#anyway that’s it. somehow i managed to stay under tag limit. thank you so much for making this it’s so fucking cool.

[braisedhoney]

HELLO??? WHAT THE HELL?? H E L L O?????.?!?!?

HOW DID YOU MAKE THIS SO QUICKLY?!

(commentary in the tags because Holy Shit.)

[SCENARIO CONTINUED FROM HERE.]

You select the second oldest of the available files. An observation log — COLONY keeps these, or so you assume. He never leaves commentary or notes to organize them. He probably just memorizes them instead. The terminal beeps beneath your fingertips, every click practically a gunshot in the quiet room. Thanks to your pass you are technically permitted to be here by the system — but you know better. There are security measures here that were not to be violated. If you are discovered, if THIS is discovered, you would likely be in trouble. The screen loads. Text fills the margins. After a moment, you realize that it is not just a file; it’s a transcript and an audio sample. There’s also a small attachment of some kind, likely an image. You play the audio.

[LOADING. . . (A short period of complete silence. Then, rustling as footsteps approach, and the familiar whir of a door. A familiar voice fades in with them.) “… I told you, it isn’t going to work.” “So you’ve said, Captain.” (The door whirs again. Locks.) “Please don’t call me that. Everyone keeps calling me that. Really I mean, I don’t even know what to do with…” (The sound of movement. Footsteps, slightly heavier but more measured than the first. The sound of something opening with a mechanical hiss — a containment unit?) (A quiet sigh. It’s barely audible.) “That… isn’t what I think. Right? Another one?” (A chuckle.) “Don’t sound so unenthusiastic. It’s terrible for morale.” “Le—“ “Just put them on, won’t you? It can’t hurt. One more trial.” “… Fine! Fine.” (The footsteps draw closer.) “Good. Now grab my hand.” (A clang, like somebody knocked into something.) “No.” “Trust me.” (Rapidly receding footsteps joined by another set.) “No!”(A loud bang, like a fist slamming against metal. The footsteps stop.) “No.” “It’ll be fine.” “You don’t know that.” “I’m right.” “This isn’t the answer. It isn’t going to — it’ll never be the answer, Leander, and I don’t even know what it — you know you can’t, right? Can’t come back? Doing this won’t let you see her agai——!“ “Captain.” (Silence.) “… shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” “Prove it.” ”Leander, please.” “Grab my hand. This will work.” “…” “I swear.” (The seconds tick by. Then.) “You...” (Another chuckle. Warmer in tone.) “Didn’t I say I would do it? Didn’t I promise?” (Laughter. Loud, nearly hysterical laughter interrupts him. It’s boisterous, disruptive.) “You did! You did, you… you magnificent bastard, you really found a way to———“] The audio ends. You stare at the screen. No matter how long you look at it, the text does not continue, the audio file does not extend. All that remains is a single attachment. Frustration makes your jaw tense, but you don’t have time to waste being angry. You’re running out the clock as it is. You click it. [LOADING. . .]

And then the screen goes dark. No. Not just the screen — the whole room blacks out. Every terminal flickers off, every bulb extinguishes. For a moment, there is total, unfamiliar silence. Even the faint electric buzzing that comes with electronics is gone. You are completely alone. You turn, grasping blindly at the records pass, the imprint of the screen still on your eyes. You stumble for the door, and to your surprise the pass blinks green, the only light left in the room. It opens and you shove your way through into the hall — Only to slam into a barrier. You look around. There is no hallway. Of all times for the paths to shift… The room you are in is tiny. The door behind you closes, and there is no scanner on your side, nor a handle. It is completely featureless. There is no way to open it. You call for COLONY. There is no answer. You call for the Captain. There is no answer. You call for help. You call for help. You call. You call. you. c a l l. . . . . . . . . . [YOU CANNOT BE TRUSTED.] [. . . ] [THE CAPTAIN WILL LOOK FOR YOU.] [. . .] [BUT THE CAPTAIN WILL NOT FIND YOU.] [ . . . ] [I AM SORRY.] [I AM SURE THAT MEANS LITTLE. BUT I AM.] [CURIOSITY IS NOT A TERRIBLE THING.] [BUT I WAS UNDER THE IMPRESSION THAT HUMANS QUITE LIKED CATS.] [. . .] [A POOR JOKE.] [I CAN’T HELP BUT WONDER IF IT WAS WORTH IT.] [I DOUBT IT.] [BUT I DO HOPE.]

(Scenario End. Ending: “Status Quo”.)

[hhoneyglasss]

coke zero

notes: hello ! it's been a bit, but here's my first take on lovely ! i've nvr written for them before, so pls be patient w me lolol. i'm also trying out third person perspective, since i think that's what ppl tend to prefer in terms of listener characters (plus i've nvr written it before). i actually kinda like it, so i'll def be writing it more.

also, i actually began writing this awhile ago (like two or three weeks now) before i knew abt vincent and lovely's new BA, so i added a different ending to this so it would go a bit better with it (said ending had me adding 700 words to this fic, but that's oki !) also, ig this would take place before said new audio, although i'm not sure it matters. figure i'd mention it anyways tho.

and no, i am not sponsored by coke zero !! i just thought it would be smth lovely would like (don't ask, bcuz idk either)

hope u enjoy !!!

pov: lovely — third person limited

pairings: lovely/vincent, lovely/coke zero (jkjk)

word count: 1.7k

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46691254

!! TWs {these begin under the cut} !! slight angst, but nothing too severe. lovely gets a little emo in this one, basically.

reblogs r v much appreciated !! thank u !! <33

It’s a nice night tonight–the moon is round and full, a pale, milky glow overlaying everything in view. The stars seem to glitter even though they’re lightyears and lightyears away, almost as if they’re calling to Lovely, who's sitting on the railing of their balcony. 

Vincent’s out tonight–some business to attend to with William about a new property they’re buying. He asked if they wanted to tag along, but they declined, so a chaste kiss was left on their cheek before he hurried out the door, only the scent of peppermint and diesel left behind. 

A Coke Zero’s in their left hand, though they don’t know why. They didn’t even realize they were buying it until they felt the weight of an 8-pack in their hands, the store receipt crumpled in their back pocket. 

They can’t remember the last time they drank it, but they do know one thing–it doesn’t taste the same as it used to. 

Gone is the taste of humid summer nights and anxious all-nighters before an exam. Gone is the taste of embarrassment because they blew out yet another lightbulb. Gone is the taste of seawater underneath the warmth of the day’s sun. 

Each time they take a sip, it’s sweet, sour, then bitter, yet they keep drinking–and they know they’ll keep drinking until the entire bottle’s gone, until the entire pack is gone. They’ll keep going until nothing’s left but eight empty glass bottles and memories still so vivid they’re painful. 

How do you manage when you’re stuck between two worlds yet forever bound to one? You could say it’s funny, but Lovely thinks it’s sad–although there’s a part of them that can appreciate the humor and irony of it. 

How can one claim to still be human when their heart doesn’t even beat? How can they call themselves ‘human’ when their blood is forever frozen? How can they still feel human when they run so fast that death can’t even catch up? 

When they look around them and can see the smallest fibers of dust floating through the night air, they know they couldn’t before. When they pick up the scent of squirrels asleep in their nest half a mile away, they know any other human can’t. 

But isn’t this what they chose? Isn’t this what they wanted? 

It’s been over a year, yet they’ve still got one foot in the human door and a hand in the vampires’. They look in the mirror and see silver and red eyes staring back, yet they swear they can still feel the pulse of electricity in their veins. Their core is nothing but a solid sphere of marble, yet they can still feel their face heat up whenever Vincent kisses them. 

What’s the point of being able to run faster than wind if they can’t outrun this? They seem to have escaped everything else, outran everything else, but somehow the human part of them is able to stay up to speed? Why? 

These are the answers they’re searching for as they stare up at the moon, a celestial oculus penetrating the black of the night. They think about how this is the same moon they’ll see for the rest of eternity.

Eternity. The thought of being alive that long makes them laugh so hard some of the Coke Zero spills over the side of the bottle, and it slides down their hand. They laugh and laugh and laugh until it turns to tears, and the tears mix with the Coke Zero and the sound of it fizzing makes them wish they could go back to who they were before. 

They watch as it drips down their hand and onto the wood of the railing before it soaks into the cracks of the splinters, and it‘s gone. 

Earlier today, they had cut their palm on the edge of a paper they were cleaning from off the kitchen counter. One drop of blood had dripped before magic flowed to their hand, and the cut was gone. They felt the tears worsen when the expected burn of soda in a half-healed paper cut never came, and they tilt their head back. 

Isn’t it backwards to wish for the delicate vulnerability that comes with being human? They miss the cheap latex bandaids, the pain of isopropyl alcohol, the countless bruises that appeared on their skin even though they hadn’t a clue where they came from. They miss being reckless—they miss doing stupid shit and having to face the consequences of it. 

And maybe this was why they fell off that mountain. Maybe it wasn’t just an accident—maybe it was their attempt to feel that human fragility again that they took for granted. They got so close, too—until they fed and the wounds healed and not a scar was left in the wake. 

Maybe that’s why they gun it 80 down 45 mile an hour roads. Pedal pressed down to the ground as far as it will go, wheels squealing against the asphalt as they chase that mortal thrill of being careless and impulsive. Yet each time the crash is incoming, they catch themself, and the danger of it all disappears. The high remains out of reach, forever a forbidden finish line. 

It seems they’re too fast and too slow at the same time, how sad is that? A dichotomy that lives and breathes inside Lovely, someone who’s torn between two halves of themself. 

Will these feelings change? Will they ever not feel like a stain on the Solaire name? Will there be a time where they look in the mirror and see those silver eyes and come to accept them? Will they ever feel like themself again? 

Lovely takes another swig of Coke Zero and looks up at the sky. They can’t answer their own questions, so why should the stars be able to? All they do is twinkle millions of miles away–Lovely supposes they’re chasing their own questions too. 

They hear Vincent at the front door, but before they’re able to react, the whoosh of the balcony doors can be heard behind them. They turn to see him standing there, his hands still holding onto the knobs. He catches the reflection of the moonlight on their tear stained cheeks, and he’s holding them before they even had the chance to set down their bottle. 

He asks them what’s wrong, but they don’t answer. Sobs hold back their voice, and they stay quiet as they lean into him. He doesn’t press his questions, but instead continues holding them, his hands running up and down their back as they rest their head in the crook of his shoulder. 

The minutes continue to tick by until Lovely pulls away, the heel of their palm wiping away the new tears they had shed. They look up at him, a shy smile tugging at their features when they ask if they can go on a run together. Vincent nods, smiles back, and holds their hand anyway as he leads them down to the ground floor of the house. 

Before he can ask them where they’d like to go, they’ve broken into a sprint through the underbrush, and he’s quick to follow soon behind them. Their laughter up ahead fades into the sound of cracking twigs and crunching leaves, and he can’t help but to laugh too. The brambles catching and tugging into their jacket have yet to faze Lovely as they keep running, the wind warm on their face as it dries the rest of their tears. They don’t know where they’re going, but they don’t quite care either, so they just keep running until they find out. 

They finally see a break in the forest’s artillery of trees and they emerge through it, a welcomed burn pulsing through their legs and their breath heavy as they walk onto new ground. Vincent’s close behind them, and Lovely giggles as he combs the gumballs and twigs out of his hair. 

They turn away from him and look around. They’re at a cliff–or more specifically, a waterfall, as they can hear the sloshing and rushing of water to their right. The ground is soft and doughy beneath them, the marsh plush as they walk towards the edge of the cliff. They sit down on it, their legs dangling over the black, jagged rock as they gaze down at the pool of black water down below. They run their fingertips along the edges of the cliff’s precipice, the texture rough and gritty, but cool from the waterfall’s mist.

Lovely stands up again and begins to take off their shirt and shorts, to which Vincent chuckles and asks what they’re doing. They point down at the pool, a sly smirk pulling at the corners of their lips. Vincent sighs before pulling off his own shirt and pants, and he moves to stand beside them. 

Lovely grabs his hand and smiles at him, and he swears the sight coaxes the air out of his lungs. He’s breathless as he looks away, and Lovely counts down from three before they finally jump off, their hands still intertwined. 

On the way down, Lovely yells, a wondrous sound filled with so much joy it has Vincent yelling too. It turns into loud laughter as the intense rush of wind grows cooler and the water comes closer. They finally splash down and Lovely relishes in the feeling of water wrapping around their skin and Vincent’s hand still in theirs. 

When they finally reach the surface and their eyes meet his, they swear they’ve never felt more free. 

They both cliff dive for hours, jump after jump yet the excitement of it never fades away. The night passes before they finally shrug back on their clothes and sit on the cliff again, the black sky fading as the dawn begins. The sun still has yet to rise when Vincent hands Lovely a bottle of Coke Zero–they smile and let out a small chuckle. He’s got a bottle for himself too and he pops it open with his teeth before wrapping his arm around their shoulder. They lean into him, and a sigh leaves them as they take that first drink. They both sit there as they watch the sunrise, the only sounds that can be heard being the rushing of water beneath them and the swishing of Coke Zero in glass bottles.

[wingsofanillyrian]

Lights Over Monaco: Chapter 1

ITS HERE! I plan on updating this weekly/biweekly, based on how busy I am. Let me know if you wanna be added to the tag list! 

Special thank you to my new F1 friend for inspiring this fic as well as being my beta reader, @acourtofcouture​ ! F1 fans out there, her fics are AMAZING

Chapter Masterlist

F1 Glossary

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

Nesta Archeron discovered Formula 1 when she was 9 years old. She woke before the sun one Sunday morning, quietly excited to have the television all to herself and watch whatever cartoons she wanted. But she couldn’t remember what channel they were on, instead flipping through the programs. She had almost given up when she stumbled across a race.

The moment she had seen the brightly colored open-wheeled cars flash across the screen, she paused. For whatever reason, the high pitched wasp-like scream of the twelve cylinder engines and the astonishing speed that the drivers were travelling enthralled young Nesta. She didn’t look away once for the rest of the race, or even for the post-race interviews and wrap up that most adults skipped. Something about it had her adrenaline pumping.

Nesta traded her dolls for matchbox cars, and when she grew older, picked up racing magazines instead of teen ones. Ever since that day, Formula 1 consumed her. No matter how the other kids or her two younger sisters teased her for it, her love for the sport never tarnished. 

She spent years getting up at 2 am to watch live races that were being held halfway around the world. Instead of going to her senior prom, Nesta stayed home and layed out her predictions for the season’s drivers and constructors championships. She didn’t know how to do anything half-ass. She poured her whole heart into the sport and devoted her life to it.

**********

Nesta spent her 24th birthday working. It wasn’t like she could request the day off, not that it mattered. The racetrack at Monaco was exactly where she would have been anyway, working or not.

A press pass got her through the first security checkpoint. The team tents loomed ahead as she waited for personnel to cross the unstriped asphalt, inching her car carefully through the throngs of people. She rolled her window down, soaking in the sound of air tools and snippets of conversations. 

Street tracks like Monaco were her favorite. They required drivers to push themselves with plenty of technical corners and dramatic incidents. There was less room for error, as the tracks themselves were not as wide. Drivers had to know their limits and follow the racing line closely.

Race tracks were Nesta’s comfort zone. She knew each track on the calendar like the back of her hand. Every turn was permanently etched in her mind like words on a tombstone. Race weekends followed a set schedule, something that she could appreciate. Friday: practice laps. Saturday: more practice, followed by qualifying, where each driver got the chance to set the fastest lap and secure a spot in the starting line up for the main event on Sunday.

Before she had graduated college, Nesta had managed to fully entrench herself in the world of Formula 1. Securing an internship at ESPN her sophomore year, she had made herself indispensable to the crusty old man that had been the senior track side reporter for decades. She studied everything he did and the questions he asked each driver, noting what changes she would have made. Somehow, he came to admire her spirit and taught her the tricks of the trade.

When he retired the year after Nesta graduated, he went to the board of directors and personally recommended her to fill his spot. She waited two agonizing days for their decision. 

Using whatever means necessary, Nesta had clawed her way to the top and cemented her reputation as the most cutthroat reporter in the industry. Her goal had been for everyone in motorsport to know her name, and in only two years, she had done so. Better yet, she had caught the eye of one of the fastest drivers on the grid.

Her phone rang just as she pulled into the press parking area. She answered, not bothering to check the caller ID. “Hello?”

Tomas’ velvety voice thundered through the speakers of her Civic. “Hey baby. You here yet?”

“Just pulled in,” She replied, touching up her makeup in the rearview. 

“Right on time for a quickie. Meet me at my trailer in five.”

Tomas had already hung up before she had the chance to protest. Both their reputations hinged on their relationship staying secret. If the press caught wind that she was fucking a driver, her credibility would go out the window, and Tomas would be the laughing stock of the grid. So sneaking into his trailer wasn’t exactly the type of discreet she was aiming for.

Tomas Mandray had been racing for Red Bull for two years when she had scored her first exclusive interview with him. He had just been awarded pole position at the Spanish Grand Prix in Barcelona, and Nesta had sweet talked her way into the paddock. It had taken minutes for his charming blue eyes to enchant her. He had won that race, and taken her to bed straight after. 

The sex was great, but that’s all it ever was. Their relationship was purely based on the physical; nothing emotional on either end. They had agreed on that from the start. Just sex.

Unfortunately for Nesta, somewhere along the way it had become something more.

Sighing, she put on her oversized sunglasses and hid her tawny hair under a gauzy scarf. The fashion wouldn’t stand out at all amongst the celebrities that frequented the Monaco Grand Prix. Going over the top here was expected; Monaco was known for its money. Due to the lack of income tax, Monaco was a haven for white collar delinquents and royalty alike. Lamborghini’s and Ferrari’s were commonplace, and women wore rings that could set a jewel thief up for life. 

No one bothered her as she strode towards the pit checkpoint, flashing her press badge to get by. She fell into her usual cadence, exuding an air of importance and invincibility. Seemingly without realizing, people moved out of her way when they saw her coming. The navy, red, and yellow of the Redbull tent came into view, and Nesta inserted herself into the crowd of mechanics and VIPs to get past security. Press wasn’t allowed in the area until after the race.

Nesta broke away once inside, heading down a back corridor. She knew the layout by heart, having walked the path many times. The door at the end of the hall led outside to Tomas’ private trailer. She didn’t bother to knock before entering. Tomas would already be waiting for her.

He set down his phone as she entered. “Finally,” He said with a savage grin. “We only have a few minutes.”

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

Tomas left as soon as he finished, donning his jumpsuit without so much as a kiss goodbye. Utterly used to the behavior, Nesta straightened her clothes and again touched up her makeup before heading back out.

She was scheduled to conduct a pre-race interview with Cassian Valle in the Mercedes tent in twenty minutes. Redbull and Mercedes were at opposite ends of the pit, giving her plenty of time to think.

Truthfully, Nesta was dreading the interaction. Cassian was an arrogant ass. She couldn’t stand interviewing him; all he did was skirt around questions and try to flirt, which made it incredibly difficult to get any headline-worthy tidbits from him.

Azriel Sainz, Cassian’s teammate at Mercedes, was much more amiable. He was mostly forgettable and quiet, but always gave her something to work with and was sometimes downright pleasant to talk to. She could understand why the public loved him, but not why they were so enamored with Cassian. Sure, he was a three time world champion, and that earned him plenty of fans, but he was just so… dreadful.

She made it to the Mercedes pit just minutes before the scheduled time, immediately spotting her tense cameraman, Jacob. Slim built, he was average looking, nothing special. He was sweet though, if not a bit of a pushover.

“Where the hell have you been?” He hissed, chocolate brown eyes wide. “Valle is waiting.”

Nesta rolled her eyes, handing Jacob her sunglasses and the scarf. “I’m here now, aren’t I? Not my fault if he was early.” Nesta accepted her microphone and rolled her shoulders. “Let’s get this over with then.”

“Happy birthday by the way,” Jacob added. Yes, there was the pushover side shining through. 

Nesta threw a grin at him over her shoulder. “Thanks.”

Cassian’s back was to her as she approached, his white Mercedes jumpsuit half on, the arms of it cinched around his waist. The crisp gray shirt he wore left little to the imagination, hugging his sculpted form. Good; at least that would capture the attention of any women that might be watching. As would the deep brown curl that fell in his face when he turned to her.

“If it isn’t my very favorite reporter,” He crooned, a grin plastered on his face. “Took you long enough to get here. I also hear it’s your birthday.” Nesta glared at Jacob. He shrank under her steely look, an apology stumbling from his lips.

“I would give you a birthday kiss, but I think you’d knock me out if I offered.”

Nesta pointedly ignored him, “Let’s just get on with it,” She said, motioning to Jacob to start recording. Once he signaled he was ready, Nesta breathed deep, the sweet scent of high octane fuel assaulting her senses. It steadied her, and she slipped into her professional mask before turning to the camera.

“As we all know, the Monaco Grand Prix offers drivers a unique set of challenges. The two-mile street course has 19 technical corners with little room for error. It is in Monaco that we get to see who has what it takes to be a Formula 1 champion.” She turned to Cassian, gave him a professional smile and continued.

“Last year, you had a puncture at turn seven when you ran over some debris. Coupled with the fumble the pit crew had with not having your tires ready when you came into the pit, you finished a disappointing 12th place, winning you no points in the driver’s championship. Do you expect that this year will be better, or will you stick to your usual aggressive driving style?”

Cassian laughed, running a hand through his unbound curls. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ll be changing anything. You can expect to see me on the podium, sweetheart. Most likely in first.”

Nesta grit her teeth. She couldn’t air that, and he knew it. “How about you answer the question without trying to piss me off?”

“It’s too easy,” Cassian said, that devilish grin returning. Nesta cut him a glare that simmered with violence. “Alright fine,” He relented, putting his hands up. “Go again.”

