option. Draco didn’t even smile when you said yes, he simply said “good”, though he’d “rather go with Pansy, his father will be happy at least.”

That night you cried, you cried to Hermione as you dreaded the dance to come, you possibly scarred Neville as you burst into tears when he tried to ask you to the ball, saying between laboured breaths that you had no choice, you had to go with Malfoy, Neville tried to understand, he pitied you and was even sadder for you then about his own rejection.

Draco cried too, alone of course, not having his own friend like Hermione to understand him. You could have been that friend if he didn't fuck it up so badly. He cried the night you said no, angrily punching the wall in the bathroom never being taught how to handle his own emotions. He cried the night you said yes as well, he cried because he made eye contact with you when he saw you get a letter in the Great Hall, the frown prominent on your face, the sadness in your eyes as you said the three-letter word to him shortly after. He cried because he knew you deserved better than him but he would never say that out loud, he knew you probably had someone else who would have asked you, someone, who would make you laugh. He hadn’t made you laugh since you were way younger, he hadn’t made you smile, he hadn’t even said one nice thing to you in years.

As he thought about it he realized every bad thing between the two of you was his fault, his prejudice, his judgment, his anger that you left him, but maybe he pushed you away. He didn't want to go with Pansy, he would much rather have gone with Blaise before he ever went with Pansy, he just wanted to be mean, it’s all he knew how to do when it came to you lately, he wanted to hurt you the way you hurt him when you said no. Maybe he could try to be nicer at the Yule ball, try at all, he fell to the tiled floor and placed his head in his hands as he admitted to himself, that you deserved better and he wasn’t it.

You had to wear the dark green silk dress your mother sent you, you were not surprised, as you walked into the Slytherin common room, that Draco’s tie was the exact same material. He looked at you for a few moments before averting his gaze and shoving his hands in his pockets. You had decided to make the best of the night, it was weird, awkward and forced as you smiled at him shyly. He wanted to say you looked nice but it had been so long since you looked in his eyes like that, like the little girl he remembered, especially because you look almost scared as you smiled, he wanted to speak but his words escaped his throat as his heart raced in his chest.

“Are you ready?” You asked quietly as people around you in the common room paid no mind to the two of you.

He nodded and swallowed, his adam's apple bobbing as he did. “Okay,” you said quietly to yourself.

You walked down the hallway, his friends loudly following behind, their conversation natural unlike the silence between you and Draco. As you neared the Great Hall, which was decorated for the ball fittingly, he stopped walking. You noticed how his friends just walked past him, paying no attention to him but you stopped and took in the lost expression on his face.

“Draco?” You said it so sweetly, not an ounce of hate between the syllable, he blinked and looked at you. “Are you okay?” You asked innocently as he nodded and then took a second to think before extending you his arm, you wrapped your fingers around his forearm, feeling the expensive material of his suit as he in took a shaky breath before walking into the dance. You broke the ice as you leant closer to him, making his heart almost stop as you said, “You act like you’ve never held my hand before.”

“I haven’t.” He said as he furrowed his brows.

“Oh rubbish, Draco I've known you almost as long as I've known myself, though it doesn't feel like it anymore. I have a picture of us when we were like five holding hands.”

He frowned at that part, the ‘though it doesn't feel like it anymore,” but smiled when he realized you still had pictures of you two.

“You mean to tell me you haven’t burned them all?” He playfully whisper shouted back as the volume of the music playing filled the room.

You took a deep breath as you admitted, “I almost did,” and looked up to meet his eyes.

“I don't blame you.” He said bringing you to sit down, arms still linked together. You earned a few strange looks, a pitied one from Hermione and a confused and almost hurt one from Neville.

“Who do you blame then?” You asked with a bit too much malice in your tone.

That shut him up, he isn't mature enough to admit his wrongdoings, for he still believed he was right about his hateful feelings towards your friends, his hateful yet longing feelings towards you.

He wanted you, but he wanted his idealized version of you and you weren't the type of girl to shut up and comply, he knew that to be true from your last comment.

You sat there quietly for a while, drinking the punch and not really talking after the last thing you said, you didn't regret it though, he needed to know his place.

“Are you going to ask me to dance?” You finally asked and he shook his head.

“I don't dance.”

“Draco, I have seen you dance, I have danced with you before, you can't lie to me, I know you.”

“No you don't, and I'm not dancing.”

“Then at least talk to me? We have barely talked in years?” You pleaded, hoping to get something from him.

“I have nothing to say.”

“An apology would be a good start.”

“I have nothing to apologize for.” He said angrily and you crossed your arms in a huff.

After more silence Neville walked up to you and asked you for a dance, he was scared, you would be too if you were him. The girl he wanted to dance with was the date of the person who tormented him, but he was brave, so he extended a hand and you accepted it standing up without muttering a word to Draco.

“Of course I’ll dance with you Neville.” You didn't turn back to see the look of distaste on Draco’s face. After some awkward dancing with the kind Gryffindor boy you felt a tap on your shoulder, you couldn't help but smile as you realized it was Draco.

“Can I cut in?” He asked in a quiet tone you knew he had never used around Neville before.

“Y-Yeah.” Neville stuttered as he let go of your hand and shoulder, going back to dancing with Ginny.

Draco placed a hand on your lower back as he pulled you close, intertwined your fingers as he, much more smoothly than Neville, danced with you.

“See, you do dance.” You smiled as your hand on his shoulder travelled a little toward the back of his neck, feeling his soft skin.

“I dance when you make me.” His jealousy spit out with each word and your smile faded to a  frown realizing Draco didn’t dance with you because he gained the courage but because his jealousy overtook him.

“I didn’t make you, I was doing fine without you.”

“With him of all people.”

“Neville is my friend, and I would have gone here with him if I wasn’t forced to go with you.” You confessed with anger ridden words.

“He might be pureblood, but he’s a disgrace, he is a coward, a filthy Gryffindor.” He said loudly gaining the attention of a few people as you let go of him and ran to the hallway. To your dismay, there were people in the hallway to witness the scene as Draco followed you.

“Y/N! Wait, you can’t just leave.” He yelled and you stopped turning around noticing the people watching included Hermione, Ron, Harry and even Neville among others.

“I can do as I please!” You yelled back.

“You do as I say, you belong to me.”

“I don't want you!” You yelled as tears streamed down your face at both embarrassment and the fact that people would now know the truth between you and Draco. “I don't want to marry you.”

“You don't have a choice.” He stood his ground ignoring all the onlookers even though he was hurt deep inside that it was true, you didn't want him.

“No, but I have my freedom until I'm 18, I don't have to be anything to you until then. You are mean, uncaring and a vile person. I don't stand for your beliefs, I don't like the person you turned into at all and I will never be capable of loving you. I will simply be your prisoner but I will never submit to you.” You spat as you harshly hit his chest with an accusing finger before running away. Hermione followed you as Ron and Harry looked horrified, you hadn't told anyone you were arranged to marry Draco except Hermione. Their expressions marked that they were so scared for you, as they looked at Draco with disgust.

Draco had tried to be nice, he really did, but Draco wasn’t used to being nice, he was used to his friends encouraging him to be rude instead. He had sat quietly watching you dance until Pansy came up behind him and attempted to tease him, his anger towards her and watching you dance with someone else, someone more kind and deserving of you, that set him off and he couldn't control his emotions, he never could.

Draco realized all the people that had just witnessed that. This had done more damage to your relationship than anything in the past because now everyone knew, they knew how horrible he was and how sweet you were. He ran to an empty bathroom and cried, he lost you, he had finally done everything he could, messed up everything, and lost you.

You were sixteen when Draco’s father was taken to Azkaban. Draco hadn't acknowledged you since the Yule Ball last year, it was almost the time to go back to Hogwarts for your sixth year there. Draco ignored you all summer, and before summer he didn’t apologize but you were glad he was no longer going out of his way to harass you, he never sat near you in class or lingered in the common room when you were there, he avoided you because it pained him to see you.

It was only the day before you would get on the train, back to Hogwarts and back to barely seeing Draco everyday but seeing him more often than during the summer. You walked up to his house with your mother and father, they had a serious conversation regarding Lucius until Narcissa started crying and your mother hugged her close, she was scared. You thought about how Draco must be feeling so you got up, mostly wanting to remove yourself from this awkward conversation and placed yourself into another. You walked the all too familiar path to Draco’s room and knocked the exact way you did as a kid, 5 knocks and then a pause before you knocked two more times.

Draco was sat in his bed staring at his forearm, he had spent the entire day, his last day of summer, with his aunt Bellatrix learning spells he shouldn't know. He felt the stinging in his arm and tried not to think about the moment he got it. His heart stopped when he heard the familiar sound fill his large room, he wiped his eyes and used his wand to open the door, mostly because he didn't believe it was actually going to be you.

He didn't look up at you so you walked in, it wasn’t much different from the last time you had seen it, just as posh, just as bland.

You crawled up on to the edge of his bed sitting on your knees but keeping your distance.

His one sleeve was pulled down, you could tell he’d been crying, he looked up at you only briefly before averting your gaze. Your kind eyes were too much for him, he didn't deserve you to look at him like that, he deserved the angry eyes from the night of the ball.

“Draco.” You whispered and his frown deepened hearing your sweet voice fill his ears.

