#this gave me quite some trouble so sorry for the delay c:

[kbstories]

Diachronic

dia·chron·ic (adj.) Occurring over time; historical.

Kidd is torn apart and Killer is (almost) too late.

(Or: Kidd loses an arm, wakes up and recovers.)

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Near Death Experience, Loss of Limbs, Recovery, Heat & Killer For MVP I Do Not Make The Rules

Read Chapter 1 here. Additional content warning for loss of a limb and discussions of limb amputation.

***

“Shit, shit, fuck, shit–”

“Keep going. Boss, you there? Hey.”

“So much blood, fuck.”

“We got you out, Boss. You’re safe. The Punk’s right there.”

“Wire, his arm...”

“Boss. Eyes on me, ‘kay? Killer– He’s fine. Right behind us. Just stay awake.”

“His arm–”

“Shut up, Heat, I saw it, just– Keep going. Put pressure on his neck.”

“Yeah. Okay, yeah. Where the fuck is Doc?”

“I don’t know. Hey, Boss? …Kidd?” 

“There! Doc!”

“Shit, shit. We’re losing him–”

 “What?!”

“Kidd–!!”

   *

Eustass Kidd comes to the taste of death in his mouth.

A blink, slow, perhaps more becoming-aware than waking from dream. Swirling patterns, clean lines: A wooden ceiling, he recognizes, the thought dim and far-away. The half-dark around him strains his eyes.

Kidd blinks. There’s something on his face. It itches, pulls at his skin. Stings, when he tries to move his head, all the way down to the fuzzy numbness where he presumes the rest of his body is. No point in questioning it – Kidd has had enough near-death experiences to know better.

He blinks, and realizes the world is off. Split into two, one half vague reality and the other– not, dark, a void that wasn’t there before. Blinks and blinks again, eyes squinting, attempting to focus where there is nothing.

That’s… not good, is it?

It’s a little like being underwater, this. Like when the ocean surges around him and every limb goes all loose and useless; when all he can do is search for the faint outline of the sun and marvel at the beams of light that reach for him as he sinks.

Kidd’s mind is swimming, that’s the word, and no part of him should ever be doing that. Killer will be mad, Kidd thinks.

For swimming, and for whatever is on his face, and for tasting death.

Killer will be– 

Kidd drifts.

Consciousness comes and goes like waves over shoreline sand, sometimes sliding over rocks unchanging, sometimes grabbing onto something and dragging it along. Kidd loses bits and pieces to that tide, chunks of time that sift through his fingers unchecked. A call of his name, quiet. Then – or perhaps later, much later – a gentle pressure wraps around his hand, and he notices it exists, his hand that is, and the hand in his hand. 

Making sense of things is hard but this is something Kidd knows, will always know. Everything is blurry as hell, colors and lines sliding in and out of place: Kidd finds it all the same, that flash of blue that’s inevitably there in his periphery.

Again, “Kidd?”, hopeful now. Not mad (not yet, that is) and oh, Kidd must be fucked up bad. The urge to laugh bubbles up from a place unknown, which is bad too because it’s perhaps a little deranged and because that’s when he remembers he has a body and it hurts.

Kidd can’t tell if he laughs or not. The next wave rolls in, sloshing up to his waist; the current tears at every fiber of his being and Kidd lets go, knowing strong arms will pull him all the way up to the surface soon enough.

*

“Boss. You awake?”

It occurs to Kidd that he is. Pain is all he knows, for a moment that lingers – an ache that pulses at his core like a second heartbeat, a little to the left.

(Another one of those not-good things, to be awake.)

Kidd can think, this time around, and move, and he reaches for his face because life’s a bitch and fuck the pain, he needs that shit off now. Fire runs up his spine, the telltale sting of fried nerves and bruised skin and–

“Ah shit, don’t–”

Nothing? A breath comes out Kidd’s mouth, an eloquent “Whuh?” that was meant to be a full sentence, and whoever’s with him must understand since the next thing he sees is dark-red ink and faded stitches and deep-seated eyes.

Heat.

“Welcome back”, they say, and: “Stop moving or Doc will skin first me and then you.”

Must be bandages then. Kidd’s limbs are heavy, now that he takes the time to notice, blood honey-thick and sticky in his veins; the remnants of whatever Doc shot him up with to keep him down, and Kidd relents. Listens if only because there’s genuine worry in Heat’s gaze, and because listening to them is usually a sound plan when he doesn’t know what the fuck is going on. Which, actually–

“Wha’ the fuck?”

Heat huffs, “Stay awake this time and I’ll explain”, and when they push Kidd to lie flat again it’s a touch too gentle. Kidd frowns, at that and at the pinch of Heat’s brow that remains despite the clear relief to their tone. It’s on his way down that Kidd spots Killer’s mask, paint chipped and blood smeared across it like lipstick stains, left on Doc’s cluttered desk.

Where’s…?

And suddenly Kidd remembers, sees flashes of a beach and Shanks’ cold stare and the glint of a blade and painpainpain and Killer, back turned to him and staring down an Emperor–

Kidd’s gut drops and he gasps, “Fuck”, snaps into motion so fast he practically jackknifes. The world spins, little dots of color exploding across Kidd’s vision like shrapnel and he pushes through it, grabs for Heat. “Fuck, Killer–”

Grabs for them and overshoots by a mile, and Kidd can’t see shit out of his left eye but he shouldn’t have– His arm should’ve–

“He’s fine! Killer’s fine, Kidd, sit down for fuck’s sake.”

It’s not like Kidd has much of a choice: His legs give out the instant he puts weight on them and without Heat he’d eaten dirt then and there. As it is, Heat catches him and hauls him back on the cot, decidedly less gentle now.

“Boss. Seriously, just… A lot has happened.”

Kidd shoots back immediately, “Where’s Killer?”, voice rasping low, the tone he gives commands with. Heat’s eyes darken.

“Next door. Sleeping, as he should. Had to damn near fistfight him to get him away from you. It’s been a fucking week, Kidd, if you go and fuck up your stitches now I swear I’ll–”

“Okay, shit, fine. I’m sitting.”

“Good. And cut the crap with the Haki, I’m not going anywhere.”

And… okay, it’s rare for Heat to be rough with Kidd like this. They’re no sunshine by any measure of the word, just unfazed by most things life could possibly throw at them and content to let Kidd do the yelling. Here, now, Heat is– Well, stressed. Upset.

Something aches in Kidd’s chest, entirely unrelated to his injuries. “Tell me”, he says, softer and lacking that timbre. “The crew?”

The tension leaves Heat in one long exhale. They sit next to Kidd, in that void that’s really getting on Kidd’s nerves. A beat, and Kidd feels their long fingers start to pry at surgical tape and gauze.

“Shaken but doin’ okay. Worried sick about you, mostly. Punk’s good, too, before you ask. Wire says we’re two days out from land.”

“Ah.”

(It doesn’t make sense to Kidd, to dock that close in an Emperor’s orbit. Wire knows what he’s doing, though, always has. On this ship his sense for pragmatics is better than anyone’s, even Killer’s.)

There’s light in the left half of Kidd’s world, a too-bright glare that has him squinting instantly. Heat rips the rest of it off without much of a warning – Kidd bites down a groan of relief as the source of that pain-in-the-ass itch is finally gone. He blinks, blinks again, waits for his eye to adjust, bit by bit.

“Thanks.”

“Mh. How’s your sight?”

Kidd focuses on Killer’s mask, closes one eye, then the other. The contrast is substantial, the blue-white-red vibrant and sharp, then dim and off-color. “Could be worse.”

Heat snorts. “Yeah, it could. Doc swore up a storm working on your face.”

There’s a bit of an edge to that, a hint of you owe him, Boss that Kidd hears loud and clear. Here’s to hoping the island they’re headed towards knows what coffee is, Kidd muses. Keeps staring ahead, watching things go in and out of focus as his brain tries to compensate for the mismatched input it’s getting.

An uneasy feeling roils in his gut. It has nothing to do with that.

“Kidd, listen…”

Kidd sighs. “Give it to me straight, Heat. I can take it.”

Heat hesitates but not for long. “Your arm”, they say quietly, and yeah, Kidd remembers something about that too. “There was no saving it. We had to take it off.”

There it is.

Kidd… lets himself sit in it, for a while, in the notion that if he were to turn his head he’d find, what, a stump? A clean cut? Perhaps it’s all gone, his body simply stopping where a shoulder used to be. Kidd should have some sort of reaction to that, shouldn’t he?

Something more than a mind full of static and blank eyes refusing to look.

It’s a visceral thing, an instinct, perhaps, to reach out and touch first: clumsy with residue numbness and the pain he’s been resolutely ignoring nipping at the heels of every move he makes. Heat jolts like they want to hold him back, a hand brushing Kidd’s wrist as a physical reminder to be careful but they let him be otherwise.

Lingering as Kidd’s fingers trace his gauze-lined chest up his neck and the bumps of stitches there. Across the slope of his shoulder (still attached, that’s something, right?) and down his bicep until–

Oh.

Kidd looks. His hand fits weirdly against his arm or what’s left of it, to be precise; his fingers overly big and rough-looking against the white of bandages, pink where the wound is bleeding through. Cradling it, Kidd tries to make sense of the fact it just… ends, three quarters of the way to his elbow.

That’s a stump alright.

“…Boss?”

Heat’s never sounded so small, either, and Kidd shakes himself out of the existential crisis waiting to happen. There’s a lifetime ahead of him to freak out about this, which… Fuck.

“Yeah, ‘m here. Just… processing, I guess.”

There’s nothing to be done about the tremor in his voice. When Kidd glances over, Heat’s lips are pressed tight, their gaze liquid with emotion. “Yeah.” A beat of silence. “We, um. We ran out of anesthetics. So we’re– Yeah. Doc meant for you to sleep a few days more.”

Years they’ve sailed together, and Kidd can pick up on the things Heat leaves unspoken. Those little gaps in their speech like faultlines along the bedrock, microscopic tears in solid steel made to withstand a multitude of its own weight.

“It’s okay”, Kidd mumbles and it’s not a lie. It hurts something fierce but not enough to break him, and it’s not like they went against an Emperor expecting to come out of it unscathed. There’s a reason why Kidd aimed for a duel and not an all-out war.

Still: Fuck.

Whatever Kidd thinks to say beyond that reeks of empty platitudes, the don’t-worry-about-its and the I’m-fines that help no one and change jackshit about anything, so he leaves it at that. Drops his hand – singular, the only one he’s got left – and shapes it to a fist to nudge Heat’s shoulder, push them a little to wipe that sad look off their face.

“Be honest. Y’all just got bored without me, huh?”

There’s surprise and then there’s a slow blink, Heat’s expression going utterly deadpan in the span of a second. “Sure. We all hated having some peace and quiet around here.”

Kidd laughs, “Fuck off”, can’t make it not sound as exhausted as he feels but it’s worth a try, anyways. His body aches, his entire left side especially but Kidd stretches his back anyways, grunts as his spine pops in half a dozen places.

“Where’d ya say Killer is?”

Exasperation joins the mix. “You two deserve each other”, Heat grumbles under their breath, points at the door straight ahead. It’s closed, which is good because the mask is here which means Killer’s sleeping without it.

Kidd squints at it. The distance isn’t too far, maybe if he goes along the wall…?

“Stay”, Heat says, serious again. “I promised Doc a check-up. And nope, you’re not getting out of that. ‘s what you get for almost dying on us.”

Kidd’s mouth shuts on its own accord. You owe him, Boss. “…Fine.”

Shoulders slumped, Heat reaches for Killer’s mask. “And… Soldier said to get him when you’re up. So that’s happening in a few.” They lick their thumb and make an effort to wipe away the blood, eyes fond.

“Go easy on him, ‘kay? He did well as captain, no matter what he’ll tell you.”

As if Kidd would ever fault Killer for any of this. The warning makes something curl in his chest, though, the need to see his partner and making sure he’s okay – they’re okay – one he swallows down with difficulty.

“Noted. Thanks. I mean it, Heat.”

They wave it off with a lazy gesture over their shoulder on their way out. A hand on the knob, Heat pauses. “Hey, Kidd?”

“Mh?”

Their voice is soft, “I’m glad you made it”, a brief window into the hell they must’ve gone through while Kidd slept. Then Heat is gone, and Kidd stares at the empty spot they leave behind and finally lets his heart break, just a little.

*

The stitches are out, all wounds freshly wrapped and Kidd himself hopped up on a not-insignificant amount of painkillers by the time Killer shuffles in, yawning into the crook of his elbow. His right one, that is, the entirety of Killer’s left arm bandaged from shoulder to fingertips.

(Chemical burns, Doc had told Kidd with a grim frown. Acid, most likely, and Kidd swore himself that’s not going to be the first thing he’ll ask Killer about after almost dying right in front of him.)

“Wow”, Kidd drawls instead, a little slurred. “Heat wasn’t jokin’, ya do look like shit.”

There was an attempt not to, at least, and the way Killer pauses mid-step and shoots him a dirty look tells Kidd he failed rather spectacularly. He mutters, “Hey to you too”, sounding just as tired as he looks with those shadows under his eyes and long hair tied in a messy knot. Dressed in a shirt he could swim laps in, and Kidd blames it on the drugs that he recognizes it only after a solid ten-second stare.

“Ain’t that mine?”

“Yeah.” Dragging Doc’s desk chair behind him, Killer sets it down and collapses into it without much fanfare. “You’re awake.”

And Kidd really shouldn’t laugh, but the sheer misery Killer’s radiating reminds him of the Curry Udon Incident years ago. It wasn’t very funny back then, it’s near-hilarious now, and there’s a thousand little details that tell Kidd his partner really isn’t in the mood to reminisce. Kidd smiles all the same; Killer’s eyes are slow to track the motion, narrowing under unkempt bangs.

“What?”

Kidd’s smile turns into a grin. “Nothin’.”

Killer stares. “…Exactly how many pills did Doc give you?

“All of ‘em”, Kidd tells him and cackles at Killer’s quiet groan. “You want some? Feels really good.”

A wordless headshake is all Kidd gets for his trouble. Killer leans forward, though, nudging Kidd’s side with the elbow he braces himself on, chin in hand. There’s the beginnings of a beard there, and Kidd didn’t even notice he could grow one these days.

“Hey, Kil”, Kidd says, even though Killer’s attention is already on him. That feels good, too.

“Hmm?”

Kidd reaches for him, using all his focus to keep his hand somewhat steady as he brushes along Killer’s jaw. “I like this. ‘s cute.”

A hint of a smile. Killer takes Kidd’s hand before it drops away again, slender fingers wrapping around Kidd’s rough edges with untold tenderness. “Yeah? What happened to me looking like shit a minute ago?”

Kidd pouts. How is he supposed to keep track of this stuff? Merely keeping his eyes open is a struggle, doesn’t Killer know that?

Another try, then. “I meant like, hmm… Ya didn’t sleep at all, did ya?”

“Mh”, Killer replies, which is his way of saying yes when he knows Kidd won’t like the answer. “There wasn’t exactly time for a nap, between getting our asses outta there and watching the crew and–”

Nothing. Killer’s jaw clenches and he falls silent, gaze dropping to where their hands are intertwined.

“It doesn’t matter. Sorry I wasn’t there when you… Yeah. Sorry.”

Kidd realizes, with some delay, that Killer is an idiot and also that Heat was right. They usually are. “You’re sor–? K. Look at me. Killer.”

Killer looks at Kidd and that heartbreak Kidd was saving up for some indefinite point in time in the future? It’s not giving him a choice in the matter, not anymore. Not when there’s pure anguish in Killer’s eyes, dark and hurting where no one but Kidd can go look for it.

Kidd, who spent a week more dead than alive. Fucking shit.

“This entire thing was my idea.” Kidd squeezes Killer’s hand, pulls him closer with the little energy he can muster. “Mine, not yours, Kil. What the fuck?”

“Kidd”, Killer starts and just, no. Hell no.

“I wanted that duel. I ate shit for it, so what? We knew it’s a possibility. A risk. We can’t conquer the New World if we don’t–”

“You lost an arm, Kidd.” Killer grits his teeth hard enough even Kidd can make it out, hazy as things are. “Almost lost an eye. Almost lost your life. How am I supposed to feel about that? Tell me ‘cause I don’t– I can’t… Fuck.”

A shaky breath is all the warning Kidd gets before Killer pulls away, gets up, the hand that slips out of Kidd’s grasp going to Killer’s face and still unable to hide how his lips pinch downwards, trembling.

For a long moment all Kidd can do is stare and try to catch his mind from complete freefall. This… Not good, definitely not good.

“Killer. C’mon, don’t… Hey.”

Killer inhales, exhales. Wipes at his eyes and looks at Kidd because he can’t help it, can he? He’s always listened to Kidd, no matter if he’s dead-tired or down-and-out or pissed off beyond measure. Kidd can count the times he’s seen Killer cry on one fucking hand, and that includes the times when they were kids and Killer didn’t have a mask to hide behind yet.

Yet Killer… stands there like can’t stand being close to Kidd, not now; Kidd’s heart clenches, threatens to stop functioning altogether.

“Call me an asshole. Do whatever you want just… Don’t leave, okay? Don’t leave. Please.”

There are still tears on Killer’s cheeks but– “’m not”, the words are a wet-sounding sigh more than anything. “You’ll just run after me and fuck up”, a vague gesture to Kidd, “That. All of it. Even more.”

Kidd’s lips tug up, just a bit. “Hell yeah I will.” A pause, uncertain despite himself. “Come back? I won’t say shit, promise.”

Killer sniffs. “Doubt that.” He makes his way to Kidd much like he arrived, exhaustion written all over his shoulders, near-boneless with it. Letting Kidd grab onto the hem of his – technically Kidd’s – shirt and following the tug to the edge of Kidd’s cot.

“Get in.”

“We won’t fit.”

“Get in. C’mon.”

Killer does, his bony knees jabbing Kidd’s one too many times to be a coincidence. The cot creaks dangerously under their combined weight but it holds and, oh, this is nice. Perfect, really. Killer is right there like this, frowning down on Kidd as Kidd grins up to him.

“Hi.”

“Now what?”

“Now you sleep.” Kidd gestures to his outstretched arm with his chin for emphasis, wincing as the motion tugs at his neck. And his face. Ouch. “I’ll keep watch.”

“Kidd. You’re this close to passing out.”

“And? S’are you.”

With how stubborn Killer can get, Kidd marks it down as progress when his partner reviews their current predicament with a critical glance. “Gonna have to turn my back on you”, he mutters, and: “Don’t move. Just stay put.”

Kidd is happy to do exactly that, watching Killer flop on his side and hiss as the movement jolts his arm. This close, Kidd can feel the heat coming off the wound – he promised not to say anything stupid, so he opts to say nothing at all. Just curls himself around Killer as best as he can without touching it, which isn’t much given his own arm is– Yeah.

“Kil?”

Almost nothing.

“…Yeah?”

Kidd rests his forehead against Killer’s neck, breathing him in. “Thanks. For everything.”

And it’s enough, to feel Killer’s quiet hum against his chest. There will be time for everything else, later.

[lovenhlboys]

From a Distance (E.Pettersson X Reader)

Chapter 1

Masterlist

Tag list form

A/n: hello peoples!! I’m so excited to FINALLY post the first chapter of this fic!!! I’ve been working on it for a long time, and after a few unpleasant delays, it’s finally happening 😁. While this isn’t my first fic, this is my first NHL fic, and the first fic I’m posting on Tumblr, so I’m a little nervous. This first chapter is mostly the set up to the main story, this is reader’s side of things with a flashback story. Chapter two will be mostly from Elias’s point of view. The rest of the chapters will switch back and fourth between the two.

CREDIT: Finally, before we get started I have to shout out my proofreaders. Y’all put up with me and my insanity: @siriushxney @iateyourdonuts @petey-patty @hufflepuff-girlx @cherrylita @immmbabyyygraceee @💕💕And specifically @imagines-r-s ASH!!! Babes, you have been the best and most supportive friend I could’ve asked for during this. You boosted my confidence about this fic and I have no idea what I’d do without you 😁😁

Without further ado, let’s get started shall we!! (Sorry for the long A/N, it’ll only be for this first chapter)

Paring: Elias Pettersson X Fem!Reader

Warnings: lots of cursing, friends with benefits but like...just cuddling???, references to iCarly, mentions of One Tree Hill.

Genere: enemies-ish —>friends —> lovers

Legend: (i suggest having these ready before you read)

Y/C/N/N= your cute nick name, only Markstrom calls you it (you’ll see why) this can be either a pet name you like, or a nick name you already have.

Y/N/N= your nick name, Brock, Quinn, and a few others call you this, it’s more of a playful name. Again, this can be a nickname you already have (if you don’t have one I suggest something stupid (sounds like something Stech or Brock would come up with)

Y/N= this is your first name, only Elias calls you this unless it’s a serious situation, or you’re in trouble, or Brock is being an ass. (If it wasn’t clear before...your last name is Boeser)

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: you have a hardcore crush on your brothers best friend, who also happens to barely speak to you...it’s a slight predicament.

--------------------------

(This is set in the 2021 season, however, because of my denial, Marky and Stech are still in Vancouver and were never traded... also no Covid. however the season was still delayed just to make it easier to follow.)

Present (Feb. 2021)

You’ve always been best friends with your older brother, you never had any real issues when you were younger and you were inseparable. So much so in fact, that once you graduated early a little less than two years ago (June 2019), he asked you to move to Vancouver and live with him. He was always so protective of you and you appreciated everything he has done in your life. One of the best parts about Brock being your older brother was the people he introduced to you. You aren’t very social and god knows how much of a people person your brother is. Once you had moved in, Brock quickly introduced you to the team. And with your double major in Statistics: Data Sciences and Sports Management, you were able to secure a job with the team. Quickly, you found yourself with a second family, one with many members.

Quinn Hughes is your best friend. when you met him about a year and a half ago, you hit it off immediately. With both of you being the same age and not very social, there was an obvious connection there. When Brock and The boys  go out, it is you and Quinn who stay in and watch shows on the couch (your favorite being New Girl). Huggy Bear is so sweet and you tell him EVERYTHING, even things you’d never tell your brother. You are still thanking the draft lottery every day that the Canucks received the 7th overall pick that gave you your bestie.

Thatcher Demko AKA Dems AKA Thatch AKA baby goalie is the sweetest and most hilarious guy you know. He is always looking after you just like Brock, but he is also one of the most annoying guys you know. When you’d first met you had the biggest crush on him. You told Quinn as much and he gave you so much shit for it. That crush was short-lived though, once you found out how obnoxious he could be. You still love him, just as a friend. Though Quinn never forgets to remind you of the crush that once was.

Bo Horvat is like another big brother to you. Sure you have Brock, but he’s your best friend. Bo, however, is the person you go to when you needed advice. Holly is one of the only WAGs you’ve become close with. She and you consistently have wine and gossip nights, of which Quinn is sometimes in attendance. Plus, you and Quinn are an amazing babysitting team for Gunnar if you have anything to say about it. 

Troy Stecher is the annoying older brother you never had. He always makes fun of you, calls you names, and bullies you in the loving way brothers do. And he never hesitates to come to you if he ever needs girl advice, which seems to happen a lot.

JT was just like Bo, except he is waaay more protective of you, maybe even a bit more than brock. He doesn’t have a sister and when you met, he made it his job to never see you get hurt. Seriously, one day a guy was bugging you at the bar, and both Brock and Bo were struggling to hold him back when he saw him slap you on the ass as you walked away. 

Jacob Markstrom, AKA Marky, AKA Giraffe (pronounced like it is in one of your favorite vines), AKA your cuddle buddy for the past few seasons. Both being single, you felt lonely sometimes and Quinn wasn’t much of a hugger (despite what the nickname might have you believe). Thatcher had offered but Marky, though just as social, is much more laid back. It also helps that he is 6’6 putting him over a foot taller than you. So during movie nights, or late nights at the bar, he is the side you lean on. Of course, you made it abundantly clear to most of the boys and yourselves that you were just friends. As sweet as he was and as great of a boyfriend as he would’ve been, he wasn’t quite your type and your personalities clashed.

Then there was Elias Pettersson, the tall, skinny, Swedish guy you knew as Petey. The guy who looked at you often and barely spoke a word directed towards you. He was Brock's best friend and he came over all the time, you didn’t have an issue with him, and you couldn’t deny he was funny, and from what you’ve heard he is a very kind person. So naturally, he was exactly your type. You’ve had a massive crush on him for a while now, somehow despite the lack of conversation. And the few times he has talked to you, he’s seemed so perfect, but there are only a few times you can remember. 

Right now, as you're on your way to the Canuck’s break room your brother texted you to meet him in, you try to recall those few times, specifically the one where your crush on him truly developed.

--------------------------

FLASHBACK (some time in January, 2020)

--------------------------

You, Quinn, and Jacob were laying on the L-shaped couch in ‘The Boeser apartment’, you were cuddled under the blanket with Jacob, laying on the section perpendicular to the TV, your heads at the corner. Quinn was on the other side of the couch, his head right next to yours. it was about 7 o’clock and the episode of One Tree Hill you were watching had just ended and you three had not eaten dinner yet. As the countdown for the next episode started, your stomach growled and you got a look from Quinn and a giggle from Jacob. 

“You hungry Y/C/N/N?” Jacob asked.

You looked up at him and giggled, “maybe just a little bit.”

“Y/N/N, you know what sounds amazing?” Quinn asked, you could hear the smirk in his voice.

You turned to each other and you both smirked knowing you were thinking the same thing.

“Spaghetti tacos!!” You both said. 

Ever since you were about 10 and you watched iCarly on TV, you had always wanted to try them. It had become an inside joke between you and Quinn for quite some time as he had the same desire as you to see how good they actually were.

“We should totally try them tonight!!” Quinn was quite excited.

“I’m so confused right now,” Jacob chimed in.

“They’re from a show! They take spaghetti and put it in taco shells,” you explained.

“Ahh, hence the name.” he nodded.

“Exactly,” Quinn said.

You jumped up from the couch excitedly and ran straight to your kitchen.

“Ok, we have spaghetti, spaghetti sauce, ground beef, taco shells, aaaand..... by chance do either of you know how to make good meatballs?”

“You’re asking the Swedish guy if he knows how to make meatballs?” Jacob replied.

“Not Swedish meatballs, Italian, stupid Giraffe,” you retorted. 

“Gross,” he said with a disgusted look.

“Ooo my mom made the best Italian meatballs, let me call her to see if she can send me the recipe!” Quinn said with a big smile.

Quinn exited the kitchen and ran to your room to call his mom. 

“You know, I’ve never seen him so excited about anything,” Marky said with a laugh. 

“Quinn loves his food,” you replied.

“Are Brock and Thatch having dinner with us ?”

“I’ll ask.”

You started boiling the water for the pasta, and you cooked part of the ground beef for the meat sauce. Then you texted Brock:

Y/N/N: hey, you want me to make you dinner

Brock: Yeah, who all is there?

Y/N/N: the usual

Brock: Huggy and Marky?

Y/N/N: yep, so do you want some?

Brock: Yeah, and make enough for another person too

Y/N/N: ok

You figured it was Dems since that’s who he went to hang out with when he left 5 hours ago. 

You continued to cook when Quinn came in and grabbed a bunch of stuff from the pantry and cabinets. “Did your mom tell you how to make them?” you questioned your frantic best friend.

“Yes she did and she sent me the recipe too.”

“Coolio,” you reply.

------------------------

You were almost done cooking, the pasta was done, Quinn had put his meatballs in the oven and there were only 5 minutes left on the timer. And the sauce had about 2 minutes to simmer.

“Oh my gosh, I forgot what to do when they're almost done, she does this thing, I have to call her,” Quinn said with a panicked look on his face. He ran back to your room.

The front door to your apartment opened quickly, both boys laughing, “ahh, shit,  my brother’s calling me,” Brock said as he ran back to his room.

“Why does everyone feel the need to exit the room for phone calls?” you asked Jacob.

He shrugged with a giggle, “I don't know, maybe they don’t trust us,” he said in a sarcastically dramatic tone grasping his chest.

The door closed slowly and you glanced at the doorway where you thought you’d see the ever adorable goalie, Thatcher Demko, instead, you saw the adorable, slender, tall blonde you’d seen all the time, but never had a one on one interaction with... except the first time you met, when he told you that you looked pretty.

“Hi, Petey!” Jacob said as he slipped behind you to watch you mix the sauce, he stood over you looking at the sauce and put his hand on your waist.

“Hi,” he replied, his smile from before had faded.

“Looks so good Y/C/N/N,” Jacob said with a kiss on your cheek, a regular action. 

“Thanks, Giraffe, can you grab the taco shells?”

He grabbed them easily from the top shelf (tall ass bitch -_-), and moved behind you, placing his hands on your waist yet again, to move you to the side. “I've gotta run to the bathroom, but I’ll be right back”

“Ok, you have fun with that,” you said with a wink.

Suddenly, was only you and Elias in the room, and the silence was deafening.

“So what are we eating?” he said, pulling your attention to his bright blue eyes.

“Um, spaghetti tacos, they're from a tv sho-”

“Like from iCarly?” he interrupted.

“...Uh yeah? How'd you know?” you couldnt pull your attention away from his eyes, ‘they are just so beautiful,’ you thought somehow you hadnt noticed this within the on and a half years you’d known him.

“We also get Nickelodeon, you know,” he said while throwing you a smirk that made your stomach flip. 

“Oh, I didn't know that,” you replied, feeling just a little embarrassed. 

“iCarly was my favorite, actually.” 

“Yeah, it was mine too,” you said, smiling back, looking at the way he just lit up your kitchen with his presence.

You both stood there for a second just looking at the other, “So how long have-,” he started.

“OKAY,” Quinn unknowingly interrupted, “so she told me what to do, turns out I have to put sauce over them for the last 2 minutes, so Y/N/N can you just put a tablespoon of sauce on each ball then put them back in for two minutes?” 

“Yeah of course. Elias, you were saying?” you looked back at the Swede.

“Oh it's nothing,” he looked down at his shoes. 

“Ok, Y/N/N you need to call mom and tell her we’re fine and that she doesn't need to worry about us please, Paul says she’s stressing,” Brock said as he entered the room.

“When is she not stressing about us? I’ll call her after dinner, how's dad?”

“Doin’ good, nothing has changed or progressed or whatever since we were home last,” Brock moved and sat on the couch letting out a big sigh.

“That’s good,” you let out a sigh.

“Petey, come here, we’re watching Gossip Girl” Brock shouted at the Swede.

“Ooo what episode are you guys on?” you asked. Brock had mentioned how he was making him watch the show you two had watched about 5 times together. 

“Just after Chuck gets Dan kidnapped at Yale.” 

“Oh so you still hate Chuck?” you asked Elias.

“Ew, yeah...wait is that gonna change?” Petey said with a scoff.

“Uh....,” you stalled.

“Y/N shut up, don't spoil it,” Brock interrupted before you could make it worse.

“Ok well, dinner is ready so just start the show after and we can all watch it together.”

--------------------------

“Oh my god, these are actually amazing,” Quinn said with his mouth full.

“I know, I did not think this was gonna taste good,” Jacob added.

“Hey!” you said, offended.

“Y/C/N/N, you know I love your cooking, it was the idea of the meal that I doubted,” Jacob said leaning into your side and putting his arm around your shoulder.

“Mmmhmm, suuure,” you said, rolling your eyes.

“Hallå Marky, ni två är söta (hey Marky, you two are cute),” Petey said, confusing you, Quinn and Brock with the sudden change in language.

Jacob, being oblivious to what Petey was implying, just said, “tack broder (thanks, bro).”

Little did you know what was going on in Elias’s head.

--------------------------

PRESENT

--------------------------

Before that night, you never really thought of Elias in a romantic way. You'd been around him quite a lot, seeing as how, seemingly, is in your apartment more than his own. Sure, you knew he was cute and very sweet from what you'd seen, but up until that point, you'd never had a one-on-one interaction with him. That interaction, however small, was the beginning of an obsessive crush. Quinn was the first to point it out, you started listening closely any time he talked, attempting to converse with him, and thinking about him on a daily basis even when you didn't see him. And due to your stubbornness, no matter how unrequited your crush seemed, it never faltered. You had always thought he hated you, or maybe he just tolerated you because you were Brock’s sister, and you were always around. 

However, that couldn't be farther from the truth.

--------------------------

Tag list: @calgarycanuck @suffering-canucks-fan

[benedictsvestcollection]

Toepick!

Bucky Barnes x female reader AU

Summary: Bucky’s a hockey player turned pairs figure skater partner for reader who’s kind of a pain in the ass. (aka this is a Cutting Edge AU if anyone’s seen the movie)

Chapter warnings: Cursing, mentions of hockey violence, reader is a brat, Bucky is a sarcastic asshole (just like in the show!)

Author note: Unbetaed chapter, I don’t have a taglist for Bucky fics but send me a DM or ask if you want to be added to it I’ll make a taglist for my Bucky fics! Please reblog this and tell me what you think in my askbox! 

Also thanks to @pisss-offf-ghostt​ for her hockey insight b/c I don’t know shit about hockey.

Chapter One

Bucky Barnes sat in a doctor’s office, two weeks after taking a puck to the face in a Winter Olympic game. It had hit him way too close to his eye and Coach Pierce had benched him the rest of the Games. 

What’s worse is that it was his own fucking teammate who’d given him the injury. Brock Rumlow, their Enforcer, had always had it out for Bucky. God knows why, but maybe Rumlow had never forgiven his NHL team for beating theirs in the playoffs the year before. Or that Bucky had scored the winning goal of that same game. 

