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teacupfulofstarshine · 4 years

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the crossroad of our destinies book two: fire

CW: mentions of fantasy ableism, character death of minor background OCs, cursing, mentions of war crimes, atla-canon-typical fantasy violence, mild angst, injury, brief blood mention, mentions of murder

word count: 9708

book one: earth // read it on ao3!

“So you really can’t bend at all?” Roman asks.

Virgil stiffens, rolling his shoulders back to try and relax the tension gathering there. He knew this question would come up sooner or later, and he has spent an inordinate amount of time preparing his response. “I don’t bend.”

It’s not a lie. Virgil would lie outright, but Roman had tried that a couple of weeks ago only to have Logan immediately bust him. (As if he needed another reason to be the most terrifying twelve-year-old Virgil has ever met: his earth bending makes him a human lie detector.) Instead, Virgil answers with technical truths. They’re not the answers Roman is looking for, but they’re not going to earn a “Falsehood!” from Logan, either.

“What’s it like?” Roman leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and resting his chin on his hands. “Not being able to bend? I know that every type of bending feels different, but I don’t know what it would feel like to not bend at all.”

“It’s not so bad, not bending,” Virgil says. “I mean, bending might make my life easier, but it also might make my life more difficult.”

“Have you ever seen it? Water bending, I mean?”

A beat of silence. “Yeah. Yeah, I have.”

“What does it look like?”

“It’s . . .” Virgil searches for words that won’t betray his secret. “Have you ever seen dancers?”

“I’m an ex-Fire Nation prince, Virgil. Of course I’ve seen dancers.”

“But have you seen ribbon dancers? The way the silk arcs through the air, rippling and elegant, controlled and powerful . . . that’s what water bending looks like. To me, anyway. Snow and ice bending are different, and of course healing is different, but water bending . . .” Virgil’s throat chokes up. “It’s beautiful.”

Roman is quiet, subdued. “I know my father. I know what he did to the water benders of the Southern Pole. I . . . I’m sorry.”

“They killed my father,” Virgil says softly. “My mother died giving birth to me, and my father . . . he died protecting me. They killed him instead of me.” Roman gently places a hand on Virgil’s knee, all traces of joking gone, and Virgil whines softly.

“I am so sorry,” Roman murmurs, “that my father has destroyed your life.”

“It’s not your fault,” Virgil says. Before starting this journey, he never could have pictured himself saying something like that to a fire bender, much less a former prince. But Roman isn’t just some prince, some foreign enemy. He’s Virgil’s friend. “You didn’t kill my father, and you didn’t give the orders to the general that did. It isn’t your fault, Roman. You’re not responsible for your dad and his tomfuckery.”

Roman snorts a little at the swear. A whip of air smacks Virgil’s arm. “Virgil!” Patton says, scandalized. “Watch your language!” Virgil just laughs, and Roman laughs with him.

*~*~*~*~*

Virgil is hesitant to enter Fire Nation territory, even if it’s just the outlying colonies. Roman assures him that nothing will go wrong, that they’ll be safe, but he isn’t quite sure if he believes him. “My father rarely visits the outlying colonies,” he tells Virgil. “My people are suffering under such a harsh regime. They will not aid him.”

They still force him to stay with Remy and Thomas in the woods when they venture into town for supplies. “I know the Fire Nation better than any of you!” Roman protests.

“And the Fire Nation knows you,” Logan tells him firmly. “Stay with my brother and Remy. If something goes wrong, you’ll have to protect them and get Thomas out of here.”

“Nothing is going to happen to you,” Thomas says firmly, gripping Logan’s shoulders. Logan reaches up and covers his brother’s hand with his own. “Promise me, Logan.”

“That is not a promise I can realistically make, Thomas. I cannot control the actions of others,” Logan says. “But I can promise you that I will do my best to avoid unnecessary confrontations and keep a low profile.”

“You duelled Roman into the ground, like, two and a half weeks after you met him,” Thomas laughs. “I don’t think subtlety is in your nature.” Logan scoffs at him, but he doesn’t push Thomas’s hand out of his hair when he ruffles it.

Patton ties a strip of fabric around his forehead, obscuring his air bender arrow tattoo. When they first met him, he was bald, but now that he’s been on the run with them for so long, his hair has grown back in. It’s a tousled mess of coppery curls, and they match the bright copper freckles splattered across his nose.

“Do you think you’re going to keep your hair or shave it off again?” Roman asks. Patton reaches up to touch his hair.

“It’s strange to get used to,” he says. “I’m used to feeling the wind on the skin of my head. It’s so weird! But I kinda like the way it looks. Do you think it looks weird?”

“I think it looks nice,” Roman says.

“I think you look fantastic,” Logan says dryly.

“Thank you, Lo!”

“Roman, however, looks like a drowned platypus-bear.”

“Hey!” Roman squawks. “Why does Patton get to look good?”

“Roman,” Logan says, slow and patient like he’s talking to a toddler, “I can’t see either of you. I”m fucking blind.” Roman throws a fireball at him, which Logan easily dodges, laughing. Patton flicks a hand up to extinguish the fireball before Roman can set the forest ablaze.

*~*~*~*~*

The Fire Nation is loud.

It’s much louder than Virgil’s village ever was. The air is sharp and sweet, smelling like spices and sweet incense and wood ash. Virgil sticks close to Logan as Patton bounces happily in front of them. He reaches down and takes Logan’s hand in his.

It’s so small.

“I do not need you to hold my hand,” Logan says testily.

“This isn’t for you,” Virgil hisses, gripping Logan’s hand tightly. “This is for me.” Logan turns to him, face scrunched up in confusion and annoyance, before exhaling softly.

“You’re telling the truth.” He keeps holding Virgil’s hand as they follow Patton through the bazaar, and Virgil exhales in relief.

*~*~*~*~*

Roman squeals in excitement when they bring back the little pastries he had requested. “I love them!” he squeals. “They’re my favorites, I -” His eyes go misty as he unwraps the parcel. “On our birthday, Remus would always get to pick out the cake. I was happy as long as the chef made a tower of these.”

He takes a bite, and the tears spill down his cheeks. “They’re just like I remember.” Before any of them can offer any sort of consolation, Roman is wiping at his eyes and offering his pastries to them.

“We can’t take them,” Patton says gently. “They’re your special piece of home.”

Roman shakes his head and pushes the parcel towards them. “Please, I insist. I want to share with my friends.” Virgil is the one to break the strange, motionless silence, breaking off a corner. The pastry is layered with a thick, syrupy honey that leaves sticky residue on his fingers. When he pops it into his mouth, a sweet spice explodes across his tongue. There’s a slight, residual burn that tingles through his mouth as he swallows.

“I know, right?” Roman says, reading something in Virgil’s facial expression. Virgil nods, licking the honey off his fingers. His obvious enjoyment is enough to encourage the rest of the group to start snacking on pieces of the treats.

*~*~*~*~*

Roman keeps every letter that Dragon brings him tucked against his chest. Under his shirt is a leather pouch that he attaches to his chest by tying it with strings, and inside he keeps the scrolls that he receives. “Remus and Dolos probably can’t keep my letters,” he tells Virgil. “They’ll have to burn them to make sure that no one else sees them.”

“Why?”

“If the crew finds out that the exiled prince is sending messages to them, they’re in danger. Remus is already toeing the line by keeping Dolos aboard the ship. Discovering that they’re in contact with me endangers our lives and theirs.”

Virgil wants to ask why Roman bothers putting so much care and effort into the crafting of his letters if he knows they’re going to get ruined. He spends so much time staring off into space, thinking of the perfect words, and then he sketches out elaborate doodles. Remus’s are always weird and kind of deranged, but Remus sends them back in kind.

Dolos’s letters all have intricate, elaborate borders of twining flowers on them, and more than once Virgil has caught Roman doodling sparrow-snakes onto the letters for his love. “He loves them,” Roman tells him. “I promised him a pet sparrow-snake as a wedding present.”

“Why would you do that?” Virgil asks, pulling one of his knives from his sleeve and examining the blade’s edge for imperfections.

“Because it would make Dolos happy,” Roman says, looking up with an uncharacteristically fond expression. “I love Dolos. I want him to be happy. But I also want him to be alive, so . . . so I have to sacrifice his happiness and mine to keep him that way.”

Virgil sets his knife down and reaches out to touch Roman’s shoulder. “I know that you love him,” he says softly. “And I know that he means so much to you that you would kill to keep him safe. You’d do anything for him.”

“Not anything,” Roman says.

“What, then? What wouldn’t you do?”

“I wouldn’t sacrifice you,” Roman says, eyes burning and serious. “I wouldn’t sell you and the others out to my father, even if it meant he would take me back. I love Remus and Dolos, I do, but you guys are . . . you’re my friends.” The way he says that word, friends, has a heavy finality about it. It carries a gravity that Virgil didn’t expect. “I wouldn’t be worthy of Dolos if I sold my friend out. And anyway, I like you guys too much to let you die.”

“How touching,” Virgil says dryly, smacking Roman’s head with the flat of his blade. The only part of Roman that’s damaged is his pride.

That doesn’t stop him from squawking in rage and chasing Virgil all across their campsite.

*~*~*~*~*

Dragon lands on Roman’s outstretched forearm with ease, even though Remy is still coasting through the air. Roman coos to the bird, stroking his back as he reaches up and nips at Roman’s hair and ear.

“Doesn’t that hurt?” Thomas asks, eyeing the bird suspiciously.

“Not that bad,” Roman says. “When he nibbles my hair, it only feels like a light tugging, and he never bites my ear hard enough to hurt or bleed. It’s like a pinching feeling. I’m fine with it. Besides, he’s a good little birdy! Isn’t that right, Dragon? You’re a good little messenger birdy!”

Dragon wraps his massive talons around the reinforced sleeve of Roman’s jacket and coos. Roman unties the scroll from his leg and spreads it out on the back of the saddle. Virgil carefully drops little weights on the corners to keep it spread out without blowing away. “What’s the intel?”

The intel, as it turns out, is a map of the Fire Nation, with a few small islands marked in red and black. “These are all sacred fire bending sites,” Roman muses, slowly tracing his fingers over the map. “And this is the code Re and i used when we were children. We used to write secret messages to each other.”

“What does it say?”

“He’s marking which islands are safe.”

“None of them are safe, because they’re in the middle of the Fire Nation,” Virgil mutters. Roman glares at him. “What? It’s not a comment on you personally, Princey. I know you love the Fire nation, I know it’s home for you. But it’s currently under the thumb of your tyrannical father, who’s a notorious jackass that wants all of us dead.”

