#anyway their tails cannot be untangled thanks!

[cloud-somersault]

(sits down next to you) the implication that wukong and macaque's tails remain tangled together until they have to part for some reason or another is so important to me and i'll always write it forever and always

[din-skywalker]

Kratos notices Atreus running around in wolf form and sees that his fur isn't in the best condition. He decides to brush it.

this was such a cute idea omg thank you 😭

i'm on mobile so idk how to make a "read more" button terribly sorry

---

The boy has gotten good at changing his form, Kratos has realized. Since he returned from his second trip to Asgard, Atreus has become able to shift almost seamlessly, body bending and morphing in a flash of light and sparks into the four legged shape of a wolf.

His pelt is made up of bright yellow and orange furs, a shade similar to that of his hair. His eyes are a beautiful contrast, shining blue like the sky on a clear day.

He likes to show off to his father now, effortlessly changing his shape and form as if he is breathing. Kratos acts as if he is not watching, yet catches himself staring at his son, amazed by his ability. When Atreus had asked if he could change into an animal all those years ago… he had merely brushed it off, chalking it up to child wonderment. Which, it was. But now, that wonderment had become reality, and Atreus could not be more excited.

He hadn't had the time yet to truly enjoy his new ability, so, while with his father, he'd begun to practice during their long treks. He'd run ahead of Kratos, circle him, leap over his head, all the like. He's figuring out the extent of his wolf form, and what right would Kratos have to interrupt? Atreus only experiments between fights and makes sure to pay attention to his father’s orders, so Kratos sees no reason to stop him.

That is, until he looks closer at Atreus. Kratos feels his eyes narrow when Atreus bounds closer to him, tongue lolling from jaws and ears pressed back by the wind as he runs this way and that.

His… his fur. Oh his fur.

From a further away glance, his fur looks pristine. The oranges and yellows glow in the light almost like embers from a fire, and it doesn't look like there are any problems. Upon further inspection, however, Kratos can see the knots and mats of fur as well as the leaves, mud and sticks stuck in his pelt.

“Atreus!” he shouts, causing the wolf to skid to a halt. Atreus looks back at him with his head tilted, ears perked high. He's alert, tail held up still, his muscles bunched in preparation to move at his father’s command. “Come here.”

With that order, Atreus bounds towards him, returning to his regular form in a burst of light and heat. “Yes, Father? What's up?” he asks, and Kratos swears for a moment he still has the wolf ears and tail. But he does not. Atreus has not yet held his human form with characteristics of an animal, if he can at all.

“Return to a wolf,” Kratos says. Atreus raises a brow at him, a tad confused, but listens anyway. He stares up at Kratos through his sky blues as Kratos kneels beside him to get a closer look at his fur. And yup, sure enough, as Kratos combs his fingers through the fiery pelt, they get stuck in knots and clumps of matted fur. “Your fur.”

Atreus’s ear twitches and he twists his neck, nose knocking into Kratos’s face in the process- he's still learning the new lengths and parts of his body in this form. However, he can't see, so he begins to twist in the attempt to. Kratos catches one of his shoulders when he's once again smacked in the face- this time by Atreus’s long tail- to halt him. Atreus does so and looks back at him.

“Stay still,” Kratos says softly. Head tilted questioningly, Atreus does so, not even his tail wagging. Kratos once again brushes his hand through Atreus’s fur, lifting parts up to search for twigs and leaves. He does not have a brush now, nor does he regularly (their household doesn't need one) so all he can do at the moment is pick foreign objects free. He’ll ask one of the dwarves or Freya later if they have a brush and then work on untangling the knots and mats out of his son’s fur. “Your fur is messy.”

There's a small, curious murr from Atreus, as if he is trying to speak, until he realizes that he cannot like this. Instead, he stares at his father imploringly.

Atreus is not used to hair care, because as stated before, they do not need to worry about it in their household. Atreus’s hair is short and needs no brushing, while Kratos and Mimir are bald and only need to worry about their beards. They have combs for such tasks. Because of this, Atreus most likely forgot to keep an eye on his wolf form’s fur because he's never had to worry about that sort of issue in his human form.

Kratos has some experience, however, even if he himself has never had hair. The most important women of his life did have hair, and lots of it too. He helped Lysandre and Faye take care of it when they were too tired or pregnant, wanting to take some of the stress from their shoulders. With Calliope, he enjoyed brushing her hair. It was a bonding exercise for them. When Kratos was home, she'd run into his and his wife’s room with a brush, demanding he brush it for her for that day.

He's also cared for animal hair; his horse’s in particular. It's not the same as fur, but he's sure that with this experience, he’ll be able to figure out how to care for Atreus’s fur as well.

“Back,” Kratos says. Atreus hesitates for a moment before he falls to his side and rolls onto his back to expose his stomach. It's even worse in his stomach fur than it was everywhere else. Kratos sighs heavily, because he realizes now that he has his work cut out for him.

[lovelykei]

just read all haikyuu as bf on insta. AND OMG TOO CUTE I CANT HANDLE IT! BECAUSE OF THIS I REALLY REALLY REALLY WANNA SEE DAICHI, ASAHI, KOUSHI, KEI and TSUTOMU version!!! if its too much you can choose any of them. CANT WAIT TO THEIR VERSION 🥺🥺🥺💓

Haikyuu boyfriends on insta pt. 5 ‼️

IM SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG LOVELY 😫😫 BUT ITS FINALLY HERE! I’ve already done Tsutomu in part ...3? I think and Kei is in part 4! BuT HERE WE HAVE THE THIRD YEAR SQUAD🥰🥰🥰 I hope you like it!!

S ugawara:

He looks at you like you are his w h o l e world

Like I cannot stress this enough

He loves you so so so much and he’s not ashamed to let you know that.

That picture ^ was taken when you guys were waiting on the stairs. The team had just finished their game against shiratorizawa and it was taking some of the players a really long time

So the ones that were done cough the third years cough were waiting on by the stairs. The first 15 minutes were fine you guys talked about the game and stuff

But after 30 minutes your patience was running thin😀 what 😀 were😀 they😀 doing😀

Cue whiny y/n😔

Kou didn’t mind he just chuckled and ran his fingers through your hair softly telling you they’d be out soon

Shimizu found this very endearing for some reason and pointed her phone at you

“Y/n smileee!”

And that my dear friends is how this picture was born 🥺

Daichi:

You know that pickup line when they say “what’s your shirt made off?” “Gotta be boyfriend material”

Yeah well Daichis shirt isn’t made of boyfriend material.

The very core of his being is however made of husband material

This big sized teddy bear comes with a built in heating system for cold days

A therapist for sad days

A best friend for good days

And you get what I’m getting at

If suga looks at you like your his world daichi holds you like you’re his world no matter who is around

So it’s no wonder that there are loads of pictures of you guys being cute in your friends phones

But this specific picture ^ was taken after a spontaneous trip to see the ocean

Shimizu has brought the idea up and when Shimizu wants something. Shimizu gets it 😤

It was however pretty late now and v v cold

But remember you daichi 10.3 comes with a built in heating system!

Which is how you ended up in his arms 🥺

He wrapped his coat around the two of you and pecked your forehead when

📷📸📷

😀sugawara-san😀

“Honestly if y’all are gonna be acting all cute and shit you can get mad when we take pictures. That’s just the law bro”

No point arguing with the law,,, right lads??? 😀😀😀😀😀😀😀😀😀

Asahi

Softest couple ever

You guys are always taking care of eachother🥺

This photo was taken before the celebratory dinner you guys had for making it to ✨nationals✨

The whole team was there even Tsukishima

So you were standing outside this food place waiting for coach ukai and takeda sensei when the wind started picking up and your hair was flowing e v e r y w h e r e

You desperately looked for a hair tie in you pockets and bag, even asking Shimizu if she had a spare one.

But no 😔 you were destined to live the Sadako life 😔

“Babe I have one” your boyfriends hands ran softly through your hair. Untangling it before getting it together in a pony tail.

“Asahi🥺 thank you🥺”

“I always keep spare hair ties for you babe” he gave you a loving peck on the head and you wrapped your arms around him in a side hug.

“If you guys are done with the heart eyes coach just got here” sugawara jUst hAd tO-

Anyways the dinner went great, you didn’t look like sadako

The day was saved

And that evening when Shimizu sent the picture she’d taken of the two of you-..

Let’s just say your heart busted the phattest uwu🥺💗

[eirabach]

Starcrossed [1/1]

My contribution to @pen-and-ink-week-2020 day one, prompts: camping / steady.

Gordon’s got mud in his hair and splinters in his knees and a blood blister on his palm from a mallet he had absolutely no idea how to use and Virgil -- Virgil needs to wipe that look off his face right this damn second.

“I cannot believe I let you talk me into this.”

Virgil, the bastard, is grinning from ear to ear. “Hey, you asked for my advice and my advice was to do something different and memorable. Not go bury your excrement in the woods memorable. That’s on you, kid.”

Gordon drops back onto the crinkly nylon nest he’s fashioned from their sleeping bags, and presses the heels of his palms into his eyes.

“Oh this is a disaster. This is such a disaster. I need evac. A new name. Safe house. The works.”

Virgil sighs, and taps his tiny holographic foot against the painfully out of place pink leather overnight bag that’s jammed up against the tentpole.

“You’re being over dramatic. She hasn’t actually left.” He pauses, craning his head as though he can’t already see the entirety of the two man tent from the comm’s spot at Gordon’s feet. “Has she?”

“I have sent,” Gordon hisses between clenched teeth, “a member of the aristocracy to fetch firewood.”

“Sounds fair to me, she wants to eat right?” Virgil’s grin is so big it must physically pain him. Gordon hopes so. “Vive la revolution!”

“Vir--gil.”

“Gor-don.”

Beyond the gentle rustling of the wind through the redwoods and the sound of his own internal mental breakdown, comes a high pitched and familiar yelp. Gordon scrambles upright as best he can, clutching the comm to his chest with unsteady hands.

“Oh god, she’s coming back.”

“Yeah, that was the plan right? Gordon --” Virgil’s not grinning quite as big anymore and his voice turns gentle. “It’s gonna be okay. It’s Penelope. And you. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Gordon grimaces, peeling back the tent’s zipper far enough to see her, her hair tucked up under a worn IR branded bobble hat, her back to him as she drops an armful of kindling into the centre of the clearing. “Yeah, I mean, she could realise. And run. Yeah, that’s pretty much what I’m worried about.”

Virgil rolls his eyes. “Gordon --”

“Gordon!”

Virgil squarks unhappily as Gordon tosses the comm over his shoulder.

“Hey! Hi, yes. Hello.”

The tip of Penelope’s nose is pink from the autumn chill, and when she smiles it scrunches up tight as the band that seems to have appeared around his chest..

“You sound surprised to see me.” She moves to peer around him and into the tent proper. ”What are you up to in there?”

“Nothing?”

“Really?” She steps back, gesturing to the woodpile. “Well, since you’re a gentleman of leisure, does this meet with your approval?”

Gordon winces, and begins struggling to extradite himself from the really very much too small tent. Yet another plan that had seemed like such a good idea at the time.

“I didn’t mean like, nothing nothing.”

“Oh of course.” Penelope nods sagely. “The other sort of nothing.”

“Yeah exactl -- Bertie!” A tiny flash of cream and black comes barrelling into him as he tries to untangle the zip, sending Gordon flying back into the tent in a cacophony of tearing fabric. He scrambles back up and stares at the tent door, which is now hanging morosely in raggedy strips. “This is -- kinda a disaster isn’t it?”

Penelope pops her hands on her hips, and smiles down at him fondly. 

“Oh I don’t know, I can’t see any Thunderbirds swooping down to save the day.”

Gordon groans. “Don’t tempt me.”

“Oh come along, darling. Fresh air, nature, what’s not to love?” She steps forward, and drops to her knees in the leaf mulch before him. “You’re not getting spoiled by your tropical island lifestyle are you?”

“Uh, this was my idea?”

“So I recall. Sold to me on the promise of ‘smores and cuddling and really darling --” she taps her watch. “I seem to be suffering from a distinct lack of either.”

Gordon slaps at the remains of the tent doorway and clambers out, pulling Penelope to her feet as he does so. Behind them Bertie is busy tugging a tartan blanket free, his tail wagging frantically as he wraps himself up in it.

“Sorry,” he says, wrapping his arms around her waist and swaying slightly as she leans back to place her own arms around his neck. “That’s very remiss of me.”

“Very,” she says, and goes to rest her cheek on his shoulder. “Is there something wrong, Gordon?”

The leaves crunch under their feet and Gordon buries his nose in the soft wool of the ugly hat. It smells like her perfume and ozone and island heat and he’d wondered where she’d gone and got it from and huh, now he knows.

“You stole my hat.”

“I borrowed it.”

“That’s a crime, Penelope.”

“Are you trying to change the subject?”

“Are you trying to get away with stealing my hat?”

Penelope draws back, soft smile replaced by a line between her brows that makes Gordon’s chest hurt. “You can have it back, you know.”

“No -- god no. You look way better in it than I ever did anyway,” he smiles a little brighter for her, and kisses the line until it melts away. “Sorry if I’m being weird. I kinda -- I don’t know. Nervous, I guess.”

And then she’s smiling again, and the world rights itself slightly. “I am threateningly attractive in this hat.”

“Oh, very.”

“And you do have to prove your manliness to me.”

“Oh?” The world tilts again, but for very different reasons as Penny pushes her body against his. “I think I can probably --”

And then she’s gone, practically prancing across the clearing to the pile of wood. She holds two pieces up, her lip between her teeth, and wriggles her eyebrows at him.

“You promised me ‘smores.”

---

He proves his manly worth eventually, and the campfire he coaxed and wheedled into existence burns bright as the full moon rises overhead. 

He’d brought camp chairs, but they sit abandoned where he’d dumped them, and the two of them lie side by side on the blanket Bertie had liberated, cooling cups of tea at their sides, their breathing steady and rhythmic under a spinning, starbright sky.

“It rather puts everything into perspective, don’t you think?”

“Hmm?”

Penelope waves a hand up at the sky. “All -- all of everything. Sometimes it all can feel a little overwhelming, and then I think -- well.” She drops her hand, wriggles a little closer into his side. “I think that sometimes it’s all too easy to forget that this whole planet of ours -- every one on it -- we are so terribly tiny aren’t we?”

“Jesus, Pen.” He pinches her side slightly, squeezing his arm underneath her as she jumps and pulling her as tight against him as he can manage. “I get enough short jokes at home.”

“Oh ha ha, I don’t mean that in a bad way --”

“That I’m short?”

She smacks at his belly, and her laugh rings through the trees and out into the universe. “Gordon!”

“Sorry, sorry.”

Penny shakes her head slightly. She’s lost the hat at some point during the evening, and her hair catches on the rough blanket, tickles his nose. “I just -- sometimes I need reminding that I’m allowed this, that’s all. That we have a place.”

“Tell me about it.” It’s hardly more than a breath, hardly out loud at all, but Penny’s hand settles on his where it lies at her waist and her fingers twist tight between his own.

The moonlight forms a silvery halo around her upturned face, her soft breaths forming little puffs of cloud that float and fizzle away in the chill night air, and it’s just the two of them, the rest of the world banished from the circle of the campfire’s light. It’s -- it’s a moment.

Gordon’s other hand settles in the pocket of his jacket, and he grips the velveteen box tightly as he tries to steady his nerves. Imagines Virgil, the way he’d rolled his eyes and said, what’s the worst that could happen?

And Gordon looks at Penelope and Penelope looks at the stars and he thinks forever.

I could lose this forever.

And he thinks -- he thinks -- he can’t.

He uncurls his fingers from the box, slips his hand free to thumb at a chocolatey smear on her cheek. Penelope turns her face into the palm of his hand and sighs.

“Thank you,” she says. “I needed this.” 

Gordon goes to scoff, but then she’s dipping her head to drop a kiss to his wrist and his heartbeat skitters and skips under her lips.

“Take me to bed?”

She doesn’t have to ask twice.

---

Morning has brought a bright autumnal dawn, perfect yellow light pouring through the poorly pinned doorway to settle on the dew damp curls at Penelope’s temples, freckles burnished gold against her cheeks.

He’s seen a lot of beautiful things in his life. Beautiful places. Corals, neon pink and orange in a turquoise sea, otherworldly sunsets, cave systems that glow lilac with phosphorescence, the way a mother’s face twists when he places their lost baby back in their arms.

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything as beautiful as this.

Penny’s all twisted up in the sleeping bags, the zips long abandoned, her hair wild with static, her arm thrown over her head. There’s a pug snoring between her knees, her elbow’s half an inch from his nose, her lips are chapped from the chill air, and he loves her. God, but he loves her.

