#and lance has been proven to be nothing but kind

[dizzyduck44]

Daniel sound waayy too bitter in that article, I liked Daniel outside of the car but lately hes been too much of an old bitter man, I struggle to warm up to him because he was a fucking bully to Lando in late 2020 but I let it pass because he was ass (lol) , he finally admit that he knows what to do, that Lando help him and share what to do with him but he lacks the technical knowledge to immitate him and that is 100% his fault.

I have this belief that one of the reasons nothing worked for him, not the upgrades, his setups and Landos setups is because he doesn't know how to describe whats wrong or which part he is struggling with (apart from the brake, which is his "speciality"), mechanics in every single team he has been had mention his lack of interest and knowledge of the car, the reason he did great in RB was because (this was said by Christian and Marko) he was using Max setups and since both of them formed in the same teams he could keep up until Max begin to make his setups more aggresive. The "I race with vibes" was not a joke.

Daniel lack of interest last year seal his future, like idk if you remember when Andreas (?) commented that Daniel barely did any sin work and that he was barely in the MTC while at the same time calling Lando furniture because he was there too much and then this year Daniel said that he was working really hard and then you read the article and it was just that he was doing sim work 💀.

He really thought mclaren wouldn't dare to fired him and that he was safe. And he still cant admit he at fault for this, he is a grown man with a decade of experience making excuses for driving like a rookie and wont drive in other teams because he thinks he too good like he hasn't driving at the same pace as them 2 years.

I love how detailed this ask is and I’d forgotten about the whole “vibes” thing or the comment about his lack of interest.

Sadly Daniel has brought this on himself. I still maintain if you are a “great” driver you can adapt to anything. All those of his experience have proven they can, Lewis, Seb, Fernando, Valtteri, Carlos, Sergio. Kimi was a master of it.

Meanwhile Lando, threw himself into driving anything the team would let him, George is the same, Max drives different things for fun, Alex did a year of DTM, even Pierre is up for a bit of off roading. They all don’t want to get too comfortable with the one car, just in case.

If I’m being kind, Daniel got blindsided by the generation that came through. 8 or so years ago the karting press were talking about the talent of Max, Charles, George and Lando. People were touting Pierre, Esteban, Nyck, Alex, Lance, Mick for F1. There was so many of them and Daniel acted as though it wasn’t a problem, he had this. But they were all great and F1 bound. They now make up half the grid and he isn’t the number 1 in a team that leans towards him. It too late to see them off now.

Also bless him, Lando was part of the furniture as he was told to come to the factory any time of day or night if his anxiety got too much, so he did. I spoke to a McLaren employee who told me he would just randomly turn up with biscuits and start making tea for people. He discussed with the team about moving to Monaco. He is a complete and utter nerd and absorbs data. Lando actually admitted that was one of the things he worked on, was being able to vocalise how the car felt to his engineers.

Maybe the biggest downfall for Daniel was he was so different to Lando in that respect. He didn’t want to be at the track at midnight going over data. He didn’t want to stay behind to help pack up rather than go back to an empty hotel room. He didn’t love sim work. I don’t know. And let’s be fair, until last year Lewis didn’t want to do any of those things either. He proudly told journalists he did 2 days of sim work a year!

I think Daniel really needs to do some soul searching. I honestly don’t think he realises how many people he has thrown under the bus along the way to end up where he is. Things he’s said about Red Bull, about Renault, now McLaren. I think his comments about Lando will age as well as his comments about Max.

I think ultimately he just wants a to be a racing driver and doesn’t deal well with all the other crap. In some ways he is like Kimi in that respect, but he doesn’t have the career stats or natural god given talent Kimi has (to be fair few do). As I’ve said before, the sad reality is that Lewis or Kimi or I think even Fernando would be doing what Lando is doing and dragging that car into Q3 week in week out, on a wing and a prayer. That’s what Daniel needed to do.

I think he is a little bitter, because he realises this could be it and he’s not ready to go. But wishing for a Jenson Button set up where someone hands you a championship winning car, set up for you, from the start of the season is a fantasy.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

HASO, “Living the Dream.”

I didn’t get a lot of time to write today, but I hope you all still like it :)

“No! Absolutely not!”

“This isn’t your decision to make.”

“President, this is completely insane. You have to see that.”

The two officers turned to look at the president of the UN who sat in his seat idly fiddling with a paperclip. It spun, once and then twice between the fingers of his right hand before he bothered to look up. 

The UN president was a sturdy man in his late sixties with greying hair, dark eyes and a slight paunch.  He wasn’t a man of unusual intelligence or anything like that. In fact his greatest ability and charismatic character in front of a crowd, but behind the scenes, the man was racked with indecision and uncertainty.

Admiral Kelly stepped forward and looked around the table at the other ranking officers falling lastly on the UN president who she stuck with a steady gaze, one she had been told when she was captain, had the ability to freeze even the bravest man’s blood in his veins.

“The GA has made their decision and I tend to agree with them.”

“It’s madness.” Another officer said leaning forward in his seat.

“That boy doesn’t have nearly enough experience. He was on your ship for less than a year, has only flown ten combat missions in his entire career, AND only a SINGLE ground Op.”

Another Admiral stood in agreement to back them up, “The boy is barely old enough to grow a beard much less command a ship. He has no experience.”

Admiral kelly kept her eyes narrowed. 

She knew the kind of effect she had on people. Even though she was no more than five foot five, her parents had always said her personality added another three feet.

“With all due respect, Admirals, how many of you have more than a year of experience dealing with aliens?”

The men’s jaws worked but they said nothing.

“How many of you have even fought in an alien war?”

More silence.

“How many of you have been on an alien ship?”

No one responded.

She stood from her seat, hands resting behind her back, “If you are expecting to find someone with more experience, you are kidding yourselves. And don’t come at me with some bullshit about how other officers have more combat experience. You may be right but that was against HUMANS, human conflicts and human wars. We need someone who doesn’t have their head so stuck in the past. If we send a vet in, MAYBE they will be able to deal with an alien conflict, and maybe they’d fowl it up by thinking humans are the same as aliens.” She looked around the table, “If we look at this, really look at this, he has the most experience out of ANYONE in the UNSC. He was the first one to discover aliens, he offered himself as a subject to be tested by aliens, he helped to establish communication between our species. He fought in an alien war and lived, and afterwards he came back for more.”

She turned to look around the room, her hands held wide, “The GA love him, the Chairwoman knows him by name, and they asked for him personally. Most of this isn’t even about alien conflict. We don’t have to worry about his prowess on the battlefield if there are never any battles. He doesn’t want to fight them, which means he will do everything possible to avoid war, and, most importantly, he is still loyal to the UNSC.”

She looked around at them with a very serious expression,

“I don’t need to tell you about what It took to survive operation steel eye. I know you've all read the reports. By rights that boy should be suing the UNSC for all it’s worth, but for some reason he is loyal enough to come limping back to lay at the feet of the UNSC. If I were him I would have gotten out at the first opportunity, but he’s proven a loyalty to the UNSC that we can’t just pass up. He has experience, he has guts, and he has loyalty to spare, and, lord forgive me for saying this, but if he does fail, no one will be surprised. But if he succeeds, he will be a success story the UNSC can front for the rest of this millenia.”

Looking around the table she could see that her words were making some impact on the waiting generals. She felt bad about some of the things she was saying. She hated making it out to seem like the boy was just a pawn to be used and discarded if it didn’t turn out, but that was the sort of thing these men understood. She could raise other points, the real points, but they wouldn’t be likely to listen.

She could blab at them all day about her experience with the young man. How she knew him to be ready to work, honest to a fault, funny, charismatic in an awkward sort of way, and probably the most trustworthy young man on the face of the damn planet. If there was anyone she would trust to hold the entire world in the palm of their hand, she would let him do it. Granted she would supervise him to make sure he didn’t accidentally drop it, but she KNEW that given time and some maturing the boy would make an excellent leader.

She could feel it in her bones.

Right into her marrow.

Andshe would always be there to watch him and provide her expertise if he ever needed it. 

She wasn’t worried.

Instead of saying any of this she took a deep breath, “We are going into a new age, and we need to have flexible minds. Old war dogs like us aren’t going to cut it, too setin our ways.” She turned to look around the room, “And if he fails, I will take full responsibility for his actions.”

She knew what she was doing was rash, setting her entire career on one man, and no more than a boy at that, but she had faith, and more than that, she knew who had trained him, and had to admit that he had a pretty damn good mentor.

***

Adam Vir had fallen asleep.

No one could really blame him, his flight back from Andromeda had come in late, and he hadn’t slept in over 24 hours, but still, slouched against the wall in a cheap plastic chair with his mouth open and a line of drool running down his face was hardly becoming. Despite this, no one gave him a second lance as they hurried up and down the hallway at fort harmony listening to the distant sounds of jet engines starting up on the runway crisp and cool in the early morning chill.

“Lieutenant.” Adam Vir jerked in his seat as a boot gently kicked his shoe, nearly toppling over.

“YES!”

He looked up to find Admiral Kelly standing over him, and made an undignified scrambled to his feet wiping drool from his cheek feeling red rise up from under his collar as he made a wobbly and very undignified salute.

She only smiled, “At ease, Lieutenant, and come with me.”

He let his hand dropped and he quickly followed her up the hall watching as eyes turned to look at them in mild curiosity as they passed.

Admirals didn’t often speak to lowly first lieutenants, “Where are we going, ma’am.”

She turned a corner and he nearly ran himself into the wall, dodging to the side only at the last minute and staggering a bit as he tried to keep pace with her. He was blushing madly now feeling like a clumsy idiot next to her graceful strides. 

What he wouldn’t give to be just a little bit more like her, so calm and cool and poised and…

She motioned him into the next door, and he stepped inside,holding it open for her as he did.

It was her office, which he guessed by the name plate on her desk and several shadow boxes on the wall behind her desk, each one of hem holding some medal or award or other she had received for distinguished service.

The glass on those boxes was old and mostly coated in dust not having been disturbed in a long time, as in comparison to the framed picture on her desk, which was lovingly dusted clean every morning. It looked like a picture of her family, brothers, sisters, mother and father. Her father being a very tall, very broad looking islander, while her mother was a very petite asian woman.

She clearly hadn’t interhited her father’s height, and looked more like her mother.

She Turned to sit behind the desk, hands clasped before her as the stars glittered lightly on the shoulders of her uniform.

Kelly nodded for him to sit and he did as requested.

She nodded to the yellow envelope on the desk before her, “Open it.”

He paused, and did as told, opening the envelope and tipping it’s contents out onto the desk.

His eyes were caught at first by a large folded blueprint, which he opened and spread out on half the desk before him.

It didn’t take him long to figure out what it was.

He glanced up at her, “Is this the new ship?”

She nodded.

“Next generation?” he was practically drooling, “What I wouldn’t give to fly one of these.” He looked up at her, “Are you going to be flying her, she’s beautiful.” Granted all he could see were the white lines of the blueprint but he could just imagine.”

She smiled slightly.

“Why don’t you take a look at the rest of it.”

He forced his eyes away from the blueprint and down to the rest of the packet.

On the table before him two glittering silver bars winked up at him.

He reached out with a hand and picked up the captain’ bars frowning. He then turned his attention to a pile of white papers and quickly scanned his eyes over the pages. Aam Vir may have behaved like a big idiot but he had been top of his class at the academy, and unlike the big oaf he looked like, he had pretty good reading comprehension.

Didn’t take him more than a few seconds to scan the page and…. freeze .

He blinked, re-read the lines five or six times.

Re read it again.

Looked up at kelly then back at the paper then back up at kelly.

“I…. what is this?”

She tried to contain the small smile that flickered over the front of his face, “What does it look like.”

“It…. well it LOOKS like a written recommendation for a promotion… a promotion to captain and orders to loan out for the GA…. on the next constructed interstellar ship.. .but….”

He looked up knowing what he hoped but not daring to believe.

It was when her small knowing smile was split by a grin that he knew.

His ears went suddenly muffled, his heart sped up to light speed and he thought he could hear her speaking but he couldn't hear her.

“No way!” he said 

“No way, no way no way. No friggin WAY.”

She stood, and he stood, and he found he didn’t know what to do with his hands he found himself walking in a small circle. He held the paper out to hre, “IS this serious, are you serious?”

“Serious as a heart attack.”

“No way.”

“Yes way.” “You’re serious.”

“I just said so.”

He looked down at the page and then back up again one last time, and he was suddenly so overwhelmed that he just couldn’t handle it anymore and he threw his arms around her. It was probably the most unprofessional show of emotion the UNSC had ever seen. No salute, no handshake none of that professional stuff.

Instead, he, a junior officer, was hugging the fleet commander, who he now realized was like  almost nine inches shorter than he was, and…. Was he crying?

Yep, crying like a big ugly baby, ok maybe not so bad.

He was laughing and crying and completely overwhelmed to the point of probably losing his promotion.

Luckily for him Admiral Kelly laughed with him.

Man she was was fucking amazing.

Until he eventually pulled away grinning like an idiot and not bothering to wipe his eyes..

“Take a couple deep breaths for me, Captain.”

Captain!

He loved the sound of that.

Captain Vir

Captain Adam Vir of the UNSC.

He took a few deep breaths, calmed himself down enough so he could speak, straightened up, “Thank you ma’am, I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t. Now get out of here, and pull yourself together before the promotion ceremony.”

He grinned again, “Yes Ma’am.” In his enthusiasm turning away, he nearly tripped over his pushed out chair, but managed to right himself before hand, giving a rueful smile and running from the room.

He managed to make it outside before bursting with excitement jumping up into the air and pumping his fist, before dancing around in a circle shouting and chanting.

A couple columns of marching soldiers looked very confused as they walked past him like he was some kind of lunatic, but it didn’t matter to him.

He had made it!

He had made it 

His dream had come true and he had made it. 

[bestworstcase]

Hi, I really love your thoughts and analysis on tts so I wanted to ask if you have read The Vanishing Village Book? It made me really think about Eugene's character. I sorta disliked him in the book and felt his relationship with Rapunzel was different and strained. I guess my question is if you think Eugene is a good character? I feel that I am biased for liking the story and relationship between Cassandra and Rapunzel so perhaps I am not seeing him in a fair light but there's just factors that make me feel he might not be the best for Rapunzel. I love their relationship and value & dedication towards each other but their relationship can feel a bit stale sometimes and Eugene can come off as not understanding and dismissive towards Rapunzel sometimes so ig I'd like to be proven wrong and be reminded that Eugene is good for Rapunzel

i have read vanishing village (and i remember liking it better than lost lagoon) but i have to admit i don’t remember anything but the very broad strokes of the plot, so i don’t feel equipped to do any analysis of eugene based on it; that being said -

i do really like eugene as a character in the sense that he is. interesting / engaging / compelling, which yeah to my mind that’s what makes a “good character” but also has nothing to do with the, kind of, moral or personal question of but is he a good guy or is he likable or sympathetic or that kind of thing. and on that my feelings are more ambivalent kfjfjdhs

on the one hand i do find his relationship with rapunzel in tts to be fairly refreshing. it’s nice to see a fictional m/f couple that is just… comfortable with each other, friends with each other, able to talk about their problems collaboratively with each other. that is so rare in fiction, where the tendency is so often to rely on miscommunication to manufacture relationship drama or do the will they won’t they, on again off again nonsense which is just so tiresome - and it feels good to have a m/f couple that eschews that altogether. and it’s also imo really nice that the m/f relationship fades so much into the background vis a vis the wider plot, which i know is not necessarily a popular opinion [vague gestures at all the ‘eugene was sidelined’ discourse] but, like, i feel like i can count on one hand the number of stories i know where the female protagonist *has a male love interest* without the story being ABOUT him, and with the male love interest filling this supportive narrative role while quietly and subtly dealing with his own problems on the side? it’s so difficult to find stories where men aren’t centered and so i appreciate eugene and new dream a lot for that reason too.

but at the same time like - eugene def falls victim to the plot-driven writing just like every other character does and that frustrates me because i think ultimately having all these loose threads hanging with him means his character feels a bit stagnant, and that in turn makes his flaws more glaring because they’re never… worked on or addressed, they just sort of persist or silently fade away for the most part. (which again, is true of literally every character because the storytelling of tts is highly plot driven and episodic)

& that phenomenon can make character interpretation a little convoluted, because… well the intentions of the narrative are signaled pretty baldly (eugene grows out of his selfishness and becomes a compassionate hard working leader for corona, which he has embraced as his home) without having much if any on-screen development to back it up (indeed the premise of flynnposter involves eugene shirking his new responsibilities, and then it concludes with a commitment from him to take the captain gig seriously - but thereafter the only time we get to see this demonstrated through him encouraging project obsidian [which makes him look the opposite of compassionate or responsible given he is excitedly planning to extrajudicially murder cassandra] and then joining the fight against zhan tiri [which literally everyone in corona does]). so do we take what the textual development shows us and conclude that eugene is, at the end of the day, just another cop, or do we take the narrative signaling as a given and fill in the textual gaps with our own imaginations? i tend to fall heavier on the textual side but i do try to take intentions into consideration when they are signaled so clearly, because i understand the structural and corporate limitations on what the tts team were able to do with the story.

anyways - i also have some fraught feelings about new dream because, in the film, it’s not a relationship that i can buy into at all. rapunzel is 17, a few days shy of 18, when an adult man in his mid-twenties tumbles into her bedroom, hits on her, tries to take advantage of her naïveté so he can recover his stolen goods and screw her over because he’s spent his life cultivating an attitude of selfish disregard for anyone but himself, but she’s so sweet he decides to give emotional vulnerability a try and within three days they’re in love and then they get MARRIED?? and he’s literally the first person rapunzel has ever met who wasn’t her “mother”? excuse me???

and i get the impression the tts team was fully cognizant of that problem and made a real effort to address it, as much as they could within the context of the designated disney princess couple - that’s how we get things like the BEA proposal and rapunzel and eugene talking their feelings out afterwards and agreeing to take things slower, and that’s how we get things like rapunzel having cass and eugene having lance so they have lives and identities and relationships outside of each other, and it’s why eugene has a little arc of becoming less self-absorbed in the front half of s1 and why cassandra overtly criticizes his treatment of rapunzel in BEA and so on and so forth. like no one says it OUT LOUD in the series but rapunzel’s and eugene’s relationship is fraught with peril because of the way they met and came together, and it takes significant emotional work from both of them to navigate that to arrive at a healthy place, and i enjoy watching that play out.

so yeah eugene is sometimes too in his own head to notice when something is wrong with rapunzel, like how he misses how unhappy she is in BEA because *he’s* so jazzed about palace living, and sometimes they struggle to get on the same page with each other in general; but that’s just, kind of the gig where relationships are concerned. what matters to me is that whenever these hiccups happen we see, typically some confusion or distress from him or rapunzel or both, and then they reach out for each other and talk about it until they reach an understanding, which is the correct healthy way to manage this sort of conflict in a relationship. and of course through it all eugene is pretty unflagging in his absolute support of rapunzel - even if he doesn’t always *express it* in a good way, he is always very invested in rapunzel’s happiness and well-being. like even the BEA proposal, eugene’s fuck up lies in assuming that rapunzel felt the same way he did about everything and that proposing now would make her happy - there’s self-absorption there but not to the point where he isn’t concerned about her feelings, so when he upsets her he immediately realizes that he screwed up and shelves his own feelings to focus on hers, which is very Good Partner of him.

and then again on a metatextual level i do kind of hate that rapunzel’s arc is essentially, trapped in corona -> adventure! -> adventure is traumatic time to go home -> exact same circumstances she started in but she’s happy about it now. not to say i object to rapunzel embracing her role as a princess/queen per se, but in an ideal world i would like that to come from a place of rapunzel remaking her role to suit herself rather than just kind of… this ‘well got the wanderlust out of my system forever!’ vibe i get from plus est. this isn’t directly related to eugene at all but i think it does splash over onto him on account of him being so closely intertwined with her life in corona. if rapunzel were given an arc about tearing down institutions that stifled her in s1 and really rebuilding corona to be better (something that is lightly implied in canon but never quite makes its way to outright text) then of course eugene would have been her number one supporter - but she doesn’t get that arc and so eugene ends up just kind of being there while rapunzel settles into the role laid out for her. (the destiny narrative being played painfully straight in this regard doesn’t help either.)

this is all a bit of a ramble but i guess what i’m getting at is i think at the end of the day the thing that makes new dream feel a bit stale or stagnant is the series sticking to this aggressively pro-monarchy, status quo is good, mass market appeal narrative enforced by the reality of Disney Princess Show, and that’s not eugene’s fault or any character’s fault, it’s a corporate issue and writing issue.

oh and also personally i think eugene’s biggest flaw in the new dream relationship is he has a tendency to enable rapunzel’s worst impulses via unquestioning support - a little healthy skepticism can be very good for a relationship vs just being your partner’s yes man. so when i imagine a character trajectory for him post-series it involves eugene getting more comfortable pushing back when rapunzel is pursuing ideas that are bad in some way.

