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isthisthingeven0n · 4 years ago

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you’re still here : s.r

spencer watched you die in his arms, believing you were gone forever. but when he learns the truth that you’re alive in london, he can’t help but wonder why you’ve hidden away for so long. (2.4k)

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(everything on my blog is my own writing. if it is shared on another page or website know it hasn’t been approved me unless specified. all rights reserved. - i have to start doing this as I had some shit on my other blog with plagiarism)

DO NOT STEAL MY WORK - IT IS ALL MY OWN WRITING

Salem, Oregon

“No, no, no Y/n, please,” Spencer pleads as he holds you close, his arms wrapped around you as your body becomes weaker by the passing second. “please don’t go,” His cries intensify as his arms shake, watching as your eyes begin to close. “no, please.”

“I’m sorry,” You manage to whisper as tears fall from Spencer’s eyes, the last sight you ever saw as your eyes closed, and your head fell back.

“No,” Spencer mutters, shaking you lightly. “no, you can’t be, no!” His cries turn to yells as Morgan approaches him slowly, resting his hand on Spencer’s shoulder as it shakes violently.

“Reid,” Morgan sighs, afraid to look down and see you lifeless in Spencer’s arms. “it’s over, I, I’m sorry.”

Looking over his shoulder, the rest of the team with solemn faces walk over and shield around Spencer whilst the police take care of Jason Lodgings; your murderer.

“Come on, Spence,” JJ speaks softly as she kneels beside Spencer as tears fill her eyes.

“I’m not leaving her.” Spencer states firmly, still not letting you go from his embrace.

“Reid,” Hotch calls out, his voice firm as he stands tall, watching as Lodgings walks away in handcuffs, glancing down with sorrow at the blood oozing from your cream jumper, dripping onto the wooden floorboards. “we have to go.” Hotch tells the team as they slowly rise to their feet, not wanting to start an argument with their superior.

Closing his eyes, Spencer releases a shaky breath as he gently lowers you to the ground. He pushes your hair out from your face and brushes his fingers across your cheek for the last time.

“Goodbye, Y/n.” Spencer whispers to you as he stands up and turns around, ignoring JJ’s open arms and walks out.

London, England - Two years later

It was always going to catch up with you, this life was a mere facade for your sake to have a sense of normality, but normality was never something you wanted.

Nearly two years had passed by since they last saw you. You hadn’t seen Garcia flirting with Morgan, heard JJ talk about Henry with such joy or avoided the stern looks Hotch shot over when you joked with Rossi and Emily for two years. But the one thing you’ve missed more than anything was seeing Spencer smile. You missed everything about Spencer, but seeing his smile brought a sense of indescribable joy.

This was never going to last forever, and you knew that coming into the situation. Hotch and Emily helped you figure out what to do, where to go in order to keep you safe. But keeping you safe meant everyone believing you were dead in the eyes of Jason Lodgings and his team, otherwise, they’d kill your team, your family off one by one just to get to you.

Having experienced the trauma from Emily’s ‘death’ you knew this wasn’t going to be easy on the team. You were lying in Spencer’s arms, close to death as you heard him cry for you. Every part of your body screamed to react, to tell him you’d see him again soon. If only you could have, just to provide him with some sense of relief in the long term. Yet if you did, it would’ve ruined the entire plan.

Wandering through Hyde Park, you knew he was close by. Maybe he had seen you already and was too afraid to believe it. The last time you spoke to anyone you knew was a year ago in Paris with Emily.

* Paris, France - One year Ago *

“How are they all?” You question as she sits down opposite you, files in hand as she places them on the table.

“They’re healing,” She answers, sliding the files across as you grab your bag, putting them inside without any hesitation. “it’ll get easier, but they’ll always miss you.” Emily sighs knowingly. “That contains everything you’ll need to get to London and set up a life there. But please, don’t trust anyone easily, Y/n.” She warns you as you nod.

Rising to your feet, you shrug your bag back onto your shoulder as you look down to one of your oldest friends for the last time. “Thank you, Emily.” You smile to her, wishing you could say more.

“Stay safe, okay?” She tells you, unable to form more words as thousands hover behind her lips. “I’ll be in touch soon.”

With a nod, you turn on your heels and walk down the street, not daring to look back as you’ve got to carry on.

Exhaling deeply, you bury your hands further into your coat pockets. Autumn was approaching as the Summer nights came to an end. You can’t help but kick through the piles of leaves that line the pathways as children giggle with their parents behind you.

“Did you know after June 21st, the Summer Solstice the sun’s direct rays will begin to shift southward from the Tropic of Cancer toward Earth’s equator?” You can’t help but tense as you hear his voice, filled with pain behind you. “As a result, the summer days become shorter, but that isn’t noticeable for a few weeks until late August when we near Fall.”

With a heavy heart, you begin to turn around and face the one person you owe the most to.

Your eyes remain locked on his feet, an old pair of sneakers lined with dried mud. Slowly, you raise your gaze past his trousers and toward the knitted sweatshirt vest, one you remember vividly even after all this time. As your eyes reach his shoulders, you can see his hair is long again and you can’t help but want to reach out and run your fingers through it like you once did.

“Hi,” You breathe out, unable to meet his scared gaze. “hi, Spencer.” You mutter, tearing apart the tissue in your left pocket as your nerves spread through your system, igniting undiscovered anxieties about this situation.

Spencer remains silent, taking in the sight before him. He never thought he’d see you again, the last time he saw you he held your lifeless body in his arms as he cried for you to stay with him. Yet you’re here, in London, alive.

“Do you wanna sit down?” You motion to the nearest vacant bench, and Spencer walks alongside you without saying a word.

Sitting down beside him, the gap between you feels too big. You’re used to the times of sitting together on the jet, resting your head on his shoulder and drifting off peacefully.

“Been up to much whilst here?” You ask, unsure what else to say. You can see out of the corner of your eye he’s looking straight ahead at the squirrels scaling the trees like buildings in the city.

“Why?” Spencer breaks his silence, his voice firm with you which takes you back by surprise.

“I,” You pause, lowering your head in defeat as you stare at the faint scar on your hand from the initial knife wound that Jason struck you with. “I had no choice.” You admit, hearing the gunfire as you blink away the memory.

“Everyone has a choice, Y/n, always.” He reminds you and just hearing him say your name causes your heart to drop. “You could’ve told us, we would’ve kept you safe, you know I,” Spencer pauses as he exhales his frustration. “we could’ve protected you.”

“I know, Spence,” You mutter, now turning to look up at him for the first time. “but I couldn’t do it, Hotch and Emily assured everyone would be safer this way.” You try to explain as you see the pain that lines his eyes, the heartache held in his gaze as he focuses on you.

He looks older, still sleep-deprived, but there’s a hint of happiness in the lines that surround his lips. A reassurance that he does have good days, the one thing you wished he'd have since you left.

“So you just left knowing we thought you died in my arms? Do you have any idea how I felt?” He’s angry, and rightfully so. “I, I thought I meant more to you than that, Y/n.” His anger subsides as his voice softens, his defences down.

You can’t help but reach out as you look at your hand on top of his, not daring to move it as you study his reaction.

“You’re the most important person to me, Spencer.” You reason, feeling his hand take a hold of yours, resting it in his palm as he curls his fingers over your hand, refusing to let go. “That’s why I had to let you believe I was gone, as Lodgings’ team would know, they’d always know and you would be in danger because of me.”

Spencer shakes his head. “We would’ve found a way, we, we,” He stumbles over his words as you squeeze his hand.

“You think me faking my death was plan A, Spence?” You chuckle, noticing a faint smile crossing his lips. “That was plan Z, actually version 3 plan Z if we’re being specific.”

“Did you ever plan on coming back?” Spencer quietly questions as his words linger around you for a moment as you slip your hand out from his.

“What did Emily tell you, Spence?” You ask, looking up at him as you hide your hands in your coat pockets, picking at the tissue once more.

“Besides the fact you’re alive and in London?” He nervously chortles, catching you rolling your eyes playfully. “She said you were doing okay, and that you were safe here.”

“I am, with Lodgings’ team having been sentenced, I’m no longer a target to them. My life is my own again, I can finally carry on living it.” Looking up, you watch as pigeons fly overhead, swarming down on the chunks of bread left for the swans. “But I made an agreement with Hotch, I’d stay away for at least three years. Three years to ensure my safety and for Lodgings’ team to be dismantled and dealt with.”

“Three years.” Spencer repeats, and you nod along. “You’re not planning on coming home, are you?” Your silence answers his question without you needing to respond. “I understand, Y/n. Three years is a long time to be gone from us all, and people change.” He reasons to himself more than to you. “I, we all thought you were gone, and finding out you’re alive I,” His voice trails off as he clenches his jaw, fighting his emotions that have been pent up for so long.

“Spence,” You mumble his name as tears fall from his eyes. “I want to come home, I do. I just don’t know if it’s home anymore.”

“Home is where the heart is.” Spencer comments.

“Elvis Presley.” You chuckle, lifting your hand up as you wipe away his tears, feeling him tense momentarily from your touch.

“Please don’t go, Y/n.” Spencer whispers as he lifts his hand up, resting it on top of yours as you cup his cheek. “I want to be selfish, I don’t want to lose you again if I don’t have to.”

Tears glaze your eyes as Spencer scans your face for any uncertainty. “Six months, Spence.” The words are barely audible for anyone passing by, but you know he heard you.

“One hundred and eighty-two point five days.” He nods as you lower your hand from his cheek, but he still keeps his on top of yours. “Then you’ll come home?”

“I can’t promise, Spence.” You know lying would be useless with him, you were never the most confident liar around him. “But before I go, I just want to tell you something.”

“Anything.” Spencer responds in a heartbeat, his entire body facing you now as you lower your gaze and take a steady breath.

“When you held me in your arms as I was,” Even after all this time, you still struggle saying the word. “well, fading, there was one thing I couldn’t help but think as you pleaded for me to stay.”

Spencer edges closer, your thighs touching as the previous gap between you both on the bench is gone. “What was it?”

“I wanted to tell you how much I care for you, how much I love you. And I wanted to thank you for being there for me through everything.” Your eyes remain locked on his as you pour your heart out to him, knowing if you don’t say it now, you never will. “But I didn’t have enough life in me to say all that then.” You nervously laugh. “So I thought I’d say it now, as it’s still true. You are a wonderful person Spencer Reid.”

A comfortable silence falls between you both as echoes of children's laughter surrounds you. And for the first time in years, you feel perfectly content.

“You know, Rossi once told me something,” Spencer speaks up, looking down at your hand as he brushes his thumb over the scar Jason caused. “scars show us where we have been, they do not dictate where we are going.”

“Wise words from a wise man.” You comment quietly as Spencer pauses.

“I know you have scars, Y/n. Externally and internally. But I’ll always be here, wherever you chose to be.” A small sweet smile lines Spencer’s lips as you focus on him, wishing there was so much more you could say. “And I’ll always love you, I’ll always miss you. But if I know you’re healing, then that is all that matters.” He lifts your hand up to his lips, kissing it softly before lowering it back to your lap, unaware of your heart-shattering in your chest.

“I’ll see you soon, Spence.” You tell him as he stands up, hands resting in his jacket pockets as he sways back and forth on his heels.

“One hundred and eighty-two point five days, Y/n.” He reminds you, and you can’t help but laugh and Spencer joins in too for a moment and everything feels okay again, just for a second. “I’ll be holding you to it.” He smiles to you one last time as he sees the glint in your eyes falter. “Bye Y/n.”

“Bye Spencer.” You wave to him as you turn around, walking down separate paths once more, unsure when you’ll next reunite.

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kiatheinsomniac · 4 years ago

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Unwoven Fate V

[MASTERLIST OF CHAPTERS]

The trip with the courtesans had been a long once and she was glad that she had arrived so early in the morning at Monteriggioni or else she would have missed them. It was nice to have company. She shared her story with the girls along the way; from the attack on her childhood home, being raised by her Aunt and Uncle and that life-changing eavesdrop to her travels across Tuscany.

The young woman did her best to keep her body moving on the horse, trying to stay warm after she had lent her cloak to Lucrezia, an hour into the journey, who had been shivering violently and cursing the bitter cold. The courtesans were good company: they kept good conversation and were an entirely new type of people to (Y/n).

Her Aunt had told her that they were vile women, taking the easy way in life, that (Y/n) should be proud to be unlike them. (Y/n) had acknowledged that this was her Aunt's opinion but had never formed one herself, never having met a courtesan until this day. They had been kind and they paid her respect too, it seemed. And it was a different kind of respect, one she had not experienced before: it was not the obligatory respect that came with her family money and her fancy outfits, it was a respect that she had earned herself by respecting these women in turn, by sharing her generosity with them regarding her cloak and letting some of them ride her horse when their feet grew tired.

The rented horse was stolen by now: she had known that she wouldn't be back in the promised time when she rented it but now a part of her felt bad for taking it away from its owner. Either way, she needed the creature - until she reached Rome, anyway.

Upon arriving, some more girls were waiting at the gates to help carry bags of belongings and lead the courtesans of Monteriggioni to their new workplace in Rome. (Y/n) trailed along behind them, looking around as she travelled. Those same guards were here: the red uniforms with the bull crest. Those bull flags flew from towers, Roman ruins, homes and shops too.

Bull. . . Bull! The papal Bull! She resisted the urge to smack herself in the head: how had it taken her so long to figure it out? Was the Pope on a quest to conquer Italy? To divide or to unite?

Either way, she followed the courtesans, the group of girls patiently waiting as she left her horse discreetly in a stable, not wanting to pay to have it watched. Her money was running thin as it is.

After a while of walking (hearing the calls and whistles of men for the girls all the way), they arrived at a grand building, covered in Roses and seemingly recently restored. Courtesans waited outside and Lucrezia stopped at the threshold to hand (Y/n)'s woollen black cloak back to her.

"Thank you for your kindness and company, we've all enjoyed you coming with us." The blonde smiled, leaning forwards to give her an amiable hug. (Y/n) froze for a moment before returning the gesture, wrapping her arms around the woman and squeezing for a moment before they both pulled back.

"It's not a problem at all - I'm thankful that you let me come with you. Now the Auditores. . . ?" She replied, looking around the brothel to see courtesans and men all around, the place smelling distinctly of sleepless nights and roses.

"Who are you looking for in particular?" She quizzed, "Ezio, I assume?" Lucrezia replied, gesturing her hand to the hidden blade on (Y/n)'s wrist.

"Mario, actually. That was the name in the letter." The blonde woman's face dampened for a moment, her smile fading.

"He was killed in the attack." She replied sadly, "I'm sorry, I didn't realise that you were looking for him or else I would have told you."

"He mentioned some other relatives in the letter: a sister-in-law, niece and nephew. Are they alive?" (Y/n) questioned, biting her inner cheek and starting to pray that she had not come to Rome for a fruitless journey.

"I should hope so." A matured voice spoke up from the staircase. There, stood a woman in her late-middle-ages. Her hair was dark and streaked with grey, crows feet at her dark eyes. Her hair was styled up and she wore the sort of dress that (Y/n) was so accustomed to wearing herself. "What business do you have with my family?" The young woman assumed that this was the in-law.

"It's a bit of a long story. . ." She began, approaching the woman and bowing her head with respect, "I've travelled from the countryside near Forlì. From there, I've been to the city itself, then Firenze, Monteriggioni and now Roma."

"Then your journey has been a long one." She turned around and started walking up the stairs, "Come, rest in the office and tell me your tale." (Y/n) followed behind, hearing the faint sounds of the women working behind heavily closed doors.

The office wasn't too small, with a desk in the light from the back window, a bookshelf and a long screen dividing the room, seeing the posters of a bed behind the screen.

A young-looking woman, but older than (Y/n), was sitting at the desk with a quill in hand, a letter in another. She looked up upon the arrival of the two new women.

"Mother, who is this?" She asked politely, giving (Y/n) a small smile before continuing with her work.

"She says she has business with our family." The older woman replied. So this was the niece, (Y/n) concluded. The in-law gestured for (Y/n) to take a seat before taking one herself.

"I'm going to have to give you a bit of my life’s story for all of this to make sense but I'll try to keep it as short as I can." She began, looking between the two Madames of the brothel. "When I was a young child, my family home was attacked. My mother put me into the maid's arms and told her to run but I saw the attackers kill my parents. My Aunt and Uncle took me in after that and raised me as their own. But, a few days ago, I was walking past the room where my Aunt, Uncle and their guests were and I heard her. . ."

She took in a shaky breath to compose herself, the words wounding her just as deeply as the moment she first heard them, "I heard my Aunt say that she'd had my parents killed. . . And that she thought it was the best thing she had ever done." She could see the shock on the women's faces after saying this. "Since then, I travelled back to my childhood home in Forlì where I found a secret compartment containing this-" she showed her hidden blade and pulled Mario's letter to her parents out of her pocket, placing it on the desk, "-and this. I don't know anyone else who knew my parents except my existing family and Mario. I'm sure you can see why confronting my family was out of the question." Claudia had read the letter by now.

"Your parents were Assassins too?" Claudia spoke up and (Y/n) nodded her head.

"I never even knew until I read this. . ." She bit her cheek to fight the tears that threatened her eyes, "And suddenly I feel like I don't know anything."

"I think it would be best if you speak to my son, Ezio." The in-law spoke up, catching (Y/n)'s teary eyes, "He is acting as the Assassin Brotherhood’s leader at the moment and if he isn't already informed of your parents then one of his contacts will be."

"Thank you. . ." (Y/n) trailed off, looking between the two strangers and realising that she did not know their names still.

"Maria."

"And Claudia - I am sure that you know our surname well." She smiled, giving (Y/n) back the letter from Mario. She could tell that she was sad to let something go that had been written by her passed uncle, "My brother can be a hard man to contact but I have a meeting with him in three days, I can take you with me and you can discuss things with him then."

"Thank you." (Y/n) replied gratefully, "Until then, do you know any places nearby where I could rent a room?"

"You can stay here until then." Maria offered, "We will close off a room for you. There's one downstairs that serves as more of a supply cupboard than a workplace, I'm sure you'd prefer that."

"I'll take whatever you'll give." She replied gratefully and heard her stomach rumble, inwardly cringing and hoping that the other two hadn't heard her. It was now becoming evening and she hadn't eaten since Florence yesterday.

"There is a baker's nearby though." The younger Auditore woman smiled amiably, getting up from her seat, "Come, I'll take you."

⚜⚜⚜

The past three days had been spent at the brothel: spending much time talking to Claudia and understanding her job in the Brotherhood as well as the courtesan teaching her a few Assassin tricks: blending in, pickpocketing (it had felt very dishonest to (Y/n) but the last of her money had been spent on food and she knew that she needed it to get by - she also found that she was also very good at it). She was small and went more unnoticed than others when she bumped into someone and her fingers were quick, nimble from her years of violin-playing.

"We're heading to Isola Tiberina." Claudia had told her that afternoon. Claudia was wearing a fine red and gold dress and (Y/n) decided that she didn't want to feel underdressed compared to her, slipping on the deep blue silk dress that she had kept in her bag, the one not given away to that bastard tailor in Forlì. She kept her hair in the two dutch braids which had now become much more comfortable for her as they were easy to do, held fast and kept her long tresses out of the way.

She followed Claudia through the streets of Rome, keeping close and trying to memorise each detail in order to learn her way around the city by heart. Some streets were narrow and there were staircases that looked like an alley but turned out to be a door, tunnels were scattered around too and there were some small gardens here and there. Eventually, they reached a river and Claudia led the two of them over a bridge. (Y/n) looked up to a tall building that had a pigeon coop and stood in front of a small square of sorts.

Merchants and craftsmen called out to passers-by and the Auditore woman led (Y/n) down to a doorway, holding it open and motioning for (Y/n) to make her way down the stairs. Upon arriving, she could tell that the place was newly occupied: sparse furniture that looked as though it could fall apart at any moment, lots of repairs that needed to be done in the plaster and cobwebs in the rafters. But she could hear the crackle of a fireplace nearby as well, a sign that they were not too uncomfortable here.

"Claudia." The man gave Claudia a warm hug in greeting while (Y/n) stood by silently, waiting to be introduced. Though, someone else addressed her first.

"Emma?" The man was much older than (Y/n) and dressed mostly in browns and yellows. (Y/n) could feel her breath hitch in her throat. She hadn't heard that name in so long that it both killed her and brought her to life at once. Her mother's name. "No, you're far too young. . ." He glanced down at her wrist to see the dull metal of her hidden blade, "Who are you?" His eyes flickered between hers, brows narrowing. A tension seemed to fall over the room and suddenly everyone was suspicious.

"I'm her and Lorenzo's daughter. I. . ." She found herself stammering. This man had known her mother's face and clearly, (Y/n) had grown into it well. Her Aunt had never mentioned that. "I came here looking for answers." She cast a glance over her shoulder to Claudia, now accompanied by the man who had hugged her in greeting. All of the older people in the room seemed beyond astonished. The man spoke up once more, killing the silence that had now hung over the room for a long time.

"I think we would like some answers now too.” He answered solemnly as whispers broke out among the elders of the group.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean: you're supposed to be dead."

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doritopaw101 · 4 years ago

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Arc1, book 2: Chapter 12

Icefire always thought of Riverclan as as plump and sleek, well fed from the river. That was until Silverstream told him that the oil issue had gotten worse, and humans were scaring away the fish.

In spite of his pang of pity, Icefire knew he and Graystripe would have to work hard to convince Stormstar that they had really saved the kits.

The Clan leader was at least prepared to give them a chance to explain. "Tell us what happened," Stormstar ordered.

Icefire began at the point when he had heard the kits wailing and seen them stranded on the mat of debris in the river.

"Since when have Thunderclan cats risked their lives for us?" Blackclaw broke in contemptuously as Icefire how he pushed the kits through the torrent to the riverbank.

Icefire wanted to to bite back but couldn't "That's rich coming from the cat that murdered a queen and started countless fights for no good reason other then stupid clan 'glory'"

Blackclaw hissed and looked ready to pounce but Stormstar stopped him "Quiet, Blackclaw! Let him speak. If he's lying, we'll find out soon enough and he does speak truth on that and don't think I forgot what you've done"

While Blackclaw grumbled, Mistyfoot spoke "He's not lying" They were still nuzzling their kits. "Why should Thunderclan steal kits when everyone is struggling to feed everyone, leaf-bare isn't completely over and prey is still scare they don't need more mouths to feed"

"Icefire's story makes sense" Silverstream observed calmly "We had to abandon the camp and shelter in these bushes when the water started to rise again" he explained to Icefire, his voice never falling "When we came to move Mistyfoot's kits, we could only find Primrosekit. Pikekit and Perchkit were missing. The whole nursery had been washed away. They must've been swept along the river to where you found them"

Stormstar nodded slowly, and Icefire realized that the hostility of the Riverclan cats was fading-all except for Blackclaw, who turned his back on the Thunderclan warriors with a snort of disgust.

"In that case, we're grateful to you" Stormstar mewed though he sounded grudging, as if he could hardly bear to be in debt to a pair of Thunders.

"Yes" Mistyfoot mewed. They looked up again, their eyes glowing softly with gratitude. "Without you, my kits would have died"

Icefire dipped his head in acknowledgment. Impulsively, he asked "Is there anything we can do for you? If you can't go back to your camp, and if prey's scare because of the flood-"

"We need no help from Thunderclan" Stormstar growled "Riverclan can look after itself"

"Don't be such a fool" It was Graypool who spoke, with a glare at her leader. Icefire saw Graystripe crouch down at the sound of her voice. Graypool was Splashsong's mother, the guilt would never fade.

"You're too proud for your own good," the elder rasped "How can we feed ourselves, even with the thaw? there is no good fish to eat. The river's practically poisoned; Echomist, Cedarpelt, and Lakeshine are evidence of that"

"It's true Storm" Voleclaw mewed, Shellkit, Mosskit, and Hailkit sitting in between his legs.

"It's all the Twolegs fault" Condorpaw hissed, his tail lashing

"They dumped their trash into the river and we suffer" Tidepaw added

Icefire rolled his eyes at this problem. He knew all about pride but they we're going to die without help. He looked around the Riverclan cats. Most of them couldn't meet his eyes, as if they were ashamed that a cat of another clan should know about their troubles.

"Thunderclan probably already knows when you allowed the white Thunder-rat into our camp" Suneyes growled "I'm sure Bluestar would love that"

"Bluestar doesn't know shit..er..mouse-dung" Icefire retorted "or do you want her to know, cause with your attitude it's getting really temping"

Suneyes's narrowed but her mouth was covered by Grasswhisker, wrapping her tail around her mother's muzzle. It seemed the Riverclan cats took his words seriously.

"Let us help you" Icefire urged "We'll catch prey for you in our territory and bring it to you, until the floods have gone and the river is clean" Even as he made this offer, he knew that he was breaking the warrior code that demanded loyalty to his own clan alone. Bluestar would snap his neck if she found out he was willing to share Thunderclan prey with Riverclan. There was another little bonus to this though, if he helped them the cats of Riverclan could trust him more.

He always thought about becoming leader, more than he cared to admit. Working to bring down Tiger-roar and Nightshade made that take priority by working themself very well into Tiger-roar's good graces, like Nightshade and Miststrike levels. Making Darkstripe jealous was a highlight. He hoped he got a position of power because if Riverclan could trust him then it could work out in the long run. If he couldn't gain leadership, the role of medicine cat or Silverblood could work.

