#i actually have some thoughts about lance finally finding peace with himself and the world around him and like

[dragonplated]

//smacking my hands on the table over the dash game post

i have a lot of thoughts about it but i need to eat lunch so i'm letting it percolate but LATER

[coeluvr]

As much as I would love for Alistair to be alive, I've honestly started wondering if it would actually be better that he did die. Both for his and Mc's sake. I know its sad, but otherwise I could see him and mc facing a lot of heartbreak over it.

And its been 10 years, a whole decade. Mc may have had a hard life, but they didn't have to worry about survival/money etc. They lived in relative peace and safety. (Though I'm sure mc got food poisoning at least once..) And they did have people that tried to be there for them. Even mc's that discounted Lance and Hunter's company, they still had Fadiya and Neima. And some mc's are still super messed up. Who knows what Alistair would have had to go through. And how would that have shape him. And the agony of having his twin kidnapped and married off to the same man that killed his family.

So supposing he did survive. Its possible he's off living a relatively peaceful life, albeit still with the trama of losing his familly and nearly dieing. And he would probably be working hard to find a way to rescue Mc. Training and studying and whatnot. Best case scenario, his personality has dulled but still retained a bit of sunshine. Mellowed but still hopeful. Still a recognizable older version of himself, even if sadder overall. I think that would definitely hinge on him being rescued and taken in by a kind and loving person/family and got properly cared for emotionally and all. And I feel that is unfortunately not going to be the case if he lived. (Because of course you wouldn't let something so nice happen 😒)

Otherwise, what would have happened? Who would it have been to save him then? Would he have just layed low, gotten a lowkey job, had to steal to survive? Would he have joined some rebel/mercenary group? I feel like some groups would have seen a good oportunity for a royal in their fold. Would the people around him be kind and nurturing, or not? Would he retain his current personality?

Maybe he'd be colder, cinical. Would he have seen and lived the harsh reality of the world and turned into a bitter, cruel, and merciless version of himself, intent on revenge?

What happens when he and Mc finally reunite? Would it be the joyful occasion everyone expects? If the first case, then yes. He and Mc finally get to have a happy life together. The End. Well…maybe. Even if Alistair is still the same as Mc remembers, what about the Mc? What if they've change so drastically, caught up in their hatred and revenge, so unwilling to back down even if it destroys everyone around them? Would they still be someone Alistair could love?

But if he and Mc want revenge just as much, maybe things would work out. Would mc be able to see the change in him reflected back on them and regret what they've both turned into? What if Mc didn't want revenge. Would he aquiesce to mc's wishes or not? Would mc be horrified to see what he had become? The image they once had of him be ruined by this new version.

And past that, how would mc feel about the news of his survival being kept from them?

His body should have been missing, right? Luceris would have know if he had lived in that case, or at least suspected it, and by extention so would Lancelot. I don't know if Helios or Hunter would have know. However, even if they didn't, mc still might think that they both knew and just didn't tell them. Afterall, its not the first time things have been kept from them.

So would mc be able to forgive them, especially one who was close to them. Or would that permanently destroy any trust and friendship they had with them.

- Sorry if this was too much of a ramble. 😂 Just got to thinking a bit to much about what-ifs and all. 💕

This was very interesting, thank you for sharing your thoughts! 🫡

I think when people say they wish for Alistair to be alive, they never consider what being alive could've looked like for him. Nor the fact he could have changed and become someone who is a stranger to MC.

[actress4him]

Bonus Whumptober Content Part 2

Original Whumptober fic here

Bonus Content Part 1 here

Find it all on AO3 here

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Thanks for all of the support on the last chapter! I appreciate each and every one of the likes and reblogs and follows I’ve gotten.

Tagging @outtacommission again because Keith would not have been resurrected from the dead without his bribery.

Here is chapter 3 of this fic... see you next week for the conclusion!

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Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Warnings: referenced amputation, blood mention, referenced broken bones, self-esteem issues, suicide ideation, death mention, nightmares, abandonment issues

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When he woke again, he was lying back down on the pillow, staring up at the blank white ceiling. For one, blissful moment, he didn’t remember the events leading up to him passing out again. But it all came crashing down on him an instant later, taking his breath away.

My leg.

My leg, my leg.

My arm, my face, my leg.

“Keith?” Shiro’s voice was quiet, tentative. Not like him. “Are you awake?”

He wanted to roll over on his side and ignore him. Close his eyes, maybe go back to sleep, pretend that the world and this nightmare didn’t exist for a little while longer. The only reason he refrained was because he wasn’t sure if his stupid, wrecked body could actually manage it.

“What did you do to me?” It was only a whisper, and as slurred as it was, he wouldn’t have been surprised if it was impossible to understand.

Shiro’s breath hitched audibly. If Keith had been looking at his face, he was sure he wouldn’t like the anguished expression that he would see there. But at that moment, he didn’t have the capacity to care.

“Do you want me to...explain...how it...happened?”

No. Yes. He didn’t know. He needed to know why him losing a leg had been the best option, but at the same time he wasn’t sure if he could handle hearing about it. In the end, he just lifted one shoulder - the one that actually listened and responded right away - in a shrug. 

Shiro shifted in his seat, leaning forward so just the tip of his white bangs were in Keith’s periphery. “I already told you that you...died. On that planet. So when we got back to the Castle, you dying again was a distinct possibility. We...it’s like Fallenta said. We had to get you into a pod, even though your...your left arm was broken, and your knees, especially, were a mess from where the console landed on them.”

He paused, rubbing his palms together. “We didn’t know what would happen. I was scared to death that some of those breaks wouldn’t be able to be fixed after the pod. I mean, we were headed to Tellima, but…” His head dropped. “We had no choice. That hole in your stomach...you were dying.”

Keith could almost imagine it - the frantic atmosphere in the infirmary, the blood everywhere, the desperate conversations escalating into shouts as they debated on what to do. He had no doubt that he really had been dying, that they had made the choice they thought was best. He just wasn’t sure if he agreed with that choice. 

“When you came out of the pod, once the stomach wound was healed enough for you to be stable, Fallenta started working on re-breaking the bones so that they could be set correctly. It was...awful.” The shudder was obvious in his voice. “I’m glad she was able to do it, of course, but I’m also glad that you were unconscious the whole time. Your arm was relatively easy. Your left knee...it took her hours. It was in so many tiny little pieces. And your right…”

Automatically Keith flinched at the reminder of what was no longer there. Of the scarred, chopped off stump that lay just underneath the blanket, and the way his leg just...ended. He could see the void where the rest of it should have been even now, if he were to look down. He was purposely avoiding it.

Shiro heaved a huge sigh. “Unfortunately, your right knee was shattered in a way that had been blocking the circulation in your lower leg the whole time. The tissue down there was...dead.” He paused again. “Keith, I’ve...trust me, I’ve gone ‘round and ‘round in my head ever since we...trying to figure out if there was something I could have done differently. And...I don’t think there was. We did what we had to do to save your life. I’m just...I’m sorry that we couldn’t save your leg, too.”

His leg was gone. 

Would he ever be able to walk again? Could they find a prosthetic for him like Shiro had, that worked as well as the real thing? Even if they did, how long would it take him to get used to walking on it? Just walking, not even counting anything like running, jumping, fighting. 

Fighting was what he did. It was the one and only thing besides flying that he was good at. He was crap with a gun, he couldn’t sit up in a sniper’s nest like Lance. He needed to be able to move. If he couldn’t, even just for the time that it took to learn how with a new leg and an arm that only half worked...

They’d replace him. What good was a paladin who was crippled? Who couldn’t pull his weight? As soon as Red woke up and found out what happened to him she would realize that he was useless now. And the Princess, the rest of the team...they already knew it. They were probably already looking for a new Red Paladin. How long would it be until they dropped him off on Earth, or on some Coalition planet? Probably as soon as he was healed enough. They didn’t have time to keep taking care of an invalid, they had a universe to save.

They did. Not him. Not anymore.

“Should’ve left me there.”

There was dead silence for a moment.

“What?”

Keith tipped his head back further into the pillow, eyes roving over the featureless ceiling as if he’d see something new. “I tol’ you not to come. I tol’ you to leave me there. You didn’t listen.”

“And now you’re alive.”

“Yeah, but why?”

“Keith…”

His hands fisted in the blanket, jaw clenched in sudden fury. “Don’t ‘Keith’ me. Why, Shiro? Why am I alive? What is the point? You know what all this means.”

It meant he’d be alone. And he couldn’t...he couldn’t do alone. Not again. Not when he found a group of people that he actually cared about for the first time in so long. Not when he was just finally getting used to always having people around, always having someone to talk to or distract him from the thoughts that tried to consume him. Not when he barely survived it the first time. 

He’d rather be dead than alone.

Shiro sucked in a deep breath through his nose. “That life is gonna be hard for a while? That you’re gonna have to work harder than ever to get back to where you were? Yeah, Keith, I do know. I know more than anyone else.”

Oh.

Shiro must think he was so incredibly self-centered.

He was self-centered.

He should have thought about how acting like losing a leg was worse than dying would seem to the man who had lost an arm and kept going. But instead he was all caught up in how he was going to lose everything he had grown to love and rely on. Acting like the self-absorbed brat that everyone at the Garrison except Shiro had accused him of being.

“That means I also know how hard it is to accept,” Shiro was saying. “It’s going to take time to adjust. But you will, I promise, and I’ll be here to help you every step of the way.”

Yeah, right. Keith didn’t know if he was lying to make him feel better, or if he just hadn’t yet realized or accepted that Allura and the rest of the team wouldn’t want to keep him around.

“Just...please, Keith. Please don’t say that we should have let you die. You don’t know…” His voice caught. “I’ve spent these last weeks hoping, praying that you would live. Scared out of my mind every moment of every day that you wouldn’t.”

Keith finally forced himself to turn his head toward his brother and saw him brush the back of his wrist across his eyes. Just that movement was enough to make his heart drop to his stomach. Shiro didn’t cry. At least not where anyone could see him. 

Slowly, he slid his hand out across the bed, palm up. A peace offering. It took only a moment for Shiro to take it, squeezing it so hard he thought a few more bones might break.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. And he was. Not for thinking it, but for saying it. He didn’t want to cause any more pain for any of his friends. 

That’s why when it was time for him to go, he’d do it quietly. No fuss. Don’t let them see your fear or your pain - he had learned that long, long ago. He was good at it. 

Shiro gave him a shaky smile. “It’ll be alright, Keith. I promise.”

Swallowing down the words that sprang to his tongue, he gave a nod. “Okay.”

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The next morning Keith woke up to an empty room. In a way, it was a relief. They obviously didn’t see the need to watch over him and baby him twenty-four-seven anymore. But he was, for all intents and purposes, stuck. With no leg, he couldn’t just get up and leave the room whenever he wanted, head to the training room like he normally would in the morning. There’d be no training for him for a long time. 

Of course there was breakfast to think about, too, and he wasn’t sure whether to expect someone to bring it to him, or to bring him to it. Either way, he hated it. He had always hated being treated like he was helpless, and now it was even worse because he actually was helpless. 

He went ahead and made up his mind, though. No matter what their plan was, he had no desire to be carried through the Castle to the dining room where everyone would give him those looks of pity. Poor Keith. Can’t even walk by himself. It’s just too bad he can’t stay.

He was in the midst of pushing himself up off the pillows, trying to get his right side to cooperate long enough to get in an upright position he could balance in and trying to ignore the strange lightness of his leg, when the door opened and Pidge slipped in.

“Hey,” she said softly. Padding over, she perched carefully on the edge of the chair that first Hunk, then Shiro had occupied. 

Tucking his left leg up close to him - the knee creaking in protest at being used for the first time since healing - Keith cleared his throat. “Hi.” 

Silence fell, but it had never been awkward between the two. The introverted arms of Voltron. Pidge just gazed at him for a long moment, her eyes saying all the things he knew she would never actually be able to say with words. “It’s good to see you awake. I was really worried about you.” 

On the outside, she merely shoved her glasses back up into the bridge of her nose and sniffed. “You better not quiznakin’ ever do that again.”

Keith’s lips turned up at the corners for the first time since waking the day before. “Alright.” 

Besides Shiro, he thought he would miss Pidge the most of all. They got each other more than anyone else.

“So.” Straightening up, she whipped a tablet out of her hoodie pocket. “We’ve been working on a leg for you. The Tellimites have crazy good medical technology, so obviously we’re using their notes, but I’ve also been talking back and forth with the Olkari, because they’re, of course, crazy good with biological connections, and we’ve come up with a design that should communicate really well with your body and, essentially, work like the real thing.”

She launched into a detailed scientific explanation of how every inch of it worked, tapping and flicking through various diagrams that just looked like a plain prosthetic leg to him. He didn’t understand but a few words here and there, but he let her talk. This was one of her passions, and it was nice to let her be able to ramble about it for once without having to worry about being rushed. The way her face lit up was worth every second.

“So...what do you think?” Suddenly she sounded uncertain as she blinked up at him. “We definitely want your input on it. I mean, I suggested putting in a rocket booster, but Hunk pointed out that it would be difficult to control with only one. Lance wanted to add lasers that shot out anytime you stomped your foot, but that seemed pretty dangerous for like, running and stuff, so…”

It almost sounded like they expected him to still be fighting with this thing. Well, maybe he would. Eventually. After all, he wouldn’t feel right about just ignoring the existence of the war when the people he cared about were still out there fighting it, so he’d do his best to get back into shape. Maybe he could convince them to find a Coalition planet for him that had soldiers he could fight with someday.

It wouldn’t be the same as fighting with this team, his...his friends. But at least he wouldn’t be completely useless.

He met Pidge’s eyes and realized she was still waiting on an answer from him. Part of him wanted to keep his words to a minimum, not wanting her to hear his new speech impediment, but he swallowed his pride. “It, uh...whatever you guys come up with I’m sure will be great.” He actually hadn’t even been sure whether to expect them to work on it themselves, or put it off on the Tellimites or some other able species. It made sense, though, that Pidge and Hunk would want to jump on this opportunity to design something they had never gotten to do before. He forced a small smile. “But...yeah, let’s hold off on weaponizing it.”

Smirking, Pidge turned off the tablet and stuck it back in her pocket. “Alright, if you insist. Lance is gonna be super disappointed, though.”

“I’m sure.” He could hear the whining and complaining about how boring and unimaginative he was now. 

“So, I was supposed to ask you about breakfast…?”

Keith stared down at his hands. “Oh. Yeah. I don’...think I’m really ready to...try to move around yet, so…”

He was such a bad liar. But Pidge either didn’t notice or was being nice and pretending not to, merely nodding and standing. 

“Okay. I’ll tell Shiro, he’ll probably bring you a plate down here.”

“Thanks, Pidge.”

She turned back from the doorway and smiled softly at him. “No problem.”

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The nightmares came that night.

And the next. And the next.

Snippets of things he didn’t remember during the day, and wouldn’t remember again when he woke. Alarms blaring. Lights flashing. A horrifying crunching sound, then crippling pain and a bitter taste in the back of his throat.

And then...nothing. No one came. No one heard him calling. He stayed there, alone and bleeding in the dark, until the pain became too much and he slipped away.

He woke with tears streaming down his cheeks and a scream on his lips that didn’t quite make it out into the still air of the infirmary, not knowing what he was even crying about other than the nauseating loneliness that weighed him down, pinning him to the bed. 

Forcing his right hand to be the one to clumsily scrub away the tears - because it was going to work, dang it - he gritted his teeth and pushed against the weight to flop over onto his side. 

Get over it. Get over it, get used to it, stop being such a baby. You’ve always known that this wouldn’t last. It’s a miracle they’ve stuck around for as long as they have. If you try to hang onto them they’ll just end up hating you before they leave. 

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He got away with hiding in the infirmary for two days before Fallenta declared him well enough to be up and about, and Shiro and Allura showed up with the Altean version of crutches. They escorted him slowly down the halls of the Castle to the dining room, chatting amiably the whole way. Keith assumed it was meant to either distract him from his plight, or to keep themselves from staring and pitying.

“Hey, look who finally decided to join us!” Lance announced loudly as soon as he hobbled into the room. “It’s about time you were out of bed, Mullet-head.”

“What Lance means,” Hunk sighed, “is that it’s good to see you up, Keith.”

“That it is, Number Four!” Coran rushed to pull out his usual seat, and his smile was so bright Keith couldn’t even be mad about the special treatment. “You had us all worried for a while there, for sure!”

Swallowing, Keith fiddled with his spork, unsure whether he was supposed to respond. “Um...yeah. Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Keith.” Shiro smiled at him softly, knowingly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He just barely kept another ‘sorry’ from escaping. Instead he nodded, picked up his spork with his left hand, and changed the subject. “So, uh...wha’s been going on lately?”

That was all it took for everyone to launch into tales of short missions in the Lions, repairs on Red, and alliances with Tellima. Keith barely remembered to keep eating his goo as he watched all of the animated faces and gesturing hands with a small smile on his face. It was good to be back among his teammates. They were so unlike him in so many ways, it was no wonder that he had never really fit in with them. But he cared about them anyway. They might not feel the same way about him, but he was so glad that they had become a part of his life. 

And now they wouldn’t be anymore. Scowling down into his bowl where no one would notice, he poked at the green goo. How did I let myself get so attached? Before Shiro, it had been many, many years since he had let himself care about anyone this much. He should have known better by then. Letting himself come to consider any person or place home was just setting himself up for heartbreak.

As much as he loved spending this last bit of time with them, he almost wished they would stop acting so natural, as if they weren’t getting ready to kick him out any day now. No one mentioned a search for a new paladin. No one said whether they were headed to Earth, or some other planet. 

He wasn’t going to be able to stand the suspense for many more days. They needed to just get it over with.

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Later that night, after waking from another nightmare back in his own room, Keith stared at the bare walls, so lifeless compared to the other paladin’s rooms. Maybe I was always prepared for this moment, after all. Or maybe he had just been kicked out and left behind so many times that the ability to settle in was impossible for him no matter where he went. 

Struggling to sit up, he groped for the crutches and pulled himself to his feet. He wasn’t going to get back to sleep anytime soon, and no one had expressly forbidden him from venturing out on his own - not that it would have stopped him even if they had.

It took far too long to make it down the four hallways between his room and Red’s hangar. Walking with crutches used a whole new set of muscles that he wasn’t used to accessing, and trying to force his right side to carry that much weight was exhausting. He had to stop and lean against the wall, panting for breath, several times along the way. 

But he made it, eventually. He paused once more outside the door, debating whether or not he was actually ready to see the damage done to Red, before he sucked it up and punched the scanner.

He wasn’t ready. 

The great mechanical beast was lying on her side, a position that somehow managed to make her look vulnerable despite her hulking size. Her legs were splayed awkwardly as if she had just been dropped there. She probably had.

The worst part, though, was that her face was nearly unrecognizable. What had once been her muzzle was completely smashed in, there were spiderweb cracks across one of her dull grey eyes, and the other was missing altogether. 

Actually, he took that back. The worst part was the cold and the silence. 

No purr in his head to greet him. No eyes lighting up in recognition of her Paladin. No warmth filling up his chest and spreading out to his fingers and toes. With Red, there was always some kind of heat. Now, though, a shiver shook his body.

Clenching his jaw, Keith forced himself a few steps closer, until he could reach out, balancing precariously, and lay a hand against her warped, dented nose. It was cold, too. 

Suddenly tears sprang to his eyes for the first time since his panic attack a couple of days before. “‘m sorry, Red.” He stroked his hand over the metal, feeling all of the bumps that shouldn’t have been there. “I’m sorry this happened to you. You didn’t deserve it. You...you’ve always protected me, and…”

Tipping his head back, he took in the mess of a cockpit again, and this time he saw flashes of his nightmare. Something sharp pinning him to the chair. Blood dripping onto the floor.

One tear escaped, sliding rapidly down to his chin. “I don’t even know how I survived this. But if either of us deserved to survive, it’s you. Please, Red...if you can hear me at all...please don’t give up. I know I...I can’t fly you anymore, but…”

It hit him then, the brutal truth of that statement. He’d never fly her again. He might never fly anything again. He’d known it ever since finding out what had happened to him, but now it stabbed him through the heart, how much he was going to miss this semi-sentient alien ship. 

Before he knew it, he was falling none-too-gracefully to the floor, one hand planted in front of him while the other remained on her snout, crutches clattering loudly to the side. The tears came in earnest, then. “Red...Red I lost my leg. I...I can’t fight anymore, I can’t fly…I’m useless.”

He’d told her that before. That time, though, she had reassured him that no, he was her Paladin, he was a defender of the universe, not useless. Never useless.

But now there was no one to reassure him. Even if she had been able, Red would know the truth. He wasn’t her Paladin anymore, he wasn’t a defender of the universe. He was useless.

Next

[snaileer]

Chips & Salsa, Chp 8

Keith had decided that Altean medical beds were the worst thing to curse the universe since the discontinuation of 2-in-1 hair products.

At least he definitely thought so from the last 30 minutes he’d spent sitting on one. Coran was still looking for the right salve or something for his bruises. He’d tried to get out of it but Shiro had stared him down all the way from the armory to the Medbay.

Even Keith wasn’t immune to ‘The Look.’

“Aha!” Coran jumped in triumph, holding up a small container like treasure, “I found it!”

Keith tried to get off the bed again, “I told you, Coran, I don’t need any treatment or-”

“Sit.” Shiro rumbled.

“But I-”

“Sit, Keith.” Shiro glared back. Keith would never admit that he pouted as he settled back on the medical bed, it was only a little childish spitefulness. His brother sighed again, “I know you hate doctors but it is only by the grace of god your nose isn’t broken. He almost-”

“Actually, his face is mostly unharmed.” Coran piped in as he got closer. Shiro raised an eyebrow in confusion as the Altean started applying the cream to Keith. “Yes, Lance certainly did a number on him, but there is a degree of restraint. His nose is bruised, a little bloody sure; but it wasn’t hit with anywhere near enough force to break it.”

Keith winced at a bloom of pain on his jaw and growled, “Then why does it hurt so much?”

Coran scoffed and moved to collect more salve as he mumbled, “Probably because I chose the one without pain relievers in it.”

“Coran…” Shiro gave him a stern look, but Coran shrugged it off and kept applying the cream.

“What? I’m not team leader, I have no problems showing favorites,” He said incredulously, “And besides, restraint doesn't mean he didn't hit hard. He just avoided your important bits, y’know, eyes and such. Could be much worse. In fact, this one time Alfor and I had a nasty run-in with some street thugs on a Gaali planet. Nearly ripped my ear off those fuc-”

“Not the time, Coran.” Shiro stepped in, handing Keith his jacket as he hopped down from the bed. “Keith, you need to talk to Lance.”

“What!? He hit me!”

“I don't want to hear who started it Keith,” Shiro followed him out of the room, “You and Lance have always been at each other’s throats, but this is different.”

“It really isn’t, Shiro.”

“Yes, it is. We both know that Lance wouldn’t have commented on your scoff, wouldn’t have taken it that far.”

“Yeah, obviously, I got that. So, what? You want me to just shut up? Stop talking to him?”

“No.” Shiro sighed, “We don’t need to be walking on eggshells around him, god no; but we still have to recognize that he’s gone through something traumatic. Is still going through it.”

“So did you Shiro. And he took advantage of your sympathy. I’m not going to give him mine, because clearly, he only cares about himself.” His voice grew in agitation.

“That’s not true, Keith, and you know it.” Shiro said, trying to convince Keith to just stop being so stubborn.

“Then why can’t he act like it!”

Shiro looked back over his shoulder, then over the other.

“What the hell are you doing, Shiro!?” Keith shouted. He was sick of his brother always-

Shiro crossed his arms and glared down at Keith, “I’m trying to find who you think you’re yelling at, because I know for damn sure it’s not me.” 

Keith growled and grit his teeth, “I’m not up for your stupid-”

“Try again.”

“I don’t-”

“No.”

“What do you mean ‘no’? I was trying to-” Keith threw his hands in the air at Shiro. Shiro and all his stupid vagueness.

“I mean, no. You don’t get to write him off this quickly. I want you to give him a chance.”

“I already did!”

“Then give him another one.”

“Why!?” Keith shot back.

“Because he deserves it,” Shiro answered, his words solemn enough to shut Keith’s mouth with a snap. “Don’t you think, that after everything, everything we’ve been through, everything he went through, everything he went through for us.. don’t you think he deserves another chance? Don’t you think he deserves a few chances?”

“But I- But he- We can’t just-” Keith shuffled through refusals, but each one fell short. 

“I’ve been where he is, Keith. And it isn’t as easy as ‘go back to normal.’ Surviving that… it takes everything.” Shiro took a deep breath to steady himself, “You can’t afford to be kind, or caring, or selfless. And even when every, single, part of you rushes to save somebody,” He paused and made eye contact again, “You have to push it down.”

Keith stood silently for a moment, looking back at Shiro. Sorrow, guilt, regret washed over his face because he hadn’t been able to save Shiro.

Not just Shiro, his brain reminded him. 

Keith shifted his eyes away, staring at his shoes. “Is it really going to be that hard to get him back?” He said softly, the air fragile.

“We still have to try.” 

Keith twitched his lips back and forth, clenching and unclenching his jaw. Rolling the debate over his tongue. He hated to back down from an argument.

“So?...” Shiro questioned, raising an eyebrow and leaning back on his hip. Keith sighed dramatically.

“Fine.” He threw his hands up for good measure, “I’ll give him another chance.”

“Finally! God, I thought I was gonna have to bribe you or something.” Shiro dropped his arms from his chest in exasperation, “I swear, for how much you two care about each other, it’s ridiculously hard to get you to just talk.”

“What?”

Now it was Shiro’s turn to sigh, “Nothing. Just… trying to get this team to function is like pulling teeth. And I very specifically refused my parent’s desire for me to become a dentist.”

Keith gave a breathless laugh, “Ha!” He looked Shiro up and down, “Like you’re any better.”

An affronted look grew across Shiro’s face, “I’m not-” 

Keith took that moment to dash down the hall, away from any more lectures.

“I’m not that bad!... And apologize to Lance!” Shiro shouted out after his rapidly disappearing shape. Keith threw back a rushed ‘will do!’ as he made his escape.

Shiro stood in the hallway, unmoving for a second. Thinking.

“Oh! Number one, you’re still here,” Coran walked out from around a corner, “Did you need something? Why are you just standing in the middle of the hall?”

“No reason…” Shiro paused, “I think I’m just now understanding why my grandmother got paid so much to be a matchmaker.” He stared off into the distance; his face the picture of resignation.

“Ah! A noble profession indeed! Y’know, one could say that I’m responsible for Alfor and Melenor getting together. Pah! The kingdom would have fallen without me!”

Shiro resisted the sudden urge to remind him that it did.

Instead, he listened to Coran regale him with tales of how he saved the castle (“more than once, might I add”), while they walked, side-by-side, through the corridors.

-x-x-x-

Lance ran his hands across the grass. Trying to pick out each blade of green beneath his fingers. He couldn’t.

It made sense, honestly. In a weird sort of way. Same reason the clouds never moved across the picturesque blue sky. Same reason that though he could see the wind shift the grass, he couldn’t feel any breeze on his skin.

It was fake. A hologram. The wonders of alien technology to create a world that seemed so real and yet-

Wetness dripped onto his cheek. 

Lance squeezed his eyes closed tighter and tried to ignore it. To relish in the momentary sense of peace. 

The peace that always came after a fight. As petty as it’d been, his fight with Keith had helped. He needed it; to fight, to fight without restraints or routine practice. Just to fight, to grapple for the right to exist like he had in the-

Something blocked the light in front of him, casting a shadow over his face. He peeked open an eyelid… Just in time to see a blob of saliva dangling right above his eye.

“Kaltenecker!” Lance flung himself out of the cow’s drool range. He groaned, awkwardly rubbing his cheek against his shoulder in a desperate attempt to wipe it off.

“That’s so disgusting!”

“Mooooo,” Kaltnecker glanced up with half-lidded eyes as she continued to eat at the spot where he was just laying.

“I can’t believe you’d betray me like this! Oh, the pain!” Lance put his hand to his forehead dramatically, “How ever will I go on?!” 

Kaltnecker, seemingly unbothered by him, continued chewing. Lance tried to sneak a glimpse at her without breaking character, disappointed to see her lack of reaction.

“Oh, tough crowd, huh?” 

She turned to the side, flicking her tail at him dismissively.

“I bet…” he paused and got to his feet, “THIS’LL change your mind!” Lance jumped at her, aiming for surprise, “Raahhh! Oof.” He hit her side like a brick wall, Kaltnecker sparing him no more than a look.

“I think I’d forgotten how hard it is to mess with cows.” He narrowed his eyes at her, then shrugged and smirked, “Oh, well.. Guess I’ll just have too....” Lance took a couple steps away, before turning back, “Lay on you instead! Ah-Ha!” He leapt onto the cow’s back like a starfish, searching for enough grip to stay attached.

He leaned his head down to her eye-level, “Still nothing, huh girl?” She blinked at him, smacked her lips, …. And then kept chewing.

“Lance?” Both cow and paladin’s heads shot upright at the voice. Hunk stood in the doorway with a bucket and a weird container next to him.

Kaltenecker found this infinitely more exciting than Lance’s efforts at bothering her and a loud ‘MOOO’ came from below Lance. 

Uh oh.

Kaltenecker galloped for the door, suddenly full of energy, hauling Lance along with her as he held on for dear life.

She finally stopped in front of Hunk’s feet, pausing for a moment until-

“Hoe, don't do it-” Lance scrambled to get off her in time, but failed as she plopped down on top of him. Sitting like a dog. 

Lance groaned at the sudden weight, resigned to trying to keep her tail from slapping him in the face.

“Hey there big girl! Excited to see me?” Hunk’s words only served to make her tail slap harder. Lance struggled to lean around her enough to see what he was doing.

Hunk pulled a package of some type of ‘alien-hay-feed’ out of the container at his feet. Hefting it into his arms, he carried it over to the small stall they had for the cow, Kaltenecker following behind him dutifully. Finally releasing Lance.

“Are we sure you’re not giving her too much of that stuff?” Lance groaned and rubbed his sides.

“Nah, Pidge calculated the perfect amount, I just don't think you're supposed to have cows sitting on you.” Hunk waved him off as he emptied the food into the trough. Hunk perked up like he’d remembered something, “Oh! Pidge! I promised her I’d help fix the glitches in the-” 

“Then go, I’m sure Kaltenecker will be fine,” Lance assured him as he got closer.

Hunk glanced from the cow, to Lance, to the bucket he left by the door, “But I have to-” 

Lance followed his line of sight, “Oh! I can do it buddy! Just go do your computer thing,” He smiled at him and went to grab the bucket.

“Are you sure? ‘Cuz I can stay if-” Hunk’s hands started fidgeting as he crumpled up the feed package and came closer.

“Gooo. I’ve done this before! Or did you forget who taught you?” Lance got behind him and playfully started urging him out of the room.

“Who? Your Uncle Leo?” Hunk said as he dug his heels in.

“No, me!” 

“I think I distinctly remember Leo teaching-” Hunk caught Lance’s eyes, joking glare and all, “Fine. Fine, I’ll go. But I’m making ice cream for dessert so make sure to bring the milk by the kitchen so you can help before dinner.” Hunk smiled back at his friend as he was pushed out of the room. It was nice to have someone take over with Kaltenecker, he was finally free to work on stuff with Pidge like he’d been putting off.

Behind the doors, Lance picked up the bucket and faced Kaltenecker with determination. 

“Now you have to pay attention to me, pretty girl.”

-x-x-x-

By the time Lance had finally, finally gotten Kaltenecker to cooperate enough for him to milk her, he’d already wasted half an hour.

So he had absolutely no qualms about leaving her alone in her ‘pasture’, and he was definitely not sulking.

Still, the whole process satisfied something in him. Something about the actions just brought him back to his childhood trips to Uncle Leo’s dairy farm.

And yeah, they were in space, not south eastern Cuba. And yeah, the cow they had was definitely genetically or hormonally modified by aliens to keep producing milk.

But it is what it is. And Lance would take what bits of home he could get.

Home.

A surge of homesickness rattled through him. It ached. A bone deep ache that he hadn’t paid attention to in so long and-

It was quickly pushed out by ringing.

Right. That.

Lance pulled his mind away from thoughts of his family, of any happiness he used to have. It was all gone for him now, and the ringing seemed to hate any happiness he even tried to scrounge together for himself.

Something clicked. If the ringing grew every time Lance thought about his family, or his home or-

Ow. 

With the Galra, when he’d thought the ringing was self-inflicted, that it was his punishment; it’d made sense for his happiness to make it worse. Why should he get to be happy, when he’d taken that from somebody else? Why should he get to keep his family? When he’d ripped someone away from theirs, permanently.

And he’d thought hearing the screams of his opponents, his fights, his kills, his victims was fair. Justified. Why should he get any peace when he’d taken any chance of it for them?

No.

This wasn’t on him. Yes, he deserved the guilt he felt. And yes, one day, he’d see retribution for his actions, but that wasn’t what this was.

This was Haggar.

Haggar trying to rid him of his memories. Of his home, his family. Of his team. Haggar trying to rid him of his hope.

Rid him of weakness, a voice whispered, No weaknesses, nothing to chance.

The memory of that phrase made him grit his teeth. 

Haggar was such a bitch when she was being condescending.

Lance took a break from his thoughts to peek his head into the kitchen. Still empty, thank god.

