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gremlinp0lice · 4 years

Text

Night Lovin’ Thing

Prompt: Draco reacting to finding the reader dancing to muggle music. Specifically Dirty Diana by Michael Jackson. Specifically this choreography. https://youtu.be/JavMJziiLjE

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Female Reader

Word Count: 3253

Rating: Explicit

CW: Smut, language, voyeurism

Draco Malfoy was an enigma. Spoiled, rich, handsome, rude, and smart as a whip—he could even give Granger a run for her money if he applied himself. All that put into one young man (plus a little ‘bad-boy’ reputation) should make him the fantasy of any teenage witch or wizard, and you were no exception. But you knew better than to chase after him because that’s all it was—a fantasy, a crush, a fixation. With half of the castle out to get him, and the rest out to snog him, there was no way you ever stood a fighting chance. You knew that, and you had made your peace with that. You were much more realistic.

Which made it all the more painful that you found yourself lost in a daydream while staring at the back of his head in Potions class.

“Eyes to yourself,” your desk mate (and roommate), Pansy bloody Parkinson, swats at your arm and gives you a nasty look, “or they might just fall out of your head.”

Rolling your eyes, you go back to your notes, muttering, “I don’t even know what you see in him, Pans, he’s actually a bit of a prat.” Your words seem to light a fire in her, and her eyes burn with rage for a fleeting moment, and she opens her mouth as if to bite back before closing it just as quickly.

You smirk to yourself; Pansy was all talk after all, but she could still be bloody scary when the mood suited her (and it usually did).

You steal another look at Draco, a fleeting glance, really, and see his eyes looking back. He looks almost wounded, as if he had heard what you had said. You turn away, baffled. It must have been a trick of the light, or the fumes from your cauldron—Draco Malfoy would barely give you the time of day, much less be upset over something that you had said.

The lesson, blessedly, concludes soon after, and you practically skip out of the classroom and head for the dormitories, hoping to get there before Pansy does. All the while, all you can think about is the look on his face.

You have about twelve seconds alone in your room before Pansy bursts in, wand drawn. You know she won’t use it (probably), but you pull your own wand close to you just in case.

“That was extremely rude, you know. He heard you. Didn’t your filthy muggle father teach you any manners?” She’s been angry with you before, but never so mad that she has attacked your family. After all, both Tracey and Millicent were half-bloods as well, and she should know better than to bring blood status into whatever squabble you were having.

“First of all, do not speak about my family like that if you value yours, Parkinson,” you snap, drawing yourself to your full heigh (which wasn’t very tall, but you worked with what you had) “and second, I don’t care. Did I upset your boyfriend? What a pity. What are you going to do about it?”

“You don’t even know him, so piss off, and besides,” her wand drops to her side and she wilts, “We’re not together. Neither of us want to be tied down at the moment. It’s called being mature, have you heard of it?”

Clearly, Pansy had not. You also suspect that their arrangement was less than mutual, but you knew how badly Pansy pined over the boy, so you pulled back. You knew how to pick your battles.

“Listen, I may have been out of line in class, and if I see him later, I will apologize, alright?” you offer, and she sniffs, but nods in approval, “But if you ever speak about my father like that again, it’s you who I will have to apologize to, and believe me I will make it count.”

A look of fear passes across Pansy’s face, but she keeps a stiff upper lip, glowering at you. Whatever, you didn’t need this. It was a nice afternoon, and a Friday to boot, and the castle would soon be empty.

Taking a deep breath, you collect your thoughts, ignoring Pansy as she leaves the room in a huff. You change into something more comfortable, something with more movement, and pack your bag with the essentials; the old radio that your mother had charmed for you years ago, and a pair of sturdy, strappy black heels… ready for some release.

Dropping your bag gently on the floor of the dusty room, you take a moment to examine the room. It was a tiny old Muggle Studies classroom, more of a large closet really, on the third floor that you had convinced Professor McGonagall to let you use as a dance space in your fourth year. As long as no one needed the room, you didn’t make too much noise, and you kept it clean, you could do whatever you wanted in here. You had put a lot of work into it, managing to craft a barre (with the help of Professor Sprout) and you even got ahold of some old, floor-length mirrors left behind by Lockhart. With plenty of natural light streaming in from the windows, it made for a pretty good studio. It wasn’t much, but it served its purpose well.

You plop gracelessly to the floor and begin to stretch, feeling that pleasant burning sensation in your hamstring when you lean down so far that your nose touches your knee. As the feeling fades, you feel the stress of your day go along with it; as your body loosens up, so does your mind, until there’s only one thought still stuck in your mind. You roll your shoulders and stand; he’ll go away soon enough when you start to actually move.

With a wave of your wand, the radio crackles to life, it’s not terribly loud, but it suits your needs. It was tuned in to a muggle station playing Michael Jackson’s greatest hits— perfect. You listened to the King of Pop with your father often enough when you were home, laughing whenever he would try to moonwalk across the kitchen floor. There was something about the singer, though, something in his voice that moved you to move as well, something that made you feel powerful, strong, even a bit seductive (not that you would admit that thought to anyone). This was the perfect thing to get you out of your head and into your body.

With another wave of your wand, the door slams shut, and it’s just you and the music, and that’s just the way you like it.

She says that’s okay, hey baby do what you want... I’ll be your night-lovin’ thing, I’ll be the freak you can taunt…

You had found your inspiration, a beat that moved you deeper than any magic spell could and had begun refining the movements that your body had come up with. With a wave of your wand, the song starts over and you return to your first position, you just had to get this right. Not that you would ever show anyone this dance, it wasn’t for anyone else to see.

This was for you.

Though, you couldn’t deny the raw and enticing confidence that this dance was instilling within you, and that maybe, one day, you would dance like this for someone…

With a flip of your hair and a shrug of your shoulder, you were completely focused.

She likes the boys in the band, she knows when they come to town…

Sometimes it made you nervous, the way you could channel the lyrics, written about people you were nothing like, and turn them into a dance that was, inexplicably, them.

This one was all about the legs—kicking, bending over, dropping to the ground in a deep split that made you feel so alluring that when you got to your feet you almost expected to be followed by a herd of salivating admirers. You would look over your shoulder, give them a smirk and a wave before moving on… This isn’t about them anyway.

It wasn’t about him anyway.

You still couldn’t get him out of your head. When you dropped to the floor, you imagined him landing on top of you. When you ran your hands down your chest in time with the rhythm, you imagined they were his hands, pulling you close. And that scared you.

And I don’t care what you say, I want to go too far, I’ll be your everything…

You had never felt like this about him before, never thought about him like this- so obsessively.

Just keep dancing… Out of your head and into your body… You would forget if you just kept moving…

Blimey, it’s so hot in here you can barely breath.

She looked me deep in the eyes, she's touchin' me so to start… She says there's no turnin' back, she trapped me in her heart…

Raising one arm above your head, you pull your loose tank top off with a flourish as you strike a pose. Catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, you look… good. The black bralette you’re wearing (the one with the lace, not the flower print) accentuates your modest curves nicely, and you feel good, sexy almost. How could you not, with the music playing like that, and those lyrics—this is not a song you ever listened to with your father.

Forgoing the choreography that you had been practicing, you decide to let yourself feel the music again, finding a new rhythm for your new confidence.

You had never danced like this before, caressing your body like this, moving your hips like that, shaking your hair out so wildly, so unabashed.

And it felt good.

Until the song ends.

Until you hear heavy breathing from the door.

Bollocks.

You whip around, crossing your arms over your chest, to catch a glimpse of your voyeur, frozen in the corridor. Of course.

Draco Malfoy stood in the doorway; eyes wide, breathless. He’s not moving, he’s not speaking, he doesn’t even have that silly little smirk that seemed to be permanently stuck on his face, he’s just… watching you. Somehow that was worse.

“Malfoy,” you say quietly, voice scantly above a whisper, “what are you doing here?”

Your voice seems to jolt him out of whatever trance he’s in, and he steps forward into the room, which you realize now is extremely small, and closes the door behind him. You instinctively cross your arms over your chest.

“I- I, uh, I just came to talk to you, I didn’t mean to intrude,” he stumbles over his words, eyes bouncing all around the room before landing back on you, “but I’m glad that I did.” His composure returned, he steps forward, eyes dark, one eyebrow cocked and…

There’s that bloody smirk.

“How did you even know where to find me?” you ask, shivering under his gaze, contemplating whether to hear him out or throw him out.

“I hear that you can be found here most afternoons,” he says, chuckling softly, running one long finger along the barre.

“Yes well, you’ve found me,” you start, but you’re not quite sure how to stop. This exact scenario had played out in your head countless times, and you had to take a deep breath to recenter yourself, and not let your imagination run away with you.

“I have, haven’t I?” he looks down at your shoes, dragging his eyes back up your body. Merlin, was he just going to stand here toying with you or do something? “You know, it’s funny. I seem to have completely forgotten what I was going to say. The way you move is a bit hypnotic, I think.”

He’s so close to you, Merlin he’s close. You had never realized how much bigger he was than you—taller, broader, he could throw you over his shoulder as if you weighed no more than a bowtruckle if he wanted to.

This is your chance, you realize. You can apologize to him for what you said in class, just like you told Pansy you would do.

Or you could…

“Did you like what you saw?” you ask, voice low, almost husky. You can’t bring yourself to look him in the eye yet, you just can’t.

Draco is quiet for what feels like an eternity, the only sound the crackling or the radio and your breathing.

“Yeah, I really, really did.”

Merlin’s beard, this boy was going to kill you.

“Would you like me to show you some of my moves?” You can hardly believe the words are coming out of your mouth—this is insane, you feel insane! It’s taking everything in you to keep your composure, and you allow yourself to glance up at him.

His grey eyes are dark, cloudy, a few strands of that platinum blond hair falling in his face, and you barely recognize him.

“Actually,” he murmurs, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “I was hoping I could show you some of mine.”

That’s all it took for you to take him in your arms and kiss him, which was just as well because he was kissing you back. With both hands tangling in his hair, his loop around your waist and pull you even closer. The feeling of his body pressed against yours is intoxicating, and you have to pull away for a moment to breathe.

“You have no idea,” he mutters between fervent nips at your ear and neck, “how long I’ve wanted this.”

You let your head fall back as he lavished you with his lips and tongue, world spinning, as he begins to guide you backwards until your thighs hit the edge of a desk pushed up against the wall.

Shaking fingers working the buttons of his shirt, you do your best to return his kisses, though it’s hard to maneuver, let along think, when his mouth is doing such beautiful things to your skin.

You can’t explain the magnetism between you two, it’s almost frightening, but you can’t bring yourself to care. It was as if you had known he was watching, as if your dancing was foreplay for whatever was unfolding between you now. You weren’t scared at the thought of him watching you, you liked it, and that scared you more. Or maybe it just turned you on.

“Fuck!” you keened as he sucked hard at your neck, his hands and mouth roaming all over your body, grabbing onto any piece of flesh that they could.

His fingers tease at your nipples through the lace of your bralette, which was so thin and flimsy you may as well not have been wearing anything. You arch into him at the contact, eyes wide as you realize that his other hand is travelling further down your body.

“Is this what you want?” he whispers in your ear, rubbing you through your athletic shorts.

Is this what you wanted, to be fucked by Draco Malfoy in an empty classroom? You never did this sort of thing, not this quickly at least, but there was something about him, about what you felt. Maybe it was the dancing, the music that made you feel like this, maybe it was the fact that he was watching you, or maybe you just really needed a good shag. Whatever the reason, you knew your answer.

“Yes Draco, please,” you choke out, helping him to take off your tiny shorts. You reach down to unlace the heels your wearing, but he grasps your wrist and pulls it away.

“Those stay on,” he says, well, commands, and fuck if you couldn’t come from just his voice alone. You nod and loop your arms around his neck, allowing yourself to be picked up and placed on the desk behind you.

Draco wastes no time, reaching between your legs and thumbing at your clit in a way that makes you quiver beneath him. You breathe hard against his neck as he works two fingers into your cunt, pressing sloppy kisses to the skin there while wrapping your legs around his waist. Merlin did his fingers feel like heaven, drawing in and out of you, curling against your walls so that your vision went fuzzy. If his fingers felt this good, you mused, his cock has to be divine.

On the cusp of orgasm, you bat his hands away, reaching for the button of his pants. As much as you wanted to come, you wanted it to be on his cock.

Pushing his slacks and underwear down to his knees, his length bobs free, red and glistening under your touch.

“Ready?” he pumps his cock once, twice, pressing in close to you. Your head is swimming and you can hardly string together a coherent thought, but you are certain of one thing.

“Fuck me.”

As soon as the words leave your lips, his inside you. You yelp—his cock is much bigger than his fingers, but nothing that you can’t handle. You feel full, grinding your hips against his to get more of that delicious friction.

He mutters a curse under his breath, “You,” he breathes, “are so bloody gorgeous,” he maintains a steady rhythm that is starting to drive you a bit mad, adding to the heat building deep within you, “I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted you, and to see you like this now,” he pants, “about to come on my cock… it’s fucking breathtaking.”

It doesn’t take much longer for you, until you’ve wrapped yourself around him, moaning in his ear, and coming, hard. He holds you close, crushing your body into his, fucking you through the aftershocks as you finally come down.

But then something’s not right.

The door opens and you both freeze, panting.

“Sorry for interrupting your ‘you-time,’ but I wanted to say—”

Pansy. Bloody. Parkinson.

You shut your eyes tight as you see the look of complete rage you see spreading across your face, and Draco cranes his neck to catch a glimpse of her.

And he starts thrusting into you again.

“We’re a bit busy,” he says breathlessly, hips still rocking against you, “would you mind shutting the door?”

You hear Pansy sputtering for a moment, before the slam of the door, and you open your eyes.

Draco is gazing intently at you, and bears down harder than before, making your heart race yet again.

You come again, just before he does, his hips stuttering to a halt as you hold each other, pressed together so tightly you wonder if you will ever separate.

You do, of course, but not without some effort. In a breathless heap, the two of you slide to the floor, where you find your wand and cast a cleansing charm. Draco has his back against the desk, and you lean against his chest, trying to catch your breath.

It was nice, holding each other like this. He ran his hands up and down your arms, a soothing motion that tempted you to fall asleep right then and there, but there was much to discuss before that.

“Did… did that—”

“Yeah.”

“Merlin’s saggy left—”

“I know.”

The two of you burst into a fit of laughter for a brief moment, cruelly reveling in Pansy’s subsequent misery.

“Bloody hell,” you groan, an unfortunate realization striking you, “I have to share a room with her.”

#harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #hp ff #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy fanfiction #michael jackson #dirty diana #cw: smut #Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy tiktok #pansy parkinson #gremlinpolice #cw: voyeurism

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beeshavethrees · 3 years

Photo

HEY LOOK it’s an AU I’ve sat on for a couple years and never talked about! This is also probably the *weirdest* AU I’ve ever made. This AU focuses mainly on Alexander and Thomas reincarnating over the years, though other characters sometimes pop up as well. Details below the cut!

Making the photoset small so that it isn’t immediately obvious how rough these little sketches are. I did this in like an hour which is why it’s so sloppy.

Don’t expect anything else from this AU, I just wanted to get it out once.

As stated this is a really weird AU, so I’m going to summarize it in the cleanest way I possibly can.

World setup:

This world relies on three main concepts. The first is that souls have power, and the second is that this power is represented by colors, and the third is that soul magic leads the world.

Souls have power, and this power grows over time. As someone is reincarnated over the years, their soul will continue to grow more and more powerful and refined. Souls can change their power type (explained in the next concept) each time they’re reincarnated, but often trend towards keeping the same or similar power types as those they’ve had in previous lives, or a mix of them.

This power is represented by colors, particularly light or the lack thereof. Magic is defined as two types: white/light (and its components), or black/dark. Someone can not have both types of magic. Dark magic is organic magic, allowing the user to manipulate the natural world. Only a small subset of the population has this magic, and most go into careers related to naturalism or farming. Light magic is inorganic magic (making it essentially limitless), and is held by the vast, vast majority of the population. It is broken down in the color spectrum -- most light magicians aren’t considered as having light magic, but instead have red magic, or blue magic, or so on.

Soul magic leads the world in the form of the High God. As the power of souls grow over time, so does the power of the gods. The High God is little more than a web of scraps of magic, and builds up the basis of the universe and everything within it. Two Lesser Gods are also much later brought into being by this same force of magic, but where the High God is concerned with the cosmos, the Lesser Gods care for the beings within it. The Lesser Gods also pluck individual souls out of the cycle to act as servants and ambassadors who can actively visit humanity to guide it down the path of the Lesser God’s vision. The Lesser Gods can correspond with the High God, but there’s little to be heard by a being in such a grand scale above even the other gods.

Plot basics:

The storyline takes place over thousands of years, and several reincarnations of the cast, but the main focus is on three lives.

One of three: This life takes place while humanity is still only beginning to gain its footing. Magic is in its infancy, and is capable of very little -- and while some regions embrace the natural variation in magic, others detest it. The main cast lives in an area of the latter sort -- a small tribe identifying themselves with their “red” magic is clashing with the “blue” tribe over a small area of land that grows a particular herb that is highly nutritious and thought to have healing properties. The one thing the two tribes agree over is in a legend of people with every magic type, “light” magicians, who are incredibly powerful and are sent by fate to lead tribes to prosperity. Both tribes also identify their affiliations by painting stripes under their eyes with their color.

(There are other tribes in the area -- many of the other cast members live in the green tribe, and Lafayette is of the dark tribe to the south, but they don’t have much standing on the plot.)

Thomas is the son of a the blue tribe’s leader and is particularly gifted with magic to the point where some people claim his family must descend from a light magician. He hates the pressure put on him to step up and lead, or to use his powers to defeat the red tribe.

Alexander is from the red tribe, raised by his mother -- his father is unknown to him, though his mother claims she found his father one day while out foraging, brought him back to the village to tend to his wounds, and fell in love until the day he ran away again. Alexander is a typical red magician, but often will go out alone into the woods to attempt to push his powers to the limits, with the excuse that he forages while away. One day, Alexander leaves to forage, but becomes caught in a heavy thunderstorm. Disoriented, he stumbles through the underbrush until he comes to a messy trail and follows it.

Thomas is the one to find him collapsed on the trail, bunches of the herb Alexander collected in his small bag. The rain washed away Alexander’s paint -- not knowing who this stranger could be, Thomas hauls him back and takes the herb from Alexander’s back to give to the healers.

When Alexander wakes up -- indoors, clothes dry -- he’s approached by Thomas, who introduces himself. Alexander is at first terrified, knowing that a member of Thomas’ tribe wouldn’t hesitate to kill a member of the red tribe. But Thomas has been working on a plan: he doesn’t want all this pressure on him to do this and do that as the heir to the only family descending from a light magician; instead, he slyly mentions that he heard legend of light magicians appearing to aid those in need. Alexander jumps on the opportunity, claiming that of course he’s a light magician, and of course he’ll help Thomas’ community. Anything to stop them from stabbing him then and there, he supposes. Thomas thanks him, hands him a bowl of broth made from the healing herbs, and their relationship develops from there.

Alexander never does find out his father was a light magician.

But other folks find out he’s a red magician -- and before he can escape back to his own tribe, he’s killed.

Two of three: Thousands of years later, magic is no longer a faint power only a few can properly utilize. Instead, it’s well-known and spread through the population, which isn’t tribal any longer, but is instead a relatively highly-developed interlocked society spanning the globe.

No longer are people defined by a single color -- many people descend from a mixture of many colors, and instead are simply inclined towards one over the other, though some stronger than others. Light magic has also become far more common, though it’s rare to see someone who can naturally use it; instead, people with great magical affinity will be invited to schools of higher education where they are trained.

Thomas is in his second year studying with one such school. His parents both attended it, and are ecstatic for Thomas to join it as well, though he’s less interested. He’s initially invited to the school to study light magic, but during the first week of orientation he finds out: hey! He hates light magic and isn’t inclined towards it at all! And instead he runs off to study blue magic. It just...feels better.

Alexander comes into the school a year after Thomas on a full scholarship. He comes from a far more unfortunate background, but shows incredible magic potential. So, a light magician it is! Where the other magics at the school dress however they want, work on projects all over the common spaces, wander the halls...to be a light magician is to be perfect, and that’s exactly what he wants. He dresses in the perfect white uniform, he sticks his nose up at other magics, and his class -- only one, all day, every day -- is set with the other 99 students in his class in an auditorium.

Only...light magic isn’t all it’s cracked out to be. Light magic is no longer the raw force of power it was; instead, students are encouraged to refine and control it if they want to use it. Light magic is pulled from the soul and spun into a string, then woven on a loom into the desired shape. First-years are still learning how to weave, so they work on projects as a community -- each student of the 100 is brought up to a stage during class, spins a single string, then sets it on the loom and sits down. The lecturer then weaves them all together. Though first-years are forbidden from meeting with the upper years, rumor says upper years get to weave their own magic, and go on to work at the greatest government-run magi-tech facilities in the world.

But Alexander feels off. He doesn’t like the clothes, and he doesn’t like the culture. Within the first month, the lecture becomes dull: there’s no notes to take, every demonstration is slow, and he’s terrified that every time it’s his turn to come to the stage, he’ll mess up his weave. Not only that, but weaving doesn’t feel...right.

One day he runs into a group of blue students while going to the restroom during lecture. They’re encouraged not to leave during lecture, but he’s falling asleep and has to get out of that uncomfortable chair. And he realizes...the blue students are using their magic freely, and already doing amazing things with their powers, not spending all their days in that awful lecture hall.

And just like that, Thomas convinces him to leave the light magic program. Alexander becomes a red magician, but something never does sit right with him about what was happening in those lectures.

Until it comes out that weaving light magic requires depositing a bit of one’s soul along with it. Light-weaving magicians will all burn out eventually, and while the soul will regenerate come their next reincarnation, their magic is stolen from them in their current incarnation.

Chaos breaks out among the magicians of the school. A microcosm of revolution between those who are learned and powerful and those who are plentiful and ready to throw all they have at it.

Alexander is killed in the chaos.

Three of three: Another several thousand years pass. It’s by this time that the Lesser Gods have fully formed, and light-weaving technology has surpassed all else to the point where humanity is post-scarcity -- cities are rebuilt for beauty, natural spaces carved out, portals and magic commonly integrated. Everyone has everything they could want, they only need to find their place and personal happiness.

Thomas is plucked out of the reincarnation cycle by the Lesser Gods; he’s brought into being as an adult with a strictly light-blue uniform and a purpose. He mainly takes correspondence and delivers messages, seeks out additional souls that would be good to be made into a being such as himself (a ”unit”), as well as various other duties assigned at random, such as setting things up if another unit will be doing things down in the world.

He doesn’t personally recommend Alexander’s soul be pulled, but he doesn’t mind when he’s assigned to wake Alexander up. Alexander is another unit, but this time an enforcer with a pink uniform: or, white-red, to be specific. An enforcer is more than a passive messenger -- they’re powerful, strong, and are meant to cleanly eliminate those who would destroy the perfect society humanity has built.

He and Alexander work next to each other for a time while Alexander is awaiting orders. One day, Alexander is sent off on a mission: some random crazy person has been trying to build an artificial god. Of course, that won’t fly, so he’s off to eliminate them and destroy anything remaining of their project.

But in his absence, Thomas starts to realize that he’s...lonely. He’s excited when he’s given his next assignment to go to Earth for some silly routine work, and realizes that he doesn’t...really want to go back. James is the final nail in the coffin for him: finally, someone else who likes him! They just have to disappear and pop off elsewhere, ideally avoiding enforcers, and they’ll be off scott free!

Shame that Alexander finds him.

(The funny thing about Thomas being a servant is that he does have some powers -- ones that happen to counteract all of Alexander’s offensive abilities as an enforcer. Making it a very awkward sort of manhunt. Units were never made to hunt each other, or even defect at all!)

And with each escape, every thwarted plan, Alexander cracks a little more. And eventually, when Thomas extends a hand -- maybe out of pity, maybe out of love, maybe just because it’s what he’s always done in all their lives -- Alexander takes it.

And they run free.

And that’s it for this AU! I’m never writing for it ever again. Goodnight.

#jamilton #hamilton #hamilton: an american musical

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popatochisssp · 4 years

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Heya Poppy! I’m loving the new gem headcanons and was wondering if you have a diamond au too? Or any other stuff about the new gems? I love this au so much

Ohoho, of course I do! I do have the new gems’ Backstories, but since you asked about the Diamond AU specifically... UwU

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away...

Cubic Zirconia (Undergloom Sans) emerges alone, in an abandoned Kindergarten galaxies upon galaxies away from Homeworld’s (known) reaches. He doesn’t stay alone for very long, and not too much later, Moissanite (Undergloom Papyrus) emerges too--another gem.

...Not that they...know too much beyond the fact that they’re both gems. They certainly have no idea that they’re both products of diamond replication experiments at this outpost, commissioned by the (recently ceased) Void Diamond and forgotten when The War began and other priorities became more important.

But! They have each other, so even if their origin is shrouded in mystery and there’s nobody else here on this dusty, deserted rock of a planet, they both decide things could be worse.