[salenakingston]

Mystery March Day 1 - Heal

Wounds, in their purest form, can be seen on the physical plane. Each wound can have varying levels of severity, but bleeding all the same. Sometimes all it takes is one’s own self to close the wound, but sometimes it takes the help of others to fix the problem. But not all wounds can be seen. What’s to be done about those ones? The same rules apply to these as they do to physical wounds, they just require more care.

Life moves on, and in turn, so did Kingsmen Mechanics. Even in the aftermath of becoming a battlefield for one vengeful ghost, a vampiric plant woman, and a murderous kitsune.. God he could barely believe it all himself. Had he not been there himself, he probably would have scoffed at such a claim. It hadn’t been a figment of his imagination, the ‘boom’ of the shotgun echoing, shells ‘tinking’ down to the metal of the truck’s floor. Hate filled, and hollow, eyes fixated on the one that dare place a new hole in its heart.

Lance never did understand the kinds of things his nephew chose to pursue along with his friends, and more recent events made it seem like it was far more trouble than it was worth. But that wasn’t the biggest issue, far from it. It was Arthur himself. If there was one thing that kid was good at, it was keeping his feelings to himself. Who would want to worry those closest to him with his own problems as he always put it. The one thing that never seemed to get through his thick skulls was that family and friends would never push someone away for that.

They were there to listen.

Despite this, there were cues to show something was off with him. Having those friends of his had been the best thing that ever happened to him, taking a reclusive nerd and getting him out into the world. Tragedy had struck them, and of course his nephew didn’t take it well. He still recalled the way he behaved both in and out of the hospital after his accident. Strain on the mind and body to all present parties, but even that had turned around.

He very well couldn’t stop his determined nephew, not when he was so adamant in finding the missing person that made them all complete. There was no trio without a third body.

Now?

His nephew was at the shop again. He was working on his little projects into the late hours of the night. He was content in his uncle’s company. None of his recent actions would make it seem like something was off, but it was so obvious to the older man. Arthur was avoiding them.

The ones that would listen to him talk, following along as if they could understand all his techno babble.

The ones that got him roped into adventure after adventure, even if he was scared out of his wits. He kept going back for them.

The ones that brought him so much joy.

Enough was enough. How much time was it going to be before his nephew thought it might be a good idea to make the first move? Why did it have to be him? Well, even if they were to try and reach out to him, what’s to say the blond was going to reach back for them? He would have to take some initiative.

And so, the short, yet elder Kingsmen stalked through the garage of the shop. It wasn’t hard to spot Arthur, his signature yellow pants peeking out from the underside of one of the cars. It didn’t really matter what the vehicle was in for, his nephew wasn’t going to have to worry about it anymore. Lance stepped over to the side of the car, giving a knock of his hand against the metal to get the younger man’s attention, “Hey kid.”

Arthur slid out from under the car, body still resting against the creeper, as if he were ready to get back to work once they were done chatting. His head turned enough to show that he had his uncle’s attention, “Yes Uncle Lance?”

God, even the tone of his voice was masked so well. He didn’t show any sign that something was wrong. It was like today was just another day at work.

“I want ya to take the rest of the day off.”

His nephew’s head tilted, confusion flashing over his face, “I don’t understand.”

“Ain’t hard to understand. Get out of here.” A bit harsh sounding, but only to those that didn’t understand how their dynamic worked. He cared, but it was harder for him to show it. Arthur sat up, seeming to get it, but he still wasn’t moving, “I really should finish this one up.”

“I can take care of it.”

“What am I supposed to do Uncle Lance?”

“Why not see what yer friends are doin’?”

Hesitation and a sideways glance. There it was. He was contemplating it, but not moving, “I’m not sure if that’s a good idea…”

Ok, maybe a different angle then, “Ya miss them don’t ya?”

“Well of course but…”

“So go on kid. Ain’t goin’ to do ya any good sticking around here all the time.”

He could see Arthur’s eyebrows furrow in thought, bouncing the pros and cons in his head before he came to a decision. He finally pushed himself up from the creeper, pacing across the garage to retrieve his signature orange, puffy vest. He mumbled a bit, but loud enough to hear, “Ok.. Ok.. yeah I can do that.. I’ll see you later Uncle Lance.”

Lance watched his nephew leave, a small smile forming between the hairs of his beard. That kid was a smart one, but sometimes he just needed a push in the right direction.

Arthur reached into the pocket of his vest, pulling out the keys to the van. Go see your friends. Yeah, that was easier said than done. Then again, how could he have expected his uncle to understand the complexity of the situation the four of them had managed to get themselves into? Vivi’s memory could still be unpredictably spotty. Mystery had been holding secrets from them. And Lewis…

Metal hand paused on the door handle. He found his eyes trailing down to the metal, glaring at it for a brief moment. Maybe if he gazed at it hard enough, the sleek silver would be replaced with the peach color of flesh that was meant to be there. But of course, even now knowing ghosts and magic were as real as science, such a thing was impossible. He’d long since accepted it, but one doesn’t just see their own possessed arm and not feel like life has dealt them an unfair hand.

Never in his life had he ever felt so angry. It was such a strange feeling, almost as if it had come out of nowhere.

He finally pulled the door open, settling down against the soft seat. The door shut, and now he was truly left alone with his own thoughts. He’d done so well to hide them, just as he always had. That’s how he got through life. When something was bothering him, he shut it away, pretended like it didn’t exist. And when that didn’t work, he physically removed himself from the equation. That’s what he did when he was growing up, and what he did when Lewis and Vivi started getting so close with each other.

And here he was doing it again.

He was avoiding the problem instead of facing it.

Fingers gripped at the steering wheel, a small tremble wracking his body. He cared about them so much, daring to say that he loved them. They gave him so much, but so much had been damaged. Vivi down her memories. Him down an arm. Lewis down the life he had waiting for him. He had found them after being alone for so long. How could he ever want to go back to that again? But what choice did he have?

No, he always had a choice. So long as he was still breathing, he had a choice.

Arthur finally removed one hand from the wheel, taking the keys, and slipping them into the ignition. Everything that led up to this very moment had been nothing more than a domino effect. Once one fell over, the rest tumbled after.

And it all started with him.

Was it some unspoken obligation that now made him think it was his responsibility to fix everything? Or maybe because deep down, he hated the distance. The only thing keeping him from being truly alone was himself. Go see your friends. Yes… and he knew exactly where to start.

With the turn of the key, the van roared to life. He pulled out of Kingsmen Mechanics, eyes following up the side of the hill where the guard rail still had yet to be repaired. At least there was another blockade back up, rather than the broken down one. He had been avoiding that road, just like everything else recently. Not anymore. His foot hit down on the gas, guiding the van up to that road, following it until asphalt turned to dirt.

Arthur took a deep breath before letting his eyes finally fall on the beating mansion. Just the sight of the place pulled his mind to the first time the van stopped in front of its doors. A thing of beauty, yet full of danger. A sigh passed through his lips, finally finding the courage to pry himself from the steering wheel and seat. He now stood beside the van, eyes wandering among the subtle movements in the windows. This wasn’t going to go very well, but he hoped, for once in his life, to be proven wrong.

His feet dragged, but he stood firm in front of the double doors. Fight or flight began to kick in, his body hoping he would choose to flee, run away like he always did. No. Not this time.

Metal hand raised up, prepared to knock on the door…

Yet met air as the door opened before he could do so, the ghost himself standing before his friend.

Lewis’ gaze peered down at the blond standing outside his home. Arthur was just as he remembered him, save for the metal arm that replaced his real one. Blinding anger kept him from noticing the sheen of that arm before it had begun sparking. It alone had caused so many questions to surface. That, and a green arm wandering around a body wearing a familiar wristband. No one else he knew wore the same ones day in and day out. How funny that once everything was said and done, he would adopt the cowardice that his murderer friend had been known for.

When did he get so brave?

Neither one of them said a thing, just allowed their eyes to meet before retreating to the side. When the silence got to be too much, he broke it, “What are you doing here?”

The unnatural echo of his voice must have unnerved the blond by the way he gave a small tremble. He wasn’t sure even he was used to the way his own voice sounded now. Arms crossed, waiting for what this spineless idiot had to say. Amber eyes found their way back to him, “I.. I wanted to talk to you.”

“What about?”

You know exactly what he’s here to talk about. It doesn’t matter what he has to say.

It didn’t matter before, but it matters now? We used to talk about anything and everything.

“I just..” He stopped, as if he were trying to find the right words to say. Just how much time had he poured into finding his ‘missing friend’ only to find out he wasn’t alive anymore? To find out his friend hated him more than anything in the world? Just how much nonsense remorse would spill?

“I’m sorry.”

Two words, but they said so much more than anything else could.

It doesn’t matter if you are sorry. Sorry doesn’t fix what’s happened to me. Sorry doesn’t give me back everything you took from me. Sorry doesn’t make up for your weakness.

He didn’t mean to do it. How could I blame him for something beyond his control? None of us knew what we were getting into. He’s guilty about it.

When Lewis said nothing, the blond seemed to take this as an opportunity to say more, “I can’t.. change what’s happened, as badly as I want to.. but I want to make up for it.. I want to fix it.”

You can’t fix this. What could you possibly do to help anyways?

Fix it.. He’s making an effort. Only a friend would do that. It wasn’t even his fault to begin with.

“You can’t fix this.”

“I know.. I know I can’t, but I still want to try.”

Such determination.

As if Arthur thought he could defy the impossible and fix his condition.

No, that’s not what he means. He means us.

Conflicting thoughts were always getting in the way, but what could be done about it? He was split, like two personalities constantly arguing with one another on what to do. Death has a way of changing a person, and festering like his rotting corpse back in the cave. You spend so much time hating someone, only to find out all that hatred was misplaced. Even if the true threat was gone, the anger never subsided, all pointing to the one person who wanted nothing more than to mend what was broken. It’s what he did with machines, so why not with anything else?

No.

Yes.

“We can try.”

It wasn’t a no, but no confirmation that anything was going to change in the long run. It seemed to be enough to bring a smile to Arthur’s face, like that was exactly what he needed to hear. Maybe it was. He glanced over to the van, then back to Lewis, “Do you.. Would you like to see how Vivi’s been doing?”

No, I can’t trust you with her. You’ll just backstab her like you did to me.

He said he wanted to fix things. He couldn’t have only meant with me. He wants to see Vivi too. He wants us to go to her together.

“Fine.”

Both left the doorway of the mansion, heading back to the van. The ghost simply phased through the door, leaving Arthur to settle in once he pulled the driver’s side open. He shut it, eyes peering up to the rear view mirror to the flamed hair peeking over the top of the back seats. Yeah, probably not a good idea to have the skeleton man sitting in the front seat with him.

Go see your friends.

The drive to the Yukino family home wasn’t a long one, but one full of silence. Even with clear intentions to mend things, neither one of them mustered the will to make conversation. It wasn’t like before when they would chat about what was going on in their lives, or just any nonsense to pass the time.

No one was around as the van pulled up to the home. Arthur slipped out of the driver’s side, and Lewis out the same side of the van, just further down the wall. The ghost dawned his human guise, a pair of sunglasses to cover his eyes. Man and ghost walked up to the front door, giving a knock. It had been another blond that answered from the other side. Arthur gave Mrs. Yukino a smile, “Is Vivi home?”

She turned her head back into the house, “Vivi, your friends are here.”

The sound of speedy footsteps was a good indication that she was on her way. They were led inside, the girl dressed nearly in all blue from head to toe making her grand entrance. She looked at each of them in turn, one with happiness, and the other with lingering bitterness. She practically pulled the two of them with her, “Well come on then.”

Just as quickly as she pulled them into her room, the door was shut behind them. Open arms made their way to Arthur, him seeming surprised by her gesture, “It’s so good to see you Art. I was wondering when you were going to come out of hiding.”

Before the blond even got a chance to say anything, her once loving eyes narrowed on the ghost, “You haven’t done anything to him have you?”

She was not as blind as others might have been led to believe. She was there when she saw the ghost trying to barrel into her best friend when he was cornered in the mansion. She was there when that otherworldly truck stalked them along the road. She was there when they had been sent flying off the road. She was there when that same ghost appeared again, three friends reunited to face down the three-eyed kitsune. It was kind of hard to ignore the anger the ghost had for Arthur.

As starry eyed as she got over him, she couldn’t just bypass everything he had done. She couldn’t trust him.

She must have struck a bit of a nerve when the ghost bit back, “No, I haven’t.”

“Good.”

“Vivi..”

She looked at her best friend. Oh Arthur. She cared about her friend, and would never want anything terrible to befall him, not even from the hands of their other best friend. She rubbed a fist through his spiky hair, “It’s fine Artie, I’m just making sure.”

There was a roll of the eyes behind the sunglasses, “I don’t know why you bother.”

“Uhh because he’s our friend? That you’re supposed to be too?” Even though you’re the one who stole my memories. If Arthur had been the thief for stealing everything from Lewis, then the ghost was the thief that stole what he actually meant to her.

“Right, of course.”

She hadn’t noticed that Arthur’s head turned away from her, probably because she had let go of him, leaving her to focus on the ghost. Lewis’ sarcasm bled from his words. Hands moved to her hips, “Don’t use that tone with me mister.”

“Sorry. Still getting used to this.”

“Should put a little more effort into it.”

“I am. Why else would I be here?”

“To see me.”

“No. Well.. yes… but why else would I be here with him?”

“Well I don’t know. You were pretty hellbent on getting revenge on him not too long ago.”

“Vivi.” His tone was sharp as he spoke her name. Part of him hated the way he had done so.

“Lewis,” her’s bit back just as much to match his own tone.

“Hey Vivi, where’s Mystery?”

The two bickering turned their attention on the blond. So that’s who he had been looking for. Her wonder for the kitsune hiding as her own pet dog kept her from tossing him out. Then again, why should she? Yes, he hid something major from the three of them, but he was just as much a part of her family, and a part of their team as Arthur and Lewis were. He was always there when she needed him. How could she turn a blind eye when so much of what happened to him had been out of his control?

Didn’t that sound familiar?

She gave a sad sigh, “He’s been moping around the house. I have been trying to give him some space, but I’m at a loss.” How was one supposed to help a depressed kitsune? This went beyond just researching something in one of her many books, but rather something on a much more personal level. What could be done to lift his spirits again? The three of them looked among themselves. What help could they really be in this situation? No one knew Mystery better than Vivi.

Then a spark almost seemed to hit her. Perhaps it was because all of them were standing together, in the same space without the threat of malice hanging in the air. In the heat of everything, there had been one key thing she failed to notice. Now it made sense. Gripping their wrists, she pushed the door open, pulling them out, “I’ve got an idea. Come on!”

As they raced through the house, the blond caught sight of the black and white dog. His head was hung, eyes moving up briefly to catch their figures passing by, then went back down. He knew that look. He knew it because he had lived it for plenty of his life. Mystery looked so down.

No, he looked alone.

Arthur dug the heels of his shoes into the floor, tugging back on his wrist, “Vivi wait! Maybe.. Maybe I should stay with Mystery.”

That seemed to catch them both off guard. He noticed not only the surprised look in her eyes, but the narrowed ones behind the darkness. Of course he would look annoyed. After being brave enough to walk up to the mansion and claim he wanted to fix things, now here he was seeming like he was ditching them all over again. All that anger wasn’t going to vanish in an instant, and he would have been a fool to believe that. No, he had another reason for this choice. He could feel the grip on his wrist loosen, as she was kind enough to grab the flesh one over the metal one, “Are you sure?”

One more look over to the dog solidified his answer, “Yes.”

“Alright then. Come on Lew.”

Once the two were gone, the blond stepped towards the brooding dog. Each step was met with more hesitation than the last. It was hard to forget that the kind canine he knew for so long had also been the one to rip his arm off. Mystery had saved him, but it didn’t negate any of the pain he had to regulate. His hand gripped at the metal, now standing over the disguised kitsune. Red eyes trailed up until they met amber, “You should have gone with them.”

“Maybe… but you.. you looked like you could use some company.”

Nothing.

“How about a walk, Mystery? I bet it’s been.. a while since you and Vivi took one.”

The dog looked up, seeing the small trembles the blond was trying to hide. He wondered if Lewis had seen them too. He wanted so much to help, giving up everything he had just so that he could fix things. So that he wouldn’t be alone. No, so that all of them could be whole again. How could he say no?

Man and dog walked down the nearly empty street, side by side. Two who had been wounded by the same entity, but didn’t allow it to bring them to ruin. If anyone could understand one another, it was the two of them.

“Arthur.”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

Maybe their wounds could heal after all.

[parkkate]

The Proposition

Okay, so this wasn’t planned. At all. You can blame/thank @shanceshancerevolution for this lol. They’re the one who dragged me into this fandom anyway. And they’re also the one who sent me this post, which the following is based on :) It’s slightly nsfw. Like, if I were to post it on ao3, I’d tag it M :)

Shiro looks at his phone again, just to make sure he got the right drink. He’s never heard of it before. The stranger texted him his address, which, honestly, isn’t even that far from the 7/11. He wonders who’s more desperate; the thirsty stranger or him. He hopes his arm won’t be a deal breaker. It has been before. That’s one of the reasons he doesn’t do this very often. That and the abandonment issues he really doesn’t want to think about.

