#i remember choosing the matte of SOME weapon i had in my dresser

[reap-the-game]

Tuuli tuule sinne missä muruseni on Leiki hetki hänen hiuksillaan Kerro rakkauteni, kerro kuinka ikävöin Kerro häntä ootan yhä vaan

[cupidmarwani-archive]

Leaving Our Home (4/10)

WC: 1438

The night is spent avoiding sleep on the sidewalk, debating the merits of going to a twenty four hour diner for coffee or staying where they were on the sidewalk. It’s hard to decide things like that when they both know what they’re going to have to do when the workday starts and the streets bustle with people going through their normal 9-5 jobs. Lucky them, living in their ordinary worlds.

Would Peter take the chance at such an ordinary life, if it was offered to him? Maybe if he had been given it from the beginning, he supposes, because as of now he can’t imagine not being able to read minds the way he does. It’s a part of him, just as much as the freckles on his cheeks and shoulders when he spends too much time outside in the summer. At times, it can be overwhelming, though. With the city bustling alive, he has trouble discerning his own thoughts from those around him, something distressing when it comes to the sorts of ideas and visions he would never think. On his first day of high school, he spent the whole lunch period throwing up while Mike rubbed his back because of all the things he heard.

Once, he heard the things Mike’s father thinks about, and that had been enough to have him reeling. He must’ve blocked the memory because he can’t for the life of him recall what he heard and saw. Still, he remembers the aftermath. First, he had passed out on Mike’s kitchen floor. Then he woke up in bed later that night. Mike was there, of course, holding damp washcloths to his head. A trashcan was next to his bed, already splattered with sick. And all Mike was thinking about was how worried be was for Peter, not how much trouble he must’ve been in from having Peter over without permission and now staying away from home when the sun has clearly already set. That night, Mike had told Peter he loved him and kissed him on the cheek because he didn’t know he was awake.

It doesn’t matter. Whatever Mike’s father was thinking had been horrific, and Peter absolutely does not want to return to that house and investigate the belongings of a man like him for clues about exactly how he abused his eldest son. After all, Mike’s brother is normal. Why not him? Why does it have to be the good natured, incredibly kind, and often shy Mike who would never dream of challenging an authority figure? Perhaps that’s why Dodds Sr. decided to use him. Or the trait may have been carefully cultivated to ensure that the living weapon wouldn’t question orders. Funny, it was Mike’s idea to run away in the first place.

“If my dad’s alarm goes off, the security code is- is my mother’s name,” Mike says, drawing Peter out of his wandering thoughts. “It’s-”

“Ingrid, I know. You know that what happened to her wasn’t your fault.”

“I could’ve saved her.”

Peter wants to argue, but can tell he would make no leeway and it isn’t worth the devastation when they’re already so vulnerable. He can feel Mike’s fear pricking down the back of his neck. Or maybe it’s his own.

In the blink of an eye, Mike’s arms are around him. Just as quickly, they’re gone. Mike’s mind narrows down and he imagines a place for the two of them to meet after they’ve finished investigating, the bodega Peter bought donuts from the night before. Peter projects an affirmation and they turn away from one another, walking quickly with their heads down. The hood of Mike’s sweatshirt is pulled over his head, a good thing because of how recognizable he is. How many times has he appeared on TV, in interviews or at police functions, paraded around like an accessory since before he could understand what he was being used for.

The walk home is grueling. While it takes less than an hour, it leaves Peter exhausted and with pain in his jaw from clenching it so hard the whole way. He knows his own house has nothing, he had searched it enough in the weeks leading up to this because Mike’s questions were starting to get to him. Now it’s time to go to a place he’s visited so rarely, one which Mike has always described as hell on Earth.

Something is off when he gets there. First, the front door is unlocked, which in of itself isn’t a big deal, but he knows it’s unlike Mike’s father not to double and triple check the locks before he leaves. He might still be home. But Peter has to go in, so he cautiously scans the house for thoughts, and finds it perfectly void. And yet, his heart pounds as he turns the knob, his damp palms slipping on the metal, his tennis shoes scuffing against the steps.