"Would you really help us?" Stormstar asked slowly, his blue and amber eyes narrowing with suspicion.

"Yes" Icefire mewed

"And I'll help too" Graystripe promised

"Then the clan thanks you" Stormstar grunted "None of my cats will challenge you in our territory until the floods go down and we can return to our camp. But after that, we will fend for overselves again" He turned and led the way back to the bushes, His subdued cats followed him, casting glances back at Icefire and Graystripe as they went. He could feel their doubt in his offer to help.

Last to go was Mistyfoot, nudging their kits to their paws and guiding them up the slope where Leopardclaw and Skyeyes were. "Thank you both" she murmured "I won't forget this"

Icefire and Graystripe were left alone as the Riverclan cats disappeared into the bushes. As they picked their way down the slop again toward the river, Graystripe shook her head in disbelief "Hunting for another clan? We must be mad"

"What else could we do?" Icefire retorted as Graystripe licked his muzzle wound "Let them starve?"

"Of course not! But we'll have to be careful. We'll be crowfood if Bluestar finds out"

"If she finds out" Icefire stated

It was a cold morning, gray morning. Icefire dragged themself out reluctantly out of the warm embrace of Raveneye and Graystripe cuddled on top of them and kicked Graystripe out of the nest.

"Why?" Graystripe whined

Icefire lowered their head and butted the broad gray shoulder. "Come on, Graystripe" they whispered into their lover's ear "We've got to hunt for Riverclan Pigeon, don't tell me you forgot"

At that, Graystripe gripped his tom flower crown as he leveled himself upright and parted his jaws in an enormous yawn. Icefire felt just as tired as their lover; supplying Riverclan with fresh-kill as well as keeping up with their duties in Thunderclan was taking up all their time and energy. They had crossed the river with prey several times, and so far their luck had held. No Thunderclan cat had found out what they were doing.

The clan was doing well this moons, Littlepaw, Sleetpaw, and Smokypaw passed their assessments as well as their duels and received their warrior names: Littlebreeze, Sleetpelt, and Smokyclaw. Chivekit, Stagkit, and Hawk-kit were apprenticed, Chivepaw had gotten Goldenflower, Stagpaw got Cranewing, and Hawkpaw was given to Larkwing. Seedspots had moved into the nursery, expecting Lionheart's kits. Only a bitch could love a basturd. Petalpaw's training had been given over to Robinwing. Thornkit and Brightkit were apprenticed to Nightshade and Tiger-roar.

Stretching, Icefire glanced cautiously around the den. Most of the warriors were curled among the loss, too sound asleep to ask awkward questions. Tiger-roar was just a mound of two-colored tabby fur in his nest, with white bush in the form of Leopardstorm.

Icefire slipped out between the branches of the den. At first he thought all the other cats were asleep; then he saw Brindleface appear at the entrance to the nursery and lifted their head to sniff the air. As if they didn't like the raw, damp wind that greeted them, they retreated almost at once.

Icefire looked back at Graystripe, who was shaking scraps of moss off his coat. "Okay" they mewed "We can go now"

The two cats bounded across the clearing toward the gorse tunnel. Just as they reached it, two familiar voices behind them called out, "Dad! Dad!"

Icefire froze and turned around, Sunnykitkit and Shrikekit scampering over, yowling at him.

"Why!" Graystripe whined once more

"Starclan knows" Icefire sighed "Let me deal with my kits"

"Where are you going?" Sunnykit panted excitedly as she skidded to a stop in front of the warriors "Can we come with you?"

"No" Graystripe mewed "Kits don't leave camp, only with warriors"

"I'll be an apprentice soon" Sunnykit whined

"Soon isn't now" Icefire reminded his daughter, struggling to keep calm. If they hung around much longer, the whole clan would be awake and wanting know where they were going.

"What's going on?" Cranewing said with a yawn

"Nothing" Graystripe quickly mewed to his sister "Just going for an busy hunt with Icefire"

Cranewing nodded her head in realization "Got ya, come on kits, you can watch me and Stagpaw train"

"You're never around as much" Sunnykit whined, her amber eyes tearful "We miss you"

"The rouges are still out there and who else knows what so none of you will be going anywhere without warriors with you, now go back to your nests" Icefire looked straight ahead so they couldn't see his kits sad faces "Let's go Graystripe"

Moments later they were racing up the ravine with Graystripe at their side.

"Let's hope they won't tell anyone" Graystripe puffed

"We can worry about that later" Icefire panted "I'm sure Cranewing can keep them busy" 'helps me feel less bad'

The two warriors headed for the stepping-stones. The fallen tree was still there to help them cross the river, and hunting close by meant they had less distance to carry the fresh-kill, and were less likely to be spotted.

By the time they reached the edge of the forest, the daylight had grown stronger, but the sunrise was hidden behind a mass of gray cloud. There was spatter of rain in the wind.

Icefire and Graystripe caught the scent of squirrel. Graystripe spotted it and didn't think and chased after it. Icefire facepawed then went after the gray tom. He saw Icefire saw Graystripe chase the squirrel into a log, Icefire went over to the other side. The squirrel hadn't been ready for that and Icefire killed it quickly.

"That's one" Icefire said through the prey.

"Uh..Icy"

"Yeah?"

"I'm stuck"

Icefire rolled his eyes "Of course"

It took a few moments to pull Graystripe out by the tail then just digging into his hind legs and pulling him out. The two warriors continued their hunt until they had killed a rabbit and a couple of mice. By then, although he gladly couldn't see the sun, Icefire knew it must be near sun-high. "We'd better take this to Riverclan" he mewed "They're bound to miss us back at the camp soon"

His was relived as they pasted the fallen tree, the water was no higher, and the crossing seemed easier now that he had done it several times. All the same, Icefire felt uneasy as he scrambled through the branches, knowing that he was in full view of Thunderclan cat who happened to be patrolling the forest's edge.

He and Graystripe swam the last couple of fox-lengths and pulled themselves out of the river on the Riverclan side. When they had shaken the water out of their fur they slunk quickly toward the bushes where Riverclan had made their temporary camp.

A cat must have been on watch, because as they approached, Leopardclaw emerged from the bushes. "Welcome," she mewed, sounding a lot friendlier than she had when she first came upon them with Pikekit and Perchkit.

Icefire followed her into the shelter of the hawthorn branches. The Riverclan cats had worked hard since the floods forced them out their camp, bringing moss for bedding and scraping out a place beside the roots of a large bush where fresh-kill could be stored. Today this was little more than pitiful collection of a few mice and couple of blackbirds, which made the Thunderclan warrior's contribution all the more necessary. Icefire dropped his prey onto the pile, and Graystripe did the same.

"Is that more fresh-kill?" Stonefur appeared with Silverstream and Minnowpool just behind him. "Great!"

"We have to feed Graypool and the royals first" Leopardclaw reminded the gray warrior

"I know Leopardclaw" Stonefur stated, his voice level

"We'll take something for Graypool" Silverstream mewed, stepping between the two calmly "Graystripe grab that rabbit will ya"

Graystripe grabbed the rabbit hesitantly.

"Graypool wants to talk with you Graystripe, don't worry I'll stay around" Silverstream added with a wink ignoring Leopardclaw's disapproving glare

Graystripe stepped lightly and followed Minnowpool and Silverstream out of the bushes.

"They've got the right idea" Stonefur mewed "Icefire, do you want to the nursing queens? Then they can thank you themselves"

Icefire agreed. Following Stonefur, they got curious about something.

"Is is weird being half-clan?"

"It's less about it being weird and more about loyalty with cats, the fact I look more Thunderclan than Riverclan doesn't help"

"Mistyfoot looks more like Bluestar than you do"

"She has Stormstar's figure, I act more like a Thunder from what others say about me being a stubborn as a bass"

"Sometimes you need to be stubborn for things to get done"

"That's what I say but trying saying that from calm and too relaxed cats of Riverclan"

"Leoaprdclaw and Blackclaw seem more stubborn than you"

Stonefur chuckled at that.

They neared the makeshift nursery, Icefire wondered one more thing though "How's it going with Blackclaw?"

"Tossed him like a fish into the river, literally" He pointed to a nick in his already cut ears "Can't stop me from seeing our kits and it's not like Skyeyes going to stop me, Seaweedpaw is a blessing for her help with them"

"How's she doing by the way, Marigoldpaw's been asking"

"Petalstream says she's doing well, she likes using her name sake to make necklaces and crowns for the other apprentices"

"Spottedleaf would be proud"

Stonefur smiled "Yeah, she would"

Icefire padded in and was pleased to see Mistyfoot again, stretched out to their side while their kits suckled contentedly. Swanlight greeted him with a lick on the head as did Dawnscale and Mallowtail, they let their kits come over to him as well. Sootwhisker and Greenflower nodded to him. Suneyes ignored him though her kits sure didn't. What he did notice was Mosspelt and Flameshell.

"Filou" he said curtly, letting Gullkit, Mink-kit, Garkit play with his tail

Flameshell ducked her head like a turtle "I'm sorry I didn't tell you"

Icefire hummed "Who?"

"Well me and Willowheart wanted kits and I offered to carry them"

Icefire turned to Mosspelt "And you?"

"I thought Silvertide told you"

Stonefur led him to a spot further along the ridge where Graypool was crouched on a bed of heather and bracken, tucking into the fresh-kill. He spotted Graystripe looking much calmer than he had been in a while.

They had left quickly, wanting to get back to camp as soon as possible. Icefire still weighed down with anxiety as they crossed the tree truck and went back into Thunderclan territory, though he tried hard to push the problem out of his mind. He had two ideas to use as an excuse, he did the first already.

"Now I want to sleep" Graystripe yawned, grooming his fur and avoiding sitting on his rump. Only a mousebrain would think Graystripe was the dominant one between the two them.

"I hate and love your stamina" he muttered, "We should hunt, at least-"

An excited mew from the edge of the forest interrupted him. "Papa! Dad!"

Icefire stared in disbelief as he saw Sunnykit, Shrikekit, and Rosekit crashed out of the bracken at the edge of the trees.

"Oh, mouse dung!" Graystripe muttered

Icefire padded across the grass, his heart sinking. "What are you three doing here?" he demanded "I told you to stay back at camp"

"I tracked you" Sunnykit announced proudly "All the way from camp"

As he looked at his nephew's shining blue eyes, Icefire felt sick with apprehension, Their chances of slipping back into camp with a story of early hunting had just vanished. They must have seen them crossing the river.

"Sunnykit followed your scent trail right up to the stepping-stones" Shrikekit mewed "Papa, what were you and Graystripe doing in Riverclan territory?

"Why do you smell weird?" Sunnykit asked

Before Icefire could think of a reply, another voice broke in-a low, menacing growl. "Yes, that's what I would like to know, too"

Icefire tried to stay calm as he looked up to see Tiger-roar shouldering his way through the crisp brown bracken.

"You screwed up this time Icefire"

Shit

When they reached the camp, Icefire saw Bluestar standing at the foot of the Highrock, Seedspots laying behind her, her plump white belly exposed. A patrol made up of Leopardstorm, Fogtail, Chestnutclaw, and Mousefur was reporting to Bluestar.

"The stream is flooded as far as the Thunderpath" Icefire heard Leopardstorm say. "If the water doesn't go down, we won't be able to make it to the next gathering"

"There's still time before-" Bluestar broke off when she saw Tiger-roar approach her. "Yes, what is is?"

"I've brought these cats to you" the deputy growled "Three disobedient kits, and two traitors"

"Traitors!" Fogtail echoed, Chestnutclaw smirked. Chestnutclaw's eyes met Icefire's with an unpleasant gleam "Just what I'd expect from a kittypet" the reddish-brown tom sneered, he stared at the kits "What were you three thinking?"

"We wanted to see where Papa was going" Sunnykit said

"I've taught you three better than to follow him around"

"Excuse me?" Icefire hissed

"Enough" Bluestar ordered, more like snarled. She nodded to the cats in the patrol "You may go" she glanced at Seedspots who wore an amused grin "all of you" She turned back to Tiger-roar as the cats moved away. "Tell me what happened"

"Well if it isn't our newest apprentices, Icepaw and Graypaw"

Icefire looked up from his vole to see Fogtail swaggering toward him, his long tail waving in the air. "Ready for a training session?"

Bluestar hadn't been as mad as he thought. She punished Shrikekit, Sunnykit, and Rosekit with elder duties while she made Icefire and Graystripe do apprentice duties. Shrikekit seemed to enjoy talking with the elders and taking care of them, especially White-eye. Better than Smallear's favoritism over Rosekit.

Chestnutclaw had tried to contest his custody of their kits, stating that he was a danger and trouble for them. Considering what they and Graystripe had been caught doing, good will wasn't exactly on his side. Icefire was allowed in the nursery when deemed needed or at night any other time the kits were to be watched by Chestnutclaw or another royal. It made his blood boil that he was denied his kits but Bluestar did remind him that he didn't help his case, he was mad he agreed with her. =

Icefire and Graystripe took their time to finish their meals, then they had to follow Fogtail out of camp.

"Now Icepaw-"

"I'mma stop you right there before I slice your other ear" Icefire snapped before Fogtail could even start "Let's get this over with"

The day was cold and gray, just how he liked it especially when rain had began to fall but prey was hard to find. It was hard to pinpoint any movement for him and Fogtail wasn't making it easier, when he sneered in his ringing ears. Even if he lost his sight he could still make a good shot for Fogtail's ear or muzzle.

He ended up smacking Fogtail when he made him lose a dove.

He regretted nothing.

Icefire had a bad feeling in his belly. He was already ticked cause his nest in the apprentices den made him uncomfortable. Goosefeather just told him to grin and bear it. The apprentices had stared at him with wide eye, as if they couldn't believe what they were seeing. Swiftpaw sneered at him, probably encouraged by Fogtail.

The good was that Bluestar had thought he and Graystripe learned their lesson. He was glad.

He wasn't glad when he found out he was stuck on a flood patrol with Tiger-roar, Chestnutclaw, and Fogtail. A recipe for disaster, or he thought but they seemed peaceful, it weirded him out.

The sun rose higher, and the sky turned to a deep blue as the four cats journeyed through the forest toward Fourtrees.

As he padded after Tiger-roar, Icefire was distracted by tempting movements in the undergrowth as prey scurried to and fro. After a while the deputy let them stop and hunt for themselves. He wasn't going to let Tiger-roar's good mood go to waste. he quickly caught a vole with a swift pounce.

Then they went on, Icefire's stomach was warm and full from the vole he had eaten. Then they reached the top of a slope and looked down toward the stream that crossed Thunderclan territory, separating them from Fourtrees. Tiger-roar let out a long, soft hiss, Chestnutclaw lashed his tail, and Fogtail yowled in dismay.

Icefire shared their exasperation. Usually the stream was shallow enough for cats to cross easily, keeping their paws dry by leaping from rock to rock. Now the water had spread into a glistening sheet in either side, while the current churned swiftly along the original course of the stream.

"Fancy crossing that?" Fogtail spat "I don't"

Without a word, Tiger-roar began padding upstream, following the edge of the floodwater toward the Thunderpath. The land sloped gently upward, and before long, Icefire could see when he narrowed his eyes the shining surface was broken by tussocks of grass and clumps of bracken poking above the water.

"This isn't as deep as when Leopardstorm last reported" Tiger-roar mewed "We try to cross here"

Icefire had doubts but knew if he said a word, he would be mocked for his kittypet roots. He quietly followed Tiger-roar, who was already wading into the flood. He couldn't help noticing that Fogtail's ears twitched nervously as he splashed in beside him. Chestnutclaw just brought waves as he tried to get to land, Icefire wasn't helping him in the slightest.

In front of him, the current was brown where it stirred up mud from the streambed. It was much too wide for a cat to leap, and the stepping-stones were completely submerged.

"Those damn Rivers were right" Tiger-roar growled

Whiteclaw and Morningriver had come to Thunderclan to warn them about the water levels but the Thunderclan wanted to see it for themselves.

"Come here! Look at this!"

Icefire splashed toward him. The deputy, with Fogtail and Chestnutclaw beside him, was standing at the edge of the stream. A branch was lodged in front of them, swept into place by the current so that it stretched from one bank to the other.

"Just what we need" Tiger-roar grunted in satisfaction

Icefire felt a shove "Icefire, check that it's safe, will you?" Chestnutclaw mewed

Icefire saw Goosefeather floating above the muddy water, the gray speckled tom said nothing. It was foreboding and Icefire knew it.

"Scared, kittypet?" Chestnutclaw taunted him.

"Of drowning, yes" he snapped at the brutish warrior "I don't see you eager to do it, so shut your trap before I do it for you" He turned back to the murky water. Gritting his teeth, he stepped onto the end of the branch. He would not let them, least of them Chestnutclaw taunt him and have the pleasure of reporting him.

Immediately it sagged under his paws, and he dug his claws in hard, fighting for balance. He could see brown water racing a mouse-length below, and for a few heartbeats he thought he would plunge straight into it.

Then he steadied himself. He began to move forward cautiously, pacing his paws in a straight line one after the other. The slender branch bounced under weight with every step. Twigs caught in his fur, threatening his balance, 'We'll never get to the gathering like this', Icefire thought.

Gradually he drew closer to the middle of the stream, where the current was strongest. The branch tapered until it was barley as thick as his tail, making it harder to find a pawhold. Pausing, Icefire measured the distance left; was he close enough to leap safely yet?

Then the branch lurched under him. Instinctively he gripped tighter with his claw. He heard Tiger-roar yowl, "Icefire! Get back!"

Icefire tried to double back, he sway precariously. Then the branch lurched again and suddenly it was free, racing along with the surging water. Icefire slipped side ways, and thought he heard Tiger-roar yowl once more as the waves closed over his head.

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7deadlycinderellas · 5 years ago

Text

If the summer of our lives could just come again, ch4

A03 link

Gendry

Gendry had always hated King’s Landing. The crowds, which somehow managed to make the already near intolerable late summer heat even more unbearable. The smell, of the smoke from food stalls, of shit, both animal and human, made worse in the humidity, and the smell of just those animals and humans pressed into far too small a space.

And the noise, the noise was the worst. Hooves and wheels squeaking. Shouts from men and yells from children, and the thundering of their feet. Again, the noise that would emanate from a crowd forming as it stopped being made of people and started becoming a beast all its own. Noise so thick you could hardly hear yourself think, and at all hours of the night, making sleep a distant dream.

When he’d woken on his cot in the back of the forge, Gendry had been certain that he had died and this was one of the seven hells.

It had been enough to convince him, when he’d reached out and Arya wasn’t there. After all those years apart, he’d become accustomed to her presence, dependent on it, nearly instantly. He hadn’t believed all the stories about marriage rendering two into one, but here he was, feeling lost without her.

He remembered the first night after she killed the Night King. The single night where they thought they would get peace. He’d wanted to join in the celebration, but she’d slipped off by herself. She had never been one for glory.

He’d found her in one of Winterfell’s underground hot springs, trying to scrub the dirt and ash from her skin, while hissing in pain when the water touched her wounds.

He had tried to help her fix herself up, though his stitches were even clumsier than her own, a fact which she made perfectly sure to remind him of.

After, he had gotten up to leave and she’d reached and grabbed his hand.

“Stay with me?” Arya had asked him, her eyes searching.

Part of him hadn’t known how to respond. He hadn’t been shocked when he’d woken the night before with her already dressed and preparing for battle. He hadn’t really let his mind wander to what would become of the two of them after.

“Of course,” he had said, his tone casual. They had redressed and were leaving the spring then. He had merely supposed that she would want company joining the feast, or (perhaps foolishly) that she might want him to join her in her bed again.

Arya had looked at him then, differently than before. As if looking for understanding.

“No, I mean...for good.”

His heart ached when he recalled her face. When he recalled his own mind when he’d realized what she meant.

And then his days began and the ache only got more acute.

Then the pigeon had appeared. Arya’s younger brother had always been...inscrutable...but he understands the significance, that the boy had had a kind of affinity for birds. And at least, in that moment, he accepted that he wasn’t crazy. But he still was going to have to deal with his life as a fifteen year old apprentice again.

He could bow his head respectfully, and do his work as told, but his years had soured him. The fire in his gut tells him not to accept anyone who speaks down to him, who makes demands. It tells him that they can’t treat him like that just because they think they are the ones in charge.

Mott gives him shit for it, as he probably should. But his traitorous mouth still talks back. His work is good, better than it should be, or else Mott would have turned him out on the street.

That would be better, Gendry mused. If he got turned out, he could try and find his way north.

But in his cot at night, his mind wanders, and part of him can’t fight the feeling that even fleeing is a beautiful dream.

It’s a foggy, humid sort of day when it happens. He’d stopped to get a bowl for the mid-day meal. This particular shop was one of the usual, stuffed full of other laborers and the destitute trying to silence their empty stomachs.

He’s barely has a chance to scoop the good bits of meat from his bowl when he’s hears a voice.

“That’s him.”

He doesn’t even have time to turn his head before the blow comes. The side of his head explodes with pain and he feels the hot trickle of blood.

He tries to stand and turn, but falls to the ground when he’s struck by another blow.

He manages to catch a glimpse, finally. The man’s thin, ratlike face reveals him. He can’t remember the name, Cassaway or Cossway, something like that. Not nobility, but a merchant of some note. He had wanted a proper pair of gauntlets made.

He probably shouldn’t have made the crack he did, about who he was going to be fighting, some haggling crone. But the man’s face had rubbed him the wrong way, and his words even more so. It was bad enough, being called “boy” again. Being called it by a strutting arsehole who clearly thought quite a bit of himself was far worse still. The man had gotten in his face after it, and Gendry could still remember his sour breath.

Well he was clearly going to pay for that crack, Gendry thought as he feels the skin of back begin to smart from striking the edge of his fallen chair.

Cassaway or Cossway, or whatever the fuck his name is, brought friends apparently, because when Gendry tries to stagger to his feet someone else he doesn’t see tries to grab him. And so he bolts.

The dirt roads pound roughly against his feet. He doesn’t make it far before he’s sure he’s being followed. He doesn’t slow down, he keeps moving, though his head is beginning to pound from the wound.

There’s no where he could even go. It’s not like he has friends here. If he went back to the shop, they would just follow him there, and get Mott involved in this mess. He should have listened to his master’s words and remembered how to keep his tongue.

He’s run so far he’s nearly down by the docks. He pauses for just a moment, trying to catch his breath, before a hand grabs him roughly and drags him into an alleyway.

“Gods boy, I get in in the morning thinking I’m going to have to scour Flea Bottom to find you and you wander right in front of me!”.

Ser Davos may have been a handsome man before his years touched him, and right now he is the most beautiful creature Gendry has ever seen.

“Maybe it was a good day to piss someone off,” is all Gendry can respond.

Davos rolls his eyes, but his words are sympathetic.

“We all think we won’t get full of ourselves when we rise above our station, but it’s not easy to accept the way people treated you. I’m guessing even before this all happened it made you angry enough.”

He reaches out to shake Gendry’s hand firmly.

“I’m guessing you don’t have any belongings to retrieve?”

Gendry shakes his head.

“Then let’s get on my ship and get the Hell out of here.”

When they reach the docks, Gendry gazes up at the Black Bertha in awe.

“Not going to pretend,” he admits to Davos, “When I woke up I was fairly certain I had gone crazy. Still not sure we both haven’t.”

“If this is what crazy is like, “ Davos tells him with relish, “Then I will take it.”

They board the ship, and Davos introduces him to his crew, has someone hand him a line and show him the ropes. Gendry still has no sea legs, even on a ship as large as the Black Bertha. It takes all his energy not to lose his meal over the railings. But as King’s Landing begins to disappear on the horizon, Gendry feels his stomach begin to flutter again, this time in anticipation.

Sansa

They were going to have to explain so much today.

Her stomach is completely unsettled all through breakfast. Her oatcakes feel like ash in her mouth. Even Mother notices, asking her if she feels ill.

“I’m fine.” she insists, “Just a bit out of sorts.”

“Perhaps you should sit out today’s lessons, take a rest.”

Sansa nods, but she has no intention of returning to her chambers.

She walks and finds Arya and Bran, who were sneaking back from the stables.

“What should we do while we wait?”

“We could just take Lady and sit in the yard.” Arya suggests.

Sansa shakes her head.

“We should find Father. We should give him a bit of a head’s up before this all comes down around him. And see if there’s anything important that might get put off by it.”

“Do we know where he is?”

And as one, they all look to Bran, who sighs deeply.

“One of these days I’m going to stop letting you make me do this in order to avoid having to walk.”

And with that complaint, his eyes turn white briefly.

“He’s in the training yard with Robb, Theon and Ser Rodrick.”

“Well,” Arya says, “At least we’ll get some entertainment before this all.”

They slip onto one of the walkways above, sitting with their feet over the edge. It’s on the far side, and they probably won’t be visible unless someone knew they were there. Bran sits sideways as to not dangle his cast.

Father is sparring with Robb. Robb was the family member that Sansa found she could look at the least now. Her joy at seeing Father and Mother again had overrode the lingering horror at their deaths.

Robb was different. Even if Sansa’s romantic heart hadn’t been so torn by his ill-advised marriage, the image Joffrey had put into her head of what had become of his body would have been stuck in her head from the get-go.