“Apartment B4,” he murmurs to himself. He takes a deep breath before knocking, feeling extremely ridiculous with the horchata in his hand, which is his ticket to a blowjob. He almost considers putting the drink on the stranger’s doorstep and leaving when the door swings open and reveals—

“Lance?” Shiro splutters.

“Shiro? What are you doing here?” Lance’s eyes flick down to the horchata. And then his mouth falls open. “You’re my horchata blowjob?”

“Oh my god,” Shiro groans. “This can’t be happening.”

“I didn’t even know you live here!”

“I don’t,” Shiro says hastily. “I’m, err, off duty for a few days and… and…” He honestly has no idea what else to say.

“What a coincidence,” Lance laughs. He doesn’t seem as horrified as Shiro would have expected. “Well, I guess that’s what you get when you don’t show your face on Grindr.”

“Yeah,” Shiro says, scratching the back of his head. He assumes Lance decided not to show his face for the same reasons as Shiro; being the famous saviors of the universe can get a little tricky.

“Come in,” Lance says, stepping aside. “Err. Are you sure?”

“Of course! We haven’t seen each other in forever!”

Feeling extremely sheepish, Shiro steps inside and follows Lance to the couch. 

“Oh,” he says, remembering he’s still holding Lance’s drink. “Here.”

“Oh my god, yes,” Lance cheers. He takes it from Shiro as though it’s a trophy, but instead of drinking it, he puts it down on the coffee table and turns to Shiro.

“Sooooo. This is a little awkward,” Lance laughs.

“You can say that again,” Shiro agrees.

“Well. About that blowjob.”

Heat blooms on Shiro’s cheeks. “It’s fine,” he laughs awkwardly. 

“No, no. I promised to blow you,” Lance says.

Oh god, he can’t be serious?!

“That was before you knew it was me,” Shiro points out.

“A promise is a promise,” Lance says, and, to Shiro’s horror, glides down the couch to kneel in front of him.

“Lance, let’s just catch up, okay?”

“We can catch up later,” Lance grins.

“Seriously, you don’t have to—”

“What if I want to?”

Um.

“What?”

Lance smiles at him. It’s one of those dazzling smiles that leaves you a little breathless. And honestly, Lance has had that effect on Shiro long before today.

“Come on, it’s just a little blowjob between friends,” Lance purrs.

“Err, I’m not sure that’s a thing, Lance,” Shiro says, hating that his voice sounds so shaky.

“Well, just as a thank you, then,” Lance grins.

“I—”

“That’s why you came here, isn’t it?”

Shiro swallows. “I mean, yeah. But I didn’t know it was you.”

“Oh.” Lance’s face falls. “So you’d accept a blowjob from some random dude but not me?”

“Uh.” Panicking, Shiro scrambles for something to say. If only Lance knew the truth. Shiro fantasized about being with him so many times, it’s embarrassing. So yeah, technically he would accept a blowjob from a random stranger. But Lance? He can’t. He really, really can’t.

“I see,” Lance says, straightening himself. “Well, I guess I only have myself to blame.”

“What do you mean?” Shiro asks.

“I always knew I wasn’t good enough for you, but I—”

“What?” Shiro blurts. And before he knows what he’s doing, he grabs Lance by the shoulders. “That’s not true, Lance!”

Lance stares at him, his eyes wide. 

“It’s not true,” Shiro repeats, willing Lance to understand. “That’s not—That’s not what this is about.”

“What is it about, then?”

Shiro sighs, letting go of Lance and shaking his head. “Let’s not talk about it, okay? But believe me, it has nothing to do with you.” 

It has everything to do with him. But it would be too complicated to explain. And too humiliating. 

“Okay,” Lance says slowly. Sceptically. “But look, you went to a 7/11, got me the drink I asked for and came all the way down here.” He pauses. “And I promised to blow you. What’s the big deal? Just let me do it!”

“Lance—”

“I’m really good at it!”

“Lance.”

“Come on,” Lance says with a little pout. 

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Lance is still pouting and he seems to deliberate something. “I really wanna do it,” he finally says. “I—I actually thought about it, back when we were—Um.”

“What?”

“You knew I had a thing for you,” Lance says with a dismissive gesture.

Ummmm. WHAT?

“Excuse me?” Shiro says, his voice much higher than usual.

“Oh. Maybe you didn’t. Oops?” Lance laughs.

Oh god. Is he kidding? Please don’t let him be kidding. But he said ‘had’. He ‘had’ a thing for Shiro. Fuck, what does that mean?

“Anyway,” Lance says, “blowing you has been kind of on my bucket list for a while. So will you let me?”

This, Shiro thinks, has to be a dream. It has to be. There’s no reality in which Lance practically begs him to let him blow him. 

“Shiro?”

“Y—Yeah,��� Shiro croaks.

“Yes,” Lance hisses, and immediately gets to work on Shiro’s pants.

It takes a moment for Shiro’s brain to catch up, to realize he just agreed to this. Oh god. Ohgodohgodohgod.

He gulps when Lance pulls down the zipper and Shiro’s unmissable and very unfortunate bulge is visible.

“Mr. Shirogane,” Lance grins. 

“Oh my god,” Shiro groans, covering his face with his hands. This is so embarrassing.

“No, don’t hide,” Lance says, pulling his hands away from his face. “I think it’s… kinda flattering? Maybe? I haven’t even touched you yet.”

Reluctantly, Shiro looks at him, only to have the air knocked out of his lungs. 

Lance is smiling at him and slowly leans down. To nuzzle his bulge.

“Oh my god,” Shiro groans again, and lets his head fall back. He tries to sit still as Lance cups his balls and places little kisses along the line of Shiro’s waistband. 

This is it, Shiro thinks. This is how he’s going to die.

His notion seems to be proven right when Lance tugs at his boxers and finally pulls them down.

“Oh wow,” he hears Lance say. “This is—This is even better than I imagined!”

Before Shiro can ask what he’s talking about, Lance gets to work. Shiro’s back arches off the couch and he bites his lip to keep himself from groaning. Christ, Lance wasn’t kidding. He really is good at this. 

Feeling like his heart might jump out of his chest, Shiro opens his eyes and peeks down at Lance. His breath catches when he sees Lance looking right back at him, his eyes dark and hungry. Fuck. What a beautiful sight. Shiro already knows he’ll be thinking about this a lot; Lance, kneeling between his legs. His mouth is so hot and velvety and everything around Shiro feels so tight and the press of Lance’s tongue is just right and—

“Lance,” Shiro moans. 

As if in response, Lance takes his hand and intertwines their fingers. This… feels sort of weird. Intimate? Lance guides their joined hands to his head and Shiro is more than happy to bury his fingers in Lance’s hair. It’s so soft. 

When Lance picks up the pace, Shiro can’t hold back his moans anymore, squirming on the couch as he feels himself getting close.

“Lance,” he groans, warningly. He inhales sharply when he feels Lance’s hand on his thigh, wishing he could feel his touch everywhere. He’s wanted Lance for so long.

“Oh my god! Fuck! Fuck!”

Shiro holds his breath as wave after wave of pleasure courses through him. He feels Lance slowly pulling away, but his hands are still on Shiro. 

“Are you okay?” Lance asks, and Shiro can almost hear the grin in his voice.

Still panting, Shiro tries to revive his brain, which Lance just completely obliterated. “Dear god,” he breathes. He slowly moves his head to look at Lance, and the sheer beauty of this gorgeous man hits him like a truck. “God, I love you,” he blurts. 

There’s a moment of silence, a moment filled with dread and mortification. 

And then Lance laughs. “Thanks,” he snorts. “I take it the blowjob was okay?”

Shiro says nothing, still shocked by his own words.

“That was fun,” Lance says, plopping down on the couch next to him. “You have a very nice penis.”

Shiro, unwilling to say anything to that, quickly pulls up his boxers and zips up his pants, feeling a weird mixture of satisfaction and embarrassment wash over him. 

“Aaah,” Lance says, the horchata in his hands. “Good stuff.”

Shiro tries to smile at him, but all he can do is stare. How is he so okay with this? How is he not freaked out? How is he—Oh. 

Shiro swallows as his gaze falls down to Lance’s… well, situation. 

“Um. Do you want to do something about that?” he asks, kinda boldly and very, very stupidly.

“Do you want to do something about that?” Lance laughs.

“I could,” Shiro says, his mouth, apparently, on autopilot.

“Really?” Lance asks, finally a little surprised.

“If you want to.”

“Hell yeah,” Lance says. He sounds like he means it.

“Okay, um. What do you want me to do?” Shiro asks carefully.

“What do you want to do?” Lance shoots back.

Shiro blinks at him, for once deciding not to think too hard about anything. “I want you to fuck me.”

Honestly, if they weren’t negotiating Shiro’s wettest and wildest dream right now, he probably would have fallen off the couch laughing. Because there’s horchata shooting out of Lance’s nose and he looks so shocked, one might think Shiro just told him Kaltenecker is actually a cat.

They stare at each other for a long moment, in which Shiro contemplates jumping out of a window.

But then, Lance clears his throat. “I can do that,” he says, his face more serious.

“Yeah?” Shiro says, hope and warmth bubbling up inside his chest.

“Yeah,” Lance smiles. “Let’s see how much you love me after that.”

[harrylee94]

The Tournament - Chapter 11

You can find this on AO3!

Summary: They’d talked about being a knight, what it took to be one, how there was a code of honour that one had to uphold. Then they’d eventually led the conversation to what Din knew it was heading towards anyway; the Krayt Dragon. They’d talked about how this ‘upstart’ was ruining their name, besmirching the honour of the post of knight, and that he should be questioned at the earliest convenience. He didn’t even have a squire!

Notes: Time for the semi-finals guys!

Chapter 10

——————————————————————

“I’ll never yield to you!” - Din

The third day of the Tournament had gone almost agonisingly slowly for Din after that first joust, his mind constantly going back to the way the Krayt Dragon had held himself after the last lance. He’d seen the way he’d held his hand up to his face, he knew that they’d been injured, and then the melee after had been predominantly movements that would cause the least amount of stress on his body. Was he okay? How was his eye? Had the bout been harder for him that he was showing, or was it more than that?

And if it was who he suspected, would they be able to get the help and rest that they needed?

These questions had plagued him all day and for half of the night, thinking of a smile and sympathetic brown eyes that had never failed to comfort him in the past and wondering what life would be like without them. He dared not think his name in some backwards hope that it would keep him alive, but he’d taken a peek into the stables as he’d made his return to the keep.

He hadn’t spotted the stable hand, and while it was possible that the man had been working in one of the stalls, Din knew he would have heard a whistled tune if he had. The man had a talent for finding the joy in most things, or making some if it wasn’t there.

But if he truly was the Krayt Dragon, and if he’d been severely injured, then would he be able to find it again?

And then, just before dinner was due to begin, he had been approached by several knights. Really it had been more like he’d been cornered, but they’d been too polite to make it obvious, and he had to be too diplomatic to leave.

They’d talked about being a knight, what it took to be one, how there was a code of honour that one had to uphold. Then they’d eventually led the conversation to what Din knew it was heading towards anyway; the Krayt Dragon. They’d talked about how this ‘upstart’ was ruining their name, besmirching the honour of the post of knight, and that he should be questioned at the earliest convenience. He didn’t even have a squire!

Din had then asked them where, exactly, in the knight’s code it said that a knight needed a squire, or what style of fighting they used, or where the honour they so casually waved around said they could look down upon someone for showing kindness to others. They all fell silent after that, and Din had found some satisfaction in that, though not much.

Chasing sleep that night had been like trying to catch a cat; difficult, and painful when caught. His dreams were filled with images of things he feared the most in this Tournament, and when he awoke he murmured thanks to the stars and his ancestors that no one had been injured beyond repair. He had witnessed a truly horrific accident on a jousting field once, and this Trial had brought the memory back to the surface again.

No one had made any note of his tired appearance in the morning, but then they were all too diplomatic to bring it up, so he knew he looked like shit.

Now he was at the jousting field again, watching Greef’s back as he introduced the day.

This was to be the last day of the Tournament. The semi-final rounds would be occurring before the midday meal, and then, one both victors of those bouts had rested and eaten, the final would begin. Greef was busy explaining that to the crowd, which seemed to be even bigger than it ever had been before, but Din kept looking over at where the Krayt Dragon was expected to arrive.

“Patience, my Prince,” Saruk soothed, but even their words could not calm his thoughts entirely. “He will be along soon enough.”

He hummed in agreement, though his eyes wandered once again to the opening. The waiting was always the worst part of anything, and today it seemed to be the worst it had ever been.

“And now, in a match to determine our first finalist,” Greef said, riling the crowd’s excitement. “Our first contestant is as wrapped in mystery as he was on the day he first appeared. He’s made it through three days, defeated all his opponents with barely a scratch, and shown us that he has a heart of gold. Vode, put your hands together for the one and only Krayt Dragon!”

Din held his breath, the noise of the crowd fading into the background as he watched and waited.

The familiar form of a man in mismatched armour rode at a steady pace onto the field, just as he always did -- though a small handful of children followed him up until the rack of lances, which he did not -- and made his circle of the list. He held himself tall with no sign of injury, and as he came to a stop in front of him, he gave Din a bow with his fist over his heart.

The Prince couldn’t help but sigh in relief at the sight, pleased he was unharmed -- or at least appeared to be -- and couldn’t help but look him over to reassure himself that this was true. Gone were all the signs of tiredness, the slump to his shoulders, the slight angling of his body to protect his left side, now he looked fresh and ready to do battle.

He spent so long looking at the Krayt Dragon that he’d completely missed the introduction of their opponent, but he knew by the colours (and from the previous day’s jousts) that it was Ser Cho’pa of a House in the far regions of Mandalore. He was one of the knights that had politely cornered him the night before, and he wasn’t exactly leaning in his favour.

It was hard to lean in anyone’s favour when he knew what smile lay behind the dragon painted on that helm. Hoped he knew, anyway.

Introduction complete, he rose to do his usual warning, looking at each of them in turn before sending them to their starting positions.

One of the children who had come onto the field with the Krayt Dragon handed him his lance, and Din couldn’t help but admire the way he handled them. Children were the future, and to see them being treated with such respect made his heart stutter.

Mandokarla.

The joust itself was almost painful to watch this time, every shattered lance making him wince at the memory of the day before, his heart stuck in his throat, but they came to the end of the joust with no serious injury. When the Krayt Dragon dismounted for the melee, there was no limp or sign of distress, only a cool readiness for the fight ahead, while Ser Cho’pa just stormed forwards with anger in every step.

The knight’s anger made him telegraph his moves, allowing the Krayt Dragon to counter them easily, and eventually he made an easily avoidable mistake, which was taken full advantage of. In one swift move the knight was down on his back. The Krayt Dragon circled him, kicking his sword away, and waited, but the knight refused to yield and rolled away, drawing a knife from somewhere on his person.

The entire crowd quietened in shock.

“I’ll never yield to you!” the knight snarled, and he charged.

“Stop!” Din shouted, on his feet before he could think, but the Krayt Dragon had already dropped his sword and was grappling with the knight, the two of them struggling until the mystery contender managed to hit the knife from Ser Cho’pa’s hand.

Guards had already headed onto the field at this point, and they tackled the knight to the ground.

“Get off me!” he yelled as they pulled him back to his feet, now held between them with a firm hold. “I said unhand me you buffoons! I’m in the middle of-!”

“Ser Cho’pa,” Din said, bringing silence to the field. “Did you listen to me before we began this Tournament?”

“I… Yes, my prince,” the knight said, confusion in his voice.

“Were you listening to me before your joust today?”

“Yes, my Prince.”

“Were you?” Din asked. “Because if you had been then you would be able to tell me which rule you broke.”

“I… My Prince, I-”

“‘Blunted swords only’.” He turned to Greef. “I did state that quite clearly, did I not?”

“You did indeed, my Prince,” the man replied dutifully, and Din nodded at him in thanks.

“So, Ser Cho’pa, if you had truly been listening, then you would not have drawn a knife.”

The knight was silent.

“Krayt Dragon,” he said, turning to the other silent figure on the field, “if you would show me the blade he attempted to use?”

With a quick bow, the man bent to retrieve the blade and quickly held it up to him, handle extended. Their fingers didn’t so much as touch, but Din had to gather himself quickly as he examined the knife.

“This is sharp,” he said, holding it up to the light before holding it out for Saruk to take.

“My Prince, I can explain-”

“Ser Cho’pa,” Din interrupted, glaring down at the knight, “you are hereby disqualified from this Tournament. Through your blatant disregard of the rules, you have forfeited this round. Remove yourself from the Tourney grounds immediately.”

For a few moments, nothing happened, but then the knight pulled his arms from the guards’ grasp and headed for his horse, mounting and riding out of the field without another word. Din gave Saruk a look over his shoulder and they gave him a slight nod, waving to the guards and making a series of hand signals to double the guard.

Din sighed and turned to smile down at the Krayt Dragon, who, he noticed, had stepped between where the knight had once been and himself. It was a sure sign that this man would make a brilliant Protector.

“Krayt Dragon,” he said, his voice softer now as he smiled, “you have proven your worth once again, and you will advance to the final round. This will be your final Trial. Be sure to rest and prepare; it will take place three hours after midday.

The Krayt Dragon bowed with his fist over his heart again.

Greef stepped forwards as he rose, and Din stepped away, allowing his mother’s friend to take control of the situation once more.

“The Krayt Dragon, your first Tournament finalist!” he cried, and the crowd went wild cheering for him.

The man himself retrieved his horse’s reins and led the creature from the field after loosening the saddle and reins, as he had done after every joust, and gave the crowd a small nod as he headed towards the children who were waiting for him. As he had the day before, the mystery contestant spoke to them about something and  patted one of them on the head before heading off, leaving the kids to flit amongst themselves before being chased away by the carpenters who were providing the lances.

Din sat himself down again and rubbed at his temple. This Tournament was supposed to bring out the best in the participants, and in some cases it had, but it only seemed to be bringing out the worst in others. He had seen no less than five knights lose their composure, and more besides act in ways that were dishonourable. For all that they had tried to frame the Krayt Dragon as the dishonourable one, it was they who were creating the bad name for the knights of the kingdom.

He hoped they could hold on to whatever dignity they had left for a few hours more, because, by the end of the day, after discovering who the man behind the armour was, they would have to come to terms with the fact that they had lost it entirely.

——————————————————————

Mando'a Translations:

Vode -- brothers/sisters/siblings

Mandokarla -- ‘the right stuff’; this person personifies what it means to be a Mandalroian.

Chapter 12

[iwillhaveamoonbase]

The Long Game Ch 1

Instead of striking a few months later, the Moonshadow assassins guild decides to play the long game. Rayla will pose as a human and kill Harrow and Ezran when the time is right all while gaining valuable information. One problem: Rayla falls in love with Callum and doesn't think Ezran deserves to die for a crime he doesn't he even know was committed.

Now, Rayla has a choice: tell the truth and risk losing Callum but fixing the divide between Katolis and Xadia or staying quiet and having a chance at a happy life with Callum, Ezran and Harrow but losing the best chance they have at peace and probably never seeing her home or family again.