He pushes open the door and shuts it softly behind him as if there’s someone around to hear him. Like always, the house is spotless, not lived in, scarcely a home. There are no pictures of Mike or his brother on the walls. No trophies although Mike has won many.  No report cards on the fridge despite Mike’s perfect grades. It feels like walking in a model home devoid of dust or personal affects. Someone actually living here, let alone a family, seems impossible. A voice deep down tells him he should take off his shoes before tracking dirt on the pristine carpet. Funny enough, although Peter has been here before and his own house had the same layout, it feels like navigating a maze. Even the stairs feel wrong.

His very self is off as he climbs to the second level of the brownstone and stares at the three bedrooms. No sense looking in Mike’s. When he opens the door to Mike’s brother, Matt’s, bedroom, the only things in it is are a calendar with a picture of a race car on it, a mattress on the floor with a pillow and blanket, and a few shirts hung up beyond the ajar closet door. This isn’t right.

Without further investigation, he steps out and turns his attention to the master bedroom- Mike’s father’s room. This one is locked, unlike the front door, but Peter can’t come this far and stop now. He throws his shoulder hard against the frame a couple times so it breaks, even though it leaves him with lingering pain.

Peter practically falls into the room once the door cracks open. At first, everything seems normal. A bed, a dresser with a mirror, a desk with neatly organized stationary. Then his eyes land on a couple of key details: the file folder on the corner of the dresser, and the chest at the foot of the bed.

He goes for the folder first because it’s easier to access. As if the bad feeling wasn’t intense enough, when he lifts it up, pictures come tumbling out, and the second he looks at them he wished he hadn’t. Each image is horrific. Photographs of blood and mutilation and violence that have Peter reeling back because it’s like he can taste the pain radiating off of them. It takes every single ounce of his willpower not to throw up as he gathers them back into the folder and puts it where it belongs. He’ll have to ask Mike if he knows anything about those.

Now he has to look at the trunk. After seeing those pictures, he’s terrified by the thought of what he might find in things not just left out in plain sight. Peter drops to his knees and starts messing with the lock. It’s combination, and old, but there are infinite possibilities. Could Mike’s father have chosen it, or would it be random? Should he search for some bolt cutters or something?

As he’s struggling to come up with an idea, the door opens downstairs and he’s bombarded with heavy thoughts from two loud and domineering people. People like Mike’s father. Shit. It takes him seconds to actually identify William Dodds as one of them, and that he doesn’t know the other, and about ten more seconds to realize he should hide.

Peter quickly chooses the closet, the quickest and quietest place to hide where he won’t be immediately visible, and starts trying to barricade his own thoughts so he doesn’t accidentally project. Not like he’s ever been able to successfully do that, of course, but now’s the time to try his best. Especially when footsteps start pounding up the stairs.

[broke-bitch-mountain]

Total Eclipse of the Heart

@quichekolgate its so much later but here’s the next chapter! Idk when the next one will show up, things have gone kind of south recently and I need to sort that out before I can focus on this again but I will update eventually!

Chapter Two: Dawn

The rest of the ball went with little distraction. Besides Lance and Allura’s final dance. It was fine until Lance began apologizing for their predicament. The two were about half way through a waltz before he opened his mouth. “Allura...I’m sorry that this-”

“Don’t apologize.” she stopped him coldly.

“Allura ple-”

“No, I don’t want to hear it.” She snapped.

“But it’s my fault, please let-”

“I’m glad you recognize you’re to blame, but I don’t want to hear an apology.” she glared, “ Unless of course you have some idea on how to stop this like, never being born.”

Lance felt a surge of anger grow in his chest as they danced and suddenly the graceful waltz that masked their fight turned into a struggle to lead. While it didn’t get big enough for the whole crowd to notice, Alfor did see it from across the ballroom and excused himself from speaking to some of the other royal guests to break them up.

“It is an honor to host this event,” he said evenly, “I know neither of you are happy, I am upset as well I promise. But we must keep face.” He gestured to Keith to come and twirl Lance away and began waltzing with Allura tucked close to his chest. Whispering in her ear things that had in her near tears and almost shaking if it weren’t for her father’s strong arms around her.

