One day I’ll go through med school and then I’ll go through residency and then I’ll go through a fellowship and then I’ll be the most crybaby neurosurgeon you could think of. Bursting into tears if I so much as graze ur hypothalamus with my forceps

Brittana/Faberry Fic Recs

Hi! Here’s a list I compiled of some of my all time favorite Brittana and Faberry fics! I was originally going to separate the list by Faberry and Brittana, but many of the stories have both, so instead you can just read the pairings listed for each. They are sorted by multi-chapter complete, multi-chapter incomplete/in progress, and one-shots. Each title is a link you can click on to take you to the fic. All credit goes to their respective authors :)

Also, here’s a quick rating guide in case you needed to know:

GA/PG - General Audience

T - Teen

M - Mature

E - Explicit

NR - Not rated

That’s all, I hope you enjoy!

Multi-chapter (complete):

Between The Lines (T) - 19 Chapters - Pairings: Brittany/Santana and Rachel/Quinn - Rachel invites Brittany and Santana to a sleepover. Brittany/Santana with a healthy side of Rachel/Quinn

The Only True Paradises (M) - 20 Chapters - Pairings: Brittany/Santana - The tortuous evolution of Santana's feelings toward Brittany. See also "Pas de Deux," a companion piece from Brittany's point of view.

Pas de Deux (M) - 20 Chapters - Pairings: Brittany/Santana - Companion piece to "The Only True Paradises." The evolution of Santana and Brittany's relationship from Brittany's perspective.

Faithfully (T) - 5 Chapters - Pairings: Brittany/Santana - "That moment when Santana had sworn, even though she and Brittany were standing at opposite ends of the raised platform…that she could still feel Brittany's energy zinging toward her, like they were connected on the same current." Brittana, Seasons 1 through 5, as told in five increments.

My Girlfriend's Sister's Keeper (T) - 13 Chapters - Pairings: Brittany/Santana - Brittany isn't the only Pierce that has Santana wrapped around her finger. Santana's life with her two favorite people.

Mariposa (M) - 5 Chapters - Pairings: Brittany/Santana - Like a butterfly, Santana's journey out of the closet occurs in stages. From the first time she heard the word gay to the first time she flew free from her chrysalis, she can remember everything.

time passes, in love and in seasons (T) - 4 Part Series - Pairings: Brittany/Santana - Brittana, from the end of junior year and throughout senior year, told through the seasons. Mostly follows Season 3 canon.

Brittana Shorts (GA) - 8 Part Series - Pairings: Brittany/Santana - A collection of Brittana-centric short stories

it’s nice to have a friend (T) - 8 Chapters - Pairings: Brittany/Santana - They're six when they first meet. It's the first day of school in a crowded classroom and Santana finds herself drawn to the new blonde girl. OR The story of how Brittany and Santana meet and all the significant moments in their lives following the first time they see one another. - sequel

A Matter of Miserable Time (T) - 10 Chapters - Pairings: Brittany/Santana - "His voice was deep, quiet, and sure, so calm compared to the last words they had exchanged. Her voice was only a faint whisper as she questioned the man she hadn't spoken to in three years.'Papi.'"

Influence (M) - 26 Chapters - Pairings: Brittany/Santana - Brittany is perpetually cast as the dumb blonde, but the reasons behind her demeanor are more complex than that. She looks back on her childhood, her relationship with Santana, and the life-altering effects the decisions of her youth had on her future.

It’s Not Like I Wanted This to Happen (T)- 101 Chapters - Pairings: Brittany/Santana and Rachel/Quinn - Quinn takes a very drunk Rachel home from a party...encounters the Berrys…and herself. This story contains a huge amount of Brittana and a lot of Puck.

Rough Beginnings (M) - 44 Chapters - Pairings: Rachel/Quinn and Brittany/Santana - Quinn decides she needs to end this obsession once and for all, but life doesn't always work out the way we want it to. Sometimes it's so much better. Faberry.

Never Asked to Feel Your Halo (T) - 45 Chapters (1/2 in series) - Pairings: Rachel/Quinn and Brittany/Santana - The thing was, neither of them wanted this-whatever it was, but since when did the Universe care about what Rachel or Quinn wanted? Their cards had been dealt the moment they'd entered that shower together. Now it came down to how well they played them.

Standing on the Edge Dancing in the Flames (M) - 34 Chapters (2/2 in series) - Pairings: Rachel/Quinn and Brittany/Santana - Life isn't all singing and dancing, not even in Glee club. And what if being on top of the pyramid just gives you further to fall. When everyone feels like a frienemy and fathers and faculty and babies and boyfriends complicate EVERYTHING, how are you ever supposed to get anything right? (Book Two of the 'No Halo' series)

The South Side of Anywhere (M) - 47 Chapters - Pairings: Rachel/Quinn and Brittany/Santana - Sometimes you fall in love with your eyes closed, and when you open them, the person is someone you never thought it could be. It started with letters, and turned into Faberry.

Somewhere in Between (M) - 77 Chapters - Pairings: Rachel/Quinn and Brittany/Santana - Imagine if Faberry happened instead of Finchel. This is a re-telling of every episode as if Faberry were cannon. Each chapter will chronicle each episode starting at the very beginning. Some things will change and some will remain the same. Longer description in first chapter. Also side Brittana. As well as Quinntana friendship, and Puckleberry bromance.

Didn’t See it Coming (M) - 63 Chapters - Pairings: Rachel/Quinn and Brittany/Santana? - AU HS. After a devastating breakup, Quinn turns to Rachel in need of a friend, and ends up with so much more. - "If, one day, someone asks me how it all started; I'll have to say it was a granola bar that finally did me in." Faberry.

Bet You Didn’t Know That (T) - 19 Chapters - Pairings: Rachel/Quinn and Brittany/Santana - Faberry. What she doesn't know, she doesn't need to find out.

Take Me As I Am Seasons 1 & 2 (T) - 48 chapters - Pairings: Rachel/Quinn, Brittany/Santana and Kurt/Blaine - The incredibly true adventures of Quinn and Rachel, starting from Sectionals Season 1. It's just like watching the show, if Faberry were the central couple and everything revolved around them! Brittana & Klaine co-star in supporting roles.

Take Me As I Am Season 3 (T) - 26 Chapters - Pairings: Rachel/Quinn, Brittany/Santana and Kurt/Blaine - The continued adventures of Quinn & Rachel as the starring couple of Glee. Some integration of canon events, but mostly this is the story of Faberry and their world! Klaine & Brittana co-star in supporting roles

Blink and You’ll Miss It (M) - 31 Chapters - Pairings: Rachel/Quinn and Brittany/Santana - Quinn Fabray and Rachel Berry discover they like each other. Against all odds, will they be able to get together before they tear each other apart?

You’re All I Need (M) - 17 Chapters - Pairings: Rachel/Quinn and Brittany/Santana - A Faberry romance story, set when they are both single but I haven't specified when as I'm not even sure myself but most of the events are from series 3. Points of view will change every few chapters. And that's probably the worst description you've ever read but yeah I can't be bothered to change it.

quarantining or how quinn might lose it, once for all. (T) - 8 Chapters - Pairings: Rachel/Quinn - It starts like the worst horror movie ever but instead of being trapped in the basement of a creepy 50-something year old, Quinn finds herself being trapped in Rachel Berry's basement.

Once More From the Top (T) - 22 Chapters - Pairings: Rachel/Quinn, Brittany/Santana and others - Here's what you missed on Glee: McKinley's Glee Club reformed under the direction of Will Schuester. Rachel tried to recruit the Cheerios but that ended up being a total disaster. It's cool though because she heard Finn Hudson sing in the shower and he's actually really good. She successfully recruits him and now the Glee Club has enough members to be a real thing.And that's what you missed, on Glee!

Outside Hearts (M) - 37 Chapters - Pairings: Rachel/Quinn and Brittany/Santana - Rachel Berry's world is about to be turned upside down when one of Hollywood's most sought-after young actresses, Quinn Fabray, abruptly and mysteriously leaves her fame behind, moves to Ohio and tries to have a normal life while attending McKinley High. (Faberry w/ some Brittana)

I See That Ragged Soul Take Flight (M) - 44 Chapters - Pairings: Rachel/Quinn, Brittany/Santana, Mike/Tina, Kurt/Blaine and Sam/Mercedes - Ensemble cast piece exploring what happens after Season 3. Rachel, Santana and Kurt are in New York together. Quinn is at Yale. Explores adulthood, friendship and long-distance relationships. Eventual Faberry. Also contains, Brittana, Klaine, Tike and Samcedes content, plotlines back at McKinley, and frequent use of Santana POV.

All The Best (T, but I would rate M for descriptive scenes of suicide, eating disorders, rape, etc.) - 80 Chapters - Pairings: Rachel/Quinn and Brittany/Santana - After spending the entire summer away, Quinn is eager to get back to normal and make the best of her junior year. Excited to put everything behind her and start fresh, she struggles to establish a new normal. But when she's least expecting it, Quinn finds support in the most unlikely places and is forced to confront the very feelings that landed her where she is in the first place.

take these broken wings (M) - 4 Part Series - Pairings: Rachel/Quinn, Brittany/Santana and Kurt/Sam - Begins in Season one and follows Quinn through her life should she have chosen to keep Beth, realize she is gay, and fall in love with Rachel Berry. The main romantic relationship will be Faberry, with a bit of Hevans and Brittana, but apart from Faberry it will be very heavy on friendship and Quinn&Beth oriented.

the state of dreaming (T) - 3 Chapters - Pairings: Rachel/Quinn - Rachel couldn’t help the guilt that bubbled in her chest when she watched Quinn get a prom photo alone. Determined to make it up to her, she invites Quinn over for a sleepover. It becomes a routine. Set immediately after 2x20 (Prom Queen).

Enough to Believe (T) - 2 Chapters - Pairings: Rachel/Quinn - Years after Shelby ups and disappears from Lima with Beth, a blonde girl shows up on Rachel and Quinn's doorstep, armed with a lot of questions, and very familiar cheekbones.

you and her loathing this cruel world (M) - 3 Chapters - Pairings: Quinn/Rachel, minor Kurt/Quinn and Kurt/Sam - "Of all the girls he had to have sex with (which really, were none), of course it was someone with a painting of Jesus above her bed, so he knows that his only hope in hell that this will go away is in a negative test result." Season 1 AU; Kurt is pretty sure he's gay, but would like to make sure. Quinn Fabray has similar questions running through her mind. They put their theories to the test, with very much unintended consequences. - sequel

I’ve Been Trying to Reach You (T) - 25 Chapters - Pairings: Rachel/Quinn, Brittany/Santana, Santana/Puck, Rachel/Jesse and Sam/Tina - After falling pregnant in sophomore year, Quinn Fabray plummets from the top of the teen hierarchy at McKinley High to the very bottom. In an effort to give her a chance to start over, her parents transfer her to Carmel, a private school in the area with a blossoming arts program. It's supposed to be a new beginning, but what she doesn't count on is immediately becoming enemies with the most popular girl in school: Rachel Berry, co-captain of Vocal Adrenaline.

The Lopez Manifesto (T) - 8 Chapters - Pairings: Rachel/Quinn and Brittany/Santana - santana starts writing a rachel/quinn fanfic for everyone at McKinley. it’s also extremely popular as everyone awaits her weekly updates. (usually based on what the girls are doing that week.) quinn is the last to find out and is… pissed.

my heart’s a leather jacket I am waiting to give to someone sweet (T) - 15 Chapters - Pairings: Brittany/Santana - Brittany is McKinley’s resident broody rebel who doesn’t see much point to high school, and who, completely incidentally, just so happens to be kind of a math genius. Santana is Lima's golden child, the perfect and unapproachable only child of public figure Dr. Lopez. She’s also the high school’s enigma; no one actually knows anything about her aside from the fact that she’s cold, distant, terrifying, aloof, and willing to eviscerate anyone who looks at her the wrong way. Unfortunately for her, Brittany is about to get a crash course in the complete mystery that is Santana Lopez when she is asked—or, more realistically, forced—to be Santana's math tutor.

Dead Girls Don’t Sing (T) - 39 Chapters - Pairings: Brittany/Santana, Rachel/Quinn, Kurt/Blaine and Tina/Mike - S3 AU. Brittany doesn't believe in unicorns anymore, Rachel's dreams are as dead as the world, Santana is no one's hero…and Quinn? Quinn's just trying to breathe. The world as they knew it is gone -now all they can do is survive. Zombie Apocalypse. Faberrittana Friendship. Slow Burn Faberry. Character Death. COMPLETE

Simple Parts (T) - 13 Chapters - Pairings: Rachel/Quinn and Brittany/Santana - That awkward moment when you travel thirty years forward in time and find out you're married to your high school nemesis? Yeah, it totally sucks...except...maybe it doesn't.

The Lateness of the Hour (M) - 12 Chapters - Pairings: Brittany/Santana - "Brittany has much less to lose. She always has."

half of me (T) - 4 Chapters - Pairings: Rachel/Quinn - a run-in (quite literally) at the bookstore, two broadway tickets, and a seven-year-old in a plaid catholic-school uniform. what has rachel gotten herself into? future AU where quinn has beth and rachel makes it on broadway.

April Fools (T) - 10 Chapters - Pairings: Rachel/Quinn - Santana recruits - forces - Rachel to help her prank Quinn. All she has to do is pretend that a love potion has caused her to fall madly in love with the cheerleader. Simple, right? Wrong. Faberry.

Stars & the Moon (M) - 15 Chapters - Pairings: Rachel/Quinn - In the midst of dealing with Beth's adoption, Quinn ends up working on a summer community theatre production with Rachel. Hilarity ensues. Just kidding.

Love Me Any Less (M) - 25 Chapters - Pairings: Rachel/Quinn and Brittany/Santana - Junior year becomes the beginning of something no one expected, and maybe the beginning of something a few can't understand how they ever lived without. Starts mild but progresses to M rating. First fic ever! Faberry.

Better Where It’s Wetter (M) - 10 Chapters - Pairings: Rachel/Quinn - Rachel and her dads are going on a LGBT family-friendly cruise for the summer and Rachel's told she's can bring a friend. Who else to bring but Quinn?

Like a Seal Upon Your Heart (M) - 20 Chapters - Pairings: Rachel/Quinn and Brittany/Santana? - Quinn Fabray is Daddy's little girl and the perfect Christian. She CAN'T be gay. But then her friendship with Rachel Berry starts to change...

Somewhere in Brooklyn (M) - 47 Chapters - Pairings: Brittany/Santana - Santana and Brittany have been trying to get pregnant for a year without any luck. What happens when a teenage foster child and positive pregnancy test land in their laps on the same day? A unique journey of motherhood ensues.

Multi-chapter (incomplete/in progress):

Everyone's Gonna Know Now (T) - 8 Chapters (Incomplete) - Pairings: Brittany/Santana - 3/4 in series - When Santana confronted Finn about outing her, his response was, "The whole school already knows." That was pretty much true. This story is about the first moment or incident in which each member of Glee - and a few others - discovered Santana's secret.

Be Okay (M) - 2 Chapters (Incomplete) - Pairings: Brittany/Santana - “Kurt doesn’t know why he does it. It’s not as if he and Santana had ever had anything resembling a friendship, but he feels drawn to her, feels connected to the anguish in her voice as she realized that her biggest secret in the world was about to be revealed.“ This is the evolution of Kurt and Santana’s friendship taking place over a series of one-shots.

looks like a girl but she's a flame, so bright she can burn your eyes, better look the other way, you can try but you'll never forget her name (M) - 5 Chapters (Incomplete) - Pairings: Brittany/Santana - santana lopez writes down the story of her life for a reunion project set for the glee club by none other than rachel berry. aka, a deep dive into santana's life told through her eyes. very santana/brittana centric.

No One Left to Blame (M, read tags) - 30 Chapters (Incomplete) - Pairings: Rachel/Quinn and Brittany/Santana - Quinn Fabray is well-versed in keeping the truths of her family and her past firmly hidden away. But, her efforts prove to be moot when Rachel Berry, armed with her own secrets of the past, arrives at Dalton Academy and manages to turn both their worlds upside down - or, perhaps, right way up. Faberry. Trigger Warnings.

I’m not breaking, I won’t take it (M, read warnings) - 2 Chapters (Incomplete) - Pairings: Rachel/Quinn and minor Quinn/Santana - Santana gets up and starts toward her, “Jesus, what happened to you?” she mumbles, but she's softer than she was moment before. It's obvious that she’s concerned. Quinn chokes down a sob and then admits, “There’s something wrong with me.”“Hey, listen. Whatever it is, you’re going to be fine." Santana is still not getting it, but she’s rubbing soothing little circles on Quinn’s shoulders. There really must be something wrong with her too, because then Quinn is lunging forward and then she’s kissing Santana. Quinn feels her freeze, but then Santana relaxes and she’s kissing her back. or, a study in quinn fabray.

no love like your love (T) - 5 Chapters (Incomplete) - Pairings: Rachel/Quinn, Brittany/Santana and Blaine/Sam - Following the death of her mother, Rachel Berry assumes guardianship of her six-year-old brother, Daniel. After a cross-country move for his sister's job, the first friend Danny makes is a soccer-playing, lucky fin having, firecracker of a girl named Beth.

Song of Mine (M) - 18 Chapters (Incomplete) - Pairings: Brittany/Santana - Santana Lopez, the new Music teacher at a religious private school in Indianapolis, meets Brittany Pierce, the resident Math teacher. A love story with a happy ending. Promise.

Girls Over Flowers (NR) - 14 Chapters (Incomplete) - Pairings: Rachel/Quinn, Brittany/Santana - Dalton Academy—a school of prestige, refinement and the country's wealthiest students—houses the famous F3. When "commoner" transfer student, Rachel Berry directly offends F3's leader, Quinn Fabray, she becomes their target. Mayhem ensues.

we were built to fall apart (then fall back together) (T) - 8 Chapters (Incomplete) - Pairings: Rachel/Quinn and Brittany/Santana - Rachel and Quinn haven't seen each other for seven years and neither thought they'd see the other again. They certainly didn't see themselves starring together in a Broadway musical, as each other's love interests.

A Different Life (E) - 33 Chapters (Incomplete) - Pairings: Brittany/Santana, Finn/Rachel and Kurt/Blaine - Canon!Divergent Brittana. Santana and Brittany move to New York after high school. Everything is going perfectly until Brittany gets a phone call that changes everything. Seven years later, Santana has a daughter and she and Britt haven't seen each other...Canon until 3x16ish. No Louisville, no second senior year.

you get too close you’ll get a royalty high (so breathe it in to feel the love) (T) - 9 Chapters (Incomplete) - Pairings: Brittany/Santana, Rachel/Quinn, Sam/Mercedes, Mike/Tina, Kitty/Artie and Kurt/Blaine - "Alright," she began uneasily. "I'll do it. I'll go to the dumb school."Her parent's smiles beaming back at her were almost enough to make her think this could possibly be a good idea, but the nerves surging in her stomach said otherwise. Boarding School/Royalty Brittana AU

One-shot:

Tattoo (T) - Oneshot - Pairings: Brittany/Santana - "She soaks it in for a few seconds—this night, this place, these friends, this family room floor, this girl—before she says it back." Post-3x11. Brittana.

Eden (T) - Oneshot - Pairings: Brittany/Santana - Brittany and Santana teach Joe about love. 4K

Riding in Cars With Girls (M) - One-shot - Pairings: Rachel/Quinn - After Quinn quit Glee club and joined a band Rachel feels the gap Quinn has left and sets out to get her back, whatever the cost. But what happens when Quinn's only condition involves her car and Rachel's lips on hers every day at five? Punk!Quinn

and things we’re all too young to know (T) - One-shot - Pairings: Brittany/Santana - Five vignettes set after the point when Brittana become girlfriends. Not too many people would guess it, but Brittany knows that loving Santana is the easiest and best thing in the world to do; Santana is just the best person to love.

My Friends Say That I’m Falling In Love (T) - One-shot - Pairings: Brittany/Santana - Brittany and Santana spend the week leading up to Valentine's Day giving Mercedes grief about her date. Brittana romance, Brittanacedes friendship. Mouseverse. One-shot.

And What Would You Say If I Wrote the Whole Thing Out for You? (T) - One-shot - Pairings: Brittany/Santana - Some things have changed a lot since Sam left McKinley and some things haven’t really changed at all. Set circa 3x08.

The Landslide Brought Me Down (T) - One-shot - Pairings: Brittany/Santana - Our girls’ story. Sweet lady kisses, Landslide, their separation, the night of Prom Queen, Songbird, Santana’s Abuela’s rejection, the night after Santana learned about the political ad, Brittany’s senior year falling apart, the lights of New York, and other scenes.

seven (GA) - One-shot - Pairings: Brittany/Santana - A companion piece to 'it's nice to have a friend'. Takes place after the first scene in the second chapter - can be read separately to 'it's nice to have a friend'. Basically just childhood fluff that examines their friendship and the items they connect to their friendship.

baby you don't gotta fight (i'll be here til the end of time) (GA) - One-shot - Pairings: Brittany/Santana - She sees red for all of last period, a strange twinge of pain in her chest because all these people think they know Santana but they’re all wrong. or: three times Brittany tells people they've got Santana all wrong and the one time she tells Santana

The Unicorn Tapestries (NR) - One-shot - Pairings: Brittany/Santana - We lie on our stomachs on my pale blue sheets, a book lying open in front of us that we bend our heads over, sunlight all over the page and bringing bits of gold out in your skin..

But You Could Sing (NR) - One-shot - Pairings: Brittany/Santana - Why am I always the one who tells bedtime stories? Because your stories are prettier, BrittBritt. But you can tell real ones. Like what?

Colors (NR) - One-shot - Pairings: Brittany/Santana - The sunlight in my room shines from the south. The way I know: when I lean far out my window, the sun rises on the side where I can feel my heartbeat, and sets in the direction of my writing hand.

You’re Something Else (T) - One-shot - Pairings: Rachel/Quinn - 'Quinn gets the impression she and Rachel are finally on the same page about what may or may not be happening between them. All she really knows is that it's colourful.'

Raising the Bar (M) - One-shot - Pairings: Rachel/Quinn and minor/implied Brittany/Santana - Quinn never expected that the best matchmaker would turn out to be a lumpy pullout couch.

the one with the friends reference (T) - One-shot - Pairings: Rachel/Quinn, minor/implied Brittany/Santana and minor/implied Kurt/Blaine - "You can see it. Quinn standing in front of you, as close as she can get without touching you and saying, 'Are you attracted to me?'" Faberry. Post-season six.

Blame it on the Alcohol (or the gay, whatever) (T) - One-shot - Pairings: Rachel/Quinn and minor/implied Brittany/Santana - “I can’t believe what you did to my body, I used to have abs!” - In which one sentence is totally incorrect and causes chaos and havoc and Faberry feelings to happen. Also known as drunk Rachel is kyoot and Finn is stoopid.

could you pass in love? (T) - One-shot - Pairings: Rachel/Quinn and Brittany/Santana - “'Quinn Fabray, I will divorce you, don’t think I won’t!'” In which Rachel and Quinn get married, sending them into a possibly out-of-character feelings frenzy . Season Three. Faberry.