She repeated her question, and this time he answered, “I don’t really see any need to change my driving style, what happened last year was a fluke. I went wide on the turn and didn’t notice Vanserra's front wing until the last second and wasn’t able to change course.” Nesta nodded, encouraging him to go on. “I don't see myself making any mistakes like that this year. You can expect to see me on the podium, most likely in first.”

“Thank you for that Cassian. Good luck on the track today.”

“Thank you,” He said, waving at the camera. He paused before adding, “Though I won’t need luck.”

Nesta rolled her eyes and signaled for Jacob to cut the recording. At least that last bit could be edited out. “You are absolutely insufferable, you know that?”

Cassian shrugged, undoing the arms of his fire suit and slipping into them. “I do my best.” He winked at her before zipping up his suit, opening his mouth to say something else when the Mercedes team principal, Rhysand, barked at him to get his ass in gear. He gave Nesta a wordless salute before jogging off.

“I don’t know how you do it,” Jacob said, packing up his camera. “That guy has balls.”

“He’s a Formula 1 driver,” Nesta said simply, putting her sunglasses back on. “Of course he does.”

**********

Nesta watched the 78 lap race from the press box, silently cheering Tomas on. Each time the pack of cars passed, the windows rattled, doing little to muffle the engine noise. She chatted with the others as necessary, keeping one eye on the tarmac below. Tomas had started from pole position, and held onto first place until the final 10 laps. He had attempted to lap an AlphaTauri driver when the driver had failed to yield, violating FIA regulations. The two had bumped tires in what was ruled a racing incident, but Nesta knew better. Tomas had lost his cool and nudged the other driver on purpose, nearly sending him into the wall. 

It was a bad call on Tomas’ part, as the comfortable four second lead he had held over second place shattered. Nesta swore under her breath as Cassian overtook Tomas, her heart dropping when the other Mercedes driver, Azriel, did the same. Tomas would not be happy about that. 

When the checkered flag waved, Cassian was first, Azriel second, and Tomas third.  The winners parked before the podium, anger radiating from Tomas as he tore his helmet off. Tamlin, the Redbull team principal, said something to Tomas that had his cheeks burning red. 

Nesta grabbed Jacob and headed for the press room. They had a half hour tops before the post-race interviews started, and Nesta had to make sure she was front row. Though it didn’t matter where she sat; she always made sure her questions were answered.

It was more so for Tomas. She wanted him to see her, to see the understanding on her face and know she supported him even when he didn't win.

They were first to the press room, and Nesta had ample time to prepare questions. She couldn’t question Tomas, or she risked uncapping his rage. Instead, she jotted down a question she knew would shift the focus from Tomas to the Mercedes drivers.

Reporters began filing in, vying for the perfect spot and debating the race results with one another. Nesta remained in her seat, determined to maintain her composure as her stomach churned. Tomas finally entered, jaw set as he took his place on the stage. Nesta tried to subtly catch his eye, but he pointedly avoided looking at her. 

Cassian and Azriel entered, laughing and congratulating each other. Nesta noted the slight change in Tomas’ posture, the only hint of the blood boiling beneath his skin. Cameras flashed, reporters shouted, but still Nesta remained seated. Cassian, at least, sought her out in the crowd, and flashed her an ‘I-told-you-so’ grin when he found her. Once the clamor had died down, Nesta stood. The room quieted further, the others having learned not to talk over her if they valued their jobs. Nesta had a knack for digging up dirt on anyone she pleased.

Her eyes were still locked on Cassian as the moderator indicated she could ask her question. 

“Azriel,” She started, turning to the dark haired man, “You were lucky you were able to take second in this race, after the incident in turn twelve on lap 27 when you sustained heavy damage to your front wing, thanks to the actions of your teammate. Does it ever get under your skin that Valle’s overly-aggressive driving threatens your own position in the championship?”

The room was silent. Tomas hid his grin behind a well-manicured hand. Cassian’s eyes narrowed, a muscle in his jaw fluttering. Good; she had hit a nerve. Azriel shrugged, crossing his arms. 

“It was a racing incident. Could have happened to anyone. I don’t think the blame lays entirely with Cassian; I could have given him more room on the corner.”

And that was that. Nesta didn’t ask any more questions, but she could feel Cassian glaring at her throughout. At the end of the interview, all three drivers thanked everyone before leaving.

As Nesta made her way back to her car, she texted Tomas.

You okay?

Her heart pounded as she waited for the reply. Her phone buzzed minutes later.

I’ll be home late. Party at the Redbull house.

Oh. Okay. See you later then.

“Happy birthday to me,” She muttered, stuffing the phone in her pocket.

Nesta wasn’t sure why his reply stung, but it cut deep. She had hoped that he would want to see her instead of going to another party and spend time with her on her birthday. Instead, he would probably stick his tongue down another woman’s throat like usual. She couldn’t really blame him. Their relationship had to remain secret and to do so, Tomas had to maintain his playboy aura. It wasn’t really cheating if she had agreed to it.

But if that were true, why did it hurt so fucking bad when he did?

Some of her tension eased when she finally spied her car in the lot. The Blue Bullet, she had nicknamed it, due to the strikingly bright paint. It was the first purchase she had made upon being promoted, and it had since become her pride and joy. She had chosen it because it set lap records left and right when it had hit the market a few years back, and she had craved speed her whole life. On city streets, this car was the closest she could get to experiencing Formula 1 without completely breaking the bank.

“How about you don’t ask stupid fucking questions next time your prettyboy loses?”

Nesta’s breath hitched. Your prettyboy. The accusation was clear. Her hand slipped from the door handle, turning towards the voice. If he knew… If he knew about her and Tomas, they were done for. She willed her voice into solid steel.

“Cassian. I would advise you to choose your next words wisely.”

He placed a hand on her Civic, getting in her face. “Racing means you have racing incidents. I don’t expect you to understand, seeing as you’ve never been behind the wheel of a real race car.” He sneered at her car, the insult striking home.

Fear faded, replaced by a rising wave of scarlett rage. Nesta’s gaze stuck to where his hand lay on the bright blue paint, utterly vexed by the infringement. She bared her teeth at him, rising to the challenge in Cassian’s flaming hazel eyes. 

“Get. Off.”

Cassian started at the command in her tone and obeyed. He opened his mouth, but she cut him off. “Understanding the nuances of Formula 1 is my job description. I asked about that incident because I knew it would piss you off. Looks like I was right huh?” Her temper was getting the better of her. “And by the way, would it kill you to give me a decent quote once in a while, instead of always trying to get in my pants?”

“I do not-”

“Oh go fuck yourself,” Nesta scoffed, yanking the door open. 

The corners of his mouth twitched upward as she slammed the car door. “I was already planning on it.”

Those parting words haunted her drive home, even as she took the long way in hopes of blowing off steam. She shifted through the gears, throwing the Civic around corners much faster than was probably safe. Nesta didn’t care; her head was a mess. At least he hadn’t mentioned anything more about Tomas. Maybe Cassian had just thought she had a crush, based on the way she had been looking at him during the conference. Gods, she couldn’t get Cassian out of her head. 

His grin followed her up the stairs to her apartment, where she snapped the curtains shut. She couldn’t bear to look out over the track any longer today. 

Those words echoed in her head as she brushed her teeth and crawled into bed alone. Swam through her thoughts of Tomas, as she struggled to keep her eyes open when the clock showed 1 am. As she finally gave in, they were her last thought. 

I was already planning on it. 

@aphoeni @planet-faerie  @nina-zcnik @linsimin @that-little-red-head @teagoddess99 @enpointe10 @electronicstrawberrystrawberry @awesomelena555 @iptneus @weesablackbeak @wonderland--memories @nessian-trash-heap @magicalwaterfall @perfectlyimpxrfect @cassians-wings @valkyrie-archeron @acourtofcouture @nesemryn @chloepereyra @illyrianshadowhunter​ 

[illyaana]

Tags: Fluff, Angst, Soulmate! au, Mafia! au, Pro Hero! Shoto x quirkless mafia leader! reader, No Specific Gender for Reader, Cursing, Violence

Synopsis: You are a leader of a mafia that had ties with the League of Villains. You declined a transaction with them and planned to leave the scene. Suddenly, heroes surrounded the area and you were captured. Aizawa, Shinsou and Todoroki interrogated you. In the midst of the interrogation, Shoto finds out that you are his soulmate.

How to identify a soulmate: You can communicate with your soulmate by drawing or writing something on your body.

Thanks to @horseanon--simpforall for having this collab! I usually don't do the whole soulmate trope, but it always was nice to read and it was fun to write! Hope you enjoy this compilation of your first times with Shoto! Yes, I love Shoto very much, thank you. Kettle boy is the best boy. ヾ(•ω•`)oヾ(•ω•`)oヾ(•ω•`)o

Warning: This fanfic does mention some graphic things (abuse, suicide, death, etc.) so if you aren't comfortable with it, please don't force yourself.

Blood, blood, blood.

That was your nights. Killing off rogue members, bagging their bodies and collecting their quirks for the mafia you are currently leading.

Yes, you heard that right; stealing their quirks.

Thanks to the technological developments the 'company' you owned, Ahnia Technologies, have made throughout the years, you have managed to steal quirks without having a quirk itself.

All thanks to a small gun that fits in your pocket.

The illegal business of stealing and giving quirks to others since the fall of All for One is completely dominated by your mafia now.

And it all happened under a company that 'promised' the betterment of Japan and the world.

To be fair, you did invent some stuff for the safety of the country, but they worked better in collecting data on people, be it heroes, villains or viligantes.

"Persephone, you need to leave now. Shigaraki is waiting for you," said Toga, fiddling with the knife in her hand.

Ah yes, your villain name; Persephone - The bringer of death.

Your name was known throughout the streets of Musutafu, yet no one really knew how you looked like, thanks to the power of makeup. You never covered the scars you've received throughout the years of villainy. The scars you bore are the scars you wear with pride, along with your Haladie sword and your retractable iron hand claws.

That's all they knew. That was Persephone.

After all, who would think the CEO of Ahnia Technologies would be the leader of Diavolos; the strongest mafia in Japan?

No one knew the sweetheart of the science industry, L/N Y/N, was Persephone, and no one will. Those who knew are long gone - be it by God's hands or yours.

You got up from your seat at the bar, thanking Kurogiri for the Whiskey on the rocks.

Walking towards the inner room, you spotted Dabi leaning against the wall, toying with the staples on his face. Beside him stood Hawks, eyes gawking at you, taking mental notes. In the middle of the room sat Shigaraki Tomura. The sky blue-haired man with scars all over his neck paid close attention to your Haladie sword, blood dripping off of each end.

"Killing spree?" He question, a smug tone ringing off of him.

You turned to him, a smile graced your face. "As always."

He got off his chair and walked towards you, raising his gloved hand to you. You snickered when you saw your company's name written on the wristband. So they do have some money.

"Pleasure to meet you again," he said, slowly taking off the prosthetic hand on his face. You took the gloved hand in yours, shaking it slowly.

"I'll just get straight into it; we need some quirks for these Nomus." Soon came gigantic Nomus, their hands swinging as they bumped into places. The ground shook as they slowly walked in. Their purple skin filled with little holes thanks to all the testing the League of Villains did on them.

"Aren't they strong enough?" you questioned, "Besides, I don't believe they have the mental capacity to use quirks that require the orders from the quirk user itself-"

You were cut off by Shigaraki's ungloved hand touching your iron hand claws. "I just asked for quirks, not your opinion." He said, his red eyes staring dead into yours.

You extended your iron claws, every single one going through Shigaraki's hand. Your empty hand withdrew your Haladie sword and aimed it straight at his throat. You began to smirk, looking at his scared expression.

"If you wanted to fuck up the very thing you spent hours on developing on, be my guest. However, don't drag my fucking business with it," You said, venom dripping off your words.

While you stared at your sword, you spotted a small heart engraved on your wrist.

Your soulmate wanted to cheer you up.

You remembered how badly you wanted to meet your soulmate when you were younger. Your parents smiled as you showed the small things your soulmate did. A little drawing of a smile on your wrist, them drawing a flower...

Then you were brought into the family business.

The happy-go-lucky girl you were back then vanished almost instantly.

The training, the killing sprees, the interrogations - it all erased your humanity.

Yet, the need to meet your soulmate always stayed.

Somehow, they always knew when you were having a bad day and knew just how to make it better.

You were already 24. The usual age you meet your soulmate was 18. You wanted to give up so many times, but the small things they did stopped you every time.

You awoke from your daze the instant you felt a temperature change.

You removed the sword from Shigaraki's throat and retraced the iron blades.

"We're never having business transactions ever again, Shigaraki. Not after this buffoonery of a display you've done today. Consider this a warning; mess with me and you'll be in a casket the next day." You said, leaving the room.

But it was too late.

All the Pro Heroes surrounded the area around the bar. An ice wall was built around both Kurogiri and Toga along with Eraserhead cancelling both their quirks.

On instinct, you ejected one of your blades to hit Aizawa on the cheek, forcing him to drop his stare on Kurogiri and Toga. They never did anything bad to you, they were good people.

"Go, don't worry about me!" You screamed at Kurogiri, knowing he'd try to take you with the rest of the League to safety. He needed to protect them, I can protect myself.

He nodded and proceeded to warp to the smaller room, take the rest of the League members and warp away.

You felt the heroes run towards you. You smirked, knowing that you could easily take them down.

Suddenly, you felt a sharp feather around your neck, slowly digging into your skin.

"You aren't escaping, baby bird," Hawks whispered as he removed your gear, leaving you powerless. You soon felt a needle being pushed into your arm, darkness slowly engulfing you.

You woke up in an interrogation room. Your hands were chained to the table in front of you. The mismatched arrangement of the bricks that had chipped through the years reminding you of your years under your father.

That sick man ruined you.

That sick man ruined your family.

That sick man made you the revolting thing you are now; a fucking villain who killed more lives than a bomb.

You began laughing to yourself. You became this to stay away from the dark room he used to shut you in, yet here you are; in another fucking dark room but with chains now!

What the fuck is my life!?

I- I am just so fucked up, aren't I?

At least I killed that son of a bitch.

At least I burned that fucking house.

At least my mom died before she could see me become this - his masterpiece.

You soon began to write on your arm, hoping your soulmate was awake. "Hey, you awake?"

You soon felt a warm sensation on your arm. "Yeah. You good?"

You chuckled. At least they care. "Nope. I fucked up this time, and pretty badly," you began writing on your upper arm, letting the words earlier slowly fade.

"Well, if you want to vent, you know where to write," they replied with a small smiley-face at the end.

"How was yours?" you asked, directing the conversation to something more positive, hopefully.

"It went great! I finally managed to catch something I really wanted to catch for a long time!" they replied, their writing slowly moving diagonally. At least they had a good day.

Your happy trail of thoughts was interrupted when Brainwasher, Eraserhead and Shoto entered the room. The smile you had turned into a scowl when you saw them, especially Brainwasher.

"Wow Aizawa, is today bring your kid to work day?" you said, teasing the Pro Hero. You knew that Shinsou was the worst person to deal with in an interrogation setting. He could easily control you the minute you respond to him.

'Let's just talk to Aizawa and Todoroki then. If I don't respond to Shinsou, I'll be just fine. Oooh - better yet, just keep quiet,' you thought to yourself as the three heroes proceeded to sit down. 'Messing with them would just make my day better, anyway.'

"Mind telling us who you are, Persephone?" Shoto began, trying to be polite.

"So I am Hades' wife. I am the Goddess of Spring, daughter of Demeter. I am also considered the Harbinger of Death," you said, leaving them annoyed. "I guess you all don't like Greek Mythology!" you said, smiling.

They tried to get you to talk, but every single time they pried, you just kept on laughing, slowly pushing their limits. Shinsou tried getting you to talk to him, but you just stared at Shoto and Aizawa, laughing louder and louder.

"I swear to God, what's the fuck is wrong with you?!" Eraserhead screamed, hitting the metal table.

You were waiting for this question. With a smile, you replied, "Everything."

Aizawa saw something in you with that answer; the unresolved anger you had towards someone. He knew if he hit just the right nerve, you'd spill everything.

"Why? Did Daddy fuck you up?" He said, a smug tone lacing his words. You saw Shinsou and Todoroki turn to face Aizawa with a bewildered expression.

You, however, just stared at him blankly. "How did you know?"

You felt numb. This man just sat beside you for a few minutes, yet he already knew how badly you were fucked up by that fucktard.

"Yes, Daddy fucked me up. He made me kill people at the age of 5. He didn't let me go to school because he wanted me to only kill for him, nothing else. I may be quirkless, but he knew that I would do just the same - actually more - damage a person with a lousy-ass quirk would."

Their eyes widened when you revealed that you were quirkless.

"What? Shocked that a regular person could kill over 20 Pro Heroes with just a bunch of blades?" You said, feeling a smirk slowly forming your face. "It was fun killing that All Might guy. You could say it was payback. After all, that son of a bitch couldn't protect me when he was living so close to me."

You began to laugh more as you saw they began to form tears.

"Oh, that isn't the worse part. The worse part of it all was the torture I went through. Have you ever imagined your 10-year old self hanging on the wall via chains, chains like these," you shook the handcuffs, "All because you couldn't kill a rabbit. Oh yeah, It was a package deal; chains plus 50 whips! " you ended, lifting up your shirt slightly to show the scars you received from it.

"Luckily my mom died before she could see me become like this. She was an angel. When she was around, Dad was actually a nice guy. The mafia was more of a family. We took care of everyone, finances and all." You stood up from your seat and sat on the table examining their faces.

"And now, I have to kill the people who try to run away, all because the elders force me to." You ended, crying.

These thoughts were a river you kept at bay.

You never wanted anyone besides the elders to know.

You were the leader, the pillar.

If you fall, they fall with you.

"I actually liked All Might as a hero, you know," you said through the tears. "He actually played with me, bought me gifts and treated me like the kid I was supposed to be."

You wiped the tears falling from your eyes.

Todoroki stared at your wrist, seeing what your soulmate wrote.

You chuckled, looking at the heterochromatic eyed man. "It was from my soulmate. I never met them, nor will I ever meet them. I guess they would only know who I truly am." You sniffled.

Shoto started to draw on his left arm a small heart with a distinctive flower in the middle.

Soon you felt your left arm tingle and there it was - the exact same heart with the exact same flower.

You stared at him, his eyes softening. "I wished I saved you earlier, but I'll save you now."

You smiled, looking at his determination. However, it was too late.

You've fallen a bit too deep to be saved now.

"Shoto..." you said, a sad smile gracing your lips, "...you can't. I've killed too many to be just signed off with a pardon or time in jail."

He began tearing. Your heart broke at the sight of him breaking down in front of you.

The cheerful man you knew from the years and years of conversations stood in front of you, willing to do whatever it took to get you in his arms - unchained and free - was sobbing. His cold facade long gone, only covered with grief and sorrow.

You, however, felt a warmth in your heart.

You finally got to meet your soulmate.

You finally are happy.

There and then, you knew what you needed to do.

"I'll tell you everything," you looked at Aizawa, "all the dirt I have on the villains and the vigilantes in Musutafu, I'll tell you."

He stared at you, smiling sadly.

"I'll even tell you who I am. In exchange, give me a full day with Shoto with no surveillance. I promise to not run away or do anything of that sort. I'll even take the death penalty I know that was fixed for me." you ended.

Shoto's anger began to boil. You felt it grow, the temperature in the room rapidly increasing.

Before Shoto could say anything, Aizawa agreed.

Shoto fell back on his chair, his hair now dishevelled - red mixing with white. His tear-streaked face now facing yours, taking in what he believed was your face.

"Shoto, could you please get me a towel? I feel a bit dirty... If possible, could you wet it, too?" You asked Shoto, knowing he needed to leave and get some fresh air. He quickly responded with a nod and went out of the room.

The minute he stepped out of the room, you faced Shinsou.

"I'm giving you full permission, Shinsou. Go ahead and see everything. I don't want to tell Shoto all I know. Let me tell you three who I am, at least," you ended with a chuckle.

You felt yourself relax as Shinsou soon entered your consciousness. It didn't feel painful or numb, like how Midoriya described it to Uraraka and Iida. It was as if someone just entered your room and wanted to see the things in it. Maybe it was because you willingly let him do it...

The feeling you had while he was reading your mind was as if you were with your mom in the small swimming pool she rented when you were a kid.

She gripped on your sides as she taught you how to swim, telling you to let the water be your friend and not oppose it.

It was calming... relaxing...

The minute you felt him leave, you felt the control of your body come back to you.

You saw sadness in Shinsou's eyes when he stared back at you. You just smiled and nodded at him, not knowing what to do.

Soon, Aizawa removed your handcuffs. You immediately stretched your wrists, moving your palms in a circular motion.

Shoto came rushing in with a bowl of water, a cloth and a bar of soap. He placed it in front of you and gave you a kiss on your head, leaving you a blushing mess.

He sat back on his chair and faced you, waiting for you to remove the dirt on your face to see your features better.

"Let's get this out of the way, shall we?" you chuckled, dipping the cloth in the water and slowly rubbing your face. You rubbed your hands with the bar of soap and then proceeded to rub the soap in your hands on your face, feeling your scars. After rinsing the soap off, you faced the three men.

"Hi, I am L/N Y/N, also known as Persephone." You looked at them, enjoying the shocked look on their faces.

You saw him begin to tear again. You instinctively got up and hugged him from the back. You began to rub the tears away, stopping any more from falling from his precious face. He began to relax into your touch, slowly placing the back of his head against your collarbone.

"Shoto," you said, turning your face to face him, "In my hand claw, there is a USB in a compartment right beneath the palm area. It contains everything on Ahnia Technologies. The money, the technology yet to be released along with the data on Diavolos. I'm leaving it to you."

"Don't cry, okay? I only have you for a few more hours, no more crying." You said, giving a kiss on his cheek.

"Help the people in Diavolo. Yes, some of them have done extremely bad things, but it was all because of me and my tyrant father," you clarified. "Help them live better lives, okay?"

You felt him give you a nod and you smiled.

