#is very likely your partner's child despite his protests to the contrary | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bevioletskies · 5 years

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if i could fly

summary: Scott’s freshman year in college is going like pretty much any other - his roommate is a little eccentric, he has a huge crush on the girl sitting next to him in his bioengineering lecture, and he absolutely can’t stand their professor. Meanwhile, Hope is just wondering when she can have a moment for herself, when to tell Scott that she knows and she feels the same way, and when he’s going to realize that she’s Dr. Pym’s daughter.

a/n: Fic title is from the song If I Could Fly by One Direction because I need to stop picking songs from before 1988. Also, this fic is slightly more of a Hope character study than a Scott/Hope fic, but they're still a very central part of the plot!

word count: 8.1k | ao3

The moment that Scott and Hope met was...memorable, to say the least - Scott practically fell right through the doors of the lecture hall, stumbled over his own feet, and stubbed his toe on the back row of seats. Every last person turned to look at him, because on top of everything else, he was ten minutes late (he blamed Luis for convincing him that he “didn’t need an alarm, man!”).

He sheepishly made his way down the stairs, scanning every row for an empty seat, his heart sinking when he realized the entire hall was at full capacity, save for one seat at the very front. He felt decidedly more optimistic once he laid eyes on the girl who would be sitting next to him. “Sorry,” he whispered, sliding past her to sit down. She merely huffed and waved him off. Good start, Scott, he internally berated himself, and cracked open his textbook, quietly wondering if she already thought he was a completely hopeless case. Everyone went back to their own books and laptops, but he could still feel the professor’s eyes trained on him, judging him in stone-faced silence.

It wasn’t until they took a short break between lecture slides that Scott decided to try for a second first impression; if nothing else, he knew it would help to find an accountability partner for each of his classes (and not one who told him he didn’t need to set an alarm, Luis). “Hey, I’m Scott,” he offered.

The girl turned to look at him, allowing for a far better look at her face - mid-length dark hair, inquisitive brows, and a piercing gaze, her eyes similar in their shade of hazel-green to his. “Hope,” she said shortly, turning back to her screen. “Dr. Pym hates latecomers.”

“Yeah, I figured,” he chuckled sheepishly. “You’ve taken a class with him before?”

An odd smirk formed on her face, a quirk in the corner of her mouth that only intrigued him further. “Sure.”

“I read some pretty bad reviews of him, but he’s the only one who teaches some of the 300-level stuff I need. Wanted to get onto his good side early, but now it might be outta the question,” he continued, undeterred. “Any suggestions?”

“I know it’s bioengineering, but it’s not rocket science. Show up on time, do the readings, study for thirty hours a day. You just might scrape by,” she drawled.

“Well, when you put it like that,” Scott said, leaning back in his seat with a grin. “And while you’re giving advice, where’s the best place to study on campus?”

Hope finally looked at him again, her eyes flickering briefly across his face; he felt like he was being evaluated for something, but what, he couldn’t be quite sure. “Main library, third floor, by the windows. I’m usually there on Sunday mornings by ten, since everyone else is still sleeping.”

He met her gaze, his smile spreading. “Good to know.”

Once class was over, Hope remained in her seat until the entire room was empty, save for Dr. Pym at the front, packing up his things. “Any potential takers, or were you too busy batting your eyelashes at the boy sitting beside you?”

Hope rolled her eyes, shutting her laptop with a snap. “Don’t patronize me, Dad, I can have a life outside of your recruitment program. Why don’t you offer internships like every other CEO-slash-professor?”

“Because I’m not like other CEOs-slash-professors,” Hank insisted; Hope had to choke back her laugh at how absurd he sounded. “What, you think I’m going to stick just any random intern in the Ant-Man suit? No!”

She clicked her tongue dismissively, hoisting her bag onto her shoulder, and began making her way up the stairs to the exit. “If you ask me, Scott seems like the best choice.”

“For me, or for you?” he called. All he got in response was the loud clunk of the doors swinging shut.

Hope was not one to be told what to do, and never had been. She’d been a stubborn child, a stubborn teenager, and despite her parents’ best efforts, became a stubborn young adult. Despite Hope’s best efforts, however, she ended up following in their footsteps anyway, contrary to her bouts of teenage rebellion. She’d gone through her phases of wanting to be a veterinarian, a writer, a martial arts instructor, but ultimately found herself right back in the sciences under the loving tutelage of her genius parents. Still, now that she was in college, or more specifically, the college her parents taught at, she refused to tell people they were related. She had no intention of letting people immediately form opinions of her that she didn’t have control of. It didn’t help that Hank was constantly hovering over her shoulder like he didn’t already keep tabs on her phone’s GPS or put sensors in her car (which he didn’t know that she knew about).

“Can you not let our daughter be a normal student without dragging her into another one of your schemes?” Janet had protested when Hank first brought up his recruitment plans. “Just get an intern, Henry!”

Now, Hope sat at her favorite table in the library, drumming her pencil against its surface, considering all the things her father had told her to look for. Someone clever, hardworking, focused, adaptive. She couldn’t help but scoff at the last attribute he’d asked for - in other words, someone who will listen to you no matter what, Hope had wanted to say. Typical. She wasn’t even sure why Hank was looking for a successor, given that he and Janet had retired from their other lives by the time she was sixteen, but she knew questioning him about it would only lead to another eventual shouting match. Nothing made him happier than finding something to be angry about.

“Hey.” She looked up, both startled and pleased to see Scott smiling back at her. “Fancy seeing you here. Mind if I join you?”

She gestured for him to take the chair across from hers. “Please,” she said, finding his grin infectious and returning it with a small one of her own. “Don’t tell me you’re already having trouble with the material.”

“Dr. Pym sure has some different ideas about what a ‘first week’ looks like,” he sighed, unloading what seemed like the entire contents of his book bag onto the table. “The guy’s smart, but someone’s gotta tell him to relax.” Hope’s brow shot up at the offhand comment - maybe it was a strike against Scott for Hank’s purposes, that he wasn’t capable of meeting his demands. For her purposes, however, anyone who was willing to call out her dad’s...quirks was a person worth getting to know.

She reached across the table for his workbook. “May I?” At his nod, she pulled it towards her, scanning across the pages. “For someone who’s complaining, you seem to know what you’re doing.”

“I like learning about this kind of stuff, it’s just his teaching style. Dude’s gotta lighten up,” Scott shrugged, though his cheeks warmed at her sort-of compliment. “Hey, I never asked, what’re you majoring in?”

“Biochem, minor in commerce,” she replied. “You?”

“Engineering,” he said, taking his workbook back from her. “So I guess we won’t see much of each other outside of some general sciences stuff.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” she hummed. They exchanged somewhat shy smiles over the top of her laptop before resuming their work in comfortable, amiable silence.

Later that afternoon, she returned to the family townhouse - situated close to campus, where Hank and Janet (and now Hope) lived while they taught during the fall and spring semesters - with a slight spring in her step, feeling oddly optimistic. Hope had never put too much stock into relationships of any kind, preferring to focus more on herself, but she found Scott charming in a way she wanted to explore further. As for Hank’s intentions -

“Where have you been?”

“Really, Dad? What am I, seven years old?” Hope kicked off her shoes and hung up her jacket in the hall closet, deliberately keeping her back to him. “I was studying at the library, okay? Nothing scandalous.”

“Don’t give me attitude, Hope, it was just a question,” Hank grouched. “You got some time to join me in the lab? I have something to show you.”

“Fine,” she sighed, following him down into the basement suite, which Hank had transformed into a condensed version of his far more advanced laboratory at Pym Technologies. “What’s this about?”

Naturally, he didn’t answer, instead leading her to the back of the room where he kept all of his ant specimens. Hope tapped gently on the glass in greeting, and some of them wriggled their antennae back at her; she smiled, knowing it was really Hank who’d told them to. He then moved to knock on the back wall, a hollow metallic echo resonating back to them. Slowly, it slid open, revealing a glass display case behind it, illuminated so brightly that she could barely make out what was inside.

“Of course you have a secret door - wait, is that...is that a new suit?”

Hope moved closer, all the dry wit in her tone gone, now replaced with wonderment in her eyes as she stared at the unfamiliar suit before her. She could tell by the shape of its chestplate and the width of its hips that it was for a feminine figure, but it didn’t look anything like her mother’s suit. It was a silver-gold unlike Janet’s red; it was sleeker, a little more modern in comparison. She turned to look at her father in disbelief.

Hank smiled. “Congratulations on getting into college, honey.”

Hope let out a quiet gasp, then flung her arms around him, burying her face in his neck. “Dad,” she breathed, tears forming in her eyes. “How long have you been working on this?”

“Long enough,” he said, sounding both world-weary and proud, and he wrapped his arms around her in return. “Hope, that’s why I wanted you to help find my successor. They’re going to be your partner.”

She let go of him and stepped back. “What?”

“I know better than to pick for you,” Hank chuckled, rocking back on his heels. “Made the mistake of trying to tell you which extracurriculars to take when you were younger, and we all know how that turned out. But this is important, Hope. For me, sure, but really, for you.”

She walked back up to the case, splaying her palm open against the glass, still starry-eyed. “Partner,” she repeated.

“So, did you find anyone yet?”

Hope thought back to half an hour ago when she’d left Scott in the library, how easy it had been to work and chat and laugh with him, how she wasn’t quite ready to leave when she did. Then she tried to picture him standing in her father’s lab, the two of them arguing over the schematics of the suit, or the formulas they used, or just anything, really. She internally blanched.

“No, not yet.”

Sunday mornings at the library very quickly became a thing for Hope and Scott, where she stopped being surprised by his arrival (he made a point of promptly being there by ten) and he stopped needing to ask whether he could join her. He soon learned what her coffee order was, too, making a habit of bringing her a drink and a danish or donut, somehow always knowing which one she wanted every single time.

“Good memory,” he had shrugged when she asked him one time how he remembered she’d been craving something cherry-flavored, watching in astonishment as he deposited a small paper bag of a sugar-coated cherry strudel beside her laptop. Her first bite was more satisfying than she expected, trying not to make a show of it while he watched her with a sort of half-smile and a soft twinkle in his eyes.

Even stranger was the first time Hope ever saw Scott outside of the classroom or the library: at the on-campus gym, of all places, circling a punching bag. She took a moment to admire his arms (and silently criticize his footwork) before approaching him. “You really need to work on your form.”

He startled slightly at the sound of her voice, then laughed once he realized it was her. “Yeah, I’m not - I’m more of a runner type of guy, not a boxer. Didn’t know you were here, too.”

“I was over at the weight machines and I thought I saw a familiar face, though more sweaty than I’m used to,” she teased, walking around the bag so they were face-to-face. “I think you could use some advice.”

“You know this stuff?” he asked.

“I’ve been doing martial arts since I was eight,” she replied, shrugging easily.

“Didn’t know that.” He briefly bent to pick up his water bottle and take a long, generous swig; Hope briefly averted her eyes, not wanting to become too fixated on the way his throat moved while he did.

“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me,” she said instead, gesturing for him to follow her over to the mats. She then came to a standstill in the middle, holding up both of her hands so her palms were facing him. “Gloves off. Show me how to punch.”

“I was in - I mean, I know how to punch,” Scott hedged. She narrowed her eyes at his hesitation. Finally, with a sigh, he got into position, then threw a couple of punches, striking her hands half-heartedly.

“Terrible,” she said, lowering her arms, though she kept her tone light.

“You wanna show me how to - ” Scott let out a noise he wasn’t proud of as Hope knocked him right in the chest. He fell head over heels quite literally, stumbling backward over his own feet. “Oh - ”

“You asked.” Hope put her hands on her hips, smirking at Scott’s half-impressed, half-terrified expression. “Come on, back to work.”

After an hour-long impromptu bootcamp, they were both drenched in sweat and sore to the bone, him far more so than her. On their way to their respective locker rooms, Scott decided to strip off his T-shirt entirely, causing several heads to turn their way. He grinned when he noticed Hope keeping her chin a little too high in the air, her eyes practically glued to the ceiling. “What’s up?”

“No one likes a show-off,” she huffed, disappearing into the women’s showers.

The two of them ended up going to a hole-in-the-wall dive that was about a five-minute drive outside of the university campus, the kind of place that Hope admittedly would have never tried herself, having spent her life going to restaurants with more than one crystal chandelier and waiters that had been calling her “ma’am” since she was five. She remembered sitting between her parents, tugging uncomfortably at the runs in her tights, barely able to follow the conversation happening with the executive or researcher or whoever happened to be their plus one for the night who sat across the table from her, occasionally cooing at her like she was a newborn baby. Scott, meanwhile, looked right at home sitting across from her on a scratched-up booth bench that had certainly seen better days, his arm thrown over the back, his other hand drumming out an offbeat rhythm on the table’s surface. There was a quiet confidence to him that she very much envied, the ease in the slump of his shoulders painting a stark contrast to the tightness in hers.

“So what don’t I know about you?”

Hope was taken aback. “What?”

“You said there’s a lot I don’t know about you, and I can’t not ask after you say something like that,” he chuckled. “Like, what made you do martial arts as a kid? Why’re you majoring in science and minoring in business? What classes have you taken with Dr. Pym?”

She winced a little at the last one. “Why do you want to know?” she asked. “Is it because - ”

“Just curious,” he said, holding up his hands defensively. “But if you don’t wanna tell me, it’s cool. I’ve got my secrets, too.”

“Really, because you seem almost too transparent,” she said dryly. She leaned forward to rest her elbows on the table, then regretted it instantly when she realized how sticky it was. “Martial arts is something my parents thought would be important for me to learn, I want to - ” destined to, more like, she thought “ - work at a scientific research company, and Dr. Pym used to do summer workshops for high school students.”

He nodded slowly, absorbing her words, the words that she knew were half-truths at best, lies of omission at worst. Then: “I’ve been learning how to do close-up magic.”

“What,” she repeated, though flatly this time. He leaned in, his face startlingly close to hers, and she felt his fingers briefly brush against her earlobe before he triumphantly brandished a quarter in her face, his grin impossibly wide.

“I guess it’s not really a secret, but I’m getting pretty good at it,” he said, taking her hand and unfurling her fingers so he could press the coin into her palm. His hands were warm, his fingers unusually calloused for someone who supposedly didn’t work with much more than a keyboard. Hope wanted to ask, but she wasn’t even sure what to ask. She hadn’t exactly forgotten his comment earlier, either, whatever he was going to say before failing spectacularly at punching. Maybe his secrets were like hers - not shameful, exactly, just not something he wanted to talk about yet.

“I’m impressed.” She half-closed her hand around his, then leaned back so she felt like she could breathe again. “So is that just for fun, or...”

“You could say that.” He averted his eyes a little too quickly, finally sliding his hand away, back to his side of the table. “I’m still trying to figure out what kinda stuff I’m into, what I wanna do in like, life. I know, I know, it’s the most...typical college student stuff. But that’s what it’s all about, right? Figuring out who we are?”

“Going to the gym on a regular basis is definitely a good place to start,” she mused. “What else have you been doing?”

“Haven’t really had the chance to do much in the last three or so years,” he said mysteriously, resuming his drumming against the table. “And hey, I could use a personal trainer.”

Before Hope could reply, her phone went off. She glanced at Scott apologetically before looking down at her screen, groaning when she realized who it was. “Dad, I’m - no, I’m out right now, I can’t - I’ll be home - Dad, seriously - ”

While she talked, keeping her voice low and her mouth covered, Scott’s gaze wandered off around at the gaudy posters and neon signs, the leaky ceiling and the rusty window panes, before his eyes went back to her. Her hair was still somewhat damp, her brows were knitted together in clear frustration, and he could see the slight chipping of her fingernails, probably from the rough-and-tumble they’d had earlier. Scott wanted to take her hand again, to find some other magic trick or silly excuse that would allow him to do so without weirding her out. That is, he hoped she wasn’t put off by what he knew was his sometimes strangeness, little things and moments of “immaturity”, as his ex had so nicely called it (and it was nice of her, considering some of the things her current boyfriend had to say about him). He turned away when she started to hang up, certain that his face felt just the slightest bit warmer than it had a moment ago.

“Is he expecting you home right now?” Scott asked once she pocketed her phone. “If you have to go - ”

“I’m just fine where I am,” Hope said shortly, though her expression softened once their eyes met again. “What were you saying about a personal trainer?”

“Well, if you’re up to spending more time with me…” He trailed off, looking at her expectantly.

“I guess it couldn’t hurt,” she teased, grinning. Once more, they found themselves exchanging promising glances, barely breaking eye contact, even when their waiter came around with a plastic basket of oily nachos.

“So, I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“It’s not - well.”

They were about two months into the semester, with the weather gradually getting colder and crisper, and classes getting progressively harder and deceptively longer. Scott and Hope were bundled in their thickest coats and walking across campus together, coffee and buttery pastries in hand, on their way to Hank’s class. It had become routine for them, to the point where Scott’s roommate teased them every time she dropped by their dorm.

“Hey, Hope,” Luis would say with a knowing grin. Then he’d turn into the room and call, “Scotty, your girl’s here to walk you to class!”, much to Scott’s embarrassment. Ruddy-cheeked, he would always push past Luis and mutter unintelligibly under his breath, then gesture for Hope to follow him far, far away.

“Luis and I actually knew each other before coming here,” Scott said. Strangely enough, he seemed to be avoiding her eyes. “We, uh, we met in jail?”

Hope stopped in her tracks. “Is that a question?” she said shortly, her breath stuck in her throat, fearing the absolute worst. “What were you in for?”

“Theft,” he admitted. She internally exhaled, though she remained wary. “Few months after graduating high school, my girlfriend got pregnant. I was doing an internship at a security company to save up for college, and then, y’know, the baby. All I saw were these guys in nice suits, bragging about vacation homes, golf scores, the usual. But then I heard ‘em talking about screwing over their customers, skimming money from their accounts. Figured it wouldn’t hurt to steal it back. Got caught, dumped, thrown into prison - in that order. I was let out early on good behavior, but if I wanna meet my daughter, my ex says I gotta prove that I’ve changed.”

Hope fiddled with the sleeve of her coffee cup, wearing away at the thin cardboard until the edges began to fray. “...oh.”

“I just didn’t want you to hear about it from someone else,” Scott continued, shooting her a strained smile. “I wanna be there for my daughter, I wanna be a good person. Honest, reliable...all that.”

She cleared her throat, giving him a small smile of her own. “What’s her name?”

“Cassie,” he said quietly.

“That’s a pretty name.” Her eyes dropped to the lid of her coffee cup for a moment, contemplating. “From what I can tell, Scott, you’re already honest. You just need more focus. Once your ex sees that, how badly you want to see Cassie...it’ll happen.”

“I sure hope so,” he said, his eyes softening. “Thanks for, uh, for hearing me out.”

She nodded. “Of course.”