Do You Wanna Know How This Story Plays Out? (T) - One-shot - Pairings: Rachel/Quinn - It's not her fault that you feel the way you do about women, you know that, and you knew that then, too. But you've been angry at Rachel Berry for making you feel things you wanted to lock away for years, and it was far too easy to put all of the blame on her to avoid dealing with your own feelings. It wasn't and isn't fair, but it was about protecting yourself and it makes it a little easier to bear. - OR - After everything implodes with Finn, Quinn moves in with Rachel. They make out a lot without ever talking about how much more it means to both of them. Introspective Closeted!Quinn POV from second-person.

you succeed at being mine (T) - One-shot - Pairings: Rachel/Quinn and Kurt/Sam - Sequel to 'you and her loathing this cruel world'.

This Must Be The Place (T) - One-shot - Pairings: Brittany/Santana - Santana is eight years old when her Tio Carlos joins the Army. Or the less-cracky-than-you-might-expect Glee/The Losers crossover where Cougar is Santana's uncle. (If it tells you anything, i nearly titled this 'Ohana Means Family.')

This Modern Love (T) - One-shot - Pairings: Brittany/Santana - "How do you know when you're dating someone?"

Beth’s family tree (GA) - One-shot - Pairings: Rachel/Quinn - "Now that being said, my family tree is composed by both my biological family and my adoptive family" Beth explains easily enough as she clicks the mouse. But then the next slide appears and the teacher gapes at all the information, names, colours and arrows in the diagram.

pictures of you, pictures of me (hung upon the wall, for the world to see) (T) - One-shot - Pairings: Rachel/Quinn and Brittany/Santana - "Quinn looked around her room again. She'd never noticed it before, but she had a lot of pictures of Rachel." or: a faberry oneshot set between seasons 1 and 2 where Quinn reflects on a series of moments with Rachel that led to where she is now

anything could happen (T) - One-shot - Pairings: Rachel/Quinn - She stared down at the test in her hand. The line was faint, disappearing depending on the angle. It was possible she was just seeing things, but still. She pulled out her cell phone, tears running down her flushed cheeks. It felt like the earth could open up at any second, just swallow her whole. The line rang. Once, twice, she cursed quietly. She sucked in a breath as she heard a click signifying the call had connected."Hello? Rachel?" Her voice cracked. "Quinn. I need your help." A Faberry-centric rewrite of Rachel's season 4 pregnancy scare

Frannie’s View (T) - One-shot - Pairings: Rachel/Quinn - When Frannie was a child she did everything she could to make her father happy. She was a daddy’s girl through and through. She was quiet and never disrespectful. She went to church every Sunday with her mother and father and prayed every night. Frannie had a lot of friends at school and was popular and well liked. She did very well in school though her participation grades were always low. Daddy told her women were supposed to be quiet and always treat their husbands with respect. She was a princess and he was the King. He ruled the house. Frannie absolutely hated the way her father treated her little sister. Frannie desperately tried to change Lucy. She thought if Lucy could be better then their father would be happier, nicer. OR A journey from Frannie's perspective of Lucy/Quinn and Quinn's sexuality and later feelings for Rachel.

According to Judy (PG) - One-shot - Pairings: Rachel/Quinn - How Judy Fabray deals with Quinn's infatuation with Rachel.

Real Happiness

by Sharon Salzberg

Meditation is essentially a way to train our attention so we can be more aware of both our inner workings and what’s happening around us. It’s straightforward and simple, but it isn’t easy.

People have been transforming their minds through meditation for thousands of years. Every major world religion includes some form of contemplative exercise, though today meditation is often practised apart from any belief system. Meditation may be done in silence and stillness, by using voice and sound, or by engaging the body in movement. All forms emphasise the training of attention.

“My experience is what I agree to attend to,” the pioneering psychologist William James wrote at the turn of the twentieth century. “Only those items I notice shape my mind.” At its most basic level, attention — what we allow ourselves to notice — literally determines how we experience and navigate the world. The ability to summon and sustain attention is what allows us to job hunt, juggle, learn math, make pancakes, aim a cue and pocket the eight ball, protect our kids, and perform surgery. It lets us be discerning in our dealings with the world, responsive in our intimate relationships, and honest when we examine our own feelings and motives. Attention determines our degree of intimacy with our ordinary experiences and contours our entire sense of connection to life.

The content and quality of our lives depend on our level of awareness — a fact we are often not aware of. There’s an old story, usually attributed to a Native American elder, that’s meant to illuminate the power of attention. A grandfather imparting a life lesson to his grandson tells him, “I have two wolves fighting in my heart. One wolf is vengeful, fearful, envious, resentful, deceitful. The other wolf is loving, compassionate, generous, truthful, and serene.” The grandson asks which wolf will win the fight. The grandfather answers, “The one I feed.”

But that’s only part of the picture. True, whatever gets our attention flourishes, so if we lavish attention on the negative and inconsequential, they can overwhelm the positive and the meaningful. But if we do the opposite, refusing to deal with or acknowledge what’s difficult and painful, pretending it doesn’t exist, then our world is out of whack. Whatever doesn’t get our attention withers — or retreats below conscious awareness, where it may still affect our lives. In a perverse way, ignoring the painful and the difficult is just another way of feeding the wolf. Meditation teaches us to open our attention to all of human experience and all parts of ourselves.

Meditation is pragmatic, the psychological and emotional equivalent of a physical training program: If you exercise regularly, you get certain results — stronger muscles, denser bones, increased stamina. If you meditate regularly, you also get certain results, including greater calm, and improved concentration and more connection to others. But there are other rewards.

You’ll begin to spot the unexamined assumptions that get in the way of happiness.

These assumptions we make about who we are and the way the world works — what we deserve, how much we can handle, where happiness is to be found, whether or not positive change is possible — all greatly influence how and to what we pay attention.

I was reminded of how assumptions can get in our way when I visited the National Portrait Gallery in Washington, D.C., to view a work of art by a sculptor friend. Eagerly I checked every room, peered at every display case and pedestal — no sculpture. Finally I gave up. As I headed for the exit, I glanced up — and there was her beautiful piece. It was a bas-relief hanging on the wall, not the freestanding statue I’d expected; my assumptions had put blinders on me and almost robbed me of the experience of seeing what was really there — her amazing work. In the same way, our assumptions keep us from appreciating what’s right in front of us — a stranger who’s a potential friend, a perceived adversary who might actually be a source of help. Assumptions block direct experience and prevent us from gathering information that could bring us comfort and relief, or information that, though saddening and painful, will allow us to make better decisions.

Here are some familiar assumptions you might recognise: We have nothing in common. I won’t be able to do it. You can’t reason with a person like that. Tomorrow will be exactly like today. If I just try hard enough, I’ll manage to control him/her/it/them. Only big risks can make me feel alive. I’ve blown it; I should just give up. I know just what she’s going to say, so I don’t really need to listen to her. Happiness is for other people, not me. Statements like these are motivated by fear, desire, boredom, or ignorance. Assumptions bind us to the past, obscure the present, limit our sense of what’s possible, and elbow out joy. Until we detect and examine our assumptions, they short-circuit our ability to observe objectively; we think we already know what’s what.

You’ll stop limiting yourself. When we practice meditation, we often begin to recognise a specific sort of conditioned response — previously undetected restrictions we’ve imposed on our lives. We spot the ways we sabotage our own growth and success because we’ve been conditioned to be content with meagre results. Meditation allows us to see that these limits aren’t inherent or immutable; they were learned and they can be unlearned — but not until we recognise them. (Some common limiting ideas: She’s the smart one, you’re the pretty one. People like us don’t stand a chance. Kids from this neighbourhood don’t become doctors.) Training attention through meditation opens our eyes. Then we can assess these conditioned responses — and if parts of them contain some truth, we can see it clearly and put it to good use; if parts of them just don’t hold up under scrutiny, we can let them go.

You’ll weather hard times better. Meditation teaches us safe ways to open ourselves to the full range of experience — painful, pleasurable, and neutral — so we can learn how to be a friend to ourselves in good times and bad. During meditation sessions we practice being with difficult emotions and thoughts, even frightening or intense ones, in an open and accepting way, without adding self-criticism to something that already hurts. Especially in times of uncertainty or pain, meditation broadens our perspective and deepens our sense of courage and capacity for adventure. Here’s how you get braver: little by little. In small, manageable, bearable increments, we make friends with the feelings that once terrified us. Then we can say to ourselves, I’ve managed to sit down, face some of my most despairing thoughts and my most exuberantly hopeful ones without judging them. That took strength; what else can I tackle with that same strength? Meditation lets us see that we can accomplish things we didn’t think ourselves capable of.

You’ll rediscover a deeper sense of what’s really important to you. Once you look beneath distractions and conditioned reactions, you’ll have a clearer view of your deepest, most enduring dreams, goals, and values.

You’ll have a portable emergency resource. Meditation is the ultimate mobile device; you can use it anywhere, anytime, unobtrusively. You’re likely to find yourself in situations — having a heated argument at work, say, or chauffeuring a crowd of rambunctious kids to a soccer game — when you can’t blow off steam by walking around the block, hitting the gym, or taking a time-out in the tub. But you can always follow your breath.

You’ll be in closer touch with the best parts of yourself. Meditation practice cultivates qualities such as kindness, trust, and wisdom that you may think are missing from your makeup but are actually undeveloped or obscured by stress and distractions. Meditation practice gives us the chance to locate these qualities so we can access them more easily and frequently.

You’ll recapture the energy you’ve been wasting trying to control the uncontrollable. I once led a retreat in California during a monsoon like rainstorm. It’s so soggy and unpleasant that people aren’t going to have a good retreat, I thought. I felt bad for the participants; in fact, I felt responsible. For a few days I wanted to apologise to everybody for the rain until a thought flickered: Wait a minute. I’m not even from California; I’m from Massachusetts. This isn’t my weather. This is their weather. Maybe they should apologise to me! And then the voice of deeper wisdom arose: Weather is weather. This is what happens.

We’ve all had weather moments — times when we’ve felt responsible for everyone’s good time or well-being. It’s our job, we think, to fix the temperature and humidity, or the people around us (if we could only get our partner to quit smoking, consult a map, stick to a diet). We even think we’re capable of totally controlling our own emotions — I shouldn’t ever feel envious, or resentful, or spiteful! That’s awful! I’m going to stop. You might as well say, “I’m never going to catch a cold again!” Though we can affect our physical and emotional experiences, we can’t ultimately determine them; we can’t decree what emotions will arise within us. But we can learn through meditation to change our responses to them. That way we’re spared a trip down a path of suffering we’ve travelled many times before. Recognising what we can’t control (the feelings that arise within us; other people; the weather) helps us have healthier boundaries at work and at home — no more trying to reform everyone all the time. It helps us to stop beating up on ourselves for having perfectly human emotions. It frees energy we expend on trying to control the uncontrollable.

You’ll understand how to relate to change better — to accept that it’s inevitable and believe that it’s possible. Most of us have a mixed, often paradoxical attitude toward change. Some of us don’t think change is possible at all; we believe we’re stuck forever doing things the way we’ve always done them. Some of us simultaneously hope for change and fear it. We want to believe that change is possible, because that means that our lives can get better. But we also have trouble accepting change, because we want to hold on permanently to what’s pleasurable and positive. We’d like difficulties to be fleeting and comfort to stick around.

Trying to avoid change is exhausting and stressful. Everything is impermanent: happiness, sorrow, a great meal, a powerful empire, what we’re feeling, the people around us, ourselves. Meditation helps us comprehend this fact — perhaps the basic truth of human existence, and the one we humans are most likely to balk at or be oblivious to, especially when it comes to the biggest change of all: Mortality happens, whether we like it or not. We grow old and die. (In the ancient Indian epic, the Mahabharata, a wise king is asked to name the most wondrous thing in the universe. “The most wondrous thing in the entire universe,” he says, “is that all around us people are dying and we don’t believe it will happen to us.”) Meditation is a tool for helping us accept the profound fact that everything changes all the time.

Meditating offers a chance to see change in microcosm. Following our breath while observing how thoughts continually ebb and flow can help us realise that all elements of our experience are in constant flux. During a meditation session, it’s natural to go through many ups and downs, to encounter both new delights and newly awakened conflicts that have bubbled up from the unconscious mind. Sometimes you tap into a wellspring of peace. Other times you might feel waves of sleepiness, boredom, anxiety, anger, or sadness. Snatches of old songs may play in your head; long-buried memories can surface. You may feel wonderful or awful. Daily meditation will remind us that if we look closely at a painful emotion or difficult situation, it’s bound to change; it’s not as solid and unmanageable as it might have seemed. The fear we feel in the morning may be gone by the afternoon. Hopelessness may be replaced by a glimmer of optimism. Even while a challenging situation is unfolding, it is shifting from moment to moment, varied, alive. What happens during meditation shows us that we’re not trapped, that we have options. Then, even if we’re afraid, we can find a way to go on, to keep trying.

This is not a Pollyanna sentiment that everything will be just fine, according to our wishes or our timetable. Rather it is an awakened understanding that gives us the courage to go into the unknown and the wisdom to remember that as long as we are alive, possibility is alive. We can’t control what thoughts and emotions arise within us, nor can we control the universal truth that everything changes. But we can learn to step back and rest in the awareness of what’s happening. That awareness can be our refuge.

Gift of the Magi - A Ryuann fic

Third year student Ann Takamaki couldn't believe what she was reading. Even after a third careful read through, the words almost seem to taunt her.

Shujin Academy Fundraiser

Shujin is raising money to fund our extracurricular activities. Join us May 5th. There will be games and food.

Don't miss our auction, where students can win a date with our third year beauties.

Ann's perfectly manicured nails ripped apart the flyer in a rage.

"How can they do this?" The twin tailed woman huffed. "I never agreed to this." With a stomp of her feet, she resolved to see the principal.

The new principal was a tall and lanky man, unlike their former principal. He had a look of a man struggling to tread water, which wasn’t far off the mark. After the disgrace of Kamoshida and the sudden death of the previous principal Kobayakaba, the new guy was simply overwhelmed by the negative press that Shujin had been receiving. There have been rumors that people have seen him duck into his office any time a police car whizzed by. Clearly, he wasn’t the best person for the job. How could such a man come up with this idea?

Ann knocked on the door of the prinicipal’s office. A meek “Come in” was the response.

“Sir, I’m sorry to bother you.” Ann said in her softest voice, even though she was a torrent of rage on the inside.

“Not at all. My doors are always open to the students of Shujin.” The principal’s words didn’t convince her that he really meant what he said.

“I just read the flyer for the fundraiser.” The blonde acknowledged.

“I am glad that you brought that up.” The principal took out a handkerchief and wiped his brow with it. In Ann’s eyes, it made him look smaller than he actually was. “This school’s reputation has been going downhill since last year. Kamoshida-sensei’s perversions tainted the Volleyball team. Then there is the matter of both Suzui-san’s attempted suicide and my predecessor’s sudden suicide. And there have been rumors that the so-called Phantom Thieves were actually students in this school. The benefactors who helped pay for tuition are threatening to withhold their money. Without them, we may have to seek out alternate sources of income.”

Ann’s rage softened. Being part of the Phantom Thieves last year was the best year of her life. But it did come with some baggage. She remembered having to endure Kamoshida’s perverted advances and Shiho’s attempted suicide. And even though they had nothing to do with it, Principal Kobayakawa was killed in their name. So was Haru’s dad. Shujin had been engrossed in scandal ever since.

“I know I am asking a lot of the third year students but without funding, Shujin may have to close many of its extracurricular activities." He continued, unaware of the guilt bubbling up in Ann. "If we cut them, less money will come from benefactors. It will lead to a downward spiral."

Ann bit her bottom lip. The guilt trip combined with the pathetic sounding voice of the principal created a potent combination that wore on her resolve not to participate in the fundraiser.

"Takamaki-san, I understand your reservation about being auctioned off. But think of the money that you could bring to the school? Would you deprive your fellow students of the funds they need in order to thrive?”

The guilt came in waves now. Ann’s face made a powerful grimace. She knew where this was going. This feeling was just like the time she had to pretend to pose nude for Yusuke’s painting.

“Okay. Fine.” She spat acidly. The new principal didn't bother to read her mood. Instead, he thanked her profusely for agreeing to the auction.

After leaving the office, Ann was more pissed than when she went in. She couldn't get out of this situation because of her guilt. Terrible thoughts swirled in her head. Who was going to win her? Were they going to expect something from her? Would this make the rumors about her and Kamoshida worse?

"I need to find another way out." She thought out loud. "If only I was a Phantom Thief again."

That's when it hit her. There was another way out. She could only hope that he didn't leave for the day.

As it happened, he was behind the school, running. Ryuji Sakamoto, middle school friend, ex-track star, dyed blond, and phantom thief. The two of them had spent an amazing year with an amazing group of people. At times, it all felt like a dream.

Unfortunately, the Phantom Thieves didn't meet up as frequently as they used to. Makoto was accepted by a prestigious college and spent much of her time studying. Haru was working to improve Okumura Food's image. Ren and Morgana moved back to Ren's hometown. Yusuke is still going to Kosei but he'll go days without contacting them and then show up later, hungry. Futaba was going to a different high school than Shujin in order to open herself up to people other than the Phantom Thieves. This left her with Ryuji.

After the Phantom Thieves, Ryuji continued training his body, especially his legs. Although he would never regain his former speed thanks to Kamoshida and he would never rejoin the track team, the bleached blond reasoned that it was still no excuse to break routine. Of late, he made a habit of roping Mishima into his workout. And as he finished his set, there was the blue haired youth, wheezing towards the finish line.

"Sakamoto. I can't anymore." Mishima wheezed out every word as he collapsed on the grass.

"That was a good run, Mishima." Ryuji smiled as he chugged a liter of ice cold water while tossing another to the guy on the floor.

"Good? It was torture." The blue haired youth coughed as he guzzled down the water like he hadn't had it in forever. "And you do this for fun?"

"Com'n." Ryuji laughed. "If you're serious about getting into shape, then you can't do this half-assed."

"You're one to talk, Ryuji." Ann retorted, announcing her presence.

Ryuji grimaced. "Did you come all this way to mock us?" His voice was quite blase. He was used to her comments by now and was too tired to come up with one of his own. Oh...wait. "You know, you could stand to lose a couple of kilograms yourself. Otherwise, that brown haired model is going to take the number one spot."

Watching her flustered face made it all worth it. He cracked up laughing.

"That is never going to happen. Mika-san is going to have to settle for second place." She seethed. "To think I wanted to come to you with my problem."

The dyes blond youth stopped laughing. "Sorry. I'm good. Tell me."

Ann pursed her lips. "Fine. But let's go somewhere else."

"Fine with me." Ryuji shrugged his shoulders. He looked at Mishima's prostrate form. "You gonna be good, Mishima?"

"Chest on fire. Death close." He wheezed out every word.

Ryuji motioned with his head for Ann to follow him. They walked a bit so that they were behind the school.

"What's up?" He asked.

"Have you read the flyers about a fundraiser?" Ann asked.

"What about it?" Ryuji had seen them posting something about a fundraiser. But that didn't really catch his interest. So he paid it no mind.

"Did you read the part about third year girls being auctioned off?" She couldn't keep the rage out of her voice.

"F'real?" He exclaimed. "Why?"

"The principal said that because of the Phantom Thieves, benefactors are not investing in the school." Ann explained. "So the third year girls are going to be auctioned off to date their highest bidder."

A perverted grin started to creep across his face. "Is that how it's going to be?" Ryuji could just imagine it. A date with one of the third year girls. He could almost imagine it. She would have a hot body and call him Sakamoto-sama or Sakamoto-senpai.

"Get your mind out of the gutter, Ryuji." The blonde demanded, stamping on his foot. "This is serious. I'm gonna be on that auction."

"If you don't want to be in the auction, just tell the principal." The dyed blond youth stretched his limbs, only stopping when he heard that satisfying pop. "I heard he's a real pushover."

"That's the thing. He guilt-tripped me into doing it by using our year as Phantom Thieves against me." Ann couldn't keep the frustration out of her voice. "He said that it's thanks to them that benefactors haven't been giving money. The school could go broke."

Ryuji saw the look of desperation on her face. "What do you need me to do?"

"I need you to buy me."

I need you to buy me. That's what she said that day. Ryuji had agreed, mostly because she was his friend. How could he abandon her in her time of need? But he couldn't help but feel weird. Why come to him? He wasn't loaded and he didn't have a high paying job like Ren did. He made enough money to help ease his mom's burden and to have extra on the side. She must have been really desperate.

The auction was taking place in the gym while the rest of the fundraiser was being hosted in the auditorium. In truth, Ryuji wanted to see everything the fundraiser had to offer but he didn't know when Ann's turn was going to be so he had no choice but to stay in the gym.

"Hope I have enough." He grumbled after taking a seat.

Nine girls came and went before Ann came on stage. Unlike the other girls who dolled themselves up, Ann was in her school uniform. She crossed her arms and gave off an aura of "leave me alone".

"Next up is Ann Takamaki," the MC announced in a flourish. “A part-time model whose naturally blonde hair lights up any room.”

Ann blushed. Hearing the announcer describe her like that threw her off-guard.

“How about a twirl, Ann-chan?” The announcer cooed.

Ann set her glare at the MC. He must have caught it because he immediately looked away. “Well, what are my starting bids for Ann?”

500 yen, someone yelled out.

600

700

900

1200

Ann was stunned. The offers steadily rose, easily clearing 2,000 yen. From there, the increments increased by 500. She was barely registering the numbers, instead, trying to find Ryuji in the crowd.

4500

5000

5200

Her eyes scanned the room, looking for bleached blond hair. How difficult could it be to find him? A horrid thought crossed her mind. What if he abandoned her? She clenched her fist. She would make him pay if he did.

“7000 yen-” the announcer cried “-going once”

“8000 yen.”

Ann’s head whipped around sharply to where the voice originated. Sure enough, it was Ryuji, standing on his chair and yelling out his bid.

“Sakamoto’s bidding on Takamaki?” Perhaps that was meant as a whisper but Ann heard it loud and clear.

“Why should a punk like him date a pretty girl like Takamaki?” Another yelled.

“8250″

“8500″ Ryuji yelled in response.

Ann’s eyes widened. The bidding was much higher than she expected. At first, she was worried that Ryuji wouldn’t help her at all. Now she was worried that Ryuji wouldn’t have enough to win. Something akin to a gut punch made her stomach flip. She got the feeling that if Ryuji didn’t win, he would feel massively guilty, like he would be letting her down. Her eyes began to water. She wanted to tell Ryuji that it was okay, that he didn’t need to waste his money on her. But the words didn’t come,

8600

8700

8800

Back and forth they went in increments of one hundred until

“9500″ Ryuji yelled.

“Going once, going twice,”

“10,000″ the student who Ryuji was in a bidding war with announced triumphantly.

“10,000?” The announcer gasped incredulously. “10,000 going once”

Ann couldn’t bear to look Ryuji in the eye. She didn’t want to see his dismayed face.

“Going twice.”

“12,800.” Ryuji bellowed, holding the money in his hand.

An audible gasp emptied the air in the auditorium.

“12,800. Going once, going twice, sold to the blond guy still standing on his seat.”

Ann nearly burst into tears. It took all her strength to stay on her feet. Ryuji had come through for her.