You released yourself from the hug, looking at Aizawa. "I believe I can leave now, right?"

Shoto grabbed you by your wrists and ran out of the building. "I am going to make it the best 23 fucking hours of your life."

And it was.

The few hours you spent with Todoroki had been the best hours of your life.

It didn't feel sappy as the stories the elders used to tell you. It felt comfortable and right just to be with him.

The view of him eating cold soba in front of you, you both singing your lungs out to Paramore, you both relaxing at a book cafe - all of it - it felt just comforting and how a home should feel like.

The best part of it all - he could introduce you to his friends since they didn't know you were Persephone.

You hung out with Midoriya, Iida, Ochako, Tsuyu and Momo for 4 whole hours.

They took half the day off - just because Todoroki met his soulmate.

It kept making you think if you were born in a normal family, would have this been your life?

What if you entered a support class and just so happen to meet Todoroki there?

Would your life be like this? Surrounded by a bunch of friends, protecting Musutafu and being helpful to the world you loved?

You were cut off from your train of thought when Uraraka sat beside you. "You know, whenever you both talked to each other when we were in Yuuei, he used to actually giggle reading at your messages. He really wanted to ask for your number and meet up, but he felt he'd be pushing it a bit too far, so he just waited for you to stumble upon you." She said, beaming.

"We really thought he would never meet you, yet here you are! And he scored, man! A tech CEO? Honey, you have money-" You cut Ochaco with your laughter.

"You know he is way richer than me, right?" You said, wiping the tears of joy.

You were brought back to the conversation Uraraka just had with you.

You should've made the first move.

You knew he wouldn't be the one to make the bold moves.

You should've asked him.

You could've had so many dates with him, yet here you are counting down the hours before you get killed.

You felt two arms wrap around you, making you flinch. "You should really stop thinking too hard, Y/N," Shoto said, pressing on the fold formed on your forehead. "The day is too precious for that."

After saying goodbye to his friends, he drove you to his apartment.

To say it was beautiful is an understatement.

There were so many potted plants that enhanced the small gold accents he placed throughout the small apartment. It was the perfect mix of greens with the feel of a modern-day home.

"For one of the richest Japanese people in the world, you have a very small apartment," you said, chuckling. "It's perfect."

For the rest of the day, you both binged on movies, enjoying the feeling of being close to each other.

You played with Todoroki's fingers that were wrapped around your waist. His head was directly on the not of your head. He then pressed his nose on your neck, deeply breathing in your scent, humming softly.

This was all you needed.

Him in your arms and you in his.

In his small, quaint apartment, away from everyone else.

Soon, his phone rang. You looked at the caller ID and you already knew what was going to happen.

Your time is up.

It was time for you to leave for good.

You felt his hesitation to pick up the phone, so you did it for him.

"Hello Aizawa, where should Todoroki and I meet you?" you asked, feeling the grip on your waist tighten.

"Okay, noted. We'll be there soon," you said, ending the call.

You felt your back getting warmer thanks to the tears falling from Shoto's eyes. "I'm not letting you go."

You can't cry now.

You need to be strong.

This isn't the time to succumb to the sadness, Y/N.

You turned your back to face your soulmate. You pressed your forehead and placed your hands on his cheeks. "Todo..."

He didn't reply.

He didn't want to.

"Todo..." you whisper again, your voice slightly shaking.

He puts his hands on yours, his sobs turning into sniffles.

You raised his face to face yours, eyeing his lips. Your thumb grazes on his burn, his eyes immediately closing, enjoying the feeling.

Slowly, you placed your lips on his. In an instant, he responded, pressing his lips on yours. Small sparks emitted from that small contact. Each time his lips devoured yours, you melted even more. His arms snaked around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

He wanted to feel you against him as much as he could.

Your hands left his cheeks and your arms moved to the back of his neck. You entangled your fingers in his dual-coloured hair, earning a small groan from him.

You soon pulled away. You placed the pad of your thumb on his lip, enjoying the feeling of it.

"Let me talk, okay?" you said. He soon nodded, knowing you wanted to get some things off your chest.

"Thank you for this, Sho. You gave me everything I could have ever wanted in these few hours, and for that, I am eternally grateful," you said, smiling weakly. "...You wanna know something?"

His eyes widened, focusing solely on you.

"The whole day I wondered if I didn't take over the mafia, how would we collide? Back then, I tried running away so many times. What if I managed to do it?" you started.

"I definitely would've tried out for UA for the support classes. I might have passed and entered 1-H. Maybe you needed to touch up your gear and you would've met me. But knowing how thick-headed we both are, we would've not seen the marks on each other's arms," you both laughed.

"We maybe would've crossed paths in the second year. I most probably would have developed a crush on you and maybe after seeing our marks, we would've begun dating." You said, cupping his cheeks. "Maybe we would be even sharing this very apartment."

"But that's not how our lives worked out. I got caught every single time and eventually gave in. I became the leader of Diavolos and I killed all those people, even the very person who gave me a glimpse of life as a normal kid," you began to tear, "I don't want to live like this anymore, Sho."

"I can't live remembering every single person I killed. I can't live carrying that Haladie blade and iron claw and not want to die almost every second. I can't live in this apartment without giving you all of me when you so easily can," you took a minute to calm yourself down, "I don't want to live anymore, Shoto."

Shoto's face darkened. "So, you're planning to leave me here, after - what - 25 years of waiting for you? You can't be this selfish, Y/N."

You knew that this was selfish.

Heck, anyone would know that this is selfish.

"I need to repent for my sins, Shoto. No community work can suffice for all the villainy I've committed," you ended.

The silence that ensued was deafening.

The sniffles that came from the both of you with the sound the fan gave off were the only sounds to come after.

After a few minutes, Shoto spoke. "All my life, I thought meeting your soulmate was something the Devil wished upon you. My father basically drove my mother to insanity and made my own oldest brother become a villain," he began. "I wish I could say the same about ours, but I can't."

"These few hours were the best fucking hours of my life. Every single moment I had with you is forever engraved in my mind, Y/N. You so easily broke my walls, ever since we were small," he gripped on you tighter, "I will always remember your small words to get me moving, how you'd push me to do more, to talk more and become more social."

"I love you, Y/N, but I need to give you away, right?" he said, looking at you with tear-filled eyes. His eyes begged you to deny the last statement, but your mind was already made up.

You nodded your head and pulled him into a hug.

Soon, you both were in his car, driving to where Aizawa asked to meet up.

Once you reached, you followed Aizawa and left Shoto in the room you were in before.

You got on the electric chair, closing your eyes as you felt the wet sponge being placed on your head.

From afar, you could hear Midoriya and Uraraka shouting at Aizawa to stop whatever he was doing, but Shoto stopped them.

You couldn't hear Shoto's answer when they asked why.

WC: 4406.

Ah, my favourite trope; messed up :'). I hope you enjoyed it! Each of the reblogs and likes is helping this blog grow, so thanks for all the support. Until the next fanfic! <3 First time hitting more than 2k word count so 0.0

[archonanqi]

fragile as dust | 5 - culmination

🔖 [first] [prev] [next]

🔖 a/n - aaah some stuff finally starts going down in this chapter, thanks y'all for staying patient through the last four chapters. please let me know if you’d like to be tagged for updates! enjoy!

—

  “Admittedly,” Zhongli sighed, “I may have gone a little overboard with the food.”

   You both peered at the carnage leftover from your feast, the table strewn with at least half of the meal left.

   “Are you full?” Zhongli inquired. He wasn’t smiling, but there was unmistakeable amusement in his voice. You nodded — a few minutes ago, you’d felt like you could have eaten everything on the table, but the physical limits of your stomach betrayed you. “Very well. Let’s clean up, then I will show you around the house. How does that sound?”

   It still took you by surprise, each time he asked you for your opinion. “It sounds good, Mr. Zhongli.”

—

   The first time you touched him was as he handed you one of the plates, as you thumbed over the intricate blue-white markings and felt your fingers brush.  You didn’t know it then, but it would not be the last.

   He was wearing his gloves, and so it was really leather that you’d touched, but it was electrifying all the same. You winced, searching his features for any displeasure. It was not your place to so much as gaze upon a noble of  half his status without permission, let alone touch — you’d been taught that lesson, quickly and very early on.

   “Please take this to the kitchen,” he requested, as though nothing had happened. You obeyed with slow, deliberate steps, squashing even any thoughts of dropping the fine china. Gingerly — how in Celestia was even the inside of his fridge elegant? — you set it down, closed the door and almost jumped out of your skin. He was standing right behind you, arms crossed as he studied you, features unreadable.

   “Tell me a little about yourself, Hansi.”

   Small talk? Or a test? Surely, certainly, he wasn’t genuinely curious? You felt naked under his probing gaze, still clad in that plain white dress. Had it really only been a day since you’d met Zhongli? Every second with him seemed to stretch over the length of a millennia. Instinctively, your hands wandered to your chest, feeling for your Vision. Wasn’t there. Wouldn’t help you even if it was.

   I grew up in a shithole with a dozen other people. I stole, robbed, dredged myself through life, you imagined yourself saying to him, just to get sold to a nobleman who thinks I’m too stupid to understand his intentions. 

   By the way, three nights ago, Rex Lapis smoked up something real good and gave me a Geo Vision I don’t know how to use.

   “There is nothing to know about me,” you said, instead, “save that I am bound to you in loyal servitude, and that I will do as you please, Mr. Zhongli.“

   “Hm.” Zhongli hummed, a low echo. His golden gaze rend you through Then, rather abruptly, he said, “Let’s begin the house tour, shall we?”

   Somehow, his curtness stung. Had you said something wrong? What you’d said — that was the textbook response you were meant to give, no? Regardless, you nodded your obedience, swallowing the fear you felt, as always, at his displeasure.

—

   You almost expected there to be a dungeon of some sort hidden behind one of the doors, some skulls, maybe a poor chained up Hilichurl or two.

   What you didn’t expect was so many rocks. 

   And paintings. And scrolls, and trinkets, and jewelry, arranged carefully upon display stands in each room. You remembered how cluttered the drawers were that you hid your Vision in. In the daylight, now that your mind wasn’t clouded with as much fear and fatigue, you were realizing just how much stuff Zhongli owned.

    (Vaguely, it brought to mind images of dragons — the billowing, fire-breathing, treasure-hoarding creatures you’d read about in one of the many storybooks you’d stolen. You shook that image out of your head. Zhongli was plenty intimidating, even without a set of horns and fangs.)

   “—and this is the bathroom,” Zhongli said, pushing open the door. The bathroom, on its own, was bigger than the shack you’d shared with four other families growing up. In the middle of the room, the dark marble floor gave way to a large, circular bathtub — it looked a little like a pool. “You are free to use it, and anything in it, whenever you’d like.”

   The idea of a hot bath was heaven, but you were a hundred percent certain that your current state — dirt-caked fingernails and unkempt hair and all — was all that was keeping you safe. If you got nice and clean, who was to say what he would decide to do to you?

   No, you would avoid taking a bath as long as you could.

   Zhongli closed the door, and hesitated. “Hmm. There is less than I thought to show you,” he admitted. “These other rooms are simply full of items I’ve collected over the years, and I’m sure they would bore you.“

   “It would be my pleasure to hear more about them,” you said, quickly. You wanted to keep him talking; as long as he was talking, he was doing nothing else. Besides, you found yourself growing more and more intrigued about Zhongli — only so that you could read him better, you promised yourself.

   “Well, then far be it from me to deny you your pleasure,” he said. “What would you like to know more about?”

   You glanced around, gaze landing on a small, glass standing display case. Two gemstones sat side by side in it, both a rich, translucent gold — like his eyes, you thought. “What are those?”

   “Cor Lapis,” he said, and you heard a hint of something in his voice. Pride? “They were a gift, from someone close to me.”

   “Are they worth a lot? They’re so pretty.” You bit your lip. They were probably worth more than the average Liyue merchant would ever earn. Pretty? Really?

   “In terms of Mora, yes, they are worth no small amount,” Zhongli replied. “However, their value far surpasses material currency, for these are prime Cor Lapis samples from Mount Hulao.”

   “Hulao... in Jueyun Karst?” You’d heard the rumors that floated between drunk fishermen and merchants, of the dangers of the mountain, of those who entered and came back changed. You had never put much stock in them — drunk men would say just about anything.

   “Yes. And as I’m sure you know, Jueyun Karst is a dangerous place to venture into, without the proper precautions.”

   “Dangerous… even for you?” You glanced at the Vision hanging off his waist. You couldn’t imagine a situation where Zhongli would ever be forced to break that collected facade of his.

   “For any human.”

   You found yourself enjoying the light conversation — you couldn’t remember the last time you’d spoken to another person like this. “Who gave you these?” You tried to smile, and it came easier than you expected. “They must have been really nice, to give away something so expensive.”

   Immediately, you regret opening your mouth. Zhongli’s eyes darkened, and his face fell visibly.

   “Yes. She… was certainly very kind,” he said, quietly. He looked as though he wanted to say something else, but didn't. Couldn’t.

   Was? You wanted to kick yourself. Of course you’d manage to bring up his dead friend in your first real conversation with him. The next seconds of silence were almost unbearable. Finally, you spoke up with the first thing that popped into your head. “So, you like rocks?”

   By the Archon, weren’t you on a roll today.

   You were pleasantly baffled to hear him chuckle, a deep, throaty rumble from the depths of his chest. “Yes, one could say that I am fond of them.” He said, amidst soft laughter. “And you?”

   “I don’t know much about them,” you admitted, “but the ones you have are beautiful, Mr. Zhongli.” So was his laugh.

   “Is that so?” He asked, the previous conversation seemingly forgotten, as he strode over to a case across the room, “perhaps you will find these to your fancy as well — these pieces of Noctilucuous Jade were mined from the deepest mines of the Mingyun...“

—

   By the time Zhongli had finished regaling you about his rock collection, the sky outside had become a smear of pink and orange, the sun drifting barely over the horizon. You hadn’t even noticed the time — Zhongli simply had the kind of voice that demanded wholehearted attention.

   “I seem to have gotten carried away again,” Zhongli smiled. Was it just you, or were his smiles coming more frequently? “Thank you for being such a good listener, Hansi.”

   You nodded in response, not quite sure what to say to that. The praise had a strange, warm feeling spreading through your chest.

   “All that’s left of the house is the library upstairs,” he paused, the tacit question clear on his lips.

   You froze. Ever since you started stealing to survive, you’d made a point to sell everything that couldn’t be eaten. Jewelry, hairpins, no matter how pretty, no matter how much your heart ached to put them on, went straight to the pawn store. But you could never sell books. You couldn’t bear to give up the worlds within them, the promises that one day you would be able to live as freely as the heroes of those stories.

   So you stole. First from Wanwen bookstore, then when the owner learned to watch for your grubby hands, from bags and pockets and homes. You devoured them like hot meals, kept them under the floorboards of your corner, read them out loud to the kids who lived with you, read them till the dirt from your fingers had smeared the words to unrecognition.

   You wanted to see Zhongli’s library, so badly that it hurt.

   But to tell him this would be to admit to him that you’d stolen those books, that you taught yourself a skill that someone of your social class didn’t deserve to learn. Something you weren’t worthy of.

   “I can’t read anyway,” you lied.

   “I see,” Zhongli said. “Then, shall we go and get some dinner? Are you feeling well enough to make a trip to Liyue Harbor? I know the most splendid restaurant.”

—

   You thought that things were going relatively well, that you were doing a fine job of squashing the unease and distrust of Zhongli that still gnawed at the corners of your mind. You were giddily excited, even, to be going to a restaurant for the first time.

   So, as you two arrived at the outskirts of Liyue, close enough to hear the bustle of nightlife, you certainly weren’t expecting the sudden wave of emotions that knocked you clean off your feet.

   It had started small — the unrelenting reminder of how out of place you would look at the restaurant. How out of place you would look in public, next to Zhongli in all his regality. Then: how out of place you truly were — how absurd of you to have started warming up to Zhongli when you knew, with every fiber of your being, what all men like him wanted; when you knew that one day he would grow impatient of waiting for you to offer it.

   If you took his dinner, his food, his kindness, what would you begin to owe him?

    Suddenly, you couldn’t breathe. The bile that rose through your throat was hot and bitter, and you doubled over and retched noisily into the nearest bush. Vaguely, you could hear Zhongli’s exclamation and his footsteps approaching, but you couldn’t stop until your stomach was empty once again.

   You flinched violently at his light touch on your shoulder. “Hansi,” he said, and you were baffled at how genuine his concern sounded, “what happened? What’s wrong?”

   “I don’t know,” you whispered, and it was true. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry—“

   “Please don’t apologize. Can you stand?” Zhongli asked, voice low and soothing. “Let’s get you home.”

   You nodded. “I’m sorry I ruined dinner.”

   “Nonsense, your health is infinitely more important.” He said. “Do you think that you can walk?”

   Once again, you nodded. You let him lead you home.

—

   When you reached the front door of the house, Zhongli’s hand on your shoulder firm and gentle, something had begun — deep in your heart — to fester. The fear, the confusion, the things that had fallen into place but didn’t quite fit together — it had all been boiling too long, too hot. 

   “Mr. Zhongli.” You said, as you stepped through the door, once again greeted by a warm gust of air. 

   “Yes, Hansi?” He asked, close behind. His hand on your shoulder was suddenly heavy, and hot. You shrugged it off, whipping around to stare him in the eyes.

   “Please, just— do whatever you’re planning to do to me.” You said, knowing that if you lost your momentum now you would never get it back.

   “I beg your pardon?”

   “I’m not a child. We both know what I'm here for. When I lived on the streets, two pieces Mora would have earned any nobleman a night -- let alone... however much you’ve spent.” You were vaguely aware of how many lines you were crossing with each word, but there was no stopping the words flowing from your lips now. You could feel your heart thrashing against your chest, anger warming your bones. 

   “We both know that I have nowhere to run, no way to defend myself, so just DO it already. Be cruel, hit me, whatever, do your thing so that I can stop holding my Archon-damned breath and waiting for the inevitable. What exactly are your intentions with me, sir?”

   You paused to catch your breath, and the horror set in suddenly. Your temper had always been the bane of your well-being — you just had to let it get the best of you, every time, didn’t you? Why couldn’t you have just bided your time and waited for his patience to run out later rather than sooner?

   Zhongli stayed silent, face pulled into a frown as though he was pondering over your words. Time seemed to slow into a viscous fluid, drowning you in its wake. You glanced down the hallway at your room.

   If he raised his hand against you, would you be able to make it to your room? Would you be able to grab your Geo Vision before he caught you, and would you even be able to use it against him, against the years of experience he’s had with his? You knew the answer to all of those questions: a resounding no.

   Would he let you live if you apologized? You opened your mouth to beg.

   “My intentions with you...” he said, brow pulled down over heavy lids. “Hm. It seems that I must apologize.”

   You let go of a breath you didn’t know you were holding. For the umpteenth time since your meeting with Zhongli, you wondered: What?

   “I have been trying to let you acclimate to your new life at your own pace, whilst moving on from your old.” Zhongli’s pursed lips were the only sign of discomfort in his composed features. “I did not know that such concerns were going through your head, though I should have seen that your seeming lack of fear was but a facade from your incredibly strong character.”

   In the corner of your eye, you saw your hands trembling. You tried to get them to stop. They would not.

   Zhongli swept on. “The circumstances of our meeting are... unfortunate. In time, you will understand my intentions in orchestrating our meeting, but for now -- you have been put in a very uncomfortable situation. I am remiss for not having acknowledged this much earlier.”

   What?

   Zhongli cleared his throat. “Hansi, please listen to me. While you are under my roof, I will never lift a finger to cause you any harm, physically or otherwise. And for as long as you are a part of my household, I will do everything in my power to ensure that you are never again touched by hunger, frost, hardship. That you will never be subject to the kind of fear that’s making you tremble,” he reached out slowly and took your hand, “like this.” 

   He had done all the speaking, but it was you who had lost the breath from your lungs. Each of his words was a low rumble, earthquakes in their own right. You didn’t know if you believed him, but you so badly, badly wanted to, with every inch of your shaking body.

   “I do not expect you to believe me, right now,” he said, as though reading your mind. He let go of your hand, and it fell back to your side, still shaking. “However, you will soon come to learn that I never break my word.”

   You were beginning to see why Rex Lapis had chosen to grace this man with a Vision. He commanded — no, demanded — your attention, your respect, your trust, your entire being. There was more to him than the rich, lonely nobleman he seemed to be; in that moment, you had never been more sure of it.

   “Is there anything else you would like to ask me, Hansi?” Zhongli asked.

   You shook your head, mutely. There were a lot of things you wanted to say to that, but the swollen words stuck in your throat. “Thank you, Mr. Zhongli,” you said, and hoped he heard everything behind it. 

  Tomorrow morning, you supposed, it’d be alright if you had that bath.

[obsessivelycapricious]

We'll meet again - Chapter 2

A/N: Update 2 of 3 for today. Hope you enjoy!

I've been informed that I'm tagging this incorrectly. Strictly speaking it isn't a reader insert, but if you substitute her name for yours I'd argue it could be. Take that as you will ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

Tags/warnings: Bucky x Female Oc, slow burn - kinda, hurt/comfort, 1940's, pre-CA:TFA, Pre-serum Steve Rodgers, 3rd person limited POV, canonical sickness.

Masterlist

Bucky opens the door, peering around the edge cautiously before opening it wide, the relief evident on his face. “Gracie. Thanks for coming over.”

Grace bustles in, bags in hand and makes her way past him through to the small kitchen. “Of course. I’m glad Rebecca was able to find me. How is he doing?” Bucky’s sister accosting her in the street had nearly given her a heart attack at the time, the warning bells sounding clearly in her mind. So much for staying anonymous.

Slipping his hands into his pockets at a loss of what to do, he shakes his head, brows furrowed. “He’s just slept last couple of days. His fever hasn’t broken yet.”