Roman lets his fingers skim over the ocean. One of the islands, the only unmarked one, is surrounded by drawings of monsters. There is writing above the island drawing, the only neatly-printed script on the entire map. It looks like Dolos’s handwriting. Roman smiles.

“What does it say?”

“It says ‘Here there be Dragons.’ It’s an old Fire Nation children’s story - that island is, supposedly, where the last of the dragons was slain. The water is so rough and choppy that there’s not a single chance of a ship being pulled into that island.”

“And we’re supposed to be able to get to it?”

“By air, we could,” Roman says. “Remy could fly us in. There are pretty regular storms, but if we go on the heels of one we’ll make it before the next one hits. No Fire Nation battle cruiser is getting to that island - but we will. We can. It’s the safest place in the whole Fire Nation, probably. It would be a good base of operations, at least for a little while.” He splays his fingers over the island.

“You miss home,” Logan says gently. “You want to be back on Fire Nation soil more than anything.”

“Not anything,” Roman says. “Not more than your safety. If I thought it wasn’t safe, I wouldn’t suggest it. But as far as I know, it is safe, and . . . and if we’re there, it’s mostly rock. There’s no chance of us setting fire to a forest and attracting unwanted attention.”

“That sounds like it’ll work,” Patton calls, turning his head around just enough to glimpse them without taking his eyes off the sky. “I’m on board with it.”

“I trust Roman,” Virgil says. “If he thinks that island is safe . . . I’m with him.”

Thomas studies his face. Virgil maintains a calm expression, despite his nerves. “Alright, then. Fire Nation it is.”

“Yip yip!” Patton calls. Remy swishes his tail irritably, but he turns anyway.

*~*~*~*~*

It gets hard to find water in the Fire Nation.

It has to be there, obviously, because sustaining life without water is impossible. But when compared to the flowing rivers of the Earth Kingdom forests and the ever-present oceans and ice of the South Pole, the Fire Nation is practically a desert.

Still, Virgil finds that their group is drawn to the water almost instinctively. Realistically, it’s because Remy needs to drink and to keep himself clean, and while they can all make do with a little waterskins, he needs a large body of water. Virgil still finds it like fate or destiny to be able to find so many little places to connect with his element, given where they are.

The river nearby is smaller than any he’s seen before, full of large, mossy rocks that he can easily fall and hurt himself on. He carefully removes his shoes and steps into the water. It takes a minute to find a spot where he can achieve a normal bending stance, but once he does, he inhales.

“Vee?”

Virgil nearly falls as he whirls around, seeing Logan standing in front of him. “Is - that is Vee, isn’t it?”

“Y - yeah, Lo, it’s me,” he calls. “You weren’t sure?”

“You’re standing in the river,” Logan says. “The water fucks with my earth bending, so it obscures my vision a little bit. I knew someone was there, but I didn’t know who it was . . .”

“It’s me,” Virgil says.

“Why are you out here in the middle of the river?”

“I miss home,” Virgil says. “We don’t have rivers like this, but we have water everywhere. We’re surrounded by ice and ocean and . . . and there’s just water, no matter where you look. And that’s why I’m here.”

“I understand,” Logan says, sitting at the edge of the river. “There is earth all around me, but all earth feels different. This is nothing like the earth that I knew at home. It’s full of ash and volcanic overflow, which makes for rich soil that nourishes plant life well. But I miss the rocks of my home village.” His voice is quiet. “I do not think my home village exists anymore.”

“Why not?”

“They knew that the Avatar had been born into an earth bending family. They travelled through the Earth Kingdom, searching for the Avatar . . . Thomas and I ran in the middle of the night. I could not let him leave alone. As we ran, I smelled the smoke, but Thomas . . . he must have seen the village go up in flames.”

Virgil hadn’t even considered that as a possibility. “Is he . . . okay?”

“I assume so,” Logan says softly. “He never tells me otherwise. Then again, I doubt he would say anything to me if he was. He doesn’t like to worry me, which is stupid, because he’s my brother. I’m always worried about him. Especially when he goes and hides shit from me.”

“You curse a lot for a twelve year old,” Virgil tells him. Logan throws a rock at him.

*~*~*~*~*

The island is beautiful, Virgil thinks. It’s all tall, imposing mountains with scraggly trees clinging to the cliffs and shining black-sand beaches. As Remy descends, Virgil spies a glimpse of a gleaming golden building hidden in the mountains. “What’s that?” he asks Roman.

“It’s a Fire Nation temple,” Roman tells him. His eyes are wide and shiny as he stares at the island, even as the waves crash down onto the beach. “Fire Sages would study there, calling on the spirits and seeking their advice. This temple’s been abandoned for who knows how long, since it’s virtually inaccessible these days.”

“Is that where we’re going to study?” Thomas asks, leaning over the side of the saddle.

“We can study anywhere on the island,” Roman responds, “but yeah, we probably will spend a fair amount of time there. It’s a traditional place to train in fire bending.”

Remy touches down on the beach, and almost immediately a dark, choppy wave crashes down over his tail. The flying bison snorts loudly, irritated, and lurches forward off the beach. “Easy there, boy,” Patton soothes, reaching to pat at his head.

“Where are we going to camp?” Logan asks.

“We’re on the beach right now,” Thomas says, “but I don’t think we can stay here. The ocean is too unpredictable, not to mention ships could spot us. I think it’s best if we move inland, try to camp out somewhere in there.”

“That sounds good,” Roman says. He jumps off of Remy’s back and sinks to his knees, digging his hands into the black sand. “Oh, I’ve missed this . . .”

“What is it?”

“Volcanic sand. It’s formed from lava, there’s no feeling like it!” Roman happily begins to roll around in the sand, laughing like a little kid. Virgil watches him indulgently for a couple minutes before he starts harassing him to lead them inland.

*~*~*~*~*

They set up camp at the base of one of the large mountains. Logan and Thomas earth bend some shelter structures out of the rock, and Logan hollows out a campfire pit. Roman goes and finds good firewood, easily bending a campfire to life. Virgil settles down next to Logan as Roman begins to talk about fire bending to Thomas.

“You know how to do this,” he says. “Not consciously, of course, but you’re the Avatar. You were a fire bender in some of your previous lives. The memory of bending is somewhere inside you. We just have to unlock it.”

“And how do we do that?” Thomas asks.

“We start with the bending stances,” Roman says, “and we work our way up from there. A word of caution - I can only teach you some of fire bending.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t bend lightning.”

“Fire benders can bend lightning?!” Thomas gasps.

“Not all of us,” Roman says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Remus and I had training in lightning bending, since we’re princes, but neither of us mastered it. To the best of my knowledge, anyway . . .”

“That’s really cool, though,” Thomas says.

“You know what’s really cool?” Roman says. “Redirecting lightning. If bending lightning is rare, redirecting lightning is crazy rare. It’s not really a fire bending technique, I don’t think, cause Uncle Emile’s the one who pioneered it. He told me he used water bending techniques to develop it.”

That perks Virgil’s interest. “Water bending?”

Roman nods, explaining the way his uncle had developed the redirection technique in between instructing Thomas and adjusting his bending stances. Virgil listens, quietly taking mental notes in case he can use any of these stances in his own bending practices.

*~*~*~*~*

The ocean is so different to the one at the South Pole.

Virgil creeps away at night, after they’re all asleep. Patton is snuggled up to Remy, tugging the flying bison’s tail over himself like a blanket. Logan and Thomas are pressed close together, Logan’s quiet breaths obscured by Thomas’s snores. Roman is sprawled out on his stomach like a starfish, face totally obscured by his growing mop of wild curls. It’s warm enough in the Fire Nation that no one feels the need to huddle up to him for warmth, letting him spread out the way he apparently normally does.

As he makes his way to the ocean, Virgil hums to himself, an old lullaby that he remembers from his childhood. It’s an old tale about spirits and balance and the moon, and it comforts him. The Fire Nation island is dark, but the moon overhead is bright and full. Virgil can feel it pulling on him as he creeps ever closer to the ocean. He steps out from the shadow of the sparse forest lining the coast onto the black sand of the beach just as a massive wave breaks against the shore. The water is black as pitch, and the moon gleams overhead like a jewel, reflecting beautifully on the water.

“Hello,” Virgil whispers. The black sand is unlike anything he’s ever felt; it glides smoothly over the skin of his bare feet, slipping between his toes as he digs them in for balance. He understands why Roman missed a beach like this.

Virgil knows that he isn’t strong enough to bend the ocean. Water is one thing, but the ocean is under the control of the spirit La, and Virgil doesn’t want to mess with spirits. For once, he isn’t out here to practice his bending.

“Tui, Spirit of the Moon,” he says softly, “you gave me the gift of water bending, and taught me to wield it for defense. From your example, I take my lead. I thank and honor you.” Reaching into the small bag tied at his hip, he pulls out a piece of fruit he’d saved from their dinner, one of the two finest. “I offer you this sacrifice in thanks and adoration.” A wave rolls in, and he carefully sets the fruit down on a large, broad leaf. It’s carried out to sea, like a tiny boat, and Virgil quickly loses sight of it. He doesn’t bother to try and keep track of it; he has another sacrifice to make.

“La, Spirit of the Ocean, you gave me the gift of the water I bend, and taught me to wield it for healing. From your example, I take my lead. I thank and honor you.” He produces the second piece of fruit he’d saved. “I offer you this sacrifice in thanks and adoration.” Another wave rolls in, and Virgil watches another leaf-boat disappear into the ocean.

He’s done this spirit sacrifice every full moon that he can remember. Even on this journey, he’s done it, setting the sacrifices of the nicest parts of dinner he can save into the nearest body of water. He hopes that the rivers will carry his sacrifices out to La.

Traditionally, the spirit prayers are meant to be said in the plural. Virgil’s father had told him stories of the past, when all the water benders of the tribe would gather and sacrifice and pray together, thanking Tui and La for their gifts. Once the Fire Nation raids had begun, they had stopped.

Virgil makes a point to do it every single full moon. Bending is a precious gift, and deserves to be treated as such. He steps closer to the ocean, bending down to dip his fingers into the waves. The water is chilly, but it’s nothing compared to the burning cold of his home ocean. He lifts his hand to his mouth and gently licks his fingers, grinning.

He’s missed the taste of salt water.

*~*~*~*~*

It takes Thomas almost a week to be able to produce fire.

At first, all he can produce are puffs of dark smoke and the occasional spark. Roman seems ecstatic with this progress. “It’s good!”