Ann and Ryuji walked to the train station after the fundraiser was over. Neither said anything. Ann couldn’t express into words just how grateful she was. Ryuji had gone above and beyond to help her out.

“Thanks, Ryuji.” Her voice had cracked a bit due to her gratitude.

“Huh,” Ryuji snapped his attention to his friend. “Oh, it was nothing.”

“It was not nothing,” Ann told him, stamping her foot to get his attention. “I know I kinda sprung that on you last minute but you pulled through for me. So thanks.”

“Come on,” Ryuji scratched the back of his head. His cheeks started to stain pink. “You’re my friend. We’ve been through so much together. Of course, I’d help you if I can.”

That made Ann smile. It was just like Ryuji to make everything so simple. But that’s one of the things she liked about him.

“I have an idea,” The twin tailed girl spoke. “How about you and me hang out this Sunday? I’ll take you to my favorite crepes place.”

Ryuji stretched out his limbs. “Sure. I’ve got no plans that day.”

“Then it’s settled.” Ann pumped her fist in excitement. “You’re gonna love this place. I swear, you’ll be a sweets junkie at first bite.”

Sunday came. Ryuji walked down Central Street, looking for his friend. Thanks to her unique looks, he didn’t have to look hard. She was standing in front of the movie theaters. 

Ryuji waved at the blonde. “Sorry. Were you waiting long?”

Ann shook her head. “I just got here myself. Now let’s go. These crepes are going to rock your world.”

Ryuji faked a grimace as Ann dragged him towards their destination. Inwardly, he smiled. It was great that things haven’t changed that much since their days as Phantom Thieves.

Ann didn’t lie when she said the sweets in this place were out of this world. Even though he wasn’t a sweets person, the crepes were made to perfection. Each bite was a cacophony of flavors that complemented each other. Ryuji could see why Ann loved these things. He was in flavor town. Ann herself had polished off eight of them before they were done.

“Crepes are love. Crepes are life.” Ann sighed as they left.

Ryuji scratched the back of his head. “How can you eat so much sugary sweets and not gain so much weight?”

“Maybe my metabolism is just that great,” the blonde laughed.

A wicked grin crossed the ex-runner’s face. “Or maybe it just goes to your breasts.”

“WHAT?” She screeched.

“I can see it now,” Ryuji leered playfully. “Every crepe adds one centimeter to your bust size.”

Ann took a swipe at him. However, Ryuji had anticipated this and dodged her attack.

“Get back here and take your punishment.” Ann yelled, shaking fist and chasing after her friend.

Ryuji just laughed and ran away from her, watching as she chased him.

Ann and Ryuji spent the day hanging out in Shibuya, enjoying some of the sights and sounds of the city. Ryuji introduced Ann to the joys of the arcade and Ann took Ryuji to the underground mall to window shop. Near the end of the day, their travels led them to a sneaker store. Ryuji had stopped to stare.

“I didn’t know you were that into sneakers,” Ann said.

“You can’t be a good runner if you don’t have good sneakers,” Ryuji explained. “Arch support and cushioning are important for speed.”

Ann didn’t know that. She could understand shoes for fashion and for comfort. But a shoe for speed, that was something else entirely. It was quite eye-opening to step through the looking glass and see Ryuji’s world.

“Ahh, Ryuji-chan” a woman’s voice called to him. “You’ve come.”

A middle-aged woman stepped out of the store and greeted him. She was somewhat plain, a dusting of gray hair and wrinkles here and there. But her overall cheerful demeanor made her shine bright.

“Obaa-san,” Ryuji greeted in a friendly manner. “I didn’t know you were working today.”

 The store owner noticed that Ryuji wasn’t alone. “Oh, hello. Are you Ryuji-chan’s girlfriend?”

Both teenagers blushed at the implication. “N-n-no. We’re just friends,” Ryuji insisted.

The store owner gave them a wan smile. It was almost like she didn’t believe them. However, she let that go for the moment. It wouldn’t do to give her favorite customer the third degree.

“So what brings you in, Ryuji-chan? Are you here to buy the sneakers you’ve put on reserve?” She motioned to sneakers that were out on the display window.

Ann couldn’t stop her eyes from following to where the sneakers were. She read the tag. It was Assassin brand sneakers, a simple pair of white sneakers with red laces and black soles. Apparently they were sneakers popular with runners. Even knowing little about sneakers, she knew that these Assassin sneakers were very good. Then she read the price tag. It was 12,800 yen. The number struck her as familiar but she couldn’t place why it was.

“About that,” Ryuji started. “I don’t have the money this week. Can you hold it in reserve for another week while I scrap together the money?” He ended his request by clasping his hands together in an imploring manner.

The store manager looked at him in sadness. “I’m sorry, Ryuji-chan,” she apologized. “But you know our policy. We can only reserve sneakers for four weeks, no more, even for you. I’m really sorry.”

Ryuji hung his head in defeat. “I understand.”

As the bleached blond walked towards the back to look at other sneakers, a realization came to Ann. She knew now why the price tag was so familiar. It was the same amount of money Ryuji used to win her lot in the auction. It hit her all at once. Ryuji had been saving up enough money to buy a pair of rare sneakers he wanted. And along comes Ann Takamaki, without any consideration of Ryuji’s feelings, and demands that he use his hard-earned money on her. A sickening feeling bubbled in her stomach as it dawned on her. She had used Ryuji in the same way that she herself didn’t liked to be used. And she felt guilty because of it.

“Miss, are you okay,” the shopkeeper asked.

Ann snapped out of her self-loathing party to pay attention to her surroundings. “Sorry. I was out of it.” Her light-blue eyes turned towards Ryuji. He was examining another pair of sneakers, feeling the weight and texture of it.

“I’ve known Ryuji-chan ever since he started doing track,” the shopkeeper told her. “He is brash and impulsive and not so quick on the uptake.” Ann couldn’t help but smile at the words. “But despite all of that, he has a good heart. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yeah, he does,” Ann agreed. The shopkeeper had no idea. Ryuji helped her with Kamoshida, had defended countless times a Phantom Thief. Hell, he nearly died saving them in Shido’s Palace. And now, he spent the money he would have had to buy the sneakers he wanted but instead, he spent it to spare her from being bought by someone else to do gods know what by gods know who.

The two watched Ryuji compare sneakers.

“So, tell me the truth. Are you Ryuji-chan’s girlfriend?”

Ann flushed magnificently. The contrast between her red face, blonde hair, and blue eyes was something to behold. “No,” she squeaked, unable to control the volume of her voice. “We’re just good friends.”

The shopkeeper made a sound, indicating that she wasn’t sure that was the case but she didn’t say anything else beyond that. Thankfully, Ryuji sauntered up to them, preventing things from becoming more awkward.

“Welp, I’m finished. Ann, you ready to go?” He asked.

Ann’s guilt started to double back on her. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

“Thanks for stopping by, Ryuji-chan,” the shopkeeper waved goodbye as the two teens left her store. “Say hello to your mother for me. Please come again.”

The train ride back was quite silent, unbearably so. Ann was in a pool of self-pity for using Ryuji without any consideration. As for Ryuji, he was trying to figure out what was going on with Ann. Finally, they had come to their stop. Ann and Ryuji hopped off the train and headed into the street. This intersection was where they had to go their separate ways.

“Well,” Ryuji turned towards the direction of his apartment, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Ann. Today was really fun.”

As Ryuji walked away, Ann couldn’t help but shout at him to wait. Ryuji turned around to see his friend’s face filled with determination, like she wanted to tell him something important.

“Huh? What’s wrong?” Ryuji asked.

“I’m sorry,” Ann cried out.

The bleached blond furrowed his eyebrows. “For what?”

“I didn’t know you were saving your money for something else.” Ann’s guilt came back as a tidal wave. “I bothered you with my problem, never thinking that you had your own thing going on.”

“Ann...”

“I used you. And now, you can’t afford to buy the sneakers you wanted, simply because I made you spend your money on me.” Tears had come unbidden and started to stream down her face. Ann bowed her head so that Ryuji didn’t see her crying. The last thing she wanted was for him to see her cry.

“Ann, listen to me.” Before Ann realized it, Ryuji had closed the distance between the two of them. “You didn’t make me spend my money. I spent it to help you.”

“But...”

“Ann,” he said in a voice that would brook no other rebuttals. “You asked for my help. I helped you. You’re my friend and that’s more important to me than any sneaker that has ever or will ever come out.”

Ann was stunned by his frank admission. He helped her simply because they were friends. It remind her of the shopkeeper’s words. He has a good heart. Truer words were never spoken. The fact that he would lose out on something he wanted just to help her solidify the fact that underneath his headstrong attitude was an amazing person. Sure, she may deride his somewhat perverted nature and may mock his intelligence once in a while, the fact remains that Ann was very lucky to have Ryuji Sakamoto as a friend.

“Ryuji.” Ann whispered. “Thanks. For everything.”

Ryuji grinned. “No problem.”

As Ryuji was about turn away to go home, Ann called out to him once more. “Can you do me one more favor?”

“Hmm, what’s up?”

A dusting of pink tinged her cheeks. “Can you close your eyes for a minute?”

“Huh? Why?” Ryuji didn’t understand why Ann was requesting this.

“Please?” Her voice came out more earnest than she expected.

Ann’s request threw him off. So he did as she asked and closed his eyes.

Years later, if you had asked Ann what compelled her to do what she was about to do now, she wouldn’t be able to give you a clear answer. But her body moved on its own. Lo and behold, Ann’s lips pressed against the corner of Ryuji’s lips. That’s not what she meant to do. It was suppose to be a kiss on the cheek. How did that happen? Did she close her eyes just before the kiss? But she couldn’t take it back now.

As for Ryuji, once he felt the pressure from Ann’s lips, his eyes shot open. Ann was kissing him. ANN. TAKAMAKI. WAS. KISSING. HIM. On the list of things that could happen to him, this was not one of them. And before he could react, she pulled away.

“See you tomorrow,” Ann quickly shot out before she sprinted away.

“Ann, wait.” Ryuji sprinted after her. There was no way that he could let her go away without giving him a chance to speak. Thankfully, he was still much faster than his fellow Phantom Thief so he caught up with her instantly and grabbed her arm.

Ann didn’t turn around but neither did she struggle to break free. “You don’t have to say anything,” she said in an even tone that betrayed nothing. “I just wanted to thank you. That was the best way how.”

“Ann, listen, I.” The kiss flustered Ryuji to the point that he didn’t know what to say. That was a first for him.

Ann wanted to see the look on Ryuji’s face but she was too embarrassed. But she was sure it was rather silly.

“Next week,” the bleached blond started. “If you’re free, you wanna hang out? You know, just you and me.”

Was she hearing right? “Are you asking me out on a date?” Ann still didn’t look at him. She wasn’t sure she could handle it right now.

“It doesn’t have to be a date,” he offered, letting go of her hand and waving his own in a frantic manner. “It could just be two friends hanging out.”

Ann waited a beat. “I’m going to see Shiho next week.”

“Oh.” Ryuji was deflated. He turned to walk away, not wanting to make things more awkward than it was.

“But, I’ll be free the week after that,” she offered. “We can go then.”

Ryuji turned around and saw that Ann was finally looking at him. She was smiling. That made him smile.

“Alright then,” Ryuji grinned. “See you at school tomorrow.”

“Yeah”

It was strange. Who would have thought that a school fundraiser could lead to something like this? Neither Ann nor Ryuji expected that this event could bring them closer. And yet, it did. And soon after, the two of them started dating. Who would have guessed? Perhaps it’s not surprising that two former Phantom Thieves still in the same school would deepen their relationship. But it was a welcomed surprise.

More than half a year had passed and their relationship was only getting stronger. Christmas came and the Phantom Thieves got together, spending their holiday at Leblanc. It was a small but wonderful celebration.

A small plastic tree was set up on top of one of the booths. The gang had left their presents for each other under it. Ryuji saw a rectangular box with his name on it. Getting greedy, he grabbed and shook its contents.

“Oooh, I wonder what Santa-san left me,” he chuckled.

“You still believe in Santa? Lame,” Futaba cackled.

“You’re just not into the holiday spirit.” The bleached blond accentuated that statement by sticking out his tongue. “I’m gonna open it.”

With little preamble, Ryuji tore into the present. It was a sneaker box. When he opened it, his mouth stood agape. There it was, the Assassin sneakers that he had wanted from months ago. Only one person knew about that.

“Ann?” He didn’t trust himself to speak. “How did you...”

Ann gave her boyfriend a saucy wink. “You forget that I’m a part-time model. After that day, I got in contact with people to get that pair.” She told him of just how difficult it was to get it. “The hardest part was getting a pair in your size. But the shopkeeper helped me with that.”

Ryuji immediately hugged Ann tightly. “You’re the best girlfriend a guy could ask for.” He kissed her temple to punctuate that.

Ann fake-struggled to get out of his embrace. “Let go. You’re embarrassing me.”

Ryuji just laughed and hugged her tighter.

Comment for Year 7 of Rosea Puella

The way you write Kougyoku’s recovery is so poignant and moving! You don’t shy away from the grim realities, like how hard it is to keep up the fight or how her illness never entirely leaves her (even during her better days). She also isn’t magically cured after her realization that she wants to get better. She is still just as prone to sudden bouts of melancholy. But, at the time, it’s so hopeful and optimistic too, since it shows Kougyoku is steadily improving and that progress, though seemingly impossible, is definitely attainable.

Mustering all of her discipline, Kougyoku gets out of bed and helps Ka Koubun out. Trying to stop being a “burden”.

But it’s slow, painstaking, incremental change and sometimes it’s one step forward, two steps back.

She falls into a funk, tormented over her “failed” efforts to improve. It’s hard for her to see that just because she didn’t succeeded on the first attempt, doesn’t mean she’ll never succeed at all.

But even with the nasty voices in her head flinging insults at her, she forces herself to get up and try again. I’m just so proud of her.

Kougyoku can sense how precarious her mental state is but she’s stronger than she gives herself credit for and she continues to persist.

The metaphor describing her mental state as standing on the edge of a huge drop feels so apt.

Kougyoku uses this new self-awareness to anticipate when the worst of her depression will hit.

Yes! I’m so happy Kougyoku is proud of herself as well. After all these years of constant self-hate, it’s a welcomed change.

Even with her mind cynically retorting that it’s too small an accomplishment to really celebrate (but it’s not small, it’s huge progress), it does nothing to quash that small spark of pride.

But as with any rehabilitation, no matter how smooth, there are bound to be a few setbacks as well. The approaching winter only worsens her mental condition.

But she braces herself for it and is able to beat back the illness to manageable levels again, until its presence no longer crushes and immobilizes her, and at a faster rate than before.

With every victory, her confidence builds and she can combat her illness more and more readily and effectively.

It’s good that Kougyoku sets a goal for herself and a deadline to do it in, i.e. to knit a present for Ka Koubun for the Winter Festival. Although, I am concerned that she’s making the result of this project the barometer for her recovery. Especially since she wants to outdo herself and make the scarf really special.

It’s great that Kougyoku is getting out of the house in order to buy the supplies.

Things start going downhill though, when Kougyoku sees that all of the quality material is sold out, which means (to her) the project is doomed before it’s even begun. Her perfectionism is painfully relatable.

She’s spiraling. Freaking out even more when she can’t find the proper materials at home either (gosh, the feeling of not being able to think straight while panicking is a relatable feeling too).

At that moment, Ka Koubun walks in on her, which is probably for the best in this case, since he can calm her down and talk her through her panic attack.

Kougyoku, however, sees it as exposing her inadequacy to him.

Ka Koubun asks her what’s wrong and she responds by apologizing excessively for her failure to make him a proper gift. She probably would’ve gone on berating herself for much longer, had Ka Koubun not interrupted her.

Kougyoku feels patronized at his question and snaps at him. Something she regrets instantly and she goes back to apologizing and cursing herself out for being so useless.

Ka Koubun throws her through a loop when he asks her why she believes she’s useless. Kougyoku’s so stunned she can’t formulate an answer.

Ka Koubun’s question forces her to examine and articulate why she feels herself unraveling at something so seemingly trivial (identifying the problem and facing it frankly has proven to be effective, as it helped her better prepare for her depressive episodes) and put things in perspective.

Kougyoku talks very candidly with Ka Koubun, even bringing up the voices to him for the first time.

Realizing how she must sound, Kyogoku hastens to add that she knows that the voice she’s hearing aren’t real. She’s ashamed she even brought them up, fully expecting (and dreading) Ka Koubun to write her off as a “crazy lunatic”.

Ka Koubun, to his credit, takes this all in calmly. He doesn’t treat her like a basket case or dismiss her. No, he simply asks her a following-up question, namely, if she ever snaps back at the voices.

There’s immense relief that Ka Koubun is taking this so seriously and that Kougyoku no longer has to deal with it all alone.

Ka Koubun advises her to fight fire with fire. Anytime the voices try to cut her down, she’ll shut them down.

Beneath his calm exterior though, Kougyoku can see that he’s struggling to say the right things.

Kougyoku wants affirmation from Ka Koubun that she’s not crazy, even if she’s not always sure herself.

Ka Koubun’s answer is cagey, replying that it’s the state of the world that’s crazy, but Kougyoku thinks he doesn’t and she appreciates his support.

Kougyoku is becoming more and more conscious of the passage of time. Marking it not just by the season but by her daughter’s birthday as well. That’s an encouraging sign.

Kougyoku lets herself feel a sense of accomplishment in continuing to live (as well she should).

She’s also taking Ka Koubun’s advice and talking back to the voices, which appears to improve her condition.

Plagued by the guilt of being a negligent mother, Kougyoku makes an effort to bond with her daughter.

Like the road to recovery, motherhood isn’t easy. Despite the cultural myths surrounding motherhood, a woman doesn’t instinctively know everything about parenting once her child is born. Not to mention, it’s hard, stressful work, even when the mother isn’t grappling with mental illness. Which is why it’s doubly sad when the voices taunt Kougyoku for not living up to this impossible motherly ideal (at least she tells them to shut it).

Taohua, like any toddler, would rather run around and play than sit still with her mother.

But even though intellectually Kougyoku knows her daughter’s not deliberately snubbing her, she can’t help but feel dejected.

There’s this desperateness in Kougyoku, present in every task she undertakes, to get everything “right” (preferably the first time around). But she puts so much pressure on herself, she’s cracking under the weight of it, evident by the way she repeats, “she was trying,” over and over again in her head (at her lowest, she tends to repeat phrases such as, “I’m fine” in chapter 5).

What’s worse, she knows that her storytelling is ineffective and that it’s not bringing her any closer to Taohua but she can’t think of anything else to try. Either another activity or a new story to tell.

Kougyoku becomes so wrapped up in her problems that everything else disappears, even Taohua. It’s a habit that worries her, both because she has no idea when it started and because it seems to be happening much more frequently.

Kougyoku attempts to apologize to Taohua, and like her previous apology to Ka Koubun, she seems to be apologizing for her whole existence rather than a particular mistake or slip-up.

Taohua, though unable to fully grasp the situation, is aware that her mother’s “unwell.”

Kougyoku sees the concern (for her) etched into Taohua’s face, the earnestness in her expression setting her face apart from her father’s, despite their similar features.

The voices surge, mocking Kougyoku for being such a colossal failure of a mother that her own daughter has to parent her, but thankfully Kougyoku doesn’t take their shit.

Kougyoku thinks sickness is a good way to describe her condition. And now that she thinks about it, her mother struggled with a similar affliction so she may have inherited it from her (it’s sad to think that all she knows about her mother either comes from these secondhand accounts or slander).

Kougyoku admits as much to her daughter and, as with Ka Koubun, it lightens a little bit of her burden.

She also warns Taohua that she’s susceptible to the same disease so they will be on the lookout for the symptoms and do everything in their power to prevent the onset of the illness in the first place. With Kougyoku promising to be there for Taohua in the same way Ka Koubun is.

Kougyoku throws herself into the farming. It’s something to occupy her mind. Plus, physically and mentally, it helps to stick to a schedule.

Not to mention, having gotten used to the work, she no longer stresses about messing it up as she does with knitting or parenting.

“The callouses on her hands now aligned with a gardening hoe more than with any sword.” I adore this line. It perfectly encapsulates the idea that she’s leaving her old life behind her. And what’s more, Kougyoku is at peace with that.

Kougyoku gains a more nuanced understanding of Ka Koubun. It hits her now, as she’s coming to grips with her own identity, that he’s neither solely his worst or his best qualities and that the seemingly contradictory sides of Ka Koubun come together to make a fallible but whole human being.

On her own initiative, Kougyoku reaches out to Ka Koubun in order to learn more about him.

Despite (or perhaps because of) how long they’ve known each other, it’s taken this long for Kougyoku to ask Ka Koubun about his past, specifically about his lover. Asking the question is a decidedly awkward affair too, as Kougyoku fears she’s overstepped her boundaries.

Ka Koubun is understandably taken aback by the question since it was probably the last thing he was expecting her to say.

At least, he hasn’t beat a hasty retreat yet.

Even though she’s not a princess anymore, this still feels like a breach of decorum to Kougyoku. Still, she presses on anyway.

Ka Koubun is extremely reluctant to talk about it with her since his lover was a man. Kougyoku replies that at this point, considering her own disaster of a love life, there’s nothing in his that could shock or scandalize her.

Ka Koubun, after some deliberation, concedes her point. Noting that the age gap between them isn’t as wide as he sometimes thinks of it.

Kougyoku hasn’t been keeping track of their ages closely but she mentally notes that time has definitely taken its toll on them.

Ka Koubun opens up to Kougyoku. He doesn’t go too deeply into the specifics but the fact that he’s telling her anything at all shows how much he trusts her.

He asks her why she wants to know this all of a sudden, which is a fair question.

Kougyoku responds that she feels she’s at a disadvantage. Ka Koubun had a front-row seat to her dumpster fire of an adult relationship, while she knows next to nothing about his love life.

In that regard, Ka Koubun makes a wry remark about ignorance being bliss and Kougyoku is able to take it as the joke (though perhaps a poor one) it was intended to be, rather than as a barbed criticism. She even jokes back, saying she agrees.

She’s must be drunk, to bring up sex so bluntly. But she presses through the awkwardness, determined not to let her embarrassment ruin this heart-to-heart with Ka Koubun.

It’s major progress that she’s able to talk this freely about her relationship with Judal without shaking with anger or resentment. And I love that the thing she misses the most about him is the sex.

This whole exchange is golden! I don’t think they’ve ever had a chance to just relax and chat so amiably together before and it’s so nice to read.  

The POV change had me at the edge of my seat. Since the story so far has either been told though Kougyoku or Judal’s POV it’s a nice little hint of the narrator’s true identity before it’s confirmed (that and the fact that he mentions he’s been to Xiaoshi before).

Judal braces for a bigger “scene” this time around than Kougyoku screaming at the top of her lungs.

As he comes closer to the house, he sees the normally proper and serious Ka Koubun play around in the snow and assumes he’s gone gaga (rather than, you know, entertaining a kid).

Judal almost wants to stay back until he can come up with a suitably sick burn for Ka Koubun (childish, much?).

That is, until he gets the first glimpse of his daughter in, like what, three years?

Judal can’t help but pick up on the resemblance between them. It seems to disturb him, almost.