“He drank much?” With her back tuned to him, Bucky watches as she finds her way around with practiced ease. She sets a bowl under the faucet and throws a clean rag into the water as it rises.

The frustration bleeds through into his voice. “Yeah, it’s hard keeping him awake long enough to eat though.”

She turns then, meeting his eyes in concern. She only deliberates for half a second before reaching into one of the bags for a small brown glass bottle. “Now, you didn’t get this from me. Okay?”

“Steve wouldn’t want you getting in trouble.” He gently takes the medicine from her anyway, knowing his token protest will fall on deaf ears.

Right enough, she waves him off. “Oh hush. I brought some soup– And I knew you wouldn’t have had time to go to the store, so I got some extras to tide you over. Some smokes for you too.” She adds, motioning to the side.

He rubs the back of his neck, not knowing what to do with the feeling surging in his chest. “You’re a doll. Don’t know what I’d do without ya.”

“You’d manage.” She chides, shutting the water off and lifting the bowl out of the sink.

He wasn’t so convinced, especially after the last few days. Him and Stevie usually got through well enough, but this time was one of the worst. “Well, I’m mighty grateful either way.”

Bucky trails after Grace with the soup in hand, watching as she perches on the edge of the bed. Steve twitches at the movement of the mattress springs and his eyes flicker open slightly.

“Hey Stevie.” She smiles warmly at him, wringing out the rag of excess water.

Bucky frowns as the frail young man makes an effort to sit up. Setting the bowl down, he quickly moves to the other side of the bed to help prop him up, shoving a folded pillow behind his back. He’s pretty sure Steve doesn’t realise who she is when he speaks.

“Ma’am.”

She meets Bucky’s eyes, her mouth pressed into a thin line with concern. “Gotta keep washing him down. It’ll help with the fever.”

James nods, taking in the information and committing it to memory, hating the helplessness that consumes him whenever Steve gets sick.

Steve whimpers in discomfort as Grace drags the cool rag over his burning skin. She soothes him over with gentle words and Bucky can’t help but think she will make a damn good nurse once she finishes school. She’s already a natural.

Grace picks up the bowl of soup deposited on the bedside table. “Stevie, drink this for me would ya?”

It takes some coaxing on both their parts and thankfully Steve doesn’t seem to protest as much with a dame in the room. He finishes off almost two bowls of the soup and she sponges his skin down again before they decide to let him rest up.

Shutting the bedroom door behind her, Grace sighs. “Is he like this a lot?”

He hesitates, saving her from the long-winded answer. “Not all the time. It comes and goes. His Ma said he was worse when he was a kid.”

“It’s good he’s got you looking out for him.” She nods, somehow alleviating some of the pressure in his chest with her soothing voice.

He scoffs, despite himself. “It’s good we’ve got you Gracie. I was running out of ideas.”

“I think he’ll be okay now he’s had some food in him. The fever should break by tonight.” She shrugs, hopeful.

“Thank God for that.”

They fall into an easy silence for a moment. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see her watching him. For some reason he is bad at this today. He blames Steve in all honesty. Really though, it’s not like he ever actually invites Dames back to their place. He always goes to them. He thinks that maybe he ought to offer her something to drink, though she was right about him not having time to go to the store. Truthfully, they didn’t have the money for anything fancy either. He’d missed two shifts at the docks to look after Steve already and he wasn’t entirely sure there would be a job there for him still when he went back. That dumb punk needed to get better, fast. For the sake of Bucky’s sanity if nothing else.

Her hesitant voice jars him out of his thoughts. “You want some company this evening?”

James nods, grateful to not be alone. “That’d be great, Doll. Steve isn’t much of a talker right now.”

Squeezing his elbow in understanding, she smiles, looking around the small apartment for inspiration before raising an eyebrow. “Got any cards?”

He shoots her a grin. “Know how to play Crazy Eights?”

“You could teach me if you like.” She suggests, as if he might actually say no.

Bucky had no idea how they got so lucky as to get a dame like her to give them the time of day, but he’d be damned if he’d let her go now.

“Sure. I’ll even go easy on ya.”

[dapandapod]

A story of Catnip and Witchers

On Ao3 Here! 

Not sure what happened, but I had so much fun! I have no idea how tagging works, and I don’t know if they want to be tagged, but thank you so much for the prompt, I needed it! <3 

                  ~~*~~ 

There are many things that Jaskier is good at. He is very good at singing, he is a terrific lute player and poet. Depending on the amount of wine he consumed he might even give philosophy a new go. 

It is fun and all, but what he is the very best at is storytelling.

Now, to get yourself a good story you can either use your imagination (which is safe) or you can go out in the world (less safe), or, in Jaskiers case, find and desperately cling to a witcher (very unsafe). 

The latter is not a common practice and more often than not closely connected to death. Somehow Jaskier managed not only to stay alive but to befriend said Witcher. And honestly, there might be something more going on there. 

They don’t talk about it, they don’t talk to others about it, but there is this little spark whenever they are close. Which is another thing, because they usually are. Somewhere along the way Jaskier realized that he might even be in love with his witcher. 

A good story is usually kicked off with a drink, a bet, a contract, a pair of beautiful eyes. 

This story is kicked off with baking. 

It is a cold afternoon at Kaer Morhen, frost decorating all windows and even indoors the air has a bit of a bite in it. Jaskier was invited to stay with Geralt this winter, which is new. Pleasant, but unexpected. 

It was supposed to be pleasant in any way, but it is so bloody cold in this keep that Jaskier has started wearing his cloak at all times. Sometimes he wears Geralt's cloak too, just because. 

He soon learned upon arriving that the keep is mostly destroyed and therefore there are somewhat limited livingquarters in use. It doesn’t really matter, Jaskier and Geralt are used to sharing anyway. And it is so cold.

The other witchers staying at the keep, Eskel, Lambert and Vesemir, are a funny lot. Jaskier have only been here for two weeks, but he is starting to compare it to living with cats. Rude, antisocial and with a very specific kind of humour. It gives Geralt's behaviour some very needed context. It’s cute, really.

This afternoon Jaskier took it upon himself to do some baking. It is another thing he is very good at, and there is this new spice mix that he would like to try. 

The kitchen is steaming hot now from the ovens burning. His fingers are sticky from kneading the dough, and he is sweating just a little bit. When he brushes a lock of hair out of his face some of the dough on his hands sticks to his forehead. 

It is a messy process. Jaskier is not used to this kind of kitchen (really, it’s ancient) and when he finally gets the buns in the oven there is a lot of cleaning up to do.  Which is something Jaskier is bad at.

The actual story begins when Jaskier actually gets to serve said buns at dinnertime. They are eating in a study with a big fireplace, cozy with a thick rug and big bookshelves. Jaskiers lute rests against the wall next to a big plush chair that he claimed for himself since he arrived. Lambert sips wine from a goblet, smiling at the snarking around him. Jaskier chatters away as usual, with Eskel and at Geralt.

It is nice, the witchers are relaxed and appreciative of his baking. It feels great. Jaskier leaves for the kitchen for a moment (one can not simply have a nice time with an empty goblet) and when he returns there is something wrong.

To begin with, Lambert is sitting on the floor. Kneeling, in front Jaskiers lute, head cocked. Like he is listening to something he can almost hear.

Confused, Jaskier looks at the others around the table for answers. There are none to be had. If anything, Jaskier gets more confused. 

Eskel has taken at least three buns and is pressing it to his face, looking incredibly happy. He hugs them to himself, humming, stroking them and getting flour on his cheek and arm.

Vesemir looks up to see Jaskier, and gets the biggest smile. Jaskier never, ever in these two weeks saw Vesemir smile, not like that.

The older man gets up, stretching his arms out wide.

“My boy!” He exclaims, and hugs a stunned Jaskier. “Our little bard, I'm so glad you are back!”

“I uh, thank you?” Jaskier is perplexed, not sure if he should hug back. What the hell is going on? He settles on patting Vesemir awkwardly on the back, seeking help from Geralt.

And freezes.

Geralt is staring at him, intently. Unblinking, unmoving.

Jaskiers heart starts pounding. Geralt has that effect on him. It’s that spark again, crackling under his skin.

“Aaw, Vesemir, I want a hug! Hug me!” Jasker hears Eskel complain, and is finally let go.

“Of course Eskel, my little rascal!” Vesemir booms, and goes to put his arms around Eskels shoulder, buns and all.

Jaskier can’t look away. Not even when he can hear the telltale sounds of strings being plucked on his beloved lute. It doesn’t matter. Let Lambert have his fun. Are all four of them drunk? He never took any of the men present for lightweights, he’s seen how much it takes for Geralt to get sloshed.

Speaking of, Geralt still hasn't stopped staring at Jaskier. It’s like he’s never seen him before. Jaskier can feel a blush spreading, warmth spilling over his cheeks and ears, down his neck. Eskel and Vesemir still seem to cuddle with the buns, and something suspiciously like purring is coming from Eskel.

Geralt gets on his feet, and Jaskier swallows. He has no idea what to do, his heart is beating like crazy. Geralt walks up to him, still not breaking eye contact and takes the goblet out of his hands. He puts it on the closest surface, which seems to be a bookshelf, and then takes Jaskiers hand again.

It crackles, it burns, it makes his breath catch in his throat.

Geralt pushes past Jaskier, dragging him behind as he walks back out through the doors. As soon as the doors close behind them he crowds Jaskier against a wall.

There is barely a hint of amber in those eyes staring at him, pupils blown wide. Wait.

“What’s wrong with them?” Jaskier asks, voice all kind of breathy. Geralt lifts Jaskiers hand to his face, and presses his nose to his wrist.

“I think it’s that catnip you used in the bread.” Geralt replies, and takes a deep breath. It is almost like he’s smelling him.

“It’s not supposed to make humans react like that, though.” Jaskier protests weakly.

“We are not humans.” Geralt says, lips against the thin skin over Jaskiers wrist, and then seeking upwards over his palm and fingers. Breathing in deeply, eyes half closed.

“Our mutations make us react to the weirdest things.” Geralt adds, almost as an afterthought.

Through the door they can hear Lamberts playing, and he is singing now. He has a rather nice voice actually.

Jaskier is not sure what to do, what to say. If this is only the spice talking, he is not sure he wants this. Jaskiers heart is a tender thing.

“Is this your reaction to it?” He must ask, but he dreads the answer.

“No.” Geralt smiles, and it’s a wonderful expression. “My mutagens made sure I have a high tolerance. Bullshit, really. It’s so expensive to get drunk.”

Jaskiers mouth is dry, and despite the cold air around them he is burning. Geralt rarely talks this much, so he is definitely somewhat affected. His breath against Jaskiers hand gives him shivers down his spine. It takes all he has to not just cup Geralt's face, to not tread his fingers through his hair.

Geralt seems to read the question on Jaskiers face, and he really seems to be in a mood to talk.

“Apparently catnip gives me shitty impulse control though.” Geralt leans into Jaskiers hand, almost nuzzling it. It is really, really hard to breath. Under Jaskiers fingers, he can feel Geralt's warm skin, his stubble. Rough fingers almost twining with his own. It is a harsh contrast, burning skin and cold stone against his back. 

Geralt's eyes are back on him and a small sound escapes him. 

”I can smell it on you.” Geralt says. ”On your hand and on your breath.” He leans in, putting a big hand under Jaskiers chin and tips it up. His nose is touching Jaskier, just under his lower lip. He can’t help but part them a fraction. 

”I just want to lick it off.” He whispers, and Jaskier full on shudders. It is a true wonder his knees haven't given out yet. Geralt drags his lips slowly over Jaskiers chin, pressing his body closer. 

They are not kissing, not really. Jaskier really wants to lean in, but even more he wants Geralt to do it. To take that step. 

He looks at Geralt through his eyelashes. 

“Please.” He whispers. 

Geralt crushes Jaskier against the wall, both on his hands now on his cheeks, his neck, his hair. The kiss is hot, messy, everything Jaskier needs.

There is a crash inside the study, like a chair falling over. 

”I CAN HEAR COLOURS!!” Eskel shouts. 

”It's the lute and Lamberts yowling you imbecill!” Vesemir shouts back. 

Jaskier can’t help the small chuckle escaping him. 

”Maybe we should go to our room?” He suggests. Geralt all but carries him there.

The day after is the punchline of this good story. 

(The finish already happened three times during the night. But that part is for him alone.)

It turns out that Catnip not only makes witchers go haywire for a few hours. It gives them the worst hangover. Jaskier comes down the next morning, he feels the need to check on the poor souls he accidently drugged. Geralt is right behind him, in case they got mad about it.

It was not necessary. It was, however, amazing. On a pile on the floor Lambert and Eskel lie tangled up. They seem to have built a fort with the things in the room, and somehow they managed to get Jaskier lute up on the chandelier.

Vesemir sits on the plush chair like it's a throne, fast asleep. He hopes. He looks a little dead.

Geralt steps in, looks around and gets a devilish grin on his face. He takes a big book and slams it down on the table.

Three groans of protests erupt around them, and all three grab their heads as the pain sets in.

Now, the art of storytelling is how you tell the story. And to whom. Jaskier will never tell it within earshot of any witchers, just in case. Messing with men brought up by the school of the wolf and then compare them to kittens is perhaps not the best way to stay alive. Especially not when you are the bard who drugged them.

But then again, a good story is rarely safe.

[cranehusbands]

evening glow

Crypto | Park Tae Joon/Pathfinder; unrequited crushes; canon compliant; apex rarepair week; 1791 words

a/n: honestly writing so much makes me feel like i’ve been posessed by the ghost of productivity. and at this point im not even gonna complain. day 4 of rarepair week!

cryptfinder was like... my original crypto ship, all the way back in season 3. idk why it got me so bad.. it just makes me really soft, i love the “someone will die” “of fun!” dynamic they have, and how crypto is like soft for only one (1) person and thats his robot. its cute

day 4 of @apex-rarepairweek, jealousy, is right here! enjoy!

likes < reblogs, any comments in the tags are appreciated

ao3 mirror in the reblogs!

Preview: Elliott was insecure, yes - he was the kind of man to trip over his own tongue and his whole thought would come crashing down with him - but he was intelligent, an efficient engineer and people person, an excellent businessman who knew what made people tick. He wasn’t a bad looking man either. He had a nice smile, the kind that lit up his whole face when it was genuine, the kind that made his eyes smile with him. And when he wasn’t wearing that god awful jumpsuit, he was almost attractive, well built and taken care of, putting a lot of effort into making Mirage as real as possible, though he was about as real as a gaudy, faux gold rip-off. But as Crypto watched the bar, where he was working pouring drinks, frantically guiding the much taller, clumsier robot, his eyes were not on Elliott.

With his coat pulled up to hide his face, and knuckles shaking from the grip on his glass, Crypto couldn’t tear his eyes away from the bar just in eyesight from his little corner seat even if he tried. They were supposed to be out here celebrating at the Paradise Lounge, with somewhat professional businessman Elliott kind enough to offer the champion squad free drinks (begrudgingly, to even him, which Crypto was incredibly smug about at the time, but almost thankful for now) after a great game that day. And sure, it was fantastic; a last-minute scan from Hack let them get the drop on the final squad, an EMP blast slowing them down just enough to catch them in the field of Anita’s Rolling Thunder barrage, while Pathfinder led the final assault and gunned the final guy down in his usual unnervingly cheerful way. He should have been happy about another win under his belt - it was enough to get people to stop asking questions about his skill, and sudden appearance in the games. But he wasn’t. He just kept staring at the bar.

 Elliott wasn’t an idiot. He knew that, despite his own insistence. No, Mirage was an idiot, but Mirage also didn’t have anything to hide. Mirage was a one-note, total bumbling fool, who Crypto was sure would short-circuit if he thought about anyone but himself. But Elliott was not that. Elliott was insecure, yes - he was the kind of man to trip over his own tongue and his whole thought would come crashing down with him - but he was intelligent, an efficient engineer and people person, an excellent businessman who knew what made people tick. He wasn’t a bad looking man either. He had a nice smile, the kind that lit up his whole face when it was genuine, the kind that made his eyes smile with him. And when he wasn’t wearing that god awful jumpsuit, he was almost attractive, well built and taken care of, putting a lot of effort into making Mirage as real as possible, though he was about as real as a gaudy, faux gold rip-off. But as Crypto watched the bar, where he was working pouring drinks, frantically guiding the much taller, clumsier robot, his eyes were not on Elliott.

 Now Pathfinder was an interesting case. A MRVN unit with slightly more awareness than the average one, though that was often misplaced. He was a lost soul, somehow finding his home in murder, where he made fast friends and fans alike, though that was never what he wanted. Still, he didn’t seem to mind, his demeanour never changing - he had that shrill ‘Hi, friends!’ drilled into the back of his head by now… but at least that was a hole to get all the fog out, when his own head was the worst place to be. He was almost thankful for it, in fact. He thought back to the game that day, the way Pathfinder looked over to him, the screen on his chest lit up with a warm, celebratory yellow, as he gave an excited wave, before his attention turned to Anita for a fistbump. He soon turned back, and offered Crypto the same, metallic fist… which he took, and returned the gesture, almost laughing at the way the robot seemed to rock back and forth in excitement. It was… cute, almost warm, not like his cold exterior… not like Crypto. Pathfinder was warm. Pathfinder was cute.

 And Pathfinder was over there, sharing his warmth with everyone else.

 Over the thumping bass of the music too loud to distinguish, he was almost sure he heard a gentle crack of glass, and even though he knew that he would never be strong enough to shatter it with one hand he still flinched with a start, checking his hand for any loose liquor that had spilt, before rubbing it against his coat. So maybe he was just a little jealous. Slightly. But was it because of the attention that the robot was receiving tonight, or was it because he could live so free, not bound by the bars of paranoia? It was absolutely insufferable. The hacker slowly held onto his glass again, taking a final drink and knocking his head back before placing it down quite harshly, enough to get a few heads to turn, before he shuffled out of the booth and stood to his feet, beginning to head towards the door.

“Hey, hey, Crypto, where you goin’?” From the bar, Elliott looked up, taking his eyes off of Pathfinder for the briefest of moments. 

“Home. Thanks for the free drink, Witt.”

“At least stay for another one, c’mon. I’m teaching this bag of bolts how to- wait, Path, no! Ah, dammit- not on my pants, you stupid-”

“Sorry, friend, these glasses are so small in my hands it’s hard to see when it ends.” The robot placed the whiskey glass down on the bar, excess spilling onto the counter as Elliott tried to clean the rest of the alcohol off of his leg with the towel over his shoulder.

“It’s- OK, then don’t hold it, it’s fine.”

“But you-”

“I have tiny human hands! I can do that! You’re… clumsy, and that’s… it's fine.” He gently patted Pathfinder’s small face with a hand, before turning his attention back to Crypto, unable to see the way his fists were clenched in the pocket of his coat. “One more. On me? C’mon, new guy.”

He gritted his teeth. The bar was loud, too many people were here as it was, he had already pushed the limits of what he wanted from tonight. Crypto opened his mouth to say no again, but he caught Pathfinder’s eye, staring at him from just behind Elliott, glowing in his warmth and kindness. The hacker closed his eyes, and sighed, pulling up a stool and sitting down at the counter, ignoring the bartender’s successful fist pump only to himself. This wasn’t for his benefit, anyway.

 After watching the trickster fumble a little more to try and help Pathfinder a little more, only resulting in more drinks spilling on himself and the floor, he was slid a hastily made glass of whiskey, before Elliott excused himself to go clean up in the bathroom - “keep the bar warm but don’t serve anyone, got it, Path?” he’d specifically instructed, to which Pathfinder seemed to ignore as he turned his attention to a couple of patrons trying to haggle drinks for free through flattery. It worked, bless his heart, as he managed to keep the pint glass steady under the nozzle, handing it to the woman who shot a flirty remark that flew right over his head.

He laughed from over his glass, taking a small drink, gagging at the aftertaste but doing his best to cover it by coughing and covering his hand with the side of a clenched fist, just as Pathfinder returned.

“Elliott knows so many great friends, I really like working here!”

“Ya, you… seem to fit right in.”

“Do you really think so?” He seemed to genuinely appreciate the comment, perking up a little bit. “Do you think I’d look nice in a bow tie and suit? Elliott has an image to maintain, after all - I wouldn’t want to ruin it for my very best friend.”

An image of tackiness and gaud, Crypto wanted to say, but he bit his tongue. “Do you even know how to tie one?”

“No!” The confirmation was said with such cheer that it almost made him smile a little. “Why, do you?”

He blinked. “...Ya.”

“Can you show me?” If the robot was anymore animated, he would have twinkles in his optic from his excitement. 

Crypto looked away, practically burying his face into his coat. “I… maybe.”

“Promise?”

“...Mhm.”

Pathfinder was practically glowing again with excitement, clapping his hands together, enough for Crypto to glance back over and bask in the warmth for a moment.

His shoulders lost their tension, he physically relaxed, and as the robot rambled on, divulging way too much about himself and his goals, he found himself… interested, and intrigued, offering insight as a man who was looking for someone just as hard, hardly noticing as one by one people filtered out, the other Legends heading home until it was just the two of them, and Elliott, closing up the bar.

 “You two good to get home?” He asked, twirling the keys to the Paradise lounge around his finger.

Crypto nodded, flinching a little as Pathfinder slapped a hand down on his shoulder.

“Crypto promised to share a taxi with me! I’m so excited!”

The trickster raised an eyebrow, a small smirk forming on his lips. “Oh yeah? Check you out, kid. Making friends. Wasn’t so hard to get that stick out of your ass, huh?”

“Ip dakchyeo.”

“Yeah, you too, buddy.”

The hacker zipped up his coat again and looked away, shoving his hands in his pockets and continued to wait at the door, for Elliott to usher the two of them out, and lock up, heading to his car and leaving the two of them, alone, in the glow of the streetlight and Pathfinder’s presence, as he quietly bounced in place.

“Are you not cold?” The robot asked, looking down.”

“Ah, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mhm.”