---------------------------------------

The assassins guild had been talking for days about whether or not to go in and kill King Harrow and Prince Ezran now or wait a few more months or even a year.  Queen Zubeia was in distress and the call for revenge was ringing loud and clear throughout Xadia.  First, eight years ago, the humans had attacked them unprovoked and murdered one of their citizens for their perverted dark magic.  Now, they killed the Dragon King and the Dragon Prince's egg.  Xadia could not let this go.  The only question was: when?

Runaan looked at Rayla out of the corner of his eye.  He knew she wanted to prove herself worthy.  He personally found it difficult to believe that his friends, Tiadrin and Lain, his parents, had abandoned their post.  In the back of his mind, it didn't make sense.  They knew better.  But, a Skywing elf who had also been part of the Dragon Guard had admitted they had all fled when the humans killed the Dragon King.  There was nothing anyone could do to stop the Silvergrove Ghosting the pair now.  But, Rayla could do the right thing in their stead and proclaimed herself ready to do whatever it took to right their wrongs.

"It's better to go now.  Who knows how long the Dragon Queen has?"  Runaan turned his attention back to the conversation his guild mates were having.  A cacophony of sounds as they tried to plan the best course of action that would bring them all back home and, hopefully, stop these humans from killing anymore Xadians.

"The humans will know it's us right away."

"So what?!  We want them to know what they did was wrong!"

"True, but, if we wait, maybe we can cause doubt.  They'll destroy themselves trying to figure it out."

"We have never not admitted we've taken life before.  Why should we do it now?  We take life but we don't take it lightly."

"Yes, but this is our chance to not only get the humans fighting each other, but to also get the Moon Nexus back!"  There was silence for a few moments.  Every Moonshadow el,f even a thousand years after the humans were forced out of Xadia, still felt the string of losing contact with the Moon Nexus.  It went deeper than pride; it was an irreplaceable piece of their heritage, culture, and magic that was forever lost to them because the humans refused to accept their lot in the universe as non-magic users.  "All I'm saying is, kill two Moon Phoenixes with one arrow.  Sow dissent AND fulfill the contract."

Runaan turned to Rayla.  Her young face was stony as she took in what everyone was saying.  Young...  He looked her up and down.  She was strong, but those who didn't know better would see her as a slip of a thing.  Slowly, a plan formed in Runaan's mind.  At any other time, he would have been horrified by the idea.  Rayla was his daughter as far as he was concerned.  His apprentice, his greatest joy besides Ethari.  Ethari would never forgive him.  But...  Runaan stood up, getting the attention of everyone in the room.  "I have an idea.  It involves my protegee, Rayla, and getting honor back for her parents as well as stirring doubt in the Pentarchy."

"What do you propose, Runaan?"  The guild master had a steeling expression as he stroked his beard.

Runaan smirked.  "We play the long game."

-------------------------------

"Absolutely not!" Ethari roared.  "We already lost Tiadrin and Lain.  We aren't losing Rayla!"

"She's going to be fine, Ethari."  Runaan breathed through his nose.  As he expected, Ethari was displeased.

"She's too kind, Runaan!  Too loving. Her heart isn't made for a regular mission and you want her to do this?!  Send Bandlr or someone else."

"She's the only one her age whose properly trained. She's faster than all of us and quick on her feet."

"Then send yourself or a group."

"They won't suspect a young girl travelling on her own.  The longer she does nothing, the more likely they will be to think everything is fine."

"And if they catch her after she succeeds?  They'll kill her!  They'll kill our daughter and you're sending her to the slaughter."

"She'll die with honor and rise above what her parents have done."  Even to Runan's ears he sounded so detached.  He winced.

"You...you can't be serious.  Runaan, she's our child.  Not by blood, but we raised her.  She's only 15.  She'll be 16 when her training's over.  You can't...you can't do this."  Ethari's voice was shaking as he started to breath a little harsher.  "She's just a child."

"Rayla's already agreed, Ethari.  There's nothing either or us can do now."

"You didn't even ask me first!"  Ethari breathed deeply for a few moments before his face became stone.  "So, that's it, then?  You're just going to say good-bye to our little girl?"

Runaan ran a hand through his white hair.  "My love, it's not that simple.  Queen Zubeia ordered the two hits.  We have to do the job."

"Then take a squad like tradition says and do it!  Do not send our Rayla into the human lands alone.  What if the spell fails and she's found out?  What if she slips up?  We have no idea when the time is even right.  We may never see her again!  Do you want that?  Because I don't!  Rayla shouldn't be made to go because of her parents' actions."

"No one is making me do anything," Rayla piped up from the chair.  Runaan had completely forgotten she was in the room and, judging by his slight jump, so had Ethari.  "Yes, Runaan offered my name for the plan before asking me, but I agreed.  I had a fair chance to give someone else the job and I said I would do it.  I'm going, Ethari."

"Rayla, please, don't do this."

"Why do you lack faith in me?"

Ethari shook his head.  "It's so much more than that.  You're a child, Rayla.  Don't throw away your chance for a future when tradition holds you shouldn't even be considering this."

"What future?  If Xadia doesn't do anything, the humans will eventually believe they can do whatever they want.  What if they start killing elves or more dragons for dark magic?  We're already at war.  We have to act!"

Ethari looked between the two of them.  "You know what?  Both of you, do whatever you want."

Runaan started reaching for his husband.  "Ethari-"

"I'm going to my sister's, Runaan.  I need time to process sending my child, OUR child, over the border to be alone and carrying out a mission ALONE for who knows how long."  Ethari slammed the door behind him; silence reigning for a few minutes.

"Well," Rayla looked up at Runaan, "he took that better than we expected."

Runaan sighed.  "He's right, Rayla.  Think long and hard about this.  You have been given 24 hours before you're officially assigned this task.  We are asking you to give up an untold amount of time.  You might never come back."

Rayla looked directly into his eyes.  "I know, but I don't have a choice.  Someone has to do this and it should be me.  If my parents had just stayed, maybe, the Dragon Prince would still be alive.  Besides, they'll probably believe me easier than someone like Bandlr whose already all muscle at 14.  I'm young and fast, but I'm slight enough.  No one will believe I'm a threat if I say I come from a farming village."

"You're right.  I'm so proud of you, Rayla.  I'm sure you'll be able to come back home one day."

It took Ethari two weeks to come around, a new blade for Rayla in hand and a flower for when she went on her mission.  He still barely talked to Runaan and, if Runaan was being honest, he couldn't blame him.  Rayla was going to be spending a few months with Lujanne at the Moon Nexus followed by a bit of time in the village by the Cursed Caldera before making her way to the capital.  There was no room for error and she was going to have to learn how to act human fast.

The flower Ethari made was set into the fountain, the whole of Silvergrove watching.  Runaan knew he and everyone else would be keeping an eye on it.  Rayla had to succeed.

-----------------------

6 months later

-----------------------

Callum groaned as Soren sent him to the ground again.  "C'mon, step-prince.  Wasn't your mom the strongest general is Katolis?  You shouldn't be this weak after this much training."

Callum glared a bit at his...friend?...tormentor?  Callum wasn't sure who Soren was to him anymore besides the big brother of his crush.  How Claudia and Soren came from the same parents was beyond Callum.  Though, Viren did give Claudia more attention because of her magic.  More love, probably.  "My mom was a lance specialist.  Why don't we try that?"

"Princes use swords; even step-princes."

Callum looked down at his feet.  "The king can use a lance."

"ARGH!  It's just not how it's done, OK?  Sword first, than lance.  Now, on your hands and knees and give me a hundred push-ups."  Callum groaned and was about to follow through when Caludia raced through the courtyard to stand in front of Soren.  She started miming a bit, a big smile on her face.  "What is it, Clauds?  Use your words."

She squealed.  "There's a girl whose just come from the border.  She asked to see the king and she looks about my age, maybe a year younger."

Soren and Callum's brows furrowed.  "Why does she want to see the king?"

"Don't know, but she's pretty cute.  She might be your type, Sor-bear."

"Uh-huh.  You don't know my type, Claudia.  You've proven that how many times now?"

Callum didn't bother staying for what was bound to be an argument between the two.  Instead,he hurried to the throne room, running to Ezran and Bait with a handful of jelly tarts with them.  "What do you think she wants?" Ezran asked.

"No idea.  Whatever it is, I'm sure the king will hear her out."

"You know, you can call him 'Dad.'  I really think he'd like that, Callum."

"He's the king, Ezran, and I'm just the step-prince."

"But, he raised you and I know he loves you."

Callum closed his eyes briefly.  "It's complicated, Ez."

Ezran pouted a bit, but dropped it.  When they finally made it to the throne room, they stood to Harrow's right while Opeli and Viren were standing to his left.  Before them was a pale girl with hair a few shades lighter than Soren's and light blue eyes.  She stood perhaps an inch taller than Callum and was dressed in plain robes that marked her as a member of the farming class.

"Your Majesty," her voice was clear and projected throughout the room.  She took a sweeping curtsy, though almost lost her balance doing so.  She raised her eyes when Harrow told her to rise, slowly coming back up to face the room.  "I come from a town on the border.  We were attacked not too long ago."  She looked down, a tear slipping down her cheek.  "I'm all that's left of my village.  Please, I need help.  I have no family."

"Who attacked your home?"  Viren looked straight at her, eyebrow raised.

"I believe it was elves."  Viren and Harrow shared a look before turning back to the girl.  "They kept saying something about dragons when they came but everything happened so fast it's all a blur."

Viren cleared his throat.  "And why did you come all the way here?  Surely there were others who could look after you."

The girl looked distressed, twisting her hands together a bit.  Callum couldn't help but notice just how pretty she was, with a Cupid's bow on her top lip, high cheekbones, and large eyes.  But, there was something slightly off, something that in the back of his mind was saying it wasn't quite right.  Maybe she was too pretty?  "To be honest, I tried a few times but they either didn't want me because of the possibility of the elves coming after me.  I just hoped that I could be safe here."

Harrow nodded.  "Of course, dear child.  You are welcome to stay as long as you like.  And, I am so sorry for the trials you have faced before coming here today."

Viren sent a glared at Harrow.  "Harrow-"

"Not now, Viren.  We have to look after our citizens.  Always."  Harrow turned back to face her.  "What's your name, child?"

She looked at the five in the room, a soft smile on her face.  "Rayla.  My name is Rayla."        

[swaps55]

Toccata

Pairing: mShenko

Word Count: 3,226

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Post-War, Injury & Recovery, They Got Their Happy Ending. This story exists because I wanted to put Shepard on a horse. 

Ao3 link if you prefer

Even the darkness has arms But they ain't got you Baby, I have it And I have you, too

x

Shepard doesn’t see the deer spring up from the brush on the side of the trail, but the horse does. Maybe if he’d been sitting on Bravo, who rides more like the Mako drives, it would have gone better. But it’s Echo he’d been sitting on when he’d galloped towards the fence line and sailed her right over it.

Echo’s good for getting away from things. That’s why they make such a good team. Sometimes, even after all this time, Shepard just needs to get away.

But she’s better at it.

She shies sideways. For half a second he thinks he might stay with her this time, but his foot is already out of the stirrup and there’s no saving it. Mrs. Alenko is right. The hothead mare is quicker than he’ll ever be.  

He manages one loud “Fuck!” before sailing into a tree. There’s a crunch that can’t be a good thing, and when he comes to rest and rolls over on his back there’s no breath in his lungs. He can’t coax any back in.

There was a time when Shepard would have scoffed at the idea that an abrupt arboreal halt could slow him down, but that was back when his bones were made of something more akin to rubber bands and he’d had the benefit of combat armor to soften a blow.

He lays still for a moment, fingers clawing the weeds as he tries in vain to gulp in some air. Eventually he manages a wheeze. Better than nothing. Close by, nervous hooves prance about in the grass. At least she hasn’t gone far.

Shepard pushes himself up on an elbow. A sharp, burning pain explodes out from his collar bone as he discovers a new, immediate problem. Apparently, the crunch he’d heard was indeed not a good thing.

“Fuck,” he wheezes, which only wastes what little air he’s managed to draw in. He flops back down and clutches his collar bone. Blackness threatens the edge of his vision, but eventually retreats so long as he stays still.

This is not good.

He shouldn’t even be out here. Wouldn’t be, if he hadn’t gone and done exactly what Kaidan had asked him not to do.

(It’s ok to disappear for a little while, Shepard, if that’s what you need. Just try not to ride out a bad day on a horse that’s got less sense than you.)

Should have stayed in the field down by the barn. Should have listened. He’s never been good at listening.

Ok. Triage. That’s what Kaidan would tell him. First thing’s first. Breathe. Breathe, soldier.

He gulps down some air. Even once it starts coming a little better he’s still not getting enough, but at least he’s not about to pass out.

Right. First problem patched. Next on the list.

He’s interrupted by a velvet nose whuffling his forehead. He reaches up a hand to give Echo a pat, groping for the reins in the process. They’re bunched up by her ears, but by some kind of luck she hasn’t stepped through them. That’s another problem sorted – the horse isn’t in immediate danger of hanging herself.

“Please. Do not pull,” he begs her. In response, she lips at his ear. It’s about a close to an apology as he’s going to get.

Ok. Two problems patched. Now onto the next one. He doesn’t have a comm. While he likes to think that Kaidan has a sixth sense for Shepard’s idiocy, it’s a little unfair to assume he’ll divine what’s happened and come find him.

He’s done it before. Almost a decade ago now. In the ruins of London.

(I’m here. I’ve got you. I’m never letting go again.)

Shepard wheezes. The late afternoon sun is taking on a golden sheen. No groves in sight. He’s beyond the orchard property lines, but probably only a few kilometers from the barn. A busted collar bone is going to make it feel more like a few lightyears.

Two options, marine. Walk it or ride it.

Nope. Before he can tackle either he needs to get up off the ground. Something else that might be easier said than done.

He looks up at the horse, who’s taken to picking the grass while she waits for her human to figure things out. Her shoulder quivers as she shakes off a fly.

“I’m going to need your help,” he croaks. “And you better not be a shithead about it.”

She swishes her tail.

He tugs gently on the reins until her nose returns to his head. “Ok. I’m going to haul myself up on that fucking tree that just tried to kill me. Your job is to not do anything stupid until I’m on my feet. And preferably not after, either. Can you handle that Cadet?”

She blinks at him. He takes in another shallow breath and reaches out with his free hand until he finds the bark of the offending tree. It’s broad, but he can at least hook his arm around it enough to get some leverage. “Ok. Here goes nothing.”

With a sharp cry he hauls himself up into a sitting position. Tears spring to his eyes, the shortness of breath in his chest more acute. Echo dances nervously, but the reins stay slack in his other hand.

“Ok,” Shepard chokes out. “Ok. Halfway there. I can do this. Right?”

Echo snorts.

Shepard braces against the tree, takes as deep a breath as he can manage and staggers to his feet. The pain from his collar bone hits like a white-hot lance that brings back memories of the pressure injury on Sharjila. He cries out. Echo throws up her head and crabsteps to the left, but doesn’t bolt.

“Easy,” Shepard whispers hoarsely. “Easy.”

Not sure about you sometimes, Mrs. Alenko had said to him once. You take an awful lot of chances for someone with nothing left to fight and everything to lose.

Echo settles again, and he manages to reel her back in without having to move. He wavers on his feet until she’s close enough for him to lean against. He wraps fingers in her long, black mane and rests his head against her neck, the red hairs of her coat soft against his cheek.

“There. No so bad, right? Which is good, because now comes the hard part.”

Now he has to figure out how to get back on. If it’s not bad enough to be out here with a high-strung mare, he’s got an English saddle on her. Better for jumping, which is how the afternoon had started. Not so great for hauling yourself up from the ground. The idea of contorting enough to even get a foot in the stirrup is enough to bring on a wave of nausea, and there’s nothing around to give him a boost. Echo isn’t exactly known for her willingness to stand still, either.

No wonder you like her so much, Kaidan had said. She’s you, in a horse’s body. As Mrs. Alenko put it, he had a preference for the headcases who went too fast.

He rubs a palm over her forehead, tracing white hairs that form the shape of a pinwheel.

“Ok. Remember that part where I said you need to not be a shithead? That’s still in play.”

He flips the reins up over her head, accidentally flicking her ear in the process. She jerks her head in irritation, hind end swinging in a half circle. When she comes to a stop Shepard eyes the stirrup. With a wince he tugs at the leather strap until the buckle slides into view, then lengthens it to the last hole to make the stirrup as long as possible. That’ll help a little, at least.

“Here goes nothing,” Shepard mutters. With a tight fist of mane in one hand and the cantle of his saddle in the other he sticks a foot in the stirrup. Tears come back to his eyes and his vision blackens once more. He yanks the foot out and lets it come to rest on the ground again. Echo swings her hindquarters once more, dragging him a half step with her. He swears, grips the mane even harder, resting his forehead against the saddle until his vision clears. What he wouldn’t give for a combat suit with a good mexo and a shuttle evac right about now.

“You can do this, N7,” he whispers. “You promised him you would always come home.”

(You sure I’m not one of things you’re trying to get away from?)

(Kaidan…you’re what I always come back to.)

He tries again. This time Echo spins in a full circle, eliciting a string of expletives that’s worth losing some of his hard-fought air.  

“Ok. Let’s try this.”

He manages to line her up beside the tree, so if she wants to swing her butt around there’s nowhere to go except into the tree or into him.

Maybe not his wisest idea. She’s proven more than willing to steamroll him before. “Remember our deal,” he says.

The third time he makes it into the saddle. Agony shoots out from the burning knot of his collar bone in waves that make it impossible to think about anything else. His balance wavers but he manages to keep it. For several minutes, staying on the horse and continuing to breathe is all he can manage.

Echo shifts uneasily beneath him. Full of kinetic energy just looking for a release valve.

(Just like you.)

He can see Kaidan’s smile. Feel it.

He still can’t take a deep breath. The dizziness isn’t going away. I’m in trouble here.

“Ok kiddo,” he manages. “We have to get home.”

He nudges her with his heels, hoping she doesn’t throw one of her fits and take off. Echo has two modes. Bat out of hell and standing still. Neither are very helpful to him at the moment.

(It’s almost like she makes it really hard to predict what she’s going to do next. Sound like anyone else we know?)

The mare takes a few quick steps forward, but settles quickly into an even gait. “There’s extra hay in this for you if you can autopilot,” Shepard grunts.

He bridges the reins in one hand and grabs hold of the long hairs of her mane. The other clutches his shoulder.

The sun’s dipped below the horizon by the time they find their way into the lane leading down to the barn, the sky deepening into a deeper, twilight blue. Apple trees run away to his left. The redcurrant bushes on his right. Echo breaks into a trot. The extra bounce brings fresh agony to his collar bone, but breathing is becoming more difficult some actual panic is setting in.

Kaidan, please be there.

Funny how a little time and distance from the routine of danger makes it feel more acute when it manages to find him.

(I can’t lose you again.)

Maybe that’s where the fear comes from. The war is over, but the stakes are so much higher now.

Every light in the barn is on when he crests the last hill. A lone figure paces anxiously along the paddock fence.

“Kaidan,” Shepard murmurs.