Then Taohua looks at him straight on, and, yep, Judal is still just as freaked out about bringing life into the world as he was three years prior.

Ka Koubun appears to be just as shocked to see Judal here as Judal is to see his daughter.

Judal, despite having had time to prepare for this reunion beforehand, has no idea how to act around these people he’s bailed on. So he defaults to his old flippant behavior.

Gosh, I wasn’t sure whether Judal would come back or not! What a cliffhanger! I can’t wait to learn why he’s back, where he’s been, how Ka Koubun and Kougyoku will react to his presence (I predict that while Kougyoku might not beat him to a pulp, at least one of them’s gonna punch him in the face), how Taohua reacts to her biological father (who’s virtually a stranger to her) being around, and if Judal will ever stop being afraid of her.

Splendid work! 

Looking back I started this fic when I was 15 and sure there was no way I could be mentally ill when other people had it worse than me, and now I’m 19 and have tried to begin the healing process in my own life, in a way Kougyoku and I both earned this chapter, and I think there’s just a lot of power to that

With Taohua it is interesting bc I played with a sequel series that followed her and so while there’s no guarantee she’ll suffer like Kougyoku (and part of her motivation to recover is so that Taohua is less likely to battle with mental illness) her life has already paralleled Kougyoku’s in several ways, while I don’t think I’ll ever write that sequel series, it was fascinating to look at how the events of RP developed Taohua for better or worse, I thought implying a certain degree of hereditary strengthen that link 

The conversation with Ka Koubun I hadn’t planned at first, but I think it is necessary for their relationship to ever be anything more than caretaker and charge, he’s been looking after her since he was 17, 18, that’s 20 years, the longest relationship they’ve both had with someone, so being able to drink together and talk honestly about stuff like sex is pretty revolutionary, something that would have never happened at the start of RP

And I’m glad Judal’s return was appropriately shocking!  I thought I obviously telegraphed it by keeping his presence around, but yeah it’s going to be interesting returning to him (I think it has been years since I have actually written his POV) There’s gonna be more focus on him as we navigate all those questions you brought up

Thank you so much for your support!!

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Every Hurdle, Every Chasm - Chapter 02

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia Warnings: none Characters: Midoriya Izuku, Iida Tenya, Uraraka Ochako, Asui Tsuyu, Todoroki Shouto, Ochako’s parents Relationships: Dekusquad friendship | Pining Tododeku & Tsuchako Other info: Dekusquad Roadtrip AU ; Fun times ahead but also some tough emotional times so I should definitely warn about that!; MAJOR MANGA SPOILERS.

Words: ~8,000 | Chapter: 02/14 | Language: English

Not much to say other than this was written much quicker than the last two. I’m not sure whether that’s a good or a bad thing, but I hope it’s okay!

Day 02: Braids [December 25]

A bit past midnight, Shouto hears their collective phones buzz in alert of an oncoming message, but he’s the only one who still has it in his hand. As to not disturb Tenya snoozing beside him in the bed, he turns on his side to put his back toward him and unlocks his screen to see Ochako’s text.

After some excited gratitude for their help with her mission, she invites the four of them to their apartment for dinner because her parents want to express their own thanks to the group. He stares at the screen for a while and hovers his thumb through a myriad of possible hand signs until he settles on locking his screen and saving it for morning. Something in his chest feels a little too tight to continue lying comfortably, so he sits up with the sheet draped over his lap.

He glances over to the other bed where Izuku and Tsuyu are practically cocooned beneath all three layers of sheets, blanket, and duvet. Fluffy hair is held back by an elastic band, but he can see how some strays still fight back against the tug. If it weren’t for his sleeping aid, he might worry a little more about the sound his own bed makes when it creaks in his departure. He knows it isn’t his business to pry, but he wonders when Izuku started relying on medication to sleep so solidly.

Shouto slips his phone from the mattress into his palm, and he closes himself off in the bathroom to scroll through articles from earlier in the day on the tiled floor. His fingers comb through his hair to tug it back on his right side, and he curls them to grip the tufts in place as he reads. As expected, nothing of note in this area.

It’s a relief for his vacation, but it’s inconvenient for everything else.

His thumb freezes when he reads his father’s alias, and the article praises him for yet another arrest in the continuous stream of villain incidents. Nothing out of the ordinary, so his back slides against the bathtub to get a bit more comfortable as he continues digesting the daily feed beneath fluorescent light.

By the time his clock reads half-past two, he’s rubbing his eyes a bit more frequently and finding it difficult to focus on some of the longer reports. He pulls himself up from the floor, stretches his back, and decides to try for sleep. This time, he doesn’t entertain opening his eyes even if he lies in wake for the next hour.

At least knowing others are in the room keeps his thoughts in check.

Tenya wakes first with the sunrise as if competing with who could rise the quickest. Thanks to the curtains drawn, he can claim the victory without having any proof to dispute otherwise, so he reaches for his glasses at the nightstand and peels the nasal strip from his skin. Beside him, the covers pull over messied red and white hairs, and he decides to keep himself silent and careful in his tip-toeing toward his luggage to collect his attire for the day.

A zipper sounds so much louder when he’s the only one awake in a room of three slumbering seniors.

His eyes widen as he watches them and tugs on the zipper pull excruciatingly slowly, each sound emitting louder than the last. In the end, he decides to risk it and tugs it in one swift motion with his heart suspended until he can breathe a sigh of relief with no clear movement coming from the beds. He retrieves what he needs and hurries off to the bathroom to change and wash up, then he dismisses himself from the room to grab some breakfast from the hotel’s small dining area.

Meanwhile, Tsuyu lies in bed with her body curled in on itself debating whether or not to follow Tenya in morning rituals or doze off again. She reaches for her phone to check the time and sees the message from Ochako, and she replies first while she holds off her decision. She loves the idea of spending time together in the Uraraka household, especially if it makes Ochako happy. She can see her now, introducing her friends and family and breaking the ice between them quicker than Tenya greets dawn.

The top of her phone rests against her lips after she agrees to the plan, and she wonders if the others would mind going into town with her to find something to bring for the family. Even if she cannot cook or bake for them this time, she feels wrong showing up empty handed.

She sets her phone down near her pillow and turns over to Izuku’s backside, and she decides to scoot closer in spaced out increments until she’s only one small hop away. Part of her wants to wake him up in a playful bop of her forehead to his shoulder, but it isn’t long until a phone on the nightstand starts buzzing in patterns and his hand practically slams atop it to grab and shut it up.

Tsuyu pulls back to give him space to fumble around with the alarm, his voice muttering curses until it silences, and she can tell he’s looking across to the other bed before turning around to face her wide eyes staring back at him. Izuku’s face lights up like a torch, and he parts his lips to silently shout as he pushes back and away in shock. Perhaps she got a little too close for an already anxious morning.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologizes in a whisper. “Did I wake you up?”

“I was already waking up,” she reassures him and offers her own apology in return for scaring him. “Do you usually get up around this time?”

“Yeah, I go for morning jogs,” he tugs the elastic from his hair and readjusts it to catch all the strays. “I guess I forgot to disable the alarm before we left.”

As they make small-talk about their respective work-out routines on their way toward their bags, they hear shuffling from the other side of the room and watch as the pile of Shouto Todoroki beneath the blankets turns over and grumbles some incoherent request. They turn to each other and stifle their snickers, and Tsuyu reminds Izuku to check his phone for Ochako’s message.

When he opens his messages, he’s quick to respond to her in eagerness for dinner, but a message from his mother warrants his attention quickly. Attached are three pictures: one of All Might in the sweater she’d made, another of the two of them smiling wide and waving their hands, and a third that fills his lungs so swiftly that he’s already to his feet.

He leaps onto Tenya and Shouto’s bed eagerly, landing right beside the latter’s pile, and he pats at the sleepy cocoon excitedly. It takes a few knocks to get a drowsy sound out of him, but soon enough, the blankets come down to reveal a heavy, mismatched glare. Izuku refuses to let the threat deter him, so he reassures him that it’s worth it, trust me. A sigh follows, then he rubs his eyes with his wrist and sits up with his red and white hairs disheveled.

Izuku presses their shoulders together as he lifts his phone to show Shouto the screen, but Shouto is already slumping his chin on his shoulder as he watches lazily. Almost dropping his phone then and there, he pushes past the fluttering that closeness brings and sets the picture to full screen. He can see from the corner of his eye how Shouto’s widen, and his left hand moves to take hold of the phone so he can get a better look.

On the screen is Mrs. Todoroki, standing between Inko Midoriya and Toshinori Yagi.

All three have nondescript paper cups, presumably courtesy of the hospital staff, and he can’t help but linger on his mother’s smile. He doesn’t recall ever having told All Might that his mother stayed in a separate ward of the same hospital, but he supposes Izuku may have mentioned it at some point when they visited together. He wants to worry, ask for details, call his mother then and there, but he knows she doesn’t have a phone. Instead, he keeps his stare on it and quietly asks Izuku if he could send the picture to him.

After completing the request, Izuku sets the picture of his mother and All might as his wallpaper. He chuckles as he adjusts the positioning and notices how the thick red-and-green wool practically swallows his gangly mentor.

“Did you tell them to visit her?” Shouto asks once he’s received it, still in the process of waking up fully but still not moving away from Izuku’s arm.

“I had no idea they were going to do that! I mean, okay, I’ve told mom and All Might that we go together, so it kinda came up that your mom is there,” he confesses and carefully studies Shouto’s face to make sure that’s okay. There’s no hostility to be found thankfully; only tinged cheeks masking his eye bags.

“Izuku’s mom is unstoppable,” Tsuyu comments with her stack of clothes in her hands, and he can’t help but snort and agree. She decides to take the bathroom and change first since the other two seem preoccupied. For today, she decides to tie her hair up in a bun with enough left to style a bow at its base.

When she leaves the bathroom, she expects to find Izuku still frozen solid with Shouto fighting sleep against his shoulder, but he’s alone on the bed staring at his own phone now, and Izuku is queued for his turn in the bathroom, still fighting off a blush. As she passes him, she pats his arm and tells him it’s all his.

Tenya returns to the room by the time Izuku is still occupying the bathroom, and it takes the three of them to convince Shouto to start the morning properly. He wants to argue that they’re on vacation for once, but at their expectations, he forfeits his stubbornness and squints as he drags himself to change. Out of all of them, he’s the only one that actually locks the bathroom door once he takes it from Izuku.

It’s about a quarter until eight by the time they’re ready, and Tenya laments grabbing breakfast without everyone since they’re awake sooner than he expected. After checking their map for nearby cafes, they decide to take the walk a few blocks away and settle down in the common chain. They figure to ask Ochako later if she has any recommendations for local spots, but first, they order their drinks and pull out their phones for any additional texts as they wait.

By now, she’s awake and sharing excited emotes over everyone’s positive responses to dinner plans, and she adds to the invite by telling them they can stay the night. The four debate the offer, weighing the pros of saving money but the cons of being a nuisance to her family; they agree that the Urarakas wouldn’t have invited them unless they were sure.

“If that’s the case, then we’ll need to check out of the hotel before noon,” Tenya informs the rest once the waitress comes with their drinks and pastries, and Tsuyu nods as she finishes off a sip of her tea.

“I was going to ask if we could find a market and do a little shopping beforehand,” she catches Izuku with a little whipped cream on his cheek and taps her own to let him know. “I want to get a dessert or something to thank them for their hospitality.”

“What did you have in mind?” Izuku asks.

“Maybe a cake?” she thinks over other ideas as she takes another drink. “I know Ochako likes mochi, but that seems-- Todoroki, why are you making a face?”

“This is just my face,” he answers and fixes himself into a sip from his coffee. She hums in disbelief.

“Do you not like mochi?”

“That’s,” he sets the cup down and shakes his head. “Sorry, it was ruined.”

“Is there a story behind that?” Tenya inquires, and Shouto levels his eyes and relaxes his stare before turning his attention back to his drink. “Well, in any case, I think that’s a wonderful idea. We should ask if there’s anything they need from the store, as well.”

“On it,” Izuku lets his drink cool off while he handles the texting. Ochako wastes no time getting back to him, so he lifts his head quickly. “Okay so, she says they’re doing hotpot and have the veggies, noodles, fish, and beef, but if we want anything else, we can bring it.” As he speaks, another text comes through, and he relays it. “Also, are we all okay with spicy broth?”

“How spicy?” Tenya asks as if inputting the request through Izuku, and he types it out to wait for a reply. Judging by his face, it isn’t much to worry about.

“Don’t worry, we’re not trying to kill you guys,” he repeats her answer word-for-word. After a few more exchanges on the flavors and sauces, they decide to pick up some pork and tofu while they’re out shopping for dessert.

“So until then, is there anything we want to do?” Tsuyu scans the table to see everyone thankfully taking their time with breakfast for once.

“We have the whole day if we head back and pack after this,” Tenya comments, and this time Shouto types out a text to Ochako with his free hand while his other holds his half-eaten cornet. He finishes chewing to avoid talking with his mouth full, sets his phone down on the table, and wipes the cream from his lip with his thumb.

“Uraraka says there’s some interesting shops out toward the shrine,” he must not have put the conversation in the group chat since no one else receives the message, but they all nod in agreement at the idea of walking around to do some window-shopping. Shouto glances down at his phone then looks back up to the other three. “I’d like to see the shrine, if no one minds the extra walking… I want to take a few pictures for my mom.”

“Yeah, we can do that!” Izuku offers his energy, and the other two smile in their nodding.

“One condition,” Tsuyu raises her long finger and points it at him, “you have to be in at least one of them.” He sighs.

“Fair enough.”

They finish up their breakfast at a comfortable pace and head back toward the hotel to relax a little after packing everything up. Izuku passes the time by playing some puzzle game on his Vita, Tsuyu sits close to him so she can watch and work together, and Tenya catches up on some reading from one of the complex books he’d brought. Shouto lies awake on his back, checking his phone every now and then, but he rests his eyes for the most part.

Once Izuku and Tsuyu clear the level, they check out and hit the road again.

“Oh wow, there are a lot more people than I thought there would be,” Izuku presses on his toes to look beyond the horizon of the crowded street. Either something here is popular this time of year, or they haven’t quite registered the touristic value. Tenya speculates it may be a combination of both, but they join the natural flow of foot traffic soon enough.

Passing a second-hand shop, they follow Tsuyu’s lead as she navigates toward the hanging kimono. Visible stains, tears, and wear attribute to the price-down, but Izuku chimes in with an offer to patch up whatever one may need some fixing.

“You know how to sew, Izuku?” she asks with red and orange fabric between her hand, and he nods.

“I figured it was practical since I kept tearing my costume,” he admits, then scratches his cheek bashfully. “Courtesy of Mom’s less-than-subtle encouragement.”

“You’ve mentioned she made your first costume.”

“Yeah, she modeled it off an old drawing I did when I was younger,” he brightens with appreciation for the memory of her support. Even now, he doesn’t allow the design team to change its base. Tsuyu reaches across to ruffle his fluffy, green hair.

“That is the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.”

She decides to hold off on picking out anything in favor of waiting until she has an opportunity to compare and contrast with Ochako. Not that she doesn’t trust her own taste, but she likes to think that it would be fun to pick out different patterns for each other.

They regroup to find Todoroki adorning a pair of plastic sunglasses in the shape of snowflakes, flat expression as always. Tsuyu decides that she’ll take Ochako’s job in her stead and snaps a picture before he puts them back in the ¥100 bin, much to everyone’s dismay.

Deeper into the heart of the street, they notice how the crowds keep close to the confectionery shops and booths, and they decide to spare their appetites for dinner. Tenya asks if they can stop in the book shop with a gray cat nestled atop a stack in the window. They were already going to agree, but they decide the cat is a huge selling point.

Tenya holds pleasant conversation with the old woman tending to the shop, and Tsuyu occupies her attention with a display of discounted poetry books. Shouto walks past the cat as if to play off his desire to pet it, looking back to it curiously, then walking in the opposite direction. Izuku catches on to his avoidance and decides to see how long it takes for him to finally give in to his desires while he buries his nose in a classic hero anthology.

Four passes. It takes four obvious passes for Shouto to finally pet the cat.

The cat eagerly accepts his right hand as it presses its cheek into the gentle scratches, soaking up that extra warmth until Tenya makes his purchase and thanks the saleswoman. Tsuyu and Izuku put down their books where they’d found them and head outward to the next shop.

Out of aesthetic intrigue, they enter a textile shop and admire the handiwork of the cloths and tapestries. While the boys talk amongst themselves in their own tastes, perhaps those of their families as well, Tsuyu uses the opportunity to look over the accessories until a saleswoman greets her kindly. After exchanging a few words, Tsuyu’s eyes catch a display of tightly woven braids in various colors. Highly saturated tones burn almost too brilliantly for her, but she’s eager to see the cooler colors plentiful in quantity.

She takes a look behind her to the boys still preoccupied with a new topic, and she decides to make her purchase before one of them decides to ask her what she’s looking at. The saleswoman seems to catch on to her secrecy, and she places her finger over her lip to play along with the quiet exchange.

Tsuyu slips the cloth bag containing the bands in her tote and join the others to continue walking down the rest of the street.

They bypass the last few snack stands and wander further down the path, noting how the crowds dilute in the serene vibe coming from the shrine ahead. Of course, they have to climb a good amount of steps to reach their destination, and they almost want to make a race of it until they agree it may be a bit disrespectful. Besides, they all know Tsuyu would reach the top in only a few long hops.

The breeze picks up the higher they climb, and at the summit of the shrine, Shouto has to readjust and tie his scarf again. Thankfully, it settles back down, so he splits from everyone to start studying the scene on his own with his phone ready to take pictures of the various structures.

Only problem: his pictures fail to do the scenery justice since he zooms in on arbitrary details rather than capture it in full.

The other three watch as he crouches near the pond to take a picture of the iced-over water, and Tsuyu takes it upon herself to join his side. They exchange a few words, and soon enough, she’s accepting the phone from his hands and hopping back to take a picture as he turns back toward it. His fingertips ghost the surface, light frost dusting over the solid ice in new, flaked patterns.

Izuku doesn’t know why he never thought about it, but he could probably create his own snowflakes.

She returns his phone, and Tenya decides to approach the two of them and shares his idea to snap a picture of her with the pond since the composition would be nice, and she adores the idea. Tsuyu follows his modeling instructions with her best efforts not to chuckle with his passion playing so fervently. Not a passion for photography, but a passion for putting his all into everything he does.

He assumes the role of photographer and enjoys his time mimicking poses for them to model until he realizes that Shouto ends up looking a little too stiff and decides to let him be himself. Izuku and Tsuyu entertain themselves with dramatic poses and faces, but Tenya captures their genuine calm and smiles between. They don’t allow him to be the only one behind the camera, however. Tsuyu swears she’ll climb on Izuku’s shoulders if she must to take aesthetic pictures of Tenya, and he dismisses the offer and leaves it to Izuku’s capable, gloved hands.

Shouto takes a seat on the steps toward the altar after a while, watching them wind down from their photoshoot and read some of the history of the shrine. Tenya notices him sitting quietly by himself and decides to leave the two to their history lessons and join him.

“So your mother likes things like this?” he smiles as he starts some conversation on his way down.

“Maybe,” he shrugs and turns his head to hold eye contact. “I thought someplace peaceful would be nice for her.”

“Forgive me if I’m over-speculating, but,” Tenya begins with a softness in his voice, “the impression I have of her is that she’ll be happy with anything you show her.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, for starters, you become far less rigid when you mention her,” he nudges him. As opposed to when Endeavor’s name arises, but he saves the thought for himself. “You’re a bright and diligent student, Todoroki, but you’re also a bit of a rebel, you know.”

Shouto snorts at that.

“Hey! What are you guys talking about?” Izuku and Tsuyu approach them after they’ve finished up their own conversation. Tenya and Shouto share a glance and shake their heads.

“Just talking about how I’ve got my hands full with all of you,” Tenya teases.

“Watchman Iida.”

“Todoroki, please.”

Izuku laughs at the memory, and they decide to play it safe and head back to the car.

“Come in, come in!” Ochako Uraraka swings open the door clad in a red and white striped sweater. She eyes the cake in Tsuyu’s hands as soon as she sees her, and they swear that her eyes sparkle at the sight. She steps aside to let them through into the warm apartment, and Mrs. Uraraka calls from the living room.

“Ochako, go ahead and let ‘em put their belongings in your room for now!”

“Okay!” she calls back and leads her group of friends to her very plainly decorated bedroom. Even if she hasn’t lived in it for three years, her parents never substituted it for a storage room-- the bed still has some basic bedding, and they can see some posters and pictures still out on display even if they don’t have time to study them in full. She takes the grocery bags from Shouto and the cake from Tsuyu, and she has them follow her to the living room where a fold-out table connects to their normal wooden one, and the chairs follow a similar pattern.

At the center, they see the large pot over its burner and hold back their growing appetites. Plates keep the meat, mushrooms, vegetables, and noodles organized, and Ochako dismisses herself to the kitchen to plate the new additions. Mr. and Mrs. Uraraka greet their guests with bright smiles and extend their welcome with their warm tones.

“Feel free to sit anywhere you like,” her mother offers, but the boys take the three fold-out chairs without even discussing prior. She chuckles at their eager politeness and turns her attention to Tsuyu. “Looks like you get to sit closer to us, Asui!”

She blushes a little at being addressed, and she ribbits a thank-you. “Is there anything I can help with?”

“You’ve already helped plenty by bringing us that dessert,” Mr. Uraraka takes his seat beside Tenya as Ochako returns with the new plates to set down. Her mother takes the one beside him and begins pouring their drinks from the tea kettle. “And by making Ochako smile like this.” He indicates his beaming daughter’s face, now flaring in its flush as she shoves at her dad’s shoulder in an embarrassed flurry.

“A-Anyway!” she holds out the seat beside Izuku and gestures Tsuyu to take it before her father can tease her anymore. He behaves, and she takes her seat beside her. “Tell me what all I missed today!”

And they do. While they boil the noodles and add ingredients, they take turns telling her about their day out shopping. She and her parents can envision exactly where they were and ask if they were able to see some monuments that the group must have missed; they brush it off with next time, next time! and continue on toward light teasing at Shouto’s expense for his poor photography skills.

In his defense, he looked the best in candid shots.

Izuku just so happens to take his tea at that moment, and both Tsuyu and Ochako grin at one another. Tenya, who proved to be the best photographer when Ochako isn’t around, shows them the photos from their visit. She nearly spits out her soul and demands that he scroll back to a shot of Izuku in the distance flexing and Tsuyu closer to the camera and seemingly holding him in her palm.

“Send me that right now.”

Tenya complies, but he also adds a separate shot of Tsuyu posing near the iced-over pond, and when she receives both, he can see her cheeks darken. She shoots him a look of victorious gratitude, exchanging the silent thumbs up and locking her screen before any curious eyes could question.

The Urarakas insist that the four of them take first pick, so everyone does what they can to snatch up some scraps as quickly as possible as to not keep them waiting. Izuku is the first to declare his fondness for the flavors, and the family grins to themselves in a job well done.

“It’s so nice to finally see all of you in person,” Mrs. Uraraka speaks after clearing a good half of her plate. “We always watch the sports fest of course, and we’ll catch you in the news, but it’s good to see you kids relaxing.”