He loved Hunk, he really did, but there was no way he was sitting through another awkward team meal. Especially not right before they did something potentially hazardous to his mental state.

Again.

He quickly dropped the milk on the counter and left as fast as he could. He had somewhere to be, things to do, and a theory to test.

But first, a change of clothes.

x-x-x

Keith was sick of looking for Lance. I mean, seriously! The guy is over six foot, he shouldn't be that hard to find! Keith grumbled as he turned another corner in his search.

It was just his luck that he’d been chosen to ‘collect’ Lance. Shiro wasn't even subtle about it! ‘Give him another chance’ ‘He deserves it’ ‘blah de blah de blah de blah.’ 

“Hey Dipshit,” Keith glanced down at the phone in his hand, not at all surprised to see Pidge’s face on the screen.

“Yes?” He said irritably.

“He’s in the pool room.”

“Fine. Meet you guys in the Lounge room.” Keith quickly shut off the phone and spun around to go the right direction.

Of course Lance would be wasting time swimming while they were all waiting for him. It was becoming unfortunately normal for him to skip team meals. And everybody else just let him! Shiro never let Keith skip meals. 

Keith opened the pool doors fully ready to shout at Lance, --

Only to find himself stopped short and mesmerized by the blue paladin.

Now, one thing you have to understand is, Keith grew up in a desert. He didn’t really like pools. The community pools were generally cesspits of germs and packed to the brim during the Arizona summers. And that’s if he could convince a foster parent to bring him along.

This was decidedly not the case for Lance.

Even from the doorway, Keith could tell where Lance had haphazardly thrown his towel to the side before jumping in. And based on the amount of water collecting on the sides of the pool, he’d been here for a while.

Keith watched as Lance flipped off the wall, turning into yet another lap, without even a pause. He hadn’t even realized how close he’d gotten until he felt water splash his boots. 

He growled at the wetness soaking into his feet. Shouting it was then.

“Lance!” Keith yelled. Nothing, “Lance! Lance! LANCE!” 

There! A stutter in the smoothness of his actions.

Lance flipped around at the other end of the pool and started back towards Keith. 

“Finally!” Keith crossed his arms and waited for Lance to finish. Meaning that he’d completely missed Lance’s smirk forming under the water. And that he was utterly unprepared for Lance to kick an entire wave of water at him the moment he was close enough.

Now Keith really shouted.

“What the hell Lance!” He yelled, then continued trying to get his jacket off before it would be ruined.

Lance scoffed playfully as he hefted himself out of the water, “It was worth a try to see if that mullet was any sort of salvageable when wet,” He grabbed his towel and turned a cursory glance at Keith, “News Flash: the answer is no, there’s no hope at all for the mullet, it’d be a mercy just to cut it all off now.”

Keith was left a little shocked by the almost normal comment from Lance, before he finally registered what he’d said. 

“My hair is not that bad,” He growled, “And your hair’s not any better now. So there,”

“Oh, I’m well aware my hair is a disaster but unlike you, I don't make a routine of hacking it off in the bathroom.”

“It’s efficient!” Keith threw his hands up.

“It’s ratchet at best, Keith. But still, I am going to have to cut it soon, it kept getting in my eyes on my free-stroke.” 

“Wouldn’t be a problem if you weren’t swimming for like 3 hours straight.” Keith said snidely. Lance paused to glare at Keith, then went back to wrapping the towel on his head.

Once he’d finished he started walking towards the door, making Keith follow, “Did you know that as it turns out, the pool’s easier to access when you actually go through the elevator entrance? Rather than some off-ramp vent airway?” Insert pointed look at Keith. Insert Keith blatantly ignoring said look.

“It was your idea that got us up there.”

“It’s not my fault you’ve never seen Emperor’s New Groove. Besides, I actually have a reason for swimming this long.” Lance answered as the aforementioned elevator started moving. 

Keith scoffed, “Yeah, I’m sure you have plenty of excuses, Lance. And yet, you still missed dinner, and you’re still late to the team meeting.”

This time it was Lance who growled, “Let me talk, Keith, I’m serious, this is about the ringing.” That made Keith pay attention. He looked at Lance next to him, startled a bit by how stern he looked. Especially with a towel piled on his head.

“I’ve always loved swimming, and it’s been years since I’ve had the opportunity. The Garrison only allows the pool to be used in simulations, not for leisure.”

“Really? You call doing a hundred laps ‘leisure’? Wow, Iverson must’ve been so upset.” Keith rolled his eyes and ignored the look he got from Lance.

“Swimming makes me happy, it reminds me of my family, my home, everything I love about earth.” Lance said wistfully. But Keith’s eyes caught the slightest wince at the end of his statement. “And something that I’ve just now realized, is that Haggar didn't just want me to fight, she wanted me to lose hope too. So every time I think about my family, or I think about Earth, or even you guys, the team, I-” another wince, “The ringing gets worse.

Keith stopped dead in his tracks, not even noticing that the elevator had opened to let them out. Lance turned back to hold the door for him, and Keith rushedly stepped out, once again following Lance mindlessly.

“So you mean-.. Haggar tried to-” He couldn’t figure out how to phrase this. Was there really any good way to say, ‘Hey, an evil witch tried to make you into her own personal death drone,’?

“Yeah. And it worked.” Lance said softly. Keith hated that tone, he was becoming uncomfortably familiar with it, and much preferred Lance’s sarcasm. 

“I mean, I think it worked. Not so much now that I know, but.. When I was still there… Before I knew what the ringing was… I thought it was fair that I wouldn’t be able to think about my family without it hurting. I caused so much pain there, it was only fair I felt some as well.”

“Lance, that’s not-” He started through clenched teeth, but Lance cut him off.

“And I’ve always known what it takes to get rid of the ringing. I needed some time to think. And I needed to get away from the ringing for a while. Swimming does that for me. It makes me work hard enough to drive back the ringing, but I still love it, I can still enjoy it. It’s the one thing I have that hasn’t been ruined by all of this.” Lance’s fists were clenched tightly and he stopped walking.

“And you needed three hours for that?” Keith asked doubtfully. He hadn't realized they’d already reached Lance’s room.

“Like I said: it gave me some time to think,” Lance turned to face him fully, sucking in a deep breath, “I realized that I shouldn’t have fought you like that. I was desperate, but I crossed a line. I said some things I shouldn’t have and I wish I could’ve stopped myself because you didn’t deserve that from me. Not saying you don't need some sense knocked into you, but that wasn't my place.” Lance gave a small smirk, but it faded quickly, “I can’t keep lashing out at you guys like this. First it was Shiro, and then you. Who’s next, Pidge? Hunk? Coran?” Lanced sighed heavily, “I really am sorry about all of it. And you don't have to say anything back, I just didn’t want to leave it like this.” Lance barely waited before stepping away into his room, letting the door slide between them.

Keith stood there for a second.

He was really getting sick of doors closing between him and Lance. It’d happened three times today alone!

And what the hell was he supposed to say to Lance apologizing? The suspiciously Shiro-sounding little voice in his head could shut up about ‘just forgive him.’ No way.

But it was just… ugh! Every time Keith tried to think of the reason why he couldn’t, it was an actual reason. Keith hated excuses. They made him sound pathetic and weak. And honestly, screw that.

He just wanted things to go back to the way they were. Before. When Keith could argue with Lance and not nearly get his nose broken. No matter what Coran said about it.

They’d been on the road to a tenuous ‘friendship’ or whatever Lance kept calling frenemies. And… and… and he kind of liked it. Being friends that is. Because he’d never had friends. He had people he fought with. And that wasn’t what he wanted Lance to become. He wanted more than that. He-

“You’re still here?”

Keith would deny to the day he died that Lance Mcclain had actually managed to startle him. “Yeah….?” Keith said slowly, then furrowed his eyebrows, “What, did you think I’d leave?” 

And for Keith, all the excuses in the world fell flat against the tiny, half-surprised smile on Lance’s face.

“Then let’s get going, Mullethead, there’s no use making them wait for both of us.” Lance said as he smiled and turned down the hallway.

“You’re the one that made us late,” 

“Pffff, I made me late, you just decided to stick around and you should know by now that I have no problem being late.” Lance propped a hand up on his hip.

“Oh believe me, we’re all very knowledgeable about your timekeeping skills, except I don't understand how you’re late at all, considering you’ve got legs the size of giraffes.” Keith may have grumbled through that last statement. 

But really, every step he took was easily double the size of Keith’s, it was ridiculous. He kept having to shuffle to keep up with him!

“What can I say? I’m just pumped to get to work,” Lance plastered on a sarcastically fake smile and gave him a tight thumbs-up.

Keith crossed his arms as he rolled his eyes, “You know we have to do this, it’s the only way to-”

“Yeah yeah, spare me the lecture. I get it already.” Lance waved his hand at Keith like he could physically swat the conversation out of the air. 

“Who’s lecturing Lance?” Pidge’s voice cut in when the automatic doors opened at their presence.

“Nobody. Absolutely nobody,” Lance said as he made a bee-line to the couches, “We’re going to do this, get it over with and then put it all behind us. Good? Capische? Great. Let’s fire it up, Coran.”

“Don't you dare. Fire would ruin the headbands irreparably.” Coran said, clutching the headbands to his chest.

“Relax, Coran. It's just a figure of speech. It means Lance wants us to get started,” Shiro patted him placatingly as he passed the man to sit down next to Keith.

“Yeah, only time Lance’s ever been in a rush and he still wasn’t on time. Go figure. Worked out for me though, more time to process my code.” Pidge finally pulled herself away from her laptop, relinquishing Hunk to sit next Lance.

He whispered something about ice cream and new milk to Lance that Keith couldn't really hear, but Coran was already passing out the headbands. 

“I’ve already modified the quintessence modules in each of the headbands,” Allura moved towards the group, “But I’ll still need to activate yours individually, Lance, so that you all end up on the same plane.” 

“You won’t be joining us?” Keith added when he saw Lance hesitate at the request.

“No,” Allura paused, “Unfortunately, this will require that I act as a guide from the outside. Coran will help me monitor your quintessence levels so I can keep them stable and stay focused.”

“I’m sorry, guide? That implies the ability to get lost; is that a possibility? I mean, we’ve been to the astral plane before, right? So it should be just like that, we’re not going to get blindsided by some evil-astral creature, are we?” Hunk rattled off the random worries flitting through his head, some of which were slightly valid. At least to Keith’s perspective. Can’t be too prepared, right?

“None of that, we just need to keep the headbands from bouncing back like they did last time. Allura is simply guiding the quintessence stream around all you.” Coran chipped in as he went back to the princess’s side. Hunk visibly sagged in relief.

“Lance?” Oh right, apparently Shiro was the only one who remembered Lance still hadn’t answered Allura’s question. She’d need to get really close to him for this, something they’d all subconsciously tried to avoid.

“You can trust us, Lance. You have to for this to work.”

“I know.” Lance sighed and placed the band on his head. As Allura approached, Keith watched Lance rub his finger over something on his other hand. And yet it looked like every muscle in his body went taut at Allura’s touch.

Keith could barely catch a glimpse of Lance’s breathing picking up before the world in front of him exploded with stars. The astral plane.

It’d been a while since an astral projection had been so stable. Keith looked out and could see his teammates standing around him. Even Lance, to a degree, though he was shrouded by a thick fog. They could see it now, because unlike last time, they were actually in the astral plane, not just mentally. However, they could still feel the gap in the Voltron link. 

The gap where Lance was supposed to be.

“Guys?” Lance’s voice sounded anxious, though it edged into frantic surprisingly fast, “Guys? Guys, I can't see anything, why can’t I-” 

“Lance, calm down buddy, we’re here.” Hunk’s voice echoed across the void. Keith could hear it in the astral plane and through his actual ears. Hopefully Lance could too.

“Why can’t I feel any of you? Or see you?”

“Just-- give- me--  a minute-- I-” Allura’s voice was tense with effort. Keith watched in amazed confusion as the fog around Lance started to shift. 

The rest of the team approached it and Keith followed. He tried to put his hand through it, as if he could just reach through and pull Lance out. But his hand hit a barrier.

The light blue fog finally whirled itself into a more distinct form as it settled.

A wall. 

The outside shimmered as magic seemed to ripple across it.

“You all will have to take it from here.” Allura’s strained voice cut through once again, “I was able to shift and gather the quintessence of the block but I fear I do not have the ability to do more without losing my grip on it. It’s up to you, Paladins.”

“Absolutely, Princess,” Keith turned back to the wall with determination. 

Hunk and Pidge had already started pushing on the barrier. Yellow and green magic shimmered across the surface where they touched it. All of it eventually fading back to blue as it spread out farther.

Keith’s hand caused red to join the colors. And he could see black start to ripple from Shiro’s position as well.

But all of the color seemed to disappear too quickly, none of it touching each other. Just evaporating into the shifting blue of the barrier.

“I can only barely feel you, you guys,” Lance’s voice came from the other side, “You still just look like blurry shadows. Are we sure this is gonna work?”

“Lance is right, this isn’t working, you guys.” Hunk’s voice cut in.

“Then keep trying,” Keith ground out, “We’re not just going to give up.” He clenched his jaws tighter, his teeth starting to ache under the pressure.

“No, we’re not. But maybe…” Pidge leaned away from the wall, placing her hands on her hips and looking up at it. She suddenly snapped her head to their leader, “Shiro, we need to connect all of our energies. Instead of trying to put pressure on the entire thing, we just need to concentrate on one point. If we can crumple one part, maybe the rest will come down with it.”

“That sounds like a big maybe, Pidge, I don't know…” Hunk added as he pulled back as well.

Shiro looked at Pidge with a question in his eyes. Keith had seen it enough to know what it meant, ‘Are you sure?’

Pidge nodded with pursed lips.

“Alright, everybody, come over to me and Keith.” Shiro slipped right into leader mode, bringing the rest of the team closer, “We need to connect all of the magic we’ve been setting off and we need to make sure it works.” He motioned Keith even closer.

Keith briefly stepped away before placing his hands back down about a foot away from Shiro’s. The red light flowed out, just as it had before, moving towards the black tendrils.

They collided harshly, but stuck together. The magic fused to each other and Keith found he could no longer pull his hands away. By the look he got from Shiro, it was the same for him.

“Wow, I felt that,” Lance’s voice abruptly cut in, “What the hell was that?”

“We’re not quite sure. But we’re about to do it again, be ready.” Shiro beckoned for the other two paladins, “Pidge, you next, right below Keith’s.”

Pidge cautiously placed her hands down and they all watched as the green reached out for Keith and Shiro’s. It snapped into place with a flash of light, the wall shuddered allowing Keith to catch a glimpse of Lance through the fog.

He looked…

“Lance, what’s wrong with your face?”

“Nothing’s wrong with my face! What’s wrong with yours?!” He said incredulously.

“But I saw…” Now Keith was just confused, “I saw a glimpse of you through the wall…. You looked injured.”

“What? But I’m not-”

“Injured how?” Shiro said sharply.

“Like he’d just gone ten rounds with a blender and a sentient punching bag, Shiro. It didn’t look good.”

“Excuse you, I look fabulous no matter what.” Lance’s affronted protests were heard through the wall.

“Lance, do we need to stop?” Shiro asked, “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine Shiro,” Lance’s eye roll was audible, “Keithy-boy doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

Shiro looked at him warily, “Keith?”

“If he says go for it, go for it. Who am I to police the actions of an idiot?” Keith tried to sound casual as he shrugged, but he still wished he could see Lance instead of just hear his scoff.

“Alright.” Shiro gave a short, decisive nod, “Hunk, get over here, Lance get ready again, we’re going through with this.”

“Aye aye, Captain,” 

Keith could visibly see Shiro glare Hunk and Pidge down from responding back with ‘I can’t hear you.’ He, of course, would also deny having the spongebob song stuck in his head for the rest of the day.

Hunk hesitantly placed his hands to the wall, surprised when it jerked him closer like a magnet. 

Yellow started flowing out, reaching for Pidge, then Shiro, then finally making contact with the Red of Keith’s own. Each time glowed brighter than the last.

The world around them rumbled.

“There! I saw him!” Pidge shouted out.

“I saw him too! Keith was right, he looks hurt!”

The fog had gaps in it now, places that were thinner than others, and some thicker spaces were shaded a darker blue.

Through one of the gaps, Keith could see Lance drop to one knee.

“Lance!” “Lance! What’s wrong!?” “Are you okay?!”

“I- I’m fine you guys. That blast just knocked me off my feet.” Lance lifted his head to look at them, “I always knew Keith would give me a killer headache, but I never expected it from the rest of you,” He gave them a grin that looked like it should hurt. But it seemed like he didn’t even notice the injuries on his face. 

“Wait, the injuries, they keep changing,” Pidge pointed out, “Why do they keep changing?” Keith looked closer, she was right. The injuries faded in and out on Lance, never the same.

“Seriously guys, I have no idea what you’re talking abou-”

“AS GREAT as it is to see you speaking as a team, I don't think the Princess can hold all of you in the Astral Plane for much longer.” Coran’s voice echoed around them, followed closely by Allura’s.

“It is true, my grip on the quintessence is slipping, something is interfering with it. I fear I may not be able to keep it stable for-”

“What the hell is that!” Hunk’s shout forced Keith’s head to snap towards him as he watched in horror..

The pale fog surrounding Lance was starting to change color. Purple leeching across the surface, like ink in water. It trampled the blue, growing as it surged towards the team.

“Guys, you’re starting to fade out again. What’s going on? Why is it going dark? You guys?” Lance’s shouts jumped through the barrier, but no one could spare a second to respond. The world rumbled again.

A splotch of purple got close enough to touch a tendril of black, seeming satisfied when it leapt away from the color in time with Shiro’s jerk.

“I know what this is,...” Shiro answered, fear building in his voice, “This is druid magic! It’s trying to get to Voltron!”

Keith caught a final glimpse of Lance’s worried face, before the wall started to close off again. And the purple got stronger as Lance pulled back.

“Shiro! We can’t let them get Voltron! She can’t-” Lance sounded more desperate than before.

“I know Lance. Everybody! Channel your lions, we have to push this back.” Shiro’s statement ended with a growl as he pushed more into the quintessence of the barrier. Keith followed suit and could see his team do the same.

Voltron’s colors rushed out against the purple. Even if the Black seemed to push from behind the others, Keith could feel his team hold strong against the ominous pressure.

The entire wall of fog swirled with color now. Not just blue, but Red, Yellow, Green, and Black all curling across each other in smooth cooperation.

Keith had to grit his teeth to keep the flow of power steady. And by the looks of it, everyone else was in the same boat.

“Shiro, it’s taking everything we’ve got just to keep the druid magic back, how are we going to break the wall?”

“I don't know, Keith,” Shiro raised his voice to rise above the barrier, “Lance, we’ve got the druids pushed back, for now, and we’re holding strong!,” The fog returned the thinned state it had been in before, revealing Lance in the middle, curled in on himself. He looked up at them, seeming more weary than he had before.

“Is there anything you can do from your side?”

Lance shakily stood up, almost losing his balance as the ground shook around them. Keith watched Lance steady himself before reaching for the wall. 

The wall glowed a bit brighter, and Keith could feel the pressure even out across the five of them. The bond grew stronger. 

But it wasn’t enough.

“Paladins! You must hurry! If we are to do this, we must do it now! I cannot hold it for much longer!” Allura’s words made Keith look up to see she was correct. The world, the Astral Plane, was quite literally falling apart around them.

A loud thumping sound shook them as shards of the sky fell to the ground.

“Hey, uh- guys,” Hunk’s leg shot out to kick incessantly at his shins, “Hey, guys, guys, guys!”

“What, Hunk!?” Keith snapped as he looked at him.

“I think something’s coming towards us!” Hunk shouted. Keith turned to follow his line of sight. Sure enough, there was a growing blue light at the horizon, slowly getting bigger as it got closer.

“What is that?” By now the whole team was looking at it, Pidge trying to get a proper look with her short arms still stuck to the barrier.

The thumping sound got louder, mixing in with the rumbling of the collapsing Astral Plane.

“Focus, team!” Shiro ground out beside him. The pull of quintessence from Keith got stronger as Hunk and Pidge’s focus shifted. It almost hurt to keep the flow open.

“What are you guys seeing? Is it something bad?” Lance’s voice sounded in his ear. When he looked back, Keith was surprised to find Lance almost right against the barrier, their eyes meeting.

“We don't know what-”

“Is that-?” Pidge asked in an unsure voice.

“I think it is!” Hunk sounded giddy, making Keith look away again, “It’s the Blue Lion!”

The thumping sound grew louder as the Blue Lion’s shape became clearer, now recognizable as the sound of paws running towards them.

Hunk cheered, losing focus even more, and Keith nearly stumbled under the weight now resting on Shiro, Lance and himself.

“Pidge! Hunk! If Blue is coming, then we need to be ready. Focus on the barrier!” Shiro commanded. Pidge immediately turned back to help them. Hunk…. not so much.

“She’s not slowing down. She’s not slowing down! I repeat, she is not slowing down! We are about to be crushed by a giant charging Space Lion!” Hunk’s signature anxious voice filled the air. Pidge looked back.

“Actually, I think she’s getting smaller…she’s almost normal sized.”

‘Normal-sized’ was an exaggeration. Blue was still several times larger than a normal ‘Earth’ lion. A fact becoming readily apparent as she got closer, and again, did not slow down.

“The Blue Lion knows what she’s doing. Get it together you two, we need to keep this wall stabilized.” Shiro used his Galran hand to forcibly turn Hunk’s head around to the wall. The purple had already started to come back the moment the team wasn’t pushing at full strength.

“Yep, uh huh, got it, focus on the evil purple magic, not the giant lion. Can do, boss man. Can, do.” Hunk rambled under his breath, still sneaking glances out of the corner of his eyes.

The thumping of Blue’s feet was deafening; and when she roared, every paladin, even Shiro, had no choice but to look back at her in reverence. 

She charged forwards with all the might of a mother, crashing towards Lance without pause for the wall between them.

All remnants of purple were pushed out of existence as Blue’s magic rushed through the barrier, scattering the world around them. 

The paladins were thrown back into the real world with a shock, Allura stumbling backwards into the waiting arms of Coran.

Lance was laying on the floor in front of them, a smile on his face. There were even a few joyful tears gathered at the corner of his eyes

“Lance?”

“She’s back.” He whispered, the words coming out in disbelief. “She’s back. I can feel her again.” If possible, Lance’s smile grew even bigger as he sat up, the tears falling down his cheeks. “Blue, I missed you so much, girl. I missed you so much!” A rumble echoed through the castle, very clearly originating from the hangers.

“Don’t worry Lance, I think she missed you too,” Hunk smiled back. The pure happiness radiating from them was contagious, despite how exhausted everyone felt.

Pidge moved closer, peering up at Lance curiously.

“So, Lance,” She paused,

“Do you remember?”

First Chapter: https://snaileer.tumblr.com/post/613092735756402688/chips-and-salsa-chp-1

Next Chapter: https://snaileer.tumblr.com/post/653555387542405120/chips-salsa-chapter-9

[izlaria]

Someone you like (part 1, updated)

After uploading the first part of my plance fic here, I ended up writing more on that same period of time. It’s not much, but I thought I would add it anyway.

This fic is based on the “Someone you like” animatic by honestlyprettychill. Their work is super bomb, so I ask you guys to go check it out and give the artist some love. With this update, I’m hoping to have wrapped up on the pre-Garrison time period, and I have already started writing Pidge’s pov of their time as students, so you’ll have that to look foward to, if you end up enjoying this fic. My other post has more disclaimers, so you can find it here. This story is also available on AO3.

The part I added comes after the -- that I used as a page break.

Thanks to everyone who has liked and reblogged this verse. Feel free to add comments in the tags or to straight up come talk to me. I love feedback.

Spanish to English translations at the end.

14 and 12 years old

The truth was that Lance went to Space Camp because Veronica could be a little pest. She knew their parents wouldn’t let her go alone and so had enticed her younger brother with the promise of travel and foreign girls and no parental supervision.

Veronica had obviously left out the fact that they were essentially going to school on steroids for a month, smack in the middle of their summer break. Cool as Miami might seem, Lance wasn’t exactly excited for all the extra work the camp would entail.

“No es un acampamiento,” his sister repeated for what felt like the thousandth time. He wasn’t listening anymore. “Tú sabes que el campo de explotación espacial no está muy desenvuelto en Cuba. Si realmente quieres trabajar con eso, entonces simplemente cállate y no insultes a nadie.”

“¿Cuando he insultado a alguien?” he shot back, defensive. Veronica didn’t dignify that with an answer.

As much as Lance might like to think himself very smooth, there were still times when he stumbled over his words, especially in English. More than once he’d meant to pay someone a compliment and had accidentally started an argument of some kind.

Veronica looked impatiently at her watch. “Mira, tengo una reunión con mi orientador. Y tú tienes por lo menos dos artículos para leer para las clases de mañana, ¿por qué no vas a la biblioteca para trabajar un poco? Prometo comprarte una hamburguesa después.”

Lance pouted at her, arms crossed over his chest. “Me debes más que una hamburguesa y lo sabes, Ronie.”

His sister snickered, but it was as much of an acknowledgement as he was going to get. Veronica pressed a quick kiss to his hair, already turning to go into the main building.

“¡Gracias, hermanito! ¡No te arrepentirás!”

In all honesty, Lance wasn’t as irritated as he made Veronica believe. He knew that a summer program in Miami was a really good opportunity, especially if he wanted to get into the Garrison in the following years. It was just difficult.

He was diligent and studious, but not as naturally gifted as some of the other kids. Besides, he hadn’t been to the US in a couple years, since his parents had mostly settled down in the family farm, which meant he still had to fall back into his English, a task made even more frustrating by the xenophobic comments from one of the boys in his AP geometry class.

The teacher had put an end to it right away, but the words stuck with Lance, for some reason.

With how much humanity had progressed in terms of technology, one would think they would be able to get past petty rivalry between nationalities and usually that was true, but the influx of foreigners following the establishment of the Galaxy Garrison in the US desert still annoyed some people, despite its existence as a multinational center for space exploration. It irritated Lance to no end, especially when so many of these scientific advances came from international collaboration.

If only he could shrug off the inadequacy that now grew in his chest.

Straight ahead, there was a path that led to a green area in the middle of the campus. The other students had taken to calling it the Woods, though it was more of a middle-sized park, with benches and picnic tables where anyone from the Institute could go to relax. That’s where Lance went, mind too full to really focus on homework.

He wondered if people would react that same way if he ever made it into the Garrison. He didn’t know how Veronica dealt with it all, especially when she was alone in Arizona most of the time. Barely a week had passed and Lance already missed his parents, the tenderness of home-cooked food and well-intended lectures.

No, he had to believe that Billy Underwood was an exception. The other kids hadn’t joined in on his taunts, even if no one had moved to defend Lance. It was still too early to make conclusions on his colleagues, especially when everyone had seemed so charmed by him before then.

Lance was so lost in thought that he didn’t realize he had been standing in front of one of the benches until a new voice broke through the peace of the park.

“Are you just gonna stand there?”

The words were somewhat harsh, but when Lance lowered his eyes to their source the girl winced, grimacing. She seemed to have spoken impulsively.

“Hmm, yeah.” Lance blinked at her for a moment, before finally sitting down on the bench. He made sure to leave space between him and the girl, not wanting to make the situation even more awkward.

“I didn’t mean to snap at you,” the girl said after a moment of silence. She looked at him sideways and her brown eyes seemed almost golden in the sunlight. There were freckles spread across the bridge of her nose and across her cheeks, and the green ribbon in her hair swayed in the wind. It was a soft sight, a contrast to the steeliness of her posture and gaze.

“It’s fine,” Lance hurried to assure her. She looked young, but so did he, and talking to complete strangers never failed to make him nervous. “Nothing like a little girl yelling at me to bring me back to earth.”

He gave her his best grin, the one reserved for first impressions and fancy parties. It was supposed to project confidence and kindness, even though Luis said he ended up looking a bit smug.

“I didn’t yell,” the girl pointed out with a light frown. Then her eyes shifted into a more calculating look. “You’re a bit of a goofball, aren’t you?”

“I prefer the term good-humored,” he replied jokingly.

She continued to stare. Lance got the feeling that the girl did this a lot. She had an untamed intelligence to her that Lance couldn’t completely understand. It was the sort of air that teachers sometimes carried, as if they could see something deeper in you if they looked long enough.

“It didn’t seem like you were feeling all that good-humored just now.” She tilted her head to the side, letting the words hang between them.

“Yeah, I suppose that’s true,” Lance found himself saying.

“Do you… want to talk about it?” She looked so doubtful that it almost made Lance laugh. The feeling, however, was overcome by the relief of finally having someone who would listen.

He had spent the week trying and failing to explain to Veronica what was truly making him feel down. She was too busy or too happy for Lance to tell her the truth, especially when it left him so vulnerable. After all, Veronica had taken to her work on the Institute like a fish to water. Lance was supposed to be more adaptable than this.

With the rest of his family away in Cuba, he felt unbearably lonely.

“Yes! Thank you!” Lance shifted in the bench to face the girl. She was taken aback by his enthusiasm, but didn’t move away. “There’s this cabrón in my class, who thought it was a good idea to mess with me, just ‘cause I said fábrica instead of factory in our first day here. He hasn’t really left me alone since…” he whined. “I speak two languages but somehow I’m the uneducated ass here!”

The girl nodded, eyes downcast. “I know what you mean.”

“You do?” He eyed the fairness of her skin and the almost ginger of her hair. “Sorry, but you look white.”

Lance’s comment must have taken her by surprise, because she actually laughed.

“I am white. I’m also Italian.” She rolled her eyes, but there was amusement in the tug of her lips. “I can be both.”

“That’s true.” Lance grinned sheepishly. It was good that she wasn’t offended by his lack of filter. “You don’t have much of an accent, though.”

“Neither do you,” the girl bit back, no real animosity in her tone.

He shrugged. “My family spent a lot of time in the US when I was younger. It used to be second nature to me. Now, I keep feeling like I have to hold back the instinct to roll my R’s.”

“I get that. My parents moved here right after I was born, but we used to speak Italian in the house.” There was a pause here, something that she couldn’t bring herself to say. “I think it’s cool that you can speak Spanish. It’s useful.”

“Yeah?” Lance sat up straight, feeling suddenly boastful.

“Sure!” she continued, encouraged by his interest. “The Bouman Aeronautics Research Institute really values multiculturalism! It is a hob of different nationalities and perspectives, created to foster new minds from around the world! Or that’s what my brother says, at least, and he is rarely wrong.” She gave him a smirk that quickly shifted into a grimace. “Don’t tell him I said that or he will never let me forget it.”

“Older brother?” At her nod, Lance smiled. “I got older siblings too. Sort of the reason I’m here in the first place, actually. One of them was accepted as a researcher and she tricked me into applying too.”

“Same, actually.” She seemed startled for a moment, pulling out her cellphone. “Freak, I have to go! I completely lost track of time while reading.” She got up to go, collecting the book she’d apparently put down to talk to him. It was a thick volume with numbers on the cover, but it didn’t look like math.

Another green ribbon fluttered to the ground, having escaped the pages of the book. Lance bent down to pick it up.

“Here.” He stretched it out to the girl. “Wouldn’t want to lose its pair,” he said with a wink.

“Thanks for reminding me!” She grabbed the ribbon hurriedly, then paused, turning back to Lance. “And for the conversation, I guess.”

Lance grinned at her. She was a little awkward but in an endearing way, like she wasn’t used to having the attention of others on her. Given she empathized with his circumstances in the Institute, it wasn’t that big of a leap to assume that she had trouble making friends.

“Bye bye, Italian girl.” He waved, glad that he could spend these few minutes with her.

“Farewell, Spanish boy.”

Lance meant to correct her about his nationality, but she took out running, clearly late for something. He laughed at the way she stumbled across the uneven ground, careless like a little kid. It was a strange juxtaposition: the thoughtfulness of her earlier words and the childishness of her smile now.

He settled back into the bench, feeling much more content than he’d been earlier. It was nice to talk to people outside of class, for a change.

And, well, Italian girl was pretty. A bit young-looking for him, but he thought guys her age should be tripping over their feet for a chance to talk to her.

“Hey, you’re Lance, right?” A boy had approached while Lance observed the girl disappear from sight. He was tall and robust, with shortly cropped hair, but his expression was friendly. “You’re in my Analytics class.”

It took Lance a second to place him. Analytics was one of the classes Lance struggled with the most, so he hadn’t had as much opportunity to joke around there.

“And you’re Hunk!” Lance snapped his fingers, smiling. “Sit down, man! What can I do for ya?”

--

“No, I promise you, she’s a cutie!” Lance exclaimed, hands waving around in the air. Hunk chuckled at his exuberance.

“I believe you, Lance.” His friend’s tone was fond and amused, which brought a smile to Lance’s face. “You’ve told me about Italian girl a hundred times already. Why don’t you just approach her again? You said you saw her on campus.”

It was true, he had seen her: running across the woods with her arms full of books; sitting by the big windows in the cafeteria, papers spread across the nearby seats; standing under an oak tree with her face turned towards the wind, her long hair escaping from where she’d tied it back.

Lance pouted at Hunk. “She hasn’t spoken to me since…” he mumbled.

“Well,” Hunk scrunched up his brows in thought, “you did say she seemed younger than us. She’s probably just embarrassed about venting to a stranger out of nowhere.”