He didn’t respond so you tried again edging a bit closer to him on the large bed until you were at his knees which were pulled against his chest, head pressed against his hands resting on them.

“Draco.” This time he looked up at you and his eyes brimmed with tears at your sorrowful expression, you didn't even know the truth as to why he was upset.

“You look like you need a friend.”

“We are hardly friends Y/N.” His voice was hoarse, his throat probably raw from crying.

“Then apologize.” You stated like it was so easy.

“What?” He questioned, looking away as a tear slipped from his eye

“If you need a friend, then apologize, and I know when your lying, if not, then I can leave and pretend like I was never here.”

It took a minute for him to try to think of what to say, so he chose not to think at all, just spill everything he's wanted to say to you. “I’m sorry.” He choked and then apologized for all the times he was mean, for the way he acted, for how he ruined your night at the ball, for the way he pushed you away and found new friends, for the way he felt the world around him change him but never kept you close enough to keep him sane, keep him himself. He paused for a minute as you listened.

“I'm Sorry, I'm so so sorry, I just- I just need you.” He choked as tears streamed down his face faster than he could wipe them away. You pushed his knees down and crawled onto his lap hugging him close to you as he cried onto your shoulder for what felt like hours. He technically lost his dad, he had a terrible task to complete that weighed down on him but he had gotten you back, and he would fight not to lose you.

You were sixteen when you went back to Hogwarts for your sixth year, Draco at your side, not too much of a different Draco, but he promised he would try to change and that was enough for you. You were sixteen when you had to rush to the medical wing to find a bloodied and wet Draco and had to deal with the aftermath because none of his other friends showed up.

You were seventeen when he told you he loved you, when he told you he was scared. Only seventeen when you had to tell the crying boy in front of you that you didn't love him, that you couldn't love who he was right now but promised that someday if he made the right choices you might be able to.

You were sat alone late at night, unsure of what exactly was making him so upset that day. He said it between sobs as you hugged him close, “I love you.” but you didn't respond so he backed up to see your reaction and you just smiled, wiped his tears and told him the truth. “I can’t let myself love you yet.”

He had grown a bit in the past year, he didn't get angry, he didn't curse at you, he just pulled you back in for the hug and whispered.

“When your ready, I’ll be waiting,” he admitted. “And I won’t force you to marry me if I have to wait ten bloody years for you I will.”

You smiled and placed a sweet kiss on his tear-stained cheek. “I think our parents were right when they arranged for us to marry, they must have seen something then.”

“I loved you then too, but I ruined it. A different kind of love.”

“We will get there.” You smiled at him reassuringly, truthful eyes bored into his slightly heartbroken ones, as much as he said he would wait for you, he couldn't help but want you now.

A few short months later, after the battle of Hogwarts you told him you were proud of him, with blood and dirt on your faces and tear-stained cheeks you looked him in his eyes and told him you were proud of his choice.

You were just seventeen when you had to look around at the dead bodies the littered the ground, your heart aching for all your lost friends, lost lives. You intertwined your fingers with his, staying silent for a moment, sadness filling your throat and your lungs, weighing you down, choking you to the point where you almost couldn't speak, but you managed the words “I love you.” You said it like a scared child. You said it like someone who had just nearly kissed death and decided you'd rather Draco be your first kiss instead. You said it the way you had been saying his name recently, with adoration in each letter as you watched him and you both face such trying times. 

His eyes widened, he wasn't okay, hearing you validate your feelings towards him didn't make him forget about everything around him, but at a time where he was so sad he couldn’t think of any words to say, those three came easy in response. “I love you,” he stated matter of factly, unlike last time where he said it with bated breath hoping for a response because it was his turn to respond this time and his heart soared after everything you'd been through you were finally ready to love him.

Tag List:  @babyplutoszx2  @sjriusblck @theboywhocriedlupin @diggorysghost @wanna-see-my-lease @fortisfiliae @moonynprongs @bluemadcnna @knockturndraco @dyngflwrs @jamcspotters @lonelyhufflepufff @heartbeats-wildly @whysoseriouspadfoot @thisismysecrethappyplace @storiesbycaroline @finnofamerica @siriuslyimmoony @siriusoricns

[bobasheebaby]

Departure- The Rise chapter 1

Pairing: Sean x F!MC (Coral Grady)

Written for @badthingshappenbingo Fandom: Choices Endless Summer  Square filled: Thwarted Escape

Word count: 2,209 Warnings: angst, dark!fic?, gore? Summary: The catalysts head home only to find everything has changed. A/N: My MC is Coral Grady and she is dating Sean. This happens after the start of the apocalypse. Thank you to both @itsstillnotwhatyouthink and @blackcatkita for proofreading for me. The dialogue and a lot of the set up comes from Endless Summer Book 2 chapters 13 & 14. This chapter is fairly mild.

Series Warnings: death, rotting flesh, gore, blood, biting, turning, blood consumption, may get NSFW. It’s zombies, it ain’t gonna be pretty! By requesting to be tagged you acknowledge you are at least 18 years old and can stomach the gore.

If you need to avoid The Rise postings, filter #choices zombie au or #the rise to ensure you won’t see my zombie fic posts.

Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist. Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the characters, I’m simply borrowing them for a bit.

The catalysts stood staring at the portal, hearts racing with hope as they watched the swirling portal, crackling with electricity. The air hung heavy with anticipation, no more fighting, struggling to survive, they made it and found their way home. “Let’s do this together.” Coral said, turning back to face her friends. “This is it. Together, we’ve faced dangers none of us could even dream of. If you guys are by my side, there’s nothing we can’t overcome.”

“Compared to some of the things we’ve seen, a purple death vortex is a cakewalk.” Craig proclaimed.

“I’m with you Coral! All the way!” Grace replied

One by one, each of the catalysts, friends stepped forward joining Coral on the catwalk.

“So Varyyn, after we’re through, take the heart and get outta here.” Diego said, his voice breaking with emotion at the thought of having to leave Varyyn behind. “Don’t get caught, okay? I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.”

“You would not be able to know either way.” Varyyn replied.

“—I’d know. Somehow I’d know.” Diego answered, a tear streaking down his cheek.

Varyyn’s lip trembled, seeming to hold back his own tears. He pulled Diego into his arms embracing him, his lips meeting Diego’s one final time. “I will wait for you, Diego.”

“For a million years?”

“For eternity.” Varyyn promised. “Goodbye my friends. It was the greatest honor of my life to know you.”

“Can we please move this along? The radiation cannot be good for our health!” Aleister grumbled, irritated and anxious to return home to Hartfeld and get away from this blasted island of death, away from his father.

“You ready Princess?” Jake asked with his familiar smirk, though Coral could see the nerves he was trying to disguise.

Coral took a step towards Sean, slipping her smaller hand into his larger one. Ready or not here we go. Her heart pounded in her chest hoping they made it through before being detected.

“I know I look like a tough guy, but a moment ago, I was scared witless.” Sean said gazing down at her.

“Really?” Coral questioned gently squeezing Sean’s hand.

“Really. And somehow, the moment your hand touches mine, all of that evaporates.” He replied. “Coral? Let’s go home.”

The twelve of them encircled the portal sphere. “Everybody, together. One—” Coral said, her breath caught in her throat, they nearly made it, they were finally returning home. “two—” She squeezed Sean’s hand. “three.”

They stepped forward into the light simultaneously. They felt their bodies stretch, shrink, dissolve and reconstitute, as they transmitted across dimensions, falling through the quantum foam. They held hands tighter, refusing to let go of one another.

“Whoaaaaaa!” Shouted Raj.

“Yaaaaaaah!” Craig screamed.

“Aaaaaaaah!” Michelle shrieked.

Finally, they felt something solid underfoot. “Do you feel that?” Coral questioned, both excited and afraid to open her eyes. Home, we’re home. It worked, we actually made it.

“I think we landed somewhere.” Zahara answered.

“I still can’t see.” Diego replied.

Coral winced against the blinding light as she opened her eyes.

“We made it! We really made it!” Grace exclaimed excitedly.

Gradually the haze faded. Silence hung heavy in the air despite the sun hanging high in the sky.

They stood in the middle of the roof staring out across the buildings. The sun hung high in the sky marking the middle of the day, yet a silence filled the air.

“What? What happened?” Quinn questioned. What went wrong?

The campus stretched out in front of them, everything quiet as if everyone vanished at once, the stench of death hung in the air. Familiar buildings stretched before them. Bare trees, and cool crisp New England winter air showing how long they’d been gone. It’s winter? It was just summer. The world appearing both familiar and unfamiliar at once. The realization of how much they missed, how long they’d been gone, how much had changed settled around them heavy in the air.

“Dammit, Z! You got the coordinates wrong!” Craig exclaimed in frustration, kicking a stray rock across the roof.

“I didn’t! I wouldn’t make that dumb a mistake!” Zahara denied with the air of indignation at the accusation.

“Then where the hell are we?” Michelle asked, her voice laced with confusion and annoyance.

Coral covered her nose and mouth with her hand, trying to lessen the stench she breathed in as she drew her gaze over the familiar surrounding, eyes squinting in the midday sun. “The gate worked—” Coral said, choking on the sickly sweet smell of rotting flesh. “We’re home.”