Steve and Sam had always said Rumlow was a bad apple in the NHL and his Olympic spirit sucked too it seemed. So now, he was waiting on news from the doctor, telling him when he could start training for the next NHL season.

The doctor entered the room with Bucky’s file. “Well, doc? When can I get back on the ice?” He asked. 

The doctor frowned at him and put his x-ray up on the lighted board to show him. “Son, I’m afraid you won’t be able to play hockey anymore.” He told him frankly. “You took quite a hit to your occipital bone and it hindered 80% of your peripheral vision in your right eye.” 

“What?” He asked, unsure if he heard him right. 

“I’m afraid you’ll have to go into retirement from hockey.” He told him, looking at the man with sympathetic eyes. He was a great player, had a lot of years left in him. He had watched that game, this wasn’t his fault.

Bucky sat there, shell shocked for several moments before slowly rising and putting his coat on. “Thanks doc.” He muttered before finally leaving the office and building. Fucking Brock Rumlow. He had seen the smirk on his lips after he’d opened his eyes from taking the hit to his face. 

He pulled out his phone and dialed Steve’s number. “Hey, meet me at the usual place?” 

“Everything okay Buck?” He’d asked his childhood best friend and now teammate.

“Just… I’ll tell you at the bar.” He growled out and then made his way to their favorite haunt. “Call Sam. I have news.” 

Thirty minutes later, Bucky was nursing a beer at their favorite New York bar. Sam and Steve stared at him, shocked. “So what, now you have to retire? That’s bullshit man.” Sam shook his head. 

“You think I don’t know that?” Bucky growled at his teammate. “My publicist wants to make an announcement soon.” He told them. “But I told her to hold off. I want some time to just… Absorb this.” He ran his hand through his hair frustratingly. 

Bucky loved skating, how could he give it up? And Brock Rumlow gets to just keep playing? What a load of bullshit. 

“Rumlow should be fined for that shit he pulled on you at the Games.” Steve shook his head. 

“You really think being fined is what he deserves? Everyone knows it was a dirty move but Pierce is his coach in the NHL, he’s not gonna do shit about it.” Sam reminded Steve. 

It was true, even the announcers had called it a dirty shot, and everyone who followed the NHL knew that Brock Rumlow had it out for Bucky Barnes. But Rumlow was Pierce’s guy and he wasn’t going to do anything to his player to jeopardize the next season of the NHL. 

“Speak of the devil.” Sam whistled out and Bucky looked over his shoulder to see Rumlow entering the bar with his flavor of the month on his arm. Some up and coming model or something. Not that any of them kept track anymore of them. 

“Hey boys! How’s the post-Olympics life treating you? As good as me?” He winked at his newest companion. “She’s a model.” 

“Shocking.” Sam snorted from behind his beer. Smirking when Rumlow shot him a dirty look. 

“So Barnes, how’s the eye?” Rumlow asked him casually, as if he hadn’t given him the very injury that now forced Bucky into early retirement.

Bucky’s grip tightened on his bottle. “It’s fine.” He ground out and gave him a hardened stare. It was true, physically he felt fine. But, he was about two seconds away from beating Rumlow to a pulp though. Hell, Steve and Sam would probably help him if he asked. But he also didn’t want any added press than the impending ‘early retirement’ announcement in the coming days. 

“Look man, sorry about that. Guess the puck just got away from my stick, you know?” He said easily. 

Holy shit, he was really just going to pretend it wasn’t his fault? Guess he shouldn’t be surprised. 

“Yeah, you seemed real torn up about it.” Steve snapped at him. “The whole hockey world knows you have it out for Buck.” All four men, stood. All imposing figures as hockey players. “And everyone knows that was a dirty shot you took. The Olympics are supposed to be about coming together but you just used it for your own personal gain. You’re a disgrace.” Steve told him. 

“You letting your pals stand up for you Barnes? What’s the matter? Too chicken shit to say anything yourself?” Rumlow taunted him. 

Bucky stepped closer to him, almost chest to chest with the Enforcer. “Nope, I just know you’re not worth my time. You never have been, not even on the ice.” After several tense moments, Bucky finally stepped back. “I gotta go. I have a call to make. I’ll talk to you two later.” He looked at Sam and Steve before leaving some bills on the table for his beers and he purposely bumped into Rumlow before leaving the bar. 

Once he was safely in his Brooklyn apartment, he called his publicist. “Mel? Hey, let’s just…. Make an announcement. Tomorrow. Just get it over with.” He told her. “There’s no point in delaying it.” 

“Sure thing, we’ll just say you’re mulling over your post-hockey playing options. Maybe take a year off and figure out what you want. Book deals, coaching job, hell even a sports commentator.” 

“Yeah. I’ll think about it, Mel. Thanks.” He hung up and tossed his phone on the counter and sighed. 

Fucking Brock Rumlow. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What part of locked arms don’t you fucking get?” You snapped at your latest partner ‘audition’ as you got up off your ass from being dropped again. “Where in the hell are you finding these idiots Maria?” You snapped at your coach as you skated away from the latest guy. “You’d think none of them knew a simple lift.” 

Maria Hill, your coach for several years now was at the end of her rope. You’d rejected partner after partner for the past month and a half after you’d parted ways with your Olympic partner, from a disastrous showing at the Winter Olympics. 

“Probably doesn’t help that you berate them before they even get their skates on.” She called from the side of the rink as Tony Stark, your guardian since you were fifteen years old (although you were in your twenties now and didn’t need a guardian anymore) and practically your big brother, entered with his five year old daughter Morgan in his arms. 

“How’s it going?” He asked. 

“You’re insane.” Your latest pairs auditioner told you as he hastily removed his skates and shoved his feet in his sneakers and grabbed his bag. “Good luck finding someone willing to put up with the ice princess.” He snorted and left. 

“That good huh?” Tony asked with a sigh and watched you skate around the private ice rink on their property. 

“I can’t help that they’re all idiots.” You told him and Maria sighed, rubbing her temples as Morgan giggled at your comment. 

“You know, unless you work with any of these guys and Maria. You’re going to have to go to singles skating.” Tony warned you, knowing you hated singles skating. It always felt too lonely for you out on the ice alone. You had trust issues since you were a kid. Which was a double edged sword because you also had trouble trusting partners to not let you down. 

“Alright, let’s just call it for the day. I have some calls to make for some more options.” Maria told you as you continued to skate. She turned to Tony. “Talk some sense into her. I don’t have many options left.” She muttered and then left. 

Morgan sat at the edge of the rink putting her skates on to get ready for her private lesson. “Ice Princess, come on… Work with me.” Tony called to you. 

You shot him a glare at the nickname but skated over to him, stopping promptly and showering his legs with ice. “Yes?” You asked him innocently. 

“Don’t give me that shit. What’s your deal? You’ve rejected nearly eight perfectly good skaters in the past almost two months. And always over stupid shit.” He told you. “They’re either not strong enough, not fast enough, not graceful enough. None of which have been true.” 

You wanted to curse back at him but knew Morgan was beginning to repeat everything and Tony was being hushed and you really didn’t want to hear Pepper ask why Morgan learned a new curse word from you. “I’m just particular, that’s all.” You defended yourself. 

“Is that the word we’re using?” He snorted at you. “I know you have trust issues because of what happened. But you can’t keep using that excuse for skating. Not all those men are going to let you down. But they will if they pick up on your attitude and tension. You need to start giving some of them an actual chance.” He glanced over at Morgan who was starting to warm up on the ice before her lesson. “Just… Think about it, okay? And you’ll bring Morgan to the house after her lesson?”

You sighed and nodded at him. “Yeah okay, fine. I’ll think about it. And yes, I’ll stay here during her lesson.” You promised as you got off the ice and changed shoes while Morgan started her lesson. 

“Thank you. Dinner’s at six.” He reminded you and kissed Morgan goodbye before leaving for a meeting. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Maria Hill was looking over all the options she had on her desk. None of them would be able to take any of the shit that you were dishing out. She needed someone who could dish it right back to you and who could skate. “Jesus this is a nightmare.” She muttered to herself. 

“Might have a suggestion for you if you’re interested in hearing it and going to meet with him.” Nick Fury’s voice came from her office door. Nick was the trainer for you. Responsible for keeping you in shape and healthy. 

“Yeah?” She asked him curiously and leaned back in her chair. 

Nick walked over to the television and turned it on, turning it to the sports network talking about Bucky Barnes’ retirement and what his options were now. The news had been out for a week now and everyone was speculating what he was going to do now. 

“Barnes? You expect me to get a hockey player to be her new partner and not have her throw another fit?” She asked incredulously. 

“Hear me out Hill.” Fury told her and sat across from her. “He’s strong, a phenomenal skater. Actually graceful even in hockey. And, he won’t take any of her shit lying down. Everything else, you can teach him.” He mused with a shrug. “Besides, rumor has it that he wants to keep skating. Sure, this ain’t hockey but it’s better than nothing.” 

Nick had made several good points. He was a great skater. And he was disciplined. It meant that he would stick to any regime of training and skating they threw at him. 

“She won’t like this.” She told him bluntly. 

“Does she like anything anyway?” He countered with a snort.

He had a point. You hadn’t liked any of the partners they’d brought you till now. So throwing Barnes into the mix wasn’t going to make it much worse. 

“Fine. Let’s go talk to him.” She relented.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You want me to what?” Bucky asked Maria and Nick. The two of them sat across from him in his Brooklyn apartment. Staring at them incredulously. 

“We heard you wanted to keep skating. And while this isn’t hockey, we’re training someone who wants Olympic gold just as much as you do.” Maria told him. “I’ve seen you skate. You’re talented as hell and strong.” 

Bucky looked back and forth between the two of them, expecting this to be some kind of joke. “What’s the catch?” 

“No catch. You’ll be paid, there’s a guest house at the Stark estate for you if the audition goes well. So you can live and train and not have to commute. You’ll be well paid.” Nick told him as he casually leaned back in his seat. 

Bucky snorted. “I’ve been doing this long enough to know that there’s always a catch.” 

Maria and Nick exchanged looks before looking back at him. “She can be… Difficult to get along with.” She told him carefully. 

“So she’s a pain in the ass.” He clarified flatly and snorted again. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had a pain in the ass on my team.” He muttered to himself. 

“So you’ll come try out?” Maria asked him curiously. “Look, I know you don’t take any shit from anyone. So you and her might work because you can dish it out. You won’t put up with her attitude.” She explained. 

Bucky considered his options. He didn’t want to stop skating. And it’s not like there were any open coaching positions currently. And he sure as shit didn’t want to write a memoir or work for ESPN while all his buddies were still skating. This was something for him. Plus he’d get to work with some hot girl instead of staring at Rumlow’s ugly face everywhere he went. 

“When’s the tryout?” He finally asked.

Bucky Barnes’ fic taglist: @pisss-offf-ghostt​ 

[saffronwritings]

C L U M S Y / I I D A PART THREE

And for all this pain, that I can't explain There's a black flag wavin' tonight You know I let you down I've been clumsy with your heart again

I I D A | P A R T  T H R E E (F i n a l) 

[Part One] [Part Two]

C L U M Y  M A S T E R L I S T

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: I am so sorry for how delayed these posts have been! However, I had SO much fun writing Iida. I actually was worried I wouldn’t portray him right, but with some research and actually giving it a shot, I had so much fun writing him! I never thought I would actually simp over Iida??? (Dont worry Kaminari & Shinsou, I STILL YOU TOO MORE) But like, I get it now. He’s such a sweet character. With this being the final part for Iida, that means there will be more characters coming into play! That dones’t mean that Iida won’t get more love in the future! If you have suggestions or requests for Iida (or the other bois) just shoot me a message :) Hope you enjoy!!

               Classes seemed to drag on for Iida after the little escapade with you this morning after homeroom. He was all out of focus and even skipped lunch for that matter. He found himself sitting on the rooftop where he had met you previously that week. When he had admitted to noticing you and potentially admitted falling for you. In the exact spot Aizawa caught him technically skipping class and threatening to expel him. Iida was confused and baffled by what you had said.

               “WELL, MAYBE IF YOU DIDN’T SNEAK YOUR WAY INTO MY BED WHEN I WAS SICK AND MAKE ME FALL FOR YOU, I WOULD PROBABLY ACTUALLY CAREMORE.”

               Those words kept echoing in his head, making Iida breathe out in frustration. He knew he had to apologize to you, but when you refused to show up to class what was he supposed to do? He genuinely was curious about you, even if you were the opposite of him. Even with Aizawa down his throat about his recent behavior, he still wanted nothing more than to be in your presence. Something about the morning he came to check in on you sparked something in him for you. In that moment you were vulnerable and trusted Iida enough to take care of you; enough to trust in him enough to not take advantage of you. 

                Iida heard the rooftop access door open, and for a split moment he was hopeful that maybe it was you. He was met with disappointment when it was just Midoriya. “Are you alright, Iida? I’m a bit worried about you.” He sheepishly said. Iida shook his head no and sighed. He took off his glasses and put them onto the top of his head. “For being class representative, I have been slacking in m duties. Both academically and as a friend.” He admitted to Midoriya, who had moved from the door to where Iida had sat himself.

                “I will say, it’s very unlike you to skip out on meals. I looked for you everywhere, but when someone from class 1-B told me they saw you come to the roof, I was even more baffled. This is usually where Kacchan or Y/L/N hang out.” Midoriya pointed out, resting a fist onto his chin in thought. “Yes, I know, I found Y/L/N out here one day when she skipped class. It’s quite relaxing to just stare at the sky when you’re stressed.” Iida huffed out. Midoriya stared at him with a look of concern.

"I don't know all of what's going on between you and Y/L/N, but I think you should go talk to her. She seemed pretty upset this morning." Midoriya stated after taking in Iida's pained expression. "I came up here looking for her, figuring she may be up here ditching classes again. I assumed wrong. She's probably in her room at Heights Alliance." Iida confirmed, letting Midoriya in on his thought process. "You know, I try not to mingle in the gossip that goes around. However, it seems that Yaoyorozu thinks the two of you are getting pretty close too. I don't want you getting in the middle of something that may stress you out more." The green haired boy confessed. 

Another deep sigh left Iida's lips. He knew Momo had potentially had a thing for him, yet he seemed to be leading her on as well. "I'll have to be forward with her after our final class today then. Then I'll go talk with Y/L/N when we get back to the dorms." Iida stated, standing up with this plan laid in place. Yet, there was still a troubled look on Midoriya's face. "Is there more?" He asked his friend. He chewed on his lower lip anxiously. "You know I would never suggest something of this nature, especially with you being the class rep." Izuku started out slowly, making Iida raise an eyebrow in question. 

“You should probably go see her now, Iida.” Midoriya stated in a low tone, hoping to not upset the class rep. Iida immediately thoughts went towards Aizawa and how he had been scolded at not once, but twice for his inappropriate behavior in regard to his duties as class rep. Yet, he knew Midoriya was right. Of course, if you were indeed at Heights Alliance, he could just see you once class was let out. What kind of impression would that make though? You were already very upset with him by the way you had glared at him before leaving the classroom. “Just something to think about Iida.” Midoriya said before heading back to the roof access door.

…

You forgot when you finally stopped crying in your dorm room, sitting against your bedframe.  The tears that hadn’t gotten wiped away had dried against your cheeks and your eyes felt like they burned. You looked at the time on your nightstand and noticed how it was only one period after what would have been lunch. You had skipped the rest of your morning classes with no intention of going back to your afternoon ones. Aizawa had come to your dorm to check in on you after homeroom class was over much to your surprise.

“I know you know your material, but it wouldn’t hurt for you to show up to class every now and then. You are an impeccable student even for the number of times you slack off. If you showed some actual interest maybe the class rep would cut you some slack. I’m not going to bore myself with hearing the details of my student’s drama. I’m sure the two of you will sort things out.” Aizawa said, putting a comforting hand on your head before walking away.

It was after that moment you had stopped crying so hard. That’s when the tears had started to falter, and you started to take deep breaths in order to calm yourself down. That didn’t stop you from being startled when you heard a knocking on your dorm room door. You figured it might be another teacher checking in on you, but when you opened the door and saw Iida standing there you were baffled. Iida hesitated to look at you at first but when he did and saw your eyes bloodshot and your face stained with tears, his heart broke in half; knowing full well that he was probably the reason you had cried.

You wanted to slam the door in his face more than anything. Frustration burned in your core as you stood there silently. “If you are here to tell me to get to class, you can forget it, Tenya.” You spat out, getting ready to close the door. Your next class was going to begin soon so it was surprising to even see him there. “That’s not why I am here at all, Y/L/N.” He retorted, seeing how tense and uncomfortable you looked to be in his presence. “Well, whatever it is can’t be that important. Class starts soon and you’ll be late class rep.” You choked out, trying to keep your composure but you were still hurting from earlier.

“I’m here to apologize. I was too harsh on you this morning. After our meeting on the roof the other day, Aizawa found me and chewed me out. I was frustrated because I do everything in my immediate power to follow all the rules. Yet, with you, I find myself slipping up and getting in trouble. It worried me. It shouldn’t have worried me to the point of hurting your feelings though.” He admitted to you.

It was like your voice was stuck in your throat. He wasn’t staying behind to work on a class project, he was serving detention that Aizawa gave him because of you. “You got detention because of me.” You whispered out and almost immediately covered your mouth with your hands. “I can’t say that I’ve ever experienced getting detention before.” He laughed, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.  “Then why did you lie to Yaoyorozu?” You pressed. Did you really have the right to be questioning him? You shook that thought from your head; of course you did! He led you on to believe maybe you had a chance. He embarrassed you in front of your entire class.

“I didn’t want word going around that I was serving detention. I was embarrassed because I am supposed to set examples for my other classmates.” He admitted with a sigh, looking uneasy with the question. “Why didn’t you just rat me out to Aizawa? You didn’t have to take that detention if you told him you were getting me to go back to class. I would have had to serve detention, not you.” You asked in an obvious state of confusion. “I guess it wouldn’t have looked good on me to tell my teacher that my crush was ditching class and to get her into trouble.” He finally said after stumbling over his words for a few minutes.

“Yeah, okay.” You laughed out, rolling your eyes. “Spare me the pity, Tenya. I know you have the hots for Yaoyorozu.” This statement took him by utter surprise. Izuku was right about how rumors were circulating about him and Yaoyorozu. “Well that’s unfortunate for her then, I’ll have to settle that immediately so no one else gets the wrong thoughts.” He said, before turning on a heel to walk back towards campus. “Wait, what?” You sputtered, walking to catch up to him. Surprised by you following him, he turned back around and grabbed your wrist and pulled you back to your dorm room. “Take it easy, you’ve emotionally stressed yourself out. I promise this time I will be back to check on you after classes. I just wanted to come to apologize to you.” He coerced you back into your room.

“You promised last time and you never did. How can I take your word for it this time?” The question slipped out of your mouth before you could stop it. Iida’s blue eyes bore into your own before taking your hand into his. “Y/L/N, I promise I will see you after classes are over.” He whispered, bringing your hand to his lips, and placing a ghost of a kiss onto it. Your face heated up immensely by the bold action of your class rep. “See you then.” He nodded, before rushing back towards the school building. You held your hand to your chest, baffled by what just happened. Yet, you couldn’t fight the smile that was forming on your face as you walked back into your dorm room.

…

Iida had barely made it back in time for class, but with the help of his quirk and Izuku covering him, he was able to just slip into class undetected by Aizawa. Izuku shot him a quizzical look as if asking if he had gone to your dorm room to apologize. In which, he nodded in response with a feint smile spreading across his face. Ochako seemed lost in this odd silent exchange but Izuku had told her he would fill her in later on. Iida was grateful to have such good friends like Midoriya looking out for him. He would have never considered skipping classes to go check in on a girl, but with the help of his friend he felt like his decision was justified.

Classes went on, and all Iida could think about was you. How small your hands were in comparison to his own, how soft they felt. How your face flushed by his gentle touches. The way you looked adorable being so flustered by his actions. There was no denying it now, the boy was smitten by you. This didn’t bother him as much as he thought it would. He wasn’t going to try and change you, that’s the last thing he wanted to do.

Yes, you broke the rules. You two were polar opposites, but maybe that is what he needed in his life. Was for someone to teach him when to take it easy and when to take much needed breaks. You might not have had the best grades in the class, but you also didn’t seem to be failing. Maybe he was exactly what you needed to motivate yourself into doing better for not just yourself, but for others. “Iida, if I was mistaking it almost looks as if you’re off daydreaming.” Yaoyorozu stated once class had let out. His smile faltered when he saw Momo standing at his desk, smiling.

“I was actually hoping to talk to you after class, Yaoyorozu.” He stated in a more serious tone. “Me too! I’m glad that great minds think alike, shall we walk back to Heights Alliance together?” She suggested, moving her arm to suggest they both walk out of the classroom together. “We can talk right here. I have something to attend to after this that’s important.” He denied her request to walk back to the dorm building together. The last thing he needed was for anyone else to get the wrong idea of the two of them again. This took Momo off guard with his cold disposition. “Momo, I think you are a great friend and an even better student. However, there seems to be rumors speculating about the two of us. I would like to settle those, right now.” He started, his tone still coming off stand-offish.

“Oh what, that the two of us would make a good couple? I agree! I was actually thinking of asking you to join me for tea at the local coffee-“ “Yaoyorozu, I am not interested in dating you.” Iida cut off Yaoyorozu from her statement. She froze and looked at Iida in shock. “Wait, you don’t feel the same way?” She whispered, confusion and hurt flooding her eyes. “I’m sorry, I have feelings for someone else. If I misdirected you with my own feelings, I apologize but I do not feel the same way.” He continued, packing up his bookbag. “Oh what? You’re interested in our lazy classmate who skips all our classes?” She angrily spit back at him, embarrassed for getting rejected like this.

“Yaoyorozu, as your class representative, I must say I don’t take kindly to you down talking one of our classmates.” Iida stated, but in a warning tone. Her eyes widen at his warning tone and she bit her bottom lip. This made her step back from him and walk away frustrated. A sigh left his mouth as he watched her walk away upset. He had hoped it would have gone better than it did. He quickly put his bag on his shoulder and made his way towards Heights Alliance. Izuku, Shoto, and Ochako were all sitting in the front lounge area and smiled to see him. “Want to join us for a study session, Iida?” Ochako offered.

“Sorry guys, I made prior arrangements. Maybe next time.” He said as if he was on a serious mission. “We’ll catch you at lunch tomorrow?” Shoto asked, raising an eyebrow his way. “I wouldn’t hold my breath on that, Todoroki.” Izuku smiled, nodding for Iida to get going. This made Ochako and Shoto look questioningly back and forth from Iida to Izuku. “Thanks Midoriya, I’ll see you all tomorrow.” He smiled before taking off towards the staircase. He didn’t realize how fast he was walking towards your dorm before he slowed himself down.

He knocked on your door and waited for a response. He was however, met with silence on his end. “Y/L/N?” He asked before knocking on the door again. You didn’t answer his attempts of getting your attention. Maybe you were still upset with him from what he had said that morning. He couldn’t hold that against you in the slightest, but it didn’t sting any less for you to be ignoring him. Feeling dejected and idiotic for trying to make amends, he trudged back down to his own dorm room to put his belongings down.

He was very startled to see you standing outside his door room though. “Y/N?” He breathed, startled that you were waiting for him at his own dorm. You had a slight blush spread across your face and you were fidgeting with your hands. “I was nervous you wouldn’t come check on me after classes ended. I figured that maybe if I waited for you at your dorm that I could at least talk to you here.” You admitted, still fumbling with your thumbs. Iida relaxed and a soft smile spread across his lips. He walked up to you and took your hands into his own. “I promised you I’d come see you. I meant it this time.” He whispered, once again bringing your hands to his lips.

This action had once again made your face flush a very bright red. “If I were none the wiser, I would think you were running another fever Y/L/N.” He teased you, bringing you close to him. He had wrapped his arms around your waist, and you couldn’t fight the blush that was etching itself deeper on your face. “Do I need to take care of you again, Y/N?” This caught you off guard; he always referred to you by your last name. You looked up to see him genuinely smiling at you brightly. “I-I should be alright. However, I wouldn’t mind spending some time with you. If you don’t mind, that is.” You stuttered out, avoiding eye contact. “I would really like that, Y/N.” He admitted, the smile never breaking from his face.

“Just know, I will always come and take care of you when you are sick from now on.” Iida admitted to you, making you gape at him in surprise. “I don’t understand.” You whispered. He rolled his eyes and continued to smile at you. “How many times do I have to tell you, that I like you, Y/N? I’m not just saying that. I mean it. I turned Yaoyorozu down before coming to see you. I can’t get you out of my head. I don’t mind getting in trouble if it means getting to see and talk to you.” He admitted, making your heart soar. You never imagined the class representative admitting his own feelings towards you. You always thought Iida was out of your league, especially with your lackadaisical nature towards school.

“I need someone like you to help ground me, to help me recognize when I need to slow down and just appreciate the clouds. Now, I’m not saying I’m going to be skipping class with you, that’s just silly. However, I will not be as uptight about everything.” He joked, making you smile. “Not even every once in a blue moon?” You questioned, a sparkle of mischievous in your eyes. He hummed in thought before shaking his head. “I do have a duty to fulfill as class rep, you know. However, I wouldn’t mind skipping a few study sessions to spend time with my new girlfriend, if she accepts my feelings back.” He slurred quickly.

You batted your eyes at him, dumbfounded. “You don’t have to accept them back, don’t feel like I am pressuring you.” He quickly stated, almost pulling himself away from you. However, you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled his lips into yours. Iida was now the one who was flushed with red from his neck to the tips of his ears. You pulled back with a shy smile. “That was very inappropriate for school standards, Y/N! What if Aizawa walked by! We would be getting reprimanded!” He whisper yelled at you, removing his arms from you to chop them in the air frantically. “I don’t hear you saying anything about not enjoying it, Tenya.” You remarked. His mouth fell open for a moment before he coughed and pulled himself together.

“Yes, I will be your girlfriend, Iida.” You stated, laying your head on his chest. Shock overtook Iida’s features at first, but they softened by your touch. He wrapped his arms that he was frantically moving before around you in a strong embrace. “I meant it; I will always be here to take care of you. Protect you. Do whatever I can to make sure you are still smiling and not crying ever again.” He declared, kissing the top of your head. You hummed in response.

“Now, let’s go relax. I think we’ve both had a very long and eventful  day that warrants some downtime.” Iida said, pulling away from your embrace. “Don’t we have a test on Monday?” You questioned. “That’s two days from now, we can study at some point this weekend. Why don’t we just, watch a movie together?” He suggested, the red coming back to his face as he rubbed the back of his head, nodding towards his dorm room. A smile crept up onto your lips as you nodded and took him by the hand and drug him into his dorm room for a night filled with cuddles, movies and stolen kisses.~

Taglist:

@ghostexhibit, @devildom-express, @lyrical-panic, @tragedy-of-sorts

[georgemackayhey]

Remember Me?

"Could you please write something where the reader knows George from a long time ago and runs into randomly him after he's gotten famous? Really fluffy please?" - annon

This was so fun to write! Thanks for askin' nonny!

w/c: 2k

───※ ·❆· ※───

You sat in the airport, swinging your legs from the barstool of some overpriced pizza bar. Your flight to London had been delayed for a couple of hours and you'd ran to the food court for a distraction. While sipping from a soda, you cast your glance around the waiting gates, wondering where everyone was going, and what they might have been waiting for.

Then you saw him. George, your old school mate. Well, someone you went to school with. He was the boy who once gave up his seat on the swingset when you asked politely. You'd shared a few classes together, and maybe even a few hellos. But George couldn't possibly recall those times. George probably wouldn't even recognize you . Especially now that he was some big famous movie star.

Over the past year, you'd mindlessly scrolled past all the social media buzz that George's new film had gotten and felt selfishly blue because you wanted to say hello to him now. But you didn't want to waste his very important time.

Instead, you looked away from George as he meandered sleepily through a passing crowd while you turned, gathering your rubbish and heaving a sigh.

When you landed back in the waiting gates, you lazily tapped through your phone trying to avoid the time slowly passing time in the corner. There were still a couple of hours to kill, and you'd already wasted forty minutes at the pizza bar. When you scrolled past an advert for 1917 you couldn't help but stifle a giggle, feeling quite proud of how far your classmate had come. The only thing you were known for was-

   "Fainting nurse?"

Who just read your mind? You looked up in a flash, eyes wide and startled.

You hadn't been addressed like that since school. You'd managed to fly under the radar every year, but you just had to try stepping out of your comfort zone. So, you auditioned for the last year's production of Romeo and Juliet. You could blame your family for pushing you to try out.  Or the costume that was way too hot to be wearing on a stage under all those lights. Even after giving it your all during rehearsal, the second you stepped on stage to deliver your first big line, you stammered, looked to the impatient girl playing Juliet, and passed right out.

Through rumors, you heard that Juliet dragged you by the ankles off the stage in a huff. You woke up in the hall with a real nurse waiting calmly by your side and your family scurrying to come and make sure you were alright.

The last year of high school was a bit hellish. But George was playing Romeo then. And every time you noticed him around someone who tried to scare you bad enough to get you to faint, he would shut them down and apologize to you on their behalf.

Funny how it was him standing in front of you now, addressing you by the only name he probably knew you by. You couldn't blame him. Even then, everyone around wanted a piece of George's time. He probably hadn't the time to learn anyone's names who wasn’t begging him too.

   "Fancy seeing you here."  George seemed to smile. You realized that you hadn't said anything or even moved from your stunned position as he moved toward you, pulling his luggage in tow. George sat in the seat at your side, keeping his smile bright and his eyes on you.

   "H-hi." You managed to get out. Oh God, you might have blacked out again from all the recovered embarrassment and sudden attention. George was always nice looking but now, he was downright handsome. And he was looking right at you.

   "Did I ever tell you that during my first musical I had to run off before the first song ended and get sick backstage? I was so bloody nervous... I think I talked myself into the upset, really." George confessed, slumping in his chair. His bright eyes flickered to his lap and you recognized his genuine tone.

   "Worst part was I didn't even make it to the bins." George cringed, looking back to you. You brought a hand to your lips, trying to disguise a giggle. Why was he telling you all this?

   "Well, you seem to have recovered quite well, George." You nodded, acknowledging your acquaintance his status in school, and rise to practical stardom since.

   "I'm still trying, really. Sometimes I get so worked up over an audition I try out just to get over feeling like I'm not good enough, ya know? It doesn't matter the outcome, so long as I make myself audition."

   "Why are you telling me all this?" You laughed a little beside yourself. George had kept his soft gaze on you like a lifelong friend. The attention made your stomach fill with butterflies.

   "Two reasons" The guy held up two fingers, ticking them off accordingly. "I wanted you to know you weren't the only one who was nervous of Juliet. Rudest castmate I ever had to pretended to like. She was vile wasn't she?" 

George chuckled warmly. "And secondly my flight is delayed so I needed a bit of entertainment."

God, he was so naturally charming. It was he'd rehearsed this run in.

   "Now, like then, I'm not one for entertaining." You chuckled. "But you were always kind to me. You never once tapped a photo of a fainting goat to my locker." You pointed to George, suddenly registering the last thing he'd just said to you.

   "Kids are brutal." George softened, tossing you an apologetic grimace. But you'd mentally moved on from the topic.

   "You said your flight was delayed? Mine too." You grinned, sitting up a little straighter like this was good news. It only took a minute to realize you were on the same flight back home.

   "How shall we pass the time?" George pulled a face, keeping his eyes on you.

   "I suppose we could catch up." You playfully shrugged with a roll of your eyes. You didn't miss how George's sparkled.

Somehow, the next couple of hours passed in a flash. Between exchanging conspiracy theories and things you'd been up to since school, (and taking a painfully slow lap around the proximity of the waiting gate) it was time to board your shared flight.

Of course, fate would have it that George was sitting one row up and away from you. He made a show of pouting as you walked past him, because neither of you could deny the fun you'd had killing time together so far. Sitting so close yet so far away would make the seven-hour flight painfully boring.

But it wasn't long after you'd reach maximum elevation, that you spotted George popping his head in the aisle and waving you up to join him. The flight was only half full, due to many rescheduling after the delay. But you were still concerned about etiquette. You'd have to cross over the woman next to you, scramble a few steps forward and probably end up making a fool of yourself in the process.

You tried to stop George from whispering your name like a child. Even when you mouth a curse word his way, he wasn't letting up. That's about the time a flight attendant waltzed by, bringing a passenger some water and winking right at you on the way. Whether it was to shut George up, or make your dreams come true could be determined later. All you could focus on now was excusing yourself past the woman at your side and changing seats as quietly as possible.

George had the whole row to himself, scooting toward the window seat and greeting you cheerfully as you plopped next to him.

You and George picked up where you left off, trading jokes and even a few somber stories. When he suggested watching a film on the in-flight entertainment screen, you made quick work of searching his name. You squealed out loud when you found a movie he was in and made sure to tease him endlessly about your lucky score. During scenes George showed up in, he hid his face in his hands at your side. And after a beat of teasing him a little more, you couldn't help but point out his honest and impressive talent.

About four hours in, your eyes drooped and you fell asleep before you could stop your forehead from landing on George's shoulder. You woke up to find him watching out the window, but the blue of the sky was nothing compared to his eyes, especially when he turned and looked at you then.