They go about their lives for awhile, poking around in things, bonding with each other, making guesses about their species and civilization from their bare-bones programming and the artifacts of the Kindergarten.

It passes the time.

And then, one day, the seismic activity starts.

The two of them have no idea what’s happening or what to do about it; if there’s anything to do about it, and it’s a stressful few cycles before they get any solid answers.

Raw Diamond (Horrorfell Sans), clawing himself up through the ground from the deepest, darkest caverns of the planet, is about as ‘solid’ as an answer gets.

Cubic and Moissanite shouldn’t know the newcomer at all, yet they find themselves automatically saluting, calling him ‘My Diamond,’ and Raw...

Raw is just as confused as they are.

He doesn’t know what’s going on either, where they are, what he is, who he is… he simply is.

He couldn’t know that he’s a forgotten project of Void Diamond’s, too, a new diamond meant to join the ranks with him and Brown and Gray as their empire expanded and needed more leadership. He was simply left in the ground to incubate without being refined or even cut.

(He's monstrous, huge even for a Diamond, and oddly formed with a crooked jaw that won’t open and a hole in his skull…but Cubic and Moissanite hardly know any better than he does what he’s supposed to look like, so no one makes any mention of it.)

Freshly emerged and very lost, it goes without saying that Raw wants answers. The Imitation brothers have a few, but nowhere near as many as he’s after, and he stubbornly demands to be shown around the Kindergarten and the outpost, to see it for himself.

And it all lights up for him in a way it never did for the two that came first, doors and sensors and screens coming to life, responding to the signature of a true diamond. There’s brand new access to everything, reports, records, files and procedures… they learn a lot about what they are, what they’re supposed to be and what they’re not.

They also learn how true diamonds are made, in full and not just halfway.

Raw is certain this is the answer. Cubic and Moissanite are the first of their kind, they barely have any programming, but a diamond…a diamond done right and not left unfinished like he was, surely they would know more and be able to make sense of…whatever it is they’re not getting.

The brothers aren’t totally convinced... but admittedly, they don’t have any better ideas and well…rough he may be, but Raw is a diamond…

Champagne Diamond (Horrorfell Papyrus) unfolds himself gracefully from a craggy cliffside on the abandoned planet, massive in size but otherwise perfect—and he does have some answers.

Champagne knows he is a Diamond and he knows of gemkind. He knows of their society and of their directive to expand their empire.

…What he doesn’t know is the answer to Cubic’s well-meaning query of ‘...what empire?’

Champagne has no clue where the hell all the other gems are, where this little rock is in relation to the Empire, if the Empire even still exists if this place has been abandoned as long as all the charts and data logs say it has been.

He wants answers as much as Raw does, possibly even moreso…but to even start looking for them, they have to get the hell off this planet.

As it turns out, what he lacks in inherent knowledge of their status and origin and social structures, Raw has a real knack for gem-tech, understanding the principles and functions of even the old and mostly broken down devices they have access to, enough to design a passable space-faring craft that they all pitch in to build.

The first world the quartet comes across is empty now, but was once uniquely occupied by both gems and by organics. There’s a handful of gem structures, Kindergartens, bases, et cetera--long abandoned and in disarray of course, but hiding lots of new data and potential clues to mine about what happened to gemkind, and more importantly, where the fuck Homeworld is...

(Like the lost city of Punt, it seems that nobody ever thought to store something as obvious as Homeworld’s coordinates anywhere in the days before warp pads--why bother? Everyone knew where it was.)

There’s a lot to repair and sift through, a whole planet’s worth of it, and there’s only four of them, so it’s probably going to take awhile…

So when Raw finds some old notes that this planet would be a good candidate to incubate a diamond if not for all the useful organic life on it, he nudges Champagne and jokes that all the organic life is gone now, maybe they should…?

To Raw’s surprise, however, Champagne is intrigued.

It could be something worth thinking about, actually… Another pair of hands, another set of eye-sockets… a diamond would be a costly investment, both time and resource-wise, but certainly more bang for the buck than a mess of soldiers or technicians that they really don’t need…

Plus, it’s something to do while they scour the whole damn globe for everything of use on it.

So... might as well try it.

A nice chunk of forest is summarily leveled by Cloudy Diamond (Horrorswapfell Sans) when he decides he’s good and ready to emerge—and while he’s certainly an extra pair of hands for the group, the eye-sockets…didn’t really work out the way they’d thought.

Cloudy, it turns out, is blind as a bat, a defective diamond—but still a diamond, able to interface with and access everything the other two diamonds can, if guided to it.

He sticks with Cubic and Moissanite, mostly, a quid pro quo sort of arrangement that works for everyone, at least until everything of use and worth is mined out of the artifacts of the planet, and it’s time to move on to the next lead: what seems to have been a military base on an almost entirely aquatic world.

Cloudy isn’t interested in visiting a water-world, not for a long-term stay like they’re talking about. He prefers solid ground beneath his feet at least most of the time...and he actually has very little investment in their Quest for Homeworld, so he decides that he’ll stay here.

The others question if he’s sure, and even offer to leave at least Moissanite with him to help him around, but he refuses. Aside from not feeling altogether right about splitting Moissanite and Cubic, Cloudy has his pride and he’ll manage just fine. He is a diamond, after all!

And so off the others go to the military installation.

Raw has a great time digging around in all the decaying ships and weaponry, Cubic and Moissanite explore the things left behind by the gems that were once upon a time stationed there, and Champagne researches.

Cloudy’s defect...weighs on him, though...

(Possibly because they kind of…created the poor guy, imperfect, and then left him there, which sucks… but Champagne is a diamond and doesn’t have half the emotional intelligence to realize the injustice of that is what’s bugging him.)

He somehow decides that it’s the defect itself that’s bothering him, that he failed to create a 100% functional diamond. But he didn’t fail, he could do it, if he tried again…which he’s not going to do, just to prove a point, to himself even and not anybody else!

………

That’s exactly what he does.

Pink Diamond (Horrorswap Sans) rises from the sea one day, kicking up a tsunami in his wake, much to the surprise of the others who were definitely not kept in the loop on this matter.

Champagne, for his part, is unapologetic and unashamed: Pink is a total success, strong and complete and perfectly formed (aside from, perhaps, the occasional, very minor glitching of his physical body... but that can surely be put down to all that water he was incubated beneath, smoothing his intended rose-cut over time into something more like a cabochon. That’s nothing to do with him...)

Pink, for his part, is happy to help and join the search for answers.

He dives right into it all without complaint…until…

Well...

Seeing Cubic and Moissanite, and Raw and Champagne…they get along so well, and his recent arrival hasn’t opened up any space for him in their dynamics.

He’s very pointedly the odd man out, and it’s enough to make a diamond quite lonely, quite aware that he’s the only gem here without a brother to call his own.

………

Taking a page from Champagne’s book, telling absolutely no one, Pink sets out to squeeze one more diamond out of this big ball of water, even though the planet’s resources are low after his emergence.

It’s not long before Olive Diamond (Horrorswap Papyrus) is slogging out of a dark, wet swamp, assisted by his brother—which is appreciated, because he seems to have a hard time keeping his legs to retain the ‘hard’ part of ‘hard light projection.’ Sometimes they’re solid light and sometimes they’re only light and maybe that’s what happens when you try to make a gem from a planet that’s running on empty...

Pink is delighted by his new sibling all the same!

Even so, a rule is made amongst the gems after that and agreed to by all: nobody makes anymore gems without telling somebody, no more surprises!

………

In retrospect, they probably should’ve decided on that rule a lot sooner, maybe a planet ago.

By the time they all return to the ghost world with a stockpile of newer tech and ships, they find Cloudy in the middle of a fully-operational and tidied up base, with everything rigged to accept voice commands and read out text, and a brand new shadow hovering around him.

Pepper Diamond (Horrorswapfell Papyrus) emerged from the ruins of one of the abandoned cities, Cloudy explains, and has been very helpful in the others’ absence, wonderful company—he told them he’d manage fine. > 3c

Well.

After all of that, the military base had been their last, best clue to finding Homeworld, or at least the remains of it, if gemkind were truly gone…

After a bit of discussion among the group, they decide to take communicators and ships and anything else they wanted/needed and just…go their separate ways, to do their own things.

Cubic and Moissanite set up shop on the first world they can find with sentient organics that will accept them, wanting to be around other people and to live peacefully.

Raw and Champagne choose to stick to their mission, going on the wild goose chase that is the search for other gems somewhere in the universe, even without any solid leads—the gem empire was expansive, but not As Infinite As the Universe-expansive, so they haven’t had any luck yet.

Pink and Olive are curious about other gems, too, but make it their mission to hunt down all the deserted bases, Kindergartens, and outposts in their neck of the universe and fix them up, restoring everything to its former glory as best they can—whether those places are promising in terms of leads/clues or not. It’s their heritage and they want to explore it and restore it, if they’re able.

Cloudy and Pepper intend to stay put on their birth world…but when Cloudy’s done everything he can on their planet, he gets a little bored sifting through the ruins of this dead world and wants to go find somewhere with living organics to stay instead. Pepper (reluctantly) agrees and they stumble upon a fledgling, primitive society that seems to think of these giant, shining and glowing immortals as some sort of deities… Oops, it seems as if they’ve started a colony of sorts on accident!

They’ll all keep on keeping on, and if anything interesting happens or someone needs a hand, they can reach the others to get back in touch.

…

Unbeknownst to the Outer Galaxy diamonds or the Diamond Authority back on Homeworld, a strange pair of Chameleon Diamonds—one Reverse (Gastertale Sans) and one Classic (Gastertale Papyrus)—are spat out of a singularity, somewhere in a galaxy in between.

They’ve got a lot of knowledge between the two of them, in the skulls behind their briolette-cut gems, but not a single solid memory, and their only clue is a whole lot of wreckage of some strange machine scattered around them in space.

They don’t know what they are, where they came from, how they’re alive, or what all this junk is…but once they make their way to a planet with gravity and stuff they can fashion tools and parts out of, they do figure out that they can cobble together a ship out of all this...

What better use of a couple of brothers’ time than a bit of adventuring, leisurely exploring the universe and any interesting lifeforms or civilizations they find along the way, with little more than respect of the Prime Directive to argue about? ;3

#skelegems #diamond au #undergloom #ug!sans #ug!papyrus #horrorfell #hf!sans #hf!papyrus #horrorswap #hs!sans #hs!papyrus #horrorswapfell #hsf!sans #hsf!papyrus #gastertale #g!sans #g!papyrus #Anonymous

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tuesdayx · 3 years

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So I thought it would be fun to do a song-by-song breakdown of our latest album Essential.

Essential started as some rough demos designated for a side project in late 2019, which then became our largest album to date in terms of song selection. Many of the themes deal with learning to cope with the changing world thanks to Covid, with a perspective of someone who had to keep working at an "essential" job with no option of self-quarantine. I was happy to continue working and being able to pay my bills over the past year, but there was always elements of stress, fear, and tension lingering over myself and everyone else in my position.

So here we go; starting from the top let's look at the Songs of Tuesday X's 6th album Essential.

1. Jet Fuel Can't Melt Steel Beams: the title was a reference to the 9/11 conspiracy memes, which as stated in the opening lines, "has nothing to do with this song." Written in January of 2020 before Covid had made any significant impact in the US, the song touches on many themes which happened to occur throughout the year, such as [another] Californian forest fire (Australia too), new diseases (Covid), a riot (the BLM movement over the summer, which I will state everything that movement has been fighting for is 100% justified and the United States is in desperate need of Police reform, as does our political system which has remained inherently racist to this day.), Civil War (and exaggeration for sure, but the civil unrest and political division in our country will soon split us apart further), more corporate giants(companies like Amazon profited more from this Pandemic than ever before and have helped further the gap between the American working class and the top 1%). Favorite line: "I won't get philosophical, I only wanted your attention."

2. The Only Difference Between You and Me is a Sense of Apathy and Your Brand New Nikes: This song is a blithing criticism of the American political system. Our two party system has left Americans with a choice between "the lesser of two evils" and allows politicians with no true interest in our needs to rise to power. The use of 3rd parties as an alternative is a overly simple compromise that would only just begin to alleviate the problems created in our political system. Both of our main parties are considered conservative parties to the rest of the world, and any progressive measures that would benefit society and reduce the effects of climate change are considered radical and preposterous by politicians with financial stakes in our crooked system where corporatations hold control and the people are treated as fuel for an otherwise worthless currency. Favorite line: "Listen to the radio, they played my favorite song. Now I'm bored and wanting more."

3. Blame it on the Elves: the title is a reference to an episode of the Podcast "Lore" by Aaron Menke (i can't recall which episode, but you should check it out anyway because it's great listen.) An instrumental interlude inspired by ragtime music of the 1920-30's, with an edge of course.

4. Class of Dropouts: This song was written when I was 16 during my sophomore year of high school and was originally featured on my now unavailable album "trees" before adopting the Tuesday X monicker. I brought it back 6 years later because I loved how raw and punk it was. The lyrics are dorky but I decided to leave them as is, it's a cool track for high school stoners to blare and let out their teen angst. Favorite line: "Walking in on my friends fucking."

5. Polaroids on My Bulletin Board: This is a song about growing up. As a 22 year old (now 23) who decided not to go to college straight out of high school, I felt isolated from my peers in a way. By going into the workfield right away I sometimes feel like I skipped a few years and missed out on a lot of opportunities. I regret not leaving my hometown sooner than I did and chasing my dreams of being a touring musician in a band. More often than not I reminisce of my youth playing shows and getting into trouble, as I now feel old and out of place in a scene I grew up in. Favorite line: "I know what it's like to be alive, I know what it's like to live a lie."

6. Labradoodle Underpass: Going back on the theme of growing up, this is about my recent experience with shows as an adult. When I was a teenager I felt ambitious and ready for anything, and I would drop literally everything to go to the nearest show. As an adult I feel introverted and constantly anxious about the world around me. I've missed out on a lot of great shows due to my own self doubt's and anxiety. Now that shows have been canceled for over a year I feel even more regret by not appreciating them more while I could. Favorite line: "23 years and a lingering fear that anything could happen, why am I here?"

7. Some Shit: This was me trying to be modest mouse lol jangly guitars and half talking/half singing vocals describing the world around me. I guess in a way it was an exercise in writing character description and setting, but otherwise it's just a chill track that almost feels aimless at parts. Favorite Line: "it's just some shit I learned from a friend. Just some shit I learned when I was trying to prepare."

8: Woe is the World: On the album this is a chorus snippet that barely a minute long (the full version is available as a bonus track on bandcamp, and it was actually a demo that turned out better than the final version.) I originally wrote this song when I was 15 with a different set of lyrics, but I came back to it while writing this album and re-wrote it to reflect my mental state and the world around me. Overall, just another melancholy track in a sea of melancholy songs. Favorite line: "you've never felt more alone than you do now, was everything worth it in the end?"

9. Then Why Was it Named Gideon?: the title is a reference to a line in Scott Pilgrim's Finest Hour (my favorite series) and like the first track on this album doesn't have much to do with the song. "Gideon" is a simple love song, talking again about how growing up sucks but having the right person by your side can make all the shitty times worth it in the end. Favorite line: "it's time to move on, you're taking too long."

10. I am Here, I'm Looking at Her, and She is Beautiful: This song is entirely about the book "Perks of Being a Wallflower". That's it. Nothing else, let's move on. Favorite line: "Over Christmas I read them a poem about a brown paper bag and the boy who wrote it."

11. Try to Be a Filter, Not a Sponge: Like the previous song, this one is also mostly about "Perks of Being a Wallflower", but with elements of my own experience with toxic relationships. I like to think of it as the character Charlie's experience with Mary Elizabeth overall though. Favorite line: "She called my favorite book washed out trash, said I have no taste and I'm still too sad."

12. Lavender Spray Bottle: This instrumental dates back to 2017. I recorded the guitar part as a demo on my phone and forgot about it. Over time I forgot how to play the guitar part, so I used the demo as a basis and layered everything else on top of it. The title is a reference to a bottle of water with lavender essential oils mixed in that my ex used to fend away spiders in the house we lived in at the time.

13. Hindsight is 2020: I will admit, this is my favorite song on the whole album and was actually the last to be written and recorded. With a simple guitar part and layers of vocals, this song is a direct reflection of life during the peak of the pandemic. With curfews in place and rising case counts, I had to learn to cope with life at home during my late nights away from work. My partner was quarantined during this time and I reflected on the mental strain this put on her. Favorite line: "Don't go to work, you need the money but you're not happy when you're there. Sometimes life is so unfair."

14. I Don't Know How to Deal With Serious Emotions Without Turning Them into a Fucking Joke: the title came from a meme I found on my phone from high school. The song itself was about my own inability to handle serious emotions without coming off as sarcastic. In both the music and lyrics, the song starts as a simple confession before exploding into raw chaos. Favorite line: "it's so hard. I'm so scared, what have I become?"

15. Say Hello to My Little Friend: the last instrumental on this album. A short haunting tune that reflects the final two tracks. The title is probably a reference to Rambo or something, but I never watched it and I thought it fit the feeling of this song.

16. Minneapolis: What became one of the most emotional tracks on this song actually began as a joke. My partner was snap chatting a friend one night and they asked me to write them a song on the spot. So I improvised the first two verses and chorus of this song, referencing her going to school there at the time. I found I actually liked what I had written however, so I refined the track and changed it from a sassy country song into a melancholic lament of my experience in the twin cities and southern Minnesota. Favorite line: "I miss Camp Snoopy, and Paul Bunyon's log flume ride that went around the whole damn mall."

17. Before the Sunrise: the final song on the album is an intimate look at my relationship with my partner. Through past experiences i have become riddled with self doubt and always looking at improving myself as a person. With hopes that one day I'll be the person I'd like to be for mine and their sake, it's an optimistic tribute to my best friend. Favorite line: "the cycle ends until the sun rises again, you're my best friend."

Thank you all so much! Check out Essential and our other music on Bandcamp, Spotify, Apple, and other places! I hope you all enjoyed this personal look at these songs that got me through the worst parts of 2020.

#tuesday x #emo #music #alternative #art rock #diy music #diy #midwest #underground #lyrics #essential #covid19

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fuckyeahharryhart · 4 years

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PART 3 HARRY HART FAN FICTION Because they better give him a good story for the last Kingsman. In case they don’t, I wrote something myself.

PART 3

FAN FIC

KINGSMAN III: REDACTED

MULTI PART SERIES:(My version of Kingsman 3)

Harry Hart x Original Character

Warnings: Reference to violence

Word Count: 5,000

OVERVIEW: After the events of Kingsman, The Golden Circle, Harry, Eggsy and the rest of the survivors rebuild their agency to it’s former level of integrity. A new player arrives unexpectedly, carrying memories of the past that will change the future of Kingsman.

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Gwendolyn, having played her last card, shares a drink with Harry and Eggsy while she tells them who she is, where she came from and why she was spying on them.

------

The Black Prince Public House stood on a quiet corner in South London’s, Kensington. The pub dated back to the early 20th century and its name referred to the road where it stood. The wall were painted a dark forest green with black trim. Its name was displayed in gold. It was the place to go, its sign stated, for FINE ALES AND STOUT, but the three patrons inside, seated at one of the booths at the rear, decided that something a little stronger was appropriate after the evening’s turn of events.

Gwendolyn decided this was a drink she was waiting for her whole life and, therefore, if she was going to “celebrate”, was not the right word, perhaps “commemorate the occasion” was a better term, she was going to do it properly. She had acquired a taste for fine scotch and chose accordingly. She was quite sure the two men were slightly taken aback when she ordered three The Macallan 25’s, neat, for the table. She was fairly certain that this warm, friendly, unassuming neighbourhood pub would not carry The Maccallan M Edition, or the Silver Jubilee, or the Dalmore 64. so she didn’t inquire, but even the cost of the three glasses would be relatively extravagant. The price wasn’t a concern of hers and she was sure it wasn’t a concern of the Kingsman, whose coffers went deep. She wasn’t beyond offending any gentlemanly sensibilities this evening. They were beyond chivalry. And she wasn’t about to tolerate either of them possibly ordering for her.

The two men regarded her if she were a new species of female. She probably was. There were female Kingsman agents, but they too, followed Kingsman protocol, regardless of gender. The behaviour, actions, mannerisms of all Kingsman were consistent, familiar, reliable, while she was under no such constraints. If her behaviour this evening was unseemly, “unladylike”, she really couldn’t give a rat’s arse. She was here for a reason and her methods got her job done. Perhaps with less grace and finesse than she was hoping for, but she got her results.

The three short tumblrs of scotch were placed in front of them. It had been a very long time since The Black Black Prince had poured not one, but three from that particular bottle. As it was custom that the host, or hostess for this matter, make a toast and she didn’t yet make a move toward her glass, the two men waited to follow her lead. So now they decide to be polite, she thought.

“Well, then.” she began. She was slightly irritated at their seemingly perfect presentation, at least on Harry’s part. Eggsy was not beyond taking a more relaxed shape and leaned back into the booth. His tie was loosened and his suit coat unbuttoned. His hair slightly mused even though he did not participate in any of the more physical aspects of their evening, as if that was its natural state. He would have shrugged out of his jacket if it weren’t for his shoulder holster.

Harry Hart, returned back to his gentlemanly demeanour, sat straight, but comfortably, his suit and tie still perfectly in place. Even his hair had somehow returned to its initial state, smooth waves brushed back into shape. It made her feel somewhat uncomfortable to see him so poised after the physical contact they had made. She had flipped him over her head, had a knife to his throat, kicked him fairly hard in the shin, and he looked none the worse for wear. Only his expression, equal parts indignant, concerned, and vaguely offended, revealed that anything of interest had occurred.

In contrast, even turning toward him was likely to throw her off balance. A feeling she did not enjoy one bit. Just her quick glance in his direction and she could feel him behind her again, pressing against her, the long line of his legs, the broadness of his chest across her back, the sheer size of him, the smell of his wool suit and the cologne, soap or whatever made him smell so good and she felt a rush of blood rise up to her cheeks. She clenched her jaw and flushed. She was hoping that they would take it for her high emotional state after their confrontation, not the fact that she found herself neatly attracted to a man she only just met and almost twice her age.

His refined manner only made her that much more aware of her own disheveled state. Her hair, a black cloud that had been blown all over, her pedestrian attire, though not unattractive, in no way matched the elegance of their Kingsman suits. No cosmetics, no adornment, not that those elements of her outward appearance were particularly important to her, in the face of their stately masculinity, she felt decidedly unfeminine. And regardless of her feelings, she knew that her looks were as much of a tool for a spy as her words or actions. She convinced herself she wasn’t concerned just because she wanted Harry to find her attractive.

Her personal feelings seeped into her professional persona. She reeled back her thoughts and replaced them with a cool, calm, collected mindset with a specific objective. If she kept her personal feelings at bay now, she could let it all out after her mission was accomplished. She drilled into her brain, be smart now, feel later.

Until she felt differently, she approached this as she would any other meeting of an asset or target. What she needed from the relationship and how could she get them to do what she wanted was just as much about finding out what they needed, and how to make it seem she was giving them what they wanted. Almost every relationship was based on a desire to be heard and understood. Wants and needs were always self-revealed, unwittingly or intently. She just had to listen.

Unfortunately, for this first meeting, she would be the one doing most of the talking. She knew being genuine, sincere, and honest, would be in her best interest. The more and better we are heard and understood, she thought, the more we are willing to and want to engage and respond. The sensation of being listened to was a powerful motivator and feeling enhancer to all people, it was human nature. It was why we befriended those that listened to us, worked for those that heard us, and fell in love with those that understood us.

——

“Well” she repeated, refocusing. She shifted her posture, drew her shoulders back, lifted her head a little higher, and held the space around her. Composing herself just as she would with any new asset would put her back on target. Remember your training.

“I’m sure you have many questions.” She opened up the table.

Harry, as direct as she, got right to the point.

“How are we to trust that you are really Merlin’s daughter? He never spoke of family.”

He folded his hands together, looking stern with a slight narrowing of his eyes, his brow with just a hint of a furrow.

Harry’s eyes roved over her, her posture, hands, the angles of her face. He listened to the inflections of her voice, searching for any tells that might indicate she was being less than honest. He looked for any hint of the tall Scotsman in this young woman. The loss of Merlin was still a wound that was raw. For both he and Eggsy. He wouldn’t tolerate anyone using his death as an excuse, no matter the reason, but especially if it was a false one.

“He wouldn’t have.” She replied bluntly. “

“ How much did you know of Hamish?” She asked.

She emphasised the pronunciation of his given name. Hay-mish.

“That is, before he came to Kingsman.”

The two men glanced at each other, but did not speak. Admittedly, they did not know of Merlin’s past. He never offered, and as gentleman, they never asked. They both knew that spies usually became spies because of something dark and fucked up from their past, and Harry had no doubt this was the same for Merlin. Hence, he never questioned his unwillingness to disclose his life prior to Kingsman. Harry was the same, just as unwilling to divulge his own personal information.