They stared out at the campus, the silence of the normally busy square was deafening. Not a living soul in sight, they felt their hearts sink, each thinking the same thing; what happened? Where is everyone? Tension hung heavy around them as they scanned the horizon for some sign of human life or what had caused everyone to abandon the once busy campus they had all called home.

Sean silently watched the stillness, his face creased with pain. “Yea, it’s Hartfeld.” He replied, voice cracking with emotion.

“Nah, man… No way!” Raj replied incredulously.

“Yeah, last I remember there were fucking people! It wasn’t a fucking wasteland that smelled like death.” Craig angrily rebutted.

“I don’t understand. What happened?” Quinn questioned, her usually bubbly personality subdued as she tried to wrap her head around their surroundings.

“Surely this must be the distant future. It must be.” Aleister offered, refusing to believe this was their reality.

Coral slowly spun around, every corner silent, empty and oddly still. What caused this? She couldn’t think of anything that would cause a mass evacuation and leave the stench they were surrounded by.

“What the hell are we supposed to do here?” Michelle questioned the group.

This was all they wanted, to get home—but this wasn’t the home they left, the home they were trying to return to. Could they even return to La Huerta? Would that be the better option than staying?

“We have to look for survivors.” Coral replied, her stomach twisted in knots as she hoped that someone survived, that they could get answers. They can’t all be gone, right?

“Coral’s right. People could be hiding from whatever caused this.” Grace answered gesturing at the empty quad.

“I wouldn’t bet on it.” Jake replied grimly.

“Well sorry if I don’t take your word for it, Jake. Come on!” Sean countered, annoyed at the pilots pessimism.

They carefully descended the building’s creaking fire escape down to street level. Belongings left behind, cars abandoned with doors left wide open. The twelve look around trying to decipher what they were seeing, trying to piece together what could have caused Hartfeld to be seemingly abandoned. What could have been so bad that everyone would simply leave?

“Okay, let's look around. But be careful, okay?” Coral suggested.

The friends carefully maneuvered the desolate street, looking around, looking for clues as to what happened. Stray leaves swirled around them in the breeze fluttering in the wind. Sean suddenly paused, breaking off from Coral, heading down the vacant street.

“Where is he going?” Michelle asked.

Coral shook her head, breaking from the group, following after Sean. She followed him into an abandoned building, mailboxes in the entryway hanging open, everything as eerily quiet as outside. She climbed the staircase up to the second floor, following his path. She paused when she saw him standing in the open doorway, staring into the empty apartment. “Sean? What are we doing here?” She asked stepping closer, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“This is my mom’s place. Was. Was my mom’s place.” Sean replied with a shake of his head. I should have been here for her.

“Oh… Sean.” Coral answered softly.

“After we finally managed to get away from my dad, she wanted to stay close to me. I wanted her close.” Sean said stepping further into the living room looking around sadly. “She got this apartment when I was a freshman. Closest building to Hartfeld stadium.” He walked up to a cracked photo frame, hanging askew on the wall. He picked it up, looking at it sadly. A photograph of a young Sean, beaming after winning a peewee football game stared up at him. Hugging him are a proud mother and father. “I always hated that she kept this photo up. She still loved him after everything. After everything that bastard did to us, she still loved him.” Sean whispered sadly. “At least…she loved the old him. But that man was dead.” Sean slumped down clutching the frame. He blinked, welling tears forced out.

Coral sat next to him, grasping his hand in hers. “I wasn’t here, Coral. I told her I’d always protect her, and I wasn’t here—”

“It’s not your fault, Sean.” Coral replied leaning her head against his shoulder and squeezing his hand.

“That’s all I was ever good at, you know? Taking punishment so someone I care about doesn’t have to.” Sean said sadly. “And for my mom, for the person that mattered most… I couldn’t even do that.” His head dropped in shame. I shouldn’t have left, maybe I could have saved her.

“Sean, we’ll fix this.” Coral replied, voice strong and sure. She had to fix this, for everyone, for Sean. They had no choice but to find out what happened and fix it.

“You say that with such certainty… I don’t know how you do it.” Sean said looking up at her, letting out a laugh. “Only you could make me look at the end of the world and think ‘Yeah, this is fixable.’” He sighed shaking his head. “It seems completely nuts. But I look at you… and I believe it.”

“I believe in us.” Coral replied, standing up, offering Sean her hand. “Come on Heisman. The world needs saving.”

Sean took Coral’s hand following her out to their friends. They stopped in their tracks when they saw Raj falling apart in front of them. Nothing gets to Raj.

Raj paced, his hands thrown up in the air, as he ranted to himself. “This can’t be happening. It can’t be happening. It’s a nightmare. I can’t deal with this. I can’t!”

“Uh, Coral? I think we finally broke Raj.” Zahara stated gesturing to their fun loving friend mid panic.

Coral walked over to Raj. He ran his hands forcefully through his hair, eyes wide and almost wild. Coral wrapped him into her arms. He suddenly stopped moving, freezing as her arms came around him. “I— I—” He stuttered, unable to complete his thought.

“We’re here, Raj. We’re here with you.” Coral stated reassuringly.

“Okay. I’m okay. I’m good now. Thanks, Coral.” Raj replied exhaling. He wrapped his arms around Coral, returning the hug. “You’re a pretty good hugger by the way.”

“You too big guy.” Coral answered, breaking from the hug with a final pat on her friends back.

The twelve turned, heading back to the dorms when Diego froze, squinting his eyes trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

“So. This might sound weird, but—” Diego trailed off, his eyes wide with shock and uncertainty.

They turned, their eyes following Diego’s gaze.

“Is that people?” Jake asked.

“They aren’t people, they’re zombies.” Zahara replied, eyes wide in amazement.

“Zombies? Real live zombies? Cool!” Craig exclaimed.

“Craig, think. Zombies eat people, and we are the only people around.” Zahara replied slugging Craig in the arm as to knock sense into him.

“Oh, yea that’s bad.” Craig replied.

“Run!” Estela shouted.

“Hurry! Back to the rooftop! Go! Hopefully they can’t climb!” Coral declared.

The zombies grew closer, the quiet, the stench, the fact everything was abandoned now making more sense. They sprinted as fast as they could, reaching the fire escape, scrambling up to the roof. Back we have to go back!

“The Gate! It’s gone!” Quinn shrieked her voice high with panic.

“How the hell do we get it back open?!” Zahara demanded.

“I—I don’t know!” Grace replied sullenly.

“Oh no—” Aleister exclaimed, eyes growing wide as their brief head start was coming to an end.

They saw the zombies moving in closer still. The horde seeming to grow the closer they got to the building.

“Varyyn! He must’ve taken the Island’s Heart out of the machine and is on his way back to Elyys’tel!” Diego answered.

“So we’re totally screwed then. Great!” Michelle shouted.

Coral thought back to the times her mind linked with Varyyn. She closed her eyes and searched for him in her consciousness. She searched, pleading, praying he could hear her and feel their desperation. She tried, over and over, squeezing her eyes shut, hoping to finally find him. But she can’t find him, seconds ticked by and all she found was empty space. We must be too far. She slowly opened her eyes, the realization settling in on them one by one, they were stuck. How could we have been safer on an island that tried to kill us than home? She looked around her friends bewildered faces, every face etched with the same fear and worry. How do we get back now? Can we survive long enough to get back? Could whatever had changed be reversed, or was this simply the beginning of the end?

Feedback fuels me, please like, comment reblog or send an ask. Feel free to scream, I promise I can take it. 

Masterlist can be found in my bio.

Tags: @speedyoperarascalparty @liamxs-world @annekebbphotography @syphaxs @hopefulmoonobject @itsstillnotwhatyouthink @riseandshinelittleblossom @cocomaxley @ao719 @blackwidow2721 @katurrade @leelee10898 @stopforamoment @akrenich @cora-nova @gardeningourmet @daniv2278 @bella-ca @gibbles82 @choiceslife @tornbetween2loves @sleepwalkingelite @carabeth @traeumerinwitzhelden @blackcatkita @boneandfur @bobbersb @endlessflame @kadencantarella @innerpostmentality @imma-winchester-addict @strangerofbraidwood @darley1101 @sirbeepsalot @itsalliepg @likethetailofacomet @salt-n-burn-em-all @debramcg1106 @blackcoffee85 @super-secret-fandom-blog

[havingaverydrarryday]

Untitled

Fandom - Harry Potter / Drarry

I am totally open to title suggestions.

Second draft, not beta-ed.

Set right after the Battle at Hogwarts, with Voldemort’s defeat the Death Eaters and their families are arrested and charged accordingly, or so the general population was led to believe.

While under house arrest until her own hearing, Narcissa Malfoy awaits news of what will become of her husband and son and forms a surprising friendship with Auror Potter who has taken it upon himself to see that she is comfortable until her conviction or release.

But when several prisoners inside Azkaban die mysteriously, including one Draco Malfoy, Auror Potter does what he can to find out what happened and discovers far more than he ever expected.

Not epilogue or true timeline compliant.

Untitled by HAVDD

Chapter One

 They came at night.

With the battle still raging behind them Narcissa had taken her son’s hand and led him away, and though she still deeply loved her husband she did not spare a glace behind to see if he was following.