Lance threw himself onto his bed so that Hunk wouldn’t see his face contort in a grimace. He hadn’t meant to twist the story so badly, but he had already started talking about Italian girl before he realized he didn’t want to share his insecurities with the other boy. Hunk was almost excessively easy to talk to, but they’d known each other for too short a time.

“She didn’t seem like the shy type,” he retorted, arms spread over his head. “Too snipy.”

Hunk had gotten up from his place at the desk and moved to sit on the bed, shaking his head at Lance. He had kind eyes, something that Lance hadn’t really noticed on that first week in the Institute. Some things just got lost amid the noise, he reasoned.

“For someone who feels no shame hitting on random girls, you sure are hung up on this one.” Hunk poked him on the ribs and Lance recoiled, twisting away.

“It’s not like that!” Even as he said it, Lance could feel his neck grow warm. He wasn’t really attracted to the girl, but there was something pleasant about her that did leave him faltering. “Seriously, dude, she’s probably the same age as my little sister!”

Hunk hummed in acceptance. “If you say that’s not it, then I believe you. You just talk about her a lot for someone who you only met once.”

Lance sat up to look Hunk in the eyes. It was true that his mind kept drifting back towards that girl, but he didn’t think the emotion she awakened in him was romantic.

“I’ve just never clicked with anyone like that,” he confessed, bringing his knees up to his chest. “And maybe that’s also why I haven’t talked to her again. ‘Cause what if it was a hoax?”

“So you don’t want to ruin the memory of it?” Hunk put a finger to his chin in a considering motion. “That’s fair.”

There was more to it, but Lance didn’t feel like explaining himself further. Several times he had gone by Italian girl in the library, even stopped to look at her, considering, but whenever she raised those amber eyes to meet his, Lance froze. He blushed and blustered and eventually left.

It was nice to see her smiling, though, even if it was at his expense. She was always alone when Lance saw her and it reminded him of how isolated he’d felt before befriending Hunk.

Italian girl was clearly smart, probably smarter than almost anyone in the institute, given how fast she went through those complicated-looking books. She also spent a lot of time in the library, because it was where Lance most ran into her. It was always her and her astronomy books and her ribbons.

Maybe he was projecting. Luis said he did this a lot.

“I just hope she found a friend here,” he said, more to himself than to Hunk, “someone who will also end up a little late just because they want to hear her out.”

Hunk studied his face, making Lance shift his position in discomfort.

“Who could have known?” the boy started teasingly. “You’re actually a good guy behind all that arrogance.”

Lance used his elbow to push Hunk off the bed, complaining more dramatically than was truly warranted. His friend laughed as he got up, only to throw himself back onto Lance to mess up his hair.

“What the hell, dude? Going for my hairdo?” He tried to free himself from Hunk’s arm around his neck. “Friendship over! We are no longer rooming when we get to the Garrison!”

Hunk didn’t let up and the two continued to laugh well into the afternoon.

Their time in the Institute would end in a little over a week, and Italian girl would drift to the back of Lance’s mind to become a lovely memory, just the afterimage of someone who could have meant more to him.

Translations:

“No es un acampamiento.Tú sabes que el campo de explotación espacial no está muy desenvuelto en Cuba. Si realmente quieres trabajar con eso, entonces simplemente cállate y no insultes a nadie.” - “It’s not a camp. You know that the field of space exploration is not very well developped in Cuba. If you really do want to work in this area, then simply shut up and don’t insult anyone.”

“¿Cuando he insultado a alguien?” - “When have I insulted anyone?”

“Mira, tengo una reunión con mi orientador. Y tú tienes por lo menos dos artículos para leer para las clases de mañana, ¿por qué no vas a la biblioteca para trabajar un poco? Prometo comprarte una hamburguesa después.” - “Look, I have a meeting with my coordinator. And you have at least two articles to read for tomorrow’s classes. Why don’t you go work for a bit in the library? I promise to buy you a burger later.”

“Me debes más que una hamburguesa y lo sabes, Ronie.” - “You owe me more than a burger and you know it, Ronie.”

“¡Gracias, hermanito! ¡No te arrepentirás!” - “Thank you, little brother! You won’t regret it!”

Cabrón - Bastard

[singledarkshade]

Days Like This

Summary: Gideon's new circumstances are sinking in, but the doctor coming to see her may help. Sequel to Can I Return This Gift Author’s Notes: Second part of my Chuck AU – more will be written but doubtfully in any order.                                ********************************************* Gideon Ryder lay on her bed listening to her brothers in the other room making breakfast and talking over the news, trying to force herself to get up and face the day because two days ago, everything in her world had changed.

Her former best friend, Miranda Coburn, turned out to have been a rogue Argus agent who sent Gideon an email filled with secrets that were downloaded into her brain when she looked at the computer screen.

Now Gideon not only had the information appearing at random times, she had two Argus agents watching over her at all times. One of which had been very fixated on killing Gideon not that long ago.

“You know you start work in less than an hour,” Gilbert called through the door, “Hurry up or you’ll be late.”

Sighing Gideon fell out of bed and headed for a shower before sliding on her uniform, it was time to face the day.

Stepping into Palmer Tech, Gideon winced to hear Ray call to her. He was the nicest manager anyone could ever have but he also left the team to their own devices a lot so he could work on his projects. But if he talked to you then he usually wanted something.

“Good morning, Ray,” she turned to him with a smile, hoping he wasn’t upset she was late.

“Hi, Gideon,” he nodded, “We have a new member of staff and although they’re not for the crew, I know you’re the best person to train her.”

Turning Gideon froze to see Sara Lance, Argus Special Ops, standing there, dressed in the black trousers and red t-shirt that the Palmer Tech sales team wore.

“Meet Sara Lance,” Ray introduced them, not noticing the look of astonishment on Gideon’s face, “Sara, Gideon knows the store better than anyone so I will leave you in her capable hands.”

With that said he disappeared into the manager’s office.

“Well,” Gideon started, trailing off as Sara frowned at her.

Sara motioned her to walk and Gideon reluctantly followed the other woman towards the empty AI Crew desk.

“Here’s the deal,” Sara got straight to the point, “Rip and I are here to protect you until we work out a way to get all our secrets out of that head of yours.”

Gideon nodded, “Okay.”

“So, I am stuck here in this…” she grimaced in disgust, “Pathetic sales job while Rip will be playing your boyfriend.”

Feeling her eyebrows raise into her hair, Gideon squeaked, “Boyfriend?”

“Well, your friend already saw you two go on a date,” Sara rolled her eyes, “So it won’t be such a stretch. This means you do as we say, when we say it and any time you have a flash, you tell one of us.” When Gideon said nothing, Sara demanded, “Understand?”

Gideon nodded.

“Good,” Sara replied, “Who do I get around here to do my work for me?”

Shrugging Gideon noted, “Probably Nate.”

Sara nodded, “Great. Oh, and one more thing,” she gave Gideon a dark look, “Make sure you follow the rules, don’t make me regret being nice.”

With that said, Sara disappeared to join the other red shirts leaving Gideon watching her back.

 Lunch finally came and Gideon headed out to the café across from the shop to get something to eat. Grabbing a chicken salad, Gideon headed out surprised to see Rip standing waiting for her. He was wearing dark jeans and a grey t-shirt under a brown leather jacket with sunglasses perched on his nose.

“Hi,” Gideon smiled despite herself, “What are you doing here?”

“I thought we could have lunch together while we go over our story,” Rip explained.

Gideon nodded, “Okay.”

Resting his arm around her shoulders, Rip drew her to the picnic tables on the edge of the park just behind the shop. Taking a seat Gideon smiled when he placed a soda next to her, her favourite kind. He placed one for him before he pulled out a sandwich for himself.

“I’m assuming Sara has already spoken to you,” Rip noted, “And I understand that it might be a little uncomfortable for you, but I promise there will be nothing untoward.”

“Rip, you have to understand I have not been in a relationship for a long time,” Gideon told him, “My brothers will be all over me to find out about you, they’ll demand to meet you and will try to intimidate you.”

“I’m not easily intimidated,” he gave a small amused smile.

Gideon chuckled.

“We have a doctor coming tonight to do some tests in the hope of removing the secrets from your brain, then you can get rid of us for good,” Rip told her, “So I will pick you up for date at eight tonight.”

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

 Zari smirked as she leafed through Gideon’s closet, “Second date with your new guy. Are we going for sweet and innocent or sexy and seductive? Or did some things happen on your first all night date you won’t talk about?”

“I am going for comfortable,” Gideon replied, pulling out her favourite green top, “And nothing happened.”

Taking the top out of Gideon’s hand, Zari replaced it with a black one with lace sleeves, “This is a date top,” Zari told her, “That thing is for clearing out the cupboard with your brothers. This guy is hot and likes you, so maybe make an effort.”

Gideon watched Zari turn back to the closet before she shook her head sadly, she hated how excited Zari was that she’d met someone. The annoying thing was Gideon had liked Rip, and she thought they had really clicked except they hadn’t.

“Are you going out?” Gilbert asked appearing through the door, Gary following behind.

Gideon nodded, “I have a date.”

“Is this the same guy you were out with all night at the weekend?” Gary demanded.

Taking a long sigh Gideon nodded, “Yes, and before either of you try to be the overprotective big brother, don’t.”

“Yeah, he’s a nice guy,” Zari spoke up, instantly getting a dark frown from Gideon when the two men turned to her sharply.

Pushing them out of the room, Gideon stated, “No.”

“We should get to meet this guy,” Gary tried to protest as they were shoved out the door, “Just to make sure…”

“I will break every one of your computers if you even think about finishing that sentence,” Gideon threatened, “Now, go away. I am getting changed then going out.”

Shoving them through the door, she slammed it before either could say anything else.

“Don’t say another word,” Gideon stopped Zari speaking, before she snatched the top out of her friend’s hand.

 Gideon felt her mouth go dry as Rip drew up in front of the building in a gorgeous black convertible giving her a smile when he stopped.

“Are you ready?” he jumped out and opened the passenger door for her.

Nodding, she slid in and watched him close the door before returning to the driver’s seat and drove them away. Gideon wished briefly that this really was a date, that instead of going to see some kind of doctor they were heading out for dinner or the cinema or anything fun, but they weren’t.

As handsome, interesting and sweet as Rip had been, it had been an act, so Gideon had to accept that - despite the appearances he’d made in a few of her dreams.

She frowned as Rip drew up at the store she worked in, “You really know how to show a girl a good time.”

He chuckled, “We’re using the Home Cinema room for the tests, we didn’t want to expose you to an Argus facility.”

Relieved by that thought, Gideon didn’t notice Rip get out the car until he opened her door and offered his hand to help her out. Taking his hand Gideon felt Rip squeeze it briefly.

“Okay,” he said as he led her to the curtained off section of the store, “You have no need to worry about this. It’s just a few non-invasive tests, Sara and I will be here the entire time.”

Taking a seat on the couch, Gideon put the headphones on as Rip directed and turned to look at the screen. Rip disappeared leaving her alone and Gideon wished he was still there.

“We’re going to start now,” Sara’s voice came suddenly, “Alright, there are going to be some images on the screen. All you have to do is say what you see.”

Shrugging, Gideon leaned back and started to talk.

 On the other side of the store Rip stood with Sara and Dr Wells, all listening to Gideon recite the secrets she had in her head as pictures were shown to her, her voice altered so he couldn’t identify her in any way. The man they’d brought in listened a look of amazement on his face, while Sara made sure he didn’t try to meet his patient.

“Well, Doctor?” Rip asked as the test ended.

Wells shook his head, “Incredible. We theorised that someone could hold that type of information in their head but all the tests we did showed it would be one in a million. The fact Patient X is not only storing but able to access these so well is astonishing.”

“But can you remove them?” Sara demanded.

Sighing Wells shook his head, “No,” he quickly held up his hand to stop them snapping, “At least not just now. The Intersect project was a specialist team and none of us worked on removing the information until we knew how to put it in.”

Rip frowned, disappointed for Gideon. But even though he knew Sara hated being here, Rip actually didn’t mind it. Central City was one of the more peaceful places he’d been sent to and, so far, this protection detail was one of the easiest.

Wells pulled together his things, “I will speak with Director Waller and perhaps next time, I’ll get to meet my patient.”

“I’ll see you out, Doctor,” Sara said, nodding to Rip before leading the other man out.

Rip headed back to where Gideon was waiting for him. The moment he opened the curtains, she looked round and her grey eyes looked at him hopefully. Taking a seat at her side, Rip took Gideon’s hand.

“I’m guessing the answer is no,” she said, looking down at his hand for a moment.

Rip sighed, “It’s not no, just not yet.”

“So, until then…”

“Until then,” he said when she trailed off, “You work with us and we will keep you safe.”

Sadly she nodded.

Against his better judgement, Rip wrapped his arm around her shoulders and hugged her, “It’s going to be okay.”

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

 Rip connected his comm to the TV screen in his new apartment and waited as it activated. A few seconds later Amanda Waller, Director of Argus appeared.

“Ma’am,” Rip nodded.

“Agent Hunter,” she stated, “Dr Wells has given me his report and it looks like you will be remaining in Central City indefinitely. Agent Lance will be joining us soon, but I wanted to speak to you first.”

Rip winced inwardly knowing exactly what this was about.

“Due to your personal history and connection with Agent Coburn,” Waller continued, “I want to know if you can do this job.”

Taking a slow breath Rip replied, “I can do whatever I need to. You sent me to protect the Intersect and I will do that to the best of my ability. Miranda betrayed not only the agency I took an oath to but everything I believed in.”

“Very well, Agent Hunter,” Waller nodded, “Your priority above and beyond everything else is Gideon Ryder. Her safety and her well-being, including her mental health is your main concern. The Intersect must be protected.”

Rip nodded just before Sara appeared on the other side of the screen.

“Agent Lance,” Waller nodded to her, “How are you settling into your new apartment?”

Sara’s distaste was obvious, “Just fine, Ma’am. I have the surveillance of the asset installed fully both in the apartment complex as well as the store.”

“Excellent,” Waller told her, “I know you usually both work for different departments, but you have been chosen for this assignment due to your unique skillsets. I expect you to work together to ensure the asset is protected.”

They nodded in agreement and the screen went blank. Alone once more Rip dropped to sit on the couch and pulled out his phone, flicking through the photographs of him and Miranda. They’d met the first day of training and were instantly paired together, when they finished training and were sent out into the world, they made sure to stay in touch. Meeting up whenever they were close to each other, and Rip loved her.

Finding out she had betrayed them to steal the Intersect had cut so deeply, and it was one of the reasons he was going to protect Gideon Ryder.

Because he wouldn’t let Miranda’s betrayal destroy anyone else.

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt.81

Lance was silently fuming in his grave. He’d lost his temper with his friends, and now he’d exiled himself to the backyard to avoid them. He didn’t want to be mad at them, but when they pulled stupid shit and made jokes over becoming a vampire, he couldn’t cope. Coming home to a home that kind of no longer felt like his was bad enough. He’d hoped that what Matt wanted to show him was him kicking Pidge’s arse at some video game and Matt was simply making fun of him. Not this. Not some half baked idea of investigating Lotor. Rieva had been so scared they’d been forced to return to Platt, and now she was happily conspiring with Pidge and Hunk, like that fear didn’t matter. There was a reason hunters existed. They took care of things like this. Not two werewolves and two humans who’d only just found out that things really do to bump in the night. He wanted his life back. He wanted things to go back to hunting dumb ghosts and the occasional yucky feeling of death when they did. Why couldn’t they understand how he felt? He shouldn’t have lost his stupid temper, but being a vampire wasn’t something to joke about.

Being the light of his undead life, Hunk was the one who came to talk to him. Shovelling off Lance’s death dirt, Lance faked death until Hunk made it impossible to ignore him

“Lance... I don’t know if you can hear me... but... Can we talk, buddy? I’m not used to this... You look dead in there and I don’t like how it feels seeing you dead”

That was the nicest thing Hunk had said in ages. That he didn’t like seeing Lance laying in his shallow grave

“I’m not changing my mind”

Hunk sighed, Lance hearing the way his clothes rustled as his friend sat heavily, just short of where he’d dug Lance up

“I don’t like this either... but Pidge wanted to help... and she needs someone there to keep her grounded”

Hunk was good at that. Provided Pidge was still listening and not swept away in an investigation

“She needs to leave it alone before she ends up dead”

“But you’re dead... and you’re okay?”

He wasn’t okay. He’d just gotten very good at existing

“I’m not going to watch her go through what I went through”

“What... I mean, you totally don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but I guess... maybe I don’t see the problem with you being a vampire”

Hunk wouldn’t. He saw the absolute best in everyone. Even when they didn’t see it in themselves, he kind of... brought it out of you. Lance couldn’t tell him. He didn’t want Hunk to pity him. He’d barely been able to tell Matt without Keith’s support

“I... I can’t tell you. I can tell she should fear being a vampire. If Pidge was turned, she’d never be the person we know again. That’s if she kept her mind”

“But you... kept yours? You’re not secretly a serial killer are you?”

Lance could almost see Hunk worrying his pointer fingers together

“No. I was turned young. Too young... My mind and body were more flexible. When we get older we get set in our ways. Our sense of self evolves as we grow. That’s the secret to keeping your sanity. It’s holding onto every little bit of humanity you can find”

“That had to be rough... I...”

Hunk was so pure he wasn’t seeing the truth

“You don’t know what to say. You’re cautious. I can hear the way your heart beats increased. I did everything I could to keep you out of this. But that all went up in flames in an instant. Yeah. I knew Matt was a werewolf before he came back. I prayed Pidge wouldn’t find out... and look what that got us. A whole lot of awkwardness and mistrust. You guys can talk and laugh about it because you’ve never seen a vampire properly. You’ve never seen humans paraded around as fresh meals on a lead. You’ve never felt hunger that robs you of your sanity. Pidge only saw a sliver and you were there to witness what that did to her. This isn’t a game and we can’t just drink slushies to feel better after a bad hunt. A bad hunt means you’re dead. Throat torn out for the fun of it... if you’re lucky. If you’re unlucky... it’s not a quick death”

If you’re unlucky you turn out like Adam, but that wasn’t Lance’s secret to share.

Hunk fell silent. Lance’s hearing not good enough to hear the metaphorical cogs kicking over. It was a long moment before Hunk replied

“You’re right. We don’t understand. It scared me when Matt suddenly showed us his wolf. I don’t know how to cope with any of this. I can’t even tell Shay and she totally thinks I’m flaky”

That wasn’t fair. Hunk was only flaky in the sense he was like a warm croissant

“I know. Since I met you guys... I... I was scared. I’ve never had friends as close as family before. I’ve never loved having people around like I love you and Pidge. I’ve spent my adult life trying to atone for what I am. Realistically I should have died when I was a kid. I never enjoyed lying. My ego never thought I was better than you. If anything I envied you both. You both grow old. You grow old and fall in love. You make families and you know love. When you don’t age you get to watch everyone you love grow older and die before you. I love you guys warm and breathing...”

“I don’t think Pidge is going to give up. Her... um... dad... he like knows about this kind of thing. And her mum... she’s pretty mad at both of them”

That made sense. Kind of... He’d thought Colleen and Sam had some sense that he wasn’t human. Though how they knew hunters wasn’t as clear. Platt was a big place. Most vampires and werewolves knew how to keep their heads down when they really needed to

“I love her. I love her and I don’t know if I can support this. I can barely support Keith and he’s been a hunter for years now. I don’t... I spent a long time not being part of that world for a reason. Nothing good ever comes out of it”

“Keith did...”

Touché. Keith and Shiro... they were a different kind of hunter. Eyes opened by personal tragedy that should have left them blood thirsty

“Keith... with him... it’s different. He feels like... he feels like he’s been our friend for years. He was really hurt over what happened. He’s not the best with social cues and friends. He’s been through so much and I was so happy that you guys wanted to be friends with him”

“He’s... nicer then when we met him”

“That’s because he was convinced I was a blood sucking monster that fed on you as you slept”

“That doesn’t make me feel good”

“Relax. I swear I never ever fed on either of you. I had blood bags, and I never wanted to. I wanted to be human”

“Is there a way to cure vampire-ism? Is it “ism?”. Do you guys have like a preferred term?”

“I’m fine with whatever. But no. There’s no cure. I’m as dead as I can be without being in a hole in a ground”

“Dude, you are literally in a hole in the ground”

Touché again. He was kind of cold buried up to his shoulders... His poor death soil hadn’t been taken care of at all. Stupid dandelions had invaded... He’d always kept the garden so meticulous

“I know... Hunk, I don’t know what to do”

“I don’t know what to do either, bud. What would Keith say?”

“I don’t think he’s talking to me. I told him I was coming back here today and he didn’t reply”

“Oh, man... I’m sorry... I didn’t know you two were...”

Two were what? Fighting? Lance thought they’d made up...

“I don’t think we’re fighting... he just normally answers or he’s working... or sleeping. Shiro did get slightly drunk last night”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yep. Curtis finally took him on a proper date”

“Like in public?”

“No. They went to this underground vampire fighting ring that serves great wings. Yes, in public. Just because Curtis is slightly cursed doesn’t really mean anything”

Lance could hear Hunk scratching the back of his head

“Dude. Relax. I’m joking. Curtis’s curse doesn’t mean he can’t go out and enjoy himself with Shiro. He styled his hair to hide his horn”

“So like curses and magic are real? That’s a real thing?”

“Yeah. I only found out about it not that long ago. Curtis used to be a hunter. I suppose he still kind of is, but he works for Coran now”

“Like you work for Coran?”

Hunk was curious, yet kind of freaked. Lance could hear it in his voice. He’d come out here for peace, but instead found himself having a much needed talk with Hunk

“I don’t work for Coran. Coran takes care of like all the supernaturals and hunters in Platt. I’ve known him since I was turned. He helped me and my family out a lot with adjusting to me being the undead”

“So if anything goes wrong...?”

“I go to Coran. He’d welcome you guys too. He’s heard all about both of you��

“I don’t know how that makes me feel”

“Nothing bad. Just... you guys really mean a lot to me. You’re not the first humans I’ve been friendly with, but you’re the most important people in my life to date. And Keith. I didn’t even tell him I was coming back today. I messaged him... but he didn’t reply...”

Silence fell between them again. Lance content to let Hunk take his time, which he did, before finally starting to talk again

“Lance. Is there a reason you left Platt? If you were happy there... you could have stayed to be with Keith if you’d wanted”

“I was in Platt because Rieva was concerned for our safety with Lotor around. Lotor comes from a really bad family. Like worse than every vampire movie you’ve seen put together. His mother’s worse than Elizabeth Bathory. Hell, she probably got her twisted ways from her...”

“Or from pop culture”

Lance shook his head, sending dirt across his face. That was the trouble with burying himself. Maybe it was time to invest in a nice body bag, or a proper coffin to keep the dirt out

“She’s been alive longer than pop culture has existed. If Lotor suddenly proclaimed she was Elizabeth, I don’t think I’d actually be surprised”

“Is she really that bad?”

��Rieva didn’t tell you? The woman’s got a screw loose up there. More like she’s walked into a hardware store, pulled every packet of screws off the shelf, opened them all, then thrown them everywhere as she then bosses the staff into cleaning up the mess she’s left”

“That doesn’t sound good”

It sounded like a total chaotic shit show. Kind of like how the Blades conveniently marched to the beat of their own drum

“Not particularly. Bud, I know you always see the good in people, but you need to see Honerva isn’t a person. Those invisible lines the of law that keeps us in line doesn’t apply when you’re that powerful. Going after Lotor could bring that madness down on all of you. Not just us, but everyone you love. I’m so happy you and Shay finally started dating, and I’m not telling you to choose but if you ever feel you have to, then please choose her. You two are so perfect for each other. I want to see you grow old together... I want you both to be happy”

Hunk sighed heavily

“I... don’t know if I can ignore what’s happening... I don’t want... I don’t want to see people hurt because I wasn’t brave enough to do something”

Because Hunk loved his friends as fiercely as Lance loved them

“Then... then I don’t know. But don’t chase anything. I can let Keith know, or Coran, but I can’t lose you, even if it makes you hate me. The world is a better place for having you and Pidge in it... always remember that. I’m going to take a nap out here”

Moving seemed like effort. Inside smelt like werewolf. The gremlin was cranky. Here seemed as good as any spot to wallow

“You’re going to take a nap?”

Hunk sounded surprised. Then again, he wasn’t used to Lance napping in the ground. Lance wasn’t used to Lance napping in the ground, but the soil felt kind of reassuring

“It’s fine. I spent three months making this soil. It’s actually good for me. Helps promote healing all that... I’ll be okay”

“I don’t like leaving you in there alone”

Lance snorted, mentally imagining Hunk trying to climb in beside him

“I’ll be okay. Just don’t let Matt pee on me. I think I need some me space”

“Should... should I cover you back up?”

“If you want to. I’m pretty cozy in here”

“But... don’t you need to breathe?”

“Eventually. I breathe. But I can also hold my breath a ridiculous amount of time”

“Dude... that’s so weird”

“Welcome to having a friend who’s a vampire. Seriously though. I really love you guys. I want to be here with you... I... Thanks for coming to check on me. I know this isn’t easy for you”

“Well... like... you know... we’re like best friends... right?”

“Best friends forever, buddy”

** I can’t help it. I love our boy interacting with his besties and being friends again**

[raywritesthings]

Bird in a Storm 4/17

My Writing Fandom: Arrow Characters: Laurel Lance, Oliver Queen, Tommy Merlyn, John Diggle, Joanna de la Vega, Quentin Lance, Frank Pike, Felicity Smoak Pairing: Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen Summary: The confrontation between the Hood and SWAT on the roof of the Winick Building goes differently, altering the course of Laurel’s career, relationships and efforts to save her city forever, the shockwaves of such an altered path making themselves felt throughout her family and friends. *Can be read on my AO3, link is in bio*

Joanna couldn’t believe it when she first got the news. But the multiple texts from her coworkers at CNRI proved its veracity: Laurel was being forced out.

She headed over to her friend’s apartment and was let in by a surly Tommy Merlyn.

“You wouldn’t be here to talk some sense into her, would you?”

“I’m here to support my friend.” Joanna headed past him into the sitting room where Laurel looked up from her laptop.

“Hey. I guess you heard.”

“Yeah. Are you okay?” She’d meant to come by even earlier to see her after that whole incident with her injury, but they’d had family in visiting still. It didn’t keep her from feeling guilty for not being there when Laurel clearly needed someone.

She shrugged. “It’s not the end of the world.”

“Just your career,” Tommy reminded them all as he passed by on his way back to the bedrooms. The door shut hard behind him.

Joanna hid a wince and took the spot next to Laurel on the couch. “Where have you been looking?”

“Everywhere?” Laurel shifted so she could look at the cover letter her friend was drafting. “It’s a little hard when I can’t talk much about my only place of employment or use them as a reference.”

“I guess your reputation of taking down corporate big shots isn’t too helpful when applying for corporate law.”

“No, it is not.”

Joanna shook her head. This was so unfair and everyone knew it. “You want me to talk to Eric?”

Laurel shook her head. “It won’t do any good. He’s under the thumb of CNRI’s backers.”

“And those backers want you to starve?”

“They want to see the Hood punished. Since they can’t do that, I guess I’m the next best thing.”

“But you’re more than just a connection to the Hood. If you hadn’t been helping me solve my brother’s murder, nobody would even know you’ve worked with him. None of this would’ve happened.” Joanna hung her head.

“I wouldn’t take it back if it meant not exposing the truth about your brother’s death. Or saving the chief. Those were good things.”

Before Joanna could answer, the bedroom door opened again and Tommy stopped in the sitting room. “I’m heading out.”

Laurel set her laptop aside and stood. “Okay. Did you want me to wait on dinner?”

“I’ll eat while I’m out.” He gave a curt nod to Joanna, then turned and headed to the front door.

Laurel wavered on the balls of her feet. “Have a good day,” she called just before the door shut.

“Does he really have to start at the club that early?”

“His hours are what he wants them to be. And right now, he does not want to be here.” Laurel sighed and dropped back down into her spot. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Maybe… maybe you just take the deal. It’d make things a lot easier for you and your relationship,” she pointed out. It was the practical choice. The safe one. But she knew Laurel was rarely interested in safe or practical.

Her friend looked at her. “Jo, you know as well as I do what lying about the Hood would look like to our clients.”

She grimaced. That was a hard point to refute. Laurel was good at what she did precisely because of the trust she garnered in their clients. They really believed she was willing to put everything on the line in the name of justice. The time had come to prove she was.

“There is one thing about CNRI,” Laurel told her. “Thea. Anastasia has agreed to become her temporary sponsor, but when you go back to work, I’d really appreciate it if you could take over. I feel like Thea could learn a lot from you.”

She felt herself smile. “Yes, of course. Actually, on one condition.” Laurel frowned, but Joanna wasn’t worried. “If you ever need anything, you let me know. A reference, food — my mom misses cooking for a group.”

“I don’t think things are that drastic yet,” Laurel was quick to say.

“You never know. It isn’t exactly cheap to live in this town. Except in the Glades.”

“Yeah,” Laurel agreed quietly. “Thank you for the offer, Jo. Really.”

“I’m your friend, Laurel. It’s what we do. I’m gonna miss you when I go back.”

“You’ll do fine without me.”

“I don’t know. I don’t love the odds,” Joanna told her. Laurel pulled her in for a hug.

“Me neither. But we have to keep fighting.”

She nodded into Laurel’s shoulder. Then she pulled back. “So, jobs. You try the DA’s office yet?”

“Yeah, I think Kate Spencer is my least biggest fan at the moment.”

Joanna couldn’t help a snort. “Yeah. That figures.”

Laurel joined her in laughter. Sometimes that was all you could do.

---

It had taken him practically begging for Laurel to finally come see him at the station. She wouldn’t go to his home, and he knew he still wasn’t welcome in hers. That was assuming it was hers for much longer, the way she was going.

“I don’t get it. I really don’t. They don’t wanna let you go. Nobody wants to see you leave CNRI. You’re the best they got!” He paced back and forth in the space between table and wall of the interrogation room he’d commandeered to try and talk some sense into his daughter. “Why would you throw that away?”

“Because if I agreed to what they’re asking, I wouldn’t be the best anymore. I’d just prove to be susceptible to coercion.”

“Coercion to help control a criminal. That’s not coercion, that’s- that’s cooperating with law enforcement!”

“A lot of people in the Glades see that as the same thing,” she stated while looking straight at him.

“Hey now,” he said, raising a warning finger. “I’m not saying this department is perfect, but you gotta have order in a society. This Hood guy, he’s disrupting that.”

“If it was already so broken, maybe it needed disrupted,” she argued.

Quentin could feel his frustration mounting despite his promise to himself not to get angry with her today. The investors at CNRI were pushing the issue because he’d pushed it first — but there wouldn’t be an issue if she’d just see reason!

They were interrupted by a quick rap on the door and the desk sergeant poking his head in.

“Detective, there’s a woman at the desk asking — well, she called you Laurel Lance’s father,” the sergeant amended with a glance Laurel’s way. “I think she might really be looking for you, Miss.”

Laurel took a step forward, but he said, “Send her back here.”

The desk sergeant left and returned a few minutes later with an older woman with dark skin whose face lit up when she saw his daughter.

“Well, Miss Lance!”

“Hello, Mrs. Ross.” Laurel embraced the other woman, and Quentin tried to remember if she’d been a client or family of one.

“I heard through the grapevine you’d been fired. It’s a disgrace, and after everything you’ve done for that office!”

“Thank you,” His daughter said, a small smile gracing her lips.

“You find some other work yet?”

“Not just yet. Most of the law firms in this city aren’t too keen to attach my name to themselves at the moment.”

“I thought so. Well, they’re all a bunch of thieves anyway. So listen, if you need something to keep you afloat, I’ve been asking around. My neighbor’s aunt has this friend, she’s got a flower shop on Wells and 17th Street, and she’s been looking for a helper for a while now. Arthritis getting bad in her fingers.”

“Oh,” said Laurel. She glanced his way, uncertain. “I’ll have to stop by and introduce myself.”

“Mm-hm. It’s honest work, which beats most things. Gotta put the food on the table.” She looked to him as if expecting to share a grin. Quentin’s lips didn’t even twitch.

Mrs. Ross dropped her gaze to her purse, which she rifled around in. “Here, I wrote the address down for you. You show up anytime and just tell her I sent you.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Ross.” Laurel hugged her again. “It means a lot.”

“Well, we all gotta help each other, cause them upstairs never will.” She darted a look in Quentin’s direction and stepped back. “You take care, now.”

“I will. Thank you.”

Mrs. Ross left the room, and the silence in her wake was deafening. Laurel looked down at the paper in her hands, which was really just a way of avoiding looking at him.

“A florist?” He finally asked. “That’s what you’re gonna be now?”

Laurel grimaced. “Has to beat retail, right?”

“Laurel, honey, just be reasonable, alright? No vigilante is worth this much no matter what he’s done.”

“And what am I worth?” Laurel asked. “My word, my integrity. That’s what’s on the line here just as much as his reputation. If your boss asked you to lie about some case just because it would make a few CEOs happy, would you do it, dad?”

If he answered truthfully, it wouldn’t make everything right again. Except: “Lying about a case is a lot different than saying a criminal’s a criminal.”

Laurel shook her head before walking to the door. “The next time you wonder why residents in the Glades don’t trust the cops? Remember that.”

She left without letting him respond. It never helped that the both of them always wanted the last word.

“Detective?”

“What?” He snapped. Kelton just blinked at him, and he sighed. “What was it?”