And Gordon -- Gordon can’t help it. He leans over, kisses the tip of her cold nose and whispers;

“Marry me.”

Blue eyes snap open shrewd and bright, so bright, that the part of Gordon that’s not currently freaking the fuck out wonders, briefly, if her perfect peaceful sleep was just a bit too perfect. “Pardon?”

Oh, oh this is not the way this is meant to happen. No. No way. He wriggles away from her as best he can, backs himself right up until the tent is sticking to his back and Penny -- Penny is staring at him as though he’s actually lost the plot.

He’s totally lost the plot.

She’s worrying her lip between her teeth, that furrow back between her brows and oh god he’s fucking this up isn’t he. He knew he would. He knew it. “Gordon, did you --”

“No! No, not -- not no -- just hang on -- hang on I was meant to do this -- stand up.” He gestures, a tad wildly, and Penelope blinks at him. Maybe she had actually been sleeping after all. Maybe he can convince her this is some sort of terrible nightmare.

“I -- excuse me?”

He takes an unsteady breath, attempts to gather whatever wits he possesses, and scuffles around for his discarded jacket. His fingers finally close around the box, and he squeezes his eyes shut. At least he’s already on his knees. “You gotta -- you gotta stand up.”

“I don’t think -- “ she starts, but then he’s pulling the box out of his pocket and even though he literally would rather okay face a tsunami naked than open his eyes, he can still hear her sharp intake of breath. Oh god. 

“Okay -- okay darling, look at me all right?” He opens one eye, risks a glance upward to see her bent almost double, the cross pole of the tent across her shoulders. “There now, better?”

“Penelope --”

Maybe he feels the tension, or maybe he is just a tiny little asshole, but this, this moment, is the very moment Bertie chooses to rouse from his slumber and leap up at Penelope’s legs.

He launches himself with such force that the slippery nylon that makes up their bed shifts, and Penelope, already off balance and folded like a half shut knife, jumps in shock. The cross pole shudders and -- oh, shit.

Penelope lands in a heap, and the tent follows her collapsing on top of them like one of grandma’s souffles. Bertie whimpers unhappily, wriggling his way free of a sea of wet nylon to force himself bodily between them. He laps at Gordon’s shaking hand, then looks up at Penny with huge, innocent eyes.

Bertie, Gordon decides, has been spending far too much time with Parker. 

He goes to tell Penny as much, but to his horror he sees big, fat tears rolling down her cheeks, her eyes red and rimmed black with yesterday’s mascara. He scans her for wounds, protruding tent poles, anything that might explain the funny little gasping sounds she’s making, as though she can’t quite catch her breath.

“Are you hurt? What -- did you sprain something? Tell me where it hurts.”

Penelope shakes her head fiercely. “No, no I’m not hurt.”

She half laughs, a strained, breathless little thing, and moves to hover her hand over the little box. 

Gordon looks down. Penelope might be not quite touching it, but Bertie is resting his nose against the golden clasp holding it closed and looking up at Gordon like -- 

Like even the dog can’t quite believe the mess he’s making of this. 

“Oh don’t -- I’m sorry Penny, I’m sorry-- don’t cry. Oh wow, this has gone even worse than I expected.”

She laughs again, he can feel it against the crown of his head as he tries very hard to curl up into himself and disappear entirely. “Gordon Tracy, you are the most ridiculous man --”

“Don’t rub it in Pen, jeez.”

“Will you let me finish?” Her voice is sharp, and he snaps his head up. She’s smiling all the same, even though her cheeks are still streaked with tears “Thank you.” He just nods, lost for words, lost entirely and just waiting for her next words to set him back up. To show him where to go. They’re close enough in the wreckage of the tent for her to rest her forehead against his, her words quite as a whisper but all the clearer for them. “You asked me once if you were my favourite.”

Gordon swallows hard. “Yeah. I remember.”

She smiles, and their noses knock together. “Ask me again.”

“Am I your favourite?”

A huff of breath against his mouth. Irritable, but so close, so much closer than he’d ever thought he deserved. “Not that.”

“Wh--” And she pulls back, just enough. Just enough that he can see himself reflected in her pupils, blown wide and dark and waiting. “Oh.”

“Oh. And I’m not getting up.”

He spares a glance around them, the tent now more a cocoon than anything else. “Don’t think either of us are.”

“Gordon.” She reaches for the box with shaking hands, opens it, pulls out the ring and presses it into his hand. Rose gold. Pink, of course. Pretty and delicate and set with a stone that has outlived its last owner by some twenty years. There’s a scar across its surface, avalanche blue, but he kinda likes that. The promise of outlasting whatever the universe throws at them. Penelope’s breath catches, as she withdraws her right hand to scrub at flushed cheeks, leaves her left in his. “Ask me again.”

“Oh. Right.” There’s that. The asking. He takes another deep breath. Steadier. Certain. “Penelope,” he says, and man she’s still crying but she’s nodding and that -- that seems positive, right? He powers on. There’d been a speech. He’d practiced it on Alan, who’d swooned very beautifully right off the balcony and into the pool. He doesn’t bother with it now. Sticks to the basics. “I am an idiot.”

“Yes you are,” she agrees, and her smile, her smile is brighter than the sunshine, brighter than anything. It’s the only light he needs, the only hope.

“Do you think you could maybe marry me anyway?”

She kisses him, hot and open, tears salty on her lips and a plea on her tongue and together --

Together they taste like yes.

[contreparry]

For DADWC: “I can’t sleep.” For either Carver/Merrill or Fenris/Anders (your choice!)

I can give you some pre-Carver/Merrill with the tiniest hint of Fenders (because I’m having fun exploring these two, but I’m also Fenders trash so you’ll just get both now!), so here they are for @dadrunkwriting!

Carver was used to sleeping in uncomfortable places. That’s what you did as a soldier- sleep when you could, where you could, for as long as you could manage before you were marching elsewhere again. So catching a few minutes, a few hours, of sleep on the cold hard ground never bothered him. And sleeping in Gamlen’s hovel was practically like camping anyhow. Camping was a little better, to be honest. More peaceful. So sleep was never something that eluded him until now, and the reason was stupid. Incredibly stupid.

“Bed’s too fucking soft,” Carver grumbled, and he rolled out of it. He had a month’s leave from the Wardens, long enough to check up on his brother, his mother, his friends, and to make sure that whatever crisis was going on in Kirkwall wasn’t Warden business. And on his first night back Carver was already confronted by a problem: the bed was too soft and he couldn’t sleep. So what else was he supposed to do?

Maybe a drink would help. Water or something. So Carver stumbled out of bed, got half dressed, and quietly made his way through the manor house. Hawke had invited everyone over to celebrate his return, and almost everyone had elected to sleep at the manor for the night. Sebastian had morning Chant to conduct, and Aveline had paperwork to file before she turned in, but everyone else? Everyone else stayed, so Carver had to be extra quiet. So he snuck into the main hall, down to the kitchen, where-

“Oh! Hello, Carver,” Merrill said cheerfully, her beautiful dark hair mussed and her green eyes bright with excitement and a sort of steady joy that illuminated her from the inside. She was sitting at the kitchen table, a steaming mug of tea in her hand and the kettle set down near the fire. She had a book on the table, and a sheet of parchment and stick of charcoal in front of her. Carver gulped and wondered if it was too late to turn tail and flee, but then steeled his courage. It was just Merrill. Intelligent, clever, beautiful Merrill who was always several steps ahead of everyone yet somehow never looked down on him for not understanding half of what she said. “I couldn’t sleep,” Carver blurted out, and he felt like an idiot for saying it. Obviously he couldn’t sleep, he was awake and in the kitchens at the witching hour, of course he couldn’t sleep! But Merrill only smiled and gestured to the book and parchment.

“Neither could I. I borrowed this from Anders- a medical text, you know,” Merrill explained, as if Carver was her equal in this field. “He wanted me to see if there was anything wrong with it, anything that I could lend my expertise in. He says he’s clearly missing something, and he has notes.” She pulled out a pile of papers that she had next to her.

“I can’t understand his handwriting at all, but I’m muddling through. Oh, but I’m being rude! This is your house, Carver, as much as Garrett’s. I- I should at least offer you some tea, right?” Merrill fussed, and Carver shook his head.

“I’ll get myself a mug. What you’re doing sounds far more important,” Carver said. Medicine? Healing? Anders struggling to heal someone? It sounded dire, especially if it kept Merrill up at night, drinking tea and pouring over papers in the kitchen.

“Oh, it’s important, yes, but you’re important too! And we never get to speak much,” Merrill insisted, and when she said that- said that he was important- Carver almost believed it.

“I- thanks, Merrill. That’s kind of you,” he mumbled, and he poured the hot water from the kettle into a mug before dunking a tea strainer into it.

“I, uh. The bed was too soft. Couldn’t get comfortable. And now I’m up and don’t really want to sleep anyways, so...” Carver shrugged and took a seat across from Merrill. “If you don’t mind the company, I’d like to hear what you’re trying to puzzle out.”

“Oh, it’s- well, it’s a lot, and I know I tend to ramble, but if you really don’t mind,”

“I’ll try and follow along,” Carver promised. “If you don’t mind me stopping and asking you to explain things. I’m not nearly as clever as you, Merrill.” He meant the last part as a joke, but Merrill frowned mightily at him and shook her head.

“Don’t you dare think lowly of yourself, Carver Hawke! There’s plenty of ways for people to be clever, and more than that you’re very kind and pay attention to people!” she insisted. “It may be that you can help me untangle this mess that Anders and I cannot! So if you really don’t mind, I would love to hear your thoughts on the matter.” And so Merrill began to explain what she was reading, explain Anders’ new quest for justice- his desire to help Fenris with the pain his lyrium markings caused him- and all the struggles and setbacks they were encountering in the process.

“I don’t know what Danarius did, but it’s all- he must have had a reason. He must have. But all of it is so... twisted!” she complained. “The circulatory system, the nervous system, the markings- they’re all twisted up! And I don’t know why! And neither does Anders! And Fenris can’t remember any of it so we’re fumbling in darkness here!”

“Maybe...” Carver cleared his throat and reminded himself that Merrill said he could contribute, insisted on it, really. You pay attention to people, she said. You can help me untangle this mess.

“Well, I guess I can see two ways about this. Either it was an accident and Danarius made a mistake, or... or the pain was part of the package,” Carver said. “I mean, this Danarius, he’s only a man. He could’ve fucked up. And he was willing to insert lyrium into a person’s flesh so- well, he doesn’t exactly mind causing pain.”

“Oh, Creators,” Merrill whispered, and Carver wished he hadn’t said anything at all because she looked horrified.

“Carver, I think you- I wish it was a mistake, but I think you may just be right. That this was all deliberate. That the pain was the point, that he wanted it to be painful-” she shuddered, then reached out to grasp Carver’s hand across the table. Her grip was strong, and Carver was reminded, once again, that as delicate as Merrill appeared there was a core of iron that ran through her being. She could handle this. She could handle a lot of unpleasant things.

“Thank you,” Merrill said sincerely. “I think... well, it’s a new place to start. I needed that.”

“Nice of Anders to worry about Fenris,” Carver commented. Merrill giggled and gave him a sly little smile that made his heart stop in his chest, because she looked less like an ethereal goddess of wisdom and beauty and more like- more like someone who could touch and be touched in return.

“I think it’s a little more than that, based on Fenris’ telling of it, but I won’t gossip,” she added primly, and Carver laughed.

It was the best sleepless night he’d ever had.

[damienthepious]

oh boy. oh boy. oh fuck. oh boy. SCATTERED RETURNS????? y’know that reckoning chapter that tried to kill me? it happened again. also we ain’t done quite yet, darlins

Scattered On My Shore (Chapter 16)

[Ch 1] [Ch 2] [Ch 3] [Ch 4] [Ch 5] [Ch 6] [Ch 7] [Ch 8] [Ch 9] [Ch 10] [Ch 11] [Ch 12] [Ch 13] [Ch 14] [Ch 15] [ao3] [Ch 17] [Ch 18] [Ch 19]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla, Sir Damien/Rilla, Lord Arum & The Keep

Characters: Rilla, Lord Arum, Sir Damien, The Keep

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Pre-Relationship, (for the three of them. it’s established r/d), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Injury, Injury Recovery, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, (this will also be), Enemies to Lovers, (for damien and arum eventually lol), Mutual Pining, canon typical Arum ignoring feelings

Fic Summary: Strange things wash up out of the lake near Rilla’s hut, on occasion. But this monster… this monster is certainly the strangest.

Chapter Summary: A confrontation, of sorts.

Chapter Notes: This chapter took a long time, huh? I'd say I'm sorry but I don't want to make my friends sad by being overly critical of myself. It's rough right now, not gonna lie. We're all doing our best. I hope this chapter will do at least a little bit to make up a little bit of softness. Be safe. I love you.

~

On the balcony outside his workshop, Arum draws his claws through the air, plucking invisible threads, his intent aligning with that of his Keep to play the swamp beneath them like a harp.

Unweaving the new border surrounding his home is not a difficult task. In fact, it is of an appropriate delicacy that Arum can utilize it as a sort of test, as a way to measure how much he has fallen out of practice.

The boundary softens slowly beneath them, each branch and vine relaxing, relenting, returning to its former growth, and Arum can feel the Keep relaxing as well, as the reality of Arum's homecoming settles within them both.

When they have managed perhaps a third of the border, the Keep tugs at the edges of his mind, and Arum could argue, perhaps, could try to push the Keep to continue the work for a little while longer-

But he is tired, in truth. The journey, the quickened healing, the- the depth of emotion he felt to be reunited with his Keep, all have left him feeling shaky and faded. The borders have been like this for some time now, he reasons. He need not rush.

Besides, he thinks, his lip curling wryly, Amaryllis would surely give him that narrowed-eye look if she knew he tried to push himself so soon after coming home. He cannot risk the force of her stubbornness combining with that of the Keep. Arum buries a laugh at the thought, sighs instead, and steps back in from the balcony to his workshop.

The Keep sings softly as he reaches to pull down a familiar set of knives, as he straps the hilts on again, feeling them more as a talisman than a defense.

"I know," he murmurs, drawing his palms over the hilts by turns, sighing. "I would apologize, but-"

The Keep sings less softly, then. Arum laughs.

"Precisely. I did not think you would." He pauses, feeling the safety and familiarity surrounding him. "Keep," he says, very softly, and then he closes his eyes and tries to pour out the affection that is coiling within him, how deeply he missed his Keep, how warm and relieved his love. It is easier, this way, to let the Keep know how he feels. Words- between the two of them words do not always feel right. He is the Keep's Lord, its Creation, and he may brush their minds together as easily as reaching out to take a hand. He knows his Keep can feel it, his pulse of love, and he feels it brighten before he is twined again in vines, before the rush of love and contentment the Keep sends him in return nearly folds his legs with its fierceness.

It sings, closer to a lullaby than a message, cradling him close, and Arum pretends not to rub his eyes again, allowing himself to be held for a minute or so more before he squeezes one of the vines around him, silently signaling to be let back down.

"Yes, well," he mutters, tail flicking as the Keep gives a vague hum. "There is still much to be done, I imagine. Bring me down to the kitchens; I expect they will be hungry soon."

The Keep pauses, then, and lilts an alternative.

He chokes a laugh. "Oh, fine. Do as you will, then. I expect they will be grateful, anyway." He tilts his head, worrying the edge of his mended cape in one hand as the Keep hums an affirmative, slowly coiling a different doorway out of the floor. "I- yes. If they are waiting, then. Go ahead."

The Keep lets him out into the greenhouse, drifting its attention away to prepare a proper meal for its Lord and his guests, and Arum-

Arum sees them, Amaryllis and Damien seated close together on the mossy bark of a fallen tree, their hands clasped together in their laps, their heads ducked close together as they murmur something unknowable to each other, and when Amaryllis' jaw clenches, Damien lifts a hand, cups her cheek, and then gently brushes an errant curl back behind her ear as her expression softens again.

Arum's own hands tremble, but he shakes his head hard, ensuring that his footsteps are too loud to miss, even for their limited human hearing as he forces himself to approach.

The both of them startle as they hear him, leaning back to watch him, though they do not untangle their hands.

"I hope you have been amusing yourselves well enough in my absence," he says, feigning mildness, but his attempt at levity does not seem to work. Amaryllis glances to Damien, something silent passing between them before she stands, Damien standing a moment later.

"Arum," Amaryllis begins, gently, and Arum's scales shiver with nerves automatically. Her tone is… serious, which is both unusual and concerning.