Hank’s class was the usual long-winded lecture, filled with convoluted definitions and complex equations. Near the end, he handed back one of their reports before dismissing them. Hope immediately had to stash hers in her bag the moment she laid eyes on it, realizing he’d written excellent work, proud of you at the top of the front page, right next to her A-grade. Hank had never been one to express sentiment through writing (Janet had once shown Hope the love letters he’d written to her when they were young; they both had a good laugh at his earnest, but ultimately poor attempts), and it made her tear up a little at the last three words. Still, she didn’t want Scott to see. Scott looked confused at her erratic behavior, but merely grinned his easygoing grin and said his goodbyes, once again leaving her alone in the lecture hall with Hank.

“You’re getting pretty close to Lang, aren’t you?” he commented, eyeing her knowingly.

“We’re friends,” she replied tightly. “You don’t have to punish him for whatever imaginary rivalry you’ve got going in your head, by the way. I’ve seen the marks you’ve given him. He’s smarter than you literally give him credit for.”

“You know, I just can’t tell if you want him to be your partner or not,” Hank scoffed. “You’ve told me about his many supposed good qualities - his intelligence, memory, agility - and yet you also tell me you haven’t found anyone - ”

“I just haven’t, okay?” Hope interrupted. “Just - Dad, can you please just let me live my life, separate from yours?”

“Then why did you enroll in the very school that your mother and I work at? Why didn’t you go clear across the country like every other teenager?” Hank retorted, folding his arms across his chest.

“Sometimes, I really don’t know.” With that, Hope turned and stormed out of the lecture hall in a huff, some of her residual childish temper still lingering inside. Hank stood there, staring after her with the same fire in his eyes, simultaneously loving and hating the fact that she’d turned out to be a little too much like him.

Hope found herself spending more time in the gym or Scott’s dorm room than her family’s townhouse as the semester dragged on, avoiding her father’s stern looks and her mother’s placating smiles. She knew she was being immature about the whole ordeal, but it was hard not to feel stifled and cornered into bursts of anger when it seemed like they were constantly sitting on her shoulders. Something about seeing all the other college students going around campus, getting to truly be themselves for the first time, made her burn with a quiet envy she didn’t realize she had.

“I know it sounds like the dumbest thing to complain about, but I’m so sick of my parents always...being there,” Hope admitted one afternoon while she and Scott were sprawled across his tiny bedroom floor, lazily making their way through their homework. After he’d opened up about his time in jail, she wanted to return the favor and tell him more about herself, though she still tried to keep it as vague as possible. “It’s not like I want them gone or anything, but sometimes I wish it was like when I was little, and they’d go on business trips out of the blue. I’d be at home with a sitter for weeks at a time, wondering if they’d ever come back. Now, I...almost want that distance again. Just enough so I don’t feel like I have to live up to something.”

Scott hummed thoughtfully, his head tilted in a way she somehow found more charming than cloying. “Have you told them how you feel? I’m sure they’d wanna know if they were pressuring you, they sound like good parents.”

“If you knew them, you’d know it isn’t that simple,” she sighed.

“Can I? Meet them, I mean,” he added.

She quirked an eyebrow. “And...why do you want to meet my parents, exactly?” Scott could only look at her dumbfoundedly, as if he’d just realized the weight of what he was asking for. Hope smiled, shuffling closer to rest her elbows on top of his knees, her bright-eyed gaze meeting his. “Is it because - ”

Scott kissed her before she could finish her sentence. She let out a startled noise before returning the kiss, pleased that she hadn’t been imagining things, that it wasn’t just her wishful thinking that he’d been offhandedly flirting with her for the past few months.

Knock knock. “Hey, Scotty - ” before either of them had time to react, the door swung open to reveal Luis standing there with a plastic bag overloaded with takeout containers “ - whoa, what’s going on?”

Scott broke the kiss first, shooting her a faux-stern look. “Really, Hope? I thought we were here to study and then you go around kissing me like that, honestly - ”

“You are so full of shit, Scott,” she retorted without missing a beat, half-sighing and half-laughing in exasperation. She moved to gather up her things from around the room, pointedly keeping her back to Luis, who was snickering behind his hand. “I should get going, I promised my mom I’d hang out with her tonight.”

“Wait, I’ll walk you out,” Scott called as she swept past him. He got to his feet and grabbed his room key, then turned to fix Luis with a pointed stare. “Dude.” Luis merely shrugged, chuckling, and sat down at his desk like nothing had happened.

“I mean it, I have to get going,” Hope said, though she was still waiting for Scott while he closed the door behind him. “Mom’s probably waiting for me.”

“Sorry about, y’know, him,” Scott said, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder. The two of them quickly fell into step like they always did, walking down the hall to the building doors. “I meant it, though. I haven’t really had a relationship with my parents since I got sent to jail, so...it’d be cool to meet yours. And…��cos of the other thing.”

“Someday,” she hummed noncommittally. “And the ‘other thing’? I’m not sure what you mean. I thought we were here to study.”

“Now who’s full of it?” he grinned, coming to a stop right in front of the exit. He leaned in, his nose brushing against hers; she was the one to close the gap this time. “Have a good time with your mom.”

“Have a good time with your...Luis,” Hope said, smirking in the way he adored, and she disappeared through the doors. Scott stood there for a moment longer just to chuckle to himself, shaking his head in awe, before returning to his room.

Once Hope returned home, she quickly changed into her workout clothes and went down into the other half of the basement suite - the makeshift gym - to find Janet already there, working with the speed bag. It was one of their rare nights alone together since Hank was doing a talk at a conference two towns over. According to a string of text messages he’d sent them both, it was ‘one of the most inane things’ he’d ever done and reportedly made him miss the days of endless bureaucratic SHIELD meetings. “Sorry I’m late,” Hope said by way of greeting.

“That’s alright. You have a good time with Scott?” Janet asked, stopping to grin at her daughter.

“Don’t,” Hope sighed. “I already get enough of that from Dad, I don’t need to hear it from you.”

“Speaking of your father...I told him to stop asking you about that whole partner thing, and...he agreed.” Janet nodded at Hope’s surprised expression. “You don’t need that going on during your very first semester of college. You’ve already got plenty to worry about.”

Hope smiled gratefully. “Thanks, Mom. I don’t want you guys to think I don’t want this, you know I’ve been wanting my own suit my entire life. But...this isn’t just something I can ask of someone out of nowhere. And I need someone who can be my partner, not his. I need time.”

“I know, jellybean,” Janet said, her voice soft. “Even then...you just focus on yourself, alright?”

“Easier said than done,” Hope sighed. “Maybe Dad’s right. Maybe I should’ve just gone to school somewhere else. Make my life my own for a little while instead of getting angry at you both for...well, for being good parents.”

“Oh, Hope…” Janet removed her gloves entirely so she could properly wrap her arms around her daughter, bringing her in for a tight hug. “We are so proud of you already, you have to know that. We don’t need you to be perfect, we just need you to be yourself. And if you need some space so you can do that, take it, okay? No matter what your father says.”

“You know he wouldn’t like it if I left,” Hope chuckled, burrowing her face into Janet’s shoulder. “Both of you would be calling me every single day.”

“We would, wouldn’t we?” Janet chuckled. “But seriously, jellybean, promise me you won’t be worrying about what we think. Let it be about you.”

Hope’s smile broadened, and she stepped back to meet her mother’s gaze, bright and wise and warm. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “I will.”

Another week went by, then two, then a few more, and suddenly, it was the day before Scott and Hope’s last final, which happened to be for Hank’s class. They were studying in the library, occasionally looking up to exchange warm smiles before returning to their notes, Scott playfully nudging Hope’s foot underneath the table every now and then, basking in the comfortable silence.

Then: “So, my ex called today.”

Once again, Hope found herself caught by surprise. “Oh?”

“We made a deal,” Scott continued, flipping the page of his textbook, making a point of not lifting his head to meet Hope’s steely-eyed gaze. “If I get at least Bs in all my classes and get a job or an internship or something in the next six months, I can see Cassie as often as I want.”

“That sounds reasonable. You’re getting As in all of your classes, Scott,” she pointed out.

“Yeah, but it’s the job thing I’m worried about. You know how hard it is for ex-cons to find work? Especially for a guy who got jail time for messing with his last workplace?” He sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “I wanna be responsible, I wanna be there for her, but...I’m basically screwed.”

Hope chewed her bottom lip in deep thought, guilt beginning to settle a little too comfortably in the pit of her stomach. The solution was right there, right in front of her face, while Scott was completely unaware there even was a solution to be had. Part of her wanted to be selfish, to keep Scott to herself, to not let her parents take over yet another aspect of her life. All she could think about was Scott’s irritation with Hank’s personality and Hank’s vitriol for Scott’s...existence. At the same time, considering how things were going, the tip-toeing progression of their relationship that was moving (in her opinion) at just the right pace, he was going to find out eventually, wasn’t he?

“I can get you a position at Pym Technologies,” she finally said, closing her laptop so she could look him straight in the eye. “When can you start?”

“Wait, what? How? Dr. Pym didn’t say anything about internships - ”

“Neither did I. And he’s been looking for a while now, he just didn’t want people to know.”

Scott’s brow furrowed further. “Then...how did you find out about it?”

Hope sucked her breath in between her teeth. “I’m his daughter.”

Scott’s mouth almost comically dropped open, gaping at her like a fish. Just as quickly, his jaw then clicked shut, clenching tight. Hope had never seen his eyes grow so cold; she shivered. “Hope.”

“Scott, I - ”

“Hope,” he repeated. “Come on, why didn’t you tell me? All semester, I’ve been talking so much crap about Dr. Pym, and this whole time you’ve been listening to me, and, and...and lying to me?” She glanced briefly over his shoulder to see students at the other tables beginning to turn and stare at them, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“I know it was wrong, okay, and for that, I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “But...you have to know why I did it, Scott. I’ve spent my whole life being told that my parents are geniuses, and that I have to live up to those expectations and be one myself. I have to be well-rounded but focused, social but disciplined, all these...things that eventually became too much for me. I’m better at balancing all those things now, but I still wanted just one thing to be my own, and...I wanted it to be you. I didn’t want you to think anything of me because of them, but...I guess I was the only one who didn’t think this through. It was selfish. I was selfish.”

“No, it’s not - ” Scott inhaled sharply, then reached across the table to take her hand and give it a brief squeeze. “ - it’s not selfish, I mean, I get it. I didn’t want you to know about my criminal past for sort of the same reason. First impressions, right? Having all these ideas about a person before you actually get to know them.” He smiled in the sort of crooked way that made her let go of the breath she didn’t realize she was still holding. “So uh, were you serious about that Pym Tech internship thing?”

Hope chuckled, simultaneously burnt out from worry and relieved by Scott’s easygoing acceptance. “Just like that, huh?”

“Sure,” he shrugged. “And at least it explains why Dr. Pym seems to side-eye me more than anyone else. I didn’t think I was doing that bad.”

She smiled, her shoulders finally relaxing, and glanced down briefly to their still-intertwined fingers. “It might be a little more...involved than you might expect, but I think you can handle it. Also, I never said it was an internship.”

Hank’s final went about as smoothly as expected, which was to say it didn’t go smoothly at all. The problem wasn’t the test itself; both Hope and Scott were diligent students with a good understanding of the material, but there was a tension in the lecture hall that hadn’t existed before. Scott took one look at Hank, now having mentally labelled him as Hope’s father, and it made him more nervous than the essay questions ever would.

“Something wrong, Lang? Your eye is twitching,” Hank observed while he distributed the test papers.

Scott gave him an awkward double thumbs-up. “All good here.” His voice was at least an octave higher than its usual pitch. Hope held back her usual eye-roll.

After their exam was over, Scott went back to his dorm room to sleep off his post-finals week exhaustion, but not before giving Hope a brief kiss while Hank was packing up his bag. “Hey, good luck,” he murmured. “You got this.”

Hope squeezed his arm in return, enjoying the fact that she didn’t even have to turn her head to know what Hank’s expression looked like. “I know I do,” she replied quietly, smirking.

The car ride back to their townhouse was silent - for once, Hope had allowed Hank to drive her to and from class instead of taking her own car - save for the college radio station, where the monotonous host droned on about the last stretch of the semester. It was only when they arrived that Hank wordlessly gestured for her to follow him into the basement laboratory. She winced in anticipation of what was to come.

Hank opened the secret wall once more, calling the display case forward, and Hope went to stand by his side. It took her a moment to realize there was another mannequin on the other side of the glass, this one donning a masculine suit with similar design lines and detailing to match hers, but rendered in her father’s preferred red-and-black color scheme. Goosebumps went up her arms as she stepped closer, the glass sliding open so she could gently run the tips of her fingers across the material of her own suit. It was then that she could truly feel how solid it was, how real her childhood fantasy had become. “So...what do you think?”

She turned to look at him. “They look amazing, Dad. But I really need to talk to you about something.”

“So do I,” Hank sighed, sinking down into his chair. “Hope, I...realize that I may have been pushy about you finding someone to work with. I know we’re not exactly on the same page about the progress of your...let’s call it your career, shall we?”

Hope smiled. “Let’s. And I know that you and Mom mean well, and I don’t want you thinking I’m not grateful for everything you guys have done for me. But...I don’t want to end up resenting you both for making my life fit into yours.”

“We just want what’s best for you, Hope,” Hank protested. “And you’ve proven yourself over and over again. It’s why I made the suit.”

“I get that.” She sat down in the chair opposite him, reaching across to rest her hand on his knee. “I’d just like it if my life was my own sometimes, or else I’m going to be left wanting. Wondering what it could be like.”

He went silent for a moment, contemplating. Then, he placed his hand over hers. “You know I’m no good at this kind of thing,” he said gruffly. “But tell me what we can do.”

“Trust me?” It came out more of a question than a statement. She cleared her throat. “And I mean really trust me to make my own choices.”

“I do,” Hank said automatically. When Hope fixed him with a look, he also coughed, leaning back into his seat. “More than you think. And if this is about your taste in partners - ”

“ - I don’t need to explain myself to you,” she interrupted, her voice hard. “I’m not a child anymore, Dad. If I bring him here to put on the suit and train with me, I need you to respect him and our relationship.”

He held up his hands in defeat. “Alright, alright, I hear you. But I’m glad to hear you’ve made your decision.”

“I wanted to keep him away from you,” she admitted, finally withdrawing her hand. “I wanted my college experience to be just like anyone else’s, and I didn’t want to pull him into our world when he’s been one of the most normal things about my world that I’ve ever had. But I would’ve just been delaying the inevitable, and...I really want to put on that suit.”

Hank laughed, getting to his feet and gesturing for her to follow. “I know you do. Why do you think I’ve been working on it for so long?” Hope smiled, standing as well and moving to wrap her arms around him. He hugged her in return, pressing a kiss into her forehead. “You’re really running things around here these days, aren’t you? Just like your mother. Too damn clever and stubborn for your own good.”

“Always,” Hope replied, grinning.

“Is the blindfold really necessary? I feel like I’m gonna trip.” As if on cue, Scott’s foot slipped out from under him; Hope caught him by the waist before he could fall any further.

“Dad’s the kind of paranoid who thinks the neighbors steal our mail, do you really think he’d be okay with you entering his lab without one?” she drawled, straightening him up. “Just a few more steps.”

Once they reached the bottom, Hope briefly let go to type in the code on the door’s keypad, her heart thumping wildly against her ribcage with anticipation. The door slid open to reveal Hank and Janet sitting by one of the worktables, poring over blueprints for a new model of the quantum tunnel. They both looked up at the sound of Scott and Hope’s footsteps.

Hope helped Scott remove his blindfold, watching him blink blearily into the light, squinting, before his eyes landed on her parents. He blanched slightly. “Dr. Pym...Miss Van Dyne, it’s so nice to meet you.” He held out his hand to shake, though he nearly tripped over his own feet in doing so. Hope nudged him upright with her shoulder. “Hope talks about you all the time.”

“All good things, I assume,” Janet beamed, getting to her feet so she could return the gesture. “She’s briefed you on what’s going on around here, right?”

“NDA and all,” Scott said, laughing awkwardly. “I also read up about you guys after she told me. Really impressive stuff.”

“I hope it wasn’t just my reviews on that professor rating website,” Hank grouched, though he motioned for them to join him at the display case, which had remained in full view since his conversation with Hope from a few days ago. It was the weekend after exam week was over, and the Pym-Van Dynes had spent the last couple of days mulling over Hope’s decision, weighing the pros and cons of bringing, in Hank’s words, an “inexperienced civilian” into their fold, eventually agreeing that a quick background check, typical of any normal employer, would do the job (Hope drew the line at trying to contact his family as references, though; she got the impression that his parents would have nothing but thinly-veiled insults to offer). Scott had spent the last couple of days sleeping.

“Oh, wow…” Scott was speechless as he approached the glass, his starry-eyed expression reminiscent of Hope’s. “This is so cool. It’s like a, a motorcycle suit or something.”

“It’s not - ” Hank cut himself off with a huff. “It’s for you, Scott.”

“Really?” Scott turned to look at Hank. “Can I try it on?”

“Not yet, we have to measure you and make some adjustments,” Janet piped up, pointing toward a small platform for him to stand on. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all,” Scott grinned, hopping up with all the enthusiasm of a child getting to try on their Halloween costume for the first time. Janet went to grab her measuring tape and tablet, while Hope smiled up at Scott, the discomfort in her stomach slowly ebbing away. Hank still looked as sour as ever, but Hope spotted a twitch in the corner of his mouth that suggested maybe, just maybe, this was going to work.

A few hours later, after Hank and Janet had rattled through what Hank called the introductory course to, among other things, Pym Particles and the Ant-Man suit, Scott and Hope sat on the living room couch together, watching a movie, while they waited for her parents to finish preparing dinner for the four of them.

Hope soon noticed Scott seemed to be sending off a series of texts, though she bit her tongue before her curiosity could get the best of her. “Thank you,” she murmured instead, gently prodding his leg with her toe.

“Of course,” he said, immediately pocketing his phone. He turned to fully face her and propped his elbow up on the back of the couch, tilting his head down somewhat so their foreheads brushed. “Hey, this is the coolest thing that’s ever happened to me. This is gonna be awesome.”

“I’m glad it’s that simple for you,” she replied, mirroring his movements; their elbows met in the middle. “It’s going to be a lot of work, Scott.”

“I know,” he shrugged. “But it feels like the right thing to do. I really needed this, after all the crap that’s gone wrong in my life. A chance to prove myself.”

“You’ll have plenty,” she promised. Then, she couldn’t help herself, finding her gaze flickering to his phone; she could see its screen lighting up over and over again, silently chiming in with more notifications. “What’s going on there?”

“Maggie, my ex,” Scott said, sitting up so he could pull it out of his pocket. “I told her I got a job, she’s been bugging me with questions ever since. Told her I’d tell her more later, once your dad gets me up to speed on what I can and can’t tell people.” His grin broadened. “She did send me a couple pictures of Cassie, though. Wanna see?”

Hope nodded almost shyly, her heart melting when Scott turned the screen in her direction. “Oh, Scott, she’s adorable.” It was a series of photos of a little three-year-old girl in a high chair with the biggest, roundest brown eyes Hope had ever seen, grinning toothily at the camera, the majority of her face covered in chocolate cake. “It’s a good reminder - you’re doing this for her.”

“And for me,” he added, tucking his phone away. “And...a little bit for you.”