“To be honest, I think we’re still having trouble adjusting to it,” Tsuyu admits. “We all started the morning early-- well, most of us, anyway.”

“Yeah, I got up early to do some stretches, too!” Ochako pumps her fists. “It’s like… I know we’re on break, but you know how it is. The grind never stops!” She does her best Kirishima impression, and the others know exactly what she means. They continue on with lively chatter and add food to the pot as they desire.

Sitting around the Urarakas’ table is a phenomenon foreign to Todoroki Shouto as he occupies his awkwardness with his meal, listening to the cheerful conversations of those more familiar with a family’s dinner. While he’s grown accustomed to eating with friends, there’s something about the way Ochako and her father smile to one another as they speak excitedly in their natural tongue that escapes him until Tenya finds a way to steer the topic into something more inclusive to the rest.

Whether it’s a thought of gratitude or a silent curse, Shoto flushes the rest of his noodles down with the last of his tea and returns to his degree of social capability. Having noticed the empty cup, Uraraka’s mother raises the kettle from the table and weightlessly carries herself back to the kitchen, presumably to prepare more for everyone.

The air they’ve offered is warm, hospitable, and everything to give his left the break it’s so desperately needed. It’s a charming whistle in the wind, listening to the tones in their voices practically harmonize, but the underlying sound grows and grows and grows until his muscles tense from the screeching.

How many years has it been now?

And how many times must he react so shamefully to something as mundane as a tea kettle’s whistle?

Thankfully, he catches himself, and the only one at the table who would even think to put any loose pieces together is turned toward Tsuyu, plucking the fish balls from the pot and plopping them on her plate. He almost wants to sigh in relief, but he keeps his breath to himself.

Shoto feels less relaxed, yet his obedience to uphold etiquette prevails as he speaks lowly in his gratitude once Uraraka’s mother returns to pour them a new serving of tea. He hasn’t spoken much unless addressed, so he continues on with condensed responses. Perhaps the others would attribute it to his natural awkwardness, but the way Izuku’s eyes slowly make their way to his hands, then his face, tells him he isn’t as subtle as he hopes.

Concern, a mouth reading Are you ok?, takes hold of his features, and Shoto nods tight lipped. Izuku knows better than to make a scene by pushing further, but he makes a mental note to check in on him later. For now, he’s returning to his conversation with Uraraka and her parents about her improvement over the years.

Any and all excuse to gush over his friends and fellow heroes-to-be.

Shouto loves that about him, loves that his rambling helps himself and those around him relax, but he thinks maybe he’s the only one who feels that way when she tries to shush them.

“Come on, you’re embarrassing me,” Ochako pouts to her parents and her best friend singing her praises, and Tsuyu adds a slice of pork to her plate to atone for the spotlight-flattery. She leans into her in approval as thanks. In her parents’ defense, they can’t help it; seeing their daughter surrounded by friends who love and admire all the qualities they do releases every instinct to dote on her for a willing audience.

Dinner carries on in good nature with topics continuously sprouting and branching out until all the dishes are empty and the broth’s boil comes to an end. The Urarakas refuse help in the clean-up, so the four do their best to at least stack the dishes and wipe the table down with their napkins.

Once everything is clear, Ochako returns with the cake Tsuyu had bought, carrying it with her pinkies out and her smile eager as ever. Following suit are her parents with the plates and forks, and they let their daughter do the honors of cutting everyone’s slices. She twirls the knife in her hand before carving into it, cutting the pieces thin to start with since most are still full from dinner. She serves Tsuyu first, giving her a piece with a little icing flower.

“Oh my,” her mother swoons beneath her breath, and Ochako stiffens with a quick glance to mentally tell her not to. Thankfully, no one else pays it any mind, so she passes around the servings to everyone else and takes her seat again. They dig in at a much slower pace compared to dinner, save for Shouto who may as well be a bottomless pit.

“So you kids have an early morning?” Mr. Uraraka takes a break halfway through his slice.

“Yeah, we wanna hit the road early since it’s gonna be a while ‘til we reach Hokkaido,” Ochako answers before she swallows.

“We wanted to allow room in case there are any stops we want to take on the way,” Tenya explains as he builds a road between his flattened hands. Izuku mimics his motions across the table and sways his own road as it connects at their fingertips.

“It’s like we have a schedule to maintain, but it’s flexible.”

“Sounds exciting,” Mrs. Uraraka smiles. “Just remember to check in with us every now and then so we know you’re safe, sweetheart.”

“I will, Mama!” Ochako reassures her, and they all finish up dessert with light talk descending into slower speech. The Urarakas are the first to dismiss themselves, but they remind their daughter to wake them before they leave if they manage to head out first. She hugs them both goodnight and turns back to her friends.

“How’re we feelin’?” she rests her hands on her hips. “Are we up for a movie?”

“Which one?” Izuku asks, fully interested in the plan. Before they delve further into cinematic debate, Tsuyu excuses herself to retrieve something from her belongings back in Ochako’s room. The four hold off any solid decision as they sit in a circle near the television until she returns with a small gift bag and loosens the draw-string.

“Before it gets too late, I want to give these to everyone,” she pokes her fingers inside and tugs them out to reveal a tightly pulled braid in a cool gray hue, nearly disguising itself as desaturated lavender. “While we were out today, I thought that I’d get one for each of us because…” Tsuyu casts her eyes down to the braid and pinches both ends of it, “well, it’s Christmas, but more than that, I consider you all some of my closest friends.”

The others are taken aback: not because they don’t share the sentiment, but because they don’t know how to properly respond when their emotions clutter within their chests. Tsuyu turns to Ochako and asks for her wrist, and she begins tying the braid into a bracelet to adjust for her more comfortable size. “I’m not sure if there’s already a meaning for these, but I want to think that we’ll be able to stay together if we all have the same threads around us,” she tightens the knot and ribbits.

“Like a string of fate,” Ochako holds up her wrist and fixates on the braid, smile soft as her heart swells in accepting Tsuyu’s gift. She holds her other hand over it and brings it to her forehead as if soaking up its gentle energy, and she pulls Tsuyu in for a hug. A thousand words line in her throat, but all she can muster is a soft breath as she squeezes slightly in their hold. She pulls back and wipes her eye, the two of them giggling to one another sweetly.

“Is it okay if I tie one on the rest of you? Don’t worry, you can untie them when you want,” she assures. Izuku, eyes already watering, tugs up his sleeve on his right arm. For him, there’s nothing but pride for the scars serving as reminders of those he’d saved; he can’t think of a better medal to wrap around his right wrist than a friendship binding him to the rest. She ties it carefully and meets his eyes with a cheerful smile of her own.

Next, she hops short toward Tenya, and he chooses his left, and his right rises to her shoulder to show his appreciation for her gift. She ribbits and presses into his touch, then continues carefully wrapping the thread around and fastening it. The nerves have left him gradually over the years; however, he wants his resolve as a hero to strengthen those as a friend.

When she reaches Shouto, he hesitates. Her large hands holding the braid lower as her shoulders slump, and she prepares to set it back in the bag should he refuse. “Are you sure?” he asks and brings his bi-colored eyes to hers. She flattens her lips and holds contact.

“Todoroki, I wouldn’t have bought one for you too if I wasn’t sure,” she tilts her head, and he nods his own. Raising his right hand, he pulls back his sleeve and lets her tie it around his cooler half. Years ago, he would say it further denied his father of any pleasant associations; however, now he wants to be responsible. This way, the fires won’t tear it to ashes. He thanks her with a hushed tone slipping between pulled lips. She smiles in return and scoots back to her spot beside Ochako.

“Can I tie yours, Tsuyu?” she extends her hand to accept the last braid, and she places it in her palm carefully. As Tsuyu makes her decision, she eyes the braid on Ochako’s right and decides to even out the variation by matching Tenya. She knows well the risk that all of these will be destroyed in the near future due to villains, accidents, quirks, and work, but she believes their ties to one another transcend any physical gift. Over the last three years, they’ve endured so much and taken each other’s hands regardless of their reach.

Tsuyu Asui wants to make this last forever, if she can.

So as the gray braid adorns her wrist, she holds it up and smiles to them.

“I love you guys,” she ribbits, and Izuku, Tenya, and Ochako practically throw their arms around her in a near-toppling embrace. Shouto watches them in a moment of confusion, then sighs into a smile as he lifts himself from the floor and moves closer to them, joining into the bundle with one of his arms draping across.

They all pull away and tease one another for getting so emotional, then proceed to defend their emotions to the grave, and return to the original dilemma of what movie they want to watch. After narrowing it down, Ochako makes the final call and pops in an old video tape of Clue since her home still has a combination VCR and DVD player.

Ochako, Tsuyu, and Izuku take the sofa while Shouto and Tenya lean against it from the floor. The three above end up leaning against one another to get more comfortable, and they all find themselves having to help each other figure out the dialogue between blurry subtitles. English class helped for some of the gaps, but speaking, reading, and writing in a controlled classroom is very different from trying to follow rushed speech.

They enjoy a challenge, and at least this isn’t anything too serious between all the over-acting and comedic bits. To their surprise, it ends with not just one but three conclusion scenarios-- the third being the “True Ending.” Shouto deadpans that he called it, but everyone corrects him because he suspected every single character as soon as they appeared on screen. He extends his hand to the screen after having watched Ending C, and they still don’t count it as his victory. Ochako drops a pillow on him and bounces off the sofa to free them of the bright blue display post-credits.

“Okay, so you guys can sleep out here. I’ll get some extra blankets, don’t worry,” she turns off the television after ejecting the tape and turns back to them. “Tsuyu, we can take my room!”

They all follow to Ochako’s room so they can get their clothes and other nightly necessities, and Izuku grabs his sleeping bag to bring out to the den (along with the quilt and extra throw blankets Ochako piles on him). Since it’s only the three of them out in the den, Izuku and Tenya don’t mind changing in front of each other since school desensitized them to it; however, Shouto still takes himself to the bathroom and returns in his sweats and T-shirt.

He sees Izuku ready to settle into the All Might sleeping bag, and he crouches beside it.

“Midoriya, I’ll sleep on the floor,” he states rather than offers.

“What? No, I’m already here!” he laughs, then regrets missing an opportunity to imitate the hero.

“Iida and I are both too tall to share it comfortably,” he explains. “Besides, I usually sleep on a futon anyway.”

Hard to debate when his first argument is right, so he concedes and slips out of the sleeping bag and cozies next to Tenya’s legs, just above where it is laid out. He watches as Shouto worms into the sleeping bag and it stops just at his shoulders. Izuku laughs a little and tugs one of the extra blankets from the floor to cover his entire upper half, and all he hears is a muffled oh as his arms make no effort to uncover himself. Tenya glances over and shakes his head as he grins to his friends’ foolishness, and he rests his head against the armrest and bids them both goodnight.

“I still can’t believe you did this,” Ochako toys with her bracelet after changing into her pajamas. Tsuyu is already in her sleepwear and working to untie her bun, and she turns with the hair tie caught between her teeth. Letting her hair fall down with her hands, she tugs the elastic down from her mouth and holds it around her finger. “I grew up here, and I never even thought about these bands like you did.”

“That may be because I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” Tsuyu admits and starts detangling the knots from her hair with her fingers.

“Can I?” Ochako asks with a retrieved brush in hand, and once she’s gotten approval, she pats the bedside for Tsuyu to sit comfortably and continue her train of thought while she brushes carefully through her long, black hair.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m excited to graduate,” she begins with the croak tensing her throat. She clears it and continues. “I just… I guess I’ve had so much fun with everyone that I haven’t thought about us going our separate ways until recently. I know things haven’t been perfect since we’ve been students at U.A., but I’ve had all of you.”

“We’ve had you, too,” Ochako softly combs through a knot and feels her heart pounding. Thankfully, with Tsuyu’s back to her, she doesn’t have to worry about the warmth in her face as she recalls late nights in the common room or sleepovers after a rough day.

“I know it’s unrealistic to think we’ll see each other every day like we do at school and the dorms, but maybe this will remind us to keep in touch. And maybe we’ll all be a little more careful if we--” she stops, and so does Ochako’s brushing. She feels the slight tremble in her shoulders, then listens as her breath leaves her in a sigh. “No, I shouldn’t think like that.”

“I know,” Ochako resumes to try and comfort her. “I know what you mean. There’ve been way too many close calls, but thankfully we’ve gained lots of experience to prepare us. We’ll be okay.”

“That’s true,” she nods and eases her tense muscles. “You know, Ochako? I like how you sound when you talk to your parents.” Suddenly, the brunette loses her speech function and short circuits in the fluster. Tsuyu giggles at her little noise, “I mean it! You sound so carefree that I think everyone else picked up on it.”

“It’s embarrassing,” she finishes up brushing and moves onto occupying her fingers with styling her long hair into something comfortable to sleep in. She settles on starting some pigtail braids.

“It suits you,” she ribbits.

“So you’re saying I’m embarrassing?” Ochako gives a playful tug, and Tsuyu’s voice jolts.

“I’m saying that you’re cute,” she clarifies, and powers that be, Ochako doesn’t know how much more of this she can take. Her heart is sure to erupt, and suddenly she feels guilty for teasing Deku so much when she’s got it this bad. Unlike him, however, she takes pride in having a goal in mind with her feelings.

Still, rushing toward the goal and planning it practically are two different things.

“You can’t say that when you just bought us all friendship bracelets, you sap,” she compromises with teasing, and Tsuyu sticks out her tongue.

“We can both be cute, Ochako.”

Damn, she got me there.

“I guess that makes us unbeatable,” she restores some confidence in her voice, certain she’ll survive this banter without making a further fool of herself.

“Isn’t that what they call a power couple?” Tsuyu’s own cuts at the last word as if a hand hurried and shushed her, but Ochako’s heart has already suffered so much in this conversation that all she can do now is drop her forehead to the back of Tsuyu’s parted hair and stifle snickers.

“You’re too much, you know that?”

They share in another chortle and settle down enough to finally face each other. Ochako decides that it’s mitten-time, so she settles the accessories over her hands and lets Tsuyu crawl under the covers first before she catches the light and joins her. They turn toward one another in quiet smiles and wish each other goodnight, knowing full well that they’re likely to end up wrapped around each other in their sleep.

At least that’s sleeping-Ochako’s problem to deal with.

After Tenya’s drifted to sleep, Izuku keeps an eye on his phone’s clock to dictate when he takes his sleeping pill. Once he’s taken care of that, he nestles back on the sofa and watches Shouto scroll through his phone. He knows better than to look at a screen too long while taking the medication, so he focuses on red and white hairs until he decides to poke where they mingle together.

“Don’t stay up too late.”

Shouto lowers his phone on his chest and tilts his head back toward Izuku.

“Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah. Sorry if I was acting odd.”

“It’s okay man,” he shakes his head. “I know it’s probably a lot.”

“It’s nice,” he admits quietly. “By the way, I want to thank your mom. And All Might, too.”

Izuku blinks as he tries to understand what he means, then sees how his fingertip taps the back of his phone. The dots connect, and he nods when he covers his mouth to yawn. “I can call them tomorrow if you want?” Izuku sees his lips shift uncomfortably, and he mutes his laughter to a breath. “Okay, okay, what would be better?”

“I was thinking more of a souvenir,” he absentmindedly trails his fingertips over the bracelet around his wrist. For someone like Shouto who struggles with sharing his emotions, Izuku can imagine it’s easier for him to convey his feelings through actions or gifts. “Could you help me pick something out?”

“Yeah, of course,” he nods deeper into his pillow. Shouto settles his head back against his own and stares at the ceiling a moment longer as Izuku begins dozing off. The next thing he knows, he sees the taller boy sitting up and quietly pulling himself out of the sleeping bag. “Where’re going?” he mumbles.

“Bathroom.”

“Mmkay,” he lets it go and turns over despite the fact that Tenya’s feet now accompany his face.

With the living room shrouded in shadows and slumbers, he eases into sleep far smoother than the night before. Perhaps due to a full meal, or maybe it’s the natural cheery warmth of the Uraraka household, but he softens against the cushions without a second care.

His head empties and pulls him down into a voided dream.

Aftermath [Solas/Lavellan]

This is primarily an exercise in self-indulgence.  I tripped on @galadrieljones and her analysis of the variety of Lavellan options during the final Solas romance scene, and I fell hard into some feelings.  I can’t have that, so gotta work that shit out.  Nothing naughty below.  Just typical fantasy-type violence, romantic-type grief, and some partaking in self-destruction.

This would all take place after their last romance scene, but before Trespasser.  And the **** just indicates a change of perspective or location.  Or something.

P.S. - It’s wicked long, so I’m putting it all below the break.

P.P.S - If someone were to accidentally art a fist fight between Cullen and Solas on behalf of the Inquisitor, I wouldn’t hate it.

:)

The door to her quarters swung shut behind her, clicking as the latch fell closed.  So late in the evening, the hall was largely unoccupied, and each of her footfalls echoed off the stone.  Dorian and Varric sat engaged in a game of Wicked Grace at the far end of the hall, with Krem and Bull as spectators.  All were caught within the frame of light from the hearth’s fire.  Their voices filled the emptiness with boisterous laughter, but as Niyera approached, they grew nearly silent.  They all looked up at her, some more subtly than others, but only Varric spoke.  

“Inquisitor!  Just in time to see Sparkler be humbled by my mastery of Wicked Grace!  Have a seat and join us,” he invited, his tone of voice upbeat and welcoming as it frequently was when he was setting up a con or a particularly embellished story.  Her eyes barely strayed from their forward gaze, but when the firelight caught them, Varric could see they were darkly rimmed and hollow.  She offered only a few words as she passed:  “Thank you, Varric, but no.”  There was no inflection in her voice, neither happy nor sad – it was just uncomfortably flat.  With nothing further, she exited the hall.

Dorian shifted in his seat to watch her departing form before passing a concerned and meaningful glance at Bull.  Krem had already begun to rise when Bull’s hand on his shoulder stopped him.  A silent understanding passed between the men as the Qunari rose, followed after the Inquisitor, and disappeared into the night.  Dorian’s mouth twisted at one corner, and he made a sound that was rougher than a sigh and possessed of a deep and definite vexation.  Tossing his cards face down on the table, the legs of his chair made a skin-crawling screech against the stone as he abruptly stood.  “I need something harder to drink,” the Tevinter stated before departing for the tavern.

Varric threw down his cards as well and scrubbed a rough hand across his creased brow.  Krem leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped between, as his eyes cut to the side.  “How long is she going to do this?” he asked, and Varric could only shake his head as he tapped his deck of cards against the table sharply.  “Until the outside hurts as much as the inside.”  The dwarf slipped the cards back into their box and tucked it within an inner pocket of his vest before he looked dubiously at Krem.  “Hopefully, she’ll still be alive when she reaches that point.”  Varric’s broad chest heaved with a sigh and he shrugged his coat over his shoulders, saying, “Look, I’ll see ya later, kid,” as he made his way out of the hall as well.

****

Almost every night for the past two weeks, she’d been going out on her own.  She always had an excuse – a small camp of Red Templars, reports of minor rifts, red lyrium smugglers.  “Nothing I can’t handle on my own,” she would say when offered company or an extra pair of eyes to watch her back.  It wasn’t that any of them thought her incapable, it was simply that she was beginning to seem lost.  

What had passed between Solas and the Inquisitor was known to the closest of her circle – her advisors, Dorian, and Varric.  Surprisingly, or maybe not so much, Dorian had asked her permission before filling Bull in.  Cassandra knew the long and the short of it – she wasn’t big on details and just wanted to know which appendage she should break first.  And, Cole.  It was impossible for her to hide anything from him.  He saw through her as if she were made of glass.  Solas during this time kept mostly to himself – if he was at Skyhold, he was buried in a book, and if he wasn’t at Skyhold, he was off to himself in the Fade somewhere.  The rest of them were vaguely aware, but largely went about their own concerns.

At first, she was angry, and that was reasonable.  Beyond the initial sympathies and lamentations, everyone knew to just get out of the way.  A storm mage in a rage is capable of unleashing a tempest, and none of them wanted to be caught in that.  Only Dorian dared to get close during those days and even he did so with the utmost caution.  But, there is only so long a cyclone can survive its own destructive forces before it burns itself out.  Much in the same fashion, her rage eventually became unsustainable, and like a rift, it collapsed in on itself.  By increments, she became despondent, all but stopped eating or sleeping, and turned in on herself.  Never once did any of them see her cry.

In turn, they all had expressed their concern only to be blithely turned aside after being thanked for their troubles.  Even Solas had attempted to reason with her, but she had sharpened her tongue for him.  She effortlessly turned all of his words back on him, and their assault was brutal and punishing.  When it became evident that he was causing more harm than good, he bowed out rather than continue to exacerbate the situation.  That’s when she began her nightly excursions.  Even the most trifling report of trouble or disturbances warranted her personal attention, and she eschewed any offer of assistance.  Even when she came back wounded, she disdained the healer’s touch for her own remedies, seeming to prefer to suffer the prolonged pain of natural healing.

At times, the severity of her wounds were troubling, and she offered little in the way of explanation.  A lapse in concentration, she might say, or simple miscalculation of her opponent’s ability.  Eventually, they agreed that they should attempt to covertly keep closer tabs on her, but she was becoming more and more adept at losing them in the darkness.  It didn’t help that she had commissioned a new suit of armor for her adventures, trading in the loose drape of the green leather robes she had preferred for a set of ebon-dyed silverite brigandine over chain.  With her cowl drawn to hide her brilliant white hair, she blended into the shadows like one of their own and was as silent on her feet as the specter of a sigh.

****

It had taken more effort than usual to lose Bull, but when she was certain he was no longer shadowing her every step, she made her way to her target.  There had been reports of a resurgence of Red Templar activity in the Emerald Graves.  Like blighted rodents, she mused as she sat perched beneath an outcropping of rocks set high off the road.  The vantage point gave her the benefit of observational range while providing adequate cover.  In her crouched position, she braced an arm against her knee, while her free hand rested fingertips on the rock underfoot to steady her.  She had been watching a crimson spark against the horizon, and it began to grow, splintering off into several separate motes of light as it drew nearer.  

One would think glowing red would be a detriment to secretive travel at night, but the templars seemed oblivious to that logic.  She was willing to forgive the folly in their decision-making as it made her job that much simpler.  In a line along the winding path, each figure grew more distinct, and she counted seven separate individuals.  There also seemed to be a load of raw red lyrium in tow.  It had been so long since the Inquisition had cleared the last of the templars from the Graves that perhaps it had given them a false sense of security.  They might have imagined that attentions would be elsewhere.  No matter, she thought.  Or, at least it wouldn’t matter for much longer.

Across their path, she laid down a static cage trap and slowly made her way behind its trip line.  With any luck, the bulk of their number would find themselves within the barrier, and she could pick off those that scattered one by one from behind.  As she dropped from the crown of boulders, her feet were the softest whisper of leather on the grass.  She sat poised in a crouch, waiting, waiting, wound as tightly as a spring as she balanced on the balls of her feet.  From the harness on her back, she took her staff in hand, gripped at mid-length, and readied herself.