“The incident report was filed for the, uh, Winick Building use of force.”

He straightened up right away. If he couldn’t save Laurel from her own reckless decisions, he could at least nail the idiot who had hurt her that night. “Well?”

“The rubber bullet came from Officer Daily’s weapon.”

“Daily.” Something had always seemed off about that one. He hadn’t even been one of Quentin’s first picks that night, just volunteered because he was on shift. Probably one of those gun-happy nuts who thought the job was more about shooting people than about keeping the peace. Quentin never minded knocking one of those guys down a peg. “Good work, Kelton.”

He left the interview room and headed to Frank’s office where he rapped on the door. It took a few minutes for his superior to open it.

“Got a minute?”

“I suppose,” Frank Pike sighed. “It’s either now or later with you anyway.”

He showed him in, though Quentin remained standing. “You see the incident report?”

“Well? What’s gonna happen to Daily?”

Frank brought his hands together in a gesture that rarely meant good news. “That’s up to Captain Stein’s decision. From what I understand, there will be no disciplinary action.”

Quentin thought he felt his eyes bug out. “What do you mean, no disciplinary action? The man shot a civilian!”

“It’s a difficult situation, Quentin, one you probably should have thought of before you made your daughter a person of interest to the Taskforce,” Frank pointed out none-too-gently. “Daily believed he was shooting at the vigilante. He has expressed no ill intent towards Laurel or any other civilians since. Laurel didn’t even press charges.”

“And you’re lucky she didn’t since it would’ve exposed us being caught in another lie,” he snarked. “Look, if Stein wants to let the whole thing go, that’s his prerogative. But Daily was under my command that night, so I’ll decide—”

“You won’t go near Daily,” Pike said, standing from his desk. “You won’t speak to him, won’t touch him. It’s a huge conflict of interest, Quentin, one that could see you in front of an ethics committee if Stein decided to pursue the matter.”

Quentin stood there a minute, hardly daring to believe it. Far from threatening him, Frank was trying to protect him, and from his own superior. But he was also protecting an officer who had demonstrated gross misconduct. “You know this isn’t right, though.”

“I know what my orders are. I’m telling you what yours are now. Are we understood?”

Quentin looked down, his jaw working for a moment or so. “Sure.” Then he left the office.

Back at his desk, he checked the incident report. Nowhere in it did it actually confirm that Laurel had been struck by Daily’s bullet; it simply made note that Daily’s gun had been returned with one bullet missing. The official record would never hold him accountable and, apparently, neither would any of them.

Why nobody trusted the cops indeed.

---

It had been a long evening of arguing with the contractors yet again. Tommy had been hoping to be done with that long ago, but thanks to the fire last month, they were still in the building process. It didn’t help matters that Oliver tended to disappear as soon as he turned his back for more than a few minutes. He was just glad to be heading home for one night.

Tommy entered the apartment, frowning as he took in the stripped-down sight of it.

“Laurel?”

“Hey.” She came in from the bedroom, a notepad in one hand and a box under her other arm. It looked to have some of her court suits folded up inside.

“What’s going on?”

“I started an account to sell some extra things for rent this month. Since CNRI is a nonprofit that struggles to stay open as it is, they don’t exactly have severance packages.”

“You’re auctioning off your belongings,” he stated flatly.

“They’re clothes, Tommy, not precious heirlooms.”

“And what about next month’s rent? What’ll you have to give up, then?” Even if Laurel let him cover all of it, they’d barely make it along with food and other expenses. He was too proud to ask Oliver for a raise, especially so soon, and it shouldn’t be necessary. None of this was necessary, but Laurel was stubborn enough to go ahead with it anyway.

She seemed to sense his irritation, for it was apologetic eyes she turned on him. “Next month I’m hoping to be out of here. The landlord already said he’s happy to waive the fee for breaking the lease. I think he’ll be glad to have less attacks.” When he didn’t even crack a smile, Laurel started playing with the hem of her sweater. “I’m taking a job at a flower shop for now. So we’ll have to start looking for something in a cheaper neighborhood.”

A flower shop. That was the next grand step in this plan of hers.

He couldn’t believe this. All this time, he’d seen Laurel as something of an unattainable ideal, with some faults perhaps, but nothing in comparison to his own. While he’d been drinking and sleeping through life, she had followed a path to success. And all of that she was willing to give up for the sake of some killer who had decided to make her a centerpiece for his crazed vendetta on the city. He couldn’t just stand by and watch that happen.

Tommy had been trying to make himself better for her, but it seemed clear to him now that the problems in this relationship weren’t just with him.

“Yeah,” he said at last. “Yeah, we will. But separately.”

“What do you mean?”

He gathered a breath. “I thought I wanted this. You. But I was wrong.”

He walked back towards the bedroom. Laurel set her box down and followed him, her eyes widening as she found him pulling clothes out of the drawer — the drawer he had fought tooth and nail to get only a month ago.

“Tommy, talk to me.”

“Why should I? You haven’t been talking to me. Not about meeting up with the Hood, not about the decisions you’re making with your career, the apartment.”

“My career is my choice,” she argued, yet her shoulders slumped as she added, “But I shouldn’t have lied to you about meeting the Hood. I know that, Tommy. And we can still make this work—”

“Just answer me this,” he said, turning back to her as he shut the drawer. “Would you give up everything you’re giving up right now for me?”

Laurel’s head gave a minute shake. “Why would I need to?”

“Exactly. You wouldn’t, because I would never ask you to. But you’re giving it up for him.”

She frowned. “Tommy, this is about what’s best for the city. Not the Hood.”

“It’s about him for me, Laurel,” he stated. “I’m not stupid. You’re committed to him in a way you’re just not to me. I don’t know why, or what this lunatic has that keeps you so loyal to him.”

“He’s—”

Tommy held up a hand. “I don’t really care anymore. I can’t keep caring when you’re ignoring what’s best for you to keep him going. I’m done, Laurel.”

“Tommy, please.” She followed him back out to the front room. “I need you.”

“If you needed me, you wouldn’t have gone to him in the first place.”

Tommy shut the door behind him. He squeezed his eyes shut to hold back the stinging and the tears, and he walked forward to the elevator. Laurel’s crying grew quieter in his ears the further he got away, but not his mind.

He paused in the elevator, his eyes on the apartment door. Then his phone buzzed in his pocket with a news alert.

Hood attacks Queen family matriarch at QC

Tommy’s eyes narrowed, and he hit the close door button. The Hood was an enemy to the people he cared about, whether they could see it for themselves or not.

---

John worked frantically to restart Oliver’s heart. He didn’t know what had gone wrong, but the machine kept up its flat, dead tone.

At least until Felicity Smoak fixed the wires. It was with relief that he realized there was actually nothing wrong with Oliver. His friend was just resting and recovering.

He and Felicity talked while they waited for Oliver to wake up. John could tell she was searching for some kind of reason to stay and accept what was happening, what she now knew. He did his best to explain his own rationale for helping a vigilante.

But at an extremely late hour, the door upstairs opened, revealing a miserable sight.

John stood up straight. “Laurel? Something wrong?”

“Um, hi, John.” The woman’s eyes were red-rimmed, and her voice came out quiet and a little hoarse. She must have been crying a while.

But when her eyes widened upon spotting Oliver on the table, it was any guess as to the reason. “Oliver. Is he okay? What happened?”

Laurel rushed down to their friend’s side, her hand reaching to take his where it hung limply at his side.

“He took a bullet. Should be okay with time,” John told her.

“It was his mother,” Felicity added.

Laurel looked up sharply. “Mrs. Queen?”

John nodded. “We got some intel that she might know something about his father’s list. He tried asking her about it as himself, but she wouldn’t answer. So then he gave it a try as the Hood.”

“And Mrs. Queen gave a try at putting the Hood down,” Felicity remarked.

“She must’ve panicked. If she’d had any idea,” Laurel said. John just stayed quiet. He knew Laurel didn’t have quite as large a blind spot for the Queen matriarch as Oliver did, but she had grown up knowing the woman. It would likely take some time for her to adjust to the idea that Moira Queen wasn’t all she pretended to be.

Laurel wiped her eyes on her sleeve and turned to Felicity. “Um, sorry. I’m Laurel.”

“I know. I saw you on the news a few weeks ago,” Felicity said. “I’m Felicity. I work at Queen Consolidated, which apparently includes doing odd jobs for vigilantes.” She considered Laurel for a moment. “So you really have known who he is. I was wondering.”

“Just for the last month,” Laurel said.

“Did you need something when you came down here, Laurel?” John asked.

“Oh. Yeah, I was hoping to have a look through Ollie’s list. But it can wait.” She returned her gaze to the man’s prone form.

It was another hour before Oliver stirred. His eyes opened and his hand clenched around Laurel’s. John watched her bite back a gasp.

“Ollie, it’s okay. You’re safe.”

“Laurel?” Oliver’s eyes opened and he looked around at the three of them. His grip eased, and then he was pushing himself up to sitting with one arm.

“Easy there. Try not to aggravate your shoulder,” John advised. “You’ve been out most of the night.”

“What happened?”

“Uh, well, I got you to your secret basement like you asked, John patched you up, I hacked the SCPD database to have them dispose of your DNA sample collected at the crime scene, and then Laurel showed up,” Felicity summarized in one breath.

Oliver turned back to Laurel. “Are you okay?”

She looked ready to laugh in disbelief. “I’m fine. You’re the one with a shoulder wound worse than mine was. How are you going to hide this from your family?”

“I’ll manage.”

“Did you want to see the list now, Laurel?” John asked.

Laurel nodded and stepped back from Oliver’s table. “Yeah, thanks.”

“Why do you need the list?” Oliver asked, frowning as she walked away.

“I wanted to make sure which landlords are on it and which aren’t.” She kept her eyes on the pages she was scanning as she continued, “I’m, um, probably moving to the Glades.”

“What?” Oliver slid off the table and winced as the impact reached his shoulder, but he shook it off. “Laurel, the Glades aren’t safe.”

“Yes, but they’re what I can afford. The only work I’ve found is at a florist’s shop, and if I can walk there instead of using public transit, that’ll save me money, too.”

“That the shop on Wells and 17th?” John asked. He’d noticed the help wanted sign in its window a few times as he’d passed by.

“Uh-huh.”

“Laurel, you’re not a florist,” Oliver said. “You’re a lawyer.”

“Well, there aren’t any law offices that want me. Wish I’d known that before I paid all that money to get the degree,” she remarked. John could see the effort she was going through to keep things light. He still didn’t know what had had her so upset when she arrived. “Okay, so none of the Nickel properties are worth looking into…”

Oliver shook his head. “Those offices will reconsider with time. Look, if you’re that tight for money, I’ll just raise Tommy’s salary so you have more time to look or you can work here with him—”

“Tommy broke up with me,” Laurel stated bluntly, at last looking up from the list. Her mouth pulled down in a terribly sad frown. 

Oliver froze. “He left you?”

“He packed his things and walked out tonight.”

“Because of everything that’s happening.” Oliver looked down for a long moment. “I’ll tell him the truth.”

John’s eyes widened, though before he could speak up Laurel was already replying with common sense.

“No, you can’t. He hates the Hood worse than ever, Ollie. There’s no telling how he’d react.” She heaved a sigh. “And it wouldn’t fix the rest of the problems we’ve had. I gave a relationship with Tommy a shot because I was tired of constantly having to turn him down. And I liked it, but — it’s over now. He can’t agree with my choices, and I can’t force him to.”

There was a heavy silence after those words. John noticed Felicity was busying herself by the table with the newer computers she’d set up, and he had a feeling the woman was desperate to be anywhere but here.

“I can still get you a job. Maybe not at the club, but Queen Consolidated. I’m sure we could find something for you,” Oliver offered.

“After the Hood attacked their CEO?”

John looked down. He could see where this was going, and it didn’t lead to any of Laurel’s problems having an easy fix. That was going to be partly on him since he’d been behind the push to send the Hood after Mrs. Queen, and all for no new information, as it was turning out.

“Oliver, if you want people to believe your cover for not being the Hood, for not even liking him, you can’t have anything to do with me.”

Oliver’s face took on a look of alarm as he started towards her. “Laurel—”

She set the list down and took a step back. “Your mother’s just been attacked by a man you’ve been claiming is insane. If I continue believing in the Hood — which I will, since I know you never meant to hurt your own mother — it would be impossible for you to keep being my friend. We can’t have contact, at least not in public.”

Words were failing Oliver. Combined with his shoulder wound, the man looked absolutely broken. He and the rest of them could only watch as Laurel made her way to the stairs.

“I’m sorry. It was nice meeting you,” she added to Felicity. For one moment, she stared at Oliver with eyes that practically ached. Then she looked down and climbed the staircase, the door closing with finality behind her.

“Well,” Felicity said eventually. “I think I’ll be heading home myself. I’ve got an early morning.” She reached for her coat and started for the door.

“Felicity,” Oliver said quietly. The woman paused. “Thank you for everything you did tonight. I understand it was a lot to bring you in on so quickly.”

“Yeah.” She fiddled with her keys. “Not that I’m not grateful you felt you could finally trust me with the truth about all this. But just, no offense, from where I’m standing, being associated with you seems to destroy a person’s life.”

Oliver stayed silent, not even attempting to argue against that assessment.

“So I’m not going to tell the police about you, and I will work with you to find Walter. But that’s it, and after that we’re done.”

Oliver gave a slow nod. “That’s fine.”

“Okay. Well, goodnight. I’m glad you didn’t die.” She, too, headed up the stairs and at of the foundry.

A very heavy, very uncomfortable silence fell once it was just the two of them. John knew it was up to him to try and bridge it. “Oliver, I’m sorry things worked out like this.”

“What is this like, Diggle?” Oliver asked. “A disaster? Because that’s how it seems to me.”

“You couldn’t have known Tommy was going to call things quits. And that relationship needed to run its course without you anyway.”

“But it’s not without me, John.” Oliver’s look was absolutely guilt-stricken. “Tommy was jealous of the Hood. And with him gone, and her and Lance not speaking, and now this, she’s totally on her own. I did that.”

“A lot of that was Laurel’s choices, too,” he pointed out quietly.

“I forced her into them. I should have realized the danger I was putting her in. The risks. Now it’s too late. But I’m not taking them with anyone else.” Oliver pulled on a sweatshirt, then took two steps towards John, getting right into his space.

“My mother — any of my loved ones, are off limits. For good this time.”

He’d known it was coming, and there was little he could say without them coming to blows over it. And without any more information about this Undertaking, he had no real leverage.

Oliver turned and stormed from the base. John sighed, then got to work finishing cleaning up.

To think things had somehow only gotten worse even after Oliver had been shot.

[jane-fucking-seymour]

& Juliet Fanfic - “Don’t Give Up On Your Faith”

Words: 4,224

AO3 Link (first in the fandom?)

NOTE: still getting used to the characters.... so yeah.

Even after the play had been written, the piece was published, and the world fell in love with Romeo and Juliet’s story, Anne Hathaway found that she could still enter the Story.

At least, that’s what she was calling it; the realm that seemed to be some sort of suspended reality, something similar to, but definitely not completely tethered, to their usual world. The Real Life, as William coined it.

In Story, the tale of Juliet and Romeo continued, far beyond what the two writers originally intended. It was confusing even to William, who found that he, too, could reprise his usual roles, as time passed in Story.

“Might be good for a sequel of sorts,” William quipped one morning, sitting next to April as they watched Juliet, May and Nurse from afar.

“Eh, I think they deserve some peace, don’t they?” Anne asks, slipping her hand into his. “Everyone does. It’s been quite the last few months for them, a small break won’t kill anyone-” she makes a face at the bad phrasing, which makes William laugh. 

“Fine, fine, no Romeo & Juliet 2, I suppose,” he quips with a smile. “I rather like it here.”

“It is quite nice, isn’t it?” Anne asks with a grin, looking over at him. “A few rules, though: we don’t stay in here for more than a day maximum, and we definitely don’t bring the girls in here.” She looks down at their hands. “We don’t know the full extent of this place, so-”

“April!”

The name is second nature to Anne now: April, the woman of Story, best friend to Juliet. When she’s in the Real World - or alone with William - she’s Anne; but here, with Juliet and company, she’s April. It’s all as compartmentalized as she could make it.

“Oh, ready to go?” April asks, jumping off the ledge to move to meet them. “What’s the plan today, everyone?”

April did always love the adventures and antics they got into in this world; she had a freedom here that, in the Real World, she wasn’t allowed. It was refreshing on multiple levels.

“Probably just going to hang out in the square,” Juliet says with a shrug. “Then I’m meeting up with Romeo for a nice dinner.”

“Oh?” April asks with a smile. “That sounds lovely… how’s that all going, anyways?”

William, who was following originally, is suddenly stopped by a few of Romeo’s friends. With a smile and a wave, he moves away, towards the other side of the square, still in eyeline of each other should they need it. Now that they weren’t fighting, they never wanted to leave each other’s sides - as much as possible, anyways.

“We’re alright,” Juliet continues. “We’re getting through some things. Not really sure what we are currently, but that’s okay for now, you know? We’re definitely friends. I just hope we can get closer.”

April smiles. “That’s a good way to go about it.”

“It’s a fresh start,” Juliet replies. “I like where it’s going.”

“And how about you, May?” April asks, smiling a bit coyly at them. “What about you?”

“Oh, uh… me and Frankie are doing well, thank you,” they reply, a soft smile on their face. “It’s been wonderful, really.”

Juliet laughs at that, pulling May closer. “You can’t stop talking about him, May! It’s adorable.”

May chuckles at that, shrugging a bit shyly. “It’s nice, you know? To have that connection with someone. It’s nice.”

April nods understandingly, smile growing wider as she looks over at… 

“Angelique?” 

“Oh, uh,” Angelique replies, chuckling. “We’ll see how it goes. Lance has been quite the charmer since we decided to… er, you know.” She chuckles. “I’m meeting with him tonight, actually, while Juliet and Romeo go on their little date of sorts.

“Oh, it must be a date night,” May quips. “I’ll be with Frankie. We’ve got a faire to go see.”

April tilts her head. “Oh, where is it? I might take-”

April stops, though, and stares, straightening up a bit.

It’s a chill down her spine, a stoppage of breath, a terrifying reaction to something unseen. 

The group stops to look at her. “April? You alright?” Juliet asks, frowning.

April doesn’t react for a moment before, suddenly, she looks down, a bit confused.

She’s not sure what just happened, but she’s sure of what she needs to do.

“I… need to go,” she says, looking around; sure enough, William is rushing to her side. “Emergency.”

“Can we help-” Juliet starts, but Anne’s already rushing off, having taken William by the hand.

“I’ll be back in a bit!” Anne replies. “Don’t wait up!”

William follows quickly. “You felt it too, right?”

“Yeah,” Anne nods. “Something’s off.”

The duo end up in an alleyway, where they close there eyes, take a deep breath, focus…

… and William opens his eyes to find himself in the Real World. He’s thankful that little trick hasn’t failed them.

The first thing he does is check on the girls; they’re safe, still not back from their trip. With that anxiety lessened, he continues the search for whatever has gone wrong. 

Will looks around anxiously; something’s off, he knows it, but he can’t seem to find anything at the moment-

-which, with a terrifying realization, he knows is part of the problem.

“Anne?” he asks, rushing through the home. “Anne, where are you-”

He stops, however, when he enters the next room, eyes wide.

“Christopher Marlowe?”

Sure enough, the man was standing there, Anne being forced to stand in front of him, a knife to her back. 

“Hello, William,” Chrisopher says. “It’s nice to see you again.”

William shakes the shock away.

“Where are the girls?” Anne asks; it’s the biggest concern to her right now, not even her own safety. 

William expected nothing less; it’s what he would worry about as well.

“Safe, not here, still on that trip,” Will explains. When Anne visibly relaxes, William turns his attention back to the current situation. “I thought you died, right about the time you were outed as not the writer of all my plays.”

“Greatly exaggerated,” Christopher explains. “But don’t worry, I’ll soon reveal myself to the masses… as the new William Shakespeare.”

William blinks.

Anne blinks.

They both reply:

“What?”

Christopher sighs.

“Both of you are rather cute with the whole do-the-same-thing-at-the-same-time thing,” Christopher grumbles, “but now’s really not the time for it.”

He pulls Anne closer.

“I’m done with being in your shadow, William,” Christopher says, taking out something. “And I think this finally my chance to take what’s mine: your works, your legacy… your lady here.”

“Since when are you even remotely interested in Anne?” William asks, giving him a confused look. William was getting more and more confused by the moment.

Christopher takes a moment before he shrugs and nods.

“Okay, fair play, I’m not really after her, but… the Story, that’s what you’ve been calling it, haven’t you?”

Anne tries to look back. “How do you know about that-”

“That’s a conversation for another time,” Christopher says. He starts to move and Anne’s scared he’ll move towards her husband.

“William, back away,” Anne says, voice as steady as it could be given the moment. She tenses when she feels something against her back - something that’s getting hotter by the second. “Get help. Don’t worry about me.”

“And leave you here with him? Not a chance,” William growls out, glaring daggers at his opponent.

Christopher smiles. “One more chance, Will. Give me the play, or I’ll take her from you.” 

“Christopher Marlowe, get the hell away from her-” William starts, but then Marlowe presses the thing further into Anne’s back, and the woman gasps, eyes wide.

There’s some sort of… darkness, of shadow, that floats through the air, coming from Anne’s back and into the woman’s heart. Marlowe backs up, away from Anne, but the woman is still floating in the air, darkness surrounding her.

“Anne!” Will tries to yell, but he’s suddenly knocked down by an unknown, invisible force.

When he sits back up, he looks with wide eyes.

Standing before him is his wife, but her eyes… they’re as black as night. They look straight through him.

Christopher looks pleased.

“Now then,” he says happily, gently carding a hand through Anne’s hair. “I think another rewrite is in order, wouldn’t you agree, love?”

He offers her a dagger… which she takes.

“Anne, please-” William starts, but then the ground shakes and a sigil appears on the ground. His eyes go wide.

“We’re not killing you, William, don’t worry,” he says. “Just everything you’ve held dear will be destroyed over the next 24 hours. Isn’t that right, Anne?”

Anne says nothing as she’s suddenly engulfed in the shadow… and they’re gone. They’re both gone.

William can only stare.

Back within the Story, Juliet was a bit panicked.

“I know April does this sometimes,” Juliet said with a frown, “but never for this long. Does anyone know where she’s gone off to?”

“Not that I know of,” Nurse replies. “She’s usually here by now-”

“There you two are.”

The duo turns to find April there. Juliet almost smiles in relief, but…

“Are you alright, April?” Juliet asks, moving over to the woman with urgency. 

April looks over and, for a moment, Juliet feels a coldness. It’s gone as soon as it came, though, and April gives her a smile.

“Of course, Juliet, why wouldn’t I be?” she asks, the normal tone and warm smile back in play.

Juliet shrugs. “You were gone for half a day without telling anyone where you were.”

April shrugs. “Sorry. Shall we get going?”

Juliet narrows her eyes as April walks past.

A few hours later, it’s clear to Juliet that something’s wrong.

It’s April, she’s sure of it, but it’s also… just… not. 

When the two of them were alone for a moment, Juliet takes the opportunity to talk to her privately.

“You’ve been acting strange all day, April,” Juliet says gently, taking the girl’s hand. “Are you sure there’s nothing the matter?”

April, for the record, isn’t really hearing Juliet right now; all she can focus on is the voice in her head, repeating the same thing over and over:

Kill her.

Kill her.

Kill her.

Kill-

As it continues, April can’t help but remember a time, not so long ago, where she and Juliet fought back against demands like this. April had helped Juliet make her own choices, her own decisions… the same things that aren’t being allowed for April - for Anne - right now.

It helps give her strength and, for a moment, April can see the light in the darkness.

“Shut up!”

Juliet starts in surprise, stopping. “I’m sorry-?”

“No, not…” April sighs; she’s surprised that came out of her mouth. She winces, a hand to her head.

“Are you alright-” Juliet tries, a hand reaching out to try to help steady her friend, but April pulls away rather harshly.

“I’m fine, don’t touch me,” April growls out. “I need a moment.”

April moves past without much fanfare. 

Juliet frowns, watching her friend as she moves into a dark, shadowy back alley.

In said alley, April walks fairly unsteadily, eventually toppling towards the wall. With a deep, shaking breath, she steadies herself.

“This… th-this isn’t right,” April says quietly, to herself. “All of this, it’s not-!”

“But it is, April~”

She can hear him, she can feel him… but she can’t see him.

“What did you do to me?” Anne demands, anger rising the longer this continues. She looks up. “Show yourself, Marlowe!”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he asks, though clearly not anywhere near Anne. She looks around wildly, angrily… but nothing. “No, no, you still have a job to do, Annie.”

A dagger suddenly appears in April’s hands.

“No,” Anne says. “I refuse. I absolutely refuse-”

“You can and you will,” Marlowe cuts in. “You won’t have a choice. This isn’t your narrative anymore, Hathaway. This is mine. It will all be mine.”

“I have a choice,” Anne growls out; to herself or to Marlowe, she’s not sure, but she clings onto the reminder like a lifeline. “I have a fucking choice-”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Marlowe starts, just as the darkness rises once again. Anne feels like she’s drowning in it, fading off into obscurity because of it, completely unable to overcome it.

“You will never have a choice again.”

Anne shakes, dagger laying in her hands… and then slowly but surely, she grabs it and holds onto it tightly.

The darkness is eternal, swirled around her, and she relaxes into it.

“I will,” she replies, her voice devoid of emotion. “I will.”

She’s resigned to it, suddenly; she knows there’s no other way. She knows what she must do - what she has no choice but to do.

The darkness has taken hold again.

“Good,” Marlowe replies. “Now, it must be done before midnight,” he says. “Which is in about… four hours.”

The darkness swirls around Anne more and she closes her eyes, taking a deep breath. Succumbing to it. 

“I will, before midnight,” she promises.

The darkness fades.

Anne puts the dagger on her belt, hiding it from view, before she moves back towards the others.

Juliet looks back as soon as April is seen.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Juliet tries again, but April gives her a smile.

“Never better, I assure you,” April replies with a grin. “Come on, Juliet, we have much to do before tonight.”

Juliet raises an eyebrow but follows. “What’s tonight?”

April just grins. 

“You’ll see.”

Back in the Real World, William has been trying over and over to get back into the Story… but for some reason, he just can’t. No matter how hard he focuses, how hard he writes… there’s nothing. He’s blocked, it seems, from his own creation.

“Come on, Anne,” he says, a frustrated sigh following. “You need to let me in-”

“She’s not coming, William.”

William glares at the man in front of him: Marlowe, once again, holding a book. He recognizes it immediately, but he doesn’t care.

“Give her back to me,” William demands. “Now.”

“So sorry, can’t do it,” Marlowe replies. “You can read along, though, if you’d like.”

When William gives him a questioning look, Marlowe throws the book at him. William catches it, opens it up… and his eyes go wide and he drops the book immediately.

“Witchcraft!” he exclaims. “That must be witchcraft.”

“It’s something far worse, I assure you,” Marlowe replies. “It won’t hurt you, though. And you can follow along with what’s happening in that realm of hers… and watch when she completely destroys it.”

William glares… but takes the book anyways. When he looks up, Marlowe is gone.

All he thinks he can do is just… read along, as the words appear on the page. 

He joins in just as the clock is about to strike 11:30 at night.

“What’s happening in half an hour again?” Juliet asks; at this point, she and April are alone, walking the streets of Paris, arms linked. “It’s dangerous to be out here alone like this, you know… we should have waited for Romeo, he said he was only going to be another minute or so.”

“I assure you, Juliet,” April replies, “he won’t be needed.”

Juliet stops then.

“Alright, come off it, then, what’s going on?”

April looks back, questioning. “What do you mean?”

“April wouldn’t just blow him off like that,” Juliet replies. “Something’s wrong here. Can’t you feel it?” Juliet shivers a bit. “It’s like a coldness… it’s you, but it’s the air around you, too. Something’s off, and I think it starts with you.”

April tilts her head in thought before she shrugs. The dagger appears in her hands.

Juliet instantly backs up a few steps.

“April?” Juliet tries, but then the girl strikes, trying to slash at the woman. “April!”

Back in the Real World, William squeezes his eyes shut, trying to focus; why can’t he get in?

Juliet backs up again, eyes wide. “What’s gotten into you? Snap out of this!”

April moves forward once more, once again being dodged. “April!”

“Will you just be a good girl for us and die already?” Anne growls out, going for the stab once again.

“Us?” Juliet asks, suddenly moving forward. Somehow, against all odds, she’s managed to grab the arm with the knife without injuring anyone. “Who’s us?”

They struggle. William tries harder, as hard as he can.

Come on, William, he thinks to himself, your wife’s in danger and you can’t even save her? Do something!

Juliet looks around for a moment before she pushes April away, the knife clamoring to the ground. April stumbles, a hand on the wall as she glares.

“Whatever this is… this isn’t you, April, I can tell that much,” Juliet tries.

April sneers. “Be a good little Capulet and stay still, alright?”

Juliet stands firm. “Absolutely not.”

“Then I’ll make you.”

“We’ll see about that.”

They struggle, once again, and April tries to grab the knife, but Juliet successfully kicks it back towards the opening of the alley.

They’re in a standoff once again.

“So, what, whatever this is… you’re just going to let it control you, April?”

“I’m doing what I must,” April replies. “You wouldn’t understand, you foolish girl.”

“You clearly didn’t do your history, because I do understand,” Juliet replies. “I’m the one that would understand more than anyone, April. You know that.”

April winces at the comment, and Juliet takes it as encouragement.

“I thought we learned from before that we all need to be able to make our choices, our own decisions.” Juliet moves towards April now. “Whatever is stealing that from you… you need to take it back. Please, April, we’re counting on you.”

Juliet notices it immediately, but something starts to happen: April is shaking, eyes wide for a moment in fear, lips trying to form sentences that aren’t coming out. April shakes her head, squeezes her eyes shut, tries to talk… but she just can’t.

April collects herself too quickly and suddenly pushes Juliet down. With her towering over Juliet, April smirks… but is stopped by Juliet herself.

“Wait!” 

April stops, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve got two minutes before you die, girl,” she says, a hand extended to telepathically take the dagger back. “Make these last words quick.”

Juliet watches the girl carefully - Romeo should know that something’s up, he should be headed this way soon. April clearly wants something to happen before the stroke of midnight, so… she needs to stall. Just for that long.

Okay, Juliet thinks. She can do this. “Remember when things with Romeo were a bit messy?” Juliet asks. “Remember when I wasn’t able to have a choice in my own life? Remember when you helped me take back my agency, my story?” 

April narrows her eyes, but Juliet continues.

“April, what happened to me then, it’s happening to you now. I don’t understand all of it, but I know you don’t want to do this. You’d never want to hurt me, or anyone. Something is making you. But April… you’re not the type of girl to take this and just go along with it. This isn’t you, this isn’t your story, you have a choice here and I know - I know - that you can beat it.”

April is starting to shake, eyes suddenly less sure and harsh and dark. Juliet takes it as encouragement.

“Whatever’s going on, I promise you, it’s something you can break,” Juliet tried. “It’s something you’re stronger than - something you’ve been stronger than.”

April’s dagger rises into the air, but April’s face clearly shows that she’s unsure of the situation.

“April. Please. Remember yourself, your mission, your entire story. You can beat this. I know you can.”

April looks conflicted - more than she’s ever been, as far as Juliet’s concerned - and when the dagger slowly starts to lower back to April’s side, Juliet has a hopeful look on her face.

April seems to look at her then - really look at her - and there’s a spark of recognition.

“Juliet?”

“That’s me, exactly,” Juliet replies with a nod. “There you go, April, come on, just a bit more. Keep rising above it, you’re almost there-”

But then, suddenly, the darkness surges.

The dagger disappears suddenly and April collapses to her knees, holding her head in her hands, scraming as the whirlwind of darkness continues to surround her and Juliet. Juliet grabs onto her, holding the girl tightly, but eventually the darkness is just too much, even for the Capulet.

The last thing Juliet hears is Romeo calling her name as she collapses to the ground, April having disappeared in the dark.

William feels something break in the back of his mind - a barrier of sorts - before his eyes open to the sight of his wife, on the floor, struggling for breath.

“Anne!” he yells, quickly moving over to her. “Hey, hey, you’re okay, you’re out, it’s alright-”

“For her, yes. For you… hm.”

Anne suddenly straightens up, eyes wide for a moment as tears start to form. She suddenly has the knife in her hands again. 

William glares at the man behind her. “I thought you said you weren’t going to kill me.”

“Change of plans,” Christopher replies with a shrug. “Go on then, Anne. You know what you have to do.”

Anne looks down at the dagger, then over at her husband, who is standing way too close for comfort, and Anne just…

…. Stops.

She’s conflicted - she still is - but she can’t do this. She remembers what Juliet said - remembers how right the girl was, how the choice is hers and hers alone, and she’ll be damned before she lets someone else take that choice.

She’s Anne fucking Hathaway, thank you, and she will not be denied her choice.

“You had…” Anne says, standing up. She stumbles, but William is there to help. “You had a better chance of me killing Juliet before I killed him.”

William smirks at that, pulling her in for a moment before she moves away, looking back at the guy that had cursed her in the first place.

The clock strikes midnight then, much to Christopher’s alarment. 

“How did you do it?” He demands as, suddenly the room gets impossibly darker. “The magick, it was ancient, no one’s defeated it before.”