Echo picks up a lope as she cruises down the hill. All Shepard can do is hold onto the reins and hope he stays upright, but at this point even if he falls it won’t matter. Kaidan is here.

“Shepard!”

Echo barrels up to the barn, Shepard helpless to stop her. Kaidan’s eyes widen and he ducks out of the way, but as she whips past he reaches out to snatch one of the reins. For someone who’d rather wrestle a varren than get on a horse, he’s surprisingly adept with them. Growing up as the son of Lora Alenko doesn’t leave him much choice.

Echo comes to a halt, Shepard already sliding out of the saddle. Kaidan manages to get an arm around him before he hits the ground.

“It’s ok, you’re ok, I’ve got you.” There’s alarm in his eyes, but his voice is steady, reassuring. He calls over his shoulder for his mother to come get Echo. She runs out of the barn, eyes wide when she sees Shepard’s sorry state.

“Goodness, what happened?”

“I’ve got it. Can you take care of the horse?”

She nods and takes the reins, leading Echo away into the barn. Kaidan shifts until Shepard’s more comfortably nestled into his lap, omnitool already out, medical scanner running. Shepard reaches his arm up and presses his fingers against Kaidan’s neck.

“I can’t breathe.”

A soft smile curves Kaidan’s lips. “That’s because you collapsed your lung. Somehow. What the hell did you do?”

“Unexpected encounter with a tree.”

Shepard’s hand slides to Kaidan’s chest, where he feels the rumble of his laugh under his palm.  

“Snapped your collar bone, too. How the hell did you get back on?”

“Only way to get to you.”

Kaidan pauses his scans long enough to trap Shepard’s hand under his. “I’d have found you, you know. We have the technology.”

Shepard closes his eyes, resting his cheek against Kaidan’s chest. “I know. Didn’t want to put you through that again.”

Kaidan’s arm tightens around him. He leans down and presses a kiss to Shepard’s forehead. “Let’s get you to a clinic. Ok? Need you to be able to breathe. I’d rather be the only one who takes your breath away.”

Shepard smiles. “I love you. You know that?”

Kaidan brushes a thumb across his cheek. “I do.”

~

Shepard’s not sure what’s worse. The pain of the broken collar bone, or the unrelenting, unassuageable itch of the bone knitter that will linger for days afterwards. Dr. Chakwas had always called it a temporary, minor discomfort. Not the first difference of opinion they’d had over the years.

It’s almost 0200 by the time they get back home. Kaidan’s mother has left a light on for them. Thankfully Kaidan had convinced her to go on to bed without waiting up. Kaidan loops Shepard’s arm around his shoulder and escorts him to their bedroom. It’s not strictly necessary – he can walk just fine – but he doesn’t argue with a little overprotectiveness.

Turns out Shepard doesn’t mind being taken care of, sometimes. Just took finding the right person to do it.

“Thank you, he murmurs when they both crawl in bed. The window’s still open on the opposite side of the room, a cool breeze wafting through backed by the pale gleam of the moon. His collar bone still aches, but it’s fading.

Kaidan pulls Shepard’s back into his chest and wraps his arms around him, surrounding him with warmth. No matter how much time passes, Shepard still marvels at how easily, how perfectly they fit together.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Kaidan murmurs in his ear.

Shepard finds Kaidan’s fingers and laces them in his. “You mean how I’m getting slower in my old age?”

“No.” Shepard can feel Kaidan’s smile against his neck. “About why you jumped the fence and took off in the first place.”

Shepard exhales. “Was afraid you were going to ask about that.”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” He kisses softly up and down Shepard’s neck, between his shoulder blades. Shepard sighs, soft sound of pleasure rumbling in his throat.

“No. It’s fine.”

Kaidan presses his nose against Shepard’s neck. “Something trigger you?”

“No. Not this time.”

Kaidan waits, ever so patient, trailing his lips against Shepard’s skin. Shepard inhales, a full, deep breath this time into lungs that work.

“Sometimes,” Shepard murmurs, tilting his head back to give Kaidan better access, “sometimes…it’s like I don’t know who I am unless the odds are against me. I have everything I want right here with you…but I guess I still can’t shake the feeling I have to keep fighting for it.”

“So you jumped the fence with a green horse and took off into the woods.”

Shepard chuckles, then itches at his collar bone. “You asked why I did it. Didn’t say it made sense.”

Kaidan strokes the side of Shepard’s face. “No. I think I get it.”

“Really? Can you explain it to me, then?”

“Mmm.” Kaidan moves his hand into Shepard’s hair. He still shaves his head more often than not – it’s just easier – but he knows Kaidan likes it when he lets it go too long.

“Your entire life has been about taking risks,” Kaidan says. “Taking on the impossible to save the galaxy. Fighting against all odds to hold on to the people you love. Being on a horse isn’t exactly taking down a cannibal, but it sure is an adrenaline hit.” He chuckles. “At least it is for me. You scared the hell out of me. Echo came flying down that hill I knew something was wrong.”

Shepard grabs Kaidan’s hand and draws it to his chest. “I know,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry.” He almost says he won’t do it again, but it would be a lie and they both know it.  

They lay silent for a while. Kaidan’s breathing deepens, the steady rise and fall of his chest still like a miracle even after nearly a decade of feeling it. They’d fought so hard for this, for time, but he’d never stopped to figure out what to do once they got it.

Forging an identity that didn’t revolve around a pair of dog tags was harder than he’d thought it would be. That’s where the horses had come in. It started as physical therapy. But Kaidan’s right – the thrill of being on the back of something with only an illusion of control triggers an adrenaline rush that feels familiar, in some small way giving him back something he’d lost when the war ended.

(You take an awful lot of chances for someone with nothing left to fight and everything to lose.)

Shepard just never learned how to do it any other way. Probably never will. Some part of Kaidan will always have to worry, always have to wonder in the back of his mind if they really will grow old together.

“You deserve better than me, you know,” Shepard whispers into the dark.

Kaidan stirs, pulling him even closer, his voice a drowsy rumble against Shepard’s ear. “What does better have to do with anything? I want you. Whether I deserve you or not.”

When Shepard doesn’t answer Kaidan rolls him over until he’s lying on his back and runs light fingers across the ridge of his collar bone. “Every day you’ll have me makes me the luckiest man alive.”

Shepard cups his cheek, stroking it with a thumb.

“That reckless side is part of you,” Kaidan says with a soft smile. “All I can do is love you through it. Always have. Always will.”

Shepard’s eyes sting. He loops his arm around Kaidan’s neck and draws him in, kissing him deep, long, and utterly slow, in place of all the things he wants to say and might one day figure out how.

“Just promise you’ll keep coming back to me,” Kaidan murmurs against his mouth.

“Always,” Shepard whispers back, before losing himself in Kaidan’s arms.  

~

Author’s note: 

I started this on a whim, because I missed riding and wanted to put Shepard on a horse. Halfway through writing it, I lost my equine best friend of almost 30 years to colic. She was a spunky little red mare with a white spot on a her forehead in the shape of a pinwheel. While Echo is not my little mare, there is certainly a lot of my little mare in Echo.

I have no idea if the "plot" makes sense. That wasn't the important part to me. Normally I would have worked harder to make sure all the pieces fit together even in something this short, but I didn't this time. I will for the next one. This one will just have to be more for "me" than usual. Call it my own equine therapy. Hope you enjoyed it anyway. :)

[theoldaeroplane]

HARDWIRED - 3. Commentary

The antlelope had been a blessing, April thinks as she showers the grime of a day on the road off. She had been winding up, working herself into a froth, ready to tear into Dell for no good reason. His presence may soothe her, but soothe is a long way from save.

That thought hits her like a bus and she almost falls. Instead she manages to knock all the little hotel-size bottles off the lip of the tub.

It sours her again, knotting up inside her until she can feel her blood thudding dull against her temples. There’s so much goddamn silence in her head. She gives up on finishing washing her hair, so short, so fucking short, she hates it short, and drags herself dripping out before the mirror.

She avoids mirrors, just like she used to.

Dry and dressed, she stalks back into the hotel room, where at least there are two beds this time. She looks at them and feels something in her gut and can’t tell what it is.

“Hey.”

Oh. Dell’s still here. There, on one of the beds.

Right.

“Sorry about the truck,” she says, again, and all but falls down onto the unoccupied mattress.

When she feels the springs bow at her side she assumes it is Shep, and startles when she realizes it’s Dell’s hand that comes to rest on her back. A sharp glance finds him cross-legged at her side, looking down at her with a cocked brow. His hand does not move, but there is a question in his eyes that she is too far gone to answer. It quietly slips away, and she only feels the faint pressure of his fingers dragging against her shirt as he pulls it back. But he stays where he is.

“Just a truck,” he says. “You want anything?”

She wants Alice back.

In an instant she quashes the thought, like she does every time it rises up. Alice is gone; April put her to rest six months ago, and it’s been over a year since her passing.

It doesn’t do any good, wanting.

“I’m fine,” she says into her arm, and the desert in her widens.

---

That night she watches him. April always watches Dell, when he’s around, in part because she likes to, and in part because she doesn’t know what the fuck it is about him that makes her like to. By her measure Dell is no different from other men, or women, for that matter, or people like Kit who are apparently somewhere in-between. She knows him better, sure, but she knows Jeremiah too, and Heavy and Demo and that guy from the little store she sometimes sells her sculptures to. None of them seem to compel her to watch their every move. Just Dell.

Even if they did, she doubts the watching of them would calm her.

It almost annoys her, the effect he has on her. She thinks back, often, to that snatch of conversation in a car over a year ago, and the words Dell used to describe them: stuck together. That’s proven true, anyway. April gets nervous if she goes more than a week without a phone call with him, and more and more Dell does things like he’s done tonight: those careless touches, the sitting too close. Sometimes she thinks about that dusk in Tobias’s park, and the way Dell’s fingers felt in hers.

Alice would have known what it meant, probably.

He’s quiet tonight, Dell is. A different sort of quiet that she’s learned means something has irritated him, and she imagines it’s probably her, or at least the fact she’s screwed up his truck. The fact sits in her stomach like a stone fruit, heavy and unignorable, but there’s nothing to be done about it, so she doesn’t.

They watch the television.

Her appetite is gone, but she nods when Dell asks if she’s feeling like dinner.

---

Esau is making a bad evening worse.

He’s not in Dell’s vision anymore, which is something, but his observations have become commentary. This is unusual. Esau doesn’t talk like this, not really, not anymore. Not since Alice. He’s become distant and quiet, and sometimes Dell goes stretches of weeks without remembering he’s there. This always makes it jarring, even painful, when he returns.

Dell just wishes his voice had some kind of emotion in it.

You’re only enabling her, Conagher.

The voice drowns out the newscaster’s drone.

Letting her drive off like this, no plan, no anything. Suppose she had left without you. You cannot possibly believe letting her be is wise.

Dell changes the channel.

I am trying to help you. Whether or not you like it, I have spent just as much time with her as you have. I remember what she was like as well as you do. She is not stable.

His eyes are drawn, inexorable, over to where April lies curled on top of the covers, just to the right of his knee. Her hair, dried, looks haphazard and crazed and does little to take away from Esau’s observation. The bags under her closed eyes do less. The way she is lying, the scarred half of her face buried in the pillow, leaves him with a strange angle of her. It strikes him that he has never seen her without them, those scars, and something about that thought sticks in his mind.

He lifts his hand, the one that had been on her back and had not been pulled away from, and wonders if that bristling hair is softer than it looks.

Please, Esau says, and suddenly Dell has gotten his wish, for there is pleading in that single syllable. He changes his mind about wanting it. Alice isn’t here for her anymore. This is the only way I know how to help her. Talking to you.

Something electric and cold lances through Dell’s chest.

A commercial rattles off for a local business, and it’s under the cover of its racket that he says her name. Once, then again, and then he realizes she can’t hear him. Her breathing is slow and even and in her sleeping she does not notice when he cups his hand around the back of her head. Her hair feels like well-worn cotton.

[loveafterthefact]

Love After the Fact Chapter 16: Communion-ity

Keith meets a certain head chef and his tiny half-clone. Said tiny clone is very fond of cats and Lance.

First  Previous  Next

Keith’s tail twitches nervously. On the other side of this door is one of Lance’s oldest, dearest friends. Given Lance's reputation, Keith can only imagine what they might have gotten up to together. Most likely things that would have him trembling for the better part of the next decaphoeb. After that, probably only disgusted.

“Anyway, Hunk is one who runs the kitchens. He makes every single one of your meals himself. Because, y’know, all of our food apparently tastes disgusting to you.”

“It’s the ‘sweet’ thing. I don’t know what it’s supposed to taste like, but Galra can’t taste it. And apparently you freaks like nothing else.”

“Hey. If Pidge makes that implant for you I bet you’ll love sweet food.”

“Makes a what now?” Keith asks, but Lance throws open the doors, stepping inside with a flourish, bowing halfway amidst a chorus of greetings.

“Alright, everyone. I have my spouse here to see the kitchens, so please be kind to him.” Another chorus from cheery Alteans. Lance holds out his hand for Keith to take, tugs him into the kitchen. Keith stays close, watching Alteans scurry about, preparing to feed not only the royal family, but also the guards and a portion of Altean’s military, the ones garrisoned at the castle.

As Keith walked past, these Alteans stare at him, forgetting themselves for a moment before averting their gazes. It's better than gossip, in a way, but it causes a sort of ache. Loneliness?

“Kitty!” To Keith’s alarm, a very small creature comes running at him, toddling in its chubby legs. Keith grips Lance’s arm, managing not to extend his claws into his spouse’s arm as the child grabs him around the legs in a hug. “Hi, kitty!”

“Rosetta! Rosetta leave the kitty alone- Oh! Oh, gosh! Rosetta, come here!” A pair of very large hands reach down and pry the child from Keith’s legs. “I’m so sorry about that. She’s little.”

Keith looks up to see a very large person in a spotless apron and yellow headband holding the little child. “It’s… fine. It’s all fine. Um. What’s a kitty?”

“You ever seen Honerva carry a little animal around?” the man asks. Keith nods. “That’s Kova. Her cat, also known as a kitty.”

“I don’t look like that.”

“Tell that to a toddler. I’m Hunk, by the way. Nice to meet you.” Keith blinks, looks the towering Balmeran up and down.

“Nice to meet you too,” he mumbles. “Why do you have a child in the kitchens?”

“Oh. My wife is pregnant and needed a break. Toddlers, man. Tiny monsters, I’m telling you. Besides, it’s never too early to begin learning different spices. Isn’t that right?” Hunk bounces his daughter, beaming with delight. He's nothing like Keith had expected.

“You guys are so great,” Lance says, smiling from where he’s leaning against a table covered with produce. “Hunk and Shay are just the perfect little family. Also, they can make cave bugs taste amazing. You wouldn’t believe it.”

“Hey, I can’t take credit for that. My grandmother-in-law taught me that recipe. It’s one of Rosie’s favorites too, isn’t it Rosie?” The child nods, still watching Keith with interest. “So how have you two been getting on? You doing alright?”

“We’re getting on fine,” Lance answers, scowling at a message on his datapad. “Overworked and underappreciated, but fine.”

“I wish I were overworked,” Keith grumbles, ears pinning back against his head. “I mean, what exactly do they expect me to do? Pidge said that all of my devices are monitored until they can find a way to secure my connections and the guards took everything but my knife when I arrived. There’s not a whole lot of damage a lone Galra can do.”

“Hm.” Hunk passes Rosetta to a delighted Lance, who bounces the little one on his hip. “Remember when ‘innocent until proven guilty’ was a thing?”

“That’s only a thing if the commonwealth asks. The reality is that ‘anything to protect our people’ covers a lot of quiznakery.” Lance sighs, tosses his datapad aside in favor of a cluster of some orbed fruits. He takes one for himself, passes one to Rosetta.

“Thank you,” the child chirps.

“You’re welcome.” Lance beams indulgently at the child.

“Thank you, thank you.” Rosetta grins a wide grin at the prince.

“Well you are very welcome, sweetheart.”

Keith silently watches the exchange, watches as Lance expertly handles the child, bouncing her around and chatting with her while Hunk starts in on an enormous basket of some kind of tuber. The prince seems a natural, happy to engage with the child, setting her at a small table in the corner with a collection of toys, playing some game or another.

Something Keith hadn’t realized he’d been clenching unfurls watching his spouse interact with the child. He imagines that Lance won’t reject him when he inevitably must bear them a kit, and won’t reject their kit either. No. Lance will adore their kits, be a good sire, good father, good mate.

“He loves kids. Wants a small army.” Hunk chuckles. “We’ll see what he says after you guys have your first.”

“Hm.” Keith smiles. “Does he have children already? I know his reputation well, at this point.”

“No. He’s always been careful to prevent such a thing, and if any… prior liaison had a child within a given timeframe, he checked to see if they were his by some small chance. Said that he’d take responsibility, make sure they had that second parent.”

“An honorable cad.”

“I suppose. Oh, there’s a tray of samples for you in that coldbox over there. I’d intended it for lunch, but grab it now and let me know what you think. I haven’t had the opportunity to ask about your food.”

“Thank you.” Keith retrieves the tray, sits across from Hunk and his tubers. “And… thank you. For making me food.”

“It’s all good. Fun, actually. I’ve never experimented with Dabazaani cuisine, despite how close Daibazaal is. You guys have good food. I mean, pretty much everybody has good food, but that purple grass you guys use to make bread? Amazing. Rosie loves it, too. She likes it in her stew.”

Keith smiles. “We like to dip it in stew, too... Why do Alteans all eat off their own plates?”

“Most peoples do. Galra don’t?”

“No. Food is… communion. It’s something to be shared. We take from the same pot. We use a sort of flat, crispy bread-like thing to eat softer foods? It’s difficult to explain. We mostly eat with our hands… Sporks are annoying. I don’t use them if I can help it.” Hunk hums, delightedly interested. Keith takes a risk. “It’s why I didn’t eat with everyone for the first few quintants. I was trying to get better at using one.”

“Really? Lance thought you were just very shy. And maybe didn’t like him all that much." Hunk catches Keith’s eye only for the Galra to look away, folding his arms, hunching over slightly on his stool. He is shy. And seems pretty sweet. “Hey.” The Galra shifts, nervous. “Tell me more about what you like to eat.”

“I like spicy things. And… meat. Altean adults don’t seem to eat meat.”

“No, they don’t. Infants do, for a while. They go through a phase where they eat nothing but meat, actually. I’ll reach out to my contact in Daibazaal to see about adding some to my shipments. Have you been to the infirmary at all?”

“No.”

“You should go and get checked for any deficiencies. I want to make sure you’re getting proper nutrition. Make sure Altea is agreeing with you and all that. It’s very different, isn’t it?”

“Yes. There are plants covering everything! They’re really pretty! And the animals here are cute and don’t bite a whole lot.” Keith's ears perk a bit, his tail sweeping over the floor in long strokes.

“The animals are very friendly -mostly-, and this planet has a lot of vegetation. My home planet is more like Daibazaal. Or maybe a mix of the two. Plenty of plants and animals, but not quite as many. Balmera grow crystals like spines along their nerves. During certain times of year, they will all resonate, and may create a brand new balmera.”