And down below them, Robb is at the peak she remembers. His hair is perfect, his stance solid. He follows directions, and doesn’t gloat. There’s a hint of loneliness in his eyes, probably that Jon isn’t here to spar with as he usually was. Robb had always treated Jon just as another brother. It will hurt them all beyond belief if they can’t do anything to save him, in a way that it won’t for Mother and Father.

In her sadness, Sansa turns her stare to Theon.

“What are we going to do about Theon?” She questions the others.

Bran laughs, a hard rough sort of laugh.

“It’s taking all my strength not to gather a basket of rocks and pelt him with them, even though I know that’s not fair.”

“Without Robb having to go to war he might never betray us,” Arya comments, “It almost seems cruel to admit I never really liked him even before. He was always such a lech, and he liked to mock me almost half as much as you did,” she says, pointing to Sansa.

“He always seemed to know he was a hostage,” is Sansa’s take on it, “And didn’t seem to realize we were really too young to understand.”

She studies the man a bit. He is just as cocky as she remembers.

“I know the man he became better than both of you. But I can’t, I won’t ask anyone to go through what the two of us did just to become a better person.”

The other two nod grimly in agreement.

The morning almost comes to an end, and the men break for the mid-day meal.

All three of them take a breath, and stand to try and catch their Father by himself. Arya helps Bran up and gives him his crutches. The metal scraping the wood makes them move slowly, but Robb has gone on ahead to the Great Hall, and Ned is bringing up the rear when the three children ambush him.

Ned

“Arya, you should still be Septa Mordane,” he scolds, then turns his eye to Sansa, “It’s good to see you feeling better, daughter.”

The three of them continue to look at him warily, and Ned feels a cold sensation begin to creep down the back of his neck.

Finally, Sansa breaks the silence. Arya and Bran had both made it clear that she could speak for all of them if need be and they wouldn’t object, but in her younger body she feels the confidence she had earned in her years slipping away.

“Do-are you planning on doing anything important after the meal Father?”

To say Ned looks surprised it an understatement.

“I was going to go over some of the planned repairs in Winter Town before winter proper begins,” he states, he doesn’t want them to move on, he wants them to speak their due, to tell him what’s been going on. “But it’s nothing I can’t put off.”

Sansa takes a deep breath.

“You’ve...probably noticed we haven’t been exactly acting like ourselves the last few weeks. “

The cold feeling spreads to the rest of Ned’s body. It is true, but he had used all that he could to try and ignore the changes in his children. To pretend he was simply seeing something where there was nothing. And some of the changes, like the newfound friendship between Sansa and Arya, had been greatly appreciated, especially by Catelyn.

“Well, there is an explanation, but it’s not an easy one, or one we thought you would easily believe.” Sansa’s voice is wavering, but it has an unexpected power behind it. “That’s why we held off telling you, we didn’t want you to think all three of us had somehow been struck mad.”

“Why now then?”

Bran steps in this time.

“Old friends are coming to Winterfell. They should arrive sometime today, and two of them can verify our story, so we thought it would be easier to wait until they arrived. But for now, lets just go eat.”

Ned lacks an appetite after that conversation. His mind is running a mile a minute, trying to piece what his children had told him.

To their credit, Arya, Sansa and Bran seem as unsteady as he feels. Arya is the only one who seems to be able to eat, scarfing down her stew like a little wolf. Bran, he notes, is especially pale and quiet. Sansa is eating little, and her face keeps going through a cycle, of excited girl to nervous wreck.

He spares a glance at his wife beside him, one of the only at this meal who seems her normal self.

He’s just managed to barely clear his plate when a guard enters the Great Hall.

“My Lord, my Lady,” he starts, “There are unannounced visitors at the East Gate,” the man spares a glance at Bran, “And one of your children’s beasts is with them.”

Bran laughs quietly, “Oh, that’s where Summer’s been all day.” The laugh sounds almost empty, and the boy is just as white as he has been all meal.

“Are our visitors familiar?” Ned ask the guard, who nods.

“Lord Howland Reed, and his children.”

Old friends, he remembered Bran had said. That was true, but none of his children had ever met anyone from House Reed. He himself had not seen his old friend’s children since they were themselves only toddling. His wife had sat the trip out, keeping herself busy at Winterfell with Robb.

“Well,” Cat starts, giving Ned a look that asks ‘did you know anything about this?’ without being accusatory, “Let’s get this all cleared out and welcome them properly.”

The servants clear the table, and move the furniture to its usual position. Ned has taken his place on the dais, with his children at his side. Cat and Robb sit to his right, the younger three to his left, Sansa at his side, and Bran on the end so he can leave his cast and crutches stuck out to the side. Bran is somehow even paler than he’s been, but Arya reaches an arm out to steady him.

He swears he hears her whisper, “Don’t you dare faint, we need you.”

Sansa is sitting tall at his side. Her shoulders are straight, but not stiff, and her face is carefully serene. It looks like she was born for this, and Ned’s not sure where it came from.

When the three figures enter, Ned tries to get a look at them.

Howland Reed looks much as Ned remembers him. Short, and sandy-haired, with the years having added more lines to his face. He also looks gravely serious. His son by his side, looks much his double, though thinner and paler. Unlike his father, Jojen Reed looks completely befuddled as to why he’s here.

Ned turns his eye to Meera. He’s remembered her a bit better, a child of four when he’d seen her last. Now she was at most fifteen, a small fifteen at that. She’s dressed boyishly, carrying her spear on her back. And her face….

Her face is the image of the flashes he’s seen on his own daughter’s faces the last few weeks. She looks as though she has seen the end of the world.

Despite his unease, Ned stands to greet them.

“It’s good to see you again, my family and I welcome you to Winterfell.”

And then something utterly bizarre happens. Lord Reed turns his attention from Ned to Sansa.

“I take it we’re starting from the beginning then, my Lady?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Ned sees his eldest daughter smile wryly.

“I’m afraid we didn’t feel we could spring this on people just ourselves, or we would be dismissed. It seemed prudent to wait for some of our other companions to back up our story, and who could help us provide proof.”

“Any word from the others who were with us?”

Bran speaks up,

“Both are in King’s Landing as of this morning. They should be traveling soon.”

His voice is thin, and careful, Ned notes. And with a start, he realizes Meera is staring at his son, looking as though she might be ill. And Bran, for his part, will not meet her eye.

Sansa’s voice cuts through again, and she gestures to one of the servants.

“Can you bring our guests chairs? This might take a while.”

The girl, Ellyn is her name, Ned believes, obeys. It’s an easy request, but Ned is still knocked off center.

The three of them sit, and Sansa speaks up again.

“Sorry for this, Mother and Father, but this is a very long story, and I fear it might take a while.”

Further down the table, Ned hears Arya whisper,

“Why do I get the feeling she had that memorized?”

#game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #gendrya #breera #fic

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diningpageantry · 6 years ago

Text

First Days

Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18672919/chapters/44630452

Chapter 2/12 of Proximity (The Collision of Lonely Men)

Word Count: 2451

Chapter Summary: Simon makes a friend, and maybe an enemy at the same time.

First days send me back to being a teen.

The anxious new faces and tired, sagging ones of upperclassmen trying to get around them. The pushing, the shoving. The new class schedules, and the confused kids who don't even know who they are, much less what they're doing.

Thankfully, now, I get to watch it from afar. Although I feel like I'm locked up in a tower.

This is the shittiest fairy tale I could imagine.

Brushing my hands over the stack of papers laid out on my desk, I let the day's weight ease onto me. I only have five appointments today, but that doesn't mean I won't get bombarded by students trying to change their classes last minute. I know how it is, I shadowed a public school counselor for a year.

The pile of work out in front of me is a bit dense, but easy. New students, all second or third year transfers. And… lunch is in four hours. That's, at least, something to look forward to.

Well, except for being thrown further into that teenaged “Who do I sit with” bullshit. I haven't left my room much in the past week, and I highly doubt Mr. Stick In The Arse will let me sit beside him (though, I wouldn't be shocked to find that he sits alone). That, of course, leaves me with no other option that the fact that I'll be standing alone, waiting to find the furthest spot from everyone else.

Brilliant.

I get halfway through my morning before the Dean stops in, standing at my doorway as I'm rearranging a student's schedule. He knocks once, sending me jumping before I straighten up. “Oh, hello. Good morning sir--David.”

His nose turns up unimpressively. “You'll be introduced before lunch so that the faculty knows you beyond a welcome email.”

Well, there's no yes or no to that. Guess it's an order. “Okay. I'll be there.”

After nodding briefly and flicking his wrist watch out for a look, he turns on his heel and leaves me without another word.

I know I've never had a father, but he's the closest thing to a disappointed, high standards parent I think I've ever gotten, and it's only been a week.

Checking the time doesn't prove to be much of a spirit lifter. 10:48. Lovely.

I stare out the window, pen clicking impulsively in my hand as I follow a few leaves fluttering across a sidewalk. Empty. It's all empty. Locked away classrooms and borderline solitary confinement for me.

I introduced myself to the other counselor. She's in her late 60s and seems very cold. I doubt I'll talk to her much except for good mornings. That, of course, leaves me knowing three people so far. The Dean, Professor Pitch, and her.

I might as well count the pigeons I fed last night as friends too. They've paid more attention to me than anyone else around here.

Exhale. Slow, steady exhale, blowing out through my mouth.

It feels like a century before lunch finally hits. It takes me a bit of navigating, but I finally find the building after roaming the grounds for a good 10 minutes. Once inside, I steer myself towards the lunch line, avoiding the watchful eyes of students and faculty alike, starting to fill up the rooms.

I'm guilty of stuffing as much food as possible onto my tray, swiping my ID, and scuffling back to the staff dining room. It's empty, all but for the Dean, who's pacing towards the back. Such an odd man. “David?” I manage out, weight shifting nervously from foot to foot.

His head perks up, fingers resting upon his chin. “Ah yes, Mr. Snow. Thank you for being early. Come, sit.”

Following orders is easy to do. Take a seat and stare at my hands as others filter through. I worry that I'm sat in someone else's “spot” as a short, unamused woman takes a seat a few chairs around away from me. She gives me a familiar once over, looking through the top of her glasses before she shoves down a mouthful of salad.

A hand clasps over my shoulder, snapping my from my trance and jolting me standing. It feels as though the entire room is staring (they probably are). Scurrying quickly, I find myself standing feet away from the Dean, nervously picking at the pills of my jumper. Everyone falls silent at the wave of his hand--it's like magic.

“I'd like to take this opportunity, as we're all already gathered, to allow our new guidance counselor, Mr. Snow, to introduce himself.” Introduce myself?

“Uh, yes. Yeah. Thank you.” I stumble over my words, eyes scanning the crowd as I pull at my sleeve. I'm absolutely shit at public speaking, on top of barely being able to form a solid sentence in the first place. Brilliant. “I--uh--hi. Hello. I'm Simon. 26, just moved from London. I-I was a social worker for kids in the system, helping them get proper care and whatnot. I took this job to save up a bit, though. Social work isn't really lucrative, and I have bills.” I try laughing, but it comes out more as a nervous chuckle. “Besides that, I-I'm always up for a chat. I quite like football, I suppose. So yeah. That's… that's pretty much it.”

My hands rest on my thighs, back hunching in the slightest as the Dean looks over, nodding and finally letting me go back to eat without all the eyes in the room on me. Except, when I do sit, the woman with cat-eye glasses is staring at me again.

Slowly, I open my mouth, trying to formulate a response. She cuts in before I can.

“You don't have to move, you're fine here.” Oh well, that's lovely information.

“Thanks,” I exhale, squinting at her ID. “Penelope, is it?”

“Call me Penny,” she shrugs off, picking up her napkin and wiping her face. The rings on the fingers shine slightly in the dull light, catching my eye as I count them off.

“Are you engaged?” I ask rather bluntly, eyes following her right hand. There's a rather nice ring on her finger--I can see it closer now, as she extends her hand and offers a look.

“Mmhm,” she begins. “He lives in America, though. He was studying abroad in uni. He flies out every summer to see me. This year, I flew out to surprise him in more than one way.” She admires the glint, and I can't help but study her. She's interesting. Smart. Large personality, larger hair.

“What's his name?”

“Micah.” Her hand settles back on the table. “Anyway. Enough about me. Who the hell are you, really?”

I hold back a careless snort, poking at my food. “I'm… nobody important, really.”

“That's bullshit if I've ever heard it. Where are you from? Your accent doesn't sound like London.”

Good question. “Here and there,” I shrug. It isn't exactly a lie. “I settled for secondary in London, though, and that's where I stayed through uni.”

She side eyes me, taking a few bites as I shovel in my own food. I'd be more embarrassed if it wasn't for the fact that my back is to most of the room. Still, she's looking at me the same way Agatha would at fancy dinners--like I have no table manners (because I barely do).

She lets me finish before she starts up conversation again. Given it's me, it doesn't take long for that to happen. “So, who'd they put you up with?”

“As in, my roommate?”

She nods, peering around.

“Well, uh… Mr. Pitch. I don't really know how to say his first name, but--”

“Basilton?!” She whispers hushly, eyes raising before she laughs. “Oh you poor bastard, they put you with Mr. Prick.”

“Mr. Prick…?”

She waves a hand dismissively, sipping her coffee as she holds back a grin. “That's what the students call him. Rightfully so, I'd say. He's quite the wound up loon, if you ask me.”

I can't help myself from looking around, trying to find him to get a good look. I catch him, eventually, sitting in the near back, alone at a table with earbuds in and a book in hand. He's got the signature scowl on his face. “What's… he do? What's the deal with him?”

She's rolling her eyes when I look back. “Tenured in. Did they not tell you what he does?” I shake my head. “Brilliant. Well, he's head of the English and Literature department--I teach 10th and 11th year Lit and Creative Writing--and everyone who has him says he's an absolute nightmare. It's a shock that anyone takes his Queer Lit course.”

“Queer Lit?”

She nods dramatically. “See, fun as all hell course. Wilde, Shakespeare, Nin! I'd campaigned to teach it, but he got first call on it, being the teacher for the Gender Sexuality Alliance.”

I stop, cogs turning as I stare down at the grease streaking my plate. It processes slowly, then all at once. “Is he… you know…”

She laughs again--this time, it's a big, snorty laugh. Once she calms down, she gives a final chuckle. “Are you asking if Mr. Pitch is gay?”

I give her a shrug, blinking back to reality. “I-I mean, there's nothing wrong with it! Nothing at all, I'm just… I didn't know, and--”

Her hand settles over mine. “Don't get your knickers twisted. He is. Just thought it was evident, given literally everything about him.”

I glance back again, and I swear on my year's salary that he was looking at me. “I don't like to assume,” I add back into the conversation.

“There's a difference between assumption and context clues, dear.” The bell rings, cutting her short as she sighs. “Well, fuck. I've got a group of clueless 15 year olds to yell at. I'll save you a spot at dinner.”

And with that, I think I've made my first friend (well, besides the pigeons).

It's a pain to drag through the rest of the day. Even though the classes usually wrap in the mid afternoon, my office hours are locked into staying until half an hour before dinner. Basis of this? Fuck everything, and I need to buy snacks to hide in my desk.

I spend roughly half of it staring out the window or playing solitaire on my computer, and the other half was spent reworking schedules to the stuck up kids whimsy. I wonder if part of my job description is “doormat”, and I just hadn't read it clearly enough.

When I'm finally able to lock up and go to eat, I'm feeling half starved and completely exhausted. Thank God Penny seems to like talking, because she spends the entirety of our meal wholeheartedly ranting about how much young boys are the absolute worst group to teach.

“I should've taken the job at the all girls prep,” she huffs, practically throwing down her soup spoon. “Imagine how much happier I would have been not having to ask a boy to not replace ‘rump’ with ‘asscheeks’.”

“Why didn't you take the job?”

“Same reason as everyone else--money.”

I nod solemnly, taking another mouthful of baked chicken.

She keeps going. Long enough for me to get the occasional word in, but not so little that I have to talk often. By the time everyone's starting to file out, she's finally wrapping up her story about her least favorite student so far.

Thankfully, there aren't many students out and about once we're done. They're all scuffling off to the library or any other hang out on campus.

Penny and I part ways by the dorms. As per usual, Mr. Pitch has me locked out (or is it Basilton? Is what what people actually call him?) When I step in after scraping my keys around to find the right one and actually get in, I find him sitting right by the door on the sofa, doing work. That bastard.

He looks up, lips curving distastefully as I carefully close the door behind me. And thus, I'd assume, begins our nightly routine of avoidance. I lock myself in my room, and only step out for maybe a glass of water.

Tonight, though, I suppose I have something to attempt a conversation. “So…” I begin, fiddling with my glass as I stand in the kitchen. The light's off, but the soft yellow of the living room lamp washes over us, making the room feel all toned down. “You teach English, yeah?”

He doesn't turn, still seeming to stare ahead. “Yes, Snow. Astounding conclusion.”

“I… I'd meant that Penelope told me--”

“So you're all pals with Bunce then. Good. She's been sat alone for some time now.”

It hurts a bit, coming from him. As if he's assuming we're both too much of outcasts to be friends with anyone but each other. I worry that, maybe, he's right.

I inhale slowly before continuing. “She said you teach Queer Lit, and that you run the GSA. That's…” I think for a second--a long pause--trying to find the right word.

It's a second too long in his eyes, because he whips around quickly and stares me down. “Don't bother finishing that sentence, Snow. I don't need to hear semi coherent blubbering about how brave I am. Yes, I'm gay. So kindly fuck off.”

I freeze momentarily, glass squeezed tighter in my hand as I stand bolt-still. He stares back, sighing exaggeratedly after a minute before going back to his work.

Taking the glass back, I try not to slam my bedroom door.

Does he have to be an absolute dick about everything? Jesus Christ, this is why they call him Mr. Fucking Prick. Maybe he deserves it. Maybe I'm not actually mad, and he's just ridiculously mean.

I scratch my arm absentmindedly, settling down my glass before falling face first onto my bed. My mind runs over things to do, body working up into a red flashing anger. Who's it for? I don't even know.

It's just… unfair.

Everything's unfair. I thought it'd be livable--I thought I could be optimistic.

I push myself up, then kick down onto my mattress, hitting my fists against my pillows.

Rat bloody bastard wants to be a little dick and yell at me. Fine. Fine. I'll just avoid the shit out of him. Let him be fucking alone, for all I care. He seems to do that to himself anyway.

I manage to sit myself up, chest struggling to heave a full breath in and a full breath out. In the corner of my eye, I see myself in the mirror. Hunched, reddened. Sad. I'm so fucking sad.

Fucking hell. What am I doing?

#carry on #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #snowbaz #mine #simon snow #tyrannus basilton grimm-pitch #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #baz pitch #simon #baz #proximity (the collision of lonely men)#p(tcolm)#chapter update

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dammitadolfnomorecake · 5 years ago

Text

CSUAVS prt 26 update. Shots fucking fired

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nadiarizavi · 7 years ago

Text

yogurt to be kidding me

BAD PUN. please enjoy this plance one shot because i LOVE THEM and wanted a silly warm-up qq

read on ao3!

Her vision was blurry.

Pidge let out a weary yawn, rubbing at her eyes with the butt of her palm, letting air out from between her lips. The blue light from her computer screen illuminated the joints of her fingers, the wrinkles in the fabric of her t-shirt.

“Go to bed.”

It was Lance, naturally. He placed a mug of something-quite-like-coffee--oh, it is coffee-- next to her laptop.

“Your words contradict your actions, McClain.”

He collapsed next to her in an unceremonial heap, a yawn stifling his next line of thought.

“I was pretending to be the responsible friend.”

She pressed her lips together, a soft hum escaping her. Quickly, she typed out more of what she was working on, unbothered by the warm closeness of Lance’s body, the way he began to lean into her side, chin bobbing close to the curve of her shoulder.

“I thought you finished studying,” said Lance.

“I did. This is for a personal thing.”

“A personal thing?”

“I’ve decided to keep up a journal.”

Lance let out a hard laugh. “Oh my god. You? Keeping a journal?”

She made a face, turning to look at him full-on, brows furrowing. “What makes that so funny?”

“You’re never going to keep up with it. You drop projects all the time when you get bored. It’s just not part of your personality, Pidge.”

She let out a huff, turning back to the screen, to the word document opened in front of her. Quickly, her fingers flew across the keyboard, and she spoke aloud as she typed.

“Journal Seven. Lance brought me coffee, which I thought was very cool of him, but then he opened that stupid mouth of his and now I have to contemplate on pouring his gift right into his lap.”

Lance leaned away, eyes half-lidded. “You’re a hardass.”

“You are too. What’s on your mind, McClain?”

He turned his gaze away.

It had become routine, the late-night conversations between the two living down the hall from each other in their dormitory. Pidge’s roommate slept to the (loud) sounds of the rainforest. Lance’s roommate snored loud. And it had been an accident, the first time Lance found Pidge in the common room at three a.m., headset in with music turned up high that he could hear the guitar riffs from halfway across the room.

One accident and four months later, it was part of their weekly routine. They didn’t speak much, save for the quiet moments they had at night’s darkest hour, alone amongst themselves in the common room. If people saw them together, they wouldn’t assume they knew each other, much lest that they were friends.

“I had a blind date today.” He said it plainly. Pidge’s brow quirked up.

“And it was bad?”

“Ugh,” he slid down the couch they shared, propping his feet up on the table. “She was a total snob. Didn’t like the restaurant I took her to because everything was under twenty bucks.”

She let out a snort. “How dare you.”

“Wouldn’t even let me buy her frozen yogurt afterwards! And to think I budgeted.”

“Hey, you still have fro-yo money. That’s a plus, right?”

Lance’s pout broke into a grin. “That is a plus.”

A steady silence fell over the pair, and Pidge went back to typing, the clacking of keys the only thing disturbing the silence. Lance stared at her work, brows furrowing.

“Are you just writing about me?”

“Nothing interesting happens to me,” Pidge said with a shrug.

“This is entry seven, right?” Lance sat up straighter, leaning back into the smaller girl, chin resting against her shoulder without a care for personal space or property. “Can you read me another one?”

“No.”

He clutched at his heart, dramatically falling away from her, outstretching a hand in her direction. “Your brutal words, have fatally wounded me, Pidge! Only a maiden’s secret journal entries can save me now!”

She didn’t look away from her journal. Only typed more.

“Thank you, McClain, for this quality content.”

“You’re so mean. And to think, I, your only night owl friend, was about to ask you if you wanted to get fro-yo.”

Her typing stopped. She turned to him, brows knitting together.

“What’s the catch?”

“Ah, another arrow to the heart.”

“McClain.”

“You’ll have to actually be awake at a reasonable time. Because no fro-yo place in the world is open at this hour.”

“That’s false. It’s currently 5pm in Australia. I’m sure fro-yo places in Australia are open.”

“Have I told you that you’re a hardass?”

“Twice, now.”

Lance let out a groan. “Pidge, let me level with you, because you’re clearly not getting it. I want. To treat you. To frozen yogurt. And hang out. While the sun is up.”

He followed a rhythm, a syllabic beat, his hands pressed together and motioning towards her with each punctuation.

She beamed. “But I thought the charm of being my friend was only seeing me in the cover of night?”

“Holy Toledo, Batman. You could not get any more aggravating.”

Pidge shrugged, turning back to her laptop--and to Lance’s delight--shutting it close. “Any particular reason?”

“Am I supposed to have a reason to want to hang out with my friends?”

Pidge thought for a moment.

“I guess it doesn’t seem like our style?”

“Oh, because this--” he gestured between them both, then around the darkness of the common room. “--Is our style?”

“Kind of, yeah. It’s nice.” She was smiling again, adjusting herself to sit criss-cross on the couch, hands in her lap. “I don’t hang out with anyone else like this.”

“If you did, I’d be offended. This is our thing.”

“Exactly. It’s our thing.”

He opened his mouth to retaliate, but closed it quickly. She was smiling, natural and calm, as if she was expecting Lance to eventually ask her to hang out at another time. She was prepared to reject him, or so it seemed. She hadn’t said yes or no, yet, to fro-yo.

And it was aggravating.

Maybe it was wrong of him, to have this weird desire to see Pidge during the day and not in her pajamas, to see her looking less like a gremlin in the dark and more like a real person. He couldn’t quite place why he cared so much. Maybe because it was mysterious, to know what Pidge looked like with proper sunlight? Maybe because she was always here in the common room, that he wanted desperately to know what she did during the day. Did Pidge have hobbies? Or did she just do her homework in the dead of night? Does she have a job? Does Pidge Holt even exist outside the dorms?

Was she a ghost?

The last one was a stretch.

She took a sip of the coffee Lance brought her, letting out a content sigh. “Thanks for the coffee.”

“You’re welcome. You know, I work at the campus cafe. You could come in during one of my shifts and I’ll make you another on the house.”

(And see you outside of the dorms.)

She grinned. “Gave up on fro-yo?”

“I am not giving up on fro-yo.”

“Okay, I’ll tell you what,” Pidge set the mug down, turning towards him, the corners of her lips upturned in that quiet smile of hers. “I’m going to bed. I’ll bother you after I get back from class, and you can take me on this spectacular fro-yo date you have planned.”

“Thank you,” Lance said, a satisfied groan escaping him. Then his eyes widened.

“Did you say date?”

That caught her off-guard. Without the glow of the laptop screen, it was hard to see her features. Hard to know if she was turning as red as he was.

“Goodnight, Lance.”