   "Sorry." You mumbled, stretching away from him to the tune of the pilot announcing the flight's landing in a few short minutes.

Neither of you spoke as the flight landed, even though you tried too. What was the proper way to part ways, after such spontaneous fun? The trouble was you didn't want to part ways, not at all.

When you stood to leave the aircraft, George kept his pace in time with yours as you stretched into the airport. Maybe it was because it was three in the morning, and he was too tired to be in any kind of hurry. Whatever it was, you relished the last bit of time you were lucky enough to share with the handsome man.

He even lingered near you while you waited at the luggage carousel, staying silent all the while. You scrolled through your phone searching for a text from your ride who promised to fetch you some time ago. But instead, you found a string of texts from the person apologizing for canceling the last minute.

Oh, no. What were you going to do? After a quick google of the cab services in the area, you found all of them to be closed at such an hour. Your panic must have shown on your face as you googled an uber.

   "What's that face for? Gonna pass out on me again?" George piped up. He was standing in front of you and seemed to have found your luggage (and his own) from the carousel and brought it over for you. But before you could thank him you shot him a look and went on to explain yourself.

   "My ride's bailed. Perfect time to find out, huh?" You sighed nervously, looking back at your phone.

George clicked his tongue as you waited for uber to download.

   "How far are you? I can give you a lift." George softened, locking eyes with you and reading your expression again.  

   "I've paid to keep my car here, since I wasn't sure when and how often I'd be home. I can give you a lift to yours if you'd like."

   "George. That's too much to ask." You decided, starting to make an uber account.

   "I'm serious!" George laughed a little. The sweet sound caused you to look up to him once more. 

   "Don't you have a red carpet to go get ready for, Mr. Mackay?" You shyly wondered, considering his offer.

   "At long last, no. Thank God. Come on, y/n." George spoke your name, grabbing onto the handle of your suitcase. That's what sealed the deal. He'd recognized you all the way back at the last airport and spent hours delighting you in conversation. But he'd only just said your name for the first time since school. Maybe even the first time ever.

You had no choice but to float behind George, struggling to hide how smitten you'd become. Or maybe you'd always been.

George was still kind and cheery, even at four in the morning. In his car, he asked if you were warm and took a beat to enter your address in his GPS before taking off onto the eerily empty roadway. You were alone for the first time ever, but it felt natural. The silence in the car felt much like the shared, sleepy silence you shared during the last bit of your flight.

When your familiar neighborhood came into view, your heart sank. You still weren't ready for goodbye.

   "Thanks for the lift." Peering to George as he parked his car outside your flat. He insisted on carrying your bags up the steps, hardly giving you time to decline him. George opened the passenger door for you and reached for your bags as you stood on the pavement.

   "You've been far too kind. Thanks, George." You sighed, digging for your keys. He kept a groggy smile pointed your way as he followed behind up the steps.

   "I guess now you know where to find me." You joked, jamming your key into the door, taking a big chance at slyly asking for a next time with George. He was standing beside you, searching your face as you glanced toward him. He waited a beat too long to respond and your nerves took over, fearing you hadn't made yourself clear enough.

   "I seem to be having a hard time saying goodbye to you." You spoke, looking right at him with one hand on your door handle, ready to run behind it and hide in case he laughed in your face.

"What if... you didn't have to say goodbye?" George softly and slowly reasoned, casting a daring glance at your flat door. And with a couple of snickers and nervous nods, George made a joke about having already packed an overnight bag, and followed you inside.

It was a night you wouldn't soon forget.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Requests are open ♡

[crowley-fe11]

You both like ineffable husbands.

Stranger: [Soulmate AU: Aziraphale saw in Heaven's archives that his soulmate was Raphael. But Gabriel made him believe Raphael was his actual name.] Why was Gabriel to your bookshop? Are you in troubles, angel? C

You: Oh, no trouble at all. Quite the opposite, actually. A

Stranger: Which means? Heaven gaves you a better title? C

Stranger: (*gave oops)

You: Well, in the archives upstairs, it lists that Raphael is my soulmate. A
And Gabriel just told me that happens to be his actual name. A

Stranger: [Delay] That sheming little bastard. C // Gabriel is just Gabriel, Aziraphale. Nobody else, not Raphael. He lied. C

You: What makes you so sure? A

Stranger: I just know it, angel. C

You: Why would he lie about something like that? A

Stranger: Because he's a bastard, and that he makes to manipulate you! C

You: But even if he is just Gabriel, he'd have a different soulmate, right? A

Stranger: I suppose. What's your point here? C

You: Wouldn't he be with them instead? A

Stranger: Maybe Gabriel's soulmate fell. C

You: You think that's really the case? A
It seems impossible, just looking at all the other pairs... A

Stranger: Yeah, I think that's really the case. His soulmate fell, and knowing him, he'd rather manipulate you that accepting this fact. C // Aren't you relieved? Your one isn't Gabriel. C

You: I suppose a bit. A
But I don't suppose you know if Raphael fell? Where he might be now? A

Stranger: [Long Delay] He fell. He's Downstairs, I'm sorry, Aziraphale. Your soulmate is a demon. C

You: Well, if he's anything like you are, then that wouldn't be so bad... A

Stranger: As if, not a heartless beast? Yeah. He's not. He's closer to me than to Lord Beelzebub, be reassured. C

You: That's a relief. A
What else do you know? A

Stranger: He was the Starmaker, so after he fell and saw soothing stars for the first time... He thought She was throwing his creations out as a punishment. C // He would adore you, I'm certain of it. C

You: He sounds lovely... A
Maybe you could introduce me at some point? A

Stranger: Are you sure? I mean, he's still a demon. And even if She decided for you, you don't have to accept Her choice. C

You: I think it would be worth at least meeting him. A

Stranger: ...I can give you his number so the both of you can talk first. C

You: That would be splendid! A
I would greatly appreciate that, dear. A

Stranger: [Attached Number - still Crowley's but an another phone.] Yeah, sure. Wonderful. C

You: Thank you, Crowley! I'll let you know how it goes. A

You: [...] Would this number happen to belong to Raphael? A

Stranger: It does, indeed. You are? R

You: My name is Aziraphale. A mutual friend gave me your number. A
According to the Heavenly Archive of Soulmates, we appear to be a match. A

Stranger: Ah, I see. Didn't ever think that old legend about matches would reach me eventually. I'm quite busy, I fear, and I'm rather certain you wouldn't like me nearly as much as you hope. R

You: I mean, I know it unheard of for angels to have a fallen soulmate, and I understand if it's seen as taboo on your side as well. A
But I was hoping if you ever had the time to talk, if you want to, I could learn a bit more about you. A
I've found myself admiring the stars more than once over the millennia, and it seems rather touching that it was your work... A

Stranger: The matches have been made by Her before the Rebellion, and since so many angels fell during it, it isn't surprising an angel can discover he has a fallen soulmate. Not that they could be blamed if they preferred ignoring this bit of information forever. My side doesn't see it as a taboo, more as some holy nonsense they don't want to interact with. R // Thank you. I'd be arrogant to say it was all mine, but almost all of them are my doing, especially the ones you can see from Earth. Got inspired by a pretty special angel for a few. R

You: Well, considering an angel I know just claimed to be you, I thought it might be worth knowing who you really are. A
But I'd like to think I'm open-minded. My best friend is a demon, and he spoke well of you. And he's been fairly honest about most everything. A
Though I am curious if that angel was anyone in particular... A

Stranger: [Delay] It was you. Aziraphale, still a Cherub back then. You don't remember, most angels don't have any memories of anything happening before Time was made. Only Archangels still have pieces of memories of that time, since they had been created first. You were radiant, Aziraphale. Shining of joy, of curiosity. I even made... Ha. Alpha Centauri thinking about you. R

You: I'll definitely look for that system more closely from now on, then. A
But I wish I remember you better. You seem absolutely lovely. A
Perhaps if you ever have the time, we could meet up for lunch or something? A

Stranger: ...No. Won't be possible. You wouldn't like me, trust me. R // I'm hurt. Burned. Yes, that's it, I've been seriously burned during my fall. R

You: I mean, if there's anything I can do to help, I'd be more than willing. A
Besides, if She made us a match, I'm sure that would transcend anything. A

Stranger: Don't you want to use your free will instead, angel? Instead of following her idea, why don't you find yourself someone you love? R

You: In a way, I used my free will to reach out to you, didn't I? A
It was her decision to cast you out after the Rebellion, so it weren't for the connections I have, I would have never known what happened to you. A

Stranger: Such a fortunate event, isn't it? That you know Crowley too. He's a bit annoying sometimes, don't you think? R // I suppose you're right, you're using your free will to contact me. Howewer, you wouldn't be interested in me if it wasn't for that match. R

You: Oh, I wouldn't say that. He's been wonderful company to me. A
Well, I'm at least curious what She had in mind for me. You and I could end up becoming friends, or maybe something more, or you might wish not to speak to me after this, but in the very least, I might learn something from it, right? A

Stranger: C'me on, it's just us, here. Crowley is not terrible but he is quite flawed. I bet you're relieved to have anyone but him as your fallen soulmate. R // From what I understood, this system is one of a partners for eternity. It goes beyond friendship or romantic features, it should make you say: 'I trust them with my life, and I know they'll always be here.' A never leaving shadow, I'd say. R

You: I mean, to put it quite simply, I'm not exactly a perfect angel either. And I think most everyone has their flaws. A
But that is an interesting take on it. It's comforting, and maybe a bit familiar... Or maybe I've been yearning for something like that all these years. A

Stranger: A bit familiar? What do you mean? You have lived something like this already? R // It's the most incredible feeling one could dream of. This is truly a gift from Her, and the fact fallen ones are allowed to still feel it... I must say, it's great. R

You: Or maybe I've just imagined it. I've been told more than once I'm far too hopeful and optimistic. A
Wait, have we crossed paths on earth? A

Stranger: [...] Oh, yeah. We have, a few times. I'm fairly often on Earth, so we certaintly saw each other, from a distance. I won't blame you if you forgot me. R

You: I wish I knew who you were. I'm sorry, dear. A
Another question that comes to mind- if you don't mind answering it, that is. Does every demon just address angels as 'angel'? A
Crowley does that quite a lot, and you happened to do that earlier, too. A

Stranger: Don't worry and don't apologize. Even if you think you don't know me, a part of you does and it's what matters. Furthermore, you only learned of my existence recently and we have all time in the world. R // ...Your name is complicated to remember, it's an angelic one. Potential holy one, it'd sting. It's just easier to give you that nickname. R

You: That's rather interesting, still. A
But I'm rather looking forward to getting to know you better. Just talking to you, it feels like I've known you all along. A

Stranger: [Long Delay] I lied. Your name isn't complicated nor painful to say, Aziraphale. It's just me, I can not stop calling you angel. R // Fuck, you must think I'm awful and cruel. R

Stranger: (Sorry, my Wifi glitched. Did you receive my reply?)

You: (Yeah, I got it :) )

Stranger: (Great, thanks!))

You: Darling, it's fine, please don't worry. A
I also realise this was all out of the blue, so I understand if it's a lot right now. A

Stranger: I panicked. You wanted to talk to Raphael, and I made all this up. That's pathetic. Not the part about the stars, this is real. And you having met Raphael before Eden, it was true too. R

You: Then could you tell me the truth? A

Stranger: I'm Raphael. I mean, I was before I fell. C

You: My dear, why didn't you just tell me? A
I was already rather hoping it might be you on the other end, to be honest. A

Stranger: I was afraid you'd feel forced to stay around me because it's what She decided. I didn't want you to. If you are around me, I'd rather if it was your choice, because you enjoy my presence. C

You: Crowley, soulmate or not, I'd always want you around. You mean the entire world to me. A

Stranger: And you mean the entiere universe to me, angel. C

You: Would you be able to come by? A
I was thinking we could share bottle of wine or two, maybe begin making up for the last six thousand years of not realising we're soulmates... A

Technical error: Server was unreachable for too long and your connection was lost. Sorry. :( Omegle understands if you hate it now, but Omegle still loves you.

GAHHHHHHH I WANT TO KEEP GOING

[tessisawriter]

Love and Karaoke (Mat Barzal)

Request (anonymous): 3 for Mat Barzal please?

A/N: I am ashamed to admit that I only discovered the video of Barzy singing an old Justin Bieber song two days ago, so of course I had to rewrite this imagine to make it karaoke-themed (hence the delay). While reading this, watch the music videos for the two songs when you see the song titles in bold (LINK HERE) b/c I watched them during the writing process and they each shed light on how the characters are feeling.

Warnings: Two swear words, alcohol, mentions of bullying, insecurity

Word Count: 2k

“All right, guys, who’s up for a little competition?” Johnny Boychuk said.

It was the beginning of training camp, and the Isles players decided to rent a private room in a karaoke bar for some “bonding time.” They invited their SO’s, and while you were not dating any of the players, you didn’t feel out of place. You came to events like this all the time because Sydney, Matt Martin’s wife, was one of your best friends. You met her shortly after you started working for the Islanders social media department. Your boss had called Sydney into the office one day for help with an Instagram overhaul, and since you had just been put in charge of the team’s Instagram, you were the one to meet her. The two of you became fast friends, so it was only natural to become closer to the players.

“Let’s do a karaoke competition!” Tito shouted from his seat at the table next to yours. You liked all of the guys, but most of them were at least a few years older than you, so you naturally became closest to Tito and Mat. Tito was goofy and super fun to hang out with. Mat was funny, too, but you could also have serious conversations with him.

“Who are our victims tonight?” Marty had a wicked grin on his face, and you knew right away that you were in trouble. Sydney’s husband was like an older brother to you, and he liked to embarrass you like one.

“Mat!” Tito yelled, and Mat glared at him from his seat at the bar. Generally, Mat sat with you and Tito, but he was sitting with Jordan because Lauren couldn’t make it tonight.

“You just gave me an idea. Mat, I dare you to sing a Bieber song.”

Everyone, including you, cracked up in laughter. Mat loved Justin Bieber, and he knew all of the words to his songs, even the old ones. You especially loved teasing him about it because you detested Justin Bieber. While every other girl in your middle school obsessed over him, you groaned whenever you heard his voice. He seemed completely fake, and it didn’t help that the popular girls who made your days living hell were his number one fans; what they loved, you hated. Once you reached high school, you changed your mind about almost everything except Bieber. His arrest for drag racing confirmed every thought you had about him: that he was a delinquent.

“And I dare Y/N to sing a Taylor Swift song.”

You stopped laughing immediately. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I said, after Mat sings Bieber, you’re going to sing Swift. Pun not intended,” Marty broke out into laughter again, only this time, you weren’t laughing. Whatever buzz the rum and coke had given you wore off in that instant. You felt like a deer in headlights.

After glancing over at you, Sydney interjected, “Marty, cut it out.”

“Come on, Syd, we’re just trying to have some fun here—”

“Fine,” you said, breaking your silence. “I’ll do it.”

“That’s the spirit, Y/N!” Johnny shouted, and the team joined in, cheering.

“I’m gonna need two more drinks before I go on stage,” you muttered to Sydney before making a beeline for the bar.

You were greeted with a sympathetic-looking Mat and the bartender, who had two rum and cokes waiting for you.

“Thanks, Larry,” you said to the bartender, who nodded once in response.

You then turned your attention to Mat. “We’re in quite the predicament, aren’t we?” you said before downing your first drink.

“Yeah,” he replied. “I’m sorry Marty put you on the spot like that. This can’t be easy.”

You knew he wasn’t just talking about karaoke. While facing the relentless bullying at the hands of your peers, you found a passion for musical theater, and you were good. Despite never getting the lead role (everyone knows casting is a popularity contest), you outshined the lead, Kaitlyn, who also happened to be your main tormentor, in every show. One time, you received so much praise from everyone else’s families that Kaitlyn cried and demanded you apologize for stealing her spotlight (you didn’t because payback is a bitch). Once you graduated and switched to a different high school, you reinvented yourself, and that meant leaving your musical theater and singing days behind. You hadn’t sung in public since your last musical in eighth grade.

You weren’t mad at Marty because he didn’t understand what he had done; he would never hurt you on purpose. But he didn’t know that by asking you to sing karaoke, he was asking you to bear your soul and innermost insecurities to everyone in the room. His choice in musician made it so much worse. Taylor Swift’s music got you through some really dark times, and she made twelve-year-old you feel like you weren’t alone. The only people outside your family who knew the full story were Sydney and Mat.

“At least you can sing,” Mat broke the silence that settled over you. “I can’t sing for shit!”

You knew Mat was making fun of himself to make you feel better, so you smiled at him.

“All right, Barzy, time’s up!” Marty came over to the bar and started talking to him. You took your second rum and coke back to your seat next to Sydney.

“What did he say? It looked like an intense conversation,” Sydney whispered.

“He knows about middle school, too,” you said.

“Wait, really? He knows everything?” Sydney looked shocked that you would reveal such a private part of your life to him. You just nodded in response.

“Which song are you going to sing?” Sydney asked, clearly trying to change the subject.

“Well, I’m definitely not singing ‘Love Story,’” you said, “That’s way too embarrassing.” You liked the song, but it was going to inevitably invite chirps from the team that would follow you around for the entire season. No thanks. You downed your second drink in one go.

“How about ‘You Belong With Me’?” Sydney suggested, prompting you to blush immediately. “It’s her other most recognizable song,” she continued, “So no one is going to figure it out, Y/N.”

You turned red again, and not just from the alcohol. You had a hopeless crush on Mat, but you knew he only saw you as a friend. As hard as you tried, you couldn’t get the feelings to go away. Of course, Sydney was the only one privy to such information.

“You’re right, Syd,” you said just as Marty and Mat took the stage.

“So, Barzy, what are you going to sing tonight?”

Before he could answer, you stood up and shouted, “I want to go first.”

You regretted it as soon as the words left your mouth. You didn’t know what you were thinking. It was like you had been possessed.

“That’s fine by me,” Mat said.

“But I said—”

“Marty,” Sydney cut off her husband when she stood up next to you, and there was a warning tone in her voice.

The rest of the team laughed and said something along the lines of, “Ooh, you’re in trouble.”

“All right, fine. Come on up, Y/N.”

Sydney patted you on the back and said, “You’ve got this.” You smiled back as you made your way to the stage. The team started chanting your name once you were standing next to Marty.

“Are you sure…?” Mat said before you cut him off with a “Yes.” He shrugged and jumped off the stage, heading back to the bar.

“What are you going to sing?” Marty asked.

“Well, since you picked Taylor, I’m going to go with her most recognizable song, ‘You Belong With Me.’”

“Was this your anthem when you were twelve?” Marty said teasingly.

“Not just me: every girl in America,” you replied, feeling more at ease. Thank God for the alcohol: you wouldn’t have had the nerve to do this without it.

“Awesome, here’s the mic!” Marty handed you the microphone before bounding off the stage and heading towards Sydney, who gave him the cold shoulder. You couldn’t help but chuckle before the music began.

You were initially stiff, but once the lyrics, “I’m in the room, it’s a typical Tuesday night” came up, you began to loosen up. By the time the chorus hit, you were full out jamming on the stage.

But after the bridge wound down, you began to clam up again. You couldn’t block out the irony of singing, “Think I know where you belong, think I know it’s with me” with Mat sitting in the room: that was exactly how you felt about him. So when it was time to sing those lyrics, you picked a spot on the back wall and didn’t move your eyes off that spot while you sang.

Mercifully, the song came to an end, and everyone was applauding raucously.

“Wow, Y/N, you can actually sing!” Marty said when he came back up on the stage. “Like, you’re really good!”

“What can I say? I’m a woman of many talents,” you replied, managing to keep the little cool you had left.

“Good luck beating that, Barzy,” Marty said, and you turned around to see Mat climbing up the steps to the stage. He had a strange look in his eyes, so you immediately averted your gaze and fled the stage as quickly as possible without arousing suspicion.

You sat down next to Sydney, who immediately engulfed you in a hug.

“I got you some water,” she said.

You shot her a grateful look before taking the glass out of her hand and starting to drink.

“All right, Barzy, what are you going to sing?” Marty asked while you watched curiously, still downing the much-needed water. Your throat was dry from the singing.

“Um, I’ll sing ‘Never Let You Go.’”

You saved yourself just in time from spitting out the water in your mouth. You didn’t know the names of any of Bieber’s songs except for “Baby,” but you could surmise what it was about from the name and how Mat looked directly into your eyes when he said it.

“Does everyone have their phones out? We need to record this,” Marty said before he handed Mat the microphone and walked off the stage.

Mat started singing, and while everyone laughed because he sounded like a dying whale, you couldn’t look away because he didn’t take his eyes off you the entire time. You realized he was singing to you, but you didn’t let yourself think anything of it until he sang, “Don’t be scared, girl, I’m here.” You almost fell out of your chair: he actually returned your feelings.

When Mat was finally done, he didn’t even wait for Marty to come back onstage, instead walking over to you and Sydney and taking the vacant seat on your right. You heard a few of the guys wolf-whistle, and you were certain your face was as red as a tomato now.

“Admit it: I won,” you said, mentally cursing yourself as soon as the words flew out of your mouth. He just serenaded you in front of his teammates, and you responded like that? What the fuck were you thinking?

“Okay, but first, kiss me,” he whispered so that only you could hear.

You looked at him in surprise. You knew he liked you now, but this was pretty forward of him. His eyes remained steady, so you took a deep breath and leaned in, connecting your lips in a passionate kiss.

You heard everyone cheering and freaking out all around you, but you blocked them out. The only person who mattered right now was Mat.

When you finally broke apart, you looked up and saw Marty standing behind Mat.

“My plan worked!” Marty said, ecstatic.

Mat turned around to face his teammate. “Wait a minute, you set us up?”

“Yeah, I got tired of you pining after Y/N, so I took matters into my own hands. You’re welcome, by the way,” he said, winking at you.

“Matt Martin, you are a piece of work,” you said. Mat chuckled before leaning in and kissing you again.

[365daysofmchart]

Reflecting on McHart: 3x02

Well, my post on last week’s episode was well received (thanks for all of the likes and replies!) and this week’s episode gave us SO MUCH, so I’m back with another post breaking down and delving into every little thing relating to Mr. and Mrs. McVeigh! (Yes, I did just say that.) And I essentially do mean everything, because my God, this thing is so freaking long it is absolutely ridiculous and I am so sorry... but you should all definitely read anyway ‘cause I spent too much damn time on this for you to not, LOL! (What a pitch, that was! HA!)

Once again, spoilers below! Hope you enjoy!!!

Breaking down scenes:

1. Diane is doing a full on investigation because she is still determined to find out exactly what happened when her husband was shot by the lil Trumpkins, NDA be damned! He’s told her he’s fine, I’m sure that at this point she can see herself that he’s fine... but she still just needs to know every detail of what happened because THEY SHOT HER HUSBAND AND THEY CANNOT JUST GET AWAY WITH IT JUST LIKE THAT. And yeah... I’m sure the politics factor in too, but I think that most of it is genuinely her grappling with how these men boys shot him and acted like nothing happened, silenced him. I think it breaks her heart a little bit and she just needs some kind of justice, even if it only means her herself learning the truth.

2. His little “bows,” oh my heart! And I very intentionally used quotations because he really just tied little ribbons around the bottles with little knots, but HE TRIED. Oh, he tried! And if he’s this helpless here, then that definitely means that every gift we’ve seen him give her he’s taken to be professionally wrapped, which I really don’t think is a Kurt thing at all, but he knows she does appreciate things like nicely wrapped gifts and he just wants things to be so nice and pretty and perfect for herrrrrr. Also, I feel as though Kurt is thoughtful, but not necessarily romantic, but they’ve been working towards creating this life together for so long now and it’s finally here, and so this man that hates anything “girly” decided that he and his wife have something to celebrate, and you know what would make this news even better, what will make her happy? Little bows. (And she is delighted!) But he’s not very good with those. BUT HE TRIES. Ugh.

3. “Are we celebrating?” “We are. We got a job.” WE. I mean, he got a job, but apparently he’s using “we” ‘cause they’re a unit and they share victories and also it means that THEY FINALLY HAVE THIS LIFE THAT THEY’VE BEEN FIGHTING FOR TOGETHER. And she’s so excited for him and she does that little, bitty, mini fist pump, but then you can see how deflated and concerned she suddenly is when it occurs to her that perhaps it will take him away, BUT NO, IT’S BASED IN CHICAGO AND OH MY GOODNESS SHE IS SO ELATED AND SO IS HE.

4. “Yes, Mrs. McVeigh.” “Oh!...  Mr. McVeigh!” “Well, uh, you might decide it’s time to take my name.” SO MUCH TO UNPACK HERE, OH MY GOOD LORD!!!! Breaking this whole exchange down into subparts, okay?

    a. When he refers to her as Mrs. McVeigh, there’s no significant reaction from her, meaning THIS IS NOT THE FIRST TIME HE HAS REFERRED TO HER AS MRS. McVEIGH!!!!! So just how often does he refer to her as such? Does she ever refer to herself as Mrs. McVeigh? What happened the first time he uttered those words to her? How often is Mrs. McVeigh used as foreplay? I need to know all of these things!

    b. For a singular kiss, that was a good kiss, guys--a solid liplock. And her hand on his cheek and his arm around her back that slowly moves up higher and higher to the back of her neck to pull her in closer, then her “Mmm...” as they pull apart? YES, I WOULD LIKE MORE OF THIS CONTENT IN THE FUTURE, PLEASE.

    c. And between kisses, he’s talking but they’re still holding each other so close and sort of swaying in each other’s arms and looking at each other with such adoration and joy, and my God, those two are so in love and so happy with one another and YES, THIS IS EVERYTHING THEY DESERVE, AND DAMN IT, IT IS EVERYTHING THAT WE DESERVE TOO.

    d. Taking his name. She might “decide” it’s time to take his name. Even while joking he's respectful of the fact that it is very much so her decision! And he is, in fact, joking--surely he would be honored and thrilled if she did so, but he’s not making a serious pitch here, he’s fully accepting of her decision and not at all pushing.

    ...That being said though, I wonder if this is something that bothers him at all, deep down. Again, he obviously accepts her decision and I’m sure he knew very well that that was going to be the case before it was even discussed. However, he is very much a man’s-man, and he has conservative leanings (also see my notes from last week’s post, in point 8), and I think it wouldn’t be entirely shocking to discover that deep down there is a part of him that wishes she would take his name (even if only to have that bond of sharing a name). I don’t know if he has ever broached the subject seriously in the past (again, I’m sure her keeping her name was an assumption from the start), but I think it wouldn’t be totally surprising if he (or perhaps she???) carefully brought it up once she retired (if that day ever comes, lol), when there were fewer practical reasons for her to keep her name. Or perhaps, if it actually is something that bothers him (and it very well may not), he’ll still forever keep it buried within because he’d never want to pressure her in any way, and though a part of him wishes they could have that, another part of him loves her for being a strong woman who has worked hard and built her name/reputation and wants to keep that identity intact in every way. ...Just some thoughts.

5. "Is it possible for you to get past your hatred for them?" Point taken, Kurt, but also... THEY LITERALLY SHOT YOU. (It's not just political! ...Though it is that too, haha.) Does he keep forgetting that??? Also, we haven't had all that many opportunities to see his protective side, but I have a feeling that, if their roles were reversed, he'd have a little trouble getting past someone shooting his wife and delaying medical attention, too!

6. "Can we just be happy for a minute?" Are we slowly spiraling from (or into?) that season-opening scene? (Update: Christine Baranski actually talked about this a bit in a video posted by The Good Fight)

7. SHE THOUGHT SHE’D SURPRISE HIM WITH COMING HOME EARLY.

8. Their whole little exchange, their repartee, is so adorable! ...But also, within that, they’re joking around about him going on a date with two other women (and Diane brought it up) and I think that really speaks to where they are in having moved past the whole Holly ordeal. (Again, while she had suspicions last week, they were based on his legitimate lies, which makes those suspicions totally valid.)

9. And we get both a “Whoa-ho, you look sexy,” and a “What’s up, handsome?” in under 60 seconds, and then there’s her tucking in his shirt and fixing his tie, and also, since when is Diane like a foot shorter than him??? LOL! Oh my God, I love it so much! 

And, well, Kurt tried to keep her away, but no such luck! HA! And I think the poor man knew it was over as soon as she declared she was coming. AND OH, THAT SARCASM AND SASS I LOVE IT!!! And I think I said this last week too, but while it may annoy him a bit at times, Kurt definitely loves it too!

10. Oh, Kurt and his pre-Republican function pep talks! He tries... he knows his wife and he’s gotta at least try. It doesn’t work, of course, clearly. But he tries. And then apparently after a certain point of it not working he resorts to subtly stepping on his wife’s foot to get his message across, LOL!!! 

I must admit, I really love the irony that she’s having a way better time at this Republican fundraiser than he is, haha. ...You know what I love more though? How uncomfortable Kurt looks that entire time. Look, I’m sure that some of it has to do with Diane, but I think a lot of it has to do with his morals alone. He may be conservative politically, but he’s not down with racist bullshit, so at least we’ve got that going for us. ...Or, rather, he’s got it going for him.

11. *Siiiighhh* Kurt is such a party pooper! But okay, real talk though... how confident are we that Diane actually deleted that recording? Cause look, I want to be confident, but... Diane is in a certain kind of place these days and I would not quite put it past her to have deleted another random recording instead. But I hope not. Because, really guys, could you both please just do the honesty thing this time around??? 

Anyway, assuming that she wasn’t bullshitting him, I find that whole thing very sweet. Yes, she had her fun, but she sees that perhaps she’s pushed it just a bit too far for her husband and she gives in, deleting it, to make him rest easier.

(As your resident McHart investigator, I looked closely at the deletion and 1) the file is only 9 seconds, which seems a little short 2) ...The file name still exists in there after it’s “deleted”??? There also weren’t any recordings above it though, so that’s something, meaning it was likely the latest. ...All of that being said, I would not advise reading too much into it because it’s graphics and her phone also reads 12:01 PM (when it is clearly not noon) as well as shows 80% battery--the latter is totally plausible, of course, but also doesn’t seem entirely legit either, ya feel?)

12. THEY ARE IN BED HOLDING HANDS FOR THE SECOND TIME IN AS MANY EPISODES, WHO DOES THAT?!?!?! (OUR SHIP DOES THAT and I am HERE FOR IT, HOLY SHIT, WHY ARE THEY SO ADORABLLLLE) And then her little 🎶 Back together agaaain... 🎶 I can’t. SO FREAKING CUTE. On that note though, it also felt oddly narrative to me, as though it was a sort of nod to the audience. I’m not sure if it was because it sort of punctuated the scene--their scenes of the episode--if it was the sing-song tone, or how it ended with a blackout, but yeah... it just felt like somewhat of a statement to me. Anyone else get that vibe? (I’m obviously not going to weigh this too heavily, but just thought I’d share how I read it all.)

Standout Lines:

“Hans and Franz, your safari buddies...”

“...Their baby zebra barbecue that they scheduled?!”

“...And that trumps everything else.” “Oh, DON’T USE THAT WORD!” “And that’s more important than anything else.” “ERRRRRR...” *MOMENT OF APPRECIATION FOR KURT’S FACES THROUGHOUT THIS EXCHANGE*

“Oh, I’m coming.” “Diane...”

“Eric and Don?! I have lived my life for this moment! Oh! ...Ooh, what should I wear?” *Got this whole damn thing italicized cause that sarcasm tho

“Me?? I’m just here to be a supportive spouse!” “Uh-huh.”

Other things:

I need that plaid wrap of Diane’s in my life!

We’ve seen Kurt in a white button-down both last week and this week (with only seeing him in one in a single other instance in nine past seasons, on their wedding day) and look, I’m not complaining, but... idk, it feels weird?

I’m going to spare you all a solid two paragraphs on the closet situation (...for now, anyway), but just... the closet situation.

By the end of this season I’m definitely gonna need a Diane-in-Pajamas roundup post.

Why are they always (and by always I of course mean in the two scenes we’ve had of them sleeping in bed thus far) only under the sheet with no duvet??? Does anyone else sleep like that on a regular basis (when not in a tropical climate/it isn’t summer)? I certainly don’t and no one else in the Good-verse has (including them in the past), so WHY IS THIS A THING?!?! Totally appreciate Kurt's shirtless sleeping habit though.

Was kind of hoping the axe throwing was going to start out as a cute McHart date night, but I suppose Diane getting out her aggressions is nice too. ...But I would 110% not be opposed to her bringing him along one evening!

In conclusion:

Guys. The unintelligible noises and flaling that came from me while watching this episode... I could. not. deal. Their scenes were all just so entirely lovely. And after everything (and by everything I don’t only mean the Good Wife finale aftermath, but also how drawn out their relationship was before that) it’s so wonderful and rewarding to see! And it’s funny--I remember a few seasons into TGW I came up with a McHart wishlist of sorts, and now, a few more years (though admittedly quite the journey) down the road and... I think that just about everything has been checked off??? (...Except for her wearing one of his shirts. And given they’ve got her in fancy robes and pajamas and slippers WITH HEELS this year, I’m not gonna hold my breath on that one, lol.) HOW LUCKY ARE WE?!?!? (Still could’ve gone without that affair though, and I’m still bitter.)

What’s still on your McHart wishlist?!?! (DON’T JUST TELL ME A SEX SCENE GUYS THOUGH. COME ON, ISN’T THAT ON JUST ABOUT EVERYONE’S LIST?!?! Be a little more creative! LOL!)