They had gone home, or gone back to what was left of it. The Manor had been abandoned leaving nothing behind of the horrors that had gone on there for so long. Nothing but the blood stains and the sick, sucking feeling of the dark magic that had soaked into the walls.

None of them had felt particularly comfortable coming back to this place, but without actual plans for the future they didn’t really have much of a choice.

They had spent a quiet evening discussing what to do next as they poked at the exquisite meal the house-elves had prepared that none had the appetite for.

Draco had somehow managed to fall asleep some time after midnight but neither Lucius nor Narcissa felt able to sleep.

The couple had been in the sitting room of their suite when the Aurors suddenly broke through their wards as if there were not even there.

They had had no chance to defend or protect themselves, and had been forced from their rooms and into the main hall in nothing but their night clothes and bare feet, not even given the dignity of dressing gowns.

Narcissa and her son clung to each other with all their strength as the Aurors raided the manor searching for anyone else that may be hiding there, or any Dark artifacts that had been left behind by Voldemort or one of his followers.

Lucius had been pulled away from his wife and son immediately, roughly marched to the door just as more Aurors moved in on mother and son, separating them from each other.

“He has the mark,” one Auror announced after pulling up the sleeve of Draco’s navy blue pajama top. “Take him out.” The Auror pointed towards the same door Lucius had been taken through.

“Mother!” Draco’s voice echoed through the hall even after the Auror apperated the youth out of the building.

“No!” Narcissa cried out, not even noticing the hand that tightly squeezed her wrist so that her arm could be examined as well, or the half dozen wands pointed at her.

“She’s clear,” one of the many around her spoke but still the held her back, not allowing her the chance to see her husband or her son as the Aurors had already removed them from the property.

“Narcissa Malfoy, you are being charged with several counts of conspiracy. You will be held here under house arrest without your wand until you go to trial or all charges are dropped.”

“Lucius, Draco?” She begged.

“As both bear the Dark Mark they will be held in Azkaban until their trials, or the marks fade. If the Mark fades proclaiming that they took it under duress, they will return here to await trail as their charges are reevaluated or dropped. If the Mark does not fade they will continue to trial and near certain conviction. Of what happens after that is up to the Wizengamot.”

There was no sympathy in the Auror’s tone as he spoke, and with how rehearsed as he sounded Narcissa was certain she wasn’t the first to lose family this day.

She was escorted to a small sitting room and was allowed to have one of the house elves bring her some tea as she waited for the Aurors to complete their search of the Manor. Then she was told that the Malfoy family assets were being seized for reparations. There was a very real chance that once the family’s house arrest was served they would be homeless.

By the time the sun rose that morning the house was void of life, heavily warded so no one could come  on or leave of the property unless as a Side-a-Long with an authorized Auror.

Only one suite on the main floor was left open to her, every other room also warded and sealed stopping her from entering them. A small kitchen had been provided for her as were some books and basic entertainment by way of radio and handy-crafts. The only Floo that was left active was the one in her suite’s sitting room and it was Narcissa’s only connection to the outside world, connected directly to a Floo in the MoM. It was where her mail and food would be delivered for the foreseeable future.

Though she had pleaded to keep just one house elf for company, that request was also denied her, even when several of their devoted elves volunteered to stay for their mistress. According to the Ministry’s warrant, even the elves were to be held for reparations pending the outcome of the trial.

Weeks passed in near silence with no updates or messages from her husband or son; however she did have a surprising visitor. The first soul she had seen or spoken too since her home was raided.

“Mr. Potter,” she gasped in surprise and ran her hands down the front of her dress to smooth out the wrinkles. She had only been allowed five full changes of clothing, three nightgowns including the one she had been wearing during the raid, a single jumper, her dressing gown and various sets of stockings and undergarments.

She also hadn’t been left with any way to properly clean or tend to the clothing and as a result she had been forced to hand wash them in the small basin in her en suite bath. She didn’t even have any soap to wash them with; she simply rinsed them as best as she could and hung them across the bath tub from a rope she had crocheted with the yarn she had been given.

The Auror in charge of her case has assured her that if she sent a note in the Floo with her needs they would be met, she had yet to see it happen.

“Hello Mrs. Malfoy,” Harry said softly, kindly ignoring the obvious discomfort she had in regards to the neglected state she had found herself in.

“Would you like some tea?” she asked of the man who had appeared unannounced from the Floo in her sitting room. He smiled and sat in the chair she had motioned too and accepted the tea she served him from the simple setting she had be left to use.

He took a small sip of the weak, watered down brew but smiled as if it were the best tea had ever had. Setting the cup down, he cleared his throat and pulled a thick stack of documents from a pocket inside his Auror robes. “Lucius’ trial is tomorrow. Though I’m not assigned to his case I am going to sit in and make sure that he receives a fair one. I’ll admit that I don’t like your husband but I do admire you and I respect your son now that I know that he did what he did as a way to protect you and your husband. If I can, I will do all I can to make sure your family comes home to you as soon as possible.”  

Narcissa didn’t cry, nor did she speak as she was unable due to the tightness in her throat after hearing the sincere declaration from the Harry Potter.

“I…” she tried with difficulty. Taking a shuddering breath she finally managed, “thank you.”

Harry smiled for her again and quickly finished his tea before rising and striding back to the Floo. He pulled a pinch of powder from his pocket but paused before he threw it in. Turning back to her he said, “I’ll come back in the next day or so to let you know how things went.”

Still choked up by his kindness she just nodded and stared at the flames long after he had stepped into them and disappeared.

Less than an hour later a bundle tumbled from the hearth leaving a trail of soot across the carpet. Taking the small parcel to the table she found a small note stuck to the top with a charm, it read-

‘Just to tide you over

Regards

-H’

Inside she found two other wrapped packages. In the smaller one there were two Black Family crest teacup and saucer sets, a packet of Bourbon Creams and two tins of fine tea. In the other, wrapped in a plastic bag from a muggle market she found a small bottle of delicate wear laundry detergent and matching liquid softener with a sweet lavender and French vanilla fragrance.

Rather than be embarrassed that he had notice the state of her clothing she was grateful that his simple kindness had granted her some of the comforts that she had been denied in her seclusion.

Stripping to her slip she took the dress into the bath and let it soak in the sweet smelling water while she made a proper cup of tea with leaves that hadn’t already been used twice before.

**

As promised Harry Potter returned two days later at lunch, bearing the gift of a fresh, hot meal, another packet of biscuits and the information she had desperately been waiting to hear. They ate first and waited until tea had been served before finally getting to the subject at hand.

“The trial had been, as I expected, monumentally prejudiced,” he began, “but myself and others were there to ensure everything proceeded fairly.” He took a deep breath before giving her the news. “Lucius has been sentenced to ten years in Azkaban, with the chance of early release after serving five.”

She sat with her eyes closed for a moment, forcing herself to accept the information then opened them and met the kind green eyes that had been looking on her. “And Draco?” she asked in a hushed tone.

“He is still in holding,” Harry replied. “I wasn’t allowed to see him but I was told that his trial hasn’t been set yet. Apparently they want to process the bigger names first, especially ones that have been known to be loyal from the start. As such there are quite a few that have been marked to go through before they get to him. The good news is there’s a chance he’ll get time served by the time his trail does come up, and even if that doesn’t happen the time he’s spent will be counted towards whatever time he may need to serve. So if he spends six months before his trail and then he’s sentenced to a year, he’ll only have to serve another six months.”

She nodded in understanding and thanked him multiple times for all he had done for her only stopping when she realized she was making him uncomfortable. He once again promised to visit in a few days then was gone in a blaze of green flame and Floo powder.

*

From then on for months Harry came every Sunday at 10:30 in the morning for Brunch and usually stayed until 4:30.

He always brought the meal, news of the outside world, various things her caseworker failed to provide, and something to brighten her days. Usually a bouquet of flowers and something to help pass the time like books and crafts. Especially after learning of her fondness for Muggle word puzzles. She now owned dozens of crossword and word find books. However Narcissa had begun to think that Harry only came to visit her because there was no one else for him to go to.

She knew he had inherited Grimmauld Place from Serius Black after her sister had murdered him, but she didn’t know if he lived there or not. She was fairly certain he didn’t live with his Muggle relatives. Draco had told her rumors he had heard at school stating that the family had wanted nothing to do with him and had only taken him out of fear of retaliation from the wizards what had placed him in their care after the death of his parents.

He had not mentioned if he lived with anyone else so she just assumed he lived alone.

She also knew that he was in a training program to ‘become’ and Auror, even though he already held the official title of one. He had also opted not to return to Hogwarts to complete his N.E.W.T.S. and was doing them at the Ministry Of Magic under the guidance of a tutor as he completed the Auror training.

Five days a week for close to 12 hours a day the young man spent at the MoM in classes and training, and for several hours each Sunday was spent with Narcissa. If there had been other friends or family, then why waste what precious little spare time he had with Narcissa in the dark sad shell of Malfoy Manor?

Was it just pity? She didn’t think so. He genuinely appeared to enjoy her company, and he certainly was the brightest point in what had become her very small world.  

Looking at the kind young man seated across from her and hesitated questioning him for a moment out of a fear that he would stop visiting, but there was a kind of sadness about him that she so very much wanted to ease.

Delicately clearing her throat she brought his focus from his plate to her face.