This was what she came for, this feeling.  It was like diving from a steep cliff and into a pool of water.  Apprehension and excitement roiled in her belly, her heartbeat quickened, and before she ever moved, anticipation stole her breath.  The world narrowed in these few precious moments, shrinking her breadth of thought to a single sharp edge.  There was no room left for heartache or grief, no allowance for insecurities or doubt.  No time to feel shattered on the inside, with just the membrane of her skin tenuously holding the shards in place.  It all fell away, and in those few moments, she wasn’t broken.

When the first templar stepped on the cords of magic she had woven across the road, the scent of ozone filled the air and static crackled.  Like threads on an invisible loom, tendrils of electricity met and meshed as they rose up to form the walls of the cage.  She could smell the metallic twang of blood and the acrid notes of charred flesh as the rising barrier sheared through the first templar, depriving him of a leg.  His screams were ragged as he fell, taking two of his comrades with him.  That left her with four outside the cage.  They splintered off as she expected, and taking a deep breath, she strode from the shadows.

Wisps of white hot energy spilled from the corners of her eyes as she chanted an incantation, and the remaining templars turned as one when they heard her.  They charged, and she waited.  When they were just close enough, her eyes flared a brilliant violet, and she slammed her staff into the ground.  Lightning crawled outward and collided with the templar at the head of the pack, and he was thrown violently through the air.  From his body, the energy forked, splintering into jagged barbs that pierced through the men immediately to his right and left.  The electricity was conveyed to their skin through the metal of their armor, drawn by their swords, which acted like lightning rods in a thunderstorm.  With no further fanfare, they dropped like sacks of rocks.

The last templar still on his feet outside the cage howled with fury, and the lyrium protruding from his skin flared violently as he rushed her, sword raised overhead.  She met the blade with her staff, parrying the attack with some effort, then using the momentum to spin away from him.  Even as she pulled an empty hilt from her belt, threads of magic spiraled down her arm and through the cold metal, materializing a blade crafted of her will alone.  When the templar brought his blade to bear again, she met it with her own.  The hum of the magic was palpable as the swords slid against one another until the hilts locked, and she was staring down the lyrium-crazed man over the V of their swords.  

For certain, her strength alone was no match for his, but she drew from the well of her power, channeling it through her body and into her blade.  A growl of effort left her from behind clenched teeth as her boots dug into the ground, and inch by inch, she began to push him back.  His voice was a snarl as waves of invisible heat distorted the air around him, and the lyrium in his skin pulsed with radiance.  He used the additional leverage of his height to gradually force the cross of their swords lower between them, and when she was sufficiently off balance, he threw all of his weight behind a punch that connected with the full measure of its force.

A coppery tang filled her mouth and her vision blurred as she staggered backward, losing her grip on her staff and barely managing to cling to her sword.  The pain in her jaw and cheek was white hot, and she reveled as it washed over and through her in waves.  Pain could be like a salve – applied properly, it could be a balm to the deepest of wounds.  She was only distantly aware of a tickling sensation on her neck as blood wept from the corner of her mouth and the tear the templar’s gauntlet had left in her cheek.  All of her attention was invested in willing her eyes to focus as she stretched out a hand toward the templar.  The refrain of a spell spilled from her lips, and just as ripples of force began to emanate from her, she heard a high-pitched whistle that only preceded by seconds the arrow that ripped into her right thigh.  She cried out, but all the breath left her when she felt another blow to the back of her left shoulder.  The second impact upset her balance, causing her body to cant to one side even as it pitched her forward and onto the templar’s awaiting blade.

Time slowed to an impossible crawl as she felt the recoil of energy from her sword snap back into her arm, and her face came within inches of the templar’s.  Her gaze panned down, and it took her a while to make sense of what she saw.  The tip of an arrow was protruding from just beneath her collarbone on the left, and the templar’s sword was buried halfway into her right side.  It was a passing thought that the only thing that kept his strike from being fatal was the fact that the arrow’s impact caused her body to turn slightly.  The red glow of the lyrium embedded in the templar’s armor throbbed and fell menacingly across his features, distorting them, as he gripped her shoulder and drove his sword hilt-deep in her flesh.

Before her mind’s eye, regrets glittered like so many pieces of shattered glass, tiny mirrors that threw back at her all she was leaving undone.  –  Though sensation had left her fingertips, she pawed at the templar’s armor, vainly trying to find a handhold as she felt her legs trembling beneath her.  Instead, it was his steadying hand on her shoulder that guided her to her knees as he let gravity pull her off his blade.  –  Bits and pieces of memories floated at the edges of her mind.  Her clan and the forests she’d run as a child.  Becoming the Keeper’s First.  The Conclave.  Sparring practice with Cassandra.  Chess with Dorian.  Solas’s lips on her bare skin.  Though she looked unerringly into the templar’s face, it wasn’t him she saw.  Shaking with effort, she raised a hand as if to touch his face, but he roughly caught her wrist.  “I-,” she whispered, another trail of blood flowing anew from the corner of her mouth.  “I wish I could hate you,” she managed at last as her eyes grew unfocused and her chin dipped to her chest.

****

Though time for Niyera had seemed to stand still, around her, it simply wound onward as time tended to do.  Only one templar within her cage was yet alive, and he watched the scene unfold.  She’d taken more of them down than they had anticipated, but it mattered little as he saw the first arrow strike her.  The dregs of the dwarven Carta she’d attempted to dismantle were all too happy to lend their assistance to the templars and their deliciously twisted plan, and it was their arrows that flew out of the darkness.  Expectantly, he waited for the walls of his cage to fall, as he knew they eventually would, but a gurgling noise drew his attention to the nearby crown of boulders.  It would have been impossible to miss the mountain of a Qunari that he found there, fist crushing the throat of a Carta bowman.  Though, by then, the second arrow had hit the Inquisitor, driving her onto his comrade’s blade.  It was far too late now to stop what had begun.

As the severity of her blood loss grew more dire, the magic stabilizing the static cage’s walls ebbed away, and the templar was finally free.  He hobbled over to where the Inquisitor was knelt, passing a glance to the raging Qunari only yards away.  He was still engaged in neutralizing the Carta as their numbers drew from the shadows and set upon him.  As the templar neared his objective, he stumbled, fell, slid on his knees, and sidled up to her from behind.  “No, no,” the other templar said, slapping the elf’s cheek several times briskly.  “Not just yet, Inquisitor.  Stay with us,” he finished, and though she seemed largely unconscious, her head canted upward.  From his pouch, he withdrew a small vial, and the blinking of her eyes was like the flutter of hummingbird wings as he waved it in front of her.  The liquid within the vessel glowed with the same angry red that grew from the templar’s armor and lit his eyes from within.

Her eyes seemed to follow the vial as he waggled it in her field of vision a moment longer, but they never quite seemed to latch on.  With a jerk of his chin, the bearer of the vial glanced at the templar at the Inquisitor’s back and spat, “Hold her.”  Heavy hands fell on her upper arms, pulling back, straining the wound in her shoulder and her side as he bent her body back.  A delirious groan was all she uttered as her head lolled to one side before a painfully tight grip on her chin pulled her face back to meet the templar’s gaze.  He wanted to look into her eyes for this and shook her chin just enough to summon a hint of focus back to her eyes.  Only when he had her attention did he shove the glowing vial of concentrated red lyrium into the rend in her side.  The fire that erupted along her nerves pulled from the dryness of her throat what might have been a scream had she the energy, and he leaned forward to seethe harshly against her cheek.  “The Elder One sends his regards,” the man’s words had no sooner died on his lips than he drove a gauntleted fist into her side, shattering the vial inside her against her ribs.

Pain exploded in the back of her eyes like a shower of white hot sparks, and the surge of adrenaline revived her voice.  She screamed raggedly, and the pain that rippled through her lasted for only a heartbeat, maybe two, before an unspeakable agony took its place.  Scarlet torment painted itself across the canvas of her mind, filling her head with a thousand raucous whispers and searing flame across every nerve and sinew.  Her eyes snapped open, pupils so swollen they swallowed the green of the irises.  Violent spasms wracked her body, and the templar restraining her arms was no longer able to control her.  Her arms now free, hands that had been useless earlier finally found purchase on the templar across from her.  Her grip was iron, and he struggled against her hold to no avail.  The man at her back rose to flee, but when he turned, he found only the terrible edge of Bull’s axe as it cleaved into his face.  

Veins of crimson rose through the whites of her eyes, luminescing, and misty red webs of energy slithered down her arms.  The agony building at her core was a riot, loud and violent.  It choked off every coherent thought she had and wriggled itself into her deepest reaches until there was nothing left but the torment and its insistent urges.  –  Within her body, the taint of the red lyrium clashed violently with the magic of her mark, and when the energy in her hand crackled to life, it was scarlet.  All at once, she felt everything and nothing.  She teetered on a knife’s edge as the last bits of consciousness that were her own fought the rising tide.  But, in the end, she wasn’t strong enough, and the two forces competing for dominance within her coalesced with all the fury of a firestorm.  The resulting explosion of force blew outward, throwing Bull and the templar backward through the air.  When the last of the energies snapped back into her body, she was left a writhing mess of raw nerves and guttural screams.  

****

Krem had fallen asleep in a chair by the fire, which was little more now than a heap of smoldering embers on the grate.  Arms folded, head drooping, his legs stretched out with his feet propped on a stool, and he snored softly every few minutes.  It was peaceful and still in the hall, but that soon changed.  The tremendous doors of the hall didn’t swing so much as they crashed open with such force that they slammed back against the walls.  Ever the soldier, Krem was on his feet and had his sheathed sword in hand before his chair, tipped over in his haste, hit the floor.  Quickly blinking the sleep from his eyes, he found Bull with the Inquisitor in his arms.  Krem only knew it was her because of the glowing of her mark, but even that seemed slightly foreign, a little off-color somehow.

The slender elf thrashed in Bull’s arms, erratic and tortured, and her voice was tinged with an odd thrumming as she keened.  The sound shook Krem to his marrow.  Niyera’s white hair was stained red in splotches, the braid against her scalp unraveling, and her normally green eyes were stained with a crimson sheen.  Eyes wild and body contorted, her head tipped back, and she met Krem’s gaze for a split second.  That was more than enough for his heart to skip a beat.  Blood coated Bull’s forearms, running in rivulets to his elbows, where it collected and dripped.  The effort it was taking the Qunari to maintain his hold on the Inquisitor spoke volumes about the gravity of the situation.

Cassandra appeared from behind Bull as she trotted ahead in the direction of the Inquisitor’s quarters.  “Get Dorian!  NOW!” she barked, and her voice shook Krem from his reverie.  He all but stumbled over himself as he took off for the stairs.  With Varric and the surgeon in tow, Bull shouldered through the door to Niyera’s quarters as Cassandra held it open.  The elf’s guttural screams echoed through the hall, but were quickly muffled behind the door as it fell shut behind them.

****

The crash of the hall doors had woken him, and the heavy stomp of boots on the stairway that encircled his chamber only served to annoy him.  “Why is there never any peace here?” Solas wondered to himself as he pushed up from his rest, but only briefly as a savage scream split the air. Grey-blue eyes widened a fraction, and he was suddenly on his feet and at the door.  He arrived in time to see Dorian and Krem sprinting into the Inquisitor’s chambers, and he snagged a harried healer as he passed, arms laden with salves and bandages.  “You.  What’s going on?  What has happened?”  When the healer only stammered, Solas gripped the man’s arm tighter and shook him once.  “Speak.”

Pulling on his arm all the while, the healer hastily offered, “The Inquisitor.  She-, I-I don’t know.  I must go!”  Solas’s grip went slack at the words, and the healer peeled away in a rush.  A shudder ran through the elf’s body, the equivalent reaction to nails on a chalkboard.  Every thought fled his mind, a fist clenched in his stomach, and his skin turned to ice, while heat seemed to blossom in his chest.  He’d been managing to maintain a reasonably calm outward-facing demeanor in the aftermath of Crestwood, with such skill in fact that some had accused him of being made of stone.  Perhaps in some ways, he was.  He’d spent many years, ages, distancing himself from his feelings.  Shutting things out and off, locking them away.  At this moment, however, he felt very much so wrought of mere flesh and bone.

His feet had numbly carried him across the width and length of the hall, and as he lifted a hand to reach for her door, it opened.  Cullen emerged, forcing Solas to retreat a step, as the commander closed the door behind him.  The men locked eyes when the larger gave no indication that he intended to step aside.  “You need to allow me to pass, Commander,” Solas uttered, his voice quiet though strained with urgency.  With a shake of his head, the former templar stood his ground and laid a firm hand against the elf’s chest as he attempted to advance.  “No, that is what you need,” Cullen returned brusquely as his arms folded across his chest.

“I can help,” Solas reasoned, “if I can just see her…know what has happened…”  There was a hardness in Cullen’s eyes that never wavered, and while it might have given others pause, Solas remained unphased.  “She has enough help.  And as to what happened,” the commander sighed as his arms unwound and he massaged the back of his neck with one hand.  “All I can say for certain right now is that she ran afoul of some Red Templars and-,” Cullen began to explain, but his words were lost as an inhuman scream reverberated through the stairwell behind the door.  Both men tensed in the wake of the sound, but Solas’s jaw set, making a tiny muscle in his cheek jump fitfully.  Taking advantage of the commander’s momentary distraction, the mage murmured the words of a spell as he concentrated, and his body shed its skin in favor of an incorporeal form.  The former templar felt the magic crawl across his skin but a moment before Solas fade stepped through both him and the door.  When Solas rematerialized on the other side, he mounted the stairs in a series of long strides.  Though he abstractly knew Cullen was following close behind, all he could hear were Niyera’s cries of pain.

“Inquisitor!” Solas called, bursting through the door of her chamber and rounding the top of the stairs, though the scene that unfolded before him brought him to a stumbling halt.  Discarded and staining the carpet were a pair of broken arrow shafts dark with congealing blood and a trail of crimson-stained cloths that led his eyes to her bed.  There, he found the surgeon on one side and Varric on the other, each bearing down to prevent the Inquisitor’s shoulders from lifting off the bed.  Bull was bent over the footboard, a hand below each of her knees as he laid in with the bulk of his weight to keep her legs still.  There was…so much blood.  Her back bowed away from the bed unnaturally as she struggled against those that restrained her, and she was entirely unresponsive to Solas’s call.

Dorian stood over the bed, working furiously with Cassandra, and it took him several moments to notice that Solas had even entered the room.  The Tevinter met the elf’s eyes and found a mixture of dismay and horror there before his gaze slipped over Solas’s shoulder.  “Cullen!  Get him the fuck out of here,” Dorian’s voice was uncommonly hard, stressed, as the commander clamped down a hand on one of the mage’s shoulders.  Solas seemed not to have realized Cullen had caught up to him until the man laid hands on him, and the reaction he had was unexpectedly violent.  Snatching his shoulder away before Cullen could find solid purchase, he drove an elbow up and back, catching the commander in the face.  

Though she hadn’t responded to her title, Solas called out to her again, her name, and in response, her eyes flared, crimson tendrils leaking from the corners.  The reaction preceded by only moments a renewal of violent thrashing, and her body bowed away from the bed in what seemed an impossible manner as she howled.  “Any time now would be good, Commander,” Dorian shouted to be heard over the screaming, having to add his own efforts to the struggle to keep her still with his hands on her hips.  A snarl bent former templar’s upper lip, and he paused only to spit out a mouthful of blood before he lunged at Solas.  Cullen snagged the elf’s tunic and yanked him backward, and the two grappled for control before the commander got the upper hand.  

It was no small measure of effort to wrestle Solas down the stairs, and he and Cullen all but fell through the door as the commander hauled him out.  The elf hit the stone floor hard on his shoulder, but quickly climbed to his feet, body poised with coiled tension.  Before Solas could move, Cullen made an exasperated noise and gestured threateningly.  “Is now really the time?  Have you not done enough already?”  The hardened look of determination in Solas’s eyes faltered a moment, the hint of a question passing like a cloud over the face of the sun.  The incredulous noise that fell from Cullen’s lips was punctuated as he threw his hands into the air, then jabbed a finger at Solas in accusation.  “You’re the reason she was out there to begin with.  For a fortnight!  Maker, did you really not know?”

Cullen’s words hit him like a battering ram in center of his chest and stole his breath.  “No,” Solas forced out, pushing his eyes past the former templar to the door behind him.  “She didn’t…we haven’t,” he tripped over the words.  They hadn’t spoken much since Crestwood.  In the first days, Niyera had been angry, so angry, and she avoided him as much as possible.  He thought it better to keep himself out of her line of sight, that perhaps it would lessen the burden.  He had no idea.  Cullen took a step forward, the fury in his voice barely restrained as he spoke.  “Get out of my sight before I have you thrown out of Skyhold entirely.”

Though his lips were perched on the cusp of protesting, Solas’s mouth snapped shut, and he nodded mutely.  He straightened himself and his tunic, donning his facade of composure like a shroud, and turned to begin to walk away.  The elf paused and, without turning around, quietly said, “Please take care of her, Commander.”  Cullen’s gaze bore holes into the mage’s back, and he simply replied, “We will.”  –  Solas didn’t dare take a breath until he’d exited the hall and stood atop the ramparts at the far corner of the courtyard, out of sight and out of hearing range.  Once there, his breath left him in a ragged growl of frustration that trailed off into a sob of grief as the weight of his heart drove him to his knees.  His body curled upon itself, with his forearms on his thighs and the curve of his back pressing his chin into his chest.  This was his fault.  He had done this.  In his selfish endeavor to disentangle himself and preserve his commitment to his ultimate goal, he was destroying the first thing he had truly loved in ages beyond memory.  The press of the heels of his hands against his eyes did nothing to prevent the hot tears that coursed down his cheeks.  For the first time in what seemed like forever, he wept.  Ever such was the downfall of Pride.

****

“But you can do it.  You have the ability.  Now is no time to be bashful, Seeker,” Dorian said, his voice perhaps as serious as it had ever been.  The sleeves of his fine silk shirt were rolled to his forearms, stained with blood, and his hands dripped crimson.  Cassandra pressed her fingers deeply into her brow, massaging and leaving a smear of red as she looked back to Dorian.  “Of course I can, but it may kill her, Dorian,” the Seeker’s voice grew in pitch as she spoke, the strain in her voice evident.  An hour had passed as they attempted to find a way to stop the Inquisitor’s convulsions, which kept them from tending to her wounds with any measure of success.  She had screamed so loudly for so long, that her raw throat and vocal cords were no longer able to physically produce sound.  That, at least, was a blessing.  Bull’s report seemed to indicate that the templar had delivered an infusion of red lyrium concentrate directly into her bloodstream.  Even handling her was a risk to them all at this point – all except Cassandra, who also happened to possess the ability to sear lyrium from blood.  

Dorian’s tone of voice took on a particularly harsh, accusatory edge as he stared at Cassandra and made a flippant gesture.  “Oh, yes, it certainly may.  But you know what definitely will?  NOT DOING IT AT ALL!”  The Tevinter and Seeker seemed about to come to blows, when Cullen’s voice boomed through the room:  “ENOUGH!”  Pressing a cloth against the gash in Niyera’s side with both hands, the former templar glared up at the pair.  “We don’t have time for this.  How much longer do you really think she can last?”  There was only a fraction of a second’s hesitation in his words.  “Do it, Cassandra.”  Dorian took a step back from the bed to give her room, and the Seeker drew in a deep, steadying breath, murmuring, “Maker guide me,” as she pressed a hand into the center of the Inquisitor’s chest.

****

There was only an hour or so before dawn would break, and the birds had begun to trill from their nesting.  The stars yet clung to their place in the velvet dark of the sky, while the first pink of morning sun warmed the horizon.  Solas had spent the remains of the night on the ramparts, alternately weeping, pacing, and swearing as he beat the fists of his helpless hands against his thighs.  Surely there were bruises there now, but he couldn’t be moved to care.  A sound from the courtyard below called for his attention, and when he looked down, he saw Varric trudging down the steps from the hall.  A lump rose painfully in his throat, and his feet carried him to the stairs without thought.  

He needed to know…he needed to see her.  When he entered the hall, it was eerily quiet.  The fire in the hearth had hours ago burned out, and no one had relit it.  Long strides carried him to the outer door of her quarters, which he found unguarded, so he stepped through without hesitation.  He had just rounded the corner to mount the stairs when he met Cassandra, who was wiping at her hands with a blood-stained towel.  Solas’s grey-blue eyes searched her face for any hint of an answer before he questioned, “Seeker?”  Cassandra’s features were drawn with exhaustion, and the gaze that she leveled on the elf made his heart thud painfully in his chest.  The time before she answered seemed torturously long, but eventually Cassandra nodded, saying simply, “She lives.”  

Solas’s breath left him in a rush, and he placed a hand on the banister to steady himself.  He heard his voice shake when he asked, “May I see her?  Please?”  Cassandra’s eyes softened, and she made her way down the last few steps and over to him.  A hand rested momentarily on his shoulder, and she said, “Of course, but know that she has not woken in hours.  Everything we’ve done…after…she never woke.”  Cassandra rubbed at her shoulder fitfully, uttering, “I’m sorry,” quietly before departing.  Trepidation carried Solas’s feet up the stairs softly, through the door, and then up into her chambers.  Gone from the night before were the remnants of arrows, the soiled cloths and bandages, the blood.  It looked as if linens were fresh and that someone had washed the blood from her hair.  She was…so pale.

The only other person there was Dorian, and he was asleep in the chair behind her desk, feet propped and resting on the leather blotter and his arms crossed over his chest.  Solas’s steps were little more than whispers as he approached Niyera’s bedside, and as he neared, he took careful appraisal of her form.  Stitches closed a deep gash in her cheek as well as an angry wound just beneath her collarbone on the left side.  Other scrapes and cuts marred the visible skin of her shoulders and arms, though anything else was hidden beneath a breast-band and the covers that were drawn just below.  Silently, he took to his knees beside the bed and reached out to brush his fingertips against her cheek.

His breath hitched in surprise when Cole’s hand caught his wrist before he could touch her.  “She says no,” the spirit-made-flesh offered, gently forcing Solas’s hand back.  “That you’re here…it makes her happy, and sad, and angry.  And the pain,” Cole says, his voice growing distant as if listening to a voice only he can hear.  The sigh that parted Solas’s lips was like a weight that bowed his head until it rested against the soft cotton sheets.  “Ir abelas, vhenan,” he breathed, not even a whisper, as he folded his fist around the loose edge of the sheet.  “Ar isalan na,” he said as he lifted his eyes to gaze at Niyera’s ashen face.  “She…doesn’t believe you,” Cole said hesitantly as he shifted his weight to lean toward the Inquisitor.  “…and now she’s gone,” he leaned back, folding his arms as he sighed.  

At Cole’s words, Solas’s face lifted, and he stared at Niyera for several moments, watching the easy rise and fall of her chest that indicated she still drew breath.  Confusion settled over the elf as he glanced up at Cole, “What do you mean when you say she is gone?”  Beneath the drooping brim of his hat, Cole shrugged one shoulder as his head shook.  “She’s lost, and she doesn’t know how to find her way back.  The red lyrium…it sang a song in her blood and tried to carry her away,” he paused as he glanced back toward the stairs.  “But, then Cassandra burnt up the song, the notes like ashes caught in a whirlwind.  And now…now, no breadcrumbs lead home.”  