“Is that so?” she teased, leaning in closer once more. “Just a little bit?”

“Teeny...tiny...ant-sized bit,” Scott whispered, bringing his mouth to hers. Hope groaned, though both of them shook a little with silent laughter as she pulled him in closer, winding her arms around him until their legs were fully intertwined, him pressing her into the couch. Much to Hank’s chagrin, she barely moved to break the kiss when he entered the room and cleared his throat.

“When you two are finished, dinner’s ready,” he said tightly, then turned on his heel and walked right back into the dining room. Hope finally pulled away so she could laugh into Scott’s shoulder, delighting in how pink his face had gotten (though he didn’t look too ashamed of himself, either). Yes, it was more than a maybe; things were going to be just fine.

a/n: I love a good ol' college AU, and getting to do some character exploration of what Hope would be like if her parents were around for her entire adolesence was pretty interesting! And, of course, writing overly-confident, kinda-awkward flirting between these two is one of my favorite things about the Scott/Hope dynamic. I think I'm starting to get the hang of the Ant-fam's characterization?

Thanks so much for reading, likes and reblogs would be much appreciated, and I hope you enjoyed :)

#langdyne #scotthope #hopescott #langdyne fic #scotthope fic #myfic #marvel #surprise i guess?#i wrote this one super fast #and honestly i've been in far more of a langdyne mood lately #(and also carol/valkyrie but i'm not sure what to write for it yet)#(and i will get back to ATU i promise!!)

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stereksecretsanta · 6 years

Text

Merry Christmas, @welshwoman1988!

To both the admin and my giftee Welsh_Woman (welshwoman1988), I doubled the word limit and I am so sorry. My words just ran with me and there was so much I wanted to fit in. I never have been able to write short one-shots and this was my first secret santa exchange EVER and I just got so excited. You said you liked Royalty AUs and I saw that you’d liked an image of wolf Derek snuggling with Stiles on a bed on your Tumblr and somehow that turned into this – I don’t even know how to be honest. I hope you enjoy your gift :D

Read on AO3

*****

Sails in the Night Sky

The biting chill of oncoming winter was brutal in the dark of night, obvious even through Derek’s warm, lined coat. He tipped his head skyward, the stars hidden from view by a thick covering of dark clouds. Rain was coming.

The echoes of the argument he’d left behind in the castle walls still filled his head like a thunderstorm. His ears still rang with his uncle’s tactless insistence that he not waste his time anymore wallowing in the peasantry, Laura’s halting, stalwart defence of both Derek and the less fortune. Then, of course, there was his mother’s quiet, warning that cut through it all with the sharpness of lightning.

“If you hate it so much then have them moved!” he’d snapped in the end, half afraid his mother or uncle would do exactly that. Even so, he’d surprised his family with his vehemence, because he’d always merely done as he was told, until that point at least. Hales ruled beside their siblings, with their partners in life having very little say in affairs of state, though before he’d died, his father had done his part for the public. Still, Derek was due to rule alongside his sisters and he had always been the more submissive of his fiery family members, but nothing had ever filled him with fire the way this had.

Derek sighed as he continued on, turning his collar up against the cold and the echoes of his mother’s raised voice that still hummed in his ears. She managed to make him feel like an errant child even as the sounds of applause, the cries of awe and delight mixed with those of aversion in the night.

Nobody had ever seen a ‘circus’ before, never even heard of anything like it. It was new and exciting and the talk of the kingdom but also filled the more reserved, those that fought change, with bitter resentment. Derek knew Peter’s reason for stopping him from working his way down here night after night was a simple factor of control. His mother’s reasons, however, were more complicated.

He’d originally assumed her protests to the circus stemmed from the same resistance to change as a lot of the others, but earlier that night, when tempers had flared, his mother had simply replied calmly, “they are good people, they take care of their animals and each other and they make their money, little of it that they do, in happiness. It’s a more honest trade than most.” Even so, she’d levelled him with that sad, knowing stare and added, “But my boy, if you associate with what the people consider abnormal, they will soon realise that you aren’t their variety of normal either.”

Derek approached the white tent and thought of Stilinski. The showman had been born in the capital with little money, had met his wife in a foreign land and always dreamt of bringing the life he’d built with her back to the place he was born. He’d dreamt of making it work here, making a home where everyone was welcome, where everyone could fit. Derek only wished the kingdom that was his birthright could be the same.

The familiar sounds and smells, the sight of the large white peaked tent just off the main road out of the capital lifted him as they greeted him, as they’d done every night in the last few months.

The tent’s canopy looked like sails in the night sky, and despite his family’s earlier protests, Derek felt himself drawn toward them like a ship out to sea.

The noise was as immense inside the tent as ever. The smells of sweat and snacks, of an overindulgence of alcohol from the less savoury onlookers, the ones that brought the bitter smell of intolerance to the mix, tested his control. He’d been trained since his youth to cope with the myriad of smells and sights and sounds a crowd carried, they all had and so after a grimace it all settled and he edged around the back of the tent, where he could see a set of crudely constructed stairs spiralling round the perimeter, up and round to some platforms above.

Derek ducked under the rope blocking off the stairway and climbed. The crowd below was so thick that he hadn’t been able to even hope to glimpse the large, sandy ring that he now saw more clearly the more he climbed.

A girl with beautiful red hair tied at the top of her head spun in the centre, fire twirling from the batons in her grasp and she beamed like something out of a fairytale, as beautiful and dangerous as the fire she bent to her will. She twirled it expertly, swinging it around herself and dancing over the swirling rope of fire her equally beautiful partner wielded like a deadly, flaming version of the skipping ropes the children of the court played with. Together, she and the dark haired woman kept the audience on the edges of their seats.

He’d never seen anything like this until the first night he’d stepped in here. He’d never seen people that moved the way they did, he’d never seen this kind of setup. The way the audience howled and clapped with every risk they took, every sinuous movement suggested it wasn’t just a limit of his position either, none of them had seen this before, not even at the heart of the capital.

Derek reached the top of the stairway just as they took their final bows to the applause of the majority. He braced himself with one arm against the supporting beam of the tent, the tall mast of the ship of dreams that lay before him, as the two performers took their leave of the ring and a wave of silence cut across the crowd. He waited, then sure enough, a bright light swung up to point at the far side of the tent, where there was a platform twinned to the high crow’s nest that Derek was on.

His vision was better than that of probably any of the people below. From where he stood, with the mobile spotlight on the figure on the opposite platform, Derek saw him clearly. There was only a split second from the light hitting him, to his reaction but it all moved in slow motion thereafter. Long legs hooked over the bar suspended from above and the lithe body swung round, upside down, arching like a taut bow. The momentum of his movements sent him swooping forward like a gull across the waves. The ocean of people below gasped but were otherwise struck silent with awe.

The bird glittered as he swung forward, glitter catching across his cheekbones and long fingers that stretched out with his arms, urging his impetus further. The swing carried his flight right up to where Derek was standing, as speechless as the people below. When their gazes met, Derek saw the deep amber eyes reflecting the light, as dazzling as the glitter that painted their edges.

Time stood still, just as it had that first night, the young man was always so surprised to see him return despite the fact that he always promised to. Then the momentum of his swing, the movement of his flight carried him back. He twisted on the bar like it was effortless, long limbs speckled with moles that drew Derek’s gaze along the taut, lean muscle there. His breath caught and his mouth went try with every swooping turn of limb.

He didn’t perform every night and he didn’t cut away to meet with Derek every night either. Derek wondered what it said about him that the young man’s flight and their sarcastic conversations allowed his head to feel clearer than had been all these years. There was always a signal, if he landed on the platform Derek was on, he had time to escape with Derek, if not, he landed on the opposite side.

Applause ripped through the tense silence like a thousand waves crashing against the cliff face and Derek took a step back as the man dismounted before him, taking a bow before the spotlight on him drifted away. Derek blinked at the sudden change in light.

The same dark kohl and golden brown glitter painted those eyes as every night. The pale glitter that lay like stars across his cheekbones glistened, mystically untouched by the sweat beading from his hair and across his throat into the deep ‘v’ of his nearly translucent shirt. His chest was heaving, his glitter-tinted cheeks flushed with exertion but he smiled as he panted, “you’re not really meant to be up here, you know?” It was the same teasing, slightly breathless rebuke and didn’t sound at all displeased. On the contrary, the young man studied him carefully, tilting his head as the lights focussed back again on the ring below and the next act ensuing.

“I thought not,” Derek agreed softly, an edge of amusement to his words, “but then I assumed someone would’ve removed me if they were so concerned.”

The man’s lips quirked in a devastatingly charming way. “I asked dad to let you be. You must be growing on him,” he revealed, before he tipped his head on his way passed, gesturing for Derek to follow him.

The living quarters of the performers were to the rear of the grand tent, a cluster of worn but well cared for wooden caravans. They were far enough from the animal enclosures on the opposite side for the smell to pale in comparison to the aroma of cooking food and subtle perfumes wafting from the other open, empty caravans, left open to facilitate the comings and goings of the other performers.

He hesitated when the young man climbed into one that smelled only of him, watched as he perched on the stool squeezed between a dressing table and a mussed, sweet smelling bed. He usually entertained Derek’s presence as he tended the animal pens or did some other chores, or beguiled Derek with sarcastic wit just outside the noise of the big tent. He’d never led him back here before. The intimacy of seeing the place he slept, raised in the sheltered way Derek was, made him swallow thickly.

Those piercing amber eyes watched his reflection as he shrugged off the near translucent fabric of his shirt, damp with sweat. He tipped some oil that smelled of almonds onto a clean cloth and began swiping the glittering paint from his body. It had glistened like diamonds embedded in his skin under the light of the tent, but now as the man wiped it away from his chest first, then the column of his throat, all Derek could do was stare at the flesh the faux glamour had covered. Flawless, honey coloured and speckled with moles here and there that reached up across his neck, jaw and cheekbones.

“You’re amazing,” Derek managed at last, finding his voice, thick with awe. The breathy compliment was far away from their usual banter.

The man at the table gave him a wistful look. “Well, that’s a hell of a lot more pronounceable than my given name,” he said. His voice wasn’t accented in any particular way, which Derek thought peculiar of people that were clearly travellers when he’d first met him.

“You’re still not going to tell me your real name, are you?”

Again, the same wistful smile. “You’re awfully persistent with that. Usually people need to know, why the trapeze? Why such death-defying stunts? Why risk your life for so little financial gain?”

Derek frowned, unsure if the young man truly meant ‘people’ or other men or women he’d led back to his caravan just like this. The thought made his stomach squirm, when for months he’d felt himself special for sharing just an hour of conversation with the young man he only knew as Stileseach night. “I thought that was obvious. You love it.”

That stilled Stiles’s constant, almost frenetic movement. The glittering paint around his eyes had been wiped away with the rest now, leaving only a few rogue speckles of starlight behind, blending perfectly with the moles on one side of his face, probably only visible to Derek’s gaze.

“It’s my life,” Stiles said seriously, with the tone of a man slightly stunned by Derek’s answer. “Everyone needs the chance to smile these days, not only the rich.”

Derek nodded, thinking of the homeless that flocked the streets of the capital not far from here. The ‘circus’ as the people were calling it, it was all about the lights and the show in the tent but back here, there was a rundown comfort of home and people barely getting by. They weren’t making a fortune, despite the splendour they delivered night after night.

“You told me your mother taught you before she died?” Derek asked, moistening his dry lips. Even from the slight distance the steps up into the caravan and the door put between them, he saw the man’s eyes, shining with the glow of the twin lanterns there, follow the path of his tongue across his mouth.

“Yeah, she was a natural, she was the talent that built us up from nothing, you know?” he offered easily, face bright as he said it. Right from the start it had been clear that Stiles loved talking about her. “She came from a place far from here, my father met her when he fought in the wars. She taught him. They taught me.”

Derek thought of Stilinski, the man in richly coloured tailcoats and nodded in agreement. Stilinski had performed with his son after his mother died, but he’d grown older and so when his father-in-law died he’d taken his place as show-master. The man had a smile that crinkled at the corners of his eyes and mouth and it was an expression you couldn’t help but return. It was the same light, the same vibrance of life that burned so bright in Stiles. The same light that burned in all of the people behind the circus, in all people who enjoyed what they did with all they had.

“Tell me your real name?” Derek asked again, still feeling a little giddy, wondering if it was the convergence of so many scents in one place or just the man before him. He was so close within his reach and half-naked and so, so beautiful and honest and real, magnanimous like none of the people of privilege his uncle and mother had tried to urge him to court.

Right from the first time Derek had let repression, boredom and inquisitiveness call him into the tent and he’d seen the way Stiles moved, right from the first time their eyes had locked he’d felt drawn in by him. He’d felt drawn in by the sight of a life that burned so bright regardless of the limitations the rest of the world tried to place on him, something so rare in the world he’d grown up in

“What would you do with it?” Stiles asked, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

Derek frowned, brows drawing together and Stiles swivelled on his stool. “Call you by your name.”

“Like a secret promise?” The twinkle flared like fire, giving Derek a brief view into this man’s beautiful soul. “Surely ‘Stiles’ is enough? Everyone else calls me that. Or do you have another pet name for me in your head?”

Derek exhaled in annoyance through his nose, dragging his hand across the back of his neck. “I’m calling you a little prick, right now.” His words startled a laugh out of Stiles that completely changed his face, mouth wide with surprised joy. His entire body jerked with it in a way so free and uninhibited by society’s rules. It was perfect.

“You have a mouth, Prince Hale,” he said approvingly, laughter still in his eyes.

Derek jerked as if he’d been slapped, because in all the times they’d spoken and yes, even laughed together, all the times Derek had helped him haul water or muck out the animal pens, he’d never once used that title.

“You…you know?” he asked, feeling as if the ground had opened up beneath his feet, the sails torn from his ship as it was cast out to sea.

Stiles’s laughter faded into a resigned smile then and the man reached for the plain robe off the mussed bedding and pulled it on. “I know who you are. My father told me right from the first night you came here,” he said as he tied the belt around his robe, fingers lingering on it, as if he needed to keep them busy left they betray him. He had such strong, long, expressive hands. “You were very determined not to tell me yourself.”

Derek set his jaw. “I just…” He didn’t know what to say. He’d been so tired, so very tired of having expectations pressed on him, of having every aspect of his life dictated to him, albeit by a well-intentioned mother and uncle. He’d been tired of it all but when he’d seen Stiles, when he’d glimpsed his life here, it had felt like an escape. No, more than that.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Stiles added with quiet reluctance. “You shouldn’t come back, Derek.”

Derek flinched. “Stiles,” he tried, the odd nickname full of such earnest longing for him to understand. “If you’ve always known what I am then–”

“I always knew what you were, but I didn’t know who you were,” Stiles argued, storming forward to the doorway of the caravan. He glared down at Derek, more glorious in his rage than any of the mild-mannered, sweet tempered ladies and gentlemen of the court he’d encountered.

“I kept thinking, every time I saw you would be the time you admitted it, trusted me enough and it never happened.” His face held barely concealed anguish and Derek ached for putting it there. Stiles shook his hand, dragging his fingers through his sweat-dampened hair. “What the hell am I to you, Derek?” he asked, “just some entertaining diversion until you grow up and accept your responsibilities and whatever partner your mother finds you?”

“That’s not it,” Derek all-but snarled, because the inch of truth in that, at least the part about accepting responsibility burned.

Everyone here had responsibilities to the show, to each other, and if one of them didn’t step up it would fall apart. He wondered how he must look to Stiles, to be shirking his responsibilities when everyone here worked so damn hard for so little. But even so, it hadn’t been about hiding anything from Stiles, it’d been about hiding himself from that world, because he was terrified, because the Derek in that world was pathetic and lost and when he was with Stiles, he felt strong.

“I can’t be your sordid secret, Derek,” Stiles murmured, voice rough around the edges with pain, his eyes shining in the light the lanterns strung between the caravans offered. “I can’t be some mistress you come back to when your real life gets too hard and you want an amusing diversion.”

Derek’s head snapped back to him so quickly his neck protested. “Then why did you ask that I be allowed to stay?” he demanded heatedly. “Why invite me back here to the place you sleep if you have so little faith in me?”

“Because I hoped you were different!” Stiles snarled like a cornered wolf, eyes ablaze and his voice broke a little as he added, “Because I wanted you to be different. Because no one has ever looked at me the way you did that first night, the way you are right now. There’s never been a connection like that, at least not for me.”

“Not for me either,” Derek replied, his voice a softer counterpart to Stiles’s hurt rage, so gentle that Stiles’s fire seemed to simmer out a little.

Derek stepped forward, gripping the small balustrade and levering himself up to stand on the steps. There was a hairsbreadth between them and his hand covered Stiles’s on the doorframe. He could taste Stiles’s breath on his lips and see every fleck of brown, amber and whisky in Stiles’s eyes.

“That’s why I’m here,” Derek continued tenderly. “Yes, my life is…complicated. It drives me insane most days but that doesn’t change that I’m here because of you, not because of that.”

Because they had a connection.

Stiles searched his eyes and his fingers twitched under Derek’s on the wooden frame. There was so little air between them that Derek felt light-headed from the lack of air until Stiles drew back. He looked suddenly tired as he slumped onto the edge of his bed, avoiding Derek’s gaze.

“That’s why I showed you,” Stiles almost whispered, “showed you me without the glitter and the spotlight, just me. Nothing else. I wanted you to see that and come back anyway.” He risked a look at Derek out of the corner of his eye. “I wanted the connection to be real.” With a sigh and a little, self-deprecating smile he added, “my mother used to say that we travelled the world and they all applauded, but when the spotlight went out we were still foreigners, different, unwelcome strangers once the laughter faded.”

He sounded so lonely for a man that said that bringing happiness to others, regardless of social standing was all he wanted in life. But just as Derek had his secrets, Stiles had one other than his birth name. It appeared that Stiles wanted a home, one where he belonged. Derek ached to share that dream with him.

Derek did something he’d never done in all his life except for his mother and uncle, something society would gasp in dismay at the sight of and he didn’t give a shit. He lowered himself to his knees before Stiles and captured his strong hands in his own, drawing those doe eyes to him before reaching up to cup his cheek. He dragged his thumb across the moles there and drank in his heat. “I’ve never met anyone like you before,” he confessed.

Stiles had travelled the world, had seen so much and for all his poverty, he was rich in ways the Hale family could only ever hope to be.

“I’ve never seen anyone who looks at the world the way you do. You see all men equal, you see the good in everyone in spite of all the ugliness you’ve seen across the world. You’re incredible.” Because he knew Stiles had heard the slurs and jibes of those that protested their presence here, detested the ‘unnatural circus’ that no one had ever seen the like of before. He wasn’t fool enough to think that worldview was something Stiles had only encountered here.

Stiles reached back for him, cupping the back of his head and stroking his fingers through his hair before gripping tight, as if he were afraid to let him go and find out he wasn’t real. “You belong in another world, Derek.”

Derek wanted to sink into him until there was no telling them apart from one other, wanted to absorb everything Stiles was. “Maybe we can find a way to make a new one.”