“Goodnight--oh my god! You called me Lance!”

“No, I didn’t, McClain. Goodnight.”

She was quicker than him, scooping up her study materials in both hands, as well as the coffee cup, scurrying quickly across the room and down the hall. Lance made a show, knees sinking into the cushion of the couch as he called after her in loud whispers.

“Pidge. Pidgey. Pidge-o. Pigeon. Pidgeotto. Come back here! We can talk about this! I’m totally flattered if you want to call it a date!”

She didn’t come back, much to his relief. He probably wouldn’t be able to handle it if her brain booted back up, if she threw a brilliant retort at him when he was completely fried. It’d be emotional warfare. She already had struck him with enough arrows tonight.

He stood up after a long moment of sitting in complete silence, letting out a quiet huff before going down the same hallway back to his own dorm. He should get some sleep.

After all, he had a fro-yo date later.

#plance #pidgance #amaje fics

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thedeevirus · 7 years ago

Note

Vampire Oswald finding out how his bite effects ed? Maybe he catches Ed jerking off after?

Anonymous said:NSFW Vampire!Oswald please!!

Anonymous said:okay so I’m up for either nsfw or angst for vampire!oswald (bonus I guess if Ed offers his neck/blood to Oswald or if Oswald hungers/is desperate)!! also I’m? so happy you’re still writing ficlets for this au?? I adore your writing so much

Anonymous said:I need more Vampire!Oswald, STAT!

Here you all go! WARNING: NSFW! (HENCE THE KEEP READING TAG)Also uploaded to my Nygmobblepot Ficlet Collection on AO3

Oswaldleant his head against the side of the pigeon coop and sighed heavily, shameprickling along his clammy skin. Overhead thunder clouds rumbled, the night airfeeling close and thick due to the gathering storm. The streets of the Narrowswere empty, the denizens already sheltering from the imminent downpour. Oswaldwould have to go back inside as well to avoid getting soaked.He hoped Ed would be tending to the wound on his arm. The wound Oswald had caused.

Oswaldstill wasn’t quite sure what had happened.One moment he and Ed had just been kissing: gentle pecks as usual whilesnuggling together in bed. Their courtship had not progressed beyond chastekisses and Oswald was grateful for Ed’s consideration of his inexperience. Theyhad seen each other naked (after all Ed had seen Oswald naked all those monthsbefore when he had rescued him from the woods) and enjoyed sleeping in the nudetogether but Oswald was not in a rush to escalate things. But for some reason, during their make out session, Oswald had remembered thesight of Ed’s bloody mouth that day on the docks. The way it had glistened on Ed’steeth when he had smiled and the tang of it on Oswald’s tongue as they hadshared their first halting kiss on the pier after he had saved Ed from Sofia’sthugs. He wondered if that was how Ed would look if he were a vampire?The image had ramped up the pleasurable warmth that had been building insideOswald to a rampant, throbbing heat and he had deepened the kiss automatically,moaning as he felt his length begin to tent his trousers.Ed had responded enthusiastically, his fingers entwining in Oswald’s hair,dragging him closer and closer.Oswald had chased the sensations, luxuriating in this new, deeper and somehowmore meaningful kind of hunger than what he usually experienced. It felt goodto indulge, to be rough, to let go…The next thing he knew he was holding Ed down, fingers clamped on Ed’sshoulders as he ravished his mouth, their tongues dancing in the wet heat, sendingthunderbolts through Oswald’s body and-Then Ed had given a startled cry of painand Oswald had halted immediately. Looking down, he had seen that his nails had transformed into curved claws andpierced Ed’s arm. Blood pooled beneath the points and Oswald had let goimmediately.As he had looked around for something to help with the wound, Oswald had caughta glimpse of his reflection in the mirror. It was an old wife’s tale thatvampires had no reflections at all and what Oswald had seen in the glass hadsmashed through the pleasant haze dragging him immediately back to cold reality.In the midst of his delirium, he had accidentally dropped his human glamourrevealing his real vampiric face.Seeing his monstrous face revealed and Ed’s widened eyes beneath him, Oswaldhad leapt from the bed and instantly fled the room. He had run out into thedarkness where monsters like him belonged.

Oswaldhad reached the roof before his panic had receded and he realised that he hadbeen wrong to flee. Ed’s welfare mattered, not Oswald’s panicked indulgence ofhis shame. So, Oswald had tried to calm down by counting to ten with deepbreaths inhaled through the nose and exhaled through the mouth before returninginside to face Ed. In the process, he had come to a startling revelation.He was in heat. Oswald knew there was no other reason for the severity of the reaction he hadjust experienced. The predatory fixation on domination and drive to mate hadbeen nearly overpowering. Oswald had never experienced such desire before as ahuman or a vampire. When his heat period had come around previously it had beenakin to a nagging itch to be scratched, not something to be enjoyed. Oswald hadalways satisfied himself in the past, feeling uncomfortable yet relieved whenhe climaxed. Was the sensation he had felt earlier what humans and vampiresfelt every time they were sexually aroused? It seemed exhausting! Unsure what to think about this, he focused his preternatural senses to checkif Ed was alright before heading back inside.Only to detect Ed’s heartbeat pounding like the hammers of Hell.

Worried,Oswald instantly transformed into a cloud of mist and flew down the side of thebuilding and in through Ed’s open bedroom window. As he drifted past thecurtains billowing in the warm night air, he was startled at the sight thatgreeted him.

Edwas naked amidst the mussed blankets, pyjamas discarded on the floor and legsakimbo, his pale flesh illuminated by the neon green sign outside his apartmentwindow. He was thrusting two glistening fingers in and out of his ass, his cockpainfully erect as he bucked his hips, groaning. Ed raised his injured arm and Oswaldwatched, enraptured as Ed licked the bloody trail like a cat grooming, hislithe arm outstretched and fingers spread. Ed’s Adam’s apple bobbed as heswallowed the few droplets he had taken and Oswald swallowed hard in unison.He knew for certain now.The hunger he had felt earlier was nothing to do with blood. It was everything to do with Ed.Oswald wanted Ed. Wanted him in a way he had never wanted anyone else.

‘Holdme’, Ed said, staring right at Oswald’s miasmic form.

Oswaldwas so surprised at Ed addressing him that he lost focus and resumed his normalshape automatically.

‘Oswald,hold me’, Ed repeated, his pleading audible even over the rumbling thunderoverhead.

Oswaldmoved towards the bed as if hypnotised.

‘Please…helpme finish’, Ed whispered desperately as Oswald crawled onto the bed, ‘Please’.

Edtilted his head back onto the pillow, a dark blue vein livid against the whiteflesh illuminated as lightning flashed outside and, removing his fingers fromhis entrance, took hold of his cock. Oswald obeyed. The way Ed was gazing up at him, he couldn’t help it. To have someonepractically beg for his caress, plead for him to indulge his hunger, was toomuch to resist.As he sank his teeth into Ed’s waiting neck and felt Ed spasm, milky cum shiningin the moonlight as he ejaculated, Oswald closed his eyes, trying desperatelyto reconcile the drive to feed with the much deeper desire awakening insidehim.

A fewmoments later, they were lying in bed side by side, fully clothed and Edbearing a fresh bandage on his neck. Rain hammered down outside, only servingto highlight how comfortable and safe the bed seemed. Oswald lay with his headresting on Ed’s chest, listening to Ed’s heartbeat. It was calmer now. Content.Peaceful.

‘How’dyou know I was there?’ Oswald asked.His voice sounded loud in the mellow darkness.

‘Ialways know’, Ed replied, the trace of a smile in his words, ‘I wanted you tosee’.

‘Seewhat?’

‘Howmuch I want you’.

Oswaldtouched Ed’s arm wound meaningfully. Ed smiled and placed a hand over Oswald’ssqueezing it reassuringly.

‘You’resure?’ Oswald asked quietly.

‘Itrust you Oswald’, Ed said softly, ‘Fear is no excuse not to try. That is, ifyou want me the same way? Because if you don’t it’s okay-’

‘Ido! I know I do. I just want you to be safe’.

‘Don’tworry’, Ed said.

Hesteepled his fingers and lay on his back, gazing at the ceiling as he set hisformidable brain to the task.

‘Ihave some ideas’, he mused.

Thus,a date was set and preparations began. Ed drew up a rigorous diet plan of red meat, kidney, liver, leafy greenvegetables, eggs and legumes for himself to increase his red blood count. Theyhad decided to include a bite and a small feeding session for Oswald in their lovemaking.Both because Ed genuinely enjoyed the sensation and because of Ed’s theory thatOswald trying to suppress his instincts was a worse idea than allowing him tomate the way vampires were supposed to. Vampires were fundamentally predatorsand as such mated enthusiastically with an emphasis on dominance and displaysof strength. Whilst Ed trusted Oswald implicitly, he also didn’t want theirdesire for safe coitus to completely override the atmosphere and specialsignificance of the act. He didn’t want it to be akin to a chore. Ed also visited his doctor for a physical to ensure his body would be healthyenough to take whatever Oswald could dish out and received a clean bill ofhealth.Meanwhile, Oswald got into the habit of clipping his claws daily to avoidfurther accidents and made sure he fed well on human blood purchasedsurreptitiously from blood banks in the month leading up to the date they hadagreed for their first time to help dampen his hunger. He also researched humanmating positions and etiquette: after all he had not bothered with them when hehad been human and had been even less concerned with them as a vampire beforemeeting Ed. He familiarised himself with them quickly and hoped he would beable to perform when the time came without getting carried away. He also hopedhe would feel something akin to the strong instinctual pull he had felt before withEd rather than the polite disinterest he unfailingly felt while researching themechanics of mating. He didn’t understand how pornography films and magazinesexcited human males when Oswald just felt as if he were studying for a test.Nevertheless, he persevered. Ed’s happiness and sexual satisfaction were worth the hours of watching monotonous,vulgar, gyrating flesh in varying positions.

‘Remember,the safe word is ‘umbrella’’, Ed said, throwing his briefs outside of theblanket.

‘Iremember’, Oswald confirmed, getting into position so he and Ed were lyingbeside each other.

DespiteOswald’s nervousness, as soon as he felt Ed’s warm hand on his skin, he felthimself melting into Ed’s touch.

‘Justbefore we start’, Ed said, ‘Can I ask you something?’

‘Always’.

‘Beforewe start, can I see you? Like you were the other night?’

‘Why?’

‘Iwant you to know you don’t ever have to hide from me’.

‘Just-justfor a moment, alright? Don’t want my teeth getting in the way once we…get going’.

‘Iunderstand’.

‘Itrust you Ed’, Oswald said.

Ednodded solemnly, and, with a final squeeze of Ed’s hand, Oswald dropped hisglamour.

‘Fascinating’,Ed breathed, his analytical mind committing every one of Oswald’s unveiled physicaltraits to memory, ‘May I?’

Oswaldnodded and Ed reached out a hand to stroke Oswald’s cheek. He smiled fondly ashe saw the porcelain skin blush beneath his fingertips. Despite the warmth ofthe blood Oswald had consumed, Oswald’s skin felt cooler and harder than humanskin, like marble hidden beneath a soft, velvet like veneer. His eyes werestill the same colour but his pupils had narrowed to those of a cat’s, an obvioussign of his superior dark vision. Ed marvelled at the lethality in Oswald’snatural face. His eyes were as fierce as a bird of prey’s and his claws shonein the dim light from where his hands were resting in his lap. His sharp canineteeth barely poked beneath his top lip, akin to a tantalising peek at the perfectpredator Oswald truly was inside.Ed thought he was beautiful. Then again, he had always thought that.

Ed usedboth hands to caress Oswald’s face and was rewarded with a small hiss as Oswaldleant into his touch, rubbing his face against the heels of Ed’s open palms asEd ruffled his hair. Ed, gratified that his strategy had successfully helpedOswald relax, leant in for a gentle kiss. Just as Oswald had said, he resumedhis glamour, his teeth shrinking away behind his parting lips.

Justlike the night when Oswald had lost control, the kiss swiftly deepened into amore savage kiss. Both fought for dominance as Ed nibbled Oswald’s lips andOswald sucked hard on Ed’s tongue. After a few minutes, they broke the kiss,breathing hard, pupils blown and mouths bruised.

‘You’redelicious’, Oswald purred, running his tongue along Ed’s jawline.

‘Youhaven’t sampled the best parts of me yet’, Ed whispered into Oswald’s ear.

Helaid his head against the pillow and tilted his chin up, feeling the usualshiver of anticipation as Oswald’s eyes alighted on his exposed, vulnerableneck.Oswald’s lips caressed the vein with a tender kiss and Ed felt as much as heardthe whispered words ‘I love you’ before the pain of penetration by Oswald’steeth.The pain vanished almost immediately, replaced by the usual, mindless bliss Edalways felt when Oswald fed on him. He felt as if he were floating on a warmwave that built and built as Oswald’s ‘attentions’ deepened. It was likegetting drunk without any of the unpleasant side effects: a relaxing haze thatalso sent shivers down your spine and electrified the pleasure centres. Ed couldfeel his cock pulse in time with the heartbeat growing louder in his ears.Oswald’s hands were gentle as they held him in place, his fingers combingthrough Ed’s hair comfortingly, cradling him in a deep embrace. Ed’s own handstrayed to his cock, barely pumping it: just enough friction to make him hungryfor more.Regardless of his self imposed restrictions, when Ed could feel a familiarcoiling sensation beginning in his stomach, he hurriedly patted Oswald’sshoulder.

‘Ah! Umbrella!’Ed gasped, shuddering at the sudden rush of cool air on his skin as Oswaldstopped feeding immediately.

‘DidI hurt you?’ Oswald asked, his concern obvious despite his deliberately casualtone.

Edkissed Oswald’s cheek, catching a glimpse of his reflection in Oswald’s bright,blood red eyes. He tasted blood in his mouth and realised he had accidentally gotsome of the blood from the corner of Oswald’s mouth in his own. Ed smiled: itlooked as if Oswald had clumsily applied bright red lipstick.

‘No’,Ed said, stroking Oswald’s face, ‘I just don’t want to spend it all at once’.

‘I’mglad’, Oswald said with a wicked smile that showed his bloody teeth, ‘I’m readyto move on to the main course’.

Edfelt his heart flutter as Oswald’s eyes changed back to their familiar palegreen in a strange form of reverse bleeding. It made his stare all the more intense.Like a snake staring down a mouse. As he felt Oswald force him down, Ed understoodwhy mice stood still while the snake swallowed them whole. Those eyes were… enthralling.

Edthrilled as Oswald pinned his wrists down, the iron strength in Oswald’s grip atelectrifying odds with the gentle, attentive kisses he was placing along Ed’s collarbone.His tongue flicked delicately over the skin like a butterfly’s wing and beforelong, Ed was practically writhing beneath him. Ed was so busy luxuriating inthe feather light caresses that he didn’t notice Oswald drifting lower andlower, so much so that he kept his wrists pinned even though Oswald had let go.

Oswald’stongue flicking over the head of his erection was a different story. Ed’s eyessnapped open and he looked down to see Oswald gazing up at him, an expressionof almost perverse innocence on his face as he lathed Ed’s cock with histongue, pink still tinging his saliva. At the same time, Oswald’s long fingers cuppedEd’s ballsack, the tips of his nails tickling the skin and making Ed’s hips buck.Ed mewled like an animal, silently begging Oswald to take his cock into hismouth. Oswald feigned curiosity, tilting his head but then smirked and wrappedhis fingers around it instead. Ed quivered at Oswald’s cold fingers around theimpossible heat of his member but these tremors segued into pleasurable,languid thrusts as Oswald began to pump slowly. A few (all too short) secondslater, Oswald let go, holding up his fingers glistening with Ed’s precum intriumph.

‘Ifyou need lube-‘ Ed began but gasped.

Oswald sucked obscenely on his fingers and withdrew them from his mouth. A thick mix of saliva and blood mingled on his digits. Oswaldlowered his hand so his fingertips were pointing at Ed’s entrance. Ed’s breath hitchedand he parted his legs to grant Oswald better access. Oswald, sensing Ed’ssilent consent, traced a fingertip around Ed’s hole, the blood painting it avibrant red, it’s smell and the smell of Ed’s lust making the hairs on the backof Oswald’s neck stand on end.

Ohdear’, Ed said breathlessly, the ticklish sensation incredibly erotic and simultaneouslymaddening.It was better than any lube!Ed repeated the phrase like a mantra and Oswald’s ministrations sped up until(after what seemed like an eternity), the first of Oswald’s fingers penetratedhis entrance. Ed’s back arched against the bed but before he could recover,Oswald added a second finger making Ed cry out in pleasure as his toes clenchedand his fingers curled into claws as they gripped the bedsheet.

‘Areyou going to keep saying that all night?’ Oswald teased.

‘N-no’.

‘Thentell me what I want to hear’.

‘Fuckme Oswald’.

‘Begyour pardon?’

‘Pleasefuck me! For the love of God, fuck me!’

Oswaldplunged inside without further ceremony, giving a savage snarl of satisfaction thatmade Ed’s heart sing even as it made his heart hammer. Oswald began to thrustand the world fell away for Ed, his mouth agape at the sheer enormity of beingfilled by another person. His own fingers had been a means to an end but heknew they would never satisfy him again. Ed felt Oswald physically lifting him up from the bed, either not noticing orcaring about his injured leg. Perhaps he was too caught up in fucking Ed tocare about anything else? The thought made Ed moan and Oswald lifted himhigher, impaling him on his cock, Ed felt as if he were ascending to heaven.

Oswald’sthrusts shocked him to his core, the impacts against his pleasure centre likelightning bolts in his soul, bouncing around its cage of nerves and bone. Ed,frenzied by the shockwaves of pleasure, bit down hard on Oswald’s shoulder in adisplay of sheer, animalistic need. He heard Oswald give a growl followed by adark, appreciative chuckle at the irony of a human biting a vampire.

Ed,somehow still capable of some degree of rational thought despite being fuckedwithin an inch of his life, reached down with a trembling hand for his cock.Only for Oswald to beat him to it.But there was no teasing this time as Oswald began to pump and Ed gave astrangled cry as Oswald matched pace with his thrusts, stimulating Ed from thefront and the back. Oswald was all around Ed like an all-encompassing shadowand Ed fucking loved it!

Oswald’snerve endings were on fire: he felt like he was chasing something wonderful justout of reach. An addict surging after a craving that would fix everything. Hecraved Ed. Ed was everything. As his rational train of thought was finallyderailed, he gave an inhuman cry of exultation as the horizon reared up beforehim like dawn breaking.

Edmatched Oswald’s cry with a guttural roar of sheer ecstasy as his back archedand he came, rocking violently as he rode out the greatest orgasm he had everexperienced.

Feelinghis mate cum was too much for Oswald and his back arched as he painted Ed’sinsides with his seed, truly marking him as his own. He bared his formidable teeth,mouth agape in an instinctive display of primal strength as he held Ed close tohim, listening for the rhythm of his heart in the aftermath of the crescendothey had created together.

Theycollapsed together onto the soft sheets, breathing heavily with delirioussmiles as they gazed at each other. Ed impishly licked a stray droplet of bloodfrom the corner of Oswald’s mouth and drew his tongue across Oswald’s lips,making them glisten. Oswald blew him a kiss in response as if he had justapplied fresh lipstick.

‘So,how are you planning to top that?’ Ed asked mischievously.

Oswaldinhaled and exhaled deeply, surrounded by the heady scent of Ed’s sweat, bloodand the fruity aroma of the lube. It smelt like love. Powerful, all-consumingand utterly addictive.

‘Thenight’s still young’, Oswald promised.

#nygmobblepot ficlet #nygmobblepot #vampire!oswald #edward nygma #Oswald Cobblepot

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confused-stars · 7 years ago

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Light of the Seven - Chapter Five: A little slice of happiness

Read on AO3

Taako was making breakfast. Waffles. Crêpes. Eggs Benedict. The full deal.

Food was his and Lup's way to pay each other back when the other did nice things for them. And Lup making sure he ate after last Thursday's shift only made it logical that Taako would be the one to make breakfast today.

Lup and Barry had been out for date night last night, not for work, but Barry looked just as tired as he would be been if he'd caught a mafia boss the night before.

He didn't even react to Taako standing in the kitchen when he walked in around 8:30, aside from humming appreciatively when Taako turned and pressed a cup of coffee into his hands. A shitload of milk and no sugar. Pretty much the exact opposite of how Lup liked it.

"Mornin', Barold. Have a nice night?" Taako smirked at him. He'd shared an apartment with Lup up until six years ago, and that meant he was more than well informed about how the end of date night usually went. No wonder dear Barold was as tired as he was.

Barry glared at him and made a noncommital noise. The shower got turned on and Taako could hear Lup's muffled singing from the bathroom. She was the morning person to balance out him and Barry. If Taako wasn't so used so it and Barry wasn't so incredibly in love with her, it would be annoying to both of them.

Now though, Taako was actually awake. Well, he'd already had his coffee at home, after all. He wouldn't have left his apartment without at least one cup.

Taako hummed along with Lup's singing and pulled the fridge open. "You guys have any orange juice?"

Barry's head raised from the table he'd been resting it on and he yawned. "I'll ask, gimme a sec." He got up and walked over to the bathroom wall, putting his hands against it and pushing his head right through. There was a scream. Then: "Stop screaming, it's me! Are we out of orange juice?"

Barry pulled his head back over and frowned at Taako who was doubled over laughing, clutching the counter to keep himself up.

"Fuck, Barry! Does that... does that count as using your powers for good?"

Barry looked slightly sheepish as he waited for Taako to calm down. "Guess I should've used the door. She never freaks out when I just pull back the curtain and hop in."

Taako threw a handful of flour at him. "Too much information, Bluejeans."

"You've seen and heard worse!" Lup called from where she was emerging from the bathroom, hair sopping wet and wrapped in a bathrobe on top of the pajamas she'd apparently just slipped back into. She walked over to give Barry a kiss on the cheek as he wiped the flour off his glasses.

"Smells amazing, Gandalf," she said, leaning in to pick at the pile of hot waffles.

Taako slapped her hand away. "Wait 'til I set the table, you animal." He'd long given up on making her stop with the wizard nicknames. It was slightly harder to come up with fire based nicknames, honestly. Most of them just sounded too cool to work for teasing.

Barry hurried to set the table instead as Taako taste tested the eggs and nodded to himself, holding out the spoon for Lup.

She tried a bite and frowned in concentration for a moment, then grinned widely. "Perfect, bro. As always."

"Of course it is." Taako huffed, pretending that he didn't need Lup's approval. She just laughed.

Famous chef or not, if Lup didn't think a dish was good, it wasn't good enough for Taako either. Everyone knew that.

"So, what's up today? Any plans?" Taako asked, setting down the waffles and eggs on the table.

He took a seat next to Barry who was still moving a little slow as if not fully awake yet. He should be, after that quick trip to the shower. His hair was still wet.

Lup's, too, but she was already using one hand to blow dry it with a gust of hot air, and the other to shovel waffles into her mouth.

It was nice, Taako thought as he transformed his orange juice into go-gurt, to use their powers this casually around each other when they had to hide them from everyone else. They didn't need to know he'd been aiming for chocolate milk.

It was a sleepy Sunday morning, none of them bound by work or hero stuff, and Taako called for some twin plus nerd bonding time. Lup and Barry had been dating for over nine years, almost as long as they'd all had their powers, and weirdly enough it hadn't taken Taako long to welcome Barry into their family.

He was like a brother to Taako, ugly jeans and nerd shit and all.

Once either him or Lup finally got over their awkwardness and decided to pull out the ring that both of them carried around in their pockets, Taako would start referring to Barry as a brother even outside his own head.

It was always nice to go out with both of them. No one ended up feeling like the third wheel, and Lup and Barry were such a sickeningly sweet couple that Taako couldn't even be jealous if he tried.

Sometimes Lup would be cheesy on purpose to annoy him, in true twin fashion.

Whenever he heard her use "Barry-Bear" he promised himself that if he ever ended up in a long-term relationship like that he'd be chill about it.

Until then he could only tease back.

"Oh, my beautiful Barold," he sang, hooking his arm into Barry's as they walked down the street towards the park. "It's such a delight spending this perfect Sunday with you and your handsome face! Every moment I have to be without you is a struggle!"

On Barry's other side, Lup huffed. "I do not sound like that. At all."

Barry shrugged, clearly trying not to laugh. "Well…"

Taako was prepared for the impact as Lup shoved her boyfriend right against him.

"You're not supposed to side with him! He'll only get worse if he gets encouraged!" she complained, and Taako laughed.

"Barry has been on my side this entire time, dear sister. Our evil plan is to make your life a living hell full of bad puns and surprise hugs."

Now Lup and Barry laughed along with him. Taako felt his heart swell as he looked at them. He loved his family so much. He wouldn't tell them out loud, but they knew.

When he met Lup's eyes her grin softened into a smile. She'd read his thoughts. "C'mon, let's go feed the ducks."

It was a shame Magnus wasn't here. Magnus loved ducks almost as much as he loved dogs. Maybe he just loved all animals starting with D? Taako would have to check his stance on dolphins.

But sadly, they'd all decided not to hang out outside of superhero work. Lup and Barry were dating, so they were an exception, and no one could deny Taako and Lup's relation, but the others steered clear from each other as much as they could.