“Harry, I’ve wanted to ask you something for a while now, but I’m not sure where to begin.”

“You’re welcome to ask me anything Mrs. Malfoy, even if it’s something personal. I promise to answer as best as I can.”  She could tell he was being completely honest.

“Why do you come to visit me?” she more of less blurted out the question and he looked surprised. It only took an instant to realize it was the question she has asked and not the way she had asked it that had surprised him.

“Because you’re alone right now and in a way so am I,” he replied and it was her turn to wear a look of surprise and he smiled for her.

“I don’t understand,” she said in a confused tone, surely he had many friends falling over themselves to be around him.

“I don’t really have much in the way of family,” He began. “I lived with Muggle relatives growing up but they we don’t get on and parted ways when I came of age.”

“But surely you had friends in school.”

“I did, Ron and Hermione. I was also quite close to most of Ron’s family but things are strained right now.  Fred, one of Ron’s brothers died during the battle at Hogwarts and his parents Molly and Arthur, and Fred’s twin George were crushed. Molly is taking it harder than most because she’s pretty much alone now. All her other kids have moved out except her daughter Ginny. She and I dated for a bit but I broke it off, and now both Ginny and Ron are angry with me. I guess they expected me to marry her though I had never planned on it, and now they know that I’m not…” he trailed off with a shrug. “It makes things hard, I’d like to visit with Molly but with Ginny there all the time and looking at me like I were dog dirt on her shoe, I just can’t. And with Ron and Hermione getting married, Hermione is siding with Ron at the moment. I don’t even know if I’ll be invited to the wedding.”

Narcissa gave him a look of sympathy. It was obvious these ‘friends’ saw him as more of a celebrity than an actual person with feelings.

“Oh, dear, I’m so sorry.”

Harry smiled for her. “There’s nothing for you to be sorry for. I just hope that everything we’ve been though will count for something and they can move past their disappointment with me.”

“But they should even be disappointed with you,” Narcissa insisted. “It’s obvious you care about them but if you are not in love with the girl then breaking it off was best thing to do.”

Harry’s smile turned a little watery and Narcissa rose and gave him a hug. Harry wrapped his arms and her slim waist and sighed, soaking in the gentle contact of another human that had no ulterior motive for touching him.

“I’ll always be here for you if you need to talk,” she assured him, “unless I end up in Azkaban.”

“You won’t,” he assured her. “Like Draco I’m certain that by the time they get to you, you’ll be released with time served. You might get probation but I seriously doubt you’ll see the inside of a cell.”

She smiled as she returned to her seat, and then took a sip of tea. “Who do you supposed will be tried first, me or Draco?”

Harry thought it over for several minutes before replying, “Draco most likely. Azkaban is horribly over crowded right now and they’ll want free up space as quickly as they can. You and the others under house arrest aren’t using any cells so you can wait longer.”

She nodded. That did make perfect sense; she only hoped they would move things along a little faster so her son could come home. That reminded her, “Mr. Potter. Do you think you could arrange for someone to check on Draco for me? I know the Mark had been forced on him, it should be long faded by now.”

That was true; all forced Marks had faded away just days after Voldemort died. But if Draco was still being held then his mark hadn’t faded, meaning he had taken it willingly. He almost didn’t want to grant her request and tell her he was still marked, but it had been nearly eight months now and neither of them had heard a word about him or how he was fairing.

“Tomorrow I’ll see what I can do,” he promised her. “His trial should surely be coming up soon.”

*

Late the next evening Narcissa sat at her table circling the words in one of her word find books when a package suddenly fell from the flames, landing a few feet from where she sat. It wasn’t uncommon for packages from Harry to arrive throughout the week but one had never arrived so late before.

The only reason she was even up was because she had been unable to sleep.

Setting her book aside she went over to collect the package. There was a parchment attached to the brown paper wrapped parcel the bore an official ministry seal. It came away easily and she set the box down and took a seat before breaking the seal and reading the letter.

Harry found her some seven hours later still seated at the table, the letter lying before her.

He had received a message from a colleague in the Auror’s department when he was having his morning tea; all it had told him was to get to Narcissa. They had known Harry was friends with her and apparently she had received some bad news the night before. Though they hadn’t specified what kind of news, Harry and trusted them enough to go right away.  

“Mrs. Malfoy,” He whispered taking in her ashen face and vacant expression. He crouched so he was in her line of sight, but she seemed to see right through him. His gaze fell to the letter and his heart sank to his feet.

~Dear Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy

It is with my deepest regret that I must inform you that your son Draco L. Malfoy has succumbed to an illness of the lungs on January the 14th. As this illness was highly contagious and had claimed the lives of several other inmates prior to Mr. Malfoy, we have opted to cremate the remains to prevent its spread.

The ashes have been returned to you, and are in the package that was included with this letter.

As your son died before his trial we are dismissing the case. All charges against him have been dropped and anything of monetary value belonging to him that have been seized for reparations shall be released to you.

My most sincere condolences

Killian Bloom, Warden ~

Harry had seen the small package in the floor and felt sick at the thought of that tiny parcel containing all that remained of one of his dearest friend’s son. The same young man that had risked his own life with a lie that kept Harry alive.

He swallowed painfully and dropped to his knees to pull the ice cold, unmoving woman into his arms. Almost immediately she began trembling, then the most heart wrenching sobs spilled from her as she collapsed against him.

They ended up sitting on the floor together as Harry rocked the devastated woman he held in his arms. It was Molly all over again, how she had been when she had gotten home and it had finally came crashing down upon her, but unlike Molly Narcissa had no one to comfort her. No husband or other children to cling to, no one except Harry.

He stayed with her all day and held her as she dozed fitfully with her head on his shoulder. As evening descended he managed to get her to eat a few bites and drink a cup of tea and some Dreamless Sleep before tucking her into her bed. He stayed another hour or so, just to be sure she was sound asleep before taking the letter and Draco’s remains and Flooing to the MoM.

“Mr. Potter?” A witch called out to him in surprise. It was after hours and most everyone had known that he hadn’t come in or called today.

Harry ignored her as he stalked angrily through the halls to Kingsley Shacklebolt’s office. Shacklebolt’s secretary didn’t even attempt to stop him as he walked through the open office door without even knocking.

“Harry?”  Shacklebolt said in surprise. He was already wearing his outer robes and holding a thick sheaf of parchments.

Harry set the box he held firmly on Shacklebolt’s desk and the other man eyed it, raising an eyebrow in quest. “That’s this?”

“This is Draco Malfoy,” Harry said before holding out the letter for Shacklebolt to read.

The man set down his parchments and took the letter, then sank slowly into his chair as he read it.

“How is she?” he asked softly.

“She’s just as you would expect a mother to be after getting a letter telling her that her only child is dead, and having no one around to comfort her.”

“It says he did yesterday, when did she get it?”

“Sometime between supper and this morning,” He replied taking the seat across from Shacklebolt. “She wasn’t speaking so I don’t know for certain.”

“I was aware that a few inmates had died recently but I didn’t know about young Malfoy,” Shacklebolt sighed.

“I want her out of there,” Harry told him. “I don’t care what you do or how you do it but I want the charges dropped and some of her money released.”

“That’s going to take some time,” Shacklebolt warned him, “At least a few weeks, but I can authorize a temporary release to your custody until everything is cleared, effective immediately.”

Harry closed his eyes and sighed tiredly.

“Harry, I want you to take a few days off and see to your friend. I’ll start getting her charges dropped first thing in the morning and I’ll also look into seeing that she gets a visit with her husband.”

“Thank you,” Harry replied sincerely and Shacklebolt gave him a wan smile.

“I truly am sorry it happened this way,” Shacklebolt told him. “Someone should have told her gently in person and not like this,” he handed the letter back with a sad shake of the head. “Not like this.”

Draco Malfoy may have been a Death Eater but he was also someone’s son, a young man barely of age who spent 8 months in prison without even being formally charged, then had died of a deadly illness and was cremated and dumped out of a Floo onto his mother’s floor like a piece of garbage. It made him sick.

Harry carefully folded the letter then picked up the small package from Kingsley’s desk.

He made a few stops before Flooing home, the first was at a small shop where he bought nicer container for Draco’s remains, and the other was a furniture store where he picked out a few things for Narcissa. When he arrived home he set the urn and the box on his mantle before stopping to hang his jacket. He then climbed the stairs, shopping bag in hand, to the second floor of the small three bedroom house he had bought with some of the money left to him when Sirius died.

The unused bedrooms were completely empty because no one had wanted to visit or stay overnight since he moved in, so he had seen no need to furnish them before. He performed a cleaning charm to remove the dust from the cream colored carpet before opening the bag and setting out the tiny items it held. A quick counter spell and the miniature bedroom set grew to full size. After a few adjustments in the placement he took out the remaining items and set them on the bed and returned them to their proper size as well.

Hanging the new jade colored curtains had been a pain as the spell meant to make them fit any window hadn’t been very clear. Though they now covered the window completely, they still hung a bit crooked as the bottom edge wouldn’t charm straight, but it was hardly noticeable when they were open to let in the light. The soft sheers had been a little more cooperative as were the Any-Size sheets.

He stood back looking around to see if there was anything else the room needed. The queen size bed was in a warm honey colored wood as were the matching bed side tables, dresser, and wardrobe. The bedding was in soft shades of green and went well with the cream carpet. The lamps had matching stained glass shades with a dragonfly pattern, and deep emerald bases.