He forces himself not to flinch in a visible way as he meets her eyes, noting the gentle curve of her frown, the tension in the way she is still holding one of Sir Damien's hands, and he narrows his eyes in concern, ducking his head slightly. "What… what is it, Amaryllis?"

He can feel it already. They've decided to leave tonight. Decided that staying in a monster's den is too much. He should have expected-

"I have a- a question, actually," she says, and then she bites her lip. "And I need to know- I wanna know that you're gonna be- that you'll answer honestly."

"What call would I have to lie to you?" Arum says, more surprised than insulted. "You have already seen me at my lowest, Amaryllis." He pauses, then snorts. "And Sir Damien has rather helpfully pointed out that he is perfectly able to discern when I attempt deception."

Damien's lip turns into a wry sort of frown, but he does not interrupt. Clearly, it is Amaryllis leading this charge. She worries her lip between her blunt white teeth for a moment, her frame radiating strange tension. More concerning still. He is unsure if he has ever seen Amaryllis display this sort of- nervousness, before.

"Well?" Arum says when the pause draws long. "Ask, doctor. You won't get your answer in silence, I can assure you of that. I have many talents, but reading human minds is not among them."

"How do you- feel about me," she blurts, her tone going breathless and weak on the latter half, and Arum chokes on his own breath in surprise.

"Wh-what?"

"I know we said- we talked about what happens after. And about trust and about- about we and- and how we're going to miss each other, but- but I still don't know if…" she sucks in a breath, wincing and glancing away, and Arum sees Sir Damien's hand squeeze her own, and after a moment her shoulders settle slightly from their tension, and she meets his terrified eyes again. "I don't know if you feel like I do. Mind reading isn't in my wheelhouse either, Arum, and- and I just want to know. Before we- before we leave. I need to know if we feel the same way about each other, or if-"

"Amaryllis, I- don't be absurd." Arum can feel himself panicking, can feel a distant buzz of confusion from the Keep as it feels his spiking distress, and he skips back an awkward half step as Amaryllis reaches a hand towards him. "You know that I am- am impossibly grateful for all you've done-"

She winces at that, too. She draws her hand back to cover her mouth for a moment, and then she shakes her head. "Is that- is it just that you feel- grateful? Just- still the same way it was when you tried to leave that last time- just- thank you for services rendered, such as they were? Is that all that it is? Is that all that you feel about me?"

Arum looks away. "I think you know perfectly well that that is not even remotely the extent of- of-" he breaks off, not knowing any safe way to complete that thought. "I think you know."

"That's-" her face splits into something that is not a smile, if only because of the way her eyes are wide and strange and sad. "I don't know, Arum. That's kind of the whole problem. I need to know how you feel about me because if I don't know then I can't do anything about it."

Arum goes still, panic easing into something calmer, more cruel.

"Do anything about it," he echoes. "You feel you would need to do something about it, were our feelings misaligned? If I do not feel as you hope I do? If I have- overstepped, if the depth of my emotion has infringed on his claim?"

Amaryllis blinks, and then she glances where Arum has pointed, towards a Damien who appears equally puzzled by Arum's words. "Wait, what?"

"Have no fear, little human," Arum growls, his tail coiling behind him in a threat. "I have no misapprehensions about what we are. I have no delusions about what has passed between us. A kindness and a mercy, both, but nothing more."

"What?" she says again, and then she releases Sir Damien's hand and tries, again, to step closer. "Wait, no, that's not-"

Arum snarls, and Rilla pauses, her hand outstretched in the air between them.

"I will be forever indebted to you, Amaryllis of Exile," he says, forcing his voice low and steady. "Indebted to your knight as well, as infuriating as that detail remains. But I will not be mocked in my own home. You have shown me kindness and mercy beyond what I deserve, certainly, but that does not free you to treat me cruelly in turn."

"Cruel-"

"In the morning, the both of you will leave, and if the Universe is kind we will never need see each other again. Do you not think it cruel, then, to draw that grief out? To force our focus upon it?"

"But if we just talk about it, we might not n-"

"I know I have made myself a fool," Arum spits, and then- he wilts, his shoulders sagging. "I would do so again, I think. But I will not abide you holding my foolishness to the light."

"Arum-"

He turns, the softness in her eyes too utterly unbearable. "I am… I am tired, Amaryllis. The Keep will bring the both of you food in short time. When you are tired, ask for a place to rest and it will provide one. In the morning it will open a way back to the edge of the swamp. Farewell."

"No- wait," Amaryllis says behind him, her tone sharp, almost scared. "No. Wait- I am not saying goodbye to you yet-"

"Keep," Arum says, voice flat and toneless. "Back to the workshop. Now."

There is a pause before the Keep obeys, but it is short. Arum relents to the pain behind his ribcage only barely, only enough to glance over his shoulder one more time. Amaryllis looks caught between misery and fury, looks half tempted to bolt after him, and Sir Damien- Sir Damien looks stiff, unreadable.

"Farewell," he says again, more quietly, and then he turns away.

He is only a step from the doorway when Sir Damien's voice rings out behind him.

"Lord Arum!"

Arum clenches his teeth. He should ignore the knight entirely. He has said his goodbyes. He has closed this chapter with his own hands. He has reshelved the book.

"Lord Arum, I demand you face me, now. I will not condone so cowardly a retreat."

Arum spins on his heel, exhaling a sharp shocked laugh. "Cowardly - how you dare is beyond-

"I see you are armed, now, Lord Arum," Damien says, his voice rather carefully even. "Armed, and healed, and there is still a duel you owe me. I would see that challenge fulfilled."

"The duel?" Arum wrinkles his snout, bares his teeth. "I should laugh. I am an artist with my blades, but even I could not best an archer with weapons meant for closer quarters than these."

"I still carry the weapon you sharpened for me; I imagine it should prove a reasonable match to your own steel. I would see our duel fulfilled," he says again, "blade to blade."

Arum scoffs. "A meager tool you use, but it would suffice. Do you wish to die, knight? Or have you finally remembered your duty?"

"You will you duel me, then?" Damien asks, insistent, ignoring Arum's questions.

"Oh," Arum says, something between a snarl and a bitter laugh in his tone. "Oh, so now the little honeysuckle means to kill me? Now you are amenable to-"

"I have no intentions of the sort," Damien says smoothly. "But you said yourself that you did not prefer to leave matters unsettled, and this matter remains so, between us. I believe you need be reminded of that."

"Ha," Arum snarls. "Unsettled. It would not be unsettled if you did your duty-"

"You conceded to my skill in wordplay, friend lizard," Damien says, his cheeks dark and his smile soft. "I am curious to see who will triumph in swordplay."

Arum narrows his eyes, and it is some combination of reckless despair and curiosity that compels him to draw his own blade, at last, in response.

"Very well, little fool. Keep," Arum snarls, though his eyes are still fixed on Damien. "Close the door, and then back as you were. I command that you do not interfere. This duel will be mine and mine alone, no matter which fate the Universe intends for me."

"Thank you," Damien says as the Keep closes the way again with visible reluctance, and Arum growls low, tail coiling as he brandishes the blade.

"Okay this is stupid," Amaryllis says, stern though her voice is still wavering, but Damien is smiling now, and he lifts a hand in her direction.

"Trust, my love. I will beg you to trust me. You know my heart, do you not?"

Rilla presses her lips together tight, her eyes meeting Damien's for a long, torturous moment, and then she gives a small grim smile and nods. "I do."

"How precious," Arum drawls, dancing his knife between his fingers. "You wanted this duel, Damien. Now fight me."

"As you say, Lord Arum," Damien says, closing his eyes for a with an utterly strange smile. "I am Tranquil, and I am ready. Face me as you will."

Arum coils, tense, for a long moment, feeling out Damien's steady, waiting stance, but the knight is more patient than he. Arum strikes first, a wild lunge meant to unsettle Damien's footing, but Damien in unmoved as their blades clash, and then he deftly steps sideways as Arum lunges again.

"A fine opening," the knight says mildly, as if they were discussing something so simple as the day's meal. "I was correct to think that your reverence for the blade would translate to a certain deftness with this sort of comba-"

Arum lashes out, interrupting with a snarl, but Damien's smile flashes brighter as he parries.

"Even in this you lilt, little songbird?" Arum complains. He is already beginning to feel warm, breathless- he has not exerted himself in this way in ages. Even with his body healing properly under the Keep's influence, Arum is stretching muscles he has not had cause to use in quite some time.

Arum struggles not to find the feeling exhilarating.

"I have a talent for prattling, Lord Arum, as I have been told again and again." Damien grins wide, flicking his wrist out to clash against Arum's next strike. "If you compel me to silence it will be a feat indeed."

"We shall see, little knight."

"So we shall," Damien murmurs, and they are- close, but Arum shoves and Damien spins away, stance defensive to await the next attack. "There is another matter still unsettled, however, more important than my own lilting tongue."

Arum struggles not to roll his eyes. "It is always something with you creatures, isn't it?"

"You failed to answer Rilla's question. Perhaps you thought your deflection sufficient-" he pauses to leap as Arum strikes with his tail, his footwork elegant enough to be repurposed for a dance. "Sufficient," he continues, "to distract from that fact, but I would have you answer, before you give your farewells."

"They have already been given, knight-"

"And yet," Damien says. His cheeks are dark, but Arum can hear that his breaths are still steady. He has barely begun to exert himself. "Prematurely removing yourself from us will not change how you feel, Lord Arum. Nor will it change how we feel."

Arum manages not to stumble, but only barely. He flicks his blade up just in time to keep the knight from pinning him, ducking low and rolling beneath Damien's arm. "I am- perfectly aware that I am incapable of changing your feelings, knight," he snarls, keeping low and defensive as Damien circles him.

Damien's expression softens, oddly. "You cannot change how we feel now," he says. "I am unsure if you understand, however, the degree to which you already have."

Arum leaps, nearly catching Damien's arm with the tip of his blade, but the knight sidesteps with a sliver of space between his skin and the edge.

"Arum, you cannot-"

Arum snarls, striking before Damien fully manages his footing again, but he cannot seem to unbalance the knight.

"Arum, you cannot conceal how you look at her, and I know you must- you must be able to see how she looks at you-"

Arum's scales shiver with a flash of cold, these words more than the risk to his life filling him with terror. "I see," he spits, tail thrashing and frill flared. "Of course. Insulted on behalf of your lover, of course, I remember- I remember quite early on I implied your Amaryllis might have grown some ill-placed fondness for me and you nearly killed me for that alone. Of course this- yes. Little knight, you must, of course, defend your Rilla's honor against so foul a beast as I."

Damien laughs, bright and oddly keening as he dodges another blow. "I should hate to contradict a Lord, but I am afraid you are as far from the mark as you could hope to be. She is radiant, Rilla is light and love herself, she is brilliance and glory and she is made to be adored, of course you would feel that glow, of course you would." He smiles, shocking and full of heat, and Arum hates himself for the way his ribs seem to clench around his heart like sharp cold fingers. "And you, Lord Arum, you-"

"And I am a monster," Arum hisses, and his next strike is sloppy with despair, and the edge of Damien's blade catches against the curved base of his own, and the knight flicks his wrist so deftly, so easily-

The knife flies aside, gleaming steel painting the air in flashes before it thuds to rest on the mossy floor of the greenhouse, and the blade Sir Damien wields is cool and close against Arum's throat in the same instant.

They pant, for a long moment, and Damien is so close that Arum can nearly taste the heat of him, his gentle eyes bright and focused on Arum's own.

"Well?" he breathes after the pause has drawn long. "Do it, then."

"Do you still believe, truly, that I have any desire to harm you?" Damien says, his tone lilting like song, and Arum's heart clenches again.

"Your knife certainly seems to say so," he growls.

"I told you, Arum. I only wished to remind you. Once, yes, I swore I would slay you, when we finally dueled. This I admit. But I am not the same man I was, so short a time ago."

Arum laughs, choking and desperate, the steel still tickling his neck.

"I have won this duel," Damien says gently. "I would have you answer me honestly, now."

Arum swallows, clenches his teeth. "Ask, then. Ask, and be done with it."

"Do you-" Damien pauses, a layer of his smooth confidence shifting aside, a hint of nerves showing through. "Would you- want us to stay? If we could, if- if we were not pressed by responsibility, would you have us stay?"

Arum would have expected nearly any other question, before the one Sir Damien has posed. He expected one particular question, first. He cannot remember how to breathe, for a moment, and the nervous tilt to Damien's smile makes him wish to lean forward, despite the knife, and-

And Arum's lips are parted, but there are no words upon his tongue.

Damien waits, though. In his periphery, Arum can see Amaryllis waiting as well, a hand pressed to her mouth.

"If-" Arum pauses, swallows, flicks his tongue. "If it were possible. If you could."

Damien's eyes are so bright they are nearly hypnotic, and his own lips are parted, now, though he does not interrupt.

"I only wish to see you gone," Arum admits, helpless and hopeless and keening, "because it feels like breaking again, to know you cannot stay. The faster the break-" he chokes, and looks away, and he knows his voice is breaking too, "the cleaner it will be."

"If we offered you anything you desired from us, what would you ask?" Damien asks, his voice low and steady, though Arum can feel his heart still thudding hard.

"I- I have answered one question already, honeysuckle, I do not-"

"You conceded to me in two contests, Lord Arum. I believe two questions is a fair exchange."

Arum snorts. "Fair-"

"What would you ask of us," Damien repeats, firm, "if we offered to grant you anything that was in our power to give?"

Arum presses his lips together tight, his throat thick and his eyes hot. "Anything?" he asks, his voice catching ragged, snarling, monstrous, but Damien only smiles even more gently.

"Anything."

"If… if I could have anything," Arum whispers, claws clenching, and then he closes his eyes. His pride is such a small thing to lose, in the end. "A place at your table," he says, soft and full of too much undeniable longing. "A place for me, seated at your sides, for as long as you would have me."

Damien's grip loosens, and when Arum blinks his eyes back open Damien's own eyes are wide and shocked, his cheeks darkening as his heart stumbles. Arum can hear that heart, can hear the way Damien swallows, then, as well.

"Oh," Damien says, too soft. "Oh, Saint Damien, your Tranquility, now when most I need-" he inhales, exhales with a smile, and then he drops the knife away from Arum's throat.

"Wh-what are you-"

Damien holds the blade out, hilt first, and presses it into Arum's palm.

"There is one more question before you," Damien murmurs as Arum's fingers curl around the metal, and though he is no longer pinning the monster against the trunk of the tree behind him, the poet is still close, is still crowding Arum with his heat and his scent and the rhythm of his heart. "I would hear your answer under no duress, if you choose to do so."

Damien seems so utterly unafraid of the blade that Arum now holds, the gleaming, newly sharpened edge that he holds close against Damien's collarbone. He is looking up into Arum's eyes, something in his expression nearly shy, and Arum-

Arum-

Arum drops his hand, slipping the knife back into the sheath at Sir Damien's hip. Damien's breath catches again, his dark cheeks going even darker, but Arum can only spare a hint of attention to that while he steels himself, while he clenches his teeth and inhales and lifts his head to look over Sir Damien's shoulder, to see Amaryllis where she stands.

Amaryllis stares both of them, her dark eyes wide, her hands clasped over her mouth, and-

Arum is not brave. He has never been. But Arum remembers every single time this creature before him has reached out her hand to him despite every reason not to.

... and Arum thinks that perhaps he can pretend to share even an ounce of the bravery she has shown him.

"I love you," he says, and there is a lightness that comes as the syllables escape him, a freedom that makes him feel reckless, and as Amaryllis' stares at him with something like awe shining on her face, he thinks he might have begun to smile. "I have for some time, now," he murmurs. "I love you, and meeting eyes with death was a small price to pay for the honor of knowing you."

Arum is certain he is smiling, now. He is just as certain that there are tears in his eyes.

He manages to pull his gaze from Amaryllis', after a moment, with no small degree of effort. "And you, little songbird," he says, glancing down, "as for you-"

Arum is interrupted.

Sir Damien's lips press to his own, muffling him to a humming gasp, and the poet's hands are upon him, one on his cheek and the other twisting in his cape, pulling him down. It arcs through him like magic, like- like poetry. Certain lines of which he cannot help but remember, just now.

"I love you," Damien breathes against him when he breaks the kiss, soft and sure as birdsong.

"Damien," Arum says, too shocked to say anything else, and the shyness slips back into Damien's eyes again.