Keith handed Lance of to Shirogane (or Shrio as Lance found out he prefered) so that he could dance with Lotor. Lance did his best to focus on his dance with Shiro as it seemed he was strongly lacking in that particular part of social life. They ended up swaying back and forth to the rhythm with a twirl or dip every now and then to keep things interesting. Both preferring talking over the music about their lives before that night. Shiro had apparently been in the small military that the earth colony had built over the last few deca-phobs. He had saved the Prince Matt and his sister Princess Katie when they were younger, and, through that connection, became one of the favorite and arguably best soldiers on the field before a training accident took away both his position and his arm. Matt was meant to be the one given to Haggar, but Shiro insisted that he take his place. Which their father somberly, but gratefully, allowed.

Lance listened intently, something about dieing in a week tends to make people talk more about their lives. Like they’re leaving their legacy with whoever is willing to listen. Despite that, Shiro seemed to gloss over more of the story, merely giving enough to follow the line of experience that landed him in Altea. Lance didn’t make much comment beyond what Shiro had prodded him about Altea politics to distract the two from the all too chipper atmosphere from the guests around them.

“I’ve fought for my life but that doesn’t teach you how to accept defeat.” he shrugged with a small smile. Lance couldn’t relate at all, but he was more than happy to change the subject to anything else until Katie came to request a final dance.

That night, Lance fell asleep crying in Keith’s arms. That was their last moment together. Their last dance. He told Keith in detail about how Allura had taught him when they were children and she had started taking lessons. It ended up being more swaying with a couple of drops instead of dips and of course spins that went much longer than they should have to maintain grace. Keith, ever diligent, ran his fingers through his fiance’s hair until the boy's breathing evened out.

Lance woke a few times screaming and crying. Keith however, was a light sleeper so he was there every time to soothe Lance. The third time though, Lance vomited and Keith made him take some medication. After that it was almost an empty and hallowed sleep for both of them.

When Keith shook Lance awake the next morning. It was still dark outside. He helped him into the vanity to put his face mask on. A skill Keith was proud to say he mastered. Then the galran proceeded to the closet to find both of their mourning robes sagging on their hangers. By the time he laid them on the bed, Lance had woken up a bit more and was washing off the mask. He handed a brush to Keith in silence. Keith, worried about making his fiance cry again, choose not to comment on the lack of bed head jabs.

Dawn was only a varga away when they were ready to face the music. The druids where to collect the paladins and bring them to the farewell site. So Keith and Lance headed towards the main entry before Lance straightened and curved to where their nursery was lying in wait for future heirs.

Left untouched beyond the occasional dusting by the staff for maintenance, made the handle squeak and the door groan as Lance pushed it open. The toys were neatly put away ready at a moment's notice to be played with utter abandon like they had been before. Though the twin beds that once framed the large window where long gone. The peach light was soft in the small light that snuck in between the curtains. Lance spared only a glance at the room though, worried about missing his last chance to make amends with Allura drowning himself in memories of happier days. Quickly, he ran to the shelf and shoved some of the dolls around, causing a cloud of dust that had been hiding engulf his face. He gasped, “here it-” then fell into a coughing fit.

“Inhaling a cloud of dust, not your smartest move, babe. What is that?”

“Allura’s doll. It was a gift.” Lance explained quickly getting back up and rushing towards the door.

Some of the paladins were already there. Klaziap seemed almost impatient for their journey to begin while Shay, who was just arriving, still seemed rather shaky. There was a druid on either side of her, and what looked like handprints on her wrists and forearms. Allura only had one on her, but she was practically glued to their father’s shoulder. No sign of Shiro or Lotor yet.

Lance headed straight for his sister, making eye contact with his father when the man tensed. Lance held up the doll in peace and Alfor nodded and nudged Allura. Quietly, Lance handed her the doll, whispering something that made Allura tear up. Keith couldn’t really hear with how far back he had stayed. But the general message was clear when Allura brought him into a teary tight hug. Keith looked away, trying to guess when his brother would show up. It was unlike him to be anything but first where he could be.

Shiro showed up almost right before they had to leave. HIs face was pale and his eyes seemed almost dead inside. He was clutching his right arm close to him. Three, Lance noticed. But keith wa still looking for Lotor.

The Quintessence Transferal Ceremony only happened so often. Cases like Shiro, Shay and Klaziap where either voluntary or elected by the people. It was considered a great honor in those cultures as it signified some element of greatness above the rest of their people. Allura and Lotor, however, came from a monarch based government deeply rooted in tradition like the paladins of old. The first born was given unless they were an only child. Even so, Lotor had considered it a triumph to have his name forever carved in the stars. It was unsettling that he wasn’t present.