It’s looking like no McHart next week but WE STILL HAVE SO MANY MORE EPISODES TO COME!!! ...Two down, five to go!

Now, with that, this has gone on for long enough (too long,) and so, I’ll wish you all a good week! As always, fell free to message via ask or reply!

-E

...Oh, and once again, I am so sorry that this was so long! ...But, hey, I guess the last one was pretty long too, and you all seemed to like that one just fine, haha.

[aseekerofthegreatperhaps]

Part 1

Part 2: 👇

Pairing : Neil Perry x reader

Warnings : kinda fluffy, but a lot more angst than intended, also problematic family background story towards the end, don't read if you're easily triggered by that, also swearing like once

Word count : around 1K

"Y/N!" You turned around, a mocking grin on your face. "What is it Pittsie?" Panting, he stopped in front of you, looking down with puppy eyes. You knew that look too well. "You don't have to make that pleading eyes you dork", you sighed. "Let me guess - Trig? " "French", he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets. Rolling your eyes, you couldn't help but smile. Pitts honestly was the most unorganised human being you've ever met. School had just begun and he was already lagging behind with homework. "Sure, whatever, meet me after Latin", you said, clutching your books tighter as you turned away from him. You were already late. "I love you Y/N! You're the best!" His shouts behind you made you chuckle, although you were very aware of the curious eyes all around you that rested on you right now. As you ignored them and pushed further through the massive bulk of students on their way to their classes, you spotted another familiar figure. "Neil! NEIL!" He turned around and his face lit up as soon as he saw you. "Y/N!" He gently pushed a few juniors away and soon stood before you. He had grown even taller over the holidays, you noticed. "Unfair," you commented. "Sorry?" " You're so tall, everyone's making space for you!" He laughed before grabbing your books. "Well, that's hardly my fault. How was your holiday? I assume you're dying of excitement for Latin?" "You bet!", you replied, making you both laughed as you continued your way together, students parting for you.

~In the lesson ~

"Miss L/N, would you mind explaining to us what your obviously very exciting conversation with Mr Perry is about?" Your head snapped up and Neil adjusted his glasses nervously, already knowing what was about to happen. The entire class held its breath as you stood up calmy." Why of course not, Sir. We merely talked about how absolutely stunning and interesting it is that the conjugation of latin verbs is somehow - how should I put it -" you paused, seemingly searching for the right words - "igniting a fire in our young hearts and is stimulating our every brain cell, no our entire being - to strive for endless grammar lessons. Grammar until eternity!" A few surpressed chuckles were heard from the back, quickly covered by coughs. Mr McAllistar just glared icily at you." Detention, L/N. You went get away that easily this time. "" But, Sir-"" Sit down, Mr Perry. Now - "He turned to the board once more -"Mr Andersson, what did you learn about the verb 'habere'?" You flashed the tiniest grin in Neil's direction when he looked to reassure him. He responded with a huff and an exasperated eye roll. You yourself weren't too concerned about the detention and you didn't plan on stopping your teasing any time soon. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Neil suddenly tensing up when the bell rang. "Go on you dork, I'll be fine", you said and urged him towards his waiting friends. "But why do you keep getting in trouble? It's really devastating, you know!" You tried not to think about him genuinely caring about you and continued. "I can look out for myself by now",you stated firmly and shoved him away. "Meet you at dinner. Oh, and please give Pitts -" you scrambled around in your bag - "this. It's Latin. Go on now!" With that, you turned to the office of MrMcAllister, leaving Neil with a creased piece of paper and a bad conscience.

Neil POV

I hated it when she did that. Getting herself into trouble like that so often, she was lucky she hadn't been expelled yet. The conversation of the others rushed past my consciousness and I was relieved when Todd and I were in our room. How did she always manage to get him all riled up like that? Actually, he had known the answer for a long time, but wasn't ready to accept the truth yet: That he was completely and irreversibly in love with you. But he wasn't supposed to think like that, it only made him have hope to shatter again eventually. And he really couldn't afford to break in the moment. "Neil? What is it? You're so quiet. It is about Y/N again?" I sighed and rubbed a hand over my face. "Yeah. Shouldn't have let her go to detention alone." "You can't always give yourself the fault, Neil." After a pause , Todd added :"Even if your father wants you to think you're worthless. Trust me, I know the feeling." The mention of my father made me feel numb and I blinked away some tears. "It's true, he's quite the bastard." Todd laughed and gave me a reassuring shoulder squeeze. Then he returned to his desk, stacking a bunch of books onto it. "What are you studying for?", I asked to change the topic. "History," he sighed. "I really - oh!" I saw the piece of paper he had dropped tumble to the ground in slow motion. It rotated around itself gracefully. I read "SEIZE THE DAY" in capitals and never did feel more addressed. "See you", I said with my mind suddenly clear, leaving for the door. "Wait Neil! It's after bedtime hour! What if you get caught?" I simply shrugged and pulled the door shut behind me. Breathing out deeply, I turned in the direction of your room. Seize the day.

Your POV

You couldn't help but jump when it knocked on your door. An unusual time for a visitor - perhaps Mr McAllistar again? Hesitantly, you raised your voice. "C-Come in?" The door immediately swung open and a worried- looking Neil rushed inside. "Neil?" "Y/N, how was it? Are you okay? You weren't present at dinner!" You waved it off. "McAllistar just wasn't finished with his speech about giving teachers the respect they deserve when it started. I'm fine, but why are you always so worried? I mean -" you laughed teasingly - "don't get me wrong, it's pretty cute, but I still don't get it." "Well, I - today, I -" Neil cleared his throat, blushing and starting again. "There was this quote and I guess I just.. It all clicked suddenly", he rambled quickly, looking down.

A/N : so obviously this is not the end, but tumblr didn't want to save anything lately. Part 2 is about to follow shortly! But bc it already has been so long, I thought I could as well give you a lil cliffhanger XD @ladyofthornfield ❤️

[winterisakiller]

Of Books and the Fine Art of Flirting

One Shot: Last Minutes and Lost Evenings 3/16

Character/Relationship: Tom Hiddleston/ Rosemary Mathews (OFC)

Genre: Romance

Summary: Of all the things that could happen when she was already running late, a chance encounter with a handsome, and oddly familiar, stranger was the last thing she’d expected.

Rating: PG

Warnings/Authors Notes: This is the third part of Last Minutes and Lost Evenings, this series is currently on-going and will flit back and forth between past, present and future.

Previous

Late. Late. Fucking Christ almighty, she was late.

 Not for the first time Rosemary cursed the latest rounds of improvements on the Underground. What should have taken her no more than half an hour ended up costing her nearly double. That would teach her to save her errand running until the last minute. Well probably not, but still she could hope that one day she would start to learn from the error of her ways. She fumbled her phone out of her coat pocket, sending Jules a quick text apologizing profusely for her delay. Whether nor not the text would be seen before she made it in was another story.

 The train rolled to a stop and she pushed her way out of the carriage following the wave of people heading for the exit mindlessly. It was only about a fifteen minute walk from the station to the shop, less if she put some effort into it. And it seemed today was destined to be one of those days.

 “Excuse me, miss,” the smooth voice caught her off guard and she whirled around to face it, nearly knocking into the tall form behind her. “Whoa, steady there.” His hands were large and so very warm, even through the bulk of her winter coat. It took her a few moments to catch her bearings.

 He was utterly gorgeous; a good head taller than she was, his dark auburn hair was just long enough to be considered unkempt, a few errant curls gathering around his ears; straight nose, sharp jaw and chin covered in a few days’ worth of stubble. But it was his eyes, a stunning mix of blue and green, which seemed to root her where she stood. There was something familiar about him, but fuck if she could put her finger on why.

 The silence that brought her back was punctuated with the man’s expectant stare. Good God, you could get lost in his eyes for days. “I’m sorry, what?” She stammered, feeling like an absolute tit. He obviously continued talking while she gapped at him like an idiot.

 If she thought his eyes were stunning, it was nothing compared to his smile. “I was just saying you dropped this back there, darling. I didn’t want you to lose it.” He held out a lone black glove. She looked at it perplexed; her hands automatically going for the pockets of her coat…where only one of her gloves remained.

 “Well shit.” She stifled a giggle. God she must sound like a complete and utter moron. What the hell was wrong with her? “Thank you. You’re a lifesaver.”

 He smiled again as she took the glove from him. “One of my many talents.”

 And then it hit her. “Holy shit, you’re Tom Hiddleston!” The words flew from her mouth of their own accord. She could have kicked herself, repeatedly, when her brain caught up with her words. Of all the stupid things to say. “God, I’m sorry that was terribly rude. I just…”

 If Tom had been fazed at all by her outburst, the man hid it well. His smile never wavered and neither did his eye contact. Dear lord, does he not realize what that does to people? “That’s me. And may I have the pleasure of your name?”

 She blinked at him. Good God he’s smooth. “Sorry. I don’t know where my head is today. I’m Rosemary. Mathews.” She stuck her hand out, an automatic gesture that left her feeling ridiculous, and before she could second guess her actions he took it in his own. Tom’s grip was firm and she noted, with a wry humor, that his hand dwarfed her own.

 “Very nice to meet you Rosemary Mathews.”

 The ringing of his phone pulled Tom’s attention from her. He held up a hand in apology as he answered. “Hello?”

 Figuring that now was probably the best time to make a hasty retreat before she risked embarrassing herself further, she waved a small farewell and turned to continue on her journey. She thought she heard him utter a protest but didn’t dare turn back around. No. Besides she was running late as it was.

 She risked a glance at her watch. Fuck, Jules was really going to kill her this time.

 Ten winded minutes later she shoved open the wooden door to Stories Untold, offering the red headed woman standing behind the counter an apologetic smile. The small shop had been officially hers for nearly three years now, though she had managed it for nearly four years prior. Rosemary still had trouble believing that it was truly hers. Jules had been working with her, and now for her exclusively, nearly the entire time. Jules was the closest thing Rosemary had to a sister and their relationship certainly reflected that. “I am so sorry.” Her words were met with Jules’ stern stare.

 “And just what took you so long?” The smirk on Jules’ face told Rosemary that she wasn’t as cross as she seemed. But that did not mean she wouldn’t be raked over the coals for a bit in the meantime. Jules was punctual to a fault, especially when her weekly date night was involved.

 Rosemary through her hands up in supplication, “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

 Jules quirked an eyebrow. “Try me.”

 Taking a deep breath, Rosemary explained her awkward and embarrassing encounter with Tom Hiddleston. Jules eyes widened comically as the story unraveled. The urge to simultaneously cringe and curl into a ball only intensified in the retelling. Jesus, she’d been a right idiot.

 “You’re telling me you just fucking walked away?” The incredulity in Jules’ eyes stung more than she cared to admit.

 Rosemary paced back and forth across the carpeted floor. “What else was I supposed to do? I’d already made a right fool of myself. It was safer for all involved if I scarpered. I mean my God, I actually told him who he was to his face! Who the hell does that?”

 “You, apparently.” Jules barked a laugh at the glare Rosemary shot her. Once she had regained her composure she continued, “You could have waited until he got off the phone like a normal person. Maybe chatted him up…”

 “Yeah, because that would have gone down well at the rate I was going. Besides he was just being nice. I’m the twit who dropped her glove.” She shrugged half-heartedly. “It doesn’t matter now, anyway. At least I got an interesting story out of it.”

 Jules rolled her eyes. “You are ridiculous, you know that?”

 “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

 “Ha, aren’t you quite the comedian.” Jules shrugged into her coat, still laughing as she settled her bag onto her shoulder. “I still can’t believe…”  

 Rosemary waved her opened hands toward the door. “Go. Get. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 “Fine, fine. I know when I’m not wanted.” She waved, making her way out the door into the frigid air of the early evening. Alone again, Rosemary took a deep breath and lost herself in the million small tasks of the shop around her. There was something calming about completing mundane tasks, the way they allowed you to simply be, and she relished in it. Hours could easily pass with barely a hint of recognition. And, truth be told, they often did.

 She heard the soft chime of the bell on the shop door. “Hello, welcome to Stories Untold, is there anything I can help you find today?” She called, head bent to the task of price labeling the newest batch of books. Soft footsteps sounded on the carpet as the newest patron slowly made their way around the shop.

 “Well, hello again.”

 Rosemary felt her heart stutter at the familiar voice. You have got to be kidding me. She took a deep breath and raised her head, plastering a smile on her face. Tom Hiddleston stood a few paces from the counter, soft smile spread across his face, eyes bright. He gave her a knowing look, “You disappeared earlier.”

 She shrugged good-naturedly, trying to salvage the last remnants of her meager dignity. “Duty called. Besides you were otherwise occupied and I don’t make a habit of listening in to others phone calls, famous or not.”

 He had the good grace to look slightly abashed, “Fair enough.”

 “Is there anything in particular that’s brought you here?” She cringed internally. That had come out far less polite than she’d intended.

 Tom shook his head, “Just browsing. Though I must say it’s a nice surprise finding you here.”

 “Is it now?” Rosemary had no idea just where the hell that had come from. She didn’t flirt as a rule. Mainly because try as she might she seemed to be utter crap at it. Why her brain decided that now would be the best time to give it another go, she couldn’t understand. Well, she thought, when in Rome…

 It wasn’t the most painfully awkward thing she’d ever done, but she couldn’t deny she felt like a prize idiot. He wasn’t running though, so that had to mean something. Even if it was just that he was a nice guy who dealt with such things on a semi-regular basis. Their conversation had centered mainly on books, not the most inspired of conversations given the setting, and she soon found herself genuinely enjoying their banter. He was intelligent, but not arrogant, and genuinely seemed to care about her thoughts and ideas. She quickly discovered that once he got himself started on a topic he enjoyed it was damn near impossible to stop him.  

 She found herself watching him intently as he talked. Taking in the way his hands seemed to fly wildly of their own accord, the intensity in his eyes. He was utterly fascinating and completely unnerving. He paused briefly in his current monologue, absently rubbing the back of his neck. He took a deep breath and smiled almost sheepishly, “I’d like to take you out…For coffee, that is.” He coughed once. “If you’re interested.”

 His sudden nervousness was both adorable and completely incomprehensible and it caught her momentarily off guard. “Coffee?” she repeated.

 “Or tea,” he quickly added, eyes widening, “If coffee isn’t your thing.”

 Rosemary bit back the nervous chuckle that threatened to erupt from her throat. She nodded, trying to get her brain to engage properly with her mouth. It took several moments. “Yes. Yes, coffee sounds wonderful.”  

Next

[adelmortescryche]

Breaking Down the Bones of Heaven to Make a Home

UraIchi Week 2018 Day I – Time Travel | Dimension Travel | Fix-It

Rating: T/PG-13

AO3 Link: Here

Summary: Ichigo doesn’t know Kisuke too well, outside of his cryptic bullshit warnings about the future, but he has to admit, the man seems to have his heart in the right place. 

(Or: Kisuke loses his whole world in a Winter War that went wrong. Is winning all it’s cut out to be when everyone you care for is dead? He thinks not.)  

My Masterlist: Here

AN: Here’s my Day One entry, @uraichievents! I’m so sorry about the delay. *winces* Hope at least some of you enjoy this!

The man was back again.

Ichigo wasn’t quite sure how he was supposed to be reacting to interest of this kind. Punks looking to rough him up because he didn’t fit in quite right and wouldn’t be missed, sure, he knew what to do then. Some low level chinpira looking to start a fight with him because he looked enough like a delinquent that they thought he was trying to make a statement, hell yeah he knew what to do then.

Guys who looked like they could be anywhere from their mid twenties to their mid thirties keeping a watch on him, though? Yeah, no, that was awkward enough that he actually spent a split second mulling over whether or not he should bring the matter up with dumbo-dad before deciding that the world had to be ending if he were considering approaching his dad over unwanted attention.

Not that it was unwanted. Or even attention, really. Ichigo had roughed up enough assholes trying to force themselves on people who didn’t want it, and this guy didn’t look the type. If anything, he just looked sad. Like Ichigo reminded him of someone he once knew that simply wasn’t around anymore.

The depth of the emotion almost made Ichigo wonder if he wasn’t seeing a ghost, but no, Ichigo was actually pretty good at being able to tell if someone was a ghost or not. And the guy seemed too conscious of the world around him, and too conscious of Ichigo trying to keep track of him, to really be a ghost.

When Ichigo finally did confront him about it, the guy just smiled at him awkwardly, reaching up to his face and pausing before dropping the arm again.

“You’re weird, you get that right?” Ichigo told him, point blank, staring at that ageless face, and the older man barked out a laugh.

“I’ve been told that before, yes. I suppose it’s good to have it confirmed as a fact,” he replied, smiling wryly, and Ichigo rolled his eyes.

“Go stare at some college kids instead, old man. I’m not interested. And if I catch you staring at any other kids instead I’ll kick your ass, see if I don’t.”

The man blinked at him owlishly, and proceeded to sputter in shock.

“You think I’m- I’m-” He didn’t get any further before doubling over in laughter. Ichigo stared at his lowered blond head with raised brows. Okay, that didn’t really go how’d expected it to go. Interesting.

“Not your aim, then?” Ichigo asked snidely. When the man looked up at him, his eyes were streaming just a bit, but that sad expression had vanished like it had never existed, instead exchanged for a wide, silly grin.

“Not really, no.” The man said laughing a little more before straightening, wiping his eyes just a bit with the sleeves of the tee he was wearing. The man looked like some kind of second hand store reject, in loudly colored pajamas and a threadbare white shirt. Not that Ichigo had any real room to point fingers, but at least he knew what went together.

Ichigo eyed him some more, then gave a long, drawn out sigh, and dropped his backpack to the ground and crossed his arms. The action got him raised brows and a sneaky little smile that was very tempting to try and punch off, but damnit, judging by all the laughter, that would just make the man laugh some more.

“You got an actual reason you’ve been stalking me then, old man? Because it’s been really fucking weird. And I’d rather you didn’t. I don’t need people giving me grief over stranger danger when I can take care of myself.”

The man hummed thoughtfully, and the smile widened out into a surprisingly handsome grin. Ichigo ignored the rush of heat that ran down his spine. Stranger danger, and all that jazz.

“Maybe I do have a reason to stalk you, Kurosaki-kun,” he said, and Ichigo went still, hands tightening at his elbows. The man just laughed some more, Ichigo was beginning to think that was his answer to everything, and he bent over just a bit so he could stare more directly into Ichigo’s eyes.

“You don’t have to worry,” the man said, cheerfully enough, and oh, that just made Ichigo warier, “It’s nothing too strange. Or dangerous. I just wanted to warn you to stay away from shinigami.”

A long moment passed, where they stared at each other. Ichigo blinked slowly at him, wondering if he’d heard that right.

“Say what, now?”

“Shinigami. It’ll be for the best if you stay away from them. Oh, and stay away from other spirits too, Kurosaki-kun, you never know, you might run into a mean spirit some day!”

“Y’know, I think it was better when you were just a plain old stalker. Now you’re a crazy stalker.” Ichigo remarked bemusedly. “You a friend of dumbo-dad’s? Did he put you up to this?”

For a split second, the man’s face flashed over with enough pain that Ichigo almost regretted saying anything. He covered it up with a smarmy grin immediately, though, and the regret disappeared. He really did want to punch that smile right off of the guy’s face.

“I’m afraid the estimable Kurosaki-sensei and I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting one and other till date! But I’m sure he’d agree with me on this topic,” the weirdo said, all cheery once more. Ichigo had to admit, it was one hell of a mask. If he hadn’t seen those flashes of pain, he’d never have guessed that the laughter was fake.

“Well, can’t say I believe you,” Ichigo responded dubiously. “But whatever. Stay away from shinigami? Sure, I can do that. If they even fucking exist in the first place. Ghosts, sure, but shinigami?”

“Ghosts do have to go somewhere, one day.” The man said mysteriously, and Ichigo rolled his eyes.

“Never thought about that,” he said easily. “Well, it’s been real, old man. Go stalk someone else, now that you’re done giving me your message, okay? Bye now.”

The man’s cheer lessened, at that, and the smile that tugged at his lips looked painful.

“Good bye, Kurosaki-kun,” he replied. “Remember what I said.”

Whatever, weirdo, Ichigo thought, shouldering his bag and hightailing it out of there. When he glanced over his shoulder, the man was gone.

He was almost relieved when he ran into some guys messing with the offerings made to a little girl’s memorial, on his way back home. He needed the distraction. Badly.

*

Barely a couple days later and Ichigo wished he could find the old man again and wring his goddamned neck, because his warning hadn’t been anywhere near enough to be an actual warning.

“Stay away from shinigami, he said. Ghosts do have to go somewhere, he said. Not enough fucking information, old man,” he grunted under his breath, quickly pasting a smile on his face when Rukia turned to look at him, eyes narrow. She quickly looked back in front when the teacher cleared her throat, leaving Ichigo to sag forward in his seat, relieved. Rukia was a spitfire, but at least her need to ‘act natural’ and ‘blend in correctly’ at school meant that she wouldn’t try anything in the middle of class.

Ichigo’s just confused, though. From everything Rukia had been trying to explain to him, since they met and since he took her powers, the old man had to have been another shinigami. No way would a regular ghost have been anywhere near as collected as him. Not outside of Soul Society, anyway. Which brought up the question – why would a shinigami warn him to stay away from shinigami?

He carefully makes no mention of the blond to Rukia, though. For all that Rukia had helped him save his sisters, and the longer he knew her the more he was convinced that she was definitely of the good sort, the old man didn’t seem to like shinigami. And Ichigo wasn’t in the habit of bringing trouble to someone else’s doorstep when they were doing him a good turn. So he resolved not to mention the old man to Rukia – right up until she introduced Ichigo to him.

Ichigo stared, flabbergasted, at the shopkeeper who smiled at him guilelessly, face half hidden in the shadow of his hat and behind the fan he had in his hand.

“We’re done here,” Rukia declared, and Ichigo blinked, turning back to her. The mod-soul was still safely held in her hand, far away from the blond old man’s grasp, but Ichigo was still reeling from everything he’d learnt through the day. And the shopkeeper, couldn’t forget him.

“Coming Ichigo?” Rukia called out, and Ichigo started, walking after her at a fast clop, unable to stop himself from glancing over his shoulder back at the shopkeeper and his people. Whoever they all were. Alarmingly enough, the shopkeeper waved back at him cheerfully, face still hidden behind his fan. Ichigo hurriedly turned his attention back to Rukia, who was saying still talking about mod-souls.

Not to say that Ichigo wasn’t relieved about the mod-soul not needing to die because of some rule made up by the shinigami, because that situation was just unfair all around, but he was a little busy trying to figure out what the fuck was going on. Either the old man had a twin who happened to be a shady shopkeeper who sold odds and ends to shinigami, or something really weird was going on.

Ichigo was willing to bet it was the latter. His life couldn’t be easy at all, could it.

*

It wasn’t until after his fight with Grand Fisher and returning home that Ichigo finally ran into the old man again.

“So, do I call you Urahara, like that other guy? Or are you going to tell me you have another name.” Ichigo said blandly, sidling up to where the old man had been watching his house.

He didn’t even have the decency to start, damn him. Instead he turned to give Ichigo a happy little smile that lied. Ichigo didn’t call him out on it, though. It was still close enough to June 17th that Ichigo was in no mood to call anyone else out on their bullshit. He had to admit, though; the old man looked a lot nicer without the hat getting in the way to hide his face. Now why did he get the feeling that was on purpose.

“I thought I told you to avoid shinigami, Kurosaki-kun,” Urahara said, tone almost offensively cheerful.

“If I’d listened to you then I wouldn’t be here talking to you, now would I,” Ichigo countered.

That? Made the man stiffen up. Ichigo grinned victoriously, and didn’t bother toning it down when the older man shot him a sharp look.

“Figured it out, did you. Imagine that.” The man said, pleasantly enough. So why did Ichigo’s hair want to stand on end?

He just rolled his eyes, though, because the man was absolutely exasperating.

“Wasn’t too hard to do. Rukia said there were two kinds of spirits, and shinigami watch over the lot. You’re not like the other ghosts I’ve interacted with, and you’re definitely not a Hollow, so you had to be a shinigami.”

His words earned him a strange little smile, and a sharp glance. Ichigo kept staring the man down, because he deserved some answers damnit. It had been easy enough to figure out that the shopkeeper and this man weren’t the same person, for all that they looked a lot alike – the old man just looked a whole lot more tired, and somehow older. It wasn’t the face; if anything, the old man was cleaner shaven. And probably in better shape too, even if it was hard to compare them with how baggy the other man’s clothes had been. But something about the old man’s gaze made it feel like he was older than the shopkeeper. More exhausted, too, whatever that exhaustion stemmed from.

“…you could call me Urahara if you wanted to,” the old man said mildly, and Ichigo groaned.

“Would it kill you to give me a direct answer? No one like cryptic bastards,” he grumbled, and the old man laughed, seemingly unable to help himself.

“Sorry,” the old man apologized, wiping at his wet eyes, “I’ve been a cryptic bastard for long enough that I really don’t know how to be anything else.”

“Y’know what, I’m going to call you Kisuke-san. Whatever your name is. You’d deserve it for being such a pain, old man.”

That made the other man’s smile twinge towards sadness again, the depth of the emotion tugging horribly at Ichigo’s heart.

He quickly glanced away. Getting a glimpse at someone else’s darker emotions wasn’t really Ichigo’s idea of a fun time. Especially not when looking at him seemed to be reminding the other man of someone else. He almost wanted to ask if Kisuke-san, or whatever his name was, was a masochist, constantly showing up to stalk him in spite of the pain it caused the older man, but somehow, Ichigo didn’t really want to.

“You’re lucky Rukia didn’t see you,” he said instead. “I got Yuzu and Karin to distract her, and offered to wash dishes for Yuzu in return. And to do Karin’s homework for her.”

“All that effort, just for me? I’m touched, Kurosaki-kun.”

Ichigo sighed, and leaned against the wall beside the man he’d dubbed ‘Kisuke-san’.

“Don’t hurt yourself getting excited. I wanted some answers too. You’re not even going to deny being some sort of relation to Urahara, huh.”

Kisuke-san sighed, and crossed his arms, leaning more firmly against the wall too.

“I don’t see why I should. The similarities are enough that there aren’t too many excuses I could have made, once you met him.”

Something about the tone of the words made Ichigo turn slowly, staring up at him.

“Wait. You’re not saying that you actually are Urahara Kisuke-san, are you?”

The other man offered him a slanted smile, and Ichigo couldn’t make himself stop staring.

“That’s, what, time travel? Are you from the future?” he asked incredulously.

Kisuke-san just laughed sadly, tilting his head up to stare at the sky.

“I might as well be, for all means and purposes. But no, not the future.”

“Parallel Dimension, then. Alternate Universe. What else do they call it…”

“All of the above?” Kisuke-san offered bemusedly, lips twitching just a bit. Ichigo grumped, and nudged him with a shoulder.

“You’d think a dimension traveler would have more important things to do than stalking me. Don’t you have other things to worry about? Like, oh, I don’t know, an apocalypse? The end of times and the world as we know it? How about the freeloader sleeping in my closet because, really, I thought you were creepy and then Rukia happened to me-”

“You really should have avoided the shinigami,” the other man sighed, sounding despondent. Ichigo nudged him again, grinning meanly when it got him an irritated grunt.

“Don’t I know it. If I’d avoided shinigami, I’d be able to sleep at night without constantly being afraid for my virtue,” Ichigo snarked, and Kisuke-san let out a cackle of laughter before muffling it with his fist.

“Our conversations… aren’t really going the way I expected them to,” he admitted, when he managed to control the urge to laugh. Ichigo eyed him strangely, then shook his head.

“If we know each other in the future, or in your super-secret parallel dimension, you should have expected this. Because I sincerely doubt I’m ever going to be anything other than myself.”

Kisuke-san looked like he’d been punched in the gut. Ichigo might have felt sorry for him, or tried to apologize, but he heard Rukia calling his name, and that was his cue to get back inside. So, instead, he just awkwardly patted Kisuke-san on the shoulder, and turned around to go back in. Or he tried, at any rate, before he was wrenched back by a vice-like grip around his right bicep.

“Quincy Archer hates you,” Kisuke-san said, and Ichigo peered up at him, wondering whether he should seriously consider telling Rukia or the shopkeeper about the man, so they could give him a medical check of some sort.

“Quin-what?” he repeated, and Kisuke-san’s lips tucked up into a sarcastic smile.

“Try not to be too hard on poor Ishida-kun, will you. He’s delicate.”

“Who?”

Kisuke just shoved him back at his gate, and Ichigo went, despairing of ever getting an actual answer out of the other man.

*

“The next time I see him, I’m going to wring his neck!” Ichigo snarled, slicing his way through yet another hollow.

“I’m not sure whom you’ve been cursing out since we started this contest, Kurosaki, but surely it could wait until we’re done!” Ishida snapped, taking out more targets, and Ichigo laughed madly, because it was either that or he’d try to wring Ishida’s neck, Kisuke’s not being in easy reach.

Try not to be too hard on him, was it? Ishida-kun was delicate, was he?

Delicate Ishida-kun managed to take out two hollows with a single shot, speared a third on his arrow before shooting it at a fourth, and Ichigo really did laugh then. If he weren’t so sure that this battle was going to end in tears for someone, he might actually have enjoyed the contest. Ishida was a good challenger to be pitted against.

“Come with me, asshat, I could use your help!” he hollered up at the Quincy, and got a vitriolic look in reply.

“Why, exactly, would I want to help a shinigami,” Ishida sneered, and Ichigo rolled his eyes, reaching out to drag him out of the way of a snake-like hollow with huge jaws that had been leaping for him. Taking it out with a single swipe of his blade, he shot a hard look back at the Quincy, who glared back at him, one hand raised to press his glasses back in place.

“Because I’m not a shinigami, asshole, no matter how much you seem to want to think I am! I’m just a human who’s borrowing shinigami powers! Who also happens to have kid sisters with just as much reiryoku as him, so I’d be grateful if Quincy-sama bothered to help me get them out of danger before we take out the rest of these hollow that you brought down on our heads!”

Ishida screwed up his nose, looking like he’d smelt something that had wandered up his nostrils and died there. Taking his silence for agreement, Ichigo zipped off towards where he could sense his sisters. Ishida got with the program quick enough, dragging his wrist out of Ichigo’s grip and running on his own power.

“You’re a fool, Kurosaki – your family isn’t the only one with individuals with a high spiritual power in this town.” Ishida spat, but he kept moving anyway, somehow shooting off his arrows as he went. Ichigo was willing to admit when he was beat, and Ishida’s sensing power? Was leagues ahead of Ichigo.

Then again, Ichigo hadn’t even realized that this shit could be trained until Rukia had happened to him. So he’d like to think he was doing okay enough on his own.

“The others can handle themselves, whoever they are – and we aren’t the only people in town who can handle hollows,” Ichigo snapped back. “I’m supposed to take care of my kid sisters first, damnit. I’ll protect everyone I can, but I’m starting with them!”

Ishida shot him a disgusted look, but apparently the idea of a shinigami asking for help was novel enough that he was willing to keep going.

“You realize,” Ishida said, in a lean period once they managed to cut through the hollows swarming between them and the park Ichigo knew Karin tended to be at this time of day, “that this is supposed to be a battle between us. You’re asking your opponent for aid. My mind boggles at how inept you are.”

Yadda yadda yadda, Ichigo thought, so far past exasperation with Ishida’s manner of speech that it wasn’t even funny anymore.

“How weak you must be, Kurosa-”

Ishida choked when Ichigo jerked him to a stop with a hand fisted in his shirt.

“Quit whining, you arrow-freak. We’ll fight later, once I’m sure the Hollows between home and where my sister is get cleared out. Y’know, the only reason I’m asking you for help is because it’s pretty clear you’re not on the side of the hollows any more than I am! So come with me, or don’t, but get a little off of you high horse and help me clear up this shitstorm you’ve thrown us into!”

Ishida stared up at him, jaw hanging a little loose. Ichigo shoved him away and kept running.

…he had to admit, he’d have been quicker to react in anger or fear if Kisuke hadn’t name dropped Ishida, earlier on. Jokes about the Quincy, whatever that was, being delicate aside, Kisuke-san didn’t seem like he had anything bad planned for Ichigo. If anything, that spiel about not getting involved with shinigami seemed to be intended only for Ichigo’s benefit.

When Ishida fell into step with him, huffing under his breath, Ichigo grinned a little violently. Well, it seemed like Ishida was an okay sort. Even if he was the kind of dumbass who used hollow bait to settle a squabble.

The situation doesn’t seem anywhere near as funny when they manage to show up just in time to see Chad pass out and Ichigo’s sister freak, or later, after Ichigo finally gets told who the Quincy are, but he has to admit that he’s a little relieved that Kisuke had warned him at all. He’d managed to stay a lot calmer through hollows attacking because of the older man.

*

Waking up to Kisuke-san’s dismayingly handsome face was unnerving, and he said so with a grunt, trying to turn over. The debilitating pain that washes over him is an immediate wake-up call; and a more successful one than being peered at until he woke up.

“Why, I didn’t think we were close enough to be on a first name basis, Kurosaki-kun,” the man standing by his bedside said, voice painfully cheerful, half his face abruptly hidden behind a fan, and Ichigo winced.

“Hat-and-clogs,” he corrected himself immediately, wishing for the upteenth time that there was a better way to tell the difference between the two Uraharas other than the clothes they wore. Or the hat.