Stiles let out a little laugh even as his eyes glistened. “I must be insane to believe you.” His grip tightened on Derek’s hair and he tugged him in so that their foreheads pressed together. “But God help me I want to...”

Derek felt as shaky as Stiles sounded, his fingers trembling as they slid down to cup Stiles’s jaw, his warm, soft throat and the pulse thudding rapidly with excitement within. The longing Derek felt twinned within his own veins. He dragged his nose across Stiles’s cheekbone, inhaling softly at the almond, sweat, warmth, grassy scent that was Stiles before letting their mouths brush.

His stomach tightened and then melted at the contact, at the little hitch in Stiles’s breath, lips melding together soft and a little slick with the oil Stiles had used to clean his skin. Derek groaned when Stiles’s tongue touched his own like a question and sank into him, his thumb tracing Stiles’s chin and tugging gently so that he could taste him deeper.

Stiles’s free hand smoothed down Derek’s torso between the narrow space between them, in constant motion as if he wanted to map every inch of Derek but didn’t know where to start and was worried if he didn’t now, he never would. It was a frenetic greed and Derek kissed him deeper for it, to let him know he felt the same. It was a little clumsy, perfect, real, their noses bumping in their urgency to taste each other.

Derek’s hands slid down Stiles’s throat to his shoulder, the gentle movement smoothing Stiles’s robe off his shoulders. It pooled beneath them when Derek drew back and Stiles followed, his fingers aiding Derek’s on the ornate clasps of his cloak and tunic as they kissed, more urgently with every inch of skin revealed.

Stiles clumsily peeled away the tights he wore to perform, and when Derek stood back off the bed to remove his own clothing in the narrow galley between it, the clothes rail and dressing table, Stiles swiped the door shut. He gave Derek a wry smile when he tugged away the constricting undergarment he wore to hold him in place when he performed and reached for Derek almost instantaneously. They fell clumsily to the bed in a mess of limbs that rocked the caravan.

Stiles laughed softly, the sound stifled by Derek’s mouth. Derek answered it in kind, his amusement, arousal and affection mingling into a grumbling laugh growl that caught in his throat. It was a desperate, inelegant thing between them, urgent with need to touch everywhere and drink in every inch of heat.

Derek’s stubble raised a red flush over every freckle and mole and Stiles’s strong hands held onto Derek’s neck and shoulders so tight Derek felt his nails dig in. For all that, it was a slow build. A slow dance ending in them mostly grinding together, clasped too close, limbs locked together too tight with Stiles’s sheets pulled over them to protect them from the encroaching chill.

It was the best night of Derek’s life.

“Mieczyslaw,” Stiles breathed softly against the hollow of his jaw from where they were wrapped around each other in the sticky afterglow. He had one arm hooked around Derek’s shoulder while Derek’s curved around him, dragging affectionately through his hair.

“Hmm?” Derek asked, blinking his sated, sleepy eyes open.

“Mieczyslaw, that’s the name my parents gave me. It was my grandfather’s name. But there was two of us, so I was always Stiles and when he and my mother died…” Stiles shrugged but Derek understood, knew what it meant to have that name whispered into his skin like a kiss, like the greatest secret on earth. It was, Derek realised, to someone like Stiles who people judged at face value, someone who never let anyone in close enough to see, who had so little. This was the greatest thing he could give.

Derek pressed his lips to Stiles’s again, unable to find the words to show how much that meant to him. He felt as if the clouds had been swept aside by the whirlwind of Stiles’s life, humbled and thinking clearly for the first time.

It was like an awakening.

His home had all the creature comforts a man could long for. It had fine linens, servants to run hot baths with opulent oils, food and drink to heat his belly, but he’d never felt as warm as he did now, naked under a mountain of sheets with Stiles, watching the light of the still slightly swinging lamps paint his face with their glow.

He looked into Stiles’s eyes when their lips parted and felt affection so fervent it made him shaky with it. He felt admiration and knowledge that instilled him with shame, because all this time he’d felt trapped in his privileged life and Stiles and his makeshift family were knee-deep in heartache, struggling every day and never asking for more. While Derek had responsibilities at home, he also had love and security and a family who only wanted the best for him, for the world, even if they had a peculiar way of going about it sometimes.

He arguably had everything and Stiles and his family had nothing and yet they were happy. They wanted only to make others smile. Derek had been the instrument in his own misery before now, letting his mother and uncle manage him. He’d once believed that all there was to stepping up to his role was politics, unwanted opulent balls and sufferance. But seeing the magic these people created from nothing but skill made him realise what he could do with everything he had, what he wanted to do, because of Stiles.

“So how do we start?” Stiles murmured against his jaw.

“Hmm?”

“Reshaping the world, so that everyone has a place, so that we have a place together, where do we start with that?”

Derek stroked his hair thoughtfully. “I talk to my mother and uncle.”

Stiles tensed in his arms before pushing up onto his elbows. “And if they tell you to stay away?” he asked guardedly.

Derek studied him carefully, before glancing around the caravan. “Then I still have two sisters that can rule without me.”

Stiles looked as if he might protest for a moment, but Derek knew him well enough by now to know he never wasted time with half-hearted platitudes or anything other than what he truly felt or thought. He smiled and drew Derek in with fingers behind his jaw. “I think I’ve inspired a rebellious streak in you,” he murmured against Derek’s lips, his own mouth a little red with stubble burn.

Derek snorted. “You just gave me a reason to grow a backbone,” he said as he bore him back to the sheets.

“I have to tell you something,” Derek murmured against his belly when the world outside had grown quiet, the circus fast asleep.

Stiles stroked his hair, smoothing the mess of it their lovemaking had made behind his ears in a way that was so relaxing, so comforting Derek thought he might melt around him like a puddle.

“You don’t have like a secret wife or husband or harem do you?” Stiles asked sleepily and Derek nipped at the tight, lean muscles of his abdomen.

“I have to tell you something, about me, about my family but it’s not just my secret to tell.” He tilted his head to look up into Stiles’s face and Stiles brushed his hair back from his forehead.

“Derek, I’ve been to so many places, I’ve seen so much…” Stiles moistened his kiss-bruised lips and then struggled up in bed, enough to reach for the bookshelf behind his head that acted as a headboard. He offered Derek a leather-bound book in faded midnight blue, worn at the edges but well cared for.

Derek frowned and went to open it, but Stiles’s hand stayed the motion.

“No,” Stiles said gently, “when you get home. Look at it then. My mother and grandfather made it, it’s…it’s sort of a family heirloom, I suppose.”

Derek shook his head. “Stiles, I can’t take this.”

“It’s a loan,” Stiles said firmly, holding his hand out in refusal when Derek tried to give it back. “Bring it back with you, when you return.”

So you’ll have to return, Derek couldn’t help but think he was truly saying and he kissed him more fiercely than he ever had before so he would know.

A while later, as he swept his cloak around him and crept down the steps of Stiles’s caravan, he leaned up to whisper against his lips, “I’m coming back.”

“You’re very eager to make me promises, Prince Hale,” Stiles mused, but there was a wary edge to his voice, as if he didn’t dare believe it was true.

“I never make promises I can’t keep.”

It was a long walk back to the castle. The city never slept, some were already up even as the sky started to glow with that subtle purple hue that signalled the encroaching dawn. Derek heard the telltale sounds of them readying for the day, the baker preparing his products, the fisherman hauling their catches off the docks but it all fell away into the lingering night as he walked.

The lanterns that lined the stone bridge that stretched from the city toward the castle, toward his home were extinguished long ago, not even a lingering hum of heat or scent of burning oil remaining. The world was quiet, calm out here on this bridge. It felt like he was floating above it all, with only the smell of the water running far, far below to caress his senses like a promise.

He paused on the bridge, resting his arms on the broad stone balustrade and running his fingers reverently over the worn cover of the book Stiles had given him. Stiles’s scent and the scent of his father still clung to it. This book was more precious than anything Stiles owned. All the sparkle and glamour were nothing compared to this.

He carefully opened the cover to see a small portrait tucked into the jacket. It was the kind he’d seen done in shops to commemorate events such as weddings or births. It was a good one, so must’ve cost more than a week’s takings. He caressed the edges of the little rectangle, a baby, perhaps a year old with Stiles’s bright eyes and little turned up nose and a woman with the same nose holding him tight, while Stilinski the showman, younger, less lined embraced them both.

My beautiful boy, your father and I love you so much. The note written across the back of the image was from Stiles’s mother, clearly.

Derek tucked it back in carefully and flipped through the book, filled with drawings and the same neat, curling scripture. His stomach plummeted as he read the words, studied the diagrams. His thoughts roared in his head and he froze at the sight of the carefully, painfully accurate drawings of things he’d never seen put to paper before. His fingertips scanned the pages and his hands were shaking as he closed the book carefully, staring hard at the foreign scripture now.

Bestiariusz, cut into the worn, soft leather in the same hand. He’d scanned it before but discarded it as Stiles’s family’s lost tongue, something his brain couldn’t comprehend at first glance, now though, in hindsight…

“What has your heart fluttering like a hummingbird, young nephew?” His uncle’s voice cut through the night and Derek, already on edge, whirled around, eyes wide. Had he been so worked up, had the blood been pounding so in his ears that he hadn’t noticed Peter’s approach?

Peter regarded him with a raised brow and slowly came to stand beside him, resting his arms on the stone alongside the book. He stared out across the water toward the horizon where the sun was still a way off.

“It’s amazing how early our senses can pick up the changes in the light, in the sky. We can sense the dawn long before the humans can,” Peter said thoughtfully, before turning his head to look at him. “Your mother and I told you to stay away from the circus because even as extraordinary as their feats of human skill are, Derek, they are still human. Even they could not comprehend what we are capable of.”

He stared hard at Derek then, expression tight as the king he was, looking on Derek as his subject now, not his family, not his loved one. “You’ve seen how the people of this land look on them. Some come to see their show, yes, many do in fact, but there are still those that fear their otherness. It only takes a few to rally the pitchforks and chase us through the hills like feral beasts. Our ancestors built this kingdom from the ground up after being chased from our homeland centuries ago. We will not make the same mistakes as them. The humans may one day be able to accept the circus but they will never be ready for our abnormality.”

Derek tore his gaze from Peter’s and looked at the cover of the bestiary. He moistened his lips, tasted Stiles on them and knew the caution his family had exorcised over the centuries had kept them alive, had let them thrive. Knew that they kept their secret for a reason, but he didn’t think he was entirely right. The initial jolt of shock and dread that had filled him on realising what the book was had settled a little the more Peter had spoken, the more Derek had realised how wrong he was.

“I think people change with the times. In some places, Stiles said that the circus was welcomed without pause, without backlash. He said that for every town that welcomed them with open arms there were those that chased them out, but that those were becoming few and far between.”

He thought of the woman who’d spent her life making this book. It was filled with sketches lovingly drawn, like art rather than scientific scrawl, facts and notes made like a bird lover might for the wildlife they tracked. Stiles’s mother had travelled the world, studying the supernatural with the same wide-eyed, worldly fascination her son carried even now.

Maybe the world wasn’t ready for their secret yet, but some people were, Stiles was and if he could share his secrets with Stiles while they waited for the rest of the world to catch up? Well then he was sure someone as strong as Stiles could help him ready them.

“What in heavens is a Stiles?” Peter asked with clear distaste and Derek couldn’t help it, he let out a little laugh, holding the book with reverence, like the wake-up call it was. He tucked it carefully inside his cloak. “His mother studied the supernatural, I think…I think the circus was her talent, her job but her studies were her passion. She indulged both, all over the world and saw…everything. So has Stiles.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed. “You told him…”

“I didn’t have to,” Derek said, feeling giddy with the lightneess that thought filled him with. “He knows. He knows what I am and he’s not afraid.”

Beside him, Peter stiffened. “You’ve been having clandestine meetings with a circus boy and you think he knows you?”

Derek didn’t rise to the bait, just answered with the truth he felt to his bones. “I think he could. I want him to.”

“Derek,” Peter began again.

“I want to speak to mother, about this, about everything,” Derek cut him off, “in the morning, I’ll…”

He trailed off. It was like the warning sirens that signalled the floods were going off in the distance, except this wasn’t a sound made by their horns. It was sound, smell, atmosphere, panic growing steadily more thick in the air as the wind changed and carried it in his direction. He and Peter both froze as it registered.

Fire. Chaos. The circus.

Stiles!

By the time they got there, the tent was ablaze, the white sails turned to great flaming beacons under the red dawn and the capital was in chaos. Derek surged forward at the sight of it, the smell of burning overwhelmed his nose so that he could not pick out Stiles’s scent, so he frantically searching the faces of everyone fleeing the fire. The smoke was thick in the air, he choked and spluttered. A crowd had gathered, some to watch the pandemonium, some flying forward to help the circus workers to rescue the animals, taking hold of reins of horses and helping to haul the cages of the more dangerous animals to safety. But he saw no Stiles.

“Derek!” Peter called warningly, and the unspoken order was clear. Do not make a scene, do not make what you are known. Derek gave him a single, lingering look, before bolting into the chaos.

He darted down the side of the fire, avoiding the licking flames that had all-but devoured the tent, which he hoped was empty. He strained but could hear no heartbeats inside, no cries for help. He hoped that was because it had been empty, not because someone had been trapped inside. He made for the caravans.

The fire seemed to have started in the tent and the smell of alcohol on the flames, when none of the circus workers entertained alcohol made him think of sabotage, but he had no time to dwell. He struggled to listen, to sense beyond the ferocity of the fire.

He didn’t hear a heartbeat, he didn’t see Stiles, but a screeching, terrifying unnatural whinnying filled the night and he bolted towards it. The striped horse Stiles had called a zebra once had been caught by its lead rope on a fallen section of cage. Derek flew toward it on instinct, catching the rope by the knot beneath the beast’s jaw and laying a strong, steadying hand on its neck.

“Hey,” he breathed softly, holding it tight as it struggled, eyes wide. “You’re ok. We’ll get you…” He trailed off at the sight of the body crumpled in the stall the zebra had been caught in. He dove down, keeping hold of the zebra’s rope and reaching for Stiles. He coughed and spluttered as he reached for his neck, the smoke growing thicker even as he checked for a tangible sign of life, not trusting his senses in the din.

There was a heartbeat, faint, sluggish, thick with smog but there. He knew a moment of dangerous hesitation, staring at the beast, now frozen with fear and the flames coming in tighter and tighter, Stiles’s body limp and smeared with ash and soot from the open cover the horses were stabled under.

At last, Derek dragged an ornate handkerchief out of his pocket. He pulled Stiles roughly upward, his body heavy and lifeless but no weight at all to Derek’s strength. He grunted even so, as he pressed his shoulder under Stiles’s weight and staggered to his feet, still keeping a grip on the zebra. It stood stock still, petrified and Derek tugged. “Come on,” he snarled, but the beast didn’t move. Derek pulled, looked around wildly at the fire as it roared higher. In a moment of panic, he roared, eyes burning, fangs flashing. The zebra jerked as if his fangs had struck flesh and bolted forward.

“Stiles? Stiles!” Stilinski’s voice called out as they made it to the where the whole city had gathered, the fiery-haired girl coming forward to take hold of the Zebra’s makeshift halter just as Stilinski practically collided with Derek.

Derek lowered Stiles carefully off his shoulder and into Stilinski’s frantic arms, spluttering and coughing and wiping smoke from his stinging eyes as Stiles’s lifeless body tilted to the ground, head lolling, face smeared black. He looked so pale, so unreal in the red sunlight.

The world around him was on fire, there was madness as everyone tried to put out the flames, as people tried to tend the wounded but it was suddenly deafeningly quiet as Derek stared at him, at Stiles and willed him to move. He lay still on the cobblestones, splayed out like a man drowned and Derek had never felt so helpless in all his life.

“Stiles!” Stilinski screamed, shaking his son’s shoulders.

Then, suddenly, there was a firm, strong hand on his shoulder. Derek didn’t even react, didn’t turn at the feel of his mother’s presence, at the voice of his queen, not until she said, ever so softly, “bring him.”

Derek jerked to face her, frowning at her unreadable expression. “The capital’s infirmary will be full tonight. Bring him to the castle, he’ll have more of a chance with us.”

Derek supposed the bittersweet thing about tragedy was that it rendered all men equal. His uncle and mother, the king and queen, and Stilinski the showman of the circus that had shocked the world were as equals now. Covered in soot and grime from the flying flames, it was hard to tell what positions separated them.

Derek’s uncle and mother stood close by as the physician, who was kept on hand mainly for show or for the human members of the household, worked over Stiles’s smoke-damaged lungs. He’d been spared any burns but his breathing was laboured and Deaton worked quietly on a medicine for Stiles to inhale as his unconsciousness stretched out further and further into the new day.

At some point Peter had been pulled away to deal with the culprit of the fire. Apparently it had been an accident, one of the drunken sots had been loitering, had stumbled trying to foolishly light his pipe and it had all escalated before he could stop it.

Derek thought absently, as he watched Deaton continue to burn the eye-watering medicine for Stiles to breathe in, that the capital had Deaton’s revolutionary medicinal practices to thank for growing so wealthy. The infirmary the McCalls ran under his tutelage had the highest success rates on the continent and Derek had no fear for the other circus performers and people that had worked to rescue them, only the man on his childhood bed, who still had yet to wake.

“Come, Mr Stilinski, a clean body is a clean mind,” his mother said gently to Stilinski, squeezing his shoulder gently. “We’ll get you fed and washed up before your son wakes.” Stilinski seemed almost catatonic, moving without really reacting, without tearing his gaze from Stiles.

Derek swallowed thickly around the lump in his throat. “I’ll watch him, Sir. I won’t leave his side.”

Stilinski blinked as if coming awake from a dream and his eyes roved his son a final time, before lingering on the place Derek’s hands grasped Stiles’s wrist, at the bestiary beneath them that he evidently knew too well. He stared at where dark tendrils of pain were drawn away from his son into Derek’s body and it was also something he apparently recognised.

“I believe that,” Stilinski said, a man of few words, so unlike his son, but with no less sincerity.

“Hey…” The hoarse, haggard voice cut through the doze Derek had dropped unwillingly into. He jerked his head up from where it had slumped on the bedside and blinked suddenly awake at the sight of Stiles’s weary, beautiful face.

“You didn’t sneak me into your bed, did you Prince Derek?” Stiles mused croakily.

A disbelieving, exasperated smile tugged at Derek’s lips as he gasped out a laugh he was still too shocked and relieved to truly feel. “Your father put you there, with the King and Queen watching. He understands the needs that…pack have.”

Stiles closed his eyes but gave a tired smile. “Scandalous, the debauchery of royalty…”

Derek squeezed Stiles’s hand tightly, tapping his fingers lest he slip into unconsciousness. “How are you feeling?”

Stiles rolled his head weakly to pin him with that stare, the one that asked if Derek was stupid.

Derek smiled a little more honestly now, because Stiles was feeling well enough to be himself, at least. He didn’t lessen his grip on his hand, however. “The man who burned the circus down, he did it by accident, but he’ll be punished for his crimes.”