"I understand if our former conflicts are- too much to move beyond, for you, if you do not feel about me as you do about Rilla, if-"

Arum pulls Damien closer, arms wrapping snug around him, slipping the claws of one hand into the poet's hair now that he can do away with pretense, now that he no longer needs to bury that temptation. Damien gasps against his mouth, and on instinct Arum catches his bottom lip with his teeth, careful and testing. "Ridiculous- ridiculous little bird-" he presses his lips against Damien's again, and his own words- they are insufficient. "So ascended I," he growls, pulling Damien closer, closer, "alight- and burning-"

Damien gasps again when he recognizes his own verse, something like a sob in his voice. "Arum-"

"I love you, honeysuckle," Arum whispers, and Damien chokes, folding against him, allowing Arum to hold him.

Just to hold him. So simple, and so much, all at once. Damien's hair is soft against the scales of Arum's palm, as soft as Arum imagined that it would be.

"Saints," Rilla breathes, and Arum blinks, glancing towards her again as she presses a hand against her chest and shakes her head. "I swear the two of you are trying to kill me."

"Amaryllis," he says softly, but he cannot think what to say beyond that.

She comes closer, her lip pulling like she's burying a laugh as Arum holds Damien more snugly against his chest, and when she is close enough he reaches out and she- she smiles wider, cupping his cheek and slotting herself in beside the poet.

"Amaryllis," he murmurs again, and she wraps her other arm around Damien, the palm on Arum's cheek slipping further to cup the back of his skull, making him shiver, making his chest rumble deeper.

"I love you too," she says, and Arum realizes- he realizes that he knew, already. Somewhere deep and hidden, somewhere he did not allow himself to look, before. "Can I kiss you?"

Arum chokes on a laugh. "I- of course you- ridiculous, Amaryllis-"

She rolls her eyes, and as the laugh bubbles from her lips he leans down, nuzzling against her lips and reveling in the brightness of her mirth.

"I love you," he says again, his scales tickling Amaryllis' skin, his hands holding Damien close. "I love you." He pauses, holds them both even closer for a moment. "I… I do not know what we are meant to do. What this will mean, for all of us-"

"Big questions, Arum," Amaryllis says gently. "Good questions, too, and we're gonna have to talk about them sooner rather than later, I think, but-" she wets her lips, giving him a cautious sort of smile. "But maybe that can wait until tomorrow? I- I just kind of- I just want to be like this, for a little while. Okay?"

Okay, as if he would possibly object. There is no possible way for him to hold her closer. Instead he presses his face into her neck, burying himself in the softness of her skin. "Of course," he whispers there. "It will keep, Amaryllis."

"It will keep," Damien echoes in his arms, and then his voice goes a little higher, a little more frightened as he fists his hands in Arum's cape. "I apologize for- I am sorry to have drawn upon you, I only-"

"Thank you," Arum says, before Damien can lose himself to the panic, "for making me stay."

Arum feels the tug in his mind only a moment before the Keep sings, bemused and uncertain, and and Arum reluctantly loosens his grip on the humans.

"Ah," he says. "Right. Er- I don't suppose… the pair of you are hungry?"

Amaryllis laughs, and Arum struggles against the desire to press their mouths together again. "Yeah, actually. Long, long day." She shakes her head as they disentangle from the embrace, still smiling, and then she- reaches out again, and tangles her fingers together with his own. Damien smiles, and on his other side the poet echoes her, slipping his warm palm against Arum's, and Arum's hands flex, his chest rumbling with something like joy. "Lead the way, then."

~

Dining together is familiar and strange and wonderful, all at once. He has shared so many meals with the both of them already, but never at this table, never with his Keep humming its additions to their conversation. Never with Amaryllis leaning against his side, the edges of the space between them softened to nothing at all. Never with Damien refusing to release his gentle grip on one of his hands for the entirety of the meal, his expression soft and adoring, his lips tumbling with new poetry, hopeful and loving verse. Never with the knowledge that he can reach for them, when he wishes to.

He spends most of the meal wishing to.

They do not seem to mind.

~

Eventually the meal is done, the conversation dripping off to quiet contentment. One human leans on each of Arum's shoulders, speaking slow and drowsy, Amaryllis playing with his hand, pressing the pads of her fingers against his palm, turning his wrist in her hands with fond curiosity as Damien murmurs something rhythmic and quiet against Arum's neck between kisses that are so gentle they make his scales feel electric. Eventually Rilla's grip upon him goes slack, her breaths evening out, and honeysuckle follows not long after.

When they have drifted into unconsciousness still beside the table, the Keep reaches out with vines, draping a blanket it has pulled from Arum's bedroom around all three of them, tucking it around their shoulders and then leaving soft new runners twining around Arum's shoulders, his horns, adding to the embrace.

Arum has never felt quite so warm, before. He has never felt quite so- so certain, so fierce.

He loves his Keep. He would go to war for it. He would fight and scrape and claw his way through anything for the sake of his home, his counterpart. He would die for the Keep. He would.

He would die for the creatures in his arms, now, too.

He shifts very slightly, brushing the backs of his knuckles down Amaryllis' arm, feeling Damien's heart beating soft against the hand that is pinned between his chest and Arum's side.

Yes. He would die for them.

But… Amaryllis wants him to live. She and Damien both. They want him to live. They want- they want more from him than that, even. They-

He cannot think it. His mind shies from it. He is not unsure, not at all, he knows, now, how they feel, but- it seems too fragile a thing, still. Too new and delicate to bear the scrutiny of his mind. He sets their words aside for the moment. He refocuses. They want him to live; that is enough. They, and the Keep, as well. It wishes him alive, it loves him, it is not mere duty that binds them.

“The Senate thinks I am replaceable,” he whispers above the sleeping humans, his memory of the attack still bright in his mind as he shares it with the Keep. The way the representative had shrugged and grinned with sharp white fangs and implied they had found someone better, to make use of the Hermit. “They think I am disposable.” The bright pain of the attack from behind, the further pain and rage that followed during his frantic attempt to defend himself, the bittersweet satisfaction of lifting the Hermit towards the light, the blow that cracked his horn and made his head spin, the choice in less than a breath of further claws or the fall, the water-

Not like his swamp. Not the familiar, still, life-filled water of his home. Water rushing and cool, the bite of sharp rocks until he whited out to almost blissful nothing for immeasurable time, and then the strange, strange stillness that came before the mud, before warm hands and voice and-

Amaryllis’ face, in the darkness. All concern and determination, framed by hair that looked as if the night sky were pouring down around her, before he lost himself to blissful nothing again.

The rest of it the Keep will learn in time. It knows the most important part, now. Arum feels the heat of affection bloom through his counterpart, sees the curling growth of small sprigs of white and orange flowers the Keep is blooming above his doctor.

“They think they can use me and discard me and I will simply die,” Arum murmurs. “Perhaps. Perhaps I may have simply accepted that, once. Perhaps.”

The Keep's vines around his shoulders tighten, secure, and when it sings of comfort and home and life life life, Arum feels it in his mind and in his bones.

“They were wrong,” Arum says, quite simply. “On all accounts.” He pauses, inhaling, feeling the strength he has been missing slowly returning to him, the gentle care of his doctor given new expediency by his home. “We will live, and we will not be used again.”

[->]

[rendevok]

are you still working on plenty of fish in the sea? I love your art style and the story's so cute ^^

Hi, dear anon. Thank you so much, I'm glad you seemed to like that particular project! However, I regret to inform that i dont really intend to finish the story any longer. It HAS been a year now after all, so my style and interests have vastly changed.

Still, i do believe i owe it to those interested to explain the story as it would have played out (in fact i had a stream on instagram last month where i explained it some), so without further ado... here is the story of Plenty of Fish in the Sea...

-

The story had been organized into words & themes, as you may have noticed. So here is that list and then, my notes on the projected story that eventually devolve into my specific brand of storytelling and very poorly thought out (but cheesy) dialogue. Try your best not to judge me since it would have likely been altered and improved once i worked my way through it, and keep in mind i am 100% an amateur.

cover/prologue

drown/savior

waking up/scale

sighting/caught - (i made it this far in terms of finished/posted art!)

storm/plunge

marooned/together

wound/care

curious/weak

gift/open

missing/heart to heart

ship in the night/hostage

in knots/jailbreak

savior/drown (ll)

scale/waking up (ll) - ^these were intentional mirrors of the first 2 main parts

heart on a string

plenty of fish in the sea

Here are my notes that follow these themes:

The story with a prologue, wherein, a young Lance saves a young Keith from drowning, and Keith is left with the memory of a boy and a brilliantly colored scale

Ffwd to the future, Keith is a sailor (not a captain, sorry) who is secretly hunting this mer with the scales that are impossibly valuable (or so he’s been told his whole life). Sure being a pirate gets him some riches but nothing like what the whole tail of scales would! Keith is not truly sure why he’s spent so much of his life fixated on this scale, but he has. So he’s done everything in his power to learn about mer people (what little there is known) to be able to properly track down and capture this mer.

One stormy night he is disturbed from his slumber, called to the deck for help and soon enough he sees the cause for alarm - a mer has been caught in their nets while the storm tossed it about. And of course its not just any mer, it’s the mer. Keith, being Keith, does what he can in the moment - he attempts to cut the nets free of the ship (after all, this is HIS mer to catch), but not a moment after succeeding in his attempt, the sloshing throws him overboard, and soon enough, he falls prey to the violent crashing of waves, sending him into a chilly darkness.

When he awakens, he finds himself on a shore, and soon enough he realizes its an island - he is in fact, marooned. He does what he knows he should first- look for sources of fresh water and food. He has some luck with the food, though not so much with the water (that has him concerned but not entirely hopeless). In his wanderings about the island, he finds that he is not alone. The merman is there with him, which would be a curious thing, were it not for the nets he’s still tangled in and a wide gash across his back. He attempts to approach to appraise the damage more closely, but is met with the hostile hissing of the merman. Keith does his best to try and reason with him, but he simply does not want his help

However, Keith is not really one to let things be. Never has been. He finds his own food, and a small amount of water. He offers some to the mer (who has managed to untangle himself, though still very much injured) responding with only hisses and glares. Keith leaves the food within reach. This process continues for a day or so, before the mer finally gives in and accepts the food. Keith finally asks again if he can help. The mer declines.

So this continues- Keith offers what food he can, the mer picks what he wants and leaves the rest. After a week of this, the mer disappears from his spot, and Keith assumes he’s finally left, only he is met with the mer in a different shore of the island (the one he had been spending his nights)

Now that he is mobile he seems much happier (though maybe not 100% active). He talks with Keith, and Keith cant really do much about it. He asks him things about humans, showing much more interest in humans than his first impression let on. Keith has his own burning questions, but most of them stem from all that time convincing himself he wanted to find this very mer and skin him alive.... kinda hard to imagine doing when he’s becoming much more human. Lance (as he has finally given his name) finally admits he cannot leave because he is still recovering. He can fish for small kills around the island, but he cant leave and swim out in the open ocean just yet. Keith internally feels a stone drop in his stomach. If only he had such a positive future to look forward to.

One day, Keith brings Lance a handful of oysters to feast on, and during he finds none other than a pearl tucked in the muscle of his meal. He is less ecstatic than Keith, who offers how rare and precious they are to humans. Lance gives him the pearl, which he tucks away with the scale that he keeps tucked by his heart in a small container on a string. Keith smiles quite a bit after receiving this gift, and Lance is left to feel conflicting positive emotions over it.

One sunset, after a quiet day (from Lance, he hadnt been very talkative) Keith notices him resting over by some rocks, back turned to Keith. Keith approaches and before he can keep Keith from seeing, he sees Lance is playing with a blank spot in his scales. Keith knows just what is missing but he asks whats wrong anyway. Lance is nervous but he responds: He lost a scale. He was still very young, and he saved a human from drowning - something he was scolded for back then. Interacting with humans is forbidden, but Lance wasnt about to let some kid like him die. However, while not completely unheard of for mer, losing a scale so young was not a good thing. He often felt ashamed for that blank spot in his tail - a reminder that he was missing a piece of himself - and this was just one of those times. Keith sits close and offers his condolences, and continues to say that saving someone was very kind and heroic of him - he only wishes humans were so kind to him as child. He lived most of his life as an orphan, finding a mentor only to have him leave on a ship and never return. Lance is sad to hear this. He misses his family right now, sure, but he knows he will find his way back. He will never miss them like Keith misses his. Lance might have a missing scale, but its nothing compared to the love Keith has been missing nearly all his life.

And so, tied up in the depths of Sendak ship, Keith sits with his guilt. He got Lance caught by the most ruthless hunters out there and was helpless to do anything about it. And he... he thinks that he would rather see Lance free. He’s a person, and he cares more than anyone he has ever met. He has a family. His life is worth more than anything a king could offer for his scales. He’s irreplaceable - especially to Keith. But now.. there isn’t hope. He’s stuck, and probably falling for a merman whos about to get skinned alive. He sheds a tear, hoping beyond anything that Lance somehow manages to escape.

Not a moment later, someone bursts through the door: Shiro. Keith is shocked to say the least, as is Shiro, but there really isn’t much time to spare seeing as how he’s being broken out. Keith grabs his belongings from the corner and shuffles out with him to the deck, where they emerge into the fray. Keith can see that all the mer are being kept on deck in cages, and sets off, blazing a trail through the fighting to go and free them.

He breaks through every chain, telling the mer to leave as soon as they can, he finally makes his way to Lance, who had been set apart from the others. Its closer to sendak, who is crossing swords with shiro. He slices through the chain one last time, freeing Lance, who is startled and tries to speak, but before he can, keith is being affronted by Sendak. They lock swords, Keith pushed to the rail, barely holding off. Sendak suddenly hisses - lance has picked up a sword and swiped at the back of his legs. Keith thinks this is his moment to slip from this position, but before he can move, Sendak kicks the wind out of him, and sends him overboard. He crashes into the icy waves, quickly choking on the water and struggling to find which way is up. Slowly, he chokes, he sinks, and finally, he gives into the creeping darkness. He sees a faint flash before his vision fades to black and he loses consciousness. At least, he thinks, that Lance has a chance at freedom.

To say he is surprised he opens his eyes again is an understatement. The sun glares and makes his head ache, his lungs and throat are sore and raw from the seawater, breathing is painful, but he’s alive. The sun is suddenly not so bright, and when he tries to see why- Lance is above him blocking it out. It reminds him of when he had been saved before. Lance is saying his name and it’s like an angel calling to him.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

Lance makes a confused coo “I’m pretty sure the last time, you were the one to find me.”

Keith lets out a small laugh, which is painful, so he smiles instead. “I was the child you saved. Thats what i was trying to tell you before...”. When he looks at Lance, even in his tired state he can see the wheels turning in Lance’s head. Keith sits up, to face him better.

“I didn’t know for sure until you told me you saved a human all that time ago. If you’re not convinced, I think this should be convincing enough” and he pulls his little bottle out to let it display it’s contents: the pearl, and of course, a glimmering scale, it’s beauty only rivaled by the tail it once was a part of, sitting a few feet away.

“You-”

Keith opens the bottle, and takes it out, to hold and admire in his open palm.

“For a long time, this was my only belonging. People tried to take it, to buy it from me. They told me it was worth more money than i could ever imagine, but... I could never bring myself to sell it.” He looks up then to see Lance stunned into silence. Keith smiles, in a sorrowful sort of understanding. “I’m glad I didn’t.”

He then holds his hand out to Lance, offering him the scale he said was like a missing piece of him.

Lance lifts shaky hands and settles them on Keith’s one, not touching the scale. Keith continues:

“Thank you, Lance. For saving me then, and now.”

After a long moment of silence between them (the shushing of the beach hardly audible) Lance finally speaks.

“I never thought I’d see this again,” he speaks quietly, as he stares down at his scale in Keith’s hand. “But knowing that you found it, cherished it, took care of it, and kept it safe.... I know it’s where it belongs.”

Lance gently closes Keith’s palm around the scale and kisses his knuckles. “Keep it,” Lance looks up, and when he looks into Keith’s eyes, its like he can feel his heart and soul pouring out, “and promise me you’ll think of me every once in a while.” Lance smiles rather sadly.

Gaze flicking back to his hand, where the scale lies, Keith’s heart flutters at the implication behind his action, but stutters at the thought of Lance going away forever (as the words seemed to imply). He takes a deep breath, looks back into Lance’s eyes, their depths calling to him, as though this is the only moment he will ever have to express himself. Maybe it is. His hand reaches up to caress his face, and hold his gaze.

“You’ve saved me from drowning twice. I could hardly manage to forget you before I really even knew you. I’ve been looking for you for what feels like my whole life, and now that I’ve found you... you think i could somehow manage to not think of you every day?” Keith leans in, and kisses his cheek.

“I’ll always have a piece of you here,” he brings his closed fist to his chest, “right by my heart. I am the one who should ask to be remembered.”

