#he is no longer angry at a cruel world and lashing out in protest of abandoment

[merchantofwhispers]

[ Mina and Nikolai have such complicated personalities and then there's Cinead. Cinead is tired. ]

[ablogthatishenceforthmine]

Thoughts on Korra and Mako’s Break Up

So, one of the things I knew before watching the series was that Mako would betray Korra, and then break up with her. Everything i’ve seen about this event made me think that I would be angry at Mako, and take Korra’s side. But actually watching it now... that’s not the case?

Do I think Mako was completely right? No, I do think he was mostly right. Both he and Korra messed up in this situation. But, I think Korra messed up more than he did. 

So, this post is probably going to seem pretty negative toward Korra. But, the point of this post isn’t to bash her. And i’m not bashing her. I love Korra. She is easily my favorite LOK character so far.  But she is my favorite character because he is soooo flawed. And those flaws are just so apparent, in a way which the hero character’s flaws usually aren’t. She is just such a messy person, and she makes mistakes, big and small, all the time. So even though this post is quite critical of Korra, just now that these mistakes and flaws I describe here are part of the reason I love her.

So, I’m going to go through their conflict one step at a time.

One: Advice/Support

In season 2, Korra often asks Mako what he thinks, or asks for advice. However, it’s clear that most of the time, she just wants him to agree with her, and support the choice she is inclined too. There are a few moments in the beginning of Season 2, however, where he actually does this, and she is unhappy with that too, such as when she asks what he thinks about training with Unalaq. For me, this moment, and others like it, Mako offers vague support instead of decisive advice because he genuinely does not know what the right or best thing to do is. And I get why this is frustrating for Korra, because being an Avatar is hard, and she wants help... it just that Mako isn’t really equipped to give advice and help with Avatar stuff.

However, Korra only sees to actually want his advice when she is uncertain. When she’s already make up her mind, she just wants wants his agreement and support, not his actual opinions. Whenever he gives advice or suggests something or speaks out against something that she wants to do or believes, she dismisses him. In "”Peacekeepers,” he tells her she should try to stay neutral and not take part in the Southern Water tribe’s peaceful protest. She is annoyed at his disagreement, and goes to the protest. He tells her that the attack was started by a firebender, and doesn’t think it’s necessarily the Northern water tribe. Korra doesn’t listen to him, and won’t consider the possibility that someone other than the Northern Water Tribe was responsible for the attack. After the president of Republic City refuses to send troops to help the Southern Tribe, Korra immediately views him as her enemy. When Mako tries to explain the president’s side of things to Korra, she doesn’t listen, and accuses him of not supporting her.

In almost all of these things, I agree with Mako. But in one of them, I do agree with Korra: going to the protest, and whether the Avatar should stay neutral. I like how the show is bringing up questions about what role the Avatar should play in the work. In ATLA, Aang’s role and what he should be trying to accomplish was obvious. But in LOK, it’s not so obvious for Korra.  Being the Avatar shouldn’t always been being neutral; sometimes, it should mean taking a stand for the right side. Should Avatars start wars? Or should their only job be to resolve them, to create peace? But what if peace can only come about through war? I do think Korra was right to start a civil war. Unalaq was clearly oppressing the people of the Southern Water Tribe he stole the throne through dubious means, and he held a fake trial, getting opponents locked up. And Korra should stay neutral here? Her public support could really make a difference.

But on everything else, I agree with Mako. He is clearly right about the bombing at the protest being more than it seemed, and Korra is being stubborn and blind by refusing to even consider another possibility. He’s also right that she should try to see the president’s side of things. Korra has a tendency to view anyone who doesn’t agree with her or who doesn’t do what she wants them to do as the enemy. But, I understand where the president is coming from, and so does Mako, and he tries to get Korra to see it too. War is complicated, but Korra just wants the president to just rush into it. It’s unclear how much the president and the public knows. Do they know a lot, or only that there is a civil war? It would be better if the show was clearer on this. But even if the president does have all the information, it’s not bad to want to explore other options first, and see if the problem can be solved diplomatically. We know that there is no chance of dealing with Unalaq with diplomacy, but the president doesn’t, so it makes sense that he would want to explore options that didn’t involve going to war. I’m not saying the president’s decision is the right one, I’m just saying that it’s an understandable one. We, and Korra and Mako, haven’t seen much of him. but he hasn’t shown any signs that he is incompetent, cruel, or corrupt. So Mako is right, Korra should try to hear what the president is saying and not view him as an enemy.

So anyway, Mako and Korra have clear issues communicating. For me, the fault is mostly at Korra; she does not take criticism or disagreement well. But I also think there are things Mako could do better here. Korra likes to feel supported, to a larger than normal degree. She needs people to trust and support her. I think this comes from actually being pretty insecure. She spent her whole life sheltered, protected, and kinda controlled. So, it makes sense that she is drawn to people who say they believe in her, and believe in her ability to make good choices. This is why Korra is so easily manipulated. For most of her life, she had a feeling that people didn’t trust and believe in her enough, they kept her from being a part of the larger world. And if there is one thing that Korra hates it’s someone holding her back, or someone she perceives as holding her back. So, Korra’s lashing out at any hint that someone is doubting her makes sense. I don’t think Mako had made it super clear that he supports the civil war, and that saving her family and her tribe is important too him. I’m sure he does, and i’m sure it is. But he could go a better job of making it clear, cause it seems like Korra thinks he doesn’t care about her family or the Southern Water tribe.

Two: The Betrayal

And then there is the betrayal, which I actually don’t think is that bad. For basically the sole reason that Korra’s plan is a TERRIBLE one. She wants to go behind the president’s back, and get his military to go to war with the Northern Water Tribe. This is basically a military coup. TERRIBLE IDEA. This could have such horrible consequences. The only circumstances she should do this is if the president is corrupt or tyrannical, which doesn’t seem to be the case. The Avatar staging a military coup could have huge and far-reaching consequences, and upsets the balance in their society. I mean, what could this do for Avatar-government relations throughout the world?

And it’s not like there aren’t other options. At the end of the episode, she goes to ask the Fire Nation for help. Surely, asking the other nations for aid should have been attempted before staging a military coup. Hell, maybe she should have tried rallying support with the people of the Northern Water Tribe, exposing Unalaq and telling them how he got the throne. Unalaq’s soldier’s and the people close to him are still going to support him, but the general public of the Northern Water Tribe? We haven’t seen much of them, but it’s hard to believe at least some of them wouldn’t have a problem with Unalaq after learning the truth. And if his people turn against him, that’s a big blow to him. AND it might make it easier for the president and the United Forces to step in, if‘s not longer just a civil war but a rebellion, where his own people don’t even want him to lead. Everyone would be against him, and thus, it would be less complicated for the United Forces to get involved.  Hell, Korra could have tried rallying and gaining support in Republic City, and hope that public pressure could make the president take action

Point is, there are many different things Korra could have tried before staging a military coup. So, going to General Iroh, and trying to get the United Forces help the Southern Water Tribe behind the president’s back is a really bad idea. And yes, when they talk, they plan it so that the president will not know. But it is a terribly flimsy plan and there is very little likelihood that the president won’t find out.

So considering the terrible consequences this actions could have not just for Korra, but for Republic City and the world, Mako is right to betray her. I think he should have gone to her first and tried to convince her out of the plan. But, as stated above, Korra doesn’t really listen to him. So I can understand why he wouldn’t. Still, because they care about each other and are in a relationship, he should have tried it this way first. Maybe he could have told her his dilemma, and that if she goes through with the plan, he feels he will have to tell the president. But, at the end of the day, stopping Korra’s stupid plan feels like the right decision. However, it’s unclear how much Mako’s decision is about doing the right thing and much much it was about his duty as a cop (ew). So it’s hard to tell if Mako made the right decision for the right reasons or or the wrong reasons.

Three: The Breakup

The way Korra handles the betrayal is immature and wildly inappropriate. After learning of his betrayal, she bursts into the police station, his place of work, and starts  yelling at him in front of his colleagues. She airbends his desk, destroying it. Which, to me, feels like the equivalent of punching a wall in the middle of a fight. She has a right to be angry, but in no way, is doing any of this okay. This is not why Mako breaks up with Korra, but, still, I can’t fault him for doing so after this. Korra is not good at handling her emotions (another of her flaws that makes me love her). She needs to learn how to deal with and express them in appropriate ways. So yeah, this is another situation where Korra is in the wrong. Although the stated reason for why the broke up, is that they are both too busy and devoted to their jobs, is kinda dumb.

[elizabethemerald]

Agante Chap 2

Did you think I would just leave the story like that? Morgana mourning her love? No. I write happy gays. And Gwen and Morgana deserve to be together. No longer canon compliant. Obvs. 

AO3

“Morgana! Can you hear me?” 

The voice came to her as if through layers of fog. Morgana struggled to open her eyes and focus on the light around her. The ground she was on was swaying wildly. It seemed a struggle to form words but her mind wouldn’t let her rest. 

“Gwen! Where-?”

“We have her. Gwen’s here.”

“Is she-?”

“She’s alive. By whatever magic or miracle she’s alive. We’re bringing you back to Camelot now.”

Her fears assuaged she slipped back into unconsciousness, her world narrowing to the feeling of a hand on her wrist, a hand she knew. Then even that faded completely. 

* * *

“Gwen!” Morgana sat up with a scream, her eyes wild as she looked around for her.

“I’m here Morgana. I’m right here.”

She felt tears immediately bead and fall from her eyes as they fell upon Guinevere. The other woman was laying in another bed in the royal chambers, her leg wrapped in a plaster. 

“No thanks to you, she survived the stalkling!” Arthur stepped in between them, his face red with fury. “What were you doing out in the woods at that time of night? You know better than to drag Gwen into your foolishness!”

Morgana closed an eye as his voice seemed to pierce directly into her skull. It provided no relief when Merlin stepped to her other side, his voice just as grating. 

“How were you able to cast such powerful magics without a staff? What did you do to the stalkling?”

Their voices drilled further into her head, her headache spiking. 

“You are lucky Galahad noticed your flare. If we hadn’t arrived you both could have been troll food!” Arthur yelling again. 

Morgana clenched her fists. She could feel her hands starting to splinter again. They both kept shouting at her, never giving her a chance to explain what happened. Both of them blaming her for Gwen’s near death experience. Each word bore into her, threatening to severe her very tenuous hold on her emotions and the strange magic she had used. Just when she thought she couldn’t take one more word without lashing out, a voice cut through the noise. 

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” Merlin and Arthur both fell silent at Gwen’s shout. “I’ve heard enough of you two lecturing her! I will not sit by while you insult the person who saved my life!”

Both of the men started to speak again, either accusations or excuses, but Gwen shut them down with another shout. 

“I said enough! Merlin thank you for you council, this conversation is a family affair now.”

“I really must insist-”

“You are dismissed wizard.” Gwen’s voice brooked no argument, as only the voice of a future queen could. Merlin bowed low to her, then to Arthur, then shot a suspicious glare at Morgana before departing. 

Arthur waited until the door closed behind the wizard before whirling on Morgana again, anger in his eyes. 

“Save it Arthur!” Gwen snapped. “You already have been lecturing me ever since you found us in the woods. I can just give her the notes later, can’t you see that she’s tired?”

He stilled, slowly rubbing his hand over his face and removing his crown. 

“I was just so afraid that I would lose you.”

“Yes I know. You love us both very much and you would chain us up in the prisons to keep us safe if you could.”

Arthur’s jaw dropped in horror at the claim.  

“No! I would never lock you up!”

Gwen sighed. “I know. That was cruel of me to say. But I need you to Stop yelling at her. And I need you to listen to me so I can explain what happened.”

Arthur took a seat in between the two beds. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. Gwen took a moment to order her thoughts before diving into her explanation. 

“Morgana was not the one who dragged me into the woods. I was the one who took her.” Arthur took a breath to speak, but Gwen’s hand flew up to stop him. “I wanted to show her the Silver Falls during a full moon. The rumor from the trolls was that it was a breath taking sight to behold.

“Then on our way back to the castle I got ahead of Morgana. I was excited to get back to the castle so we could talk about what we saw.” Morgana couldn’t help but stare as Gwen spoke. She didn’t bring up the conversation they had, had. However Gwen did not even glance her way. “I walked along the edge of a chasm, and the rocks gave way beneath my feet dropping me into the pit. I broke my leg on the fall.”

Gwen’s hand dropped unconsciously to her leg and Morgana could see the corners of her eyes pinched in pain. 