Eggsy, “That doesn’t mean anything. Anyone can say that.”

Harry leaned forward slightly, emphasising the importance of his words. They were low and sharp.

“If you really are who you say you are, then you know that his loss is one that we still feel every day.”

He shot a glance toward Eggsy, who more than anyone, felt the weight of his death.

“We will not condone anyone using his name for their own motives. Have you proof?”

She surveyed them for a moment. She considered her words and chose them with care. Her words were all she had and they carried a heavy weight. They had to be strong enough to deliver the message she was about to send. He eyes moved to her drink, still untouched. Mindfulness was key. As was paying attention to their responses, observing them with the intent to understand. Through her words, she would see how they felt, what they were thinking, and most of all, what they wanted or needed.

She cleared her throat. She met one pair of eyes and then the other. She poised herself to say something that, to her, held the utmost honour and importance. She took a deep breath in. At the end of her exhalation, she spoke. Her voice was low as well. Her words were even more powerful for her lack of emotion.

“My father’s favorite song was ‘Country Roads.’ by John Denver.”

The entire room seemed to suddenly quiet with stupefaction.

“My father was singing it, when he stepped off of a land mine to save both of your lives. And to save your mission. For my father, the mission always came first.”

For the two men, this was an impossible statement. No one, set aside Eggsy and himself had that knowledge. Not even other Kingsman.

Harry spoke, this time with frank disbelief. He wasn’t even questioning her. He was asking himself. Out loud. Without his familiar strength and surety.

“That is impossible. There is no possible way you could know that.”

With the same poise, the same simplicity, she explained.

“I was there when he died.” Observing their state of bewilderment, she clarified. “Via satellite and reconnaissance drones.” Which didn’t ease their confusion.

“If you worked with my father, you knew he was a brilliant strategist. He wasn’t merely good, he was gifted. He had the talent of an artist. Some of that talent filtered down to me. I’ll never be as good as he was, but I was good enough to hack the communication band that Statesman had in place for reconnaissance and I had access to audio and visual of the events that led to, and after his death.”

Impossible would never have the same meaning for them again. Because this young woman’s story was utterly impossible. Yet, here it was, an impossible situation.

She turned slightly toward Eggsy and held his blue eyes with her grey. Her voice took on an undefinable emotion, “I know that he took your place on a land mine, Eggsy.”

And with that confession, he was forced to drop his gaze. Is this how Harry felt when he had to tell him that it was due to Harry’s own mistake that Eggy’s father died? Guilt was physical. It was a crushing weight on his chest that made it hard to breathe.

“I know that he died in the way that he wanted.”

She added with a note of empathy and understanding to slightly ease their guilt and their shock.

“He was able to give his life for those close to him.”

Neither of the men could think of anything to say. Harry Hart, who was never at a loss for words, found himself unable to find a single word that would be appropriate for a time and situation like this.

Gwendolyn sighed internally. At least now she had their full attention. She was quite certain that she would not be interrupted this time around.

“Perhaps,” she said. Her voice now carried a softer note. It was not the voice of an agent. It was the voice of a daughter.

“Perhaps, I should start at the beginning”.

“But first.” she paused and picked up her glass, holding her arm out toward the men, the glass in her hand.

Harry and Eggsy, first exchanging a look in the other’s direction, followed suit. Each man took a glass and waited, with the warm golden liquid breaking up the lines of dim light that hovered over their table.

She suddenly felt overcome once more, as she had been when she first stepped off the train and onto the concourse on her arrival. She channeled that emotion into her toast, which was brief and heartbreaking in its simplicity.

Holding up her glass, “To my father, Hamish Mycroft.” She paused. “And to Merlin.”

Each of them held the gaze of the other two as their glasses touched with a light, crisp ring. Each drank back its contents.

——

As three glasses hit the hardwood of the table. Gwendolyn began to speak. Her story was a long and complicated one. And unfortunately, the two men could tell, it would be a sad one. An unknown daughter of a colleague that you’ve known for most of your adult life doesn’t suddenly appear after his death with good news.

“My father, whose given name was Hamish Mycroft, was married. He had three children. Two boys and a girl. I was the youngest.”

The slightly blank, yet confused faces made it seem like she had already given them more information than they could process. She paused, gestured to the barkeep for another round. The scotch would do good to kick in soon, because her story was not going to get any easier.

“Before he had a family, he worked with far east intelligence, recruited after his time in the army, where he had been stationed in Tibet, Bhutan, and other East Asian territories.”

She nodded her thanks to the barman, who delivered their second round of drinks. The scotch should have been savoured, but she felt at the time, a tip back for her father was right, even though he would have been horrified to see her shoot back a scotch of such high quality. This one however, she would sip.

“While he was working as a field operative at the station in Bhutan, he met a very beautiful Bhutanese woman, Evelyn, my mother, who was also working intelligence, but as a handler. Based on their skill assessment, they were assigned to work as a team. They would run missions together. My father as the operative. My mother, his handler. Hence, I myself am half Scottish, half Bhutanese. If you’ve had difficulty pinpointing my ethnicity. It’s not a common pairing.”

“Even though the agency opposed ‘close and continuing’, inter-agency relationships and relationships in general, Hamish believed that he could live a normal life. That he could have a wife and family despite working in intelligence. They were an example of having a successful home life in addition to a successful career and they were very happy for a long time.”

Merlin as a husband and father were the farthest roles that Harry and Eggsy could imagine him in. The brusk, often testy, disagreeable scotsman, with all the warmth of a potato, with a wife and children.

Gwendolyn continued with her story. Pausing after a long stretch for a sip of her scotch, but for the most part, continuously and without any interruption from the two men. They were both a bit stupefied that one of their closest, most respected and trusted colleagues had an entire past of which they had no knowledge.

—

Hamish was smitten at first glance. On Evelyn’s side, it was more appropriate to say that she tolerated his presence . And even that was putting things kindly. Eventually, he was able to win her over with his rough Scottish brogue, his biting sense of humour and dry wit. Underneath the sarcasm and abrupt, even gruff personality, she sensed a very kind soul who possessed a good heart. It was simply being protected by a shield designed to keep people at arms length.

Though as handler and operative, there could be no shields. There could not be even a hairs breadth distance between a team, let alone an arms length. The operative’s life was literally in the hands of the handler. If they weren’t working, existing, breathing as one, it would be only a matter of time until the operative would find himself in a position where he needed his handler, but the handler wouldn’t be able to provide. Or the agent, not fully trusting his handler, withheld crucial information, therefore setting up his handler to fail in the case where he needs life threatening assistance. These relationships often ended in the death of the operative, as he had to fully entrust not only the capability of his handler, but also fully trust the person behind his earpiece. The relationship had to be based, on not only on professional compatibility, but on a personal and emotional connection as well. Whatever jesting nature, or standoffish front either of them first presented to each other dissolved when they were on mission. The trust was profound. It was scary to know the circumstances they had been through together and how much each of them put their lives in the hands of the other.

Their relationship was highly personal, intense, and emotional. The nature of their relationship was a powerful force behind their choice to be together and to devote their loyalties to a single agency, with a singular mission, to preserve life and to protect the innocent. However, this often resulted in taking out some very bad, very large, very powerful players off the world’s stage. When they both proved themselves more than capable individually, and even beyond exceptional as a team, they were brought on to the Maximum Threat, Maximum Risk Special Operations Division, or MTMR.

The MTMR, only dealt with the worst of the worst, and then the unthinkable of the worst. These were the terrorists, the warlords, those with enough power and influence to bypass almost any law, any treaty and any world decree. Those who would violate human rights and the rules of engagement. They were the worst of the worst, but also the lowest of the low. In their eyes, life was a commodity to be traded, abused or without value and discarded at will. This is what happened when psychopaths achieved power. Without empathy, without a conscious, without a sense of right or wrong or any moral accountability, without any value of life. These were the most dangerous and most difficult enemies to engage. Not only could they commit the most horrible atrocities, they were usually narcissists as well, dynamic, charismatic, even charming. Therefore, their inner circle was comprised of sycophants who provided his narcissistic supply. They eliminated those that were either immune to their charms, or were beginning to understand the true nature of their personality, which was that of a very highly functioning psychopath.

In this division, Hamish did not operate in the field, but joined Evelyn in strategic planning and outcomes. They worked as a team. Hamish, with his knowledge of the field as a Special Operations Officer, possessed the skills to operate weapons and explosives, to take on missions to gather intelligence and destroy targets in hostile environments. He knew the dangers, the variables, the best strategies.

Evelyn provided critical thinking. She had the ability to predict outcomes, to make the most difficult life and death decisions without hesitation and be a leader to her team . The pair became an invaluable asset to the division. It was proof to them, when the agency acknowledged their value, not as separate agents, not as a handler and operative, but as a team, that they could be in the world of espionage as husband and wife with a family. The agency saw that their success was based on not only their expertise, but BECAUSE of, not despite their relationship. The closeness, the sheer absolute trust that they had in each other, and their love kept them committed to each other and their work. They experienced both a fulfilling family life and successful professional life for longer than anyone could hope for in their line of work.

During their successful tenure in the MTMR Special Ops, one operation took precedence over all others. They were both actively involved, not only in gathering intel, but in the entire intelligence cycle. First, with planning, identifying possible threats and what they needed to know about the threat with world leaders and decision makers. Collection, which was the division they both began in, the physical collection of target information through operations. Analysis, examining the new information, looking for connections, key points, new developments, and combining it with what they already knew, creating useful and actionable intelligence. Lastly, was Dissemination, where the new intelligence was discussed with politicians and decision makers who then decided whether to take action or if more information was needed.

It was during one of these cycles, where Evelyn and Hamish were assigned as head officers of a mission. It was a mission that resulted from intel that their team had collected, analysed and produced. The target was an international underground world leader, not of any established or recognised government. He threatened to destabilise society. Not through government or any means of authority. He wasn’t targeting positions of leadership. He wasn’t engaging in the trickle down theory. He was starting at the bottom. First, was taking out crops, tainting water supplies, poisoning livestock. He did not bother with small areas. He targeted the largest ones. Locations with the most impact and the widest effect. Civil unrest was next. Which turned into peaceful demonstrations. Then came active protest. Followed by violent protest. Then it was rioting, looting. And when fear took hold, it was domestic terrorism. He was using the countries own people to destabilise the structure, the foundation of civilisation, which was based on people working together.

Apparently, he was not one to follow the saying, “The fish rots from the head down.” Meaning that without sound leadership, the people will eventually turn bad and die off. When in actuality, the guts, the contents of the fish begins to rot first. Perhaps the warlord followed this philosophy. Corrupt the innovators, the providers, the creators of sustenance, essentially the life givers, and civilised society will begin to rot from, not the head down, but from the inside out.

In conjunction with the US, the British Armed Forces and other key international allies, they were able to coordinate an airstrike. It was successful in so much that they destroyed their enemies home base, their world HQ and well as almost all of their high level leadership. However, they missed their main target. Also on the strike list, was the home of Azal Aamon, which was where he was supposed to be at the time of the strike. His family, wife and two children were to be collateral damage. Unfortunate, but sometimes unavoidable in times of war. But after reviewing the DNA evidence to confirm the targets as deceased, his family was identified, but Aamon’s DNA was not found. No one had knowledge of how he was able to avoid or survive the attack. The last piece of intel that they had verified, was his location at the time of fire.

———

Inside the Black Prince, Gwendolyn paused. She reached for her drink, lifted the glass to her lips, and took a small sip. Harry saw her jaw working as she let the scotch rest on her palate, allowing it to reach all the areas of her tongue so she could appreciate its aromatic notes before she swallowed. It was a gesture he was familiar with, one that he made every time he enjoyed his own drink, but it was especially interesting to see this decidedly, he was not a sexist in any way, shape or form, but this particularly male gesture take shape on her extremely feminine and delicate face. He felt decidedly uncomfortable. So he simply took her lead and followed suit with a swallow of his own. As did Eggsy, who was leaning forward at this point, his elbows on the table and his tie even more undone, as were the few top buttons of his shirt. Harry as always, remained properly attired.

She looked at both of them, her eyes inquiring, silently asking if they had any questions, if they needed any clarifications, to see if they understood. To confirm that they believed her.

Harry was particularly intrigued. Out of all the coincidences that seemed to be happening, he knew precisely, the mission she was referring to. The British Armed Forces did take part in the Aamon mission and he knew this because he was part of the BAF at that time. He had been directly involved in the operations side of the mission. How was it possible that he had this experience in common with Merlin and it never came up in conversation? He thought back to the rare times where they would share stories, sometimes while waiting out a mission, or after a successful one, over a drink just like this. He recalled sharing a few stories from his time in the military, but thinking back, could not recall a single instance that Merlin even mentioned his time in the army, or anything really prior his employment with Kingsman. Harry only knew that he had been military. Out of all the possible connections that they had, one of the biggest ones that they shared remained unknown until after his death.

Gwendoyn was regarding him thoughtfully, knowing that he had made some kind of connection or realisation, but she didn’t mention it and he was grateful. He tipped his head, asking her to please continue.

“As you can imagine, this was seen as a failed mission on paper, since they did not terminate their main target. But in many ways it was a huge success. An operation of this scale, with multiple targets on the board, with international military and intelligence coordination, with minimal collateral damage, is typically unheard of, and my parents were honoured to have lead their intelligence division. I’m not sure if Kingsman participates in this particular tradition, but after high risk missions of this nature, officers and operatives, if it is feasible, are offered time off, mostly to decompress. The agency is aware that if their officers and operatives work at that level of intensity for prolonged periods of time, they will burn out. It’s not possible to sustain that level of stress at length without a chance to wind down.”

It was quiet. Gwendolyn has stopped speaking. Harry could see that she was taking time to collect her thoughts again. He wasn’t sure why she needed to. She was recalling a very complicated and personal story with an eloquence, a clarity and a dignity that he respected very much. She wasn’t just reminiscing about a story, reciting history, or a past event. Their comprehension was important to her. This wasn’t about her “getting something off of her chest”. He had the feeling that she could be very happy never having to say any of these words ever again. She wasn’t looking for support or understanding. She was making sure that THEY understood her story. It wasn’t sympathy for her that she wanted. She was looking for absorbtion Particularly from Harry. Most likely because he had the longest relationship with Merlin. But she was fixing him with a very intense gaze that he was not quite sure what to do with.

Harry already felt a particular sadness. He knew where this story was heading. He might not know the specifics yet, but you didn’t need to be a spy to know there was no happy ending for her. Out of a family that was once a mother, a father, and two brothers, this woman was the only one sitting in front of them. His respect for her was growing with each moment. He was feeling quite sorry now, for treating her so roughly.

She picked up her story, dusted it a little, found where she left off and resumed. Her voice became detached once again, but her words never faltered.

“We were all on break. Because they both got time off, that meant the whole family was on break. It was very rare for us. For the family, for me, those times were very special. I don’t remember many other times we had that kind of chance. Of course, outings were still agency outings. I was really too small at the time, six, but that was our life. I didn’t know any different then. But my parents, because of their positions, were at high risk for retaliation and we always had protection with us. My brothers and I had protocol, even back then. No speaking to strangers, at all. Never speaking about my parents, never offering any personal information. Never giving out my name. If we were ever to get lost, we were never to ask for them or speak their names. We had one number to call and it was not even theirs. It was the agency’s number, created just for us to have in case of an emergency. There was actually a person whose job it was to be prepared if they ever received a call from us. Very few people, and only those with high security clearance, had information about our family. We were referred to as assets. Not by our names.”

As she continued, The more emotion left her voice, the more matter of fact she became, as she became more composed, more stoic, Harry felt his sadness slowly turn into inevitable dread. He was also aware of the second mission that followed up the first air strike. He was also assigned operations support for the BAF’s involvement. He had heard stories about what had happened at intelligence HQ, but never anything confirmed. If she had been involved in that, it was worse than he thought.

------

Look for future posts :) If you made it this far, thanks for reading! Feedback, likes and reblogs are always helpful and much appreciated. If you have a chance, would love to hear your thoughts!

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cami-chats · 4 years

Text

A Charmed Past

Fandom: Charmed (1998)

Pairings: Chris Halliwell & Wyatt Halliwell

Warnings: Unchanged Future Wyatt (but he doesn’t do anything violent, just a bit of stealing)

Wyatt had single-minded focus. Combined with his raw power, it was what made him so dangerous. He had a goal and he was going to accomplish it, no matter what. Chris was different; he had a goal and he had five different plans for how he could make it happen without anyone knowing it was him or even knowing what the goal was. It was why they'd worked so well together, back when Chris had actually been working with him.

This situation, for example, would've been made better if Chris had been the one to plan it. In fact, when Chris had done the exact same thing, it went better. But Wyatt no, he'd been so focused on following after his brother and getting him back that he'd forgotten one very important detail: when you went to the past, your powers didn't go with you.

There was no way Chris had made this mistake. Going to the past to change their lives without his powers? It'd be suicide. Either he brought his powers with him, or he found a way to restore them after he got there. Wyatt hoped that it was the second one and also that Chris was willing to share, because as it stood, Wyatt was powerless in an unfamiliar world. Sure he could fight hand to hand and with a sword when he had to, but he was used to his powers, and more importantly, he was used to healing himself. Without that, he was a sitting duck in the grand scheme of powers.

But powerless or not, Wyatt knew how to get by from when he did undercover work. A swipe here on a busy street and he had some money. He pocketed the cash and left the rest of the wallet on a restaurant's outside table. He walked for a while, a little lost in this world that wasn't very familiar, and stole a little more. It was enough for a snack (because he hadn't eaten in a while) and cab fare to the Manor. He didn't want to show up completely unprepared, so he tested a quick spell before hailing a cab. It was a stupid spell he'd come up with when he was a kid, and all it did was send a gust of wind in the surrounding area. He chanted under his breath, "Bring to me the wind, Zephyr's power lend," and waited to see what-- if anything-- happened. A strong breeze went through the street, and Wyatt breathed a sigh of relief as it blew his hair in his face.

Of course, that brought up the fact that he needed a hoodie or jacket or something because all black was a little conspicuous in the nice part of the city in broad daylight. Without his powers, he couldn't afford for his hair to get in his face in the possibility of a fight, so he needed a hair-tie as well. He was a decent pickpocket, but full on thievery was a bit beyond what he was capable of right now.

A quick-- if childish-- incantation later, and he had both items. When they were kids, Chris had made fun of him for his rhymes, but he'd never had any reason to refine it. Spells could backfire; his powers couldn't, and his powers were more reliable anyways. He'd have to go light on the spells or risk retribution for 'personal gain' which was definitely not something he had missed.

He pulled the hoodie over his head and tied his hair at the base of his neck, then walked in a gas station and bought a granola bar. Now that he wasn't dressed all in black, people weren't quite as prone to avoiding him. It made him blend in more, but it also meant that they were more likely to bump into him, which he wasn't a fan of. He ate the granola bar in quick bites as he walked to a more busy street and flagged down a taxi. This not being able to orb business was a real pain in the ass.

Wyatt watched the houses pass, the bright colors untainted by riots and the sickly miasma that had taken over pretty much the entire world by the time he'd come to power. It wasn't easy to get used to this, but hopefully he wouldn't have to. He'd talk to Chris, make him realize that what he was trying to do was completely unhinged, and then they could go back to where they belonged. And if things went spectacularly well, he'd be able to pull it off before Chris realized he was powerless and decided to use that to his advantage. Once, he would've thought that his brother would absolutely help him get back his powers as soon as he found out, but Chris was a bit of a wild card these days. He couldn't count on much of anything with him. Wyatt knocked his fingers on the glass to get the cabbie's attention. "Here's fine." He paid him, then got out of the car and started making his way towards the manor. It was a bit of a walk since he hadn't wanted to get dropped off on the front stoop, but it gave him time to try and think of a plan.

He made it to Prescott Street without having any good ideas, and then he made it up the stairs and was still drawing a blank. Whatever, plans never worked with Chris anyways. He rang the doorbell, then waited. Phoebe was the one to answer the door, and she looked much younger than the last time he'd seen her. She'd aged well, of course, but she was what, thirty right now? No amount of well aging could replace youth.

"Can I help you?" she asked, half nice and half suspicious. Given the number of times demons turned up on the doorstep, that was fair.

"I'm here to see Chris, is he around?"

She gave him another look, then-- probably sensing no ill intentions-- yelled over her shoulder, "Chris!" A long moment with no answer and she held up one finger to him. "Just a second." She closed the door, but it did nothing to muffle the sound from when she screamed his name again, this time loud enough for everyone in the house to hear her.

Wyatt sighed and leaned against the wall as he waited.

It took a minute, but then there was the sound of footsteps and Chris and Phoebe arguing. The words were impossible to make out at first, but he caught the tale end of Phoebe saying, "Well if it's a demon you can face him first, it's not really my problem. Don't worry, I won't let him kill you. Besides, he looked pretty human to me."

"Phoebe, I don't have time for-"

She opened the door, and Chris stopped cold, eyes going wide.

Wyatt couldn't help but be amused by that. "Hi Chris."

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

"I take it that means you aren't happy to see me," Wyatt said, at the same time Phoebe said, "Chris!"

Chris clenched his jaw. "Phoebe, can you give us a minute?"

"Does this mean he's not a demon?" she asked, but she already knew the answer to that.

"Are you giving us a minute or not?"

"Well I'm just saying-"

Chris rolled his eyes and stepped outside, shutting the door closed.

"Oh come on!" she yelled through the door, then threw up her hands and walked away.

"What are you doing here?" Chris hissed. "And since when do you ring the doorbell? Or dress incognito?"

"I learned a touch of subtlety in your absence," he said drily.

Chris stared at him for a second. "You don't have your powers, do you."

"No," he admitted, because lying to Chris didn't work.

"For god's sake, Wyatt, did you chase me to the past and not think about it?"

Wyatt glared at him.

"Oh my god. How did you plan on bringing me back? I'm not going to go willingly, and without your powers, you can't force me."

"I was hoping you'd help me get them back. You still have yours, after all."

"You expect me to give you your powers back so you can force me back to the future," Chris said flatly.

"Anything's going to sound bad when you use that tone for it, Chris."

"How would you make it sound good?"

"If you don't help me, there's a high probability a demon will kill me."

For an instant, it worked. Chris was worried about Wyatt's wellbeing and he was about to agree that it was for the best if Wyatt had his powers. But then he remembered that here in the past, he wasn't in immediate danger. "That's- no, that's not going to happen. No one knows who you are, and if you stay here, the sisters will be able to protect you from any stray fireballs."

"You want me to stay here?" was Wyatt's immediate response. Then he said, "Wait, 'the sisters'?" Wyatt had had a bit of a falling out with Aunt Phoebe and Aunt Paige after he took over the Underworld and stopped hiding that knowledge from them, but Chris had gotten along with them to their bitter end. He wouldn't be calling them that unless... "Did you not tell them who you are? Holy shit Chris, and I thought I had poor planning."

"I couldn't just waltz up to the doorway and announce that you were going to turn evil and by the way, I'm his brother."

"You can't waltz," was all he said to that.

Chris glared at him. "You are so damn annoying."

"If you couldn't tell them before, I don't see why that's changed now."

"It's changed because you're here, dumbass."

"You're the one that didn't tell them who your mother was." It was fun to do this again without the safety of the entire world at risk; if demons saw them bickering like they were still kids, they'd attack. Demons always thought they could run the place better than Wyatt, and the casualty would end up being Chris. But there weren't any demons here to see them, and it's not like they were wasting time. No matter when they left the past, they'd get back to their time at the same point. And even if he happened to be wrong about that, he'd get his powers back when they got back to the right time, and he'd be able to get everything back under his control. "How is it that you can be so smart about everything except family?"

"Oh let me guess, this is when you tell me that it's pointless to try and resist your rule so I might as well join you before I reach the same end?"

"I wouldn't let that happen."

"Really?" Chris said, raising an eyebrow. "Because you don't have any active powers right now. It kind of looks like you aren't in a position to let or not let anything happen."

"Nothing's going to happen to either of us in this time," Wyatt said, rolling his eyes.

"You sound awfully sure about that for a guy that can't orb."

"You can keep trying to rub it in, but it's not going to do you any good."

"Let me get this straight, I refuse to help you get your powers back and you're cool with it, but when I let off a confetti cannon on your birthday, that was unacceptable."

Wyatt gave him a flat look. "You did it during my official coronation."

"You were already in charge, you didn't need a coronation."

"Demons like their rituals, even if they're unnecessary."

"I don't see what was so bad about it. The place needed the color, it was all brown rock and cave wall."

"I had to kill ten demons, Chris." Because they'd automatically thrown energy balls at the disturbance, which meant they'd nearly killed Chris, and Wyatt hadn't really meant to kill them but protecting Chris had always been a reflex. It hadn't been a good look for his coronation, but there wasn't anything the rest of the Underworld could do about it.

"Like I said, I don't see what's so bad about that."

"You're a pain in the ass," Wyatt said, but there was no heat behind it.

"You could've avoided me being a pain in the ass for a while if you'd stayed in the future where you belong."