“Though...” his thoughts trail as he looks down at Lance’s lips, “I selfishly wish I wouldn’t have to.” Lance breaks his stunned silence, hand coming up to hold Keith’s on his cheek. “Keith....”

Keith lets out a small pained laugh as his heart constricts, removing his hand to help replace the scale to its place in the bottle, and around his neck. He looks at it fondly and softly speaks, “There is this saying we have - about finding love - ‘There are plenty of fish in the sea’ -and it’s true. There are plenty of people I could learn to love, but... the one I want is you.”

The relief Lance feels upon hearing this has his heart swelling, pushing him forward to crash their lips together. Keith is startled at first, but quickly melts into the kiss, moving to wrap his arms around Lance’s neck. They kiss until Keith feels like he’s drowning again, though this time he’s not opposed to it.

And THAT, dear anon, is why you should never be afraid to ask questions. I hope this maybe gave you a little peace, a laugh, something to stir your little klancer heart.

[akaluan]

phoenix!Kisuke Pt2

Part 1 | Part 2 | ????

((So this is a continuation from one of @hamelin-born‘s asks a while back, which turned into sciencing!Erich and then into “Erich you are such a fool, you just tempted fate, I’m sorry but I’m also laughing at you” at the very end. So I think the “Erich gets shapeshifted into a dragon” drabble fits into this timeline after some point XD))

“One perch, and one glove,” Yoruichi announced with a huff, startling Erich out of his fixation on the magic tangled through Kisuke’s body.

His head snapped up and he blinked blearily at Yoruichi, trying to shake off the flickering magic that clung to his vision. He hadn’t managed to untangle the spell trapping Kisuke as a phoenix yet, but he was starting to understand the way it flowed. It might be possible to simply unravel the spell, instead of needing to create a counter-spell, which would be all the better. But if he did need a counter-spell… hmm…

Caught in his theories, Erich accepted the heavy leather glove on autopilot, fingers tracing over seams and checking its strength without once looking down at it. Magic formula built and dissolved in his mind’s eye, potential solutions that might hold a key—

Yoruichi leaned in, a frown on her human face, and asked, “You okay? Your eyes are all weird.” She grabbed Erich’s chin and tilted his head, her frown deepening at whatever it was she saw. “Can you even focus on me?”

Erich snorted and jerked back, pulling himself free of Yoruichi’s grip and rubbing at his eyes. Right. Break time. He needed to focus on something else for a bit. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Just used a spell for probably longer than I should have. I’m going to be seeing mana traces for… quite a while, I think. Especially /those/,” he said with a hint of amusement, gesturing towards Kisuke. “I think I could draw that pattern in my /sleep/ at this point.”

“I’ve been gone for /three hours/,” Yoruichi protested. “Have you literally been— you have. You sat your ass down in that chair and stared at glowing lines until you burned the lot into your mind.” She rocked back on her heels and rolled her eyes, arms crossing over her chest. “You two fools deserve each other, I swear.”

“Maa, surely we’re not /that/ bad,” Kisuke protested, flicking his wings open and bouncing a bit closer, sparks scattering in his wake.

Yoruichi fixed Kisuke with an exasperated look, then reached out to jab Erich in the chest. “Go on, get out of here, and take the birdbrain with you. Go… teach him how to be a bird, or something. He’s probably bored and restless anyway.”

Erich swatted Yoruichi’s hand away and rose from his seat, pulling on the falconer’s glove and testing its fit as he did. “He’s been helping,” Erich said, while triggering blut vene and offering his glove-covered arm to Kisuke.

“I’d be more surprised if he hadn’t been,” Yoruichi said. She leaned against the table, then let her own transformation trigger. Once more feline-shaped, she flicked her tail and sauntered off. “Have fun, boys!”

“Huh,” Erich murmured, leaning to the side to watch Yoruichi walk away. “It really is entirely kido and reiryoku based, isn’t it?” He hadn’t seen the slightest trace of mana flare when she did that, despite the way he could see every /other/ piece of mana surrounding him.

“Of course it is,” Kisuke answered, sidling onto Erich’s arm and gripping carefully. “Did you really think..?”

Erich shrugged his free shoulder and slowly lifted his arm, waiting for Kisuke to find his balance. “Souls changing form via rieryoku makes sense, but I had thought that mana might play even a small role. It would handily explain why some people cannot take a form other than their own, since not all people have mana.”

Kisuke fluffed his feathers and cocked his head, considering Erich’s words. “Well… that’s true. I wonder— maybe the initial change? Hm… or maybe this spell could have once been the basis..?” He carefully rearranged himself, flicking his long tail over Erich’s arm and settling so that his back was to Erich’s chest.

“I… maybe?” Erich offered, tucking his arm closer to his chest and reinforcing himself to support Kisuke’s weight. He left the lab and moved down the hallway, intending on taking both of them down into the training ground. “We have found ways to translate some parts of magecraft into kido. Maybe some of this spell translate easily?”

Erich nodded his thanks to Tsukabishi when the man knelt to open the trapdoor for him, and carefully stepped into the open air, solidifying the reishi beneath his feet. From there, it was easy to descend in a controlled manner, Kisuke held braced against his chest.

“We’ll need to examine the spell itself later,” Erich continued, moving his arm out and holding Kisuke up. “Once I get this untangled from you properly, I mean. I think it’s suppose to be some form of curse, actually? Because I don’t exactly see a way /out/ of the shape.”

Kisuke ground his beak in frustration, then turned his head to the side with a huff. “A curse that turned me into a /phoenix?/”

“I’ve heard odder,” Erich admitted with a laugh, bouncing his arm a bit until Kisuke started to instinctively flap his wings. Sparks swirled around them, driven by Kisuke’s wingbeats, and Erich couldn’t resist reaching out with his free hand to swipe at a few. “Stop thinking of curses as things that harm or kill, and realize that /anything/ can be a curse. All it needs is to be a negative effect on your life.”

“Magical rules are strange,” Kisuke muttered, glowering at Erich. “And what the hell are you /doing/, anyway?”

“Getting you to exercise your wings,” Erich said with amusement, letting his arm still and smirking at Kisuke. “As much as I’m looking forward to watching you fall out of the sky like most fledges do, I figured a bit of warm-up might help.”

“Fall out of the— hah!” Kisuke spread his wings wide and crouched. “Just you watch. This will be absolutely no trouble for me at all!”

Erich bit his lip, braced his arm as best he could, and tried not to burst into laughter before Kisuke had a chance to prove himself. He could be wrong, after all; the spell could have imparted the correct instincts on Kisuke in the process of changing him. He just… didn’t think that was the case.

Kisuke tensed, flexed his claws, then /leapt/, wings pumping desperately to drive him aloft.

Already, Erich knew the outcome. The way Kisuke was listing in the air, unable to right himself, was exactly like a young fledgling’s first few tries. At least the training ground didn’t have much in the way of obstacles to crash into.

Kisuke’s ungraceful landing on the dusty ground and subsequent noise of frustration had Erich laughing even as he approached.

“Well,” Erich said with a grin, “at least I’ll have plenty of blackmail.”

“Just wait,” Kisuke grumbled, sidling onto Erich’s arm again. “Just wait until karma comes to turn /you/ into something. I bet you’ll be something particularly frustrating to master. Like… like a /snake/. Or some sort of lizard.”

“So cruel, wishing a curse upon your lover.” Erich smirked and rose, lifting his arm out and bracing himself again. “Besides, I have no interest in Yoruichi’s little shifter-kido, and, unlike /someone/, I have the good sense to /not/ cast unknown spells upon myself.”

“Karma,” Kisuke hissed darkly. “Just you wait.”

“Oh, I’m waiting, alright,” Erich answered with a grin. “Waiting for someone to resume mastering flight.”

Kisuke snapped his beak at Erich, then launched himself from Erich’s arm once more.

Erich hummed and watched him rise, eyeing the swirl of sparks that trailed in Kisuke’s wake, then nodded. The lack of breeze or thermals was likely affecting Kisuke’s ability to gain height; he’d let the man try a few more times without, to get a feel for the mechanics of flight, before casting a little cantrip to invoke a breeze.

But oh, the blackmail this would give him to tease his lover with…

[heartslogos]

newfragile yellows [305]

“You look,” Ellana starts and turns to Grim for help.

Grim’s jaw is clenched rather handsomely but he slowly averts his eyes from her in a display of complete and total betrayal.

“I look?” The Iron Bull says, knowing damn well what he looks like.

Ellana turns around for help and she turns just in time to see Rocky and Skinner rushing out the door to the Herald’s rest. She’s surrounded in traitors.

The only ones left are Krem and Stitches, but that’s because Krem’s got an injured knee and Stitches is blocked in by Krem on the bench.

Dalish got up and left as soon as the Iron Bull walked in.

Ellana grimaces and turns back to the man and fumbles for something that isn’t I want to put my eyes out.

As if the Iron Bull isn’t fully aware of how…ridiculous he looks in the bright, bright, vibrant red military jacket with its hideously blue sash and…damned awful gloves.

“Aren’t you always on me to wear a jacket anyway? I thought you’d like it.”

“You know that isn’t what I mean,” Ellana says. “What the hell is that?”

“It’s the Inquisition uniform for Halamshiral,” the Iron Bull answers, wrinkling his nose as he experimentally tries to stretch his arms out in it. “I’m going to choke in this thing. Aclassi, you know stuff about clothes, can you fix this?”

“I can give it to Dalish to burn,” Krem replies, “God, Chief. That isn’t your color.”

“Which part?”

“All of it,” Ellana and Krem answer together.

“By Inquisition uniform,” Ellana says, “Do you mean - ?”

Ellana gestures around the table at all of them here.

“Oh, nah. The Chargers aren’t going inside the ball so they’ll just be wearing the Inquisition crest to make sure people know who brought them in,” Bull says.

“Thank you for this mercy lady of Dragons and Gray Sister,” Ellana releases a sigh of relief and the Iron Bull smiles at her.

“Chargers only. You and me? We’re wearing the jackets. And the sashes. And the gloves. And the trousers. And the boots.” The Iron Bull says this with too much satisfaction. Ellana disapproves immensely.

“Why?” Ellana asks. “I’m not going into that ball.”

“Have you told Trevelyan that?” The Iron Bull asks. “Because she’s under the impression that you’re walking in the front door with her. You want to be my date?”

“No,” Ellana says.

“That’s cold, Wolf,” Stitches says, “Stone cold. Nice.”

“I mean, yes, I’ll be your date,” Ellana backtracks, “No. I’m not going. So I’m not exactly going to be your date. I’m. That is just so terrible. Can you take it off? The gloves at the very least?”

The Iron Bull pulls them off with his teeth and an eyebrow waggle that makes her want to smack him upside the head.

“Who thought that these were a good idea?” Krem asks, catching one of the horribly tan gloves that the Iron Bull tosses at him. “Not bad make. Quality seems good. It’s just. Not good.”

“I bet you it was surplus from another order,” Stitches says, “The Inquisition is piecing together left over rejects from tailors.”

Krem makes a disbelieving face. “I thought we were past the whole running a poor charity military thing.”

“You’d hope so. We have a castle.”

“An abandoned castle.”

“It’s not abandoned if we’re in it, is it?”

“Normally,” The Iron Bull says to her while Stitches and Krem are going back and forth, “I’m asked to take my clothes off in a more private setting, but for you Wolf, anything.”

“Not really anything otherwise you’d wear a scarf or maybe a shirt when I ask,” Ellana says, holding out her hand as he takes the sash off and starts working on the fine clasps of the red military jacket. “Krem’s right, this is fine fabric. I feel like Pavus or de Fer would have said something about this.”

“Saving the best for last, probably,” Bull muses, grunting as he tries to untangle himself. “Help.”

Ellana sets the sash down, standing up and moving around the table to stand behind him and pry his thick arms from the stiff fabric. “Did they even measure you?”

“He might have gotten bigger,” Krem says.

“Shut it,” Bull grumbles, “Have you considered that maybe this is why I don’t wear jackets?”

“I think you just don’t wear them to mock me,” Ellana replies, “At this point what else could it be?”

She shakes the material out and sighs, “There’s no fixing this kind of…purposeful tragedy. Did you at least tell Evelyn that it’s awful?”

“I leave it to you, Wolf. I mean, what would I know about fashion?”

-

“Hey, Wolf.”

Ellana stubbornly pushes her face deeper into her pillow and clumsily pulls the blankets up over her head.

“Cute,” The Iron Bull says and she grumbles when he nudges the bed. “Wolf, get up, I’ve got something for you.”

“Sleep,” Ellana says, trusting that he’ll understand whatever garbled mess comes out through the layers of cloth and fur and her own hair in her mouth. “G’way.”

The Iron Bull laughs quietly and she curls up in protest as he starts pulling back layers to get to her. Ellana whines when cool air gets to her skin. His warm hand closes around her shoulder and shakes her.

“No,” Ellana says and the Iron Bull lets her go.

And then something very small and furry is placed right next to her closed fist and it mews very loudly.

Ellana sits up immediately and looks down at the kitten that the Iron Bull has deposited on their bed.

Ellana points at it, “You.”

The black kitten from a few weeks ago stares up at her and mews plaintively before it starts to explore with its little tail up in the air.

Ellana points at the Iron Bull who’s grinning very smugly, “You.”

“You can’t name the cat you,” the Iron Bull says, “That’s too confusing.”

Ellana picks the kitten up before it can get too far away and she sets him down on her lap. He immediately begins to knead at her thigh and nudge at her stomach and then try to climb up her.

“You did not get us a cat.”

“Nope, I got you a cat.”

“No,” Ellana says. “We can’t have a cat. You know this cat isn’t going to be just mine, it’s going to be yours too because animals like you because you’re you and it’s going to be our cat and we can’t have a cat. We cannot have a cat. Bull we travel. We cannot be a traveling mercenary band and have a cat. We fight dragons and demons. We are at war and we cannot have a cat.”

The Iron Bull reaches out and runs a finger down the cat’s back and it meows very loudly right into Ellana’s ear as she boosts it up onto her shoulder.

“Sure we can. We have dogs.”

“You can train a dog to fight. We have war dogs. Hunting dogs. Bull.”

“You like the cat,” the Iron Bull says.

“Of course I like the cat,” Ellana says, “How could I not like the cat? I can’t take care of a cat.”

“You raised a deer.”

“A deer isn’t a cat! I ride my deer. I can’t ride a cat! Ghilan’nain preserve me.”

Ellana feels the little warm ball of fluff start to paw at her hair.

“Wolf,” the Iron Bull says, “Take the cat. Do you really want me to give the cat back and have this little guy wonder why he isn’t good enough to be someone’s cat for the rest of his life?”

Ellana glares and immediately holds the kitten to her chest, “You play dirty.”

“You love it. And you love me. And you love the cat,” the Iron Bull says, cupping her cheek and kissing her forehead. “You’re welcome. Happy name day.”

[darkfalcon-z]

You cannot take it back make it undone. Chapter 8: Planet Landrine: Part II

almost 7900 words, gen, dbz au, Gohan, Raditz

warnings: child abuse, this and next chapter are probably quite of emotional roller coaster (generally bad shit happens in this story,  if you are interested in reading this story, but you are uncertain it is safe for you, contact me)

Many thanks to over-8000 for beta reading this chapter

chapter directory,  first chapter (with authors note), previous chapter , next chapter, the story on AO3, this chapter on AO3

Gohan woke slowly and noticed that something seemed different this morning. Unlike previous days, he wasn't shuddering from cold, the smell was different, and something really warm and quite massive was wrapped around him. Something living and breathing. The calm rhythm of another’s breath and the surrounding warmth made him doze again before he figured it out. Soon he woke for good, still in this wonderfully comfortable and warm place.

He laid next to Raditz, basically in the latter’s embrace. Raditz's hair covered both of them like a blanket. He was sheltered by Raditz chest and arms and his head rested on the other’s biceps. But he wasn't squished. In fact. there was enough room for him to get away if he wanted to.

There was probably no harm in staying where he was. It was so calm and comfortable! Gohan really didn't want the day to start yet. Unfortunately he must had stirred because Raditz woke up. He moved some of the hair away and a gust of colder air hit Gohan's face.

"You awake?" Raditz looked at Gohan through half-lidded eyes.

"Yes," Gohan answered in whisper, because he didn't want to ruin the quiet moment.

Raditz yawned and gave Gohan a half smile. He seemed to be in an okay mood. This relieved Gohan, who wasn't sure if he would be punished for crying last night, even though Raditz hadn't shown any anger earlier.

"Guess we need to get up. A breakfast would be nice. What'd you say?"

"mhm... food." Gohan was, in fact, getting hungry.

Raditz turned over on his back and chuckled.