Urahara’s hat, for one, was in his hand, and he neatly placed it back on his head, staring down at Ichigo curiously. I’ve been a cryptic bastard for long enough that I really don’t know how to be anything else, Kisuke had said. Ichigo could believe it, from the cold, closed look in this younger Urahara’s eyes.

“Do you remember what happened?” Urahara asked plainly, and Ichigo scowled at him, levering himself back upright and gasping from the pain all the while.

“Kind of hard to forget,” he bit out in response. “Rukia’s gone and her bastard of a brother cut me down like a sheaf of rice in a field. Not to mention that other bastard Abarai-”

Which reminded him.

“How’s Uryuu? He here too? This is your home, right.”

Urahara’s fan flipped closed and a smiled without much humor. The expression reminded him enough of Kisuke that Ichigo cringed away from it.

“No, he’s already left. He did ask me to heal you though. He seems quite sure that you’re the only one who’s going to have any luck at rescuing Rukia, now that she’s been captured by the shinigami.”

“‘By the shinigami’, like you aren’t one yourself,” Ichigo grumbled, hunching over. He had a right to feeling morose when he’d gotten his ass kicked and one of his best friends had to sacrifice herself to save his sorry behind, damnit.

…from the stillness of the man standing over him, he probably shouldn’t have admitted that he knew about the Shinigami thing out loud. Well, whatever. Not like Ichigo cared. And if Kisuke wanted him to keep a secret, he probably should have tried harder to hide the truth. Ichigo didn’t rat his friends out, but he wasn’t really made to keep secrets.

“Well done, I didn’t think you had it in you.” Urahara said, finally, sounding distantly amused. Ichigo shot him a dirty look, and the older man laughed at him.

“Is there anything I can do? To get her back?” Ichigo asked, and Urahara crouched down in front of him, fingers tugging at his chin while his lips tugged up into a hard smile.

“Of course there is. All you have to do is surrender yourself to me and train for the next ten days. As you are now you’re just a weak waste of space.”

“Done.” Ichigo said immediately, no matter how much he wanted to fight back. This was supposed to be a version of Kisuke-san, and even if he hadn’t known the man for long, he had to admit he seemed to know what he was doing when it came to the shinigami.

Urahara’s smile gentled, just a bit, and it looked less like he was planning on skewering Ichigo through his futon and to the floor if Ichigo tried to protest to training first.

“Good. Well, first we need to make sure you’ve healed all the way, so you may as well attend school while taking your pills…”

Ichigo stopped paying attention to him, instead flopping back into the futon and wincing when his entire body protested loudly and with a lot of pain. It just figured that saving his friends had to go hand in hand with attending classes. Urahara really was an old man. Actually getting out of the shoten meant he could keep an eye out for the other Urahara in Karakura, though. So he didn’t protest needing to go to school when he should be focusing on healing and training to save Rukia.

Not that it made much of a difference. No matter how he kept his senses peeled, and where he looked, on his way to school and back, Kisuke-san was nowhere to be found.

*

“Your training seems to be going well.”

Ichigo yelped, and nearly swallowed enough water to drown. Who cared if the water in the pool was supposed to heal him, it wasn’t supposed to do that from the inside, right?

Kisuke, seating cross-legged right behind where Ichigo had been leaning, laughed helplessly, glanced at Ichigo’s most likely affronted expression and proceeded to laugh some more. Grumbling to himself, Ichigo treaded water till he could get back till the edge of the pool and crossed his arms on the ground on the other side, peering up at the other man curiously.

Kisuke’s lips just twitched up into a wry smile, not offering anything, and Ichigo had to sigh.

“So. Captain of the Twelfth?”

“Once upon a time, a long time ago, in a land far, far away,” Kisuke replied breezily, and Ichigo pressed his chin to his forearms, trying not to smile. Kisuke was an aggravating old man, but he was a charming aggravating old man. And for all that Urahara had been the one to actually ensure that Ichigo was strong enough to take on Soul Society, Ichigo still couldn’t help but feel fonder of Kisuke, whose smiles seemed a lot less put on than Urahara’s did.

“Any tips on what happens next, oh all-knowing captain who’s not a shinigami?” Ichigo jibed, and Kisuke pressed an elbow to his knee, leaning his chin into his hand and grinning boyishly.

“Oh, I have plenty of tips,” he offered easily. “Doesn’t mean you’ll be able to use any of them. The upcoming battles are… complicated.”

Ichigo stiffened at that, though he didn’t move from his position at all. For one, he was comfortable, and his body ached too much to bother moving. For another, it wasn’t like he was going to get out of the water in the buff, so he might as well stay put, right.

“If you’re saying that the upcoming battles are complicated, they must have gone real swell in your dimension. Your younger self running around doing crazy things here too? Yoruichi certainly is.” Ichigo replied, trying to insert some humor into his tone. It didn’t work all that well, judging by the wry look Kisuke shot him, but the older man let it pass.

“No, the other Urahara Kisuke is barred from returning to Soul Society. I was able to get through because I’m not from the same dimension; we’re structure intrinsically different for all that we look alike. As for why I’m here, well… even travelers from a parallel dimension need a place to sleep, don’t they.”

“You’re so full of shit I’m amazed at how you can keep talking without tripping over the piles of it you spew out,” Ichigo said admirably, and Kisuke rolled his eyes, reaching out with his free hand to swat Ichigo upside the head. Ichigo rubbed the top of his head, grinning victoriously.

It was weird as all heck, but even when he knew he was on a tight schedule, and that things were about to get really tough for him if Kisuke had shown up to offer pearls of wisdom judging by how things had gone till date, he somehow felt really happy anyway.

“You probably shouldn’t be trusting me quite so much,” Kisuke remarked, bland. “You don’t know how I got here. Or why I’m here at all.”

Ichigo shrugged indolently from where he was leaning out of the water, and offered Kisuke a lazy smile.

“Probably not, yeah, but you’ve had good advice so far. I’m willing to admit you don’t totally have it out for me.”

“You might regret saying that, later,” Kisuke said, his smile sad, and Ichigo rolled his eyes, reaching up with one hand to shove at one of Kisuke’s knees, jostling him lightly.

“Maybe, maybe not. For now, it’s not. Now tell me what you’re here for, already - you don’t show up unless you’ve got something cryptic to say.”

“What if I simply wanted to come here so I could talk to you, Kurosaki-kun. You’re such good company, after all.”

Ichigo was horrified to feel his face burn at Kisuke’s tone. Kisuke, on the other hand, leered cheerfully at him and Ichigo was tempted to dunk himself in the pool until the weird old man went back to normal. Kisuke sobered down rather abruptly, though, and he leaned his other elbow on a knee as well, half-hiding his face behind steepled hands.

“It’ll do you good to remember that there are more things happening in soul society than just the rush to execute Rukia-chan. Be sensible, and on your guard, when you’re on Soukyoku Hill.”

Ichigo eyed him archly, and shook his head, tsking.

“As cryptic as always. Couldn’t find it in yourself to give me an easy answer even now, huh.”

“Afraid not. Trying to explain anything else would only complicate things further, for you.”

“Sure, if you say so. Anything else?”

Surprisingly enough, that made Kisuke pause for a long moment, hands still obscuring most of his face. When he finally put them down, the sad smile was back.

“When you fight for your bankai, remember that all is not what it seems.”

Ichigo felt a chill go down his spine. Did Kisuke mean the Hollow? How could everything not be what it seemed when it came to a Hollow? Yeah, sure, the hollow was inside Ichigo’s head, but that was Ichigo’s own fault for not figuring out where his shinigami powers were stored in time, right.

“Well, that’s it for me, I should leave before Yoruichi shows up. It wouldn’t be for the best, her meeting me at this stage.”

Before he quite knew what he was doing, Ichigo had an arm out, snagging Kisuke’s wrist before he could move into shunpo. Kisuke stared at the fingers curling around his wrist, then slowly turned his gaze on Ichigo, arching his brows in question.

Ichigo licked his lips nervously, feeling his heart trip when Kisuke glanced down at them before glancing back up into Ichigo’s eyes.

“Why?” he asked. “You told me to stay awake from the shinigami when we first met. Why?”

Kisuke stared down at him for a long moment, not saying anything, before finally sighing, and gently breaking the hold Ichigo had on his wrist.

“This world,” he said, “has not been very kind to you, Kurosaki-kun. And you have been nothing but giving. I was trying to do a good turn for once. Attempting to do what you might have done, had you been in my place.”

Ichigo gaped at that, and Kisuke gave a pained laugh, pushing himself back to his feet.

“Clearly I was a fool for trying. After all, you will always be yourself, won’t you, Kurosaki-kun.”

His piece said, Kisuke disappeared, just in time for Yoruichi to reappear, throwing herself into the water with a loud splash. She peeked out of the water at him when he didn’t yelp the way he usually did at her penchant for nudity.

“Everything okay, Ichigo?”

He nodded wordlessly, still staring at where Kisuke had been standing a split second ago, before forcing himself to turn away, paying attention to what Yoruichi was saying.

*

It just figures that the next time he sees Kisuke, he’s a screaming mess on the ground, unable to move because his spine’s nearly been severed in two. One moment Aizen’s got his hand in Rukia’s soul and the next he’s shoving her away and spinning around-

Only for a sword to slam straight through his gut, ripping up and out of his head.

The abrupt silence in the lull is horrifyingly tense, everyone waiting to see if he’s going to get up from that, but no. Just like that, the monster in their midst was flesh and waste on the ground. Ichigo still couldn’t move, but at least he could scream for Kisuke to get out of the way before Tosen could catch him unawares.

Renji flashed over to Ichigo’s side, another captain with long braided hair close on his heels, both of them warily watching Tosen and Kisuke go head to head with just their sealed blades, because apparently Tosen was in enough shock at Aizen’s sudden death that he hadn’t even unsealed his shikai, instead hacking madly at Kisuke as if he could kill him where he stood just with the strength of his blows.

“Urahara?” The captain beside him murmured, sounding confused, and Ichigo grunted.

“Yeah, it’s him, why the hell are all of you just standing around, you should be helping!”

“Shut up and stay down, berry-head, you’re in no state to move! Let Unohana-taichou heal you like she’s kindly offering!” Renji snapped, slapping a hand down by Ichigo’s head, though his eyes were rooted to where Rukia had collapsed to the ground, passed out in a dead faint. No one had tried to get anywhere near her, still keeping a close watch on the third captain, Ichimaru, who hadn’t moved since Aizen had gone down.

When he finally shifted in place, Ichimaru, didn’t try to help Tosen or go for Kisuke. Instead, before anyone else could think to move, he was already by Aizen’s side, staring down at his corpse. When Ichimaru abruptly snarled and kicked out at his once-master’s body, more than one person on the hill audibly choked.

“Gin!” A honey haired shinigami Ichigo hadn’t run into yet called out, looking like she wasn’t sure if she should laugh or cry. Unohana cleared her throat and Renji immediately stood up, along with a few other lieutenants who’d heard her, making for the captain still kicking viciously at Aizen’s body.

“Ichimaru you traitor!” Tosen roared. “Get away from Aizen-sama!”

“He deserves it,” Ichimaru snapped back. “Who goes and gets themselves killed out of the blue? If it was going to be that easy I’d already have killed him by now. Why the hell did I have to waste my time playing the long game if he was this easy to kill?!!”

Zaraki snorted with laughter, while Ichigo and nearly everyone else stared at Ichimaru as though he’d gone crazy. The honey haired shinigami lieutenant who’d called the captain by name, though, she shoved past her own captain, and all but threw herself at Ichimaru, who caught her without looking, still spewing hateful remarks at Aizen’s corpse.

“You can get up now,” Unohana said, and Ichigo shoved himself up immediately, gasping out a quick thanks at her before flinging himself into the fight taking place past Ichimaru.

Kisuke just stepped aside easily, as though he’d expected Ichigo to show up where he had. Tosen certainly hadn’t; he went down like a pile of bricks.

“Enough,” boomed an old voice, and Ichigo went still, Zangetsu pressed up against Tosen’s throat. Tosen stopped moving, too, the fight draining out of him. When Ichigo glanced around, he found the old grandpa all the other captains had been deferring to slowly walking up to them, eyes barely parted, but they he leaked menace in a way none of the other captains Ichigo had gone up against had. Not even Zaraki.

“You,” the captain commander, because he couldn’t be anyone else, barked out. “You’re not Urahara Kisuke.”

“Not the one you know, no,” Kisuke replied cheerfully, smiling in a flinty way that Ichigo hadn’t seen out of him before.

The old guy watched him carefully, before giving a slow nod.

“You have my thanks. Now leave, before any other sign is seen of you, pissant.”

“You always did have such a way with words, Soutaicho,” Kisuke said, laughing brightly. But he lowered his head in a partial bow, and disappeared before anyone could utter another word.

“Ryoka,” the captain commander said. “You recognized him for what he was. You will explain.”

“It’s not like I know much about him either, but sure, okay,” Ichigo grunted, and still didn’t move off of Tosen until more lieutenants showed up to keep guard over him.

*

“Another Kisuke?” Yoruichi repeated incredulously, later, when they were all transferred into the Fourth Division’s headquarters to be healed. “As if one of him weren’t more than enough all on his own – but two?”

“Gotta say I agree,” Renji said, unnerved, and Chad and Orihime both nodded speedily, Orihime’s head bobbing up and down like a doll’s.

“But you knew about him? All along?” Uryuu asked, sounding a little disgruntled and Ichigo rolled his eyes.

“Quit feeling so left out, four eyes. He’s the reason I dragged you along to help me with my sisters, when you set off the hollow bait back home. He said something that made me sure I could trust you, so I couldn’t look at you as an enemy right off the bat even if you’d been trying to threaten me and Rukia.”

Uryuu looked like he’d been slapped, and quickly glanced away, shoving his glasses up self-consciously. Orihime giggled maniacally, while Chad smiled, as serene as always. Rukia, though, frowned in thought, stooping over.

“You never said how long you’ve known this other Urahara for, Ichigo. Did you know him before Kon showed up?”

Ichigo cleared his throat uncomfortably, glancing away himself, and Rukia punched a fist into her free hand.

“Hah! I knew it! I thought you’d been staring strangely at him when I introduced you!”

“Can you blame me,” Ichigo grumbled, “I thought they must be evil twins or something before I got Kisuke-san to explain what was going on.”

Yoruichi frowned a little, surveying him carefully. Ichigo made it a point not to look at her at all. He’d already figured out that she and Kisuke-san had to have been close, judging by how well she and Urahara got along. Meaning, more than Ichigo, it probably would have made the most sense if Kisuke-san had gone to Yoruichi to talk, if he’d been plotting against Aizen the entire while he’d been in their dimension. It was just like Ichigo had asked him before; surely a parallel dimension traveler had more important things to do than showing up to chat with a high school kid and give cryptic warnings before disappearing every few months, right?

Instead, Kisuke-san had been content to simply… spend time with Ichigo. Enjoying the past of a dimension that must have been similar to his in some ways at least, if he’d been so brusque about doing away with Aizen. Ichigo still couldn’t get the sadness tinging Kisuke’s smiles out of his head, especially right after Ichigo had laughed at him for thinking that Ichigo could ever be different from himself in any way.

He desperately wanted to know why Kisuke had made a concession for him, had tried to get Ichigo out of getting involved with Soul Society. But Ichigo didn’t even have to try to know that he wouldn’t ever get a clear answer. Not from someone like Kisuke, who was so wrapped in his own deceit that he could barely be truthful about himself. Let alone anything else.

“Anyway,” Ichigo said in a loud voice, “Enough about this, you said you wanted to stay back here, right, midget? Sure you’ll be okay over here on your own?”

The ensuing crash when Rukia threw herself at him with a snarl successfully distracted everyone from the previous conversation.

Except for Ichigo, of course.

*

“All done, then?” Kisuke murmured, popping out of nowhere behind him when Ichigo was balanced on the roof above his window.

It was sudden enough that Ichigo nearly yelled and fell off the roof. He would have fallen right off the roof if Kisuke didn’t grab him by the shoulder and yank him back, making him fall over with a grunt into something softer than expected. When he blinked blearily upwards, it was to find Kisuke laughing at him, as per usual. Ichigo had somehow managed to fall right into his lap.

Ichigo felt his cheeks burn, but he didn’t make any move to get back upright, instead staring stubbornly up at Kisuke until his laughter petered out. He felt the older man stiffen, just a bit, before he relaxed again, smiling a little helplessly down at Ichigo.

“Yes, all done,” Ichigo replied, still staring directly. “Rukia stayed back, but she’s happy there, now that Byakuya’s actually paying attention to her and Renji’s talking to her again. She said they’ had a bad patch for decades before all this execution shit went down. We’re all back to our usual lives here, other than the occasional hollow.”

“Never a slow day, in Karakura,” Kisuke said, mild, and Ichigo had to grin at that.

“Yeah, no, this town ain’t ever staying quiet. What about you? You planning on sticking around, now that your alternate dimension twin knows about you?”

Because Urahara did know about Kisuke, now. He had to, after Yoruichi had stepped out of the Senkaimon, hollering about how an alternate universe version of Kisuke had saved all their asses from Aizen. Ichigo hadn’t been cornered to answer any questions yet, but if he knew anything about Urahara-san or Kisuke by this point, that had to be only because Urahara was biding his time, possibly looking for Kisuke himself.

“…I might,” Kisuke said, voice low, “It’s been years since I’ve just been able to sit back and enjoy the scenery.”

“Is that what humans are to you? Scenery?” Ichigo said incredulously. “I’ll show you scenery, you-”

His voice broke off into a dry croak, and his hands fisted on the roof tiles on either side of him, because the older man was leaning down, and down, and- Ichigo shuddered, warmth curling at the base of his spine when Kisuke didn’t do more than gently caress their lips together.

“Is that it, you-”

Ichigo groaned at the fingers that gently glanced over the soft underside of his jaw, tilting his head up just a bit to get a better angle. He got his hands up so he could curl them into Kisuke’s hair, dragging the older man closer still, their lips sliding together just a bit before Ichigo gave in and opened his mouth, wanting more of that wet warmth.

“Like I said, scenery,” Kisuke said breathlessly, when he finally pulled away.

Ichigo couldn’t help but laugh, and drag him down for another kiss.

*

He might not have any answers, but did he need them, anyway? He could figure them out, eventually, and even if he didn’t, it didn’t really make much of a difference. All he knew was that Kisuke was the good sort, for all the scheming he seemed inclined to doing. And he had Ichigo’s best interests at heart. Anything more than that? Could wait.

Ichigo would deal with it when it came.

[trillhouse-lh]

Second Officer Robert Loud

Figured I may as well post the initial zombie au Bobby fic here too since I posted the others.

>"We need to talk about your brother." >"Which one?" Loan muttered as she continued sharpening her blade. >"You KNOW which one." Lyra replied flatly. Loan's eyes narrowed slightly. >"...What about him?" >"You know that, too." Lyra snapped. "This... STAR WARS nonsense. It-" >"Star TREK," Loan corrected her. Lyra rolled her eyes. >"WHATEVER it is, it's a problem. You know what happened earlier?" Lyra asked. "When I woke up, the lunatic was just... sitting there, GLARING at me. Clutching that stupid gun of his."

>"You can never be too careful," Said Loan. "Don't you always tell us that?" >"Loan, for God's sake, he thinks I'm an ALIEN." Lyra hissed. "You've seen how itchy that trigger finger of his can get. What if-" >"If he was going to attack you, he would have by now." Loan reasoned. "He's just trying to look out for us." >"You're only saying that because he trusts you," Lyra said. "But he doesn't trust me, and I don't trust him." >Loan sighed, focusing her attention on the task at hand. The 'knife' consisted of a jagged, rusty piece of scrap metal sharpened into a fine edge, with a handle bound by twine. Bobby had made it for her when her own knife had snapped off in a would-be thief's neck. It had held up quite well, though it needed to be re-sharpened regularly... the boy's prior experience with model building had left him surprisingly adept at cobbling together weaponry.

>"You can't pretend this isn't a problem, Loan." Lyra muttered. "I've put up with him this long for your sake, but I'm at my limit." >"He's just coping in his own way, Lyra." Loan said with a noticable edge to her voice. "We all are. Bobby's-" >"Last time I checked, the REST of us don't think we're we're STAR PILOTS!" Lyra snapped. "He's out of his MIND, Loan! He's DANGEROUS! And if you think I'm going to risk our safety-" >"Really? You're REALLY going to start this?" Loan shot back. "He's your brother too, you know!" >"I barely KNOW the kid, Loan." Lyra said coldly. "As far as I'm concerned, he's little more than a stranger to me. Either you get him under control or I'll deal with him MY way, do you understand?!" >Loan glared at her sister in silence.

>"...He's family, Lyra." >"Hasn't stopped us before." Lyra replied. Loan scoffed and looked away. "It's thanks to me that we've lasted as long as we have. I'm not letting anyone jeopardize that... family or not." >Loan frowned. At some level, she could understand her sister's concern, but she trusted Bobby. He relied on them, and even if he had his doubts about Lyra he would surely never act on them. >"...I'll talk to him," Loan assured her. "Just... let me handle it." Lyra crossed her arms, looking down at her older sister in silence. Finally, she gave a small nod. >"Good. Just remember what I said." She said before walking off. "No exceptions." >Loan sighed and glanced over towards her little brother. He was sitting alone a distance away, recording another 'Officer's Log' with his tape recorder. She looked back to her knife; figuring it was as good as it was going to get for now, she slipped it back into its holster. With a small grunt, Loan got to her feet.

> She walked over to Bobby and sat down on the floor nearby. He gave little more than a quick nod as a greeting, too focused on his recording to say anything to the woman. She watched the boy in silence. >Their chance encounter with Bobby a few months back had been the first time Loan had felt genuine joy in who knows how long. She'd never imagined that he would have survived, especially for as long as he did. Even in his current state, just having him around helped ease her inner turmoil somewhat. >"Bob-" She began, before catching herself. "...Officer Loud. Can you come here for a second?" The boy jumped slightly at the sudden intrusion, then gave a small nod. >"...Second Officer Robert Loud, signing off." He said into the recorder before striding over to his big sister and giving a salute. "F-First Officer Loan. How can I be of assistance?" >Loan forced herself to suppress a smirk. As troubling as his delusional behavior was, Loan couldn't help but appreciate the opportunity to 'roleplay' a bit. If nothing else, it gave her a way to cut loose just a little. >"At ease, officer." She said, patting the ground next to her. "Here, sit." >"Er... yes. A-as you command." Bobby took a seat beside her.

>"Bobby, look..." Loan muttered. "I know you don't trust Lyra, but she's on our side. She's not a... reptilian." Bobby chewed his lip, his eyes narrowing a bit. >"They are a very crafty race, Ma'am." Bobby stated plainly. "I-it's in the best interest of the crew that I remain vigilant." >"Right, but... it's not in YOUR best interests." Loan figured it was best not to bring up their leader's ultimatum. "She's just trying to keep us all alive, Bob- officer. Just... I'll keep an eye on her myself, okay? So please stop." >Bobby frowned. "...Is that an order?" >"It's... a request," Said Loan. "From your sister." Bobby flinched slightly, but nonetheless sighed and nodded.

>"V-very well. I trust your judgment." Bobby assured her. "I'll leave the matter in your capable hands." >"Thank you." >"Was there anything else, Ma'am?" Bobby asked, turning to face his sister. Loan was about to dismiss him, but at this distance she took note of the heavy bags under his eyes. >"You haven't been sleeping, have you?" She asked. Bobby averted his eyes. >"I sleep when I must." >Loan frowned. Sleep didn't come easy to anyone, but it was clearly taking its toll on the boy. >"Here..." Said Loan, patting her lap. "Lie down." >Bobby's brow furrowed slightly. "That would be conduct unbecoming of-" >"That's an order, officer." She said with a stern note to her voice. Bobby reluctantly nodded. >"...A-as you wish." He did as he was commanded, easing his head into her lap. He looked uncomfortable; before the outbreak, Bobby wouldn't have hesitated. But he wasn't 'Bobby' anymore.

>She gently grasped the boy's helmet, but he grabbed her hand. >"C-commander-" >"It's okay, Bobby." She gently assured him. "It's okay." Bobby frowned, but nonetheless let go of his sister's hand. She felt him tense up as she carefully removed his helmet. It made a nauseating 'SHLUCK' sound as it slid off the boy's head, and she had to turn away and cough as the stench of sweat and blood hit her like a freight train. That, and the sight of her brother's face was enough to rattle even her hardened resolve. >Half of her brother's face was so badly burnt that it looked like something out of a horror movie. His right eye was dead and discolored, half of his hair had burnt away and what hair he DID have was tangled and matted with grime. He averted his gaze, apparently ashamed of being seen like this.

>Loan swallowed and forced herself to look at him. She had gotten off fairly easily, all things considered... others, like Marla and Lizy, hadn't been so lucky. But she couldn't begin to imagine just how badly her brother had suffered. The burns continued down his body as well, though she wasn't sure just how far they went. She gently touched the burnt half of his face, making him wince. She quickly drew her hand back. >"S-sorry... does it hurt?" She asked. Bobby shook his head. >"I can't feel anything. Just pressure." He assured her. Loan nodded and began lightly stroking his hair. He shuddered slightly, but made no move to stop her. >His hair was slimy to the touch, and coarse where it bordered his scarred flesh. Bobby had to admit, as unusual as it was for his commanding officer to touch him in such a way, it felt... nice. It was soothing, and strangely nostalgiac. >It reminded him of how things had been before.

>"Bobby... are you alright?" Loan asked, taking note of his troubled expression. Bobby's face scrunched up slightly. >"Per... permission to speak freely, Ma'am...?" >Loan nodded. "Permission granted." Bobby bit his lip, hesitating a moment before turning to meet her gaze. His good eye was beginning to brim with tears. >"I... I miss it..." The boy choked. "I want to go home..." >"...I know." Loan said. "I know, Bobby." Her brother's tiny body began to shake before he finally turned and buried himself into her stomach, sobbing freely into her shirt. She held him and let him cry; she may have joined him herself, had her own tears not run out long ago.

>Before long, the boy had cried himself into an unsteady sleep. She continued to stroke his hair as he twitched and muttered under his breath; nightmares, no doubt. It was easy to forget that despite the situation, despite his mental state, underneath it all he was just a terrified child. >Loan sighed and looked out to the rest of the the group. Sometimes it was hard to believe that things had been normal once. That they'd been HAPPY once. She'd never fully appreciated just how good her life had been until it was taken from her. Sometimes, she wondered why they even bothered trying to survive in a dead world... the most they could do was delay the inevitable. Eventually, their luck would run out. >But for now, at least, they had eachother. If nothing else, perhaps prolonging that was worth it.

[crystal-siren]

Knowledge (Dad!Tony x Reader + Loki x Reader)

Requested by @dovies666, I hope this fits your suggestion :p <3 I’m sorry for the delay :( I hope you like <3

@mymourningtea

Author’s Note: The reader has dyed hair so the Y/F/C will be the colour of the hair. You guys know the drill with names so we’re all good there :)

“You enchant me. Do you understand? I cannot resist you at all. I writhe and dance to your every command like a cobra captivated by a snake charmer’s spell. You consume me absolutely, heart to mind, and breath to bone. Every thought, every action, every pulse, is yours.” ~ Beau Taplin (The Snake Charmer)

Of all the places Y/N Stark had been to, Scandinavia remained at the top of the list of her favourites. It was indeed fortunate that her studies had allowed her to travel to some truly amazing and historic places.

Having spent the best part of three months in Norway, Y/N had taken advantage of one of the University Libraries. Primarily the University of Oslo, which was also open to the public. Y/N soon spent her days surrounded by piles of books, some in English, but most in Norwegian. 

It was on one such day that her phone rang, causing her to kick the pile of books before her in surprise and drop the book she was reading. Looking around to make sure no one had seen her little mishap, she looked to see who was calling.

“Dad?”

“Yes honey, who else would it be?” Tony Stark addressed his daughter in mock exasperation.

Y/N laughed as quietly as she could. “Mum sometimes rings via you,” she could just picture his face.

“Why are you whispering?”

Biting her lip, Y/N glanced around and saw she was alone, “I’m in a library Dad.”

“You’re always in a library!”

Y/N grinned, that much was true. Either that, or she was in a book store. “Libraries are part of my studies Dad..or have you forgotten?”

“I will never understand why you chose that path but hey! If you’re passion’s there, what more could you want.”

Y/N smiled to herself, many thought she would follow in her father’s footsteps and were very surprised when she announced that she would be going to College to study Librarianship. Y/N was the bookworm of the family and devoured any book that was within reaching distance.

“I don’t wanna sound rude Dad, but why did you call? Is everything ok at home?”

“Everything’s fine sweetheart,” her father’s voice reassured her over the phone.

“You want me to come home don’t you?”

“You know how your mother worries.”

Y/N nodded to herself, that she did. Her mother, while being very supportive, still worried incessantly whenever her daughter was out of the country for more than two weeks. “You can tell Mum, that I’ll be making plans to leave by the end of the week.”

Tony paused a little before answering, “shall I send the jet over?”

Shaking her head, Y/N ran her free hand through her Y/F/C hair and laughed. “Thanks for the offer Dad, but I think I’ll take a normal plane with everyone else.”

“If you’re sure?”

She nodded as though he could see her, “one hundred percent.”

“Send us your flight info so we can meet you when you arrive yeah?”

Her smile never faltered, “of course Dad, as soon as I know, so will you and Mum.” 

“Much appreciated honey, so I guess we’ll be seeing you soon then?”

“Very soon Dad.”

~ ~ ~

Y/N read for most of the journey home. Her nose was buried in a book of Nordic folklore. While she knew they were all merely stories, a part of her was still fascinated. Her e/c eyes drank in the information in front of her. Her eyes lingered on the sections where the Nordic deities were mentioned. Mythical deities from any culture interested her but these held a certain kind of appeal.

It was only when the voice over the intercom notified the passengers that they were about to land, did Y/N’s focus divert from her book.

Before she knew it, Y/N was walking out of the Arrivals gate and was enveloped in one of her mother’s notorious hugs. “Hi Mum.” She couldn’t help but hug her back.

“Oh sweetie, it’s so good to have you back,” Pepper murmured into her daughter’s hair.”

Gently pulling away, Y/N turned to face her father. “Hi Dad.” She was rewarded with a small smile.

“Welcome back,” Tony reached out and shook her hand before pulling her into a hug. “It’s good to see you kid.”

~ ~ ~

“Wow!” Was all Y/N could say as she exited the elevator. Her parents never ceased to amaze her. Before her was a fully furnished living space on what appeared to be the top most floor of Stark Tower. While Y/N had never been one for heights, she had to admit, the view of New York from where she stood, was breathtaking.

“Beautiful isn’t it?” Her father came up beside her.

Nodding wordlessly, Y/N agreed. It was only when her mother passed her a glass of champagne, did Y/N snap out of the awe-filled trance she had fallen into. A little confused, she turned to look at her mother.

“In celebration,” her mother said in answer to her daughter’s silent question. “In celebration of the completion of the tower.”

Clinking glasses with her parents, Y/N was about to take a sip when they were interrupted. All but glaring at the intruder, a middle-aged man, Y/N commenced drinking.

“Phil, welcome,” her mother got up to welcome their unexpected guest.

Exchanging a look with her father, Y/N began to wonder just who this ‘Phil’ was and how her mother seemed to know him so well.

“Since when is he ‘Phil’?” Her father seemed equally confused. The look Pepper sent him seemed to convey the required explanation.

Y/N watched the rest of the exchange between Phil and her parents in silence. Her eyes flittered between the three of them and then finally landed on the black object her father was given, via her mother.

Curiosity overcame her, so Y/N moved to stand beside her father who stood by a desk of sorts. “Dad? What is that?”

“I’m not too sure,” Tony murmured, half to her and half to himself. “Whatever it is, it can’t be good.” As he opened it, Y/N gasped. Before them flickered images and videos of people she had never seen before causing unimaginable havoc.

“Dad?”

Tony answered her by throwing the images up onto the windows. Amazed, Y/N made her way to the windows and looked at each of the people in turn, her eyes not lingering more than a few seconds. That is, until she came to one of a raven haired man.

Y/N’s e/c eyes lingered longer than they had on the others. There was something about this man that seemed familiar. “Dad?” Her voice sounded far away, even to her own ears.

“Yes?” Tony came and stood beside his daughter. Her tone had drawn his attention away from his study of the other images.

“Who is that ?” Lifting a hand, Y/N pointed to the image of the dark haired man.

Leaning in, Tony narrowed his eyes, “I can’t say I’ve ever seen him before, why?” He turned to face Y/N, whose eyes seemed glued to the image before her.

“I don’t know, he seems familiar somehow, like I’ve seen him before.”

Her words surprised him. “You know him?”

“No, but,” Y/N trailed off, her head was tilted to one side and her eyes were distant.

“Hello in there,” Tony waved a hand in front of her eyes, “earth to Y/N.”

‘Sorry,” blinking, she tore her eyes away and looked at her father and smiled apologetically.

“No worries kid, you just went a little distant for a bit.” Tony patted her on the arm and moved to the desk behind them. His movements not going unnoticed.

“Dad? Is everything alright?”

“Yeah. Just gotta go outta town for a bit.”

Crossing her arms, Y/N narrowed her eyes at her father’s back. “You’re going to join them aren’t you? These ‘Avengers’.”

Sighing, Tony turned to face her. “I see there’s point in lying to you. I’ve been called in by a security agency. The head of this organisation, Nick Fury, wants the whole group together before giving us any more details.”