“It’s not fire,” Thomas says dejectedly. “It’s not anything.”

“Most firebenders start out with smoke,” Roman says. “At least it’s dark! That’s a good sign! Dark smoke is always better than pale smoke. Remus’s smoke was pale for the first two months that we practiced.”

“So . . . I’m not a failure?”

“Of course you are not a failure,” Logan says, smacking his brother’s shoulder. “Do not say stupid things. It is beneath you.”

Virgil snorts, laying out his array of knives. They gleam in the strong Fire Nation sunlight, and the edges are freshly sharpened. “You’re the fuckin’ Avatar, Thomas. You’re not a failure.”

“Yeah!” Roman says, trying to be helpful. “Hey, at least you can bend!”

“Roman!” Patton hisses. Logan glares at him disapprovingly, and Thomas frowns. Virgil is confused for a second, until he sees Patton glance at him sympathetically.

Oh.

They think Roman was making a dig at him, because they think that he can’t bend.

Roman looks at him in confusion, and then immediately claps his hands over his mouth. “Oh - shit - fuck, Virgil, I didn’t - I wasn’t trying to - I’m so sorry -”

“Don’t apologize,” Virgil says, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s all good.”

“It’s not all good, though,” Roman says. “I never meant to imply that you’re not as important as us just because you can’t bend, I -”

“It’s all good, Ro, I mean that,” Virgil says. “I don’t bend, but that doesn’t mean I’m defenseless. I have all of these to keep me safe, and that’s not the only trick I have up my sleeve.”

“What do you have up your sleeve?” Logan asks him. “Besides many, many knives, anyway.”

“Water bending can be used for healing,” Virgil says. “There are plenty of scrolls about it in my home village. Different types of bending use different energy pathways, and if you know where those pathways flow, you can cut them off.”

“You can take away someone’s bending?” Roman whispers.

“Not permanently,” Virgil says, picking up one of his knives and fiddling with it so that he doesn’t have to look at anyone. “It’s only temporary. It leaves them weak and semi-paralyzed, and unable to bend, but they recover after half an hour or so. I try not to use it unless I have to, cause I know how much benders rely on their abilities.”

“That’s a pretty powerful skill,” Thomas says quietly.

“I guess. But you’re the Avatar, so you’d know all about power, wouldn’t you?”

Thomas nods, but there’s still something strange in his eyes.

Virgil goes for a walk by the ocean. When he comes back, the strangeness is gone.

*~*~*~*~*

“Why am I the one who has to go get firewood?” Virgil complains.

“Because I did it last time, and Patton did it the time before that, and Thomas and Roman are off doing fire bending practice somewhere,” Logan says. “It’s your turn.”

“I can go,” Patton offers. “It’s not that big of a deal!”

“No, Logan is right,” Virgil sighs, rolling to his feet. “It’s my turn to go get the firewood, so I’ll go get it. It’s not really that big of an imposition.” He pats his tunic, boots, sleeves down to make sure that he’s fully stocked with knives in case something happens. “I’ll meet you all back here, alright?”

He tightens the straps of his boots and heads off inland in search of firewood.

The island is very pretty, Virgil will give it that. The forest is almost non-existent this far inland, but there are plenty of small, woody plants and shrubs that he can gather wood from. He has an armful tucked against his side when he hears the noise. It’s a pained cry, and for a moment he thinks it’s Roman or Thomas.

Quickly, he shakes his head to clear it and refocus. Thomas and Roman are training closer to the shoreline today, so they wouldn’t be this far inland. And the cry he’d heard . . . it wasn’t quite human.

The cry echoes again, but there’s something different about it. Virgil ties the firewood together and throws it over his shoulder, scrambling off towards the cry. “I’m coming!”

He realizes that this is kind of a stupid move. He realizes that he could be running straight into danger. What if it’s a trap? What if he gets himself killed? Despite his fear, there’s something in him pulling him forward. The cry sounds real, and it sounds pained. Who or whatever is making it needs help, and Virgil will not stand idly by and let someone suffer because of his fear.

He makes his way to a cliff, and he can hear whoever’s crying on the other side. The cliff is tall, but not unscalable. Virgil’s used to climbing glaciers back home, and while ice is slippery and more perilous than rock, he can rely on his bending to keep himself steady. Here, he’s climbing with no support.

Virgil pulls off his boots and knots the laces together, slinging them around his shoulders. Going barefoot will ensure that he has a better grip on the cliff as he climbs. The sun gleams sharply on the dark rocks, and Virgil goes slowly to make sure he doesn’t accidentally grab a sharp rock and slice his hands open. He hasn’t had to climb like this in quite a while, but he enjoys it, despite the reason for his climb.

When he finally pushes himself up to the top of the cliff, he gasps. He’s found a small valley, hidden in the large, dark mountains, and tucked inside is a building. It’s built almost into the shadow of the mountain from dark brick, with a dark red tiled roof and gleaming golden accents. This must be the Fire Nation temple he’d spotted when they flew in, he realizes.

The cry echoes again, and Virgil realizes that it’s coming from the temple. He quickly pulls his boots off from around his neck and tugs them on, knotting the laces securely. The cliff slopes much more smoothly on this side, like the curve of a bowl. Virgil backs up and then leaps over the side, pulling water out of the waterskin hanging at his side with his hand. He bends it and freezes it beneath him, creating a flat board that he can surf down the hill on.

Virgil makes it to the bottom of the hill in record time, leaping off and bending his ice board back to regular water, which he quickly bends back into his waterskin. The temple hadn’t looked huge from the top of the cliff, but up close and in person it’s enormous. It’s clearly suffered from neglect; the door hangs ajar from the hinges, the gold is flaking off of the roof and the statues, some of which are missing arms and legs and noses and ears and even heads. Still, the temple is undeniably beautiful.

A pitiful whimper sounds from the temple, and Virgil exhales softly. “I’m coming,” he says softly. “I’m coming.”

The temple is dark inside, but Virgil can see rows of torches on the walls. He assumes they’re meant to be lit with fire bending, probably meant to be eternally burning, but he’ll have to make do. He carries flints with him in his shoulder bag, and he quickly pulls a torch off the wall and lights it. As he progresses slowly through the temple, he lights the other torches, and they cast a warm, ambient glow over the whole room. There are pictures decorating the entire length of the hallway, telling stories of the Fire Nation. They tell how the dragons taught the people of the Fire Nation to bend, to harness the warmth and strength of fire.

Looking at these pictures, Virgil can’t fear fire bending. It looks peaceful; there’s strength and power there, but there’s also love and light and warmth.

The hallway narrows and narrows and narrows, and then it widens abruptly into a large central chamber. This is the most intricately decorated room Virgil has ever seen - the walls, the roof, the floor, the pillars, everything is absolutely covered in decoration, but he can’t focus on any of it.

All he can focus on is the dragon in the middle of the room.

It’s enormous , a long, serpentine body winding around the columns. It’s a brilliant red, scales flecked with gold, and a row of orange gold-tipped spines running down its back. Its wings are spread out over the floor, and its head has golden horns and spines and whiskers. The dragon lets out another pitiful cry, and as Virgil inches closer he sees it - a massive wound in the dragon’s side.

It looks like an old wound, one that hasn’t healed properly. Even from afar, Virgil can tell that it might be infected, and the dragon’s breathing is heavy and labored. He creeps closer, and the dragon’s head snaps around to stare at him. Its eyes are a bright, unnatural blue, with slitted golden pupils, and when it stares at him it feels like it’s staring directly into his soul.

WHY HAVE YOU COME, CHILD? Virgil nearly drops the torch to cower and cover his ears. The voice is only in his head, and the dragon’s mouth does not move to speak, but he can feel it resonate against his sternum. HAVE YOU COME TO KILL ME, FINALLY?

“N - no,” Virgil manages, voice catching in his throat. “I heard you crying out.”

I AM IN PAIN. I HAVE BEEN IN PAIN FOR QUITE SOME TIME. I FEAR I AM NOT LONG FOR THIS WORLD.

“I - I might be able to help you,” Virgil says.

WILL YOU KILL ME, CHILD? PUT ME OUT OF MY MISERY?

“No,” Virgil says. “I - no ! I will not kill you! I want to try and heal you.”

YOU THINK THAT YOU CAN DO THIS, CHILD?

“I’ve never tried to heal a creature this big or a wound this serious,” Virgil admits honestly. “But I’m going to try. I won’t just let you suffer without trying.”

THAT IS ADMIRABLE.

“Can I come a little closer?” Virgil asks. The dragon rests its large head on its forepaws.

YOU MAY.

Virgil slowly climbs over the coils of the dragon’s body, settling himself down cross-legged next to the massive wound on the dragon’s side. It looks like an old burn wound, and the dragon’s flank rises and falls shallowly as it breathes. He gently lays a hand next to the dragon’s wound.

“Oh . . . what happened?”

IT WAS DRAGONS WHO TAUGHT THE FIRE NATION TO BEND. WE GAVE THEM THE GIFT OF FIRE. THE FIRE LORD TURNED IT ON US. HE SLEW ALL THE DRAGONS THAT I KNEW. I AM THE ONLY ONE LEFT. I AM THE LAST OF MY KIND.

Virgil presses his free hand over his mouth. “That’s . . . that’s so horrible . . .”

I AM NOT THE ONLY ONE WHO HAS HAD THEIR LIFE DESTROYED, I SENSE.

Virgil winces. “My . . . my dad. They killed him because they thought he was the last water bender of our tribe. He died lying to protect me.”

I AM SORRY, CHILD. THAT IS A FATE NO ONE SHOULD SUFFER.

Virgil exhales shakily. “No one should suffer your fate, either. I will do my best to heal you.” He pops the cap off of his waterskin and bends the water around his hands like a protective covering. The water begins to glow as he places his hands just above the dragon’s wound, letting his water bending give him information. What it tells him isn’t good; the wound is old, and it’s infected as he’d thought, and he suspects that the dragon has some form of blood poisoning.

He’s never tried to heal something this big, or this serious. But he promised he would try, and try he will. He’s lucky that the full moon was the other night; that’s when water benders are at the height of their power. With luck, he’ll be strong enough for this task.

IF IT IS TOO MUCH FOR YOU, CHILD, DO NOT PUSH YOURSELF. I HAVE SURVIVED THIS LONG. I WILL ENDURE.