Anne smirks, the dagger falling from her hands. 

The dagger turns into smoke and, with the rest of the darkness in the room, swirls around Christopher instead. Anne feels it leaving her as well - the darkness, the compulsion - and she falls to her knees as Christopher yells in pain.

When she looks back up, he’s gone.

“Finally.”

She feels someone close pull her in, checking her over. She smiles softly at him.

“You need to rest,” he says quietly. “Whatever that was, it wasn’t good.”

Anne shakes her head, though, leaning into him for a moment before standing. “We need to go into Story. Juliet… we need to get to her.”

William knows better than to argue at the moment.

Sure enough, when they arrive in Story, Juliet is still down for the count.

Romeo quickly ushers them over. “Please! I don’t know what’s happened, I just found her like this and… and some shadows-”

“I know,” Anne replies, instantly at the girl’s side. She holds Juliet closely now, worried eyes scanning her over. “Go get Nurse, please.”

Romeo nods, rushing off. William kneels next to his wife and Juliet, staying close but staying quiet.

“Come on, Juliet, breathe,” Anne says, trying to wake the girl up. She frowns. “Can you see that, William?”

“See what?” he asks, looking down.

“The Darkness… it’s there.” Anne says. Then, with an understanding nod, she gently puts a hand on the girl’s shoulder and focuses.

Suddenly, without warning, Juliet gasps awake.

“I’m honestly surprised that worked,” Anne mumbles, suddenly out of energy.

Juliet scrambles to sit up, looking around.

“April?” she asks, a bit suspicious, but the soft, warm smile from the woman in question allows Juliet to relax. “Is that actually you this time?”

April nods. “It’s… a long story. I think. I don’t quite remember, but… you saved me, Juliet. Thank you-”

That’s all she can say, however, as Juliet quickly pulls the girl into a tight embrace.

“Don’t you EVER do that to me again,” Juliet mumbles against April’s shoulder.

April smiles. “I’m not planning on it, love. Promise.”

Juliet pulls back with a watery smile.

In the days that follow, Juliet is put on bedrest while April is sent away for rest as well. When she arrives back in Story, Juliet is happy to see her.

“Can you explain what happened, though?” Juliet asks. “That guy you’re always with, William… he’s something special, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, he’s something, alright,” April quips with a smirk. 

“No, I mean… he’s special. Like you.”

April looks over at Juliet for a moment; she knew Juliet would figure it out eventually, but… eh, where’s the fun in just telling her?

“Not sure what you mean,” April replies with a grin. “I’m just your best friend, that’s all I need to be.”

Juliet narrows her eyes, but a soft smile rises on her face. “Alright then, April, keep your secrets.” She nudges the girl with a grin.

“It’s your choice, after all.”

[deathbyvalentine]

Hurt/Comfort Prompts - Physical

No Pain Killers Available

Lance was no longer grossed out by the sight of his own insides. It felt like it should be more of a milestone than it was. They don’t make medals for this. It wasn’t glamorous or courageous. It definitely didn’t look good on any holovid. There was just the sound of him gritting his teeth and his hands clamped over the wound, holding everything together. He told his feet to move, one step at a time. Eyes trained ahead. Don’t focus on the moving parts around you. Get to the medic. Just get to the medic. Don’t die.  As always, he got there on time. Someone began fussing over the wound, prising his hands away to see the depth of the damage. And then holding some small white pills in their hands, tipping them towards him. He shook his head, knocking them aside. Even things that were not addictive, were addictive. If it felt good, he could find the hook. The only way through was by not slipping at all.

So he felt it when the medic’s hands pressed inside to pull grit out of the wound. He felt it when they cleaned the carved flesh and began to sew it up in long steady strokes. There was no escape, no welcoming fog or waiting darkness. Just the sharp stabs of the needle and the deeper, profound ache of the open wound. He tried to focus on other things - the feeling of fabric under his fingertips, the buzz of conversation moving above his head. Hell, even the irritating-just-healed mark on his chest. Anything but what was happening. 

It was over, the repair at least. The pain wouldn’t fade for a while. He would struggle to the medbay when they got off this piece of rock and try to sleep. Nothing to do but to let it heal to a level where he could do his damn job, then push through the pain all the while. It was routine by now. 

He wondered what the moment was when he got used to being in pain. He couldn’t remember it. It seemed quite long ago now. 

__________________________________________________________

Gotta Stay Quiet To Avoid Discovery

Esfir clamped a hand over his mouth, pulling him back into the shadows and against the wall. His shoulder blades hit the wall and he put his weight against it, desperately trying not to stand on his ankle. The leather of his shoe was tight, pressing against the swollen flesh. He had definitely broken it. The only question was how badly. Every movement he made sent daggers of pain up and down his leg. Dimitri was no stranger to pain but this made him feel sick and faint. That could have been due to the anxiety of course. How the fuck were they going to get out of here? He looked over at Esfir, trying to communicate how utterly fucked they were without words. Speed or silence was the way to escape and he was currently capable of neither.

He should have known really, that Esfir would save him. She looked him up and down, deciding something. In one swift movement, she bent her knees, and pulled him onto her back. He understood immediately and pressed close. She was going to carry him out of here. They stuck to the shadows, each of her footsteps carefully planted and chosen. Every so often, she would freeze and Dimitri would try not to breathe as a guard moved past. He couldn’t help but be a bit amused. He’d been trying to find a way to shut her up for months and all he had to do was break an ankle. 

It seemed like hours later when they finally managed to exit the compound. He expected to be immediately dumped on the ground but... She kept carrying him, all the way to Vega. The pain had managed to slow to a deep ache and Vega said something about being able to fix it in no time at all. Dimitri could barely keep his eyes open through that conversation, exhausted both from pain and from the effort of staying quiet and clinging to Esfir. He decided, on the whole, sleep was a better option than consciousness. The last thing he saw as he gave himself up to rest was Esfir watching him with an intensity he was surprised by. She had surprised him a lot today.

______________________________________________ Feverish Delirium And Mumbling (Olethra)

Cal shifted on the table. It was dark and it was cold but for the moment at least, they had a moments peace. Even the cold was welcome - their skin was burning up, like a fire inside them had been lit and was moments away from being an inferno. All they had to do right now was keep breathing. One breath after the other. They turned their head to the side and blinked at what they saw there. “Nic?” “Hey there.” It had been a long time since they saw him last but he looked exactly the same. Cravat slightly loosened, sleeves rolled up. He must be off duty. Cal wanted to cry but they couldn’t exactly pinpoint why. The why must have been unimportant. Nic caught their hand as they raised it to cup his face and pressed a kiss to the inside of their palm. “What have you done to yourself now eh? The Chaser should start charging you a finder’s fee.” “The Chaser is here?” “Of course. Didn’t think we’d let you wander off alone, did you?” His voice was warm, reassuring.  “Is Bridge angry?” Nic blinked, his tone becoming softer. “Throne no, Cal. Pip is frantic of course and Gwyn has burnt through a years supply of candles in a week but none of us are angry.” “That’s good.” They closed their eyes in a vain attempt to stop tears from leaking out. It didn’t work.  Nic was there with a handkerchief, gently wiping them away. For a minute there was just silence, Nic holding their hand and the sound of their own breath. “Can you talk to me? For a bit. Just. Until - “ “What do you want to hear? I could catch you up on our holoshow. Oh, or tell you about Silvestro actually managing to rip one of his shirts via the medium of flexing. We should never have doubted him. I thought astropaths were meant to be svelte but I suppose I’ve been proved wrong once again.” “Is Mordecai okay? What about Baris?” There were too many questions bubbling up. “Baris is with us. Him and Gwyn have formed a ministry of two. And Mordecai is Mordecai. Busy and surrounded by paperwork as a general rule. I can ask and let him be here for a while, if you want - “ “No!” The suddenness of the exclamation made them wince. Nic immediately hushed them, pushing hair out of their eyes and tutting about Cal’s inability to ever rest properly. “No. I just want you.” “You’ve got me.” He brushed a thumb along their knuckles. “I promise.” “I like your promises.” Cal murmured. “You always keep them.” “Well. I feel like very high on the list of things that you shouldn’t do is lie to a saint.” “I’d be able to tell anyway. I can always tell with you.” “One of the only ones.” His voice was indescribably fond. “You should sleep.” “I don’t want to.” “I know. But if you’re going to get back to me for real, you’re gonna need it.”“ “Stay until I fall asleep at least?” “Always.” 

________________________________________________________

Cowboy Medicine: Whiskey Internally & Externally Applied

This sucked. There was no other way to face it. Ash had a hand clamped tight over her ribs, feeling warmth ooze out between her fingers. She had her jaw clenched tight, breathing through it. Positives. Think of the positives. She was in her motel room. Nobody had died. Oh and - she checked the minifridge. Bingo. Three small bottles of vodka, whiskey and gin sat, unassuming. She grabbed the gin, twisting the bottle cap between her teeth and spitting it out, downing it in one. She grabbed the other two and made her way slowly to the bathroom, clicking the light on with her shoulder.

She looked like hell. Bruises were blooming along the underside her jaw in the shape of fingerprints. Then the blood soaking through her shirt. Rummaging through her toiletry bag one handed, she found the face wipes, sewing kit and the lighter. She opened the vodka and left it resting on the side. She threaded a needle, flicked the lighter on and passed the point through the flame before setting that aside too. Painfully she tugged her shirt off and over her head, letting it drop to the floor. Stage one - inspect the wound.

She brushed a face wipe over it to clean off some of the blood, muffling a whimper. It was a surface wound, but a deep one. She could see white underneath all the red and for a moment the world tilted slightly. She took a steadying breath and waited for it to right itself. When it did, she picked up her shirt and balled it up, pressing it to her mouth. She grabbed the vodka and poured it over the wound. She screamed of course, but the fabric dulled the sound. Next she picked up the needle. With one hand she pressed the two sides of the wound closed. The worst bit was over. Sewing yourself up was easy. Just like fixing a jacket and she had done her fair share of that. Smooth motions, don’t hesitate when it hurts. Pull tight at the end and make sure you throw away the fucking needle. When it was done, she downed the whiskey too, for completeness sake. She was trembling slightly, from either adrenaline or the crash from it. But the gin was starting to hit her, adding a rosy blush to proceedings and a softness to the pain. 

She stumbled to the bed, gingerly lowering herself onto it and staring up at the ugly plastered ceiling. No, the booze wasn’t strictly necessary. But it sure as fuck helped.

_______________________________________________________

Huddling For Warmth

Lance’s lips were very slightly tinted blue, in contrast to his cheeks which were  a flushed red. He had wrapped his arms tight around himself and pulled his gloved hands up into the sleeves. Occasionally he would stamp his feet, not so much because it helped but because it seemed like the thing to do. Astrid, of course, had her hood down and only the tip of her nose was pink. She looked at him sidelong. Lance had stubbornly set his jaw and was pointedly looking ahead of him.  “You okay?” “Fine.” Astrid’s mouth twitched, suppressing a smile at how utterly predictable he was.  “You’re not cold?” “No.” He said, visibly shivering.  “Oh for - come here.” She moved behind him, wrapping her arms around his chest and resting her chin on top of his head. For a moment he stood stiffly, cross at what he saw as pity, but a breath or two later he relaxed back into her. She could literally feel the tension drain from his shoulders and then she was taking a little of his weight. “They’ll be here soon. Don’t die.” “I refuse to die on your planet. It’ll give it pretensions.”  “You’ve already nearly died here once, let’s not push our luck.”  “Technically I did die.” Astrid let the silence sit for a moment. “Yeah.” Finally the transport slid up, the driver apologising profusely for being late on the pick up. Lance gave her a withering glance Astrid assumed they taught all Duroveras at birth. She released him, letting him clamber in first, a little clumsily due to his numb fingers. She followed, graceful, making him tut in sheer annoyance. He leaned forward to immediately turn the heating up to full, looking at her and daring her to say something. Astrid just sat back and grinned.

____________________________________________________________

Desperate Hand-Holding

An illness was sweeping through the factory. Another reason to dislike the noble visitors. They brought in germs to a closed environment and didn’t stick around to witness the carnage caused. Three had died already though admittedly they were either old or weak to begin with and probably wouldn’t have lasted much longer anyway. This was not a place to get sick. No care would be afforded to you. You survived or died and you did it alone.

Cal twisted in their bunk, feverish sweat soaking the thin sheets around them. Their skin felt on fire, their core something molten. Every position they settled in became unbearable a moment later. What frightened them more was how every thought they had seemed to float away a moment later, unable to focus. They were aware of people moving around in the dormitory but couldn’t recognise their faces. 

Until Baris appeared that was. He sat beside them, placing something blessedly cool on their forehead. Water trickled across their skin in refreshing rivulets, leaving a slight scent of salt in its wake. He peeled the sheet down, bunching it up at the bottom of the bunk. He had another piece of soaked fabric and he ran it down their arms and legs, meaning the air felt a little cooler afterwards. Cal made a noise that might have been a sigh of relief. He passed them a water bottle. “This one isn’t salt, I promise. It’s from the d-d-distillery.” 

Cal leaned up to drink from it, hand trembling just a little. Baris went to help but Cal shook their head, determined to do it themselves. A stubborn streak a mile long would not be erased by something as mundane as a fever. After a long sip, they collapsed back down, a little out of breath but also a little less flushed. Baris watched them for a moment, then made to climb up to his higher bunk. Cal caught his wrist, then moved their hand down to his, holding it tightly. They didn’t need words. Baris knew damn well that they were frightened. He ran his thumb over their knuckles, calming them like he would an angry cat. At some point, their breathing levelled out and Baris realised that they had fallen asleep, still clutching his hand in a vice like grip that shouldn’t have strictly been possible from an unconcious person. And yet. He could have slipped off to bed now, but he didn’t. He stayed, thumb still making that same sweeping motion over and over. 

_________________________________________________________

“Breathe, Just Breathe.”

Tommy sat bolt upright, throwing the duvet back from him. His chest was so tight it was almost painful, like steel bands had tightened around his ribs. He couldn’t catch his breath and for a moment he could have sworn he felt blood running down his neck, the wound from the angels reopened. With shaking fingers he felt the tender skin and found it whole and unwanting. But it was still hard to breathe. He wondered if the stress had finally gotten to him, if his heart was giving out. It wouldn’t be exactly unexpected. Bets had always been if the angels of the lord didn’t kill him, his blood pressure would. 

Paris stirred next to him. He put out his arm to pull Tommy closer and when he found only mattress, opened one eye. A beat passed as the sleep dropped from his eyes and he sat up, alarmed. He wrapped a concerned arm around his shoulders. “Tommy?” He couldn’t answer him right away. He finally forced out; “I think I’m d-d-dying. I can’t... I can’t b-b-breathe.”  Paris felt his pulse, two fingers pressed to his neck. Then his temperature, back of his hand on his forehead. Then he looked at him closely, far too closely. “No babe, I think you’re having a panic attack.” “What? No. I - “  “You gotta calm down. Here.” He took Tommy’s hand and placed it on his bare chest. “Match my breathing. Slow down. Breathe.”

Tommy shut his eyes, screwing them up tight. He tried to focus on the muscles of his chest, to stop the desperate shuddering and to get it to a normal pace - Paris’s pace. It seemed to take an eternity. Longer than he thought he had left. Which meant he probably wasn’t dying. Probably. He opened his eyes. Paris was peering at him, worry written all over his face. But his breath had calmed to merely ‘crying’ rather than ‘hysterical’. He collapsed back onto his pillows, covering his face with his hands. “What happened?” “I...I think I had a bad dream.” The labyrinth, as it was at its worst. Dark and full of monsters, full of bodies. Michael’s, as it always was. Angels as there never was. Knowing he had eternity to wander here. Knowing he wouldn’t die. A hundred things that added up to a ton of weight pressing on his chest until his ribs were near cracking. “Didn’t mean to wake you.” Paris lay down too, pulling the duvet back over them both and pulling Tommy close. He almost resisted for a moment, then remembered that he was allowed comfort. He buried his face into Paris’s chest, embracing the smell of wood, sweat and paint. “I’m glad you did wake me. Do it on purpose next time, m’kay?” “I’ll try.” Tommy heard the usual ‘trust issues’ sigh happen above. But he also felt Paris smile and keep his arms around him. So it couldn’t be too bad. He couldn’t be too bad.

__________________________________________________________

Protectively Cradling A Broken Arm

The fall was quick and brutal. The rock had crumbled under his feet, sending Adam tumbling to the ground. His arm went underneath him as he landed and there was a sickening crack. It didn’t hurt right away. For a moment it just felt hot, like it was burning. He lay there stunned, blinking up at the blue sky. Then the pain came. Crackling down into his hand from his forearm, like lightning. It almost knocked the breath from him. He forced himself to think logically. First, he had to take deep breaths. It would help the pain and help him from hysterics. Next, he had to figure out a way to take the weight off, to wrap it up and stem the blood. For that, he would have to actually look at the damage. A deeply unappealing prospect. He sucked in a breath through his teeth, bracing himself. Looked down.

On the plus, no bone had pieced the skin. A large, angry purple lump had risen, making his arm look odd, wrong. His stomach instinctively heaved and he turned his head. He was stronger than this. A broken arm couldn’t shake him. He was a goddamn hero. He reached over to his bag, ignoring the jagged strikes of pain that went through him. Inside was a scarf. Remembering his first aid training, he made a basic sling.

Getting to his feet was harder than it should have been. He wobbled, his equilibrium completely shot. He held his arm close to his chest, trying to support it while also trying not to touch it. He suddenly understood why wolves walked the way they did when they had a thorn in their paw. He wanted to hiss at even the idea of someone approaching it, something feral inside him surfacing. He started the long walk home, hoping that if his arch enemy was going to show up soon, it would at least have the courtesy to wait a few hours. He was not at his best. Hardly an epic battle of wills for the ages. 

It took him rather a long time to stumble home through the woods. When he reached the clearing, Lizzie was sweeping leaves to the side, hoping to clear the paved area in front of the buildings. She double took when he stepped in, noting the colour drained from his face and the slightly jerky movement so different from his usually fluid stride. She dropped the broom and went to him immediately, calling for the first aider. They didn’t do hospitals. They took care of their own. Funnily enough, that thought didn’t reassure him. 

__________________________________________________________

The Word ‘Winced’

Ada straightened her leg out in front of her, pulling the stitches taunt with a practised snap. She very almost managed not to wince. Almost. It was one of the few physical impulses she didn’t yet have full control over, but she would. Eventually. She wasn’t best pleased at the position of the wound. It went up her inner thigh, jagged and red. It wasn’t a clean cut and she’d had to make the best of a bad job with her needlework. There would be a scar. Not a pretty one. If there was such a thing. She traced her fingers along it. It would be the only part of her that wasn’t beautiful. She didn’t know how to feel about that. If she had to feel anything at all. 

______________________________________________________

Whimpering

The forest was dark and deep. Almost peaceful. Only the gentlest wind rustled the leaves. Stars had appeared in the night sky and Elsie gazed up at them. If she died like this, her eyes would reflect them until dawn. She was fairly sure however, she wouldn’t die here. This was not where her story ended. She had faith. A shiver went through her - the cold was seeping in. She put a hand down in the dirt beside her, burying her fingers in the moist ground. She was a part of this world. She would not be removed so quickly.

The pain was in her lower back, tingling down her legs. She could move her legs but getting up was definitely beyond her. That was okay. She could sit a little longer, until her sisters swept through the woods and found her. A couple of hours at most. She had faith. She tried to adjust her position and a broken noise came out of her. She hated sounding and feeling so weak. She hated it more than anything else in the world. In the distance, a wolf howled. Or maybe not so in the distance at all. She could hear rustling in the bushes, stronger than the wind. A twig snapped. She closed her eyes for a long moment. And when she opened them, a pair of yellow eyes looked back at her. The wolf was not a large one. So it was either young or weak. Elsie could relate to that. It wasn’t growling and it’s hackles were not up. They regarded each other, warily. Slowly, she reached over to her pack and pulled out some dried meat, tossing it over to the creature. It sniffed suspiciously and then chomped it down. Hesitantly, she reached out a hand. It lingered in the space between them. The wolf kept looking at her, not approaching, not fleeing. She kept her hand steady. 

Then there was another howl. In an instant, it turned and disappeared into the dark trees. Back to it’s back. Like she would be soon.

_______________________________________________________

“Easy, Easy There” 

Her fingers dug into his shoulder, hard enough to bruise, almost hard enough to crack his bone. It was taking almost everything she had not to scream. Instead she muffled the agony behind her teeth. Othello struggled to keep a grip on her as she twisted in pain, kicking the door to the dining room open with one foot, rushing inside. Adam dashed in front of him, knocking the plates and fabric to the floor to make room for her body. Lucille had briefly disappeared but now she was back, holding a selection of small bottles. Othello placed Elsie down on the wooden table, moving to strip her of her pauldrons. 

His hands were practised; they all had the same armour after all, they had squired each other a hundred times. He discarded them effortlessly, pulling the gorget off and dropping it. The full extent of the damage suddenly became apparent. Her undershirt was soaked in sweat and blood. He rolled it up and winced in sympathy. Three arrow heads were lodged against her rib cage, almost fully embedded. They had missed her heart but hit bone. Worst of all, they had holy sigils carved deep into them. Her flesh couldn’t heal while they were there and she was half delirious with pain. Which frankly, was more of a problem for them than her. 

Othello nodded at Adam and then assumed the position. Adam knelt on her knees, keeping most of his weight off but just enough to keep her from kneeing Othello in the kidneys. They had learnt that lesson the hard way. Othello got her arms, cooing sweet words like she was a startled horse. His voice was low enough that only she could hear it. But Adam could hear the tone. Othello never spoke to any of them like that.

Lucille sat on the bench running alongside the table, getting to work. With deft fingers and a sharp knife, she prised the arrowheads from Elsie. She did so methodically, ignoring the swearing and writhing happening above her. It took a little longer than she would have liked - they were lodged deep. When they were freed, she poured a small vial over the wounds. They hissed and then Elsie’s attempted kicking slowed to nothing. Adam and Othello clambered off, looking as exhausted as the patient on the table. Othello dusted off his hands and slid them back under Elsie, scooping her up. 

“Alright princess, back into your tower. Sleep it off.” 

Adam didn’t even think she was awake, but he narrated anyway. He watched Othello carry her out the room before turning to Lucille, raising an eyebrow. She cocked her brow right back, shaking her head as she turned to clean up her workstation.

_____________________________________________________________

Being Carried

Matthias sniffled pathetically from his position on Sol’s back. It was probably for the best he was situated thus - he couldn’t see Sol rolling his eyes or the slight smile that tugged at the other man’s lips. Matthias had experienced such little discomfort in his life, even the smallest injury felt mortal. His naivety was one of the most endearing and most frustrating things about him. The current wound in question was a thin gash on the underside of his foot. Caused by a hidden piece of broken lantern, long forgotten by a previous parador. It wasn’t anything a medicae couldn’t fix in a matter of moments, but Matthias had still been horrified at the sudden flash of pain and the sight of his own blood. Sol was now carrying him home. Nevermind that Kharaman was not the easier terrain to walk on even without a hundred pound changeling on your back making pitiful noises. He wished he could say he begrudged it - but he didn’t. Matthias was fragile, more fragile than he let on, so if he was injured he would be taken care of.

When they reached the parador, one of his cambion sisters (it was almost impossible to distinguish which one exactly, three of them all looking extremely similar) immediately took control, pointing to a couch and sending a cousin for wine and water. He played up to his role, hand on forehead and moaning as though it were his last days. Dutifully, the family fussed and cleaned and pampered, while Sol watched from a distance, smiling. Matthias opened his eyes as his foot was bandaged and mouthed a thank you. He wasn’t always as oblivious as he seemed and he was always more grateful than he let on. Sol knew that.

___________________________________________________________

Coughing, or, God-Forbid, Sneezing, With Broken Ribs

Amberly did not do well with bed-rest. She didn’t do well with any sort of rest. She always wanted to be doing something, striding about, exploring or barking orders at whoeever was close enough to hear them. Unfortunately, the exploring had went a little sideways three days prior, a sudden appearence of slayer bugs sending her tumbling down a mountainside, Leifdeig managing to keep her feet in order to follow her and drag her home. Amberly was mostly fine apart from a concussion, a bruised ego and some broken ribs. All in all, a lucky escape.  Now she was laid up in bed, her books and inks around her, pillows piled up behind her. She didn’t know how to be helpless. It was not in her nature. She resented it. She flicked through pages of her diary restlessly, lost for what to write in days empty of event and high in thought. Leifdeig came in frequently to change her cold compresses and hear her complaints. Her steel showed when Amberly attempted to climb out of her nest, pushing her back down amongst the blankets with a single hand. She had given her her healing tea, which had numbed the pain a little and sent her into a dreamless sleep.

She woke when the sky was dark and scattered with stars. She could see it through the slightly ajar door. She could hear the breathing of her other half on the floor. Usually they slept curled up together, so close they could no longer remember who’s limbs were who’s, but Leifdeig had deemed her ribs too fragile to take any contact. There was such an absence beside Amberly that it was if a ghost had taken her place instead.

A cool draught came in from the door, carrying with it the promising pollen of spring time. It smelt like meadows and long walks and fresh flowers to crush into ink. However, it came with a rather brutal side effect. A tickle in the back of the nose, a hitch in the breath. Amberly’s eyes widened as she realised what was about to happen without a thing she could do to prevent it.

It was said that the swearing that occurred after the sneeze was enough to wake not only Leifdeig, but indeed, the entire village.

_____________________________________________________________

Fainting and Coughing up Blood

The room was warm and lit only by flickering tallow candles. The smoke from the opium only served to make it even more soft, giving the entire thing an air of a dream. Thomas blinked, bringing himself out of his reverie. He wanted to listen to this. He was reclining on velvet cushions, drinking wine and being admired by the most distinguished men of his generation. This was the place that he flourished. But tonight there was an odd pulsing in his head and he found himself prone to even more flights of fancy than usual. Absently, he passed his fingers in and out of the flame that was on the table before him. The gentleman beside him (Thomas thought vaguely that his name might be Oliver or perhaps Olivier) passed him the pipe and he accepted with a lazy smile. Warmth spread through him to the very tips of his fingers and toes, filling him with a contentment everyday life had yet to provide for him.

It was as he was passing the pipe to his neighbour that he realised something was wrong. The warmth in his chest had not faded. It seemed to have solidified, becoming paralysing. Discretely he retrieved his handkerchief from his breast pocket, raising it to his lips and coughing softly to try and dislodge whatever problematic element was attempting to make his lungs its home. The soft cough turned into a violent one and he was forced to wave away some offers of wine and water. When he pulled the white cotton away from his face, it was spotted with scarlet. A dull throb of alarm started in the pit of his stomach but it was easily quashed.

He stood. “Excuse me for the merest moment darlings, I must go attend to one of the more dull of my carnal instincts.” His first step out of the circle was confident. His second one was faltering. His third never came. A profound dizziness overtook him, sending him elegantly to the floor. Alarmed, Oliver/Olivier came to his side, helping him sit. He couldn’t hear himself but he tried to make some joke about the wine going to his head but everyone could see how pale he was, the dark circles that were almost bruises beneath his eyes. He would not have their pity or their concern. He shook them off and stood, taking a theatrical bow as if it were all some grand spectacle. 

Then he went to fetch some absinthe. He was not stupid. If he was dying, he would not be dying sober. He would die as he lived. Drunk and beautiful. But he had weeks yet. Perhaps month. He had more than enough time to ensure there would be sorrow over his death and a legacy to spare.

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Waking Up Not Knowing Where They Are

The lost boys all stood over their fallen leader, looking down at his unconscious body. None of them were sure if they had ever seen him unconscious outside of a fight. Slightly declared that he had once seen him dizzy after a tumble down with a mud slide but nobody believed him. All of them had seen the last incident however. Peter, laughing with his back against the mountainside. A small rumble and a shower of stones and rocks came rolling down, one hitting him squarely in the temple. It had been two minutes since he had slumped down and he hadn’t opened his eyes yet. 

Cautiously, Curly kicked at his ankle. No response. Glancing around the other boys, he crouched down. He poked a finger into Peter’s ribs. “Peter?” The response was predictable, if sudden. His eyes flew open but they didn’t seem to actually see any of the surrounding children. His hand went to the dagger at his hip and drew it as his first reaction, before he even sat up or said a word. One hand shot up to grasp Curly’s shirt, using flight to push forwards, sending them both tumbling backwards like two spitting cats. 

Slightly understood instantly what had happened. Nobody, least of all Peter expected him to be hurt outside of battle. When he had woken with a throbbing pain and known he was unconcious, he had assumed it had been during a fight. And so he had woken assuming the fight was still ongoing and needed his might. Hence why Curly was now be rolled around in the dirt while Peter hollered like a boy possessed. 

It took Tink punching him once (very firmly) on the nose to make him pause and actually look at the person he was kneeling on. He blinked. “Hullo Curly.” “Hullo Peter.” Curly replied, amicably enough.  “You’re not a pirate.” “No, I’m not.” At this, Peter climbed off him and hauled him up with a friendly hand. “Well. Shall we go find some then? It’s technically their fault I pushed you after all.”

The twins’s brow furrowed as they tried to follow that logic, but they both decided to swiftly abandon it and instead nod with great enthusiasm. Not paying the slightest bit of attention to the dark bruise flowering at his temple, Peter zoomed up into the canopy to find a track to follow. Tink sighed in exasperation but that feeling was pushed out a moment later by the thrill of battle, triggered by Peter crowing. He had found something. And so they went on.

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Animal Attack

It was easy to find their way back to the castle. Even if they didn’t know the forest like the back of their hand, the slight glow it gave off at sunset was enough to guide you back. From here, they could just about see the tip of one elegant spire, reflecting the evening light. So they weren’t too far. They could make it back before nightfall.

One arm hung useless at their side, their shirt tattered around it. The other hand had managed to keep a tight grip on their sword, so they weren’t utterly defenceless. Then again, Julienne was never defenceless. They had teeth, after all. And they were an Ossienne. They were at their most dangerous when they were cornered. As that wolf had found out. But they hadn’t quite managed to come out unscathed. As well as the small matter of their arm, there was a deep bite in the meat of their thigh. It ached with every step, which was good. It was when the pain stopped you had to be worried. Then there was a selection of scratches and bruises, barely noticeable in the scheme of things. Jay had had worse. They had always had worse.

A hiss escaped as they stumbled over a rock, managing to correct their footing before any further damage was done. They took a moment, breathing heavily, refusing to lean against a tree. If they couldn’t get home on their own two feet, they didn’t deserve to get home at all. They pushed on, one foot after another, making up arbitrary challenges. Ten more steps then you can rest. Now fifteen. Now five. Always adding on just a few more. They were almost surprised when they broke through the treeline and into the meadow that sat behind the castle. The sun was almost sunken below the horizon. Even in the pain they were in, they took a moment to look at the castle, in all of its Glory. Home, the first place you learnt to run away from and the last place you run to. They restarted their weary walk, their one good hand trailing through the long grass.

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DIY Bullet Removal

Saimon squirmed as Frankie pressed the pen knife in deeper, drawing a tut from the magician.  “Would you stay still?” “It feels odd.” “Yes, that’s pain.” “It’s different from normal.” “Humans have an eternal amount of ways of feeling pain. Don’t worry darling, we’ll try them all.” 

This seemed to mollify the king who obligingly sat a little stiller. He still tilted his head to watch Frankie dig out the bullet, his eyes bright and interested. He held his hand out for the bullet afterwards, rolling it in his palm. Odd, how such a small thing could kill someone. He didn’t seem to notice as Frankie bandaged up the shoulder, too fascinated with the bullet. He had requested his woundnot to be magically healed. He wanted to see what normal rate healing was like and Frankie was never one to deny his whims. Nikolai thought it best not to mention that he wasn’t sure that Saimon could do anything normally, let alone heal. The blood was rather... viscous. Dark. It reminded him of oil or... honey. His shoulder was soon bound and a clean shirt placed on him. A few scoldings from Bobbi for poking it later, his attention was somewhere else. Frankie had told him the old myth of carving a bullet with a name. Saimon of course, wanted to try this immediately and was trying to think of who exactly he hated. Nikolai was happy to supply more than a few. Another evening passed, in a haze of hate and love.

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Temporary Blindness

The world was dark and unfriendly. Cal curled up tighter, bringing their knees up to their chest and holding them there until their arms and thighs ached with the effort. Holding something helped, the feeling of the rough fabric under their palms, the slight warmth of their own body. Touch comforted, unlike hearing. The null field rendered the most innocent sounds hostile if you couldn’t see what caused them. What they heard was footsteps and distant screams, their own pulse, their own breath, the murmuring of guards walking past the cell door. None of these things reassured them. They held themselves tighter. They just had to get through the next minute. And the one after that. And the one after that. And the - 

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Temporary Deafness 

The world was filled by a high pitched ringing so loud he screwed up his eyes as if it would help quiet it. For a moment he was unsure about if he had been hurt or not, his disorientation was so great. From his position on the ground, he patted his head and chest, relieved to find only grazes and no pouring wounds. He would be bruised from his being thrown to the ground but he would escape. The mortar had left a devastating hole in the ground, sent dirt and shrapnel flying in every direction. The force had knocked him to the ground but also he had been astoundingly lucky.