“With the light from Morgana’s magic I was able to see the Stalkling lair I had landed in front of. Morgana used her magic to keep the beast back and then lift me up the cliff out of its reach.”

Now Gwen’s eyes did flick to her own. There was something she wasn’t telling Arthur, but hopefully they would have the chance to discuss it later. 

“Your knights found us right after that.” Gwen finished

Arthur stood, his eyes more tired than even the early hour required. 

“I’m glad you are safe. Both of you. Morgana...I’m sorry, and thank you, for saving her.” Morgana nodded, still not trusting her voice. “If there is anything I can do for you I owe you a debt for saving Gwen’s life.”

“I think we just need to rest.” Morgana finally said, after a silent moment. 

“Very well. I’ll leave you and instruct that you are not to be disturbed.” Arthur said. ‘

He turned away and made for the door. Gwen shot a pleading look at Morgana before stopping her betrothed. 

“Arthur wait!” Guinevere called to him. He turned back to face her. “Do you remember our conversation about consorts?”

“I recall. Has someone caught your eye?” Arthur asked, clearly confused by the sudden topic change. 

“Yes. My eye, and my heart.” Gwen somehow kept her eyes from sliding over to Morgana’s. “Tonight’s adventure… with how close I came to dying… I realized I need to act on these feelings.” She hesitated, her eyes dropping to her broken leg. “I love them.”

“Oh, Gwen.” Arthur’s eyes were sad, yet it did not show on his voice. “If you but say the word I will annul our engagement, so that you may pursue this person.”

“Arthur, please! You and I have both known how important our engagement is for the people of Camelot since we were children. We Will be married. And together we will build a better future for our people. However I would ask your permission to pursue my love in private, out of the public eye.”

“Very well Gwen. I have no qualms. Who is this mysterious person? I wouldn’t even fault you if it was Lancelot.”

“Lance, is fine to look at, but I think he’s more your type than mine.” There was a small chuckle in Gwen’s voice, before she grew serious. “You have to promise you won’t hurt them or be angry with them.”

“Fine I promise. Now who is he?”

“She. I love her so much she gives the stars their light, and makes the roses bloom in my eyes.” Guinevere hesitated again, before her eyes slid sideways to meet Morgana’s. “And she is in this room.”

Arthur looked confused for a second before he followed her gaze to Morgana. His face immediately took on a ruddy hue and he looked like he was about to start shouting again. 

“You promised not to be angry!” Gwen said before he could even take a breath. 

At this Arthur deflated. He rubbed his hand down his face, the exhaustion from the evening’s adventure taking its toll. 

“Really? My own sister?” Arthur hesitated, looking between them. “And do you love her in return?”

“I love her more than anything in this realm or any other. I will love her until my dying breath and beyond until sun goes out.” Morgana said. 

“Then how can I protest?” Arthur said simply. “It is late. And you two need to rest and recover from your ordeal. We can discuss this more when you are recovered.”

“Thank you Arthur.”

“Thank you, brother.”

Arthur gave them one last fond look before he departed their chamber. Gwen released a heavy breath then squirmed in the bed to try and make herself comfortable. 

“Do you think you could make it over to my bed?” Gwen asked. 

“For you? Of course.” 

Morgana almost immediately made herself a liar as she struggled to stand, yet stand she did. She hobbled across the small space between the two beds until she was leaning against Gwen’s. She kept her arms crossed over her stomach, and winced as she lowered herself down next to her. 

“Are you in pain?” Gwen asked, concern heavy on her voice. 

“It aches here.” Morgana said, gesturing to her stomach. “And on my arms. As if I had survived a beating several days ago.”

Guinevere held her face, looking carefully at her eyes for a moment. 

“Well I’m glad that the cracks have disappeared at least.” She kissed Morgana gently on the cheek. “I don’t know that I’ve ever been that afraid in my life.”

“Of me?”

“For you. Never of you. I could never be afraid of you.”

Gwen leaned forward again, and this time Morgana moved to meet her. Their lips found each other as they sank into the kiss. Morgana ran her hands through Gwen’s long hair, and Gwen held Morgana close, pressing their bodies together. Finally they pulled back, each a little breathless and flushed. 

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long.” Morgana whispered. 

“Then kiss me again.” Gwen whispered back, a hint of order in her voice. 

Morgana raised an eyebrow, but complied. This kiss lasted longer, both of their hands roving, as they both enjoyed what had been denied to them for so long. After a long kiss, Gwen pulled back and moved to give Morgana more room on the bed. She hissed and grimaced in pain as she shifted. 

“Have you not had any healing magic since you’ve been back to the castle?” Morgana asked. 

“Merlin refused to even consider casting a spell, until he figured out what you had done.”

“Well let me remedy this immediately.”

Morgana put out her hand and called her staff to her. She extended it with a thought and after a few muttered words, golden sigils spun into the air around Gwen’s broken leg. Guinevere sighed, and the pinched look left her eyes. Morgana set her staff down at the side of their bed. 

“I love your magic so much.” Gwen said, her words slowing, as the ignored exhaustion weighed her down. “Though we will eventually have to talk about what you did back there.”

“Eventually. But not today.”

“No, not today.”

Sleep came for them quickly. Their exhaustion from the late night excursion and the magic dragged them to the realm of dreams. Bodies curled together, they slept. Knowing that upon the dawn they would still have each other. No matter what. Until the sun burned out. 

The first chapter of this fic is technically canon compliant. Could you imagine if Morgana had not been able to save Gwen after the conversation in the first chapter? Gwen admits she loves Morgana and then dies. Does Morgana tell Arthur? How would he react to that confession? How would Morgana feel knowing Arthur blames her for Gwen's death? That he blames her magic? The thing Gwen loved so much. I just thought it would add a lot more angst to the canon material. But here in this house, we don't bury our gays. They get happy, poly, romances, that completely change the canon material. Any I hope you enjoyed!

[christophe-delorne]

Gregstophe Week: Day 6

RELIEF // HOME // ANGELS & DEMONS AU

TITLE: Never Letting Go

WARNINGS: Swearing, mild violence.

AGE: Middle Aged

Fighting demons was something Christophe excelled at, but really he was just making light of a bad situation. After dying at the age of nine, Christophe thought he'd be sent to hell, he'd committed enough sins in his life at such an early age, he thought there would be a nice little reserved spot for him down there. That's wasn't the case, maybe because God really wanted to punish him and what better way to do so than to make Christophe work for the very thing he hated. He certainly hadn't died in Colorado believing that two Canadian lives were important to him. He'd only went on that stupid mission because Gregory had told him to do so. Anything Gregory ordered, Christophe did, with a bit of annoyed grumbling.

Though he preferred a pompous Brit ordering him around over God almighty calling the shots, but, he'd found out quick that there was no defiance up in heaven. Or so they'd like to think, when the archangels found out how churlish and ornery Christophe was, they basically gave him a job that kept him out of heaven. Win-win all around. Sending demons back to hell was more exciting than living in some pampered place where people balked at a single swear word. He was allowed back on earth, but no one could see him and he couldn't check in on people he knew while he was alive. He hadn't seen Gregory in nearly two decades now, it was probably better that way.

He lit up a cigarette, not that it really had much effect on him, it was more of a comforting habit than anything now. He had time to kill as he loitered outside an abandoned store, the windows boarded up and looking well worn down. The slums was always a prime spot for a lower tier demon to haunt, no one would miss a few street vagrants. Higher tiered demons preferred the riches the living world could offer, humans were so easily corrupted anyways. Saving humans wasn't his job directly, so he rarely bothered, his only task was killing the demons and if that prevented the death of humans, then it was just a lucky bi-product of Christophe deed.

He had been told that there had been some disturbances around here, that was putting it lightly. Angels always liked to downplay things. Gruesomely tortured men and women killed, torn apart in a bloody mess was labeled a 'disturbance'. Most lower tiered demons weren't quiet so messy, they didn't have the resources to properly hide their victims, so most often than not, they would make their victims look like they died of natural causes. So this reeked of something different, at first glance, one would assume it was just some feral demon on the loose but Hell was usually a bit more organized than that. The more he thought about how odd this whole thing was, the more suspicious he grew.

No trace of demon essence, no telling sign of what sort of demon they were dealing with. Just that no human could possible do something like this, there was just a general taint to all the scenes. The murders weren't found by humans, hidden away from human sight with only a hint of sulfur. It would draw angels in to investigate, maybe if it was any other angel, they might be blindsided by the elaborate trap. Christophe was aware and he would spring this trap, it was the only way to draw the demon in. He'd have to be on guard though, if this demon was seeking out angels, they would likely have a plan to fight them. Christophe wasn't taking any chances, he'd seen what demons did to angels and it wasn't something he was eager to feel himself.

He exhaled a plume of smoke into the nightly air, the streets were empty, making him feel like humans didn't even exist which really appealed to him despite being an angel. Who could really blame him? At least demons were all fairly upfront about themselves. If someone said 'demon', you knew what you were up against. Humans were different, unpredictable with the capability to either be generous or cruel. You never knew what you were going to get.

Christophe turned his head, watching a stray plastic bag drift across the empty street, rustling softly in the silence. It was the only movement he'd seen in the past hour he'd been here, a hunter had patience, Christophe just had to figure out if he was the hunter or the hunted. He knew the demon was around here, could feel that prickling awareness making the hair on the back of his neck rise in warning and aggression. It was just a matter of who would make the first move, who would be more impatient. It would be Christophe, of course, he was never one to sit around with his dick in his hands doing nothing. He wanted to get this over with.

Taking one last pull from his cigarette, he flicked it to the ground, snuffing it out with the toe of his boot. At first glance, one wouldn't think Christophe was an angel, more like a homeless man than anything else. He didn't like the heavenly fashion trend, it was too uptight and far too familiar for his own sanity. Pushing himself up off the wall, he began to walk, stretching out his senses, trying to get a feel of where the demon was hiding out. He came to a stop on the cracked sidewalk, catching sight in his peripheral the yawning chasm of a alleyway. The dull light from the stained streetlamps couldn't breach the darkness here. There was just an unnatural feel to it, which meant the demon was finally making his move.

When Christophe turned to face the darkness, the movement seemed to trigger the attack. Weight slammed into him as if he was being hit by a truck. The force behind the impact sent him crashing into the ground, leaving a trench in the concrete road. Being on his back wasn't a good position, he needed space to move and dodge. He could see the demon pulling back a gloved fist, hesitating only a moment but that was all Christophe needed. One of his dark brown, near black wings wedged between him and the demon, flinging the other being off him with a devastating force. It held enough power to send the demon crashing into the side of a abandoned apartment complex, dust obscured the demon, broken glass shattering as it landed on the sidewalk.

Christophe didn't waste time rolling into a crouch, lean muscles in his legs coiling like spring as tension built before unleashing. He lunged up towards the hole in the building, planning on being an unrelenting force against the demon. The demon was in the process of picking himself up off the floor when Christophe slammed into him, causing them both to bull-rush straight through a few walls until there was no longer a floor beneath their feet. It wasn't long before the demon recovered and counter attacked while they were falling back into the adjacent street, out of the apartment complex. Claws raked down and over Christophe's shoulders, shredding through cloth and flesh without any resistance, but Christophe only clenched his jaw and slammed his fist down on the deceptively handsome face.

Once again, they collided into the ground, it was a mess off brutality, each limb served a purpose to injure the other, nothing was held back as black and red blood was becoming disconcertingly apparent over the ground, which was being torn asunder by the two powerhouses. Feathered wings acted like shields and battering rams while leathery clawed dragon like wings were used for rending and grasping. Christophe was becoming more and more aware that this wasn't a lower tiered demon, perhaps a higher caliber than Christophe could actually handle, which in itself was alarming. However, it only seemed to spur him on to become more savage with his strikes, he had to give it his all.

One of his wings rose to bat the charging demon away, only for one of the demon's wings to latch on and shove back violently. It seemed the demon had learned a efficient way in catching an angel off-balance by using their overly large wings against them. Once more, Christophe found himself shoved back roughly against the ground, his head cracking a little painfully against the concrete. Dazed for only a second or two, but it was enough for the demon to gain the upper hand. Clawed talons on demonic wings pinned Christophe's to the ground, gloved hands clasped like iron shackles around his wrists, and the weight pressing down on him kept him in place. For now at least.

Angry, Christophe glared up at his adversary, getting a good look finally. His metaphorical breath caught in his throat in the form of a lump, despite the lack of childish softness of his features, Christophe easily recognized the man.

"Gregory?" His voice wavered slightly, which only served to furrow his brows and a scowl to set on his harsh, bloodied features.