Stiles frowned. “Fairly?”

“We aren’t savages,” Derek said tightly, even though in his rage right then, he wanted to tear the man to pieces for his stupidity. It hadn’t cost any lives, heavens above, but so many were injured and not just the circus performers, but some people who’d tried to help and some businesses that had been closest to the fire had been caught by the heat. Lives had been irrevocably changed. He definitely wasn’t ready to rule yet, to see beyond his heart and think clearly. He had so much to learn.

“No,” Stiles said, fingers curling under Derek’s touching the surface of the book beneath their joined hands and somehow gripping Derek’s hand too. “You’re werewolves.” There was no trace of fear in his face, only awe, only affection for the sight of Derek by his sickbed, with him even when the glamour of the lights had burned out.

Derek had so much to learn and he wanted Stiles to teach him, to learn at his side.

Stiles licked his lips, chapped from dryness, the proximity to the heat but already healing with painfully human slowness.

“I suppose, if I’m surrounded by riches, I must be in your castle?”

Derek’s lips twitched. “In my bed, you were right, even in jest.”

Stiles’s eyebrows lifted. “So you spoke to your mother and uncle? Or did you really sneak me in here under the cover of night?”

“Like I said, your father put you there. It’s been three days since the fire and it’s daylight now,” Derek said deadpanned. “But yes, we talked some. We’ll talk more, no doubt.” Slowly, slowly, Derek drew his fingers out of Stiles’s grasp.

“You took my pain,” Stiles said, not seeming surprised. He lifted a slightly shaking hand to look at his skin, as if he would see the place that Derek drawn his pain from. Even through his weariness and discomfort Derek could see his awe, his intrigue and wondered how many questions Stiles would have for him, once he was well.

“I read about it,” Stiles continued, coughing with a wince the more he spoke, “didn’t…didn’t realise it’d feel like this.”

Derek held a hand out to rest on his chest as his body shook with great heaving coughs, a silent entreaty to rest his lungs and throat. He reached for the bowl of medicine Deaton had left and brought it over. “Here, inhale this, it’ll help. Deaton’s work is like witchcraft.”

Stiles quirked a brow, even as his chest heaved. “Like witchcraft?” He inhaled heavily, sending his lungs into a spasm of uncontrollable coughs. Derek leant in, hand resting on Stiles’s back between his shoulder blades, dragging the pain the spasms were causing until they at last subsided and the medicine began to do its work. It’d work better with Stiles able to inhale deeper breaths, allow his lungs to expand fully with it, Deaton had said..

“He’s a druid, not a witch, though some wouldn’t know the difference,” Derek said carefully.

After a few deep, cautious breaths, Stiles managed shakily, “I know the difference.”

Derek nodded. “I know.” When he was sure Stiles’s breathing had steadied, he drew back, shrugging off his jacket. Stiles’s slips parted around a question that Derek held his hand out to silence. “Rest, just…don’t talk for a while, as difficult as that is.”

Stiles frowned but he didn’t seem too displeased with Derek’s teasing, just confused.

“I need to show you something,” Derek said, “I want to show you, tell you everything. We’ve got…we’ve got so much to say, I don’t even know where to start, so I’ll start with this.”

He stepped back and to the side, standing at the end of the bed and regarded Stiles carefully as he stripped to the waist. He toed off his shoes and then loosened his trousers, just enough that they hung on his hips. He heard Stiles’s heart thud a little faster, saw his cheeks flush in his sickly complexion.

Derek hesitated just a moment, fighting a lifetime of secrecy and subdued fear, before he let the change take him. His body stretched and snapped, twisting unnaturally, curving forward and shucking his loosened clothing as he did so. He braced himself on the foot of the bed and watched as his fingers changed into large black paws. When he lifted his head, if he stared hard enough, he saw the black wolf reflected in Stiles’s honey-hued eyes.

Stiles was staring, his gaze wide with wonder and astonishment but no fear. Not a scant inch. He’d obviously never seen this up close, in real life. It was likely something he’d only heard about in stories from his mother. But he was seeing it now, as real as the daylight streaming in through the window.

Derek gave him a moment, let him look his fill before he climbed onto the end of the bed. He realised, belatedly that it might appear threatening, standing over Stiles’s wounded body like this and so he wagged his tail gently, hoping Stiles would understand.

“Oh my God,” Stiles breathed, voice still hoarse. He carefully set the bowl of medicine on the side stand, the effort laboured but steady, before he reached for Derek. His long fingers, usually strong enough to hold his body up a hundred feet in the air sank into Derek’s fur, into the softest strands of obsidian silk and slid up. He caressed every inch of slender muscle that could rip him to pieces, foreign and unnatural, yet Stiles was not afraid. He was in awe.

“You’re incredible,” Stiles managed, with the same reverence Derek had offered him in the intimate closeness of Stiles’s makeshift home.

Slowly, Derek crept forward, going low on his belly without a care for his appearance until he was sprawled across the grand bed, across Stiles’s legs, warming his healing body.

Stiles stroked his muzzle, his ears with that same look of wide-eyed wonder that betrayed his thirst for the world despite how much he’d seen. It also betrayed his need for belonging and Derek ached to wrap himself around him as far as he could go.

Unable to articulate it in this shape, but unwilling to lose the gentle intimacy, Derek brushed his nose against Stiles’s cheek, his neck and when Stiles’s arms enveloped his neck, knotting in the thick fur at his scruff, he nuzzled in close and just breathed.

When the circus was rebuilt, it filled Derek with a bittersweet feeling to see the last of the white sails of the tent. It was a building now, with foundations that offered the animals and performers room to grow and flourish. It was a more permanent home to protect them all through the coming winter and the next, and the next. It’s was a sign of their permanent fixture and although that was bittersweet as well, Stiles had relayed to Derek the relief from his family at having somewhere to call home without giving up the life they loved.

It was Hale money that rebuilt it, a charity that Stilinski had hated and his jaw had ticked when Stiles had jokingly suggested he consider it a future dowry. In spite of this though, he hadn’t been able to argue with the security it offered his family, his son, the business of making happiness his wife had built.

It was a place of grandeur, with lights and glamour and crisp red dressings with gold trim to celebrate the vibrancy of its performers. No one could argue with its magnificence and it could seat hundreds more than the tent ever could. The fact that it was still open to people of all classes was what had saved it for Stilinski, Derek had thought.

In the few years since the fire, the circus had become an attraction that people had travelled the world to see, now they knew where to find them. They had become the gem of the country and Derek wondered if one day, this celebration of differentness would one day touch the entire world. Maybe then it would be safe to be what they were without fear. Until then, he considered himself one of the luckiest men alive.

He knew one day, when he took the throne that Stiles would have to take his final bow, give up performing but he thought by the time that day came, it would be long in the future, when Stiles was ready to trade this circus for that of the castle, one that would allow him to help the less fortunate smile in other ways.

The idea of ruling, when his mother and uncle finally stepped down was still a daunting task but he was beginning to realise how much opportunity there was to do good along with that responsibility. Stiles and his family had brought such happiness with nothing but talent and determination. He had resources in abundance that he could not waste, not now. Derek knew how much good he could do now, and he thought that was because of Stiles.

Derek was busier now than he had ever been, trying to use his position as best he could. Stiles always returned to his bed when the lights of the circus dimmed for the night, but still Derek tried to make at least one performance a week. There was nothing quite like watching Stiles fly.

Stiles didn’t scan the crowds for him, he was too professional for that, but whenever he took his final bow with the others, then he searched for Derek. Those bright brown eyes that held the magic of the entire show found Derek’s gaze in a sea of applause every time.

Now, like every other time, Stiles made a beeline toward him. As he drew closer to the crowds, Derek’s guard moved to envelop him, to wrap around him as if their lives depend on it. They knew, the world knew and while the public were confused at the freedom the prince’s betrothed was allowed, it was out of concern, not distaste. They could be forgiven for not knowing Derek’s senses allowed him to protect Stiles in ways they could not imagine, how he watched for even the slightest hint of malice from the surrounding people toward the man he loved.

Still, the guard made a good show of normalcy and they guided Stiles through the crowds until he was in front of Derek. Stiles’s breathless smile incited one from Derek’s lips. Without need for words, Derek took his hand and together they allowed the guard to usher them out into the cool quiet night.

They walked back in comfortable silence, with the guard a few yards behind, Stiles tired and Derek content to listen to the merriment of those returning home from the show. The stars were a thick smattering of fireflies in the midnight blue above and the castle a glistening beacon in the distance. The long stone bridge was an arm connecting one world to the next and the lanterns burned brightly along it. It was on his mother and uncle’s orders, their way of blessing, like leaving a light in the window so they may find their way home together.

It was as cold as the first night they had met and Stiles pulled the long coat he liked to call his prince’s costume around himself tighter to stave off the chill. His nose and cheeks were pinked from the cold and he was exhausted in that way that practically vibrated with satisfaction. He was happy, it was a tangible thing and Derek stroked his thumb across Stiles’s in a subtle, wordless whisper of a caress.

“What?” Stiles asked with a mischievous smile, stopping as he met Derek’s eyes. There was so much love there in that gaze Derek couldn’t offer any words to reciprocate. He just shook his head, wondering at the world they were building every day and where it would take them.

If the sight of the tent that night had been like sails in the night sky, then Stiles had been the moon, the stars, the force in the breeze carrying him home from where he’d been adrift for so long. Now, as he stood there on the bridge, he was filled with a rush of need to let him know exactly how much he meant to Derek, more than any words could offer, any official title. He hooked his fingers behind the column of Stiles’s pale neck and drew him in so that their lips could meet.

THE END

#welshwoman1988 #stereksanta18 #*fic18 #*gifts18

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positive-lesbian-vibes · 7 years

Note

You grew up in a Catholic home, right? If you don’t mind me asking, did that make it harder for your parents to accept you when you first came out? I’m in the same situation and trying to figure out how to go about it.

I grew up in a Protestant non-denominational Christian home, so not Catholic, but when I asked my mom what sect our family tended to align with more she said Evangelical (aka the Jesus Totally Would Have Called That 14 Year Old Pregnant Girl A Slut And Also Would Have Carried A Gun Sect) but in the same vein, and it 100% affected how my parents did react and how they have dealt with it since.

My dad is a very typical Christian republican who tried to donate to the baker who got sued for refusing to make a wedding cake for a gay couple (the gofundme stopped accepting donations after some exorbitantly large amount of money), he refused to buy me Doritos one time because they had a rainbow bag in support of pride, he called gay people “militant” for wanting marriage equality (not even the protests just like a gay person being like ‘huh i would like to get married to my gay partner one day’ was militant and aggressive and dangerous to him), he seriously read an article that had giant red text expressing fears of the “gay and transgender mafia”, etc. I think you get the gist of it. Because of that, I didn’t come out to my father until I had graduated high school and lived a good multi-hour drive away from home and would be able to stay there for a while should he refuse to let me back into the house. Luckily, he was the “I will stew silently” type instead of the “I’m going to tell you exactly what Satan is going to do to you in Hell” type, so I was met with silence from him on the topic, but looking back on it, I know it was the right decision to wait.

As far as my mother, I came out to her a year earlier, as a senior in high school while still living in my parents’ home. The only reason I felt safe coming out to her was because a friend of mine was experiencing homophobic abuse in his house and I was asking her what I could do to help him and she said she thought it was very sad that parents would kick their child out for being gay. I took that as a sign, told her I was confused, and she tried to be #relatable about it (she wasn’t - straight people never are), and told me she thought my gay crush was “strong friendship feelings” once I came out to her as a lesbian about a month and a half later.

Coming out to my parents didn’t end (or even begin) there. It was a series of dropping hints, sobbing in my room, trying to get them to understand why “hate the sin love the sinner” was inappropriate, asking both of them not to call me “homosexual,” still waiting for my dad to use the g word (gay) and entirely convinced the l word (lesbian) will always be caught in his throat.

It was emails to my mother trying to get her to understand that I would never tell her it wasn’t her “right” to think being gay is a sin but that it hurts me, her daughter, nevertheless and she’s welcome to choose hurting her child over her pride but not to expect me to coddle her about it. It was waiting months on end after the initial email response for my dad to make any indication that the whole thing wasn’t a fever dream at all. It was arguing with my mom about how it was my decision who to tell and who not to, not hers. It was waiting for my grandparents to find out and wondering if they know. It was going to a wedding with both of them and no one else and having not to cry during the ceremony despite the fact that my dad would never walk me down the aisle. It was having to explain to my dad why I couldn’t have a big wedding, how shitty it would feel to get an RSVP back that says “go to hell” instead of a yes or a no, how I didn’t feel like getting written out of anybody’s will so i kept my gay mouth closed tight and my gay actions off facebook.

it’s wondering if i will ever tell my mother the irreversible psychological damage she and my father have done to me, if i ever want to forgive them, if i ever can, or if i will ever be able to feel normal. its wondering whether i would ever, EVER bring a girl home to my family.

but my parents are individuals in a collective, embodiments of some generalizations and contrary to others. I spent months consciously (years unconsciously) scoping out the field, taking mental notes of where would be too far and where there would be some leeway. I plunged deep into memories I had long forgotten, forced myself to walk through every detail I could imagine, every clue, every mention of their beliefs and opinions. And I made a calculated choice about my individual parents, each of whose primary homophobic beliefs stemmed directly from Christianity, to decide who was safe and at what time. Your story will be different, anon. But it probably won’t be different enough that you don’t know what I’m talking about or feel disconnected from my story.

Good luck, dear

#also plan ur coming out well thats a more casual hot tip #dont do it at thanksgiving dinner u kno what i mean #anonymous #ask #religion tw

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intheshadowofsignificance · 7 years

Note

can i request some seto/isis/pegasus? : )

He hated the way she stole Seto’s soul with hereyes. He watched her through the windows as he entered; taking in the way thefading sunlight accented her complexion.

The doorman stammered and bowed, “Would you like atable by the window?” He managed without sounding too nervous.

“I’ve a table reserved, actually.” Pegasus repliedwith practiced grace. Confusion lined the younger’s face for a moment beforethe CEO excused his own boldness and crossed the lavish dining room. It wasold-fashioned, something he liked, and Kaiba, who sat across from the currentEgyptian ambassador unsuspectingly, despised. He could see the distaste lininghis tightly set lips.

Kaiba-boy,hechided, scanning the maroon carpeting and floral wallpaper, how simple can you be?

“Imagine seeingyou here!” He gushed to the focused brunet, who tensed immediately upon hearinghis voice.

The mysterious, theistic woman from Egypt turned hereyes to him, trying to hide the faint flicker of outrage at his intrusion.Outrage that did not match her intentions.

“Oh, what am I thinking, excuse me.” He pulled achair back to dismiss the words, sliding casually, effortless, into it. A fewstares from other patrons passed between their now three faces, some relaxingas they realized it was Seto Kaiba’s long-term business partner, not a pushymember of the press, that joined his outing, “I haven’t interrupted anythingtoo important, have I?” He lowered his pitch to an uncomfortable,almost-whisper that was directed to the young woman.

“Nothing at all.” She replied quickly. Seto’s handbarely brushed his salad fork, too quickly.

“Pegasus.” He said only loudly enough to be heardover the murmur of outside conversation, “Get out.” There was a warning in hisvoice.

“Now, now Kaiba, is that any way to treat a guest?And after I came all this way to see you.”

“That was your first mistake.”

The red-clad man laughed gently as he placed a handon the table, dangerously close to the one Kaiba had just caressed his silverwarewith, “Evidently, it was a shared mistake.” His eyes found the young woman’sagain, who refused to antagonize him even knowing she had lost the battle.

“Perhaps we should discuss this at a more convenienttime.” She forced herself to sound patient, but Pegasus didn’t need strain inher voice to call her bluff. She cast her eyes down to their empty plates,unstained, untouched by the hors d'oeuvres that sat between them.

“No.” Kaiba snapped, irritation rising in hisfeatures. He always blushed at the neck first, a beautiful, ascending flushthat rose into his jaw and along his cheeks, “Whatever you’ve come to say, sayit.”

It took even Pegasus a moment to realize that theyoung man was addressing Isis. She blinked, folding her hands, “Will you attendthe opening of the museum we discussed, when the time comes?”

Seto leveled eyes with her, the reluctance behindhis gaze a sharp blow to the woman across from him, “I’ll consider it.” Saidhis lips, but everything else was already running, far and fast.

She tried not to sound disgusted, “Very well.” Shepaired the curt reply with a small smile, softening, deflecting. “I’m happy tohear it.” She stared awkwardly down at the empty plates again, the small childin her ashamed to be seen with a man like this, so blatantly, ruthlesslyexposed in her façade to the other who had come to join them.

“I believe.” Pegasus spoke up, moving the hand thatrested near Seto’s to the wine glass the waiter offered him, “You’ve asked thewrong person permission to open a duel monsters museum.” He sipped pointedly.

“Pegasus.” Seto spat again, “This doesn’t concernyou.” Leave left a sour taste in hismouth, because no matter how many times he said it, Pegasus would not oblige.

“But that’s where you’re wrong, Kaiba-boy. DuelMonsters is my game, your branch of copyright is a formality and a courtesy.Surely you’re not making decisions on behalf of someone else’s company?”

The CEO forced himself to relax, anger ebbing outthrough his painfully straightened shoulders, “Listen you mindless,inconsiderate – “

“He is correct.” Isis cut in, ignoring the glancesfrom neighboring tables at Kaiba’s raised voice, “I overstepped my boundary.”She met his eyes, a mutual thought passing between them that both could seedespite their lack of millennium items.

Inmore ways than one.

She rose, embarrassed but undeterred, “Please acceptmy sincerest apologies.” She respected Pegasus too much to make any furthermove here, but at another time, in another place, it might have been different.She smiled to herself at the thought. Whatmight have been is not meant to be.

“He’s not calling the shots here.” Kaiba’s hand jerkedforward for her wrist, taking it roughly.

“Neither are you.” She met his eyes fiercely,pulling herself away, “We will be in touch.” She offered, ‘thank you’ passingmutely between them as her voice hid behind the last traces of her comfort. Shetook off toward the exit, and despite the growing number of whispers evolvingaround them, Seto flew into Pegasus unabashedly.

“Who the hell do you think you are coming in hereunannounced? I have things to accomplish that do not, will not ever revolvearound you or your company, and you damn well better believe –“

“Settle down Kaiba, there’s no need to shout.”

“You’re such a raging narcissist you can’t letanyone else conduct proper business with my company – unless I personally tellyou otherwise, you are to have no further contact with Kaiba Corporation!”

“You have the nerve to suggest consent to opening aduel monsters museum on my behalf and accuse me of wrong-doing? Kaiba-boy howmuch chardonnay have you been drinking.”

“I’m not doing this.” The younger tossed the napkinfrom his lap and sprung from the table, ignoring the spectacle in his wake. HowPegasus knew what they were discussing without being present was a mystery hehad no desire to unravel, “Pegasus, so help me!”

The elder was following hot on his heels, generouslyleaving enough money behind to cover the three tabs with a tip, “Gripe all youwant, it’s a free enough country.” He hummed as he said it, watching Kaiba’sstrides grown longer in anger and desperation. He liked watching him strut.He’d like it even more if not for that damned trench coat he insisted onwearing.