But the attack wasn’t over yet. He could see his unit shouting for him, their lips moving but no sound reaching him except that ringing. Shakily, he pushed himself off the ground, grasping his rifle and slinging it on his back. His legs refused to walk in a straight line as he stumbled over to them. It was Merryn who grabbed him first, taking most of his weight and half carrying-half dragging him over to the medic tent.  They held up fingers to his eyes and he focused on them hard to give the correct number. It was then he felt the warm trickle of blood coming from his ear and sliding down his neck. Merryn’s eyes widened but the doctor made ‘calm down’ hands, which did almost end in her doing a violence. The doctor scrawled something on a pad then held it up to him. It said “perforated ear drums”. He nodded, though he didn’t completely understand. Those healed, right? He wasn’t like this forever. He could listen to music and his lover’s voices again. He tried to ask this but his tongue felt clumsy without being able to hear exactly how he sounded. He must have been at least a bit comprehensible though because the doctor gave him a thumbs up and held up a number of fingers Owyn assumed were either days or weeks until the healing was complete.  It occurred to him that this was a great excuse to not follow orders. He grinned and said what he thought was ‘thank you’. Merryn narrowed her eyes at his sudden glee, and with good reason.

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Field-Medicine in General 

Diesel had read a hundred stories that started like this. He was trying hard not to think of all the ones he knew that ended like this too. His back was propped against some Valterian rubble that might once have been a castle. He took his steady breaths, remembering all he knew about pain management. Peeking under his torn shirt, he saw the buckshot in his skin and grimaced. Not deadly but certainly not pleasant. Likely to get infected in this mud and horror. He breathed out steadily when he saw the white flash of medic armbands coming over the hill. Ignoring anyone with the volcorp sigil, two made straight for him, clasping bulky handheld bags that he assumed were medical kits. One skidded to a stop on his knees, the other taking a defensive position, peering over the wall and balancing a pistol against the stone with steady hands. The first medic opened his pack, revealing rows of neat white bandages, vials of bright coloured liquids and packets of sealed medical supplies. Diesel closed his eyes when the medic began to prepare to inject what was presumably painkillers - he didn’t like needles. You never really got used to them. He felt a sharp pinch near the series of holes, and he hissed through his teeth. A moment later though, warmth was flooding through his abdomen, chasing away anything that resembled pain. When that happened, he opened his eyes. The medic was wiping antiseptic over the wounds, plastic gloves tight on his hands. Then, tweezers to pull out the grit and the shot. With the distance of numbness, it was almost fascinating. The methodical movements, the small plink of metal being dropped in a petri dish. His blood had slowed to a steady trickle - perhaps there had been some anti coagulant in there as well. When the medic was satisifed, using tape (that would sting like a bitch when he peeled it off in the showers later) he packed and protected the wound, leaving a neat white square of gauze. Then other medic then looked down, and seemingly without words, helped her comrade to his feet. She retrieved Diesel’s gun, checking and loading it in fluid movements, then handing it back to him. Then they were gone, off to the next liberator. Diesel forced himself up and on his feet. Injury was no excuse not to carry on an attack. Pain was the best motivator there was, next to love. He gave a half hearted yell, just in case any cameras were on him, then vaulted over the wall to continue the assault.

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Shirt Collar Shifting Just Enough To Have Bandages Peeking Out

The sea wind suited Henry. It tousled his dark hair and added red to his cheeks. He sat on top of a (firmly lashed) storage trunk, one arm resting on the rail of the ship, gazing out over the tossing waves apparently lost in his thoughts. The men working around him took little notice, apparently more than used to their employer’s air of distraction when at sea. When Alain came and sat opposite him, he started a little, coming back into himself. Then a smile appeared. “Good morrow Alain. Not seasick I hope?” Alain scoffed immediately, before realising that Henry was plainly teasing.  “No my lord. Though perhaps I am sick of the sight of scowling sailors.” “Oh, they’re not so bad.” Henry lent back a little, adjusting his position. The neckline of his slightly-too-large tunic shifted. The new stretch of skin had been covered by white linen, tightly bound. Alain shifted forward and touched it with gentle fingers, looking up at Henry’s face for signs of pain. “Injured?” “It’s nothing really.” He laughed a little, his own hand going to his shoulder as if just remembering the wound was there. “I sparred last night with some men. I can’t do it with dear Guy as he is too afraid he’ll hurt me, and besides, between you and me, I outmatch him. So on the other end of the scales is the mercenaries who far outpace me and occasionally get a little carried away.” “I could spar with you. I both won’t kill you and won’t let you win. The perfect combination.” Henry looked at him evenly for a long moment, evaluating. “Alright. But if I think for a moment you’re going easy on me, I shall be displeased.” Alain raised an eyebrow, challenging. “When have I ever made life easy for anyone?”

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Gentle Shushing

The night shifts always felt like she was trespassing in an ancient tomb. The beds were sarcophagi, the flickering candle she held a burning torch. She tried to walk as silently as possible, putting her heel down first and slowly letting the rest of her foot meet the floor. She pictured herself as nothing more than a ghost, a spectre moving unseen through the old house. Sometimes there would be more light in the form of moonshine coming in through the windows, but more often thick english clouds hindered that light too. 

The night was far from quiet. Whispering nurses, soldiers groaning in pain, praying from visiting priests and in the distance was the constant sound of the sea. Marjie knew by now which sounds could be helped and which ones could not. So when there was the sound of whimpering and shifting coming from one of the individual rooms, she spirited herself there with her light footsteps. When she entered the room, she was relieved to see no weeping sores, no worsening injuries. It was one of the men who’s mind was injured above all else. He had been having nightmares. Carefully, Marjie placed her candle on his bedside table and touched his hands, holding them tight so he could feel the warmth and pressure in the real world, not the battlefield of his dreams. “Shh Captain Stanley, you are in Britain now. You are safe.” His wild eyes took a moment to find her face. He searched it, looking for signs of mistruth. Finding none, he collapsed back onto his pillows but kept tight hold of one of her hands. Using a leg and some careful manoeuvring, she hooked one of the chairs intended for visitors and brought it close to the bed so she could sit and hold his hand all at once.  She then added her voice to the sounds of the night. She talked, softly, of things such as her sister, the families in the nearby village, the intricacies of jam making. Anything that filled the room with thoughts other than bombs and guns. Anything that could make her voice take on a lulling quality, as if telling a bedtime story. Only when the captain’s eyes closed and his grip slackened a little, did she consider stopping. She continued for just a little while longer, hoping her voice reached his dreams and turned them softer.

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Needing Help To Drink From A Glass

It was like the world was a carousel. Every time she lifted her head or attempted to struggle into a sitting position, the room spun until she was obliged to lie back down again. The windows were alternately being thrown open and snapped closed as Rose requested fresh air and her mother demanded they be shut before her girl caught a chill. Luckily this sort of argument was not uncommon and the maids were more than used to it, only discretely rolling their eyes every time the mistress of the house stormed back in. Rose herself was a sweet child, if perhaps a bit simple, so none could begrudge a single thing she asked for. The housekeeper opened the door, usual frown firmly in place. She held a silver tray and on it were several bottles, medicine droppers and glasses. Rose groaned when she saw it, tossing an arm over her face. Paying no heed, the housekeeper set it down on the small walnut table beside the couch with a small click. Then she was gone from the room. Rose’s mother replaced her only moments later. In a lot of ways, the women were generally interchangeable. Both matronly, both with severe expressions and meticulously clean clothing. The difference was in their verbiage - Rose had never heard the housekeeper say more than three words in a row while her mother found it hard to limit herself to thirty in a single sentence. Even now as she bustled with the bottles, pouring a little into a glass, adding a dash of something thick, sprinkling in the contents of a pill, she talked. Rose dragged herself back to her body to try and listen.

“ - the new pharmacist girl is simply untenable. She dared to ask me if my list was on doctor’s orders. Luckily, Mr Brown arrived just in time to tell her to go and sweep the stock room. I suspect my little finger has more medical knowledge in her entire body. Sit up darling - “ “I can’t mama.”

For the first time, she looked at her daughter properly. Her eyebrows flew up into her hair as she took in the pale skin, trembling limbs and flushed cheeks. “Oh my petal, let mother help you -” She curved an arm around her daughter’s shoulders and pulled her up, taking her weight. With her free hand she retrieved the glass of medicine, now dark purple in colour. Rose wrinkled her nose but accepted the glass against her lips, drinking until her mother cooed her approval and took it away, rewarding her afterwards with a sweet glass of milk and gently placing her back against the cushions. Her mother tossed a blanket over her body and kissed her fevered forehead. Rose knew how this would go. She would get sicker and sicker and then she would throw up and sleep for a long time. When she awoke she would be weak and faint but she’d be cured. Until the next time she was sick, anyway. Which was always far too soon. ____________________________________________________________

Brushing Hair From Brow 

It was Bella who answered the door, taking a startled step back as Ash very almost tumbled in through the door frame. She managed to catch herself at the last moment, staying on her feet. She did not look well. One arm was curled tightly around her middle, her tights torn in several places, hair lank with dirt and sweat. Bella simply stood for a moment, dark eyes wide before she sprang into action, calling back into the flat for Alice. Alice appeared a moment later, wasting no time in going to Ash’s side. Between the two of them, they managed to get her inside and onto the sofa. She leaned back, mouth twisted in pain, eyes shut as she took a deep breath. “Sorry about not calling first. Phone ran out of battery.”  “Are you kidding? That’s what you’re worried about?” Bella had knelt next to her, hands ready but clearly not sure exactly what she should do. Hunters didn’t usually show up on her doorstep. Alice was rummaging through her bag until she found a small bottle of painkillers, tipping two into Ash’s hand. Ash swallowed them without water, giving Alice a grateful smile.  “What... exactly happened?” Alice asked, eyeing up the other woman.  “I got bit by - well, it’s unimportant. Not a werewolf is the main thing. I went back to my hotel to sleep but...” She tried to find the words for a moment before giving up, simply raising her shirt. On her ribs there was a bite mark. Not a particularly deep one and not one that was still bleeding. However the skin around it was a dark, angry red and the wound itself didn’t look... clean. “I think it might be infected.” “Well yeah, no shit.” Bella shook her head in disbelief. “I think I’ve got a first aid kit in the bathroom. Alice - ?” “On it.” She came back a moment later with a small green bag. She unzipped it and frowned at the contents. “Okay. We’ve got... like some antiseptic wipes and a bottle of hand sanitiser.”  Ash half laughed. “That’ll do. Give.” She struggled out of her jacket and shirt, discarding them to the side. She took the small bottle, visibly braced herself and poured it over the bite before using the antiseptic wipes to clean up the excess. The painkillers she’d been given were evidently the good stuff as she only hissed twice. When she was done she lay back on the couch, eyes shut, almost looking asleep. The three of them sat for a moment. It was Bella who broke the silence. “How come... you came to us? Not the doctor.” Without opening her eyes, Ash replied. “Because... you wouldn’t give me a lecture. Or think I was stupid. I just... sort of needed that right now.” Alice sat beside her and leaned over, brushing a piece of hair away from her forehead. Bella took a hand from each of them and squeezed it tight. After a few more moments of silence, Alice and Bella realised this time Ash truly was asleep. She must have been more exhausted than she was letting on. It was almost peaceful, if not for the slight furrow between her eyebrows and the first aid kit resting against her thigh. Both of them, without speaking, decided not to move. Just for a little while.

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Collapsing Off Of Horse/Hurt one waking up to see the comforting one

Temperance was a natural on a horse. She had a knack with them, a way of coaxing and whispering to them just right. Nobody had ever seen her fall from one, not even when a stallion was spooked and reared up on it’s hind legs. She stayed seated and what’s more, soon brought the frightened creature to rein. There was something in her stern, serious manner that calmed even the most skittish ponies. So when she rode into the village, the horse only making it four steps towards the village square before she slipped from her saddle, landing heavily and without breaking her fall on the dirt path, the commotion was instant. One villager immediately called that their vestal had been cursed and was not herself. Another assumed that she was already dead. It was only when the doctor got to her, felt her temperature and said that she was gravely feverish that the clamour died down. Caleb was called for and she was carried into the hut near the church that was reserved exclusively for her use. He closed the door firmly behind him and the village had nothing to do but wait to see if Temperance pulled through.

*

Temperance was sick. She did not enjoy being sick. She particularly did not enjoy the fact she could not simply will her body better and was at the mercy of time to recover. It was one of the only things her will could not do.The lack of control was anathema to her. Her fever had spiked deep into the night and she had awoken sweaty, her deep discomfort not letting her fall back asleep. So she twisted this way and that, her mouth pressed into a grimace. She turned on her side and caught sight of somebody in the bedside chair. She recognised the silhouette instantly, not needing a light to know who held vigil.

Caleb had fallen asleep at some point. He had his head resting in his hand and by his feet two buckets, one empty and one filled with water, a rag resting on the rim.  It couldn’t have been a comfortable position. He was not a slight man and the chair was made for her. His back was curved. He must have been bored senseless, sitting, waiting for an awakening that hadn’t came. A mug of water sat ready on her beside chest and she guzzled it greedily, draining it easily. Then she rested the cool ceramic against her burning forehead, letting it cool her. It must have worked - she began to feel as if she could sleep. She stripped off one of the blankets and tossed it over her flagellant’s knees so he would not catch a chill. Then she turned over and buried her face in the pillows, eager for the embrace of a healing sleep. __________________________________________________________

Dramatic Injury Reveal 

They could feel the fabric of their dress sticking to their back. But they kept smiling. Kept accepting the paper flowers pressed into their hand, kept touching children that were offered up, blessing them. A saint could not appear impatient or unkind or harried. They could not hide their physical state of disrepair but they could pretend it didn’t bother them. They gritted their teeth and sparkled despite the pain. 

It was late when they finally fought their way back to the small set of rooms that had been set aside for them. Argento and Constantin were sharing but Cal had been given the honour of a single room. What’s more, it even had a sink tucked in the corner. Such luxury they had never seen on this planet in the fifteen years they lived on it. Now, as a visitor, they could only just appreciate it. As they stepped inside their room, one hand on the wall for support, they asked if a general servitor could be sent to them for a little while to help them get ready for bed. They would usually have asked Argento but this time, something stopped them. They didn’t want him to see the extent of their wounds before Cal had evaluated them personally.

Whe the servitor entered, Cal closed the door with a click and for the first time, let their smile drop and shoulders sag for a moment. They stumbled over to the bed, wincing with every step they took. An old story came to mind - something about a neverborn monster from the sea that imitated a human, but when they walked, every step felt like they were walking on knives. Cal rather suddenly found they had developed some sympathy for the monster. They sat on the edge of the bed and just breathed for a moment. Then they brought over the servitor and raised their arms for their dress to be stripped from them. The servitor did it in one fluid movement and Cal’s hands flew to their mouth, just preventing a scream. It felt like their skin had been peeled from their back, sticking to the fabric as it was pulled off. The servitor had let them dress drop to the floor and it was a mess of red and yellow. Cal’s head swam and they fought to stay conscious. A few moments passed, then a few minutes and finally they were clear enough to go over to the mirror over the sink.

Peering over one shoulder, they found that their assumption their skin had been stripped was not wholly incorrect. The combination of injuries taken from multiple victims had merged to create something horrid. Whippings had rendered their flesh into strips, chemical burns had taken half of it off and infection ran rampant. They were appalled at what they saw and didn’t have the slightest idea what to do about it. They settled for dozing on their stomach, hoping the air would dry out some of the open wounds and make the idea of cleaning it even slightly bearable. The thought of anything touching them at the moment made them feel faint.

The servitor looked on, dispassionate as Cal carefully manipulated themselves onto the bed. Cal didn’t even have the option of sleep to escape from this. Lack of sleep clung to them like a plague. They’d have to settle for a dark room and no demands or prayers. They lay down and listened to the golden voice that soothed them as much as painkillers would.

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Frantically Feeling For Breath Or Pulse

Cherry scrambled with clumsy speed to clamber down the wall, into the courtyard where his wife had tumbled, a particularly violent blast of magic making her lose her footing on the narrow roof just moments before. He felt his stomach drop as she did, a complete terror seizing hold of him. It was the type of fear that only someone who has loved and lost once before could imagine. Just because he got his love back, didn’t mean that fear faded.

When he got to her, she was lying still, her eyes closed. Her clothes were miraculously untorn from either magic or stone. Dust was settling around her, a few tiles from the roof scattered around like confetti. Cherry knelt by her side, pressing two fingers to the side of her neck. Nothing. Same on her wrist. Her chest didn’t rise and fall. His panic mounted and he shouted for help, knowing the others couldn’t be far away.

It was moments after this shout that she opened her eyes. All Cherry could do was look at her, stupidly.  “You’re not dead.” “No.” “I couldn’t find a pulse.” “Cherry.” She took his hand with an expression of infinite tenderness. “That’s because we’re magical ghosts, remember?” “Oh... Oh yeah.”

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“…you stayed?” “Of course I did.”

When the first set of drugs wore off, Astrid fell asleep. She had curled up in the corner of the bed, still fully dressed, knees up by her chest as if she could protect the wound there. It hadn’t really fully sunk in yet. She had nearly died, her heart had nearly stopped beating and she would have a scar down the center of her chest for the rest of her life. At the moment it was covered with layers of gauze and cotton, hiding the ugly stitching from the world. For now. 

She slept almost twelve hours, drifting in and out but never fully stirring. She heard Saints coming and going, so she must not have been at home. She couldn’t quite remember who’s house or bed she was in, but that wasn’t exactly an unnatural state of affairs. She found the sound of others comforting. If it was silent, that meant she was alone. If there was one thing Astrid despised being (other than sober) it was alone.

She awoke slowly. She felt as if she was climbing out of a deep pit, conciousness just slightly out of reach. When she finally clambered out, she wished she hadn’t. Her chest was aching, not a sharp pain, but a dull one that went bone deep. She wondered if they had cracked open her bones to get at her heart. She didn’t like the thought of that, it was too much like butchery. She only thought thoughts like that when she hadn’t had a pill in too long and it was this idea that made her open her eyes. She was surprised at what she saw.

She was in one of the boys’ bedrooms. You could tell because it smelt of boy and because there wasn’t a single glittery thing in the room, just socks on the floor and empty bottles. The surprising thing wasn’t this though - it was who was asleep in the armchair. Syn was there, eyes closed, breathing deeply. There was an empty glass by her foot and her handbag sat in her lap. She had been here a while. Warmth rushed through Astrid. See? She did care, after all. She was here.

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The comforting one watching the hurt one sleep and feeling incredibly fond (tw; suicide references)

Alice did not look peaceful in her sleep. She still frowned, a small line between her eyebrows and her lips turned down. Worry followed her even into dreamland it seemed. But she did look smaller, all her hard edges and spikes smoothed down into something approaching soft. Her thumb rested gently on her lower lip and it was on this detail Cas was fixated. He wondered if she sucked her thumb as a child. He couldn’t imagine her young. She always seemed so adult, even since they were thirteen. She had a cynicism about her that was usually acquired much later in life.

They met when they were thirteen and he realised he loved her when they were fifteen. She had crept up on him but once he noticed it, he couldn’t stop noticing it. He felt his heart beat faster when their shoulders brushed, he listened to all the songs she mentioned and his concern for her matched the concern he had for his younger sibling. She must have known - she was too clever not to. But they never mentioned it and nothing changed between them. Cas quietly decided he would die for her and that was that.

He had driven her home from the hospital today. Her arms were wrapped like Egyptian mummies and she had lapsed into a sullen silence. He didn’t mind. They had done this before. He could do it to music. He took her home and she went to her room. He would make her tea and beans on toast, of which she would eat half and he would eat the other half. He would talk idly about whatever he was obsessed with at the moment, usually some band nobody had heard of or a new game he was trying to complete. The topic didn’t matter. Filling the air was. She would fall asleep and he would not leave her. At some point, after clearing up, he would climb in beside her and fall asleep too. He’d wake before her and he’d use that time to remind himself she hadn’t died. She was still safe. She was still here, despite her efforts to the contrary. The morning had come, the world kept on spinning. Nothing had ended. So he could live with it. Whatever else came. He took his friendship as seriously as a wedding vow. For better or for worse, in sickness or in health. This was worse. This was sickness. One day, it would be better.

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Stubbornly Standing Only To Have Their Legs Give Out And Being Hastily Caught

Bailey’s knees had taken a beating over the years, but this took the biscuit. She frowned, looking down at the mass of gravel, blood and mashed up flesh and decreed; “Huh.” In many respects (as it was with so many elements of her life) this had been her own fault. A boy had told her she couldn’t skateboard, she had declared that she could, downed half a bottle of vodka and told him to watch. As it was, he had been entirely correct. She was now sat on a low wall, the other half of the bottle held in her hand in lieu of any actual medicine. She swigged it as Towen crouched, looking at the damage. Towen was not squeamish by any means but even she had wrinkled her nose.  “Okay.” She announced, standing straight and pulling out her phone. “I’m getting us an uber to the walk in center.”  “What? Why?”  “Because moron, I think think you need like, antibiotics.” “It’s not that bad.” Bailey leaned forward, peering at her legs and the blood steadily trickling into her socks. Towen looked at her with an expression Bailey recognised. It was a mixture of unimpressed, bored and impatient. “Get off the wall and I’ll leave you alone.” “I don’t have to play your games.”  To this, Towen just raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow. She internally began the count. She had only gotten to seven when Bailey declared ‘fine!’ and hopped off the wall. Towen sidestepped neatly as the other girl immediately buckled and hit the floor, miraculously managing not to spill a drop of vodka. Towen sighed and pressed a button on her phone, ignoring the groans from below. She peered at the small map and image of a car. “Okay, you have four minutes to get up. Use them wisely.” ________________________________________________________

“We Still Haven’t Settled Who’s Superior so Don’t You Dare Die On Me!”

This new pirate had lasted longer than the others. She was nimble and quick on her feet, good with a cutlass. She had less of the gold chains and heavy rings wearing her down, a common mistake for new captains. In fact, when gathered amongst her crew, only the long white feather in her hat marked her out as the leader. The first time Peter had fought her, he had mistakenly fed her first mate to the crocodile, on account of the purple velvet jacket he preened in. Easy mistake to make, anyone could have done it. He pretended it was on purpose of course, to send a message. He pulled it off. He thought.

Now though, feeding her to a crocodile was not really an option. He had been ambushed where he least expected the pirates to be - up in the mountains, clouds swirling around the rocks. He went up there often to think, spit off the side and survey his kingdom. He’d dispatched her two fellows easily, making them over balance and tumble down the side of the slope. There was a tiny chance they could have survived with only smashed bones, but it was pretty unlikely.

She had an elegant cut trailing underneath her cheekbone and he had a hell of a bruise forming across his ribs where she had kicked him into the sky. It had winded him more badly than he let on and this scrap had ceased being a game. His smile had not dropped but his eyes had a dangerous glint in them. He laughed easily as she swiped at him a few times. She fought like a predator, effortlessly sleek and calculating. Peter fought like it was what he was born to do, with a joy that lead him into cockiness. But can it be called cockiness if it was utterly deserved? We should not tell him so, for worry of increasing his ego, but he was perhaps the best swords-boy England had ever produced.

Her mistake came very late in the fight and through no fault of her own. She had taken a step back to avoid a piercing blow and set her foot on a stone that rolled away. She stumbled forward, failed to recover her stance and fell straight onto Peter’s blade. They both stood there, looking at each other in shock. The smallest trickle of red oozed from her mouth and she took a step backward, freeing herself from the sword. Blood gushed out of her as if she had a puncture. She fell and lay still.

Peter watched all this with some interest. He had no desire for the fight to be over yet - he had been enjoying himself immensely. He nudged her body with a dirty foot. “Do get up.” She did not oblige. He tutted and looked away, as if she just needed a moment without an audience. He nudged her again and her hand fell away from her chest. He frowned. The battle wasn’t supposed to be done. She was the best enemy he’d had in ages. Enemies were only supposed to die at the end of a great battles, where he and all the lost boys could cheer and know their victory was earned. This was not earned. This was an accident.

A feeling rose in his chest that he did not have a name for and his eyes watered. He decided to deal with this feeling the way he did any he did not understand. He would make-believe it was anger and in pretending, make it true. He huffed out his cheeks and kicked the body, furious. He decided to descend the mountain by foot rather than flying, both as a chance to sulk and as a chance for Neverland to make a new pirate queen. It wouldn’t be the same though. They weren’t all as good. But by the time he had gotten to the forest floor, he would have forgotten all about the captain with the quick feet.

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The Worst-Injured Character Half-Conscious And Begging To Know If The Others Are Okay

The stone floor was cold at first. She lay there, small stones digging into her back. She knew from experience that it was for the best that she didn’t try to move straight away. If she did, a wave of vertigo might hit her and she might throw up and ultimately caused more problems than it solved. So she stayed as still as she could, feeling the rise and fall of her chest. Cecile wondered if it would feel like this when she died. As slow, as comforting, as dizzying. She decided after a little while the coldness was almost certainly the same. 

After an indeterminate amount of time, she heard the scraping of the door against the floor and footsteps hurrying towards her. The new-comers words were a jumble in her ears that she couldn’t quite translate into sense, but she could get the jist when she felt two fingers press against her neck and an audible sigh of relief exhaled above her. When somebody propped her up into a sitting position, she decided it was safe to open her eyes.

The kitchen looked much like it did several hours ago. The fire had burnt down a little lower and the sunlight outside had faded into an inky blue. Next to her, a few spots of blood were speckled. Barely enough to notice. Her master was a very tidy eater. She blinked several times to clear the fuzziness from her vision then smiled at the two holding her. Other servants - friends, at a push. As much as anyone becomes friends when you’re terrified in the same room together. Her tongue felt thick and clumsy in her mouth when she asked “Is everyone alright?”

Simon (a handsome boy with unusually red cheeks and a mop of curled blond hair) stared at her for a moment, then barked out a laugh. “Cecile, are you alright?”  “Oh. Yes. A little dizzy.” “I should say so. How much did he take this time?” “Well, I didn’t want him to take it from the new squire - “ As they spoke, Simon and Theresa managed to get her on to her feet, one of them supporting each side of her. Luckily, the servant’s quarters were accessed from a staircase close to the kitchen, so they didn’t have to walk her too far. The stairs themselves were difficult, as they were narrow and Cecile was still deeply wobbly. Theresa managed to catch her when she slipped and the only other injury she received was a splinter. Her bed was as soft as a dream when she was helped into it. Simon slipped her shoes off and pulled the blanket over her. The entire household had learned how to treat a victim afterwards by heart. It was a routine now, like scraping ashes from the fireplace or changing the shoe on a horse. Someone else would cover Cecile’s morning duties without being asked as she slept off the blood loss. At least it was rarely fatal. The master was too clever for that. Who wanted to constantly be finding new servants?

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Taking Off Shirt To Change Bandages

Thomas cooed at his ghoul. The poor boy’s cheek was a vista of bruises and grazes. It had almost healed, but was still tender. Thomas tested this, brushing a thumb across his cheekbone then gently pressing. He removed his hand when the man (Christian? Jonathan? Something pedestrian) whimpered. 

“Let me change those bandages darling.” He liked play acting at caring. He could very almost see the appeal. It was a different form of power. An illusion of sweetness under which the steel of healing and hurt lay. He gently unbuttoned the shirt, pushing it off his shoulders to show the linen bandages tied tight beneath. 

It was Christithans own fault. In a way. Some other kine had insulted his bearing. Thomas was perfectly content to ignore the bleating of cattle. The ghoul on the other hand, half mad with love and promises of immortality had stood, sending his bar stool clattering to the ground. A scuffle ensued and he was stabbed, just below the ribs. Any major organs had managed to avoid puncture so it was only his ego that was truly damaged. Thomas had been sure to tell his pet how very well he had done.

The bandages were mostly clean when pulled off, just a little blood and yellowing serum directly above the wound. The stitches were clumsily done but competently. There would be a scar. Thomas could not remember the last time he had been injured so was fascinated with the cut. He gently ran his fingers over it, feeling the roughness and fragility there. He would barely have to curve his fingertips and he could rip him open like gift wrap. 

He resisted the urge, somehow, and bandaged Christithan’s chest back up, though not particularly well. The ghoul looked at him with such adoration it almost repulsed him. He wouldn’t last much longer. Love was boring. He liked a little challenge, a little push back, spite. Ghouls never lasted long. He needed someone on his level. He needed a real enemy or a real lover or both. He kissed the top of the bandages and let his eyes linger on the blank expanse of the neck.

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Smoldering Sexy Gentleness 

The paladin woke in a grey place. For as far as the eye could see, grey fog rolled over grey dirt. Trees bare of leaves stood like stark exclamation points against the cloudy sky. There were some stones scattered here and there. In the distance, there was a promise of mountains. And in front of her, there was a woman. 

She was beautiful.  She had long, straight black hair. She had wide grey eyes. She wore a long, featureless grey dress that could have been made out of the sky. Her skin had a pallor to it that was reminiscent of the ill or tired. Certainly, her eyes had dark circles under them, almost like bruises. She sat with her knees up against her chest, her arms wrapped around them. Rings glittered on her fingers, the only points of colour in this dull place. She was watching her, intently.

When she realised she was awake, she got to her feet. She had a dancer’s elegance and her feet were bare. They left shallow footprints in the dirt. She knelt by the fallen knight. The paladin noticed, for the first time, a small bowl of water and a clean white cloth waiting beside her. Without saying a word, she smiled a soft smile and began cleaning the wounds that had just started to smart. The water rapidly turned a murky pink as blood and dirt were rinsed into it. The paladin realised she could not realise exactly how she had come to be here or indeed how she had come to be hurt. She looked up to find the woman was looking into her eyes. The touch at her temple was gentle but the look in the woman’s eyes was not. It was like looking into a fire that burned not red, but grey. They were mesmeric and it occurred to the paladin for the first time who this stranger might be. The paladin found herself wondering if she could kiss her but the moment quivered and broke. The wounds were cleaned and when she was done, the woman rested damp hands on her knees. “Now. What do you wish my darling?”

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Platonic Tender Gentleness

“Ow.” “I know.” Mel moved the packet of frozen peas, peering at the lump on Trick’s forehead. “I think it’s going down.” “I knew we shouldn’t have skipped that fucking first aid session in March. What if I have concussion?” Trick had one eye scrunched up, mouth twisted in an unhappy line. “Um... How many fingers am I holding up?” “Three. I think. My glasses are a bit fucked.” He took them off his face, inspecting the crack in the right lens that spread across it like a spiderweb.  “I don’t think you’re concussed. But like, let’s not sleep for a while anyway.” Mel sighed. Part of the sigh was because of how very routine all of this was, how easily they fell into nurse and patient. Without a word, both of them glanced at the calendar on the wall. Only a month and a half to go. Then they would be free from school, free from these kids, able to abandon everything if they wanted to. The freedom of adulthood wasn’t going somewhere, it was leaving somewhere. Mel removed the ice pack and rummaged in her bag until she found a battered plaster in bright primary colours. She put it over the now much reduced lump and kisses his forehead. “There. All better.” Trick nodded gratefully. “Thanks Mel. Maybe you should become a nurse or something.” “Fuck no.” “Yeah, you’re right. You’d be a dreadful nurse.” ______________________________________________________________

Waking Up Bandaged In Somebody Else’s House 

The first thing that surprised him was that the air did not smell of smoke, or sweat or dirt. The air was slightly artificially sweet as if everything had been sprinkled with fabric softener. When he opened his eyes, he realised that was almost certainly the case. He wasn’t in some grubby student house or an abandoned flat. The sofa he was laid out on was soft, a knitted throw underneath him. The room was pleasantly dim, the main light coming from the morning sun coming in through a double glass door leading onto a small, but perfectly kept back garden.

He had woken up in nice houses before. Usually white and minimalist, all clean surfaces and achievements speckled on the walls. Those houses made his pulse hitch. If he had woken up there, something bad was either about to or had already happened. The type of men that had houses like that were not good men. This house was different. It was warm and lived in, cluttered but not untidy. There was a small movement in the corner and what he had previously written off as a cushion turned out to be a spectacularly plush cat who looked at him with disinterest before going back to sleep. 

He sat up and winced. He rolled his shoulders experimentally, flexing his hand then stretched, doing an inventory of his aches and pains. His right arm was sorer than usually, it feeling almost bruised despite the fact his skin was clear. Faintly, a memory came back to him of the unpleasant agony of a joint being put back into place. A dislocation - nothing to particularly worry about. There were evidently no trapped nerves and no broken blood vessels. And it had been bound with expert care with a layer of sports bandages. As he looked around the room, his eyes fell on the coffee table sitting in front of the sofa. There was a glass of water, a packet of painkillers, ice spray and a note. He leaned forward, picked up the note with two fingers and unfolded it. It read; “Hi! You’re probably wondering what you’re doing here. Me and my boyfriend saw you get thrown out of a bar and you seemed in a bad way so we brought you here. The front door is unlockable easily, but if you want to stay for breakfast, you’re more than welcome! There’s a shower upstairs, second door on the left and food in the fridge. Sleep well. - Amelia.”

He squinted at the paper. Nobody was this nice. This couldn’t be for real. This had to be some Hansel and Gretel shit surely. He sat for a moment, wondering what the catch was. After a minute, he slid back down on the couch. He would sleep a little longer and if he was eaten, he was eaten. He was willing to take a lot of risks for a hot meal and a bed to sleep on. 

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Soft and Funny Comfort After Painful Hurt

Tommy wandered in, dropping his backpack in its usual hallway place. One hand was clamped over his eye, making his walk a little unsteady. Jones looked up from the kitchen table, sighed, and grabbed a tea towel, running it under cold water.