Gohan sat up. He scratched his itching head. He wasn't sure if the unpleasant sensation was caused by insect bites or by the fact he hadn't washed his hair in a long time. Gohan had already tried washing it in a stream during the Saiyans’ stay on planet Skwash, but the water had been cold and he didn't have any shampoo. It only made the state of his hair worse. Asking Raditz wasn't much help, since he didn't know what shampoo was. However he always assisted in removing insects from Gohan’s scalp.

"Gohan..." Raditz laid an hand on his shoulder and interrupted Gohan’s thoughts. "... you can't show weakness in front of people. They WILL go for it and hurt you if you do." He crouched right in front of Gohan, which was unusual, and looked at him intensely. Gohan fidgeted and shifted back slightly. The extraordinary behaviour made him feel a bit like a deer caught in headlights.

"I... yes..." he managed to spit out.

"I'm here," Raditz said, an earnest expression on his face. "I'm with you."

Gohan understood this was meant as reassurance, but he wasn't entirely certain what Raditz meant by it. The way he saw it, Raditz was all too willing to hurt him as well. He nodded, keeping his eyes on Raditz face. This response seemed to satisfy Raditz because he cracked a tiny smile.

Raditz leaned forward and pressed the side of his face against Gohan’s for a very brief moment, but before Gohan could make sense of this action and respond in any way, he broke the contact and stood up.

"Let's go catch breakfast. We have work to do." They soon left without bothering to clean up their camp: the disarrayed nest, the remnants of bonfire and their previous meals littered the site. They weren’t going back anyway.

The rest of the day was as miserable as the previous one, and just like every day in the previous weeks had been. Smoke and dust caused Gohan’s eyes to tear up. The smells of slaughter made him more and more ill as did the sight of dying people. Raditz preferred to kill his victims quickly, so at least most of them didn’t suffer. But Gohan still tend to botch the job more often than not. As a result he was forced to see them die slow, painful deaths. Once Gohan tried to lessen the suffering of an injured Landrinian who had not died immediately due to his inept shot. Raditz dragged him away and berated him for the unnecessary loss of time and energy. Even hours after the battle was done, Gohan still heard the gurgling and pained noises of the creature gasping for breath in his mind.

The day left Gohan sad and exhausted, aching for the slightest bit of comfort and respite from the hell that surrounded him even though- or more likely because- his hands had helped to bring this particular hell into existence.

*** It was time to rest again after a long day. Finally. Raditz stretched out in their newly built nest. He turned to his side to watch the cub. Gohan sat on the edge of the nest again. His tail swayed in a manner that indicated the cub was uncertain what to do.

"Come here," Raditz motioned with one hand. "You'll be warmer and comfier."

Hesitantly, Gohan crawled to him and laid down by his side. His small body remained tense and his wide eyes kept darting to Raditz face and away.

Raditz reached out and started to slowly, gently stroke Gohan’s hair to soothe the cub. He knew that Gohan’s hair had a different texture than a typical Saiyan, even if one considered that children usually had softer hair than adults, Gohan's tresses were still more delicate and tangled up more easily. Raditz already had noticed it wasn't coated properly, and he figured that Gohan's former caretakers had done something to remove the natural oily coating. Fortunately whatever had been done had not damaged the scalp’s ability to produce oils, and the child's hair was steadily regaining its normal coating. Then Raditz dug his fingers in Gohan's mop to massage his scalp. Time and again, he needed to untangle mats. He proceeded gently, so not to disturb the resting child. Hopefully the extra stimulation would cause the skin glands to produce oils faster. Raditz thought that, with his hair in such a disastrous state, Gohan looked like a Flying Child - like he had been abandoned. This idea was reinforced by how skinny the boy was. By his observations, Raditz could tell that Gohan's overall well being needed more attention.

Soon Gohan relaxed and moved even closer to him.

"See, it's better," Raditz murmured. Finally the cub was starting to treat him with a dose of familiarity. That simple act made Raditz’s face light up with a smile, and he didn’t even realize that his expression had changed.

It was good to have another Saiyan to keep him company even if that Saiyan was a weak and frail cub. Raditz had a hard time admitting - even to himself- that before the test at the end of their previous purge, he had been afraid of the impression the child might make on him. He had not wanted to risk developing any sort of relationship between the two of them and had limited contact with Gohan on purpose. That way if the child died, Raditz wouldn’t have been disappointed or upset by the loss.

Raditz had lost strong relationships in the past when Planet Vegeta had been destroyed, and it had hurt immensely. So he didn’t even want to risk acknowledging the child’s name. It would be much easier to forget about a nameless creature. Raditz knew he couldn't avoid the risk forever, but he couldn't bring himself to take it right away. To keep himself safe, he had waited until the risk dropped to an acceptable level.

But since the test the child had been put through on Planet Skwash, Raditz really allowed himself to believe it was likely that Gohan would survive and stay on as a part of their group. It was a very comforting notion. It meant they were going to have one more member in their company but it also meant there was hope for the future. Maybe they weren't going to be last generation of their kind. Maybe someone would be around to tell their names and their deeds to the future after all.

Raditz coiled his tail around Gohan's tiny frame and wrapped his hair around both of them to ward off the cold night air. Gohan had fallen asleep already. The child’s smell was good since he settled down. Raditz inhaled deeply. It was calming. The scent of the sleeping cub brought back the memories of sharing a nest with other young Saiyans back home.

Before he arrived on Earth, Raditz had expected that he would need to take the role of teacher because Kakarot, left on that gods-forsaken planet, had not been brought up and trained in the proper Saiyan way. Raditz hadn't known what state he would find his brother in. Space pods for the infants were equipped with learning modules, but they were meant to house small children for a few years and teach basic skills, not as a lifelong support for a growing Saiyan.

Oh, sure Raditz had been hoping for the best. Perhaps the mudball would provide Kakarot with learning opportunities of its own. But it might not. Add to that many possible years of isolation... Raditz had been fully prepared to find that his brother might not be able to put together a coherent sentence and would require constant supervision around other people. He also assumed Kakarot was strong enough to hold his own in a fight and capable of surviving in the wilderness with minimum instructions or demonstrations. The possibility that Kakarot might had made some sort of connection with Earth's inhabitants had barely crossed Raditz’s mind. He surely hadn't considered his brother might have straight-up joined the natives.

But even then Raditz had never in his wildest dreams expected to find a child. A CHILD. He felt too old for the role of nest brother, especially for a very young and untrained cub. Such a small, weak and inexperienced Saiyan needed a lot of care and attention. There were simply too few of them left to give adequate care. Plus they all were adults.

The Saiyan model of raising children was based on placing the kid with a herd of other brats and letting them be. Often brats needed someone to supervise them; that was largely limited to being close enough for emergency damage control and not watching the kids the whole time. Sure, cubs had plenty of opportunities to watch and interact with older Saiyans, to ask them questions and learn from them. But for the most part they were not supposed to rely on adults in general and certainly not for their day-to-day care. That included all of the little things they needed others to do for them without which, Raditz was well aware, children could not develop properly. Even for adult Saiyans, the lack of such simple things could make life almost unbearable.

Arguably, life experience made adults good teachers, but they were too old to understand the needs of small cubs since they were supposed to grow out of THAT frame of mind. Naturally, the brunt of child care duties had fallen on Raditz shoulders, but at least this time it wasn’t only because he was the weakest member of the group. As the last member of his House, Gohan was Raditz's responsibility.

It would be better if Raditz could take time off to train the cub properly without being forced to constantly leave him behind. For now, Gohan couldn't keep up and would only slow him down. Surely, if they were given more time together, Gohan would become accustomed to him sooner and Raditz would certainly be able teach him more. But Vegeta just wouldn't allow it, especially after Raditz's prolonged absence. Not that Raditz opposed introducing the brat to his future tasks early on, but he knew it would be smarter to let Gohan adjust at his own pace.

Raditz just wanted to give Gohan the care and teaching he needed. Well, of course he wanted to! It was the best way to ensure the cub not only survived but grew stronger. It was not only his duty as the leader of his House but it would also benefit him in the long run. It would benefit ALL of them. It frustrated Raditz he couldn't do that due to circumstances. And while it was obvious it was detrimental to his goals, he just didn't know why it bothered him so much.

He felt a smaller tail wrap around his. Confusion and frustration left Raditz, replaced by a sense of warmth The cub next to him was in deep slumber. It was high time he fell asleep as well.

*** Soon Raditz and Gohan fell into a routine. Each day started with hunting for breakfast. After the meal they took time for hair grooming, as it was easier to do it in the bright light of the morning than during eerie night times. Usually Raditz would either comment on something that had occurred during the previous day, pointing out relevant details, or he would explain what they were going to do next.

If he didn’t have anything important to say to fill the time, he would just chatter away about completely unrelated topics. He would often try to tell Saiyan legends, but he rarely managed to finish his story as the thoughts of everyday activities interrupted him or Gohan would ask him a question about titbits of Saiyan life mentioned during the retelling. Raditz seemed to enjoy talking, with one hand running gently through Gohan’s hair and the other gesticulating wildly to re-enact events in the story. Afterwards they would have a short sparring session, or alternatively Raditz would show Gohan some new technique or exercise.

If he was in a good mood, Raditz would oftentimes carry the conversation on through the sparring session, even though it meant he would basically carry it out on his own. Gohan could hardly catch a breath, let alone answer. Raditz wasn’t particularly gentle during the sparring sessions; he often left Gohan severely bruised but was cautious not to leave any more permanent injuries.

Raditz taught Gohan Forms for flying and once Gohan learned to perform them properly he sometimes would just unexpectedly grab the child, fling him unceremoniously into the air and then let him fall to the ground.

“It’s for motivation,” Raditz laughed off Gohan's protests. “Plus you get the feeling of being in the air. It’ll help when you start to fly on your own,” he claimed.

For now the only result was that Gohan learned to get his bearings quickly enough to land with a minimal amount of bruises. Gohan was sure Raditz was throwing him higher each time, but Raditz just laughed at the accusation.

Every morning Raditz took Gohan along so he could become accustomed to their work and then later dropped the boy off with instructions to train and prepare the camp for the night. They hunted together for food, but Gohan had to gather materials for building their nest and fuel to feed the fire on his own.

Gohan also collected fruits and if he managed to find something that intrigued him, he took a sample so he could ask Raditz later about it. Raditz seemed genuinely happy whenever Gohan come to him with these sort of questions and he always tried to answer them the best he could. Although, sometimes Gohan suspected Raditz made things up about alien artifacts just to keep talking. He was too shy and insecure to call Raditz out on it. Of course, Gohan had to continue with his training regime when was left on his own but he preferred that over helping Raditz with the 'job'.

When Raditz returned to their camp for the evening the first sun had usually already set and the second was about to join it. He would help Gohan arrange the nest properly and he would dig out meat from the pit they used to cook it. One time they camped near the ocean and ate fish, but it was too salty on its own and Gohan was barely able to finish his portion.

Every morning, they spent a significant amount of time on daily grooming. Raditz was actually quite particular about hygiene. He just didn't look at it in the same way Mom did. In fact, Mom would probably start to hyperventilate and need have to lay down for some time if ever confronted with Raditz's notion of ‘hygiene’.

Raditz paid particular attention to removing insects from their skin and hair. Moreover he was adamant about removing all sticky, organic substances both from the surface of the body and from clothes. He was very strict about Gohan doing it as well. As much as Raditz seemed happy to get covered in blood, he would clean up as soon as possible before it started to rot. He usually accomplished this task by licking the blood off from wherever he could reach.

The fact that it was hard to find usable water on the planet didn't seem to bother Raditz in the least. He'd use mud, dust, ash, plants' pulp or lumps of “leaves” to clean up. It baffled Gohan how one could use dirt to remove dirt, but Raditz actually managed to get clean... well, sort of. He did manage to remove most of the offending matter, but the final effect certainly didn't smell too appealing.

Gohan tried to mimic these operations with mixed results. For one thing, it was a lot harder to remove filth from his woven clothes than it was from the hard surface of Raditz’s armour. For the other, he didn't quite get the hang of removing smudges of dirt from his skin. As long as it wasn't organic matter, or more specifically animal matter, Raditz didn't pay any mind and did not chastise Gohan for improper grooming. If Raditz saw Gohan struggling with cleaning for too long he would kneel down and assist the child.

“Those clothes of yours are too impractical. I’ll get you something more appropriate soon,” Raditz fumed. He seemed almost personally offended by Gohan’s clothes and how hard it was to remove blood from them.

The idea of parting with his garb made Gohan very sad, although he could see the logic to it: silk and cotton seemed to almost suck in filth in comparison to the polymers Raditz’s outfit had been made from. Still, his clothes were the only things Gohan had from his home. They were the only link, the only physical proof. that he indeed came from Earth.

Raditz found a root of one of the local plants that helped soothe the burning caused by the insects' bites that needed to be chewed up and mixed with saliva first. Gohan followed Raditz’s example and rubbed the resulting pulp into his scalp. It definitely helped, but Gohan couldn’t help imagining the disgusted face Mom would make if she could have seen him.

***

Gohan also continued to learn more about the ancient Saiyan art of self-diagnosis. Raditz told Gohan to always examine his wounds, even the minor bruises. There was an enormous amount of information that could be learned just from palpating an injury, but it required equally substantial experience to understand the results.

As much as Gohan enjoyed practicing diagnostics, there were the parts of it that he didn’t look forward to: the smellier parts. Outside of the fact that smelling things was a relatively new skill for Gohan, as it was virtually unknown to Earthlings, what Gohan had to analyse by smell wasn’t exactly roses. “Why do I have to do it every day?” Gohan complained while poking a small pile of his own fresh poop with a long insect limb, because no sticks were available on the planet.

“Quit whining. I told you already,” Raditz grumbled. He crouched next to Gohan and supervised the boy’s examinations. “It’s an essential part of self-diagnosis. You check the smell, the colour, and the consistency to tell how healthy you are. Particularly how your body reacts to a new diet, if you digest everything properly and whether or not you are lacking anything. You also check for stuff that shouldn’t be there, like signs of parasites and blood.”

“And what if there are parasites,” Gohan asked. He felt a little anxious. Earlier they had a conversation about what nasty things parasites could do to one’s body. Contracting parasites was a considerable danger from consuming unknown food. Raditz was teaching him how to recognize the signs of infestation, but there were some indiscernible to anything short of specialised equipment. Not to mention that Gohan still lacked necessary experience to do it well.

“Then we try identify what kind of parasite it is, and how it affects our health. Don’t worry if you are infested, you’ll be almost certainly rid of it during your next trip to the disinfection chamber, likely before you even notice that something is amiss,” Raditz assured.

“But what if it’s aggressive and grows quickly?” Gohan continued the inquiry.

“We have a medical kit in the pod, there’s medications that should inhibit most of the types the parasites. And if it isn’t gone after visiting disinfection chamber, there are many other available treatments,“ Raditz answered patiently.

“We have a medical kit? Why don’t we ever use it?” Gohan was surprised. He had never even suspected they had such a thing.

“Because we don’t have to. The supplies are very limited and for emergencies only. I teach you these things so you don’t have to rely on it. Now, what can you tell about your diet?” Raditz cut off the discussion with his next question.

“I need more fibre,” Gohan declared, to which Raditz nodded approvingly.

***

Every night Gohan crawled into the nest to sleep next to Raditz. It was much more comfortable than sleeping on the edge of the nest and he didn't feel so exposed. Oddly enough, whenever Gohan drew close to Raditz the latter’s expression turned softer and his posture relaxed. Gohan could tell that Raditz wasn’t a very happy person, although it was difficult for a young child to explain what made him think that. But whenever they were close, whether in the nest or by the campfire. Raditz seemed more at ease. Raditz stroked his hair or rub his back until the stress of the day left Gohan and sleep claimed him. On occasion when he dozed off by the bonfire, he woke up in the nest by Raditz's side the following morning.

Gohan was steadily beginning to accept the new reality of his life. It wasn't a dream. He wasn't going to wake up safely in his bed. Dad wasn't going to show up and take him home. Life wasn't good. It was probably never going to be good ever again. At least in Raditz's embrace it was warm. Weirdly enough, being that close made Gohan feel safe. There was nothing on the surface of the planet that could pose a threat to Raditz except for Vegeta and Nappa; they were far away and at least nominally they weren’t enemies. Gohan felt well protected.

Gohan just sought out whatever small comfort he could find. It might have been weird to look for comfort from the person who was responsible for his misery in the first place, but there was no one else to turn to. Gohan thought he should hate Raditz, for all the things the other had done to him and to countless innocent people, but he couldn't quite muster it. Gohan never had hated anyone before. It didn't seem to come naturally to him.