“What… Is Balmera alive?” Keith cocks his head, ears perked with curiosity. He's got wide eyes, Hunk notices, big and dark like the night, shining with curiosity. Lance is doomed.

“Balmera are mineral-based organisms the size of planets. Most are inhabited by entirely unique species. My people are found only on a single Balmera. We love her and care for her. We exist in a completely unique symbiosis.”

“That sounds nice.”

“It’s very nice. Making the sharing of food a part of your daily routine sounds nice too. Your people must have strong bonds with their friends.”

Keith smiles, strangely emotional. “Thank you. Others don’t say nice things about my people very often. Especially not here… They look at me like I’m a monster. They hate me.”

“Well I don’t hate you. Pidge, my best friend, doesn’t hate you. They seem to like you a lot, actually. As for the Alteans… xenophobia is an integral part of their culture. Lance is frothing at the mouth trying to find a way to take them all down a peg.

“At any rate, don’t pay them any mind. You are not a monster. You’re just a guy, who happens to be a Galra. Just like I happen to be Balmeran. Just like Lance happens to be Altean. Life is arbitrary, but community is not, right? We choose who we share our pot with. I think I’d share mine with you.”

The Balmeran smiles at Keith, and Keith smiles back, eyes suspiciously moist. Poor little buddy. Hunk would absolutely share his pot with him. He’d give Keith a hug, but suspects that he wouldn’t like it. He doesn’t know Hunk well enough. Instead, Hunk finishes preparing his last tuber to be sent to the garrison for the castle’s military, heads to the coldbox.

“I don’t have any pots going at the moment, but I’ve got some dough here for your bread. We can share some of that.”

“Can I help?” Keith asks, looking hopeful. “I can cook. I know how.”

“Of course. Food tastes better with more hands. Lance! Rosie! Come help make bread.”

Lance trots over with the toddler, setting her in a special chair. Keith settles in next to his spouse, teaching him how to knead the grainy dough and twist it into traditional patterns. Hunk and Lance carry most of the conversation, switching from common to Altean every now and then so Rosie doesn’t understand the less appropriate anecdotes and gossip.

Apparently, there’s one particular courtier named Seran who spends most of her time ruining her two children and harassing people for even the slightest perceived inconvenience. They both make good sport out of loudly recounting hyperbolic stories for Keith, complete with exaggerated voices for Seran and her evil, entitled children. Apparently, Seran's wife, Renli, is almost as bad.

It has Keith doubled over with laughter, eyes watering with mirth as Lance recounts the time Seran’s gardener trimmed her moss slightly too short and she’d chased him off down the street while swinging his own rake at him.

It’s not until he and Lance are returning to their room, sneaking loaves of Daibazaani bread back with them, that Keith realizes he’s still smiling. He bumps against Lance’s side, happily twists his tail around Lance’s ankle.

“Thank you. For today, I mean.”

“You are most welcome.”

“Thank you for everything else, too.”

“You’re welcome, Keith. Always.”

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt.40

Lance was acting like a scatterbrain and he knew it. With Keith’s piercing purple eyes watching him, he felt so self conscious over his every move that he’d already klutzed up half a dozen times. They’d touched... more than touched. Keith had jerked them both off and now he couldn’t remember how to act like a human being. And Keith had skipped to calling him his boyfriend. Not his “maybe boyfriend” or his “kind of boyfriend”, but his boyfriend. His like they were together. Like they were a perfectly normal couple. A perfectly normal couple that’d fooled around... thanks to his body being stupid. Thankfully Keith didn’t speak Spanish, so had no idea what’d been babbling, but that didn’t mean Lance was about to forget begging Keith to make him come.

Slicing the potatoes, Keith sat on the kitchen counter watching on. Before Keith came along, there was a very strict no arses on his counters or tables. Lance didn’t know why he didn’t snap at Keith for it, but he couldn’t bring himself to send him to sit at the kitchen table. Lance was attempting to apologise by making a big dinner to celebrate everyone being there, and everyone knew the secret to the perfect roast potatoes was getting them into the oven an hour or so before the meat went in, once they were seasonsed and coated with oil. Using too much force, the wooden chopping board cracked under the slice. There didn’t seem to be much difference between applying too little, and too much, force. His senses going haywire, or maybe because he was so focused on Keith, he couldn’t regulate the amount of force to use

“Something you want to say?”

Lance bit down a sigh at Keith’s question. He was looking lame all over again

“Potatoes suck”

“Are you sure it’s the potatoes?”

“Fairly...”

“You look flustered. Is your body, okay?”

“It’s fine. I’m fine”

“You broke the chopping board. I’m pretty sure you’re not fine”

“It’s nothing. Just having a little trouble controlling my strength”

“Do you want me to take over? I can do the vegetables while you check on your pasta dish?”

Hunk was usual cooking wingman. Keith had proven he wasn’t a great cook, but he didn’t want to hurt Keith’s feelings by implying he couldn’t do something as simple as slicing potatoes. He could start making the sides, and giving Keith a job meant not having his boyfriend watching him...

“Yeah. Divide and conquer. I’ll start on the sides while you finish the potatoes. We’re probably going to need like half the bag, and then the pumpkin needs cutting up”

Sliding off the bench, Keith bumped him with his hip. Lance trying not to let himself spiral as he placed the knife down on the edge of the broken board

“I’ve got this. You do what you need to”

“Try not to make the pieces too big”

“I make no guarantees”

Dinner had to be perfect. At least as perfect as the night he’d had Shay over. He might not be the greatest people person, but serving a bad meal was like insulting his guests and he’d done enough of that

“If they’re too big they won’t cook through”

“I’ve been watching. I’ll just copy what you did”

Keith’s watching was what had been the problem. The hunter had led him to his bathroom where they’d kissed some more in the shower. Lance felt like that had been too fast, especially seeing Keith could be damn handsy in the shower. Dream Lance was like a sex god, real Lance had been lamer than a horse with a limp. He’d had no idea what to do, neither did Keith. Unfortunately if he was unlucky any future sex dream was now going to be as slow and awkward as he was upstairs... though he did have the memory of Keith above for the rest of his life... so that was nice

“Right. Okay... okay. Sorry, I’m being a stress head”

“Idiot crumpet. I think that’s the preferred term”

Lance felt himself smiling like a dope. Talk about pathetic

“You’re sounding more and more like me every day”

Keith faked a sway

“You wound me”

Lance felt himself crack, snorting with laughter. He knew Keith was trying to make him feel better and appreciated it, though he did wish he wasn’t so thinned skinned about things

“And now you’re mocking me. Thanks for that”

“You asked for it”

Lance pouted. His nervousness was ebbing away now that things seemed to be okay between them... Keith wasn’t acting like he’d been awful in bed... He really was terrible at over thinking

“You’re such a dick”

“What’s that?”

Huffing, Lance mumbled

“You can suck my dick”

Keith let out a laugh, Lance feeling all dopey again at the sound. Emotions were weird things. He’d gone from embarrassed to paranoid, paranoid to perking up, perking up to smiling, and smiling into a brainless dope

“Maybe not right now in the middle of the kitchen with the house full, but I’ll keep it in mind”

Keith delivered the final blow. Lance leaning in to steal a kiss because fuck if Keith hadn’t made him feel a million times better

“What was that for?”

“Just wanted to. You better get cooking, Shiro’s going to be shocked you’re all domesticated”

“I know. I’m cooking and cleaning, training with a real life vampire and I haven’t burned the house down...”

“You did kill my toaster...”

“You kill a toaster once and they never let you hear the end of it”

“You didn’t stop Curtis from killing the second one”

Keith groaned at him

“I bought you a new one...”

“You did, and it’s very nice. So I might forgive you after I get another months teasing out of it”

“What do I have to do to end the teasing early?”

“Cut the onions for the salad?”

“Deal”

What? No. Keith wasn’t supposed to give in so fast. Onions always had Lance in tears, Hunk had shown him how he was supposed to cut them avoiding the tears but it never seemed to work for him

“Dammit! No one likes chopping onions”

“It’s fine... Now shoo, you’re interrupting my potato cutting”

*

Making dinner with someone was always more fun than cooking alone. Keith might be awful at cutting up potatoes, practically massacring them despite having said he’d been watching what Lance was doing. The results clearly said otherwise, but Lance kept his opinion to himself. Having been “forced” to help in the kitchen, Keith had grown pretty adapt to the way Lance liked things done. He’d really made vast improvements, which Lance hoped wouldn’t slip backwards once Keith moved out with Shiro. He’d told Keith he’d teach him about the undead once he’d learned enough to “human”, but it really seemed like he didn’t have that much to teach seeing he’d stayed on the outside of that world as much as possible. While Lance was happy that Keith would be back with his brother, he’d be sad to see Keith leave. Sure, the hunter still managed to get under his skin, but this last month had shown him how far determination could push a person when a little rivalry was sprinkled in. Keith was determined to do his best, even when he had no natural gifts. Everything the hunter had he’d fought for, and fought to learn. He may have been cold and aloof to start with, but Lance now kind of felt proud of how far Keith had come. Even if he was still terrible at dealing with groups of people.

Hearing footsteps, Lance braced himself for their little bubble to be burst. Keith might have only gotten mad trying to talk to Shiro, but the two of them were so close that Lance couldn’t help but feel a little jealous. That’s why Keith and Shiro making up was so important to him. He’d never forgive himself if the two brothers didn’t find a way back to what they were before they crashed his life.

“Holy shit... Keith, are you cooking?”

Pausing, Keith looked to Shiro, the man still looked wiped out

“I was trying to before you interrupted”

Lance felt his breath catch, not sure how to read what Keith had said, the feeling passing as Shiro laughed

“I never thought I’d see the day”

“Fuck you... I’ve cooked for you before”

“I remember. I remember a certain cremated roast...”

“That was then. Lance has been teaching me”

“I hope that doesn’t mean you’ve been getting in the way”

“Not even. Lance, back me up here. How many times have helped you cook dinner since Shiro left?”

He didn’t want to be drawn into the brothers squabbling

“Most nights...”

“See! Lance even lets me use the big knives”

“I can see that. Maybe leaving you here wasn’t such a bad thing after all”

“Nope. Now sit down, you’ll only be in the way if you keep standing there”

Shiro sat at the kitchen table, Lance could feel his eyes on him as he scoured the outside of the cucumber in his hand. For some reason cucumber always tasted better when scoured with a fork

“Other than cooking, anything else you two have been up to?”

Lance’s mind went immediately to what had happened in the bedroom... Shiro was supposed to be sleeping... Had they been too noisy? Keith didn’t seem to share his worry

“Just stuff. We went ghost hunting twice and down that old mineshaft... oh, and to Platt for a bit... but it’s been pretty quiet”

“Have you kept up with your training?”

“Lance has been helping. He’s much better to train with. Coran gave me some tips too”

“Knowing you, you’ve spent more time training than doing anything else”

Lance knew it was being petty, but he didn’t like the feeling that Shiro was trying to imply something without spitting it out

“Keith’s been a big help around here. He helps with all the housework, and Pidge and Hunk really like hanging out with him. Went to the movies, and the bar, plus he’s got his camera to keep him occupied. And, on top of everything, he’s been dependable given I’ve been sick”

“You have a camera?”

That’s what Shiro wanted to focus on?

“Lance bought me one. We didn’t know how long you were gone for and I was supposed to be taking photos of the house, which I couldn’t do without a camera”

“Sounds like you’ve been having a great time. Do you two want any help with dinner?”

“Lance and I have got it. We make a good team”

“You’re much closer than when I left you”

“That’s because a lot’s happened since then. I told you I like him”

“It’s great you’re making friends. Maybe Hunk and Pidge can visit us in Platt? You’d better make the most of this week. I want to get settled in Platt as soon as possible”

Lance noted how he was left out the equation. Shiro might as well be spraying to mark his territory

“You guys don’t have to rush off”

“Well, technically you were a job and we will need to check in with you regularly for the next 6 months”

What? Why? He already checked in with Coran every three weeks or so, more so if you counted phone calls

“Why?”

“Just a follow up on the complaint. You being a breeder makes things more complicated”

So Keith had told him all about that... it wasn’t a great feeling. He’d tried his hardest not to listen to the two siblings, but he could see why Keith had been angry

“I check in with Coran regularly as it is. Plus, I have Curtis here to keep an eye on me”

“Once things settle down, I’m sure that won’t be necessary. I had to pull a lot of strings to make sure Matt and Rieva could relocate here”

“I’m getting the feeling you don’t like me very much, despite using my house like a hotel”

Shiro raised an eyebrow at him. Keith gave a kind of weird twitch like he wanted to reach for him but was scared of him at the same time

“This is work related. It’s nothing personal. On a personal level I’m grateful to you for looking after Keith”

“But?”

“My brother comes first. Giving him a safe and stable home comes first, especially after I transferred us both to Platt without his permission”

Shiro almost seemed like a different person. Lance supposed there was only so much good will that went with saving someone’s life

“I get it. I’m kind of the enemy here. I suppose the sooner you get settled, the better for everyone. Keith, I’ll let you take over here. I’m going to get something to drink before dinner”

Shiro needs to take a chill pill, he’s a bad traveller and a slightly over protective brother, but Keith too the rescue again

[kittinoir]

Phantoms Prologue

Echoes of You’s sequel has finally begun. Enjoy!

Read on Ao3 here

Gabriel Agreste winced as he came to a stop across the street from his house, hidden in shadow. His entire body ached from the blow that mangy cat had managed to land. Without his Miraculous to absorb the damage, he would have been a smear on the pavement.

Even so, walking away had been a small miracle - and walk away he had, since the senti-monster that had been his escape had dissolved not far from the battle, unable to survive the damage it had sustained, either from the cadre of heroes that had appeared overnight or from his akuma itself.

Any second now, those annoying Ladybug’s were bound to make their appearance to heal him - or, if that girl was any kind of successful, he’d have the Miraculous to soothe his wounds instead. For a moment, he almost wished for the former as an echo of Chat Noir’s cataclysm licked down his spine.

Close. He’d been so close. The girl had been one of the strongest akumas he’d ever created, closer than most to winning a victory for them.

And despite himself, Gabriel grinned, even as the gesture ignited waves of pain through his face.

Because the only reason he’d lost tonight had been due to sheer numbers. By his count, Chat Noir had put almost every Miraculous into play - which meant a handful of new, inexperienced heroes with Miraculouses.

Or, as he preferred to think of them, consolation prizes.

Chat Noir was not the only one who could raise an army. And of course, he knew a several of them. He was willing to bet they knew each other as well. All he needed to do was akumatize one.

But he couldn’t do anything until fed Nooroo and made a plan, and that would require another couple of steps to the front door. Nathalie, he knew, would be more than happy to help patch him up, a fact he tried not to dwell too much on as he lurched to his front door.

After all, it hadn’t started out this way. No, it had been careful manipulation on his part, to twist those feelings he could see plain as day even behind her cool facade. He’d ignored them until he’d needed them to ensure her unending trust with the Miraculous, but even he’d failed to realize the depths of those feelings until she’d donned the Peacock Miraculous - an unexpected ally, but a formidable one.

He hadn’t meant to mean it.

Even so, it was a pale imitation, a weak echo of what he felt for his wife, and while affection might have stolen into his heart in moments of weakness, they burned to ash in the inferno that was his love for Emilie.

He was not so proud he couldn’t admit he had wished on more than one occasion that he was capable of moving on. Time heals all wounds - was that not the saying?

But the pain of her loss would not ease. Every breath ached in his chest. Every design felt hollow, empty - a void. Every moment he lived and she did not was intolerable. And to spend any more time than he had to in the company of his son, who looked so much like her, was unbearable.

And that was his dirty little secret - that he was glad for the pain of Chat Noir’s cataclysm, the echoes of which still richoeted through his body. The hero had gotten past his guard by pure luck, but he wasn’t sorry for it; the agony he felt finally matched the agony in his soul, finally gave life to the wound in his heart that could not and would not heal. The damage was at last complete, and he breathed in it, revelling in it, if only in the vain hope that when it finally eased, the agony of losing Emilie would fade as well - and yet living in fear of that very thing.

“Nathalie.”

Gabriel slunk into the foyer of his home, pain lancing up his legs with each step. He wouldn’t be able to last much longer. At least he’d made it home.

“Nathalie!” He frowned, scanning the room as he limped to his office. Nothing was out of place. Adrien’s bodyguard had been dismissed for the night, and sure enough, he could hear the faint strains of a piano coming from his sons’ room. So where was his oh-so faithful assistant?

Gabriel put a hand on the knob to his office and froze as the door clicked open. His heart began to thunder in his chest. The doors were never left unlocked when he was away. He should have brought food with him, but he hadn’t, and Nooroo was too weak to assist in a transformation. In his current state, his Miraculous would likely break if he pushed its’ kwami too hard. He was down to wits and his state-of-the-art security system.

Instead of an intruder, he found her slumped in one of the chairs by his mannequins, eyes closed.

“Nathalie!”

He staggered to the seat and dropped to his knees beside her. He seized her wrist, and only breathed again when he felt the steady thrum of her pulse against his fingers. He couldn’t see any blood, but it was a small relief. Emilie hadn’t bled, either.

“Nngh…” Nathalie frowned as her eyes fluttered open, immediately pressing the heel of her hand to her forehead.

“Nathalie, what happened here?” Gabriel demanded. The senti-monsters’ sudden departure abruptly took on a different meaning, and his eyes darted to his assistant’s collar. Ice flooded his veins as his assumptions were proven correct. “Where is the peacock Miraculous.”

Nathalie’s eyes went hide as she dropped her hand to her chest and found nothing there. “Sir, I… I don’t know. I had come down here to watch for your return. I knew you’d been struck by Chat Noir’s cataclysm and I was…I was worried you wouldn’t make it.”

So she’d left. She’d left the safety of the hidden room in case he’d needed to be carried in, lest anyone see Paris’s Most Wanted return to the house, not knowing he’d dropped the mask for that very reason. She’d left, and while she’d watched from the windows, her back to the doors…

“I…I didn’t hear anyone come in, sir,” Nathalie said, beginning to tremble. “They must have picked the lock. I’m so- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… I thought you might need - ”

“It’s ok, Nathalie,” Gabriel said, laying a hand on her shoulder.

And it was. Calm had swept him as she’d stammered out her recollection, as he’d pieced it together. Someone had either figured out his identity, or a particularly intrepid individual had snuck into his home and taken advantage of Nathalie’s distracted state. Given his nemesis’s lack of knowledge at their little showdown only an hour before, he very much doubted it was the former.

Anyone would have known Nathalie - known Mayura - if they’d seen her standing in the window. Anyone could have snuck in while they were distracted with the fight - especially if they’d known he’d have other plans tonight. There was no way to tell why or what the future held. The simple truth was that one way or another, peacock Miraculous was gone.

They’d have to proceed very, very carefully.

But for the first time, Gabriel Agreste felt something other than that endless, bottomless void that the loss of his wife had sucked him into: fiery, burning rage.

Someone had stolen from him, and there would be hell to pay.

[makorragal-312]

Void (Part Three)

Here’s the (hopefully) long awaited part three of the Void series. I really hope you guys like it!