Pathfinder blinked, before nodding to himself, taking off the warm scarf around his neck and tying it around Crypto’s, making the hacker flinch again.

“Wait, I said-”

“It’s OK, I don’t really need it.” He gently tied it, expertly creating a small bow from the side, where it practically drowned Crypto’s face. “It looks nice on you, friend!”

He swallowed, looking down at his feet, and mumbling a thank you, enough to satisfy the other legend to take his attention away. Once he did that, Crypto dared to bring up his hand, running his fingertips across the softest tartan he had felt in a long time, and the light smell of motor oil that lingered to the fabric.

 The taxi soon arrived, and the two of them got in, Crypto silently cursing Elliott to himself for not offering them a ride. It certainly would have made things a little less awkward. Did he know too much? The look he gave him certainly seemed like a catch on. He wasn’t here to make friends. He knew he wasn’t. But the draw of some people, or robots, was almost too much for him to bear, it seemed, as Pathfinder talked his ear off for the entire journey, voice more like music than white noise as Crypto stared out of the window, assessing his thoughts in the night, the evening he realised that maybe, just maybe, he liked Pathfinder.

[shireness-says]

Proximity

Summary: Killian Jones is not an idiot. Unfortunately, he’s also plagued by a problem - the uncontrollable urge to say something, anything when he finds himself forced to share space with another person. Will it ruin his chances with a beautiful stranger forever? ~2.3K. Rated T for language. Also on AO3.

~~~~~

A/N: The other day, I made a fool of myself in a restaurant, and @optomisticgirl was kind enough to laugh at me and tell me it should be a prompt. So, here we are. Thanks also to @snidgetsafan, my utterly stellar beta. She is French and trapped at home, and would like me to tag my “going outdoors whenever you want” porn. You’ve been warned. 

AO3 tells me that this is my 50th fic! Thanks to all of you who have been here since the beginning. Stay tuned - I’m planning something special to commemorate the milestone, which I should be launching in the next few days.

Tagging: @kmomof4, @katie-dub, @thejollyroger-writer, @let-it-raines, @scientificapricot, @profdanglaisstuff, @thisonesatellite, @searchingwardrobes, @snowbellewells, @spartanguard, @ultraluckycatnd, @teamhook, @ohmightydevviepuu, @shardminds

~~~~~

Killian Jones is not an idiot.

(It feels weird to say that, but Killian really feels that it bears mentioning under the circumstances. State it for the record, as it were.)

In most circumstances, he’d go so far as to call himself of greater than average intelligence. He’s smart and charming and quite the conversationalist when the situation calls for it. 

Unfortunately, he’s also plagued by a problem - the uncontrollable urge to say something, anything when he finds himself forced to share space with another person. Elevators are his ultimate nemesis, coaxing him to say all manner of stupid things he regrets immediately.

Unfortunately, it’s not limited to elevators. He only wishes he were that lucky. And unfortunately, it seems to crop up at the worst possible times. Such as at the soda dispenser at lunch.

You see, there’s an excellent deli just around the corner from his office. It’s nothing really exceptional just to look at the building, but the food inside is something else altogether. The bread is homemade and the cookies are fresh and the meat is always stacked tight and high and it may just be a sandwich, but there’s just something about it. There’s no other place he’d rather go for lunch.

It’s busy, today; that’s a thing that can happen at noon on a sunny Wednesday. He and Robin and Will know well enough to come early so they can get a seat, but they also know to get out once the order lines start backing up. While his friends duck out, however, Killian detours to refill his soda cup; like any truly respectable lunch spot, the machine is self-serve and the refills are endless. 

And that’s where the real trouble starts. 

Getting a refill of Coke is fine; it’s hard to muck that really. But Killian makes the mistake of stepping to the side to put a lid back on his cup, and when he looks back up to head for the door, she’s there. A woman. In his immediate space, right next to him filling up her own cup at the dispenser. She’s gorgeous, too - a blonde haired, green-eyed dream with a trim athletic figure and legs for days.

Maybe that’s why he can’t fight it - the irrepressible urge to say something, anything. In another setting, he might have managed something charming and flirtatious. But they’re in a state of shared space, and unfortunately, the blabbermouth urges that this triggers override any other instinct or effort. 

He doesn’t even recognize his own voice when he finally speaks; it’s somehow pitched lower than normal into something almost cartoonish, or like a theatrical sotto voce gone horribly wrong. 

“They’re leaving without me!” he declares before fleeing for the door, unfortunately not fast enough to avoid the look of utter confusion on her lovely face as he goes. 

He regrets it as soon as he reaches the swinging door, an impressive four steps later. Unfortunately, it’s too late to take the words back at that point. 

(Worst of all, maybe - besides the fact that his friends are decidedly not leaving without him, instead waiting patiently just outside the door - is the fact that she hadn’t even looked his way before he’d made an utter fool of himself. It simultaneously hurts his ego and makes Killian want to kick himself for bringing this upon himself.) 

“Someone’s got a look,” Robin comments with a smirk. “What’d you do?”

Killian sighs heavily. “Do you ever do or say something that you just… immediately regret?”

“Nope!” Will chirps back cheerily. “Pillar of decorum, me.”

“More like utterly shameless,” Robin quips back. “What’d you do this time, Jones?”

Robin and Will wind up in stitches as the sorry story of the sorrier encounter unravels, not that Killian blames them (much). He can’t believe himself either, and if it was anyone else, he’d be laughing too. 

“It was one of those moments where I just wanted to ask myself, ‘what the hell is wrong with you’, you know?” Killian says to conclude his lament. “I don’t know if you saw, either, but she was stunning, too. Which just makes it worse, somehow - of course I’d make a fool of myself in front of a beautiful woman.”

“Ah, don’t take it too hard,” Robin tells him with a consolatory pat on the back. “What are the chances that you’ll see her again, anyways?”

———

The chances are higher than any of them thought, as it turns out. It seems she must have started a job in the same building that houses their publishing office. He’s not quite sure where; there’s too many options to narrow it down. All Killian knows is that he keeps seeing her in the lobby and the parking lot and outside the windows.

(Mostly, he just ducks out of sight or around corners so that she can’t see him. It’s becoming a problem.)

Killian can’t help but admire her from a distance, even if he intends to never let the blonde see his face again for fear that she’ll remember the very stupid thing he said at the deli. She wears a series of trim skirts and tailored pants that always mold perfectly to her slight frame, and her hair has this bounce to it that’s just mesmerizing. Even if the sunny color hadn’t caught his attention, the way those curls move certainly would have; it’s hair that makes a man dream of sinking his hands into those curls, though he knows those are inappropriate thoughts to entertain about a woman he doesn’t even know, and doesn’t ever intend to.

That doesn’t mean he’s not horribly, disgustingly fascinated and smitten. 

The thing about his particular office building is that it’s older - beautifully so, with ornate carvings at the corners and tall ceilings that keep him from feeling quite so trapped inside. Older buildings, however, tend to have quirks, no matter how charming and architecturally pleasing they are. One of the particular quirks of this building is a series of elevators that seem to alternate breaking down in no discernible pattern. The beautiful original elevators from the 1940s have been preserved, to gorgeous effect, but it seems like their parts need replacing more than newer models. Technically, he could take the stairs; however, he works on the 8th of 10 floors, and most days, it just doesn’t seem worth the effort (or the workout) to haul himself up and down all those flights when he could take the elevator in a fraction of the time. Theoretically. Killian has learned from his own experience and that of his coworkers that it depends on the day. 

And today is not his day. 

It starts out fine, as he gets in the elevator to make his way down to the street for lunch. It’s a beautiful day out, and though he’d planned to reheat some leftovers - and in fact, had left a tupperware full of last night’s pizza in the break room fridge - with this kind of weather, Killian can’t bear to stay indoors a moment longer. It couldn’t hurt to go get a sandwich from the deli, anyways. 

Things get a little more complicated when the elevator stops on the sixth floor and his mystery blonde steps into the car. She’s distracted by her phone when the doors open, and takes a moment before stepping in; in fact, the doors start closing as she steps through the opening, causing her to startle a bit. 

“Those things will nearly take your arm off!” Killian blurts out in a mixture of nerves and horrible impulse rooted in space constraints.

(Elevators: once again, his nemesis.)

The blonde looks at him strangely at that, only to double take when she apparently recognizes him from before. “Hey, weren’t you the guy from —” she starts as the elevator begins its descent. 

“I don’t think so,” Killian quickly interrupts.

“No, no, at the deli, weren’t you the guy —”

For better or worse, the elevator chooses that particular moment to stop. Not a regular stop either, where someone might step on from another floor on the way down - the elevator breaks down between floors with a horrible, grinding halt that Killian knows means they’ll be stuck until the repairmen or fire department can pry them out. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, not quite under his breath - though then again, nothing is really out of earshot in the tight confines of an elevator. Of course he gets trapped with the one person he’s been avoiding for weeks. 

At least it causes her to drop that particular line of questioning for the moment. Her gaze has turned fearful, somewhere between concerned and panicked, as she looks across the little box at him. “Has this happened before?”

“More than anyone likes to admit,” Killian tells her. “Welcome to the Misthaven Building. It’s practically a rite of passage.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“Eh, don’t think about it too long,” Killian advises. “They’re good about getting us out quickly anyways. Just got to give the building manager a call.”

This is his third time trapped in the five years he’s worked in the building; he’s well used to the ritual of reporting the situation and being told to sit tight. Like he has any other option. Still, his companion’s face relaxes when he tells her that people are on their way and they should hopefully be out within the hour.

“I suppose I should introduce myself, if we’re going to be stuck together.” It feels like more of a concession that he’d like, but truthfully, there’s nothing about this situation that he’s a particular fan of. Except, of course, the woman herself, but there’s no changing the multitude of mortifying circumstances under which they’ve met. “I’m Killian Jones. I’m with the publishing company up on 8.”

“Emma Swan,” she smiles in return. “Just started with the law firm on six.”

“A pleasure, Swan. Or, at least, as much of one as it can be under these circumstances.”

She laughs. “Same, I guess.” He should have figured, though, that she wouldn’t just let their previous encounter go - especially after finding out that she’s a lawyer. “Are you sure that we didn’t meet before at the deli?”

Killian sighs heavily. “Meet would be a strong word, but aye, we did. A little passing encounter at the soda machine.”

“I thought so!” she grins. “No offense, but it was an… interesting encounter.”

“Oh, none taken. That’s the polite way to put it.” That doesn’t stop him from blushing at the memory. That ridiculous voice, seriously. He still can’t believe it. 

“Yeah, it was… not what I expected,” Emma admits.

“I’m sure it’s not, since it’s not what I expected to say either. I’ve been kind of kicking myself ever since.”

“Why did you say it, then?” Emma asks with an amused smile.

Killian scrubs his hands over his face with a sigh. “I wish I had a better answer, but… do you ever just feel the urge to just say something, anything when you’re forced into close proximity with someone? Just to feel the air?” Emma nods tentatively. “I’ve got a particularly bad case of it.”

“Ohhhhh,” she exhales, as if in realization. “That would explain the arm thing when I got on the elevator too, then.”

“Precisely. There is no limit to the amount of stupid and ridiculous things I will say in elevators.”

“It was kind of what made me remember you,” Emma admits. 

“Of course,” Killian groans. “I swear I’m not usually so awkward, around lovely young women or otherwise.”

“Now that I know the story, it’s kind of charming,” Emma assures him. “At least I think so.”

“You’d be the first.”

Conversation gets easier now that they’ve talked about the elephant in the room. Emma proves to be just as charming as she is beautiful - funny and smart, with a great sense of sarcasm that weaves through their conversation. He learns that she’s just moved to town to be closer to her family - her brother is a county sheriff’s deputy in the area, and her sister-in-law a teacher - and she’s got a five year old son at home that she loves more than anything. Killian is even more impressed as he realizes she must have finished law school with an infant and as a single parent. Somehow, he gets the feeling that there’s nothing she can’t or won’t do if she sets her mind to it. In turn, he tells her about himself - the shenanigans he gets up to with Robin and Will, his brother states away, all the little coffee shops and quiet nooks he’s found since moving here himself. It’s easy to forget that they’re trapped when he’s enjoying their conversation so much, even if they are sitting on the floor of the elevator. 

All too soon, however, the car jolts back to life, making its way down to the lobby at last. Killian struggles to his feet as the car moves, before reaching down to pull Emma back to her feet as well. Even if she wasn’t wearing some very impressive and spindly heels that undoubtedly affect her balance, it’s the chivalrous thing to do. 

“Thanks for this,” Emma tells him once they’re finally back on the solid marble floors of the lobby. “I definitely would have been freaking out if you hadn’t been there.”

“It was my pleasure, Swan.” And it truly was; the circumstances may not have been ideal on the surface, but he can’t bring himself to regret it, as they’ve brought him into the company of an enchanting woman. It’s easy to realize that he wants more than just today; knowing that, Killian quickly screws up his courage. “I don’t suppose you’d want to get coffee sometime? Or dinner? I promise I make a much better date outside of elevators.”

“I’d love to,” Emma smiles, setting Killian’s heart soaring in joyous flight. “I’ve got to find out what you’re like in more normal settings and situations, after all.”

(He’s happy to prove he’s much better - and less vocal - at sharing space for more pleasurable reasons.)

[dyaz-stories]

You bet I'm looking forward to the fluff prompts after all those angsty fics you gave us! How about "I can't stop thinking about you. No matter how hard I try, you're always on my mind" and/or "Sweet forehead/temple kiss" for inukag? :D

But of course!

Tagging: @shinidamachu @sailorbabydoll92 @clearwillow @zelink-inukag @cstorm86 @digital-art-monster @danycontreras90 @redflamesofpassion @lost-amidst-the-stars @eternalnight8806-3 @desiree239 @keichanz @ashleys-canvas @mustardyellowsunshine

When Inuyasha showed up in Kagome’s room, slamming the window open loudly, he’d had a very clear picture of how the encounter would go. First, he’d yell at her for leaving everyone else, but mostly him, for ten days, for something as stupid as him telling her she couldn’t go back for Souta’s birthday. Then, he’d probably get sat a dozen times, and they would be able to consider themselves even.

That way, none of them would have lost the fight and admitted they were at least somewhat in the wrong, which, to him, sounded like the most satisfactory solution.

The only problem he faced was that it was the middle of the day, and Kagome had evidently left for her school thing.

He considered the situation for a couple of seconds. He could wait for her in here, but somehow he was almost certain that if he stayed there with basically nothing to do but to breathe in her scent, he wouldn’t even be mad at her when she’d come back — and he wanted to be mad at her. Actually, he had to be mad at her. Then, it was easier for him to ignore the smell of tears coming from her when she’d ran back to the well, right after saying “Oh it’s all fine as long as I’m here for the shards for you, but you just don’t care the second something’s important to me, right Inuyasha?”.

Then she’d scoffed, shaken her head, and walked away. The looks Miroku, Sango and Shippo had given him had immediately made it very clear whose side they were on. When he’d tried to argue — because, hello, of course it was more important to track the horrible, murderous bad guy than to celebrate some kid’s birthday who’d have a lot of others —, Sango had mumbled something about how she’d give anything to celebrate another one of Kohaku’s birthdays.

And then, just as he was starting to feel really, really shitty, she’d casually turned around, frowning, and asked “But don’t you think we should also hunt down the horrible, murderous person who gave Naraku half the Jewel in the first place?”. Then it was her turn to walk away, followed by a snickering Miroku and a contemptuous Shippo.

He’d waited for a while, but ten days without her was just… a very long period of time. Longer than he remembered having to spend away from her, and now, definitely longer than he ever wanted to have to be away from her.

So, when Miroku, Sango and Shippo had lost it on him, getting annoyed at how he, apparently, couldn’t stop talking about Kagome — he had no idea what they were referring to —, he’d decided it was the right time. He was doing it for them, clearly. Not for himself.

He arrived on the school’s roof without really thinking about it, following the trail of Kagome’s scent like it was the natural thing for him to do. He immediately spotted her in the middle of her classmates, while they were all apparently running to get under a white ball and throw it over a net, on the other side of which other people would just throw it back at them, something that appeared to be a completely pointless occupation, if you asked him. She looked different there, he realized. There were the clothes, the white top and the little red thing that was hella short, even for her. There was the hair, pulled back and revealing her neck in a way that certainly didn’t leave him indifferent, but that wasn’t it either.

No, there was something about the way she talked to the people around her, the way she moved. More… more contained, maybe.

The second he was sure no one was looking, he was behind her. She didn’t even have the time to protest before he’d lifted her up in his arms and they were gone, disappearing without a trace.

“Kagome, you’re on for the next— What? Where did she go?”

Eri and Ayumi turned around to look at where their friends had just been standing.

“Maybe she didn’t feel too good and went to the infirmary?” Ayumi suggested, frowning. “You know, with her poor health…”

“Oh no, I hope she’s okay. You can tell her grandfather’s always so worried about her because he makes so much research on her illnesses whenever she gets sick…”

“We should probably call after school.”

They all nodded. Poor, dear Kagome.

When they landed on the roof of the school again, Inuyasha dropped Kagome on her feet unceremoniously, wincing in preparation for what was to come, but when it didn’t, he carefully reopened an eye to look at her.

She seemed to be in absolute disbelief, one hand over her chest to calm down her heart, mouth gaping, and eyes darting back and forth between the volley-ball court and the roof where they were standing.

“What the hell?” she finally erupted, voice ringing almost loudly enough for her friends turn around and making Ayumi turn around, a little worried. “Inuyasha, we’ve discussed this! My school’s off limits! You cannot just—”

“Well,” he somehow managed to interrupt her, “you can’t just leave and not come back!”

There was moment of silence during which they simply glared at each other  with her defensive at first, and then, as she realized what he’d let slip out, a little more open to the conversation.

“Souta’s birthday was this week-end,” she explained a little softer. “I hadn’t planned on staying the whole week, but since I was there I thought it’d be better to wait for it.”

“Keh! And you couldn’t just say that?”

She rose an eyebrow. “I did, Inuyasha.”

…maybe she had.

She shrugged. “But I mean, it’s not like you need me all that much anymore. Naraku has almost all of the shards and we spent most of the time recently going after him, so I figured you’d be okay if I was gone for a while.”

“What?” Somehow, he felt terribly offended by her comment and he wasn’t quite sure why. “Nothing functions when you’re not there.”

She blinked and couldn’t help but smile. “Really?”

“Yeah. Shippo’s always complaining and all over me ‘bout how it’s my fault, Sango just looks at me blankly and then says ‘oh, it’s nothing’ when I ask her what’s up, and Miroku’s all like ‘ah, things of the heart are complicated, my friend’, and that’s shitty enough when you’re here, but how’m I supposed to stand them when you’re not?”

At this point, Kagome was just listening to him, trying not to smile to brightly. Inuyasha barely even noticed it.

“…and every fight’s just a shit show, and I— I can’t stop thinking ‘bout you. No matter how hard I try, you’re always on my mind.”

This was when he met her eyes, and suddenly grew shy. She watched him close again with the same fascination she’d witnessed him opening up.

“Anyway, it’s shitty when you’re gone and ’s all your fault. So come back.”

This was when he was going to be sat into oblivion. He just knew it, and frankly, he was completely responsible for it, he thought as horror crept in. He’d blamed her for the whole thing, interfered in her school activities when she’d been very clear about not wanting him there, he’d—

“Okay.”

He looked at her, tensing a little, suspecting a trap.

“Wait, what?”

Kagome gave him a sheepish smile. “I mean, I missed you too, and you’re right. I did what I wanted to do here, and it’s time for me to come back.” Where she truly belonged. Not only by his side, but in the Feudal Era, with her best friends, and where she felt she was really needed.

He glanced at the ground, where her classmates were still running around. He wanted her to come back with him, he did, but somehow, he just couldn’t believe it would be that easy.

“What about—”

“I’ll just get my grandpa to call the school later today,” she shrugged. Clearly, no one had been too worried about her sudden disappearance, she thought with a hint of bitterness. It wasn’t that her friends didn’t care about her, she knew that, but they didn’t pay that much attention to her either. “Let’s go.”

He nodded silently, crouching in front of her so she could take her usual place on his back, and once she had, he walked to the edge of the roof.

“We’re higher than usual,” he mumbled, “so just— hold on tight, ‘kay?”

She smiled, and without a word, she placed a soft kiss on his temple, making him tense.

“Thank you, Inuyasha.”

“’didn’t do anything.”

If she was to do something like this, he would much rather feel like he’d deserved it. But she held him tighter, and when she whispered “You did more than you know”, he decided that maybe he didn’t have to understand it all. Maybe… Maybe for now, this was enough.

As long as she came back to him in the end, and he got to have her not just on his mind, but by his side as well.

[blooddrop-palace]

Open Doors [1/2]

[Alternate tagline: Sera, that’s probably not a safe idea, but you did it anyway.]

Here’s another set of snippets of things bouncing in my head all day while I was at work. Except when things involve Vergil, it looks like I can’t keep it simple. This became longer than I thought. Guess this is part 1 of 2.

—

“I don’t care if you just like to do charity demon-slaying or whatever it is you’re here for, but it’s rude to leave in the middle of someone talking to you! And we need to talk!”

He knew he could easily out-maneuver the human woman, but it was at risk of her witnessing the clearly inhuman skills he possessed. However, the plan wouldn’t change from the last two times: he needs to run just far enough out of sight, find a safe target zone, and teleport away.

But really, the situation would have been better if that blasted female knight was never in the vincinity to witness him dispatch a small hoard of stalking demons to begin with.

—

“You have me very vexed, good sir.”

“And you, I. What will it take for you to leave me in peace?” He ground out in response, clearly irked at the knight who had climbed three stories up to the balcony that he thought was safely out of her reach and out of her view. She somehow knew other ways up here that he didn’t immediately see at first.