“Take me with you.” The words came out of her mouth before she could stop them.

“What?” Her father seemed more confused than shocked.

“You always want me to ‘get out of my shell’,” shrugging, Y/N continued, “maybe this could help.”

“Honey,” Tony moved to stand directly in front of her, “this could be very dangerous. I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you. Nor would your mother for that matter.”

“Dad please! I promise I won’t get in the way or get into any trouble.” Her voice took on a begging tone, one that Tony was not accustomed to. “You know what they say…’no time like the present’’.

“Alright, fine, you can come, but you must always tell me if you decide to go anywhere.”

Y/N raised a elegantly-shaped brow.

“I will need to know where you are at all times, is that understood?” Looking his daughter in the eye, Tony smiled, “I know you can take care of yourself but still..its for peace of mind, for me and your mother. Who, by the way is going to murder me when she finds out.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh. “You tend to exaggerate sometimes Dad.”

“Y/N. Do you promise?”

Nodding, Y/N grinned, “of course.”

~ ~ ~

The hellicarrier was unlike anything Y/N had ever seen. It was huge and made her feel smaller than she already was. Following her father, she soon came to what seemed like the control centre for the vessel.

Clutching her favourite book to her chest, Y/N drank in every detail and almost shrieked in surprise when a voice spoke from behind her. “Pretty amazing isn’t it?”

Turning around, Y/N came face-to-face with a young-ish looking man with short dark blonde hair. Nodding, she agreed with him, “it sure is.”

“You’re Stark’s kid aren’t you?”

Y/N smiled slightly, “that’s me. What gave it away?”

“He talks about you sometimes.”

‘Oh,” she didn’t quite know how to take that. “Thanks, I guess.”

“I’m Steve by the way,” the young man held out a hand, “Steve Rogers.”

Reaching out, Y/N shook the offered hand. “Y/N Stark.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you Miss Stark.”

Y/N opened her mouth to reply when a tall dark skinned man addressed the small group that had gathered.

Y/N gravitated towards her father and eyed the rest of the group. A young woman with short red hair and a middle-aged man with glasses made the number up to four. She heard hardly a word as her eyes took in her father’s team members. The woman was dressed in a skin-tight black suit and her red hair was cut in a bob just above her shoulders. The man with glasses seemed a little on edge, almost as though he didn’t really want to be there.

“One of our best agents is now under his control. It is paramount that both he and the Tesseract are located as quickly as possibl-” the man’s words were cut off by the excited voice of one of the crew members.

“We have a match! We’ve found him Sir.”

Curious to see just who he was, Y/N followed the dark skinned man to one of the control screen and had to blink to make sure she wasn’t imagining things. There he was, the raven-haired man from the photos she had seen back at Stark Tower. Just who was he?

“Captain, looks like you’re up.”

No amount of begging or pleading got her father to change his mind. “Y/N I can’t let you come with us. I’m pushing things as it is. I need you to stay here, I’ll be back soon honey, don’t you worry.”

Y/N had no idea where this sudden urge to go out and do things came from. Usually she would have been quite pleased if she could stay back. She knew that nothing could changer her father’s mind once it was made up.

Watching one of the numerous jets take off, Y/N’s mind wandered back to the man in the photos. Why did she feel like she had seen him before? She hoped and wandered if maybe the answer lay in some of the books she had brought with her.

Moments later, Y/N was seated on the small bed in the quarters she’d been given. She had unpacked all the books she had brought and was rifling through them in hopes of finding an answer to her question.

Hours passed before she finally gave up. Gently pushing some of her books to the side, Y/N curled up on the small bed and promptly fell asleep.

~ ~ ~

“Y/N? Sweetheart?”

Blinking awake, Y/N saw her father kneeling by her bed and smiling gently at her.

“You’re back,” her voice was still heavy with sleep.

“And you were asleep,” her father teased. “You’ve been reading again haven’t you?”

Nodding, Y/N moved to sit up and rubbed her eyes while trying to stifle a yawn. “Dad?”

“Mmm?”

“Can I explore the ship, just you know, so I know where everything is?”

Her question caught Tony off guard and it took him a while before he answered. “I don’t see why not. But Y/N there will be areas that you won’t be allowed to go, promise me that you won’t go to those areas.”

“I promise Dad. Besides, I’ve never really been one for adventure have I ?” A mischievous grin followed her words.

After her father left, Y/N looked around for her favourite book. She never went anywhere without it, she felt bare and exposed if she did. Leaving her room, Y/N wandered down the empty corridor and went down a few elevators and eventually came to what she perceived to be the bottom of the vessel.

Ducking numerous pipes and walking over a few, Y/N’s interest grew. Coming to a small passageway, her attention was caught by movement. Curious to see who it was, Y/N moved closer and soon came to what appeared to be a huge glass case at the end of a small path.

Loki stopped his pacing when the sound of approaching footsteps could be heard. These were different, they were lighter and little more unsure.

Turning around he came face-to-face with a young woman. She was as still as a statue and was looking at him with thinly veiled curiosity. Her h/l Y/F/C hair was pulled away from her face in a messy bun. Her slender arms were hugging a book close to her chest as though it were her life-line. The right side of her face was slightly red and her eyes looked a little tired, as though she had just woken up.

“Hello,” her gentle voice pulled him from his silent observation. As his emerald eyes met her e/c ones, she smiled warmly. An expression that caught him off guard.

“What do you want?”

The coldness of the question did nothing to deter Y/N. Here he was, the man from the photos. His black hair lightly brushed his shoulders and his eyes were such a deep green, she almost thought he was wearing contacts. What he wore seemed to be from a bygone era, with intricate patterns in the metal on his shoulder and on the belt that was slung across his chest.

“It’s so beautiful,” she murmured to herself.

“What is?”

The question pulled her eyes away from their observation. “What you’re wearing. It’s very beautiful.”

This statement was the last thing he expected to hear. The young woman didn’t seem the least bit afraid of him. Did she perhaps not know who he was or what he had done? “Who are you?”

“Oh forgive me,” Y/N felt heat creep up her neck and ducked her head in an effort to hide it. “I’m Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he murmured. Clearing his features and adjusting his posture, he looked at her, her eyes were still directed to the floor. “I am Loki of Asgard.”

Y/N felt her eyes widen and her head jerked up to look at him. “I-I’m sorry?” It couldn’t be! She remembered reading about him in numerous books back in Norway. Her eyes widened a second time as realisation slammed into her. That’s why he seemed so familiar, she’d read about him in such detail, it was as if she’d been looking at a life-like painting.

Her stuttered response made him smile. Much better. But that smile faded as he caught the look in her wide eyes. There was no fear, only amazement and disbelief.

“I’ve read about you, you know.” She sounded almost a little shy as she looked at him through her lashes.

“You’ve read about me?” Gone was the coldness, replaced by curiosity.

Smiling, Y/N nodded. “You and your brother.”

Usually the mention of his brother angered him, but the way this young woman spoke about him, it was clear that his brother came second in her eyes, not the other way round.

~ ~ ~

Y/N had never once lied to her parents. She never had cause to. But now, as her father asked her if she’d found anything interesting during her little exploration, she found that the truth stuck in her throat, not wanting to come out. So, looking her father in the eye, she shook her head, “nothing aside from pipes and little metal pathways.”

If her father believed her or not, she had no way of truly telling. He simply nodded and smiled before leaving to go back to the lab he had been provided with.

Waiting until she heard his footsteps fade down the hallway, she poked her head out the door to make sure the coast was clear. Quietly closing the door behind her, Y/N went in the opposite direction to her father.

It didn’t take her long to find her way back to the detention level. “Hello again,” she spoke a little louder this time.

Loki turned at the sound of her voice. She was back. This time, as he faced her, the previous shyness was gone, and her eyes seemed to sparkle with unasked questions. His eyes were drawn to the book that she carried with her. “That book, it is important to you?”

Smiling, Y/N nodded. “It’s my favourite. I keep it with me at all times. I know, it’s childish but,” biting her lip, she looked down at the book, “I feel exposed and vulnerable without it.”

Loki didn’t miss the way she looked at the book in her arms. “It is not childish, not in the least.” The way her thumbs traced gentle circles on the book’s cover reminded him of how he’d held and treated the books he’d had back in Asgard.

Looking up, Y/N smiled at him. The words sounded so genuine and she detected no trace of the coldness from their previous conversation.

“You like to read?”

Y/N almost laughed. The amount of times she’d been asked that question were too many to be counted on two hands. “Yes. I do. If you ask my parents, they would say I spend more time reading than in the company of actual people.”

That phrase had been used to describe him on more than one occasion. For the first time, the Silvertongued Prince was struck speechless. Before him stood a mortal who bore such striking similarities to him that he almost thought he was imagining it all.

“Oh dear,” her soft voice brought him out of his thoughts. “I’ve been rambling again. Saying too much. I should go.” She turned and made to leave when his voice stopped her.

“Don’t go.”

Turning to face him, she was greeted with a small, almost hopeful smile. “Will you stay?”

Y/N answered with a smile of her own and cocked her head to the side. “Are you sure?”

~ ~ ~

“Nat? Have you seen Y/N? I’ve checked her room but she’s not there.” Tony ran a hand through his hair. The last time he’d seen his daughter, she was sitting cross-legged on her bed with a book open. 

“I passed her in the hall a little while ago,” the young Russian answered while studiously cleaning one of her numerous blades.

“Where was she headed?” 

“Don’t know,” Nat murmured, squinting at the metal, “I didn’t think to ask.”

Sighing, Tony turned to Thor, who stood nearby, “you, Point Break, have you seen her?”

“Who is she?” Thor asked, a little confused. He had, as yet, not met anyone with the name Y/N.

“She’s my daughter.”

“You have a daughter Stark?!” Thor exclaimed, surprise colouring the words.

“Yes,” Tony answered with some exasperation, “and now I can’t seem to find her.”

“Relax Stark,” Thor clapped him on the shoulder, “we are in the air. She can’t have gone far.”

~ ~ ~

“So,” Y/N bit her lip and held the book a little closer, “can you really do magic? Or was that just the writer’s imaginations?”

Pride took over, “of course I can. Those mortals would never have had the mental capacity to think up something like that!”

Y/N smirked and inched a little closer to the glass that separated them. “Co-could you maybe show me?”

“I don’t do tricks!” There it was, the haughty tone of a royal.

Backing away from the glass, Y/N feigned defeat. “I apologise. I was wrong to ask something of you that you obviously aren’t ready for. My mistake.” Turning around, she grinned to herself and had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

“Mortals.”

Stopping short, Y/N looked up and saw him standing in front of her. Her jaw hit the floor before she burst out laughing, much to his confusion.

“What is so funny?”

Taking a deep breath, Y/N composed herself and met his emerald gaze. “I played to your ego and that you would just love to prove me wrong.”

“My ego hmm?” A dangerous edge coated the words.

Nodding, Y/N answered. “Indeed.” She narrowed her eyes at him as he slowly moved closer. Unconsciously, her feet moved back the more he advanced and soon the cold glass was pressed against her back.

“You think you can play games with me little mortal?” Loki bent slightly and whispered in her ear, sending shivers down her spine.

“I thought you liked games,” Y/N barely managed to answer. Her breathing hitched as she felt him trace the side of her face lightly with one hand.

Loki opened his mouth to answer when a noise nearby caused him to pull away and disappear back through the glass.

Confused, Y/N blinked and looked behind her and saw him in the cell. “You could have escaped, why didn’t you?”

She never got an answer as the sound of approaching footsteps caused her to bolt.

~ ~ ~

Tony finally found her with her nose in a book, sitting quietly by the table by the main control hub for the hellicarrier. Upon closer inspection, he saw that it was her favourite book, the one she took everywhere.

“There you are,” he didn’t bother to hide his relief.

“Mm?” Her mind was half in the book and half in reality.

“I was looking everywhere for you.”

“Well,” closing her book, Y/N turned to face her father. “Here I am.”

“Here you are indeed. Where were you all that time?”

Swallowing, Y/N looked her father in the eye. “I was on deck. I wanted to see what it looked like during the day. The last time I saw it was at night when you and the others went on that mission.” She fervently hoped she sounded convincing.

“I wander why the deck hands didn’t tell me you were there.”

Standing up, Y/N smiled up at her father, “they most likely didn’t know you were looking for me, otherwise I’m sure they would have notified me.” She didn’t know where this sudden ease at lying came from.

“Mmm, I suppose so.”

“Well, I’m gonna go and try and get some sleep.” Standing slightly on her tip-toes, Y/N kissed her father on the cheek.

“Ok kid, I’ll be in the lab if you need anything.”

Nodding, Y/N slipped from the room and headed to her quarters.

Watching her go, Tony smiled. Y/N was so different in so many ways and yet he wouldn’t have her any other way. She would always be his little girl, no matter how old she really was.

Try as she might, Y/N could not get to sleep. She tossed and turned for what felt like hours. Every time she closed her eyes, twin green orbs stared back at her. Her unanswered question didn’t make things any easier either.

Eventually giving up, she threw the covers aside and grabbing her book, she left the room, her body seemed to be on autopilot as she soon found herself heading down.

“You didn’t answer my question.” She saw no point in wasting any time.

Rising from where he had been sitting, Loki moved towards her and smirked. “You were the one that quite literally ran, not me.” His green eyes swept over her, she must have just woken up, her hair was tangled and her clothing had certainly seen smoother days.

Taking a step closer, Y/N sighed heavily.

“What is it?” His gentle tone drew her eyes to his.

“I lied to my Dad, twice.” Saying it seemed to lift a certain weight from her chest.

“Why?”

“That’s just it,” her e/c eyes were sad and tired. “I don’t know.”

“What was it about?”

Biting her lip, Y/N looked down at her book. “My Dad doesn’t know I’m down here. He’s asked me twice where I’ve been and twice I passed up on the truth.”

This made Loki curious. She had lied about being down here with him? Why would she do something like that? Yet, he couldn’t deny that it added a certain thrill to his situation. Why would she take risks for him when no one else did?

“Come now young one. You have managed to do something that only a few have managed to do.”

“Oh? And what might that be?”

“You snuck up on me. Before you even knew who I was.”

Y/N smiled and nodded, “yet you heard me.”

“This is really bothering you isn’t it?” Genuine concern laced his words and surprised even him. “Lying to your father?”

A short laugh escaped her. “We’ve only known each other a little less than a day and already it’s as if you can read my mind.”

“Some things don’t need a lot of time.”

It was something in the way he spoke those words that caught her attention and made her heart skip a beat.

~ ~ ~

“You may want to keep a closer eye on your daughter Tony,” Bruce remarked as he returned to the lab he shared with the former.

“How’d you mean?”

“Oh,” Bruce stopped by one of the computers and began entering data. “It’s just that on my way here, I saw her head down to the detention level where he is.”

This was enough for Tony. Practically leaping up from his workstation, he bolted from the lab.

After many twists and turns, the sound of voices floated out to him. One distinctly female.

“Maybe I should just tell him, you know.”

“Now where would be the fun in that?” The voice that answered was male and sent unpleasant shivers down Tony’s spine.

“You wouldn’t say that if you knew my father.”

“Something tells me you haven’t done this before.”

Tony heard Y/N laugh in response. “What? Lie? I’m proud to say that I have never done it before. I have never had cause to.”

“And suddenly you do?”

There was a pause before Y/N answered, so softly that Tony had to strain to hear. “I think so.”

Before her companion could answer, Tony stepped from the shadows and into the passageway.

~ ~ ~

“You,” Loki hissed as he spotted the newcomer.

Y/N, confused as to his sudden change in behaviour turned to face whoever it was. Her eyes widened and she felt all the blood drain from her face.

“Stay away from her,” Tony spoke as he moved closer.

“Dad, please-” Y/N stepped between them.

“He’s your father?” The words were whispered but held a dangerous amount of venom.

Turning her back on her father, Y/N swallowed as she met Loki’s hard emerald gaze. “Yes.”

“LIAR.”

Y/N recoiled almost instantly. Any kindness had vanished from the eyes that now glared down at her. “You lied to me. You said you never lied but you have. You are just like the rest of them. Weak, and useless.”

Shaking her head, Y/N fought back tears. “You don’t mean that.”

“Oh but I do,” a nasty grin contorted his features. “I mean every word.” It was with those words that he saw fear enter her eyes.

Y/N turned and ran, away from him and away from her father. For the first time in her life, she was truly afraid of someone. His ability to switch from genuine to threatening scared her.

She headed straight for her quarters and hurled herself into bed and cried until no tears came and sleep took over.

~ ~ ~

It was strangely satisfying watching his brother fall from view in the glass cell that he had occupied only minutes before.

Feeling rather pleased with himself, Loki turned to leave, when a sudden blast from his right sent him flying into the opposite wall.

Dazed and disorientated, he shook his head to clear it and slowly made his away out of the hole he had created, not sure if he had any significant injuries. Walking past the now-dead agent who was responsible for the previous blast, Loki started running in the direction of the nearest exit when a strange thought entered his mind, causing him to skid to a stop and change direction.

~ ~ ~

Y/N was woken by a soft knocking on her door. “I’m coming,” her voice was heavy with sleep. Getting up, she padded to the door and opened it only to retreat again.

“Y/N,” the way he said her name almost made her forget his previous words.

Shaking her head, she retreated as far as she could.

Loki used to believe that fear was a good thing, but as he saw it in her eyes, he knew he had never been more wrong. Gone was the sparkle he had grown used to, gone was the warm smile he was always greeted with.

“Y/N?”

“Don’t, please,” her voice was soft and she seemed to be cowering, as though he would lash out again.

“You’re finally afraid of me?”

Y/N nodded and looked down.

He should have been happy. But no such feeling came. “I was wrong.”

Those three words made her look up, “about what?”

“You’re not like the others of your kind.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes, what exactly was he playing at? “Loki, don’t say anything you don’t mean.”

“You said earlier that I never answered your question.”

“Don’t.” She sounded as though she was afraid of the answer.

“I had no answer at the time.”

“But you do now?”

The Silvertongued Prince nodded. “Yes.”

“Well,” Y/N wrapped her arms around herself, “what is it?”

“You.”

Blinking, she stared at him. “What are you playing at? Why do you mock me so?”

“I do not mock you,” taking a deep breath, Loki edged closer, the scepter hanging forgotten in his hand. “You are the first being in this entire realm to look at me with something other than fear and loathing. You were the first to speak to me without fear or prejudice holding you back. You are braver than that whole team put together.”

Y/N had no idea what to say, she simply stood there and stared. “You really mean that?” She was relieved to find her voice again.

He moved closer until he was less than an arm’s length away. “I have never meant anything more in my entire life.”

“Loki-”

“Hush,” he whispered as he gently lifted her chin and pressed his lips to hers in a chaste kiss.

It took Y/N by surprise but she would have been lying to herself if she said she didn’t want it.

The two broke apart when their lungs demanded air.

“You had better go before they find you in here,” her e/c eyes sparkled mischievously and she grinned.

“Come with me,” he whispered but she shook her head.

“You know I can’t. My father would be furious.”

“I could deal with your father.”

“You will do no such thing,” she laughed and nudged him in the direction of the door. “Now go before they catch you.”

Turning to face her, he gently kissed her a second time and rested his forehead against hers. “Farewell then,” he moved to look her in the eye, “my Queen.”

“Farewell,” Y/N fought against the tears that threatened to fall, “my King.”

“I will return for you, I promise.”

Y/N smiled, never in her life had she believed someone more.

Part 2

[parkerwhit]

He will flay me from head to heel this time, and no amount of begging will end the anguish.

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[skywardsoul]

The Bridge Between You and Me (chapter 6; Finale/Epilogue)

It's here! The finale/Epilogue of the Bridge Between You and Me! I want to start off by apologizing for the delay. My computer's hard drive broke, and I was without access to my works for about two weeks. I'm actually posting this chapter from a loaner as I type this! The next thing I want to address was everyone who has been following this story. Thank you all so much for the kind reviews and constructive feedback! It means the absolute world to me. Finally, I want to talk about whats coming up. I have already mentioned the spin-off of this story, taking place during Akko and Sucy's trip to Japan, but I was also thinking of maybe doing a collection of one-shots/two-shots about various points in Sucy and Akko's life. I hope you look forward to both!

so, without further ado, please enjoy the final chapter!

Ao3 link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12312885/chapters/28879020

FF.Net link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12682030/6/The-Bridge-Between-You-and-Me

chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5

It was no secret that witches lived a very long time. While the average non-magical human would be lucky to live to a ripe age like 80 or so years, a witch could easily exceed 100. Particularly powerful witches were even rumored to live centuries. This meant that witches had a long and thorough history, one filled with rituals, ceremonies and countless memorials. So it came to little surprise when the High Magic Council filed a complaint against the Blytonbury City Planning Department.

The details hadn’t been made entirely clear, but apparently the city’s plan for building a new park overlapped directly with a landmark considered very important by magical kind, especially to the witch who originally lobbied the council to file a complaint.

And that was who she was meeting with. Eleanor let out a frustrated sigh as she checked the map that had been sent to her. In recent years, witches had come a long way in adapting to new technologies, but were still a ways behind the modern standard. Eleanor appreciated the electronic map, but wished the display was a bit more informative rather than the flat out general area it gave her. ‘Follow the path and you’ll probably find it’ were far from the best instructions.

On some level she still felt betrayed. Eleanor knew she was the newest employee at the office, but it still seemed highly unfair that she was the one who got saddled with this whole mess. Witches were notoriously stubborn when it came to complaints like this, so the chances of her actually changing this one’s mind were next to none. They wouldn’t reach an agreement, it would go to the higher ups to deal with and on and on until something was figured out that made everyone happy. That meant this whole thing was nothing but a waste of her time.

Eleanor shivered as a sudden gust of wind blew, messing up her short, amber locks. Winter was right around the corner, and there was nothing she’d love more than being back in her heated office. But she wasn’t. She was following some dirt path to go argue with a witch. The grass at its edges was tall and untrimmed, spilling into the path itself. Eleanor had read somewhere that at one point it had been used by witches who were on their way to the leyline terminal. Those days were long gone though, for as far she knew most witches traveled to the leyline by the magical roads via broom.

The whole thing just felt, abandoned. Yet for some reason Eleanor couldn’t help but feel a bit at ease as well. It was strange, to say in the least.

After following the path for a good while, Eleanor found herself at a small river. It wasn’t very wide, and the water wasn’t water wasn’t very flowing very fast, but a small bridge stretched over it all the same. The stone of the bridge’s railing over lapped awkwardly and inconsistently, giving the appearance that it was hastily put together. The flagstone used for the actual bridge itself was much cleaner and arranged more orderly, the markings on it revealing years of use. Strangely enough, the bridge didn’t seem worn, or dilapidated in anyway, despite its apparent age. If the path leading up to it were anything to go by, the old thing should have fallen apart and into the river ages ago. Yet, here it stood, sturdy and defiant.

While the bridge was quite the curiosity, it was the woman standing on it that really caught Eleanor’s attention. It wasn’t hard to tell she was a witch, her robes and the broom she had slung over her shoulder being a dead give away. She was quite tall, and on the thinner side. Her skin was a strange almost ghost like pale, and her chocolate brown hair was worn in a long braid, draping over her left shoulder. For whatever reason, her left eye was obscured by her bangs.

As she approached, Eleanor cleared her throat to prepare a greeting.

“Hi there,” she said in a friendly tone, holding out her hand for the witch to take. “I’m Eleanor Van Buren, from the Blytonbury City Planning Department. Are you the witch I’m supposed to be meeting to discuss our planning options?”

The witch didn’t respond immediately, seemingly examining her before a small smile spread across her face. She hadn’t been able to tell before, but up close it was easy to see the witch was nearing her silver years. Still, there was an indescribable energy in her smile, one that seemed warm and boundless. Her dark, scarlet red eye shined with it as she took Eleanor’s hand and shook it.

“My name is Akiko Manbavaran-Kagari. Nice to meetcha!”

Eleanor was a bit taken aback by the fervor in which she shook her hand, and had to catch herself from falling over.

“Uh, r-right,” she said stabilizing herself. “Well Mrs., um, Manbavaran-Kagari-”

“Oh please just call me Aki,” the witch interrupted. It was hard to explain, but her words and attitude were chipper, yet her tone was dry and droll. Almost like she somehow simultaneously excited and bored.

“Right...Aki,” Eleanor began. “Why don’t we start at the beginning. What exactly is it that the magic council is afraid of getting demolished?”

The last thing Eleanor had expected was for Aki to start laughing. It was raspy, yet obviously familiar to the tall witch. She clearly enjoyed her fair share of mirth.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to be rude,” Aki said as her laughter died down. The large grin she wore before continuing, giving Eleanor a clear look at her surprisingly shark-like teeth.

“The thing we’re worried about gettin’ knocked over is right under you!” the brunette woman exclaimed gesturing to the bridge around them.

Eleanor simply stared at her in slight disbelief. This was all over some tiny bridge? She knew witches were weird but this was a whole new level of nonsensical.

“You mean..this whole problem, is because of this little bridge?” She asked incredulously.

Aki simply nodded her head, a smile on her face.

“Well yeah. I don’t go through all the trouble of maintaining it for your department to go and wreck it,” she said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Well at least now she knew how the bridge had stayed in good shape all this time. Magic really did seem like the only answer.

“Not to undermine your effort or anything,” Eleanor started cautiously. The last thing she wanted was to get cursed or something. “But is this one bridge really worth it? I mean is it really all that...special?”

Aki paused at this, putting a seemingly contemplative hand to her chin, a sly grin on her face. Suddenly she stopped, turning to point at something to left of the bridge.

“It is to them.”

Confused by her statement, Eleanor followed her line of sight. Her confusion quickly changed to awe. Resting nearby at the bank of the river, was a massive sakura tree. It’s hundreds of out stretched branches, swaying in the breeze. Despite the closeness to winter, each one was covered in beautiful pink blossoms. Gently, pink petals fell from it, drifting down into the river, making the lazy stream flow with color. Equally magnificent, and arguably just as baffling, was the tree that accompanied it.

Pressed against the sakura’s trunk, was a tall and spindly banaba tree. It’s branches were seemingly intertwined with that of the sakura’s, it’s light purple blossoms blending with the pink of its partner’s. The two trees stood proudly, side by side, practically woven together, as if nothing could separate them. Not only were neither of the tree types native to the area, but there was no way that either could have possibly grow to the size they had with another so close. The most confusing thing at all however, was how Eleanor had failed to notice them on her approach.

None of it made any sense. She turned to Aki for an answer, but stopped when she saw the other woman’s face. There was a far off, nostalgic look in her eyes as she gazed at the two planted wonders. Suddenly, she started to walk across the bridge, passing by Eleanor as she did. Startled, Eleanor followed her until they stopped at the base of the two trees.

She hadn’t noticed it before (that seemed to be an annoying trend today) but there were two stone plaques situated just at the base of both trees. What they said Eleanor was unable to tell, as each one was written in a different language, ones she couldn’t read. Slowly, Aki raised a hand, and placed it at the point where the two trees seemed to meet. The brunette witch started to hum as she ran her hand across the bark.

Eleanor was at a lost for what to say. She had expected to come and argue with some crabby old lady about the importance of some enchanted rocks or something. That was all but forgotten at this point. She never would have guessed to see something like this, and the awe of it all simply kept her from caring about something so petty. What she was seeing was special, she just knew it. Just as she was about to break the silence, Aki beat her to it.

“I’m not sure if you know, but when a witch passes on, she must return the magic within her to the earth that gave it to her,” Aki began. Her voice was quieter than it was before.

“We, to put it simply, become trees!” the witch said with a smile, turning to face Eleanor. “Rumor has that the more powerful the witch, the greater her resulting tree.”

“Then...these are...graves?”

Eleanor was surprised at how quiet her own voice had gotten. Aki gave a slight giggle before responding with a nod.

“I guess, by non-magic standards yeah, they are. We like to think of them in a less dark sense though. Less, a burial place for the dead, and more, were they simply decided to live on,” Aki explained.

“Then these witches, the two burri- er, living here, were quite powerful then?” Eleanor asked.

Aki smiled once again before turning back to the trees.

“Yeah some would say my mothers were pretty strong. They were apart of the New Nine Witches after all.”

A wave of realization hit Eleanor in that moment. Manbavaran-Kagari. The name had rung a slight bell when she heard it before, but it was quite clear now. Sucy Manbavaran and Atsuko Kagari; two of nine fabled witches who had helped to save the world from a doom filled missile so long ago. This is where they were buried!?...this was their daughter!?

“Y-you’re the daughter of two of the nine witches!?” Eleanor asked stunned.

“Yes, I am,” Aki said with a laugh. “And as I said earlier, that bridge was very important to my mothers during their lives. It’s important to me too of course. I have countless family memories revolving around it.”

Aki walked forward, stopping to crouch near her mothers’ plaques. Silently, she placed two things, a jar of pickled plums, and a bundle of fungus, down in front of them. Turning back to face Eleanor, Aki began to walk back to the bridge. Once again, Eleanor followed. Looking briefly over her shoulder, she was shocked to find that the trees had seemingly vanished, leaving behind an empty river bank.

“Normally we keep the trees cloaked to non-magical eyes, you know to keep away fanatics and tourists,” Aki explained “Although I’m sure Okasan would have loved the attention,” Aki chuckled at this before continuing.

“I made an exception for you though, because I thought you’d just might need to see them to get where I’m coming from.”

Aki paused and turned one last time to her with a big smile.

“They say the more powerful a witch was, the greater the tree. I say boo to that, it’s all about the love. The love they had in life, that’s what makes for a grand tree. And a lot of my mothers’ Love is centered around that little bridge,” Aki said proudly.

“Do you see why I can’t let the city get rid of it?” the witch asked gently.

Slowly, a smile spread across Eleanor’s face. With a slight giggle, she responded:

“Yeah...I think I do.”

It came to the delight of the magical

Council, and to Akiko personally, when it was announced two weeks later that the city would be dropping its plan to build.

[terresdebrumestories]

With what we have

✗ TECHNICAL DETAILS

FANDOM: Voltron: Legendary defenders RATING: Teen & Up WORDCOUNT: 14 823 words PAIRING(S): - CHARACTER(S): Takashi Shirogane, Keith Kogane, Lance McClain, Hunk Garett, Pidge Gunderson/Katie Holt, Allura, Coran, Ulaz. GENRE: Character exploration. TRIGGER WARNING(S): Canon level discussions of genocide, war and violence. Shiro comes close to a panic attack at one point, but the rest is more hinted at than outright described. SUMMARY: In which Ulaz doesn’t die, and some conversations happen sooner than they would have as a result. NOTE: I This fic takes place right after the end of Shiro’s escape. Everything up to that point happened the same as in canon, except for the bit where the Blade of Marmora uses code names because really, it’s basic spy stuff.

“He’s...gone.”

The words ring hollow in Shiro’s chest, purple void tugging at his ribs a little harder with every heartbeat, and it takes effort to stay upright even as the reality of the loss strikes him at the knees. Doc wasn’t much: he didn’t have all the answers or a ready-made solution for the team’s troubles, but he was something. If nothing else, he was a spark of hope, and that alone is hard to lose.

Behind him, Shiro hears Keith’s jacket creak as he shuffles from one foot to the other, and the wish to turn around and reassure the kid burns like fire against his spine. Shiro wants to smile and say he’ll be fine, to go back to his team and be the leader they need. He wants to tell them all he trusts Coran and Allura’s judgment and mean it.

Then again, he also wants his right arm back and his hair black and his face scar free.

“I’m sorry we doubted him,” Keith manages at last, the catch in his voice almost unbearable in its vulnerability, “he saved all our lives.”

The hole in the xanthorium cluster is still here. It floats by at a lazy pace, tearing into Shiro’s hopes like a knife in paper and bringing the red and purple light of Galra ships into the edge of his vision. Even the Galra hand hangs at his side, limp, heavy and useless. There are shards of glass in his throat when he swallows.

“I still have so many questions….”

Galra machinery is too precise to click as the fingers curl into a fist. He pretends he can hear it anyway, the sound easier to deal with than a pained yelp, a gasp, and the hiss of terror in his own voice as he tries to get one last word in, fingers digging into his shoulders—

“Do you think Zarkon is really tracking us?”

Shiro blinks the world back into focus just as the translator on his left ear beeps to announce one of the Alteans is about to speak.

“We cannot know for sure,” Allura says as she walks up to her spot at the helm of the ship, “only ‘Doc’ knew our whereabouts.”

Shiro turns too fast to remember moving. His left palm hurts.

“You don’t really think he gave us up? After he sacrificed himself?”

“Yeah,” Keith adds, “Maybe Zarkon found this place on his own. He’s probably been searching for the Blade of Marmora.”

Shiro glances at the set of Keith’s shoulders, the rigidity of his stance where he planted himself between him and Allura, and he wishes he could feel grateful for it. Instead of that, he’s almost swept off his feet by the urge to leave, lock himself in his room and forget everyone exists for a moment...just the one. Just a minute where there are no Lions of Voltron, no Paladins, no friends of his going through who knows what kind of horrors in the darkest recesses of the universe.

That would help, maybe, and he’s on the verge of giving up on this argument and call it quits when Allura steps into her pod, face set, and says:

“It’s clear the loss of this ‘Doc’ has caused you great concern but—”

“He’s still alive!” Pidge’s voice bursts through the emergency speakers.

Somewhere, very far in the back of his mind, Shiro thinks he hears Coran protest against tinkering with the emergency communication lines. There’s an air of shocked surprise around him, too, but he’s in the corridors before he can process it in full, helmet slipping in place with the ease of practice.