“You think this is a joke?” He could feel the coldspit lining the hostess’s arm as she held the door for them, gaping,asphyxiated.

“Have a wonderful evening.” She muttered.

“On the contrary Kaiba, I came on very seriousbusiness.” The younger couldn’t even scoff, disgust was so prevalentin his features that anything aside from a deep rooted scowl was unnatural.

“We’re done here.” He said, throwing open the doorof his limo and sliding, less than gracefully, into the back. He undershot theheight of the vehicle and hit his head in his haste to get away from the otherman. As clutched it, swearing loudly in protest, Pegasus shimmied into theother side.

Through the pain Seto managed to berate his driverand head of security, “What the fuck are you doing – get him out of here.”

“Again, Seto Kaiba, it’s a free enough country.” Pegasusfound the aching forehead and pressed gently against Kaiba’s clutching hands,“Stop that.” He ordered, jerking them away to examine the damage, “You’ll makeit worse.” The gap between their two forms had been bridged so suddenly thatSeto didn’t have time to register it until their warm breath mingled.

“Get away from me.” The limo began to move and hefelt the bit of chardonnay he had managed to choke down lurch into his throat.

“Shh.”

The elder coaxed pain out in long, invisibletendrils, stroking the bump as it formed.

“I’m not a child.” Seto shoved roughly against theother man’s chest, tossing him almost off the backseat and wedging his longlegs at an awkward angle, “or your escort.”

Pegasus smirked behind a curtain of silver hair, afaint glimpse of what would have been his other eye visible as he shifted backinto position, unpinning his legs from the narrowing space between him and hisprotégé. “Of course not Kaiba-boy,” he whispered huskily.

“I’m warning you.” He gripped both of Pegasus’sshoulders as they leaned closer, hands shaking with a rush of something likeadrenaline, “I’m not here to play games.” Fingers tightened into fists,practiced, ready for a fight.

Pegasus’s laughter invaded his memories of defendingMokuba in childhood, “That’s just it Seto, it’s never been a game.” He capturedthe younger man’s mouth, hands snaking between every finger, rendering themuseless.

Seto braced his hands against Pegasus’s, bending asif to snap the intrusive extremities in half, his mind had formed about halfthe thought of ‘the bigger they are, the harder they fall’ before cologneensnared his senses. Pegasus kissed him playfully at first, taking Seto’sbottom lip in both of his own until the younger’s entire being was consumed bysoft tingling.

“You’re being obscene.” He hissed, at the lastmoment his breath caught in his throat and Pegasus kissed the edge of his jaw,against his neck. There was only half a second to notice the motion of the carhad stopped, he called for his driver with no answer. Pegasus moved his handsfrom Seto’s and pushed the car door open.

Seto opened his mouth on impulse, “Wait…” he tried tosay, but before he could the elder placed a handkerchief with the goldemblem of I2 in his mouth.

“Let that be a lesson, Seto Kaiba. I don’t like to be ignored.”

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nezzfiction · 5 years

Text

ENMY Chapter 91 - Fourth Crusade (Part Three)

Chapter Synopsis: The Kingdom of Vacuo faces its most daunting challenge since its conception. Salem has launched the Fourth Crusade. Reinforcements from the Atlesian Fleet are deployed, but still too far away to make a difference.

While the death of Vacuo’s ruler and the capital’s inevitable destruction marches down its predetermined course of fate, there are still those who stubbornly refuse to submit. This is the story of those who make forge their own destiny.

Series Synopsis: Team RWBY is disbanded, and Yang must find herself new allies. For her, that might very well be yesterday’s enemies. Joining up with the likes of Emerald, Mercury, and Neo, the four will comprise Team Enemy(ENMY).

Links to read the series: Ao3 or FF.net

Or hit the jump below

Fourth Crusade (Part Three)

We don’t believe in accomplishing the impossible.

Until the time comes when we no longer have a choice.

Then we move the mountains and skies.

Then we move Heaven and Hell.

I always wondered where I went wrong that fateful day.

Raven was angrier than any time I’d ever known her. Qrow and Tai also.

I should have said something—done something. There was a point where I was afraid they might start fighting each other.

Me, afraid…

Some team leader I was.

…

Raven said Temujin was going to die and all her old friends faced the same danger, or worse.

She wanted to leave.

Qrow and Tai called her selfish and irresponsible.

And as I stared down at Yang cradled in my arms, I agreed.

But part of me wanted her to stay for my own selfish reasons.

And that was the last day STRQ Team would ever be together.

…

I was their leader, and when they needed me to lead them most, I failed.

I watched my team tear itself apart in front of me, and didn’t lift a finger to stop it.

It’s only now, I know what I should have done.

What we should have done.

…

We all wanted the same thing, but bringing that truth to the surface is always difficult. I guess that’s the same for everyone.

I have this thing… this ability.

With it, I can see people’s dreams, even walk through them. I can glimpse what they wish for the most.

There was never stopping Raven from leaving for Vacuo. She wanted our support, our understanding. Even though, she pretends not to care what we think. It broke her heart when none of us took her side.

Qrow wanted to help the Faunus cause too, but Ozpin and even Shepherd asked him not to interfere. He wanted to stop Raven from leaving more than any of us—and he blamed himself more than any of us. Qrow saw himself as a failure, when all he wanted to do was watch out for his big sister for once.

Tai loved Raven, but love can turn to hate so quickly. I don’t think he’ll ever forgive her for abandoning him and Yang. All he wanted was for us to stay together as a team. He wanted us to stay one big, happy family.

He probably wished for that more than I did.

I…

I wanted to be with Raven above everything else.

She was my partner, my best friend, my…

I loved her.

…

I’d dream forever about how that day could have ended differently. We all did.

The right word or the right sentence. Raven stopping at the front door. Her turning back, and deciding to stay in Patch. Still a sister to her brother. Still a mother to Yang. A member of STRQ Team forever.

And always the one by my side.

…

But that’s all they were.

Dreams.

We can get lost in them if we’re not careful, or worse, they can be taken advantage of.

And we can’t stop having them, either.

I think a big part of a lot of us is we wish we could want less. Feel less of that hurt when we don’t get what we so sorely need.

But I also think that’s a part of what makes the human soul—our dreams.

That’s why the only thing we can try to do is bring them to life with our own hands.

I searched a long time for the answer to that day, to what we should have done.

And after all this, I finally know.

It’s a bit late.

But I found a way to make our dreams come true.

All it will take is a little bit of luck,

A little bit of determination,

And just a little bit of courage.

X X X X X

“Thank you for lending me your help, Knives,” Summer spoke to the girl, whose body she currently possessed.

You don’t have to thank me, the small voice replied.

You’re helping me save Temujin.

And I was the one, who reached out to you in the first place.

“Yeah. But without your Semblance, none of this would be possible. So I felt like I should say thank you one more time.”

……You’re welcome, Knives replied shyly. But you should save your thanks for if we actually manage to change the future.

“True enough.”

Summer grinned inwardly.

“Such a good girl.”

The small thought made her dig her feet deeper into the stone floor. Summer tightened her grip around the daggers stopping Camlann’s claymore from running her through to Temujin. The Grimm knight’s strength and stamina were practically limitless, but still, the little girl managed to hold on.

Temujin was behind, straining her Semblance. Gravity, atmospheric pressure, even the chemicals in the air bent to her will. And still, Camlann withstood the hostile environment collapsing around it. Its massive body pushing forward one step at a time, inching its blade closer to its mortal enemy’s neck.

The stalemate brought the world around them to a halt. A density filled the throne room of the Hanging Gardens.

Meanwhile, Blake and Adam watched the war of attrition from a distance. The dark-haired girl showing a particularly conflicted expression.

“It seems Titan’s death affects me more than I realize. Else, I’d never find myself hesitating to such degree. Or is it the freshness of this new vessel?” the Witch’s speech fell from Blake’s lips. “My apologies for letting this drag on.”

Blake brandished Gambol Shroud and pointed its barrel between Summer and Temujin. She knew a simple pull of the trigger would be enough. The two couldn’t afford to divert their attentions elsewhere. They were completely vulnerable.

…

Still, when the Witch willed her finger to squeeze, it would not.

“……Blake,” she said to herself, like lecturing a child. “How long do you plan to resist? Temujin’s suffering only prolongs until her Semblance inevitably exhausts. We are performing a mercy.”

The Witch sighed, paying no attention to the rest of her body, which was now trembling uncontrollably.

“The past will not repeat itself. Titan destroyed my previous vessel. Salem is no more. You are the Witch now. Do you understand? You will kill who I want you to kill.”

Blake’s arm shook so hard, the gun almost fell out of her hands. But no matter how much the host fought, the sights of her weapon eventually tracked back to Temujin. The trigger was now being pulled. Only a few more ounces of pressure, and it would all be over.

…

The Witch sighed.

“Unbelievable. Your stubbornness is frustrating, but admirable. I’ve chosen a very good vessel this time around.”

Blake let her arm drop to the side.

“Adam,” she snapped.

But nothing happened.

“Adam.” Blake ordered more firmly.

When she turned around, she saw the young man had stabbed his sword through his own leg. Blood trickled freely from the wound. Adam collapsed to one knee.

“…Truly inconceivable,” the Witch mocked in awe. “Blake, I can more or less understand. But you, Adam. Temujin treated you like a disgrace when you grew beyond her control. She hated you for stealing Blake away.”

“She…! Could have ended me whenever she wanted…! Even now!” Adam answered with pained breaths. “Temujin has always put our people above all else…! This is the least I can do!!!”

“A noble sentiment. You are hereby ordered to consume Bane.”

The Witch’s command sent a lump down Adam’s throat. He knew what the action entailed, but despite his inner protests, his hand went to the pocket of his coat. A polished shard of obsidian quality drew shakily between his fingers.

The Bane would rob Adam of his reason. Only a beast would be left, a beast driven by nothing but his baser instincts. A hound that would follow the Witch’s orders to its letter.

With his last trace of sanity, he looked to Temujin. He didn’t know what to expect.

There was only warmth in the old Faunus’ eyes. An understanding and acceptance of what would come next. She bore no ill will towards him. A pre-conditioned forgiveness transcended the wordless stare.

Adam felt tears swell, right before his whole world reeled back into nothingness. Only the sharp cuts of crystal on his gums could be felt. And then, rage rushed out from the pits.

The berserker ripped the sword from his leg, no thought spared to worsening the wound. On the contrary, once the blade was free, the opening in the muscle tissue closed rapidly. Bane increased his healing factor, as well as cause Adam’s features to grow more bestial. His Aura began to overflow like a broken faucet.

The young man’s katana was returned to its sheath and his body lowered into his signature iaido stance.

At the same time, Camlann abruptly changed the angle of its sword. Displacing the blade up, the Grimm pressed close to Knives’ significantly smaller body and swiped its elbow in an upper cut motion. The girl’s guard broke, her daggers sent flying in different directions.

Not giving her a chance to draw replacements, Camlann brought the point of its toe to her midsection. Knives’ was able to bring her hands to catch it in time, but the kick sent her flying to the roof.

“No!”

Summer was out of the way. Adam had a clear line of sight on Temujin, and Camlann was ready to follow through.

Knives’ Semblance flashed a future coming to fruition. The veil draped over events yet to happen was being lifted. A familiar blade piercing Temujin.

You have to stop them! Knives cried from within.

“This… will have lasting consequences.”

DO WHAT YOU HAVE TO! JUST SAVE HER!

“Alright, Knives.”

As Summer’s feet met the ceiling, a burst of silvery Aura enveloped her.

The moment Adam launched his attack, a ghostly afterimage appeared in his way. Its figure obscured by a white, misty cloak. Beneath its cape, a pair of chakrams flew out. The cyclic blades caught Adam’s with perfect timing, putting a stop to it, while almost breaking the katana itself.

As quickly as the apparition appeared, so too did it evaporate.

“If I wasn’t used to seeing Raven’s techniques, that could have gone a lot worse,” Summer thought to herself.

At the same time, Camlann attempted to cleave through Temujin, but a triple strike from a descending Knives forced the claymore into the floor just short. With the weapon imbedded, the little girl landed on its spine, trapping the weapon deeper into the foundation.

“Temujin!” Summer shouted.

There was a slight reluctance, but the elder dismissed it. The activating of her Semblance increased the gravity of Camlann’s arm, holding it firmly in place.

Knives expelled a short breath. Just as the host and its possessor were about to let relief sink in, a small fluctuation in their connection occurred. Almost like the two personalities were being ripped from one another.

What is this? Why is this happening?!

“I used my own Semblance with your body,” Summer answered. “It was too much to force through our connection, and you might wake up soon.”

I can’t! We need you to fight!

“It’s alright, our bond should hold for now. Also, we managed to buy enough time!”

Just then, Blake’s ears twitched in the direction of the throne room’s entrance.

“Hmph. Unwanted guests of the most annoying variety,” she said without a hint of worry. “Adam.”

The berserk swordsman moved next to her, and together, they disappeared in a tuft of black smoke.

The instant they were gone, a man with short blond hair appeared at the entrance door. With him, flew a bird which quickly turned into a human upon landing.

The moment they passed through the archway together, Blake and Adam reappeared just above. Their blades poised and ready. Gravity guiding their ambush towards unsuspecting prey.

“Sanctuary!” Summer called.

Though the voice was Knives’, Taiyang reacted to the keyword and the authority of its tone like it was second nature. The man planted his feet. A solid stance rooted his core to the earth. As he channeled his Aura through his immediate surroundings, Chinese trigrams interposed the floor. The tattoos of his Semblance’s activation appeared all over his skin, as well as on Qrow’s.

Blake and Adam’s swords struck the pair’s necks, but only managed to cause sparks to fly, as if they connected with solid steel wall.

“Yellow Jacket!” Summer gave the following order.

Qrow and Taiyang moved. While Blake blinked out of harm’s way, the blonde martial artist circled Adam. Ducking below a wide-arcing slash, Taiyang took the swordsman’s back, putting him in a body lock.

With Adam’s limbs trapped, unable to defend himself, Qrow leveled his sword and thrust. The young man’s abdominal was pierced clean through. Qrow’s blade only stopping when it met Taiyang’s body.

As the old partners finished their combo, Knives shared another Precognition with Summer. The prediction of the future shifted slightly for a moment before returning to its course. In the changed timeline, the manner in which Temujin was killed was different, but it was a deviation nonetheless.

We can do it! Changing the future is still possible!

“Yes, but the price might be too much.” Summer said doubtfully.

What do you need?

“…More. More than what I’ve already asked.”

Then, take it!

“ If I do, the damage will be irreparable. It will be the worst-case scenario.”

I don’t care!

“Knives…”

Please! Temujin is everything to Mouse and me. If there’s a price to pay for even one chance at saving her, I’ll pay it! I don’t care what it takes!

“…I understand,” Summer acknowledged with a solemnness. “It’s probably why I was able to bond with you.”

There was movement beneath her feet. Then, Camlann freed its blade from being stuck in the ground. And with a speed that belied the Grimm’s mass, swung its claymore at the girl who once stood on it.

Just as the edge cleaved the side of Knives’ arm, the visage trailed away. Dissipated, like a mere mirage. Only a sliver of wisp left behind, before that was gone too.

A light ring from a wind chime could be heard. It was both gentle, but piercing. And like a ghost, a figure in a bright-white cape landed next to Qrow and Taiyang. A disturbing likeness to one they knew so dearly was shining through.

“Hey, guys. Did you miss me?” Knives addressed the two.

They could see the girl’s irises shimmer silver under the familiar hood. A ceaseless discharge of power flowed from them, like a force trying to break through. It was causing cracks to develop in her pupils.

“Summer? Is that really you?” Qrow murmured in disbelief.

“It is,” Summer nodded. She brandished a faint image of her chakrams—a pair of circular blades. Their diameter was the length of her legs, decorated like wreaths of thorns and roses.

“Shrike,” she ordered, before taking off at a run.

Qrow matched his movements to her. Taiyang conjured tattooed characters to blanket both their skins.

The dashing pair flanked Camlann with light-footed maneuvers. Countless strikes rang out from the knight’s armor. Because they were reinforced by Taiyang’s Semblance, their attacks cut deeper grooves than they would otherwise.

If the situation continued, the Grimm might have been brought down by a thousand small wounds. But Blake realized what was happening, and intervened.

She appeared at the Grimm’s side. Her fast bladework danced in Summer’s mirror opposite. A lightning chain exchange between light and dark rippled the air. Every collision made the atmosphere scream with the clashing elements.

“You’re killing her,” Blake commented. “You’re forcing your Semblance through whatever connection you have, and it’s killing her.”

The Witch observed the fissures in Knives’ eyes, like flaws growing in shattering glass.

“No!” Temujin yelled. “Summer! Stop using Knives this instant!”

Summer realized the Witch’s words weren’t meant to taunt her, but to incite Temujin.

“This is what she wants!” she cried out. “Knives decided this herself!”

“I don’t care!” Temujin protested. “I won’t let either of you put her life in danger any longer…”

“No!”

“She will not die on my behalf!”

“Temujin!”

But it was too late. Temujin activated her Semblance and emptied the air around Knives of oxygen. The girl could only keep what breath was still in her lungs and retreat, or risk losing consciousness.

“Finally,” Blake smirked.

The Witch immediately double teamed her assault with Camlann. A flurry of vicious strikes cut Qrow’s Aura to ribbons, and almost did the same with his flesh. But the veteran Huntsman backed off just as his defenses were giving out. The tattoos across his and Summer’s skin pulsed with a yellow burn.

As soon as Summer was out of Temujin’s territory, she parted her held breath.

“Dragonfly!”

Qrow unfolded his sword into its scythe form. He swung it around once to generate momentum. On the second return, Taiyang leapt onto its edge.

A fiery sonic boom lit the chamber as the fighter was catapulted at Camlann. The once glowing tattoos on his comrades reappeared on his skin. The damages they took transferred to him, awakening the strength that was previously dormant.

Blake tried to intercept, but her attack only seemed to amplify Taiyang’s strength, as he blew passed her.

Camlann stabbed its sword-arm into the ground. It dug it in like an anchor to withstand the oncoming force. The Grimm’s shield went up, large enough to cover its whole body.

Taiyang pulled his elbow back in preparation. When he reached the optimum distance, his hand thrusted out. A firm stance was taken at a zero-point distance.

For a brief moment, the world came to a strenuous halt.

And then, Taiyang’s palm connected with Camlann’s aegis. The martial artist interposed trigram formations onto the bony surface, and the characters erupted.

An explosion of fire sundered the Grimm’s shell off its wielder’s body, and with it, a number of scales from Camlann’s armor. The previous attacks from Qrow and Summer’s Shrike combo set up enough damage for the bone to rupture.

Taiyang had to concentrate a majority of his Aura into the blow, but the result was irrefutable. He was about to finish the Grimm off, when Blake almost severed his arm with both her blades.

A low chime resounded, and Taiyang was shifted back to his comrades’ side with Summer’s hand wrapped around his.