"Its about time you recognized me, love." Gregory practically purred as he leaned down further, closing the distance but hovering just out of reach still. Likely not trusting Christophe, which was a smart thing as Christophe wanted to lash out even harder at the other male now.

"Get the fuck off me, you fuckin' bastard." Christophe tugged at his arms, irritated that he couldn't even move them a fraction.

"Such language for an angel." Gregory gave a scornful click of his tongue, his claws digging in further into the muscles lying beneath Christophe's feathers, making the angel wince. "All my hard work finally paid off. Selling my soul was definitely rewarded me with my prize after all these years." He finally leaned down, tracing his pointed tongue over Christophe's split lip, catching Christophe to hiss out a mild protest. He tried to turn his head away in refusal but dangerously sharp teeth caught his lower lip, threatening to shred the soft flesh if he dared to move.

Infuriated, Christophe locked gazes with Gregory's. Faintly glowing blue eyes with cat-like pupils stared back into his heavenly illuminated ones, like emeralds reflecting pure sunlight. Both were unnatural, revealing the power that lurked just beneath skin that appeared like mortal flesh. Christophe wanted to thrash, to curse Gregory with every breath in his immortal body. Gregory had been the one to send him to his death so long ago, Gregory had been the one to curse him with the life of an angel. That begged to question as to why Gregory was a demon.

Before Christophe had died, Gregory had always been about justice and doing what was right. If anyone was going to heaven, it would've been Gregory.

"You look confused, 'Tophe." There was a teasing note to Gregory's voice as if aware of Christophe line of thought, which could be possible considering the strength of the demon. "I couldn't help it really, the temptation was far too great to resist. And I was promised that I could have whatever I wanted." Christophe's fingers curled, his arms straining, still trying to pull them free, but they were pinned over his head at an angle which made it difficult to get any real sort of power behind. He knew Gregory was goading him, wanting Christophe to ask questions. Gregory had always been like that, wanting to lord all the answers over those who he deemed lower than himself.

"Shut the hell up and let me the fuck go already so I can kick your fuckin' ass." Christophe bit out, trying to inspire anger within Gregory so he'd slip up and partially because it had always been Christophe's desire to see Gregory lose that tight grip on control Gregory always seemed to have. Gregory didn't seem to take the bait as he simply smiled, which would've been a charmingly handsome one if not for the elongated canines dimpling his lower lip.

"Oh, my little mole, I'm never letting you go. Never again."

[themugcollector]

Welcome to the Cobalt Soul

Beau Week 2019 - Cobalt Soul

I actually began writing this for day two of Beau week but it got away from me and turned into something longer.

My take on Beau’s unhappy time at the Archive of the Cobalt Soul (and also why she learnt Deep Speech.)

(Warning contains swearing (because it’s Beau), and reference to violence and abuse)

(Also not sure on the spelling - the wiki says Xenoth but everyone else spells it Zeenoth. I went with the wiki version)

...

A nervous teenage Beau found herself sat in a cold unfamiliar room, looking into the eyes of a slim half-elf in blue robes.

“Miss Lionette, I am Archivist Xenoth and I shall be your mentor here at the Archive of Cobalt Soul.”

“The cobble what?” Beau groaned, “What in the five hells has my father done now?” 

It had been an uncomfortable week spent travelling in the back of a blacked-out carriage; two silent guards taking turns to watch her. No privacy; no escape; no sunlight. Her abductors had dressed her in a scratchy sleeveless tunic and ridiculously baggy pants. They had also shaved off all her long hair; Beau wasn’t sure how she felt about that. She kept running her hand over her bald head feeling violated and yet oddly free.

The half-elf gave a thin watery smile.

“Your father has asked the Cobalt Soul to take care of you.”

Beau snorted and tried to get up from her chair.

“I can take care of myself”

A meaty fist grabbed her shoulder and pushed her back into her seat.

Beau turned to meet the glare of a squat male dwarf, his beard braided, his dark hair curled into a ponytail, his own blue robes more functional that the half-elf’s flowing gown.

“Your father has charged us with your care.” Xenoth repeated. “And I and Morpeth are here to facilitate that. I understand that you are not keen, but we take our responsibilities very seriously.”

Beau shook off the hand on her shoulder and gave the half-elf her best scowl.

“How much is he paying you?”

“Enough.” said Xenoth coolly; which probably meant several hundred gold at least.

Beau smirked.

“Trust me, it will never be enough!”

Xenoth sighed, not at all effected by her bravado.

“Here at the Cobalt Soul there are rules that you will follow. You are here to learn, and we are here to teach.”

“Fuck off.” snapped Beau.

Xenoth nodded to the dwarf, Morpeth.

Whack! A thin bamboo switch struck her arm. The sharp pain taking Beau by surprise.

“Did you just fucking hit…!?”

Whack! A second blow came before she could even finish her protest.

Beau tried to leap from her chair, tears pricked her eyes from the shock and the pain. Morpeth’s hand grabbed her neck and held her in place.

Whack!

“Stop fucking hitting…”

Whack!

“You fucking…”

Whack!

“Stop it!”

Whack!

“I’m gonna…!” cried Beau, trying to lash out with her leg but Morpeth stayed out of reach.

Whack!

“Stop!”

Whack!

“Stop it!”

Whack!

“Fucki…”

Whack!

“Stop!”

Whack!

“Stop!”

Whack!

“Please stop!” Beau wailed; the blows were starting to draw blood.

Whack!

“Please!”

Whack!

Beau ran out of words and was only able to concentrate on her sobbing breaths as she waited for the next blow.

It didn’t come.

“Good.” said Xenoth smoothly, drawing Beau’s attention back to him. “You have learnt the first lesson already, be respectful and listen.”

Beau opened her mouth to say something snarky in reply, but the words froze on her lips as the dwarf raised his switch.

Xenoth smiled at her silence.

“Excellent. You are here to learn, and we are here to teach. If you do as you are asked you will have a meal three times a day and a roof over your head. If you are rude, lazy or disobedient there will be consequences as I feel you are beginning to understand. Welcome to the Archive of the Cobalt Soul Miss Lionette.”

“Fuck you!” Beau sobbed.

Whack!

…

Beau was the only student in the reserve having supervised lessons; because unlike all the other acolytes she was the only one who didn’t want to be there.

The studying was boring and jumped from one weird subject to another. One day Xenoth would have her studying the exports of Exandria and the next wig wearing mosquito demons of the Abyssal Plains.

It was almost as if he wanted to test Beau on how much useless crap he could fill her head with just so he could punish her in her confusion.

Beau knew she wasn’t stupid, but she had also learnt from childhood that it was better to purposely act like an idiot and not try, rather than try and being told she was an idiot just the same.

So, she pretended she didn’t understand. She would give wrong answers, the weirder and more confusing the better. She did her best to be the worst pupil Xenoth had ever seen.

…

But in the Cobalt Soul there was also the fighting.

That should have been cool at least.

Something violent and unladylike. Just up Beau’s alley.

But there were rules.

It wasn’t just about throwing punches

This was Morpeth’s role in her education. He was assigned to her as her fighting instructor. He was all muscle and pompous superiority that instantly rubbed Beau up the wrong way. He was also a little too fond of using that switch of his.

Morpeth was insistent that you had to have control as well as strength and stamina.

You had to understand your body.

You had to find your Ki. Find it and tap into its power… your power.

Beau was fairly certain that as funny as Morpeth’s insistence on her ‘knowing herself’ was that it was something she was just not capable of understanding.

How could what was inside her give her power? Inside she knew she was just a piece of shit… just like her parents had always told her.

So she went through the motions but never really to tried.

Most of her sparing partners were older than Beau. All of them had worked hard to be accepted by the Cobalt Soul.

Beau was an outsider; a reject.

Being here wasn’t some gift. Being here was a punishment.

She fooled everyone with her self-imposed disinterest and the fact that her opponents joyfully beat her to a pulp at every opportunity only solidified in her mind that she was right not to try.

Morpeth’s dislike of Beau was clear right from the start and with every failure came some cruel or unusual punishment.

And man, did Morpeth know his punishments.

His favourite was to make her stand balanced on one leg, usually in some excruciating martial arts pose, and recite the thirty-six precepts of the Cobalt soul.

If she stumbled on words, he would swipe her with his bamboo switch. If she lost her balance, he would beat her until she was back on one leg and muttering through the rules again.

…

Beau stumbled into the Library after a brutal session in the training room. Her head was fuzzy and the world was spinning a little like she was drunk and the cut on her forehead, there she’d careered from the training ring to collide with a wooden bench, was still dripping blood.

Xenoth sighed at the state of her and summoned a cleric.

The cleric turned out to be a smoulderingly attractive female elf; although it might have just been the concussion making the edges of the world go soft around her as she walked into the room.

Xenoth meanwhile was having a barking discussion over her head with Morpeth.

“… as important as her Martial arts training is, I do expect her be able to function in class and not bleed on the books.”

“And I expected by now she would at least have the ability to take a hit and stay on her feet for more that five seconds. One hit and she goes down like she’s not even trying.”

Beau giggled and gave the cleric a lazy wink, which must have looked rather odd on her swollen face.

“Hey, I’m always a fan of going down.” She drawled in Elven.

The cleric scowled and poked her with a less than gentle finger to pass on her healing magic. Instantly the world drew back into focus and the sharp pain in Beau’s head dissipated.

Beau noticed both Xenoth and Morpeth looking at her even as the cleric marched out a look of disgust on her face.

“You speak Elven.” Xenoth asked.

Beau took a moment to mourn the loss of the pretty face before replying.

“Shit… Yeah… Father had me learn it to converse with our customers. I wasn’t…”

“Do you know any other languages?”

“Halfling…” Beau admitted, “I had a tutor for a few years…”

“Are you fluent in both?”

“I can read, write, speak and swear in both languages. So yeah.”

“Really.” He said, “Say something in Halfling.”

“Okay?” said Beau, caught a little off guard, but then with a wicked smirk let rip with the best insult she knew.  An old habit she developed when cursing in Common in front of her Father really wasn’t an option. “Morpeth is a dog-farting sheep-whore whose mother bedded a…”

Beau found herself knocked from her chair to the floor without quite knowing how she got between the two.

Morpeth did not look amused.

“I know what that means, Beau.” He snapped, somehow talking to her in Elven, Halfling and Common all at once

“What the fuck. Let me guess your ‘Ki’ powers let you speak every fucking language as well as everything else.” She snapped, adding air quotes with her finger at the work Ki.

“As matter of fact they do.” said Morpeth coolly with the disapproving snort/sigh that he usually gave when talking to Beau for more than a few moments.

“The resting crane I think.” He said drawing his switch from his belt. “And you can recite the thirty-six precepts in Halfling for me… A long lyrical language… This should be very entertaining for me and excruciating for you.”

“That’s not fucking fair. Xenoth wanted me to say something in Halfling… ”

Beau looked to the Half-Elf for support, but Xenoth just shook his head, gathered his books, and left her to her punishment - the coward.

Morpeth dragged Beau to her feet.

“Are you angry Beau. Tell you what, you hit me and there will be no more punishment.”

This was another game of his, offer her a release for her anger she could never land.

“You want me to hit you?” Beau asked.

“I want you to try.” He began… but Beau’s fist was swinging before he had spoken the second word.

He side-stepped her punch with ease, and with his usual cruel speed struck her in the ribs in a way that made her whole body seize up.

“When you can move again. The resting crane and the Precepts in Halfling if you please.”

Gods she hated this dwarf.

…

Beau’s time at the Cobalt Soul was transformed in this moment. By her absolute hatred for Morpeth.

She finally had a purpose; a plan.

She was going to fucking humiliate Morpeth, just like he constantly humiliated her.

Fuck the Cobalt Soul and fuck her family too. The only thing that mattered now was making Morpeth suffer.

…

Xenoth knowing Beau was fluent in Elven and Halfling began adding translation work to her lessons. She was currently coming to the end of the tedious project of transcribing the epic fifty-eight stanza Halfling poem ‘Elspeth of the Flowering Grove’ into Elven for some rich merchants wedding gift Turns out taking in troubled teens wasn’t the only thing the Cobalt Soul wasn’t shy of taking money for. . Beau made it a point to do the work as slowly and badly as possible.

Xenoth arrived with bundles of paper in his hand.

“Beauregard, it is part of a monks training here at the Cobalt Soul to learn a new language. I have here a few projects you might like to select to help you on your way.”

Beau dropped her pen in the desk and scowled.