“I’m on my way to the Black Lion,” he announces, echoes of his voice bouncing back at him through the empty halls, “send me what you’ve got.”

“You got it,” Pidge says with a familiar shiver in her tone, “he must have found a way to delay the space pocket and evacuated his ship—his readings are really weak, Shiro.”

“Just make sure there’s a recovery tank and a stretcher ready when I come back, I’ll take care of the rest.”

Getting Doc back in the castle takes a thousand years and no time at all. One second Shiro’s in the elevator to get Black, the next he’s watching the recovery tank close over Doc’s prone form and trying not to remember the sound of a body folding metal.

After that, there’s nothing left to do but wait.

***

For three days, Shiro moves from one place to the other with no memory of walking. He must keep up with his chores, somehow, because no one complains about late laundry and there’s no trace of settling dust over the Black Lion, but there’s no memory to it, no real sensation of having done any of it. Chores vanish into thin air with a faint smell of detergent and meals pass by in the blink of an eye, leaving a vague aftertaste of goo and not much else.

The rest of it leaves his memory without a trace, the same way his year in the Galra empire left him with nothing but phantom pains in his right arm and a purple haze to light the shapeless terrors of his nights. There are flashes, sometimes. Pidge, sitting next to him, talking...about her family, maybe. Coran fretting over the tank, Hunk with a plate of food. Keith, quiet and worried somewhere nearby. Lance, as far as Shiro can retain the memory, stays silent.

Allura remains in Command and the associated level.

Shiro, he’s fairly sure, doesn’t look for her.

***

Shiro’s translator beeps off and back on again with grating regularity, struggling to keep up with Pidge and Coran’s rapid-fire debate over the recovery tank, like the two of them are so in sync they don’t even need to rely on actual language anymore. It’s probably a good thing, in itself, because the translators may have done a wonderful job of picking up English in the past few months but there are still times when they’re not quite up to par with actually learning a language.

There are times when Shiro’s fizzles out entirely, stumbling over a word no one’s used in English yet, and he has to ask for clarifications until he can make an educated guess on the missing item. Those are the easy gaps. Other times, it’s a problem in concept: an object or an unspoken space rule science-fiction didn’t prepare the Terrans for, and then they have to sit around the table and talk around if for hours on end before they can decide which English words to mash together and wrestle into something entirely new.

(Shiro suspects Coran and Allura have the same difficulties, sometimes, but at least there’s only two of them. The debates are probably less heated in their linguistic corner.)

And of course, there’s no preventing those moments when both party hear the same words but don’t quite give them the same meaning. It’s not an exclusive feature of Altean-Terran communication, really, the difficulties they’ve all had in getting used to one another’s habits is proof enough of that, but the difference in language doesn’t help any of it, and they’ve had more than one close call where Shiro found himself smoothing down far more feathers than he’d ever have anticipated.

All of that in a group explicitly made of friend and allies. What’s it going to be like once Doc walks among them? It’s not like Shiro will be in much of a state to help anyone wind down, after all, and at least one member of Team Voltron is pretty dead set in hating the man no matter what. If he can’t find a way to keep things down somehow….

“You know it’s gonna be fine, right?”

Shiro doesn’t jump at Hunk’s words, but it’s a close call. For someone his size, the kid can certainly move unnoticed which, really, should teach Shiro a lesson about his expectations of fat people and their physical abilities. Right now though, he tries to focus on Hunk’s sympathetic smile over the sound of Coran’s clicking Altean and the occasional burst of Pidge’s colorful Italian vocabulary.

“I know,” he tells Hunk, even though it’s more of a hope than a certitude, “but I’d like to try and avoid the bumps in the road, and I don’t know if that’s going to be possible.”

Hunk taps at his translator with a definite air of commiseration, and Shiro swallows around the worried grimace he wishes he could share with someone. He doesn’t have a problem with the team per se. They’re all driven, well-meaning, and disciplined enough to rally together when the time calls for it...it’s just that, with Coran’s exception, they’re also all teenagers, with Allura’s nineteen years making her the oldest one.

Sometimes it’s hard not to miss the company of Terran adults, especially when the ones Shiro needs to see the most are currently painfully unavailable.

“If it makes anything better,” Hunk offers with a contrite expression, “you know you’ve got at least three of us on your side.”

“Three?”

Pidge and Keith will definitely try and welcome Doc into the ranks, Shiro has no doubt of that. He’s their best lead to Matt and Samuel’s whereabouts, and Keith has already said he regretted doubting the man. Shiro isn’t nearly modest enough to pretend it has nothing to do with Keith’s intense brand of loyalty, but it still means he’ll make effort and that, in itself, is a relief.

Hunk’s support, while appreciated, is more of a surprise.

“Allura hates his guts,” Hunk elaborates with an uncomfortable shrug, “I get why but I’m not sure it’ll help making the cohabitation easier. I’m not promising to be like, buddy-buddies with him, but I’ll be polite, at least. I just hope the translators have enough vocabulary to understand things that aren’t mostly war-related.”

“Oh, don’t you worry your little mind, Number Four!” Coran pipes up as the healing tank beeps to announce the end of a cycle, “if it comes down to it, words won’t be necessary to get informations out of him.”

“Hey, are you talking about sticking him in a pod to steal his memories?” Lance asks from where he’s sitting nearby. “‘Cause the last time we tried that I almost got vented out the airlock!”

“An inconvenient development,” Coran concedes with a nod, “but Number Five and I have since rearranged the pods in a closed circuits, we’ll just have to scan for viruses and—”

“No one is getting in a memory pod,” Shiro interrupts through the roar of blood in his ears and the rushing of his heart, “Doc cooperated with us up until now. If there’s a misunderstanding we’ll solve it.”

They should never have done it in the first place. There are many things to say about tearing information directly out of somebody’s brain and none of them are pretty. Matt, if he’d been here, would have had a lot of Italian for them when they suggested the idea, and Matt’s Italian generally doesn’t come out for nice things.

Plus, if Shiro never sees anyone sent out to a slow, suffocating death because he was too weak not to freak out again, it’ll be too soon. No pod is most definitely a better idea.

“Alright,” Coran agrees, surprising the rest of them with his easy shrug.

He’s about to say something else, Shiro thinks, when the healing tank finally swishes open. The Galra hand’s fingertips click against its palm when they move too fast and, to Shiro’s right, a quiet shuffle of boots signals Allura’s presence with more impact than a shout would.

He doesn’t feel guilty enough about feeding the distance in their rank not to put himself between her and a slowly blinking Galra, just in case.

Doc’s confused frown doesn’t even last a second, if that, but it’s more than enough for Shiro’s heart rate to pick up and a sheen of sweat break out all over his body. Shiro steels his spine against the urge to flee and makes himself look the man in the eyes, greet him with as even a voice as he can possibly manage.

“I must confess,” Doc breathes out as he takes his tank-appropriate garments in, “I did not actually expect to wake up.”

The silk soft tones of Galra drift through the air and into Shiro’s ear, weaving themselves in the more familiar mechanics of the translator’s artificial words. It brushes against his soul like spider net in the middle of the woods, catches him by surprise and makes Shiro wish he could just stuff his ears and be done with it, but he can’t.

He and Pidge are the only ones who actively want Doc in the ranks, and it wouldn’t do for a leader to leave at that delicate a time anyway. Besides, as bad as it may sound, he doesn’t really trust Coran to herd a group of teenagers on the right path...meaning he’s stuck here, making conversation.

Oh well. It’s hardly the first time he does something he’d rather not be doing.

He waits until Doc accepts a spare translator from Pidge and fits it over his left ear with a dubious expression before he says:

“In all honesty, we weren’t sure you’d wake up either, but Pidge and Coran can work miracles with the tanks.”

“Well, I’d give my life for our cause any day, but I can’t say I am disappointed to live longer.”

Behind him, Shiro feels Allura tense at the words, and he thanks the princess’ diplomatic training for her silence even as he hurries to steer Doc toward the room their prepared for him.

It’s under surveillance, it’s true. Allura insisted on it and Coran, as usual, took her side without question. Aside from that, though, it’s mostly the same as the Paladins’: a bed and a wardrobe to the left, a desk and a wide bookshelf to the right. Shiro has no idea who got the three parchment rolls out of the library, but he’s glad for it. At least someone made a bit of an effort.

“My room’s next door,” he tells Doc once the man’s had time to take the space in, “in case you need anything. Or you can ask the others, of course, we’re all—”

“Not to sound ungrateful,” Doc interrupts with a small smirk, “but it seems to me like ‘all’ isn’t quite the right word here.”

Shiro’s lips pinch together out of reflex more than anything else, but Doc doesn’t seem to mind too much. It’s a good thing, too, because Shiro may disapprove of Allura’s attitude but she’s his teammate and his leader. If he’s forced to chose between her and Doc, he know where his loyalties lie.

There’s a short pause, and then Doc asks:

“Does my voice bother you?”

Shiro blinks, flinches in a way that doesn’t have enough to do with surprise for his taste, and stands there without quite knowing what to say.

“It seems to me like it does.”

It takes effort not to step back when Doc steps forward with an appraising gaze, the Galra hand twitching into a defensive posture before Shiro realizes what’s going on. To the left, his own arm seems mostly lifeless, and there are razor blade in his throat when he manages:

“It’s not you, it’s—the words.”

They glide out of Doc’s mouth like water, trickling down Shiro’s spine no matter how hard he tries not to hear them. They’re softer than any language he knows, full of vowels and wind-like whispers, and they settle over his heart like poison, always a beat ahead of the translators’ droning tones.

Of all the things he’s forgotten in the past year-and-some, this is is the part he dreads the most.

“Of course,” Doc replies, lowering his voice like it’s going to help with Shiro’s problem, “I assumed your crew had removed it, but I suppose they don’t know enough about your anatomy to operate safely.”

Somehow, Shiro manages to blink through the ice in his veins.

“What do you mean? What’s there to remove?”

Doc frowns again, the movement enough to make the Galra hand twitch, but it’s gone just as soon and he doesn’t sound disturbed at all when he says:

“Zarkon’s empire cares little for those who do not speak Daibazeel, and new slaves are generally fitted with neuronal implants that allows them to bypass the learning phase. You had no difficulty using the language when we first met.”

There must be some kind of airlock in Shiro’s lungs, a trap of some kind that’s stuck open because between one second and the next it’s like he can’t get enough oxygen inside, blood withdrawing from his fingers until they tingle, and it takes Doc’s hand between his shoulder blades for him to realize he’s bent over and seconds away from feeling sick.

“Deep breathing,” Doc reminds him, “it’ll come back, just keep breathing.”

There’s nothing to do but comply here, and at least the early attention makes it easier for Shiro to get back into a normal breathing, but the attack still leaves him as worn out as an intense marathon session, with far more questions floating in his head than before. Zarkon’s doctors took his arm and tinkered with his brain, what else did they do? It’s not like ethics stop them—what if Shiro lost even more of himself than he thought? What if he’s condemned to spend the rest of his life finding new things to miss, new reasons to mourn and—

“Shiro, you are panicking again,” Doc warns.

Shiro squeezes his eyes shut, and tries to remember the breathing exercises he learned from Sam. ‘Just because you don’t see the problem about flying in a sardine box doesn’t mean they can’t be useful to you one day’ he said when he first suggested sharing his knowledge. Ha. If they’d only known.

“I’m fine,” he says once he’s done and back in control of his own body. Then, because Doc doesn’t seem convinced: “I’m functional. Sorry about that.”

“Don’t worry about it. I wasn’t too happy about the implant either, and the Blade had warned me about it.”

“Wait,” Shiro starts, latching on the new topic like his life depends on it, “you mean you were in contact with the Blade of Marmora before you joined Zarkon’s army?”

“Of course. Nothing else could have gotten me to work for that man otherwise.”

A moment passes where Shiro tries to reconcile what he just learned with his image of Galras...it’s not an easy feat. Allura is more open and aggressive about her issues than he is, but he’s still aware enough to realize he’s not very fond of Galras in general. Heaven knows the sight of purple fur is enough to get his heart racing, and if he’s really honest with himself he can admit that, up until now, he’s mostly pictured the Galras as unanimously falling in line with their leader until a small minority of them realized the error of their ways and started fighting back.

It’s stupid, really, to think this way when faced with a ten thousand years old empire that spans about ninety-five percent of the known universe, but then it’s not like human brains are incapable of irrationality.

“Sorry,” Shiro says when it becomes clear Doc guessed where his surprised came from, “I—”

“Oh, you’re hardly the only one,” Doc replies with a shrug, “and you do a very acceptable job of moving past that...but perhaps this is a conversation best postponed until we can calibrate your translators to accommodate my birth language and spare you the sounds of Daibazeel.”

***

“What am I looking for again?” Pidge asks, fingers flying over the keyboard with incredible speed.

Between the glasses and the haircut, she looks almost exactly like Matt, although knowing him he’d probably make a point of highlighting their height difference. Still, if it weren’t for the voice, Shiro could almost confuse them, and the sight of Pidge in that state of intense concentration hollows something in his chest...or reveals it, rather. Like a manhole you forget and fail to notice until the beam of your flashlight brushes over it and suddenly the void is all you can think about.

Shiro looks away before Matt’s voice can crawl back into his ears.

“A translator calibration form,” Doc repeats from a few feet away, just far enough to let Hunk see he’s not trying to spy, “I’m not sure what shape it’ll take, given how ancient the technology around here is—”

“Hey, that castle got us out of more than one scrap with Zarkon!” Hunk protests, a protective hand resting on the wall next to him, “Don’t trash-talk it!”

“I was not trying to ‘trash talk’,” Doc says, hesitating on the English words, “this castle is as old as Zarkon’s empire. It is a miracle you haven’t been defeated yet.”

“Let’s not fight about that,” Shiro intervenes when it looks like Hunk is going to try and keep defending the castle’s honor, “we’re trying to accomplish something here.”

“Right,” Doc agrees while Hunk flushes crimson and mumbles apologies, “if the forms look like what we use on Naquod, they should be interactive files with text in High Daibazeel and support audio recordings.”

Shiro watches Pidge squint at the screen and mutter indistinct words of Italian under her breath as she searches for something that’d match Doc’s description. If she’s anything like her brother, it’s probably just as well they can’t translate what she’s saying. It’d make Hunk’s look of surprise even worse, and Shiro would probably end up laughing in the poor guy’s face.

“Do you do that often?” Hunk asks after a moment, his own project set aside as he looks Doc up and down in open curiosity, “Calibrating translators, I mean?”

“Not recently, but I used to work with refugees before the Blade of Marmora assigned me to my post in Zarkon’s fleet. I mostly gave out signs-to-words devices, but the principles are the same.”

“Guys, I think I’ve got something,” Pidge says as she pulls a file onto her screen.

It’s Galra alphabet alright. Shiro hasn’t seen much of it since he woke up on Earth, but he must have gotten more than familiar enough with it during his captivity because the mere sight of it is enough to clamp his stomach tight. Doc looks the document over and nods in approval, prompting Pidge to ask:

“What happens now?”

“Well, all the languages we want to use are words-based so the process is rather straightforward,” Doc explains, Hunk leaning over his work to try and catch a glimpse of the form. “The form is a list of the most used words in High Daibazeel. I’ll read them out loud individually, then translate a number of prompted sentences and let the software work out the grammar rules from there. After that it’ll only be a matter of waiting for everything to load in the processors. We’re lucky these things still have a free slot or two. I doubt I would have been able to erase a language from their system.”

To Shiro’s surprise, it’s Hunk that asks about the slots rather than Pidge. Doc is in the process of explaining the ear translators ‘of old’ only had room for about half a dozen of languages each when Shiro’s endurance gives out and he barely bothers trying to look calm when he flees the room.

He almost runs into Keith when he reaches the corridor, heart skipping a beat at the unexpected encounter. It’s far too intense a reaction for something that happens a million times in a life, he knows. Then again, with the week he’s had, he feels like he’s kind of entitled to a little bit of a freak out, thank you very much.

“Are you all right?” Keith asks, concern carved into a line between his eyebrows.

Shiro hasn’t been anything even approaching all right for well over a year now. He was taken from one side of the universe to the other, enslaved, forced to harm one of his closest friends, amputated, shoved at the head of a team of teenagers with as much cohesion as a pile of dry sand, and told to save the universe because no one else was there to do it. And that’s putting it nicely. At this point, ‘all right’ is so far beyond his grasp he’s starting to question whether he’ll ever even be okay again.

He could, possibly, tell Keith all of that. It’s not like the kid ever asked for a sugar coated version of the story, after all, quicker to look at a problem and try to figure out a solution than offer reassurance...but the thing is, he’s just a kid. Yes, okay, he’s an eighteen year old soldier-in-training with more stubbornness in his little toe than the average human possesses in their entire body and yes, he would most definitely figure out a way to grab the moon if he felt it was required.

He still looks at Shiro like a little boy, though. Wide eyes and deep frown, and the shine of something pleading at the corner of his eyes, because he needs to know there’s at least one person in this solar system he can lean on. It’s fading lately, the budding team spirit of their group rubbing away at it in steady bits but it’s still there.

Keith wants the truth and so do Lance, Hunk, Pidge and Allura, but all still need Shiro to be okay, too. They need to know their commanding officer, or the closest approximation of it they could find, will be the good man in a storm and hold his stuff together long enough for them to get over their own terror and get back on track.

Shiro would do his best to meet those needs even if it weren’t the only thing holding him vaguely upright these days.

“I’m tired,” he admits anyway. There’s no hiding that much, not this close to dinner time, and it’ll make the next sentence more believable: “I’ll be okay though. Don’t worry.”

“Are you sure?” Keith insists with a twitch of his right arm and a hint of doubt at the crease of his mouth, “with Allura….”

“She’ll come around,” Shiro tells him with a little more conviction than he actually feels, “don’t worry too much about it.”

“She’ll have to,” Keith says, more of a promise than a statement, “you were right about him. She has to see that.”

Shiro allows himself to give Keith a grateful smile before he makes his way down to the training room.

***

Dinner is a tense, if not entirely stiff affair. Shiro has to divide his time and attention between Doc and Allura, occasionally getting sympathetic-slash-apologetic glance from Coran. It’s not even a surprise, it’s been clear from the beginning that Coran is here for the the princess more than the kids, and he’s been on Allura’s side more than theirs from day one. Given Allura’s current position, it’s a good thing that she has that kind of unwavering support.

It’s just that in situations like these, it’d be great for Shiro if he could have a little help in trying to make her see things from a different angle.

Fortunately, the most notable effects of that frankly unsuccessful dinner are that everyone goes back to their own thing instead of hanging out together like Shiro’s tried to get them to do about once a week, and it takes Pidge three times to catch his attention when he rounds the corridor.

She looks worried when he finally turns back to her, her gaze searching his face a little longer than he’s comfortable with before she looks at the ground and fiddles with her glasses.

“Doc kind of let slip why he wanted to calibrate the translators for Naquodi,” she says, one foot scratching at the ground, “and I just—I’m sorry I didn’t realize. What Daibazeel did to you, I mean. If I’d known I—”

“You’d have politely asked Zarkon to keep his minions quiet?”

The Galra arm hides behind the rest of him when Shiro gives Pidge a reassuring smile. Okay, so maybe it’s a little bit of an embarrassed smile because Matt’s comfort techniques aren’t the ones he’s naturally comfortable with. Time to get back to the things he actually know how to do.

“I’m sorry,” he says, reaching out to bump Pidge’s shoulder with his hand, “that was ridiculous. My point stands though. You couldn’t have done anything about it on your own. Not before you learned to read Coran and Allura’s alphabet, anyway.”

Besides, how could Pidge even have thought of that? Shiro’s year in Zarkon’s custody is still a complete mystery. Who would have guessed he’d come out of it with issues about a language he couldn’t remember? He certainly didn’t.

Pidge looks small, though, smaller than she normally does, and much too young. She’s blinking an awful lot, too, so Shiro catches both her shoulders and waits until she’s looking at him before he promises he’ll be okay.

“Besides, this thing with the translators will help. More than you know. See? You’re already doing everything you can. There’s nothing to feel guilty about.”

Pidge nods, trying to mask a sniffle by scratching her sneakers together, and Shiro sort of wants to scream. She’s just fifteen, for heaven’s sake, fifteen! She’s practically a child, still, what was the Garrison thinking? What was Allura thinking for that matter?

Well, alright, Allura was mainly thinking about an intergalactic war she had no one to fight with and a giant enemy ship en route to annihilating planet Aurus and the seven of them along the way. It’s not like Allura herself is much older than the rest of Shiro’s teammates anyway, and unless there’s a much wider cultural gap between Altean royals and Earth, she probably did the best she could with a truly dismal situation.

That doesn’t make anything any less terrible though and, not for the first time, Shiro promises himself that if there is a God somewhere, he’s definitely getting punched at one point or another.

“Sorry,” Pidge mutters again before rubbing at her eyes, “it’s just—sometimes I forget there’s a war out there. There’s all this cool tech and all these things to learn and Lance always talks like it’s a movie and I just—I forget, okay? But then someone gets hurt or we’re attacked or I think about my family and I—”

She cuts herself off with a hoarse, frustrated shout, and Shiro’s heart breaks when he realizes she’s already beyond saving. It’s not even a surprise, really, but it doesn’t hurt any less, because Pidge’s childhood is over.

It’d be too dramatic to say Katie Holt is dead, especially when it’s so easy to find her behind that strange Matt costume she built for herself, but she’ll never be the same again. Even if everything stopped now, if they could go back to Earth and forget Zarkon, forget Voltron, forget space altogether and never look at the sky again, the war would follow her home.

There’s nothing Shiro can do about that but try and do some damage control where he can.

“I’m fine,” Pidge protests when Shiro tries to pull her into a hug, “I mean, obviously I’m not, but I can handle it on my own.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” Shiro promises with utmost sincerity, “but the good part about being on a team is that you don’t have to.”

He’s relieved when Pidge accepts a hug the second time around, and not just because he needed one too.

***

“I’m not the only one who thinks it’s kind of sad,” Lance whispers, almost too low to be heard over the quiet swish of a closing door, “right?”

Shiro doesn’t quite get it, at first, but then he takes a look around the room and finally spots Allura on the opposite corner of the recreation room, with ridiculously large headphones and a thick tome of Altean literature in her hands. She’s curled up into a tight ball, every line of her body tense and displaying a very clear ‘don’t talk to me’ vibe, and the sight of it shakes something loose in Shiro’s stomach.

“Pidge said the translators won’t be reading until lunch, at best,” Lance continues, still trying to pretend he’s not staring at Allura out of the corner of his eyes, “I don’t know what I’ll do if she keeps looking like a clam all day. It’s getting ridiculous.”

Ridiculous isn’t exactly the word Shiro would use. They’re roughly halfway through the first half of the day cycle, which means they’d usually be gathered in the rec room to talk about their mornings and the things they’ve been up to until now. Occasionally, Pidge gets a cat nap in those moments, but they’re generally a time filled with innocent conversations and too many voices trying to talk at the same time.

With the translators gone, however….

“D’you think it’ll still be that awkward when the translators come back?”

Shiro blushes a little when Lance catches him staring, but honestly he’s too surprised to care. Out of all the words he’d use to describe Lance, perceptive isn’t exactly at the top of the list. Probably wouldn’t even make it to the top ten, actually. He wouldn’t have thought Lance capable of thinking that far ahead, or at the very least not willing to.

Apparently he was wrong with that. Worse, judging by his lack of reaction, Lance expected him to be.

“I know I’m stupid,” he says with a stiff little shrug, “but even I can tell this is probably not about the book.”

“Probably not,” Shiro agrees.

They used to speak Russian between themselves in the beginning. Mastering the language is a requirement to enter the Garrison, a tradition that dates back to the very first days of humankind in space, and there are things that are easier to say in Russian, or at least more of a reflex, for some...not to mention that, in space, Keith wouldn’t have been allowed to use English at all. It’s easy enough for them to switch from one language to the other between one sentence and the next, and they didn’t think anything of it until the Lions told them they were messing with the translator software.

Now, they can either speak English or leave Coran and Allura in the dust, the only two speakers of their language left in the universe. No one else understands the rise and fall of Altean, the clicking sound of its consonants that sound like a fight in Shiro’s ears, or the shortness of its vowels that might as well not be there. Lance is right: this is probably not about the book.

Which goes to prove….

“You’re not stupid, though,” he tells Lance. Then, before the kid can protest: “You have terrible timing, and you need to sort through your priorities, alright? But someone stupid wouldn’t have noticed that.”

“I—don’t think Pidge would agree with you on that,” Lance manages at last, face red and eyes carefully kept away from Shiro’s.

Well, that one, at least, will be easy to deal with.

“Pidge’s brother was selected for a history-making mission at the tender age of twenty two and she called him an idiot all the time.”

It was all siblings’ teasing, and Shiro really hopes Lance will know better than to try and discuss that with Pidge right now, but he’s still heard Matt complain about it enough to last him for a lifetime, thank you very much. Besides, it’s not good for anyone to use the Holt family as a base for how smart they should be. It’s really just setting oneself up for disappointment.

“Was he?” Lance asks, “Before he—I mean—”

“Yes,” Shiro replies, even though the word hurts a little, stings at his throat and eyes in a way he has yet to get used to, “he is. It’s completely possible to be an idiot and a genius at the same time.”

Lance’s grin is the kind that announces a bad joke in the very near future, but the proverbial bell comes to Shiro’s rescue in the form of Coran, who all but dances into the room and over to Allura, barely waiting until she looks at him before he presents her a translator like it’s a royal crown. He’s babbling about something or another and looking disturbingly serious about it when Lance decides to repeat the words he just said.

Coran and Allura stare at him like he’s just grown a second head for a second, before Coran asks a question with a suspicious raise of his eyebrow. Lance parrots that, too,throwing an imitation of Coran’s stance into the mix, and grinning harder when it only prompts Coran to look even more flustered. By the third time this happens, Coran is about ready to pop a vein, and Shiro would tell Lance to stop if Allura weren’t trying to hide her giggle into her hand.

Pleasantly surprised at the turn of events, Shiro makes a note to praise Lance for it later on, and to pay more attention to the boy’s talents. It’s easy to feel inadequate compared to people like Hunk and Pidge who really know their stuff, and it won’t do to have one or their team members develop an inferiority complex. Besides, apparently Shiro himself could stand to learn not to judge people on one single criteria.

***

“It’s a good thing you finished calibrating the translator this fast, Pidge,” Allura comments while the teams settles down at the lunch table, “we never know what’s going to happen, and being unable to communicate for too long is strategically unsound.”

“Yeah, it’s a good thing Doc knows his way around these things,” Pidge agrees, “it’d have been a lot longer otherwise.”

Shiro, separated from Allura by Coran’s silhouette on his right, can’t clearly see her features, but the pinched silence that follows Pidge’s statement can hardly be interpreted as anything positive. Shiro bites on a sigh and, when the door opens to let the last guest in, he gestures for Doc to sit on the opposite side of the table, one seat removed from Pidge so he won’t take Hunk’s chair. It’s not that he wants to emulate old fashioned ideas about who sits where, precisely. No one realized that’s what was happening until Coran marveled that they’d finally learned to take their proper places at the table.

With the present situation, though, taking that kind of detail into consideration can’t hurt.

“Honestly,” Lance says when it’s clear no one else is going to break the awkward silence, “I think we should do that more often. Coran and I had a super interesting conversation in Altean earlier—”

“You are learning Altean?”

“Oh, yeah,” Lance replies, only glancing at Doc before he turns back to the Alteans of the team: “isn’t that right? It’s like Coran says: ‘Stop being so obnoxious!’”

Shiro’s translator beeps off, the electronic voice an odd addition to Lance’s words, and for a moment everyone looks kind of at a loss for words. Ironically enough, the joke worked much better without the translators, which is a first...Shiro is kind of considering where to go from there, when Pidge says:

“I’m impressed you pronounced that well enough for the machine to get it.”

“And I only heard it once, too,” Lance replies with a noticeable puff of his chest, “I guess I’m a language genius or something.”

“Probably,” Pidge agrees with a little too much enthusiasm to be sincere, “can you say ‘sono un ragazzo infantile’?”

Shiro, who has enough experience with Matt’s use of Italian to dread the worst, half expects Lance to trap himself by trying to keep the joke going. Instead, the kid’s face goes from boastful to offended as he yells:

“¡Hey! ¡No soy infantil!”

“Ma sei un ragazzo?” Pidge replies with the cheekiest grin Shiro has ever seen on anyone.

“Do you understand that?” Coran fake-whispers.

Shiro shakes his head while Pidge and Lance continue their slightly-stilted argument.

“I didn’t know Lance spoke Italian.”

“It’s not Italian, it’s Spanish!” Both Lance and Pidge protest in accidental but somewhat amusing unison.

Hunk comes comes bearing food before anything more can be said, but at least when Shiro glances toward Allura, he finds her a little less tense than before, which he’s willing to take as progress. He goes as far as giving Lance a discreet thumb up, guilt blossoming in his chest when the kid all but glows in response.

The peace, fragile as it may be, lasts until Hunk is done serving everyone and Doc winces as soon as his spoon enters his mouth, all put spitting the thing back into his plate.

“Is the food that bad?” Hunk asks with a puzzled look down at the serving dish, “No one’s complained about the taste so far….”

“Not at all,” Doc explains after a long drag of water, face scrunched up in distaste as he gestures at his spoon: “metal tastes extremely unpleasant to my species, but I assume you do not face the same problem.”

“No, we don’t,” Keith answers with a frown, knuckles oddly white around his own cutlery, “what do you generally use, then?”

“At home, I eat with my fingers, like everyone else. Zarkon uses stone cutlery.”

“Well we’re sorry we don’t have Zarkon’s silverware.”

Allura keeps her voice low enough that Shiro almost misses the words, and by the time he turns to try and catch her gaze she’s already flushing and looking down at the table, Coran’s eyebrows drawn together while he looks at her. It’s a relief to realize neither Doc nor the rest of the Paladins seem to have heard any of that.

It’s still enough to make the Galra arm twitch with the urge to punch the table and tell everyone to start behaving like reasonable adults, thank you very much.

“For a second there I thought I’d poisoned you,” Hunk’s saying by the time Shiro goes back to the conversation, but it makes Doc chuckle:

“Not at all. I’ve always been fond of Altean cuisine.”

“How would you know Altean cuisine?”

This time Allura doesn’t disguise her voice and. Well.

She has plenty of reasons to act the way she does. She’s young, stuck in a terrible situation with little to no adequate support system. She’s lost her family, her planet and any chance at what she’d probably consider a normal life in what felt like the blink of an eye, and she’s been at war with Zarkon’s empire ever since.

She’s seen Zarkon’s soldiers hurt countless of people, kidnap her, injure Lance and Shiro to the point where their survival was not a guarantee. And then, between all of this, she’s also had to listen to countless stories of the Galra army’s cruelty. It’s no wonder she has a hard time moving on...heck, for that matter, so does Shiro!

Really, it’s almost over the top when you look at it: he’s never going to be able to look at anything purple the same way again, his opinions on facial hair have drastically evolved since he was last on earth, and even the language makes him want to run out of the room and crawl into bed...and that’s before you even get to the piece of Galra tech he never wanted but probably wouldn’t have survived without. If there’s anyone on this team other than Coran and Allura who knows what the Galra can do, it’s definitely Shiro.

He’s trying to move past it though! It’s tiring and grueling and sometimes it leaves him shaky and on the edge of collapse but he keeps going because that’s what must be done! And yes, okay, maybe it’ selfish to want others to do the same. Maybe he should just do his job quietly without expecting literal kids to reason like the trained adult he is. He’s probably being unbearably entitled just for thinking this.

He still sort of wants to grab Allura by the shoulders and shake her until she stops thinking with her wounds.

“I was born on Naquod,” Doc explains with a stiff shrug, one claw tapping at the edge of his plate, “it’s hasn’t been economically significant for a long time now, but it is quite close to both Daibazaal and Altea’s former positions. When those two planets were destroyed, the Naquol welcomed Galra and Altean refugees alike.”

It makes sense, really. Whenever there’s a huge displacement of population, there’s always at least one party willing to provide a place to stay, but knowing that doesn’t leave Shiro any less surprised.

Judging by her face, Allura wasn’t expecting that, either.

“You mean we—there are other Alteans alive?”

“I...don’t think it would be fair of me to say yes, Princess,” Doc replies, picking his words with undisguised caution, “it has been several thousands of years since the Migration, and things have had quite the time to change. There are Naquodi of Altean heritage, but your people as you know it is well and truly lost.”

“Why would Naquod take refugees from both planets?” Lance asks with a frown, “Wouldn’t it put them at risk of a civil war?”

The rest of the table stares at him.

“What? I’m Cuban! You think we don’t learn what civil wars are like in school?”

Shiro mostly thinks the lot of them need to stop underestimating Lance, but that’s neither here nor there.

“I don’t think that would have been the refugees’ first idea,” he points out, “no matter what destroyed Daibazaal, the Galra who landed on Naquod would have just lost their planet, their roots, their homes—”

“There was that,” Doc agrees, “all the histories I’ve heard say the mourning ceremonies lasted for at least ten years...and besides, the Naquol hid the Alteans. Our two people didn’t make unsupervised contact until about three thousand years ago, when the Altean Naquodi started venturing to the surface more often.”

“You mean the Naquol kept these people hidden for seven thousand years? Why?”