"Are you really that unhappy to see me? It's been a long time since we could have a conversation without you trying to lecture me about good versus evil and personal gain."

"That's what you think ruined our conversations? Not-- I dunno-- your being the evil ruler of the entire world?"

"See? Like that."

Chris rolled his eyes. Before they could keep arguing with each other, the door opened, this time with Piper standing there. Baby Wyatt was on her hip, and this was already one of the weirdest experiences of his life. "Uh Chris? Yeah hi," she said with a terse smile, "I don't know what you're busy doing, but we could use you inside. Not to trivialize what Paige is going through, but she's having another identity crisis and we could use our whitelighter to talk some sense into her."

"Does that ever work?" Wyatt asked.

"No," Chris said. "Piper, we've got bigger problems than Paige's temp job kick or saving Richard quest."

"Uh huh, and how's that?"

He hooked a thumb over his shoulder to point at Wyatt. "This is Wyatt. From the future."

"What? But- Chris you said he was dead."

Wyatt laughed. "What?"

"No, I said evil gets to him, which it does."

"He looks fine," she said, peering at him and holding her baby tighter unconsciously. "You're Wyatt?"

"Yeah. Hi Mom, it's been a while."

Her face fell. "Do we not get along in the future?"

"You're dead," Wyatt said bluntly. "You have been for a while. And Chris thinks I'm evil because I took over the Underworld, he's always been pretty narrow minded."

"I'm sorry, what? You- you took over the Underworld. Like you became the new Source?"

Well that tone didn't sound good. "It was better than letting demons fight over it. And no, the Source's powers have a will of their own, I wasn't risking it."

"Yeah, cause just being the regular king of hell was so much better."

"Shut up."

"Do you two know each other?"

"Why yes we do," Wyatt said with a shit eating grin.

"Wyatt-" Chris said warningly, but Wyatt ignored him.

"He's my brother."

Chris glared at him, and Piper's eyes went wide.

"Chris...?"

"You're such a dick," he muttered, and Wyatt just smiled wider. It had been a while since he had this much fun. Being ruler of the world didn't lend to a lot of relaxation time, and he had an image to uphold anyways.

"Besides, Mom, as you can see, I don't need saving. I'm just here to bring Chris back before he can mess up the timeline."

"Right, because telling her that was so great for the timeline. Look Piper, it's nothing to worry about. Wyatt doesn't have his active powers, so he can't do any damage here. All we have to do is follow the original goal and we'll be fine."

"Get inside."

"Uh, Piper are you-"

"Now."

Wyatt and Chris shared a look, which boiled down to Shit, we're in for it now.

#charmed #fanfic #wyatt halliwell #chris halliwell #piper halliwell #my writing

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wistfulcynic · 5 years

Text

This time, pancakes.

As some of you know I’m currently on a fic writing hiatus. I don’t know how long it will last, and originally I’d intended to finish up my WIPs as soon as possible before really settling into the break, but now... honestly, I have very little motivation to write CS at the moment. I will not abandon my WIPs, I promise, but it may take a bit longer than I thought to get back into them. I’m sorry, and I will do my best not to let the wait grow too long.

Meanwhile I’m working on a non-CS project, one that is again taking up a lot of brainpower, so when I need a distraction I’ve been writing little drabbles, because oddly even though I’m blocked when I try to dig deep into a CS story, writing little bits and bobs with well-known characters is really relaxing. So I’ve decided to post them, here and on AO3.

Ratings and archive warnings will vary, so please heed the chapter notes. Most of these will be between 700 and 1200 words.

TO BEGIN we have Snow interrupting the pancake scene just a minute or two later than she did in canon, long enough for things to have got well underway. There’s a hint of voyeurism here, not intentional and not salacious, but if that’s not your jam I do understand. For those who choose to read on, please enjoy.

Rating: M Words: 800 Tags: accidental voyeurism, mild smut, canon compliant

Snow is an early riser, but she knows her daughter isn’t and so she waits, impatiently to be sure, but she waits a good three hours after she dug her wedding binder out of the box in her closet before she tucks it under her arm and heads off to Emma and Killian’s house. Emma gave her a key, for emergencies, she said, but Snow decides that she won’t trouble her daughter or her soon-to-be son-in-law by making them come to the door when she can just as easily… oh. Oh.

Snow stops dead in the doorway, her cheery greeting dying on her lips as she takes in the scene in front of her. She’s always known… well, suspected, to the extent that she ever actually thought about it, that Emma and Killian’s sex life was likely more… adventurous than hers and David’s… than a lot of people’s, probably. Emma is a woman who enjoys a bit of a thrill, and of course Hook —as David still calls him with a snarl in his voice whenever any conversation alludes to the passionate nature of the pirate’s relationship with their daughter— has had three hundred years to refine his techniques and to come up with new twists on old favourites. So actually, all things considered, them fucking on their kitchen table is not even the worst thing she could conceivably have walked in on.

Though it is pretty mortifying, all the same.

At least they’ve still got most of their clothes on, is her stray frenzied thought just as Emma yanks Killian’s jeans down and pushes him back on the table, straddling him, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him hard. They kiss with their whole mouths, tongues and teeth and wet, needy sounds and Killian makes a growling noise deep in his throat as his hand quests beneath Emma’s short bathrobe, gripping her thigh and pulling her closer, his fingers digging into her flesh.

Still frozen in the doorway, Snow wavers, unsure of what to do. They haven’t noticed her yet so if she’s quiet she can just creep back out like she was never there… but just as she prepares to go the table creaks and Emma moans, her head thrown back and her thin black bathrobe sliding off her shoulder, and for a moment Snow is transfixed, forgetting she’s watching her daughter, seeing only a man and a woman swept up in the physical expression of intense love. The look on her face as she slides down onto him… the look on his when he is fully seated within her… open and vulnerable and raw with emotion in a way that once, not long ago, Snow could never have imagined either of them capable. She reels at the sight, gripping the door handle for balance as Killian’s hooked arm wraps tightly around Emma’s waist and his hand tangles in her hair, her fingernails digging into his shoulders and back as they begin to move together.

They are so perfectly in sync, thinks Snow, and a memory flashes through her mind, a thought she firmly quashed once, three years before —has it only been three years?— at the sight of Emma and Hook heading off up the beanstalk, climbing smoothly together, pacing each other perfectly. She didn’t wish to see it at the time but… it’s always been there, hasn’t it, she acknowledges now, that pull of recognition between them. Half battle, half dance, fear and longing and the jagged edges of each catching on the other and refusing to let go. They’ve found their balance now, finally, after so much struggle and strife, so much work put into building up trust and breaking down walls. They deserve the happiness they’ve found with each other. They’ve earned it.

They’ve also earned some damn privacy.

The table creaks again as Emma shifts the angle of her hips, crying out softly, Killian groaning into her neck as she takes him in deeper. She tugs on his hair until he looks up at her, leans her forehead against his.

“I love you,” she whispers, and her voice is ragged and wrecked.

Killian’s hand curves around the back of her head, his hooked arm firm around her waist as he thrusts up into her. “I love you,” he rasps. “Gods, Emma, so much.”

Emma’s breath is hitching in her throat and the cords of Killian’s neck are drawn tight as Snow finally pulls herself together and slips out the door, closing and locking it as silently as possible, leaving them to find their bliss alone and unobserved. As she heads back down the street she pulls out her phone to send David a text. Whatever dangers threaten Storybrooke that day, they can handle it without the Saviour or her pirate. Snow will see to that.

Tagging: @thisonesatellite @kmomof4 @teamhook @stahlop @mariakov81

Anyone else who would like a tag for later drabbles, please let me know!

#cs fic #cs ff #canon compliant #drabble #cs pancakes #mild smut #accidental voyeurism #drabbles #profdanglaisstuff

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adastreia-12 · 5 years

Text

E C H O E S (AsraxGN!MC, brief Asrian)

A/N: Includes spoilers for Asra’s route but I’ve barely started playing it myself so some things may be a bit off!

Rated: Teen Genre: Angst Word count: 3,821 (haaa.... it was meant to be like 500 tops, oops) Summary: Magic is alive, and an intimate thing between magicians, connecting them and their feelings. Asra’s magic and yours are tightly connected after years of friendship and partnership; when he leaves you back in plague-stricken Vesuvia, it becomes his only way to know you’re okay. Until you aren’t, and your magic screams just like you did.

Magic was a curious thing. Ever-changing, evolving and pulsing with life. Unique to every individual, and despite its power, playful and curious. And it was all Asra ever really knew, the sole constant of his life, shining like a lighthouse, providing him with a home even though he lived in the streets when he was young. He was so familiar with it, and yet, few were the times where he had experienced his magic’s interaction with another’s. He knew that each magician’s magic was personal and different at an inherent level, but he had never met another magician in all of Vesuvia since his parents. Since them, never had his magic been touched by someone else’s, nudged playfully and hesitantly before getting familiar with it. Never, that is, until he met you.

Hailing from faraway Milova, you found your way to Vesuvia in search of a rumored magician in hopes that they would take you on as their apprentice, as Asra was informed by you from the other side of his shop’s counter when he first met you. It was truly a wonder he had even heard that back then. He had been too busy bathing in the warmth of your magic’s rawness. He had taken in a shuddering breath, marveling at how volatile and malleable it was. Hot and bright and powerful, it was ready to be bent into shape. It was the polar opposite of his calm, collected energy, a shining gold sun compared to a soft lilac nebula.

It had taken a snap of your fingers in front of his eyes, but he had agreed.

He had taken you in at the shop and in his life, falling into a routine with you. And while later he would come across more magicians, like the one who gave him Faust’s egg, it had been the first time in his life that he had someone to share his wonders, his oasis, his knowledge with. Someone who could, too, hear the Arcana whisper to them. He slept a bit easier each night.

It took a long time, what with his regular travels, but he taught you all he could. Every trick, every spell, every symbol. Your magic was stronger than his though. Although it was not as jagged as when he had started with you, it still burned golden with the same intensity. You could learn more, he knew that by the spikes he felt coming from it occasionally, despite how refined it had become. But he didn’t know how to give you any more.

So when his grimoires and herbs stopped offering new knowledge, he focused on you more. He began to see you for more than your golden magic, more than just a fellow magician. You became tangible, a person he could touch and get close to, someone who made him laugh, someone he could hug and mess around with. Someone he could travel with. He stopped leaving you behind when he took to the seas.

On your first trip to Nopal together, he came to a realization as he saw you interact with desert’s dunes for the first time in your life. Your laughter was music to his ears and the look of absolute wonder painted on your face as you took off your shoes and dipped your feet in the now cool sand, only illuminated by the flame you held in your hands made his heart flutter and his breath catch in his throat. A spark had ignited in his chest after so many years of knowing you and teaching you and he hadn't realized until that moment that what he was feeling was more than just friendship. He felt your magic reach out to his. He wasn't sure if that had been a conscious choice since you never looked up. But he responded, letting his own touch yours. Warmth took over him and he couldn't help the fond smile from his face.

However long it took him to help you shape up your magic, it felt like it took him longer to confess his feelings to you. When he did, it was because Faust told on him, devious little familiar as she was. It resulted in a lot of blushing on both your parts, and Asra blurting out "I'm in love with you!" in a rare case of him losing his composure.

"Uh, erm… You do?" you said very smoothly. With a quick glare at Faust, Asra could only nod. You short-circuited for a moment, a stammering mess and Asra could swear his heart dropped out of his ribcage when his magic rippled with the after effects of your conflicted feelings your own magic was reflecting.

He was about to try and salvage whatever remained of your relationship when you said: "Okay."

He did a double take and tilted his head in question. His heart was back in his ribcage but now it was hammering against it more wildly than ever.

You looked at him, determination in your eyes. "I… really really like you. Maybe we could try this out and see what happens?"

Asra was no fool. He jumped at the chance and eagerly said yes, a choice that soon proved to be one of the best of his life.

It was shy at first. You would both think twice to touch as much as you wanted, hesitant because of the novelty of your situation. You had never fallen for anyone. He had never loved anyone the way he loved you. Soft and wholesome, but also deeper than any other bond he’d ever had. Magic-deep. He could feel his magic intertwine with yours, mingle and bond with it, become one with every day that passed. More often than not, he felt its warmth wash over him, and even if he wouldn’t tell you, it gave him a sense of euphoria unlike any other.

Whatever timidity held your relationship back had soon gone away, however. The closer you got, the more connected your magic became and that was the highest form of intimacy two magicians could possibly achieve. Wayward touches like forehead kisses and hugs from behind came much easier after that, until they became as natural as breathing.

The traveling became a norm too. Asra would take you to Nopal almost every time now. You had grown accustomed to the sand now, but seeing you watch from his house always put a fond smile on his face. He would sit behind you and lean on a wall, looking at you for a bit before coming over and kissing your temple. You would kiss him back with a smile and go back to watching nature. After a few weeks, you would come back to Vesuvia and open your shop again.

Those were nice days. Simpler days. And then the Red Plague came.

“The plague is spreading too fast, what’s so difficult for you to understand? We need to leave Vesuvia!” Asra shouted at you, desperate.

“And let all these people die? We can help them, Asra! We’re magicians, there has to be something-”

“We’re magicians, not immortals! Please, just come with me to Nopal. Please. I can’t risk losing you.” His voice was softer now. He was begging.

You sighed and shook your head. When you looked at Asra, your eyes were icy, and he felt your magic spike with hostility. It sent daggers through his heart, but he didn’t show it. He was too mad at your stubbornness.

“I’m not leaving if I can help. I went to Dr. Devorak’s clinic. I’ll be starting as his doctor’s apprentice tomorrow. If you’re so selfish and want to leave, go. But do not expect me to do the same when I can help people.”

A flame ignited in his heart where your daggers of ice had been plunged, and the words were out of his mouth before he even realized he said them: “Fine! If you want to throw away your life, you can go ahead and die for all I care!”

A flash of hurt crossed your face before you masked it through steely eyes. You picked up his bag and threw it at him.

“Enjoy your trip, Asra.”

With an angry puff, Asra forcefully put on his hat and, scooping up Faust, he walked out and slammed the door.

He didn’t know. He didn’t know that would be the last time he would see you.

He was in Nopal again when it happened. As more time passed, he had hoped you’d see reason and come join him, but you never did. The house remained horribly empty without your laughter filling it. He remained calm, though, whenever he felt your magic. Despite your argument, despite the horrible things said, your magic’s link to his remained strong. He would feel it pulsing with happiness, with sorrow, with excitement and disappointment. It was his insurance that you were still alive.

One day, he was swept by incredible fatigue through your magic. He bit his lip in worry. You were probably working yourself to death trying to find a cure. Was the doctor taking care of you? He shook his head, and soon after, the fatigue washed away. You were fine.

Only you weren’t. Next came pain. It was brief, only lasting seconds of it, but your magic was suffering, and he could feel it. There was no calmness anymore, and it was dimmer now. He choked on his breath. No. No, you had to be okay. You were among doctors. There were precautions. The pain was from something else, it had to be. Still, he thought about how he left things with you, and soon, he found himself packing to go back. Tomorrow. I’ll leave tomorrow.

Too late. He was too late.

He woke up to the sound of screaming. He bolted out of bed and ran out of the house, his head snapping back and forth to find the source. No one was there. But the sound was still there, growing ever so loud. The screams turned to wails, and to words.

“Please! It hurts, it burns, please stop!” someone screeched, their voice broken, frantic, pained. That voice. Asra’s blood ran cold. No.

He reached for your magic. It was a mistake. His entire body was engulfed in searing pain that kicked him to his knees. He would have screamed too, had the pain not vanished and been replaced with your screams echoing around his skull. He clutched his head and folded himself until his forehead touched the ground, tears forming in his eyes. Your voice was cracked and strained but you kept screaming in pain. In between your wails, you called out to him.

“ASRA!”

Asra sobbed. ‘I’m here,’ he wanted to scream back, but he wasn’t. He was miles upon miles away, in another country, further away than he could even hope to be able to offer his help while you were hurting.

The screaming stopped eventually, and only then was he able to get up on wobbly feet and run to the beast that helped him travel, Faust around his shoulders.

“We need to get back to Vesuvia now,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. He couldn’t reach out to your magic anymore. There was a void in him where it used to be. He didn’t know what had happened to you, but his suspicions were almost enough to make his heart stop.

His fingers were coated with black ash and crimson blood, and he couldn’t contain his sobs. They racked his entire body, hurt his throat as they ripped through it. His tears fell freely on the sound he had sunken into. Silence answered his sorrow; silence and the weak, almost extinguished thrum of your magic reverberating in your skull. The only thing that had remained of you. The rest had burned while you screamed.

“I’m sorry,” Asra whispered weakly, clutching his shirt, not caring that he tainted its white with black and red soot. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t-” his voice cracked and another sob overtook him. “I didn’t mean what I said, please-”.

He cut himself off, gulping erratic breaths. If he had just been here…

He kept looking at your skull, haunted by the empty sockets that stared back at him. An idea crossed his mind the more he stayed alone with the traces of your magic. With a dangerous newfound determination, he picked up your skull and started walking away, ready to put as much distance between himself and the Lazaret as possible.

To his horror, he soon discovered that his suffering didn’t end at the Lazaret. Your screams rang in his head again a few weeks later, while working at the palace. They shook him to his core, and they almost knocked him to his knees again. He froze as your wails drowned out any other noise out, his eyes wide and unblinking, staring into the void.

“-ra! Asra, hey! Snap out of it!” Dr. Devorak’s voice rang sharp through your pained voice, and Asra could finally breathe again when he looked in his grey eyes. Dr. Devorak took his hands off Asra’s shoulders giving him a careful, concerned look. He realized he must have been shaking him. He looked around and saw pairs of eyes peering at him curiously over medical masks. He looked back at the doctor, disoriented.

“Wh-,” he swallowed and brought a hand to his forehead. “What happened?” he croaked a second after. Dr. Devorak gave him an incredulous look. “You were doubled over and crying,” he said matter-of-factly. Asra touched his cheeks lightly and felt the half-dried tears. His hand was shaking too. He looked back at Dr. Devorak at a loss for words. He didn’t know what to say. Those were your screams. He shouldn’t be hearing them anymore. You were gone. So why was he?

“I…”

The doctors were still looking at him. Valdemar’s piercing stare unnerved him, and he couldn’t stop recalling the sound of your pain. Out of nowhere, he was shielded from view by an apron-covered chest, and a gloved hand rested lightly on his shoulder, pushing him gently the other way.

“Let’s get you out of here,” Dr. Devorak muttered.

Once outside the dungeon and the library and into the halls of the palace, Asra managed to finally take a deep breath that actually reached his lungs. His hands were still shaking as he ran one through his hair.

“What happened in there, Asra?” the plague doctor asked, concern in his grey eyes.

Asra took a good look at him, thinking in horror back on the echoes of your screams, his mind summoning images of fire licking your skin and destroying it. His eyes welled up again but he blinked the tears away.

“Nothing important,” he said and tried to give Dr. Devorak a charming smile. “Thank you for your help though, Doctor.”

Dr. Devorak appeared to get flustered, instantly losing his composure and blushing furiously.

“I, uh- You’re welcome,” he stuttered out and looked to the side. Asra nodded, and with a fake pleasant smile, he moved to leave.

“Uh, Julian!” he heard the doctor’s voice yell out from behind him. He turned around and gave him a quizzical look with an arched eyebrow.

Dr. Devorak was still blushing and looking at his feet.

“My name is, uh, it’s Julian,” he muttered.

This time, Asra’s smile, albeit small, was genuine. “Thank you, Julian.”

He started spending time with Julian more after that. Your screams came to him often, always rendering him immobile and unresponsive, but he started to seek comfort in the hands of a certain steel eyed doctor, and suddenly he didn’t completely shut down when all he could hear was the pain and desperation in your wild voice. The void where your magic used to be was still there, gaping, but Julian made it easier to ignore.

“If I tell you something no one knows about me, will you tell me what is going on with you?” Julian said one day lazily, head buried in Asra bare chest, legs entangled under the sheets. Asra petted his auburn hair and hummed.

“Perhaps.” No. He wouldn’t. But he was curious.

Julian sat up and rested his weight on his elbow. “My given name is Ilya.”

Asra arched his brow.

“My sister was the last person to use it, before I left her back in Nevinon,” he explained with a thousand yard stare. His lips were curled in a smile, but his eyes were drooped, sad.

“You loved her?” Asra asked, his thoughts drifting back to you, and something wrung his heart. He tried not to wince.

Julian chuckled forlornly. He shifted his body to look better at Asra.

“More than anything. I would do anything for her, even though… I guess I’ve been quite a disappointing brother to her. Haven’t seen her since she was about yay high,” he said, gesturing to a height barely higher than that of the bed. He shook his head. “Haven’t been called that since then either.”

Asra took a while to answer. His mind was clouded with memories of you. How long had it been since he saw you? More than a year had passed since he had left for Nopal without you, like the coward he was.

“Ilya is a beautiful name,” he ended up saying. “It suits you.”

Julian hummed, pleased with himself but unable to hide a blush dusting his cheeks. He soon recovered and cleared his throat.

“I told you something personal. Now, what’s wrong?”

Asra hesitated. He didn’t want to tell him. But he couldn’t leave him hanging.

“I lost someone. They were dear to me. Dealing with their death is… hard,” he settled for. It was the truth, if not all of it. Julian’s eyes darkened. He looked away, ashamed. Asra knew that the guilt of not finding a cure for the Red Plague gnawed on him. He felt a spark of satisfaction. There were times he still blamed him for your death. But it soon went away. “I’m sorry,” Julian whispered. Asra didn’t answer. That night, your wails were mellowed out by Julian’s company.

Julian soon became Ilya for Asra. And soon after, Ilya became past, your voice too deafening, too maddening for him to stay with the doctor. It haunted him, it stole his sleep and made him see your ash on his bloody fingers whenever he even looked at him. The resentment that cultivated couldn’t allow him to stay with him. He would hear you all the time, sometimes for whole days. Every time he did, he felt a small spark in the traces of your magic from your skull.

“I’m sorry, I already said I’m sorry… Why are you doing this to me?” he whispered between tears at the skull one day, barely even hearing himself over you. The leftover magic spiked and your screams became louder. He sobbed. This… this trace of your magic was all he had left of you and it was an echo of the last time you were alive and he was doomed to relive the pain again and again. He couldn’t bare to tether his bond to you.

Your screams were burned in his mind like a brand that never healed, always sizzling with pain. He missed you and he couldn’t connect with you anymore. He remembered your screams better than he did your voice now, your voice that he had adored so much. Your magic was painful instead of comforting like it used to be. He was going insane. He couldn’t take this torture anymore.

You just wouldn’t stop screaming, so he pressed his hands firmly to his ears, not caring enough to wipe his tears anymore, only caring about stopping the screams, please just stop, please. You didn’t. So he did the only thing he could: he screamed with you, trying to drown out your voice with his. He screamed until his throat felt like it was being torn by talons and his head pounded. He screamed until he couldn’t scream anymore, choked by his sobs and tears, on his knees and doubled over himself, his hands never leaving his ears, even though it didn’t do anything, even though he just wanted to hug himself as he cried, wishing that were you.

He only let his arms fall from his head and snake around himself when your screams faded away. He kept sobbing softly in front of your skull and Faust finally dared to approach him and wrap herself around him in an attempt of comfort. “Faust… I need to do this quicker,” he whispered to his familiar when he could finally breathe again. Do what? She asked, tilting her head, tongue flicking.

“Bring them back,” he said, a dangerous fire alight in his purple eyes. His magic flared dangerously, and yours cowered. “Whatever the cost,” he said, and then softly, eyes downcast: “I can’t do this anymore.”

And bring you back he did. The days leading up to the Masquerade had been relentless. Your screams hadn’t stopped echoing around his own skull for days, and he thought he might snap, his skin crawling. But in the end, the deed was done and the deal was struck. The seal glowed over what was left of his heart, and you were back. The moment you returned, the screams vanished, and Asra could have collapsed with relief. For the first time in a long while, he smiled, and the smile was genuine. You were there. You were alive. He did it.

He had thought that the day that he would get you back, the day he so carefully planned, the day he sacrificed so much for, the day the screams would stop, would be the happiest of his days in a long time. But then, you opened your eyes, and where he expected recognition and love, he found only alarm and emptiness. You curled into yourself, away from him, as if you didn’t know him. Asra recoiled.

He called your name but you didn’t answer. He asked you if you knew who he was but was met with more silence. Moments later, when you opened your mouth, he dared hope that it had only been shock, but that hope got crushed when grumbled, wordless noises fell off your lips. It only took seconds for him to realize that you didn’t remember him. You didn’t even remember how to talk. He tried to bite back a sob as what was left of his half heart broke all over again. You didn’t come back as you were.

It was supposed to be a happy day for him. But all he could think as he put on a brave face and fought off tears was that the traces of your magic and the echoes of your screams seemed more welcome than your strong but reserved magic and the blankness that governed your gaze when you looked at him.