“Why? Why learn any language if your magic Ki lets to know every fucking language ever?”

“At a certain level, yes, we can speak and understand all spoken language, but we cannot read or write it.

Beau blinked.

“Is that true?”

Xenoth didn’t answer. He was too busy laying out his projects.

“There are three to choose from… This Celestial poem was found in a private archive in Rexentrum and has never been transcribed… These wall tracings from a submerged temple found in a mineshaft near Allfield are in Abyssal… This bowl was found buried near Hupperduke and is thought to be Deep Speech… it’s not believed to be dangerous but might be an interesting project as the language is so rare in this realm.”

Beau’s head was still busy with the idea that Morpeth didn’t know every language. At least not in written form. All three of these had to be obscure enough that she could insult him to his face and he wouldn’t understand.

“I’ll do it!” said Beau, almost eagerly.

“Just pick one.” He said.

Beau scoured the language section of the library bookshelves for several weeks. She tried Abyssal, but the guttural tones hurt her throat. She was too tone deaf to manage Celestial. There were just two tomes in the Library covering the syntax and phraseology of Deep Speech. It looked like she had found her project. She’d be damned if Morpeth could understand a language only spoken by Aberrations in the Far Realm and by Drow scholars in the Underdark.

Beau had always been pretty good with languages even from an early age. It wasn’t going to be easy. One of the books was in Espurar script which would require serious study in-of-itself, but she was determined, and as many an enemy knew, a determined Beau was much more dangerous that a resigned one.

…

The second challenge was to land a damn punch on the bastard.

After lights out in her cell Beau started working out. She developed her body with a routine of press-ups, push ups, squats… Any exercise that was relatively quiet and could be done in a confined space.

She even tried meditating to find her Ki, but she couldn’t sit in the silence on her own head. It was never that moment of stillness her classmates seemed to find.

So instead she also started training herself to withstand Morpeth’s punishments.

Every night she would balance on one leg and recite the 36 precepts; first in Common, then in Halfling and finally in Elfish.

She made translating them into Deep Speech her next project and eventually she was adding the fourth language to her routine.

…

It took a year of focus.

She grew fluent in a language only ever spoken in the Underdark. The bowl translation was indeed dull, a recipe for a poison brew that caused paralysis, but the language itself was weirdly wonderful.

In a year her body also grew subtle and stronger, but there was a new power behind her punches.

Maybe it was that moment of nightly ritual, when reciting the Precepts four times over gave her nothing to focus on other than her own body; her every muscle straining to remain still and balanced.

Beau had found her Ki.

And it was surprising.

Ki did not give you strength.

Ki gave you speed and precision.

Beau’s body could do what she wanted it to do almost at the speed of a thought.

But this she had also been keeping a secret.

For a year Beau played the idiot, took her punches and lived her best life as the worse person she could be. At least until the moment was right for revenge.

…

The first part started slow. She began chalking Deep Speech runes insulting Morpeth on walls. The best insult was a pictogram of an egg with three spots with the rays of the sun coming from it. A sun-roasted egg, the far realm equivalent of a piece of shit. And the pictogram for Morpeth three parallel lines, four dots and a curve like a frown.

Beau inked the pictograms in books. Chalked them onto shelves in the far library stacks. No one knew what it meant. But people started to copy it. It started to appear on walls in hands other than Beaus.

Soon not a day went by without Beau seeing somewhere a demeaning slur about Morpeth.

It felt wonderful.

…

For her final insult Beau took a pot of paint in the night and wrote the curse large on the walls of the training room.

She went to bed satisfied of a job well done.

…

The next day Morpeth was not happy. Not that he knew the walls were screaming insults at him. He only knew someone had deface his training room and even though there was no proof the one he blamed was Beau.

Fists and feet flew in Beau’s direction as Morpeth coldly looked on. But this time Archivist Xenoth was there, was well as a group of rather high up individuals from the Cobalt Soul. All examining the walls and trying to translate them.

It was eight against one as Beau faced her classmates. She could feel the swelling of her right eye and she could taste the blood leaking from her broken nose as she wiped it away from her top lip and squared up against her classmates for the next blow.

Four punches and a swipe to the legs, and Beau was flat on her face in the sand once more.

“Stop!” Morpeth called. “I’m almost starting to feel sorry for her. Do you need a break Beauregard, or have you still ‘got this’?”

Beau clambered back to her feet, a little more unsteady than she’d have liked.

God she hated this man.

“Hey Morpeth.” She cried. “You know those runes on the wall?”

“Yes Beau. Are you going to tell me you painted them.”

She shook her head and gave him her best innocent stare.

“Oh I wouldn’t dare do that sir, you might punish me. I can tell you what they say though.”

Xenoth turned.

“You can translate this?”

“Sure,” said Beau walking up to the familiar sun-roasted egg. “It’s Deep Speech. This here roughly translates as Morpeth is a piece of shit.”

Morpeth grabbed her by the neck and threw her to the ground.

“Why you little…”

Beau dodged the blow and scrambled to her feet.

“What are you straight up punishing me. I don’t get to try a land a punch first?”

“You can try…” Morpeth sneered, as he always did.

Beau swung her right hook and Morpeth smoothly ducked the blow, but like lightening Beau’s second strike didn’t miss her mark. A left knee right between his legs.

Pausing only to wink cheekily at Xenoth, Beau marched triumphantly from the training room. Her head held high as Morpeth sank to his knees, both hands clutching his manhood from Beau’s low blow.

Always go for the dick; Beau had learned that lesson long before becoming a monk.

…

The next morning there was a knock on the door and Beau rolled out of her bed ready for her punishment… but damn it was fucking worth it!

A thin half-elf stood in the doorway, Archivist Xenoth.

“Miss Lionette, I feel I have been underestimating you for too long. I shall be taking over your full training from Morpeth. I feel with the right motivation you would be an exceptional asset to this Library. I was impressed in the speed you have learnt Deep Speech and you have found a way to channel you Ki…”

Beau smiled – looks like she had rid her self of Morpeth. She eyed Xenoth and shook her head.

“Fuck off.” Beau snapped, right back in ‘don’t give a shit’ mode.

She slammed the door in his face.

…

[rosieclark]

Don’t leave me

This is something I’ve been working on in spurts. In summery, it’s every plangsty idea that has ever popped into my mind all bundled together with a little bow on top. Also available on Ao3 for your enjoyment. 

Big thanks to Mads (@madileto) for beta reading!

“Promise me something?”

Lance nuzzled the top of her head the familiar scent of her lavender shampoo filling his lungs. “Anything.”

Pidge burrowed further into his arms. “You’ll never leave me right?”

Lance pulled back so he could look into her eyes. “Pidge, you don’t need to worry about that. I’ll never leave you.”

She smiled and brought her lips up to meet his. “I know. Just checking.”

He kissed her back, wrapping his arms around her again. Embracing her warmth, he sighed contently. He was happy.

Lance was having a bad day. It had started out okay, but had quickly gone down hill. He got his butt kicked in training by Keith, spilled food goo all over his new pants and couldn’t for the life of him get his bayard to work.

To top it all off, he had a huge fight with Katie. He closed his eyes, mentally cursing at the memory.

“I’m sorry if I’m being distant, but I’m so close to finding them Lance! I can feel it!”

Lance rubbed his forehead. “Like you were ‘so close’ last month? No offence Katie, but every time you say that, you end up no closer to the truth.”

“Lance, their my family. I can’t abandon them.”

“And I’m your boyfriend!” Lance shouted. “Doesn't that count for anything?”

Pidge stopped typing. She looked at Lance, her eyes wide and sorrowful.

“Of course it does. You mean everything to me. I see a future with you when we return to earth.

Lance kept his expression neutral. Even though her words warmed his heart, he was still ticked off about being ignored for weeks at a time.

“At least I’ll have a family to return to when we get back.”

Almost immediately after he said it, Lance regretted his words. Hurt flashed across Pidge’s face within seconds. He saw her eyes dim a little, and could sense her walls building up. She was shutting him out.

He reached out to her only for her to flinch away.

“Katie, please.”

She turned to face away from him, her shoulders trembling. “At least I know my place on the team and in my family. I’m the brains, the tech savvy. I’m also the paladin of the green lion, and only daughter to Colleen and Sam Holt. I know they love me, because there’s only one of me. You on the other hand,” she snorted. “You have no place. Not on the team, not in your large family. You’ll never know if your mom loves you, or loves the older brother she sees in you.”

Lance felt like a knife had stabbed him in the heart. He staggered back, his body shaking at her words. She knew his weaknesses and had lashed out, hitting her target with deadly precision. He looked up to see her big amber eyes staring up at him, a mix of regret and horror shining in them.

“Lance, I didn’t mea-”

“It doesn’t matter what you meant. What’s done is done.” He knew his tone was cold, but he couldn’t help it. Without saying another word, he whirled around and marched out the door.

Lance groaned, cursing his own stupidity. If he hadn’t left, they would have talked out their problems and probably could have been snuggling by now. Instead he had run away like a coward.

Settling in Blue, Lance opened the hanger door and flew out. He needed some time to think.

“Lance, come in.”

“Lance, do you copy?”

“Buddy, where are you?”

“Lance, this is Shiro. Come back now, that’s an order.”

Opening his eyes, Lance listened to the constant stream of his teams worried voices over the coms.

“Guys, I’m here, relax.” He soothed. “What's the big deal anyways?”

There was silence on all other lines before Keith spoke up.

“You better get back here as soon as possible, or so help me, I will kill you myself.”

Lance frowned at Keith's harsh words. “Jeez, hold your horses. I’m on my way.” He turned off his com and patted Blues dashboard. “Let’s go home girl.”

As he exited his lion, Lance was met with a very, very angry Keith.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” He seethed through clenched teeth. He grabbed Lance’s collar and shook him.

“What was I thinking? What are you thinking?” Lance pulled away, suddenly angry at the attack. “I just needed some time to think! You have no right to talk to me about needing alone time.”

“At least I tell the team were I am. You just decide to get up, and take four days in space?”

Four days. It had felt like a few hours. Quiznack. His confidence dissipated. “I lost track of time?” He offered with a sheepish smile.

“You lost track of time? For four days, we have been trying to coax Pidge out of her room. For four days, I’ve had to listen to her sob endlessly. She hasn’t eaten, she hasn’t drank anything, I don’t think she’s showered or used the bathroom! You have been MIA for four quiznacking days and all you can say is you “lost track of time?”” Keith shook his head. “Unbelievable.”

Lance felt the regret weigh heavy in his stomach. He ran out of the room, ignoring the shouts of protest from his team. He needed to see her.

Standing outside her door, his heart sank even further as he listened to Katie cry. He never wanted to hear her in pain, much less be the cause of it.

With the wave of his hand the door opened, revealing a dark room. A small figure lay curled up in the corner. Her shoulders trembled.

“Hey.” Lance waved even though she couldn’t see him. “I’m sorry for everything I said.”

Pidge whirled around, her eyes wide. “You’re back.”

Lance grinned. “Happy to see me?”

She frowned and turned away.

He sighed. “Look Pidge, I know I said some pretty harsh things to you that I’m not proud of.” He took a step towards her. ”I will always support your ambitions to find your family no matter what. I love you. Please forgive me?”

Lance didn’t know what he was expecting. He wanted Katie to run into his arms and forgive him, but he didn’t think that was a reasonable outcome. What he didn’t expect was for her to stand up and look at him, fury seeping off every pore in her body. He actually took a step back.

“You think this is about what you said?” Her voice was dangerously low. “I forgave you for what you said a long time ago. No Lance, this is about something much bigger.”

“I don’t know what yo-”

“I thought you left me!” Pidge screamed.

The silence that followed was deafening. Lance froze, and stared at her, small and trembling. His heart clenched. He hadn’t meant to hurt her.

“I thought you left me.” She repeated, quieter now. “Sooner or later, you’re going to find someone prettier, or smarter, or funnier than me, and leave. Just like my dad. Just like Matt. Just like Rover.”

“Pidge, ple-” He reached out a hand, but she was already moving out the door.

“No Lance. I need to be alone right now.”

“Quizanck, why am I so weak?”

Pidge stood outside Lance’s door a mere three hours after their second fight. Yes, she was still mad, but they needed to talk out their feelings. Just before she was about to enter, her com lit up.

“Hello?”

“Paladin of green, this is Zarkons witch. I have a proposition to make.”

Pidge’s blood ran cold. Haggar.

“I want nothing to do with you.” She moved to turn the signal off.

“Even if it concerns the safety of your brother and father?”