That way, it would be harder to find the others should one of their identities be revealed. Lup wasn't a big fan of that arrangement, but Taako agreed with Davenport that they could never be too careful. He didn't want to put Julia in danger, for example. Or Mavis and Mookie.

Precautions needed to be taken. None of them wanted their identities to be revealed, but for some there was more to it than just their own lives. Being a superhero wasn't all helping people and being celebrated. It was dangerous as fuck, too.

None of them were almighty.

Taako's transmutation power went haywire sometimes, and it always exhausted him if he used it too much.

Lup quite literally burned herself up, and she always had to rest for a long time if she went too far with her powers, her symptoms similar to a fever.

Merle's healing powers weren't strong enough to fully heal a mortal wound, but enough to make someone last long enough to get proper help, and his plant controlling wasn't nearly as impressive in the city as it was out in the wild when he was surrounded by nature.

They all had flaws. They could be defeated, and Taako didn't want to let them forget that. Confidence was nice. Caution saved lives.

Before college, and the light, and the powers, he hadn't allowed himself to care about anyone but Lup. Now he had more or less unwillingly stumbled into this huge, warm, dorky family. And he didn't want to lose any of them.

"Hello, Sir!" Taako blinked, shaken out of his thoughts, and turned away from where Lup and Barry had amassed a whole flock of ducks and pigeons they were feeding with bird seed.

Angus McDonald, nerdy kid and amazing cook to be, was sitting under a tree close by, a book open on his lap. He waved at Taako.

Taako waved back. "Hey, Ango!" He left the two lovebirds to walk over and sit next to the little boy. Honestly, Angus was a pleasure to teach, much better than the adults he usually had in his classes. He soaked up knowledge like a sponge and tried so hard to do everything right. Sadly, he didn't seem to have much of an instinct for cooking, but they'd only had one class so far. No great cook had started that good. It was a bumpy road, full of cuts and burns and onion cutting tears, but at least Angus had the best teacher in the world.

"What'cha reading?" Taako asked, looking down at the book.

Angus smiled. "Caleb Cleveland! It's my favorite book series, about a boy my age who solves crimes!"

Adorable. Fuck.

Taako leaned his back against the tree. "You like detectives?"

People were looking over at him suspiciously, and if Taako cared any more he'd worry what this looked like to others, an adult man approaching a lone little kid in the park.

Angus didn't seem to be thinking about that at all. He grinned. "Yeah, I wanna be a detective when I grow up. Actually I-" He broke off, looking down at his lap.

Taako looked down at him, a little confused. He didn't understand kids. Angus was okay, but Taako still had trouble reading him. "I think that's a really cool career choice. You'd be catching bad guys, just like a superhero."

"Well... not quite like that." But Angus was smiling again. "Is that your sister over there?" He pointed at Lup who was laughing at a pigeon that had landed on her head.

"Actually I have never seen that woman in my entire life," Taako deadpanned, feeling a surge of pride at himself when Angus started laughing.

He sounded like an adult a lot of the time, but his laugh was high and clear like a little boy's should be. Carefree.

Alright, Taako, stop with the projecting already.

"She looks just like you, Sir, that was a bad lie," Angus said, pressing a hand to his side, a little breathless.

"She's just a dedicated fan." Taako ruffled Angus' hair. "I gotta go check on them, wouldn't want those pigeons to eat poor Barold. I'll see you in class on Thursday?"

Angus nodded enthusiastically. "Of course, Sir! I even had my grandpa buy me some less fancy clothes for the kitchen!"

Taako gave him a thumbs up. Then he looked around. "He here?"

Angus bit his lip. "Uh… no, Sir. He doesn't leave home much. I have a babysitter, but she dropped me off here so she could go watch a movie." He shrugged.

Taako nodded his understanding. Angus came from a different world than Taako, financially, but… Taako could very much relate to adults not giving a shit.

You don't have to give a shit either, his mind reminded him, You're not his family.

But Angus didn't have a Lup to cheer him up and make him feel warm inside.

Taako would give him some of that, if he could. He wasn't a particularly warm person, but food could do many things that people couldn't.

He'd make that little boy happy, even if he wouldn't be caught dead admitting that he cared.

#taz #my writing #today is a fluff day

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ineverhadmyinternetphase · 8 years ago

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Steal My Heart (steal my whole life too) 4/24

Genre: Chaptered, fantasy AU, Prince!Phil, Thief!Dan, romance, enemies to lovers, angst and fluff, slow burn (like serious slow burn)

Warnings: some violence, mentions of death (no main characters), dark magic, descriptions of wounds/blood, some hints of sexual scenes (but no actual smut), murder, dangerous situations, stealing/thievery

Summary: Captain of the Royal Guard and Prince of Morellia, Philip Lester has never been given the chance to find love. Instead, he’s run from a system that works to end class differences and improve equality for its citizens. Happy as he is to make the world a better place, Phil can’t help feeling bitter towards his ancestors for making it impossible for him to find someone who will actually love him for more than just his title, and strives instead for a life of justice and doing good - only to meet his match in the King of Thieves, a man who will change everything he once thought he knew in life. Together, they must depart on a quest to save the kingdom, and, in the process, destroy their differences and find their own form of love.

Word count: 240,000+

Updates: Sunday

Thanks so much to @phansdick for betaing this giant monster, as she’s been super helpful and encouraging with her little comments and endless excitement. We couldn’t have done it without you <3

Disclaimer: In no way do I claim that this is real or cast aspersions on Dan or Phil

For reference, @insanityplaysfics is Phil, @ineverhadmyinternetphase is Dan

(Masterlist) (AO3)

Chapter Four

Two long weeks passed before Dan contacted Phil again.

Two long weeks, and the distance was painful, but Dan was forcing himself to stay away. As soon as he'd fled the library that night, anger burning in his gut, Dan had realised just how dangerous his situation had become.

Phil had stopped him from killing someone.

And not just anyone - Crown Prince Martyn. Dan had been offered the perfect opportunity to rid the world of one of his greatest foes, and instead, Dan had run like a coward. All because he didn't want to hurt some stupid Prince with pretty blue eyes. The same stupid pretty Prince who had told Dan he didn’t need to be alone anymore.

The thought made Dan seethe.

He knew it - he knew emotions were dangerous. This was exactly why Dan didn't ever let anyone close to him. They either hurt him, or tied him down, and Dan could no longer afford either. He was free to do as he wished, whenever he wished. That was the beauty of a life of thievery. No one stopped Dan from taking what he wanted. No one. And Dan didn’t have to risk losing anyone else. He knew he could never, ever go through the pain of that again.

How dare this Prince even think to tell Dan he didn’t need to be alone.

Only... Dan had never wanted a person before, and he wanted Phil. He could at least recognise that within himself - that Dan had some attraction to Phil. Physically. Nothing else, of course. Phil, with his bumbling clumsiness, yet somehow managing to almost capture Dan twice, and let him go a third time. Phil, who clearly knew his way around a sword, and yet refused to fight Dan. Phil, who was doing his best for a world his family had failed. Phil, who told Dan that he never had to be alone.

No one had said that to him since his mum had died. Even his dad, way back, had told Dan that he had to be the man of the house now, that he was the one they were all relying on. Dan had played the role of guardian ever since, caring for his father before he died, and then his brother before he died, providing them both with food and medicine the only way he knew how; stealing had been a necessity for Dan for years, and he had always, always been alone.

Until Phil had shown up.

Dan's chest tugged in an entirely unwelcome manner.

These feelings were dangerous, and Dan was furious at them.

On the night he’d fled the library, he hadn’t even stopped at his base in the city, not bothering with climbing up to the rooftops. Instead, he’d fled all the way out of the capital and right to his desert cave, running for hours on end until he’d arrived at its concealed rocky entrance and crawled his way inside.

As soon as he’d got inside, Dan had thrown the scroll of fairy tales down onto a pile without studying it, and strode straight back out again; a night of hunting would have to do to distract him. He felt restless, burning with too much emotion, too much pain, and the only way he knew to safely let his anger out was to hunt.

He caught himself a wolf and three pigeons with his bow, and dragged all four back to his hideout and sat skinning them, still too wired to sleep. His bones were tired and aching, but he was well used to spending many days and nights without sleep, and ignored the burning in his eyes to instead scrape away at his spoils.

It wasn’t until long after the sun had risen on the next day that Dan finally sought his bed. He slept heavily, dreamlessly, and when he woke the next evening, it was with a plan.

He was going to stay away from the capital for a while. He clearly couldn't handle being around Phil. They'd got too close - far too close - Dan still shuddered when he remembered how close Phil's lips had been to his in that library, the same place Dan had almost revealed too much of himself. How could he have let himself ask Phil for the fairy tales? Something so close to Dan’s heart, to his own personal life? No, clearly, Phil - the Prince - was too dangerous for Dan to be around. He needed some time away to collect his thoughts, to remember what was really important here. Revenge - revenge on the royal family that had done nothing to help his.

And what would he do in the meantime? Well, Dan was the King of Thieves. The answer was obvious.

He stole.

Dan had been so focused on the capital lately that he'd neglected his bases in the other cities of Morellia, and so Dan spent the next two weeks wreaking absolute havoc. All throughout the land, the tales of the King of Thieves were rife once more with news of how he'd disappear from one city only to appear cackling in another, robbing the richest families blind of treasures, food, and priceless heirlooms without a care in the world.

The pile of treasure in Dan's hideouts grew and grew, until every corner was littered with it. Dan went to sleep every night surrounded by gold. He should have been at his happiest.

... And yet ... A strange hunger ate away within him. A hunger for bright blue eyes and an open, honest conversation.

Phil had well and truly infiltrated Dan's mind.

Dan refused to acknowledge his feelings, though. He wouldn't get embroiled with some Prince. Highborn scum - Dan had to remember that was all he was. Fun to toy with, even more fun to push - and Dan had plans to push him further than ever before.

Because Dan had been doing some thinking, and having someone in the Palace under Dan's control would be incredibly valuable. Especially the Head of the Royal Guard, who remained an irritant to Dan's work. If he could just control Phil, then Dan would be free again.

He just had to stay calculated, and remember that Phil was the enemy - no matter how hard that might be when Phil’s eyes alighted on Dan’s own again.

Dan would catch himself, sometimes, dreaming about Phil, staring out into the desert and wondering what Phil was doing, whether he was looking up at the same sky. Or Dan would catch himself fingering the blue-green-yellow ring he’d stolen, that he still carried around in his pocket, never quite able to put it away.

His eyes also often lingered on the gold-and-silver crown that he’d taken to carrying around in his cloak, the one Phil had let him have. No, that Dan had stolen. Phil didn’t let him have anything; Dan took what he wanted. And he definitely, definitely should not want this Prince.

Dan had to get back on track, build up and fortify the walls around his heart.

So, one morning at the first rays of dawn, Dan sat amongst his cave of treasures and wrote out a letter in his thief's scrawl. He attached it to the raven that he'd stolen several years ago, for messages with the other thieves mostly, only she hadn't had much use since Phil had put them all away.

Dan stared contemplatively at her for a long, long moment before sending her on her way, the message tucked securely into her collar.

Phil,

I hope you remember our deal. I wish to collect your side. Meet me outside the Southern Gate of the city at dusk. If you are not there, I might just have to come and find you.

--the King of Thieves

Phil went home the night of his fight with Martyn, the night of his near-missed kiss with the King of Thieves, angry and frustrated. He was restless, unsure what to do with all the pent up energy left in his body from a night of adrenaline fueled activity, didn’t know what to do with the constant flurry of thoughts and overwhelming emotion swirling through his mind towards the King of Thieves.

Phil did know one thing, though; he was angry with his brother for interrupting what would have been the first night of romance Phil had ever had in his life, and he was also angry with himself for almost having let it happen in the first place. How could he have been so stupid as to think it was a safe thing to do, falling in love with the King of Thieves? How could he have been so stupid as to think that kissing his greatest enemy would have turned out okay?

After all, his brother was right; the King of Thieves was a great liar, someone who never obeyed the law and whose morals were all twisted and wrong in comparison to Phil's, so why, of all things, had Phil thought he could trust the man? There was no real reason to, when his thief could turn on him in an instant and feel no remorse.

Martyn had been right about a few things, in truth. Phil was ruled by his emotions, whether he always let them show or not, and the King of Thieves was bad news. He knew how to play those around him like a harp to get what he wanted, and Phil had allowed himself to fall for it.

He’d known, of course he’d known, that his thief was a con-man when he’d nearly allowed the man to kiss him, but it was hard to reconcile the two men in Phil’s mind; his charming thief and the person who would turn on him in an instant. It was clear as day that the King of Thieves was just using him, though, more than obvious to anyone with eyes that the King of Thieves was merely getting a kick out of Phil, using him until Phil had nothing left to give, and then planning on leaving him behind in the dust like some discarded piece of meat, just like everyone else had in Phil's life.

The thought of his thief doing that to him, though? That was terrifying and heartbreaking on an entirely different level, something that Phil didn’t want to think about, and something altogether more terrible for the fact that Phil didn’t want it to be true. He hardly knew the man, didn’t even know his name, knew nothing but a pretty face and deep wounds that Phil had hardly glimpsed, and yet, he couldn’t stand the thought of his thief leaving him. That's how Phil knew he was already in too deep.

That didn't lessen his anger at Martyn the tiniest bit, though. What if Phil had been after the King of Thieves that night? What if he had had him cornered, or was stalking him and hot on his trail? Martyn screaming out had not only distracted Phil, but could have gotten him killed, and even if his brother was right about everything else including the fact that Phil was probably a little more obsessed with the King of Thieves than he probably should be, Phil was right as well, because Martyn had had no right barging into Phil's fight like that.

Next time, either one of them could get killed.

Falling asleep was difficult after that, but Phil managed. Despite his restlessness, despite the fears and pain that haunted him, he managed it, but he almost wished that he had not.

His dreams were plagued with the moment just before Phil and his thief’s lips had met, plagued with the torment of what could have happeneds, none any more favourable than what had, but the worst was when Phil dreamed of his King of Thieves reaching for him, drawing him closer still only to drive a dagger forwards and through Phil’s heart just before their lips met.

The wound gushed blood almost immediately, knocking the breath out of Phil, and he turned startled blue eyes onto the man he’d thought he could trust, gasping and gurgling as his thief grinned down at him.

“Did you truly believe I would not kill you were I given the chance?” he asked, cackling as he threw his head back.

Phil's heart wrenched, and he woke in a cold sweat, trembling and upset as he shoved his face into his hands and scrubbed viciously at his eyes to get rid of the image imprinted there.

He needed to stop thinking about his thief. He was already in far too deep, and if his dream’s anxieties were anything to go by, Phil was not safe. He needed to distance himself from the feelings that had slowly been developing, go back to being on the defensive, and maybe, yes, he could still have a little bit of fun with the man, but he could never let his guard down again, not like that night.

Phil shook his head, and collapsed exhausted back in bed.

There was just so much about the King of Thieves that kept Phil drawn in. Maybe it was just the novelty of something new, of something forbidden, or maybe it was just the fact that his thief challenged him, Phil didn’t know, but he was having trouble just letting go.

The guilt eating away at him that it was his family's policies that had allowed for his thief to become the man he was, wasn’t helping either, not to mention that his thief had come so close to revealing something deep, dark, painful, that had implied the death of his family. Phil was certain it had been due to the rampant run of poverty in the city, and he could never forgive himself that.

He would never forgive himself for allowing any of the widespread poverty and misery of his Kingdom, but the King of Thieves was a constant on his mind.

That needed to stop.

So, for the next two weeks, Phil turned his focus from the King of Thieves to the changes he wanted to make to his City and to his Kingdom overall instead, shifting through bills and legislatures he wanted to write up and pass through over the course of the next few years. Change would not come as quickly as Phil would have liked, but they could start with the important things at least; like their legal system.

Reform was necessary, and Phil was not taking no for an answer. It helped that he was Captain Philip as well as Prince Philip, with no one able to claim he didn’t know what he was talking about, and he found quickly that he was able to draw up well written ideas and plans with the help of his legal aid Defranco.

Letters for reform were sent out as Phil worked on gathering together who he had to for council meetings, ready to implement justice system changes as soon as possible. His lists and ideas on changes to the class system, on the other hand, had to wait, and it was at the advice of Peej that he held off gathering together those meetings.

Discussion on those kinds of political changes were sensitive topics that needed to be approached with caution, and caution Phil would give them.

All the while, the King of Thieves continued to wreak havoc amongst the cities of Morellia, with tales of his conquests and dark deeds spreading to Phil’s ear far too easily for comfort. There was nothing he could do about it, however, even as angry letter after angry letter poured into Phil’s office as the Head of the Royal Guard.

Besides, Phil wasn’t ready to face his thief again just yet, and he had far too much to do in the city as it was. There was no time for playing chase, not when Phil had far bigger fish to fry than the King of Thieves and his teasing misdeeds. Thievery was wrong, but how could Phil truly complain when his thief was often found giving the stolen riches away?

Grim faced, Phil respected his thief in some ways. He was going about everything in the wrong way, but Phil could hardly fault him when he was doing a better job of caring for Phil’s destitute people than Phil was himself.

It was largely due to this change in perspective that Phil began to review the cases of those criminals he’d chased down and captured over the course of the last year. Many were thieves believed to be in the same network as the King of Thieves, while others were murderers or sorcerers known to have been casting dark magic on their enemies, but either way, Phil felt they deserved more justice than they were currently getting rotting down in the palace dungeons - and that was a whole other fish Phil wanted to fry, cleaning up the barbaric way they treated their criminals.

Listening to their pleas was often a hard thing for Phil to do though, and many spit on him, threatened to kill him, or grinned mischievously at him as he spoke, but those who took Phil’s desire to help seriously often gave him much to think about.

Many of the palace prisoners were given reduced sentences, but none were set free, as Phil was not dumb enough to believe that they would quit their thieving and misdeeds once they were once again on the streets, but their stories were taken to heart until Phil was learning about families struck down by poverty and death, and children left as orphans or starving from lack of food due to Phil taking away their fathers and mothers.

Stricken with grief that anyone should have to take on a life of crime in order to take care of their families, Phil moved on to another project of his; orphanages and soup kitchens set up all over Morellia, with qualified caretakers set in place. They would be funded entirely by the crown at the start, until they were potentially able to stand on their own, but Phil swore to himself that standards would be set high so that no one could be taken advantage of or left out in the cold - at least as much as he could control.

Phil began a team to start building, another to recruit, thorough background checks being done on all who applied to insure that mistreatment would not occur. Beds and clothing were procured and locked away for the very first of the orphanages in Morellia’s capital itself, while Phil began looking into funds for a soup kitchen as well.

Meanwhile, Phil offered his help to the prisoners in his dungeons who’d shared information about their families, asking for locations and promising to do his best for their families and provide them with the food their father or mother no longer could.

It was just after another run down to a darker part of his city where Phil had been delivering said food, that he arrived home to an unexpected raven who was waiting for him in his courtyard.

The letter was from Phil's thief, and Phil's heart stuck in his throat at seeing his first summons.

He didn’t know if he was ready, and his fingers tightened around the parchment he held as he stared at the dark words inlaid into it, but he also knew he had to go. He owed it to his thief. He owed it to him for allowing poverty to run rampant in his Kingdom, for letting it destroy his people until they were resorting to crime and being taken in by the very people who should have protected them in the first place.

Most of all, though, Phil was just desperate to prove the King of Thieves wrong about him.

Dan spent his day in an agitated frenzy, restless and unsettled at the thought of what dusk could bring. He hated himself for it - the King of Thieves was never nervous, that was what set him apart from others. Dan's fearlessness was close to recklessness, but it allowed for him to pull off heists that his former comrades could only dream of. Dan hadn't got to be called their King over nothing, and especially not at his young age, only nineteen.

So why was he so jittery about seeing some stupid Prince again?

Dan shook his head, growling at himself. He couldn't very well pull off this plan if he felt like he was going to explode. No, he needed to distract himself.

So, as the sun climbed higher in the sky, Dan settled himself into the corner of his cave, slid a few jewels and gold coins off a pile, and reached for his history parchments instead.

He had an entire section dedicated to the Royal Family, stolen from a private library years ago when he was still coming to grips with running such a large operation. He'd needed to know more about the family he'd be pitting himself against in his desire to become the best of thieves.

Harold Lester was the current King, a man written about with great respect and love. The people admired him for marrying one of them, and he'd abolished many of the bad systems historically put in place. His father, however, Phil's grandfather, seemed to have been the first pioneer, the first Royal to take a commoner for a wife, and the first to begin to break down some of the rigid class structure that had been even worse back then.

Dan couldn't help but curl his lip. They may have reached many people, these good and upright men, but that hadn't stopped Dan's family from dying, had it?

And then, slowly, Dan ran his finger down to look at the two Princes. Harold's sons, Martyn and Philip Lester. This parchment was from a few years ago, so the only writing next to Phil's name was 'youngest of the house, first of his name'. Next to Martyn was a little more detail: 'Crown Prince, next in line, first of his name, and betrothed to Cornelia, daughter of one of the Palace Cleaners.'

Dan blinked. He hadn't known Phil's brother was betrothed - at least that meant Phil was even less likely to take the crown. If Martyn and this Cornelia bore a son quickly, then Phil would be free for Dan to steal.

... Wait, no. Where had that thought come from? Dan wasn't going to steal Phil. Dan couldn't. He was going to use Phil, that was all.

He just needed to remember that.

So, when the day finally wore late and dusk was just peeping over the horizon, Dan put down his history parchments and instead crossed the desert towards the city. He weaved his way to the Southern Gate, hovering outside the city walls with his hood pulled low over his head, and waited.

His Prince was coming for him soon, and Dan had a plan to test him.

By the time Phil had retrieved his thief's raven, dusk was nearly upon them, leaving him very little time to digest the fact that he had finally been summoned for the very first time after Phil had offered his services to his thief.

Turning heel from his walk through the palace gardens, Phil begin to head back towards the Southern Gates instead. He knew it would take him some time on foot to get there, and as he glanced at the sky, he figured it would be just enough. Besides, he still needed time to figure out what he was going to do about his thief after all, because falling in love with him was most definitely out of the question.

Wasn’t it?

Other than the reoccurring dreams Phil had been having recently, he hadn’t allowed himself much time to think on the King of Thieves at all. Busy as he was, and admittedly too scared to face himself, he hadn’t bothered to spend too much time reassessing his feelings for his thief. Phil was unwilling to dwell on how it had felt when his thief had touched him, to remember the way his heart had fluttered at his thief calling Phil his prince, or the way his head had spun as they'd leaned in close and nearly kissed.

But now, as Phil was headed to meet him once more, Phil couldn't help thinking of these things again. The butterflies ran rampant in his stomach, and he had to swallow to calm down when he began to tremble all over again.

This was dangerous. Phil knew this was dangerous. He had no way of knowing whether or not this was a trap, but… as he'd said to his thief two weeks ago, if Phil died at his hands… then that was on him. He had failed his kingdom, and he had failed his thief.

His thief. The King of Thieves would forever be Phil's thief, now, no matter what became of them. The man was an imprint on Phil's heart, the first imprint, and there was no going back now.

But Phil could still be smart, and he wouldn’t give his heart away that easily. It was too late to avoid a scar, but it wasn’t too late to protect himself altogether.

Maybe this was just what happened with your first love. Maybe, Phil was still just too naive and soft to avoid the pain of being stabbed in the back, as he inevitably would be by the King of Thieves. Maybe Phil just needed to cut himself some slack. Of course he was going to fall in love with the first person who didn’t treat him like a piece of glass, who treated him like a proper equal and was even willing to put him in his place. Of course he was going to fall in love with the first person to ever treat him different.

That didn’t mean he had to act on it in anyway. His thief was still a thief, after all, and Phil would not stand for the way he conducted himself. He didn’t see the King of Thieves as less than him anymore, no, but that still didn’t mean what the man did was okay.

Right?

Eventually, Phil found his way to the Southern Gates just as the sun was beginning to set, turning the sky a deep purplish blue.

Dusk had settled, and Phil was shaking a little with nerves as he pulled up his hood and turned his gaze downward. There were many merchants and peasant folk meandering about in the alcoves of the Southern Gates who watched Phil with wary or predatory eyes. His fingers tightened around the dagger at his waist as he moved.

Dan arrived at the Southern Gates just before dusk seeped its dark hand through the air. The place was pleasantly crowded with the last flow of people trying to enter before the guards closed the entrance, and among the crying children and chattering adults and hurried footsteps, it was easy as anything for Dan to slip his hood up and melt into the crowds.

He wended his way through the giant cobbled street until he reached the city wall on the far side of the guardhouse, and there, Dan glanced quickly left and right before disappearing right into the wall itself.

Or, rather, into a little crevice he knew to be tucked away out of sight. It was a small space surrounded on all sides by the thick rough stone of the city walls, but it was a familiar place to Dan, a hidey-hole popular with thieves trying to smuggle their goods in and out of the city.

Here, Dan leaned into the wall, craning his head out over the crowd to look for any signs of his Pince. Well - the Prince.

His favourite short dagger was in his left hand, and Dan jabbed it irritably into the stone opposite him, satisfied with the scraping noise it made.

He had to stay on mission here. He was going to use the Prince, exactly as he should be planning to. This was a prime opportunity. Dan just needed to… not get distracted.