Man, was getting permission always this stressful? Lance was currently pacing around the Garrison, avoiding the confused gazes of Garrison personnel and visitors alike. He had just come from his "sit-down" with Coran to get his permission to take out Allura on their date; which had only proven to be one of, if not THE most stressful conversation he has ever had in his entire life. Usually when a guy gets the dad's permission to take out their little girl, there's nothing more than the cold stare, telling him to bring home his little girl by a decent time, and the infamous "if she comes home crying, I'll break your kneecaps" line, or at least something to that effect. He didn't expect to come out of it having to scurry around the Garrison with his head down because of him wearing the equivalent of Altean courtship armor for just a simple date.

And now he found himself here. Aimlessly walking down another hallway in the Garrison to calm his nerves, which was somewhat difficult considering the metal bucket that was weighing down on his head.

"Lance! Are you okay?"

Lance raised his eyes to find Shiro walking towards him holding papers, a look of concern on his face. The red paladin gave him a small, reassuring smile.

"H-hey, Shiro! Don't worry about me! I don't wanna keep you." Shiro stopped in front of him, a smirk making its way on his face.

"Really? Because you look like you want to make a mad dash for the dorms. And besides, I can make some time." Lance sighed. He should've known Shiro would see right through the facade. He was always able to tell when something was wrong with him or anyone else on the team and he never hesitated to stop and listen to anyone's problems. That's what made him great to Lance, and something he definitely missed when Shiro was gone for all that time.

"Yeah. I'm just worried that Coran is gonna kill me if he finds out I took this stuff off." Lance replied. Shiro leaned back and took in the boy's attire. Aside from the VERY visible and VERY mangled bucket, he had on two metal pots that served as shoulder pads, each with a corresponding cape and a link of sausages around his neck. Honestly, it's no wonder why the sharpshooter looked like he wanted to run for the hills.

"I'm guessing this has something to do with Allura? Like a date?" the former paladin inquired. Lance snapped his fingers and pointed at him, signaling that his guess was correct. This caused Shiro to widen his eyes.

"Wait, really?"

"I know. I was shocked, too. But she said yes and we're gonna just go with the flow, y'know?" Lance stated, a blush creeping up on his cheeks as he looked down at the ground. Shiro looked at him, only to feel a tiny ping in his chest. As happy as he was for the red paladin, he couldn't help but be reminded of his brother, the one who had bared his soul and fears to him not too long ago. Who was worried about this kind of development happening. But despite that, his friend was happy and he needed to support him.

"Wow. I'm happy for you, Lance." Shiro finally responded with a small smile. Lance smiled back at him.

"Thanks. At least

someone

has the decency to say that with a straight face!" Lance yelled. Shiro raised an eyebrow in confusion, prompting the red paladin to keep going.

"No, listen! I went to tell Pidge the good news earlier! But guess what? One look at me like this and she was on the floor laughing for a good two minutes! Hell, I could still hear her when I was walking away!"

"Hunk laughed at you, too?"

"No, Hunk was cool. He at least had the decency to try and hold it in and gulp it down and give me some tips." Shiro nodded in acknowledgement. He expected this kind of reaction from Hunk and Pidge, but he knew that they came from a good place and there was no malicious intent behind it. Lance stilled for a moment.

"By the way, where's Keith?" he asked. With everything that had been going on the last couple of months, Lance couldn't even remember the last time he even talked to the aforementioned black paladin. He was still somewhat looking forward to finishing their conversation from several moons ago, but with everything going on with Earth they barely had time to acknowledge it. He honestly wouldn't be surprised if Keith ended up forgetting.

"He said he was going to relax with Cosmo. Knowing him he's probably outside." Shiro answered. Lance, unbeknownst to himself, exhaled in relief.

"Okay. Thanks for listening, Shiro!" Lance said as he began to run past his friend, starting his search for his friend. Shiro smiled and waved at him.

"No problem! Have fun!" the former paladin shouted back. He watched as the Cuban boy ran, attracting more attention from his mere apparel alone. Once he was out of sight, Shiro sighed softly, a conflicted frown on his face. Lance was going to get his happy ending, but at the cost of his brother's own happiness. The captain began his walk to find Iverson, mentally saying a silent prayer along the way.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

It only took a few minutes before Lance was able to spot Keith, atop of the black lion. He was sitting next to Kosmo, staring out at the sunset. Like it was going to be the last time he would ever get to enjoy such a beautiful sight with such content. Lance couldn't help but to stare at his leader in awe, like he shouldn't be disturbed. But given since he was already here, he might as well go all the way. And so he started to climb.

"Man, you can be a real hard guy to find when you wanna be." Lance said, exhausted.

"Hey, Lance. Whoa!"

Through his exhaustion, he was a able to spot Keith's second take at him before looking up at him in utter shock. Slight embarrassment took over Lance as he looked down.

"What are you wearing?" Lance sighed, slowly walking towards the half-Galran and sitting down..

"Coran made it for me for my date with Allura." He heard Keith pause before he went on.

"A date with Allura?" Wow! Well done, Lance." Okay, that was something Lance didn't expect to hear. Sure, Keith isn't the type to tear someone down when they got a sliver of good news, but he usually isn't one to sound so...

happy

about it. The most he would do is just shrug and mutter out a little "Good for you" or "Congratulations" before walking out. The red paladin thought back to the conversation when they were saving Shiro after he crash landed back on Earth.

Oh, wait. I remember you. You're a cargo pilot.

Well, not anymore. I'm fighter class now thanks to you washing out.

Well, congratulations.

"Thanks. But it could be our last. I can't keep all these Altean customs straight." Lance remarked sadly, taking off his heavy metal bucket in the process. He's not going to lie and say he didn't feel any pressure going into this date. This wasn't just any regular girl. This was a princess from another planet. One who he actively died for so that they could have this moment in time. So, naturally, it came with the territory that he had to follow some customs the same way he would've had he still stayed on Earth and never found Shiro. And it didn't really help that he spent all that time trying to get her attention only for her to brush him aside and reject him, even going as far as to fall in love Lotor. But considering that he was now out of the way, Allura finally noticed him. But he couldn't help from asking himself, "Why though?"

Keith saw Lance's internal struggle and tried to form the proper words. As much as the situation itself upset him, he couldn't leave Lance looking and feeling this forlorn about the future.

"Listen, if she's going out with you, it's because she like you. The annoying, stupid, Earth version of you." Keith responds with a smirk. Lance, still looking down, released a slight laugh. Keith felt his chest release at the sight. He was hoping that he hadn't said something to make the object of his affection crawl back into his shell of self doubt, but seeing him smile and laugh relieved him to no end. He watched as Lance raised his head out and looked ahead, savoring the sight of the sunset. The black paladin turned his head in the same direction. He had always been fond of sunsets ever since Shiro came into his life. Every time after they raced each other, they'd just stop and take a moment to watch. And now that Lance was sitting right next to him, it was nothing more than perfect to him.

"You watching the sunset?" Lance asked after a moment.

"Yeah, might be a while before we get to see it again."

"Man, I'm really gonna miss this place." Lance said somberly. It didn't take long for the bittersweet feeling to consume both of the paladins. This was their last day on Earth before they went back up into space to stop Honerva. If they learned anything from their time in space the first time around; it was that even though time in space might be slow, the time on Earth will remain the same. While they hadn't aged (with Keith being a unique exception), their families and loved ones did. There was a good chance that once they came back this time around, their loved ones might be older, or heaven forbid already gone. So they knew they had to get this done as quickly as possible, so that they can come back to making more memories.

"That's why we've gotta end this war." Keith paused, thinking carefully about what to say next.

"And we're gonna do it with the Lance that's the Paladin of the Red Lion, the Lance that's always got my back, and the Lance who knows exactly who he is, and what he's got to offer." Keith finished, turning his head to smile at Lance. The blue paladin paused in surprise of what was just said to him, but smiled soon afterward. A small smirk soon started to grace his features.

"You know what, mullet? You've gotten a bit better at motivating! Normally, you would say that I look flat out ridiculous." Lance joked. Keith rolled his eyes and shoved him, turning his head to the side chuckling. He did think Lance looked ridiculous, but he couldn't help but to find it endearing on how absolutely

done

he looked. How

cute

he looked.

"You do. But I'm just being supportive, I guess." Keith replied honestly. Any other time, Lance would be at least somewhat offended, but at this point he saw how much Keith had changed since he had left the team so he knew he was telling the truth and wasn't being sarcastic. That wouldn't stop him from trying to at least somewhat annoy him. Lance looked past him to look over at Kosmo, who was looking down at the ground.

"Hey, Kosmo? What do you think? I'm as handsome as ever right?" Lance asked in his flirty tone, oblivious to the fact that Keith facepalmed at his question. The space wolf turned his head to the red paladin in intrigue, only to sneeze and teleport back into the Garrison as if the question was never asked. Lance scoffed in fake offense as Keith tilted his head back in laughter.

"Seriously?!

E tu

Kosmo?!" Lance wailed in defeat. He quickly looked back at Keith who was still laughing at the site.

"It wasn't that funny, mullet!" he yelled. Keith's laughs slowly began to die down as he wiped his eyes of possible stray tears, chuckling to himself lowly.

"No. It really was." Lance grabbed the bucket next to him and proceeded to hit Keith in his shoulder repeatedly, not enough to hurt him but to teach him a lesson. Mid-hit, Keith took the bucket from Lance's grasp and placed it back on his head in retaliation, laughing some more. Little did he notice that the Cuban boy had begun staring at him. He couldn't help but to take in the way the half-Galran's shoulders bounced with every chuckle. How he attempted to wipe his bangs out of his face. How much harmony his laugh brought to his ears. How his smil-

"You good?'

Lance was startled out of his stupor with a confused and slightly alarmed Keith staring back at him, his ears slowly starting to turn red. Lance, himself, began to get flustered.

"Y-yeah. Just, um- Man, is it just me or is there some weight on my shoulders?" Lance asked aloud, moving around frantically and trying to lose the collar of his uniform. Keith looked him up and down, scooting a little closer to his flustered comrade.

"I mean, you ARE wearing pots for shoulder pads." Keith stated with amusement. He watched as Lance's eyes widened and looked at his shoulders, almost forgetting that he had them on to begin with. He then watched as Lance began to remove the sausage link and attempt to remove the pots. He succeeded in removing the pot and cape on his left shoulder with ease. But when he attempted to remove the pot form his right shoulder, the handle ended up getting caught on his uniform. In a rather on brand chain of events, the movement of his arm caused the cape that was attached to the pot to fling over his head, blinding him. The red paladin put up a valiant struggle to remove the cape, but alas it was to no avail and proceeded to fall onto his back and squirm in defeat, still struggling. Keith could only look at the scene, utterly dumbfounded. He chuckled before deciding to put Lance out of his humiliating misery.

"Okay. This is just getting sad." Keith chuckled, leaning forward to pull up Lance. He reached over and grabbed the cape off of Lance's head, not realizing how close their faces would be once it got pulled off of him. All Keith could see in this moment was blue.

To say that Lance was also taken aback by this new development was surely an understatement. One minute, he sees nothing but blue cloth on his face and the next he comes into contact with his friend's gleaming purple eyes. Just the sight of them had the Cuban boy entranced. Somehow, he couldn't help but to think back to when they were on that planet after they brought Shiro back. That same sense of tranquility and slowed urgency present as it was back then. Only this time it was different. He knew he didn't have time to savor this. He had things to do, a date to go on, a princess to see. And yet he couldn't bring himself to look away.

"Lance?" Keith asked breathily. Lance leaned in an inch closer to him, as if he wanted to hear him say his voice again. He noticed the way Keith took a quick look as lips before he looked back up and tried to keep his gaze.

"Keith, I-" he started. At least, he

wanted

to.

"I gotta go change." He said finally. He slowly but urgently grabbed the pots, capes, and bucket and stood up, ready to begin his descent down the lion, but not before looking back at Keith.

"Thanks for listening, Keith. It meant a lot." Lance said with a nervous smile. Keith gave him the same smile before looking back out to the sunset, or at least what remained of it. With the bucket filled with pots and capes on his arm, he climbed down. As he went, he began chanting phrases to get him ready for the date before him.

You got this, man! Show her a great time, sharpshooter! Give Allura the time of her life! Get yourself out of these clothes! He's your friend. Right?

[forgiven-whimsy]

The Red Violin

FFXIV write 2020 prompt 2: Sway

Shiloh’s song  Shiloh and Emet’s duet (note the spotify version has a longer piano opening.) 

Anyways, touches of Lominsan/Vylbrand headcanons (they’re the ff Newfoundland, imo)  Aumortine music and art headcanons, and Garlean headcanons. Imagery leaning heavily on 5.3 revelations, while I don’t use express spoilers, reader beware. 

Set After Rak’Tika, but before Ahm Areng. 

Rated T - Angst

Wol x Emet-Selch

(Why yes the Red Violin is one of my all time favorite movies, why do you ask?) 

~

“I am a patron of the arts, always have been, the best your kind has to offer is found in the arts, incomplete as it is, there’s a certain charm to be found in it.” Emet-Selch sipped from his wine glass, swiping his gloved finger over the bars surface then wrinkling his nose. 

“What do you mean incomplete? Art is by its very nature subjective, therefore art’s completeness is defined by the artist, not the audience.” Shiloh replied, not particularly keen on hearing about all the ways she was inferior, but curious about how his timeless people made music, or art, the idea of Asciens being artists was a foreign concept, yet getting to know Emet-Selch, not entirely far-fetched. Solus Zos Galvus was historically a patron of the arts, she’d been aboard the Prima Vista and seen the reach of his patronage.

“It would be easier to show you.” And with a snap of his fingers the Crystarium vanished and he transported them to an entirely different environ. They were in a theatre, great gold trimmed red curtains, on stage a spotlight centered on a sleek black grand piano, surrounding it was all manner of string instruments, violin, cello, lute, harp, and even others she couldn’t name, Shiloh itched to touch them, to try them and see what sound they might make. The stage jutted out in a half moon, far more open than anything she’d ever seen, the audience seating surrounded the stage allowing a certain intimacy between artist and audience. Above, there was a massive chandelier whose teardrop crystals twinkled in the soft theatre lighting, the balconies climbed three stories, each gilded and carved with vines and flowers, painted in reds and golds, opulent. Stage left there was one particular balcony that caught her eye, the carvings more elaborate and draped in finery. 

“This is the Great Arena Theatrum in Garlemald,” Shiloh near gasped out, before rounding on Emet-Selch, “you brought me to Garlemald?” She had just let him, an Ascien, teleport her to the heart of enemy territory, and she wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed, furious or ashamed at being taken so easily. The musician in her near fainted with joy. Regardless of Garlean politics, every musician, actor, and dancer worth their salt has dreamt of performing on the Theatrums stage, Shiloh was no exception. While she was the daughter of a Doman refugee, she had been raised in Vylbrand, and the island's lifeblood was music. A house wasn’t a home without a piano, and a fiddle, and she’d been taught both as a child. She could recall playing her fiddle standing on the kitchen table imagining herself on this very stage. 

“Calm down hero, we are in an approximation of my own making, hidden away from prying eyes here in Norvrant, my fool grandson let the Theatrum fall into disrepair.” He sniffed derisively, “when I have proven my point to you I shall return you to the Crystarium without a hair out of place. It wounds me that you still don’t trust me.” He gave her a smile that did not inspire trust. 

He walked her into the spotlight, his gloved hands touching her lightly at the elbow, the twinkling light from the chandelier painted stars onto the raised top of the grand piano exposing the finely curved wood and strings within. Sitting on the piano bench was a violin case, Emet-Selch presented it to her with a flourish. Shiloh sat and opened the case to reveal the most exquisite violin she’d ever beheld. The spruce top had been stained a deep red with a bow to match, she delicately ran her fingers over the curving wood, the strings, the bow. Shiloh made a noise in her throat as she lifted the rare treasure into her arms, that prompted a chuckle from her Ascien companion. “A peace offering, the only condition is to play me something that stirs your soul, something original if it please.” He lifted her chin forcing her gaze from the violin to him, “move me, and I shall show you what your music once was.” 

“No pressure,” Shiloh held his gaze, seeing a spark of something she couldn’t describe in his golden eyes. “It’s been years since I’ve played, anything.” The weight of his expectation was heavy. He only smiled. 

“I have faith in you, dear hero.” Emet-Selch snapped his fingers and he disappeared into a black portal, she heard it re-open stage left, and there he sat, every inch an emperor in his gilded private balcony. “Take whatever time you need to warm up.” he called from his lavish chair, glass of wine in hand. With that, the theatre lights dimmed, the instruments, all save the grand piano, vanished, the spotlight remained on her. 

Shiloh felt like a mouse being toyed with by a cat. Squaring her shoulders she set the violin to her chin and prayed to all the Twelve and Kami, The Light and Dark both, that the bow would glide across the strings without screaming. The last time she’d picked up a violin was at Haurchefant’s funeral, at the behest of Lord Edmont, nearly two years past. A lance of grief sliced through her.  She could refuse, she could tell him to bring her back to the Crystarium, but then, she’d never know what Ascien music sounded like. It was the memory of Haurchefant, the two of them sitting shoulder to shoulder playing a silly duet on his childhood piano in the Fortempt music room that steeled her spine.

She started with a slow scale, each note sung and not screamed, to her considerable relief. Shiloh exhaled, it wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t terrible, her fingers remembered the strings. She warmed up with scales, old childhood lullabies, folk songs played around the kitchen table. Finally she played an Ishgardian waltz, the sheet music a gift from her departed friend. She felt herself smiling, eyes shut, tail swaying in time with the tempo. Her mind filling in the missing instruments as the red violin sang with a full and mournful voice. So focused on practicing and remembering, Shiloh didn’t hear Emet-Selch’s portal behind her. 

“All very lovely, my dear, I’m sure Master Jevant Dufet would be pleased with such an able rendering of the Midnight Waltz, and without sheet music, most impressive.” 

Shiloh startled, spinning around to face him.

Emet-Selch tutted her while he approached, he placed gentle hands at her waist, spinning her back into the spotlight. He was in her space and she could feel his warmth, smell his scent. “I didn’t ask you to stop.” His long arms reached around lifting the violin back to her collar bone, he tilted her head just so before tracing a gloved finger along her jaw and arched neck. “I want to hear the song that resides in your soul.” His breath ghosted along her cheek, the timber of his voice resonating along her horn, and she felt her skin pebble. “Will you play it for me?” 

“I don’t know, I don’t have any original composi-” 

“Stop thinking, close your eyes, listen, and play.” His voice was patient, while he lifted her bow arm to the right position. 

Shiloh inhaled, and did as she was bid, listening, for what, she didn’t know. She felt the quick beat of a Thanvarian flamenco fluttering in her chest and slowly bow met strings, and the song that flew out was urgent, her bowing quick and precise borrowing heavily of the Thanvarian style, but so too was there a distinctly Ul’dhan quality, in her mind's eye she felt as a bird flying over the dunes, weaving over the rising heat. 