“No,” Virgil says, narrowing his eyes and clenching his jaw. “I’m not giving up. I have to try.” He presses his hands against the wound, and the water begins to glow even brighter. He focuses on the flow of energy moving throughout the dragon’s massive body, pulling out the infection surrounding the wound and trying to push healing energy into the dragon in its place.

The water quickly becomes murky and infected as he heals. Virgil takes breaks to dispose of the tainted water and fetch some more clean water from the stream outside. The more he works, the shakier he gets, and he’s worried that he won’t have the energy to finish healing the dragon.

DO NOT HURT YOURSELF, LITTLE ONE, the dragon rumbles. ALREADY I FEEL MYSELF IMPROVING. YOUR KINDNESS HAS DONE SO MUCH FOR ME.

“I - I can keep goin’,” Virgil slurs. “Almost done . . . one more should do it . . .”

He presses his hands against the wound one last time. It’s shrunk down considerably, all the infection pulled out and purified and disposed of. He’s working on the final part of the healing now, re-growing the torn and burnt muscle and skin and making sure the dragon’s scales grow in properly.

Finally, he pulls his hands away, and the wound on the dragon’s side is no more. It stands up, shaking itself out; all of the scales rattle as they realign, and the dragon roars. THANK YOU, LITTLE ONE. YOU HAVE HELPED ME IMMENSELY. The dragon begins to glow bright blue, and Virgil’s exhausted brain manages to connect the dots: the dragon is a spirit. He’s just healed a spirit.

YOU HAVE EARNED MY GRATITUDE THIS DAY, the dragon spirit tells him. REST NOW, LITTLE ONE. KNOW THAT THE SPIRITS ARE WITH YOU, AND ONE DAY YOUR GOOD DEED WILL COME BACK TO YOU TENFOLD.

Virgil’s vision blacks out and blurs around the edges. The last thing he sees as he falls backwards is the dragon spirit’s head coming forward to catch his body.

*~*~*~*~*

“- isn’t he waking up?!”

“What if he’s dead?”

“He is not dead, I can hear his heartbeat. It is strong and steady. He will survive.”

“But what if he doesn’t wake up?!”

“Geez, Roman,” Virgil groans, lifting a hand to his head. “I never knew you cared.”

“Virgil!” He winces at the shout. “Oh, shit, sorry -” A hand presses against his forehead, warm, and when Virgil opens his eyes (only halfway), Roman is leaning over him, eyes bright with worry.

“What . . . happened?”

“You were taking forever to come back from firewood, so we went looking for you! We thought you had been ambushed and captured!” Patton explains, twisting his hands with worry. “We found you at the foot of a cliff, there was a rock next to you! We think there was some kind of rock fall that caught you unaware, you must have hit your head! We don’t know how long you were unconscious!”

“How long has it been?”

“We found you a few hours ago,” Thomas says. “It’s evening now.” Virgil slowly sits up, wincing when his head pounds. Logan is sitting beside him, and he offers him a waterskin. Virgil takes it and quickly gulps down a few chilly swallows.

“I thought you were dead,” he says softly. “I could feel your heartbeat, I could hear you breathing, I knew you weren’t, but when we found you, I - I was terrified, and I . . . I thought you were - I -”

Virgil gently touches Logan’s shoulder. It’s easy to forget that he’s only twelve and a half, with the mature aura he generally projects, but sometimes it’s painfully obvious that he’s just a child, thrust into a war against his will. Logan will lose what’s left of his childhood to this conflict, and Virgil will be damned if he forces Logan to grow up any faster than he already is.

“I’m sorry, Logan,” he says. Logan turns his face towards Virgil, and his eyes are wet. He hasn’t let any tears fall, but his hand is shaking when he places it over Virgil’s. “I didn’t mean to scare you, I - I didn’t mean to make you think you’d lost someone else. I’m okay.”

Logan is silent for a moment. “You’re not lying,” he whispers. “I’m still mad at you, though.”

“That’s fine,” Virgil says. “I’m sorry that I made you mad.”

“Smart answer,” Logan says, but there’s a hint of a smile on his face. He sniffles once, loudly, wiping at his eyes. “You saw nothing. I was not crying.”

“Of course not,” Virgil teases, gently ruffling Logan’s hair. He squawks loudly, but he makes no attempt to dodge Virgil’s hands. Virgil assumes he’s been forgiven.

*~*~*~*~*

The stars seem a little brighter that night. Virgil is on his back, hands beneath his head, staring up at the stars, when Roman flops down next to him. “What’cha doin’?”

“Looking at the constellations,” Virgil tells him. “They’re nothing like the ones back home, so I’m making up my own.”

“Do you wanna hear about ours?” Roman offers. He seems uncharacteristically shy, but Virgil just smiles at him.

“Sure, Ro. I’d love to hear about Fire Nation constellations.” Suddenly, the stars alight in Roman’s eyes. He lays next to Virgil and starts to trace lines between the stars, telling stories about the pictures he’s creating. At some point, the rest of their group shows up and settles in around them. Thomas lays down next to Virgil, Logan slots up against his brother’s side, and Patton stretches out beside Roman.

It’s good. It’s . . . peaceful.

*~*~*~*~*

The first time Thomas produces a flame on purpose, they all stop and stare.

Roman has arranged the kindling around the firepit, but he’s refusing to light it. “You’re going to light the fire,” he tells Thomas. The Avatar shakes his head.

“Ro, I’ve never made more than plumes of smoke and the occasional spark. I can’t light it.”

“You’re going to have to,” Roman says, “because I won’t. We can’t cook dinner without the fire, so you’re gonna have to figure something out and fast. The sun’s setting.” Thomas huffs.

“Roman, you’re being ridiculous.”

“You’re the Avatar. The fire is in your veins the way it’s in mine. You just have to convince it to come out.” Roman crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow impassively at Thomas. Even though he’s only met the man in passing, Virgil is reminded of Roman’s Uncle Emile.

Thomas drops into a fire bending stance and thrusts his hand forward. A puff of dark smoke appears, but no fire. He growls in frustration and throws his hand forward again, and again, then his foot, then another hand. He’s copying Roman’s bending stances, but no fire appears.

“You have to try harder than that.”

“I’m trying the hardest I can!”

“If that was true, you would have lit the fire five minutes ago.” Roman’s eyes are hard as steel. “Do better.”

“How?!” Thomas pants, wiping the sweat off his forehead.

“Just do it.”

Thomas screams and thrusts his hand forward in frustration. A massive jet of fire roars forward, licking up the sides of the pit and engulfing all of the kindling. Within seconds, it’s reduced to ash. Before anyone else can react, Patton bends a vortex around the fire and siphons out all the air, extinguishing the fire. Thomas stares at the pit in shock, breathing heavily.

“You did a good job,” Roman says, and his eyes are warm again.

“What was that?!”

“Fire benders often have to be pushed to a strong emotional extreme to create their first flame. Once you do it, though, it gets easier. We’ll work on being able to call your fire more reliably, and then we’ll work on tempering your control.” Roman touches Thomas’s shoulder and smiles. “I’m proud of you, Thomas.”

Thomas smiles. Roman sweeps fresh kindling into the firepit. “Again.”

Virgil backs up several feet.

*~*~*~*~*

It takes about ten days for Thomas to be able to call his fire reliably. Roman needles him through the first few attempts, poking and prodding until Thomas screams in frustration and incinerates whatever’s closest to him. Eventually, however, he gains the ability to bend flames without fifteen minutes of Roman’s prompting.

“You did well,” Roman tells him. “Now, we work on training that fire. Producing it is one thing, but controlling it is another. For that, we go inland.”

“What? Why?”

“There’s a Fire Nation temple on this island,” Roman says. “It’s not, like, strictly necessary to go there, but I always found that being connected to the tradition of fire benders before me helped sharpen my focus.”

“Sounds cool,” Thomas says. Virgil thinks back to the temple where he’d found and healed the dragon. He’s glad they won’t be walking in on that fiasco. “Are we the only ones going?”

“I want to go!” Patton says eagerly. “I’ve never seen a Fire Nation temple before!”

“I would also like to visit an example of Fire Nation architecture,” Logan offers. “I am sure it will be fascinating.”

They turn to face Virgil. “Vee? You coming?” Virgil’s already seen the Fire Nation temple, but he’s not too proud to admit that it was beautiful. He wonders if there are other secrets that the temple holds, secrets that will only reveal themselves in the presence of a fire bender.

Plus, he’s not exactly keen on everyone else going off on an adventure without him.

“Yeah, of course I am.” Roman grins.

*~*~*~*~*

The cliff is much easier to scale the second time around. Before any of them can attempt to problem solve, Logan steps forward. Within a minute, he’s earth bended a set of stairs leading up the gleaming cliffside. “Will these suffice?”

“Nicely done, Rocky!” Roman says, ruffling Logan’s hair. Logan hides his pleased smile, but Virgil catches a glimpse as he heads up the stairs.

The temple is just as beautiful the second time around. Logan and Thomas bend a chute in the cliff, allowing them all to slide down to the entrance of the temple. “It’s beautiful,” Roman breathes. “It’s been neglected . . . forgotten about . . . but it’s still beautiful.” He reaches out towards the front door, carefully places his hand on the intricate wooden panelling. “There was one of these in the palace, but it wasn’t so intricately decorated. My father didn’t believe in taking care of temples like this, in honoring tradition. He only believes in power.” His voice is shaking.

“We know not all fire benders are like that,” Virgil says softly. “We know you’re different.”

Roman takes a deep breath. “Let’s go inside.”

Once they step inside, Patton frowns. “It’s pitch black in here!”

“Oh, no,” Logan deadpans. “How terrible, to not be able to see anything. How frightening.” Patton winces guiltily before Logan snorts and socks him in the arm. “Kidding. I do not take offense.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Roman says. Virgil can barely see his silhouette in the dark, but then a flame arcs through the air, following the path of Roman’s foot as he bends. The flame dances along the rows of torches, illuminating the hallway. “Shall we?”

Roman trails his fingertips over the murals carved into the walls as they walk. He’s vibrating like a little kid, but there’s something solemn and reverent in the way he touches things. “These murals tell the history of my people,” he whispers. He doesn’t need to, but Virgil feels the atmosphere of the temple the way he’s sure Roman does. It feels like a place for whispering. “They tell how the dragons taught us to fire bend. I wish I could see one . . .”

Virgil thinks of the last time he was here, and prays that they don’t see another dragon.

When they enter the central chamber, it is empty and darkened. Roman steps into the center, humming softly to himself, before glancing upward. “I think I can open it . . .”

“Open what?”