Dan tensed the second he heard footsteps approaching the small crevice he’d wedged himself into, pulling his hood lower, dagger in hand. He had no way of telling who it could be until the person was already out of the gate, and there was always the risk that someone had intercepted his raven and it wasn't his Prince headed towards him right now, so, as soon as the person was through the gate, Dan grabbed them and shoved them hard inside of his crevice in the city wall, knife at their throat.

When he saw that it was just Phil, Dan relaxed, if only a little.

Phil hadn’t so much as turned outside of the Southern Gates before a hand was reaching out and grasping tight to his own. He had just enough time to draw his dagger before he was being dragged backwards into a dark crevice just outside his city, and he whirled just in time to draw his dagger on the soft skin of his captive’s belly, only to realize it was the King of Thieves, face so close to Phil’s he could see just inside of his hood.

Heart in his throat, Phil completely tensed, and just stared. If his thief wanted to kill him just then, he’d get away with it easily enough, considering Phil was too stunned to do much to protect himself. No, his breath had been stolen away at the mere sight of his thief, and it was taking him a moment to properly recover.

It just wasn’t fair. This man had stolen everything from Phil, and those things were far more important than a few baubles from his kingdom. Still, the gleam of a knife at his throat didn’t stop Phil from pushing his own a little bit closer to his thief; if he were to be killed, Phil would make sure his thief was mortally injured himself before Phil allowed his body to give out.

Dan relaxed a little, deciding he'd do better to keep things civil, and he'd probably given Phil the fright of his life as well as a much-needed reminder that Dan was dangerous. Dan stepped back, releasing Phil slowly.

Rather than either of them causing bodily harm to the other, the moment the King of Thieves seemed reassured that Phil was actually the Prince and not someone else, he relaxed, letting Phil go slightly and pulling his dagger from Phil's throat.

Not dumb enough to sheath his own, Phil merely dropped his arm as well.

"My apologies," Dan murmured, giving his mockery of a bow again. "Had to check you weren't someone else. I trust you weren't followed?"

"I wasn't followed," Phil agreed. "Unlike last time, no one but me knows where I was headed last." Phil couldn't help the way his lips tugged up in a small smile seeing his thief bow to him that way, as false as the last time he had done so, but somehow more appealing now.

Shaking his head free of the thoughts, Phil forced himself to focus. It was a difficult thing to do when he and his thief were so damn close, though, and he felt his mouth going dry all over again, just like last time, when his thief drew close, eyes gleaming and smile wicked.

The crevice was tiny, which didn't leave much space between them. When Dan's eyes alighted upon Phil's face, his heart gave a funny little leap inside his chest, as if saying yes, him. Keep him.

Dan shook the thought away, dismissing it for what it was - ridiculous.

However, he couldn't help himself from edging a little closer, the temptation to play with Phil some more too much to resist. Dan's hand - the one not holding the dagger - came up to brush Phil's cloaked arm, dragging slowly upwards towards his shoulder.

"I see you're still dressing like me. You've learned a thing or two, then." Dan's bright eyes glinted in the last few sunbeams, meeting Phil's intense blue gaze straight on. "And how quickly you answered my summons. Perhaps I should give you a reward."

A hand touched lightly upon Phil's before slowly dragging upwards, the touch almost whisper like but still firm as it moved up Phil's arm and to his shoulder. Inhaling sharply, Phil's eyes darted about his thief's face, trying to understand what was being done to him.

Was this some kind of trick? Every time the King of Thieves touched him was like the first time. Deep down, Phil knew it was nothing more than his own desire for his thief drawing these reactions out of him and not some magic trick, but he also knew, deep down, that his thief was still playing with him, and it was highly possible a spell had been cast upon him, even if it didn’t feel like the one that had been cast on him over ten years ago now.

He didn’t desire to dwell on that thought, though, releasing a deep breath all over again as Dan leaned in closer still, nearly choking on said breath at his thief’s next words. His entire body was trembling as he forcefully pulled himself away, cheeks flushed and red from the come on.

"Do you always flirt with your enemies?" he asked defensively, crossing his arms over his chest. "I promised I would come if you sent a raven. I wasn't going to keep you waiting."

Dan's eyes were delighted as he watched the way Phil's cheeks turned red even from the simplest of touches. Oh, the things Dan could do to him, the reactions he could pull without even trying. He'd been right - Phil was far too much fun to play with.

Dan was marginally disappointed when Phil pulled away from him - as much as he could in the tiny crevice, anyway - but Dan quickly dismissed that thought. If Phil wanted to get down to business, then he'd have to learn to go at Dan's speed. Dan was determined to keep control over this conversation and not let himself get all sentimental and distracted like he had the last time.

"I only flirt with the pretty ones," Dan answered with a sly wink, allowing a smug smirk to tug at his lips as he watched Phil's reaction. A low chuckle escaped him - the first time he'd laughed in his Prince's presence. Dan couldn't help it. He was enjoying himself far too much now they were back on safe ground, with the focus on Phil instead of Dan's past.

"If you don't want to play, though, I suppose we can get down to business." Dan straightened his back, making full use of his height as he looked down into Phil's eyes. "I have something I need from you. And you promised to assist me as my Prince, did you not, Phil?" Dan's tongue played around the name Phil had given him last time, speaking it with casual intimacy.

The King of Thieves’ response was exactly what Phil had been expecting, and exactly what Phil had not wanted to hear. It hurt as his thief winked at him, to know that his thief was an overall flirt who toyed with his prey and his victims before tearing them apart. Phil didn't regret asking, though. It was something he'd needed to hear. Maybe now, he could put his feelings away. Maybe now, he could focus on being careful, cautious, and fully aware of what was to come.

Phil was pulled out of his thoughts by a low chuckle coming from his thief. For the first time, Phil was hearing him laugh, and it wasn't a cackle anymore. It was something more intimate, real, and it made a shiver go up Phil's spine.

Determined, Phil kept his eyes locked with his thief's, and nodded once firmly. "I did," he agreed. "I promised to be your prince," he added, eyes widening as he once again tripped over his own tongue and his words came out all jumbled and wrong. "I mean, to be just as much your prince, to fight just as much for your needs, as I would the rest of my people's," Phil corrected himself, clearing his throat. He was tense all over, his heart racing at the idea of his thief needing something from him.

"How can I serve you?"

Dan's smirk only grew wider as Phil fumbled to correct his mistake. What could have been an innocent slip of the tongue felt like so much more than that - like Phil had just accidentally revealed his true reasons for wanting to be Dan's Prince.

If that was the case, Dan could use him even further - as long as he kept ignoring the little flutter inside him that wanted just as desperately to belong to Phil.

He was the King of Thieves. He had a duty and a reputation to uphold.

"That's a shame," Dan toyed, lowering his lashes. "I rather liked the idea of you belonging solely to me. I might have to take the steps to ensure that happens, anyway."

Dan took a threatening step forward, his dagger very present in his hand. It hadn't escaped his notice that Phil was also armed, a direct resistance to what they’d both agreed on two weeks ago, but Dan needed him to be on edge, to be off-balance. That way, he was more likely to make mistakes.

"I have a simple request of you today, Phil." Dan liked the little thrill that ran through him when he used the Prince's shortened name. It felt like he had more ownership of him, and Dan had every intention of making this Prince belong to him, to be his and solely his.

But first, a little push was needed.

Phil felt a thrill go through him at the very idea of belonging solely to his thief, but there was something about the glint in his thief’s eyes, the cruel way he smiled, and the way he phrased the comment that put Phil on edge. His thief didn't mean it the way Phil would have wanted him to mean it, but more than that, he was beginning to cement in Phil’s mind the fact that Phil was nothing more than a plaything for the King of Thieves, nothing more than something he wanted to own, to break.

Folding back, Phil attempted to distance himself from his thief, eyes wide and fingers shaking on his dagger. His heart was racing hard in his chest, beating roughly, and he could feel the pain beginning to bloom; the hurt that this was going to happen again, that he was going to be used, and that Phil had let it happen.

Phil's thief took a threatening step forward, pushing Phil into the far wall until Phil was tripping over his own two feet in an attempt to put a little distance between them. His thief, however, hadn't stopped moving, until they were chest to chest, hoods so close together Phil could see every single tiny freckle on his thief's face.

He wanted to touch them, but he couldn't, and he was prepared for heartbreak, but it still struck hard when it came.

"There is a jewel,” Dan said softly, voice a dangerous whisper. “A diamond this time, that I have heard sits in the house of Alanna Syrell. A distant cousin of yours, I believe." Dan glanced casually down at his nails, his wily body ready to spring if Phil dared to move. "I desire it. So if you could make your Royal Guard disappear for a night, that would be very much appreciated."

As the words Phil had dreaded came tripping over the King of Thieves’ tongue, Phil flinched back in pain and disgust, feeling like his chest had been ripped right open. His fingers tightened around the dagger in his hand, and he allowed himself one last defensive maneuver, moving it up and in between he and his thief, teeth gritted, and eyes burning with anger.

"I offered you my help, I never -" Phil began to spit, voice and body trembling with so many repressed feelings he thought he was about to explode. It hurt, so much, to have his every thought proved correct.

The King of Thieves wanted nothing more from Phil than to have a royal guard in his back pocket, ready and able to be used at any moment.

"No," he stated, readying himself for an attack. "I said I would help you from time to time, I never said I would help you continue with your life of thievery."

Dan's brows lowered when the Prince refused. His eyes grew heavy and dark, a deep frown spreading across his face. He didn't move back, even when Phil made it clear that he was uncomfortable pressed against the crevice wall. It was important to keep him discomforted - no one told Dan no.

Even if his gut was twisting at the way Phil was staring at him. There was discomfort in Phil's eyes - something almost akin to fear. For the first time in his life, Dan didn't like that. He didn't want his Prince to look at him with fear. He didn't want to be hated by his Prince.

Those feelings scared Dan more than anything else could.

He pushed them away, replacing them with anger; the quiet, dangerous anger that threatened something far worse.

"No?" Dan whispered silkily, his face close to Phil's. "Are you telling me no, my Prince?"

Dan's eyes glinted dangerously from the depths of his hood, flickering over Phil's face, taking in his every expression. Dan had to keep fighting that inner part of him that wanted to stop, that wanted to make Phil feel safe. He shouldn't want that. He couldn't want that, not when he had a job to do.

Dan's grip around his dagger tightened, and he raised it just a little, just enough to make it present enough to match the one Phil held in his own hand. He arched a brow at Phil. "You let me go. You set me free when your brother came - I thought I could count on you. If I was wrong..." Dan's voice trailed away, the silence hanging heavy between them. "...Well. That wouldn't work out so well for you, Phil."

The King of Thieves’ expression was dark and intimidating, terrifying as he glared at Phil, mouth turning to a thin line instead of the wicked grin he'd had there before. It made Phil's insides tremble with hurt, with anger of his own, hatred building in him that he'd been played for a fool once again.

All that flirting, yeah, Phil hadn't really believed it, but when his thief had revealed that, on some level, he just wanted Phil's attention when he wrecked havoc on Phil's kingdom, Phil had thought offering him a different way, a better way to chat, had meant something. But now - now Phil was realizing what he'd done.

He'd put himself and his kingdom at risk. He'd put his morals at risk, all over a bit of fun. All over a little crush, because his thief had put up such a front, and now Phil was paying for it.

He grit his teeth, jammed the dagger between the space between his and the King of Thieves’ throats, and glared, hot and angry.

"You can count on me," he grit out, "You can count on me to come when you call, to keep you safe from anyone but me, can count on me to be the Prince my family should have been when your family died," and here, Phil gave his thief a challenging look, as his thief hadn't told him that explicitly, but he'd implied it, hinted at is strongly enough that Phil thought he knew, "but I will not condone your thievery. I will not allow you to turn us both to a life of crime, and I will not use my status in the royal guard as another tool for you. I will not become a weapon against my people for you. I'll not be used again," Phil insisted, and pushed the knife forward, forcing himself forward, and his thief backward until his thief’s back hit the other wall.

"Now. You're going to let me go, and you're going to meet my guard head on at the Syrell's, and I will not be used as another play toy to get you objects you merely desire for the thrill of thieving."

Dan's eyes widened with shock when the knife appeared between them, Phil jabbing it at his throat so Dan actually had to dodge to avoid the attack. The surprise made him stumble, made him fall back, which gave Phil enough space to move and would prove to be Dan's first mistake.

The sudden movement blew Dan's hood back from his face, leaving him open and vulnerable before Phil, whose face remained concealed. Dan could only glimpse at those intense blue eyes, now frozen in anger and pinning Dan directly in place.

He couldn't move. He could only listen as Phil berated him, tore him to shreds, and ripped deeper than anyone ever had before. Dan physically winced when Phil mentioned his family's deaths. He drew in a harsh, shuddering breath, feeling himself lose his iron self control, his expression shifting into one of open hurt.

Phil knew.

Phil couldn't know. No one knew Dan's past - it was something he never shared, never talked about. Phil couldn't know.

And yet, he'd said it. And yet, worst yet, Dan had practically said it, two weeks ago.

Dan was speechless for a long moment once Phil was done talking. Speechless, and all because of his foolish, bumbling, Prince. Dan had underestimated him again, and it could very well get him killed. He'd already be dead if Phil were anyone else - Dan was convinced that no one else would have shown him this much mercy.

Only this Prince, who was too focused on justice for his own good.

Dan couldn't take advantage of him.

Trembling, Dan drew in a ragged breath. He didn't know how to respond. His guard was completely down, his act dropped in front of Phil's intense stare. He couldn't find his defences, couldn't rebuild the wall around his heart quick enough. Phil already knew it all.

"Don't," Dan managed to gasp out eventually, his voice a quiet croak. "Do not talk about my family. You have no right. You know nothing."

That was a lie. Phil knew everything, and it was all Dan’s fault. He’d said too much, that last time they’d met, had foolishly let his guard down in the most impossible, worst way, and now he was paying for it. Sentimentality had no place for him, and he couldn’t bear that he’d let his guard down in front of a Prince of all people.

Dan pulled himself together with an effort, straightening back up. He met Phil's eyes with a glare. "So be it. You've drawn battle lines today, Prince. Your side is clearly chosen." His voice was cold, if still trembling. "But do not presume to know me. You are clueless, highborn, scum.” It didn’t matter what he’d told his Prince, that still didn’t mean that he knew Dan at all.

But even as he said the words, Dan reconsidered. From what Phil had said, he was truly trying to right his family's wrongs. Dan couldn't think of that just then, though. Not in the aftermath of what Phil had done. He'd crossed a forbidden line in trying to know Dan's story, and Dan could never forgive him for that.

Phil's thief's hood had fallen back, and suddenly, despite the height difference between them that leant his thief the upper hand, Phil appeared taller. Shrunken back, angry and taken off guard, his thief seemed to stare up at Phil with hate and hurt in equal measure in his eyes, burning through Phil until it hurt just to look at him.

But Phil was angry too. Phil was angry because his thief had meant to use him, to make Phil another weapon against the crown, and that was Phil's fault, was something Phil had left himself wide open for, a misunderstanding between the two of them that could have cost Phil or his family their lives.

There were more words on his tongue that he burned to say, but his thief beat him too it, growling at Phil as he seemed to grow tall again, straightening up until dark eyes bore into Phil's.

Phil thought he could see his thief trembling, was still trembling himself, and got ready for a fight.

It didn't come.

Instead, Phil flinched back back from his thief's words as though he'd been struck, and backed down. He dropped his dagger, but only to chest height, unwilling to leave himself exposed and defenseless against the wily man that was still Phil's thief.

"My side is yours," Phil muttered, though he knew his thief would never agree. "My side has always been yours. I live to serve you, to serve all of my people. That's all there is to my life. And I'll do what I can for you. Send another raven, if you so wish, and I will still come."

With those final words, Phil backed himself out of the crevice his thief had drawn him into, and fled.

If there were tears in his eyes, his thief never had to know it, but Phil hurt. His chest ached, and he hated himself for leaving himself open the way he had.

When he'd joined the royal guard, he'd done it knowing he would never have love, and yet there he'd been, letting it lead him forward until he'd embroiled himself with a criminal. With gritted teeth, Phil swore to himself that he would one day capture the King of Thieves, that he would one day make him pay for what he'd done, but for now, he'd continue forward trying to make things right.

Dan was left astonished by his Prince's final words, and could only stand and watch as he turned and disappeared into the growing desert night.

Phil had said he was on Dan's side. He’d said he lived to serve his people, and, in some twisted way, Dan could see what he meant. To Phil, Dan was the same as any other citizen, as deserving as any of them, despite his crimes. Despite everything Dan had put him through, Phil saw Dan as his equal.

And it was then that Dan realised just how badly he had misjudged his Prince.

He'd constantly accused Phil of thinking himself above Dan, of being some highborn piece of shit who couldn't care less what happened to the lower classes. Now, in the wake of Phil's words, Dan realised just how wrong he'd been.

Phil cared. Phil cared more than anyone about the wellbeing of his people. That was why he'd put himself completely at Dan's mercy, offered his help to the thief he should have been catching. He was only trying to make things right, for all of them.

And Dan had all but thrown it back in his face.

Dan remained against the wall of the crevice, feeling like his world was crumbling down around him. He'd always imagined the higher classes as stupid, foolish idiots who only cared for their own wealth, and not for those they stepped on to get to the top. Dan had grown up a cynic.

But Phil was proving him wrong.

Slowly, Dan lifted himself off the wall and slid his dagger back into his left boot. He'd have no more need for it tonight - he wasn't going to steal the diamond. He was going to spend his time reassessing everything he'd ever learned about his Prince, to try and figure out just exactly who he was, and how he'd managed to figure out Dan so easily.

Dan's brows were furrowed, his thoughts disturbed. Phil had given him far too much to think on.

#phanfiction #iwritephanthings #insanityplaysfics #phan au #phan fantasy au #thief!Dan #prince!Phil

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alexanderofnyc-blog · 8 years ago

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IN Egypt's sandy silence, all alone, Stands a gigantic Leg, which far off throws The only shadow that the Desart knows:— "I am great OZYMANDIAS," saith the stone, "The King of Kings; this mighty City shows "The wonders of my hand."— The City's gone,— Nought but the Leg remaining to disclose The site of this forgotten Babylon.

We wonder,—and some Hunter may express Wonder like ours, when thro' the wilderness Where London stood, holding the Wolf in chace, He meets some fragment huge, and stops to guess What powerful but unrecorded race Once dwelt in that annihilated place.

- Horace Smith, “Ozymandias”

Most of the city had fled when the war broke out. New York was an obvious target, but Julia's parents, stubborn to the last, had stayed in Greenwich Village long after most of Manhattan had been evacuated.

There were occasional stories from people who ventured into the island about other ad-hoc villages occupying similar clusters of long-abandoned townhouses in Brooklyn and sometimes even far-flung parts of Queens, but the city itself never seemed to recover, even after burned, bandaged and disfigured people arrived with news that the bombs had fallen on Washington instead. Julia's father had made it his mission to continue caring for these strangers, even after he began to notice his hair was thinning and he was finding it harder and harder to keep his food down. Eventually, he isolated himself from Julia and her mother in the makeshift sick room he himself had once operated and locked the door from the inside.

They knew not to go in after him.

Life slowly reasserted itself. All the movies and comic books and TV shows about life after an apocalyptic event Julia had consumed before the war began had, in their own way, turned out to be their own curious variety of escapism. She had read and watched stories about desperate people driven to cruelty by their circumstances, squabbling over resources and feeling unable to trust anyone but themselves, but it turned out that nearly everyone had a skill to share. Decorative trees could be pulled up to create patches of usable land to grow food. Those unable to gather supplies could tend to the thankfully mostly healthy, if slightly scrawny, children, cook, or provide mechanical repairs. Ultimately, there were only a few people in Greenwich Village, now truly a village again, who were totally unable to help support the community, and those few were able to be cared for by the rest.

In the fifteenth year of the encampment, a man arrived from the outside.

It was impossible to tell precisely how old he was. His overgrown hair was quite white, the lower part of his face was badly scarred- the flesh a pale, hairless pink, the nose gone, the mouth a gaping hole with twisted lips stretched too tautly over teeth that were very straight but somewhat yellowed from exposure- but on the unmarred upper part, it was apparent that his face was largely unlined except for a few lines around his eyes and mouth and on his forehead. He could have been anywhere between fifty and eighty.

Julia, who was used to this kind of deformity by now, brought him some clothes so he could wash and repair the ones he'd arrived in.

"Such service," he said, with a warm laugh. His voice was strained and distorted by his mutilated lips, but it was a low, pleasant voice all the same. "I'm sure I'll be fine with what I have." "It's all right," Julia insisted. "They were my father's. I'm sure he'd want to share them."

The man met Julia's eyes for a moment, and then conceded.

"All right," he said, "but only the one. I'd hate to take more than I need." "We have a pretty good amount," said Julia. "You're very kind," the man said, "but I'll manage. I'm only passing through as it is." "There's not another village until you get to Central Park," Julia cautioned.

The man stood up and stretched, pressing a hand to his lower back as he did so and grimacing, then looking almost annoyed at himself for doing so.

"It's all right," he echoed back at her. "I don't need to get any further than 37th."

Julia sat down at the edge of the bed.

"The garment district's cleaned out," she said skeptically. "We needed the supplies." "I'm not looking for supplies," the man retorted. "There's a generator in the basement of one of those buildings. Should still be operational, if I can get to it. After that, we can probably start figuring out how to rewire it down here, and up to the next village as well, at least." "I'm not sure one generator can power that much," said Julia.

The man looked at her. His mouth stretched a little further. It was oddly comforting, despite his maimed face. His eyes brightened.

"It's not an ordinary generator."

***

It took about three hours to journey from the village to the former garment district. Julia could vaguely remember it once taking about a third of that, but there were now barricades to pass through, walled streets to avoid, heaps of refuse that posed an active danger to her and her companion.

The man had ultimately wound up asking for one more item from the village's supply stock, a piece of cloth to tie over the lower part of his face. It didn't create the illusion of a full face- his missing nose and stretched mouth were too flat for that- but with those hidden, the rest could have passed for handsome. He had armed himself with a sledgehammer before they left the village.

"If you don't mind my asking," Julia said hesitantly, "were you in the war?" "I'm afraid not," the man replied. "This was rather more personal than that."

Julia frowned curiously. The man's eyes flicked back to her, and he sighed.

"An old acquaintance showed up toward the end of everything to... well, his term was 'put a smile on that face'," he said grimly.

Julia winced.

"I'm sorry." "It doesn't matter anymore," the man said. "At least it was me, and not someone else."

Most of the buildings had turned a dull gray with dust and time, still dimly reflecting the blue skies with broken windows but no longer gleaming. The sole exception was an equally grimy purple-tinted obelisk of a building, which the man stopped across from to stare up at for a long moment.

"All right," he said. "This is it."

The ground floor doors had long been broken open and left the lobby exposed to the elements. Julia stepped in after the man and lit her torch with the single match she had been alotted, and the walls reflected flashes of bronze here and there. It was like being in some kind of tomb.

"Can you imagine what this place must have once looked like?" she murmured.

The man glanced around them.

"Oh, probably terribly garish," he said dismissively. "Corporate gloss through and through." "Even so," said Julia, "it must have been magnificent once." "It doesn't matter now," the man said. "Here- I'm going to go test the security doors to the basement, all right?" "I think I'm going to have a look around, myself," Julia replied.

The man watched her cautiously before setting to work with his hammer. Julia set her torch in what had once been an electrical sconce and climbed over a reception desk, carefully lowering herself on the other side and dodging the flock of pigeons that erupted from under the desk with the sound of the man's hammer and flew toward the door. Amid the smell of pigeon droppings came a flurry of feathers and tattered paper used for nesting that set Julia into a coughing fit.

"Are you all right?" the man called back to her. "Yes- stupid pigeons-" "I'm going down now," said the man. "Are you coming?" "I'll be there in a moment- let me catch my breath-"

As the man descended into the basement with his own torch, Julia leaned against the desk, coughing against the dusty air. Not all of the newspapers the birds had used were fully shredded, and she curiously picked one up.

VEIDT ARRANGES PEACE TALKS, it said. DISARMAMENT LIKELY- A NEW ERA OF PEACE.

Underneath it was a faded photograph of a handsome middle-aged blond man with kind, crinkling eyes.

Julia studied it for a moment, and then looked at the open basement doors.

#starcprompt #starclegacy

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screamingsongbird16-blog · 8 years ago

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Love and Life: Chapter 2

Summary: Valentine’s Day is catching on in post-WWII Japan. And Tazaki’s past is catching up to him.

Also on AO3

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jitsui asked, as they entered their safehouse and began checking the precautions they’d set up, to ensure no one entered while they were gone. Or at least as Jitsui began doing that. Tazaki, on the other hand, strode to the cabinet and removed a bottle of whiskey.

“Do you want to talk about Hatano?” Tazaki countered. He regretted it immediately. Jitsui straightened slightly, and looked at Tazaki expressionlessly. “I’m sorry,” said Tazaki quickly.

Jitsui only stared at him.

“That was out of line. I am truly sorry.” Tazaki fished a second glass out of the cabinet and poured a whiskey for Jitsui as well. He held it out to the younger man as a peace offering, but Jitsui only crossed his arms over his chest and continued staring blankly. “Jitsui . . .”

“You check our precautions,” Jitsui said, his voice like acid. He left the front room without another word, and moments later, Tazaki heard his footsteps on the stairs.