“You want me to leave you in peace? Did you know that word has gotten around about a foreigner in the city limits who has a peculiar demeanor about him? Doesn’t look or act like a tourist. Asks about history as if he’s hunting for something. And...” She paused to pull herself over the railing, catching her breath briefly. He noticed clever wire spools and snap hooks at her belt, no doubt tools that helped her climb. “And he doesn’t blend in by being overly concealed, and there is no record of someone matching his description having checked in to any of the few existing inns in this isolated island-city... leaving up to all sorts of imagination and gossip of where he could be camping out at—”

“It sounds like you have more pressing matters to tend to, then. I’ll leave you to that...”

“Oh, no you don’t! You’re not going to play the fool with me!” She cut him off, and then cut to the chase with a frustrated sigh: “Ugh, look, sir, this isn’t what you think. I’m hoping to not have to chase you down because the Order asked for your arrest or something. In fact, this wasn’t my original intention. By this point, it’s the fact that you have evaded me the first time, and then yet again a second time, when I had wanted to thank you properly for both occasions of...” She waved her hand in a nonchalant gesture in the air, “saving me the trouble of having to call for backup against demon ambushes in backroads that clearly needed more patrols—”

That wasn’t the case; the roads probably had enough patrols in the past. It was his presence that drew the demons to break their usual patterns. But she didn’t need to know that so he wasn’t going to tell.

The knight’s words dissolved into grumbling as she buried her face into her hands, trying to wrap up her explanation.

He was hoping if she got whatever damn idea of gratitude out of her head, she’d leave him alone from then on. So he lingered while mentally vowing to double check for anyone else’s presence from now on, before “accidentally” helping anyone fight off demons, again.

“This got more complicated than it needed to be.” She finally looked up from her hands and scrutinized what she could observe of him under his cloak. Not that the coverage mattered anymore. He knew she saw him without it in a fight already. “I got carried away; upset, even... because how did you manage to scale up places like this better than I could? I used to make sport of evading the knights by scaling the walls and such before I managed into the Order myself. And now someone is going to beat me at my own game?” She huffed, adjusted her stance to be more relaxed, and raised a brow at him.

“...Get to the point, so that we can leave each other be.” He was not going to show amusement at her sense of competition. What was human competition going to matter for him?

The knight took a deep breath, palms pressed together and fingertips at her lips as she carefully thought about what she was going to say next: “You either need to leave the island soon before the day comes that the entire Order tries to force you out, or you be a little less mysterious and stop allowing all these restless rumors about you float around. So give me as simple of an answer as you wish, so long as it’s an answer. What are you here for?”

“Why would what the masses think about a stranger matter to you?”

“Personal history and boredom.” She immediately answered with deadpan seriousness. “And the answer for my question?”

He thought briefly before slowly responding: “Research.”

“Okay. Nothing you need to hurt anyone for, would you?”

“I’m not going to stand here and be interrogated.” He turned to leave.

“Humor me. I’ll tell you right now that the worst case scenario is me leaving you alone with no more questions and no more games of tag. But depending on your answers, I might be willing help you stop being the hottest gossip topic of the entire city.”

He hated having to weigh his options on what was clearly a bargaining attempt from a human being. But this island that might contain answers to his quest for power was proving inconvenient with how xenophobic they were. With the slow rate his research was going, it would be...more than just mildly inconvenient if the city became too restless at his presence.

“Very well. I’ll... humor you. And to answer your second question, it would be counterproductive to cause a scene by means of assault.” He wasn’t making promises, though.

Thankfully, she didn’t ask for one on that.

“Let’s get down from this balcony first, before someone spots us.”

—

“Demon Hunter?”

“When I need the money.”

“On the road a lot?”

“...I don’t plan to stay longer than I need to, if that answers your question.”

“Name?”

“At the moment, we will remain as strangers.”

A sigh.

“Okay. I’ll accept that. Last question. Need a place to stay?”

Pause.

—

“I have questions for you.”

“I admit it’s only fair.”

“Why the offer?”

“I have extra night patrols because of your presence. People don’t like things that go bump in the night, which, to many, includes strangers.”

...?

“Wouldn’t your problem be solved by reporting my presence as non-threatening? That would seem like an easier solution to me.”

“I know protocol. Protocol would demand suspicious foreigners that apparently sleep in unknown places of the city be brought in. Stop holding the rest of your cloak so close to you. That fancy getup you have underneath isn’t as much of a problem as you think. You’re too cagey, and that’s what’s making you stand out. Just keep the hood on and relax. If someone’s asks about that sword, I have working answers.”

“Hmm. Protocol, you say? Is this place to stay going to be a jail cell, then?”

Yet, at the moment, they stood in front of an apartment door, and she was inserting a key.

“You? In a jail cell? I watched you slay demons like they were made of paper. Not only would a jail cell not contain you, but I’d have to get you into one, first. You tell me if that’s going to happen.”

As she opened the door to her apartment, he graced her with a brief chuckle.

“No. But I have more to ask. What deal are you meaning to strike up from this? I’d be a fool to think you are offering me help without ulterior motive.”

“Motive? I love my home city but I don’t love its hostile attitude towards strangers. My father wasn’t from this place. Causes me some grief. But I know you don’t care about that and I don’t need to share.”

“...I don’t need your charity.”

“Not charity. Gratitude and mutual benefit. Here’s the deal: I have a lot of thoughts on how foreigners at least deserve respect. You respect me, and I respect you. Sound acceptable?”

“I understand you mean to say that if I slight you, then there is no deal.”

“...and the opposite holds true, smartass. I’m not trying to lord anything over you. But if you want to get your research thing done and leave the city on your own terms, you’re going to need to get as much of Fortuna’s distrust off your back as possible. I’m not asking you to sign a contract. Just mutual agreements.”

“That’s a lot of trouble just to get yourself out of night patrols.”

—

“Good morning. The couch wasn’t too terrible, was it?”

“I’ve slept in worst places.”

“...I should have surmised. You’ve been up reading for a while?”

“Not too long. I believe I’ll be heading out soon to continue my research.”

“All right. I’m sure you’ve seen where the main library is. Tell them you’re Seraphina Valkyrie’s guest, and if there are problems, they can contact me. My story is going to be plain and simple. You’re a friend from mainland whom I came in contact with while I tried to solve the mystery of where my late amnesiac father may have come from. No headway there, by the way. The rest is, as they should know, no one else’s business but mine. Breakfast?”

“Acceptable reasons, and breakfast would be agreeable.”

“Assistance in breakfast would also be agreeable.”

—

“Am I correct in assuming you wish to barter help from me in solving the mystery about your father in return?”

“I actually don’t care. Family’s been dead since I was twelve. That was long enough ago. I got over it.”

“My condolences.”

The topic wasn’t pursued that day. It wouldn’t have been a good dinner table conversation anyway.

—

Five days later, he’s found some leads both into research and into reconnaissance about the Order’s goals.

He’s also found that, by “rules of being a respectable guest,” he somehow allowed himself to be roped into certain chores. Namely with assistance in the kitchen.

She also allowed him the guest bedroom after the first night’s stay.

—

Day seven. He still refused to tell her his name. She took it upon herself to call him something, taking an idea from the re-bound leather cover of his prized possession: the book of William Blake’s poetry collection.

He never corrected her, and now she called him “V”.

[baldwin-montclair]

Baldwin’s Nightingale - Part 3

Characters: Baldwin Montclair/OC

Timeframe: Before the S1 Finale, TV Show canon only (haven’t read the books yet)

Summary: Despite her Mentor’s misgivings about the date, Alisha goes ahead with the meeting.

Tag requests: @christi14 @poemfreak306 @pookie-cleary

PART 1

PART 2

Michael hadn’t spoken a word to her the entire forty minute drive home. The tube would have been faster, it’s how she got there.

“A vampire? How could you be so monumentally dim?” He surprised her with the abrupt and insulting question from the lounge as she emptied a vase of fake flowers to replace them with Baldwin’s gorgeous bouquet.

“For fuck sake Michael,” Alisha rolled her eyes and stomped into the living room, “it’s drinks!”

“Not just any vampire,” he continued, oblivious to her answer, “no, you choose the head of one of the most powerful vampire dynasties whilst they’re engaged in a power struggle with the others.”

“That has nothing to do with me. Whatever’s going on, we stay out of it, that’s what you’ve always said. It’s drinks, that’s it.”

“You think that’s all he wants, you’re really that naive?” He seethes.

“Are you really that naive as to think that’s all I want.”

“Jesus!” He winced in discomfort over her frank statement.

“Look-” she sighed but stopped when he sank his tall frame into the armchair.

“I’m scared, okay,” he admitted, “I’m sorry for being such an asshole about this but I am genuinely terrified that you’re going to get hurt.”

“You really think Baldwin’s likely to hurt me?”

“I’m sorry, did you just say ‘Baldwin’, is that what just happened?”

“It’s his name.”

“This century it is!”

“Is he dangerous, yes or no?” She tried to bring the conversation back to topic.

“He’s one of the most lethal creatures of the past two thousand years.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I know it’s not but I’m concerned that if I give my answer you might mistake his unlikeliness to harm you with the conclusion that there is no danger.”

“How unlikely?”

“In all honesty and as far as I can tell, he has not harmed anyone or even typically kept Nightingales. His enemies, however, are not likely to treat you with equal consideration.”

“Nightingales?” She asked and he just shook his head.

“Never mind, it’s stupid.” He waved his hand, trying to dismiss the importance of what he said.

“No, what is it?” Michael sighed, knowing he wasn’t getting out of it.

“It’s a caged bird reference, like a ‘kept’ daemon of a witch or vampire.”

“I thought we generally weren’t supposed to mix?”

“We’re not but as usual, it doesn’t tend to apply to those in charge so if the head of the congregation decides to take a daemon as a pet no-one’s going to stop him.”

“That’s not what he’s doing.”

“Impressive that you’ve managed to glean the intentions of a politician with two millennia’s practice in hiding said intentions and all within the space of a ten minute chat. You don’t know him.”

“By that point, neither do you!”

“True, but he’s not trying to get into my pants.”

“Mike.”

“Just...be careful, okay?”

——-

The bar was a surprising choice, a cosy prohibition era speakeasy type of establishment as far as she could tell as the car pulled up in front of the building and the driver got out, holding the door open for her.

If she hadn’t received the call from Baldwin, apologising for being late, and asking that she allow his driver, the petite blonde vampire Christina, to escort her to the venue she would have likely refused.

He was persuasive, or maybe she just let her attraction rule over her common sense.

As though on cue, a valet exited the bar and approached them.

“Thanks, I can make it from here.” Alisha told Christina as the other handed the keys to the valet.

“I’m sure you can but I have my instructions Ms Black, please.” Christina held the door to the bar open for Alisha. Deciding it unfair to argue, given the fact that it wasn’t Christina’s fault she was there, Alisha relented, entering the bar.

Photos adorned the walls of the long forgotten patrons of the bar, many of a criminal persuasion she deduced from the white suits and absurd hats.

A waiter greeted them at the door, another vampire.

“Ms Black, please, let me take your coat.” He retrieved the garment and passed it onto a second waiter who spirited it away to the cloak room.

“This way.” He led both women to a table with wine already decanted and he made to pour it into her glass when she stopped him.

“No, thanks, I’m not a huge fan of wine.”

“But Miss, this is a...” he rattled of a long and important title of vintages and regions.

“It’s just wine, Percy,” Baldwin interrupted with his entrance and turned to a surprised Alisha, “what do you like?”

Somehow an ‘appletini’ didn’t seem sophisticated enough for the company.

“Spiced rum,” Alisha watched him give yet another long overcoat to the waiter, “and coke.”

The waiter opened his mouth but abruptly closed it when Baldwin gave him a withering stare.

“Right away Miss.” He rushed off into the back.

“Thank you Christina, I’ll make sure Ms Black gets home, you can go about your business.” Baldwin tells the vampire as he sits opposite Alisha, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he did so.

“Enjoy your night,” Christina told them both politely, “it was nice to meet you, Ms Black.”

The stunted formality of vampires does not get any easier to get used to.

“Alisha, please.” Christina shot a questioning glance at Baldwin who studies at Alisha first before giving Christina a decisive nod.

“As you wish, Alisha.”

Christina left and Alisha was suddenly and acutely aware they were now alone, after a long week of waiting.

And she had nothing to say!

“The smoking, you stopped.” It wasn’t a question yet he seemed to be waiting for an answer.

“I was going to stop anyway, the experience with Angelo just sealed the deal.” She told him, not wanting to give him too much credit in the decision.

“Regardless of the reason,” he retorted, clearly not believing her, “it was the right choice.”

The waiter returned with her drink and poured Baldwin’s wine for him as he studied her in silence.

“What?” She asked when the waiter left, feeling self-conscious at his stare.

“You seem nervous.” He answered, placing his hand over hers on the table.

“Wow, you are bad at this.” She retorted, taking a long drink from the glass with her free hand.

“How so?” He frowned slightly at the jibe.

“Come on, there’s rules to a ‘date’, surely you know that.”

“Enlighten me!” He sighed with mock resignation.

“It’s generally not procedure to have your driver pick your date up in a flash car, usually a simple ‘I’ll be a bit late’ text will suffice.”

“I don’t text, I call.”

“That’s because, unlike everyone else, you don’t have anyone who can give you a tiny panic attack when their name shows up in caller ID.”

“That’s true, although when my brother calls it’s generally not good news.” He answered and a flicker of confusion flashed across his countenance, as though he was surprised at sharing this.

Alisha had heard of this brother, of course, the infamous Matthew Clairmont, infamous in daemon circles anyway, she could easily understand the more libertine de Clermont causing Baldwin more than one headache.

Also, she felt a slight shift in his guarded demeanour with the admission of brotherly friction.

“That aside, must be nice being the one who knocks.” She teased, knowing the reference would be lost on him. The furrow of his brow told her she was right.

“Do you always speak in code?” He asked, and, feeling a bit more confident, she moved her hand under his to grasp his instead.

“How’d you get this?” She asked, running a finger over a long healed cut.

“Hundreds of battles and you expect me to remember every wound?” His voice had an edge of interest tempered by a thread of sternness. If he was determined to maintain control, she was willing to see how far she could push that limit.

“If I were to guess, I’d say the sack of Alexandria. Did you really have to burn the library?”

“I wasn’t there.”

“You’re not as old as they say?” She ribbed innocently.

“Careful.” He warned, his eyes dark and foreboding.

“Okay, not that, hmm...” she pondered and, with mock wide-eyed revelation continued, “oh, did one of the other senators knick you by accident whilst y’all were stabbing Caesar in the back.”

The tiniest hint from the quirk of his lip in amusement was undermined when he gripped her wrist, not painfully, but firm in a way that told her she was not getting free unless he allowed it.

She found the limit but she wasn’t sure if it was in referencing his long past or the insinuation that he would be so weak as to not face a opponent directly.

“I believe I told you that I tend not to repeat myself.”

“You did but I thought I made it clear that I would not be able to settle for a ‘because I said so’, you need to tell me how I offended you.”

“I do?” He chuckled, more from surprise than genuine amusement.

“If you respect me you would. Do you respect-“

“Yes!”

He answered abruptly, loosening his grip but not letting go as he instead dropped their joined hands to the table, his thumb lightly grazing over her pulse.

“Why did you ask me to come here, tonight?” She asked.

“The same reason, I assume, you agreed.”

“I have no intention of being your pet daemon, Baldwin.” She mustered with conviction.

His wounded glance gave her momentary pause.

“I would never ask that of you, or anyone else, it’s not what I want.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I don’t know, that’s the truth of it. I pride myself on knowing the intentions of everyone else yet I don’t seem to know my own.”

Alisha could only sit in stunned silence at the admission.

“What I can tell you,” he continued, “is what I do not want.“

“Okay.”

“I do not want you to be harmed in anyway by anyone, least of all by my enemies.”

“We have that in common.” She agreed and he did the most unexpected thing.

He laughed.

A full, honest and real laugh that seemed to lessen what had to the considerable weight of the creature world and his family’s legacy upon him.

“I will protect you.” He assured, his tone now deliberate and serious.

“I won’t be a caged Nightingale either.” She warned.

“Everyone’s caged by something.”

“Yeah but your protection would shrink the freedom I actually do have.”

“In some ways, perhaps, in others, just the opposite.”

“What are your terms?”

“A negotiation?” He taunts.

“In a sense.”

“Alright.” He agreed with what could only be an assumption of a foregone victory.

“When I call, you pick up, no voicemail, no callback. I call, you answer.”

“What about when I call you, will you answer?”

“Always.”

The abruptness of his reply told her she wasn’t getting any wiggle room with that one.

“Why is it so important I answer?”

“I have no need to check up on you, if I call, it will be important. If it’s not, I’ll-”

“Text?” She interrupted.

“As you wish.” He gave the most adorable head bow with his response.

“What else?”

“You keep Christina as your driver.”

“She’s your driver.”

“Actually she isn’t but she is someone I trust.”

“Hold up, is that why you were ‘late’, you just wanted me to meet her?”

“Yes.” He answered simply and as though she had no reason to be upset.

“Okay, well, you can forget about that!”

“Alisha-” he started.

“No, it’s too much, I won’t be chauffeured around like I’m some important person.”

“You’re important to me,” he cut her off, “and she’s not just a driver, she’s private security, she’s there to protect you when I’m not with you.”

“This’ insane.” She shook her head, pulling her hand back, trying to break the spell she was falling under.

He didn’t seem fazed or upset.

“Jesus, Baldwin, we don’t even know each other, we meet once in an alley, go on a date and you want to give me a bodyguard and a driver, and I don’t even have a car for her to drive.”

“That was your car, obviously you need a secure vehicle, I purchased it based on Christina’s recommendations.”

“The Merc? You bought me a Mercedes?”

“I did.” Again, the same matter-of-fact tone.

Lost for the words needed to begin explaining the problem with the situation, she instead opted to drain the contents of her glass.

“I want to show you something that may change your mind. Will you come with me?”

“Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“It’s not your apartment is it, because I don’t...not on the first date. Kiss, yes, Nightingale, not so much.”

“Not my apartment.” He confirmed, giving the waiter a subtle wave.

In no time, both he and a second waiter arrived with their coats and Baldwin retrieved hers from the waiter.

“What’s your answer?” He asked, the open garment in his hands an obvious invitation.

“What the hell.” Alisha shrugged, stood and allowed him to help her into her coat the same way he helped her into his in the alley.

“I should probably return yours, its-“

“I have enough, it’s better for your safety if you just keep it at home as a deterrent for other vampires.” He assured and held out his hand for her to take, which she did, without even thinking.

“The car, Percy.”

“Retrieving it for you now Mr Montclair, lovely to meet you Ms Black.”

“Thanks, Percy.” She answered as Baldwin led her out of the bar and onto the street just as the Jaguar approached, still from several blocks away.

“Why do I have the feeling this is your car?” Alisha gently tapped his tie with her finger.

Baldwin’s eyes narrowed in mock irritation and gathered her lapels in his hands to draw them together.

“You’re cold.” He explained, not a question but neither was it true.

“Your Spidey Sense must be off because I’m not.” She asserted, having to look up at him as he was still very close.

The faint aroma of incense circled around them, confirming for her that was just his unique scent. She’d be embarrassed if he knew that during the last week she would periodically stop at the coat rack when caught by the scent and imagine all sorts of interesting scenario’s.

“You’re shivering, I assumed.” He explained and she realised he knew full well the reason.

It would be a lie to say that she had no trepidation about accompanying a vampire to a secondary location.

“You have the control here, if you do not wish to go, we won’t go, if you do not wish me to kiss you then I won’t.”

The second part of his statement got her attention and she realised that not only did she want him to, she had wanted him to do so since he sat opposite her in the bar.

Still, she’d be damned if she would give him the satisfaction of being in control.

Leaning up, she pressed her lips gently against his and he responded by framing her face in his strong hands and, gently, deepened the kiss. Her hands settled on his forearms, not as an attempt to pull away but as an anchor.

When the car finally pulled up, it was Baldwin who reluctantly broke off the kiss.

He looked down at her and, very lightly, brushed his thumb over her bottom lip as though admiring his handiwork.

“Do you want to go with me?”

She was grateful for his careful choice of words as she really was not sure she could handle the question being asked the other way.

“Yes, I do, I want to co-“ she stopped, her cheeks flushing slightly at her own mistake, “go, go with you. I want to go with you.” She corrected and he made a valiant, but failed effort not to look amused as he opened the passenger door for her.

As she watched him close her door and walk around to the driver’s side only one thought screamed in her mind.

Fuck

_______

PART 4

[bennguinfest]

Spring 2019 Fan Fest Prompt List

Hey fan-festers! 

We’re happy to say that we received 81 prompts this time around, and we spent the last few days distilling all those amazing and creative prompts down to a list of 63 prompts! (If you’re keeping count, that’s far more than last year’s 48!) 

As with last year, we had some repeat prompts and prompts that were similar enough that it made sense to condense them under one item. Additionally, most of the prompts we distilled down to a few words for the sake of having a concise list! Again, like last year’s fest, we’re providing the full text of the original prompts under the cut, in case you’re looking for more details to get started!

You’re free to create any kind of fanwork based on the below prompts! There’s no minimum word count and no rules on what to create, or even how many - if you want to combine prompts, that’s cool! If you’re called to make more than one thing, that’s awesome too! The only limit is that this fest runs from now until April 15th - so if you’re creating something, make sure you post it and tag it with #bennguinfanfest so we can share it to this tumblr! If you’re posting to AO3, the collection is now open for submissions as well, so make sure to include your work there so everyone can find it!

One final thing: even if you didn’t submit prompts, feel free to participate and join us on the discord! We’ve set up a discord server here: bennguinfest on discord to stay connected, inspire each other, and have fun! It’s a great group and really active, so don’t be shy!

That’s it! On to the prompt list!