“All Fire Nation temples have a hatch in the ceiling that opens to let the sunlight in. That’s the source of our bending powers, is the spirit of the sun. There’s an intricate set of bending steps you have to do to open the hatch, it’s considered sacred. Fire Sages are usually the only ones who can do it, but they teach it to royalty as well.” Roman frowns.

“What is it?”

“Typically, you need two fire benders to open the hatch . . .”

“I can help,” Thomas offers.

“No, you’re not skilled enough outside of the Avatar state to do it. I can try and do it on my own, but I’m not super optimistic.”

“You have to try!” Patton cheers. Someone snorts derisively from the darkness of the temple. Roman narrows his eyes, shifting to an attack stance. Virgil lets a knife drop into his hand; Patton and Logan shift into bending stances; Logan steps in front of Thomas, who settles into an earth bending stance of his own.

Something crackles as white lines begin to trace in the dark. Roman’s face shifts from caution to shock. “Get down!” he shouts, moments before a lightning bolt sails over his head and slams into the wall. It fizzles out harmlessly against the stone, and Roman shifts back to a bending stance. “Show yourself!” Virgil’s blood runs cold. Another fire bender. They’ve been found.

Another lightning bolt shoots out of the darkness, heading towards Roman. He doesn’t move, and Virgil is about to shove him out of the way when the lightning bolt strikes the stone right in front of Roman. Virgil frowns; Roman said lightning bending was rare, something only skilled fire benders could do. Whoever’s bending in the dark has missed them, not once but twice. Either they’re a terrible shot, or . . .

They’re missing on purpose.

Roman takes a step towards the darkness, and then another. “Show yourself,” he repeats, voice just a little softer.

“Bad idea,” Virgil warns, voice low. Something shifts in the darkness, snarling, and then a dark blur throws itself onto Roman. It tackles him to the ground, knocking him flat on his back. Roman lets out a winded noise as he rolls with his attacker, trying to pin them down. Virgil slips a throwing knife into his hand, pinning it between his index and middle fingers, but he can’t get a clear shot on Roman’s attacker to throw it.

Finally, they stop moving. Roman is on his back, his attacker perched proudly on his stomach. Virgil is ready to attack, but freezes when he sees that Roman isn’t staring up at his attacker with fear or anger or concern. His face is soft, and open, and looks almost . . . hopeful. Virgil’s eyes slide to Roman’s attacker, and he does a double take.

Roman is being pinned to the ground by . . . himself?

A few more seconds clears his vision; the boy pinning Roman looks very similar to his friend, but there are differences. He has a white streak of hair in his bangs, the wispy beginnings of a mustache, a gap between his front teeth. There’s something slightly unhinged glinting in his eyes as he grins.

“Remus?” Roman breathes. The name rings a bell. Remus. Roman’s twin brother. The one who told them about this island.

“The one and only!” Remus crows. He hops up off of Roman, eyes settling on Virgil and the others. He bows exaggeratedly, crossing one foot behind the other, grinning up at them with something just shy of mania. Roman rolls to his feet and yanks Remus into a hug.

“Rem!” Roman’s fist grips Remus’s shirt so tightly that his knuckles are turning white, and Remus holds his brother just as tightly. “You’re okay! After I left, I was so worried Father would do something to you, are you - are you okay?!”

“I��m okay,” Remus says softly. “I’m okay, Ro, and Deedee is too. He’s safe.”

“Is he here too?!” Roman gasps hopefully. Remus shakes his head.

“He’s not strong enough to leave the ship’s quarters. Father did a number on him. But he’s alive, and he misses you. A lot.”

“I miss him too,” Roman says, eyes watering. He pulls back from the hug just enough to study Remus’s face. “Your hair - what happened?”

“Lightning mishap.”

“You can bend lightning now?! You absolute fucker!” Roman laughs, dragging Remus back into his arms. “I can’t believe you figured it out first!” Remus grins, hugging his twin. “How did you get here? We flew in, but -”

“I took a rowboat.”

“Are you crazy?! You came in by sea? You could have been killed!”

“I know! It would have been so exciting!” Remus chirps, bouncing and flapping his hands. “But I knew you were gonna be here, and I missed you!”

“That was a stupid risk!”

“Saving the Avatar and his baby brother from Father’s wrath was a stupid risk, too. Must run in the family.”

Roman punches his brother in the chest. Remus laughs, rolling with the blow and kicking Roman’s feet out from under him. Roman lands flat on his back, laughing breathlessly. Virgil lets his knife slide back into its sheath. Remus still sets him on edge, but Roman looks more at ease than Virgil’s ever seen him (with the possible exception of when his Uncle Emile tumbled out of those bushes).

It’s nice to see him relax.

*~*~*~*~*

Later, after Remus and Roman have performed and intricate series of dance-like fire bending steps and opened the roof hatch, letting the sun come pouring in, they all sit together. Remus and Roman are pressed close together, literally joined at the hip.

“I can’t stay much longer,” Remus says regretfully. “I’m going to have to head out today if I’m to make it back to the warship before the sea becomes unnavigable.”

“Why risk it at all?” Roman asks.

“We’re checking all the outlying Fire Nation islands for you. Your flying sky beast was spotted by some locals on the shore. I volunteered because I knew it was the most dangerous island to look for. The crew thinks it was a noble gesture, they don’t suspect me.”

“But if they do,” Roman says, “what will they do to you?”

Remus grins, sharp and unhinged. “I can do worse back to them, tenfold. Trust me. And they won’t find anything out.”

“Why come yourself?” Virgil asks. “Why not send your Uncle?”

Remus’s grin fades. “I missed Ro. We’ve never been apart this long, it’s . . . I hate it. It’s like someone ripped my arm and leg out and then beat me over the head with it.”

“I hate it too,” Roman says. He grips Remus’s hand tightly. “I’m so sorry that I left you.”

“Hey, if Dee and I coulda escaped with you, we would have,” Remus shrugs. “You know that, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Someone has to take care of him until you get back. And Dee’s cool, I don’t mind.” Remus turns to regard Thomas, tilting his head to the side. “So how good of an Avatar are you?”

“I’ve mastered earth bending,” Thomas says. “Roman is teaching me to master fire. Air is next, then water.” Remus winces. “What?”

“You might wanna hurry that time table up a little. There aren’t any water benders left at the South Pole.”

“I know,” Virgil says coolly. “I’m from the South Pole.”

“Father is planning something,” Remus says, gripping Roman’s hand back. “He keeps meeting with dignitaries from the Air Nomads, and I’m not sure why. He told me before I left that he was trying to broker peace, but -”

“But Father has never brokered a peace in his entire life,” Roman finishes. “That’s suspicious.”

“There’s more. I think once he finishes with whatever he’s doing with the Air Nomads, he’s planning an assault on the Northern Water Tribe.”

“How is he going to do that?”

“With the Air Nomads’ help?”

“My people would never aid in something like that,” Patton spits. Remus shrugs.

“I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m just saying, you don’t know what Father is capable of the way that Roman and I do. He’s capable of atrocities beyond your comprehension. He took Mother away from us. He took Roman away from me. He’s - he’s taking everyone I’ve ever loved.”

“He won’t take me,” Roman promises. “We might not physically be with each other, but as soon as the war is over I’ll come home.”

“You’ll have to kill Father for that to happen,” Remus says. “You’ll have to win the war.”

“We will.” Roman’s eyes are blazing, and Remus stares into them for a moment before nodding.

“I believe you.”

“Good.” Remus stands up. “Don’t accompany me to the shoreline. The ship’s crew are watching through the onboard telescope, and if they see you they’ll storm the island. Wait until after sundown, we’ll be long gone by then. If plans change, I’ll send Dragon.”

“You better be taking care of him. And Dolos.”

“Please, Roro. I’m not taking care of anyone. Uncle Emile is keeping us all alive.” Roman heaves an exaggerated sigh.

“I don’t know why I expected better.” He stands up as well, gripping Remus’s shoulders. “Promise me that you’ll be careful?”

“I’m never careful, brother,” Remus laughs. They pull into another tight hug before Remus is disappearing down the hallway like a shadow. Roman watches him go with a wistful, hungry expression on his face before turning around to stare at Thomas with renewed fire.

“You heard my brother. We have a lot of work to do.”

#starshinewrites #avatar!au #sanders sides #ts deceit #ts remus #brotherly creativitwins #background romantic roceit #virgil sanders

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pitterpatterpot · 4 years

Text

Lion’s Pride: Chapter Twenty-Five

Aedion breathes out a puff of breath, eyes squinting as he looks down at the braid in his hand, fine strands of red hair slipping between his fingers. He smiles in victory as he finishes off the final twining of hair, snapping a band into place with a flourish.

"Aedion," Evangeline tuts, "it's hair, not a battle."

The General of the Bane raises his brows, admiring the fishtail braid that now sits on the young girls shoulder. "It's a fine braid worthy of the same glory as any battle."

Evangeline snorts, still focusing on the braid in her own hands. "You're so silly sometimes."

"Oh no, gods forbid I make you smile."

Snorting with a small laugh, Evangeline finishes her braid with a tie. “You’re done, Jolene.”

The girl in front of Evangeline grins in delight, hopping off the edge of the fountain to join a group of children covering the ground in chalk. Aedion watches her go with a fond smile, standing himself and extending a hand to Evangeline. He pulls her up, laughing as he nearly lifts her off her feet, Evangeline immediately scowling yet laughing.

“Why don’t you get braids?” Evangeline hums, narrowing her eyes at Aedion’s loose hair.

“Because you all always pull at it,” Aedion scowls, watching a ball fly between a group of kids. “Don’t look at me like that. You do.”

“Right,” Evangeline rolls her eyes, fingering the end of her braid. “I forgot how sensitive you are.”

“You know, it wasn’t that long ago I defeated a certain little thing called a valg prince.”

“It also wasn’t too long ago that you spent three days searching for Gavriel’s cat,” Evangeline raises a brow.

Aedion scowls playfully, tugging gently on her hair. “He was upset. And in case I forgot, you also searched under every bed in the palace.”

Giggling, Evangeline ducks away from his hands. “All right! So maybe I did.”

“We should just be thankful Lysandra and Aelin have gone for the weekend,” Aedion mutters, narrowing his eyes against the sun. “They would have had a field day searching.”

“Aelin would have put the whole staff on it.”

“And Lysandra would have spent all day in ghost leopard form sniffing around.”

They both smirk, a humorous glint in their eyes. It only grows when a ball rolls over to them, both their brows flicking up as a group of kids watch them. Aedion grins, as does Evangeline.