He sighed and downed his own glass of whiskey, trying to banish a great many memories from his mind. The expressions on his parents faces when they disowned him. The bewildered hurt in Hatano’s eyes as his world fell apart. Even years later, that wound was still raw. Tazaki didn’t know if it would ever heal, but he knew how hard Jitsui was trying. He should have never brought it up. But the words his mother had pleaded to him . . . Tazaki knew Jitsui had recognized them too. Hatano’s words, that cursed day. Jitsui still blamed himself. Tazaki knew there was more than enough blame to go round.

He poured himself another drink, then picked it, and Jitsui’s up, and followed the younger man up the stairs. He found Jitsui finishing up his check of the precautions they’d put on the windows and door to the roof, where the pigeons were kept. Jitsui gave him a frigid look. When Tazaki held the whiskey out to him again. Jitsui stared at it for a second then looked up at Tazaki.

“You didn’t check downstairs.”

“No,” admitted Tazaki.

“Can’t you even pretend to be useful? You’ve always been the weakest in D-Agency. Please try to pull your weight where you can.”

That stung a little. But Tazaki recognized it for what it was. Jitsui lashing out, and trying to make him hurt, like he’d hurt Jitsui.

“I’m sorry about what I said,” Tazaki apologized again. “And thank you. For intervening when you did, with my mother.”

Jitsui wavered. Then he took the still offered whiskey and downed it in one gulp, and thrust the glass back into Tazaki’s hand. Then he offered Tazaki an olive branch. “Things have been better lately. Had been better. Before he left on his latest mission and we came here. I have no reason to think they’re not still going well. And even if they’re not . . . as long as he’s alive . . . as long as he’s alright . . .”

“He loves you. You have to know that,” said Tazaki. “I’ve believed since the war ended, that the two of you would find your way to the other side of this together.”

Jitsui sat down on his bed. Which was technically both of theirs’ bed, since Jitsui still couldn’t sleep through cold winter nights without someone to share body heat with. Tazaki thought it was proof of Jitsui’s own healing, that he’d allow anyone to help him with that now. After Hatano . . . broke . . . Jitsui had refused to leach body heat from anyone else, or even warm his blankets by the fire before bed. His sleepless shivering had been a penitence of sorts. But things really were getting better. Hatano had come back to them. Or rather, come to get them, when what little was left fell apart. Saved them. Stayed with them, as much as life allowed. Forgiven them. He and Jitsui were trying to make things work between them again. And on this mission, where it was just Tazaki and Jitsui, Tazaki was permitted to sleep next to Jitsui, and warm up his bed. Which meant Jitsui didn’t feel the need to punish himself anymore.

“You know,” said Jitsui, almost out of the blue, “Tomorrow’s Valentine’s Day.”

“Yes. I know,” said Tazaki. He’d noticed that the holiday seemed to be finally catching on here in Japan. Years ago, before the war, and D-Agency, before he was Tazaki, he remembered coming home from England, where he’d studied abroad, and trying to celebrate the holiday, here in Japan. His mother had been less than receptive to it. His father openly scornful. They had fallen into the same trap as the rest of the nation, at the time. Insisting that the traditional Japanese way was the only good or right way, and that there was nothing to be learned or respected from other cultures. Tazaki had tried to make them see that their way of thinking was far too closed minded, and that there was so much they could learn from other peoples that would make their own lives better, and happier. But he’d failed. “If Sakuma-san were here, he’d be wondering why there were so many flowers for sale.”

That probably wasn’t completely true. Sakuma had gotten much more observant, and better educated. Plus he was living in Hawaii, where D-Agency was based now, and Hawaii was probably only a decade or two from becoming an official US state. He almost certainly knew what Valentine’s Day was by now, and if he were here, he’d be able to draw the logical conclusions. That Valentine’s Day had spread to Japan.

“I first learned about it when I was a child,” Jitsui continued. “I was living in Hawaii then too.”

Tazaki had already known that. Well, strongly suspected. But this was the first time he’d gotten confirmation that Jitsui had grown up outside of Japan. The ban on telling each other about their pasts had more or less been lifted, though Tazaki wasn’t sure exactly when it happened. But it wasn’t like Yuuki-san would fire them for it anymore. And it wasn’t like they were all just confessing their whole life stories to each other all at once anymore. Tazaki had slowly been learning more about who his brothers had been before D-Agency. And it seemed he was going to learn a little more about Jitsui now.

“I learned about it in school. But I misinterpreted the legend of St. Valentine at first,” said Jitsui. “You know the legend, right?”

“Yes,” said Tazaki. “That a long time ago, a roman emperor, allegedly Claudius, refused to allow marriages under his rule, because he was short on soldiers, and wanted to recruit every able bodied man to be one, and didn’t want them being bound to wives, or children, or anyone who would make them want to return home . . . hm, now that I think about it, I’m surprised Hirohito’s puppet masters didn’t have him issue a similar decree.”

“Even they had to realize that lowering the nation’s birthrate would mean they’d have even fewer soldiers next generation,” said Jitsui. “But that’s beside the point.”

“Yes. The rest of the legend,” remembered Tazaki. “A priest named Valentine allegedly broke the law and married couples, was eventually caught, jailed, and condemned to be executed, but while waiting for his execution day, began a chaste romance with a woman, some say the daughter of the judge who condemned him, others say the emperor’s daughter. And before his death, wrote her a final love letter signed ‘Your Valentine.’ Did I miss anything?”

“Only the dozen or so other variations on numerous points,” said Jitsui, and though his expression remained neutral, Tazaki could tell by his eyes that inside, he was smirking. “So, nothing important.”

“I assume that this story is relevant to something?” Tazaki said. “Though I’m not sure what.” Nor did he care all that much, as long as Jitsui wasn’t mad at him anymore.

“When I first heard the story, I misinterpreted it,” explained Jitsui. “I was young and unromantic, and when I heard the story, I didn’t see it as a story about a man standing up for love and laying down his life so that other people could have the right to be married. What I took away from it, was that this man had laid down his life so that other people could have families.”

Tazaki took a moment to consider this. And yes. He could see the appeal that would have to people like them. Men who’d been strangers in their own families, or had no families, or were disowned by their families. Men who’d found another family in each other. The idea of dying for an idea, or cause, or really anything was frowned upon in D-Agency. Their “Don’t die, don’t kill” motto was still the credo most of them lived by. Well, the “Don’t die,” part, at least was. Some of them had quite a bit of blood on their hands. But all the same. It wasn’t something they would ever say, but Tazaki absolutely believed, that any one of them would die for their family, if there was no other way to protect it. So yes. He could understand why Jitsui might still prefer to see the story of St. Valentine as a man who stood up for families, rather than a man who stood up for romance.

But he wasn’t naïve enough to think this was only about how Jitsui saw things. And Tazaki supposed he might as well make this give and take.

“When I came back from studying in England,” he began, even though it was a bit of a non sequitur, “nothing was the same. I felt like everything had changed, though in hindsight, I know I was the one who’d chanced. Everything back in Japan was the same as it had always been. Including my parents, and the way they saw things. I was what was different. My perspective. Once you open your mind and see things how they really are, you can never really go back to living in a box. And it was . . . very frustrating. Watching people I loved drowning in nationalism and ignorance. Listening to the things they said, that were so ignorant, like how our emperor was a god, and how we needed to go forth and conquer other nations for our empire’s glory. Like there’s anything glorious about sending men in to occupy foreign countries, shoot anyone who resists, and steal their stuff.”

The memories were bitter on Tazaki’s tongue. But he’d kept this bottled up so long, now that he had started, he couldn’t seem to stop.

“I tried to make them see things differently. To get them to open their eyes and see that their way of thinking was illogical, and toxic, but everything I said, no matter how rational, fell on deaf ears.” Tazaki clenched his fist. Then unclenched it as soon as he realized what he was doing. Giving visible cues to their emotional states had never been encouraged in D-Agency. Even now, when it was only Tazaki and Jitsui, and didn’t really matter, it was still deeply engrained in Tazaki to do everything he could to present the appearance of being calm and in control. “Things only got worse. My parents started pressuring me to enter the military. They were unhappy when I took a job, apprenticed under an engineer at a construction company. My father sabotaged me. Went in and told my boss how unpatriotic I was. I got fired. Everywhere else I tried to find work, right down to my rock bottom job at a cannery, it happened the same. My parents wanted me in the military, and tried to cut away every other option that I had. Eventually, I ran out of money. Couldn’t find anywhere else to work in my hometown that hadn’t heard what an unnationalistic ingrate I was. And my father presented me with an ultimatum. Join the military, or disappear from his sight forever. So, I left. Hitch-hiked to Tokyo, picked a few pockets, and then found myself an underground gambling den. Cleaned up house then, and got into a little bit of trouble with the management, until I convinced them that me cleaning house was intended to be a job interview. Got hired as a dealer, and that’s where I stayed, until Yuuki-san found me and recruited me for his training. Then I followed him, and never looked back. Never regretted it either except . . .” Tazaki knew his face was scrunching in pain as he looked away, but he didn’t care. “You know when. But that was the only time. Even when the military betrayed us, and we went on the run for our lives . . . that was actually kind of fun. As long as we’re all together. As long as we’re all still D-Agency, I’m happy. Because as far as I’m concerned, D-Agency is my real family. You’re the ones who took me in when my birth family threw me away.”

It might have been his imagination, but Tazaki didn’t think it was, that Jitsui’s eyes looked brighter than normal. And his expression had definitely softened when he asked, “But when you saw your mother again? And when you heard your father was dead? I know you, Tazaki. I don’t believe you felt nothing.”

Tazaki shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know how I feel, to be honest. I mean . . . I loved them at one point. Most of my life. But they threw me out. I already knew my father was dead. He died before the war ended, when we were still working for Japan. Yuuki-san told me. He even gave me the option of going to the funeral. I didn’t.”

“Do you regret it?”

Tazaki shook his head. “Funerals are more for the living than the dead. You can’t care what people do in your honor when you’re dead.”

“And you’re still alive.”

“I wasn’t going to find any closure there. There was no reason for me to go,” said Tazaki. “I’ve more or less made peace with the fact that my father was not the man I wanted him to be, any more than I was the man he wanted me to be. I can’t change it. I’m not going to kill myself over it. So, I just live with it.”

“And your mother?” Jitsui asked. “Are you really content to let things be?”

“I’m on a mission –”

“This mission is a milk run,” said Jitsui. And . . . he was right, Tazaki knew, as much as he hated to admit it. Their mission had been to make sure, first hand, that the restoration efforts were succeeding. Wirtanen, the American spymaster who’d given them asylum, was finally putting them to work, but starting small.

“Even so, I’m not choosing her over you,” said Tazaki. “Or D-Agency, or anyone in it.”

“You’re acting like you have to choose,” said Jitsui.

“Don’t I?” asked Tazaki.

“Do you think you do?” returned Jitsui. “I think the rules have changed.”

Tazaki was silent as he considered this.

“The military we used to work for was dismantled. The country we now work for recognizes that we have pasts. They know where we come from, and that we have families back here. And the war’s over. There will always be another on the way, yes, but we’re going to be on the sidelines for awhile, doing milk runs and such while our new employers learn they can trust us.” Jitsui gave a slight shrug. “I don’t think anyone will have a problem with you being Tazaki most of the time and Reiji on holidays.”

Tazaki almost winced. “It sounds really weird, hearing you call me that.”

“It feels really weird calling you that.”

Tazaki smiled at Jitsui. Not exactly a happy smile. Which wasn’t to say he wasn’t happy. But suddenly he felt like he was holding back tears and knew it showed on his face. “When did you grow up so much? How did you get so wise?”

Again, Jitsui shrugged. “I picked up a few things from my big brothers.”

“Heh.”

“You don’t have to decide now. Sleep on it. For a night or two. Longer if you need. We’re here until the end of the month.”

“But after tomorrow, it won’t be a holiday,” Tazaki pointed out.

Jitsui smirked. “I told you to sleep on it. But it sounds like you’ve already decided.”

Notes: Sorry if I made Tazaki come across as too much of a jerk in Chapter 1! Hopefully this gives some insight into why he acted the way he did. His mama was hurting, but she had hurt him terribly too. Meeting her again took him by surprise, and was painful, and it seemed like, in the moment, he had to choose between the parent who disowned him, and the family who’d taken him in, who he knew would kill or die for him. Jitsui had to make a snap decision when he saw what was going on. And his decision was to back Tazaki’s play. (But yes, it was quite awkward for him, lol)

On another note, hopefully Jitsui’s original interpretation of the St. Valentine legend helps make this fic passably holiday related. :)

Conclusion chapter tomorrow, weather/internet permitting. :)

#Joker Game #Tazaki #Jitsui #fanfiction #Valentine's Day

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dammitadolfnomorecake · 5 years ago

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CSUAVS prt 26 start

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dammitadolfnomorecake · 5 years ago

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CSUAVS prt 26 update. Me. Ok. 26 we can do the engagement party... haven't hit the damn party yet