Her hand paused. Haggar had Matt and her dad. She couldn’t let them get hurt.

“What do you want?”

“I want the lions.”

“That’s impossible. I can’t do that.”

“Need I remind you Katie, that I hold both your brother and your father in my possession. The only thing keeping them alive is your obedience.”

Pidge’s heart sank. She had no leverage in this situation.

“Anything else. Please don’t hurt them?”

There was a pause and then a chuckle. “I wish to destroy Voltron from the inside out. I believe you have gotten quite close with the current red paladin, am I correct?”

Lance

Pidge felt the dread creeping up her spine. She tried to answer but no words came out.

“I’ll take your silence as a yes. I need you to destroy him. Break off your relationship. Make him hate you.”

The communicator shook in Pidge’s hand. Break up with Lance or have her brother and father killed. She sank to her knees as tears rolled down her cheeks.

“I can’t.” She managed to choke out.

“You better.” Haggar's voice was everything cruel in the world. “Lest you never want to see your brother again.”

The line went dead, leaving Pidge to her thoughts. Lance would understand. He had to. She could fix this, all she needed was time.

Lance looked up as Pidge entered his room. He immediately smiled and opened his arms for a hug.

“Hey Pidge, what’s up?”

His grin drooped a little when she walked past him, ignoring his welcoming arms, and stared out the window.

“Still mad at me?”

“Lance, I’m done.”

He put his arms down and let out a nervous chuckle. “Don’t even joke about that Pidgey. I know I broke the promise, but I swear it will never happen again. Please.”

“It’s not a joke. I don’t want to be with you anymore.” She turned to face him, her eyes cold and emotionless.

Lance took a step back, clutching at his chest.

“Why? Was it what I said? Because I’m sorry!” He wished his voice sounded stronger, but it trembled.

Pidge sighed as if he was boring her. “It’s not either of those things. I need to be with someone who understands me on an intellectual level.”

That stung more than he wanted to admit. He always knew Pidge was smart, brilliant even. He never thought she thought of him as dumb.

“So what, you’re just going to leave me? Leave us?”

“Yes.”

The answer was simple yet devastating. Lance felt his sadness turn to rage.

“Then leave.” He spat. “I don’t want to be in the same room as you for longer than necessary.”

Pidge gave him a curt nod, and walked to the door. Instead of leaving, she turned.

“I’m leaving on a solo mission to find my family. I won’t be around for a while.” Then she left, the door closing behind her with a soft hiss.  

As soon as she was gone, he fell to his knees, sobbing. He was never good enough for her. He would never be good enough for her. But that didn’t mean he had to stop fighting.

Not for her, for himself. She had left him broken, but he would come back stronger.

Lance swore to himself that he wouldn’t give Pidge the satisfaction of seeing him weak. He would be strong.

Being alone for six weeks in space was not her ideal vacation, but it was better then nothing. Getting Shiro to agree to let her go on this mission solo had been a doozy. He had wanted to take Keith, but she had refused. She needed to do this alone.

Saying goodbye to the team was hard, but they knew she would be back. Eventually. She had estimated the journey to the cruiser and back would take roughly a month. Unfortunately, she had run into some setbacks. This lead to two months in space, with her just being about to see the Galra cruiser.

The one thing her extended time in solitude had granted her was the ability to think. Think about her family, earth, and Haggar. Think about exactly what she was going to do to the witch when she found her. Haggar had made a mistake. Pidge now knew the location of her brother and father. She would play puppet to her wicked schemes no longer.

Thinking was great, until she thought about the one thing she didn’t want to. Lance. Their last conversation had been unagreeable, and it was a jerk move on her part to leave right after. All she needed to do was find her family and explain everything to Lance. Then hopefully he would at least forgive her. Maybe even give her a second chance.

Getting into the cruiser would be easy. Getting out would be hard. Haggar must have her family in the lower prison cells. All Pidge had to do was dock outside the ship, sneak through one of the disposal chutes, and hack the systems for a distraction. Piece of cake.

“Quiznack.” Pidge swore as she opened the last cell in the prison to reveal a scared Arusian. They had to be here. She had searched every damn cell in this ship, so where were they?

“Looking for someone?” Haggar's voice sent shivers down her spine. Pidge turned to face her.

“Where are they?” She stared at the witch, her hands trembling slightly.

“Where are they?” She repeated again. “You said they were here. You said you had them!”

Haggar chuckled, low and cold. “My dear Katie, I lied.”

The last word hit her like a punch to the gut. Haggar never had her family. She had manipulated Pidge to do her bidding without having any leverage.

“No.” It was barely more than a whisper. “No, it’s not possible.”

“But it is you foolish girl.” The witch sneered, her eyes glowing yellow under her hood.

A dam of rage burst inside of Pidge. “You bitch!” She screamed, shooting her bayard at Haggar. “You fucking bitch!”

Haggar easily avoided her attacks, shooting a blast of electricity at the green paladin. Pidge dodged it, and continued to ruthlessly attack her.

Haggar shot at her again, this time hitting her target. Pidge let out a whimper as she crashed against the back wall. Pain flashed through her arm and she gritted her teeth. Slowly, she got up and fired her bayard again. Haggar let out an amused laugh.

“You’re a persistent one aren’t you?”

Pidge didn’t respond, sweat beginning to form on her brow. Her arm felt as though it was on fire and every sense of her was telling her to stop, but she didn’t. She couldn’t.

“Unfortunately, I have places to be and people who require my attention.” She opened her hand and shot lightning, catching Pidge as she tried to retreat.

The green paladin screamed and writhed in pain. When she finally felt like she couldn’t take it anymore, Haggar stopped. She bent over the Pidge and whispered into her ear.

“Make no mistake girl, I’m not as cruel as you think. I’m simply playing a game to stay alive. I know what it’s like to lose your family, so I suggest you leave before any guards find you.”

Pidge’s mouth was too dry to speak. As she watched Haggar disappear, Pidge tried to stand up. Every bone in her body resisted, but she pushed through.

How she had made it to her lion was still a mystery. What she did know was pain, exhaustion and disappointment. With trembling hands, she set course for the castle, before the darkness consumed her.

“All paladins to the bridge please. I repeat, all paladins to the bridge.”

Lance cursed Shiro's timing as he got off Allura.

“Sorry babe, we’re going to have to wait.” He said with a wink.

She giggled. “For you Lance, I’d wait another ten thousand years.”

“Sap.” He pecked her on the cheek before grabbing her hand and heading to the bridge.

“What is it Shiro?” Hunk asked, apron still on. “I was in the middle of trying out a new souffle recipe.”

“Pidge is back. Our scanners picked up the green lion outside the castle.”

Lance joined the others, running to the docking hanger. As the green lion landed, Lance was feeling nervous. His last encounter with Pidge had been less than pleasant, so seeing her again held mixed feelings. How would she react to him and Allura? Would they still be friends?

Those feelings quickly turned to dread as no Pidge appeared.

“Somethings wrong.”

Shiro had read all their minds. Quickly, they made their way to the lion. Keith climbed in through its mouth. There was a moment of tense silence before he yelled.

“Coran, ready a pod! Everyone, clear the way.”

Lance felt his heart drop. A couple seconds later, Keith emerged holding a bleeding, burned and bruised Pidge.

Hunk barfed. Shiro swore. Allura started to cry and Lance held her comfortingly. His own eyes started to water as Keith passed them.

Her armour was nothing but shreds. Blood oozed from a gash on her head, and her right arm hung limply beside her, the shoulder obviously dislocated. Lance shivered as he saw the burns. He knew them well. They all did.

Haggar was going to pay.

He gritted his teeth and stepped away from Allura. Fists clenched, as he stormed to his lion.

“Lance, where are you going?!” Shiro’s voice boomed from the other side of the hanger.

“I’m going to make that witch pay!” He shouted back, breaking into a sprint. He made it about four steps before strong arms yanked him back. Lance fought against Hunk with all his strength but to no avail.

“No you’re not.” Shiro was in front of him. “I know you’re worried about Pidge. We all are. But now is not the time for revenge. Now is the time to stay by her side, supporting and helping her.”

He put his hand on Lance’s shoulder. “We will make Haggar pay, I promise. Just not today.”

Keith returned, pale and shaken. “She didn’t respond well to the pod. Coran thinks it’s because of the large quantities of dark Altean magic she was exposed to. We have her stabilized, but it’s going to be a long road to recovery.”

Shiro nodded. “Can we see her?”

“I was actually going to ask Allura to clean her up a bit before.” Keith blushed a bit, looking at Lance's’ girlfriend. “You know, wash her and change her clothes?”

“Of course.” The princess rushed out the doors, her hair flowing behind her.

The paladins had created a system. They took one hour shifts watching their green counterpart. It was Hunks turn, and the others were gathered around the dinner table. None of them had any appetite. They sat in silence.

“It’s been three weeks!” Lance exclaimed, punching the table. “It’s time to act!”

“Guys!” Hunk burst into the room causing all the paladins to stand up.

“What happened?” Shiro asked, brow creased.

“Is she okay?” Keith questioned.

Lance looked like he was about to run to the medical bay. “Is Katie-”

Hunk shook his head and grinned. “She’s awake!”

Pidge opened her eyes as her door slid open to reveal Shrio, Coran, Allura, Keith and Hunk. She smiled at them warmly.

“Hey guys.”

Shiro gently hugged her, trying not to touch any of her wounds. “We really missed you Pidge.”

“Wasn’t the same castle without you.”

There were murmurs of agreement throughout the group. Pidge felt her heart warm slightly. She was finally home. Allura waved shyly.

“It’s so nice not to be the only girl on the team Pidge! And I’m sure Lance will be far mo-”

“Lance?” Pidge frowned, looking for a pair of familiar eyes in the room. She found none.

The room went silent as the others shifted uncomfortably looking for the blue paladin. She closed her eyes again. He wasn’t coming. Not that she expected him to, but it would have been nice to see him again. She needed to tell him about Haggar.

Coran cleared his throat. “So nice to see you awake number five. I think we’ll let you get some rest now.” As they herded out of her room, Hunk stayed behind.

“Can I stay? I really missed my best bud.”

Pidge let out a throaty laugh. “I’d like that.”

“Lance and Allura?” Pidge snorted. “Jeez Hunk, I thought I was the one who hit my head!”

Hunk’s face stayed neutral. “It’s not a joke Pidge.”

It’s not a joke. Her exact words to Lance when she broke things off. Her heart sank.

She cleared her throat. “Well, I guess I’m happy for him. He’s moved on.” I haven’t.

They were silent for a moment before Hunk stood up, patting her shoulder.

“You should get some rest. I’ll be back later with dinner.”

“Thanks.” She winced as she lay back down.

“Anything.”

The door hissed shut, and Pidge let the tears flow. She had left him, and in turn he had left her.

Karma sucked.

Pidge laughed. “So let me get this straight. Lance asked you out in Altean?”

“Yes! I’m pretty sure he said ‘will you elephant the baby’, but I got the message.”

The girls giggled in unison. Pidge took Alluras hand.

“I’m really happy for you, you know that?”

Allura squeezed back. “I know. Thank you Pidge.”

She smiled, thinking about Lance. He hadn’t visited her at all. Maybe it was for the best. He probably hated her. Her heart tightened at the thought.

“He doesn’t hate you, you know that right?” Allura’s concerned eyes were staring at her. Pidge smiled back.

“I wouldn’t be so sure. I was pretty ruthless.”

Allura shook her head. “Pidge, you are still his best friend. You’re still so important to him.”

“Important huh? Not important enough to visit I guess. It’s been four weeks Allura, I get the message loud and clear.” She scoffed.

Pidge turned her eyes downward, picking at some invisible lint on the sheets. She felt Allura stand up.

“Try to sleep Pidge.”

She smiled back. “I’ll try. Thanks for everything.”

The princess looked at her one last time before turning off the lights and heading to Lance’s room. That boy had some explaining to do.

“Lance?”

He looked up, his fingers pausing their trail through Alluras hair. “Mhm?”

“You told me you went to see her.”

Lance sighed. He knew Allura meant well, but he was going to scream if someone else told him to go see Pidge. He sat up and ran a hand through his hair.

“I know.”

“So you lied to me?”

“I just need some more time.”

“More time? It’s been four weeks Lance. She’s so small Lance.” Allura looked at him, her voice softer. “So while you’re ‘taking your time’, Pidge is stuck in pain wondering if you hate her. You haven’t visited her once Lance. She’s been through so much. I don’t think she can lose another friend.”

Guilt filled Lance’s gut. He rolled out of bed and pulled on a shirt.