They both dive for the ball.

Evangeline cries in delight as the top of her boot manages to hit the ball the same time Aedion’s foot does, the object flying towards the children. The two of them run after it, and after a minute of shock the street quickly divides into teams of two. Evangeline grins as a child passes the ball to her, quickly ducking under Aedion’s arm to kick it between two boxes that have been set up as the goal. Aedion groans dramatically as the score lands, everyone laughing and clapping along as he circles around and hoists Evangeline up into his arms, the young woman screaming with laughter and pounding on his back.

“Aedion, you brute!” Evangeline cackles, face flushing. “Put me down!”

“Oh, I can’t do that,” Aedion gasps, spinning, Evangeline thrown over his shoulder. “I’m too sensitive, remember? I need constant attention.”

A loud snorting laughter comes from Evangeline. “I’m sorry! Aedion, I’m going to be sick!”

“Sick, you say?” Aedion cackles, pausing in the spinning. “Well, isn’t that unfortunate.”

“I’ll tell Lysandra about this!” Evangeline tugs the end of his shirt, face turning red, a grin still in place.

Aedion hums, jumping in place. “And I’ll tell them all about that little prank you pulled.”

“It wasn’t that bad!”

“Cold oatmeal in my socks!”

“You put black powder in my dresses!”

Barking a laugh, Aedion spins again, the surrounding children laughing. It became a common occurrence for the court to leave the castle and spend time with the children in the city square, dazzling them with magic and games. The entire ordeal had grown from the morning training sessions with young adults, Aedion quickly befriending the youth with his roguish ways and lack of strict etiquette. Aelin was quick to join, surprised to see that Gavriel had grown close to many of the parents who watch on as everyone plays.

There was a rough moment when Lysandra turned into a ghost leopard. Turns out that when you loose an uncle to a pack you become fearful that the same thing will happen to your child. Luckily, Aedion managed to wrestle the hunting spear away.

Now Lysandra only turns into less fearful creatures around the children. Much to their disappointment.

“Alright,” Evangeline huffs, voice thick. “Aedion, I need to be put down. I don’t feel well.”

He immediately slips her off his shoulder, Aedion frowning as he takes Evangeline in. At the flush on her face and sweat beading on her upper lip, a hand pressed against her lower stomach.

“Are you alright?” Aedion murmurs lowly. “You’re pale.”

“I just feel a little ill,” Evangeline sucks in a slow breath.

“Let’s stop for a moment,” Aedion suggests gently. “We can… Evangeline, are you alright?”

A new shade of pale has overtaken the young adults face. “We need to go home, please.”

Aedion’s brows furrow, and he begins to ask. Then stops at the smell suddenly hitting his fae nose, his eyes widening in understanding. He gently takes her arm and moves her to the back of a public restroom, the area quiet compared to the buzz of the square.

“Aedion,” Evangeline looks around. “What are we-“

“Hold on,” Aedion stops behind a wall.

He shrugs off his jacket, dropping it to the floor before taking off his shirt. He rips off the left long sleeve in one fluid movement, handing the strip of fabric to Evangeline, her eyes wide.

“Aedion,” she hisses, eyes darting around. “What are you-“

“No one will notice with my jacket on,” Aedion murmurs, nodding to the bathroom. “You can use this until we get to the palace and find you something more suitable.”

Nodding, Evangeline ducks into the stall as Aedion steps away and places his shirt and jacket back on, taking a moment to hum at the strange feeling of one sleeve being missing. Breezy.

It’s also a nice distraction from the entire situation.

The stall door creaks open and Evangeline walks out, back straight. Aedion nods and they immediately set down the streets, going through the back alley ways to avoid the crowds and citizens that would no doubt love to stop and chat. They make it just over halfway before Evangeline stops, bending over and groaning. Aedion stops in alarm, looking to where she’s sat down, arms wrapped around her stomach and body curled over. He immediately sits beside her.

“Sit up, air will make you feel better,” Aedion suggests gently, pulling out a flask. “Here’s some water. If you straighten out it’ll help you to-“

“Aedion,” Evangeline grits out, taking the water. “How do you know so much about this?”

“I read a book.”

“A book?”

He shrugs. “I wanted to help. And Lysandra did some explaining.”

Evangeline stares, slowly turning bright red as she looks down at her feet.

“I love you,” Evangeline murmurs.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” Aedion pulls her close, giving a squeeze. “Do you feel alright to walk? Or would you like a ride on my back?”

“Ride,” Evangeline immediately perks up, eyes sparking in interest. “Definitely.”

“I get the feeling that you’re taking advantage of the situation,” Aedion smiles in relief, turning around. “Come on. Order me around as you like.”

Laughing, Evangeline climbs on, cackling as Aedion breaks into an immediately jog.

~~~

“So, are you alright?” Aedion asks, handing Evangeline a cold glass of water.

“Yes, thank you,” Evangeline eagerly accepts the glass, sitting on the edge of the stool in the kitchen.

“The tea didn’t work?”

“The warmth just made the hot flush feel worse,” Evangeline glowers at the cup to the side. “It was a disappointment.”

“Of the highest degree.”

“The audacity was outstanding.”

“It shall never be served again.”

A lull takes over their bantering, the two stirring and looking into their respective drinks. The clock ticks in the corner, the only abruption to the comfortable silence between them.

“Aedion?” Evangeline sips her water.

“Yes?” Aedion looks up from the sink.

“Can I still play with you and the other children in the square? And train?”

Frowning, Aedion places his cup down. “Of course. Why?”

Shrugging, Evangeline taps the rim of her glass. “Everyone’s trying to teach my to be a lady. That seems to mean no rough activity.”

Aedion snorts. “Sweetheart, you have met the females of our family, yes? I’ve had my ass handed to me by them more than once.”

“I know,” Evangeline scowls, the look vicious instead of playful. “Other ladies in waiting and court children annoy me.”

Immediately, Aedion perks up, narrowing his eyes in anger. “How so?”

“They make fun of me for being covered in mud after training,” Evangeline scoffs, sipping her drink. “They think it’s strange that I play with animals and children outside the castle.”

“Is this when all the lords and ladies visited with their children last month?”

“Yes,” colour stains Evangeline’s cheeks, her eyes darting away. “…I threw mud on one of them.”

That causes a loud barking laugh, Aedion’s bellowing prompting Evangeline to laugh as well. They snicker to themselves, erupting again when they catch each other’s eye.

“Who did you hit?”

“The daughter of the lord of Suria. She said I acted like a boar in a dress.”

Aedion’s laughter cuts off, a growl taking place. It’s audacious, unbelievable on such an extreme level that anyone would be foolish enough to turn up their noses at the young woman sitting in front of him. It borders on insanity to think that they could even begin to get away with saying such a remark. And not because of the threat that Lysandra, Aedion and the rest of the court poses. Oh no.

They should very well fear Evangeline herself.

“What did you do?” Aedion asks, voice a rough growl.

At that a wicked smile takes place on Evangeline’s face. “We were in the gardens, so I went to the stables, grabbed a handful of sludge, stomped back and flung it so it hit her in the chest. She screeched like a banshee.”

Chuckling, Aedion knocks her shoulder. “That’s my girl. Listen to me, you’re allowed to be whatever you want to be. Biology is not the deciding factor of everything in life. If you want to keep training and get your ass kicked at ball games than you’re more than welcomed.”

That sparks something in her eyes, pride curdling in her stare. “Last I remembered, I kicked the winning goal in the last game.”

“Because that boy got in my way.”

“Because your defence was sloppy.”

So few people would ever dare say something like that to him. The love in his chest explodes.

“I promise things won’t change unless you will them to,” he promises, a tenderness weakening his form. “Although you may want to go to Lysandra about the… biological changes that…”

“Thank you, Aedion,” Evangeline’s voice cuts through his, as brisk as the flush on her cheeks. “We don’t need to talk about that.”

“Oh, thank the gods, because I really have no idea-“

“Alright-“

“-since war camps don’t really give an education on-“

“Oh my gods-“

“-I should actually read some books or ask Gavriel some questions, actually, I have a lot of gaps-“

“I’m going to bed!” Evangeline stands, chair scrapping back, glaring at Aedion’s smirk. “You are a horrible, horrible person.”

“Thank you, darling,” Aedion winks. “Do you want me to bring you anything? A warm bottle? Chocolate?”

At that she hesitates, eyeing him. “Chocolate would be nice.”

“I’ll bring it up with a concoction to help with the pain,” Aedion nods, smirk settling into a smile. “Let me know if there’s anything else.”

“I will,” Evangeline walks through the door, then pauses, angling her head back. “You know, since you’re having so much fun with all of this I think I should mention to Gavriel that you need a little talk.”

All colour drains from the males face, a particular look of horror settling over his features. “You wouldn’t, you sly little-“

“I learn from the best,” Evangeline cackles, the door slamming shut after her.

~~~

“Just to be clear,” Lysandra murmurs to Aedion before they enter the dining hall, “you didn’t tell Evangeline that she can now call on adrenaline based strength while bleeding, yes?”

“That was Aelin,” Aedion snorts. “Although with the anger that comes with it I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s the case.”

“Ass,” Lysandra whacks his arm, smiling. “As if you’re anything but a sap.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” Aedion opens the entry way for her, “it’d ruin my reputation.”

“I doubt anything could do that,” Lysandra laughs, wrapping an arm around Aedion’s as they walk to the table. “My brave warrior.”

“You are in a good mood today,” he beams, kissing her as he pulls out her chair.

Lysandra hums, cheeks nearly dimpling with how strong her smile is. “How can I not be?”

Smiling at her gleeful expression, Aedion takes a moment to brush his hand against her shoulder, letting his calloused thumb run over the smooth skin before snagging slightly on a scar, tenderly following the jagged line down the slope of her shoulder as he sits. The look she sends him, filled with nothing but undeniable warmth, makes something deep settle within him. Being here, next to her, at the table with his loved ones is like some kind of balm to an inner injury he never knew he had. Some beast that is finally settled down to sleep.

“I love you,” he murmurs it, softly, his head tilted towards hers.

Those green eyes darken, and she whispers it back.

He melts. There’s no way to avoid it, the way he crumbled at her feet. It’s impossible for him to withstand her, not that he ever would. He finally turns back to the food, a small smile remaining as he begins to devour his meal. He ignores the gentle looks the rest of the court send their way,

“Gavriel,” something humorous enters Lysandra’s tone, sending a warning through Aedion’s system, “wasn’t there something you wanted to discuss with Aedion?”