Solas got to his feet, careful not to disturb the bed.  “And yet you hear her?  How?”  The spirit’s thin shoulder rose again, “Sometimes she is closer than others.  Almost here, but not.  Like seeing the surface of the water from beneath, but not being able to break through.  Sometimes she thinks she is drowning.”  Cole’s head tips back just enough so that he can meet Solas’s eyes, and then he whispers, almost conspiratorially, “Sometimes…she thinks it would be better if she drowned, but I wish she wouldn’t.”  Solas settled a hand on Cole’s shoulder, a sudden gravity filling his voice, “I need you to tell me everything, Cole.  What you can see…where…I need to know.  Can you show me?”  The spirit-made-flesh nodded, tugging at Solas’s arm as he turned for the stairs.  “But somewhere else.  The quiet here scares me.”

Of Matter: Purpose. Pt: 1

[A guild Wars 2 Rp:] A:  Fractals of dust danced within the thick beams of light which stretched from the open panes of the tall floor to ceiling windows lining the West Wing of the Cress Estate. From where he sat---at a desk centered within the middle of the room surrounded by furniture which served mostly pragmatic purpose as opposed to decorative---he heard the daily prattle of the estates bustle. The room wasn’t entirely considered a study for a rather large table mapping out Kessex Hills implied it was more so used for strategic caravanning and overall meetings.  A glimmer caught the ember liquid left to breathe within a glass decanter as Argrin hoisted it from its post to pour himself another heavy cup. It was his third but by the plethora of paper littering his desk it was a testament to just how hard he’d been working throughout the day. Set to the edge of the massive oak desk was an untouched tray of fresh fruit and peppered jerky. Breathing  a sigh he wet his mouth with a quaff only to settle the heavy cup aside in order to massage his thickly fingers between his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as if reading the same sentence caused him a hangover he could feel in his teeth. Gently a breeze swept in from the window causing the thin gossamer curtains to flutter in the wake of its uplifting dance. Curiously, the man pushed his chair back with a loud scrape of the chairs feet against the wood only meander toward the large window. With the back of his hand he nudged the curtain back only to peer down below where a collection of greenhorn soldiers were in the midst of their training. From where he stood the fervent clatter of sword to training doll clamored. There he stood lost deep within the throes of wistful memories of a time when the weight and soreness of a day in armor was a welcomed pain. S:  The pale guard captain was absent, having only attended the drills earlier on in the wee hours before dismissing herself for the rest of the day to tend to other, more pressing duties. She needn’t tend to her daughter as often now that she was old enough to attend her studies, but dutiful was her nature, Sigrid oft stopped by to see how she has progressed. Balancing home life and work had never come easy to her, but as she aged, she was starting to grow weary and much to her chagrin. It was not unheard of, particularly by the Head of the House, that she would slip her leash occasionally.  At her core, she was a wild child and still retained that inquisitive nature ranging from innocent to fatally persistent. She was a woman of action, but her body was outpacing her tumultuous spirit.Today she followed a different routine. Scarce as she may be, when it comes to transitioning positions, the two managed to gravitate to one another even if only briefly. It was difficult to pretend that everything was normal, but they tried.

 The door swung open incrementally, the hinges eliciting complaint before the padlock dropped with a click when it closed once more. Her footfalls were measured, but far from subtle. He could see it – after all, she was a creature of habit – how she paused at the corner of his desk to gently place the stopper in the decanter. In the past, she might have chided, even if light-heartedly, but now it was an expectation; for good or for ill was hard to discern.  He could feel her presence behind him now, peering past him down to the training grounds. However, what she fixated upon was not the same as he. “How about you relax a moment. I can handle the rest for today…” She offered, the Ascalonian diction bubbling within the hearth of her throat.

  A:  The pinion of his gaze flicked aside once the heavy weight of the door heralded her presence. His attention followed her gait till she was no longer visible to his peripheral but her company wasn’t an ailment. Normally he’d present himself the epitome of a Lord---no, something far more demanding. A head of House required diction and poise for the attire that most commonly adorned him was that of fitted suits and cufflinks. That blazing afternoon he opted for simpler attire in the form of a white dress shirt unbuttoned thrice at the chest with his sleeves rolled to the comforts of his elbows. The trousers he wore were akin to that of common folk, loose in all the right places for optimal luxury. A silver chain hung from the pocket something most definitely attached to that of a pocket watch. His knuckles were still decorated with the weathered ink of his tattoos, some of which were practically illegible on account of the hair collected there. “Just for a moment?” His rejoinder followed him as he turned around to face her, the beaming sun haloing about his raven haired crown pulling out the faint tinge of mahogany laced within it. At his temples his hair was peppered with grey the same managing its way within his facial hair. A habitual smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, a gesture she was all too familiar with. Perhaps at some point in the beginning it was enough to make her heart flutter, perhaps that differed now but he still crooked a finger her direction in a ‘come hither’ motion. “We’ve had another caravan robbed at the Peaks. Centaurs are causing us more grief than they have in the past and it looks as if the agreement we’ve made with them is no longer in effect.” Another sigh eased through his nose. “They sent someone back alive to relay the message though the poor lad is left without an arm. Business as usual.” S:  No matter how many seasons passed, no matter how grey he became, the way the corner of his lips tugged upward along the corner always warranted a throaty chuckle from her. That, or an eye roll, depending on the day, but he never failed to coax a smile from the stoic, weathered femme. While his temerity had been humbled under the weight of his unwitting mantle, his tongue remained sharp and his addendums facetious. Humoring one of her wan smiles, she brought a hand to perch upon the cusp of his broad shoulder, sweeping the profile of her thumb over the ivory weave of his dress shirt. She had never been one for tactile gestures of affection, but with every touch, chaste or skating, correlated an unspoken word or sentiment. She leaned in to rest partially against his arm, adorn in modest attire as well – then again, all her shirts looked the same. Her hair had since grown long, braided back with the colors of the Cress house hold to keep it from tumbling down past her shoulder blades. In the right light, she still had her youthful repose, akin to the termagant shepherdess whom walked barefoot amongst the tall grass all those years ago. Telltale crow’s feet now persisted and the stress lines upon her brow had become more accentuated, but despite her scars and other physical nuances, it only seemed to make her appear increasingly regal. Once in a blue moon, she donned a gown, though oft her mood did sour, but she was not a woman without her poise or patience. In fact, she never raised her voice, ‘lest it was to acknowledge the guardsmen in the field or to call from across the room. Her presence commanded attentiveness and her tone of voice carried with it a firm and directive locution. The sheer disappointment within the vernacular was enough to make any stout man ashamed of his behavior.(edited)The tine of her incisor dimpled her lower tier as her brow knit, the news of the latest disruption meriting a tired sigh from her esophagus.  “I see. I think tomorrow I will see to him before I make my rounds. If he is of a mind, mayhap I can encourage him to speak more of what happened.” The familiar somber note bled into her diction. Her own history with the centaur nomads was a bitter one at that, perhaps more so than what she shared with the Charr. However, the Charr had some concept of reasoning, unlike the equine harriers. Some. While she was a woman of action, decisive, she was not without her sympathy. It was common for her to visit the sickly and injured or even work in the very fields alongside their farmers. She saw it as comradery, but perhaps others saw it as more. “What was the message they sent him away with?” A:  Without preamble Argrin further slipped his arm about the pinch of her waste and pinned his hand to rest at the swell of her hip. Idly, perhaps in tandem with the motion of her own, his thumb smoothed along it akin to some wordless sentiment. “With the way you frequent the infirmary it’s no a wonder people of this House look up to you in the manner that they do.” His breath kissed at the slope of her forehead as he leaned in to press his lips to it. There he lingered, eyes easing up to regard something unimportant across the way as his keyed into her phrasings. When she finished his free hand came to rise and rest at the shape of her chin, hoisting it up incrementally as to afford himself an easier vantage of her visage given the stark contrast in height between the two. “He was the message, mo grá. In addition, if we continue to take the paths we have been through Kessex we’ll see more and more of our men slaughtered. From what I was told, second hand given the foot soldiers who found him were the informants, they nailed the rest of our men to the walls of their villages. Most likely to ward any continual usage of the pathways.” Argrin’s jaw jerked with a twinge, “I think the best course of action would be to send an example of our own and burn that particular village to the ground and then change our route from land to water. It’ll cost a bit more by month to do so but in the long run it’ll save us having to find more men.” S: "It will save more lives." She agreed, coolly. However, she afforded a pause, reflective as she searched his features. Hooking her arm, she elevated a hand to gently wrap her fingers about his wrist and move up along the slope of his calloused hand until she held it with the heel of his palm upturned and her thumb pressed within the center. Averting her amber hues, she encouraged his digits to fan. “I know their tactics, their formations. While they are not above guerilla warfare, they are particularly conventional. I trust Thomas to carry out the orders flawlessly, but some of our men do not know the centaurs like I do.” She began. He knew what she was leading into, what she would ask and perhaps she already knew his answer. All the same, she spoke those words: “With your permission, you can send me out there and I can send that message  temporarily secure our roads. And when we begin to make port out of Lion’s Reach (I think that’s what it is called, can’t remember), we can promptly withdraw.” ----Her molten orbs swept upward. He knew that look; soft, but as resolute as her proposal. He knew her more than anyone ever did within those walls. She had been more than just a soldier. She did not like war, but she was good at it. She did not like brutality, but in the extreme it was necessary. “It would minimalize further retaliation. And our allies would greatly appreciate the assistance – I am certain we are not the only ones that have attributed damages, or accumulated victims.” A:   By the command of her encouraging fingers his splayed comforted by the warmth hers had to offer against his. Indeed he knew the exact trail she was looking to trek and just as obvious as she was so was he. The thickness of his brows pinched at their corners as he stared down to her with a measured look mapping every corner and slope of her mien. It was a look she was all too familiar with. “If I were a lesser man I’d command you to stay but I know better than that.” That half smirk found its way to his mouth once more coupled by the slow furling of his massive fingers over hers. The soft sound of his rough skin caressing against her fingers filled the space between them before he continued, all the while drawing her closer by furthering the grip of his hand at the small of her back. “No, you’re not wrong in the latter. How many men do you presume you’ll take with you or is this something you intend on executing by yourself?” Truth be told he truly did enjoy the image of her burning an entire Centaur village of her own accord. Unhinged and without restraint---she may not have enjoyed brutality but she was a herald of it in her own manner. S: She brought the opposing hand up to rest along the contour of his shoulder. His words elicited a charmingly wry smile, albeit short-lived. Sigrid had an odd definition for romance, but it made their dynamic nigh seamless, though they still had their moments and hiccups. They were both flawed individuals, but that was what made them so beautiful - at least in her mind. “Not many. With the right positioning, we could appear to be a larger force than we are. We may taint their water supply… ‘twould make it difficult to clean their wounds while the area burns. I only need archers and a handful of footmen – primarily Thomas’ specialists. We will maintain defenses and set up barricades along the roads trafficked heavily until the last have made it through and then we can dismantle and abandon them.” She surmised, concise.(edited)She need not justify anything to her better half, but she knew he preferred details and numbers; absolutes. It had been what had made them such an effective team, all things considered. She gave his hand a squeeze before the other ascended, cupping his grizzled jawline. She feigned to confess, but those twin emeralds always haunted her. They had seen much, eluding that he held far more knowledge than one might assume. “And I will return. As I always do. And I will bring them all back with me. You have my word.” A:  Settling a minute bit of weight within her cupped palm Argrin’s attention anchored to her embers, holding there for a long drawn moment before wordlessly lifting his hand from its placement at her spine. There he set his hand just behind her ear while his fingers laced about the fashion of her skull. Without preamble he leaned forward to close the space between them, pressing his lips to hers voraciously.   It was as if it was a caress laden  with the implication it would be their last despite her encouraging words. He held her close so much so that he turned her body into his; coiling her against him like a snake in a hold which signaled the mounting affection he sought to offer her.  Their lips lingered in connection for as long as she willed it and if and when their lips parted he offered rejoinder. “I know you’ll come back but that doesn’t lessen the concern I have whenever it is you leave. You are the most capable for this job.” A faint chuckle pressed from the back of his throat. “And one with the head for it. Take all the men you need, Thomas included. I will ensure you won’t hear complaint.” S:  The twin embers churned akin to warmed tree sap, threatening to encapsulate and imprison his reflection with in those intense orbs. There had always been something supernatural about them, how they scrutinized and seem to peer through. That was what placed Argrin above the rest – she could not see through him. He was transparent and bore himself wholly to her. It was why they had shared such a deeply rooted kinship. She moved fluidly in tandem, familiar as a waltz. Her calloused digits meandered to crest his crown, combing them through the raven locks and tangling them within her fist. Her lids waned to crescent. When first they had met, she was hard-pressed to even so much as sleep with her eyes closed. Then again, she had rarely found restful slumber. She had become comfortable in his presence – in fact, some parts of her nag that she was letting her guard down, but it was a voice oft stifled these days. A voice from another life time ago, another life style. He had shown her it was alright to be human, to be more than just a tool for country and faith. In fact, he had presented her with the most challenging feat in her life: Their daughter. He could feel her lips tighten into one of her trademark, frail smiles during their passionate exchange. She did not seem keen to pull away and eventually, when she did, it was only scantly. “I know. And you have every right to be worried. No amount of assurance will stop you from fretting and nor will I try to stop you. Fortunately… the excursion will not take long.” She afforded a pause, glancing down to his lips once more. The other hand had since travelled to pinch the fabric of his dress shit within its grasp and gradually it tightened.  “This will not be like Maguuma or the Crystal Desert. If plans go awry, we will adapt, or I will have our men fall back and pull out.” There was a timbre in her voice shy of a tremble, but it was only for a moment."Besides..." Her nose crinkled, accentuating the telltale laugh lines. "...'twould be a very bad time for me to die. There is too much work to do." A: “One would wonder what exactly it is you’d find yourself doing if there were no more work to be done.” He continued to hold her close, knowing full well her mind was well within the throes of readying a ‘to-do’ list. She was always the eager sort to start something straight away. “I dare say rest is a word that so rarely graces that tongue of yours. I wonder, does your back know the sensation as well? Or is that too a long forgotten memory?” Jest laced his words like a plague, a mannerism she was all too familiar with but one so rarely heard of these days given the tremendous efforts of running a House. In some respects he abhorred Othello for leaving him with this charge but as akin to his paramour and her proclivities with  upholding her duty so was he. Their daughter most of all needed a home in these trying times and they were fortunate enough that the Cress vaults were still stacked from floor to ceiling with cold and prospects---all of which would eventually fall unto her should she desire it. Despite anything else she was a Cress. “Will you leave by morning?” S:  Her gaze narrowed as the corners of her lips twitched, the smile threatening to broaden, but she feigned. She expressed faux offense, the blade of her tongue clicking along the roof of her mouth when following a deliberate hiss. “I sleep in… occasionally. Besides, what was it that you once told me?” She rejoined coolly, gently giving his bearded chin a playful tug.

 “Do as I say and not as I do? Hypocrites DO make the best teachers…” Her back did ache. She was not terribly old, but her bones begged to differ, particularly her spine. It was once rumored that they only thing holding the femme together was her armor. They both toiled ever so tirelessly, but when given the chance, they would not have it any other way. Her truncated tines brushed a few unruly tresses back securely behind his ear, the pallor mien softening.“Aye. The sooner ‘tis done, the cleaner. I will brief the men tonight … and speak to the wee rowan.” 

She rasped as she sighed through her nostrils. Maevis was mature for her age, but her mother’s absence previously had taken a toll on her as a toddler. While they were close, the girl had attributed similar characteristics as her mother when it came to distancing herself from others emotionally, even if she was eager to interact with them, akin to her father. Sigrid had been doing her best to remedy this folly, but it was difficult to undo what damage there had been done, if any had been rendered.

 Their work kept her busy, but at least in one spot now. It was a blessing and a curse. Fortunately, Argrin’s presence in her life has been the former, giving the rapidly growing child more structure. “The instructor has told me she is progressing nicely, but she has become increasingly flighty. She fears Maevis may falter in her studies eventually. She is… very intelligent. Mayhap she is becoming bored, but I fear she may not be sleeping well again.” 

A:  “And what better teacher is there within this world than I?” Argrin’s vibrato hummed down toward her sarcastically. He knew more than most that his teachings, whatever they were, were of the unconventional kind. At the mention of their kin the tense of his jaw drew amplified by a faint twitch---none of vexed connotation but one of mild concern.

 “Maevis is beyond her years. I fear that perhaps having her within the walls so commonly is having its effects on her.” He need no bring up Sigrid’s absence for it’d prove little to his point and he was well aware that she knew exactly of her absents effects. “With Balthazar dead the war efforts have dwindled but there’s still tension all about Kryta.” He settled her with another lingering stare, holding it for several passing moments as if plucking ideas from the ether before finally speaking.

 “Do you think she’d be happier within Divinities Reach? There’s a plethora of schools that may pique her interest. That and having a change of scenery may do her a world of good.” S:  Her gaze gradually averted, her features darkening. She seemed pensive, but his words held merit. “The temple host a myriad of teachings… and it would do her some good to be around children gifted similarly.” Maevis’ “gift” was not lost on either of them, though it did warrant some concern. Grenth had blessed her, as the priesthood would chirp much to the ire of the mother; a devout of Kormir. Grenth had his place amongst the pantheon as death had its’ role in the cycle. In fact, she would be hardpressed to say that perhaps she and the morose God had been a traveling companion for some time, never too far from her. It was a bittersweet acquiescence.

 “And… “ She exhaled a breath. “…she would have the chance to sample other cultures, learn more about the nations we share alliances with.” She spoke deliberately, as if to convince herself aloud that it was a sound ideal, but a part of her was hesitant, that much was discernable. Her brow then furrowed, humoring a thought. “Though, mayhap we should speak to her and ask her what ‘tis she would like before we ultimately decide to send her away anon. Tonight would be as good as any.” A:   As a man of Grenth there was hidden pride the moment Maevia was blessed with his holy word perhaps at the demise of his paramour. Nonetheless, Sigird wasn’t spared from an all knowing look offered down to her. One she would most definitely feel seeping beneath her armor and sinew. 

 “She is afforded the luxury of such a prospect.” He rumbled lowly, “And it’s one I wholly encourage given the state of most women of this House and bloodline. I’d abhor the idea that she would blame either of us for stunting whatever gifts she wishes to pursue.  I don’t desire her to stay here for an extended period of time for if I may speak candidly I feel as if that time has already come into effect.” He peered over Sigrid’s shoulder as if chasing a thought as another telltale implication on the matter was that of the subtle twinge his jaw made whenever he clenched it. 

 “Tonight.” The man parroted. “And if I may be so bold---“ That steely gaze settled back to her. “Perhaps I may hold your company tonight as well after our affairs have been conducted?” S: She elicited another soft sigh, this time in admonishment. Her own jaw became set as her lids waned to a close, bringing her brow to rest along his collar’s cynosure. Her arms had dropped to wrap about his midsection. Silence descended between the two, humored only momentarily, until she spoke with a rasp. “I know.” She confessed airily.

 Her breath flushed his breast. “You are right, mo stór, and that my fretting is for naught. We both know what she will say, but I want her to be a part of this decision. She cannot stay here, but I still worry. She has, unfortunately, inherited my inquisitive nature. At least she has a good head on her shoulders to keep her out of trouble.”Turning her head, her temple now braced the weave, peering once more out the window and out over the expanse beyond the edified walls. Once, they had been a prison. She did not want their daughter to experience the same demure, but it seemed each day the sun rose a tad brighter to kiss the aged mortar. It was a contrast to her earlier demeanor, but at least on the battlefield you knew your enemies wanted you dead. 

In Divinity’s Reach, wolves wore the skin of sheep. Upon his latter request, that frail smile crested once more. It was the same, familiar smile she gave to him all those years ago when first they had met – though it was oft followed by a rather incredulous rebuke or look. The amber hues swept askance before she rescinded incrementally to meet his gaze. “You needn’t ask, mo bhéar.” The Ascalonian vernacular was honeyed with a bubbling lilt.(edited) A:  Argrin found his gaze pinning to the crackling hearth across the way as his mind bubbled with a myriad of additional thought. With a manner of reluctance he pulled free from her only to set his hands at her waist and stare down to her in a manner she was all too accustomed to.

 “Where is she now?” At first he assumed she was within the libraries but that was an ideal long lost. Another was that she was already within her chambers but given her nature that too was wistful thinking. If anything her proclivity for going unnoticed was astounding for she could hide among the halls and go unnoticed. The ‘Little lady’ was but a trickster in her own merit for if she desired solace she truly was one to find it. “I wonder if we should coming baring an offering.” He teased. “Or five for that matter.” S:  A solitary brow arched, oft as it was prone to. Her termagant hues narrowed as she elicited a faux hiss betwixt the tiers of her teeth. “ONE is more than enough, ‘lest we ruin her appetite. By the by, with any luck, she is already down in the kitchen -” She mused dryly, hooking an arm to proffer a playful tug to his beard. It was true; their progeny was a tad difficult to account for had she the inclination to ‘spelunk’ down the disused corridors of the manor.

 She was not wont for company, but when she desired to be alone, she never truly seemed to be. When first her gift manifested, Sigrid had been frightened for the girl. No one seemed to know what illness had befallen little Maevis when she made a habit of wandering at night or screaming when she suffered a supposed night terror. It had been the primary drive to teach her to articulate better, be that through physical or verbal gesticulation. Now such incidents were rare, were they to happen at all.

When the raven-haired lass stopped to turn about and address an invisible visitor, not many questioned it, either. Rather than shun her sixth sense, the Grenth-touched prodigy had adapted it as a way of life. She could see things, individuals, that no one else could, but to her they were just fellow residents and staff within her home.However, the girl had started taken her ability to ‘disappear’ a bit too much for granted lately. 

Recently, they had caught her eavesdropping indiscreetly with her only response being: “I didn’t wanna open the door if you two were KISSING! That is GROSS!” Inhaling gradually, the knightly femme scantly canted her head indicatively toward the door, her octave rising. “-and NOT outside our DOOR because if she is, she will not be given ANY offerings!” Glancing askance over the cusp of her shoulder, she stared expectantly toward the yawn of the doorway. There was no answer, let alone the sound of shuffling feet. As the blade of her tongue clicked along the roof of her mouth, she hummed curiously. “In the kitchens she is, then.” A:  It wasn’t against Argrin’s nature to laugh but when Sigird turned her attention to the doorway a rather loving chortle petered from the back of his throat. If anything it caused a rather admiring look to befall the woman as she clicked that tongue along the roof of her mouth. In the moments which proceeded them Argrin made point in coiling his arms around her waist only to draw her close, leaning down he brushed the tip of his nose at her cheek to call her attention back to him.

 Once acquired he pressed their foreheads together---certainly not a gesture his daughter would have expected them to see if she were to happen upon them. No, there were no sensual gestures of theirs mouths molding together hotly. Instead, he allowed their spiritual minds to connect, a warm smile albeit succinct in nature had graced his mouth before finally releasing her from his grip. “What do you surmise this offering to be, hm? Something pragmatic or something not?” 