“Where are you going?”

“To see a friend.”

“You know she’s probably sleeping right?”

Lance shrugged. “Pidge never sleeps.”

The door slid open revealing a very messy room. Lance smiled to himself. The day Pidge cleaned her room would be the day pigs fly.

“That was fast Keith.” Her voice was coming from the bed. “Ready for some Killbot Phantom?”

Lance felt his blood boil. “May I ask why you’re playing our game with the mullet emo?”

Pidge looked at him and rolled on her side, closing her eyes. “Go away. I’m sleeping.”

“Pidge, don’t do this.” He pleaded with her.

The lump on the bed remained silent. He made his way over to her, careful not to step on anything. As he got closer, he could see she was shaking. No, crying.

Silent sobs racked her small frame. Lance felt the guilt that had been building up in his chest boil over.

“I’m so sorry. I meant to visit, I was just being stupid. I want, no I need you as a friend. I want to play video games with you and steal cows from space malls. Don’t leave me.” Not again, he added silently in his head.

Pidge opened her eyes. “Don’t apologize Lance. You have nothing to be sorry for. I treated you like a jerk, and I’m paying the price.”

“No, I’ve been the jerk. Please don’t think you’re anything less than my best friend.” And only my friend, he thought to himself bitterly.

She looked up at him and wiped her tears away. “Friends?”

He cracked a smile. “Friends.” Lance conformed. “Are you up for some Killboy Phantom?”

“Is that even a question?” She cocked an eyebrow.

He was already grabbing the controllers.

Lance looked up as Allura entered his room. He smiled, opening his arms for a hug. “Hey babe, I was just headed out to see Pidge. Is everything all right?”

She stayed by the door, looking down at her feet. He felt his heart sink.

“No.”

“No what?” He knew the answer. He just wanted to hear her say it.

She finally looked at him, eyes filled with unshed tears. “Lance, I can’t do this anymore.”

No.

Not again.

“Please Allura, give me another chance.” He was practically begging on his knees. “I promise I can be better!”

The princess wiped her eyes and smiled. “Lance, this isn’t about anything you did.”

“Then why.”

“Because this was a fling. That’s it. We both knew it wouldn’t last, so-” her voice broke. “So I think it’s best we end it sooner rather than later.”

“Allura, I already lost Pidge. I can’t lose you too.”

“And I can’t stand by and watch you fall in love with another woman. You’ve been visiting her non-stop for three weeks Lance. I’ve hardly seen you around.” She wrapped her arms around him, and he savored her warmth. In his heart he knew they were never meant to be, but it stung anyways.

“But I moved on.” He sighed. “I thought I moved on!”

“I think,” she whispered in his ear. “I think that’s the problem. You never really did. She’s still with you no matter how hard you try to get rid of her. And I think you’re with her too.”

She pulled back, holding him at arm's length, offering him a watery smile. “I know love when I see it Lance. I saw it when my mother and father would look at each other. I see it in Hunk’s eyes when he looks at Shay. And I see it in your eyes whenever you see her. Not me, her.”

Lance let out a teary laugh. “I’ve fallen pretty hard haven’t I.”

“Go get her. If you don’t someone else will, and you’ll live the rest of your life wishing you had seized the moment.”

With a pat on the shoulder Allura walked away. Lance sank to his knees. She had been right about one thing. His feelings for Pidge had never left. The only problem with confessing his undying love was that she definitely didn’t feel the same way. She had made that clear when she walked away. He wasn’t about to be the dog crawling back to his master. If Allura was right, she would have to come to him.

Sitting back down he decided he would have some alone time. He needed to think.

Pidge looked at the clock. Lance had made a routine of visiting her every evening for video games and cookies. She sighed as she tapped her foot. He was late.

It hurt being with him as a friend. She wanted nothing more then to wrap herself in his arms and relish in his body heat. Unfortunately that was a “girl friend only” perk.

What was taking him so long? Sighing, she sat on the bed, waiting.

He never came.

“If you keep frowning, you’re going to get wrinkles.”

Lance ran his hands over his face as he watched Pidge and Liam talk. As much as he wanted to join the conversation, he knew they were blabbing about some advanced alien space tech that he wouldn’t be able to follow. Instead, he turned to Hunk.

“I’m not frowning. I’m perfectly happy.” He tried to grin, but it came out as a grimace. Hunk sighed, patting him on the shoulder.

“There there my little lover boy.” He smiled. “Liam will be gone soon.”

Sure. Liam and his little group of rebel allies had docked on the castle a few days ago to restock and refuel. Coincidentally, they also brought some incripeted Galra code that was taken from a prison they recently raided. Pidge was decoding it now to see if it contained any information about her family.

Lance wouldn’t have minded the extra company if it wasn’t for one, little detail. Liam had taken quite the fancy to Pidge. His Pidge. Now a days, the rebel fighter was hardly seen without her. He was always carrying her around when she got too tired to walk, and making sure her injuries were well tended. They spent long hours together pouring over Galra code and talking about Olkarion. Lance didn’t like the way he looked at his Pidge. When he had confronted her about his worries, she had shrugged him off. Apparently Liam was a “nice guy” with “strong morals.”

To make matters worse, Pidge had been ignoring him. Sure, after the break up with Allura Lance skipped a few of their gaming sessions, but he still valued her company. He hadn’t meant to push her away, it just happened. And now he was paying for it.

“I don’t care Hunk!” He called over his shoulder before leaving.

If he had looked back, he would have seen Pidge’s look of longing. Longing for someone just out of reach.

Liam the lame finally left two days later. A week after that, Pidge had burst in with the coordinates to another Galra prison. She asked Shiro if they could go as a team and liberate the prisoners. After much debate about whether or not Pidge was battle ready, Shiro reluctantly agreed. Thus, Lance found himself standing in the oddest prison he had ever seen.

“So I get the whole “cement walls and no windows” thing, but where are the people?” His voice boomed off the bare walls.

The only thing inside the room was a large computer. It had instantly claimed Pidge’s attention, the small paladin tossing her helmet to the side and plugging her wrist port in.

Now that he was thinking about it, there had been almost no Galra to fight. No one had stood their way as they marched into the unlocked prison. A prison they received the coordinates for from a sketchy group of rebels who had docked on their ship. No rebel group before had ever done that. Come to think of it, no rebel group had ever found them.

Realization hit Lance like a punch to the gut.

Oh quiznack. Oh fucking quizanck.

It was a trap. Everything had been set up.

“Get out!” Lance yelled at his team. “Its a set up!”

Hunk, Allura, Shiro and Keith ran out the doors without hesitation, Lance following behind. He looked around for a familiar green helmet.

“Where is Pidge?”

Team voltron searched for their missing green paladin outside the chamber.

“She's still inside.” Hunk breathed, the realization hitting them all like a ton of bricks.

“Quiznack!” Lance swore, running back through the metal doors. Shiro called after him but he paid no attention.

Pidge was where he left her, downloading info from the Galra computer. Her helmet lay forgotten beside her.

“Pidge, we have to go.” Lance tried to pull her up, but she shook her head.

“Lance, this is the one shot I have at finding my family left. I’m not leaving until I get everything.”

“This is not up for debate. We are leaving now. I promise we will find your dad and Matt, but there are other ways.”

“I’ve tried all the other ways. They don’t work.” Her eyes dropped to the floor. “Just go back to the hanger, and I’ll join you in a tic.”

The reassuring smile she put on her face almost made Lance listen to her. He shook his head and grabbed her shoulders.

“I’m not leaving you again.”

Pidge looked up at him, her honey eyes huge. Her chin trembled slightly.

“Lance, I-”

Whatever she was going to say was cut off by an alarm, and the metal doors slamming shut. A faint hiss followed, making Pidge and Lance exchange worried glances.

Gas.

Pidge put her helmet on, and Lance was about to do the same when he realized he had left it in the hanger. Quiznack.

“Lance, where’s your helmet?” Pidge’s voice was laced with worry.

He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly and chuckled. “Funny story, I might have left it with the rest of the team?”

They both knew it would be impossible to get to it. It would be impossible for them to escape with the resources they had with them. The walls and doors were too thick, and the only possible means of escape was a small air vent on the ceiling. Pidge swore, and moved to take her helmet off. Lance stopped her, holding her wrists.

“Don’t.” He was dead serious. “I need to know you’ll be okay.”

After a moment, Pidge dropped her hands reluctantly. Lance began coughing. She looked at him with concern, but he waved her off.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.”

She glared. “You are not fine. You are dying.”

“Don’t sugarcoat it will ya?” He tried to joke.

“Lance, you can’t die on me.” Her voice quavered slightly. “You can’t die because I still love you.”

His heart stopped. She loved him? That was impossible.

“You made it very clear that you wanted nothing to do with me when you broke up with me.” He stated, not allowing himself to dare to hope.

“I was being blackmailed by Haggar. She wanted to destroy the team from the inside out. If I didn’t tell her, she would kill Matt and dad. And when I called her bluff, and broke off the communication, I was too late. You and Allura were already happy.”

Lance’s vision was going blurry, either from tears or lack of oxygen. “Pidge, I had no idea.”

“I know.” Her smile was sad. “I hope you’ll be able to forgive me someday.”

He looked her firmly in the eyes. “Pidge, none of that was your fault. I already forgive you.”

Her shoulders shook with sobs, and she shook her head.

“Not for that. For this.”

Lance opened his mouth to ask, but he was cut off by a sudden pain in the back of the head. He sank to his knees. Pidge stood over him. He watched as she took her helmet off and knelt before him. He tried to protest as she kissed his forehead and placed her helmet on his head, but his mind was too fuzzy.

Then, the darkness engulfed him.

The soft beep of a monitor lulled him back into consciousness. Groaning, he pushed himself into a sitting position.

He was in a white room, arm attached to a monitor and lying on a thin cot. He was in a hospital room.

“Lance!” Hunk engulfed him in a hug. “You’re awake!”

“Hey buddy.” Lance smiled.

Shiro, Keith and Allura were grinning at him around the room. Lance looked at his leader.

“What happened?”

“After the door shut, we thought we’d lost you. But then the Mariots showed up. Their advanced tech opened the door, and allowed us to reach you. They brought us back to their base, and have been caring for you ever sense.”

Lance frowned. “Where’s Pidge? Is she okay? Last I remember is-”

He looked up, dread settling in his gut. Around him, his teammates gave him sympathetic glances. Keith cleared his throat.

“Lance, by the time we got in it was too late. The poison had already reached her heart. Without a helmet, she didn’t stand a chance.” He looked down. “I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry

Lance felt his world tilt. She had sacrificed herself to save him. It was all his fault. They had promised to never leave each other, but here he was, alone.

“No.” He shook his head. “She’s still alive.”

All he got was small head shakes. Lance began to shake. Hot tears fell down his cheeks, and he felt the comforting arms of his fellow paladins surround him. As always, they would get through this loss as a team. A unit. Together.

Bright light blinded her as she opened her eyes. As she tried to sit up, people wearing surgical masks pushed her down, clamping her wrists and ankles to the cold metal of the table. She tried to scream, but her throat was too dry.

“Welcome back Paladin of Green.” The masked figure closest to her snapped on some gloves. “We had quite the adventure retracting the poison from your heart.”

Pidge began to struggle as they came closer, scalpel in hand. “Lance! Help! Please!” She managed to croak. A hand covered her mouth.

“Be aware that no one knows you are still alive. No one is coming for you. So I’d recommend you do exactly as I say. We wouldn’t want something... tragic to happen to… let’s say the blue paladin now would we?”

Her eyes went wide, but she immediately stopped struggling.

“Good girl.”

Cold gloved fingers touched her forehead and she winced as the scalpel dug into her skin.

“Let’s see if the brain of the famed green paladin is worth talking about. Don’t worry, this won’t hurt a bit.”

Cold fear cut into Pidge like a knife, but she stayed still. To her credit, she lasted twenty tics before she started screaming.

At least Lance would be safe.

[systematicfailure]

The Weight of the World and All Its Soldiers, part one.

Paring: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: With anxious hands, you reenter the world, forced to rebuild your life from the ground up. No place to call home, frequent nightmares and a thrumming power buzzing in your veins you don’t understand, can you really be free? The strangers, calling themselves the Avengers, reveal that it might not be so hard after all. 

Warnings: Dark themes - torture, death, gunshots

Word Count: 2.7k

“Tell me, do you fear death, 81?” 