“Honestly, must I do everything?” the Witch rolled her eyes and scowled.

She drew a number of Bane shards from her pouch, and knocked them to the back of her throat. Taking so much of the substance led to a thick mist engulfing her body. Only a pair of haunting amber spheres with thin slits was visible through the fog.

Suddenly, nine shadows of giant cats erupted from the clouds. Their yellow eyes mimicked their original, as they pounced at Summer, Qrow, and Taiyang from different directions. The attack not only distracted them, but obscured their vision. And it was there, Blake found her opening.

“A bit underhanded. But one shouldn’t really concern themselves with foul play when carrying out one’s destiny.”

Blake’s actual body turned to the wounded Camlann, and reached out.

“And so, the wheels of fate resume their turn.”

Summer and Knives shared another vision of the future. This one, more vivid than the others. Its events overlapped the present with exact likeness.

With a callous motion, Blake grasped the base of Camlann’s sword-arm, and ripped it from its shoulder.

“GRAAAAHHHHH!!!!” the monster wailed in pain.

The Witch paid the creature no mind, as she held the Grimm’s torn limb weightlessly in her hand. Within the same breath, she threw it with a flick of her shoulder.

The point of the sword made-javelin, soared towards its target with frightening speed.

“Ah…” Temujin exhaled.

“So, this is how my story ends.”

X X X X X

The moment she closed her eye, Temujin felt a symphony of echoes cascade around her.

“All I wanted was for Raven to stay.”

“Vacuo will not die!”

“Where is Temujin?!”

“I have to get back to Cinder!”

“Is Yang alright?”

“Blake’s here! I need to see her!”

“The world will start over.”

“How will the Strongest survive now?”

““TEMUJIN!!!””

Her conscious slipped deeper into the darkness. Her corporeal sense homed in to the figure floating before her. A woman cloaked in ghostly white whispered.

“I know your dreams, too.”

Summer’s smile could barely be gleaned beneath her hood.

“You do, do you?” Temujin questioned.

“Temujin, the fabled Fang of Vacuo and Great Khan. Hero of the Third Crusade and Savior of the Faunus people.”

“I am a plague and a tyrant. The worst kind. One that is championed by the people.”

“That’s not what you are.”

“I’ve sent countless to their deaths, and have taken the lives of countless more. Do you know what I feel after all of that?”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Temujin chuckled mockingly, as if to accost herself. “Nothing.”

“That’s not true. You and I know that. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be trying so hard to find a way to die.”

“My death will serve as small recompense, and it is all I can offer.”

“Like I said, I know your dreams—your wish.”

“…”

“It hasn’t changed since the day you were reborn in the desert. It hasn’t changed since you were a little girl. And it’s no different from your brother’s, from Raven’s, or from any of your people’s.”

“I was a tyrant, or I was very much close to becoming one.”

“You wanted prosperity. You wished for your people to live free, strong, and with pride. You taught your loved ones to take charge of their own destinies. That’s the opposite of a tyrant.”

“I sacrificed them without regret.”

“You wanted to save them at any cost. And you always regretted…You just never allowed yourself to face it until now.”

Temujin felt something prick her heart. It hurt more than any wound she suffered in battle. It spread and overwhelmed her with a sickening nausea.

““TEMUJIN!!!””

Several cries echoed around them. Voices of many she recognized. They were reaching out for her with all they could, with every desperate measure.

“Can you hear them?” Summer asked. “Will you really ignore them?”

“…”

“They’re willing to do anything to save you, like you would for them. They don’t care what Grimm they have to face, or fight whatever the Witch brings, or even if an army of immortals stood in their way.”

“…Idiots.”

“They’d break any rule. They’d ignore whatever the fates wished.”

“All of them…idiots,” Temujin worded with a shiver.

“Yes. We all are.”

“I wish I could deny them.”

“You can’t. That’s the nature of wishes. Sometimes they’re the same, sometimes they’re different and they conflict with each other. And they all vary in strength.”

“…”

“Your wish to die a noble death?”

“…”

“It’s actually pretty weak,” Summer grinned. “There are two especially who are really stubborn and good at fighting yours and fate’s wishes.”

“I wonder who that would be?”

“You can make a guess.”

X X X X X

Temujin opened her eye to the sound of shattering glass. Somethings or someones had broken through the windows of the throne room. And a pair of familiar figures rushed into her field of vision. Their outstretched hands trying to stop Camlann’s sword from piercing her.

The worry on their faces was something she felt guilty about cherishing. It was a sight she would engrave into her memory for the rest of her life.

Not bad for the last thing I’ll ever see.

X X X X X

Summer and Knives watched the prediction play out, and then diverge into two clear paths. The culmination of all their efforts led to this single crossroad.

Summer activated her Semblance along with her Maiden’s Inheritance. The consequences of forcing her abilities through a proxy would exact an unbearable price. But a price Knives would have paid a hundred times over.

Her shade flickered to Raven’s side. Summer’s hands grasped the sword at her waist and cast the Grimm sleeping within to a deep slumber.

That should nullify Salem’s contract for a little bit.

Now, do what you need to do.

X X X X X

Raven and Yang launched themselves from Ilia’s airship, through the windows of the throne room. They watched the claymore fly towards Temujin in slow motion. The mother and daughter willing everything to reaching the elder woman in time.

They were close enough to see the peaceful expression on Temujin’s face. The expression of one that accepted their fate as sealed. A spirit of resignation.

…

But they would never allow such a thing.

As Temujin opened her eye once more to see them rush to her aid, she could tell what they were thinking without them saying a word.

““FUCK FATE!””

The Grimm blade pierced its mark and blood was spilt. Yang and Raven caught its edge with their barehands, and ripped it away before it could bore any deeper into Temujin’s skull. The monstrous arm was flung to a nearby wall, while the two caught the old Faunus on each side.

“Temujin! Speak to me! Don’t you dare die on me, you old bat!!!” Raven shouted desperately.

“Hey!” Yang also cried with tears in her eyes. “Come on! You don’t get to die just like that! This is bullshit! Wake the hell up, grandma!!!”

There was only silence.

…

Then,

“Mmm…!” Temujin grumbled incoherently for a moment. “Damn it.”

She lifted her hand to check what used to be her remaining eye.

“Bastard took the other one.”

“You stupid, old bitch!” Raven pressed her head into Temujin’s chest, sobbing uncontrollably. “Who gives a fucking damn about your eye! You’re still alive!”

“I give a damn. It was my last one…”

“Well…! At least you can’t make fun of how I look right now.”

“Yes. But I don’t think I’ll ever forget how you and Yang had the same sniveling noses when you thought I was going to die.”

“You’re the worst!” Yang said with tearful laughter.

“You really are,” Raven agreed.

…

*Clap*

Raven and Yang turned to the source of sarcastic applause. Their tempers instantly flaring with unquenchable hate.

“Bravo,” the Witch ended with one more clap. “I do love theater.”

“Salem…” Yang snarled.

“Oh, no. Not Salem,” Blake corrected. “Salem is no more. I am the Witch now. Not merely a host, but the legitimate article.”

The girl smirked, and gave a flick of her wrist. A dark grimoire appeared aloft in her hand.

“And with it, comes all my immortal capabilities. I’m sure you must understand what that means, Raven.”

The swordswoman only glared silently.

“You are now outmatched. And in the process, failed to stop me from taking Miss Belladonna’s body,” the Witch glowered. “You, as well, Yang Xiao Long. You failed your former partner and lover. Like mother, like daughter, I suppose. Tradition as old as rhyme.”

“We’ll see if you’re still singing that same tune, when I rip you out of Blake like the leech you are!!” Yang roared. “I’ll save her!”

“Oh, I’m sure you believe that, dear. But then again, how will you save this girl when you can’t even save yourself?”

Blake’s nine clones assembled beside the original. From the grimoire, a number of emblems flew from its pages, and engraved themselves into the replications. Each lent a certain special characteristic to its wielder.

Blake’s shadows then, leapt to attack. Multiple unique Semblances were activated in tandem. Every one of them with an ability previously recorded in the Witch’s grimoire.

“Nightingale!” Summer called out.

Raven’s body moved almost of its own accord. The blade of a katana grew from the underside of her wrist, like an extension of her forearm. She moved in concert with her partner. Traces of Summer’s Aura within her soul sang in harmony with her beloved’s.

The pair’s figures blinked in and out intermittently across the throne room, parrying the various strikes of Blake’s clones. A melodious song weaved through the wind of their every step. A lethal duet they had not performed in years, but a rhythm they comfortably fell into.

In the meantime, Taiyang snapped to a responsibility only he could fulfill. He rushed to Temujin’s side, dodging the apparitions of the Witch along the way, while protected by Summer and Raven.

Once he reached the elder, Taiyang laid his palm across her bleeding eye socket. The glowing characters of his Semblance transposed onto her. The blood stopped and the wound cauterized.

“She’ll be fine for now,” he said to a worried Yang. “Right now, we need to—”

His words were cut short, as Adam’s blade was barely blocked by Yang’s gauntlet. A slash that would have otherwise cleared Taiyang’s neck.

“Damn…! Could you give a girl a break?!”

Adam only frothed at the mouth, not seeming to understand anything.

“You no longer have the resources to fight, Yang Xiao Long,” all of Blake’s clones said at once. “Your soul is spent.”

“That’s fine, though!” Summer interrupted. Her pair of rose chakrams fending of the rapid flourishes of Gambol Shroud. “Our team will take it from here.”

“Hmph. The illustrious STRQ Team. A shadow of an exaggerated legend. It wasn’t so long ago you were at bitter odds with one another. Do you truly expect to work under such faulty pretenses?”

“Harbinger!”

As soon as the call went out, Summer withdrew to conserve Knives’ strength, and Raven and Qrow dashed shoulder to shoulder.

“Still remember how to do this, little brother?”

“I can take the lead if you’re feeling forgetful.”

“Just make sure you keep up.”

As the Branwens flew to their targets, they left a trail of black feathers in their wake. Raven saw the Death in their enemies. Thin red threads outlined the fatal flaws in Adam and Blake’s bodies, guiding her blade. Her movements, in turn, paved the path for Qrow’s.

The younger sibling’s Reaper Semblance synchronized with his sister’s. Each fall of Raven’s attack was followed by Qrow’s scythe. The lethal one-two combo decimated the shadows of the Witch. But as her clones fell one after another, the main body only paid attention to Camlann’s sword-arm embedded in the wall.

Blake ripped it from its spot, turning it over in inspection. She then, paid the wounded Grimm with a pitiful look. The knight was still on one knee, leaning on its broken shield for support.

“Do not worry, Camlann. Your wish will be fulfilled yet.”

Blake held out the dismembered limb towards its owner. Dark tendrils sprouted, connecting the two with an eerie Magic. The grotesque sinew pulsated and crunched, until the knight’s body was devoured into the sword. A new cursed artifact was born.

“Hm,” Blake marveled, holding the claymore upright. “This may be one of my finest works yet.”

Dark lightning traveled up and down the artifact’s edge. An ominous bloody glow irradiated its hilt to its ridge. One test swing made the wind roar with a murderous storm.

Who first?

Perhaps, Yang Xiao Long?

Temujin would also make a fine test.

The Witch loosened and retightened her grip on the new version of Camlann. She also rechecked the control over her body.

The assimilation is progressing smoothly.

Enough of it seems complete, in that Blake can no longer interfere.

The girl bolted for where Yang and Temujin rested.

…

“Summer!” Raven shouted upon noticing.

“Don’t worry,” Summer whispered within her. “We won’t let anything happen to either of them. We’re with you.”

Raven stopped in her tracks, and felt a familiar Magic swell within her. It was an ability she used only a handful of times. Like the Magic Ozpin granted her and her brother, which let them transform into birds, Salem granted Raven something as well.

It was in no small way one of the reasons Temujin was able to overcome the Third Crusade and go blow for blow against the previous Spring Maiden.

“Onimaru!” Summer called.

Raven’s form warped and twisted. The core of her soul was drawn out from within, while her physical body retracted in its opposite. The purest derivative of her Semblance and personality was borne in the shape of an Odachi.

Raven’s alternate form shone with the deepest black steel. A thick, viscous smog drifted along its spine, like oil floating in water. Simply keeping still, its ink painted the canvas of the atmosphere. Beautiful, ceremonial threads of crimson decorated its handle, while tassels weaved from its end like a tail.

At the same time, Summer’s figure blinked in Blake’s path with a low ring. Raven’s sword form flew to her partner’s grasp. As the two made contact, their wills and strengths became one. The braids of the Odachi wrapped Summer’s arm, fusing their Auras.

A rush of chaotic energy exploded from the godly blades meeting each other. Camlann’s wrath electrified the air around them. Raven’s brushstroke reaped death with each breath.

“I can’t believe you’re here, Summ.”

“Really? I can,” Summer replied to the echoes of the sword.

“How did you know this was going to happen?”

“Cause I knew we could make it. Because I knew this was what we wished for.”

A shockwave caused the pillars in the room to crumble slightly. Blake and Summer traded blows with their greatswords an immeasurable amount of times. Each exchange rippled the fabric of reality, bringing forth influences from the Never Realm.

The lightning from Camlann intertwined with the fiery ink of Raven’s calligraphy. Summer felt her hand guided by her partner’s embedded technique. A devastating horizontal slash and reverse was performed like the flight of a swallow’s return. Meanwhile, Blake thrust Camlann with a force culminated from the wrath of thousands of fallen Crusaders.

The roof tore open and the combination of thunder and brush streaks scarred the sky.

“This is what should have been,” Summer said. “This is what we should have done all those years ago.”

In spite of the clash of cataclysmic proportions, or perhaps because the situation demanded the partners’ inner hearts to unite, Summer and Raven’s inner thoughts were shared.

“We should never have left you alone.”

“It’s not your fault, Summ. I made my choice to leave the team. I needed to save Temujin.”

“And I’m saying we should have gone with you. It doesn’t matter the reasons. We all wanted the same thing in our own ways.”

“…”

“But it’s today we do it right.”

As Summer finished the thought, Raven realized what she meant. A warmth she hadn’t felt for so long brimmed like a mad joy.

Taiyang, Qrow, and Summer were here with her. STRQ Team was reunited, here in Vacuo. Together, they were saving her home and helping her protect Temujin. It was like a dream come true.

“…I love you, Summ.”

“Hehe! I love you, too!”

“Hey, Tai? You get the feeling we’re missing something important?” Qrow appeared.

“Dunno,” Taiyang shrugged. “But I’ll tell ya, I haven’t enjoyed a fight like this in a long while!”

Synchronizing their assault with their leader, the two men joined their teammates on each side. The complete onslaught of STRQ Team became an overwhelming contest against the Witch, who’s hands were failing to keep up.

It was then, Blake felt heat tickle just above her shoulder. She ducked the sneak attack, vanishing to an empty space of the chamber. The fist of a blazing gold narrowly missed her.

“Damn it! If I wasn’t running so low on fumes, I would’ve gotten you!” Yang complained.

In the break from her opponents, Blake made a quiet assessment of her situation. Temujin was barely hanging on to her life. STRQ Team were a formidable threat, but they were approaching their limits, especially with Summer possessing Knives. And Yang was in the worst condition of them all.

On the Witch’s side, her only ally in Adam was overdosed on Bane and crippled by fatal injuries. Her strength, complimented by Camlann’s artifact, could overwhelm STRQ Team over time. The problem was the newness of her vessel.

Blake was strong. The Witch had been preparing her body for some time now, but the demise of “Salem” came earlier than expected. Contrary to her earlier bluff, the young Faunus wasn’t completely capable of harnessing all her Magic yet. If the battle continued, she would risk the same long-term damages Knives was accruing from Summer’s possession. It was too early for the Witch to sacrifice her new vessel. That is, unless the benefit outweighed the penalty.

And then, there was still the previous host trying to break control.

“…Yang!” Blake cried.

“…”

“You have to end me!”

Yang recognized the tone as her former partner’s. There was no questioning it. Whether the Witch was letting the personality surface on purpose didn’t matter.

“Yang—!”

“No.” Yang shook her head. “I’m not killing you, Blake. Not ever.”

“Please…! You have to!”

“Did you really just expect me to say, ‘Sure! No problem’?” she flashed a confident smile. “I’m going to save you no matter what.”

“…Really? After all that’s happened?”

“You’ll never stop being important to me. Things change, but that never will. I’m coming for you.”

Yang lowered into a fighting stance. The engines of her Ember Celica gave a violent sputter before firing its afterburners. Red painted her eyes.

It wasn’t just Yang, but STRQ Team also readied to resume their desperate battle. Haggard or not, they held the same unwavering determination as the younger. The idea of taking Blake’s life never crossed their minds.

“Hm,” the Witch remarked with amusement. “I can use that. If you’re not willing to destroy this body to defeat me, then I won’t have to worry about—”

“Blake?”

The young girl’s ears perked at hearing the familiar voice. It felt like her heart suddenly stopped beating, and her breath was taken away. The Witch couldn’t force the body to move the way she wanted.

“Blake, you promised me, right?” Ilia approached. “You remember? You still in there?”

“…Illy. D-don’t…!” Blake staggered back, clutching her head. “Don’t come near me…!”

“Blake,” Ilia stepped closer. “It’s time to come home. It’s time to come back to me. I’m right here.”

“Stop! I can’t hold her back!”

“Yes. You can.”

“She’s too strong!”

“You’re stronger!”

Ilia was now close enough, and grasping Blake’s hands. The sword of Camlann fell to the side.

“I love you, Blake.”

The lines in the girl’s face knitted with anguish, while the black in her eyes warped. Two souls within the body warred for influence. The yellow glow in her irises shimmered with change. Then, in a tone that was completely genuine,

“I love you, too, Illy. I haven’t forgotten our promise,” Blake nodded tearfully.

Her soft expression hardened, as she turned to her former partner. A quiet determination burned there.

“Yang?”

“Yeah, Blake. I promise I’ll bring you back to Ilia.”

“……Thank you.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

Blake smiled, and returned to Ilia with a meaningful look. She leaned in to leave a soft kiss on her lips, before stepping firmly away.

“It’ll be a little longer, I think,” she said apologetically.

“Don’t keep me waiting too long,” Ilia replied with a sorrowful grin.

“I’ll try not to.”

A thick black smog swirled Blake’s body, and engulfed the entire throne room for a moment. When it dissipated, the girl was gone.

…

Ilia looked to Yang.

It was no secret she harbored a lot of resentment towards her. But it was in this moment, the two completely understood one another. The determination to save the same cherished person was a bond a long time coming. A wordless vow was shared.

“So,” Yang started awkwardly. “Does that mean we’re friends now?”

And just as quick as the understanding formed, so too did it break as Ilia clicked her tongue with annoyance.

“Not on your life, Xiao Long.”

“—Not until you get Blake back for me.”

X X X X X

Summer’s strength abruptly left her and her grip on Raven with a sudden jolt. Her small body went limp, like it was struck with instant paralysis.

Raven dropped to her human form and caught her.

“Summer! Summer, what’s wrong?!”