His father’s brows raise, and he turns to look at his son. “Evangeline did mention something about a certain topic needing more details.”

Aedion’s eyes cut to the side and Lysandra’s wicked smile says it all.

The traitors.

~~~

“Just so we’re clear,” Gavriel eyes his son as they leave the dining hall, entering one of the many hallways, “you don’t need me to-“

“No.”

“So you know-“

“Yes.”

“Even about diseases and-“

“Yes!” Aedion hisses, a rare flush of colour taking over his face. “Gods, yes. You know, I was fairly sure Evangeline was bluffing.”

And there it is, a traitorous smile spreading across Gavriel’s face. “She thought you’d think that.”

Scoffing, Aedion jerks back. “You all have a terrible sense of humour. Just terrible.”

“I found it amusing,” Gavriel chuckles.

“You’re all twisted,” Aedion shakes his head. “Where are you heading?”

“I was hoping to talk to you, actually,” Gavriel concedes. “I was hoping to learn more about your childhood here in the palace. The good memories.”

Aedion blinks. “The good memories? I - alright. Why?”

Gavriel shrugs. “In truth, every time I imagine you as a child I see you as sad. I would like to be able to know that there were some light moments.”

“When Aelin was born I was extremely happy,” Aedion admits, the two of them beginning to walk towards the stables. “I enjoyed watching over her. More often then not I’d join her for make-shift tea parties and dinners.”

“Because the others were afraid of her,” Gavriel guesses.

“Both of us, actually,” Aedion snorts. “Like I’ve told you, my reputation for fighting with Ren gained me a ferocious title.”

Gavriel’s brows shoot up, a smile blooming. “Oh, I’m sure you were terrifying. I even heard you used to have freckles before they faded. How devious.”

A bright flush creeps up over Aedion’s face, the younger male glaring. “Who told you? And by the way, sarcasm isn’t a good look on you.”

“I disagree,” Gavriel chuckles. “And Aelin told me. I’m not surprised though, I used to have a light freckling when I was younger. You must have gained it from me.”

“Of course,” Aedion mutters, staring skywards for a moment. “Are you happy now? I was freckled and played with my cousin.”

“While that is an adorable image,” Gavriel says, amused at Aedion’s horror at the word, “I was actually asking for earlier memories. After all, what did you do when Aelin was a baby and unable to play? When you were very young?”

At that Aedion pauses, mind drawing a complete blank. Before he could play with Aelin? He’s already told Gavriel about how he and Ren used to be close as children, but that came later. Does he want to know about training? He’s already gained details of that. And Aelin has surely told him more than Aedion is likely comfortable with. But when Aedion first came to Terrasen? There was so much confusion. He had to learn names and go from being a child with his mother to a ward in training. There has to be something. Of course, trying to remember that far back through so many harsh memories is difficult. By the time they arrive at the stables, Gavriel patiently stroking a horse, Aedion is still at a loss as his father strokes the giant beasts.

Giant beasts.

Giant.

“I used to be afraid of horses.”

Aedion sucks in a breath after his rushed words, seemingly just as surprised by them as Gavriel is. His father looks at him in surprise and amusement, his expression morphing into one of concentration as he listens. Aedion clears his throat, the memory slowly seeping forward.

“When I first arrived,” Aedion begins slowly, piecing it together, “I was headstrong and stubborn - don’t give me that look - out of fear, I think. I wanted to prove I could be strong since everyone was talking about how I was to be a warrior. I tackled everything they gave me. Then…”

“Then?” Gavriel prompts.

“I had never seen a horse before,” Aedion realises slowly. “At least none as big as they have here in Terrasen. They look wilder and rougher. And I was, well, I was small.”

“You were five,” Gavriel’s smiles, “I’m sure you were very small.”

“Right,” Aedion winces. “So when the horse riding lessons came along I… Well, I think I yelled ‘no’ and ran away.”

A laugh bursts out of Gavriel, loud and guffawing before the Lion claps a hand over his mouth, turning it into a cough. “You ran?”

“And hid,” Aedion nods. “I remember now. I crawled into a small cupboard they couldn’t reach me in, yelling that I wouldn’t go near them. It took days for them to convince me to go near them.”

Shaking his head, Gavriel keeps a hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking.

“Is it really that amusing?” Aedion huffs, picking up a horse brush himself.

“It’s the image,” Gavriel sucks in a slow breath, “of a younger, smaller you just yelling ‘no’ at grown warriors over horses and running away.”

“I think I kicked Quinn in the chest when he tried to place me on one,” Aedion admits, rhythmically brushing the horse closest to him. “At least I think I did all that. It’s difficult to remember that far back.”

Chuckling, Gavriel picks up a brush himself. “It certainly sounds in character.”

“I’d make some smart comeback about you as a child,” Aedion snorts, “but no doubt you were perfect.”

“There may be some doubts about that,” Gavriel clears his throat. “In fact, when I was only a decade old I… My brothers convinced me to sneak out during the night with them.”

Aedion stares. “You did? You escaped the house at night?”

“I did,” Gavriel nods, huffing a small laugh. “It was the only time though. I was bored with how quickly distracted they were, their attention drawn away from me. I never really had any reason to rebel or kick up a fuss.”

“Oh, of course,” Aedion sighs. “The great Gavriel, above such childish squabbles. If only your offspring had followed suit.”

“I have no regrets with your stubborn nature, Aedion,” Gavriel wryly responds. “If anything, your determination is a key reason for your success. And I can hardly blame you for having your mother’s spirit.”

“It got me in plenty of trouble early on, don’t worry,” Aedion smirks. “By the way, why the stables?”

“Pardon?” Gavriel tilts his head.

“The stables. Why are we here?”

“I was simply following you,” Gavriel gestures to the area around them. “Weren’t we coming here for your story?”

“No, I thought I was following you,” Aedion confesses. “Not that I’m complaining. Darrow wants to meet with me today and I’d much rather be here right now than with that bastard.”

“At least he’s kind to Evangeline,” Gavriel sighs. “If I’m being honest it’s the only redeeming quality I can find about the man.”

“You are quite cold towards him,” Aedion admits. “I take great pleasure in watching it.”

“Could I join you in the meeting then?” Gavriel asks, placing down his brush. “I need to have a few words with the man myself anyway.”

“When you put it like that, yes,” Aedion grins. “You most definitely can.”

~~~

Aedion sits leisurely in the seat at Darrow’s desk, legs stretched out in front of him as he leans back. Gavriel stands by the doorway with his arms crossed, watching the entire interaction. Darrow, for his part, sits at the desk with his hands clasped in front of him, a twitching muscle in his cheek the only sign of his irritation.

None of them have said a word, each waiting for the other to initiate the conversation. Darrow appears to be near wits end, eyes darting between the two of them as he waits to be addressed.

And Aedion is, quite frankly, enjoying this.

Giving in, Darrow coughs into his fist. “I need to discuss your behaviour in the city.”

Aedion’s eyes narrow. “My behaviour?”

“In terms of your relations with the children,” Darrow nods. “It’s inappropriate for a prince and general of your standing to spend so much time playing games with the offspring of strangers. Not only that, but the fact that you encourage Evangeline to do the same.”

Iron carves into Aedion’s spine, his entire form rising in the chair. “Be very careful with what you say next, Darrow. It does Evangeline no harm to have friends near her own age.”

“I don’t disagree!” Darrow huffs. “I think it’s wonderful that she’s gaining connections with the people. Believe it or not, but I have no wish to see her miserable and alone. She’s delighted after the games in the square.”

“In that case, what is this entire conversation even about?” Aedion growls.

Shame seems to flicker over Darrow’s features before they harden once again. “It’s not Evangeline who they deem inappropriate to spend time with the children, Aedion.”

Something in his core freezes. Stiffens and curdles at the low temperatures that enter is stomach. He stares at Darrow, the man staring back, something akin to shame flickering in his eyes.

“Inappropriate?” Aedion’s voice sounds rough even to his own ears. “What do they think I’m going to do?”

“They believe you could be a… negative influence,” Darrow clears his throat. “Considering your history and reputation.”

“Reputation,” Aedion repeats.

“Not to mention your choice in relationships,” Darrow shuffles his papers.

“Relationships?” A white ocean of noise enters his ears.

“Aedion, I have no judgement on the matter,” Darrow looks away. “At least, not on that topic. While I do think it’s inappropriate for you to spend time in the square with children I see it based on your romantic orientation. Unfortunately, some parents do. Your past titles and actions as the ‘Whore of Adarlan’ don’t exactly help soothe their worries.”

And there is the anger, boiling, starting in the pit of his being and clawing its way up his throat. His hands curl into fists, Aedion leaning forward, every muscle in his body growing tense. Then confusion slowly takes place. Because while Darrow has grown pale, the colour leeching from his face as his scent screams terror, he isn’t looking at Aedion.

No, he’s looking over Aedion’s shoulder.

So, slowly, the Wolf of the North turn to look as well.

And his anger is swept away by…

Fear? No, it’s something more deep rooted than that. Those tawny gold eyes are dark, closer to the colour of bronze set on fire. And the very shape of his face, the way his lips are raised to show a flash of sharp teeth, suggests the brink of a shift into lion form. And all of that is directed towards Darrow.

“Aedion,” Gavriel’s voice sets a deeper tone, reverberating through the entire room, “leave the room.”

It’s a direct order, a room brooking no space for argument. Just like Gavriel had used when he found Aedion by the gate. But then Aedion had denied the order, snapping back at the demand of the Lion. He feels the sudden urge to do so now, the denial already leaving his lips in the form of a growl. Darrow’s eyes flick between them, the man pressing back in his seat as Aedion stares at his father.

“Like hell I am,” Aedion snarls, beginning to rise out of his chair. “I train those children! I protect them! If people are so fucking worried about me being a bad influence on them than they-“

“Aedion.”

The demi-fae pauses at the tone.

“Leave the room,” Gavriel repeats, slaking towards the desk. “I also had a meeting concerning a private matter.”

Aedion stares. Gavriel doesn’t look, eyes trained on Darrow. Slowly, Aedion stands. He can feel both males waiting for his actions. He walks towards the door, Darrow’s clear disbelief like a brand on his back. He clicks it shut behind him and leaves the hall.

~~~

Fenrys frowns from where he stands over papers with Rowan, looking towards the window. “Did you hear something?”

The king glances up. “No, I…”

“There, see?” Fenrys waves a hand. “It sounds like Gavriel.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing.”