“Zarkon, of course,” Doc shrugs. “My knowledge of other planets’ is widely informed by his school and therefore untrustworthy, but there are numerous accounts of Daibazeel assaults on Naquodi settlements, especially in the early centuries. They were looking for Alteans.”

“What for?” Hunk asks, but it kind of looks like he’s already figured the answer out.

“Extermination. I don’t know why the Alteans didn’t fight back—”

“There were outnumbered,” Allura scoffs, fists so tight Shiro can almost pretend he sees the blood recede from her fingertips, “Zarkon had just destroyed their planet.”

“Yes, our histories agree with you there. They do also state that an Altean fleet destroyed Daibazaal first, though.”

“That was different!”

The silence that follows presses against Shiro’s ears until they start whistling, heavy and harsh against his ribs. Across the table, Pidge, Hunk and Lance stare between Coran and Allura with identical gaping mouth, and Keith’s fingers cling to Shiro’s wrist tight enough to hurt.

None of that holds a candle to the burning shine of Allura’s eyes as she glares daggers at Doc, half raised out of her chair as if to jump at the Galra’s throat. She’s shivering too, and Shiro can see her shoulders rise and fall with each of her heavy breaths, but before he can make a move to try and deescalate the situation, Coran says:

“From your father’s perspective, maybe. I am not sure the Galras would have been quite so ready to agree.”

Allura, when she falls back into her seat, looks like a distressed rag doll. The room has fallen silent enough that Shiro wouldn’t even be surprised to hear a pin drop, and even Doc looks kind of uncomfortable with the sudden shift of events.

To Shiro’s right, Coran stares straight though Lance at something long gone. There are lines around his mouth Shiro never noticed before, and when he blinks back to the present and tilts his head forward, the usual extravagance of his demeanor vanishes under the weight of age.

“I believe it is time we had a conversation about this war and how it started,” Coran says. He follows it with a sigh and concludes: “We should have talked about this a long time ago, but I was not ready to face that particular disaster, and I used your inexperience as an excuse to indulge my sensitivity and pride...for that, I am sorry.”

Shiro kicks Keith in the ankle before he can voice what looks like a rather annoyed recrimination. They can argue about the past later, if they ever have that kind of time and energy to waste. Right now, though, Shiro agrees with Coran. It’s high time they learned how this mess started.

Before he can start talking, though, Allura turns to Doc and tells him:

“I think we would rather have this conversation in private.”

“No.”

Coran pauses to make sure no one moves but honestly, it’s entirely superfluous. He’s discussed some of Allura’s orders in the past, yes, but he’s never disobeyed them, let alone encourage someone to do the same. It’s more than enough to keep the Paladins riveted to their seats and their mouths shut.

“Doc trusted us with the existence of Altean survivors which, considering Zarkon’s genocidal intentions, would put them and any who allies with them in great danger. It seems natural to trust him with this...Zarkon knows what happened then better than I do, anyway.”

Allura’s wide, wide eyes turn to Shiro as if to ask for help understanding what’s going on, and he can’t do anything but offer a helpless shrug. He’d love to help here, yes, but he’s not responsible for Coran’s abrupt change in attitude, and he does want to know what’s going on. Besides, if Zarkon was at the heart of it from the beginning, there really is no reason to keep any of what they know a secret from a spy who’s been working against him for longer than he’s been in his army.

“Zarkon was the first Black Paladin of Voltron,” Coran tells Doc with a somber air.

The Galra takes the news with more stoicism than Shiro and the rest of the team first displayed, but then again he did spend who knows how long surrounded by faithful followers of Zarkon. He’s got some practice in controlling his face.

“He was already king of Daibazaal when Prince Alfor visited him as an envoy for his mother, Queen Aleen. I hadn’t entered royal service yet, and King Alfor never shared the details of their acquaintance with me, but I do know that it did not take long before their relationship progressed beyond professional necessity. Together, they forged solid bonds of diplomatic collaboration between Daibazaal and Altea before they moved on to negotiating treaties with other neighboring planets...three rulers in particular proved to be most cooperative, and rapidly became King Alfor and Zarkon’s friends.”

“Who were these people?”

Pidge’s leaning forward on the table, eyebrows drawn together like she’s afraid Coran will stop talking if they stop paying sufficient attention. That would be disastrous, both from a strategical standpoint and with regard to their still-tenuous team spirit, but Shiro almost wishes he would. After all, they already know the end of the story.

They know nothing good is coming.

“Gyrgan, Grand Councilman of Rygnirath,” Coran recites, eyes closing as he speaks, “Elected Princess Trigel of the Dalterion Belt, and—”

“Blaytz the Giant.”

Doc flinches a little when they all turn to look at him, but Shiro suspects him of doing that on purpose, to put them at ease.

“He’s a prominent part of our pantheon,” he explains with the slightest shrug. “According to our founding myth, the Galras were stolen from the mother planet by a fleet of creatures dressed in white. Blaytz saw this and gathered them all in sea foam. He brought them to Nalquod, plucked asteroids from the sky to make them habitable lands, and told them they were were free to stay on the planet until it adopted them. That’s what Naquodi means: the adopted people.”

“Well, ‘giant’ isn’t exactly the word I’d use to describe Blaytz, although he was rather tall even for a Naquol,” Coran says with a nostalgic chuckle, “but Naquol ships relied on magic more than achievable science to make their way through space, and one of their more remarkable features was the spherical, transparent force fields that made them look like giant bubbles. And of course, knowing him, he would have enjoyed the idea of being mistaken for a trickster god immensely.”

Coran, Shiro’s sure, doesn’t mean for them to see the wistful smile that settles on his face at the memory, but it’s impossible to miss nonetheless. It’s a sharp reminder that they know almost nothing about him, except that he is deeply devoted to Allura.

The rest of his life up until the Paladins eventually woke him up in the Castle of Lions is a complete mystery.

“Did you know him well?” Hunk asks, then blinks when Coran chuckles.

“I did, yes. I dare say I knew him better than I ever had time to know King Alfor. Blaytz got me a post in the palace, but I didn’t enter the King’s personal service for several years after that. Ah, the things that can happen when the right people think you’re funny.”

Coran’s face in that moment kind of reminds Shiro of his older instructors at the Garrison, the ones who’ve been doing this job long enough that they’ve lost all reserve about sharing their most outrageous pranks with the cadets. There’s always a certain sense of nostalgia hovering somewhere around their lips when they do.

Generally speaking, it does to them the same thing it’s currently doing for Coran: it makes them look more human. Or, well. More like a real person.

“Anyway, enough about me.”

“Yeah, let’s get talking about Voltron!” Lance exclaims, and grunts when Pidge knocks him in the ribs.

“It didn’t start with Voltron,” Coran corrects, “it started with a comet. It crashed on Daibazaal a couple of years before Princess Allura’s birth. No one had ever seen the metal that composed it, so when Zarkon declared his scientists too busy trying to save an already dying Daibazaal to study this new phenomenon, King Alfor reacted in true alchemist fashion and more or less begged Zarkon to let him dispatch a team to Daibazaal.”

“My father didn’t beg,” Allura protests—softly, yes, but with no less feeling for it.

“These are the words your father used when he told shared this story with me, Princess,” Coran tells her in a gentle voice, “‘A metal no one’s ever seen before and a dimensional disruption in one place!’ he said, ‘of course I begged Zarkon to let me study it’.”

“Alright, let’s pause,” Lance interrupts with furrowed eyebrows, “what’s a dimensional disruption?”

“I must admit an explanation would be useful to me, too,” Doc adds.

Truthfully, Shiro could use one as well. He’s fairly sure Matt’s explained something like that before, but it’s been a while and a lot of things happened since then. A little refreshing can’t hurt.

“We have a similar theory on Earth,” Pidge says before Coran can reply, “though we haven’t managed to confirm it for ourselves yet. Anyway, the idea is that the reality we live in isn’t the only one; that there is an infinity of realities coexisting next to one another without ever meeting.”

“What, you mean like parallel universes?”

“Yes, Lance, exactly like that.”

Sometimes, when Pidge starts explaining science to the others, she sounds so much like her brother Shiro wonders how anyone at the Garrison could possibly miss the relation. Evidently, Earth needs to strengthen its defenses if it wants to stand a chance against aliens.

“Isn’t the keyword in this theory ‘parallel’ though?” Keith asks from his spot next to Shiro. “How does a comet crashing punch a hole between two of them? Because if all we gotta do is dig, the universe had better start worrying.”

“Things aren’t quite that simple,” Allura says, rubbing at her temples with the tip of her fingers, “from what Pidge told me, your earth scientists discount magic in their research, right?”

“Discount magic?” Doc says with an air of deep puzzlement, “How does anyone discount magic?”

For the first time since they met the Galra, Coran and Allura seem to share a certain feeling of commiseration with him. Shiro isn’t sure how he should take the fact that they’re bonding over what seems to be a sizable amount of disappointment with Earth’s techniques.

“It is a rather foolish endeavor,” Coran agrees, “but most civilizations go through that phase in their primitive stages. To be fair,” he adds when he realizes the Terrans in the room aren’t too pleased with his assessment of their planet, “magic couldn’t fully explain what the comet was or how exactly it created the Rift. It did, however, allow King Alfor’s lead scientist, Honerva, to come up with a new source of fuel which King Alfor later used to power the vessels he’d built with the comet’s metal.”

“The Lions.”

“Yes, Hunk,” Coran confirms, “the Lions were, indeed, built with the metal found in that comet, and powered with the quintessence Head Researcher Honerva found in the Rift.”

Allura, when Shiro looks at her, looks small and wide-eyed, like a child in a crisis too big for them to grasp. She knew that Zarkon was Black’s first Paladin, she made that clear enough, but if her reaction is anything to go by, she wasn’t privy to all the details until now.

Shiro, selfishly enough, is kind of glad he isn’t in her shoes.

“Alright, so there was a big dimensional hole in the middle of Daibazaal, and Alfor made a bunch of kinda magic robots,” Hunk sums up with slightly more efficiency than eloquence, “I still don’t see how that equals conquering the entire universe and trying to wipe an entire planet’s worth of species out of existence.”

“You heard Coran,” Pidge says with a displeased twist to her mouth, “Daibazaal was already dying before the comet crashed there. The impact itself won’t have helped the planet’s structural integrity—”

“But the gravity variations surrounding a dimensional distortions would only have accelerated the process,” Hunk realizes with a gasp of horror.

“So, wait,” Shiro asks, “is this what caused Daibazaal’s destruction? The Rift compromised the integrity of that planet so much it couldn’t hold it?”

“But then it wouldn’t make sense for Zarkon to go to war over it,” Lance points out. “The planet was already dying, anyway. And even if the Rift made it faster, he couldn’t blame Alfor for the comet falling there, right?”

“But that reasoning is only valid if the Rift really was the reason Daibazaal exploded,” Doc remarks. “Altean Naquodi tell stories about a great Abyss poised to engulf the galaxy, and a fleet of heroes setting out to close it.”

“You know Altean legends?” Allura asks, visibly too exhausted to put much energy into the question, “How?”

“My great grandfather was one of them.”

The room erupts in a cacophony of protests, ranging from from ‘your species were from different planets’ to ‘do you really expect us to believe that’, and for a second there Shiro has to resist the urge to just get up and leave the room. He doesn’t of course, that would be completely irresponsible, but he does think about it, and wishes Matt were here to share a Look with him over all of this.

In the end, the responsible thing to do wins out, and he ends up getting to his feet to shout at everyone to stop.

“We all need to know what went down, and we need to hear it now, not in three weeks,” he reminds the crew with the sternest voice he can muster, “so everyone sit on your debates and let Coran finish.”

For a moment there, he’s afraid people are just going to keep staring at him and forget the important thing again. Fortunately, Coran is quick to recover once Shiro sits down, and he ventures:

“There’s… actually not much left to tell? The Naquodi stories, while they obviously took on some legendary qualities as time went on, align with what King Alfor told me. According to him, something did come out of the Rift, but Zarkon and Honerva refused to close it, even when the planet’s integrity was compromised beyond repair. Even after the creatures came back, Zarkon tried to trick the other Paladins into keeping the Rift open. In the end, he and Honerva fell in and perished. King Alfor ordered an emergency evacuation of Daibazaal, which the population was neither prepared for nor warned about. According to Princess Trigel, some of them had to be dragged out of their home by force.”

“Well that certainly explains why Doc’s people think the Galra were stolen from their planet,” Keith mutters, “what was Zarkon thinking?”

“Evidently, nothing good,” Allura states, steadier than she’s been so far but harder, too.

It’s not necessarily a reassuring sight, but Shiro can’t exactly find it in himself to disagree, not when Doc himself doesn’t have anything to say against it. It’s hard to form a definite judgment, of course: Coran’s story isn’t nearly complete or exhaustive enough to allow for that, but it does give the beginning of an explanation as to why the Galras agreed to follow Zarkon’s quest for Altean blood.

Earth, after all, has seen genocides that started for reasons far smaller than the seemingly-arbitrary destruction of a planet.

“As for his death, as you can imagine, it was only faked. My father and the other Paladins organized official funerals for Zarkon and Honerva, but when Councilman Gyrgan’s retinue went to retrieve their bodies, they were gone.”

“And yet,” Coran says in a subdued tone, the fingers of his left hand twirling at his mustache, “your father personally confirmed their deaths, and with magic to boot. If they faked their demise, they used magic techniques I’d never heard of before...if anything, if that was all part of their plans to go on and destroy Altea, they missed a great opportunity by leaving before their funerals.”

“Oooh, yeah!” Lance exclaims with a hearty chuckle, “can you imagine that? Suddenly, the king’s back from the dead! He could have just pretended to be a god or something and wham, people would have just flocked to his side to do his bidding.”

“This is no laughing matter, Lance!” Allura protests, “Zarkon attacked Altea three days after his supposed death—our people barely had time to flee! Do you have any idea how horrified we all were?”

Lance blanches, then flushes, and he stammers around apologies he doesn’t quite seem to know how to form. He didn’t mean anything by it, Shiro is sure, but he does need to learn how to think before he speaks. He can’t just go around putting his foot in his mouth like that all the time.

“Okay, Lance is a dunce,” Keith sighs in a familiar ‘duh’ tone, “but he’s got a point. Pretending to come back to life during his funerals would have been a great way to get people to do what he said and believe in him.”

“You are not seriously suggesting we assume he was genuinely killed then resurrected?” Doc asks, medical indignation written in all the lines of his body, “not even magic can do that. There has to be a rational explanation.”

“Well,” Shiro says, shrugging to soften the blow, “we do have a thing on Earth called Lazarus syndrome. I don’t remember the medical reasons behind it, but the main thing about it is that the victims of it appear dead even after extended testing, and then they ‘come back’ after a while. Zarkon and Honerva could have gone through the Galra equivalent of that.”

“Besides,” Pidge points out with a pained-looking cringe, “Zarkon has apparently managed to survive for ten thousands of Altean years. Unless you tell me that’s a normal life cycle for a Galra, it makes resurrection a lot more plausible than it normally would.”

For once, Shiro doesn’t have any reservation about joining in the collective groan of despair. As if their situation wasn’t bad enough! First they were a ragtag team faced with an army powerful enough to get the universe on lock down, then it turned out the enemy was the former Black Paladin, and now the guy is immortal as well as eternal? What the heck is wrong with their collective luck, seriously?

Really, though, having hope until now was hard enough as it was. It’s been an uphill battle for the start for Shiro. Yeah, okay, the kids have been doing pretty good, all things considered, but they’re just that: kids. They may not all have had the easiest life, but while losing family members hurts like nothing else, it’s still not adequate preparation for war, let alone in these conditions!

The weight of realization sinks into Shiro’s shoulders faster than he thought possible, drags him down toward the table, and the only thing preventing him from face planting right into the metal is the Galra hand that slots itself under his forehead, the metal surprisingly cool against his skin.

Around him, the room falls silent. He glances at the other side of the table under the fingers. At Pidge and the subtle shiver of her lips. At Hunk and the way he sways from one side to the other. At Lance, and the open mouthed gap of shock on his face.

Right, no. He can’t collapse. Not here, not now. If he needs to sit down and have a good cry, he’s going to have to wait until he’s alone for that because right now, his team is counting on its commanding officer to lead the way, and he’s not about to drag them down to the ground with him.

“Well, this is wasn’t nearly as encouraging as I’d hoped,” he says, knowing better than to try and pretend he’s alright after that poorly thought-out display of weakness, “and I really hope we get better news next time, but at least now we’re better prepared.”

“Really?” Hunk squeaks, “Because from where I’m standing all of this just sounded like one terrible piece of news after another.”

“We know how the war started. We know Zarkon was obsessed with the Dimensional Rift, and that it’s where he got the formula for his fuel from.” Shiro releases a breath for a while, relieved to realize exactly how useful Coran’s story might prove to be in the long run, “We know the Lions have only been in effective use for, what, nineteen, twenty years?”

“Twenty-one,” Coran supplies, his relief and hopefulness mirrored on the others’ faces.

“Twenty one years,” Shiro repeats. “It’s nothing. Completely insignificant compared to how long they’ve existed, and they’re magical semi-sentient robots. They may have evolved in all that time. Even if they haven’t, they may well have powers Zarkon isn’t aware of.”

“And if he doesn’t know about them, he won’t know how to counter them!” Keith grins beside him.

“Which means we’ll have an advantage over him!” Lance continues.

“We also know Honerva might still be alive,” Pidge adds with a wide grin, “maybe she can help us—”

“Honerva was Zarkon’s wife,” Coran cautions, “If she’s still alive, she might very well still be helping him.”

“If that’s the case, we know we can cripple Zarkon’s machine by taking her out,” Shiro counters, “that’s not something to be forgotten about.”

“We might also have the beginning of an explanation for Zarkon’s lifespan.”

Shiro, like the others, turns to stare at Doc like he’s grown a second head, but he barely even has to run a hand over his mostly-shaved skull before he takes it all in stride. If Shiro’s being honest, he’s more than a little envious about that.

“I told you earlier that I had Altean blood,” Doc explains with a little frown, “I understand your instinctive denial. It makes little sense for species coming from different planet to be reproductively compatible, especially when Altean Naquodi have adapted to their life underwater, but it is no less a reality, and more and more of our children have mixed ancestry with every cycle that passes. In fact, in my experience, Galras can reproduce with just about anything.”

“What do you mean, anything?” Shiro asks, trying to give himself time to process the news more than anything else, “How broad a range of species does that encompass?”

“Any species whose babies could conceivably fit inside a Galra’s body. So long as the mother is Galra, everything takes...and by everything I mean I once helped a Galra soldier give birth to a green octopus.”

“I’d never heard Galras were capable of that,” Coran remarks.

Judging by her expression, neither had Allura, but then that might just be a consequence of Alteans’ approach to sex and reproduction. It’s not like Shiro knows about these things, after all.

“Well that’s the thing,” Doc replies, one claw tapping at the edge of his plate, “I do not believe it to be a normal evolutionary quality. As you pointed out, it makes no scientific sense for a species to be somehow able to produce offspring with any and all occupant of the universe, let alone for said offspring to be just as capable of reproduction….”

“So you think it’s magic,” Hunk deduces, far calmer than Shiro would have expected him to be, “right?”

“Yes. I’m not a druid,” Doc continues with a tight pinch to his lips, “which is why I could never fully confirm this theory on my own, but if what Coran said about Daibazaal’s Rift is exact, and if it is indeed the source of Zarkon’s life span, then it is possible that its presence on the planet may have affected the Galras in deeper ways than anyone realized.”

“Okay but no one’s got proof for that, do they?” Lance points out, “I mean, isn’t proof supposed to be the basis of science or something?”

“Yeah but you gotta have a theory first, before you can prove it,” Hunk replies with a shrug, “so now we think that’s what might have happened, we can try and look for proof.”

“Where?” Allura cuts in with a sharp tone, “None of this sounds...entirely implausible...but we can’t exactly ask Zarkon about it can we?”

“But Zarkon isn’t the only Galra in the universe,” Shiro mutters, more to himself than anything else, “Coran, do you know where the rest of Daibazaal’s refugees were taken? Maybe they’ll have some kind of record we could get our hands on, see if they reveal anything interesting.”

Keith stiffens on Shiro’s left, a palpable aura of tension shrouding him in a way that makes Shiro’s hair stand up at the back of his neck. He makes a note to ask Keith about this at some point, see if he can understand where this sudden sensitivity to the Galras came from, but for now he pretends he hasn’t noticed. They’ve all got their hang ups, but they can’t afford to let them interfere with their mission, not matter what.

No matter how much it may cost them.

“As far as I know the refugees were taken in by the Paladins at first,” Coran states, vivacity coming back to him and making him look like the slightly bizarre man Shiro’s grown used to. “I have no doubt there will still be a number of Galra colonies in the Deltarion Belt... Rygnirath, on the other hand, may have sought to dispatch their charges to other systems, and there’s no telling what would happen to them or their records after that.”

“At least now we know to look for them,” Pidge says with a strained smile, “on top of all the other things we need to do and look for.”

Shiro, fully aware that she’s most likely thinking about Matt right now, sends her a sympathetic look. She doesn’t look like she buys it, exactly, but how could Shiro blame her? Just because he has to put his personal quests aside to make sure the team’s needs are still met doesn’t mean she’s forced to do the same.

It’s not like Shiro himself doesn’t wish he could just drop everything and go looking for Sam and Matt, after all.

“It’ll be slow work,” Coran tells them after a beat, “we don’t want to clue Zarkon in on our intentions, and if the Blade of Marmora is as efficient as Doc seems to believe we’ll have to rely on them to take any sort of of decisive action...but I do believe we may have the beginning of a plan to defeat him and dismantle his empire.”

“And we all know what that means, right?” Lance exclaims with a wide grin and something that comes pretty close to a clap, “right?”

“Lance—”

“IT’S PARTY TIME!” Lance yells before Hunk can finish his sentence, grabbing at the other kid’s arm and tugging him to his feet, “Come on, we’ve only got ‘til dinner to get it all ready, get a’cooking man!”

“You’ve still got chores to do!” Keith protests, but Coran’s laughter cuts him off before he can really get launched on his tirade.

“Let them be, Number Four, we may have figured out how to take Zarkon’s empire down. It is a cause for celebration.”

“But we still don’t know how to get rid of Zarkon himself!”

“We’ll have to do both anyway, won’t we?”

Pidge’s eyes are on the table when Shiro looks at her, but she doesn’t sound scared so much as weary in advance, and he finds himself echoing the sentiment with surprising intensity. They’re going to try and dismantle an empire that spans the entire known universe with eight people and more bravado than anything else...who wouldn’t be tired just thinking of it?

“I’ve felt it coming for a while,” Pidge continues, “I mean...it makes sense, right? It’s not like Galra soldiers are going to drop down on the spot when we kill Zarkon.”

“Pidge is right,” Doc agrees with a look at Coran, “you encourage them to celebrate, but they do not seem to realize the enormity of the task they have ahead of them. They react like children, and you do not discipline them for it.”

“That,” Coran says with a tired, sad smile, “would be because they are children. Puzzling things in any species, I agree, but there is something to be said about letting them act their age once in a while.”

“...The fate of the entire universe rests on the shoulders of a bunch of untrained children?”

Well. To Doc’s credit, he’s taking it with a lot more composure than Shiro would be able to muster in his position.

“We’re not children,” Keith tells the Galra, but there’s no heat behind it, “and we’ll learn. Unless you’ve got someone better to suggest as Paladins….”

No one takes him up on the challenge, but Shiro doesn’t miss the way Coran seems to jolt a little at the words, or Doc’s sharp glance at Allura. He’s pretty sure what that glance means, too. He’s been wondering about the selection process for Paladins ever since Allura assigned him to the Black Lion, and finding out about Zarkon’s history with the giant bot didn’t exactly help either.

There’s nothing to do about that right now though. If they meet someone who’s clearly better suited than them as a Paladin, they’ll do what they have to do. In the meantime, asking too many questions can be just as bad as asking too few, and Shiro has no desire to get on that path.

“In any case,” Coran concludes, a little too low to be sure he meant for Shiro and the others to hear, “none of them will be children by the time all of this is finished.”

He visibly shakes himself before declaring it time for a break, and Shiro has to agree. The past week has been even more exhausting than usual anyway, and today’s conversation may have been long overdue but that didn’t make it any less of a grueling process, intellectually and emotionally. Even Coran wasn’t left unaffected: he sits up straight, still, but his face is drawn and his shoulders sag, like he’s forgotten how to lift them up somehow.

Shiro himself would kill for a nap right about now but, barring that, he does need the war talk to stop for a while. It’s not like they can go hop around Galra colonies before they figure out how Zarkon tracked them to Doc’s base anyway, and even then it’s certainly not going to be a one day trip. Might as well rest get some rest while it’s still possible.

The others must have reached the same, independent conclusion, because Doc rises to his feet with a sigh and asks for directions to the library.

“The scrolls on thermoreactive Nidhesti camouflage were interesting,” he says with a slight smirk, “but I’m curious to see if the Altean texts will yield anything about medicine.”

He leaves the room at a sedate pace and, after a few seconds and some noise about wanting to use the training room, Keith follows him out of the door. For a moment there, Pidge looks like she’s going to stick around and try to continue the discussion, but her mouth falls shut with a little click, and she sighs.

“Well, there’s nothing much we can do just now,” she says with the tone of someone who’s trying to convince herself more than others, “I think I’m gonna go fiddle with the computers.”

It’s probably code for going over what little they have on Matt’s whereabouts once again, and Shiro wishes she could find something else to busy her mind with, but he doesn’t dissuade her. Anything’s better than aimless brooding, after all.

Coran is the next one to get up, back ramrod straight despite the clear signs of fatigue in his expression. Shiro expects him to just go do whatever it is he does in this free time, but instead the man gives him a solemn look, clicks his heels in front of Shiro, and bows deep enough to show off the top of his head.

“Please accept my renewed apologies for failing to discuss this matter with you any sooner,” Coran tells Shiro with stiff resignation. “We have no way to measure the time my neglect cost us, but—”

“Coran, please,” Allura cuts in, more anguish on her face than Shiro remembers seeing before, “stop. You kept quiet on my orders.”

A look of deep unease passes over Coran’s features, something sad weighed at the corner of his eyes, but he doesn’t protest. He turns to Allura instead, letting her know he’ll be in command central running a couple of routine maintenance protocols before he leaves without any of his usual flourishes.

Shiro resists the urge to ask for all of a few seconds before he caves in.

“You told him to keep all of that from us?”

“I was hoping to protect you from this mess,” Allura says, the tone of her voice indicating she’s fully aware she’s already used that argument. “How naive of me, wasn't it? I’ll send children to war but I won’t tell them friendships can break. What a magnificent leader I make.”

“It’s okay, Allura, you—”

“How can you tell me it’s okay?” Allura protests, pushing away from the table in a painful scrape of chair against the floor. “I’m the one who chose you! I threw you at the Lions, I pushed you all through entirely inappropriate training exercises…I’ve asked you all to put your lives on the line again and again without consideration for your ages, your lack of experience, or your legitimate wishes to get back to your planet and your families! Again and again, I ask you to sacrifice everything for a cause that wasn’t even yours—”

“Zarkon conquered most of the known universe,” Shiro points out, using Allura’s words from that fateful first day right back at her, “sooner or later he’d have stumbled on Earth and we’d have been involved in all this whether you were with us or not. Fighting with Voltron is hardly a walk in the park, but I assure you we’re far safer here than we would be if Galra forces suddenly invaded our homes.”

“Even so,” Allura counters, clearly unconvinced, “if not for me, you would all be with your families.”

“Not me,” Shiro point out, getting to his feet so he can stand in front of Allura and get his point across more easily, “If it hadn’t been for the Blue Lion and your help I’d be back on a Galra ship right now. I don’t remember a lot from my first time there but it’s enough to know I’m better off here. Pidge would be no closer to finding Matt and Sam.”

Shiro has to bite on a sigh when Allura looks up at him like she’s five and hurt and hoping for a magic band-aid. She may be worried about the children she sent to war, but she’s not that much older herself, and it’s not like she’s spared her own efforts.

“Look, I’m not going to pretend the situation isn’t terrible,” Shiro tells her with the serious, honest tone he’s found works best when he’s trying to comfort someone, “and it’s true you messed up in the beginning, but that happens to everybody. You had no resources, no support, no way of knowing what was going to happen and not only did you get all the Lions back, you got us out of there alive and with enough team spirit to form Voltron. You did great.”

“They’re too young to fight a war,” Allura sighs after a beat of silence.

Shiro smiles and squeezes her shoulder, relieved to see it eases something in her expression. She’s not settled by any stretch of the imagination, not yet at least, but she’s definitely calmer than she was a minute ago. At this point, Shiro is literally ready to accept any kind of progress.

“You’re too young to be a commander in a war,” he tells the princess, “none of this is fair for anyone, least of all you, but you’re still doing great.”

“I’m just doing my best,” Allura mutters, cheeks darkening with a flush.

Shiro’s laughter catches him by surprise, but he’s certainly not about to complain about it.

“If it makes you feel better, this is exactly what I’m doing. We’re all doing the best we can with what we have.”

Allura’s eyes close and hear breathing hitches a little, but then her shoulder unwinds under Shiro’s fingers, and the smile she gives him is wobbly but sincere.

“Thank you for your support.”

“It’s only normal,” Shiro replies with a little shrug, “what kind of captain would I be if my team couldn’t rely on me?”

“You’re right,” Allura agrees, though the beat that passes before she speaks leaves Shiro a little perplexed, “but I wasn’t only talking about just now. I know you disapprove of my attitude toward the Galra spy.”

She gives a bitter smile while Shiro tries to figure out what to do with his face. On the one hand he doesn’t want to use the same blank face he’s served to the handful of truly insufferable officers in the Garrison. On the other, he’s not sure he wants to let his feelings on the matter be too obvious just now.

“I know you want us to get along,” Allura adds, sitting back down with a sigh, “but I fear you may never have your wish. His people destroyed my planet.”

“His ancestors did that.”

“Where’s the difference?” Allura asks, without heat this time.

In fact, she mostly just sounds as tired as Shiro feels, and he’s not as graceful as he could be when he sits down in the chair next to her and asks:

“Did you have countries on Altea?”

“Countries?” Allura repeats, the English word a little clipped in her mouth, “the translator isn’t working.”

“They’re like...a surface of land with a certain name where people live. Sometimes they’ve got different languages and flags. Sometimes they go to war with one another.”

“Oh—yes. Yes, we had those. Why do you ask?”

“A little over three centuries ago, Keith’s country and mine were at war. Keith’s country sent bombs to mine—the most powerful weapon the Earth had ever seen. It scared people so much, no one’s used it again since. They killed many of my ancestors that day. At the same time, Keith’s country also rounded up some of its citizens and kept them in prisoners camps because they or their families had once come from my country. Do you think I should blame Keith for that?”

“I—why would anyone do that?” Allura asks, obviously disturbed by the very idea, but Shiro doesn’t allow himself to fall for the change of topic.

“Do you think I should blame Keith for what his ancestors did?”

Allura lowers her eyes. There’s no doubt she knows exactly what Shiro is getting at, but anger and fear and resentment are hard things to let go of, especially when one’s used them as reasons to keep going for a while now. Shiro doesn’t want to presume too much of Allura’s motives, but then he does notice she doesn’t answer his question.

“Around the same time period,” he adds, softening his voice to show he’s trying to educate rather than blame, “my country invaded several of its neighbors. People were massacred, kept under my ancestors’ domination, and mistreated for any sign of dissent. Do you think I should be blamed for that?”

He nearly misses it when Allura shakes her head, but what matters is the gesture, not its scope.

Honestly, Shiro doesn’t even blame her. Maybe he’s just biased, but he can’t bring himself to resent someone who was most likely trying to make sense of the world in a way that allowed her to move forward… and things always seem to make more sense when they’re clear cut.

Besides, it’s not even like Shiro doesn’t wish things truly were that simple, sometimes. His life would certainly give him less migraines if he could just know to shoot every Galra he comes across and know he’d made the right choice, at any rate. It’s never been how life worked, though, and trying to pretend it is only leads to people getting hurt for no good reason.

“I get it,” he tells Allura, because there’s really no denying that, “I really do. But people are complicated, and unpredictable. If we start assuming we know them based on what species they are, we’re no better than Zarkon. So you and I, we need to learn to look a Galra in the eye and see who they are beyond the shadow of those who hurt us.”

Allura sighs and runs her hands over her face before he manages a shaky:

“You’re right. If I’m going to advocate for unity and freedom, I cannot turn around and point fingers at an entire species...or at the very least, I cannot do that and refuse to be judged by the same token.”

“What do you mean?”

“Honerva.”

Ah. Yes, that makes sense. They have no indication that she’s still alive, let alone where she is if that’s the case, but she did marry Zarkon and appear to follow him in the beginning of his crusade. If she’s still by his side, that makes her complicit not only in the attempted eradication of the Altean species, but also in the oppression of a solid nine tenths of the known universe, the destruction of at least one planet, and mass incarceration and slave trade on a scale too vast for the human brain to process. Should Allura be judged on that basis, she wouldn’t last five minute in any corner of space.

“Well, the good news is, if she’s helping Zarkon, you definitely have the moral high ground.”

Allura’s giggle is out of the ordinary, but it is no less welcome for the way it devolves into nervous, perhaps slightly hysterical laughter. Their position still isn’t ideal by any stretch of the imagination, but it’s mostly okay.

They’ll just have to do their best.