Lance didn't sleep well. His mind wouldn't let him rest, racing and supplying him with nightmares when he did finally fall asleep. Feeling flatter than a witch with a house on her, he let Keith fuss over him. Leaving all decisions to his not boyfriend, down to how much makeup they should use on his cheeks. Lance was happy with only a little, but Keith insisted he needed more to sell the lie, leaving small deposits to crumble on the edges were it dried unevenly. Normally Lance prided himself on his appearance, he tried to once again when the drugs had stabilised in his system, so it irritated him each time he caught the slightest glance of the caking. The compromise over the bad make up was that he was allowed to wear a body suit under his normal clothes. He felt better than way, safer, Keith insisted that he didn't need it, yet he felt too exposed without it on. Keith caving without a fight when it came to his mental health. It irritated him how easily Keith had gotten through to him once he'd explained what had happened... but Keith had a way about him. A stupid loved up stalkerish way that Lance secretly loved in his own way. Walking through the Atlas, things seemed peaceful. There was no clunk or hum of the engines. No one yelling at each other. No one fighting over the bathroom. It felt cold. Peaceful but cold. Yep. That was the only way Lance could describe it. Thankful that Keith was walking beside him, it made the grey walls all that more manageable. He really didn't need to have a panic attack over the colour of the walls before they even reached everyone else. His heart was already pounding like crazy as it was. Reaching the doorway to the dining area, his steps stalled, Keith's hand brushing against his "It's going to be ok" "I know. Nerves and all that" "If it counts, I'm pretty nervous too..." Lance wanted to tease him. He would have if Keith hadn't genuinely cared about him. He could smell it on Keith. This morning smelt so much clearer than the others, or maybe it was because the Atlas didn't smell like anything in particular. Not like the Telula did. Remembering in the tick of time, Lance stopped himself from kissing Keith's cheek. The Atlas had cameras everywhere. As it was, someone on staff might be able to read lips, which would complicate things if people started asking questions. They were friends. The others knew Lance as an intimate person, him touching Keith wouldn't be too odd. Lance wasn't in a good enough mental state to confidently tell Keith he was ready to announce it or make it official. Walking into the dining area, everyone had seemed to break off into their own little groups. MFE pilots at one. Pidge was having breakfast with her family. Shiro nursing his coffee as he talked with Coran and Curtis. Hunk's family was talking with Shay's. His family were huddled together on one table, and his team on the other. How was he supposed to chose? His team didn't know anyone, but at the same time, his family had come all this way "I'll grab us breakfast. Why don't you sit with the team? They all look a little lost" "Thanks. I hope everyone's been nice to them. We were only staying a few quintants... I don't want there to be a fight" "Yeah. Ok, go on" "Lance! I was worried" Sitting himself down beside Lucteal, Lance gave a strained smile at him and Daehra "Sorry guys. I had to stop by my girl this morning to get some clothes. Did you guys eat?" Leaning past her brother, Daehra nodded "Your Hunk insisted on cooking for us. His food is very nice" "Oh, so you met Hunk?" "We met him last night. He made us Earth pancakes with sureeep. I have never tried anything like them before" "Hunk is an amazing cook. You know those herbs you brought with you, Pidge's mother will be able to grow some for Hunk. To help make your pancakes and syrup. I know I let you guys down last night, but things are going to be better today" Daehra nodded quickly, a blush on her cheeks. This all had to be surreal for his team, meeting the famous Voltron and staying on the famous Atlas. Even if he was slightly scared, he was so damn proud of his team. Anyone who said they didn't belong here deserved to be punched in the face. It was thanks to the galactic war that they'd all been dishomed to begin with. They'd all fought and survived without the help of Voltron and the Lions "Deahra, do you want to meet her?" "What?!" Lucteal elbowed his sister at her loud cry. Lance nodding his head as he grew slightly more confident about his question. Everyone was in small groups, all doing their own thing. Just because he was chicken shit, didn't mean she should have to suffer "Right now. She's just there, and she's pretty nice" "But I..." "But nothing, Dae. You're amazing with herbs and you know... even if she doesn't have time, she'll know who you are" "Leandro..." "You're amazing Dae. I like trust you with my life. Come on" "But..." "Nope. I know I really dropped the ball yesterday. I should have checked you were alright last night, and I should have been here for you before breakfast. Please let me make it up to you" "Leandro..." "Good. It's settled. Lucteal, are you coming?" Lucteal shook his head, casting a glance over to the MFE pilots table "That one over there with the obnoxious hair. I want to hit him" Following Lucteal's lead, Lance snorted to himself "That's James. He always goes after Keith. But yes, he's obnoxious as hell" "Can I shoot him? He keeps looking this way" "You can't shoot him. Apparently Earth needs him... but I have another idea. Let me introduce Dae first, then we'll go from there" Slinging an arm around Daehra's shoulders, as Lance would have, he led Daehra over to the Holts. Flicking Pidge on the ear, the green gremlin had been too absorbed in her tech to hear him approaching "What the quiznak?! Oh... Hey, Lance" "Hey, Pigeon. What you working on?" "Your friend over there insinuated my coding wasn't up to scratch..." "That would be Zak. Not to brag, buuuut..." "Lance you better not finish that sentence, or I will fight you" "Ooooh. Someone needs her morning coffee" "No. I just need you to shut up" "Katie Holt! That is not how we talk to friends" Pouting at her mother, Pidge went back to her laptop "It is when it's Lance" Reaching over, Colleen took Pidge's laptop from her. Pidge trying to grab it back while her mother ignored her "It's nice to see you Lance. You look good" At least someone was happy to see him "Thanks. I know I'm interrupting your breakfast, but I have someone I really want you to meet. This is my girl Daehra. She's my team's medic, with a huge interest in plants and botany. When I told her of your research, she was in awe. Her medicinal herbs are the best in the sectors we work" Colleen looked Daehra up and down, her smile growing "I can never say no to a young botanist. Why don't you bring some of your herbs down to my lab and we'll go over them together" Daehra blushed hard "Thank you very much. I'm not very good..." "Dae, you're amazing. You should know that by now. Thank you so much. And Pidge his name is Zak. He's absolutely crazy about tech. You should talk to him about the AI he's building. He's instilled it with layer learning. I know you've been working on your own projects, but you never know..." "If he's friends with you, then he's probably a weird" Poking his tongue out, Lance reached out and ruffled Pidge's hair "Then you'll get on perfectly. We'll leave you to it. Thanks so much" Daehra gave a half bow "Thank you" Leading Daehra back to the table, Lucteal had moved down a seat so Lance could sit between him and Keith, with Daehra on Keith's other side. Placing down a plate of pancakes, Keith nudged him with his shoulder as Lance sat "What was that about?" "I wanted to introduce Daehra to Colleen" "How'd it go?" "She wants Dae to go by her lab with her herbs later" "Good job, Daehra. I'm sure you'll learn a lot from her" "Thank you... I was nervous when Pidge told Le-Lance to be quiet" Keith's expression turned hard. Lance didn't need Keith feeding his anxiety by being protective "She did?" "Don't go there. Its Pidge and you know how she is when she's on her laptop" "Ohhh... you disturbed the great Pigeon?" Keith's face relaxed, a smile on his lips as he teased him gently. Sighing exaggeratedly, Lance tried to look grave "I did. Her mother even scolded her" "Oh no" "Oh yes. It would seem that Zak wounded her pride last night" "Dammit Zak" "Eh, they're both nerds. Did you see Hunk?" Prying into Hunk's life through Keith was the best he could hope for right now "Oh. Yeah. We're going to have a Paladin lunch. To catch up and stuff. Man, he's so nervous. Shay knows something is going on, and he's sure she knows what" Lance's knife slipped as he went to slice through his pancake, syrup smearing on his fingers. It would just like him to klutz up right now "I wouldn't be surprised Shay is pretty smart" "I thought Shiro would be engaged to Curtis before Hunk got engaged to Shay" "Nah. Adam was Curtis's brother. It doesn't matter how long you know a person, there's still a difference between going from friends to lovers" Slumping down slightly in his seat, Keith rubbed his knee against Lance's. The half-Galra was a damn menace "That's true. Do you have any plans for today?" Plans? Not having a panic attack was his plan "Leandro said he may be able to arrange for me to hit that James" Choking on his pancake, Keith looked to him with watery eyes "What?" "James has been side eyeing my team this morning. I might not be up for sparring, but if he wants to try taking my team on, he's gotta be prepared to have his arse kicked" "Lance..." "Relax, Mullet. I was thinking of showing Lucteal to the training room, after helping Daehra with her herbs. Pidge is going to get curious over Zak, and the others... I'm not sure what they want to do" "Why don't I show Lucteal to the training room, while you help Daehra with her herbs?" After yesterday's stellar performance, Lance didn't really want to seperate from Keith's side. He still felt guilt that his family was over there having breakfast without him. Then again, they saw Veronica even less than they saw him. He was alive. That was all that mattered to them. Keith told him he was strong, so he had to be for him "Yeah. Divide and conquer?" "Mhmm. Oh quiznak... Mum's coming today" Lance deflated a little. He didn't know how to look Krolia in the eyes "Don't be like that. Mum knows what you mean to me" "You should be hanging out with your mum..." "I don't know what time she'll be arriving. I'll message her to meet us wherever we are... She's going to be happy to see you" "She might not be when you fill her in on everything" "Babe, she knows most of what happened. I mean... she knows I made my choice to be with you. And that I'm staying with you" "She's your mum..." "That has a whole planet to rule. Besides, if she arrived while we're trying, she's not likely to back down from a fight" Lance groaned. Lucteal wasn't ready for Krolia training "Make sure she goes easy on my team. I like them and would like for them to stay in one piece" "Mum won't be that bad" They both knew otherwise... Or at least Lance did. Krolia scared him, even when it came to light sparring "You say that now" "Oh shut up and eat your breakfast already" Sighing heavily, Lance stabbed at his pancakes with his fork. Lucteal was strong... hopefully with Keith watching, nothing would go wrong "Yes, Keith" * Dropping Daehra off at Colleen's lab, Lance was feeling pretty good about it. When Daehra hadn't known what to bring, he'd suggested samples of her pills and the herbs she used to make them. Promising to let him know when they were done, Lance half wanted to stay and watch, to protect Daehra if anything was to happen. Instead, he nodded at her promise, and wished her well as he started through the Atlas and up to the training room. Part of him was mentally laughing at the fact Shiro hadn't wanted anyone walking around his ship unescorted, and there he was doing just that. Walking into the training room, Lance wasn't expecting Keith and James to be sparring. Lucteal watching on, actually cheering for Keith. Jogging the few steps to Lucteal's side, Lance looked to his second in command "What's going on?" "That James. He implied that our team was unworthy. Keith stepped up to say he was part of our team. This happened" Great. James and Keith... they had a complicated history "Did you get to hit him?" "Not yet" Lucteal sounded bitter, but not as bitter as Lance was. James was a dick, and he couldn't understand why he kept going after Keith. Lucteal had his reasons... So did that mean James liked Keith? The thought was laughable. Keith could castrate James in the blink of an eye if he so chose. Sitting on the sidelines, Kinkade was filming everything as he provide a running commentary with Rizavi's assistance. Watching as the fight slowly grew towards becoming a brawl, Lance wasn't having it. Keith had a reputation to uphold, while Lance was a lowly bounty hunter "Keith, swap out with me" Catching James's fist, Keith stepped back with a scowl "I've got this" "If James has a problem with my team, it is up to me as their commander to step up. Provided he has the balls to throw down properly" Letting out a low whistle, Kinkade looked over his camera. Cupping her hands around her mouth, Rizavi called out "You going to let him talk to you like that, Griffin?!" Scoffing, James broke his stance to run a hand through his hair "Hey, if he wants a piece of this, I'm right here" Glaring, Keith strode towards Lance "What are you doing?" "He insulted my team" "I was handling it" "You looked as if you were about to murder him" "He had it coming" Patting Keith on the shoulder, the half-Galra still looked annoyed "You can beat him up as much as you want, after I do" Taking a few steps towards James, Lance rolled his neck. He hadn't thrown down for fun with Keith out of fear, but James was a dick and the Atlas had its own pod... squaring his shoulders, he was nearly at James when Keith called out to him "Lance, weapons?" Oh. Right. He forgot about that tiny detail... Kneeling down he took his knife from his right boot, and slipped out the blade hidden up his sleeve. Turning, he threw both to Keith with a wink "I forgot about that. Don't want to accidentally stab him" Keith's smirk said otherwise "Kick his arse" "You know it" * Keith was on edge as Lance stood in front of James. The MFE shit head had decided to mock his "life choices" over following some like Lance. Though not an active Paladin, the MFE pilots had all have basic hand to hand training, and they all had years of experience surviving after Earth had been invaded. Keith had made the mistake of saying "Let's how see how good you are at sparring", where as Lance had said they were going to "throw down". His fight with James was expected to be light, despite his anger at the man causing him to snap. Bouncing on the balls of his feet, Lance shook out his hands before balling them into fists. James laughing as he dropped into stance "From what I remember, you weren't that great at hand to hand" "I'm surprised you can remember anything with that ego of yours" Letting out a long "oooooh", Rizavi was seriously enjoying this. None of them realised how much of a transformation Lance had made while fighting for his life "Why'd you even come back? Weren't you enjoying your life as a simple farmer?" "Had to come back because dick's like you can't do their jobs" Lance was keeping his tone light, almost joking. Or it would have been if not for the look in his eyes "From what I hear, you called Keith in to clean up your mess" Lance shrugged, Keith enjoying this confident side to his not-boyfriend, even if it was all a show "Actually, he came to me. Seems your little crew wasn't going to cut it. Don't hold back" James was learning the hard way that there was more to Lance than met the eye. Lance openly laughing at James's attempts to bring him down. The angrier James got, the sloppier his moves were. Lance able to block and dodge, his movements a thousand times better than when he'd been a Paladin. Kicking out James's knee, the MFE pilot went down hard, the look in Lance's eye turning deadly as he pinned him in a head lock, and locked his leg with his. James had no idea he was ticks away from dying "What the hell is going on here?" Releasing James, Lance wiped his brow before holding his hands up to surrender to the fun police that was Shiro. Taking James by the arm, Rizavi began leading him away, Griffin jogging after the pair. The three of them smart enough to know when to run from a scolding Shiro "We're sparring" "Do I want to know how it started?" Lance opened his mouth, but Keith cut in "James was being dick. Went after me again, then insulted Lance. It was all in fun. You know if we wanted him dead, he would be" "It's funny, I'm looking at Lance and I'm hearing Keith's voice" Dropping his hands, Lance shook his head. His voice holding no confidence as he replied "Shiro, it was all fun and games. The only thing James got out of it was knocked down a few pegs" "I didn't think the pair of you were the type to bully someone to make yourselves feel better" Keith saw red, Shiro might have raised an eyebrow and intentionally baited him to see what his reply was, but when you love someone with PTSD and have started learning their triggers, the fear of them being hurt by a careless comment was always there. Lance wouldn't be able to hear the joke. And yeah, James was under Shiro's fucking command, but he knew the kid was a total jerk. Seething, he wanted to smack his stupid brother "That wasn't what happened at all. James was starting trouble, so I suggested we spar. We swapped out to Lance when Lance arrived from dropping Daehra off with Pidge's mum. This isn't the Garrison Shiro. We might have let things go, but even after he apologised, he still went out of his way to cause trouble. He has no right to bad mouth Lance or his team. They're your fucking guests" Coming up behind him, Lance put his hand on Keith's shoulder "Keith, calm down. Unlike James, I'm replaceable. He's a MFE pilot, and those ships cost a lot to build. I'm just a bounty hunter who can't even do that anymore" Shiro looked as if he was going to interject, but Keith really wasn't having it. Sure, Lance looked ready to kill James, but before Shiro interrupted, Keith was ready to step in "Goddamn it, Lance! You are not replaceable! And you didn't do anything wrong. James threw down as hard as he could. It's not your fault he's not that great" Shaking his head, Lance squeezed Keith's shoulder "Keith, it's not worth fighting over. Let's just train..." "Lance, I swear to quiznak..." Raising his hand, Keith shoved Lance's hand off his shoulder. Realising what he'd done, his hand hovered there "Lance" "Forget it" Pain filled Lance's blue eyes "Lance..." "Forget it Keith. I don't belong here. No matter what you say. Sorry Shiro, we'll be off your ship tomorrow. I promise to stay out of your way" Striding towards the door, Shiro called out to Lance as Lucteal moved to follow the Cuban "Lance. That's not what I meant..." Ignoring Shiro, Lance disappeared "... why can I never seem to say the right thing to him?" Shiro seemed genuinely troubled. Keith forcing down his anger at his brother "When you were tortured, did Lance ever treat you any differently?" Crossing his arms, Shiro went on the defensive "No. What does that have to do with anything?" "I've been watching everyone. Pidge this morning. Her parents. You now. You all look at him with pity. I know none of us knew what to do when Allura died. We all knew it was hard for him, but we were there. She's been gone for over a year now. It's time everyone treated Lance like he is Lance. He doesn't want our pity. He doesn't need our pity. He didn't treat you any differently after you were tortured, if anything he held more respect for you. For surviving everything you went through. Don't treat him any differently that you used to. He hasn't changed who he is inside" "I know that. I guess... I understand what you said when you first reached out to him. How he felt like a stranger. He's grown so much. When I saw him with James... I was sure he was going to hurt him" Even if Lance had, James would have deserved it. Though it would have torn Lance apart at a later date "He's still Lance. Like you have Allura's crystal in your arm to keep your body stable, Lance carries part of Allura quintessence to keep his body stable. Stop making excuses and talk to him like nothing happened" "I'll go find him" "Good. Make sure you apologise for being an arse. He was up all night with nightmares. His nerves are shot and he could really use someone who knows what he's been through to be there for him. If he won't talk to you, leave it and I'll talk to him" "You really understand him, don't you?" "Lance is easy to understand. All he wants it to forget the bad things in the past and move forward. Like we all do" * Sitting at the command table of the Telula, Lance wasn't sure what his next step was. He'd nearly lost control fighting James. He'd intentionally provoked him due to the fact his stupid brain started whispering that maybe there was some truth to him liking Keith... and he couldn't lose Keith to the likes of James. When he'd put him in the headlock, he'd made sure James could breathe, but couldn't move. Now all he felt was disgust at taking away someone ability to move like had been done to him. The circumstances might not have been the same, but none the less... He'd enjoyed taking James down a peg. It was as Shiro said, he was a bully. "Leandro?" Following him from the training room, Lucteal had hovered by his side quietly. He didn't need to be an empath to know that Lucteal wasn't happy over how things had played out. He hadn't got to hit James, and now that Shiro had scolded, Lucteal wanted to punch him too "What's up?" "That Shiro is standing in the hangar" Great. He felt sick to his stomach over what had happened. Being scolded by "Space Dad" was nearly as bad as being threatened with his mami pink slipper "Who does he think he is..." "Lucteal it's ok. Shiro's trying to protect his team. Like how I would protect any of you. I'll go talk to him" "He insulted you" "It wouldn't be the first time. You should probably stay up here, I don't know what he wants to talk about" Lance had nothing to say. He'd made a fool of himself and was now off licking his wounds "At least take a blaster" "I promise you it'll be ok. Now, try not to hit him if he comes onboard" "I make no promises" Walking down the loading ramp of the Telula, Lance eyed Shiro in confusion. Holding both hands up, Shiro was wearing a sad expression "I come in peace" "I told you that I'd be off the Atlas tomorrow. Lucteal is with. Keith's with the others and Daehra is with Pidge's mum. Don't ask me where my family is, you invited them" "I deserve that. Look, I didn't mean to run you off. I also didn't mean to make you feel like you weren't welcome here" "Really? You accuse my team of being untrustworthy. You look at me like I'm an insect. What do you want from Shiro?" "I want to say I'm sorry" Hell hath no fury like an angry Lance "Well, you said that. I promise my team isn't going to cause a scene. I'm sorry about what happened with James, but I won't stand for my team being insulted" "Lance, you know it's regulations that new visitors be escorted" "They're not just visitors. They're my family" "And what about mine. I have the lives of every single person on this ship to consider" "Don't you think I know that?! If it hadn't been for Keith, I probably wouldn't have even come for the party. It's not like my presence would have been missed!" "Of course we missed you..." "That's bullshit Shiro. Every time I reached out to any of you, I was ignored. I built my own life out here" "Keith told me what happened..." Lance let out a bitter laugh, he knew he was being spiteful, but all his anger at being rejected and pushed away from the team came flooding back "I bet you enjoyed that. Stupid Lance taken and tortured. Yeah. I bet you really enjoyed that" "No one deserves that. I know, remember. I know what it was like and what it was like to die... and what's it like to lose the one you love. Please Lance, I understand" "This isn't about Allura" "You cover your marks now..." "Don't..." "We thought you were happy on Earth" "Happy?! My whole family imploded when I came home! No one knew how to talk to me. No one knew how to treat me. Between the nightmares and the PTSD everything fell to pieces. No matter how many stupid juniper bushes I planted, she never came back. So no. You don't understand Shiro. Allura never loved me like I loved her, and every time you all look at me, all you show is pity. I'm done with that" Why was he tearing up? He was mad with Shiro. He didn't want to be crying in front of him "Lance..." "Don't! None of you ever wanted me around. I finally found people who want me for me. And we do good work. I'm proud of.. I was proud of the work we do... We help people. Not just those we want alliances with. We don't turn people away because they're "different". Daehra and Lucteal saved my life more than once. I won't go back to being made to feel like nothing" Shiro crying was a dick move. How was supposed to stay mad at crying Shiro? "Lance... I'm sorry we failed you" "You didn't fail me. You weren't supposed to know" "Why didn't you call? When it happened?" Call. He'd called and messaged "I tried reaching out. None of you answered my messages. We still had those stupid team calls. No one noticed if I didn't talk. I only took them because of Veronica" "And after? After you Keith went to that outpost? Why didn't you call then?" Hissing like an alley cat, Lance took a step back. Crossing his arms, Shiro could keep crying silently "Is that what this is about? Because I don't want Daibazaal or the Atlas involved? You don't actually care, do you" "Lance... That's not what I meant. I meant, why didn't you call us for back up? We would have come out to help you" "I don't need your help" "It's too late for that it's an intergalactic issue. People are dying" "I know they are, but you don't understand" "What's there to understand? I saw the pictures. All we want to do is help" Rolling his eyes, Lance was disgusted. The conversation was hurting his head, he could feel the tendrils of a headache coming on "Oh, you saw the pictures. Great. Now you know everything. The Atlas can't help" "What's that supposed to mean?" Why couldn't the great and famous Shiro understand? Why wasn't he looking at the bigger picture? When was Shiro going to finally treat him as a man, and not a snot nose punk "It means where I work, people hate Voltron. They have no time for people from Earth. They were all suffering and we helped none of them. People won't take aid from Lance of Voltron, but they will if they can't see my face. They'd rather starve or bleed out. We're not Galactic Heroes. I was tortured over the Red Lion. They wanted it for themselves to secure their power, because that whole fucking sector receives fuck all aid. The cops out there are as corrupt as hell. The people we fucking arrested, they're the people chopped to pieces. So tell me how the precious Atlas is going to fix all of that?! You can't bring back the dead. You can't sew them back together. How sending Galra ships out to people still scared shitless of the Galra, is going to make things better? You can't, can you Shiro. My friends were butchered because they know me. I have a 1.5 billion GAC bounty on my head, because I wanted to do the right thing. You guys can't help. I should never have listened to Keith..." "You don't know if we can help, unless you sit down and talk with us" Lance threw his hands in the air "I am talking to you" "Lance, I want to help. I want to help you. I've missed you. Hunk has missed you, Coran and Pidge have missed you. Every time we talked you said you were busy with work..." "Because everyone wants to hear my stupid struggles. Right. Sure. No. Yeah. I ruined everything" "Lance..." "You can't fix anything Shiro... you can't fix me" "I'm sorry. I don't know what else I can say. You didn't deserve what happened and I swear if I'd know I would have been there for you. It eats me alive to think of you like that. To think we don't care... I do care. You're a good man, and a good friend. No matter how busy you were, I should have remembered to answer. I shouldn't have... I should have done a lot of things better" Feeling his chest tighten, Lance wanted to curl into a ball and cover his ears. He didn't deserve such sincerity. He was taking all his anger out in Shiro and it wasn't fair. Shaking his head, he wished his tears would stop. He couldn't breathe. He didn't want Shiro to pity him. He didn't want Shiro to know the truth. He wanted to stand before him as an equal. He wanted him to accept him... "I... can't..." Swaying, Shiro rushed to his side. Wrapping his arms around him, Shiro guided him to the floor. Letting out a sob, the hug felt nothing like Keith's. Shiro smelt nothing like Keith. He smelt... like that horrible strawberry cough syrup his mother made him take whenever he had a cold. The aching in his head only growing worse as he cried harder "Shhhh... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry... I didn't know how to talk to you. You grew up right before my eyes, and I missed it..." Choking and spluttering, Lance couldn't make his tongue move "You're having a panic attack. You need to slow your breathing for me" This didn't feel like his usual panic attacks. It felt more like being underwater and being unable to breathe. He didn't know how to come out of these attacks without Keith anymore. The scent was wrong... Keith's scent knew how to calm him, as weird as it sounded "S-orry... I...'m... sorry" Gasping out the words, they sounded distant to his ears "Lance, you need to breathe for me. Here, look at my face. You need to breathe with me... Hey, what are five things you can see?" Huh? Everything was too blurry from his tears "Ca...n't... K-Keith..." "You want me to call Keith?" That was close enough... "Ok. Hang on, just keep breathing for me. You're ok... You're safe..." * Running through the Atlas, Keith was annoyed that he hadn't stalked Shiro when he'd gone to talk to Lance. He didn't want to be stuck between the two of them. It was his brother and the man he loved. He wanted them to either yell at each other or hit each other... or whatever the quiznak it took for them to reconnect. When Shiro called him, he could hear Lance wheezing in the background, his feet already moving before his mind could comprehend where he was supposed to be going. Hangar five was in a crap position if anyone cared to ask Keith, not that they had or had any reason to. Set towards the back of the ship, it was little more than extra storage with everything else the Atlas had going on. Kosmo was no where in sight, so running through the ship was the only way he was going to get to Lance as fast as possible. Hitting the door to the hangar, he damn near killed himself trying to rush down to the Telula, not expecting to find Shiro cradling Lance in his arms "Keith..." Slowing down, he rather dramatically threw himself down in front of Lance, pulling him out of Shiro's hold and into his own. Holding Lance's face to his neck, Lance's hands gripped his shirt as Keith nuzzled into his hair "Shhh... I'm here, babe. Shhh... Breathe for me. I'm here..." Repositioning Lance so he was straddling his lap, Keith rubbed his back and rocked him gently "What happened?" "He told me about the outpost... and called me out on a few things. Half through he started crying, then collapsed" "This wasn't what I meant by talking to him" Shiro looked as distressed as Lance was, without the panic attack that was "We did. He even yelled at me. I can't say I didn't deserve it. I was apologising when he collapsed... He really thinks we don't want him here or care" "I told you that" Whimpering, Lance pulled on his shirt "I'm sorry, babe. I'm not mad. Shiro's not mad at you... I've got you. Shhhh... just keep breathing for me" Nodding, Keith smiled, kissing Lance's hair "Thank you..." Shiro watched on until Lance's breathing slowed. All of his weight falling in Keith's legs as he sat slumped forward "Is he...?" "He's exhausted..." "Are they usually like this?" "Would you believe this was one of the easier ones?" "Fuck" Fuck summed it up alright. At least Shiro hadn't copped a screaming and biting Lance. Keith was quietly jealous that Lance hadn't reacted badly to Shiro's touch, and immensely relieved. A sudden attack from Lance could have set Shiro off and he had no idea how to deal with two people having panic attacks "Did you try calming him?" Shiro nodded "5 things you can see. I tried to get him to focus on me and his breathing, but he wanted you" "Those 5 things thing doesn't work with him. Breathing works better, but he's really sensitive to touch and smell" "You're good with him, "babe"" Keith felt his face heat up "He's not ready for anything official. He wants to work through some more things, and... it's not official, but it is" He wasn't giving Lance up to anyone. The way he felt in his arms felt natural. He might not have any dating experience, yet highly doubted that anyone would ever feel as right as Lance did. Nuzzling slightly harder, Lance's breathing had dropped to something resembling a purr "Babe, do you want to go back to our room?" Nodding limply, Lance had enough brainpower to move his arms up to rest in Keith's shoulders. How much more adorable could Lance be? "Do you need help?" "No. We've got this down pact. You might as well come on board the Telula. She's Lance's pride and joy" "He won't mind?" "Lucteal might... did you see him?" "I know he was with Lance when he came down here" "Then maybe you can open the door or something. Alright, babe. Up we go" Carrying his sleepy Lance up into the Telula, Lucteal was standing near the top of the ramp looking thoroughly annoyed "What's he doing here?" "Lance ok'd it" "He's the one who upset him" "And they talked" Glaring at Shiro, Lucteal pointed at him "Upset him like that again, and I will shoot you. Should I call back Daehra?" "No. He needs to rest. I'm going to take him down to our room" "Fine. You are lucky he is forgiving. Lance means a great deal to our people. You would be executed for hurting him" Watching Lucteal mouth at Shiro was hilarious. Shiro had no idea about Lucteal's skills, or lack of skills. Shiro could totally take him. Nodding his head, Shiro gave the alien a diplomatic smile "Understood. Thank you for being there for him" "I don't need your thanks. Leandro has proven himself over and over again. It is you humans who do this to him" "Right. Sorry..." Ignoring Lucteal, Keith started on again. Lance was at his mumbly stage, needing Keith's voice to soothe him. Hushing softly seemed to work best. Telling Lance he was "doing good" or calling him a "good boy", was likely to remind him of the words whispered when he was raped. He'd accidentally figured that out, that Lance responded differently to different things being said depending on how his attack was going. Opening the door for them, Shiro was kind of useless. Carrying Lance over to their bed, Keith was grateful that Lance had let him get away without making their bed. The Cuban had other things on his mind. Laying him carefully in his usual spot, Keith stroke Lance's hair, whispering gently "Babe, what do you need?" "Headache" "You've got a headache? How bad?" "Three out of five" "Ok. I'll get your boots, you sleep for me" "Tell Shiro I'm sorry" "It's ok, babe. He knows" "Don't want to fight with him" "It's alright. He understands" "Mmm... k... sorry" "It's ok, babe. You sleep" Getting Lance's boots off, Keith had nothing to give him for his headache. Lance wouldn't want anything for it anyway. Pulling the blankets up, he looked to Shiro "Can you watch him for a tick? I need to get some water" "I can, if you want" Usually it was Daehra helping it out. Bossing Shiro around was strange "You haven't had the tour yet. I'll be right back" Shiro hadn't moved when Keith came back with a water pouch. Puncturing it, he sat beside Lance, stabbing him up the nose with the straw. Groaned at, Keith smiled affectionately "Sip some water for me, then I'll stop annoying you" "The straws' in my nose" Moving the straw to Lance's mouth, he did as he was asked. Keith pulling back before Lance could choke himself, sitting the pouch on Lance's bedside table "Is Lucteal still here?" "Yeah, babe" "Mmm. You should go see your mum" "It's ok" "No... I'm going to sleep... go see your mum and hang out with Shiro" "Did you two talk?" "Mmm... think we're ok..." "That's good, babe" Kissing Lance's forehead, he did feel warm, but that was most likely exhaustion "Keith, go. I'm sleepy" "Are you sure...?" He didn't want to leave a sleepy Lance... but now their Paladin lunch plans were kind of ruined. Plus, he needed to make sure Shiro was actually alright... and find his traitorous wolf so he could stay with Lance "Mhmm... thank you" "You're very welcome" Kissing Lance's forehead again, Keith fussed over his blankets until Lance finally fell asleep. Holding his pointer finger to his lips, Keith jerked his head towards the door, Shiro stepping out silently, before Keith followed him. Giving Shiro a quick tour of the Telula, Keith waited until they were outside the ship before finally letting Shiro ask his questions as they headed back towards the hangar exit on floor level "I can hear you thinking" "Lance gave me a lot to think about" "He said you two talked, and that he thinks you're ok now?" "I didn't have a problem with him to begin with. I also didn't realise how badly he was hurting. Are you sure you don't want to stay with him?" He would have loved nothing more than to snuggle up with Lance... "I do. But if I stay with him, he'll think he was getting in the way of us hanging out, or preventing me from doing something I want to do. Lucteal knows to call if Lance panics again" "And you trust him?" "No. He's still in love with Lance, but I trust Lance and Lance trusts him" "So I shouldn't trust him?" "He's fine. He's mostly harmless" "He said something about Lance being important on his planet" "You can say that. He saved their princess. She's the little sister of Daehra and Lucteal" "He's hanging out with royalty?" "It's complicated, but they do seem to like him. The princess adores him. You should have seen the amount of aid he took out there. They're also the ones who fixed up the Telula after Zak killed her engines" "Zak" "Annoying alien with purple hair. He's as bad as Pidge is. Lance saved his arse too" "And the rest of them?" "I'm not sure. Tobias... just seems to exist... and the others I haven't had much to do with. I've... uh, kind of been spending most of my time with Lance" Slinging his arm around Keith's shoulder, Shiro pulled him close "You did really well handling everything just then. You've gone and grown up without me" "You make it sound like I didn't see you a few phoebs ago" "I didn't see how you'd handle someone else having a panic attack" Leaning down on him, Keith ducked out from under his hold causing Shiro to stumble "It's not that hard. I learned it from you first" "Can't you let me be proud of you?" "No" "But you were so gently with Lance" "I am not afraid to stab you. He doesn't want people to know" "I'm not going to tell him. I think I upset him enough today" "Yes. Don't think I've forgotten about that. You did say he gave you a lot to think about" "About all those people we couldn't help. About his job. About the Atlas" "I know exactly what you're talking about. It's depressing, isn't it?" "It didn't feel great" "He's a stubborn idiot. But he does have some good points" "I never thought about the people who Voltron wasn't there for. We saved the universe and ended ten thousand years of Galra rule... Lance said they were after the Red Lion?" "Yeah. That Diplo-dick who hired him wanted it for himself. The king sold his own daughter to him for a slice of that power. Lance was already hunting him down with help from his friends in the Erathus police force... They put him through hell, Shiro. He's not even keen on swimming anymore, and this is Lance... you'd have to tackle him down to stop him before" "Has he talked to anyone?" "You mean profession help? I don't think he's ready for that" "Keith, it's not healthy to keep it all inside. It's not healthy for you to deal with it all alone" "I'm not alone. And it's not like it's one way..." "Alright. Let me worry about you for a little longer" "You're worse than Krolia, I hope you know this" "Are you two having sex?" Keith choked on thin air, never had he blushed as fast or as hard as he did in that moment. Even confessing to Shiro that he and Lance had fooled around wasn't as bad as Shiro deciding to ask that question right then "What the fuck?" "If I'm worse than Krolia..." "Nope. No. Not happening. We barely kiss... Is this revenge? Is that what this is? Revenge at me yelling at you? Or is this revenge for borrowing your air vents?" "Neither. But if you are thinking of being intimate, you should both get checked first" This was definitely revenge. Revenge for everything he'd put Shiro through since they'd met "I'm going to kill you in your sleep" "You'll have to go through Curtis first" "Hey, I'm not afraid. I got through your vents remember" "I know you did. I might not approve of your methods, but Lance has always been a romantic at heart" "There was nothing romantic about last night. He nearly sent himself into a panic attack and ended up crying in my arms" "You wouldn't know. He seemed like his old self this morning" "He was until you interrupted" "Hey, I know you don't like James. However, he is under my command" "And I respect that. Lance has so little self confidence left after what happened, that he doesn't handle joking very well. Besides, that was tame compared to the shit we pulled on the castle" "I don't want to think about it. Every single white hair I have was because of you two" "As if. At least you came back right..." Trailing off, Keith realised he put his foot in it the moment he heard his own words. He'd already told Shiro about it, yet it was hard to be having this conversation. It touched on so many things that still left him hurt and confused over. He wanted to respect Lance's privacy. He also wanted Shiro to understand what Lance had told him, without the others eavesdropping or Shiro bringing it up around them "Can we talk about something else? Lance deserves better than us talking about him" "For now. I still want to talk with him about the outpost. He said he intended on leaving tomorrow" "Hopefully he'll feel like staying after the party. I had hoped to have lunch with everyone, to show him he mattered..." "We can still have lunch" "It's not the same without him. Those attacks can take vargas for him to recover from. I'd rather he rest today and be recovered for tonight, than him push himself now and wind up feeling worse during the party" "Keith, Lance wanted you to socialise. He said so himself" "The whole point of lunch was for him to see everyone again" "And he will. Krolia should be arriving soon, why don't we head up to wait for her? And where's Kosmo?" "Did you only just notice he wasn't here?" "I had other things on my mind" "I don't know where he is. Probably with Hunk trying to get treats? I was hoping to find him on the way, I want to send him down to stay with Lance" "Keith..." "Don't say it. I know. Lance is an adult. He is capable of making his own choices and doesn't need a baby sitter. We've been by each other's side almost nonstop. It feels weird for me to leave him all alone down there" "He's a perfectly capable adult" "Who is on a ship where he thinks everyone hates him. I'm allowed to worry. You'd worry if you were in my shoes" "I'm older, I'm allowed to worry" "In that logic, my being older than Lance means I'm entitled to worry about him all I want" "Are you trying to take over my role as "Space Dad"?" "Nope. I don't want all those white hairs" "I'll give you white hairs" Reaching out to shove him, Keith ran on ahead, Shiro chasing after him, the pair acting like a pair of idiots as they ran through the ship.

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