Matchmaking dogs

Space AU

Birthday gifts

Coming out/being together in the NHL

Acting like a couple (but they’re not actually a couple)

Tyler as a WAG

Transported to a parallel universe

Abducted by aliens

Superhero/Superpowers AU

Amnesia from an injury

Soulmate AUs: Color-based, name-on-wrist

Thirst follow/Met online

Drag AU

Time loops

Alternate histories

Cop AU

Reality show AU (Survivor, the Bachelor, Married At First Sight)

Jamie Poppins/Single dad AU

Supernatural races (vampires, werewolves, shapeshifters, etc.)

Omegaverse: Courting

Delivery boy/Uber driver AU

Tyler gets traded back to Boston

Breaking up & making up

Omegaverse: Bonding drama

Boring office desk job

Road trips

Protective Jamie defending Tyler

College/University AU

Tyler tries to be Jamie’s wingman

Lites’s comments affecting the boys

Taking care of a sick hockey player

Cuddle pile/team bed fic

Harry Potter AU

Fire alarm meet-cute

DnD/Hockey Mashup

De-aged after a fight

Bakery/Tattoo Artist AU

Friends with benefits - and then with feelings

Zombie AU

Homeless AU

Nerds are hot/competency kink

Omegaverse: scents

YouTube channel AU

Bridal shop meet-cute

Beard appreciation

Tornado warning

Figure skater mpreg

Self-conscious Jamie

Wing!fic

Winning the cup and a kiss on the ice

Lifeguard AU

Haunted farm

Animal daemons

Surprise/sudden parenting

Jealousy from dating/flirting with someone else

Secret relationship and almost getting caught

Long-lost childhood friends

"Come here."

“Close the door.”

“I feel like I can’t breathe.”

“It’s three in the morning and you want me to do what?”

“You could’ve died.”

“I thought you were dead.

Full text of the prompts under the link! If you have any questions, feel free to send us an ask - and as always, happy creating! 

1. Matchmaking dogs: Tyler’s dogs want to get their human with a certain cow-eyed captain

“well this is really awkward considering the last time we saw each other, i was screaming at you to never talk to me again, but like, my dog recognized you all the way across the park and literally dragged me over here because she misses you so hi” AU

2. Space AU (ex. Star Trek, Firefly, or something else entirely)

3. It's Tyler's birthday and at first Jamie gives off the feeling that he's forgotten and this hurts Tyler but it turns out that that Jamie wakes Tyler up at midnight on his birthday with two tickets to an offseason trip

4. I want a fic that REALLY captures what it would be like if two NHL players were to come out in 2019. I'm talking teammate reactions, press reactions, social media, family, the whole shebang. I wanna see the real raw reactions and the struggle the guys would have to go through. I would also loooove if you could fit Jamie proposing to Tyler in there somewhere but it isn't a necessity.

Jamie has a hard time dealing with how public Tyler’s life is, with the insta stories and with random people filming him all the time. It feels like it’s only a matter of time before their relationship is exposed because of how much Tyler is in the public eye. Jamie doesn’t want to break up but it seems like that’s the only choice he has. He doesn’t want to do this so much that he calls a press conference and comes out of the closet.

Jamie and Tyler have been dating since 2014 and he’s tired of hiding it. So with Jamie’s consent he posts a cute photo of them being a couple and writes a heartfelt monologue about their story. And the whole hockey community blows up about it. And it’s kinda about how they deal with being and out couple and Tyler posting obnoxiously cute couple photos on his Instagram. Sorry this prompted is a mess I just want Tyler to be a troll and post cute cliche couple photos on Instagram of him and Jamie and the world loading their minds about it.

Jamie and Tyler come out to the team about them dating. Management wants to keep their relationship secret so they make Jamie fake date someone. And him and Tyler struggle with the stress that puts on them.

realistic consequences of being together with the team

5. Tyler and Jamie are super close but super oblivious to the fact that they act like a literal couple. Jamie has a gf and she hates the fact that it seems like Jamie cares more about Tyler than he does her.

6. Fluffy fic where Jamie still plays hockey, he meets tyler and they fall in love and tyler becomes an nhl wife/husband/boyfriend.

7. Parallel universes -- somehow Tyler (or Jamie) finds himself in an alternate universe where his life is radically different (for better or for worse) which makes him realize how much his relationship to Jamie (or Tyler) means.

waking up in the future/alternate reality fic

8. Jamie and Tyler are abducted by aliens and taken to a faraway planet where they are prisoners in a bizarro planet. Is it real or is it a nightmare though?

9. jamie and tyler are in danger and major trouble when their identities as superheroes are revealed and bad guys are after them.

powers/mutant AU (as in pick one, not all at the same time) One hides their ability from the other, and when the other finds out, its...not good

Superhero AU! Are they superhero partners? Is one of them a superhero and can't date the other because he has to keep him safe? Are they both trying to keep their secret identities secret from each other while simultaneously dating in both iterations? Up to you, or anything else!

10. Amnesia angst for the win - Jamie gets a particularly hard hit, wakes up and can remember everyone except for tyler (maybe not explicitly, say they can *remember* them, but not remember that they've been dating for eight months now) cue tyler avoiding jamie because its too hard him to be around him

11. soulmate au! people are born with blackmarks - on their hands, their faces, their skin in general - the black marks is the first place their soulmate would touch them. Jamie was born without a mark. Tyler was born with two pitch black palms. Years after tylers been traded to the stars, Jamie falls asleep, and tyler can't help but run his fingers through Jamie's hair, just once, and then he looks down at his hand and the tips of his fingers are colored, and so are the few strands of Jamie's black hair.

Soulmate au- either abo or name on wrist. No drama, just fluff!

12. Tyler thirst follows Jamie on insta. This can be hockey or non-hockey, but Jamie follows back and they start talking.

13. Rupaul’s Drag Race au. Tyler and Jamie are competing against each other but are constantly talking about how much they like each other/are attracted to each other in the confessional. They’re both single, so why not go for it? Alternatively, one is a queen and the other is a member of the pit crew.

14. groundhog day au (aka, tylers/jamies day keeps getting reset, again and again until they get together finally and wake up the next day)

15. alternate history, tyler is never traded to dallas, but they still somehow meet and fall in love anyway

16. cop AU, where in tyler the rookie transfers and get stuck with Jamie the sorta senior to show him the ropes. Jamie gets attached. And that’s...a problem, in their line of work. Or at least it is for him.

17. Survivor au- same or different tribe, as long as they’re the “showmance”

"The Bachelor" AU

Married at first sight au- either within the parameters of the actual show, or they literally get married the day they meet

18. Jamie!Poppins - tyler is a single father with a new baby and no clue of what he's going to do. enter Jamie Poppins!

19. Minotaur Jamie

The Dallas Stars are a pack of werewolves, and Tyler is the vampire that’s been traded to their team.

Shifter verse!! and ive got nothing else for this other than wanting to see tyler as a tiny lab puppy pls and thanks

20. Alpha Tyler and omega Jamie: “usually when I meet an omega I wanna bone, but with Jamie I wanna fucking hold his hand and feed him bonbons all day, what the fuck”

21. Jamie the delivery boy. Kay hear me out. Like he keeps delivering huge quantities of food to this particular house and it always seems like there should be more than one person. But there’s not. And Tyler orders. All. The. Time. Hopeful it’s jamie. But they’re both too dumb to ask each other out. Lots of pining

Uber driver! Jamie picks up Tyler from a one night stand

22. Tyler gets traded back to Boston AU - Everything hurts and nothing is okay. (except that at least one of them is retiring at the end of the season so it's actually more okay than they think) (also a future fic)

23. breakup and makeup but spanning over seasons - no cheese plots

24. Bond drama (abo) either they bond too quickly, like at the all star game or something and dont know ehat to do because theyre on different teams, or they really want to bond and its not happening as fast as they think it should

25. Boring office desk job

26. road trip to Montreal to visit Jordie

27. while out chilling at a bar celebrating a win, jamie and tyler are having a couple of drinks and when jamie gets up to go the bathroom, a drunk stranger and a couple of his friends decide to harass Tyler, upsetting him. A furiously protective Jamie intervenes and despite holding his own, Jamie is beaten up and him and tyler end up in a dumpster.

28. A University fic where Tyler is out and proud and gay and Jamie is still trying to figure out his sexuality but he's having a hard time. No homophobic Jamie tho please, just a guy trying to figure himself out. Would love if he would rely on his family throughout the fic for advice.

I’m always a sucker for college au, or masters/PhD students etc

COLLEGE AU BECAUSE WE ALL NEED MORE OF THAT IN OUR LIVES

'the cops showed up to a party we were at and chased everyone away. You and I happened to run in the opposite direction of all our friends and got lost in some dark and creepy street.’ - College AU

29. Tyler finds out Jamie is gay (outed/comes out/whatever you prefer) and embarks on a wild but good-intentioned quest to find Jamie his perfect man.

30. Tyler is hurt by Lites' comments more than one thinks and Jamie is worried when he sees Tyler crying in private.

31. sickfic? jamie taking care of tyler is- like just how pathetic is a sick hockey player?

32. team bed au omg someone pls

33. Harry Potter au but not as high school student, just something in the magical world

34. "3am and the fire alarm in our apartment building went off and you look cold here is my jacket"

35. Hockey AU but they’re all dnd races. I would love to see half-orc Jamie, and goliath Bishop, and tiefling Tyler. Please be as creative as you want with this!

Hockey AU where instead of going out, a core group of guys plays dnd in their hotel rooms while on the road. Tyler and Jamie’s characters are getting flirty in game, and it’s starting to translate outside of it as well.

36. Tyler and jamie fight - a *big* fight, and the next day Jamie suddenly got a deaged tyler on his hands and no idea how to fix it

37. Jamie owns a bakery and tylers the new tat artist next door plsplspls gimme that slow burn bullshit with this one

38. ty/jam used to have a whole friends w benefits thing that went oh-so-wrong because one (or both of them) caught feelings—as one does—and the fic is kind of that aftermath and trying to repair the broken relationship.

39. ZOMBIES

40. Homeless AU w/tyler

41. Tyler is smarter than he leads people to believe, and Jamie is into privately nerdy Tyler

42. Abo verse surrounding scents. Tyler smells like the most delicious thing Jamie has ever smelled, but he thinks he shouldn’t bond with a teammate

43. Youtube channel

44. Designer and single friend of client at a bridal shop AU

45. Beard appreciation

46. a tornado warning hits dallas and everybody is ordered to seek shelter. jamie follows tyler back to his house and hide in the basement with the dogs, frantic and terrified.

47. Tyler is a figure skater, Jamie still plays hockey. They meet and fall inlove but whoops tyler ends up pregnant. The world still isn't 100% accepting of LGBTQIA+ people and even less accepting of men getting pregnant. Tyler feels down at some point cause he has to put his career on hold. but it all ends up great in the end.

48. Jamie feels self-conscious about his ass after some chirping from opposing players and it's up to Tyler to comfort him

49. Wing!fic

50. They win the Stanley cup and kiss at centre ice

51. Jamie's a lifeguard. They meet after Tyler basically drowns himself. (It's not an excuse to have Jamie kiss him. Its *not*.)

52. Haunted farm au- Tyler is a witch that lives on a farm where extremely weird things happen. He ends up rescuing Jamie and Jamie pledges his services for one year in exchange for his life. During that year, they fall for each other hard, but there are outside forces in the farm trying to keep them apart.

53. Animal daemons

Goose daemons

54. Marshall, Cash and Gerry turn into human kids (temporarily or not), Bennguin handle being sudden parents

55. Tyler having a serious boyfriend for a while and Jamie is jealous because he wants to date Tyler but he’s not ready to come out. And he’s also upset because everyone is taking it so well and nothing has changed and he realizes he really missed out. But in the end they still get together.

56. secret relationship and how they almost get caught - many many times

57. Childhood pen pal / long distance childhood friends?

58. "Come here."

59. “Close the door.”

60. “I feel like I can’t breathe.”

61. “It’s three in the morning and you want me to do what?”

62. “You could’ve died.”

63. “I thought you were dead.”

[roseate7]

(my no good utterly pretentious reaction to Geno’s interview in Russian wherein he expresses himself in a way we non-Russian-speaking fans rarely get to see and I go into an absolute asjafjsaghjas)

I just think about how lonely Geno has been in with such a hostile spotlight so young, the kind of thing I haven’t seen since the first defectors. Growing and maturing and then attending a draft alongside another Russian phenom bred to be lauded along his journey from league to league, by comparison Geno’s own hype and success ended up on a journey that paralleled those first Russian pioneers to NHL hockey more than any other player of his generation. In particular, a stark almost flip-opposite to the one his fellow draft alumnus experienced.

The NHL that Geno had begun to dream about joining in his teens had developed a different relationship to Russian players since his very early childhood. It was a stage set almost perfectly for the star rising elsewhere who would one day become The Russian Superstar in commercial terms and popularity that not even the Russian greats before him had managed to be. What’s relevant in particular is that Ove is famously known as an un-Russian type player, and was made so more or less by design. His destiny was patently to go out and “conquer” (to use his and his press’ patter) the NHL. His playing style is much more that of a North American power forward and the C*pitals’ hierarchy that places his scoring chances as top priority is the perfect environment for his style to flourish. He is the THE superstar, even having been mentored by Fedorov during his tenure with Washington. All and sundry around Ove have been driven toward his accomplishments. (Fed himself called Ove’s style not at all typical for a Russian. Ove’s falling out with his Russian coach at Sochi in some part to this.) Btw I know tumblr tends to be hyper sensitive and reactionary about this kind of thing, so just a reminder that these are facts that are *constantly* corroborated every year by every sports pundit and player, including respected colleagues and friends of Ove’s. The overwhelming majority of C*ps fans, and the entirety of the franchise, are perfectly happy with it! And thanks to getting a Cup into the bargain, very proud to continue it. To paraphrase him, if it never breaks then don’t “fix” it!

I bring it up with regards to How Very Russian Indeed Geno is by contrast, and now especially amid the many Ov*chkin-ized Russian NHLers. It marks a turning point in how Russian players in the NHL are presented and interact.

Geno in no small way represents the Old Gods. He’s got far more in common with Alexander Nevsky than Alexander Ov*chkin, if I can be allowed to be so pretentious and very historically loose. His choice to keep the A on another C’s team rather than seek out his own personal superstardom elsewhere - which would absolutely have been the parallel to Ove’s, as their close draft class status has proven repeatedly through the years - is Russian to the core. The desire to reflect on his own position in a club in terms of broader, collective success is - albeit to a North American anyway! - achingly Russian.

The many old world fables his story resonates with come right out of Russian stories: rags-to-riches; daring defection from his home country; from “jewel in the crown” of home to persecution as a perceived traitor; dramatic arrival to his new foreign city, including the first meeting with the young phenom he had followed since their childhood; the cruel and abrupt challenge of faith in himself at his first appearance on NHL ice; from cultural and linguistic isolation to half of a dual leadership with one of hockey’s greatest players on a three-time Cup winning team. It’s all there in fascinating, ever-revealing detail.

The Russian Five were my personal fascination when I was a teen early in my hockey fan days and the mention of them in this interview reminds me of how, in just one player, I have seen that same Old Russian magic revive again. The fierce loyalty to the new guard he belongs to but that unmistakable, slightly haunted aura of traveling with his heritage in everything he does is a lot more of what I was used to seeing in Russian NHLers than the more casual, comfortable relationships Russian players have with North American media and fans nowadays. I know we all have to be cautious about the Russian Bear analogies, especially as they relate to the media- and opposition-feeding frenzy that seeks to vilify him as having some sort of pathological level of rage and lack of control. Especially when spoken at the same time as North American players with blatant anger issues are coddled into fantasies of ‘simply doing their job’ good guys or flat out victims themselves. Geno has pride and a hockey temper, but it only looks out of proportion to the average pride and pugilism of any other player targeted for aggression, by those who don’t feel that he’s presenting himself in a way that is palatable to them. Most modern Russian NHLers return home and relax into very different personalities than the big smiles, laugh-along, don’t-talk-about-anything-serious versions of themselves that keep NW fans and media happy. Even if they find themselves in the box far more often or just as much as Geno, if the public already considers them a friend then much is forgiven. No armchair psychology of “anger issues” needed, no matter how bad the high stick or how many PIM. (and I won’t even get started on who ends up staying on referees radars more often than others, because it absolutely happens but most folks stay in denial unless it serves their own purpose)

As for the nature of his pride, Geno himself says that staying on a team he believes in is worth more than his own C. It’s worth taking a cut in money to help cap space. It’s worth being on the second line, and using his intelligence and vision to work with who he’s given to form his own leadership. And that leadership becoming seen by all as an equal and vital part of the captaincy - no “alternate”. With any other captaincy than Sid’s, Geno would absolutely have left to find his own rightful dominion. But for the grace of Sid being born and made with “hockey is a team-first and team-only effort” as his defining characteristic, Pittsburgh would have lost 71 and seen him become number one elsewhere… and very likely winning his own Cups. Geno’s loyalty to the city and franchise does not at all end or limit itself to Sid, but it absolutely begins with him. One superstar’s personality kept the other on his team, and that other’s personality is why he stayed on the other’s.

The Russian Five felt like “fish put back in the water” when put together. Geno has used his own tenacity, bravery and ingenuity as a generational superstar to find a swift current with that most Canadian of archetypes, Sidney Crosby. The combined effort is perfectly fluid, perfectly aligned, with not even a faint whisper of friction or disturbance in thirteen years. There have been and will continue to be many dynamic duos in hockey: there’s a reason why this one is called unique. They’re both natural born captains and each chasing each other within a delicate margin along the record books. They absolutely work well together on the ice, but genuinely operate best when leading their own lines. Maybe psychologically there’s an argument about how much they lean on each other, but I think it’s much more to their credit to point out that Geno found himself in familiar waters with a fellow leader who shares exactly the same principles as him. Side by side, and more than once proving capable of taking the team on their own back when one is out injured.

It’s a big part of why a major club like Pittsburgh has made the often baffling decisions throughout these thirteen years to take on hard-luck cases or players nearing the back end of their careers. A team whose leadership is founded and successful on load-sharing and listening is the perfect environment for players who still have the fight and/or the skill but who have lost their way. Or perhaps aged out of their old club. All you have to do is your best and the Pens will try to find you. But if you want to be the superstar or leap ahead of the guys who’ve done more time, you won’t find any sympathy in Crosby and Malkin.

And it’s just so poetic that Geno’s story, told by himself so beautifully by himself in this interview, is one of heart and good faith overcoming adversity after adversity. And that he did it by making wise decisions for himself, while holding himself unnervingly well in response to his own feelings of guilt and responsibility. And how his success in Pittsburgh has been to make the smart decision about staying with a club because of his faith in it. And that his personal successes and pride are the result of endurance and patience rather than a succession of fireworks, or even getting the credit he deserves.

Sid absolutely represents the ‘anything is possible through hard work’ and the more nurturing side of the Pens’ leadership. But Geno is the steely resolve and quiet rumble leading to powerful force that bears aloft even unlikely rosters to their absolute best.

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(asterisks and spelling changes used because I don’t know how tumblr searches tags anymore and I’m being careful - if you still somehow found this and get huffy about what I said wrt Ove then swallow it down and move along. Nothing I said is untrue or considered an insult even by Caps hockey pundits. It’s all factual and highly relevant in terms of how NHL hockey has changed for Russian players. Don’t blame me for watching hockey for decades and stating what absolutely everyone else does, including the Caps coaching and management! Their style is not under my control lol.)

[stuffandnosense]

Never Ending: Message in a Bottle (Part 4)

So everyone over @altean-plance-au is still doing their thing, and the recent updates have been fantastic (a couple of which I still need to catch up on), and thanks to them and also my friends at the Pidgance Positivity Discord I finally managed to get back to this, and I’m really excited about my plans for it going forward. ;) I hope you enjoy the new chapter! 

Never Ending Oneshot  |  MiaB Part 1  |  MiaB Part 2  |  MiaB Part 3

***

“Almost every single one of these video files has a name - like a real name, not just a number or something. AND they’re color-coded into topics,” Lance observes, as they flip through the file folder on the screen in his room. “Why does that not surprise me?”

“Because you know me,” Pidge smirks. “Just because the log was your idea doesn’t mean I’d have let you get away with doing it without some basic organization. What are we, animals?”

She’s expecting a laugh at that, but when she glances at him his face has fallen, and she realizes she made a mistake in her attempt to make a joke.

Too soon, she thinks. Too soon to be identifying with the people in these videos completely, even for a joke. Lance has come around enough since earlier to agree to watch these videos with her, but he is still confused. Still scared, even, maybe.

“S-Sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean…”

Lance blinks and shakes his head. “No, I know; you were just being funny. It’s fine. Ignore me.”

Pidge lets her hand fall away from the screen “We don’t have to do this right now, you know. We could wait a little longer.”

He smiles. “It’s okay, Pidge, really.”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable; are you sure—?”

“Pidge!” He grabs her hand and tugs her back to sit facing the huge screen they’d set up in here phoebs ago for the game console they bought at the space mall. “I mean it, come on,” he chuckles. He points the Altean remote-like thing at the display. “I guess we should just start at the beginning? What ARE these categories anyway?”

“One looks like messages to specific people; those we’ll skip. Otherwise, looks like…” Pidge squints at the screen. “General Logs, Altean History & Culture, Nonsense Logs - of course - and oh, neat, what’s Project Window? There’s also a Miscellaneous tag, because you have to have one of those.”

“You’re enjoying this too much already and we haven’t even started.”

She smirks at him, and then he comes to the end of the long list. The last several files aren’t named, or color-coded, and she frowns.

“What is it?” Lance asks.

“Nothing…” She tells herself it doesn’t have to mean anything, and steals the remote from Lance. “Come on, let’s pick up where we left off in the first general log I guess.”

“Hey give it back!”

***

Nonsense Log 2: Or, I knew this would probably devolve into Feed Funniest, and I was right.

“What are you doing?” Pidge turns on the recorder as Lance floats past her upside down - not that direction really matters in here. He’s trying to use bits of unfrozen water to propel himself across the space, but the stream keeps coagulating into clumps.