A long exhale sounded in the air, followed by a plume of smoke. Each corner of the four-by-four cell you called home for the past twenty-odd years of your short life were coated in grime, the white painted concrete walls were chipped and cracked in more places than not. By now, you knew the fragility of your stance in a place like this, had known it ever since the man behind the vibranium door stole the light from your eyes. 

You were only six when it happened, an age where you didn’t know any better. Not like the naïve, child version of you stood a chance. Truthfully, it was an elaborate plan, concocted before you were able to draw your first breath of life, enacted on numerous occasions. Still, maybe if you were just a bit older, a smidgen wiser, a tad more careful that fateful night, maybe it wouldn’t have happened. You can still remember the dance of the carousel in the distance, the smooth transitions of the horses ascending and descending, as your hand left the loose confines of your mother’s, who was too distracted to notice. Your baby brother’s curious eyes trailed after you, a toothy grin appearing between the gap of his two front teeth when you winked back at him. The dust had risen from the gravel underneath your pounding feet as you took off, child-like glee surfacing in your eyes that reflected the colorful bulbs of light. Even though you could hear the frantic cries of your mother’s voice grow distant, your feet never stopped, too intent on reaching the swing of the plastic animals. 

If you had been smarter, you would’ve realized that your doe-eyes stood no chance against the bored ones of the teenager manning the entry stand. You would have turned away and went back the way you came to find your worried mom. Things would have turned out much simpler if you had. You didn’t.

“Sorry, kid. No ticket, no ride.” 

The beginnings of a protest formed on your lips before a heavy hand landed on your shoulder, stopping your reply in its tracks. The man dwarfed your height, his shadow cascading over your shoulder as he stood behind you. The inner workings of a deceitful grin stretched across his chapped lips, an arm circling around your thin frame. He bent down at the waist, snaking his head past your body to get a good look at your face. With a small hum of approval, he straightened back up, pulling a maroon ticket from his jacket pocket, a twinkle appearing in his coal eyes. 

“Here ya go, sorry about my daughter. You know how kids can get.” 

You should have denied it, this man was definitely not your father but he was right. You were a kid, one desperately looking to just get on the dang carousel already so your lips stayed closed, a slightly uncomfortable smile etching its way along your mouth as the man ushered you up the stairs, ignoring the faint confusion brimming in the dark-haired teenager. Maybe if he had stared a little longer at your retreating figures, he might have realized that the man came from the complete opposite direction. 

Once you got on the horse of your choice, a white mare with a splotch of black around it’s right eye and speckled brown spots littered throughout its torso, you forgot about the strangeness of the man next to you, about the lead hand that never left your shoulder but only seemed to grow tighter, because your serotonin levels were at an all-time high and nothing could bring you down from the rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins. 

You swung in time with music, laughter bubbling in your throat and bursting forth in an excited squeal. He had turned to you then, the grin from before easing into a half-smirk you missed as your arms pushed outwards, fingers waving through the cool evening breeze of early fall. The joy ravaging your body was insurmountable, worries long forgotten. 

There’s a cruel lesson you’ve learned in life, one that has weighed down your soul and robbed the breath from your lungs. At first, you were too young to see it. Then, too scared to admit it. The world would not let you so easily forget, it’d force its snake-like grip around you until you were choking on the vile truth of it all. 

All good things must come to an end. 

When the ride ceased its course, lulling to a stop, the man whose name you’d soon learn to be Dr. Frazier, grabbed your hand. With a steady yank, he pulled you up and off the plastic saddle, leading you into the direction you briefly recalled when exiting your mom’s car earlier. A wrinkle appeared between your brows, head twisting around to watch the fair lights grow dimmer as you grew closer to the parking lot. Where was he taking you? You didn’t want to leave! You hadn’t done nearly enough yet, there was still the teacups your mom had promised you could take your brother on once she finished getting you guys the elephant ear you had so craved when first entering. 

“Hey, Mister! Let me go!” You said, a huff escaping as you dug your heels into the gravel. It was ill timed as your body was tugged forward from his brisk pace, collapsing onto the sharp pebbles. A cry escaped your lips at the feeling, rocks tearing into the flesh of your legs that weren’t protected because of the bright red shorts you wore. The sting of blood radiated against your scraped knees, your bottom lip folding beneath your front teeth causing tears to rush forth and burn the corners of your eyes. Dr. Frazier let out an agitated sigh, bending at the knees as he towered over your cowering frame. 

“Listen here, дурак. I’m only going to say this once. You’re going to get up, dust yourself off and follow me obediently to the car. I don’t wanna hear another word, got it?” He snapped, roughly grabbing you by the shoulders. After a shaky nod from you, his features relaxed into an almost serene smile. At the sight of it, you had to hold back a flinch. How could a man so quickly change faces at the drop of a hat? 

Raising on trembling legs, you stood. 

“Good girl. Now, come along. I have some people I want you to meet.”

If your six years of life had taught you anything, it was that you were anything but. Time and time again, you tested the patience of your parents, whether that be by throwing flour across kitchen counters at your siblings while your father made dinner or by the simple nature in which you radiated constant energy. Your mom always blamed it on your age but as you grew older and your legs never stopped bouncing or shifting in place, they had begun questioning it. 

By age five, you were in the doctor’s office of your local pediatric hospital, eyes darting to and fro as your foot tapped a frantic rhythm on the linoleum floor. When the kind lady doctor entered the room, you shot up out of your seat, your mouth spouting off random sentences that your mind jumbled together in the effort to leave the confines of your head. From then on, it had been an upheaval battle to focus your thoughts. You wanted to be better because you saw the exhaustion in the gaze of your parents but you didn’t know how. You had so much to say and so little time to say it, you couldn’t help the fact that your senses were constantly bombarded by everything and nothing, all at once. 

So it took you by no surprise that once your nerves calmed ever so slightly, you threw yourself into a sprint, away from the man that you finally realized wanted to hurt you. Your freedom was short-lived, your legs only so long, your feet only so fast. Dr. Frazier was back on you in seconds, the deserted parking lot doing nothing to aid in your attempt to escape. He whirled you around, behemoth of a hand shuttering its way across your mouth to silence your scream. In no time, he had hoisted you up, slamming your head against the collar of his shirt. You kicked and screamed, making all the effort but to strangers, it would only appear to be a father quieting his daughter’s tantrum. 

He had taken advantage of your childish urges, used them against you, and you had been paying the price ever since. The experiments had started shortly after but that was a time you refused to look back on. You did that enough in your nightmares. You wished desperately that you were back in your mother’s hold, to hear the sound of your brother’s babbling. To remember your father’s face, to see their smiles and just be whole again. No fears, no trauma, no pain.

You wished for all of those things but you had lost the hope of them a lifetime ago. 

Another long exhale broke you out of reverie but this time, smoke did not follow, and the sound was accompanied by the flare of Dr. Frazier’s nostrils. He never was happy when you ignored him, of course. 

Making eye contact with his flaming, coal irises, your expression settled into a neutral one. You had long since stopped giving him the satisfaction of any one emotion. 

“No, sir.” You spoke precisely, both words enunciated with clear intent. He did not suffer a bumbling fool, the angry, red lashes on your back attested to that. 

You did not fear death, for it is only in harboring it, will you be set free. Going so far as to fool yourself into believing that you would welcome it with open arms. God, you were tired. Tired of experiments, of the constant need to please, of sacrificing every part of yourself for the good of someone else. You wondered when it would be enough, if it would ever be enough? Hope was such a fickle thing, it fleeted carelessly each passing day. Back before you knew better, you held onto it in tightly fisted grips but all it ever did was crunch beneath the weight and fall in shattered remains through pleading hands. It no longer bore any life into aching bones and dull eyes. 

A smirk fused itself into the corners of Dr. Frazier’s mouth, an airy chuckle blowing residual smoke from tar-tainted lungs, further proven by the dry hacking that produced droplets of blood that fell to the floor near your feet. A surge of satisfaction ran through you at the sight but you quelled it before your lips could uptick. 

The lock to your cell door clicked, signaling its unlocking as the rest of his body came into view. 

“Time for another trial, 81. Maybe death will show its face for you this time.” Four armed guards flanked around you, forming a rough diamond shape once you stepped out into the dimly lit hallway. Dr. Frazier took his place at front, a single guard in-between the two of you. Fresh faces, it would seem. Your head tilted vaguely at the thought, surveying your surroundings without moving your head. The only guard you couldn’t see was the one directly behind you but you caught a glimpse of him when exiting your room. He was fidgeting with his rifle, eyes skirting between everyone and a nervous breath breaking into the silence. 

The guard to your left held none of those same ticks, face cold and closed off. The one on the right held himself in the same way. To your luck, the one in front shared similar traits to the guard behind you, with faltering steps and bated breaths. If you so desired, you could risk an escape but the humming shackles tightly enclosed around your wrists served to remind you that you were currently powerless, rendering the jolt of energy that rumbled in your veins null. You couldn’t remember the last time they were taken off. 

Following obediently, you were led past multiple corridors, mindlessly counting and naming off each turn even though you already knew the path by heart. Left, right, right, left, right. Coming to a halt, you took in the familiar sight of yet another vibranium door. As you passed the threshold, the room before you opened up. The back wall had a floor to ceiling one-way mirror, hiding the onlookers from view that you knew watched every single trial. The rest of the walls were made of the same metal as the door you came through, free of scratches and dents unlike your own cell walls. In the middle of the room sat a lone recliner chair, facing away from you, a neuro-brain scanner attached to the headrest. “You know what to do, 81.” 

Fate was a cruel mistress.

You made your way to the chair, your arms extended so that Dr. Frazier could attach the long, threaded chain to your cuffs. An inaudible sigh reached your tongue as he tightened the scanner around your chin before the chair drew back with a hiss. Your eyes closed on instinct when he pressed a series of buttons on the rollaway computer but snapped open soon after when you felt his presence on your left. In his hand was a syringe filled with a frosted liquid, stark in color against his tanned skin. You shook your head at the sight of it, knowing its purpose. 

Lights out. 

The needle fell from his grasp as alarms blared overhead, a frantic look overcoming Dr. Frazier’s features. Quickly, he paced back over to the computer, fingers anxiously typing out a shutdown sequence and subsequent wipe of all systems. The screen flashed, a loading bar steadily creeping. Five percent complete. A round of muffled footsteps echoed behind the trial room door, drawing closer as multiple gunshots were fired and a strange clang cut through the noise. Twenty percent complete. Sweat gathered on your forehead, glistening in a light sheen as he swiped the syringe from the floor. Swift footfalls drew near as Frazier plunged the sharp point into your skin, emptying the liquid. Thirty-two percent complete. Your body seized, rattling in the seat, a spluttering cough leaving your chest. 

“Time’s up, дурак. The Reaper shall be the one to pay your dues now.” Frazier whispered menacingly in your ear, a loose hand digging into his lab coat pockets -- two different but cylindrical pills resurfacing in his grasp. His beady eyes swept over your convulsing form, fingers reaching to comb the long bangs plastered to your head, longingly. Pressing his palm to your forehead to stabilize your movement, the white capsule in his fist settled over your mouth, forcing its way past your clenched teeth. 

The processing bar jumped. Seventy-two percent complete. 

“Hail Hydra.” Dr. Frazier popped the other, black in color, tablet down his throat. The reaction was almost instantaneous, one moment his feet were grounded on the floor and the next, his lean body doubled over, choked gasps foaming down his chin. You looked on, wincing as your brain pounded against your skull. The veins in your forearms rose from deep beneath your skin, forming almost thick strings that cascaded throughout your flesh. He had granted himself a quick, painless death but had not given you the same luxury. 

Ninety-five percent complete.

You had lied to Frazier earlier, you were completely terrified to die. You still wanted to taste freedom for the first time in twenty years, you wanted home cooked meals and soothing drawls to talk down all the fear you were forced to face. You wanted to learn, about anything and everything, however useless the skill or hard the task. You wanted the forest and all its trees, the ocean and its rumbling waves. The shore, the moon, the endless expanse of stars. Selfishly, you wanted it all. Everything you had missed out on because a cruel man decided he had the right to take it away. So, please. You thought, as your head swam, vision blurring as you heard the door behind you bang open. Rushed footfalls drawing closer as you caught a faint glimpse of red hair and a glimmer of urgent voices before the darkness took over. 

Let me be free.

Error: Shutdown cancelled.

[pinksnowboots]

Allegro Appassionato (4/?)

Fandom: Yuri!!! on Ice

Characters: Yuri Plisetsky, Victor Nikiforov

Summary: Despite what everyone else says, Yuri is not a kitten. Yuri is a tiger.