The misty visage of the woman evaporated to reveal Knives heaving heavy breaths. Her sweating chest raised and fell, like her tiny body had just been freed from carrying an impossible burden. The Silver in her irises pale—before cracking open completely.

“Summer…” Temujin groaned. “What have you done…?”

“It’s the price for channeling my Semblance and the Maiden’s Inheritance,” Summer’s voice came distantly from Knives’ lips. “It’s supposed to be impossible under any other circumstance. But Knives is a very exceptional girl, Temujin. You should be proud.”

“…”

“She’ll be blind from now on. Her Semblance is gone, too.”

“What?!”

“Knives understood what it would take from the beginning and the risks that would come with me possessing her. And she did it, anyway. If you want to blame me, I’m fine with that.”

“Knives…” Temujin wept. “Knives, why for someone like me?”

“The same reason you would do anything for her.”

“Damn it…! Stupid girl!”

“Love and stupid go together a lot,” Summer gave a small, deprecating chuckle. “Raven?”

“Yeah,” the woman clutched the girl’s hand, while she stared blankly into nothing. “I’m here, Summ. We’re all here.”

“Sorry, I kinda sprung all this without warning. I’m sure you all have questions.”

“Only about a thousand of them, but what’s new?” Raven gave a stifled chuckle.

“I missed you. All of you. But like all things that are too good to be true—”

“They don’t last.”

“Nope. No, they don’t.”

Summer sat up with painful effort. Although she was blind, she seemed to sense where everyone was, as she turned to each as she spoke.

“Qrow, Ruby needs as much training as possible before the final battle. It’s only half, but she needs to learn how to use the Maiden’s Inheritance too.”

“Seriously? You appear out of nowhere, possessing some girl, and that’s all you have to say to me?”

“Your leader’s orders are absolute.”

“Heh!” Qrow wiped his eyes. “Haven’t heard that for way too long.”

“And don’t forget to give Yang the Relic.”

“How do you—never mind. Of course, you know.”

“Tai, once I leave Knives’ body, I won’t be able to regulate her Aura. Use your Semblance to keep her from dying.”

“Yeah, alright,” Taiyang sighed. “You got it. Leader’s orders.”

Summer produced Raven’s old sword, and handed it to its rightful owner.

“The Grimm inside it will wake once I leave Knives. Once it does, your contract with the Witch continues.”

“I figured as much,” Raven answered bitterly, as she took the sword. A familiar dread bound her soul to the accursed weapon once again.

“We’ll talk more when the time is right,” Summer promised all of them. “I’m not supposed to be here in the first place, so I’ll hold off on hearing all your complaints for the moment!”

The rest of STRQ Team chuckled at their leader’s words.

“And, Yang?”

Yang swallowed hard as she stepped towards her.

“I’ll see you and Ruby in Menagerie.”

“………Alright, mom…” she answered uneasily. Yang tried to control the emotion rising in her throat, but it only made her hiccup painfully.

“I’m so proud of how far you’ve come. Just a little bit longer now. I know you can do it.”

“……Alright, mom.”

Summer smiled fondly. The edges of her lips then, relaxed and her eyelids drifted close. Summer’s presence receded, and the original host of the body became its only occupant.

…

“Well,” Raven nonchalantly stood with a huff. “That didn’t go as terribly as it could have gone.”

“You mean, us being a Team again?” Taiyang clarified.

“Mostly because Summer was here. You two bozos were extras.”

“Of course,” Qrow rolled his eyes. “Would it kill you to just say something nice to us once in a while?”

Raven opened her mouth, and then closed it.

“…Thank you. Both of you. For coming.”

Taiyang and Qrow blinked with surprise, before breaking into embarrassed smiles.

“Oh god,” Taiyang massaged the back of his neck. “I feel old.”

“You, too, huh?” Qrow chuckled.

The three shared a quiet moment together. A small rewrite of history. The day STRQ Team disbanded was overwritten with today’s reunion, no matter how brief.

“Qrow, Tai,” Raven spoke. “You look better. Less drunk and depressed than I’ve seen in a long time. Make sure whoever’s looking after your sorry asses keeps doing it.”

““Uh huh…”” they both groaned, looking away.

“And just in case you idiots get any dumb ideas, know that we’re still enemies after this. The same goes for you too, Yang.”

“I know, mom,” the daughter rolled her eyes. “I’m coming for you too, you know. Blake’s not the only one I’m dragging back home.”

“…Don’t get cocky. Well, then. I guess I’ll see you all on the full moon.”

Raven turned and was about to leave, when she stopped.

“Take care of yourself, you old prune.”

“As much as a blind woman can,” Temujin waved vaguely.

“And don’t,” she paused. “Don’t do something stupid like trying to kill yourself again! Or I swear, I’ll stop you just so I can kill you myself.”

“Oh ho ho! Who taught you to speak that way?”

“……I really thought I lost you this time.”

“……I’m sorry, Raven.”

“The most stubborn old woman in Remnant apologizing. This really is the end for Vacuo.”

Raven drew her blade, and sliced open a portal.

…

“Get out of here, while you still can.”

X X X X X

With the battle in the Hanging Gardens finished, Yang made her way to the throne room’s balcony.

Dusk was now setting in, as she saw smoke stacks rising from the North, West, and South. The armies of Grimm were still launching their endless assault on the capital despite their master’s retreat. From the looks of it, it was only a matter of time before they broke through the Walls and Vacuo was lost.

“Really can’t catch a break,” Yang sighed into the wind.

She basked in the somber moment, while Qrow joined her side.

“How are ya, kiddo?”

“Are we talking physically, mentally, or emotionally? Not that the answer isn’t the same for all of the above…”

“I hear that.”

“How’s Knives and Temujin?”

“Your dad’s making sure they’re stable until medical teams arrive.”

Yang paused.

“……And Adam?”

“The Bane’s taken its toll, but he’ll live.”

“Ilia bringing the airship around yet?”

“Soon enough. You sure you still wanna do this, kid? Don’t know how much good you can do in your condition.”

“The war goes on,” Yang gave a tired shrug. “My team’s still out there. And I need to make sure there’s something here when the Atlesian Fleet arrives. I can’t just let Vacuo fall like this. Not after everything.”

“Yeah, I figured as much. You know, we might actually die before we see Summer again at this rate,” Qrow commented, while observing the continuous swarms of Grimm in the distance.

“Since when is anything in life guaranteed?”

“True.”

Qrow reached in his pocket, and pulled out a chess piece.

“Ozpin wanted you to have this.”

“The Relic from Beacon’s exam?” she cocked her head. The Maiden Inheritance within her resonated with the object’s appearance. “What…is it?”

“It’s a memento from the Old One. Titan’s last gift to the Children of Remnant.”

“It’s not going to take over my body, is it?”

“I will admit, it’s similar to the cane Ozpin left. But no, you’re not going to be the next vessel for anybody. Titan’s gone. I’m pretty sure, as a Maiden, you felt that.”

“Yeah…” Yang took the chess piece in her hand and examined it.

Without a second thought, she channeled her Aura through, and felt something funnel back. A wealth of information flooded her brain, or more accurately, an insight. Her very concept of the world shifted ever so slightly, but nonetheless significantly.

“Yang?” Qrow checked.

“I think… I just learned Magic,” Yang muttered in disbelief.

“Seriously?”

“Kind of. I can’t…use it exactly, cause I’ve never done it before but…” Yang was in the process of organizing her newfound thoughts. “They’re more like instructions, but not?”

“Anything in there to help us out at all?”

“One specific thing, as a matter of fact. But I need some time.”

Yang tapped her in-ear communications.

“Em! Minerva! Nai! How long will the Walls hold out the Grimm?”

“Yang?! I guess from the sounds of it, Temujin hasn’t bit the dust!” Emerald replied.

“Wait, what do you mean? Temujin was in danger?” Minerva questioned in surprise.

“We can talk about that piece of drama later,” Yang cut them off. “How are the Walls?”

“We are holding defenses here in the Northern theater,” Minerva answered.

“We are somehow also managing the Southern Walls,” Nai checked in.

“Looks like the West is where it’s gonna fold,” Emerald said. “Bean’s doubling down over here. There’s more Grimm being committed to this sector. It’s probably gonna hold for another hour, maybe two tops. Then, we’re fucked up the ass.”

“Damn it! That’s not enough time!”

Yang slammed her fist on the guardrail. Her mind was quickly thinking of ways to prolong the battle. Minerva and Nai could move to assist Emerald, but they would take too much time. Their respective areas could also fall in their absence.

They needed more. More time, more people than they had, more resources, but any resemblance of anything like that was still too far away.

They needed a miracle.

…

Yang’s radio suddenly crackled, followed by a voice from one she didn’t expect to hear.

“Do not lose heart,” Cinder’s words resounded confidently from the other end.

“Immediate reinforcements are inbound.”

#rwby #yang xiao long #Blake Belladonna #Summer Rose #raven branwen #qrow branwen #taiyang xiao long #TEAM STRQ #ENMY

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find-your-rp-partner · 8 years

Text

Care to Roleplay? :3

Greetings! All those wonderful people who have taken the time to read my role-play request. It is an absolute honour to be here and introduce myself as one of the keen lovers of a very distinctive hobby we all have grown to love - Roleplaying.

Feel free to call me Avari (which happens to be my very absurd internet alias). I am an eighteen year old college student, studying pre-med from the all too notorious university of Cambridge. Yes, I’m British and no, I haven’t met the Queen….yet. I am an absolute lover of dogs since I have like three myself and I hate the winter reason...ugh I can already feel my fingers freeze as I type...

Cravings!

Naruto Next Generation RP: Boruto

Absolutely no idea why I have a craving of this but god damn it, Kishi! (⊙.⊙(◉̃_᷅◉)⊙.⊙) I cannot get over how adorable the new characters are! I just have to...I have to role-play this one way or the other!

Love Interest(s): Boruto Uzumaki, Sarada Uchiha, Adult Naruto Uzumaki, Adult Hinata Uzumaki

Original Role-plays

If you have any original idea, and I mean ANY original idea, please contact me! I have been craving an original role-play for so long that my hunger has finally come to surface. I have a few ideas of my own which I would only share if you contact me! 💪 (`▿´) 👊

Free! Iwatobi Swim Club

Do I even have to say anything about this? Hot guys in tight swim suits is my sort of aesthetic ( ◡́.◡̀)\(^◡^ )

Love Interest(s): Haruka Nanase, Makoto Tachibana, Gou Matsuoka

Mystic Messenger

I LIVE FOR THIS M*THER F*CKING GAME

Love Interest(s): Jumin Han, Jaehee kang

Length and Literacy ᕙ(`▿´)ᕗ

I love to write and, admittedly, I get carried away from time to time. Other times, I may suffer writer’s block and be rendered unable to reply because nothing will come to me. I hate to be that person, but I am going to put a minimum requirement. The minimum amount I will accept is 400 words per side. I usually write between 600 and 1,000 words per side, so I believe that’s at least fair. With literacy, try your hardest; that’s all I ask of you. I am very lenient when it comes to length because a person can write a whole novel and I would be sitting in the corner of my bedroom with my laptop and a bowl of popcorns to enjoy the whole work of art, yes writing is art for me. Or they could send me one paragraph which is good sized and I would be as quick as lightening to send one back so both novella and one paragraph have their perks. But I would never accept one-liners since they tend to ruin the flow of the roleplay.

Leaving ≧◠‿●‿◠≦

If you’re going to drop me while discussing plots or immediately after starting, I request that you don’t message me at all. It happens far too often and has become more of a pain than anything else. If you don’t like my writing style or what I have in mind for my side of the roleplay, that’s all you have to say.

Limits (͠≖ ͜ʖ͠≖)👌

Not a lot I’m uncomfortable with in the scheme of things. I won’t tell you, “No, I won’t do that.” Odds are, I’ll probably do it. I have absoutely no limits except for the ones mentioned below because God knows what goes inside this dirty mind of mine.

*Gets bitch slap by God* O-Okay...let’s move on...

The only limits I have are:

✕ Pedophilia (Grown Adult x Anyone Under 16) ✕ Bestiality

✕ Your OC x My OC

Reply Time ☜(ˆ▿ˆc)

It may take me five minutes to reply, or it may take me five days. It all depends on my workload, how many roleplays I have going on, and whether or not I have writer’s block. Messaging me twice a day to see if I’m going to reply isn’t going to make it come faster. Because I’m an asshole, messaging me twice a day to see where the reply is will move our roleplay to the bottom of the list. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Just be nice and give me a decent amount of time to reply; I’ll let you know if something came up and is preventing me from replying for longer than five days. I am honestly looking for someone who can reply around the clock because I would delete a threat of the person has not replied for like, two - three weeks and I might send a couple of emails if I have not heard from you in a week. I can reply within a day, or two at maximum but maybe that’s because I have no life ._. (Lying!) Please reply on time and I would be a happy partner :3

OOC Chatting (─‿‿─)

Contrary to how my rules may make me out to be, I love talking to my partners! If you want to chat about something you’re really excited about or vent because you’re having a bad day, by all means, I’m all ears! I won’t tell you to leave me alone.

Writing Sample!

Looking up at the giant who loomed above her, she felt very small and fragile. Oddly, she also felt safe. Safer than she had felt in three years. Loosening her grip on his hands, she raised her own hand and touched her fingers to a cut on his chin. "You've been hurt, too," she said, smiling shyly at him.

Jordan caught his breath at the unexpected glamour of the lad's glowing smile and froze in amazement when he felt an odd, inner tingle from the boy's touch. A boy's touch. Brusquely shaking off the small hand, he wondered grimly if his boredom with life's ordinary diversions was turning him into some sort of perverted dilettante. "You haven't yet told me your name," he said, his tone deliberately cool as he began exploring the boy's lower rib cage, watching his small face for any sign of pain.

Alexandra opened her mouth to give her name, but gave a shriek of outraged panic instead when he suddenly slid his hands onto her breasts.

Jordan jerked his hands away as if they'd been scorched. "You're a girl!"

"I can't help it!" Alexandra flung back, stung by the sharp accusation in his voice.

The absurdity of their exchanged words struck them both at the same time: Jordan's black scowl gave way to a sudden grin and Alexandra started to laugh. And that was how Mrs. Tilson, the innkeeper's wife, found them—both on the bed, laughing, the man's hands arrested a few inches above Miss Alexandra Lawrence's gaping shirt and bosom.

"Alexandra Lawrence!" she exploded, barging into the room like a battleship under full sail, sparks shooting from her eyes as they leveled on the man's hands above Alexandra's open shirt. "What is the meaning of this!"

Alexandra was blessedly oblivious to the portent of what Mrs. Tilson was seeing and thinking, but Jordan was not, and he found it nauseating that this woman's evil mind could apparently accuse a young girl of no more than thirteen years of collaborating in her own moral demise. His features hardened and there was a distinct frost in his clipped, authoritative voice. "Miss Lawrence was hurt in an accident just south of here on the road. Send for a physician."

"No, do not, Mrs. Tilson," Alexandra said and lurched into a sitting position despite her swimming senses. "I'm perfectly well and wish to go home."

Jordan spoke to the suspicious woman in a curt, commanding voice. "In that case, I'll take her home, and you can direct the physician to the bend in the road a few miles south of here. There, he'll find two thugs who are beyond needing his skill, but he can ensure they're properly disposed of." Reaching into his pocket, Jordan withdrew a card with his name engraved on it beneath a small gold crest. "I'll return here to answer any questions he may have, once I've taken Miss Lawrence to her family."

Mrs. Tilson muttered something scathing under her breath about bandits and debauchery, snatched the card from his hand, glowered at Alexandra's unbuttoned shirt, and marched out.

"You seemed surprised—about my being a girl, I mean," Alexandra ventured uncertainly.

"Frankly, this has been a night of surprises," Jordan replied, dismissing Mrs. Tilson from his mind and turning his attention to Alexandra. "Would I be prying if I were to ask you what you were doing rigged out in that suit of armor?"

Alexandra slowly swung her legs over the side of the bed and tried to stand. The room swayed. "I can walk," she protested when the man reached out to lift her into his arms.

"But I'd prefer to carry you," Jordan said firmly and did exactly that. Alexandra smiled inwardly at the blithe way he stalked through the common room, serenely indifferent to the staring villagers, carrying in his arms a disheveled, dusty girl clad in breeches and shirtsleeves.

Once he had set her gently onto the deep, luxurious squabs of his coach and settled in across from her, however, her amusement vanished. Soon, she realized, they would pass by the gruesome scene she'd partially caused. "I took a man's life," she said in a tortured whisper as the coach headed toward the dreaded bend. "I will never forgive myself."

"I would never forgive you if you hadn't," Jordan said with a teasing smile in his voice. In the glow of the lighted coach lamps, huge aqua eyes brimming with tears lifted to his face, searching if, silently beseeching him for more comfort, and Jordan responded automatically. Reaching forward, he lifted her off the seat and onto his lap, cradling her in his arms like the distraught child she was. "It was a very brave thing you did," he murmured into the soft, dusky curls that brushed his cheek.

Alexandra drew in a shuddering breath and shook her head, unknowingly rubbing her cheek against his chest "I wasn't brave, I was simply too frightened to run away like a sensible person."

Holding the trusting child in his arms, Jordan was startled by the unprecedented thought that he might like to have a child of his own to hold someday. There was something profoundly touching about the way this little girl was snuggled against him, trusting him. Remembering that fetching little girls inevitably become spoiled young women, he promptly discarded the notion. "Why were you wearing that old suit of armor?" he asked for the second time that night

Alexandra explained about the jousts, which were a ritual whenever one of the O'Toole children had a birthday, then she made him repeatedly laugh aloud by describing some of her foibles and triumphs during today's lists.

"Don't people outside of Morsham have jousts and such? I always assumed people were the same everywhere, although I don't know it for certain, since I've never been beyond Morsham. I doubt if I ever will."

Jordan was shocked into momentary silence. In his own wide circle of acquaintances, everyone traveled everywhere, and often. It was hard to accept that this bright child would never see any place beyond this godforsaken tiny village on the edge of nowhere. He glanced down at her shadowy face and found her watching him with friendly interest, rather than the deferential awe he was accustomed to. Inwardly he grinned at the image of uninhibited peasant children throwing themselves into jousts. How different their childhood must be from that of the children of the nobility. Like himself, they were all raised by governesses, ruled by tutors, admonished to be clean and neat at all times, and constantly reminded to act like the superior beings they were born to be. Perhaps children who grew up in remote places like this were better and different—guileless and courageous and unaffected, as Alexandra was. Based on the life Alexandra described to him, he wondered if perhaps peasant children were the lucky ones, after all. Peasant children? It dawned on him that there was nothing of the rough peasant in this child's cultured speech.

Farewell?

Ah, it seems that I am all out of food! （つ︣﹏╰） But the request has come to an end and I shall see you next time, in my inbox! Oh wait, I forgot to mention a few things…

When contacting me, make sure to type ‘Hella kawaii’ in your subject line so that I know you’ve read the request thoroughly. Also, here is my email!

[email protected]

#rp partner search #rp partner ad #rp ad #rp search #original #anime #email #googledocs #submission

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