And then there was the idea that his presence made Raditz a little bit happier. When he thought about that, it made Gohan warm inside, although he didn’t know why. It was a good thing- making someone who was unhappy feel better. Maybe Gohan was doing something good after all.

The days blended together and Gohan didn’t know how much time had passed. Most of the time, his reality seemed like feverish nightmare. Slowly Gohan adjusted to purging. He still felt ill but he managed to keep his composure enough as not to vomit or collapse. It scared him. He was making more kills as well and that scared him too.

One time they met up with Nappa, who stayed with them for the evening meal and the night. He seemed to be quite content and laughed loudly as he commented on Gohan's progress. Gohan dozed off shortly after he finished eating so he didn't know what Raditz and Nappa talked about, but he recalled hearing them chat through the fog of sleep. When he woke up Raditz was already up and Nappa was gone, but Gohan could clearly smell the other Saiyan's scent all over the nest.

Gohan was often too tired to pay much attention or to contemplate about what was happening, and in a way it was a blessing. But when he was able to muster enough energy, he tried to observe and learn about his -for the lack of better term- new guardian. Despite the fact Gohan spent the better part of each day alone, he and Raditz were spending much more time together now than during their stay on planet Skwash. On one hand, Gohan was relieved to not be alone all the time. It lifted his spirits to hear another person's voice and comforting to feel a presence near. On the other hand, he also felt anxious because Raditz had more occasions to be mean or violent to him. It was impossible to find any semblance of solace in crying when Raditz was around, as he would chastise Gohan for it.

As Gohan had observed earlier, Raditz would crouch beside him when they talked. Recently, he would get so close that their bodies actually touched, even though previously he had kept his distance. Gohan wondered about that change. It was oddly reassuring to feel his shoulder or arm or knee connecting to something warm and alive, to know someone else was present even if he was looking in another direction. However if they were at 'work', Raditz would avoid touching him unless absolutely necessary and would firmly pull away if Gohan got too close. In fact the way that Raditz presented himself on the battlefield was different and much more rigid than his behavior in camp even when Gohan was the only one present, not counting their victims.

But when they relaxed together by the campsite, Raditz never pushed Gohan away. At times Gohan pressed tightly up against Raditz’s arm or chest in an attempt to stop himself from crying. Raditz must had known what he was doing and why because of the way Gohan’s body shook, the rhythm of his breathing, and even his smell betrayed him. It was impossible not to notice Gohan was almost crying, but for whatever reason Raditz overlooked this behaviour. He didn't push Gohan away, he asked no questions nor did he address it in any way afterwards. He let it be without words of comfort of chastisement. At most he would readjust Gohan into more comfortable position or rub his back until the child calmed down.

It wasn't what Gohan needed. If Mom and Dad were there, they would ask Gohan what was wrong and they would assure him everything was going to be alright.

Or maybe not. Maybe they wouldn't want Gohan anymore. After all Gohan was sure his parents would strongly disapprove of what he had done. Would they excuse his actions because he didn’t do it out of his own choice? Mom and Dad were good and kind, but Gohan wasn’t like them anymore. He knew he wasn’t. He had heard that actions speak about a person’s character, and he thought his actions were abhorrent. So maybe Mom and Dad wouldn’t want a child like him. If they saw Gohan, if they knew what he did, maybe they'd just leave him with Raditz. Just thinking about it hurt. Perhaps it was better not to think about it.

*** One evening after the two Saiyans already laid down their freshly constructed nest, Gohan hazily remembered something Raditz had mentioned at another time. Something about missing HIS mom. Raditz must have been still a kid when she died. Since she had died was there any one who would hug and kiss Raditz's forehead the same way Gohan's Mom did for him?

Gohan seriously doubted Vegeta would ever hug anyone. Maybe Nappa would hug Raditz? With that big body and large arms, he seemed like he could be good at hugging. Like Grandpa. Being kissed by Nappa couldn't have been a nice experience with that moustache of his. Gohan cringed inwardly at the thought. It would be like being kissed by Grandpa. Gohan loved his Grandpa but disliked being kissed by him, as his coarse facial hair always brushed against Gohan’s skin unpleasantly. Yet it was kind of hard to imagine Nappa actually hugging anyone. Not to mention, he was presently on another continent. Raditz was often alone, so the occasions when he could have been hugged must had been scarce.

The thought that Raditz didn't get hugs and kisses made Gohan oddly sad. Maybe Raditz was so harsh because no one hugged him or kissed his forehead? Not even when he went to bed! Maybe Raditz wanted someone to do that for him? The idea was intriguing. Spontaneously, Gohan reached out to test his hypothesis. He placed his small hand on Raditz’s cheek and waited for a reaction.

Raditz laid, supporting his head with one hand. He hadn’t looked at the child next to him, but he absentmindedly rubbed circles between Gohan's shoulder blades with his free hand. The touch on his face got Raditz’s attention. He peered down at Gohan and locked gazes with him. The cub’s expression, absent of the slightest hint of a smile or frown, was hard to interpret. Gohan’s lips were slightly parted as if he wanted to say something, but wasn’t sure what, and his eyes were wide open. Apparently Gohan had touched him to get his attention and then watched to see his reaction, but Raditz had no idea what Gohan expected of him. He moved his hand and placed it over the tiny one resting on his face for a moment as if to assure himself that it was really there.

"What are you on about?" Raditz murmured.

Gohan hesitated. Raditz did not seem displeased. He didn’t quite know how to express what he wanted to ask, so intuitively he pulled himself up to hug Raditz and then kissed his forehead.

Tiny arms wrapped around Raditz neck. And if that was not enough, Gohan leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. Raditz chuckled, completely oblivious to Gohan’s inner debate. The gesture seemed a little 'alien' to him, but still affectionate. It meant the child had warmed up to him and was trying to strengthen their relationship. In response he pulled Gohan up and connected their temples.

Happy with the unexpected act of tenderness, Raditz turned on his back and pulled the child along to lay on his chest. This position was much more comfortable for both of them and didn't require Gohan, who continued to keep his arms around Raditz’s neck, to lay at an awkward angle.

After a moment of consideration, Raditz stirred and freed his hair from under his body and then wrapped it around Gohan in case they fell asleep. The tattered remnants of clothes Gohan wore exposed him to the elements. Gohan lacked a fat layer to protect him from the cold, and his own hair was too short to provide any real cover.

How long had it been since anyone had shown Raditz affection in such a spontaneous way? Too long! Raditz would never confess this to Vegeta and Nappa. but at this moment he was sure the Gods of Battlefield must had been powerful enough to survive the drift of Vegeta's Moon after the destruction of the Planet, because they had sent Raditz on a path to seize their blessing. Or at least to win back what had been taken from him.

Gohan understood that Raditz welcomed his gesture. He laid his head down without letting go of Raditz’s neck. He closed his eyes and let sleep overcome him. By the next morning, he only had most vague recollection of what happened and he thought he dreamed it up.

Raditz didn’t bring it up either. It was not the Saiyan way to talk about such things, and it never occurred to him to even try.

*** "We are going to see Vegeta tomorrow. He an’ Nappa are leaving this mudball already." Raditz proclaimed one 'evening', while they waited for their additional helping of game to cook.

"What?!... But... why haven't you told me earlier? I'm not prepared!" Gohan panicked.

Raditz scowled in discontent. "I don't like your attitude."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry-" Gohan couldn't help but cower defensively "- I didn't mean to be disrespectful... I..." He didn't managed to finish before Raditz smacked him with enough force to make him lose his balance, but not enough to send him to the ground. Gohan hung his head low.

"That's not what I fucking meant! Saiyan up! Show some backbone!" Raditz lifted Gohan's head up by pulling his hair, making him stand straight.

"Now, what concerns you? Do you think I would just let you idle around if I didn't have confidence in your power and skill? Your training should be sufficient as it is. Or do you doubt my judgment?"

"No..." It wasn't quite true. Even though he managed to keep his gaze up, his voice shook as he answered. Raditz gave him an angry glare.

"What is it?" When Gohan did not answer, Raditz sighed. "Speak your mind. I won't beat you up if you speak clearly, whatever it is. On the other hand..." he left the threat hanging in the air.

"It's that I can't really keep up with you. I don't fight that well," Gohan blurted out.

Raditz narrowed his eyes and scowled. "Is that all?" he asked after a moment of silence.

"Yes," Gohan gulped.

"How old are you?" Raditz demanded.

"Over four years old," Gohan whispered.

"How old do you think I am?" Raditz crossed his arms.

"I don't know... older than Dad," Gohan answered hesitantly.

Raditz nodded. "That's many times over as old as you, right? How long have you been training?"

Gohan knitted his eyebrows. "I... um...haven't counted."

"Whatever. How do you think it compares to the amount of time I've been doing this?" Raditz asked impatiently.

"You've been doing way longer than I have," Gohan whispered.

"'S right. I have over a quarter of a Moon ahead of you in training, and that's longer than your Father had been alive. There's no way in hell you'll be anywhere near my level any time soon," Raditz explained. "And even if you'd somehow gained enough power to compare, there's still the fact that you're a cub and I'm an adult. Believe me, you wouldn't be able to keep up with me either. Your power is now within the expected range for your age and you won't hold me back anymore. That's enough for now."

"But Vegeta..."Gohan said with uncertainty

"Vegeta has outrageous demands. But even he isn't THAT unreasonable. He knows this stuff already. As long as your presence is not detrimental to us, he won't order your death," Raditz stated firmly.

Gohan nodded and accepted the answer. Well there wasn't anything else he could do now, really. He just needed to convince himself Raditz was right.

Raditz continued to eye him, discontented.

"You know, I should have you running additional laps for your spineless attitude, but it's more important that you are well rested for tomorrow, so another day."

The fact that Raditz expected to discipline him later was weirdly reassuring. Still Gohan hoped Raditz would actually forget.

Raditz seemed irritated for the rest of the meal. Once he finished eating and went to the nest he turned his back to Gohan. Gohan crawled in after him, but sat down an arm's reach away, unsure what to do. Would Raditz be angry if he attempted to come closer? He nursed his freshly blooming bruise. He could deal with pain, but he didn't know what to do if Raditz pushed him away.

Gohan wasn't given any more time to think about it. Something furry wrapped itself around his ankle and he yelped as he was whooshed into the air. His landing was clumsy, but thankfully he had fallen into the soft bedding of the nest.

"You should get to sleep already." He heard Raditz grumble from beside him. "You have quite a day ahead of yourself, you know."

After he shook off the impact, Gohan noticed he’d landed on the other side of Raditz and much closer to him too.

That was enough for an answer.

*** The next day went a lot smoother than Gohan expected. Vegeta was basically indifferent after he measured Gohan's battle power. Nappa, on the other hand, was quite enthusiastic to test Gohan's skills again. This time he continued the sparring match until Gohan collapsed from exhaustion and painful bruises. At least Nappa seemed quite pleased afterwards. He awkwardly patted Gohan, who laid face down on the ground, on the back and commended the boy for the improvement on his technique and endurance.

After that, Raditz was ordered to stay on the planet and finish off the remaining survivors. Gohan was to stay with him while Vegeta and Nappa left the planet to visit an outpost belonging to someone called Frieza. Gohan didn’t pay attention; he had trouble getting up from the ground due to his pain and exhaustion. He wanted to stay where he was, but he was afraid someone might kick him if he did.

Raditz collected him after the others went to their pods. He carried Gohan to the nest they had used the previous night and tucked him in the wooly lining. He even let Gohan rest for the remainder of the day and brought him food. The roasted, unsalted meat from one of the big lizards wasn't the tastiest of dishes, but it was tender and filling. When eaten together with the salty and somewhat bitter sea fish, it made for a passable meal. Gohan even got some seeds the size and shape of marbles for a desert. The flavour and texture was similar to fresh hazelnuts. And of course, plenty of fresh and juicy fruits to keep him hydrated.

Satisfied, but still tired, he dozed off shortly after he finished eating.

*** "Why the long face?" Raditz asked Gohan. They had finished the purge; no more intelligent life remained on the planet, save for the two Saiyans, and they were leaving. Raditz thought they could use a few more days planetside. Gohan started flying, well... floating, yesterday and it would be beneficial to train out in the open instead of the confined training area at the space station. But they had their orders to head to base as soon as they completed their mission. Raditz didn’t want to displease Vegeta with tardiness.

"Don't you think it's sad that all those people are dead? That none of them remained?" Gohan asked cautiously.

The question caught Raditz off guard. It was the sort of unexpected question only a cub could come up with. Surely, no adult could think of that. But young ones were notorious for asking surprising, weird questions. At least, that’s what he had heard from adults when he was still just a brat, and what Nappa used to complain about. Kids ask the kind of things that make you wonder how it's even possible to use language like that, if you even knew what they were talking about in the first place.

At least in this case, the sentence was clear enough for Raditz to follow. Gohan wanted Raditz’s opinion about the fate of the inhabitants of the planet they just finished purging. He wanted to know, of all things, if Raditz felt sad about the Landrinians dying out. Why Gohan deemed this information to be important was beyond Raditz.

The question hinted that Gohan felt sad about demise of Landrinians, for some reason. What about them could appear worthwhile to a Saiyan child? Maybe Gohan liked the funny little houses the Landrinians made? They were pretty, shiny and colorful things any cub would like. Without people to maintain them, the remaining buildings that hadn’t been destroyed during the attack would soon fall apart. Maybe Gohan thought Landrinians themselves were funny because they scattered around and squawked, except nothing in the cub’s behaviour had suggested that was the case. The little child may not have understood the Saiyans were never going to visit this planet again, so it wouldn’t matter for them either way. Or maybe he was worried that no one was left to remember whatever heroic deeds Landrinians had accomplished. There couldn’t have been many, in Raditz’s opinion, because they were weak as shit. Was Gohan even old enough to have such thoughts?

"It didn't occur to me to think about it," he admitted after a moment of silence.

Gohan looked at him with a sad, uncertain expression. "Were you ever sad when you... killed everyone?"

What was with these questions? Truth be told, Raditz had been sad, but he had not said it aloud - other Saiyan would surely have made fun of him for that. He remembered one time when he arrived on planet during some sort of festival and the music was so wondrous and soothing he didn't even want to begin to fight. It was a pity that music had to disappear. Another time, they had to purge a planet famous for its cuisine. The three Saiyans even tried some before they kicked into full gear. It was an orgasm in the mouth. What a shame! Or when they had to murder off a species of exceptionally well smelling aliens. He kind of regretted he had to kill them all.

"What do you mean?" Raditz asked instead.

"Like it's a bad thing that they are all gone,” Gohan mumbled.

How one could even understand that? 'Bad' could mean completely different things depending on the context. A bad teammate could still be a good warrior, and a bad warrior could make an okay teammate, at least in some circumstances. Food could taste bad when it was made by a bad cook. A situation could be bad if you were fighting an enemy far stronger than you.. Or if Frieza had it in for you. But none of those meanings seemed to apply.

"Wouldn't it be better if they could stay alive? At least some of them?" Gohan apparently decided he needed to give more explanation.

"'S not something I would worry about.” Raditz shrugged. “But if you ask me, I think it's less cruel to them that way. It would be far worse to leave just a couple of survivors. It's better for them to die quickly than become someone's captive slaves or a part of some fucking sick collection of rare, exotic beings."

"Wouldn't it be better for Saiyans to just die, then?" Gohan hunched over defensively the moment those words left his mouth. He realized too late that couldn't be a safe question to ask.

Raditz narrowed his eyes and gazed intensely at Gohan, but otherwise his face remained impassive and he made no move to chastise Gohan.

"You are very young, so you don't understand. I’ll explain it to you just this once, but don't ever ask this question again.” Raditz paused to collect his thoughts. “We are warriors. We can impress the universe with our power. Old warriors in the Desert said that all life already belongs to death. As warriors, we deal death and we face death - that makes us excellent. That makes us exceptional. When we die, we die. It's over. It doesn't matter when it happens. It would have been fine if we died, but we didn't. A warrior’s death is a kind of death you want, because death in any other way would mean stepping down from the Warriors' path." Raditz looked to see if he still had the cub’s attention. After all, the subject was very difficult - it wasn't something that could be explained by referring to everyday experience.

It turned out that he needn't have worried, though. "All living creatures desire to continue living, but only for warriors is death an obstacle to continuing fighting. But a warrior can earn a legend that lets them fight once more in tales."

Gohan looked at him, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"Every time the story is told and every time someone recalls a warrior's deeds, that warrior fights again. In contrast, people who resigned themselves to lives of mere servants and only concerned themselves with chores and leisure can't earn a legend."