#the arcana fic #the arcane mc #the arcana #the arcana asra #asra x apprentice #asra alnazar #asra arcana #asra angst #asrian

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moonloredraws · 5 years

Note

Have you ever considered putting together some kind of setting primer for Manala? It is so cool and everything you say about it seems like stuff I would love

I have, actually! At first I wanted to create a book on all of the elves, orcs and other homebrew races that I have in the setting, but then... the information just kept growing and growing and things are KIND of out of hand and I’d probably need a legit 100 page book MINIMUM to get most of my brain thoughts out in a coherent way, aaaand as much as I think of myself as a good writer I’d have to pass on this idea now.

Since there’s way too much information to get down in a smaller book and I don’t really have the spoons or editing capacity to make a huge online pdf, everyone’s mostly going to have to settle on what I post online when the brain gremlin gets on the hamster wheel of ideas. I’ll be tagging world related posts with “The World of Manala” as best as I can so that’d be something to peruse through at a later date for more world building, and I’ll probably release the homebrew races in one of those “Fake Monster Manual Statblock Pages” kind of thing for free for people to use.

For now though, there isn’t going to be any book, or guide to my homebrew world.

HOWEVER HERE’S AN EXTRA TIDBIT THAT I POSTED TO MY TWITTER FOREVER AGO THAT’S ELF WORLDBUILDING AND LORE bc this stuff is fun and might give you ideas for your own D&D homebrews.

True Elves (so all apart from sea and wood elves) have this insatiable need to kill things called “The Hunt”. Most elves now want to appear as refined and cultured as possible and dive head-first into arts and whatnot to get themselves away from this. Eladrin and Shadar Kai are not bothered by The Hunt and gladly go on huge hunting parties where they end up devouring their prey as soon as it’s dead. Or... in the Shadar Kai’s case as soon as it’s immobilized. Yes, the Shadar Kai are SO unhinged that they literally start tearing into a creature while it’s still alive to eat the raw meat. High elves try and stay as far away from the actual hunting themselves lest they get overcome by it, but eating lil chunks of raw meat is very typical.Drow, since they mostly farm creatures in the underdark and have a largely vegetarian diet, don’t get affected by The Hunt as much, but when they do? They’re ALMOST as savage as the Eladrin and gorge themselves on their prey in the tunnels before dragging the rest back home (less to carry and you get energized, and must go away bc the underdark is dangerous)

Sea elves do not get affected by the Hunt at all. Wood elves get affected in a different way. They get excited to simply follow and track the prey, they get a thrill from seeing large predators suddenly overcome in panic and run from the skilled wood elves, and hunts can last WEEKS.

Elves are weird and feral in my world, they’re definitely not as refined as most depictions of the race, and it cracks me up that in the Shadowfell, the ELVES are the savage ones while the Shadow Orcs are the refined ones that prefer assassinations to brute force attacks.

#ask #anon #The World of Manala #elves

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sooghostwriter · 5 years

Text

Iliada

Pairings: Do Kyung Soo x OC

Genre: Mature, Romance, AU, action, Bad guys and secret agents, Smut in this chapter bb! and a bit of fluff too.

Warnings: Kyung Soo is not a good guy, mention of violence, bad language

Summary: After a long and hard assignment, Yoon Suji is sent to a new mission that involves less violence but needs a lot of acting. Do Kyung Soo has one of the biggest drugs rings in South Korea, but police haven’t been able to get him. They need proof that he is the one in charge and Suji is the one sent to get them.

She has the freedom to decide how is she going to get his trust.

Chapter 5

April 2nd to April 3th

Under her sweater, she was wearing a light t-shirt that kept her skin away from the itchy wool.

“Take that off too” He ordered again. Suji followed his instruction, acting out a nervous shaking of her hands and a worried stare, and was left only in her sports bra.

“Now get under the covers and lay there” Suji nodded and quickly got inside the bed. Kyung Soo walked inside his wardrobe and Suji could see him take off his suit, and put on his pajama bottoms.

“Calm down, we are not fucking…only…well, you will see” He told her, his voice less serious than before.

Suji couldn’t avoid feeling a bit disappointed. This could have been really good for the mission.

She didn’t know what was going to happen, and the uncertainty annoyed her. After five minutes, Kyung Soo was back, wearing pajamas, glasses and no gel in his hair. He turned off every single light in his room and got into bed saying no word. Suji waited for him to make the first move.

“Now, if you excuse me” Suji saw in awe how Kyung Soo got really close to her, and just cuddled in her chest passing his arms around her waist, resting his head on her breast.

His skin was cold and his breathing irregular.

“Are you going to stay there like a dead fish?” He asked, exasperated.

“Sorry?”

“Do something with your arms” Suji was taken aback. What he wanted was some sort of tender care. Simple cuddling.

She could do that much. It was like hugging a pillow or a big dog right?

Decisively Suji brought him closer to her body, hugging him and giving him what he was asking for. He didn’t speak again, he didn’t even move. A moment later, Suji realized he was asleep and a little later she followed him.

April 5th to April 6th

The morning Kyung Soo woke up next to Suji, he wondered what made him different from her last boss.

And now, a day later, he found what was different.

Suji was the one there, inside his room. She wasn’t there for work, but something else. And she didn’t back up. He was sure that if she wanted otherwise, she would have kicked him in the crotch and run away. But she didn’t. She hugged him close and allowed him to have a nice sleep, without remorse. In fact, when he told her that having sex wasn’t in his plans, he could have sworn that she got a bit disappointed. But maybe that was a bit too greedy of him.

Suji didn’t say a word to Kyung Soo about what happened. The next morning she woke up at the same time he did, they got up at the same time and she went back to her room through the back window. It wasn’t awkward, but they acted as if it didn’t happen.

Still, Suji was happy. She would have to press a couple of buttons and she will be inside his circle. She could feel it.

Chanyeol could eat his words.

She was already developing a plan in her head. It was flawless. She will take advantage of the soon coming holiday. Everyone at the house will leave for the week. Kyung Soo will stay there, playing with his dogs or any of that crap he does by himself. And she will stay there with him.

Checkmate.

And again, Suji thanked the stars for her luck. Just when she was getting ready to go and clean his room she heard a sound outside her room. The voices were unknown, so she got on guard immediately. She looked outside her window and found two guys. Her mind worked fast, she recognized them. Two of Do’s workers. She couldn’t quite remember their names, but the faces were very familiar. She sharpened her ear, listening to their words. The fact that they were outside her room talking in a low voice caught her attention.

“Kyung Soo gave me the number of the account, I should take one million, but I’m planning to take a bit more…you know, personal expenses”

“Do it! You deserve it. That bastard makes you work way too hard, way too much, and pays a misery, fuck it, take three million, one for him, two for you” They ended the conversation with loud laughs and walked away.

That was weird.

She couldn’t catch the entire conversation, but why talk about it there? inside the household, and close to a window. Her window.

Another trust test.

And she will bite the bait.

≠

“Sir, may I have a word with you?” Kyung Soo recognized Suji’s voice from behind the door and smiled to himself.

Someone had bit the bait.

“Come in” Suji walked inside with confidence, something that always got him, and sat in the chair in front of him, looking serious.

“I was about to leave my room and go clean yours when I heard voices” He faked interest, leaning on his desk, crossing his arms and inviting her to keep talking.

“When I looked outside my window, I saw two guys outside my room, I guess…two of your guys?”

“Sure”

“Ok, well, they were talking about an account number, and three million, one for you sir and two for them”

“I see…why are you telling me this?” Suji’s surprised look was what he was waiting for. Fast, her eyes focused again, and her brows met in the middle again. “

I thought you should know it”

“You’re snitching?” He was incredibly amused by Suji’s expressions. She kept them under control, but still, they showed what she was thinking. At least what he thought she was thinking.

“No sir, my loyalty is with you, if I see something, I say something, especially if it involves someone saying that bastard, when they refer to you” Suji’s words sank hard in Kyung Soo’s head. He planned all that so he could have a last verification of trust. He still had some remaining doubts, but Suji’s words were overflowing with commitment.

“Thank you Suji, I will see what is going on…it’s good to know that I can trust you” He kept his stare fixed on her face, looking for a sign of alarm, a twitch of her lips, pupil dilatation, nervous hand movement, but he saw nothing. Only her serious face.

“One last thing sir…this weekend, may I stay here working? I know Miss Dada was going to stay, but she has a family and all that”

“Talk with her, if she is alright with it, I see no problem”

“Good, sir” Suji stood up, ready to leave, and he saw a chance to try something “I will stay here during the holidays too, Miss Park”

“Then I will be taking care of you next week”

Kyung Soo didn’t ignore her flirting tone.

April 10th

Suji was finishing up her weekly report. There wasn't too much news, but it was her way to keep everything organized, and in that way also her boss and teammates could be actualized with the case. After lunch, Chanyeol had arranged a web conference with Jongdae. Suji wanted to talk about some things regarding Kyung Soo and how could she interpret the cuddling in his bed situation.

“Well…when it comes to cuddling or hugging, is always a way to look for protection or comfort, now, the fact that he asked you to take off your t-shirt and only your t-shirt, can give us a bit more of information…the skin to skin thing…it shows a search for intimacy, but at the same time it puts him in a very vulnerable situation”

“My theory about remorse…can it be correct?”

“I think it is. Probably that time he did something that made him feel full of regret, maybe something that he didn’t like doing, Now, the fact that he seeks for comfort in your persona, allowing you to get in to his bed, and sleep with you, which is when all our guards are down, tells me that he trusts you. Someone as careful as him, as analytic as he is, will never make such a huge mistake”

“What should I do now?”

“Take advantage of what you have in front of you”

She didn’t need to hear that twice.

April 19th

Suji found the first big problem since she got inside the house. With all the cooks on vacation and none of her co-workers there, she was in charge of breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And she couldn’t even toast bread without burning it.

She never learned how to cook. She never had the interest, never needed it. Supermarkets had everything ready for her. It was idiotic to occupied space inside her head remembering recipes when she could get frozen food.

But now, there was no frozen food. Only raw material. She pulled out her computer and searched for breakfast tutorials. Maybe she wasn’t a good cook, but she knew how to follow rules. In less than 20 minutes she had a full Korean breakfast ready.

Kyung Soo had breakfast in his office, lunch in the dining room and dinner in the kitchen, with her. Her intentions to get into conversation were futile. He was vague and obviously nervous.

A little bit past midnight Suji was memorizing new recipes for the rest of the week, craving some midnight snack, like potato chips or Ice cream with cream on top. They probably had nothing like that at the Do’s household, but she could try it.

She went outside her room, without caring about making noise since she was all by herself in that part of the house. She looked in every cabinet and found nothing similar to her cravings. Not even a bar of chocolate. And her body was asking for some sugar and carbs.

“Suji, are you looking for something?” She didn’t even flinch when she heard his voice. She was already used to his low tone, and the fact that it caught her by surprise several times.

“Yeah, some real food for example”

“There’s a lot of real food in that cabinet over there and in the fridge” Suji didn’t have to fake an exasperated sigh

“I know, but not the kind of food I need, I need carbs, complex carbohydrates, and sugar, refined sugar, you have none of that”

“Not really, you see, I’m planning on living a long life, hopefully with a healthy heart”

“Very funny, is not that I’m planning on killing myself, but my body needs that kind of fuel once in a while” She saw him walk outside the kitchen and came back with his phone. He moved his fingers over the screen and then brought it to his ear.

“Goodnight, I would like to know if you make delivery…ok, then would you bring…” He stared at Suji, telling her to make the order. She listed what she wanted, and he repeated it to the person on the other side of the line. Suji didn’t feel ashamed about her order, not even when she compared it with Kyung Soo’s single bowl of ramen.

“Are you pregnant or something Miss Park?”

“Not at all sir, I just tend to have cravings”

“Oh, well…I didn’t know that, we don’t have any of that food here, I’ll tell one of the cookers to add some of those things to the list from now on” It didn’t surprise her how nice he could be. She already knew that he was a very caring person, of course, only with the people he works with.

Their order arrived 30 minutes later. And Suji volunteered to go and pick it up at the main gate. He waited for her in the kitchen, sitting at the small table next to the dishwasher. Her night menu consisted of a cheeseburger, a portion of potato chips, a Sprite and a Lava cake. Kyung Soo was rather amazed by it.

“I feel sorry for your dentist”

“It's not like I always eat like this. Only when I’m on a…only when I’m working” She almost said a mission.

Idiot.

She bit the inside of her cheek as a punishment. He didn’t realize it, but still, she did it, and it angered her. No mistakes were allowed. Never.

But either way, she wasn’t lying to him. Always under the pressure of work, she would eat any kind of crap. The high consumption of carbs happened always during missions. Her body and brain worked too much, and carbs and sugar were the only things that gave her energy. And on vacation, she would detox her body with fruits, tea, and water. She knew very well how her body worked.

“And you exercise a lot too” Of course he knew that. The bastard followed her and probably knew her training schedule. But she shouldn’t know that.

“I do exercise a lot…how do you know?” Kyung Soo gulped twice, looking a bit caught in the spot.

“Well…I can tell by looking at you”

“I do exercise. Running, kickboxing and some weight lifting, not too much, enough so I can break a nose with my fist” He laughed and didn’t look suspicious or upset by Suji’s words. Little by little, she was getting what he liked or what amused him.

Once they began eating, silence ruled in the kitchen, only interrupted by his slurping. It gave Suji the time to think about what to ask, talk and say. This was a great opportunity. Do Kyung Soo just invited her to dinner. In a way.

Maybe a light conversation could be good as an icebreaker. But weather conversations were for idiots. And after that cuddling situation, they were way past something like that. Maybe a random question about the house could lead to something. Or to nothing.

Suji had a third option. The risky one, but at the same time, the one that gave her a better hunch “Mister Do, are you feeling better?”

“Better?”

“Yeah, the other day, you know… when you found me in your room” He didn’t answer immediately, taking his time to chew and swallow his food. Suji waited without looking at him, giving him some time.

“I am better, thanks for asking”

“What happened?”

“Just work stuff, I was stressed”

“And snuggling half-naked takes the stress away?” Suji couldn’t interpret Kyung Soo’s stare. His eyes were dark, a bit mad maybe, but his mouth didn’t agree with them and refused to stop grinning.

“It does. You know that cuddling has the same effect as painkillers?”

“No, I didn’t know”

“And the warmth of a woman’s skin takes away every single worry…now let me ask you something, what were you doing in my room?”

“I think you can put two and two together, sir” Kyung Soo stayed in silence again. He didn’t touch his chopstick and didn’t look at her either. Instead, he got up from his seat, thanked for the food and left.

Suji cursed herself and kept eating the rest of her hamburger with rage. The questions behind Do’s behavior started to shape in her head. Scared? Offended? Was he angry by her words? Was this a step back or a step forward in her mission?

Whatever the answer was, the only one who knew it was him.

The lava cake had to wait for tomorrow. Suji had lost her appetite.

She was washing the few pieces of tableware they used when she heard footsteps approaching. She ignored them, already knowing who it was. She decided to wait for his next move. But he remained still at the door, she could see his reflection in the kitchen window. And also could feel his stare on her back.

“You need something, sir?” Fuck it. She couldn’t wait. It made her somehow anxious, and nervous. She hated it.

“No” Was his only answer.

Bastard. That answer said nothing. Not even his tone.

“I was just thinking” Suji froze. Kyung Soo began moving from the door, approaching her, and then stopped again.

“Since you came here, I have been wondering, to the point of loosening some sleep, what is under those long skirts you wear all the time”

Bingo.

There it was. But this time, she did stay in silence. Only turned around, facing him, faking an expression of doubt and nervousness. He walked the last four steps that kept him away from her and stood there, his body an inch away from hers.

He bent down, dropping a gentle kiss on her lips. Sadly, the soft sight that left her mouth was real.

She waited for another kiss, and this time she will have her reactions under control. But it didn’t come. They stared at each other for a couple of seconds, she could imagine how her face looked, clueless and maybe a bit pale. He didn’t move, he didn’t kiss her again.

He was waiting.

He was waiting for her to make the next move.

She didn’t know how. This wasn’t the plan. The plan was that he was going to force himself into her. And she would let it happen. But that clearly wasn’t his plan.

She didn’t know how to make her next move. How to kiss him back. As soft as he did it? Or rougher? How long the kiss should be? This was her 15 years old self all over again.

“Maybe I should...” Kyung Soo took a step back, retracting like a wounded animal, but she stopped him. She wasn’t going to let this opportunity go just because she forgot how to kiss someone. She grabbed him by his waist pulling him against her. He was shocked at first, but a faltering smile appeared on his face.

“I thought you were rejecting me” She shook her head and leaned closer, kissing him, a little less soft than he did. She hugged him by the waist tighter, pressing her chest against him, and sucking on his lower lip. Kyung Soo groaned in pleasure and grabbed her face. His hands were strong although they always looked so soft and small to her. He answered the kiss, his mouth hot and responsive to hers. Suji made the decision to kiss him, but she didn’t have time or mind to plan what to do next. Her brain, instead of processing the kiss, was playing different scenarios, trying to come up with the best and most useful way to continue that night. But Kyung Soo was faster than her. His mind worked better than hers.

He let go of her face and moved away from the kiss. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t even look at her to try to convey something. Instead, he dropped to his knees and sank his hands under Suji’s skirt, grabbing her ankles. He kept his stare fixated on hers, with dark seductive eyes. He kept caressing her ankles and up to her knee. If he kept moving up, he would find the big scar on her left thigh. Suji didn’t know how to act now. Normally, when it came to these kinds of situations, men were always rough. She would be tossed in a bed and then the only thing left was waiting for the pain. But Kyung Soo was doing the opposite. “Suji, I’m going to…”

“I know, go ahead” Suji was wrong. She thought he was talking about sex. But no. She could never imagine what he would do next. He grabbed the hem of her black skirt and passed it above his head, sinking under it. The first thing she felt was his lips against her thighs. Her hands kept still, grabbing the closest solid surface. And her skirt kept moving, with Kyung Soo’s head shifting, alternating between her left and right thigh.

She was already getting into the zone. Her happy place. That imaginary place she visited each time the mission demanded it. In that way, it was easier to get over it in the future.

Meanwhile, Kyung Soo played with the elastic of her underwear, she started to bite her lip, it was easier to concentrate in that way.

Her natural instinct to show some resistance started to dissipate when Kyung Soo pulled her underwear down her legs slowly, kissing her knees tenderly. She could barely register it. Suji looked down at her skirt and whatever was happening down there. Why was this guy being so thorough with his touch? This wasn’t normal. Not a common thing. The bad guy, the one she had to fight, was always some pig that broke every single moral he could find. And the top one was always abuse. Human abuse. Female abuse. She had gone through it, and she was ready to go through it again. She knew how.

But this. Do Kyung Soo, South Korea’s most wanted, the guy that runs the most secretive drug cartel in the country, was now giving her oral. And the worst, he was good at it. He was so good at it.

Maybe she didn’t need her happy place.

Still with his head under her skirt, Kyung Soo was having no trouble finding the right spots. And the feelings of kicking his head away or grab him by the nape so he could keep working were fighting inside her head.

He kept kissing in between her legs. And it kept getting better. Inevitably her breathing lost its rhythm. Her knees were lacking some strength too. Her mind was lacking clarity, and the desire to grab him by the nape and sink his tongue deeper was getting stronger.

Slowly, he detached his lips from her, kissing down her legs and getting out from under Suji’s skirt. His hair was messy, his cheeks a bit flushed and his lips glowing. He licked them in a way that caught Suji’s interest way too much.

“Suji, I’m at my limit” From the back pocket of his pajama pants, Kyung Soo took off a metallic square.

‘Remember you are supposedly interested in this guy’

Her mind reminded her. So she grabbed the metallic square from his hand.

“I see” She said with a quiet voice, not meeting his eyes, looking at her right hand that was pulling down his pants.

“I can do it” He tried to stop her.

“You have done a lot” Answered Suji with a flirty tone, getting a shy laugh from him. Still, he helped her pull down his pants and waited patiently until she finished putting the condom on. She gave him a couple of strokes, just testing, and looked straight into his eyes, waiting for his next move. He decisively grabbed her by the waist and sat her on top of the kitchen counter to later grab the hem of her skirt and pull it up, uncovering her naked legs.

“Bite here” He said, twining half of the skirt and posing it against her lips. Suji opened her mouth and grabbed the piece of clothing between her teeth, allowing him to have a clear view of her lower half.

Her breath got stuck in her throat the moment Kyung Soo pushed in. She was waiting for some flashbacks, the psychiatrist had told her that in the future, especially during intercourse, her mind could bring back images. But his solid hold had her strongly close to reality, to what was happening right now. She was also expecting pain, but to her surprise, she was wet enough so Kyung Soo slid inside her easily. His movements were slow, his stare serious. She only stared at him, trying to read or understand any expression that could cross his face. But she only found concentration, that and arousal. Kyung Soo stopped his movements for a moment, rearranging his position and finally looking at her. A thin smile appeared, apparently, he liked what he saw “Open your legs a bit wider for me please” He said with a velvety tone that made every single hair on Suji’s nape stand. She did as told, and he didn’t think twice before slamming back into her. A strangled hiss left her mouth, and her hands involuntarily traveled to his shoulders pulling him closer. Involuntarily.

He rested his head on her shoulder, with his lips stuck to her neck, nibbling at her skin, eliciting soft moans from Suji. She did her best, her biggest effort to keep her mind clear, to stay in control of her actions. But he was so damn talented, and she was still a woman who knew how to enjoy a good fuck. And the guy was making her feel very good, despite the fact that she was still fully clothed, or sort of. His hips changed their rhythm and...

“FUCK THAT’S IT!” She let go of her skirt as the words left her mouth before she could even form them inside her mind.

Kyung Soo, after some minutes, had found that place inside her that made her see white and moan like in a cheap porn movie. It took her years of self-loving to find it, and now this damn drug dealer had found it in no time. She could feel his smile against her neck, and it angered her. But he kept thrusting, and the anger quickly dissipated. He withdrew and pushed in hard, again and again. He quickened his pace, and she raised her hips, wanting him deeper inside. He pumped harder and deeper in and she gasped at the strength of each thrust. Just a few more and she will be done.

His breath matched Suji’s. He groaned as he burst inside the condom. She covered her mouth, not giving him the pleasure of hearing the long moan that accompanied her ecstasy. He withdrew from her and took off his condom, tossing it into the trash can. Suji was still panting, resting her back against the cold surface of the window behind her, still not sure if she could stand firmly. He lifted his head, looking at Suji from above. He dried the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand and pulled up his pants.

“Somehow…I feel like apologizing”

“For what?” She asked, pulling down her skirt.

“Jump on you?” Suji shrugged it off and grabbed his hands when he offered help.

“It wasn’t against my will, although, If they find out about this in the agency, I’ll get fired so…”

“I will take responsibility if that happens, I doubt it though…we have to…”

“A secret, I know, I like this job, I don’t want to lose it”

“Then it’s alright” He said as he took her face in his hand and pulled her again into a kiss. He gave her a wide smile and grabbed her by the hips when her legs wobbled. Suji thanked him and tried to walk by herself, picking up her underwear, not bothering with put it back on.

“I think I’ll go to bed right now”

“Sure me too, I will see you tomorrow”

“Sleep well sir” Suji saw him disappear through the door and dashed to her room. She took off her computer from under the bed and turned on the microphone’s software. She didn’t press record, she only wanted to see if Kyung Soo had something to say, out of curiosity. She could hear him walk around the room to finally get inside the bed.

“Damn…that was good” Was the only thing she heard him say. Suji laughed, not sure if it was from happiness or triumph.

TBC

#Kyungsoo #do kyungsoo #do kyung soo #kyung soo #d.o fanfic #d.o smut #kyungsoo smut #exo fanfiction #exo fanfic #exo smut #d.o exo #iliada #d.o

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yackowarner · 6 years

Text

while I’m posting old writing snippets... here’s something FOP related that’s also old but good. It’s coswan

Preface

He seriously needed a coffee right now. Preferably one in his favorite mug, the pink one with the big red heart on it. Coffee just tasted better in that cup. And for this daily task, he needed the caffeinated drink. The bitterness of a black coffee got him through this. Usually he’d have something sweetened up, with mocha or cream or any other thing you could put into coffee, but black was all that helped here. Because this daily task—one he’d made a requirement for himself—had to do with teenagers.

Watching over teenagers, to be exact. Observe them. Make sure he knew exactly what to do with them when February fourteenth rolled around—he was Cupid, of course. The God of Love had to be aware of who he was shooting in the butt. But teenage love (though quite cute, he had to admit) was so unreal it almost made him sick. Teen love was all hormones and hungry children wanting to move too fast, to climb on top of each other all at once. True love in a teenager was rare, with both fairies and humans.

Today he was checking the fairies. He did it one high school at a time. Perhaps he missed a few people in the process, but he’d get to them eventually. There’d be an arrow in their rear at some point. Whether that arrow lasted a lifetime or not… well. It really depended on the person. Some people never had an arrow with their names on it.