The heavy breach of his footfalls muffled against the carpet heralded his meander toward the door which was opened by another strained series of groaning hinges as he opened it, being polite enough to step aside as to allow her to exit first. He was, despite his nature, still a gentleman. “Perhaps a new horse? Do little ladies adore horses still?” S: As he leaned in, the sunlight kissed the top of his head to crest a halo. Their foreheads met, and her lids waned, though the prudent smile broadened gradually. A hand once more elevated to compliment the shallow dip of his cheek bone. They were connected by more than just oaths and companionate affiliation. They were a singular entity, entwined for this life time and perhaps others to come – were one to have such a belief. For, at least, Sigrid, they had just this one and it made their time on this earth more precious. Perhaps she should have more faith in her subordinates to carry out the mission, but she knew she would not rest easy. 

Those men and women were just as much as family and she wanted to ensure they came home, even if it meant she had to spend some time away. Mayhap… it will be the last time she would have to. They stood together in silence with only their breathing audible; a biological metronome. Until Argrin rescinded. Recollecting her poise, righting her posture, she humored the enquiry as she watched him near the door.

 Soon, she followed suit.Of course, pragmaticism was a virtue; she would rather gift books or clothes. Something utilitarian… though there might be some protest. If the Little Lady’s attentiveness was slipping, maybe something indulgent was called for considering her successful studies preceding. Something to keep her invested, encouraged, but not to create a habit. A horse might seem a bit much, but Maevis was of age to learn how to ride and it was a necessity, true. And yet… As she passed, she brushed her hand along the profile of his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze before stepping over the threshold. A chuckle bubbling within the hearth of her throat. “How about we start with dinner and go from there.” She mused.

The Decay of Ashes

(Part One)

He did not often dream alone.

It could be what he subconsciously sought or something he was drawn into. Either way loneliness never hung on him in dreams, the way it shackled him in waking. For good or ill.

Atrioch was his most frequent visitor.

Those dreams hung in stasis. A dark space with a location he was never sure of. It could’ve been his mind as easy as it could’ve been his patron’s, or perhaps it was in the tome that joined the two of them. A prison for them both. No matter the case, it was a place defined by Atrioch. He shouldn’t expect anything less. Those dreams were dark and choked with the acrid smell of ash. He knew his benefactor was there by the mere hum of the place, a consistent background static like crackling fire. The creature was never there in his physical form, the smoke made man he had glimpsed upon their contract, but he was there all the same. He was there in the same way air is a constant companion, hovering just against you but untouchable. Watching.

It was a game of sorts between them, those dreams, of who would speak first. Each testing the other to see who was desperate enough to crack, to reach out to the other. A game of isolation. He broke more often than he held in those dreams, if just for the fact that speaking was the only sensation left to him in that void.

However, he wasn’t the only one who ever broke. Centuries of being sealed away could make a creature just as desperate as a halfling on his own. When those times came, the dream dragged on, refusing to end until Atrioch was satisfied. His benefactor was petty in that way. If Atrioch was to even hint at weakness, he’d turn it into an advantage. Those were dreams of endless chatter, quips, and questions more for the sake of drawing out any kind of conversation than purposeful manipulation. No real thought to how much information was given away or if the words spoken would push his vessel farther away from his goal than towards it. He could almost appreciate the dreams where Atrioch broke for the mere context they gave, but It had disrupted his scheduling enough times for him to ignore Atrioch out of spite more often than not.

However the start, the dreams between the two of them always ended the same, with a tribute. A choice between the two to chose the poison the other provided by the mere presence of their continued existence in exchange for potential benefits as the alternatives were unthinkable. Sometimes it felt as if something was taken from him. It left him hollow and aching as if for a lost limb. Yet even scarier were the times he felt as if the other had left something behind. Where he’d awaken to the stark chill of sweat and his grimoire humming with light.

————————————————————

His more frequent dreams were of eyes.

Of hollowed faces that watched him with sunken eyes, stark white against their sullied dirt stained bodies. Of the low whine of pumps that hummed and screeched percussion as he ran from the eyes, as if his flight would hide him.

No matter the corridor he turned or if he curled and wept like a child, the eyes were there. Some hanging out of half gnarled sockets, where the flesh sloshed off from the bone like butter in the breeze. Others stood piecing and glowing violet in the dark, belonging to bodies he couldn’t see in the darkness. Only one pair mattered. The pair that watched him at the end of the dream. Familiar yellow worn eyes that flared with hatred. His uncle’s eyes. They were hungry, determined, and watching. They demanded retribution.

Atrioch followed him into these dreams at times he could tell. A thick undercurrent of foreign emotion hanging in the air above the guilt and fear. At times it was amusement and satisfaction. The bright feelings clashing harshly with his own enough to draw him from the dream. Other times it was resentment and distaste, broiling low under his own thoughts. He never felt the emotions directed towards him in the biting pointed way they got in their shared dreams, but rather towards the existence of the dream itself. He couldn’t help but wonder how the positive and negative reaction could coexist in the same being.

Neither reaction ever helped the conclusion much. Nor did they stop the shade of his uncle from wrapping bony claws around his neck, digging holes into his skin, as he hefted him off the ground. He felt the eyes converge around him, watching the judgement and execution with eagerness. Staring as Nylan tighten his grip, His withering horns twisted to jab against his neck and his half rotted face twisted in a snarl. Nylan would squeeze till his vision would darken in increments like the coming dusk.

“I’m sorry.” He choked through both emotion and pain. The yellow eyes the only thing he could see. A sun dipping below the horizon.

“Then why did you leave me here?”

————————————————————-

His dreams weren’t all of darkness and half ignored hauntings. His favorite was much lighter. It was one that had edged at his brain since childhood. A dream of the sea.

He had never been to the sea. Not as a child of a Halfling family who feared swimming in much bigger than a bathtub. Nor as child of a tiefling who made her home in the frozen North where he would get Mountain streams and hot springs over “that damn salty fish infested pond.” Still, he had read well enough to dream. Read of the swelling tides, of the sun tanned sand, gatherings of shells, and the salty waters. Seen pictures enough to want and wonder.

It was a puzzle. A welcome challenge of constructing his imagined sea. Something to pass the time when he was young and stashed under blankets sick without his books. A habit picked up again for the long recognizance trips he managed to convince Ariette to send him on.

His dreams usually started the same. His feet in the water, the flowing water pushing the tufts of hair on his feet in and out with the tide. He kept the waters crystal clear and the sand hugging his feet like slick mud. The sun hung high in the sky, birds blinking in and out behind clouds, or settling on the distant cliffs. Peaceful. An escape far more mundane then any who knew him would expect in his mind.

When he first dreamed the sea he was alone but soon his little escape populated. First, Ariette calling him in a silent voice from the shore. Then, Nylan tossing Rechana in the air praising her work on a sandcastle. For a time Natavine was there. A mistake. He evicted her soon enough. If she didn’t consider him family neither would he. He was more than content with her replacement. The tiefling whose shine sparked in the morning sun. Khayani, who was always watching something off on the cliffs where the sunlight would hover on the rock. He could never bring himself to look at what she saw. It didn’t feel like it was for him. That was fine, not all things here were for them either.

No, he had a place all his own. A cliff side cave. A place far from his starting point, past rocky shorelines and cliffs nesting birds. It was a quiet place. The tide barely brushing the shore of grey rock, where it pooled and formed a little pond for the cave. A few stalactites jutted from the ground but overall the place was worn smooth by waters and time. He would sit at the pool side, lazily kicking his feet in the water as the sun sunk over the horizon, framed perfectly by the entrance.

Far in the back of the cave was a pathway that shone with the low blue of some far off light source. He couldn’t find it in himself to take that path. Fear seized him at even the glimpse of it. It called to him, though, with a familiar voice he couldn’t place. There wasn’t anything terrible beyond the light, no it felt kind, but he couldn’t go, not yet. Maybe not ever.

He’d content himself with cooling his feet in the pool and watch the setting sun. The ever steady blue glow at his back.

————————————————————

As his travels took him further and into the company of more people, his dream grew.

Lysvan stood on the cliff top Khayani watched. The dwarf watched the horizon with a mistrustful gaze but protection in her stance. Below, Zephyr climbed like a goat amongst the rocks, intent on following after Lysvan or finding his own path, no one could tell. Nathair was half buried in the sand by Orla, sleeping but with the hanging threat of a furious embarrassed blustering when they awoke. For now Nathair slept, the feeling was calm, and Orla turned them into a rather beautiful sand mermaid.

Each relationship had a mark on his escape. Even Atrioch had a place. The seagulls that once perched in nests near his cliffside cave turned to Crows by his benefactor. Each bird calling his name in crackling tones as he passed. They were unwelcome, but familiar enough now that it would be unnatural for them not to be there to greet him.

————————————————————

His own imagination often surprised him. He found he was never bored in his own mind. He was always looking for what exactly he had concocted with his half supported imaginings.

For example: once he tasted the water in his dream. It was, as expected, fervently disgusting, but not as it should. It was a disappointing revelation. The taste was the bitterness of plant life and stream fish, not salt and algae. He had only ever known river water, he couldn’t yet picture what salt water would taste like.

Disgusting, probably.

————————————————————

Atrioch didn’t often come to his sea dreams despite his mark upon them. There was something uncomfortable about it to the creature. A sense of wrongness that would surge and swell at the corner of his mind when his patreon came to those dreams. It would be pointed and upset at one particular thing or another. Sometimes the feeling would simmer in discontent and he would continue his dream ignoring his brooding benefactor. However, sometimes the feeling would boil over. A hissing whisper floating past his ear as he tried to skim the water, leaving him only with the smell of charcoal and a statement.

“The sand is wrong.”

Spoken as if it was a grievous crime, and the foreign emotion would vanish. Completely fed up with him.

————————————————————

He wondered if Varrisidan would like the sea. If he would appear in his mind amidst the waves, calling him deeper into the waters.

He had read that the sea called to elves in a way few other races felt. That it sang to their blood when the time came and sent seagulls to flit amongst their sleeping hours to call them home across the sea. Did Varrisidan already dream of gulls on the horizon?

Or perhaps Varrisidan would love the pooling lake of cave water that matched a homeland he had never seen. Would watch the steady drip from the stalactites with a peaceful comforted smile. Maybe Varrisidan would sit with him, legs awkwardly intertwined, watching the tides pool in their little cave.

Perhaps Varrisidan would love the sea.

It was a foolish thought to dwell upon.

————————————————————

Sometimes he wished the shades in his dreams would speak to him. They felt more like manikins with his friends faces as he passed like the wind among them barely causing them to stir.

Lysvan would forever watch from the cliffs. Nathair would forever dream. Orla would forever hum as she buried him. Zephyr would forever be deaf to his calls up on the cliff face. Every once in awhile he swore Khayani saw him, when she broke from watching the cliffs. Her gaze darting like she had seen a ghost before shaking it off. It was never permanent. They weren’t meant for him.

He could watch them, enjoy their happiness, but he couldn’t have them. Not for longer than they were willing to give and certainly no deeper than this. It was fair, for he was no more willing to give them himself. It was selfish to want without giving. Still he didn’t want someone like Ariette again. He didn’t want that kind of pain.

The only one he had was Ariette, and only that was for a time. Once she had hailed him in from the sea, smiled on his arrival, and shepherded him to the shade of the cliffside. It was a curse that he forced his dreams to reflect reality. It was a curse because he couldn’t let himself have that version of her. Not when she was lost by his mistakes.

Now she watched blankly at the ocean, sitting against the cliff, worry creasing her face, a lonely figure watching the tides and holding the sleeping form of Rechana. At times he smoothed the lines away from her face and closed her eyes. Other times he couldn’t even look at her. What a model son he was.

She couldn’t hear his words that turned to ash on the wind, stinging his throat as he tried to make his thoughts known. None of them could. Perhaps they were better for it.

————————————————————

The first time Varrisidan appeared in his sea dream was a surprise to the both of them. Well both of them, he supposed wasn’t the right word, to tell any waking person of his dreams would be an embarrassment or a vulnerability too great for him. It was a surprise to himself and the dream version of Varrisidan.

He had found him on the wave to his cave. The drow had been picking amongst the rocks, followed like a mama duck by a line of crows. It had caught him by surprise because no one, for all the people he met, had come near the cave and they certainly didn’t notice him. It had caught Varrisidan by surprise because he had nearly tripped over the Halfling.

Varrisidan made, for what all appearances showed, a yelp. It was silent as many words here were but unlike the rest of his silent companions, Varrisidan’s voice was chased by wisps of smoke. The fact seemed to shock the drow as much as it did him. He had long known what smoke meant in his dreams. There was some layer of deception between the two of them that was mutual, clouding their words. Testing, he attempted to speak to his new guest, and smoke ran bitter over his tongue as expected.

Varris watched the trails of ash float into the sky with something akin to wonder. Their eyes meeting with understanding. He couldn’t fathom what secrets his subconscious had picked up on in regards to the other man, and neither did he suspect did the waking Varrisidan. At least here, they traded the knowledge of their duplicity like a secret too sweet to be spoiled just yet.

They appraised each other for a while, the crows hopping impatiently around them until flying off to nests above. Then, instinctively, Kyrian beckoned Varrisidan to follow him to the cave. After a beat, Varris followed.

————————————————————

They spoke easily enough in his dreams, Varrisidan and him. Their language forming out of a variety of gestures and half quirked eyebrows. It was a companionable silence that followed them and too often was he content to just sit as the tides splashed against his legs, Varrisidan beside him.

Noticing him.

His.

And what a terrifying and wonderful thought that was.

————————————————————

He had seen the sea today. A mercenary job had taken them to the eastern port of Greystone to protect the rather unruly heir of a noblewoman. It was degrading work that set Lysvan’s hackles raising, but they were low on funds and a job was a job.

The beach was in some ways the same and far different from his dreams. The waves rolled and crashed against the shore as he pictured, but the rose to great troughs that he couldn’t picture the height of. The sand didn’t stick and pry at his feet the way mud did. It cushioned his steps softly where it wasn’t touched by water, and sank below him where it was. It had a smell all of its own unlike river banks defined by the nature around them. He couldn’t find it in himself to be put off by the smell of the sea. It’s breeze too sweetly brushed against his face, gentle and cool.

It was wonderful. A dream and unspoken desire fulfilled before his eyes. He could almost feel his dreams shifting with his new knowledge but Varrisidan wasn’t here with them. He couldn’t put a name to why, but that fact left him unfulfilled despite the experience.

He wasn’t left wondering for long. Lysvan called from the ship head.

“We have work, Darkstone. Don’t dally.”

Their dwarven leader had stood rigid and watching at the helm, unaware or ignoring the mounting chaos behind her. Zephyr had somehow been driven up the mast and clung to it half transformed like a frightened cat unable to get down. Kyrian got the distinct feeling he was dared to as Orla looked to be cheering on the distressed Druid while Khayani and Nathair seemed to be trading something. Money for a new bet if he could get down perhaps. The actual ship crew was having a time trying to get him down. Kyrian had the good fortune to watch Zephyr give quite a solid kick to a poor crewman’s nose. The man had the ill sense to try to catch the Druid’s attention by grabbing his leg resulting in a bloody nose that Nathair and Orla could be proud of and probably a shiner that would be a bright purple reminder to not mess with their Druid.

Kyrian couldn’t keep the smile out of his voice when he replied.

“Aye aye, Captain. Just give me a moment.”

He leaned down and tasted the water.

Disgusting.

————————————————————

Varrisidan met him in sleeping with an eagerness it seemed, placing them both sitting amongst the tide from the get go. While it splashed a little past the waist on Varrisidan, he had the misfortune of it surging up to his chest. His put off expression must have been a sight, for Varrisidan quickly turned to laughing at his state. Feeling vengeful, he flicked some water at Varrisidan’s face. Soon he had to stifle his own laugh at the way the drow’s face puckered with the new taste.

Varrisidan didn’t begrudge him for it.

————————————————————

He wondered if building a bungalow for the shades would be a bit too much. They didn’t have to be affected by the heat if he didn’t want them to, but beaches were supposed to be tropical. In any case a family deserved a home.

Family?

They were family weren’t they?

He built the bungalow.

————————————————————

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The truth is them constantly due to all applying sellers, various from selling and buying unit card god cheat formats to fandom tie-ins to blatant pok?n clones. Inspite of the range of ordinary concerns much the same for most concerns costless-mium and beast accumulating, Summoners War Real Hack: sky area grants something extra. Fight against platform eliminate resembles traditional console rpg varieties whereby each model, your group along with the enemy’s, consume a convert-based mostly platform ruled by their certain tempo data. Particular episodes might cause level issues - most of that will be unusual, or at biggest, unique on the rpg category, like setting up systems struggling to developed into cured, or dealing wreck proportionate to one’s health related (suppose gravitational forces magic of the ff range). |many different unusual systems that evolve into pallet swaps of ourselves. For each option and variant, there's a comment thread whereby athletes give good tips and feedback for that monsters using There are a variety of rune adjustments accessible to the game addict for any beast and it is totally about her or him about how she or he optimizes them for accurate play. It Which is not only the look. For several, as early as you eliminate interconnection, it is a computerized loss, so it is a large superb contact concerning solution. that headline could be worthwhile using for makes. English, european, german, french, italian, japanese, spanish language, korean, malay, portuguese, simplified chinese, classic chinese, thai, indonesian, turkish, vietnamese. When you are done most levels the game addict generates runes which almost all of the god premiums height originates from. |Each and every one beast also offers an elemental characteristic, that makes it practically practical up against a number of foe forms. Conditions are flashy and animate definitely. Significantly less annoyance. method god premiums, this is often a must definitely-spend money on. Summoners combat is placed within the intensifying fantasy whole world exactly where combat is still substituted with a lot more civilized area fights. The game could be practiced by themselves or around the web up against other people and cooperatively with associates. pretty, developing a unusual volume of story and edge ambitions to help keep teens occupied. Yet, we could also check out a ongoing circulate of middle-to-poor ratings coming on a daily basis. Let’s take advantage of the necessary issues to expose what some athletes knowledge. It really is a wonderful repair whenever you consider it: mitigate the good luck implicated permitting associates trade their worthless success for your special that can help them keep on being holding around. |Having 5 stars after some reports and iteration would substantially increment preservation, acquisition, and productivity. If Summoners War Real Hack introduced these processes within the new revise, that revise would definitely have 5 stars completely. a great deal of occasions, area fights, guild fights, a pve test. Far apart from pokemon, exactly where it's my chore to teach things i like to use, the fusion platform also creates athletes fatten most fodder monsters, merely to upgrade they. Yet carrying out a a number of factor, the marginal price of degree time take holding around surpasses the marginal assist you in getting whenever you gain something so The metropolis The training can be quite congratulations, directing you with good tips for your existing steps life expectancy, rarely ever gaining awfully aggravating. It may look it's being unfaithful to status they've across 400 with the actual facts that they can can consist of for example a werewolf which counts as 5 many different monsters in case you go through the many different parts: i.e. |Utmost beast accumulating god cheat i actually have practiced thus far. The summoner wars excel at establish has got half a dozen many different and new completed factions to decide on: • play Victory will come only of the passing away of that opponent's summoner. The particular establish (as analyzed of the following sentences) is known for a premium glossy unit card table play neighborhood and 6 military not similar to men and women on the first put out. Incredible appreciate! In summoner wars you become a summoner. Quite incredibly much the same as with every other god cheat that allows you to bring about pests and systems, great? The summoner is essential unit card and they also excessively, along with utilizing to be able to summon systems, have issues you might use throughout a god cheat headline. This is certainly noteworthy seeing that all of your systems could be deployed to have an vacant port near to a wall unit card, and whenever you exhaust walls… you cannot summon! (yep, it is very highly different that rooms are essential for summoning, but that is an aspect of the game’s appeal, frankly!) the phases are shorter and simple with a small number of behaviors transpiring in just them each convert. The start gamer does skip their design, summon, and play exhibition credit cards phases, but has the capacity to progress 2 systems and invade with as a variety of of that systems which can do this. Next you take this heap by inserting several of these credit cards deal with-of the throw away heap comparable to a card’s total price. |I will tell a real benefit intending secondly since you can do added Safe guarding your systems nevertheless ruining the opponent’s systems has to be your top priority. Simply because summoner wars is a major great success, it shojuld not an unexpected that there are a number of expansions and extra units easily available. excel at establish that concentrates around alliance factions. It eliminates the snowball effect if you are responsible for your providers and just how you take part in the god cheat. Completely free-to-play beast-accumulating efforts certainly are a cent-a-dozen, how must we discern the most effective for you? Inside challenge of Summoners War Real Hack: sky area, the glossy construction figures, constrained major technicians, addicting blend of The game is plainly directed in the direction of accumulating just as much funds from athletes as possible, but it is in the same way enjoyable and not having to take a cent. Summoning works with crystals, that happen to be gradually acquired or purchased with real-whole world funds. Summoner wars [] is known as a crossbreed ccg / small but effective guide method god cheat to some degree much like mojang's very highly-envisioned . |The eight factions easily available (nine, in case you count number the mercenaries) speak for about 50 Percent of men and women readily available for the tabletop god cheat - The game's deck-building up automobile expert is successful extremely well, with 3 champ and 18 frequently used (no-unusual model) slot machine games per deck. Having an smart phone or ipod electronic device contact, the charge card words is small but effective even zoomed-in, so if watching the complete guide, the charge card method is seldom big enough to discern around credit cards. around to get exactly where it's. There needs to be an undo control. (11) considering that comparison mentions, no talk? Which happens to be not sensible around god cheat which can get involved in through duration of fourteen hours. Have this platform within the god cheat like this would avert men and women conditions where specific individual is plainly prone to succeed in in keeping with the table challenge, however opponent just stalls hoping they exhaust time. And pleasurable! When you need tbsp . |choose a much more intense gamble on it's option over the applying save. But, for anybody who likes method or convert-based mostly god premiums, i absolutely, undoubtedly stimulate everybody you give it a try and acquire two or three god premiums within your buckle - method god premiums this pleasurable and positive don't turn up continually. And so the human being accompanied by a summoner rendered will have to perform a thankful dancing... The examples below concern that i like about summoner wars (and every other god cheat that executes this definitely) is always that each race qualities unique unusual, definitely made personal identity. But which may be how you will Both bottom level establish goods a gamer with all of that they should take part in the god cheat. Simultaneously, getting good credit cards suggests that you would probably probably simply take longer intending in the opposite direction and forwards wiping out unimportant minions very of focusing on the opposite person's summoner. god cheat, which i absolutely be prepared to actively playing the sport a good deal various noticing what choices are easily available concerning all the various backrounds, expansions, or anything else. |The great thing is the backrounds on the excel at establish don't are available every other application, if you pick any expansions, you will understand you could be not benefiting from replicated credit cards. As soon as the model enter discord, the effects are attended to by an in-god cheat dice relocating simulation. A unit card god cheat colby dauch manufactured summoner wars such as a crossbreed boardgame/unit card god cheat in '09. Each and every one faction is tailored for a variety of strengths and techniques, providing you with loads of opportunities to select from. I was thinking the training was excellent. training was positive, much, much better in comparison to the principal one in dusk. unit card/table-god cheat work on ios... |Thank goodness, you don't simply have to form my mistake… considering that persons at plaid head wear god premiums performed a terrific chore over the box method for that summoner wars excel at establish. my positive reviews from box arrives at this area put - there's room or living area not only for that half a dozen faction decks incorporated on the box but on top of that slot machine games for four added decks.