"But..." Gohan hesitated to find out how Raditz would react to being questioned. Raditz looked at him with attention but without a hint of a frown. Good. That meant it was safe to continue. "You can tell the stories about a cobbler, a carpenter, or an inventor.”

Raditz snorted. "Even if someone tells their stories, as they must be doing to teach their children ways of their people, those people won't be able to take fighting the way warriors do."

"So those stories are not worth being told?" Gohan inquired.

Raditz shrugged. "It's not for me to say. You can tell those stories to teach and to have fun. Fuck it, several noteworthy Saiyans are known for their craft or knowledge on a top of their warrior powers. The point is: those are not the stories worth to be earned. You wouldn’t want to be stuck doing chores for all eternity, would you?"

Gohan thought he’d prefer chores to all the fighting. He doubted Raditz would appreciate this insight on the matter though. "But wouldn't it be better to be good and go to the good place afterwards?"

Afterwards? Gohan must mean after dying. But it brought another question: There was a 'good' place?! Raditz honestly had never heard about something like that. He was familiar with alien stories about traveling to distant, strange worlds after death, but none of them could be described as 'good'. The opposite was true, though. The word 'hell' came to mind.

"You're not going anywhere afterwards," Raditz asserted. "Come on, you've seen plenty of dead bodies. Do they look like they are going anywhere anytime soon? You can only live through legends." Honestly, what was this child thinking? "And even if such a thing was possible, you could just be a good warrior and go to the good place, right?"

Gohan gave Raditz a piercing stare, but quickly averted his gaze.

"Hn?" Raditz grunted.

"It's nothing" Gohan said, but Raditz had a sinking feeling he had missed something.

Instead of continuing the conversation, they went to Raditz's pod.

For the first time, Gohan was awake during takeoff. From orbit, the planet looked peaceful and pristine, as if nothing horrifying happened there at all.

chapter directory,  first chapter, previous chapter, next chapter , the story on AO3, this chapter on AO3

[xivu-arath]

okay hm some options: a sara/rkorya christmas/gift exchange fic, your take on some post-denny au stuff with kara and ravage, ooor maybe some superfriends meta? whichever appeals to you most!

alright I went with best au kara and ravage stuff! meeks, you’re one of my closest friends and as always I am so, so glad to share as much with you as I do. merry christmas and man I cannot wait for seasonal depression to leave us both alone

I’ve got my heart, it’s full of love

sure took a while to say it’s enough

There’s few things Ravage likes as much about being on this Earthas being able to contact Kara. He gets to see someone who has grownto be as much kindred as the cassettes in some ways, but italso means he gets to rout his request through the DEO.

Often when they really would rather he didn’t.

He doesn’t go there personally, of course. Their technology mightbe lacking by Cybertronian standards, but they do have enough sensorsto make him uneasy about sneaking in. That and the Martian can alwaystell where he is – just like Soundwave, except worse in everyconceivable way. So he finds one of the many little corners in thefacility they’ve handed over to the Cybertronians, and curls upbefore slicing his way into their channels. As usual, it’s Winn onthe comms, though he doesn’t seem to be paying them as muchattention as he is whoever he’s speaking to, or he’d noticesomeone eavesdropping.

“So I was thinking, what’s something nice and relaxing we can allbinge now that that cyborg mercenary group’s out of the way, and ithit me – the Great British Bake-Off! You can’t tell me anyonewouldn’t have fun watching that –”

Well, clearly he’s not interrupting anything important. “Eitherthis is a slow day, or you’re worse at your job than I thought.”There’s a strangled shriek, and he flicks his tail back and forth,smug in having crept up on him.

“Ravage! You can’t – could you stop doing that already?!It was cool the first few times, but now you’re really just rubbingit in. I get it, I’m not a million year old robot –”

“I’m six million years old,” he puts in. He’d nevertell him, but Winn is good at his work for a human, if also far tooeasy to distract. It makes these exchanges much more entertainingthan they probably should be.

“You know there’s a point where a number is so big it’s prettymuch meaningless? That is definitely past that point. Anyways,we don’t all have hacking programmed into our heads, even thoughthat would be really cool, and also make my life a lot easier –”

“Who’s on that channel, Agent Schott?” That stern voice isJ’onn, which means he should probably get to the point.

“It’s Ravage, sir –”

“And I’m here to tell you that Soundwave should have the list ofwho wants to transfer here by next week,” he cuts in smoothly. “IsKara there?”

“She’s out on work right now,” J’onn says, and his tonesoftens, just a little. “But we can pass along a message.”

As expected. Between her civilian job – which he can’t help butrespect, given it’s all about hunting down the truth – and herheroics, she’s busy enough without factoring in all the people sheknows and checks on. Not that she’d ever be capable of not doingany of that, knowing her. “Just let her know I can meet with hertonight, at the usual spot.”

“Alright. If that’s all, will you stop bothering my agent?”

“Oh, very well.”

The usual spot is a hill that overlooks the facility, far enough awaythat they can watch the ongoing construction without being in thethick of it. It also happens to give an excellent view of Karasoaring overhead, and he twitches his tail in silent admiration asshe lands.

“Hey, Ravage,” she says as he curves around her, bumping hershoulder with his own. His purr rumbles through his whole body as shehugs him briefly and then steps back so he can sit down. “I heardyou hacked into the DEO today.”

“They should thank me. I’m showing them the flaws in theirsystems.”

She tries to look stern, but her amusement bubbles up through it, asmuch in her expression as her scent. She’s always been sopassionate, so open – it’s one of the things that makes her seemyoung, but also brave. “That’s the excuse you used lastmonth. No one would be able to make anything Cybertronian-proof inthat amount of time, and you know it.”

“Yes, well... I have to have some fun, don’t I?” Shehuffs at him, and he purrs again. “But I did have a reason forwanting to meet. Since I’m going back soon, I thought... well, Igot you something.”

“You got me a gift?” Kara asks and he shifts, not quite wantingto admit to it.

“It’s a useful gift, so there’s no need to get toosentimental about it. Here.” He presses what is undeniably aDecepticon brand into her hands, hastening to add, “It’s not just– it’s a communicator. Making everything look like our symbol wasthe trend, a million years in, but it’s rewired, and I hadBrainstorm and Perceptor quantum it.”

“Quantum it,” she repeats, voice warm despite the wayshe’s raising her eyebrows at him.

“Or something. I asked them to make it work and they did – Itested it out with Soundwave and Megatron. It works betweendimensions. Between universes.”

“Oh... that’s perfect, Ravage. Thank you.”

“I did pick it for a reason, though. You would have worn the badgewith us, if you had been there. I know it.”

She reaches out to hug him again and he leans into the embrace,unable to quell the happy curl of his tail. “I’m... I’m sure ofthat, too,” she murmurs. “Thank you so much, Ravage.”

“As if I shouldn’t be the one thanking you. For Megatron,and for... well, all of this. The universe wasn’t going to givesome of us any more chances, and maybe we’d deserved that, but youfought to give us one anyways. That’s how I know you would alwayshave been a Decepticon.

“So thank you, for this chance. For all of us.”

It takes them a little while before they untangle from the hugcompletely, and Kara’s beaming all the while. Maybe everything,even being stuck on Earth again for years, has been worth it to standhere now, and breathe in someone else’s love and thrilledhappiness. How strange, to have warred and lost and ended up with somany homes to return to.

“But you know... if we use this, that means you won’t have anexcuse to pick on Winn anymore.”

He lashes his tail, pretending to mull it over. “I suppose hedeserves a break. But don’t tell him I said that, of course.”

“Of course,” Kara agrees, laughing as she leans against hisshoulder.

[tokyoteddywolf]

Oceans Of Love, A Lance Minific

i’ve done it again. Someone stop me- Take this keyboard from my hands and throw it out the window- It’s more langst, woohoo-

“Blue, is our bond really all that strong?”

In which Lance doubts himself, and a midnight swim with his favorite girl might be just what he needed to wash away the fears.

Lance woke up to tangled sheets and dim lights from the floor of his room. He reached up and shakily wiped at the liquid staining his cheeks, unsure as to why he’d been crying. Maybe it was because Keith and Hunk would probably have died earlier today if it hadn’t been for Yellow and Red appearing out of nowhere to shield their Paladins from the Galran bomb trap.

Another distress signal gone wrong, another night spent in the healing pods. Lance had a few cuts and scrapes himself, like the bandage on his cheek and the gauze wrapped over a particularly large slash to the back of his left arm. Shiro had ordered him to lay off on piloting Blue around for a little while, just to be safe. But, it still got him thinking. Red was impulsive, so she’d always rush to Keith’s aid. That’s how their bond worked. But Yellow doing something like that? Lance knew Hunk and his Lion were pretty close, having spent most of their time together testing out how that cool new armor worked, or making sure that the repairs had gone well.

Lance sat up and sighed, slowly untangling himself from the white sheets of his bed. Would… would Blue ever do that? Pull him out of danger like the other Lions did? Protect him if he was far away? Would she actually do any of that for him? He remembered when Keith was asking about Blue, how he had responded to the Red Paladin with the statement that he and Blue were ‘very happy together’ but to be honest, he’d been bluffing. He didn’t know how Blue actually felt about him outside of a few happy purrs during missions or growls when he got hurt, since he’d never thought about talking to her. He decided to go down and ask her himself, since these thoughts would never let him sleep anyways.

Slipping out of his room and padding down the hallways, he made sure to stay as quiet as possible during his ‘late night’ trip, since out here, in space, there was no night and day, just an endless void of distant stars and cold, empty distance. Allura and Coran had set up an Earth time system for the Paladins, simulating daytime and nighttime, so Lance guessed it was about midnight for the moment. Lucky him, Shiro wasn’t up tonight, stalking the halls after a nightmare. Good, Lance thought, he deserves some proper sleep.

He managed to get to Blue’s Hangar without disturbing anyone, and smiled softly as he gazed up at his gorgeous girl. “Hey, Beautiful. Mind if we talk? I haven’t been paying much attention to you lately…” He admitted, a little shamefully. A soft purr rumbled through his mind as Blue lowered her head and opened her jaw, welcoming him inside. He sighed and ran his hands gently along the panels lining the cockpit, settling himself in the pilot chair and folding his legs under him in a criss-cross position, bowing his head as he thought of what to say. Blue encouraged him with a soft rumble of patience, merely waiting, trusting in him to find the words he needed to say.

“Blue… is… is our bond… is it really all that strong?” Lance managed weakly, squeezing his eyes shut, fighting back the stinging in the corners of his eyes. Blue gave him a concerned, questioning growl, wanting him to clarify the statement. Lance inhaled, then exhaled, shuddering.

“It’s just- I don’t know if we’ll ever be as close as the other guys and their Lions. I mean, the Olkari helped Pidge and Green get super close and unlock that plant cannon, and Shiro told us about how Black had taken him to some weird pocket dimension where he fought Zarkon over Black’s connection and won because Black chose him over Zarkon. Not to mention Red is like Keith’s overprotective Mom, and Hunk and Yellow are always talking to each other and being all best friends for life. But, you and me? I know I told Keith that we were happy together, but I don’t know if I was bluffing then. You’ve never told me how you felt. I mean, yeah, I guess you chose me over everyone else back when we first met, but, I can’t help but think that you were just doing it to get home and I was the best shot to get there. I mean, you could replace me and you wouldn’t mind. That’s- That’s just what keeps going through my head.” Lance blurted out, the words overflowing in a rush of worries and doubts and fears, and Blue knew she had to do something to convince him that she cared about him more than he knew.

So, she activated her body and ordered the Castle to unlock the hangar door. “B-Blue? What are you doing?!?” Lance panicked, gripping the seat. She sent him a soothing purr, a silent but calming phrase hidden within, ‘everything will be alright, just trust me’, and took off into the endless night with her precious Paladin.

Her scanners picked up a perfect planet for what she was planning, and so she headed straight for it. A warm, tropical place that was nearly pure water with a few islands scattered about the surface, with soft, fine sand colored a strange golden white color, black grains mixed in as well. It looked very similar to Earth’s beaches, except the planet was uninhabited and the water was a silvery blue instead of dark blueish green. The sky was pink, too, and Pidge probably would have been fascinated by the strange color combination.

Blue dove into the ocean without hesitation, already feeling stronger as her element’s Quintessence mingled with her core’s, empowering her and allowing her to move unlike before. “Blue, what’s going on? Why are we here?” Lance asked, surprised. “I mean, isn’t the sudden taking off without warning Red’s thing?” He joked nervously as they sank deeper into the silvery blue sea, the clean water steadily growing darker as they descended past where the planet’s sun could reach.

“You wished to talk, My Paladin, so I took us to a place where we could speak without interruption.” Blue rumbled calmly, and if she could she would have smiled at the startled yelp her precious Paladin emitted as he realized the words were from her. Lance was floored by this sudden ability. “Since when can you guys actually talk?!? Can the other Lions do this?” He squawked, pulling his legs up onto the pilot seat, resting his chin between his knees and gazing up at the ceiling of the cockpit in awe, a little less afraid now that he could actually hear Blue’s voice, which reminded him of his mother, all soft and soothing like a snowy morning.

“I am able to speak to you now as we are encased in my element, and as such, the Quintessence of the ocean here allows our mental connection to become nearly perfect, and strong enough to hold a connection for words to flow across. If we weren’t as well bonded as we are now, not even the water could allow this. And no, the other Lions and their Paladins have not reached this level yet, though Black says Shiro is almost there. If also encased in their element, however, perhaps Keith and Red, or Green and Pidge would be able to communicate verbally as well. They shall discover that on their own time.” Blue explained, settling down on the seafloor and swishing her tail back and forth slowly as her outer lights lit up the area around her, a faint glow that glinted off of white and lilac coral, and a few patches of pretty scarlet seaweed with black flowers that reminded her of Earth lilies.

Lance blinked, confused. “So, if the others are supposed to figure this out on their own, why didn’t you let me do the same?” He asked, more doubts bubbling up. Did she not think he could’ve done it on his own? Blue sighed in his mind, almost sad. “Because I wanted to let you know that I care about you very much, my Paladin. More than you realize. I chose you because your energy matched mine, almost perfectly. You and I are a lot more alike than you would first think. Our bond is not weak, no matter what you may believe. You are mine, and I will fight to keep you. I may be the Blue Lion, but just like Red or Black I will never accept another pilot who isn’t you unless you are no longer there to fly me ever again.” Blue growled at the thought, tail lashing as she would never let that happen, not on her watch. She settled back down, however, before picking up her train of thought again.

“The reason I do not rush in to take you away from danger is because I trust you to keep yourself safe in my place. You ask why Red is always going after Keith when he gets injured and I do not for you, but the answer is simple. Keith is reckless, always charging in headfirst and thinking about his actions later. Red is just as impulsive, and very protective of her chosen Paladin. Acting before thinking will always lead to injury.” Blue hummed, stretching her legs out in front of her like a house cat. Lance snickered into his arms which he’d folded over his knees, humor pushing the anxiety down. It was true, Keith always did stab first and ask questions later.

“But you do not do such things. You are extremely intelligent, My Paladin. More than you or the others give you credit for. You have sharp eyes, able to see things others cannot, and plan accordingly. I believe in your ability to keep yourself from getting injured on missions, and thus I see no need to chase after you like a troublesome cub.” Blue purred again, happy that Lance seemed to take the words to heart, and felt his mood lighten.

“I never thought of it that way. Thanks, Blue. I feel a lot better now.” Lance sighed, leaning his head back against the chair and smiling. “Anything for you, My Lance. I will always be here for you whenever you need me, trust me on that.” Blue said soothingly, getting to her feet and beginning to swim back up to the surface. “Of course I trust you.” Lance murmured sleepily. “As if I could ever distrust you, Beautiful…”

Blue broke the surface of the ocean, swimming over to one of the larger islands and padded onto the sand to dry, not quite ready to go back to the Castle. The planet’s sun was beginning to set, pink fading to deep blue and purple. “Hey, Blue? Can you do the look through my eyes thing and show me the ocean and the beach real quick? I… I wanna see the sunset. Like, really see it, the way you do. We haven’t done that in a while…” Lance yawned, exhaustion finally creeping into his body.

Blue hummed and connected her eyes to his, turning to face the sun setting over the sea, darkening blue waves lapping at the sandy gold, black and white beach that almost seemed to shimmer in the fading sunlight. Lance smiled, already drifting off.

Lance fell asleep to the sight and sounds of the beach, and Blue’s continued purring.

// I’ll make an epilogue later, because I’m a sucker for worried Space Fam Squad. Right now I need sleep. Gnight! Also, I don’t know if this one is as good as Thank You???? Let me know if this one was okay!!! :’)