He focused his attention on Carl Poofy Pants Fairy High School, on this particular day. He had the list of names with him, and (thank goodness) a cup of steaming black coffee on the table next to him. He could see the front doors of the high school in his mind’s eye, and the students milled about just like in any other school. Nothing out of the ordinary. Normal high school activities. There was a girl being followed by a harem of men—obviously the prettiest in school. One look down his list told him her name was Blonda, and her arrow was most definitely sitting in his archive. He just knew it was there. Cupid’s intuition was rather refined.

He focused again on the setting of the school inside his head, sweeping over a poor fairy child being turned upside-down by the captain of the football team… he mentally checked off all their arrows… and a few girls quietly gathered around their lockers laughing together. All their arrows were there as well—

Hold on. No. Wait. Back to the tiny fairy being bullied, he was now right side up, begging the football player’s forgiveness, for whatever he had done. Cupid tried… he truly did… but this green haired boy had no arrow. His name would be on his list, but… and in the group of girls, by the lockers. No arrow on one of them, the pink haired girl, too. Rare, so very rare, to have two arrowless people in one place. He supposed it to be possible. But he felt bad for the two poor saps who’d never experience the joy of love, the rush one got when they were pierced by his expertly shot arrow. Rare… rare cases happened where someone fell in love without an arrow. And not fake love. Real, true love. But never had the other person returned the feelings without Cupid’s guidance. It just meant that, one side of the couple had a more raw passion to it. Falling in love without a love arrow was so powerful. Cupid adored it when it happened. It powered his machines greatly.

He browsed curiously through all the other children. They were fine. Arrows were there. But… his interest had been sprung. He’d have to keep a close eye on those two, when he had moments of free time to spare. In fact, he decided to dig through his file cabinets, pull out the two fairies files, not very full right now. Oh how he didn’t know, how full they’d get. He’d need more than folders to keep the papers of these two organized. But at this moment, he just set the files down on his desk—with the other arrowless fairies and humans--to browse later on.

He was sure they were unrelated. Just two kids in the same school happened to have a similar situation. They didn’t seem to even see each other when he’d been watching the school scene. Neither knew of the other’s existence. Still, he liked carefully tracking these types. Just in case they were ones to fall in love all on their own. He needed that. And he needed it documented carefully.

Yes, he’d certainly be keeping a watchful eye and open ear over these teens. This… Cosmo and Wanda.

Chapter One

Today was the anniversary of her mother’s death. This day always had her thinking, thinking her life through, thinking about the choices she was making. That is—it made her think even more than usual. And usual was, well… a lot. She thought about her grades. They were perfect, spot on. And to keep them that way, she had to think about them. She thought about what she was going to wear. Not that she was very fashionable—she wanted to be presentable, though. She thought about what she was going to have for lunch today. Wanda thought about her family. How her father clearly loved her sister better. He was proud of Wanda, sure. She had the highest marks, and he bragged about it. But her sister was stunningly gorgeous somehow, much more so than Wanda—even if they were twins. Though Blonda had to start dying her hair when it began to lose its natural shiny blonde color, she was still the most beautiful. She was the head of the acting club at school. She had a posse of men carrying her things and giving her compliments. Wanda didn’t hate her sister. She simply couldn’t. She was family. But she loathed her inflated ego and tendency to rub things in the pink haired fairy’s face.

She was overthinking her sister, again. What else was there to think about? Oh yes, meeting the girls after school today, at the diner. And… her boyfriend. There was always him to think about. Not that she really enjoyed thinking about Juandissimo. Wanda was very back and forth on breaking it off with him—on one hand, she made all the other girls jealous by dating the most hunky guy in school. On the other hand, those girls were out for blood, and Juandissimo ate it up. He wasn’t very caring to Wanda’s needs, either. He never waited for her, dropped her off, picked her up, things you’d expect to be a common courtesy for a boyfriend to do.

Wanda couldn’t bring herself to end it, however. She didn’t want to be the girl who dumped ‘the best thing that ever happened to her.’ She didn’t want to hurt Juandissimo’s feelings. He was not cruel to her—simply shallow and a bit untrustworthy. She would need a real reason to break up with the guy. Not just lingering discomfort.

Lost in these thoughts as she picked up her wand and floated lazily out of the house, calling goodbye to her father. Wanda hated having to open the big golden gate in front of her house. She was too rich for her own good, thanks to Big Daddy’s trash business. One would expect her to be stuck up. No, that was Blonda, not her. She was the good twin. The good twin who was dating the best boy in school. Right? Not that she was planning to marry the guy. No way. That was thinking much too far into the future, anyway. She was a junior in high school, she had plenty of time to think about it. Wanda almost slapped herself out of her daze. She was such a thinker. School was what she should be focusing on. Getting to school. Turning the corner into an alley, she spotted Juandissimo talking to another girl, and caught a whiff of the conversation. Something about… about… she quickly zipped back around the corner and hid, heart pounding. He’d been talking about her. He’d said something… something about how he enjoyed Wanda being beside him. Something about how it made him look good. She could barely process this information thrown in her face so suddenly. He couldn’t have meant it. He was trying to get the girl off his back. Her boyfriend wasn’t using her.

So after a few long deep breaths and a mini panic attack, she turned the corner again and called out his name, to which he smiled at her and took her arm in his and they went to school together, then separated as she went to her locker, as always. And her three best friends gathered around her. Well, one of them was her true best friend. That was Marigold. A dark-skinned fairy with eyes the color of the flower she was named for, Mari had tiny spiraling curls that she held back with a headband. Her voice was a southern drawl, with didn’t make much sense, since fairies didn’t have a south, but that’s how she talked, and Wanda hardly noticed it. The other two were best friends with each other, the light blue one Ella, and the teal one Nyx. However, the four were a little group. Wanda was comfortable with them. Ella and Nyx were always, always, asking her about Juandissimo. Just as they were now.

“Did he hold your hand?”

“Did he say anything romantic? Oh my stars, his accent probably makes everything sound romantic…”

Wanda shooed them away, giggling. Marigold didn’t look all that pleased—as she usually did when they were discussing the muscled fairy.

“I still say you dump the guy like a tonna bricks, Wanda dear.” She leaned against the lockers, arms crossed, and a pout on her lips. “I don’t like that there attitude ‘a his.”

“Relax, Mari.” Wanda replied, being casual about her inner conflict, acting as if there was none. “I can date who I want. And if I wanna dump him, I’ll do it. But for now… I’d like to keep the popular guy, y’know? Looks good on my rep.”

“Your rep? Wanda, datin’ a boy’s not gonna be on your college apps.”

“I know, I know. I just… Blonda. Y’know how she is, all perfect. I’ve got something over her on this. Blonda’s single.”

“And ready t’ mingle, yea. Girl needs to take it down a notch.” Mari shook her head disapprovingly. She was going to be a tough mother one day, if they allowed babies to be born again. Wanda didn’t know who, but some fairy baby had caused some disaster and they outlawed it. Shame, too. Although, this meant that adult fairies went pretty much insane with sexual activity, due to lack of repercussions and responsibility.

Not that Wanda was ready for sex. No way. She was in high school. No matter how many times Juandissimo asked her if she would ever want to—she told him she was waiting for marriage. That was her rule.

Wanda shook out of her thoughts and told Mari not to worry and headed off to her advanced magic class. She knew no one in the class, so it was her thinking time, she barely noticed spells flying back and forth, and always just casually put out her hair whenever it was set alight by that three-headed hydra some kid just loved to make. It always stooped one of its heads down to Wanda, the name tag around its neck, reading ‘Snowball,’ jingling as it waved back and forth.

"Hiya Snowball," Wanda mused quietly, patting the head of the creature. She wondered why he had a soft spot for her. One time during cheerleading practice he had suddenly appeared—his creator probably in gym class nearby—and stomped over to her, scaring the rest of the squad until Wanda shooed him away. She wasn’t afraid. The pink haired fairy was used to the crazy antics of the talented creative advanced magic class. Unfortunately for her, she didn’t feel she belonged there.

Wanda couldn’t do magic with her hands very well. With her wand, she was unstoppable. Hand magic took too much out of her. The teacher said it was probably because she was too rigid—too much of a stickler to the rules. Most other kids in the class flew up out of the open sunroof into the air, and had magic fights. Wanda preferred staying grounded and tried to use hand magic to write out lists of things to do. It always came out sloppy and she opted instead to rewriting it by hand.

Occasionally a little purple freshman fairy named Violet would fly over to her desk and watch her, talking quietly that she’d almost got it. Wanda liked the gesture, but she’d seen the stuff the girl’d done. Violet shook her head saying she wasn’t the one who made Snowball—she didn’t know his name, she said. Violet was the one who made the tall sunflowers by the baseball field. They were stories high. And she’d done it with her hands, not a wand. She continued to take careful care of them with her hands.

Wanda felt like a failure in this class, so she was glad to leave it each day.

Because the rest of her classes were a breeze. Hard work, but easy for her. Then the day was over. The end of the day meant a nice little quiet moment with Juandissimo. She felt it was the best part of their relationship. He’d meet her alone by her locker and kiss her on both cheeks, then on her hand, and they’d talk about their days. Juandissimo’s was always a more superficial story, less stressful than Wanda’s, but she liked hearing it. Gave her a different outlook, she supposed.

Then he’d be off to some party that she wasn’t invited to—because she wasn’t popular enough. He promised he’d get her into one of these shindigs one day. She wasn’t sure about wanting to go. Somehow she felt it might be the last straw that would end their relationship.

Wanda sighed, but tried to perk herself up enough before shutting her locker and taking her wand from her purse to zap outside the school—doors are for chumps, y’know. At least there was the diner with Mari, Ella and Nyx. They did it every week, this outing. Ella and Nyx lived for it, they were always giggling and pointing behind the counter—something funny that they refused to tell Wanda. Though Mari seemed to know what it was, she wouldn’t say a word either. Wanda hated to be kept in the dark.

Today, however, they weren’t pointing. Wanda glanced at the counter to make sure nothing was different. Didn’t seem so. Until Ella spoke up, clearly miffed.

"Like, where is he? I need my weekly source of adorable comedy! He’s here every Wednesday."

"…Who?" Wanda gave her blue friend a raised brow. "Is this ‘he’ the thing you’re always laughing at that you won’t tell me about?"

"There’s a fairy over the counter always giving you the eye, Wanda! He’s embarrassing himself and it’s kinda funny. Almost cute in a way. How have you not noticed!?" Nyx blurted out quickly, not taking a single breath in between sentences. It was clear the secret had been killing her, her face was red.

Mari rolled her eyes from her position next to Wanda. “He’s got a crush, quit makin’ fun a him. He’s prob better than that there Juan-dee-see-mo. Or however you say it.”

Wanda gave her best friend a glare, but her anger wore off quickly when she heard a squeak from Nyx across the way, who was pointing frantically behind Wanda with Ella covering her mouth to prevent the teal fairy from screaming. Wanda turned, and who she guessed was the boy in question had a tray in his hands, looking like a server.

Oh yes, she recognized him. He worked here a lot. Not that she knew his name, or anything, but… wasn’t he usually washing dishes behind the counter, not serving the food?

Her question was soon answered when the boy didn’t notice a wet floor sign—honestly why was he walking when he could’ve been floating—and tripped, landing all of the food on the tray right on Wanda’s dress and face. She didn’t make a sound, just closed her eyes in surprise.

Now, Wanda could’ve gone off. She was ready to make her head explode, to be honest. But when her eyes drifted open and the little green fairy was giving her the most apologetic and embarrassed look she’d ever seen on anyone’s face in her entire life… well. She couldn’t help but smile.

"I-I-I’m sorry!" He said quietly, picking a french fry out of his hair. "I can… I can fix…"

"It’s alright," Wanda assured him, like he was a lost puppy-dog. "It’s really okay." She was getting ready to stand up…

"No! I can…fix it." The green fairy’s hand was aglow, soft yellow light emitting from his fingertips, and the next thing Wanda knew, she was sparkling clean, no trace of the food left.

"How did…?" She muttered, looking at her clean clothes in wonderment. He was amazingly talented at magic!

"I’m so so so so so so sorry they’re making me do waiter duty for the first time and I’m not very coordinated! I’m sorry really really really sor—"

"It’s fine, really…" She scanned his shirt for his name tag. "…Cosmo." The name rolled nicely off her tongue. A cute name, made her smile again. Why was she smiling again? Wanda was supposed to be moody and in mourning today. Not grinning like an idiot.

"I guess this is my punishment for Snowball burning off the manager’s hair—I totally embarrass myself in front of a pretty girl—"

“Snowball?” Wanda’s eyebrows shot up. “Like big hydra Snowball? With three heads?” Pretty girl?

“Yea, he’s my pet…how’d you know him? And my name too, how’d…?” he cut off when she pointed to his name tag, and he glanced down and looked embarrassed again, his whole face and ears turning bright red.

#fop #fairly oddparents #coswan #fanfiction #fairly odd parents #cosmo and wanda #writing

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jenanigans1207 · 6 years

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Chaos in His Heart [2] |VLD Season 8 Rewrite|

Okay I have 3 things to say about this before you get to the chapter itself.

1. Thank you guys SO MUCH for all of the love, support and comments. I live for them. Truly. Please continue to reach out to me, tell me the things you want changed, tell me what you liked, I want to hear any and everything you guys want to tell me. Seriously.

2. I know this episode was the Lotor flashbacks. I promise they’re still coming because I also loved them a lot. I’ve just rearranged them in the storyline to make them fit better with the plot changes I’m making. So don’t fret!

3. I changed chapter 1 up a bit to set up for a few more things in the future and I made the sunset scene way softer. It doesn’t really impact this chapter that much, but the changes will show up in later chapters so I’d recommend giving it a reread. :)

And now, without further ado...

---x---x---x---x---x

The Atlas was laid out similarly to the garrison and weaving through the hallways made Lance feel like they hadn’t left Earth yet. Plus, the Atlas was made with the newest and most cutting edge Earth technology fused with Altean magic, so it moved so smoothly, they couldn’t even feel that they were flying. The other reason the Atlas reminded Lance of the garrison was because it was huge. Like, unreasonably huge. Like, it could probably house fifty Voltrons and still have room.

Lance made his way through the large ship with one destination in mind. He enjoyed the sound of life filling the Atlas as he went— the laughter, chatter and footsteps surrounded him, making him feel more at ease. He knew what they had to do would be hard and that there was absolutely no way to know how long this sort of peace would last. So, he vowed to appreciate it while he could. Plus, in a battle this dire, it was nice to know that he was surrounded and supported by so many people.

Finally, the door he was looking for came into view and he paused. He had barely slept the night before, his heart too jumbled to allow him much relaxation and the exhaustion was starting to wear on him. He had tossed and turned all night, replaying both his conversation with Keith and his conversation with Allura in his head. Their words had bounced around, echoing and distorting until it was too hard for him to set anything straight. He’d tried to count sheep after that, to count backwards from a million, to do anything that might help him fall asleep and stop overanalyzing. Nothing worked. He felt like his nerves were raw, like they were live wires just waiting to catch fire and burn him down to ash. Still, he raised his hand and knocked.

“Come in.” The doors slid open and Lance stepped inside.

“Hey,” He said after a moment.

Keith looked up, surprised. “Seeking me out two days in a row? You must not be feeling very well.” he jested.

“I would’ve done this last night but I didn’t think of it.” Lance replied, fishing into the jacket of his blue garrison uniform. The truth was simple: he hadn’t planned to seek Keith out yesterday. Not even after Hunk had been going on and on about Lance needing to talk to both Keith and Allura. But suddenly, when he’d been feeling discouraged and uncertain, the only thing he’d wanted was to see Keith. So he’d sought him out, spur of the moment, with no real plan in mind. Keith watched him, his own uniform unbuttoned and hanging open in the front. After a moment, Lance pulled Keith’s fingerless gloves out of his pocket and extended his arm, offering them to Keith. “I wanted to give these back to you. I managed to save them before we lost the castle.”

“Lance…” Keith took the gloves from his hands, glancing up to meet his eyes and Lance tried not to flush. He’d only had a few moments to grab things before they’d abandoned the castle and the gloves were the only thing he could think to grab. He didn’t even grab any of his own things. He couldn’t be sure why, exactly, the gloves had been the only thing to jump to his mind in that moment. He hadn’t even paused to think about what he’d been doing, he’d just raced through the hallways to Keith’s room, tearing open drawers until he’d found them and tucked them away, barely making it to Red in time to escape. He didn’t regret it, though, because he knew that Keith would want them. And, if things somehow went wrong, they would be something for Lance to remember him by. “Thank you.”

Immediately, Keith slipped the gloves on, flexing his fingers once he did so. It struck Lance then, how different things were. Lance could remember little Keith back at the garrison wearing a uniform that was too big and carrying an attitude that preceded him. And suddenly here he was, the leader of Voltron, in his custom fit red garrison uniform with a scar adorning his cheek. It was a stark difference and yet, underneath it all, Lance knew he was still the same person. He was a more refined version of himself, but he was still the Keith Lance had known for so, so many years.

The smile that ghosted across Keith’s lips was enough to make it all worth it. Lance may never see his favorite jacket again, but he’d always have this moment to come back to and replay in his head. He’d always be able to remember the way Keith’s eyes lit up as he inspected his gloves again. It made everything feel momentarily right, because the Keith that Lance pictured in his mind was Keith with his stupid mullet, fingerless gloves and paladin armor. And now, miraculously, he was able to be that Keith again. The gap that had grown between them with Keith’s absence seemed to shrink in that moment, making Lance feel connected to him in a way he hadn’t been able to manage since Keith returned.

“Yeah, so, that’s all I wanted to do…” Lance said awkwardly, shuffling his feet on the ground. He felt a mixture of emotions swirling around inside his stomach, annoyed at the fact that it had become normal for him to feel this way. Part of him felt silly for saving Keith’s gloves when he didn’t save anything of his own but he knew, if given the chance, he’d grab them again, every time. After a brief pause he turned and headed back towards the door.

“Hey, how’d your date go?” Keith asked a moment before Lance reached the button to open the doors.

“I told you, it wasn’t a date.” Lance let out a sad sigh, the weight of it settling on his shoulders again, making him feel like he was going to collapse. It was exhausting to feel so many things and he wished briefly that he could stop being so confused and just focus on one thing at a time. Maybe then he’d sleep at night or not spend every second with his mind in constant overdrive, analyzing everything that happened around him. “It’s not ever going to be a date. We’re never going to be a thing.”

“Hey, Lance, don’t say that.” Keith took a tentative step forward, a hand extending into the distance between him and Lance but never making contact. Lance sucked in a breath at the tone of his voice and the way he was clearly trying so hard to be a good friend. “You don’t know that. You absolutely could be.”

“No,” Lance let his head drop forward, his eyes staring at the tiled ground, unfocused. “I’m not going to let us be a thing. She deserves better.”

“Better?” Keith echoed, sounding incredulous. “Better than you?”

“You weren’t there, Keith. You didn’t see her with Lotor. That’s what she deserves.”

“Lotor is gone,” Keith remarked, his hand still hovering in that gap. Lance could sense him there and he wasn’t sure if he was glad that Keith was keeping his distance or if he wished Keith would just throw caution to the wind and commit to the contact.

There was something in the very depths of Lance that was yawning open, threatening to swallow him whole. It’d been there from the very beginning, always growing a little wider when he was around Keith. He didn’t have a name for it, didn’t want a name for it, but it was constantly there. He had initially thought that it only got worse when he spent time with Keith. But then, Keith had left for the Blades of Marmora and the feeling had overwhelmed Lance making him feel emptier and more alone than he could ever remember feeling. The deepest parts of Lance’s soul always reacted to Keith and the stronger the reactions got, the more Lance began to wonder. He could feel it now, slithering up and around his heart, making it ache. His heart beat erratically against it, straining as if it were trying to burst out his chest entirely. He wondered where it would go. Maybe it would make a home in Keith’s chest, beating alongside his heart, Lance thought fleetingly.

“Still, he brought out a side of her we’d never seen. He understood her in a way I never could. She deserves that, Keith.” Lance tried to push the sadness out of his own voice, but he could feel it seeping through anyways. It was strange to feel the ache that came with this loss, since he had begun to move on. He wasn’t sure if he was mourning the loss of Allura or the loss of what he had built them up to be in his head. The further he got from the situation, the more he began to realize that they weren’t the same thing— their real relationship and his mental relationship with her had very little in common when he got down to the truth of it.

Suddenly Keith was there, next to Lance, looking over at his expression. The hand that had been hovering finally committed, resting on Lance’s shoulder and giving it a comforting squeeze. It was warm through the fabric of Lance’s garrison uniform and Keith’s gloves. Lance liked it. “So do you, Lance.”

“Can we just… can we not talk about this?” Lance felt like his chest had cracked open and the emotions were slowly leaking out of him. He wanted to reach up and press his hand to his chest and hold himself together but he knew that urge was ridiculous. There wasn’t anything actually wrong with him, no matter how it felt. Still, the urge wouldn’t leave and he had to clench his fists against it.

The way Keith was looking at Lance was so soft it was physically painful for Lance. Suddenly Lance was reminded of the night before and the way Keith had looked, fading into the sunset. “If someone makes you feel like you aren’t good enough, Lance, they aren’t the right person for you.”

“Or they’re right and I’m not good enough.”

“I trust you with my life, Lance.” Keith’s voice was so sincere, Lance didn’t know what to do. He finally glanced up from the floor to meet Keith’s gaze head on and immediately was frozen in place. “I know that you’ll never miss. You’ll always have my back. I know that I can count on you for anything. Not good enough? That’s the least true thing I’ve ever heard.”

The two of them maintained eye contact for what felt like centuries. Lance considered reaching for Keith, grabbing him by the ends of that open garrison uniform and tugging him into a hug. He thought about how it would feel to hug Keith— how satisfying it would be because he’d wanted to hug him for years. But something in the back of Lance’s mind was going off like an alarm, insisting that Keith had to be the one to initiate their hug, if they ever hugged at all. So he refrained, settling to just enjoy the way Keith’s handprint was burning into his skin, leaving a feeling that Lance knew would linger for hours.

“Saying such kind things to me two days in a row?” Lance playfully mocked his words from earlier, trying to lighten the mood and change the topic. “You must be the one who is sick.”

That startled a smile out of Keith who shoved him by the shoulder he’d previously been holding. “I’ve just seen you go through a lot, okay? And you’ve grown a lot in the years I’ve known you. You’re less of the annoying Earth Lance and more of the Paladin Lance who knows his worth and what he has to offer. I just don’t want you to forget that.”

—

Keith was the last to arrive to the hangar. The rest of the team was in their gear, standing around their respective lions, getting ready to go. Keith walked in, donned in his own paladin armor, red helmet tucked under his arm. It wasn’t a complicated mission— it wasn’t even supposed to be dangerous— but it was still the first mission of the final battle and that felt like a weight he had to bear. Over the years, he’d gotten better and understanding that being the leader didn’t mean the burden was his and his alone. He’d begun to recognize that the others could handle anything and everything thrown at them and that he was allowed to lean on them from time to time. Still, as the leader, he felt like he should have at least slightly more responsibility than the others and he put extra pressure on himself.

“Everyone ready?” He asked as he approached the team.

Everyone turned to look at him and he was struck for a moment by the way they had all grown. It was incredible to think that this was the start of their final battle and that, once this was all over, they’d finally get to live the lives they’d always imagined for themselves. He’d watched them go from a bunch of misfits who had banded together out of necessity to a team who worked together flawlessly, protecting each other and enhancing each other. He’d gone from an outcast, to a teammate to a leader and he knew, with unwavering certainty, that these people would do anything for him, just like he’d do anything for them. A feeling of pride swelled in him and, despite the risks that lay ahead, he felt optimistic. Together, they could overcome anything.

“At your command, team leader.” Lance was leaning back against Red, his helmet on the ground next to him and arms crossed over his chest, a casual smile on his lips. Keith tried not to think about their moment earlier, or their moment the night before— why were they having so many moments all of a sudden? — and instead glanced around at the rest of the team, meeting everyone’s eyes.

“Alright guys, we’re going in before the Atlas and clearing a path if necessary. Remember, this is a diplomatic mission, not a battle. So be careful. Understood?”

The team sounded off in response to him, each expressing their understanding. With that, he gave them a nod and everyone scattered, climbing into their lions. Keith climbed into Black, walking into the cockpit for what felt like the millionth time. He could feel the familiar hum of Black in the back of his mind, the comfort of him curling around Keith, connecting with him. As he took a seat in his pilot’s chair, he felt like Black was just an extension of his own body. Reaching for the controls came naturally and Black roared to life around him, hopping to his feet immediately.

Through the windows Keith could see the other lions come to life, each standing tall and proud, prepared for what was to come. He could faintly make out each of the paladins from within their lion and that feeling of pride overwhelmed him again as he waited for the doors to Atlas to open. He could see the rest of the crew scrambling on the ground, trying to rush out of the room so the doors could be opened. Once the last member exited, the Atlas opened, revealing the dark expanse of space.