There really wasn’t more he could do to the room and decided to let Narcissa make any changes she chose when she arrived. He then collected the new towels and bath things he had bought, as he really had only had one towel, and carried them to the upstairs bath and put them in the cupboard behind the door.

A quick Tempus charm told him that it was nearly 10 at night and that he had left Narcissa alone for over four hours. He quickly hurried back down the stairs, throwing the shopping bag in the trash on his way. Not bothering with his coat he grabbed a pinch of Floo powder and threw it in the flame, “Ministry of Magic.”

He stepped out of the After Hours Floo only to step right back in, tossing another pinch as he went, “Malfoy Manor.”

Narcissa was exactly where he had left her only she was awake now, her eyes staring ahead at nothing. She hadn’t been left with much when sent into confinement so it only took Harry a few moments to gather all her things, spelling them so they fit into a single small bag.

“Come,” he urged her, getting her up on her feet and guiding her to the Floo. He threw in a pinch and they were on their way.

A few minutes later Harry was leading her up to the room he had prepared for her.

“I got Kingsley Shacklebolt to release you to my custody,” he told her gently after she had taken a seat on the bench at the foot of her bed. “You’re still technically under house arrest but for now you’ll be serving it here in my home. The wards are the same and you will still be without a wand until he gets the charges dropped.” He wanted to tell her they were trying to get her a visitation with Lucius, but in the chance that that fell through, he didn’t want to get her hopes up.

She glanced around the room with empty eyes.

“The bathroom is the next door to the right,” he told her with a motion to the door leading back out to the hall. “The wards and restrictions for leaving the property are the same her as they were at the Manor but you have free reign of the whole house and the garden.”

She didn’t show much interest and Harry sighed.

“Shacklebolt will also be working to return some of your property to you as soon as the charges are dropped but tomorrow I’m going to see if he can get one of your house-elves back to you now so there’s someone to care for you while I’m at work or in classes. Is there one in particular you would like me to ask for?”

She was quiet for so long that he had begun to think she wasn’t going to answer, so when the softly uttered “Tippy” what whispered he nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Tippy,” he repeated. “I’ll make sure Shacklebolt knows. Most of the elves have been sent to Hogwarts until they are sold or returned so it shouldn’t be too difficult to get Tippy back to you.”

“Harry,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

“We’re family now, there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you,” he backed out of the room, gently closing the door behind him.

*

He had sent the request for Tippy with his owl Agnes that night and before morning tea he received a reply. Narcissa was to be granted a small sum of money and one house-elf to tide her over until her case could be reviewed before Wizengamot in an emergency hearing scheduled in two weeks time. The outcome of this hearing will decide if the charges are dropped or if she will go on probation. Either way she would no longer be held to the restrictions of house arrest. Afterwards Draco’s financial holdings will be released to her and they will also decide how much of her estate will be returned. Should she go on probation Shacklebolt assured Harry that he would be given the assignment of being her probation Auror. After the hearing in two weeks she would be allowed to see Lucius with Auror escort to Azkaban.

Harry set the letter down and gave Agnes a treat before going to the lounge to make a call.

“Mr. Potter,” McGonagall’s voice sounded pleased she saw who her caller was. “What can I do for you?”

“Sorry to call so early Headmistress, but Shacklebolt told me that the Malfoy house-elves are there at Hogwarts.”

“Yes, that is true.”

“Mrs. Malfoy had been allowed to have one house-elf returned to her, she has specifically asked for Tippy.”

“I’ll see that she is returned to the Manor immediately,”

“Mrs. Malfoy isn’t at the Manor, she’s at my home.” Harry looked away for a moment. “Draco died of an illness while in custody at Azkaban. The warden was less than kind when he informed her and she’s devastated. She’s still under house arrest but Shacklebolt has allowed her to continue it in my house so she won’t be alone, the elf is so she’ll have someone to care for her when I’m at work.”

“Please give her my condolences and if you’ll allow me, I would like to come by for a visit this weekend.”

“You’re always welcome here,” he assured her. A short while later the call ended and a muted ‘pop’ announced the arrival of an absolutely tiny and surprisingly cute house-elf dressed in what looked like two pink handkerchiefs knotted at the shoulders and belted with a tattered blue ribbon. Her ears were huge and pale and her eyes were green.

“Tippy?” he asked and the tiny thing nodded vigorously.

“Yes Mr. Harry Potter.”

“You’re mistress upstairs, second door on the right,” he told her, then asked, “did the Headmistress tell you what has happened?”

Tippy��s eyes filled with tears, “Master Draco?”

Harry nodded.

“Poor Mistress Sissy,” Tippy said tugging her ears, “Poor, poor Mistress. Tippy go to Mistress now.”

“Yes, go on.”

With a pop the tiny elf vanished.

 Tbc...

[the-lupine-sojourner]

Takara’s Hero Academia, Season 1, episode 11-12 [Eijiro Kirishima/OC] [Female!Aizawa/Hizashi]

I got mostly through episode 11 last time, so I guess I’ll label this one 11-12 because that’s what this chapter covers. *shrugs* anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter! 

Also, how crazy is it that we’re almost all the way through the first season already? I can’t believe it! I love this series so much and can’t wait to share more if with you! 

Taglist: @elite-guard-hardygal, @dailyojiromashirao/@souskena, and @fandoms-fandoms-everywhere99. I hope you guys all like this chapter! 

Masterlist for this series so far: Here is the link. 

God Bless and Good Day!

~The Lupine Sojourner

“Takara!” Mom screeches, panicked, and I can’t warn her before I’m grabbed and used as a human battering ram, slamming into Mom with another scream, then the thing gets a better grip on my ribs (which I’m sure are broken) and it lets out a screech of its own before hurling me away, right into the rim of the fountain.

Yeah, those ribs were definitely broken. I can’t move!

I lay there, pain and terror paralyzing me as Mom tries to fight the huge guy, but she can’t move quick enough to dodge a swing and she’s sent flying. Before mom even hit the ground, the villain slammed her into the ground and her broken goggles go flying, blood spraying everywhere.

“Nnoo!” I scream, pain ripping into me as I tried to move, to do anything as Mom’s blood caked random bits of her hair together and trickling down her face.

“What do you think of him, Eraserhead?” The hand-villain chuckles gleefully. “He’s the bio-engineered Anti-Symbol of Peace, but you can call him ‘Nomu’.” I try to move, but can’t! I sob in frustration and pain as Mom’s arm is twisted unnaturally. Her scream sends chills down my spine. Despite being nauseous from pain and on the verge of passing out, I weakly try to move the water to help, but it merely splashes around a little, and I have to stop when spots dance in my vision. 

If I pass out now, I won’t be able to do anything at all! I have to help Mom somehow! But...how?!

“You can erase people’s powers. That’s irritating, but nothing impressive.” The hand-villain points out. I glare at him, but can’t do anything more. “When faced with true devastating power, you may as well be a Quirkless child, like your brat over there.” He laughs. I make myself move, slowly, each moment sheer agony, but it’s worth it when I finally sit braced against the fountain, and can see better. The better I can see, the more information I have to plan whatever it is I might be able to do. I see Mom glaring at the guy, shaking in terror and pain, but defiant.

“Y-you won’t lay a finger on her!” Mom growls, then turns her head to use her Quirk on the thing pinning her to try to get out from under it, but it simply smashes her other arm against the ground, and I hear her scream again.

“You’re not in much of a position to do anything about it, are you?” The hand-guy taunts, cackling and my heart skips fearfully. “If I wanted, I could disintegrate her right here and now, but I think I’ll let her watch her dear mother’s demise first.” Mom tries to move, to do something, but Nomu grabs her head, yanking it up before slamming it against the ground. Blood gushes out, making a pool around Mom’s head. I can only watch! I’m useless! Tears stream down my face in frustration and terror as my mother is subjected to torture. Her blood puddle grows and I can only watch. I then glance over at the water and spot Izuku, Su, and the ball-headed creep shaking in as much terror as I felt. Izuku glances between Mom and I, tears in his eyes.

I wonder what they’re doing here, what their plan was before Nomu attacked us. They’d seen everything that just happened, right?

Then, as if the situation needed to get worse, the warp-villain appears, right by the hand-villain’s side. “Tomura Shigaraki.” He says. I raise a brow. Was that the hand-villain’s name? Was he seriously that dumb? It’s nothing much, but if we know this hand villain’s name, we can ensure he pays dearly for this attack.

“Kurogiri.” Tomura replies, turning his head a little. “Did you manage to kill 13?” he asks in the same tone one uses when asking about the weather. Kurogiri seems to nod.

“The Rescue Hero is out of commission.” He reports. I pale. What?! No! “But,” He continues, “there were students I wasn’t able to disperse and one of them got outside of the facility.” I can’t help a grin. Whoever got outside, I owe you a huge debt of thanks! We just had to hold out til the heroes get here! We were gonna live...as long as we don’t incur more injuries. Tomura groans and growls, scratching at his neck in agitation. I frown. What the frick? Why would he do that?