“What did you do?” “W-why do you always assume I’ve d-d-done something?” She simply raised an eyebrow and prised his hand away from his eye, peering at it for a moment before placing the cold compress on it. “Am I wrong?” “No... You shouldn’t b-bother too much. I’ll heal in a minute. Perks of immortality.” “Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt in the mean time.” She gave him yet another look, one that hearkened back to one of their myriad conversations on how he handled (or rather didn’t) his own pain. “The cold will help.” He exhaled. “Turns out that like, some of the m-minor monsters in the Labyrinth aren’t very socialised.” Jones took a step back. “Tommy. Did you... try to pet a monster?” “No! W-well. Maybe! A bit! I didn’t realise it was a monster!” “If it’s in the Labyrinth, it’s a monster!” “I was in the Labyrinth!” The silence held for a moment before they both burst out laughing. Tommy gained his breath back first. “God, if we were in a m-movie, that would be the bit where you looked at m-me significantly and we have a whole like, Batman moment.” “I think if we were in a movie, our lives would make a lot more sense.” “We’d be endgame.” “We’re letting our fans down.” “Good. If we still have fans, I think we’ve been d-doing it wrong.” He removed the cold compress and blinked. As predicted, his eye was completely healed, not even a smudge of bruising remaining. “It’s fun being your sitcom roommate.” “You too bro.” ________________________________________________________________

The Rough Holding The Injured Soft And Breaking Down Over Them

Nymeria had never looked more of a soldier than she had in this moment. One knee planted to the ground, blocking the unconcious woman behind her. Her sword was raised, her hood was up and her teeth were bared like a wolf. All trappings of her usually ordered form had fallen away. All there was was the need to protect. And for once, it worked. The Ollath flittered away, choosing to find some easier quarry. When they were out of sight, she exhaled, arms falling down and her other knee joining hers in the dirt. After a moment, she turned to the woman, pulling her into her arms.

Her breathing was shallow but it was there. Nymeria curled around her, as if by holding her she would be a shield. It was when her eyelashes fluttered that Nymeria broke. Her breath hitched and her eyes filled with tears. She had so little in this world, had lost so much in the war and then the retreat. She could not bear to lose her wife. Every time she was hurt, her heart stopped. Every time she woke in the night and turned over in her sleeping bag and her wife was not automatically beside her, she feared the worst. She knew this fear was making her paranoid, making her anxious. But she could not stop. It was hard to tell your brain it’s caution was unneeded when it already had had it’s worst fears come true.

Her wife opened her eyes, smiled and cupped her cheek. Nymeria tried to smile back. It wasn’t a matter of if she would lose her, but when.

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The Soft Holding The Rough Injured With The Spark Of  Rage In Their Eyes. 

He was not usually his brother’s keeper. That was, in fact, usually his brother’s job. Elias was always the protected, the safe, the weaker. That was okay. He was content with his role in life. He was clever and quick and magical but he was not strong. Sol had guardianship right down to his bones. 

Now he had one hand on his chest, letting the magic flow through him, knitting his wounds back together. His other hand was thrown out towards the wolf that prowled. He closed his eyes and focused. There was a whimper and a wet sound and suddenly the wolf was fleeing, back into the woods, away from dangerous humans. He wasn’t sure that injury was proportionate. Magic wasn’t an exact science, especially not blood magic. It was messy and feral and instinctual. Not usually in his nature. He supposed that’s why he mastered it. A pressure valve for all his unkindness, his fury and fear.

Sol sat up, bemoaning the state of his ripped shirt. Elias let his hands fall, his posture soften. He clambered to his feet and attempted to haul Sol up with him, very nearly unbalancing himself and sending him rolling down the steep hill. The strength was gone again, settling back into his blood with no complaint or resistance.

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Holding Hands And Eye Contact To Endure Through Pain 

Maeve could have sworn she felt her ribs creak. Her mother wound the laces tighter around her fists and tugged again. The corset tightened around her waist, pressing a small exhale of breath out of her. She hated this. She hated corsets. They made her feel claustrophobic, as if she had been locked in a closet. She hated how when she untangled herself later, she had red stripes painted down her side and indentations that didn’t fade for hours. She braced herself, putting her hands down on the edge of the bureau. She glanced across the silver hairbrushes, the delicate combs, the number of paints and perfumes she was expected to know the function of. She wanted to dash it all to the ground, all these useless trappings to make her into a princess when she was a toad.

Her eyes raised to the mirror and she found that her mother was watching her reflection. She held the eye contact steadily, not blinking. She didn’t want her mother to know how much this hurt. She held her breath and bit her lip, hands tightening on the varnished wood.

She very almost managed not to wince, but at the final tug, she did. Her mother didn’t look disappointed or angry or any of the things Maeve would have predicted. Instead, after she had tied the bow, her hands went to her daughter’s shoulders, squeezing very gently. Maeve realised that she must have to do this to herself every day, perhaps only with a maid or a doorhandle to help. Nobody to soothe her afterwards, nobody to insist it was for the best. Struck with sudden compassion, she span around and threw her arms around her mother, peppering her face with kisses, soulfully meant. 

Both of them were unexpected people.

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Insisting That No, They’re Still Too Hurt

Byron was by means of direct comparison, the brains of Stryker Monster Hunting inc. This did not by any means mean he was clever. But next to Constantine, he had an inch more common sense. He had insisted on bed rest after they had escaped from that horrid place with their lives but quite a few injuries between them. They’d managed to loot enough they could afford an inn for a hithero unimagined number of days.

He lay next to his husband and admired his strong countenance. His noble jaw, his stately nose, his furrowed brow. He looked all the handsomer for the small amount of bruising along a high cheekbone. He raised a hand and traced a pattern along his skin. The morning light felt all the sweeter for not being chased by pigfolk or rats biting at their ankles. 

He leaned over and kissed him. Constantine sleepily opened his eyes and smiled. This was his favourite sort of wake up and Byron knew it. He wrapped his arms around the slighter man, bringing him on top of him and peppering him with kisses. 

It was at this point Byron squeaked with pain. Constantine immediately loosened his arms. “Darling?” “I’m fine. Don’t stop.” Constantine raised an eyebrow in suspicious. “It sounded like you were hurt.” “Nope, it’s all good.” He made a valiant attempt to kiss him again.  Constantine dumped him unceremoniously back on his side of the bed. “You need rest.” “No, I need attention.” “Well. I will give you all the attention you need. Breakfast in bed, a hot bath... “ “That’s not what I was thinking.” Constantine smiled. “I know. But...” He poked Byron in the side and watched him recoil, groaning. “Point proven.”

________________________________________________________________

Loopy On Pain Meds 

How did any of the classic poets get any work done? One dose of morphine and he was completely knocked on his ass. He was pretty sure that if he tried to write a single thing, it wouldn’t even be words, it would be vague squiggles. For all his other vices, Drew was relatively clean on the drug usage front. He preferred to drink his problems away and had quite a palette for wine. And so, this sensation was not familiar. 

It turns out that foot fractures could be quite painful when healing. Especially if you tended to go out as much as he did. He hated staying at home and despised feeling weak. Therefore, the recovery was taking even longer than usual. The doctor had given him a prescription of the strong stuff in a valiant attempt to help him sleep. 

Now he was lying on his couch, feeling like the room was a boat, gently ebbing and flowing. He was fairly certain if he sat up or moved his head at all, he would throw up. The aim of the game was to stay completely and utterly still. He decided, in his state of inertia, to wonder how the hell anyone could consider this pleasurable. Especially when his wine was a whole arm length away and therefore inaccessible. This could not be borne. 

This, Drew mused, is exactly why people have butlers.

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Diagnosis

Ada wanted to scream. Yet another medic poking at her knee and making intelligent thinking noises. Yet another one advising against the use of magic to mend whatever damage the Druj had wrought upon it. Yet another useless professional taking her gold and not solving the problem. The idea of her body refusing to obey her, of money not fixing a problem was very nearly unbearable. This was not how things were meant to work for her. 

She collapsed back on her bed, avoiding looking at the traitorous limb. It twinged, as if in apology. It was particularly smarting after her trip to Anvil, the place where she needed to be most mobile of course. She didn’t like having limits. She didn’t like having to be careful. She didn’t like physical needs taking away from the games her mind played.

She struggled into a sitting position and rang the bell next to her bed, summoning Marie to bind her knee back up. She would simply wear long dresses and skirts and consult another magician. There had to be something that would fix it. Even if she had to beat the knowledge out of every single horrid foot-soldier of the Druj.

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Childbirth 

She had never felt so tired. She was shaking a little, every muscle similtanously wailing and celebrating out the exhaustion she had put them through. Her skin was coated with a sheen of sweat and she wondered if this was actually what people meant when they described pregnancy as glowing. She didn’t feel particularly glowing, with her hair stuck to her skin and her hands shredded from the nails pressing into her palm. Her voice too sounded more like a croak than anything divine. The tv shows were not kidding about the amount of yelling you wanted to do. She raised her head, somehow, against all odds. The doctor caught her gaze and smiled, whispered something to the nurse. James was smiling too, so it must have been okay. She must have done well. Her heart soared when she realised she could hear the crying, thin but strong.

The nurse brought her her baby. Impossibly tiny. Impossibly beautiful. She held him close to her chest, fascinated by the lines on his face. Fascinated by the hand that gripped her finger. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to cry more or scream with happy laughter, to dance through the streets and show everybody what was hers now, what she had made.

For the moment, she was content to simply hold him. The dancing could wait. So could the crying (though not on his part evidently). She was unwilling to do anything that might disturb this perfect moment. Perfection didn’t have to be clean and shiny. It could be sweaty and exhausted too.

[the-recusants-sigil]

Hey again!! Thank you again for the brilliant request- I’ve been editing while I work all day, so sorry for the delay! BUUUUUUT here is Part 2, with Xaldin~

Enjoy! <3

Xaldin

Words: 2784

-It didn't happen often, but at this particular moment, Xaldin was in deep shit.

-His mission was straightforward, and in an ideal situation, there wouldn't have been any danger to begin with. How a simple reconnaissance mission could go so horribly wrong was beyond him.

-In a rush to get out the door that morning, he had skipped eating and hadn't bothered to prepare. No potions, no ethers, not even a packed lunch.Nothing. Though he hadn’t eaten much the day before, either, he wasn't going to bother going back for anything. After all, it was just a pithy little recon mission; what could possibly go wrong?

-A lot, as it turns out.

-He was just supposed to be surveying the land around Beast's Castle. That was all. He was to report back with details about the landscape, the foliage, the climate and anything else that stuck out to him as noteworthy; basically, he was scouting for possible synthesis materials and nothing more. He was not to engage in combat of any sort with anything unless it became entirely necessary.

-An hour in, and what had happened? Wolves. Wolves happened. 

-He noticed them following him at a distance, first. Just a few, with jet black fur, watching him for a few moments and then darting off into the cover of the thick underbrush. They weren’t aggressive, or so he thought. But after the sun went down, he noticed more and more sets of yellow eyes peering at him. Surrounding him.

-It was a large pack, larger than he'd ever seen. Normally, dealing with them would be a cakewalk. In terms of firepower, Xaldin was certainly at an advantage with several lances and power over wind. But these wolves were different. He hadn't seen it at first, but after impaling one  of the beasts, it occurred to him that these were, in fact, Heartless. They hadn't immediately seemed like it, but as the first few burst into clouds of shadow, he was certain that these weren't actually run-of-the-mill timberwolves. Three more of them charged him head-on while the rest of the pack closed in on him. As soon as he dealt with those three, another two leapt at him from behind. Every time he dealt with one, it seemed two more were there to take its place.

-It was more than he could keep up with; the swarm of Heartless was faster and stronger than he'd anticipated, and they were starting to chip away at him. They lunged as soon as he turned his back, gnashing teeth and razor claws tearing at his cloak and ripping  through his flesh. 

-At this point, tired and hungry with nothing to heal himself, Xaldin knew he had to find a way out. With a shout and a strong gust of wind, he propelled himself over the ring of Heartless and towards, what he hoped, was safety. He had hardly any energy to use his powers, though, and barely any energy left to run. And where would he go, he wondered? He had gotten soft. This would have been nothing for him to deal with before.

-Exhausted, hungry, and resigned to failure, the Whirlwind Lancer raised his right hand and summoned a corridor of  darkness to take him home. Something heavy crashed into him from behind; the set of jaws clamping down on his forearm and the Heartless sending him tumbling through the corridor were the last things he remembered.

-At least, from that world, anyway. He could tell right away that something was off. This was, decidedly, not The World That Never Was, because he'd never seen a damn cornfield anywhere in that world. There was also no moon in the sky, whereas back home, the faintest beginnings of a heart-shaped moon hung low in the sky. Something had gone wrong. He knew another corridor just wasn't possible right now, and he briefly wondered what he could do.

-The opportunity to grab a bite to eat had presented itself, though, and he plucked an ear of corn from a stalk before peeling it and biting down. He spit it out immediately- raw corn was tough to chew and, frankly, disgusting.

-He could hear the occasional roaring, whooshing sound not far from him, though, and an acrid smell hung in the air like something had been burning. But it was something, and anything was better than standing around this field with who knows what kind of Heartless. He pushed his way through the stalks as he marched towards the sounds, lifting his boots high to keep them from getting stuck in the loamy soil. It couldn't have been a strawberry patch, oh no. It just had to be fucking corn.

-And suddenly, as he shoved aside the last few cornstalks, he was out in the open. Back on a paved road, just like the roads in the World That Never Was. There was that rumbling noise again--

-A truck horn blared at him and he jumped out of the way just in time as the massive thing went barreling past. Up close, he felt the roar of its engine in his chest, and as it passed, he counted his blessings he hadn't ended up plastered onto the front of it. He watched the eighteen-wheeler thunder down the road and disappear into the night. Apart from the near-death experience, the place didn’t seem too bad. The stars were very visible here, unlike the World That Never Was, and it seemed... peaceful. If he squinted, Xaldin could make out a cluster of lights shimmering in the distance. City lights.

-He looked down the road to see another pair of lights coming, this time from the opposite direction, and he summoned what energy he had left to wave vigorously at the oncoming car.

-You hadn't expected any surprises on your trip back to college. That morning, you'd said a tearful goodbye to your family several hundred miles away, and now you were on the home stretch- five more miles of corn and alfalfa, over the bridge, and back to business. So when a tall man in a torn black coat jumped in front of your Jeep and began flailing wildly, to say you were a little offput would be putting it mildly. As you slammed on your brakes and brought your car to a screeching halt, the man collapsed, falling face first onto the asphalt.

-You were dead tired and not in the mood to deal with any of this, if you were perfectly honest, but what were you going to do- leave him to be vulture fodder? He was still breathing, that much you could see, but you'd want someone to help if you were in his position. You flicked on your hazards and got out, examining the man carefully, one hand on a small pocketknife just in case.

-...............

-How you managed to smuggle him into your apartment without your roommates asking questions was a goddamn miracle. It was also fortunate that you had the unit right next to your elevator, so loading him onto one of the move-in day dollies and getting him up to the fifth floor was a cakewalk.

-In no time, you'd laid out some towels and dumped him unceremoniously onto the couch. He was covered in large gashes, bruises, scrapes, and dirt. You were able to get a closer look at him now: he was tall and broad-chested, with muscles that visibly strained the fabric of his coat. He had long, black hair twisted into braids and prominent sideburns. He looked like some kind of... warrior. While you gathered some supplies to at least clean and dress the wounds you could see, you wondered briefly if he was an actor or something.

-So what had left him this badly hurt? Whoever did this could, and hopefully would, catch a battery and assault charge at the very lightest for what they'd done. 

-The second you touched his arm with a cloth wet with peroxide, his eyes flew open and he looked around wildly. They were an intense violet- mesmerizing, totally unique, like tanzanite.

-”What are you doing? Stop that.”

-You certainly hadn't expected him to be so rude. “Excuse me? I'm trying to help you!”

-”You don't know what you're doing, lass,” he growled, taking the cloth from your hands and undoing the zipper of his coat. The black undershirt he wore was also in tatters, making it even easier for you to see the definition of his abs. It occurred to you, then, that this guy was fucking ripped, and it might not be a great idea to piss him off. “Why did you stop to help me?”

-”Couldn't just leave you. So... do you remember what happened to you? Can you tell me your name?”

-”...Xaldin.”

-”Come again?”

-”My name is Xaldin.”

-”Ah.” The two of you sat in silence for a while. He continued cleaning and dressing his wounds, and you contemplated the whole scenario. Either he remembered everything and wasn't talking, or he remembered perfectly and didn't want to say. Whatever the case, you decided not to press the issue. 

-After a long pause, you finally spoke. “I'm Y/N. I forgot to ask, do you want some water? Something to eat?”

-He looked up, eyebrows raised. “Tea would be lovely if you have any, lass. And anything to eat, really. Very hospitable of you.” He was gruff, straight to the point, yet... something about the way he held himself betrayed that rough exterior. And he hadn't tried to murder you or steal any of your things, which he would have had no trouble doing. That thought made you feel a bit better.

-It dawned on you, though, that there was no food in the apartment because you'd been gone for three months, so you carefully helped him down to the car and drove across town in search of a drive thru open at two in the morning. Finally, you settled on a local burger joint, and as you pulled in front of the menu, you began rattling off recommendations. He wasn't clueless, though- he'd seen these things before, once.

-Those went out the window, though, because Xaldin leaned past you, out the car window, and started ordering. “I'd like two large Number Fives with extra bacon, curly fries with both, and two chicken sandwiches with a side order of chicken tenders. And-”

-You cut him off furiously. “Xaldin! I don't have that much money!” you hissed. He shrugged lightly.

-”I do,” he replied, producing a heaping handful of little yellow... somethings. They were sparkly, sure, but you doubted very much that they would let you pay with what resembled a handful of D&D dice.

-”$48.20, please pull forward.”

-”Shit!” You cried. “Dude, what the hell?”

-”Don't worry about it,” Xaldin said as you pulled forward to the cashier.

-Of course, when Xaldin said “don't worry about it”, what he really meant was, “I'm going to intimidate the cashier into giving us that food”. The young man took one look at Xaldin and decided it wasn't worth the trouble; you sped off towards your apartment with two massive bags of food. Maybe picking this guy up was a mistake?

-But over the next few days, you became accustomed to each other. He stayed in the apartment, for the most part, resting and reading the books on your shelves. You watched him glance through Romeo and Juliet before bitterly flinging it to the side. In your conversations, you were quick to note that Xaldin was a pretty angry guy. Or, at least, it seemed that way. Other times, he was almost eerily placid, like he wasn't quite aware that he should be feeling or acting a certain way. He mentioned heartbreak and a past lover offhandedly once, and it made you wonder just how much this poor man had been through.

-He talked a bit about work, too, and how exhausting it had been. After a surprise termination at his old job, with no severance package or anything, the new job had worked him to the bone from day one. He worked with most of the same coworkers, which was both a positive and a negative according to him. Xaldin noted that this was his first proper “weekend” off in years, and of course it would be spent covered in lacerations.

-At this point, you produced a tall glass and a bottle of red wine from your wine rack. You  uncorked it for him and filled his glass about halfway.

-”Drink up,” you offered. “Sounds like you need it.”

-You spent more time together than you intended to, ditching syllabus week in favor of taking care of Xaldin. There was just something about him that drew you to him. It could have been his voice, the way he worded things, watching his walls come down bit by bit... 

-And just as you enjoyed being with him, you were starting to grow on him, too. He dared not smile in front of you, goodness no, but he showed his growing affection in different ways. When he picked up a package of sausages in Target and tore it open right then and there to get to the good stuff, you panicked and told him that it needed to be paid for first. He listened.

-He picked up on the hints of sadness in your voice when you talked about home, about the family you'd left behind, about all of the pressure on you to strive for greatness when, really, you just wanted to find happiness. Xaldin understood, and for the first time in a long time, he was genuinely sympathetic.

-It was at precisely that point that alarm bells started going off in his head and he knew he had to RTC. 

-He didn't plan on telling you he was leaving. He'd already caused enough turmoil in the past week. But whatever it was about you that he found so comforting, so relaxing- it was so easy to drop the warrior act and just be himself--

-That night, the two of you were mixing drinks and watching The Bachelor, thoroughly enjoying tearing the contestants apart. Even that part of you, he liked- you could be just as vicious as he was and he didn't have to pull punches or mind his manners. You could keep up with him. He hadn't had a connection like that since--

-Since--

-Xaldin's brain short-circuited and the next thing you knew, the man had turned to face you, gripping both of your arms gently yet firmly in either hand, gazing at you with those gorgeous tanzanite eyes. Your breath hitched in your throat as you realized what was happening.

-His eyes snapped shut as your lips collided with his. You pulled yourself into his lap and grabbed a fistful of hair as he deepened the kiss. He wasn't as rough as you imagined he would be; on the contrary, he moved slowly, precisely, enjoying every moment with you. When he nibbled at your lower lip, you obliged, and his tongue swept inside your mouth to explore.

-Five minutes turned into fifteen. Fifteen minutes turned into an hour. It wasn't until the doorknob on the front door rattled that the two of you scrambled off of the couch and darted to your room for a little more privacy.

-..............

-It killed Xaldin to leave the note. It really did. But there were too many liabilities, including his growing affections for you, and he needed to get back to the Castle. With a dull ache in his chest, one that he had long since forgotten, he placed the note on your nightstand and opened a corridor to take him home.

-You awoke the next morning, groggy and sore, with thoughts of cooking a big breakfast for the man. Your heart sank, however, when you noticed the empty spot next to you where Xaldin had been only the night before. Part of you expected this to happen, but it didn't make the hurt any less real: there was no way he was in the bathroom or something, he was just gone.

-A folded piece of notebook paper rested on your nightstand. You knew exactly what it was the moment you spotted it. Slowly, tears welling in your eyes, you unfolded it tenderly and read the neat cursive handwriting:

Y/N,

Sincerest apologies for leaving unannounced, my dear. It was the easiest way for us both. Thank you for showing me kindness, hospitality and warmth; thank you for offering me reprieve from an unforgiving world, however short; and thank you for being a ray of light in a sea of darkness. Until our next meeting.

Yours,

X ~~

[whatarubberchicken]

The Bodyguard’s Tale -Chapter 3

<<Previous - Ao3 or ff.net - Next>>

Chapter 3

Lance’s next excursion wasn’t any better; he somehow got it into his head that he wanted to try hunting ducat. Whatever that was. Apparently, some guy named Coran told him all about them and where to find them. However, after a full day of tromping through the Altean jungle, he and Keith didn’t find anything. And when a tired, muddy, bedraggled Keith asked Shiro about it later, the man had laughed and suggested snipe hunting instead.

He was fairly certain they were being played. So was Lance.

In retaliation, Lance convinced him to help with a little prank. Somehow, the Altean prince had gotten ahold of a couple-dozen half-feral klanmüirls. Keith, openly shaking his head and secretly snickering for the sheer brilliance of it, had the task of putting a collar on each one that clearly stated that the beast was one of 25. There were only 24 klanmüirls. Then they set them loose in the Grand Hall, just before the High Council was called into session.

Keith had never seen such mayhem.

It was glorious.

Uptight lords ran around, panicking, yelling, and trying to catch the stray animals; women were screaming shrilly as several beasts mistook their shiny jewelry for a snack—Lotor had a huge one chasing him that was sure his hair was something edible—even Shiro’s calmer efforts to corral them was hilarious in its own way.

Keith and Lance were literally unable to stand, they were laughing so hard.

Unfortunately, their fun came to an end when Allura caught them hiding behind some draperies. Keith thought for sure they were doomed, but in exchange for her silence, the princess decided to have a bit of her own fun instead.

The next day, Lance and Keith looked at each other miserably as they were forced to try on dress after dress for the princess’s amusement. (She did not, as a small mercy, make them leave her quarters in the dresses, which Keith was eternally grateful for.)

“Does this one make my butt look big?” Lance asked, looking in the mirror while his sister was off trying to find accessories for them. The apparent reasoning behind this whole fiasco was that she wanted to see how different outfits looked side-by-side.

Why she couldn’t use her own ladies….

“I don’t think you have the hips for it,” a voice by the door laughed before Keith could reply. They both whirled around to see Shiro standing there, snickering. “Or the chest!”

“What are you doing here?!” Keith hissed, attempting to cover himself with another dress. Embarrassing himself in front of his best friend was not in the job description!

“Ah, Shiro! You have those documents I needed signed?” Allura said, handing her brother some jewelry as she crossed the room to the ambassador. Keith narrowed his eyes at her. So, she’d arranged this, the scheming little—

“Right here, princess,” Shiro said cheerfully, handing her some forms. “And I—uh, love your new models.”

Keith growled and Lance freed a hand long enough to give Shiro a rude hand gesture.

“Aww, did Lotor not come with you?” Allura pouted, looking behind the ambassador. Keith gaped at her in horror. His brother? Seeing him like this?! She was EVIL!!

“Unfortunately, Prince Lotor had some pressing business to take care of,” Shiro said, grimacing. Keith snorted. Undoubtedly, his brother simply hadn’t seen how a visit to see his betrothed would benefit him and had brushed off Allura’s invitation. “He swears he’ll make it up to you later.” Shiro glanced at the two boys again, and barely hid his laughter behind his hand.

“Of course, if he’d known what was waiting for him, I’m sure he’d have come,” he added, grinning at Keith.

“Don’t you dare tell him!” Keith hissed, trying to wiggle out of his dress to go threaten Shiro properly.

“And now, Princess, I have some pressing business of my own… That’s a good color on you, Keith!”

“Shiro! Get back here!!” Keith yelled, struggling harder. He ended up stumbling around and crashing into Lance, who yelped when they went down in a pile of limbs.

“Ow, mullet-head!”

“Shut up and get off me!”

“Excuse you! You’re the one on me!” Lance shouted.

“Move your leg!”

“Hey, watch the heel! Watch the heel!!”

“WHY are you wearing heels, Lance?” Keith asked, completely exasperated and still tangled up on the floor in what could be considered a very compromising position.

“Hey, if I’m gonna do this, I’m gonna do it right!” The Altean prince had the nerve to pose.

“Ugh, you idiot!”

“Oh yeah? I’m not the one who—OOF!” Lance groaned. Keith winced. He’d accidently kneed the other boy in the stomach.

“Sorry.”

“You Galra, always so violent!” Lance cried dramatically, throwing a hand over his eyes for effect. “Sister-dear, did you see how he brutalized me?!”

“My poor brother,” Allura gushed, joining in the drama effortlessly. “You must be traumatized! Facial masks for both of you!!”

Lance cheered. Keith suppressed his urge to bang his head on the floor. The royal siblings were two of a kind, and a royal pain in his—

“C’mon, Keith, let’s get you exfoliated!!”

Quiznak.

………..

The next few weeks were more of the same. Lance got into more bar fights (which Keith had to step in and defend him for, even if the prince had a pretty good right hook himself) and attempted to learn how to play some sort of wind instrument (Keith chucked it out the window after the third day and claimed it must be in Lance’s messy room somewhere. Win-win for him; Lance had to clean his room, finally, and Keith was no longer subjected to the sound of a dying cat).

The best times were when Lance decided to hang out with Allura, usually studying spellcasting or playing Monsters and Mana. (Keith decided to forgive her for the dress debacle, since those few hours were the most peace he had these days. Still, he swore Lance cheated at that game, there was no way anyone could roll that many Nat 20s.)

Lance also attempted to learn how to use a sword, which Keith had to help him with. The prince was surprisingly light on his feet, but he was no match for Keith’s strength, even if he was Altean. Still, he was stubborn, and those practice matches were very enjoyable for Keith. Especially the way Lance’s eyes would sparkle every time he learned a new move or managed to land a hit….

NOPE! Nope. That was just the adrenaline talking. Keith loved the adrenaline rush. That was all.

Finally, the king and queen deemed Lance worthy of representing Altea on another world. Keith was apprehensive until he found out the mission wasn’t going to take long; it was just a festival that the locals called Clear Day. Shiro even offered to accompany them and make sure Lance didn’t get into too much trouble.

Keith regretted it the moment they touched down. So many lights and noises and smells—

“It’s a carnival,” Shiro exclaimed softly, his eyes wide. “We used to have them on Earth all the time!”

“Really?” Keith asked, interested in learning more about that part of himself. And honestly, watching Shiro was easier on his eyes than all these flashing lights….

“Hey, where’d Lance go?” Shiro suddenly asked.

Keith spun around, looking for the prince who had just been at his side.

“QUIZNAK!”

They searched for nearly an hour before they found him at the shooting games, entertaining several females with his ability to get them some cheap little stuffed animals.

“Lance!” Keith roared. “You know you’re not supposed to go off on your own!!”

Lance took one look at the rage on his face and, to Keith’s astonishment, he ran. What the quiznak?! Where did he think—?

“Get back here!” he yelled after the wayward prince, only vaguely aware of Shiro laughing behind him as he chased the other boy. Shiro could laugh, but it was going to be Keith’s ass if something happened to the prince!

Lance was darting left and right, trying to lose him in the crowd, but Keith was quicker. He tackled Lance right into a line of people. Keith pulled them both to their feet, and was about to start laying into the Altean when—

“Fine, fine, you can go first,” a bored, nasally voice said. The next thing they knew, they had been strapped into a ride and told to have a “blissfully burrowful time.”

All Keith could do was glare at Lance, which intensified when the animatronics all around them began to sing. Lance looked interested (for all of two tiks) and then he chanced a glance at his bodyguard.

“Just remember, if you kill me, you fail your mission,” he sang, grinning sheepishly.

“I remind myself that every day.”

The ride broke, right when they were in the middle of it. Keith groaned in despair and buried his face in his hands.

It took him less than five minutes to get fed up with the idiotic song and slash his way to freedom, dragging a laughing Lance behind him. The prince promised to pay for damages to the irate carny, but also pointed out that the ride had already been broken. Then Keith chimed in about how it could’ve been a trap to harm Lance’s royal person, blah-de-blah, and the worker quickly let them go with hasty apology for their troubles.

They were never coming back to Clear Day. Keith would beg Lance’s other bodyguards on his knees if he had to.

Now, they couldn’t find Shiro.

Some of the locals said something about a human being in the arm-wrestling tournament, but to get there, they had to pass the shooting games again. And of course, Lance wheedled and whined until Keith finally gave in and stopped to let him play for awhile.

It wasn’t like he was actually going to win anything… those things were totally rigged.

So, when Lance presented him with a stuffed red lion, Keith took it out of sheer disbelief—and ignored his flaming cheeks.

It was just to say sorry for that whole ride debacle. It’s not like it meant anything. Besides, they were both quickly distracted by the fact that Shiro was now the center of a cheering crowd of fans.

[tenjouu]

revolvere (2/?)

facetious plot summary: Lancelot loses his magic upon traveling back in time to the day of Alice the Second’s arrival. How will he save the world equipped with only his winning looks and charisma? Read on to find out! lmao!

1  |  2 : delegations

This time around, Lancelot learns to delegate.

No wonder he couldn’t come up with any good plans once he’d entered office. He was overwhelmed with the work and never could ignore the impending doom of his world, so it affected his productivity in some ways. Work smarter, not harder.

His officers reluctantly write yesterday off as an ‘off-day’. He’s back to his aloof persona, which gets them off his case, but he hires two aides to deal with the sheer mountain of paperwork on his desk, which gets them kind of back on his case, but they can’t really say anything about it since they know how busy Lancelot is.

It’s not unreasonable to buckle under the pressure. And with the war brewing, his work literally increases tenfold. Lancelot doesn’t have anything to prove about being able to do all of it himself.

(“What?” Kyle would probably say, if you asked him about it. “He’s obviously an impostor. The real Lance would never pass up the chance to be unreasonable about his workload.”)

But Lancelot begrudgingly admits being king wouldn’t take nearly as long if he didn’t have to read all this shit. The glorious part about kingship is really nothing. Sometimes, he has inspections, meetings with foreign dignitaries, trips to the Civic Center, but those are few and far between.

His daily work is more like managing the salt directed at Hearts Quarter from the Diamonds (claiming political favoritism), charters for new institutions by nobles who have money, grievances and civil cases to be scheduled for later dates, his pet project of reforming the criminal system, marriage proposals from wealthy families within and outside of Cradle, requests for funding, requests for money, requests for more land, requests for a peace treaty—

Necessary, but some of these things are not quite like the others. The problem is that Lancelot never knows which ones he can throw out on first glance because no one reviews the documents before he does. But Lancelot doesn’t really have to address all of these himself.

(He repurposes an unused chamber room into a new office.

“Reject all of the marriage proposals but diplomatically,” he tells his new aides. “If the charters are for a good cause, accept them. I will give you a list of my scheduled council meetings, so arrange court dates as necessary. I don’t care for the time, but not after dinner. Assuage Diamonds Quarter that there’s no favoritism here; I have no patience for either faction and therefore cannot discriminate on principle.” He pauses. “Maybe don’t put it quite like that. If someone asks for an audience with the king, determine for yourself whether it’s of importance and respond. If you have any documents you’re unsure of, place them on my desk, or just ask me.”

The two of them stare at him with wide eyes. The woman looks a little stunned. The man is positively flabbergasted. He must’ve wrecked their impression of him irreparably.

Once again, zero fucks.

Lancelot turns to survey the massive towers on his desk.

“And utilize paper organizers,” he adds as an afterthought. “Label the bins so I know what is what.”)