“Practicing. I’ve never used my powers in zero gravity before; it’s harder to keep it liquid when it otherwise wants to freeze, and it keeps, you know, acting like things in zero gravity do…”

He freezes a large ball of the water to grab onto to stop himself spinning, but with no anchor he just goes spinning away with the ice ball in his grasp.

Pidge giggles at his shriek. “You need to stay tied to the side!”

“That’s not going to help me figure out how to operate somewhere with zero-g that doesn’t have walls…!” Lance and his ball of ice bounce off the inside of the sphere; he unfreezes the water and pushes off from the wall with it to send himself back to her.

Pidge catches his arms as he gets closer; he’s still somewhat out of control, but at least he ended up relatively where he seems to have wanted to go.

“Well that was better,” she gives him, pulling him into the nest with her.

“Of course it was.” He winks and kisses her cheek.

“Since when did you like training?”

Lance feigns offense. “Excuse me; I’ve matured enough to recognize its’ merits, thank you very much. I wouldn’t be the skilled bodyguard or the master of my abilities I am without it.”

Pidge grins wickedly at that, and extends a pair of vines to shove him back out of the nest. “Oh? Show me what you’ve got, then.”

A glob of water hits her in the face as she emerges from the nest; Lance’s laugh echoes off the frozen walls of their life boat.

“You’re on.”

***

On venturing out for food they ask Allura what Feed Funniest would have meant, after seeing it in one of the log titles.

“Oh, the Feed was merely a...network of messaging and content channels, really. Those used by everyone. There were many, but that was the collective name for it. Feed Funniest was a channel used to compile humorous entries.”

Lance blinks at her. “It was social media.”

Pidge shrugs as she pulls a spoon from a drawer. “I mean, people are people everywhere, and Altea was a technologically advanced society. That makes sense; why wouldn’t they have had a way for people to collectively communicate?”

“Altea had social media!”

Allura seems confused. “Social media?”

Pidge smirks as she nudges a shell-shocked Lance out the kitchen door. “Don’t worry about it; he’ll adjust.”

“Pidge, Altea had social media!”

“I heard her, Lance.”

***

Project Window Entry 1: Or, I really hope this doesn’t get us killed.

“So we’ve decided that we can’t just sit here,” Pidge says. Her fingers fly over the projected keypad from the computer as it records them. A vine curls out from the wall of the sphere, wrapped around her waist to hold her in place as she runs her calculations.

“This one computer we have does have limited comm and scanning abilities, but the scanners won’t reach outside the sphere, and the comms barely will. We might be able to detect signals from ships close enough, but we definitely wouldn’t be able to tell what kinds of ships they were. If we want to have a chance of detecting and reaching out to a friendly ship and being rescued rather than captured or killed...we need a way to know for sure.”

Lance is floating over her shoulder, examining a section of the wall.

“Lance?”

“What?” He glances down at her and the computer. “Oh, right. What should I…?”

“Just tell the log what you told me.” Pidge grins, teasing but anxious. “You’re the one who wanted to record things.”

“Right…” He sighs. “We need to open a section of this wall so we can see out, but seeing as we’re floating in space we can’t just...do that. But there are several layers of plants, and I think if we replace them one by one with ice in this one spot, we can get all the way through. And even though it’ll be several layers, and they’ll need to be thick, I think with my powers I can make them clear enough for us to still be able to see enough for it to make a difference.”

Pidge is nodding. “It’ll end up acting like a magnifying glass, but at least we’ll be able to tell the difference between a Galra ship and one that might actually want to rescue us. And the magnification might actually help in some cases, too.”

“We have to be sure everything stays sealed while we do this, though. Quiznak, why did I even have this thought…?”

“It was a good thought! We can do it. I can make sure we don’t decompress; the plants will warn me if we’re in danger. We just have to treat it like an airlock.” The computer pulls away from her as she asks a vine to reach out and take it while they work.

Pidge offers Lance a reassuring smile. “Detail work is what you do.”

“Usually the life or death involved isn’t quite so direct…”

She tugs him to her and kisses him. “How’s that for motivation?”

Lance smiles back softly as he holds her against him for a moment. “I guess I did tell you we weren’t done, didn’t I?”

“We’re not,” she whispers into his cheek. Around them the glowing plants that light their lifeboat shine off the ice that seals it; the beauty still surprises her every morning she wakes. “If we made this place, we can do anything. We’re not dying in here.”

Log 5: I was going to delete, but Lance said not to; people need to understand what Zarkon did.

Pidge affixes the wrist computer to some vines beside the fruit basket woven into the sphere’s side, making it easier to begin recording as she pokes Lance’s resting form under the moss blankets in their nest bed.

“Lance? You awake?” Nothing, at first, but his breathing isn’t even in sleep. “Lance?”

“...I’m awake.”

“We need to work on this window; if we take too long, our allies could give up looking for survivors. If they’re even doing that, but anyway.”

His shoulders tense, and he still doesn’t turn over to face her. “Not right now, Pidge...”

“Are you okay? I’m still a little tired, too. Maybe you’re right; we could just record today. Maybe go over whatever we can remember from our history classes or something...whatever we can do, you know? You weren’t wrong; I guess it is a good idea to get down as much as we can about Altea somehow…”

Lance shifts under his blankets and pulls them up around his ears. “Not right now,” he repeats hollowly. Drops of liquid float over his shoulder, glinting in the glow of the bioluminescent plants, and Pidge’s chest clenches.

“Lance…” She gets a quiet sob in answer, and her own throat clogs. “I’m...I’m sorry.”

Having only just woken up herself, she doesn’t know how long he’s been awake. She does know there have been moments she’s woken up in the night, too, paralyzed. Moments when all she could do was miss her family. And Lance was there.

She leans over him and wraps her arms around him, slipping back under the moss to pull him close and let his tears soak her shoulder rather than floating away. Lance clings to her like a lifeline. They are each others’ lifelines. They are all they have left.

“It’s okay...we don’t have to do anything today,” she whispers. With a flick of her wrist, she turns the computer off with the tip of a vine.

***

Lance pauses the computer’s playback before the next log can start. His arms are wrapped tightly around his chest in the dim castle bedroom.

“Lance…?”

He swallows. “I...I still don’t know if there’s a whole other family I should be mourning, or…”

Pidge loops an arm around his shoulders and rests her head against his arm, because she isn’t sure what else she can do. He lets her, for a moment or two, but in the end he extracts himself gently from her grip and gets shakily to his feet.

“You want to take a break?” she asks.

“Yeah…”

The break lasts longer than either of them planned; Voltron is dispatched on a rescue mission almost immediately after returning to Galra headquarters.

***

“Lance…? Lance, are you okay?”

The cool castle wall presses into his forehead where he’s leaned into it. They must have returned from the shield station half a varga ago or more, but he hasn’t even made it out of Red’s hangar.

Hunk is hovering over him and Pidge is kneeling beside him, clutching at his arms and looking up at him with so much concern and…

When did he end up on his knees?

“I...I don’t...know…”

Lance…! LANCE! Pidge is screaming in his memory, but it isn’t HIS memory.

Hunk gets down on his knees with them, a hand rubbing at Lance’s back. He can’t feel it much through his armor, but the weight is welcome.

“What...what happened out there?” he asks. “I know I didn’t have time to ask before; everything was kind of going nuts. I’m sorry, man…”

“I-it’s okay, I know, I…” He shakes his head, trying to clear the buzzing from it. He was fine, he was fine, but then it hit him all over again.

“I know you saved Allura,” Hunk says, somewhat in awe. “That was...that was…”

“Stupid,” Pidge swallows.

“I was gonna say BRAVE…”

Lance snorts quietly. “Pidge is probably more right, but i-if I hadn’t…”

Allura would be dead. With no one to bring her back.

Like he’d been dead.

He’d been dead.

He died.

There are arms around him now. Hunk and Pidge pressing into him from both sides, wrapped around him. He’s shaking and he doesn’t know when that started.

“Lance? Buddy!”

“Lance!”

“I died,” he gasps. “I...just for a minute. Allura brought m-me back. Re...st-started my heart and healed me, I guess, I...I mean I guess it’s not really that different than like a defibrillator or something bringing me back, it wasn’t that long b-b-but I still…”

Pidge’s breath puffs against his neck. “What!”

“Oh man…” Hunk trails.

Their arms tighten around him but Lance doesn’t mind. He needs the touch. He needs to feel like he’s still here when his mind won’t stop racing.

“It’s okay,” Pidge is saying. “It’s okay. You’re okay.” It sounds like she’s saying it as much for herself as for him.

“I know,” he breathes. “I know.”

Over and over he feels the charge hit him. It HURT...so much. And maybe it was while he was screaming and maybe it was...after...but…

She was reaching for him. The vision. The...memory. It was a memory. Pidge screaming his name. Reaching. Or clinging to him? So much like she is now but...not this Pidge. And she was...

“Older,” he says aloud.

“What?” Hunk asks.

Lance sits up straighter. “She was older.”

“Who was?” Pidge asks.

He gets to his feet, maybe too quickly, reaching out for the wall for balance as his head spins. “You. I think. When what happened out there happened, I...saw something. Like we did in your hanger. Sort of. When we touched that energy.”

Where is Allura?

“I think she and Coran are still with Shiro; they wanted to make sure he was okay after whatever happened to him out there,” Pidge says.

“I asked that out loud?”

“Yeah...” Hunk says warily.

“Sorry, I’m just...ugh.” Lance winces as he finds Pidge’s hand and squeezes it. “I need to see something. Come on. Hunk, can you uh...can you find Allura and Coran? Get them to meet us in my room? If they’re done checking up on Shiro I mean.”

“Sure?”

“Thanks, man.”

Pidge follows him as he tugs her from the hangar, but her fingers are rubbing his worryingly as she clutches his hand in return. “Lance, what’s going on?”

He still feels...unsteady. And not because Allura didn’t heal him well enough. Physically he’s fine; it’s only the mental and emotional toll of what happened that’s making him shaky, he’s almost sure. But even through the fading tremors he has a purpose as he pulls her through the corridors.

“You’ll see.” He turns on the large screen when they reach his room, and starts scrolling through the log files to get to the end.

Pidge reaches out to still his hands. “What are you doing? I thought we weren’t skipping.”

She says it as the door opens again, Allura, Coran, and Shiro on Hunk’s heels.

“What? What’s going on?” the princess asks, echoing Pidge from moments ago. “Lance? Are you all right?”

He looks back at her and smiles. “I think so. Now. I...look, Allura, I know you and Coran have been watching these logs too, and...I know you haven’t wanted to get to the end, and I know why. But...I don’t think we have to be afraid of it anymore.”

Allura swallows. “How do you know?”

Lance winces. “What happened out there...I saw something. It was a memory; I know it was. And...I mean it wasn’t exactly the greatest kind. I don’t know what happened to them later. But what I saw, Pidge was older. Maybe ten or twenty years older, Allura. I don’t think they died in that sphere.”

“How can you be sure?”

“The last couple of files are so aren’t named,” Pidge says, her voice cracking.

He knows they don’t want to question him just to question him. Allura and Pidge are both looking at him, and they’re just afraid, and he understands. What if something went wrong finishing the window? What if they finished it, but no one came? He’d been thinking the same things. But...

“I know what I saw. I know it was a memory.” He looks from Allura to Pidge. “Can you trust me?”

***

Log 6: Or, We may be crazy but that’s okay

Lance is already recording when Pidge wakes up. She squints up at the light from the wrist computer’s projected screen.

“Why are you recording me sleeping?” She seems to be trying to sound disgruntled, but she can’t hide her smile.

“Because you’re beautiful in the light in here.”

“It’s still weird,” she smirks.

Lance leans down to nuzzle her cheek. “Hush. I only just turned it on.”

She yawns, stretching, and settles her arms around his neck as he floats just above her in the lack of gravity. “All right...what are you up to?”

He flips through the files. “You didn’t tell me you had music on this thing.”

“Not much...just some instrumental stuff I use when I’m working sometimes.”

Lance pushes himself back, hanging the computer on a vine and pressing play on a file before he floats away from the nest. A soft ballad drifts through the chill air.

“Come on,” he says. He holds out a hand, smiling. “Dance with me.”

Pidge laughs. “In zero gravity?”

“Hey, I can’t trip on your feet.”

She huffs in amusement as she pushes back the moss blankets and drifts to the edge of the nest. Lance wiggles his fingers at her to beckon, and her expression softens as she reaches out to take his hand.

Lance pulls her close, sending them into a gentle spin in the center of the sphere as the music plays from the computer.

“Sorry I kind of put the kibosh on yesterday,” he says quietly.

Pidge shakes her head. “It won’t be the last time one of us needs to do that.” She rests her head against his chest. “We lost...our planet. Everyone…” Her voice catches.

Lance strokes her hair, his face settling into a determined stare at nothing in particular. “We are going to get out of here. We’re going to finish that window, and someone is going to find us.”

“You can’t know that,” she whispers. “But thank you for saying it anyway.”

“We will,” he says again. He nudges her chin until she looks at him. “Because I want to have a life with you. I know it can’t be the same as it would have been on Altea...but I want it.”

“Zarkon will be looking for us. For any Alteans left. Anyone who was off-planet.”

“So we find them before he does.”

“More than that,” she says suddenly. “If we get out of this, we have to fight back.”

Lance is quiet for a moment, but at the certainty in her eyes, he nods. All he wants is for her to live, for anyone left to be safe, but…

“If that’s what you want, I’ll be by your side.”

***

Lance pulls up the last log file, from what must have been weeks after the last one they watched, and Pidge’s face fills the screen. The Altean version of her face.

It’s still so strange to see it, even though they’ve been watching these logs for a couple of days now. It still sends a strange shock through her stomach, sometimes. But Lance slips an arm around her shoulders, and it grounds her.

This time only the soft glow from the screen illuminates Pidge’s doppelganger; behind her the sphere is nearly dark. The plants are dying.

She looks so tired, her breath visible in the air, but her eyes are alight.

“Trigel’s people have found us! Not a moment too soon...another few quintants and…” She shakes her head. “They’re going to fire an escape capsule into the side of the sphere to get us out safely. We’ve weakened the wall just enough; they should be able to lodge the hatch end inside without decompressing our atmosphere.”

Her excitement fades. “They’ve told us the Paladins are gone...all of them. Even without the lions they fought to save Altea, but...and-and no one knows where the castle is, or who was still on it when it left.”

The Pidge on the screen swallows. Over her shoulder Lance floats into view, and he looks just as weak and exhausted, but he’s smiling tiredly as he holds onto her.  

“Allura, if you’re out there…” The Pidge on the screen smiles, too. “I hope we find each other, but if we don’t, if you find this at least…”

“We lived, Allura. And we did everything we could.”

[legendarypotat]

So this is a sketch I did a long time ago for a series of comics I had planned for Kallura/Plance week.

And well I didn’t had the time to draw anything besides this sketch because college is a bitch. The prompt I was going for was double date. But I ended adding my small headcanon: Pidge used to be Lance’s wingman at the Garrison until things changed...

Anyways if you want to read the outline of the “never to be” comic read below. Just a warning though: I am not a writer. 

Ps. There is some Kallura below ;)

Comic #1 

(Pidge POV)

Pidge was working on some new upgrade for the ATLAS when suddenly Lance came into her field of vision. He approached her slowly with sad puppy eyes, she knew well they meant trouble.

“What do you do this time?”she questioned before he even muttered a word.

“Wha-what! What do you mean?”

“Just cut the chase.”

Lance sighed. “Allura agreed to come out to a date with me,” he simply stated.

Pidge waited for Lance to continue. She didn’t comprehend why she needed to know this. “And?”

“Well I was wondering if you wanted to tag along.”

“What!”

“Like the old times. Please Pidgey! I need my wingma- my wingma’am at my side,” he gave her the pleading eyes he knew she couldn’t refuse.

“Uggghh! Fine.”

“By the way you are going with Keith.”

“Keith? What about Hunk?”

“He got plans with Shay already.”

“Quiznak! And how did you even manage to drag Keith into this?”

“I have my way with words,” he simply stated.

“You sure do.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Comic #2

(Pidge POV)

“Why did I even agreed to this?” Pidge muttered under her breath as she stood besides Lance under a small umbrella. Both staring, hearts heavy, as all the metro train waiting times read cancelled due to the heavy rain.

“I am sorry Pidge. I didn’t mean to-,” he sighed, “I better called Allura and tell her we won’t be making it.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Comic #3

(Keith POV)

“Hello? Oh, Lance! We have been waiting-“

Keith saw how Allura’s smile turned soon into a frown. Where the heck were Lance and Pidge?

“Uh no. Don’t worry Lance. I understand.”

“What happened?”

“Their ride was cancelled due to heavy rain, so they won’t be able to make it.”

“Oh.”

Keith couldn’t help feel irritated. This whole problem could have been avoided if the Garrison will let them ride their Lions everywhere they pleased. But since WWIII the nations have been more insistent on controlling weapons of mass destruction. Unfortunately Voltron, although an alien artifact, fitted that category. Keith was lucky. He had a hoverbike as a mean of transport, so he didn’t worried much about it. Lance, admittedly, drives too. Except that his blue ride was waiting for him in Cuba. Nowhere near where they currently stayed. Allura? Well she was still getting used to the whole earth thing, and she might have overlooked that issue. Pidge? She can drive a giant space lion robot, but here on earth, there is something called drivers test which she hasn’t quite taken yet. So here they were. Since Allura lived on the Garrison base, he volunteered to drive Allura to this mess. Lance will pick up Pidge, since she literally lives a few blocks from the apartment Lance and Hunk rented. They could simply go to a metro station, catch a ride and meet them at the semi fancy Italian restaurant Lance had chosen.

“Why did I even agreed to come here?” Keith heard himself speak out.

Allura gave him a worried look. “I know this doesn’t look good, but we can still have fun. Lance told me he wouldn’t mind if we made the best of his reservation.”

That surprised Keith. “Really?”

Allura smiled, “Really.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Comic #4

(Pidge POV)

“Have fun,” Lance shoulders dropped as he ended the call. Disappointment was written on his face. Something she couldn’t tolerate and she was bound to fix.

“How about some hot chocolate and churros at that place you love?”, she asked.

Lance stared at her dumbfounded.

“It’s only five blocks from here, come on I didn’t dressed up for nothing!”

And with that she grabbed Lance’s hand and tugged him towards the streets.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Comic #5

(Keith POV)

Allura and Keith had a quite pleasant time to Keith’s amazement. It was a bit awkward at the beginning but sure enough they both opened up to each other talking about the ways of the Galra and Alteans, and gossiping about Lance.

“So you mean to tell me,” Allura could barely speak through her laughter, “that Lance blackmailed you into this double date.”

“Yep.”

“I would definitely love to see that video of you singing.”

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Oh! Better yet, why don’t you sing to me right now?”

Keith felt heat extending from his cheeks all the way to his ears. He stood still as a deer caught in headlights, rapidly looking for an escape. He quickly glanced out the window. The rain had stopped now and the sky had cleared enough to see the sun setting down.

Keith stood up and offered his hand to Allura, “I have a better idea.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Comic #6

(Keith POV)

“Sit in front.”

“What the what now?”

“I say sit in front,” Keith stated, “I am teaching you how to drive.”

Allura hesitated, but was soon met with Keith’s determined eyes and somehow it gave her courage to put on her helmet and take her new assigned sit. Keith sat behind her.

“We are gonna go slow,” Keith gently guided her hands to the handles, “we don’t want to cause a commotion do we.” He circled his arms around her and nodded her to continue.

Allura gave it her first try and they were launched a few yards at top speed, making Keith let out a small scream.

Keith heart almost came out of his chest, “Okay, let me help you.”

He placed his hands over hers and resumed their path back home. They zigzagged through the streets until they reached the city limits. Somehow along that time Keith had returned his hands around her waist, completely trusting her with the control of the hoverbike. Keith heart was beating fast but it had nothing to do with the adrenaline of riding a bike.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Comic #7

(Lance POV)

Pidge always knew how to make Lance feel better. Even though the wind blew away their umbrella and they arrived soaking wet to the place, the hot chocolate and the fresh made churros definitely hit the spot.

Now they were walking back to Lance’s apartment with some peanut butter cookies they bought in the confectionary nearby. There was still some light rain falling, so Lance tucked in Pidge under his arm, trying to cover them both with his jacket.

Then a truck came at fast speed through the street and nothing could have stopped the wave that enveloped both of them.

“Trágame tierra!” Lance said exasperated. The universe just hated him didn’t it. He had planned this evening to go out perfectly but life had other plans.

His internal grief was interrupted as he heard the girl next to him laugh. He couldn’t help but join her. Oh, how he wanted to hear her laugh forever.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Comic #8

Prologue

Allura looked at the communication device the humans called cellphone. It read Lance, as  expected. But then she saw Keith’s named under his and her heart skyrocketed. She took a deep breath and answered.

“Hey guys,” Allura heard Lance through the phone.

“What mess have you done this time?” Keith interrupted before Lance continued.

“So I asked Pidge out to the double date,” Lance stated.

Allura piped in “And what did she say?”

“Actually... I told her I was going with you, Allura... and that Keith was going with her.”

“You did what!” both Keith and Allura said at the same time.

“I panicked,” Lance said lamely.

“Who will had known Mr. Loverboy will fail so tremendously,” Keith bickered.

“Hey you-.”

“Okay, calm down,” Allura interrupted, “This can still be fixed.”

Allura talked out her masterplan with the boys. They both listened attentively making a few suggestions here and there.

“Well it does sound logical,” Keith stated, “if Lance doesn’t screw it up.”

“Hey!”

“There is no way Lance will screw this up. That’s why he got us for.”

“Thanks Allura.”

Keith coughed.

“And thank you Keith, for helping me out. See you guys Saturday!”

Allura and Lance waited until Keith hanged up.

“Lance, you promised me a date with Keith,” Allura laughed, “You have failed me.”

Lance laughed through the other end, “I am sorry princess, but I can’t help but be a fool around Katie.”