“Kurogiri, you fool!” He growls, scratching furiously with both hands. “If you weren’t our warpgate, I’d tear apart every last atom of your body!” I blink. How do these people follow this childish villain’s lead? He’s throwing a tantrum right now! Tomura suddenly stops scratching. “There’s no way we can win if dozens of pros show up to stop us.” Tomura grumbles, turning to Kurogiri, “It’s Game Over; back to the title screen. And I was so looking forward to finishing this today. Damnit!” He all but whines. What is this guy’s deal?! “Let’s go home.” He instructs. I can’t help but feel relief flood me. We’d survived! They were leaving! Tomura then chuckles, sending a chill down my spine that froze the relief solid in my veins. “Oh, but before we leave, why don’t we make sure the Symbol of Peace is broken? Let’s wreck his pride!” With that, he tears toward the water, aiming right for Su’s face!

“Nooo!” I scream, trying desperately to make a simple wall between Su and Tomura, but I’m too late!

“Let’s make this hurt!” Tomura roars, but as the hand connects, nothing happens. A few seconds pass and I realize what happened, a sob making my ribs flare as I watch Mom’s eyes; they’re red, bloodshot, and I can see the same terror and desperation I felt in them. She was doing the only thing she can; cancelling Tomura’s Quirk to make sure Su wasn’t disintegrated.

“You really are so cool, Eraserhead.” Tomura admits, chuckling evilly. “But you can’t keep it up forever.” He points out, then lets go of Su, spinning on his heel and running toward me as Mom’s head is yanked up and smashed down again. I can’t do anything, but then Izuku leaps out of the water and moves at lightning speed to intervene.

“Get away from her! Now!” Izuku screams, arm glowing.

“Izuku, no!” I scream, despite the pain it causes, but he unleashes a smash that presses me into the fountain with it’s force. One thing I notice, as the dust settles, it that Izuku’s arm is fine. Another thing is that I’ve been blown almost onto my side, barely against the fountain anymore, and Nomu was standing on my already broken leg as he took the force of Izuku’s smash and remained standing.

I feel grateful that thing’s no longer hurting Mom, but am also extremely worried for Izuku. On top of all that, I bite my lip to keep from screaming in pain as Tomura turns back to look over his shoulder at Izuku.

“That smash of yours...it’s pretty powerful.” Tomura notes and I pale. “Are you one of All Might’s disciples?” My heart clenches in fear for Izuku. Not good, not good!

“Izuku, run!” I snap.

“Now, now.” Tomura replies as if to a disobedient child, waving a finger at me. “It was a simple question. But, I suppose, the answer doesn’t matter. I’m done with you.” He growls as Nomu grabs Izuku’s arm and hoists him up.

“Izuku!” I scream.

“Now...where were we?” Tomura chuckles evilly, hand reaching for my face again. I force myself to lie down, to buy some time, but it’s no good. He just keeps reaching out, laughing as he does.

His hand nears my leg.

Su’s tongue leaps out to try to grab Izuku, encircling his waist.

My heart pounds in my ears as I try to move, my other leg still trapped beneath Nomu’s massive foot.

Nomu’s hand descends on Izuku, who squeezes his eyes shut and braces for the pain to come.

All this happens in an instant, but just as all these things culminated, the door bursts open and a cloud of dust bursts from the doorway. I freeze.

What now?!

I hear heavy footsteps and then, at the base of the stairs a moment later, All Might appears, face contorted and twisted in rage as he tosses his jacket aside and tears off his tie in preparation to join the fight. “Have no fear, students! I am here!” He roars, a grave warning to the villains and a beacon of hope for us students and teachers.

Tomura tilts his head to look up at my uncle-figure. “Ah. Looks like our game’s getting a ‘Continue’.” He muses cockily. I glare at him.

“It’ll still end in Game Over for you.” I growl.

“I got the feeling something had gone wrong when 13 and Aizawa didn’t return my calls.” Toshin-Oji growls, still stalking forward, before Tomura could reply. “So I hurried over, running into young Iida along the way.” So, it was Tenya who escaped. Nice! He was the best choice, being the fastest of us. “He told me of the villainy at work here.” Toshin-Oji continues, voice dead serious and pissed off.

“He’s here...All Might…” Izuku whimpers, and the look on his face reminds me of something 13 did earlier; she held up 3 fingers when Mom asked why All Might wasn’t here, so I doubt Toshin-Oji has much time left at all as All Might. But he knew that...and came, anyway. “And he’s not smiling.” I grin smugly at Tomura.

“After all this waiting, the Heroic Piece of Trash shows up.” Tomura says, almost in a giggle. Did he seriously think he could win against All Might?! Time limit or not, All Might will win...Right?

“You guys are so screwed now!” I exclaim with bravado I don’t exactly feel, almost laughing despite how bad everything hurt. My smirk doesn’t falter, though I slightly regret my words. If not for All Might charging down the stairs and through the few villains that had gotten up after mom and I’s beating, Tomura might have replied or disintegrated me. As it was, he was distracted.

In seconds, the villains in Toshin-Oji’s way were down and Toshin-Oji had Mom in his arms, holding her carefully with a somber look in his eyes. He subtly flinches when he takes in Mom’s condition.

“I’m sorry, Yamada.” he mumbles, barely audible. “I should have been here.” I look away in shame. I hadn’t done anything and I was right there! I might have been able to do something if I tried harder! Tears fill my eyes but I blink them back. This was no time for an emotional breakdown, even if I want to cry from just the physical pain. All Might then turns around and his eyes snap wide in outrage when he sees me. Suddenly, I’m yanked out off the floor as All Might shoves Nomu aside just enough to get my leg out from under him, and then I’m laying next to Mom, Izuku, Su, and Purple Hair. The pain is worse now I’d been moved without warning, and I bite my lip to keep from screaming.

Mom was so much worse up close! Her face is one giant bloodstain, her hair soaked with it and her arms were limp, resting in unnatural angles.

“Help these two back to the entrance.” Toshin-Oji orders the group still standing. “They don’t have much time.” His tone was sharp, accepting no argument and I brace against the coming pain of being moved, but Izuku simply stands there as Su and Mineta pick Mom up as gently as they could.

“You saved us, All Might.” He says. Before Toshin-Oji replies, Tomura starts whining again.

“No, no, no! It wasn’t supposed to go this way!” He growls. I turn to look at him, wondering what the hell he was up to now. I notice that the hand that had been on his face was on the ground, but Tomura made sure we still couldn’t see his face, covering it or leaning over to grab the hand while his hair kept the mystery of his face a secret. “He’s still fast, Father.” He muses, picking the hand up. I frown. Father?! What?! “Somehow, he managed to hit me!” I blink. Is he serious? What is this guy’s deal?! He seems calmer once he puts the hand back on. “Of course a government hero relies on violence. I was prepared, but I couldn’t even see him when he moved.” It’s clear he probably doesn’t even know he’s talking out loud by now, but his words and the childlike pouting vibe he gives off are very unsettling. “But, he’s not as fast as I thought he would be, not as fast as he used to be.” My heart skips. Shit! He’s figuring it out! “I guess it’s true after all!” He exclaims, chuckling. “All Might really is getting weaker.” Izuku helps me up and I try not to scream as he adjusted me so my head was on his shoulder and my legs barely scrape the floor. This would hurt like hell, but we needed to move. Izuku bites his lip.

“All Might, you can’t!” He suddenly exclaims. “That brain guy took One- -” He stops short, remembering present company, “uh, I smashed him and it didn’t do anything.” He explains in a rush, hoping he’d avoided later questions about what he’d said. “He’s too strong!” It seemed the cover-up worked as All Might turns to look at Izuku confidently.

“Young Midoriya!” Toshin-Oji barks, throwing a peace sign at him. “I got this.” I look at him worriedly.

“Izuku’s serious. Be careful.” I mumble as Izuku turns us around, beginning to walk toward the stairs I was not looking forward to ascending. The ground trembles and I see another dust and debris cloud in my peripheral vision. Mineta scoffs.

“Are you guys seeing this?!” He asks rhetorically. “That suplex looks like an explosion! All Might’s on another level!” I bite my lip against the pain and in worry.

“Yeah, but so is that Nomu thing.” I mumble. Izuku pats my forearm.

“All Might knows what he’s doing.” He says, and I can’t wondering if it was false confidence.

“And yet he still has to look at his notes when he’s teaching us.” Su muses wryly. I can’t shake the sinking feeling in my stomach, however. Something told me it wouldn’t be an easy victory at all.

“Get that guy!” Mineta calls over his shoulder. “Punch him right in the balls!” I roll my eyes.

“I’m sure anywhere would work.” I grumble. Su looks over her shoulder.

“I guess we were worried about these villains for nothing!” She cheers. “All Might’s unstoppable!” Izuku and I share a look, but don’t say anything. We couldn’t without giving away the secret Toshin-Oji entrusted with.

We knew he didn’t have much time.

“Oh, come on!” We hear All Might groan, voice strained. “What kind of cheap move is that?!” We turn and see that Kurogiri has opened a warpgate in such a way that Nomu was able to grip Toshin-Oji’s ribs, squeezing til blood seeped into the white shirt All Might wore. I swallow. That was his bad side! No, no, no!

“Nice!” Tomura taunts. “You were trying to bury him in the concrete so he couldn’t move around anymore? Well, sorry; that won’t work.” I bite my lip. I wanted to help, but...how?