Finally, two more druid’s came and whispered in Alfor’s ear. The two spoke hurriedly, as close to panicked as anyone had ever seen them which was a rare thing considering their robes and masks hiding everything but their hands and postures. The matter was probably meant to be private but Lance heard it and loudly asked, “Missing? WHat do you mean missing?”

The small gathering of people turned their heads, a murmur drifted across the group. Alfor raised his hand to silence them. “It would appear that Lotor of Daibazaal has gone missing.”

Keith seemed to be rooted to the spot, frozen in confusion other than his mouth voicing his thoughts. “He wouldn’t just leave. He’s been waiting for this for as long as I can remember.”

“Right you are Keith,” Alfor soothed, “It would appear that he was taken, if the state of his room is as the druids have said.”

Keith was already running towards his brother’s guest chambers. Lance close on his heel with a surprised shout of his name, not that the galran prince took any mind.

Rushing through the lush halls, the two nearly slammed into the ornate door. It was almost weakly pushed open with a groan of protest, in the wrong direction leaving evidence of broken hinges. Lance glanced quickly at the handle that had been ripped off and leaving a gaping hole. Paladins weren’t supposed to lock their door after an incident during one of the first ceremonies where one refused to leave their room at all. Lotor wouldn’t have broken a rule so blaisadly.

The bedsheets were half off the bed, pillows scattered and one blown to pieces, most likely makeshift weapons. There was a dent in the side of the dresser and the balcony window was broken. Keith stood still, taking in the destruction while Lance inched forward to inspect the window for fabric scraps or blood.

“The ceremony can not be complete with three.” One of the druids supplied, slipping up behind the two boys from the shadows.

“Wait, three?” Lance asked. Maybe with Lotor gone, his father withdrew Allura…

“The Aurusian went ahead without a guide. It is unlikely that he will find his way.”

“And none of you went after him?” Lance asked unbelieving.

“Our concern is the prince of Daibazaal, the Aurusian is replaceable.”

“It looks like Lotor put up quite a fight.” Shiro noted as he entered the broken door. There were a handful of people outside the frame from the farewell but Lance could only make out his family as they followed Shiro inside to inspect the damage.

“The ceremony must be finished before Haggar comes. We don’t have time to find new paladins.” Alfor stated.

“We have a week before she comes.” Keith reasoned, “They have one night on us, if that. If we hurry we can still catch them.”

“And if you don’t?” Alfor asked.

“Then I’ll take my brother’s place.”

“Keith!” Lance gasped. He could barely handle losing Allura, in large part to his fiance’s support. He wouldn’t be able to handle losing both of them “...I’m going with you. And if we don’t find Lotor...I’m taking Allura’s place.”

He could feel his father’s eyes on his back. The weight he seemed to take off and add at the same time. Allura’s hand though was what made him turn around. “Lance, you can’t!”

But Lance just did his best to show the pain and worry in his eye, prayed that they understood. Allura was still confused when their father pulled her closer to him and turned his stare to the druid. Lance turned and squared off the cloaked figure, “Is that acceptable?”

“Indeed it is.” the druid nodded, “but without the Aursuian, one more paladin is needed.”

“I can probably track Klaizap and Lotor.” the younger earthing piped up. “He was mumbling something about footprints in the dirt, so there’s a way of finding out which way he’s going. Hell, he may think he’s already looking for Lotor. All I need is something of theirs to match an energy signature to.”

“And if your machine doesn’t work?” the druid asked.

“Wow, you’re all over making people who fail take the fall aren’t you.” the earthing mouthed off sarcastically. At the shocked and awed silence that followed her statement she added with a huff, “Fine, I’ll take his place if this fails. Geeze.”

“Katie!”

“Relax Matt.” she shot over her shoulder, “I’ll be fine.”

Matt looked ready to keep fighting but the third earthing placed a hand on his shoulder and looked to the druid for the final word.

“This arrangement is agreeable.” it nodded and turned to Keith and Lance, “You have five days to find Lotor and Klaizap and to be back here. Or else Haggar will threaten all our very lives.”