Keith was the first to move, throwing his controls forwards. Black sprinted forward, diving elegantly out into space and taking off towards their destination. It was only a moment before he could see the other lions flanking him, holding a tight formation. Atlas pulls up the rear, raising its shields as the base came into view. He didn’t have to look to know where everyone was as they moved, his connection to his lion and his team made it so that he could feel them as they got closer to their destination. Each paladin and Lion had a special spot inside Keith, humming in a way that made him feel like they, too, were extensions of him. As if, without them, he couldn’t quite be complete. It made him feel like a part of something bigger— like he’d finally found a place to call home.

Once they were within range, Keith opened up a communication channel with the base. “This is the Voltron Coalition,” He announced, the next words poised on his tongue. “We—”

Before he had a chance to say anything further, the base began to attack. Lasers were suddenly shooting at them from every angle and they were forced to break formation in an attempt to stay safe. Keith dove down, spinning around to get a quick visual on the rest of his team. He could feel them scattering around him, doing their best to avoid a hit, but he still wanted to see him. A visual gave him the most comfort. Atlas, with its shields up, was still moving forward, taking direct hits. Lance had weaved around and pulled back up to Keith’s side, Allura was high above, Pidge was diving towards the planet and Hunk was floating along in the middle. Certain that everyone was alright, Keith turned his attention back to the battle at hand, only to see an entire fleet of fighters rising off of the planet and heading straight towards them.

“Paladins, you take the fighters. We’re locked on to the ground cannons.” Shiro’s voice crackled through the coms.

“Roger,” Keith replied before addressing his team. “You heard him, guys. We’ve got the fighters. Remember, we want no casualties. Disable them, don’t destroy them.”

The team sprung into action, the lions fanning out to divert the fighters away from the base so Atlas had a clear shot. Keith scanned the scenery as he swerved, trying to think of a good plan. The base was nestled in an outcropping of rocks— one that was full of plenty of caves. With an idea, Keith dove towards the planet, guiding Black easily into one of the caves. A series of fighters dove down after him, shooting the entire time. He bobbed and weaved, waiting until they were all successfully in the cave before acting. The lasers bounced around him, hitting the rock and causing it to come crumbling down. Black shook occasionally, sometimes getting thrown to the side as Keith was unable to dodge in such a tight space. Finally he was far enough in to be certain that all of the fighters that had followed him were also immersed in the caves. It was time.

With a quick flick of his wrists, Black’s tail rose, shooting its own lasers. The rocks crumbled behind Keith, tumbling to the ground and blocking the cave. Keith shoved the controls further forward, picking up speed until he was soaring out of the opposite end of the cave, free and clear. As he looked around, he could see Pidge’s vines wrapping up some of the ships, holding them stationary in space. He could see some ships on the ground with partially frozen wings. Lance was on the ground, too, the paws of red pinning down a few ships. Hunk was off in the distance, leading the fighters away and dodging all of their attacks, keeping Atlas free from attack.

“Paladins,” Shiro’s voice sounded again, “The MFE pilots are on their way, clearing a path for the rebel ships. Matt will be dropping down in T-15 ticks to take out the power to this base.”

“Roger.”

As if cued, the MFE pilots soared past Keith, the rebel ships close on their tails. The doors to the rebel ships were open and Keith caught a glimpse of Matt in his armor as they rushed by. Unable to waste time distracted, Keith surged forward again, bringing up the rear and distracting any ships that might have a clear shot at Matt and the others as they dove. The adrenaline was pumping through him and he almost jumped when a shot from the Atlas flew by him, connecting with the cannons on the ground and destroying them. He glanced around again, relieved to see that they had things mostly under control.

A few more ships appeared next to him suddenly and he swerved to the side, crashing into them with Black’s body and knocking them off course as Matt dove for the ground, the rest of his crew in tow. Keith could feel Lance take off from the ground suddenly, swooping up to knock away a fighter that had been closing in on Pidge. Through his coms he could hear the team hooting and hollering as they continued to disable the entirety of the fleet, leaving themselves free and clear.

It didn’t take long for them to conquer the Galra. In what felt like no time at all, they had no more ships from the fleet left to fight and Matt and his team were seconds away from knocking out all power to the base. An explosion sounded below and suddenly everything underneath them went dark. The paladins resumed their positions on Keith, falling back into a formation that came naturally to all of them now.

“Great work team,” Keith was saying into the coms, “Now we just need to—”

The end of his sentence was cut off by a large blast from somewhere in space. More blasts followed it immediately, rocking Atlas and nearly knocking the lions out of the air.

“Where are those blasts coming from?” Shiro sounded almost frantic as the defenses of the Atlas went back up again.

“I don’t know,” Pidge replied hastily, “I’m running a scan but I can’t detect anything.”

Allura suddenly raced to the front of the group, the sonar gun appearing on Blue’s back. “I’m on it!”

The rest of the team continued moving while Allura scanned, doing their best to withstand any hits. It only took a moment for the information to pass from Allura to Pidge who was then immediately back in the coms, “I’ve got it. There’s two cloaked satellites above. That’s what’s shooting at us.”

“Alright team, on me. It’s time to Form Voltron.” Keith took off, flying straight up and giving the rest of the team fall into place.

As soon as everyone was in line, Keith could feel it in his very being— the connection to the other paladins. It felt like a tugging, as if the world were pulling them together. Keith succumbed to the feeling, reaching out to the others and pulling them to him. He could feel the others give in one by one and suddenly, instead of feeling five distinct people, it felt like they were only one. Black took over, automatically shifting and transforming to allow the others to merge, forming the defender of the universe.

Once the transformation was complete, Keith glanced down at his console to where Pidge had transferred the map and outline of the satellites. They were further away than he’d like and shooting constantly, covering the Atlas in heavy fire. Plus the MFE pilots and the rebel ships were still out in the open and at risk. Keith knew immediately that they had to get to the satellites quickly and take them down.

As if Voltron were thinking the same thing, the bayard slot next to Keith opened. He could feel Voltron asking it of him, could feel the taut string connecting him to the one other person that he needed. Raising his hand, Keith called his bayard to him, at the same time yelling, “Lance!”

“On it!” Lance yelled in response.

Keith could feel Lance’s movements mirroring his own, could feel the moment Lance slammed his bayard into the slot and twisted. Immediately, the wings appeared on the back of Voltron and they took off, soaring quickly towards the satellites. At the last moment, Keith called out for the sword and the team and Voltron responded in kind, pulling the sword out in time to slice through the satellites with absolute ease.

—

The inside of the base looked similar to most of the other bases Keith had been to. In his time with the Blades of Marmora he'd done a lot of infiltration for information and was pretty familiar with the layouts of these facilities. Because of that, he led the team through the maze of hallways and to the control room with ease. Once they reached the control room and the doors slid open, the team let out a collective breath of surprise.

There, in the center of the room, was a Galra, staring at the team with as much malice as Keith had ever seen. “Look who it is.”

“Hey, pal!” Hunk waved to the guy as they entered the room. “Nice to see you again!”

Keith was struck, not for the first time, of just how kind Hunk really was. The Galra was clearly not excited to see them, but it didn't prevent Hunk from attempting to strike up a casual conversation.

“Do not talk to me as if we are friends,” The man spat.

Keith stepped forward then, feeling a spike of irritation at the man's tone. “You know this guy?”

“Yeah, this is Captain Lan.” Hunk glanced between Keith and the Galra.

Lan, affronted, took a step towards Hunk. “It's Warlord now.”

“Sorry, Warlord Lan. You don't know him because you were gone having a space road trip with your mom.” Hunk's words were not unkind. It didn't even seem like he thought about them before he said them, but they still cut Keith deep. Just yesterday Lance had mentioned something about Keith leaving and now Hunk was bringing it up, too? It appeared his absence had a greater effect than he thought. “I thought we became friends when we were working together to repair the shield that protected his planet. And, you know, saved all of his people from a Galra attack.”

“The Galra were only attacking because of Voltron!” Lan cried, shoving an accusing finger towards Hunk.

“Woah, now.” Lance stepped up to Hunk's side, fixing Lan with an irritated look, too. “The Galra were already attacking when we arrived. Without us, you wouldn't have made it.”

“Then we would have lost honorably.” Lan lifted his chin arrogantly and whatever shred of self control Keith had been holding onto snapped.

“Things don't have to be victory or death!” He cried, frustration lacing every syllable. “I get that it's the Galra way but—”

Lan cut him off swiftly. “What do you know of the Galra way?”

“My mother is a Galra of the Blades of Marmora. I have worked alongside them for months now to—”

“The Blades are a bunch of traitors.” Lan spat. “It's no wonder they took in a half breed like you.”

There was a flash of red in Keith's mind and he seriously considered decking Lan. Instead, he took a deep breath and turned away. He was a leader now; calm, composed and focused. He couldn't afford to rise to the taunts of his opponents like that and he wasn't going to let Lan know that he'd gotten under his skin. Even though he had. Deep under it.

“Now you listen here,” Lance was stepping towards Lan with a finger pressed firmly into his chest.

Keith never got to hear what Lance was going to say. An alarm sounded suddenly around them and the few other Galra who were inside the control room began tapping away furiously on their keyboards. Matt and team had restored the power once everyone else was safely inside and sure that it was no longer a hostile environment. It seemed like a good thing now as a distress signal flashed across the screen.

“That's…” Lan looked perplexed. “That's from one of our ships that went missing quintants ago. We assumed they were all dead.”

“Well it looks like they're alive and in need of help.” Pidge stepped up to the nearest control panel, tapping away at the screen.

The map she was working on rotated and zoomed as she pinpointed the location of the distress signal. Annoyed, Lan took an aggressive step towards Pidge, only to have Keith stop him by roughly grabbing his arm and yanking. He shot a furious look at Keith who didn't back down.

“My team can take care of our own fleet without you.” He retorted, ripping his arm harshly from Keith's grasp.

Keith was about to reach for him again when Shiro stepped up, a calm expression matching his calm tone. “Warlord Lan, please. We've never done anything but try and help you. We want this war to be over just as badly as you do. If there's ever going to be a chance at peace, we need you to work with us and we need you to do it now. We want to help save them.”

“Got it!” Pidge cried suddenly and the map in front of her steadied. “It looks like they're a few galaxies over.”

“I know that area,” Keith stepped closer to the map, inspecting it. “There's another Galra base there. What was your fleet doing?”

Lan turned away, crossing his arms over his chest. “Pillaging,” he said after a moment.

“You're turning on your own people and have the nerve to—” Shiro held up a hand to silence Lance, who glanced over at Keith and shared a long, knowing, irritated look.

“Warlord Lan,” Shiro tried again and Keith wondered where he got his unfailing patience from. “Please. Let us help.”

“You can try all you want but my team would never welcome your help.”

“Lucky for us,” Keith stepped forward and gripped Lan by the forearm hard enough to ensure that he couldn't wriggle free. “You're coming with us so you can tell them to cooperate.”

“What? But—!”

“Pidge, upload the coordinates to the Lions. Shiro, you coming?” Keith had moved past attempting to be polite to Lan and instead ignored his protests entirely.

With a wry smile, Shiro shook his head. “It'll be hours before Atlas is ready to fly again. Plus, we need to make sure they have everything they need here.”

“Understood.” Keith started to head off towards the lions, the rest of his team falling in step behind him without hesitation.

“Will you guys be okay?” Shiro asked.

Keith looked at his team and then at Shiro. “Of course we will be. We have each other.”

—

The paladins were just finishing their preparations when Shiro approached. Keith had situated Lan inside Black and left Kosmo guarding, stepping back onto the ground and approaching Shiro.

“Ready to go?” Shiro asked.

Keith paused and glanced around at the rest of the team. “I think so.”

Seeing Keith lead the team brought Shiro so much pride and joy. He had loved being a paladin of Voltron, sure, but he also loved leading the Atlas. He loved being a part of the fight, making a difference and supporting those around him. Those were the things he really stood for and he didn't care what he piloted as long as he got to make that sort of impact. Plus, stepping aside allowed Keith to rise into the role of leader and it suited him well. He looked confident and more self assured that Shiro had ever seen him look.

“If anything goes wrong out there, send a signal and I'll be there as fast as I can be.” Shiro said once Keith had settled his attention back on him.

Keith raised an eyebrow. “You said Atlas wouldn't be ready to fly again for hours.”

“And Atlas won't be.” Shiro replied, “But Atlas has cruisers on it among other ships. If you need me, I'll be there. I know I'm not a part of Voltron anymore, but we're still on the same team.”

“Shiro,” Keith cut him off, but he had a faint smile ghosting his lips. “You're still the leader to me. I wouldn't dream of doing anything without including you or at least getting your approval. I promise, if we need you, we'll call.”

In response, Shiro gave a proper and genuine smile. He glanced over Keith's shoulder to watch the rest of the paladins take their seats in the pilot's chairs. It was nice, he thought, to still feel like a part of something, even when he was on the outside looking in.

“I know you'll do a great job, but make sure everyone comes back safely. Got it?”

Keith glanced back at the lions, too. “I'll do my best. But if a sacrifice is needed, I'm giving them Lance with no hesitation.”

Shiro laughed, shaking his head and backing away. He had known Keith and Lance since the very beginning of their rivalry and he'd watched it grow into familiarity, fondness, mutual respect and then friendship. Still, old habits die hard and the two of them rarely went a day without bickering about something.

After Shiro was far enough away, Keith climbed back up into Black and took off, diving elegantly into the night. Shiro would never forget what it was like to fly Black, to feel him curled up peacefully in the back of his mind. He'd never forget the way Black connected to him, responding to his commands before he even had a chance to give them. It had felt like power and belonging. But, as Matt came to grab Shiro, explaining what was needed of him and the impact of his task, Shiro couldn't bring himself to regret stepping aside. With one last look towards the empty hangar, he followed Matt to change lives, knowing he would sleep good tonight.

—

The ship was empty, eerily so. Lance had his blasters going as he floated alongside Hunk, the powerless ship dark and decrepit. As soon as they had arrived on the ship, Keith had split them up. He'd sent Pidge with Allura and Lan to review the security footage. Lance and Hunk had been assigned to search one half of the ship while Keith searched the other with Kosmo. The plan was to meet in the middle.

Lance wasn't sure if Keith had split him and Allura up out of strategy or respect for Lance's feelings but he found that he was glad either way. It had become kind of suffocating to be around her, as if he had to try and be as invisible as possible when she was near, fading into the background.

“So,” Hunk was looking at Lance as they traveled down one or the hallways, clearly following Lance's train of thought. “Did you talk to Allura?”

“You didn't give me much choice in the matter,” Lance grumbled in response.

Hunk smiled sheepishly but was clearly unapologetic. Lance rolled his eyes. “And how did it go? What did you say to her?”

Lance remembered the day he'd come to Hunk, heartbroken and forlorn. He'd expressed to Hunk his reservations and the sinking realization he was having that things between him and Allura wouldn't work. Hunk had been kind, of course, but honest, too. He'd gently agreed, stating that he had never thought Lance and Allura were a good pair. It stung to hear, but it helped Lance take the step forward that he needed. Still, he was going to allow himself time to mourn his loss because it hurt, deeply, whether or not it should.

“I told her that I was in love with her but that it wouldn't work and I knew that.” Hunk let out a low whistle at Lance's words, wincing as if he, too, were feeling the sharp stab of the words into his heart. “And she basically confirmed that it was never going to happen.”

A loud bang came from the end of the hallway the boys had just left. They spun around together, both shining their flashlights into the distance. No other sounds came and they could see no movement so, with adrenaline pumping through their veins and making them jumpy, they continued the way they had been going.

“Are you okay?” Hunk asked as they rounded the corner into a new hallway.

Lance hesitated, not because he didn't have an answer for Hunk but because he was surprised to be asked. Allura had asked him the same question the night before, tears in her eyes. Did it really seem impossible for him to move on from a heartbreak? Sure it hurt, but Lance was capable of bending without breaking. He knew there were more important things in the universe than romance; a huge intergalactic war, for example. People got over unrequited love all the time and Lance was about to be one of them. He loved love, sure, but he had other facets of his personality, other interests and talents to offer. No matter what happened with his heart, he would continue onward, refusing to let it rule his life.

“I'm fine,” Lance bristled, trying not to let Hunk see. He knew Hunk was just asking as a concerned best friend but it still stung a little. “I just need some time but nothing has to change between us.”

Hunk turned to Lance, hand poised to gesture as he spoke, but never got the words out. Something crashed into the back of Hunk's helmet and he gasped, turning to look. Whatever it was then smashed into the front of Hunk's helmet and Hunk cried out, reaching up and throwing it off of him. This only resulted in it crashing against Lance's helmet, smearing something across the visor and blocking his vision.

They both flailed, hands wiping vigorously over their helmets in a desperate attempt to get their vision back. Lance could feel his heart beating erratically in his chest and wondered if this was some sort of ambush.

“Oh,” Hunk said suddenly, “It's food goo.”

Lance froze, “Food goo? Seriously?”

In a less panicked state, he took the time to really wipe off his visor only to find that it was, in fact, just a plate of food goo that had attacked them. He felt beyond silly.

“Oh, but it's rotten!” Hunk cried, shaking his hand to dislodge the remnants of it. “Disgusting! Why does food goo keep betraying and attacking me?”

Before Lance could say anything back, static filled their ears. It was a moment later that the static was replaced with Pidge's voice. “Hey guys, we found something here. It looks like there's some sort of creature taking out the crew.”

“Creature? Like what?” Lance asked.

“Well,” The tone in Pidge's voice did not make Lance feel confident. “You'll know it when you see it. It's huge and incredibly fast.”

“Like how huge?” Hunk was asking when Lance came to a sudden halt, grabbing Hunk and yanking him back.

They loomed just outside of a doorway, barely able to see inside. But, despite the darkness, Lance was able to make out a clear shape moving around. It looked tall, taller than him, and big enough to put up a good fight. Hunk followed his line of sight, shrinking further away from the doorway when he caught sight of what Lance was looking it.

Both of them had lowered and turned off their flashlights and in a few extra moments, their eyes were adjusting to the dark. The longer they stayed in silence, the more Lance was able to see. Pidge, as it turned out, had been right. Lance knew that he was seeing the monster Pidge had mentioned, despite having no physical description to go off of.

“Pidge?” Lance whispered as quietly as he could into his headset, hoping beyond hope that the monster wouldn't hear him. “We found it.”

The silence that followed only lasted the length of a breath. Suddenly his headset was alive with static again before Pidge's voice boomed through, loud and clear. “What was that, Lance? I couldn't really hear you.”

The monster whipped around immediately and Lance and Hunk both froze. It paused to assess them briefly before lunging. Lance reached instinctively for his Bayard but it didn't even matter. By the time his fingers had even grazed the handle of it, the monster was already gone, having shoved him and Hunk to the side.

—

Keith couldn't quite make out the yells that were coming through his headset. Lance was a garbled mess, saying something about a monster and to be on the lookout. Pidge, from her own helmet, was trying to give a more detailed explanation of what was going on.

“Lance and Hunk saw this—” Pidge was attempting to elaborate but her words were getting lost in the static.

“Can only one person explain, please?” Keith asked calmly. “I can't understand either of you when you're both talking.”

Something clattered in the distance and it set Keith's nerves immediately on edge. From what he had gathered over the coms, Lance and Hunk had joined Pidge, Allura and Lan in the control room. He'd gathered something about security footage, the crew disappearing and a monster. It wasn't a lot to put together and their connection within the ship seemed to be sketchy as best, constantly cutting in and out, making it impossible to understand even when only one of them was talking.

There was another clanging in the distance and Keith extended his hand, calling his bayard into it. The hair on the back of his neck stood up as he continued slowly down the hallway, eyes scanning the distance.

Before he had a chance to even register what was happening, he was suddenly being thrown back and pinned to the wall. True to Lance's words, a monster hovered over him, claws digging into the armor at his shoulders. Keith struggled, thrashing against the creature on top of him but it was bigger than him and certainly stronger. It sniffed at him, slowly breathing against his neck and he shivered.

A moment later he could feel Kosmo wedging his nose under his arm and then the tingly feeling filled him. It had been weird adjusting to the feeling of teleporting with Kosmo but now he was used to it. It felt like a sort of static settling under his skin, making his entire body feeling alive. One moment he was pinned to the wall, staring down the jaws of a monster that seemed to think he'd taste delicious and the next he was being steadied by Lance's hands in the control room of the ship, the rest of the team rushing over to him.

He reached out and stroked along Kosmo's head briefly, a thank you for saving his life. Kosmo bumped his nose into Keith affectionately in return.

“What just happened?” Allura asked, leaning over Lance's shoulder to inspect Keith. Lance's face matched Keith's uneasy feelings.

“I found the monster.” Keith replied, before turning to Lan. “And now I know what base you were pillaging. I know that monster.”

“You what?” The team turned collectively towards him, shock clear on all of their faces.

“Rannveig found that creature in the quantum abyss.” Keith started to explain, glancing at the screen behind Pidge to keep an eye out for it. “He did experimentation on it to see if he could get it to fight for him. It was a Galra-killing monster. The problem was that it couldn't tell the difference between friend and enemy. So they locked it up.”

Lance moved slightly, catching Keith's attention. He glanced back and they locked eyes. “If they locked it up, how did it get in here?”

“Krolia and I released it. Or, well, we gave them the ability to release it.” Keith answered.

“Did you… Did you know what it was?” Hunk asked, terrified.

“Krolia did.” Keith glanced away from his team again, feeling a weight settle on his shoulders. “It was the only way for us to get off that ship alive though.”

“Well,” It was Allura who jumped to Keith's defense, surprisingly. “We've all had to do things we regret to stay alive, that's the nature of war. I'm just glad you made it back to us because we need you.”

Surprised by her kind words, Keith turned to look at Allura. When she had found out his Galra heritage, things had gotten incredibly tense between them. But, to her credit, she had been able to open her mind and look past that. While his Galra heritage had been a shock to all of them, it had turned out to be for everyone's benefit. The realization that not all Galra are bad opened the door for them to forge a relationship with the Blades which had successfully turned the tide in the war. And that, along with the acceptance of Allura and everyone else, had led to Keith being able to accept that side of himself.

“Exactly. All that matters is that we make it out of here alive. So, what do we need to do?” Lance jumped in, encouraging as always.

If Keith had to describe Lance in one word, it would be unflinching. Everything that was thrown at him, he took in stride. He never lost hope or sight of the big picture and was incapable of being discouraged. He always dealt with the issue at hand, resolving it before addressing any lingering questions or feelings. Plus, he maintained a level head. This was why Keith considered Lance his impulse control. Although Keith trusted all of his team implicitly, Lance was the only one who could see to the very core of Keith's being and that's exactly why he had the ability to reign Keith back in.

“Well, it hunts Galra only. So we need to get out of here before it notices Lan. There's nothing else to do, it's too late for the rest of the crew.” Keith said and the team agreed.

Immediately, Pidge pulled up the map on the screen, quickly locating their quickest exit out. She downloaded the map to her gear and they were off. They moved quietly and slowly through the hallways, nobody talking or even breathing audibly. They had their flashlights running, pointing one in all directions to cover their backs.

“The closest and only way out, really, is the way we came in.” Pidge whispered quietly. Despite Pidge being just a few feet away from him, Keith could only faintly hear her voice through the helmet.

The rest of the team was in front of Keith. He pulled up the rear with Lan directly in front of him and Kosmo at his side. Slowly, they entered a large room; so large Keith could barely see the door on the other side. The group paused, shining their flashlights around and clearing the room before entering. Once it was considered safe, they traveled out into the open, still in a large group.

Keith's nerves were on edge and he couldn't bring himself to release his grip on his bayard. They moved across the room with relative ease, and were just approaching the door when Keith heard the breathing over his shoulder. He remembered someone saying something about the monster being fast when they had been talking over each other previously.

“Run!” He yelled as loud as he could, ignoring the way it startled his team and whipping around with his sword out.

Sure enough, the monster was merely inches away from him, it's eyes darting between him and Lan. Keith could feel the team scatter behind him and, a moment later, there were shots coming from Lance and Hunk's guns. The monster dodged, darting around the room with ease. Briefly, Keith wondered how it moved so freely in space but the question disappeared from his mind the moment he saw the creature slam into the door that was between him and the rest of the team.

It slammed once, twice, and on the third time, the door broke, slamming shut all at once. Keith, Lan and Kosmo were left alone with the creature while the rest of the team was trapped outside. Knowing he didn't have time to worry or panic, Keith situated himself between Lan and the monster, calling forth his blade again.

The monster was fast. Keith couldn't even track its movements. The moment he determined where it was, it moved and he suddenly lost it all over again. It wasn't surprising that it was able to knock him out of the way like nothing more than a plaything. He hit the wall hard, his bayard temporarily clattering out of his hand. The monster lunged again and this time Kosmo met it in the middle, rising to Keith's defense. A barbed tail that Keith hadn't even noticed before snaked out and wrapped around Kosmo, slamming him into the ground. He let out one yelp and Keith's heart broke.

“Keith!” Lance's voice came through the coms suddenly. “We're coming for you!”

“We can't open the door though. It broke the gears when it smashed into the frame. So hold tight while we find another way in.” Pidge's voice immediately followed Lance's.