...Truth is, in my condition, I couldn’t even splash Nomu, let alone fight him. I could only watch and pray my uncle makes it out alive.

“Nomu’s as strong as you are!” Tomura boasts cockily. “That won’t stop him.” He then chuckles, turning a little to Kurogiri, who was watching silently, looking apathetic to everything happening. “Nice work, Kurogiri.” he praises, reversing what he’d said earlier about wanting to disintegrate Kurogiri. “We’ve got him just where we want him now.” I reluctantly look away.

“Izuku, we should go.” I mumble, but Izuku, Su, and Creeper don’t move. Su shakes herself a second later.

“Takara’s right. We gotta- -”

“If this is your best, you picked the wrong place to attack!” All Might roars, trying to pry Nomu’s hand from his weak spot to no avail. “You should just give up now!” Tomura scratches idly at his neck.

“Kurogiri?” He asks. I don’t like this! Not one bit!

“Normally, I wouldn’t want blood and viscera flooding the inside of my warpgates, but I’ll make an exception for a hero as great as you.” Kurogiri replies. My heart skips in fear. “Since you’re too fast to see with the human eye, Nomu had to restrain you. Once he gets your body halfway through, I’ll squeeze the gate shut!” I shake in terror for my uncle as Nomu begins to get Toshin-Oji into position. No, no, no!

“Asui?” Izuku asks desperately.

“Yeah? What is it, Midoriya?” She replies, not saying anything about his use of her first name.

“I need you two to watch Takara.” He says, gently laying me down. I know precisely what he wants to do.

“Don’t!” I bark. “You can’t!”

“What?” Su asks. “What are you planning, Midoriya?” He doesn’t answer, walking away a few steps before running, desperate tears in his eyes.

“Are you crazy?!” Mineta screams.

“Come back!” I scream, but Izuku doesn’t, leaping out to attack.

“I’m coming!” He roars and I can see Toshin-Oji pale. But then, even as the warpgate opens, even I’m trying to scream out a warning I know is too late, I see a blurry figure flying through the air then see a massive explosion. My eyes snap wide as I hear Katsuki.

“Get the hell outta my way, Deku!” He roars, grabbing the neck armor and slamming it into the ground. I grin in relief. Once again, it appeared that things were turning around. As Katsuki was taking care of Kurogiri, ice suddenly streams like water toward the warpgate, going up half Nomu’s body.

“One of your poorly trained thugs told me you’re here because you think you can kill All Might.” Shoto’s voice calls and I see him standing a little ways away. I grin. Now All Might can get out of Nomu’s grip and kick ass! All Might does manage to get free, flipping up and onto the ground, groaning a little, hand over his bleeding wound. Then, in one final twist of circumstance, Eijiro came barreling out of nowhere, roaring angrily as he leapt at Tomura. He misses, landing and leaping back immediately, arms up, lip out in a pout.

“Damn, that was gonna- -Takara!” He notices me and I am suddenly faced with those rock-hard abs and a pair of worried ruby eyes. “What happened?!” I have to bite my tongue to keep from screaming as I’m picked up as gently as Eiji could.

“N-nomu…” I groan, trying to breath through the pain as I gesture weakly to the giant thing still holding Toshin-Oji in the warpgate while half-frozen. Eijiro’s eyes narrowed.

“Shit! We gotta get you outta here.” He says, reluctantly moving away from the battle behind us, carrying me bridal-style. If I weren’t in so much pain, I’d be a blushing mess right now. Eijiro’s hands are clenched into fists, one against my shoulder, the other against the back of my knees as he walks as quickly as he can to the stairs. “I’m sorry, Takara.” He mumbles, slightly out of breath. I frown at him.

“What for?” I ask. What could he possibly be apologizing for?

“For not keeping a good grip on you when we were warped away. If I had…”

“If you were there, you might have ended up in my condition, too. I’ll be okay when I get to Recovery Girl.” I reply gently, trying not to let my pain filter into my voice, but it was hard when every step Eijiro took meant agony for me. He then notices who Su and Mineta are carrying.

“Crap!” He hisses. “Damn, they really messed Sensei up! Did the thing that got you do that?” I nod, tearing up.

“Yeah.” I reply, eyeing her. She was unconscious, but at least she was alive! And once recovery Girl uses her Quirk on her, Mom will be fine, right? I then hear Ochaco calling us from the top of the stairs. I look up and see her and Rikido waving.

“Can you come help? She weighs a lot and she’s bleeding all over the place!” Mineta calls back.

“Mineta!” I bark, uncaring that my ribs hated me talking that loud.

“Sorry, but they needed to know he’s hurt!”

“You didn’t have to put it like that.” Eijiro points out. Now, we’re practically at the base of the stairs and Eijiro refuses to let anyone take over carrying me, even Shoji, who ends up carrying Mom. He was a lot quicker than Eijiro, but we made our way up slow and sure, and I was desperately trying not to cry as my ribs were almost constantly jostled. At the same time, I looked behind to see Toshin-Oji squaring off against Nomu and my heart plummets. He was pushing his limits as is! How would he possibly be able to stop that thing?! I bite my lip. Nothing really I can do about it, since I got the shit kicked outta me.

This sucks! I can’t do anything! I can’t even walk up the stairs!

Nomu’ having straightened up out of the warpgate, broke the ice, resulting in him losing it’s arm and leg.

I almost think that means victory (how could it not, when Nomu was so messed up?), but then the thing regrows the limbs right away! I pale. This Nomu thing is insane!

Then, even as I notice Nomu moving toward Katsuki, I open my mouth, but Toshin-Oji zips forward and all I see is dust and feel the ground rattle with the two powerhouses’ force. Eijiro stumbles as wind rips up the stairs and I can’t contain a sharp hiss as he adjusts me and his stance.

“Sorry!” He exclaims, worried.

“It’s okay. We just gotta keep moving.” I mumble back, resuming watching the fight. Katsuki is now beside Shoto and Izuku, confused. Everyone then realizes that Katsuki has moved and look around. I see Toshin-Oji, still braced for impact, having broken the nearby wall. The three students get into a fighting stance, but All Might moves in front of them and puts his hand out to stall them. They seem to protest, but stay put. All Might leaps forward, just as Tomura races toward my friends. 

Then, as Nomu and All Might collide, there comes another huge burst of wind and dust and Eijiro braces against it. He then sits down, positioning us so we can watch without being blown against the stairs. I lean against him gratefully and look down and see All Might and Nomu, arms blurry with the speed of their punches, hammering each other as hard as they can.

Slowly, All Might gets the upper hand, forcing Nomu to back up under the constant barrage of hits. The fight ranges all across the middle area, the ground shaking and cracking beneath the force. All Might and Nomu go all out against each other, but Toshin-Oji has the upper hand, tossing Nomu into the air, smashing him down, then gearing up for a massive hit. I brace for it, and am not at all shocked when the ground feels ready to split entirely open as Nomu goes flying, crashing through the roof and into the sky.

“Whoa! That was like the finishing move in a video game!” Eijiro cheers, thinking everything was okay, and in part it was. It was finally over! We’d won! But…

At what cost? Toshin-Oji’s probably not in great condition. He’d used so much of his power, and Nomu was so strong...I can’t help but wonder if Toshin-Oji’s okay…

“I’ve never seen that kind of brute strength!” Eijiro adds, relieved and awestruck.

“Yeah…” I mumble, smiling a little. Now, we just had to stall until the rest of the heroes show up. All Might was already on his way, but...when would the others get here? Wait...Dad...he’ll be furious with himself for not being here…

Oh, dear God! He’ll feel so bad when he sees Mom and I! Crap!

In an effort to distract myself, I look back down and see All Might still standing there, the remains of the dust cloud surrounding them, facing Tomura, who was scratching his neck again in extreme agitation. Tomur and Kurogiri confer, then I notice that the villains are starting to get back up!

No, no, no, no! “Crap!” Eijiro curses, flinching as if to stand, then relaxing and biting his lip.

“...I’d understand if you go back down.” I mumble. “I can wait for the other teachers to arrive.” Eijiro shakes his head, jaw tightening, slowly adjusting me back to a bridal carry.

“N-no. The important thing is to get you away and to safety. I’d only get in the way down there.” His voice is thick and he doesn’t look at me as he moves me as gently as he can. We were about halfway to three quarters up the stairs. I grit my teeth and try to breathe normally as Eijiro rises to his feet. “I gotta get you up there.” We begin climbing again, neither speaking. I look over Eijiro’s shoulder and pale when I see Tomura and Kurogiri rushing Toshin-Oji!

Even worse, Izuku’s leapt out to join in, his legs flopping uselessly as he hurdles toward Kurogiri, who opens a warpgate so Tomura can grab Izuku.

Before I could warn Izuku, however, a shot suddenly rings out and Tomura reels back, blood pouring from a hole in his hand. Despite the ringing in my ears, and the pain from my flinching, I look up and see one of the teachers, Snipe (I think), holding his gun at the top of the stairs. Snipe turns and I grit my teeth as two more shots ring out. I then see the tops of several more heads and Principal Nezu’s voice. Eijiro and I look at each other, tearing up a little in relief.

“Sorry, everyone! I know we’re a bit late, but I got the teachers over here as fast as I could.”