Emet-Selch’s touch was soft, gone was the silk of his glove, replaced by warm skin, his snap fit within her song and suddenly the guitar, the percussion, the accompanying strings, the piano, the light horns, the full voice of her song burst forth, the violin threading through each section. “Open your eyes.” he whispered against her horn, and she did. 

Gone was the theatre, they were bathed in the colours of the sunset, and above them flew a phoenix, dipping and diving along all the lands she’s seen, and saved, and loved. “Don’t stop.” he whispered, setting a hand on her hip and squeezing. She gasped at the sight, at the raw beauty. And she played with a bursting heart, tears slipping from unblinking eyes unwilling to look away from the dancing phoenix. She increased the tempo, bowing more quickly, the notes tumbling along the winds of the star, knowing that it would end if she stopped, and she didn’t want it to stop. She let the fire in her soul burn as brightly as she could, uncaring of the ach in her fingers, knowing only that the creature above was born of her music, and so she played for it’s pleasure, and it soared, the violin it’s voice and heart. Until in a burst of flame it was consumed, and the song ended. 

She swayed on her feet, consumed by emotion, bittersweet tears running down her face. She leaned against Emet-Selch who remained behind her, his hand at her throat, and hip moving gently, caressing. Overwhelmed she exhaled a shuddering breath. 

“Do you understand now, what was lost?” He asked quietly, voice heavy with the same emotion she was feeling.

“How did you?”

“I assure you my dear I did nothing but lend you a sliver of my power, the song, the image, everything, was born of your heart, your soul. And so it was that all art was created in a similar fashion. The full intent of the piece complete.” 

Shiloh spun in his arms, still clutching bow and violin, she was met with a half quirked smile and a softness in his eyes she’d not thought possible. He tenderly brushed the tears from her cheeks, “yours was always a beautiful song, so full of passion.” 

Shiloh’s head was swimming, she wanted to keep playing, she had so many questions, and yet she found herself drowning in the liquid gold of his eyes, the same pale gold as her own. She licked her lips, and leaned against the palm of his hand where he held her cheek. 

“Play with me?” she asked breathless, “before we go, play with me, a duet.” He closed his eyes, his expression pained, “please, Emet.”

“How can I turn down so earnest a plea?” he gave her a rueful smile, “but, first.” He pressed his forehead to her own, and she felt something, cool, and comforting wash over her, where her song, her aether, she belatedly realized, was like the sun, Emet-Selch’s aether, his soul was as the moon. Her own aether responded, curious and warm, until their essence mingled, until there was no ending nor beginning between them. “There, that should serve.” 

Shiloh both did and didn’t understand what he’d done, he stepped back going to the grand piano. His presence remained, slowly curling around her, lazy and familiar. “As before, listen, and play.” 

Shiloh lifted the violin, and tilted her head, giddy with anticipation, moving to be in sight of him and waited. 

Emet began the song, quiet notes on the piano, Shiloh did not close her eyes this time. With each passing note the theatre fell away replaced by blackest night until a city made of stardust rose around them. He met her eyes and nodded and she knew her part had come and she joined her song to his, she knew the notes, a song from a past she couldn’t place, suddenly the starlit city filled with people wraithlike and sparkling. But it was two individuals that caught her eye. Emet-Selch changed the tempo to a style she’d never heard before, yet it was familiar, she adjusted her tempo to match. The two wraiths danced, spinning through the grand city, there was joy in their movements. Unadulterated love between them. One lifted the other, and she could swear the one who was lifted laughed, when placed down they ran from the first, a game. The first chased, sometimes catching them in a kiss, sometimes missing, until the other rounded back to jump into the firsts arms. Shiloh’s heart ached, the song and starlit players a half remembered memory. The song changed again, mournful, the city fell away, one of the wraiths, the one who played, faded, leaving only one, until it also faded, and the song ended. 

She felt the pain thrumming from Emet’s aether still entwined with her own, his head bowed over the piano. Shiloh set the violin back in its case and went to him, wrapping her arms around his back, anything to ease the overwhelming sadness. His hand grasped at her arm, and she felt a shudder from him. 

“I’m here.” She whispered against his ear, soft hair tickling her nose. 

He shook his head. 

“I’m here.” She repeated, not understanding all, but knowing what she witnessed in their shared song had been a glimpse of their story.

He twisted in her arms, anguish on his face, “you left.” his voice a harsh whisper fraught with emotion. 

She had no answer for him, nothing to ease the pain, she didn’t understand, didn’t remember, whatever her soul had been to him, was gone, but it’s echo knew him, called to him, and she kissed his angry mouth, a despairing sound whimpered from Emet’s throat. He grabbed her and kissed her again, and again, hungry, lost, full of longing. Their twined aether created a feedback loop consuming them. His hands were everywhere, and Shiloh arched into him. In a moment he had her against the piano, discordant notes interrupting their growing passion. It was enough to stop them, and for a half beat they stared at each other panting. Emet-Selch was the first to move, tearing his aether from hers, and she winced, the withdrawal a physical pain. He snapped his fingers, returning Shiloh to the Crystarium, as promised, without so much as a word.

She made her way back to her room in the Pendants, still processing everything she’d learned, and seen, and felt. Every so often touching her kiss swollen lips. She slid into her room meeting no one she knew along the way, no one to question the high blush on her cheek and chest, or the dazed look in her eyes. Distracted as she was it took a minute for her to notice the violin case sitting on her kitchen table. She knew before opening it what she’d find within, a promise, a memory, her red violin. 

[raywritesthings]

Fade In, Fade Out: Coda

My Writing Fandom: Arrow Characters: Earth-2 Laurel Lance, Earth-2 Oliver Queen Pairing: Earth-2 Laurel Lance/Earth-2 Oliver Queen Summary:  Now that Black Siren has brought back her doppelganger, there's not much left for her to do on Earth-1 or Earth-2. The multiverse provides an alternative. A follow-up to Fade In, Fade Out. *Can be read on my AO3, link is in bio*

She was kind of pissed off about it, actually.

Laurel had kept an eye and ear out for any Star City news, just in case Diaz had had men follow her or realized her deception in restoring her doppelganger to the world. But she’d barely gotten through more than five articles at a computer terminal in Mumbai before coming across a headline detailing the capture of Ricardo Diaz by federal agents after a building collapse.

A building collapse. She had just… walked right in there and done it? Ugh, other her was so perfect it was sickening.

A few tabloid-style publications had picked up the story that Felicity Smoak had moved out of the city as well, and that Oliver Queen seemed to be spending a lot more time with his old flame instead. Laurel decided to stop paying attention to the Star City news after that. The her from this Earth could go on and have her perfect life with her living dad and Oliver. It didn’t matter to her. They’d never been hers to begin with, no matter their lame and halting entreaties to the contrary.

But where did that leave her on this Earth?

She laid low for a while, on the move constantly. She stole only what she needed to survive, because anything bigger would get her noticed. By the authorities or by the next strongman to come into her life. She was so sick of being the bitch on a leash for one of them. Maybe she was just getting old, but she was so tired of it all. It wasn’t fun. It just sucked.

What if she could have been the good girl, the hero like her other self? It wouldn’t have worked here; she’d burned too many bridges, pissed off too many people. She kept expecting Dinah Drake to jump out of the shadows with some corny line about how she was putting her down for good. And she hadn’t even wanted to kill Vince.

Home would be no better. Assuming she could even explain where she had disappeared to for two years, people had seen her face while fighting for Zoom. She’d be rounded up and tossed in a cell, though at least that would hopefully mean regular meals. In either direction, she was facing a pretty meager existence.

It was these thoughts that had her sprawled across the crap mattress of a cheap motel one morning, too unmotivated to bother getting up, when the wall beside her bed suddenly rippled with bright light. Laurel rolled off the bed and stood in one fluid movement, reaching for the gun that she’d stored in the bedside table, but she stopped when a man stepped out of it.

“Oh, it’s you.”

“Yes, it is me,” said Oliver. He was dressed in jeans, a sweater and jacket and had boots on that would be suited for hiking. Must’ve been a day off from all the politicking.

“Okay, what are you doing here? I gave you your bird back, what more do you want?”

But he shook his head, a smile blooming on his face as he slowly walked around the bed. “No, Laurel, it’s me.” He reached out to cup her face. “It’s Ollie.”

His eyes were different, his voice, and it was calling back to her through the years.

She froze. “Ollie? That’s not — you’re dead.”

“I’m not. I should’ve been, but then…”

“Then what?” She stepped back, ripping out of his hold. “If this is some kind of trick, so help me—”

“It’s not, I’m just trying to find the right words,” he said, one hand raised in the air palm-up. “I was going to drown, but then I was saved by… well, basically some kind of god. His name’s Novu.”

“What?” Her face scrunched up. That wasn’t even a name.

“He’s also called the Monitor. And his job is to stop this thing called Crisis that’s coming for all the Earths. Since I was supposed to die, that made me the perfect candidate to be his agent of sorts. I’ve been traveling the multiverse, helping prepare the heroes on each one for Crisis.”

“So, you’ve been out there this whole time,” Laurel began, struggling to wrap her head around this. “And you never once thought it might be nice to tell me you weren’t dead?”

“I know.” He hung his head. “I haven’t been to Earth 2 in over ten years. I didn’t know what was happening back home. Believe me, I was not happy with Novu when he finally told me some of what you’d been through.”

“You mean what I’ve done.” She looked down, her eyes feeling hot and heavy with tears that threatened to spill. Laurel had always told herself that at least her Ollie had never had to find out what she’d become over the years, and now he was here, telling her he knew? How could he even look at her?

“A lot of what you have done is survive. You’ve been so alone, Laurel, and how were you going to decide to be some kind of hero if you had nothing to fight for?” He was approaching her more slowly this time, giving her plenty of opportunity to back away again. “Not everything I’ve done for Novu would be called heroic, either. But I know you, and I know you can turn over a new leaf if someone gives you the chance.”

“My doppelganger’s dad gave me one, and I ditched,” she pointed out.

“After bringing his daughter back to life. And really, Laurel, I think deep down that wasn’t just the selfish action you think it was.”

She wasn’t used to someone knowing her like this. It had been so long since she had seen him, and she had assumed that if she were to ever somehow meet her Ollie again that he wouldn’t recognize her. But he was here and telling her he did.

“Why are you here now? I mean, why wait so long?”

“It took me a long while to realize what I was doing for Novu was necessary, and not just to save my own life. But I’ve proven my worth and earned his trust. He felt I could do more with a partner. I couldn’t imagine spending the rest of my life with anyone but you,” he told her, grinning again in a boyish sort of way that took some of the years off him and made him look even more the way she remembered. “And now that you’ve brought back this Earth’s Dinah Laurel Lance and inadvertently restored some of their timeline, you don’t have to remain on any one Earth either.”

“So… I’d be traveling the multiverse for this god-guy?” If not for the fact that she was literally standing in a parallel universe, she would have never believed it.

“With me,” Ollie added helpfully.

“With you,” she repeated, her voice soft. This was still so unbelievable. Since when did she get this kind of lucky? “Well, in that case… how can I say no?”

What the hell? She didn’t have anything to lose. And if this wasn’t some bizarre dream and it really was her Ollie, she was never letting him go again.

Laurel launched herself forward. He caught her in his arms, but she stilled because something was weird with his left one. Laurel pulled back and took his hand, realizing it wasn’t actually flesh and blood, but some kind of prosthetic. “What happened?”

He let out a soft laugh. “Uh, yeah, it’s gotten complicated along the way sometimes. Long story.”

“You’re gonna have all the time in the multiverse to tell me. And this is just proof this Novu guy should’ve brought me on earlier.” She was never letting him get hurt like this again.

“Yes, it is, pretty bird,” he agreed readily. Then he leaned in, and Laurel closed her eyes as she felt his lips on hers for the first time in over a decade. This, she knew, couldn’t be faked.

When they parted, he took her hand in his regular right one and gestures towards the weird ripples in the wall. “Shall we?”

Laurel smiled. A real smile, not a fake one for undercover or a smirk or a sneer. “We shall.”

So maybe her doppelganger had gotten her hero’s happy ending after all. Laurel didn’t mind that so much anymore.

[pi-cat000]

MSA: Winged Arthur AU (part 12)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11

Part 13: here

.

Arthur freezes, thoughts skipping like a needle on a scratched record. Vivi said ‘Lewis.’ She had said his name. Two years! Two years of trying to jog her memory and she'd said it! Just like that. Arthur transitions from defensive to hopeful like he’s just opened the endorphin flood gates. For a second, nothing else matters.

He leans forward and grasps Vivi’s hand in excitement. The wings along his back rustle with enthusiasm.

“You said Lewis! You remember…You…” And his escalation into euphoric happiness comes to a screeching halt as he properly processes Vivi’s question, her angry expression, her wary body language.

“It’s not like that…” He tries to explain, wondering how to put ‘Lewis just thinks he was murdered and that’s why he’s acting weird’ into words. Arthur still doesn’t know where the accusation came from, and it kind of hurt that Lewis would even think such a thing in the first place. None of that mattered though, because he’d found Lewis.

“I mean…” Arthur strains to think of something to deflect the unspoken accusation.

“…But you remember Lewis…right?” He ends up repeating helplessly because, if Vivi remembered, then she should know Lewis wouldn’t do something so extreme without external motivation.

Vivi draws back, pulling her hands free and crossing them defensively, “No…I don’t. But, I’m ‘retaining’ the name. Uncle Lance said I’ve been having trouble maintaining information about Lewis before now.”

“Oh.” That was…disappointing. Arthur hates how his stomach sinks. “Uncle Lance said that? What else did he say?” His Uncle wasn’t exactly subtle when it came to his discontent about Arthur’s ongoing search for Lewis.

His face must be doing something pathetic because Vivi’s shrewd expression softens. “He said we were good friends before he disappeared. Is Lewis the one we’ve been searching for all this time?”

Arthur tries to swallow, but the action is hard, getting stuck up his windpipe.

“Yeah. Good friends,” He croaks. She doesn’t remember...

“Sorry I couldn’t tell you anything...I tried, but you never remembered any of it.” Man had he tried. At least this is better than nothing. It is a small consolation.

Vivi sighs tiredly, and gives a small smile, “Don’t apologise for that. I’m sorry I gave you a hard time about it. There were definitely instances where I could have been a lot more tactful, especially when we figured my memory loss was the result of some supernatural curse.” Vivi’s smile fades to be replaced with a cautious frown. Her next sentence is subdued and careful, spoken like a person navigating a verbal minefield, “Lance also said that the Lewis we knew would never hurt either of us?”

Oh right. This. Arthur winces.

“That’s not…he didn’t mean to…. It’s complicated.” Said out loud that did sound pretty bad. He swallows again, trying to get his throat to loosen up. Apparently, Vivi thinks so too, because her expression hardens again, and Arthur realises that his most recent spat of downplaying injuries is not working in his favour. Also, his lack of a plausible excuse had pretty much confirmed that Lewis was at fault.

“Complicated? This ‘Lewis’ looked about a second away from burning the both of us to ash.”

“He did what? When?” 

Vivi frowns and nods a confirmation, “After you healed me and knocked yourself out, ‘Lewis’ made an appearance and didn’t take too well to me not remembering him. He was pretty quick to the trigger in the blame department. Overemotional even. That’s a wraith trait, and you know it.”

“No. He’s not a wraith...Lewis would never….do that…”

Arthur hesitates. Not too long ago, Arthur had also believed that Lewis would never hurt him, and he’d been proven wrong in that department. This new Lewis had made it pretty apparent that he didn’t hold Arthur’s wellbeing in high regard. If the wings are good for anything, it’s hiding his expression. Arthur finds them up and folded over his head of their own accord, hiding his face from Vivi.

“Have you thought that maybe this Lewis isn’t the same person we’ve been searching for…” Vivi asks slowly, trying to peer around the feathery barrier. Arthur shuffles to maintain cover, and she gives up.

“It’s Lewis,” He mutters stubbornly. He knows that at least.

“I’m not saying it’s not Lewis…. just, maybe, he’s not exactly the same, and we should be careful and approach this like we would any other supernatural creature. Rationally and with a level head.”

It is probably a good suggestion, and the best Arthur can hope for considering the circumstances. Why does it feel like it isn’t enough? Vivi sounds overly cautious like she’s holding back some harsh remarks on his account. If Lewis had acted anything like he when he threw Arthur off that cliff, then she probably was.  This isn’t the reunion Arthur envisioned.

“Arthur?”

Vivi touches his shoulder gently to catch his attention.

“You don’t understand!” He bites, standing abruptly, forcing Vivi back with the wings which lift and shuffle, repositioning automatically.

“You know his name, but you don’t remember. Lewis, he isn’t just some guy,” Arthur struggles to find a word to describe just how important this was. How important Lewis was to Vivi. After trying to fill the Lewis shaped hole in Vivi’s life for so long, Arthur had hoped finding Lewis would fix everything. This wasn’t fixed. This was just a mess.

Vivi doesn’t speak, observing him, and he lets out a frustrated breath, turning to stumble towards the kitchen. And now he feels terrible because bringing up Vivi’s memory loss is a dick move.

“Where are you going.”

“To get a glass of water.” One of the wings knock a stack of magazines off the nearby tv-table. It crashes to the floor.

“Here, I’ll help.”

“No. I’ve got it,” He waves her away with his metal arm, pulling the appendage clear of any additional obstacles. The living room isn’t exactly spacious, so it takes a lot of unsteady manoeuvring.

Behind him, he hears Vivi sigh again.

It looks like she is going to drop her line of questioning for now. Oh, he knows he is not off the hook, not by a long shot. But, Vivi is probably not going to push him when he’s acting so prickly. Arthur just…doesn’t want to think about it. He doesn’t want to think about any of this. He definitely doesn’t want to think about how he’s missed his chance at a smooth introduction and that Vivi probably hates Lewis now.

The kitchen offers a distraction, and Arthur scans the space wondering how he’s going to get water when the area is so narrow. Like the living room, the kitchen’s window is also covered in blue plastic and duct tape. There is a small pile of swept up broken glass beneath it, which Arthur notes so he doesn’t accidentally step in it.

Whatever else Vivi might have said is put on hold when his Uncle’s confused voice sounds from the adjacent room.

“We’re in here,” Vivi calls over her shoulder, attention still on Arthur, watching him clumsily navigate around the bench and chairs. The kitchen is too cluttered to comfortably accommodate him, forcing him to twist to the side.

A second later, his Uncle appears, eyes immediately searching for Arthur, a scowl of concern flickering to relief, “Yeh up? I was worried, one of these days yeh gonna give me a heart attack.”

However, before Arthur can respond, Lance turns to Vivi, commenting “Yeh might want to take a look at this,” walking up the window and ripping free the plastic covering.  Outside, instead of desert and highway road, is a forest of unnaturally pale, white coloured trees. The plants twist out of the ground like long fingers, reaching for the sky. Small pink buds grow in amongst the many branches. Each tree gives off an ethereal glow, providing the scene with eerie lighting.

“Was workin on coverin up the window’s out back and I turn away for a second and when I look back there’s a forest. Just appeared outa nowhere.”

Both he and Vivi stare.

“Those books say anything about this?”

.

Note: Sorry guys, the emotionally charged dialogue will have to wait. The plot has arrived.

Part 13: here