The creature dove for Keith again and he dropped low, scooping Kosmo and his bayard up on his way back to defend Lan. He rose from the ground, relieved to feel Kosmo breathing in his arms and stopped in between Lan and the creature. The creature hovered in front of the door, staring at them across the open expanse of the large room.

“Let me at him,” Lan was saying, trying to shove Keith out of the way.

The monster lunged then and Keith didn't even have time to think. There was a feeling in the very depths of his gut that caused him to raise his bayard, pointing it at the creature. He watched in amazement as the bayard shifted shapes in his hand. But, instead of turning into the sword he was familiar with, it turned into a blaster. Keith didn't hesitate. He pulled the trigger, narrowly missing the creature and knocking it off balance and out of the way. The blast had been so powerful that it had burned a hole straight through the door, granting them an escape. Keith ushered Lan ahead of him, pulling up the rear with Kosmo still in his arms.

“Is that a gun?!” Lance cried incredulously as Keith came through the door. He immediately picked up shooting at the creature as it attempted to follow.

“Pidge,” Keith ignored Lance's question for the time being, unable to focus on it right now. “Get us out of here.”

“We still only have one exit option and it's not exactly close.” She responded as they collectively took off down the hallway.

Without even a thought, Keith raised his newly acquired gun and shot ahead of the group, blasting a hole straight through the wall of the ship. Immediately they were being pulled towards the hole, along with a lot of debris. They had to struggle to dodge the debris and keep the monster occupied enough to lock it inside. It wasn't an easy feat, but soon they were all plummeting through the gap and into space. Pidge went last, using her grip hook to pull a long sheet of metal after her, successfully blocking the hole and locking the monster in.

A terrible screech sounded from inside the ship and everyone flinched. Just trapping the monster wasn't enough, Keith knew, but he wasn't sure what else to do. As if understanding his question, the ship below them suddenly exploded, throwing shards of glass and metal all around. The paladins scattered, avoiding burning pieces and racing back towards their lions.

“What just happened?” Keith asked through the coms as he waited for Lan to finish climbing into Black.

“On our way out, I rigged it to self destruct.” Pidge replied.

“Good thinking, Pidge.” Came Allura's response.

Keith clambered up in Black behind Lan, laying Kosmo down gently and stroking along his soft fur briefly. “Alright guys, let's head back. There's nothing left to do here.”

Everyone jumped to attention, falling into formation and soaring back towards the base and Atlas.

—

“I thought I said to call if you needed help!” Shiro cried the moment he watched Keith carry Kosmo off of Black.

The rest of the paladins climbed down soon after and Allura immediately rushed to Kosmo, holding her hands over him and scanning him. Keith was looking at Shiro but wouldn't cross over to him, wouldn't leave his wolf's side, so Shiro walked across the room to him.

“We're fine,” Keith started, gesturing around him to the rest of the team who were, indeed, still in one piece. “Plus, we didn't exactly have time to make an additional call.”

“Keith,” Shiro could hear the mixture of exasperation and a warning in his own tone.

Keith didn't back down, but he didn't lose his cool either. He was no longer the Keith that didn't like being challenged by authority. Instead, he met Shiro's gaze directly and began to explain what had happened. It sounded like a nightmare and Shiro came out the other side of the story proud of his team for thinking quick on their feet and protecting each other.

Allura rose suddenly, turning to look at Keith. “He's going to be fine.”

The relief was palpable on Keith as his shoulders sagged. Kosmo thumped his tail on the ground a few times, indicating that he was now awake. With no hesitation, Keith knelt down and began to stroke his head, murmuring to him. There wasn't much else for Shiro to say on the matter, so he crouched down and began to pet Kosmo's back.

“Just, stay safe in the future, okay?” He said after a moment.

“I promise you don't have to worry. I'll always protect the team.” Keith replied.

Shiro had a response on the tip of his tongue but didn't get a chance to say it. Instead, Lance walked up, clapping Keith on the shoulder, “And I've always got his back.”

—

The rest of the ship was asleep, but Hunk was wide awake. Out in space, it was hard to tell what was day and night so the Atlas was set on a strict schedule to keep everyone as rested as possible. After the mission, Hunk had gone back to his room like he was supposed to. He'd gone through all the motions of getting ready for bed and even climbed into it, but he couldn't calm down enough to sleep. He was terribly shaken from the mission earlier in the day and there was only one thing he could think of to help him relax. That was how he found himself alone in the kitchen, in the dead of their night cycle, clanging pots and pans as he cooked in a haste.

The boxes of ingredients his parents had sent him with were open on the counter, their contents scattered about. Usually Hunk was very precise with his measuring, always cleaning up immediately and never leaving a mess. Tonight, however, his hands shook as he held the measuring cup and he found that he just couldn't care when he spilled something.

The door to the kitchen opened suddenly and Hunk nearly jumped out of his skin until he turned and saw Shay standing there, an expression of concern on her face.

“I thought I heard you in here,” She said kindly, stepping into the room.

“What are you doing up?” Hunk set his ingredients down, resting his hands on the counter and leaning his weight onto them. He took a deep breath, trying to release the tension he could feel in his shoulders.

Shay crossed over to him, placing one hand on the counter near his and the other on his back, rubbing gentle circles. “I could ask you the same thing.”

A moment passed where Hunk considered lying. But this was Shay and she had never judged Hunk. She'd never regarded him with anything other than respect and kindness. She was gentle and wise and an all around bright spot in Hunk's life. He knew he could tell her his real feelings and she wouldn't think they were silly.

With a deep breath, he said “That mission earlier wasn't supposed to be dangerous. It was supposed to be a simple in and out. Instead we ended up traipsing across the galaxy and nearly getting killed by a weird, genetically modified, Galra eating monster. It almost ate Keith!”

Shay's eyebrows were raised in surprise but it wasn't unkind. “That sounds terrifying.”

“It was!” Hunk pushed off the counter but didn't move far enough away to dislodge Shay's hand. “I just—”

The words died on his tongue. He had expressed it once before to Lance. Lance had taken it all in stride but Hunk knew he didn't share the sentiment which made it hard for him to relate. Still, he appreciated the way Lance had been there for him and continued to check in on him since.

“You can tell me.” Shay pulled a stool up, seating herself on it to indicate that she was willing to listen to anything Hunk had to say.

That cracked Hunk, breaking him wide open. The fear from earlier spilled out of him, dragging some of his darkest truths with it. “I know I'm a paladin of Voltron and that I'm a part of this final battle. I get that. And of course I'm going to follow through and see it til the end. But, after that—” he hesitated with the words on the tip of his tongue. Sensing his worry, Shay placed one of her hands gently on top of his, giving it a reassuring squeeze.” After that, I'll be happy to put down my bayard and helmet and never look back. Don't get me wrong, I love my team. They're family to me and they're stuck with me forever. But I want to spend time with them in situations that don't involve death looming ominously over us, you know?”

He paused then to look at Shay, almost surprised at how soft her expression was. It occurred to him then that Shay had never known a life without death hanging just in the distance, a constant and unavoidable threat. A strong pang swept through him at the thought. If anyone deserved a life of happiness and adventure, it was Shay. She had sacrificed herself to help them, put her life on the line for people she had only just met and a cause she'd only heard about in whispers. That was beyond admirable and Hunk just wanted her to have everything she deserved. It was Shay and the people like her that gave Hunk the will and courage to fight. He was fighting on their behalf, to give them the kind of life they deserved.

“There's nothing wrong with that.” She said evenly, her eyes finding his. “Once this war is over, you will have done your duty. If you want to put down your helmet then, you should. You have already served the universe greatly and we are all thankful for you.”

“Well, I didn't really do anything.” Hunk glanced away, feeling overwhelmed by her kindness. “That was all Voltron and I'm just a tiny part of that. Honestly, sometimes I wonder why the yellow lion even picked me. I'm not that remarkable and I'm always scared.”

“That's what makes you so brave. You came back for me, Hunk, even though you were terrified. You came back and risked your life and showed me things I never thought— never even dreamed that I'd see. You could've left me to continue the life I'd always known, but you didn't. That was you, Hunk. Not Voltron.”

Hunk flipped his hand over then, wrapping it around Shay's and squeezing tight. “Of course I came back for you. I'll always come back for you.”

“That's why the yellow lion picked you.” She said and Hunk didn't fail to notice the flush on her cheeks. “Because you are compassionate and you are strong. You put others above yourself. You are the most admirable person I've ever met. And when this war is over and you come out victorious, you will be able to lead whatever kind of life you want.”

Their eyes met again, hands still interlocked, and Hunk couldn't stop the emotions that were overwhelming him. He'd been terrified earlier in the day— terrified of the monster, of losing his life, of losing his closest friends— and he'd been carrying that weight around with him all day, letting it drag him down. And then Shay had appeared and, just like the sun, she had shed light on all of his doubts and made them seem less severe. He pulled up his own stool then, letting himself sink down onto it and giving his shaking knees a break.

“I want to own my own restaurant. To have a big family. I want to be happy and to make people happy.” Hunk could feel an ache in his chest at his own words. That had always been his dream life. And to think, he was finally close to being able to achieve it. The ache in his chest turned into more of a longing and he let out a long breath.

“I so hope I get to see you achieve all of those things.” Shay said.

Without thinking, Hunk responded. “I hope you're a part of them.”

Immediately he flushed a million shades of red. But, instead of being startled or put off, Shay squeezed his hand again with a warm smile. “I hope so, too.”

—

Honerva stood on the steps of the grandest building on the planet, a mass of Alteans waiting at the bottom to hear her speak. She regarded them, scrutinizing them as she looked from face to face. It was now or never. Her son had already done the hardest part— he had won their hearts. All that was left was to use that weakness against them.

“It was Lotor,” She began with no preamble, not even bothering to wait for silence. A hush fell as soon as she began. “who sought each of you out. It was Lotor who gave you a home. It was Lotor who protected you and provided for you.” a smattering of cheers and applause rippled through the crowd as she spoke. “And it was Voltron who took that away from you! It was Voltron who took Lotor away from you!”

She paused, allowing her words to sink in. An angry murmur spread from one end of the crowd to the next, growing angrier as it went. She watched the faces of the Alteans as they reacted to her words, watched them contort with hatred and the desire for revenge. It was exactly as she wanted it to be.

“I have a way to bring Lotor back, to reunite us with them.” She threw her arms out wide, implying that she would be sharing Lotor with them, even if that wasn't even close to her intent. “But before I can do that, we must rid the universe of Voltron. Lotor isn't safe as long as Voltron is still out there. We aren't safe.”

With a quick flick of her wrists, two robeasts appeared, one flanking either side of the crowd. The Alteans gasped at the appearance of them but did not shirk away from them. It only encouraged Honerva further.

“With these, we can defeat Voltron. Only then will it be safe to bring my son back. Are you with me?”

The Alteans cheered uproariously, hooting and hollering and clapping each other on the shoulder as if they had already won. Honerva looked on, pleased with their cooperation and knowing this only made things easier for her in the future.

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stereksecretsanta · 6 years

Text

Merry Christmas, @aqua-ref!

Read on AO3

******

Give Me To A Ramblin' Fae

In the middle of winter, when the moon is heavy in the sky, dripping with milky light and offering, whole and raw, its' power, the Hale Pack gathers around the Nemeton, they dance and they sing, and they shift into their animal skeins to frolic, to chase each other with yipping howls and laughing barks.

Derek has Laura's throat held gently between his maw, and she whines at him to let go, but rumbles approvingly, because he doesn't often win these games of theirs; it is not a matter of low power, more of the target he chooses. The Alpha's heir will, after all, be more difficult to beat than the others. She nips at his ear playfully, urges him along, and they weave through the barren, wind-beaten trees, their paws soaked with snow-melt, muddying the crunchy ivory-fluff that chills the ground beneath them.

There's an undulating, calling, rejoicing howl from their mother that has them leaving a chestnut hare to its' frightened peace in order to return to her, to the Pack.

Through the branches, they can see the sky, all adorned in twilight, hosting, now, a parade of riders, their pandemonium an awe and a terror. Spectral beings ride black mares and stallions, ominous dogs of bared teeth and frothing spit and hideously haunting eyes are careening, entwining and twisting around toned legs and pristine hooves as the steeds gallop forward, heedless. Blackbucks and stags dash, their riders luminescent smoke and vicious intent. Creatures with starlight-encrusted, stained-glass wings, and horns which they blow to hail their passing, fly gracefully around the nocturnal horde, singing or shrieking, cavorting and cackling.

It's a dreadful, terrific sight, that streaks through the night sky, and when the Pack's howl breaks out, full-force, hopeful and evocative, every wolf lifting their song to the ghastly, ghostly peoples as they pass, some of those dragonfly, stardust folk descend, screaming and giggling, a gaggle of raucous temerity, as they gather the wolves in their airborne festivities, and launch them toward the procession.

The whimsical, urgent needs, and maddening power that surround The Hunt quickly seeps into the Pack, makes them drunk and giddy, all of them running with ancient spirits, wildlings, Fair Folk of every type.

Derek's lungs are stung by the rush, his blood electric with the adrenaline when an ephemeral, fey, svelte-lithe boy with bull's horns, skin like cream sprinkled with cinnamon, and mosaic wings that inspire the feeling of fertile soil and fields of growing, healthy, rain-soaked things, comes to him. His oak-silk curls are plaited with holly and mint, a leather-bound necklace hangs heavy around his long, dainty, breakable neck, a crescent moon-charm at the hollow of his throat, surrounded by crystal orbs and autumn leaf-charms, brass acorns and pine-cones, he wears nothing else, unashamed in his nudity.

"Hello," the boy says, bright and sweet, his voice like the delicate silk-dew mist of a cumulus cloud, and Derek feels himself tilt closer without even meaning to. "You're gorgeous. I wonder what you look like in your human form? Honestly, I wonder what everyone here looks like in their human forms. We all have one, you know?"

Honestly, no, he didn't, he was kind of caught up in the romanticism of it all.

All scents are clouded by the musk of wild, old magick, stained by an odd, dense-soil ecstasy, and a part of him, vivid and, for one, fanatic moment, overwhelming, wants to eviscerate the aroma The Wild Hunt carries, if only so he can learn what this boy might smell like.

"Everyone who sees us thinks we're malevolent or scary, but, honestly, dude, we're just escorting the spirits Grandmother Death didn't have the time or patience to get to to their respective homes. We've all still got day jobs—I mean, you have a day job, pretty wolfling that you are, don't you?"

Numbly, helplessly, and a little more sober, now, Derek nods.

The boy grins at him, crooked and terribly endearing, fire-light eyes sparkling in the dim, mist-fog, shadowed light.

"See?" He says, gesturing, "Even Odin's got one, Odin, the God of knowledge, inspiration, creative and intellectual pursuits, the dead, fucking road rage—that guy, the head honcho, the one at the head of this whole operation. Like, in this economy, where barely anyone has the Sight anymore, and the number of people left who believe are too few and far between, what else are we supposed to do? It's not like causing havoc and stealing things is going to garner us any good-will, man, so here we are, doing the good work, and then tomorrow we'll go home and agonize over our bills just like everybody else." The faerie heaves a sigh, before blinking and seeming to realize himself, his cheeks burn a vivid, enchanting crimson when a harassing, incredulous, exasperated wail sounds from above.

"Oops," he breathes, a nervous giggle edging in, "I am so not supposed to do that, and I've just been rambling at you, and—" the wail comes again, more pressing this time. The boy groans, eyelashes fluttering down in mortification. "Sorry, I'll see you later, maybe?" Fragile, paper-thin wings flutter, and bone-nimble fingers tangle in the fur at Derek's flank to help the faerie wade close enough to press a candied, chaste kiss to his wolven cheek.

He says, "I'm Stiles, by the way," and grins like he isn't aware of how dangerously beautiful that expression is, before he zooms away in a sweeping, upward glide.

Derek gets a small glimpse of another fae, donned in a flowing, powder-blue toga-dress, with moth-like wings and magma curls flowing down to her waist, admonishing Stiles exhaustively, before their speed, much more than the wolves and the steeds and the dogs, has them blurring out of sight, catching up to a cluster of swarming fae up ahead, too far to spy on any longer.

Derek tries to get his thundering heart to calm and wonders why he ever thought love at first sight was a superstitious, optimistic myth, if not an outright lie.

Days later, after all the Dead have been put to their proper rest, a few offerings of milk and cookies meant for 'Santa' were traded for faerie favors, and quite a few more rogue, feral creatures were stolen and re-sewn into ravens or crows or hunting dogs, of the ilk to sleep the whole year away, and only wake when The Wild Hunt, again, takes place—Stiles is trying, valiantly, to focus.

His mind keeps tracing back to eyes like stars winking to tenacious life, to obsidian fur and sinewy muscle, a warbling wolf-song that lilted like a lullaby, all hymn-hope, resounding howl, to the way sharp, ink-fluffy ears kept flickering to him, listening and curious and three shades shy of entranced. He doesn't know why he's so caught up on it, this is the sixth year he's been old enough to participate in The Hunt, and they have wolves with them every time, thousands of Packs from all of the world join them, so why was he so attracted, distracted, by this one?

What was so special about him?

Other than the, you know, sand-escaping-his-fingers, barely tangible, general everything.

Stiles sighs despondently, and Lydia, who's probably been talking about Important College Things, hits him upside the head promptly.

"A—ow!" Stiles rubs the back of his head, glaring balefully at her. Her hand retreats to flick her hair over her shoulder in one fluid, deflecting motion, as if to dissuade anyone who might've noticed her uncouth action from registering it as more than a figment of their imagination, nothing to see here, folks!

He loves her, he does, but some days he wants to strangle her.

Just a little.

"You were sighing again," she points out, lashes grazing her cheeks as she looks down at her book, flips the page flippantly, like studies on how mathematical algorithms affect neurology bore her. "It's starting to get annoying, Stiles."

"Shut up. It's not like I can even do anything about it," he laments, complaining even though he knows it'll only be a study in disappointment and masochism, at this point. "Who is he? where does he live? work? For all I know, I'm infatuated with some Turkish Lord who I won't even have the slightest chance of seeing again until next year."

Lydia snaps her book shut with a sound that manages to be both refined and abrupt enough to startle. "What on earth were you doing galavanting with the lower-tiers, anyway? We aren't supposed to talk to them, Stiles—"

"But, he was—"

"If he had been a ghost instead of a solid, you could've been lost to the spirit-tide, and you know The Hunt doesn't discern when it comes to a close—you could be on the other side of the Veil by now, instead of sitting here, fawning!"

She's heaving by the end of her rant, cheeks flushed, sea-glass eyes glittering angrily, and Stiles knows her fury is borne from worry, from a very real fear. He remembers his mother, how she was all love and sweet-tempered fire, how she gave coins to the more corporeal spirits, gleefully hugged and spun yarns and danced with all the riders, always careful of the spirit-tide, of getting caught in its' undertow, until she got sick, and couldn't remember to be.

Neither Stiles nor Lydia had been old enough to go, yet, and Stiles' dad was human. Lydia's grandmother, they think, tried to stop her, to save her, but ended up just as lost and mourned as she.

He feels guilt curdle in his chest and exhales heavily. "I'm sorry, Lyds, I am. I don't know why I did that, I'll—next year, I'll stay in the upper-tiers, like I'm supposed to," he inclines his head solemnly, reaches across the library table to hold both her hands in his, "I promise."

She squeezes his fingers, sniffs, her voice evaporated misty at the edges, "You damn well better, you idiot."

He offers her a sincere, sorrow-tinged smile, and tries to put the entire thing out of his mind.

It's New Year's Eve, and Stiles is exhausted, between studies and random research stints and trying to keep the Kelpies three doors down from killing and/or getting killed by the vampires that live in the apartment downstairs, he thinks he has every right to be. Still, though, Lydia put at least a quarter of her heart and soul into organizing this party, and if he hadn't come, he's sure she would've had him flayed.

So, here he is, sleep-deprived, delirious, eying the bar and wondering if getting drunk when all he's been living off of for the past three days is coffee, is at all a good idea. It isn't, it really fucking isn't, but...

But he's got nothing else to do, and tomorrow it'll be a new year, right? Might as well live a little.

Derek smiles briskly at the lady with a bird's nest of raven-black hair as he hands her her drink, and purposefully ignores the blonde at the end of the bar who's been whistling and snapping at him imperiously for the past fifteen minutes.

He's half tempted to text Cora and ask her what the hell she was thinking, pulling him behind the counter to fill in for her so she could go after the strawberry-blonde party hostess with a number and a cheap pickup line caught in her too-sharp teeth, because, yeah, he's got enough experience not to flounder (he'd found himself hiding from the rain in a drag bar while he was still in high school, and they let him hang out despite his age because he was a good enough cook that as long as he didn't touch the alcohol, they didn't care, and when you're in that sort of close-knit, street-smart gritty, overprotective Pack-like environment, it's impossible not to learn the tricks of the trade), but his customer service has always been shit.

With someone like Peter as an Uncle, he's capable of plastering on a smile and flirting a pretty lie with the best of them, he just doesn't fucking liketo. In fact, it's something he actively avoids unless lives are in danger.

Then a voice, one he remembers, all whispered silk-cotton dream-thread collecting raindrops in its' seams, starts murmuring a sugary melody in his periphery, and his eyes snap to its' source with a breathless, near frantic urgency.

And there he is.

Like Fate.

Like a fucking miracle.

He looks different, horns and wings gone, still with the wind-swept, earthy curls, though their holly-mint braids are nowhere to be found; dressed in a long-sleeved, charcoal gray shirt that cling to his lithe, agile-built muscles, an unzipped crimson hoodie layered over it, skin-tight jeans and ridiculous, neon-orange vans, but there's that leather-bound charm necklace, heavy around the length of his pretty throat, with a crescent-moon hanging just at the hollow, and it's him.

The rambling faerie he met on The Wild Hunt, absently humming a tune as he messes with his phone, patiently waiting for a bartender to notice him, at a college party on New Year's Eve.

The surreality of this is... not lost on him.

"Hello," Derek greets, sliding into the boy's- Stiles', if he remembers right- space.

"Oh, uh," he looks up from, and pockets, his phone, a little bashful, "I always thought you had to make eye contact to get, like, served, or whatever, but, um, hi?"

Derek tries to bite back a smile.

Fails.

"Hi," he repeats, and the boy blinks at him dumbly for a solid five seconds before just breathing:

"Wow. You're gorgeous."

And Derek can't help it, he barks out a laugh. "You said that last time."

"I did? Wait, I did? When?! I've met you?" he sounds outraged, on his own behalf, scandalized, even. "No," he denies, "no way, I would've remembered meeting someone like you and then doing something as stupid as calling you gorgeous to your face without any sort of filter—and, wow, smooth sailing, me. I am so sorry about that, by the way, color me extremely embarrassed, but. Yeah, no. No way in hell I've committed the same social faux-pas twice with the same person, I refuse to believe it."

Derek smirks, even as something warm and giddy and compelled sets up camp in his heart, with a kind of tenacity that says it'll be staying a long while.

"Well, I wasn't exactly a person at the time," he points out, "but I appreciated the compliment both times, Stiles, so you... really shouldn't worry about it."

"I—you—" Stiles sputters, freezes, mouth agape and molten-caramel doe-eyes very, very wide, before he seems to reboot. "You are kidding me," he says, feelingly, before pitching forward over the counter to grab Derek's face with his hands, searching his eyes intently.

Derek tries to be anything other than amused and endeared.

Fails, again.

"Wolfling," Stiles accuses, awed. "I didn't think I was ever going to see you again."

"Rambling fae," Derek muses, hushed, leaning further into Stiles' space even as he pushes the boy down into a bar-stool, because while he might not take offense, the other on-duty bartender, or, even, the party hostess, might. "Neither did I."

Stiles sucks in a very deep breath, and then spills out any number of tangential, spiraling questions, what's your name? Where do you live? Are you a bartender? can I have your number? I'd really like your number. Are you—

Derek crushes the rest in a kiss that tastes like sunlight and cherry-tart and ozone, Stiles melts into it with a helpless, keening whine, his spine curving up, shoulders opening, head tilting, whole body blooming like a flower, begging to be plucked, held, kept, known.

He answers what his fleeting thoughts will let him, mutters the words into Stiles' warm, slick-wet, receptive mouth, his name, that his Pack lives in town, that he isn't, but his sister is, and he's covering for her. With a drawn-out sigh, he does force himself to pull away, eventually.

Probably not soon enough, honestly.

"Take me out," Stiles says immediately, dazed, lips kiss-bruised enchanting, and then flushes that same, deep, candied, lascivious red as before. "Or. I mean. I want to date you. Can we go on a date? Not right now, obviously, but—"

"Yes," Derek grins, overwhelmed, blood champagne-effervescent, "yeah, I'd really like that."

Stiles exhales heavily, laughs, a little incredulously, shakes his head at himself, and then smiles, soft and marshmallow-fluffy up at him, "Awesome."

Derek begins to think that, maybe, he needs to give Cora a fruit-basket. Or, possibly, Odin, and that's... well.

That may well be the cherry on top of an incredibly strange, unusual, wonderful meeting.

#aqua-ref #stereksanta18 #*fic18 #*gifts18

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