All in a day’s work. Now that he doesn’t have to read all of those papers himself, he easily has time to join his officers for dinner.

So he does. He never particularly was good at fitting in during social functions, and he might have been too ashamed to do anything about it once before, but he finds himself no longer caring.

Among other things that he says to them, one of them is: “I’m ordering you all to hire aides if you need them.”

Apparently, that’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back, because Jonah finally confronts him after dinner.

“King Lancelot, forgive my forwardness, but recently…” He grits his teeth, clenching his fist in the hallway. Lancelot looks down, impassive. “…Have you been well? My understanding is that you have decided to hold off on annexing the Black Army, but you’ve changed…your usual modus operandi.”

Lancelot claps Jonah on the shoulder, and Jonah jerks from the contact. “I appreciate your concern, Jonah. But this isn’t a worse way to do things. What good is it for a single man to make all of the decisions? It’s good to have fresh, young opinions in the state. It’s the only way we can evolve.”

“Then, about the girl, Alice…?”

“I want her company, even if for just one day,” Lancelot says simply.

Jonah is rendered speechless.

“Now,” Lancelot reminds him gently, “hire an aide. And tell Edgar to as well. Or I’ll punish you two for direct disobedience.”

— . . . —

“I could retrieve Alice for you,” Edgar offers him, like how he had the first time.

Lancelot shakes his head. “You’re busy as is,” he says. “I trust that Sirius Oswald will follow through.” He turns a critical gaze to Edgar. “You heard from Jonah, I assume?”

Edgar is amused about the whole thing. “Well, if my king orders me to, then I can’t disobey,” he says amicably.

— . . . —

Kyle clearly thinks the whole thing is out of character, but he shrugs. “I don’t know what changed, but good for you, Lance,” he says supportively.

Zero hums in agreement.

— . . . —

So the whole magic thing is a bit of a problem.

He had some kind of guarantee of holding his own against Amon, figuring he would use the power vested in him to beat the hell out of that deluded, infantile megalomaniac, but now he’s as magically conductive as a plain rock. And that plan evidently didn’t turn out so well considering he regretfully took his final breath in Harr’s sturdy arms.

Everyone still thinks he can use magic, so he’ll let them think that. Amon’s due to check in on him in a few days, but Lancelot isn’t worried about the timing.

Sirius doesn’t disappoint. Not even a week after the Central Quarter confrontation, and Lancelot wants to laugh when he finds the Black Army’s Ace and Alice being escorted down the hallway by Zero. He keeps himself composed though as he offers Alice a cool smile. Sirius must’ve thought the offer was too good to pass up—and he must have realized that it was a show of trust. That Lancelot was testing him.

“He seriously never does that,” Godspeed mutters to her. “Stay on your guard.”

Alice looks uncertain, nods to her guard, and follows Lancelot into his office.

He closes the door behind him, unfazed by Godspeed’s challenging glare.

“Please sit,” he gestures to the chair before his desk. “I’ve already poured tea. And I’ve prepared your favorite desserts.”

Alice blinks down at the tray in surprise upon registering that the pastries are indeed her favorite. It’s not as if Lancelot was unobservant during her time in Red Headquarters. Edgar was always busying about, finding ways to smuggle in her favorite things. He’d offer to let Lancelot have some too.

“Thank you,” Alice says, tense as Lancelot takes the seat in front of her.

“Relax,” Lancelot says. “You’re here as a guest. You will not be harmed.”

Easier said than done, he thinks wryly as Alice tries and utterly fails to loosen up. He can understand maybe why—he wonders just exactly how Sirius convinced her to come. What was it he said? ‘I would like to get to know her better’?

“I like baking,” she blurts, tracing the rim of her tea cup.

“I know,” Lancelot hums. He definitely knows. She’s damn good at it too.

Alice makes a face, opening her mouth to no doubt follow up with something else out of the blue, in a misguided attempt to let Lancelot ‘know her better’, but Lancelot holds a hand up.

“I actually already know you quite well, Alice,” he says. She doesn’t look reassured—in fact, possibly even more apprehensive than before. “Maybe I should tell you more about myself instead.”

“Please do, King Lancelot,” she says, smiling stiffly, finally looking up.

Lancelot resists the urge to smile at the humor in this situation. She must have a direly wrong impression.

Well, here goes.

“Do you know of the Magic Tower?” he asks. She nods. That saves him the explanation then. “I plan to overthrow a man who is currently looking down from a very high place in there. I’d like your help in passing messages along to the Black Army. The peace treaty needs to be kept under wraps so that this man doesn’t suspect anything.”

“Oh, thank god,” Alice breathes. That’s her first instinctive reaction. Her second is to blush, delightfully red, when she remembers where she is. “Oh, that was terribly rude of me! I apologize—“

Lancelot laughs. “You did well to be wary of strange men,” he commends her, “but you’ll find that there are stranger men out there.”

Alice doesn’t look like she disagrees. But her eyes narrow thoughtfully.

“Forgive me for my forwardness, but...why should I believe you?”

“There’s something that I need to protect,” he says with iron resolve. “I cannot give up on the future of this country. Even if it costs my life, I will protect the people. In another world, I would have tried to go it alone.”

In another world, he did.

“But I think it would’ve turned out differently if I had been honest from the start. I’ve decided to place my faith in the strength of others.”

He inclines his head.

“I cannot make you believe me. I can only ask you to trust me.”

She has always been a good judge of character. She was so good for Edgar. Lancelot finds himself strangely relieved when she finally nods, eyes shining with determination. She believes him.

“I’m telling Ray and the others,” she says. “They’re the ones who can make an informed decision about this.”

“I expect no less,” he replies. “But you must keep the details of our deal from any spies. I’m sure there are bugs planted in Blackwell’s army, just as there are in mine. For now, only tell him and Sirius.”

Alice acknowledges his command and takes a sip from her tea. Peering over the rim of the cup, she asks curiously, “Why are you telling me all of this, King Lancelot? You asked me to trust you, but it seems you’ve risked quite a lot to trust me.”

“I have nothing to lose by telling you,” he responded. “Either the Black Army chooses to believe you or they dismiss your words as ludicrous and baseless. The master of the tower thinks I’m completely under his control, and I’ve built up quite the reputation for belligerence.”

“But you know Sirius will believe you, and Ray believes Sirius,” she muses.

He knew she was clever. He wishes more than ever she’d stay in Red Headquarters. Now that he thinks about it, before death, he was so busy preparing for the final confrontation that the amount of time he had was impossibly little.

He hadn’t seen her for four days then. Now that he thinks about it, he missed the Alice of his world. And if his officers—Jonah, Edgar, Zero, Kyle—were here, they would miss the brightness that Alice brought with her everywhere too. As it stands, he’s the only one in the Red Army who remembers and knows to mourn the loss of her company.

“And I’ve told you already,” Lancelot interjects, amused. “I know you quite well. I knew I could trust you. I even know your birthday.”

“I was going to ask about that, actually,” she gasps. “How do you know everything? Are you psychic? Does magic make you psychic?”

“If you want to think of it that way.”

Her eyes are wide with wonder when he brings up the next topic.

“You will be in even more danger now that I’ve brought you into the fold,” he warns. “We’ll need a believable story, and I already have someone in mind who will protect you from the tower since they’ve certainly caught wind of your existence.”

Knowing better than to disagree about needing protection, she simply accepts it with a nod.

“So I’m to play...the Red King’s lover, who is a ward of the Black Army?” she says slowly.

“It need not be reciprocated by you.” Lancelot has no intention, after all, of actually making a move on Alice. He won’t be stepping over his retainer’s toes in the matter. “Given the public perception of me, it would be laughable for you to fall in love with me. So instead, I suppose I’ll have to fall for you.”

Strangely, her face looks troubled. “King Lancelot, you don’t give yourself enough credit,” she says earnestly.

“Says the woman who came in dreading my declaration of undying love,” he shoots back.

She flushes. “That was before I got to know you better! No one in their right mind would agree immediately, no matter how beautiful the other person is!”

“Thank you, Alice,” he says, dry as sand. “I’m not against pretending that the infatuation is mutual. But it’s better for my reputation if these tea parties appear to be against your will.”

“Isn’t it worse for your reputation?”

“Don’t worry about that,” he replies, unconcerned. “I don’t care for bettering my reputation in the good way. Now, if Blackwell’s Ace asks what happened in here, tell him that you were absolutely disgusted by my arrogance and domineering personality.”

“King Lancelot,” she sighs at him in farewell. He notes that she’s taking the tray of pastries with her.

“Be sure to play your part,” he says, letting slip a trace of fondness.

“I will!” she says, pretending defiance when she opens the door.

“I’ll send for you,” he calls calmly as she closes it.

One of his favorite people, going.

He didn’t realize this is what it’s like to watch the back of a person who is leaving you before you can leave them.

It’s bittersweet.

Godspeed’s repulsed scowl is sour icing on the cake.

— . . . —

The guard that Lancelot has in mind is someone that he knows is powerful. Now that Lancelot actually has time after dinner on week days, he goes to the cat alley in Central Quarter and lies in wait.

Loki shows up without fail.

“Oh,” he says, surprised but also unimpressed. “The King of Hearts.”

His love for cats trumps his wariness of Lancelot, because he doesn’t flee on the spot. He lowers his basket of goodies and the felines swarm him.

A stray cat, enjoying the warmth of Lancelot’s lap and the gentle scritch-scratch of Lancelot’s fingers, is the only one who stays back.

“Didn’t know you liked cats, o’ king,” Loki adds, trying to draw a reaction, when Lancelot doesn’t say anything.

A king befitting Lancelot’s reputation might’ve spouted some pompous line like, ‘They’re elegant, clever little creatures.’

Lancelot opens his mouth and what comes out is, “They’re nice and soft.”

Loki makes no effort to conceal his jaw dropping. “Excuse me?”

He doesn’t take it back. “I like cats,” he says. “I didn’t think it was mutually exclusive with kingship.”

Loki shakes his head. “It isn’t. The Black—oh,” he cuts himself off emphatically, realizing what he was about to divulge.

“How’s Harr?” Lancelot prompts suddenly.

Loki narrows his eyes. “Fine,” he huffs, tetchy, and ignores Lancelot for the rest of the hour.

—

.

.

.

—

Lancelot kind of has a schedule though. He said he’d send for Alice in a few days to give her time to convince the other two, so he simply can’t wait for Sirius to put him in contact with Harr when the truce hasn’t even been officialized in secret yet.

Without magic, he can’t see past Harr’s invisibility barriers, and therefore he can’t possibly hope to navigate the forbidden forest and find him that way.

So he comes back to the alley two days in a row. This time, he’s the one bearing gifts. Food waste after dinner in the barracks is a big problem, after all. Another thing he’ll have to fix when he topples Amon’s reign in the shadows.

“Cheshire Cat,” he says. “I need to speak with Harr. Tell me where he is.”

“I don’t know,” Loki says, eyeing Lancelot’s payload. “You could check Central Quarter. Can’t you sense him with your magic?”

They both know if Harr doesn’t want to be found, then he won’t be. Lancelot wonders if he can lure Harr out somehow. He has no illusions that Loki is a cunning young man who could just as easily turn the tables on Lancelot. The sooner he’s put into contact with Harr the better.

So he leans close and says casually, “I no longer have magic. And save some of that for Harr.”

“I—I was planning to,” Loki snaps, his face transparent with shock.

— . . . —

He’s a genius.

Harr confronts him two days later.

[sidespromptblog]

Hiya bored! Would you mind writing a spot of Logan angst? It might take your mind off of your boredom!

(Well…you asked for it.)

(This is based from my creature au, I’ve mentioned before how the others have had to bring Logan back from the brink. And this is one of those times.)

Warnings: Suicidal thoughts, knife, blood (small cut nothing more), and Logan angst.

Staring down at the bustling city below him, Logan swung his legs back and forth as he twirled the blade in between his fingers. Looking down at them all, he couldn’t help but to see every human that was rushing amongst their meaningless life, rushing and hurrying towards something that honestly wouldn’t be worth it in the end. Looking at them all, crawling among the dirt and filth he couldn’t help but to see them for what they truly were.

Insects.

Weak and insignificant insects, writhing around attempting to give their life some kind of meaning in their dull existence. Trying to convince themselves that what they were doing was truly worth doing, because once it was all over…then perhaps they’d be rewarded. Although, he knew and just about every creature on this planet knew…they were all going to damnation, whether they liked it or not. So why on earth did they try?

Why did he even try?

Staring down at the pale silvery knife that reflected the moon’s light, a rough and troubled sigh broke free of his lips as his shoulders sagged with the weight of both his problems as well as the entirety of the earth’s problems. Why did he try? Why did he try to continue living in a world that would forever hunt him for something he had been born as since the dawn of his creation, why didn’t he just let the angels cut him down with their flaming swords and end it all? Hell, he could do so right now with his own hand, he could end it all, allow peace and serenity to sweep over him for the first time in hundreds of years since his creation. He could…he content with the idea that with his death everything would be alright. That the cycle could finally stop, and maybe..perhaps he could be reborn as one of the insects down below, unaware of who he had been in his past life and unaware of how he had been hunted ever since he learned to put thoughts together.

The pad of his thumb drifted over the sharp cruel edge of the knife, and with a faint inkling of pain lancing up his finger, a droplet of shimmering blood dripped down the edge of the blade. Ruining the clear reflection as it ran to the very tip, lingering just a split second before it dropped to the ground below him. It fell for five stories, before it smacked against the cold concrete ground below him.

“So many options,” Logan begrudgedly mused to himself as he tapped the blade against his thigh in the familiar rhythm of a lullaby, but just for a moment. “So many choices to make.” His lips pulled into an indecisive frown, as he angled his head upward, his eyes reflecting the stars that felt a lifetime away from him. There were so many choices to make, weren’t there?

Do I want to make a mess? Do I want the angels to find what’s left of me? Or do I want to go peacefully, the opposite of what I am? How should I..no how would I do it?

These were the thoughts that ran rampant in Logan’s head as he sat on the very top of the building, in all honesty, he hadn’t planned on thinking these things when he came out here. Mostly he had just come up here to clear his head and enjoy the crisp cool air of the coming winter days, but now the knife forged from the blood of the titans weighed heavy in his hands. His feet ached just as much as the old soul inhabiting his young and never aging body, he could stop, refuse to play their games anymore, ruin all of their fun in one last show of a middle finger to the forces who had hunted him for most of his life.

Yes. A tired grin tugged at his lips, revealing the sharp row of teeth hidden behind his plump lips, it all seemed so simple, so easy now. I could-

“Logan? What are you doing out here so late?”

Within an instant, every rational and irrational thought fled Logan’s mind as soon as he snapped his head around at the voice that had simultaneously made him almost drop his knife, as well as fling it at the one who had intruded upon his silence and his alone time. But every muscle in his body stood rigidly and still at the sight of the pale bodied man clutching the sealskin cloak around his shoulders as the cold wind battered his body in a way that Logan had felt completely immune to. He hadn’t even noticed the specks of white slowly drifting down from the clouds above them, or the fact that the ground below him was now slick with ice. But dragging himself out of his internal stupor, he felt the cold like a punch to the gut as soon as Virgil ambled on closer to him.

Without even thinking Logan tucked the blade under his leg, obscuring it from view as soon as Virgil settled down next to him.

Within mere moments, he could feel the warmth of the sealskin cloak around him as Virgil huddled up close to him. It was a rare tender moment, a moment that Logan knew that he alone was privy to. No one else was allowed to see, let alone touch Virgil’s sealskin cloak not after what had happened last time he had been so careless with it. The brief smile that flitted across the selkie’s lips told him everything, as he lifelessly mimicked that same smile right back to the creature sitting next to him.

“What are you doing out here all alone? You should be asleep.” I woke up and you weren’t there, I was scared. It was so easy to peer through Virgil’s words and read his actual meaning, and yet Logan did little more than rest his head on top of Virgil closing his eyes in order to breath in the smell of saltwater and wind that clung to the selkie’s freshly washed hair and skin. He couldn’t help but to relax around Virgil, someone who knew him just as well as he knew the other’s plights and fears.

“I…” It was difficult to say now that he no longer held the knife, and now that he no longer had the overbearing and crushing urge to just wipe the earth clean of his presence. Shame was something that he was well informed about, he’d felt shame from the very moment he was old enough to speak. The shame of who he was, the shame of his heritage, and just..shame in general. “I came out here to clear my head of several distasteful thoughts,” Again he quirked another smile that somehow felt more real as he inhaled the smell of salt once again. “I just forgot the most important part of doing that though.”

Virgil shifted next to him, the selkie’s fingers clutching the hem of his shirt. The smell of his fear was palpable. “Oh? What’s that?”

His answer was almost too easy now that he looked back on it all.

“A friend.”

[melalot]

About VLD Season 7

waI’m just making this post about my overall view of Season 7, and just my opinion on it and maybe shed some light in what seems to be a storm happening right now on Tumblr.

First of all I’m gonna do a run down of character by character then the plot.

Hunk: I am pretty sure we can all agree that this was Hunk’s great arc. And honestly? It was amazing! Guys! I never ever heard of Hunk talking about his families in the previous seasons! So we just saw this side of Hunk who honestly just loves his family? But I am going to back track here. Hunk got a new ability with his bayard! 

Here is what I am most impressed about Hunk this season. He was the one keeping the team together, and he was the glue. When they were stranded in space, we could clearly see Hunk not participating much in the “Sound off” but we did get to hear about his inner emotions. His fantasies about Earth. Hunk has grown so much though?? Like, when Keith was being all negative and the rest of the team HE held them together HE was the one who was vulnerable and said “I am scared too, we are just taking this out on each other out of fear.” 

And when Keith and Lance were fighting, and Keith flew away, and was going mad, he was the one who didn’t let him go, even though Keith wanted to, he was the one who didn’t lure them in the trap over Earth. Hunk showed so much potential this season and I love that we finally got his arc? 

Getting back to Earth though, man, he was so happy to finally be the place he calls home, and we could see how DEVASTATED he was to see it just CRUMBLE. When Hunk saw his teammates reunite with their families, he looked really happy for them. It broke me to see that Hunk couldn’t come to a family, but later on when talking to Keith, he broke. Saying how he fantasized about coming to a peaceful Earth, that he took for granted how the best welcoming he could of gotten was from his own family. And with the help of his teammates and Keith, he was strong. He looked for his family. He was scared. But the thing about Hunk is that he knows this, he acknowledges his feelings, he doesn’t push them aside. He works with it and is brave. And honestly Hunk went from someone who didn’t even wanna go and save the universe, to a person who grew to care about so many people. He finally got reunited with his family in the end and with Shay, it was lovely.

Keith: Alright! I know there was some controversy with Keith this season but I want to leave my input. I don’t like it that when Keith has one fall back, you make it seem like his development was a waste. Like when he was going mad, or when he said those hurtful things to his team, when he made fun of Lance. Guys!!! Keith is still HUMAN! (I mean he’s half Galra) BUT GUYS!! Keith is STILL developing. He isn’t going to turn into a different person like poof magic. No it takes time. He is still developing as a person, and yes he’s going to have fall backs like any other person! But guess what? He WAS MATURE and acknowledged it and APOLOGIZED. Now THAT is maturity, realizing your actions and knowing when to apologize for it. Keith was an awesome leader, I don’t care what you guys say. He went from being a reckless shit to doing things on his own to actually trying to keep the team together, because it was best for everyone. That even if they were lost in space or in any situation, they had each other. He knew everyones weakness and strong points, and he never downgraded someone. And Keith giving advice and being more open and Vulnerable? What he said to Hunk, that to be Brave you can be scared but you also can be strong while still being in fear. He saw a teammate, no... his friend going through some heavy shit and comforted him. Keith has grown a lot guys, I just wish you guys wouldn’t let these small fall backs just bombard this whole image of Keith. Keith was a foster child, no mother, father passed away, had conduct issues, got close to Shiro in the Garrison, had him missing, tried to find Voltron, he went from being a lone ass wolf to someone who can now stay with his team and call them friends. He truly cares about his team and he is not selfish.

Keith and Krolia: Now I loved, their relationship this season. Yes we got a little less screen time, but think about the things we did see? Them stuck in the prisoner thing from the generals. Her along side him in the Black Lion. Her pulling up a Simulator game and bonding with Keith and his friends. She was being a mother. And that scene where she said she was going to help Kolivan. We saw how distraught Keith looked, it looked like his world was crashing down, he just got his mother and now she has to leave again. Now Keith from the previous seasons would of been pissed off and let his emotions override him. But no, she said she was sorry to leave him for a second time and he said that it wasn’t goodbye. He knew they would see each other again. He gave her the knife, and he thanked her for the time he spent with her. He really cherished those moments with his mother. Then she said she loved him, and he said he loves her back, and he called her Mom TWICE in this scene, and then that hug? Gosh, That was such an emotional scene, he’s accepting feelings and he has finally accepted Krolia as his mother. This is exactly what I wanted from their relationship. Then obviously at the end she met back up with him at the hospital, which it was nice to see Keith wake up to a loved one.

Pidge: Now I don’t really have much for Pidge, but I do know she has been getting a lot of hate. And guys, I know she’s said hurtful things, especially to Lance. But she is also the youngest crew member there. She was away from her brother and father for such a long time and never gave up on them. Pidge still has some developing to do, but she does care for Lance guysss!!! Pidge is a pretty dense person, she’s got so many things on her mind that she doesn’t know that when she says something, it rubs off the wrong way sometimes, Lance has been shown to always have a front, and Pidge just hasn’t seen that he is actually hurt. I just want this Pidge hate to stop, like come on guys just relax this is normal and happens in real life, she will realize at some point and apologize.

Allura: Allura had a step back this season, but we saw more of her powers and her determination. Even though Earth wasn’t her home planet, she knew what it was like to lose her home and would do anything to protect another’s home. At the beginning Allura seemed annoyed at Lance, not going to lie. But then she suddenly, blushed and told him to stay safe? There is no doubt that Allura and Lance have developed a lot together, and Allura does care for Lance a lot. I loved this. I just hope Allura and Lance aren’t forced together because I mean, that would really suck... Allura is not over Lotor, we saw how she reacted when they were talking about him, I think she’s caught up on how good of a friend Lance has been to her, that she’s confused. But Allura was great this season!

Shiro: Shiro seemed like a mentor this whole time to me, which was really nice actually. He was the one that opened the Paladins minds into connecting with their Lions, that they can do anything, and he could PILOT ATLAS, he was such a strong captain, and Shiro has gone through so much? I’m actually pretty upset that Adam got killed off and Shiro only got 2 seconds to grieve, but they were at war and were under a clock, Shiro will have time to grieve on his own. He was the voice and he fought Sendak himself. Shiro is a true warrior, and I respect him a lot. 

Lance: Finally, my thoughts on Lance! First of all, I love Lance. Second of all, we have seen Lance bouncing around this season, by that I mean. We have seen times where he’s silly, times where he’s angry, and times where he’s sad and can’t pull up a front anymore. One thing I noticed is that Lance accepted Death like 3 times or more this whole season. And its honestly pretty sad. I will show images here

Lance reuniting was his family was really sweet, we can tell he has a soft spot for his nieces and nephews. And even though he is the youngest, he is still protective of Veronica, but Veronica is also protective of him. This is sibling love. I loved how Veronica joined the garrison and has become this big part in the war in battling to save Earth, and we got to see her battle along side with Lance. That moment when Lance was calling Red and Red wouldn’t come to him, broke my heart and I will show the image but Lance was ready to accept Death along side his sister, the first thing he did was make sure she was safe. We really have a look on his relationship with his family, but we couldn’t have very big moments since it was war time.

Veronica teasing Lance about Allura was sweet, but Lance’s reactions were pretty off. I saw somewhere on a post that Lance would actually talk about his feelings for Allura with a loved one if he was sure of it, but he didn’t seem so sure. In fact he was denying it. He’s not ready to be vulnerable. I think things are changing here.  (Plus Lance didn’t even flirt with Romelle lmao) + Lance protecting Pidge was so cute.

My Hopes: Honestly this is mainly Lance things but, we have gotten flash backs from everybody besides Lance. Pidge got flasbacks, Hunk got them this season, Keith got them this season along with Season 6, so did Shiro. And Lance, we never really have gotten much from him? Here is what I want to know.

-We know why every Paladin joined the Garrison besides Lance, so why did he join?

-We don’t know much about Lance’s past besides certain moments from the garrison or some memories with his family or movies.

-Now, I want a closure with Lance. I want Season 8 to be his arc. He needs it. We need him coming to terms with his emotions and how to solve them. I need these answers.

-I want to know about his sword

Klance: Alright here are my thoughts with Klance this season. We had pretty good interactions, not going to lie and I will post the images here and do a quick run down one by one!

Keith could of chosen anyone to lead but he chose Lance, and I’m pretty sure this isn’t just because he is the right hand of Voltron, he see’s potential in him and trusts him. And Lance is so worried when Keith leaves on his own??

2nd part

Seem familiar?

I am paralleling this because! Lance said something nice about Keith when he didn’t have enough energy to pull up a front. This moment between them mattered a lot to Keith, he even has those lines under his eyes to show a pained expression. Lance denied the bonding moment because he wasn’t emotionally ready to accept it. Keith was hurt by that. Now, Lance said something nice about Keith, acknowledged him and a moment. Keith then wasn’t emotionally ready and rubbed off the wrong way. Come on guys, you know they bicker, yes its gotten better but they also haven’t seen each other in a long time and they’re all stressed with war and under pressure, they don’t have BREAKS!

Also these moments

Honestly, I think Lance was letting out hurt feelings. He was hurt when Keith left, we know this, there was something missing with him ever since we left, I don’t need to pull up the screen shots for you guys to know that Lance was hurt when Keith left, he said he was going to miss him, and he had the best reaction when Keith came back too. BUT THERE WAS NO TIME FOR TALKING, THE UNIVERSE WAS AT STAKE PLEASE TAKE THIS INTO CONSIDERATION!! 

Notice how Keith didn’t say anything back to Lance? He just accepted it and even flew off just BECAUSE LANCE TOLD HIM TO?!? Like guys c’mon lol.

Honestly this just reminded me of their friendship. So yeah!

Now, I’m not saying “ohh klance still has a chance” I honestly don’t know at this point. As far from my knowledge.

Allurance seems forced. I honestly think there might be a love triangle in Season 8 between Allura Keith and Lance. and this is why I think that.

LM said that Lance will be with someone from the beginning of the show with someone from the very first episode. Lots of Klance was hinted, but Allurance was also in the way. They said Lance’s end game would be a slow burn and Klance is a pretty slow burn... also Keith has all the qualities Lance wants. Lance can be vulnerable with Keith. As of now he can’t with Allura, he doubts his feelings around his friends and others. because he is afraid of not being taken seriously. I don’t think this is love. But we will see. I mean We just got to wait you know?

The thing is I also think Season 8 won’t have so much battles, it is 13 episodes, Sendak, Lotor, and Zarkon are dead. Earth is safe, Haggar is still out there but they can defend Earth now, yes the Altaen thing is still a mystery but I don’t think it would take so many episodes to defeat Haggar, it usually takes 2 episodes or 3 just to defeat a the enemy. Season 8 has a lot of potential to give us a lot of answers and closure we need.

We need Lance and Keith’s relationship to patch up, we need them to catch up, we need them to fucking fix this and TALK one on one, with no pressure and let things out. Lance was clearly affected, and I think Keith will realize this.

We need Lance talking to SOMEONE about all his insecurities, we need someone to take him seriously, and I think with his family with him, he will feel stronger. Maybe even Veronica will be the one that helps with this since she was such a big part of Season 7. 

I want to know why Shiro is Lance’s hero, I want to know his past, I want to know all of this.

I want to see Pidge apologize and tell Lance he is like a brother to her.

Hunk has already realized things have been off with Lance but he hasn’t had time to bring it up.

Allura can talk to Lance, I want a closure on Allurance as well, these feelings need to be spoken of.

And if Bi Lance arc is still a possibility, then that would be great.

As of now I hope Season 8 is just a closure season and gives us all the answers we want and see development, answers and closure. Season 7 was really rushed because they were at constant war, there was no breather ever, you guys have to understand that. Things have to be put aside sometimes when you have to fight. Just stop hating on the season so much like guys!

They said Voltron wasn’t a romance series, it was an action cartoon! 

We have GREAT characters!

Romance is just something to have fun with. Now I know you guys want LGBT rep and trust me, I want it too, I don’t like what they did to Adam, but lets wait, things happen for a reason, and we will probably get those answers before or after season 8. For the mean time, relax, let out your energy, and just lay the hype down more for the next season. I know we got kinda baited but we don’t have to get overly upset.

GUYS THIS SEASON HAD A GREAT PLOT AND THE BATTLES WERE AMAZING I WAS ON EDGE THE WHOLE TIME STOP HATING SM OVER SHIPS JUST CHILL FOR A SEC LOL 

I know this was long and I appreciate those who read it lol.

[fate221]

What do you think of Klance?

I LOVE KLANCE

It’s such a pity it has bad reputation now because of some certain part of shippers. I think it absolutely deserves all the attention from many talented artists and animators. It’s sad that the more people in the fandom of ship is - the bigger quantity of intelectuals who can’t respect other people is. But I personally just try to ignore them because i know a lot of Klance artists and shippers who are very nice people

Actually when I first started watching Voltron - I immediately understood which ship is the most popular in the fandom. For the first 2 episodes I think. It’s know that people like the opposites - black and white, red and blue, fire and ice and other stuff. And it’s known that haters-to-lovers is one of the most used and popular tropes in media now. And yeah I’m one of those people who like relationships like this xD But still even tho Klance is not my most favourite ship from all of my Voltron OtPs (you know which one is :D) it has a lot of things despite fire/ice aesthetic and haters-to-lovers trope.

I know there are thousands of Klance metas and whole article dedicated to their bond and why it would be good for them to get together. Lots of things are reaching of course which is normal for all the shippers but I want to tell just about several main things which make me love them together (even when I really wasn’t very hardcore m/m ships fan and had mostly het/lesbian otps for most of my life)

Firstly I want to stop on two things that are important for me in choosing an OTP:

Mutual support and intimacy. it’s easy, I’ve already told about it earlier - i love when characters share some personal thoughts, keep each other’s secrets, sharing fears with each other - something they usually don’t tell even most of the friends.

A posibility to change to the better. I love when characters have what to learn from each other - love when they are different but it gives them strenght - both of them finds in each other something they usually miss. Characters grow and change because of relationship and complement each other and it’s always wonderful for me. When one is too serious and other is too goofy and when they together they just.. find the balance and peace.

I see these in my Voltron OTPs and Klance especially. Keith was the only one Lance trusted in times when he doubted if he’s even needed here. Lance was hiding his feelings behind the mask of goofy loverboy but only with Keith he decided to take it off. Pidge and Hunk were making fun of him and no that’s not their fault because usually that’s what happens with your friends. You can make fun of each other because sometimes laughing on problems can make them less harmful for you (from personal experience) But everything works other way with soulmates who are the only ones you can tell everything sincerely and you can totally know that they would never laugh and don’t push you off. Again - personal experience. Keith was someone Lance trusted enough to take his mask off. And it’s a literal canon scene.

As for Keith - when Shiro went missing who was the one who supported him once again sincerely? When Keith felt weak and not good enough, when he failed his role of the team leader who was the one he had a sincere talk with - again taking off his mask and just being Keith - being scared, tired and desperate. He knew that even tho they had issues at first - even tho they were some kind of rivals - they still have a lot of common - they both are lost in some sense because of different reasons.

And at the same time they are different - it’s obvious for everyone. Keith is serious and uses to hide his emotions - he never opens for others except someone who literally saved him and changed his life - his family (Shiro). But the thing is - yes you can be open to your family but also you need someone from other field (?) of people (god help me idk how to explain shit on english) - someone who can make you change and be open to the other world, who can make you confident, maybe sometimes even goofy, but a grown personality who isn’t tied just with one person from the very beginning. Lance did it too him because even tho he maybe didn’t noticed it - but I think every time when they were arguing he was also making usually closed Keith to open more - lol at least just to shut this silly bitch up finally! And on the other hand - serious moments of support when Lance wanted to le him know that he a good leader and he is not the only one who misses Shiro. Besides that Lance has  a big-big happy fam and guess what Keith always was missing? Family

And as for Lance he was told many times that sometimes he acts too dumb or like too loverboy. In some sense he often acts too childish and undserious to work with others and that’s why he thinks about himself as the seventh wheel. And he needs someone who is able to cool him down and make to grow up finally maybe even with punches. That’s why I think he doesn’t need some comical kind of character as a partner at all (btw isn’t it something Jeremy Shada was talking about?). He needs someone who can bring balance to him, to take his comic reliefness off and make a grown up confident man out of him. 

so yeah that’s why I actually love them together very much and can’t dislike them even because of not-very-nice shippers. I started shipping them romantically after second watch of seasons but I honestly always enjoyed their interactions the most - because you feel like you’re watching something really important - how two very different and similar in the same time characters grow together and learn to respect each other - how they help each other and learn new things from each other and become better. It’s always incredible. and it’s worth of attention it has. At least they has the most developed over time relationship and you can see it in the show. 

This is not some kind of meta but mostly my personal thoughts and impressions. I never was that kind of shipper who always shipped all the rivals - like I don’t ship something like Drarry/Stony things and yet I think Laith is awesome. When the bond is strong enough for characters to be able to take their masks off, when they learn something new from each other and become better - it’s something that don’t even depends from genders or something else.