Also read on AO3

There are a lot of things that Yuri likes about being in St. Petersburg. He likes that the summer camp classes move at a faster pace than the ones back home, where half the kids were just there because their parents wanted them out of the house. He likes that the other skaters are all good, much better than the ones back home, and that sometimes they teach him new things that the coaches refuse to teach a student as young as him. Even when no one will teach him, he's got plenty of talented skaters to watch and more often than not, he can start figuring it out himself. He likes that the skating rinks are bigger and better than they were back home.

Yuri especially likes that now that he's here, everyone takes him seriously, because only serious skaters move away from their homes to train. Plus, even in the classes here, he's one of the best.

On the other hand, there are also things he doesn't like about St. Petersburg. He doesn't like that the skaters at the training camp are from all over the world and speak English most of the time. He doesn't like the older skaters who all think they're going to be famous as soon as they get out of the junior division, especially since he can tell that most of them are wrong.

He doesn't like that here, he's only one of the best, rather than the best.

In his hometown, nobody could even come close to him, but the rink in St. Petersburg is filled with skaters whose goal is to skate in the Olympics, in the Grand Prix, in the World Championships, and they’re here to do anything they can to achieve that goal. Many of them are older than he is, or they’ve been here longer than he has, and as much as it hurts him to admit it, they’re better.

Academically, Yuri had known that he’d be among better skaters, but it hadn’t been real to him. He’d gotten so used to being not only the best, but the most ambitious, the most determined, the most hardworking that he didn’t have any idea how to act when he wasn’t the most anything except for the most new. He’s intimidated, and realizing that only makes him angrier because he feels like he shouldn’t be intimidated by these people.

When Yuri loses his first competition since moving to St. Petersburg, coming in 4th in his division by less than five points, he takes off his skates and throws them against the wall. It’s childish, throwing a temper tantrum, but it’s better than crying.

He looks up when he hears slow clapping coming from the door of the locker room and sees the gold medalist, a boy from Canada who is two years older than him, has been training in St. Petersburg for almost three years, and is constantly sporting a grin that could turn cruel with one twitch of a muscle.

“Throwing a temper tantrum? Poor little kitten!” He says.

Yuri's English isn't the best, but he knows enough to know when he's being mocked.

“Fuck off!” Yuri growls, using one of the words that Grandpa says he’s not supposed to know.

“Ooooh,” The other boy’s grin turns properly cruel and Yuri does his best not to feel scared. “Fiesty! This kitten has claws. But still, it’s in your best interest to leave these competitions to the big dogs.”

He dips out, giggling and obviously pleased with himself, as Yuri mumbles in Russian, low and murderous, “I do have claws motherfucker, come over here and I’ll show you.”

Yuri wishes that would be the end of it, but the other boy is a rink mate and a ringleader to boot, and he and his cronies seem to have decided that mocking Yuri is their new favorite hobby. They call him cute and childish, they laugh when he falls, they make fun of his broken English and they meow at him in the locker room.  

Sure, Yuri likes cats, but he doesn't like assholes, and he doesn't like this.

He ignores it as much as he can, but the mockery brings back the anger that he'd temporarily shed when he'd first moved. He tries not to let it affect him, but unlike his skating, his emotions have never been something he can totally control, and he feels the hurt and anger deeply and violently.

He tries to keep his pain a secret from his grandfather, but the day that the Canadian boy and his cronies vandalize Yuri's locker, his grandfather comes home to find him punching his pillow and swearing in two languages.

"Yuroshka," he says softly, as if approaching a wounded animal likely to lash out at anyone trying to help, "What's wrong?"

Yuri tends to get angry when he's upset, but this has been going on for too long, and he's just tired, so fucking tired. He means to tell Grandpa what's going on, to yell and scream because that's how he feels about it, but all that comes out is tears.

Grandpa comes to sit beside him on the bed and strokes his back, lets him cry.

Eventually Yuri catches his breath enough to speak, "The other boys at the rink, they bully me. They make fun of my English and my height and they call me a kitten." Yuri spits the word "kitten" like it's the vilest insult he can think of.

"Oh Yura," Grandpa says. "Don't you know that they're just jealous of you?"

"I know they're jealous of me but I don't care, if they're jealous they should just get better."

"Well," Grandpa says. "If they're not going to work to get better, then you'll have to. They can laugh all they want now, but making them watch you surpass them is the best revenge you can get."

"Hmmm, maybe." Yuri considers the idea. "I'd still rather punch them."

Grandpa laughs and hugs him and Yuri decides not to tell him that it wasn't a joke at all.

The next day Yuri comes home and finds a stuffed tiger sitting on his bed.

"Grandpa, what's this? Is this for me?" Yuri asks, clutching the tiger in his arms.

"Of course it's for you," Grandpa replies. "It's to remind you that you're not a kitten; you're a tiger, and nothing anyone else says can change that."

"A tiger." Yuri repeats, turning the words over in his head, testing out how they feel on his lips. "I'm a tiger."

"You certainly are," Grandpa agrees, a smile on his lips.

Yuri's still angry with his bullies. It's not fair for them to mock him for nothing other than being younger, smaller, more delicate than most of them, but still showing more promise. It's not fair that they can be allowed to affect him like this, in a way that hurts his feelings and his concentration, and therefore his performance.

It's not fair, so Yuri sets out to fix it. He's not going to curl up in a corner and cry, like a child or a kitten. He's going to be a tiger.

He can't make them stop mocking him, because he's learned from experience that the more he protests, the more they laugh. Ironically, it reminds him of a cat, toying with a mouse because it's more fun when their prey struggles. But what he can do is refuse to let their taunts impact him. He uses his anger to fuel him, to keep him going to practice a jump or a spin just one more time even when his muscles are aching from exhaustion, to stretch just a little further in ballet class, to help him keep his face stony even when someone calls his name with a cruel voice.

Tigers are dangerous because of their grace, and Yuri learns to move with deadly grace. Whenever someone calls him a child, he tells himself that he's going to break records at a younger age than any of the previous record holders. When someone laughs when he falls, he pictures his anger as a fire in his belly, burning the fuel that lets him get up and try again. When someone calls him a kitten, his inner tiger roars.

Soon, Yuri goes from being one of the best to being the best. His inner tiger purrs at the revelation, and his outer self smiles, satisfied and just a tiny bit smug.

Yuri first sees Victor Nikiforov in person at the end of the summer training camp. Yakov has arranged for Victor to perform his short program for all the participants in the training camp, to inspire them to keep skating and, Yuri things, to show off his prized pupil.

Victor is shorter than Yuri imagined he would be, but that tends to be the case with childhood heroes. He takes the ice wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, and it's so different than the Victor Nikiforov that Yuri's watched avidly on television for as long as he can remember that it's jarring. The Victor he's used to seeing wears makeup and flashy costumes, gives perfectly poised press conferences and interviews, and only exists on television. This Victor is dressed the same clothes Yuri practices in (but, Yuri notes, Victor's sweatpants are much uglier) and before he enters the rink, he says something to Yakov that makes Yakov turn red and snap at Victor as he skates away, laughing a laugh that Yuri's never heard before despite having heard Victor laugh at interviewers' bad jokes hundreds of times. This Victor is real.

Victor skates over to the edge of the rink where he and the other skaters are sitting, and Yuri swears that several girls almost faint.

"Hi, I'm Victor Nikiforov," he says, waving and grinning a rather stupid looking grin. "I don't know if you've heard of me, but I'm one of Yakov's figure skaters."

It's a terrible joke, but everyone laughs anyway. Yuri is surprised to find that he's laughing too, even though as soon as Victor started speaking to them, the television-Victor persona returned.

"The theme for my program this year is the myth of Icarus and Daedalus. In case you don't know the story, Daedalus was a master craftsman, and he made wings out of wax and feathers so that he and his son could fly. Before giving Icarus the wings, he warned him not to fly too high. Icarus was so excited about the feeling of flying that he ignored his father's warning and he flew so high that the sun melted his wings and he fell to his death."

Victor's smile never wavers, incongruous with the darkness of the story. Yuri sees several confused faces around him, either because of the darkness of the story or because of Victor's quick and slightly accented English.

"My short program and free skate express the feeling of this story." Victor continues. "My short program is about the euphoria of flying, and my free skate is about falling back to earth."

Victor gestures for Yakov to start the music, and it's as if he transforms. Yuri forgets that Victor is wearing ugly sweatpants and that his hair looks like he just rolled out of bed, because as soon as Victor starts skating all that matters is the way that he moves.

There's a reason that Victor is famous. On top of his routine being technically impeccable, his stage presence is undeniable. Yuri's seen him on TV countless times, has watched and rewatched videos of Victor to analyze just how he pulls off a quad or a challenging step sequence, but seeing him in person is a completely different experience. Seeing Victor skate on the very same ice that Yuri just skated on earlier that day pulls at something in his chest, a longing feeling that Yuri can't quite define.

Victor says in almost every interview that he gives that his biggest goal is to surprise his audience, and in this respect his program is a huge success. Victor's program clearly tells his story, and his jumps seem to get higher and higher as the program goes on, and Yuri pictures a young bird just learning how to fly, ecstatic over his newfound abilities and swooping and soaring just because he can.

By the end of the performance, Yuri is on the edge of his seat, leaning forward so far that he almost falls on top of the person in front of him. As Victor strikes his final pose and everyone around him erupts into cheers, Yuri realizes that he's not breathing.

"Thank you, thank you!" Victor takes a bow, suddenly turning back into TV-interview-Victor. "I hope you enjoyed the performance. If you work hard, maybe someday one of you will be doing standing here in ten years, telling a new group of young skaters to keep working towards their dreams."

It's cheesy, and Yuri rolls his eyes as Victor returns to talk to Yakov and everyone else starts packing up their things and heading home. But at the same time, Yuri gets an image of himself, but older, showing off a routine that he knew would win gold to young skaters who looked incredibly excited to see their idol, Yuri Plisetsky.

Their coaches told them not to bother Victor because he's a busy man and is being kind enough to take time out of his day to skate for them and so on and so forth. Yuri's heard those reminders, and he meant to follow them, he really did, but he finds himself walking over to Victor and Yakov. He's met Yakov once and Victor never, but even so he calls Victor's name.

Victor turns around and looks at Yuri, confused. "Hello." He says in English.

The coach who leads Yuri's class sees Yuri approach Victor from across the rink, glares at Yuri as if by thinking hard enough she can get Yuri to behave the way she wants him to as she rushes towards them to do damage control.

No one has ever been able to get Yuri to behave the way they want him to.

"Hello," Yuri replies in Russian, intentionally not thinking about the fact that he's potentially being rude to The Victor Nikiforov, "I'm Yuri Plisetsky."

"Nice to meet you, Yuri Plisetsky." Victor replies in Russian, and the switch to his mother tongue emboldens Yuri to continue.

"You said that one of us might be where you are in ten years. Well, that's going to be me."

Yuri doesn't quite know why he's here, talking to Victor Nikiforov in a tone of voice that sounds almost like a challenge, but he's come this far and Yuri Plisetsky does not back down.

"Really?" Victor replies, thankfully sounding amused instead of annoyed. Yakov's face appears to be slowly turning redder and redder. "You think that you can catch up to me in ten years, Yuri Plisetsky?"

Victor draws out all the syllables in his name, in a way that could be interpreted as playful or threatening.

"I can do it in less than ten, Victor Nikiforov." Yuri replies, saying Victor's name the same way.

Victor smiles, a real smile rather than a television smile. "Yuri, did you understand the moral of the story that I skated to? The story Icarus and Daedalus?"

"My wings," Yuri says definitely "Are not made of wax."

Yuri's coach finally reaches them and pulls Yuri away with a hissed "What do you think you're doing? " Victor waves at him as he walks away.

Before he gets pulled out of earshot entirely, Yuri yells back to Victor, "Keep you eyes on me!" His coach squeezes his arm harder, and lectures him the entire walk back to the locker room. She tells him that he was rude, disrespectful, and wasted Victor's precious time. She says that it made him look childish and that it was selfish of him to think he should get to talk to Victor when no one else did.

Yuri ignores her, and she drills him harder the rest of the week as punishment, but then Yakov shows up with Victor to watch one of their practices. Half the students skate better than they ever have on a normal day, and the other half fall on their asses.

Yuri thrives on attention, and he skates better than he ever has before.

His coach is furious when a week later, Yakov comes and asks Yuri if he wants to join the group of skaters that Yakov personally coaches, a group that includes Victor.

Yuri accepts, and it feels like he's flying.