~~~

“Darrow needs a new desk,” Gavriel dresses Aelin, standing in front of her work table.

She looks up in surprise, confusion flowing over. “Why?”

“I broke his.”

A silence stretches out. Aelin raises a brow.

“As in… you broke off a leg of the table and stabbed him with it?”

Startled, Gavriel jerks back. Gods, no! I’m not Rowan.”

Snickering, Aelin nods. “Alright then. So what happened?”

“I yelled at him and in the throes of my anger punched the table, causing it to split.”

“Let me get this straight,” Aelin breathes in deeply. “You were mad, punched a table and that one hit caused it to break in half?”

“Yes. I apologise for any inconvenience I am causing you,” Gavriel bows his head.

He hears her mumble under her breath, something along the lines of ‘holy gods’ and ‘males.’ She quickly scribbles down the need for a new table on a piece of paper, shaking her head as she does so.

“What exactly did he do?” Aelin asks. “Darrow, I mean.”

“He said Aedion wasn’t allowed to play with children in the city square because of his so-called reputation,” Gavriel scowls, the look foreign and unusual on his usually even face.

Narrowing her own eyes, Aelin places her papers down. “What did Aedion say?”

“I asked him to leave the room before I lost my temper with Darrow,” Gavriel informs the queen.

Aelin pauses, disbelief clear. “He listened to you? You told him to do something and he did it?”

“I don’t know how it happened either, don’t ask me to do it again,” Gavriel sighs. “I’m going to find him so we can talk. Pardon, my queen.”

“So formal,” Aelin grins, shaking her head. “I’ll see about getting Darrow a new table when able.”

“Please don’t draw it out too long,” Gavriel sighs. “He’ll just complain.”

“He can last a week or two,” Aelin sits back, shrugging. “Besides, finding the right table can take time.”

Gavriel sends her a dry look. “Of course.”

~~~

“You broke it?” Aedion stares at Gavriel.

The male frowns back, pausing in eating his own dinner. “Why does everyone repeat that question?”

“It’s just a little hard to comprehend,” Aedion sighs, rubbing at his eyes. “And I didn’t need you to do that. Those parents have a right to voice their concerns when it comes to their children.”

“That must refer to me as well, then,” Gavriel raises his brows. “I am sorry however that I diminished you by ordering you out of the room.”

“You didn’t order. You asked,” Aedion very nearly glares. “I simply conceded to a request.”

“Of course.”

Aedion glares.

“And just so we’re clear,” Gavriel lowers his voice once more, “after everything you have done and sacrificed for these people it is only fair that you are given the same freedom that any male on the street is offered. Your reputation, which you gained for their sakes, should not be held against you.”

A glimmer of amusement enters Aedion’s eyes. “I know. But thank you, it’s nice to have it acknowledged by you.”

Gavriel tips his head in a nod.

“Just so you, though, Evangeline has already talked to Darrow.”

Gavriel perks up at that, spinning to look at his son. “Oh?”

“She did,” Aedion nods. “I think it’s fair to say that no one will be making any more comments. She can be… fierce.”

They both grin.

#tog #lions pride #evangeline #aedion ashryver #throne family #oh my god why did this take me so long

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interrogatormentors · 4 years

Text

Event Ten: Ghosts

Despite all of Eridan’s hopes to the contrary, life did not return to normalcy after the events aboard the HBC Condescension. The Reichenbach found its flight path altered a perigee later, rescheduled from routine patrols near the Syphoran border to instead orbit around the Empress’ ship in a listless rotation. Tensions rose within the ship as the crew grew restless with inactivity, with no answers from the higher-ups as to why their schedules had changed so drastically without warning.While hiring hadn’t been in his repertoire when he gained the position, Eridan had grown to take pride in his success in finding dedicated crew members as Head Admin. None of the people he hired had come to the Reichenbach seeking a cushy escort ship position. But how could Eridan even begin to explain the Empress’ sudden obsession with him when he barely understood it himself?

Another night saw another orbit around the HBC Condescension, and Eridan’s finger tapped an unsteady beat on his own arm held behind his back as he watched the ship pass underneath them from a viewport. Sometimes coming this close meant nothing, just that their hulls almost kissed with the two helmsmen aboard each ship playing a careful dance around each other. Most of the time, however, it meant an interruption to Eridan’s routine. If he waited by the airlock for a summons, odds were half the time that the Empress would keep him waiting for hours before sending him a flippant message that she had no need of him that day. If he tried to get any work done with the schedules or order forms, that was always when she needed him most.

Eridan reached into the breast pocket of his uniform as he watched the other ship, fumbling out a small flask he’d taken to carrying with him. God, he hated this backup uniform. The pockets were so tight he had to shimmy out his flask with more than a little difficulty, garnering odd looks whenever he did so. He didn’t have a dependency or anything, despite the concerned glances the crew cast towards him. There was no shame in steadying his nerves. What did anyone expect? The Empress had an intimidating aura by virtue of position and maybe some pheromones; anyone would need a little help to withstand her presence. Besides, she seemed to like him better a little tipsy anyway. His jokes seemed to land more, eliciting tinkling laughs that echoed Feferi in the most pusher-pulling way. And when the Empress had trimmed and pierced his bitten fin with her own nails, setting golden rings and fuschia stones in the membrane, he had soldiered through the pain without so much as a whimper.

Bricks’ voice pierced through his musings, and Eridan hastened to stow away the flask before turning around. “Were you listening to me, Ampora?”

“What?” Eridan ran his fingers through his hair, mind struggling to catch up to the conversation. “Yeah, yeah, ‘course.”

“So you’ll be there in an hour?”

“Yeah.” Eridan glanced to the side, back to the other ship out the viewport. “I’ll be at…?”

“Shakes’ DnD session? You missed the last three,” Bricks said. “You doing okay?”

Eridan nodded, opening his mouth, but squeaked and jumped instead as his palmhusk buzzed. He fished it out, waving off Bricks’ questions as he opened Trollian.

[textileAperture [TA] has begun trolling caligulasAquarium[CA]!]

TA: 8< is this Head Admin Eridan Ampora?

CA: wwhat howw did you get this handle wwhore you

TA: 8< um

TA: 8< the Empress’ seamstress.

TA: 8< she said you’d be here at four for a new uniform fitting?

Eridan wracked his pan for any mention of a fitting, checking the time. Five. Upon drawing a blank he stuffed his palmhusk back in his pocket. “Sorry, gotta go,” he said, making for the airlock without hesitation and brushing past Bricks. “Tell the others I can’t make it.”

“What?” The odd tone of Bricks’ voice rankled Eridan in a way that had him hunching his shoulders. “Hey Ampora, if you need to talk--”

“Get back to work, Bricks,” Eridan called back down the hall. If he sounded a little too quick, too agitated, that wasn’t anyone’s business but his own. He had his priorities in order. The Empress came first. Any thoughts to the contrary were tantamount to treason.

He broke into a run once Bricks was out of sight, speeding across the length of the ship until he came to a halt in front of the airlock doors. Eridan inhaled sharply to catch his breath before hammering on the intercom button.

“Oh my god, stop!” Shakes’ voice said from the intercom. “You wanna dock?”

“Yes! Of course! Hurry it up!”

“Do I have to? The Helmsman gives me the fucking willies every time I have to interface. He didn’t think entering the docking code in Wingdings was funny last time either. Everybody fucking looooves the Wingdings.”

“Fuckin’ dock now, Riesse!” Eridan pressed his face an inch away from the intercom, not bothering to swipe away the sweaty hair that fell into his eyes. How could he have forgotten? He was late, so fucking late, and the Empress would have his head if she found out.

Shakes swore under his breath, and the ship changed directions to align its docking bay with the HBC Condescension. Eridan bounced on the balls of his feet, every muscle tensed as he watched the other ship extend the docking corridor. “Come on, come on, come on,” he said, chewing his lips like a woofbeast worrying a bone.

The moment the airlock opened Eridan sprinted off, footsteps clanging on the metal. The Helmsman’s voice crackled over the intercom as he ran. “Welcome back, Eridan. Do you know where you are going?”

“Not now, Helmsman. I’m late!” Eridan grabbed onto the corner of a wall as he slid past, swinging himself in a wide circle into the intersecting hallway without slowing his momentum.

“Late for…?”

“The fuckin’-- the uniform fittin’! Shit-- Okay, where’s the fuckin’ seamstress at?”

“Which one?”

Eridan stopped, boots squeaking once on the floor as he came to a standstill. “Uh. Fuck.” Had he forgotten another detail? What was happening to him? “I dunno. A jade- She had a scissor quirk or somethin’.”

“Ah, you want Marlen. Uploading floorplan to your palmhusk now.”

Eridan flinched as his palmhusk buzzed, but pulling it out showed only a message from torpidAnnihilator, with the map of the ship as promised. Part of Eridan wondered if anyone else was privy to such information. He could see every pathway, every escape pod, every crew member flitting about with their attached hex code. Eridan pulled his eyes away from the #77003C currently stationed somewhere in the upper decks, following the plan as it zoomed in without any input on a hexcode in the X74 zone of the ship.

Eridan started running again, glancing down every time he rushed into a new corridor to assess his progress. He ignored HBC Condescension crewmembers he passed in their gilded uniforms, having no time to waste on the way they tittered as he passed. By the time he made it to the X zone of the ship from B, his lungs burned with a fire like switching from salt to freshwater without time to adjust.

Eridan slammed his hand on the pad outside the door, swearing when the pad flashed red. “No, fuck, this has to be the right block!” He slapped the pad a few times, breathing starting to catch in his throat before the door slid open to reveal a tall jade holding a bag.

“Oh, sorry,” she said, setting the bag down. “I didn’t get a response, so I was just packing up to go.”

“No, well, I’m here now,” Eridan said, pushing past her into the block. He turned his head, coughing into his elbow as his chest continued to ache. “You’re Marlen, right? Look, if you’re busy, you really shoulda told me so I could reschedule instead of bookin’ my ass all the way here for you.” He pulled his flask out again, draining the rest and stifling another cough around the burning soporific.

“Sir, you never--” Marlen stopped herself after catching the look Eridan shot at her, closing her eyes and taking a breath before starting again. “Of course, Admin Ampora. Just let me get set up again. Go ahead and get undressed behind that screen there.”

Eridan went behind the folding screen the jade indicated, starting to relax once he was both out of immediate sight and starting to feel the warming effects of the soporific he’d just imbibed back around Bricks. He smoothed his hair down, letting his fins wave freely to cool himself off before stripping. He donned the overlarge uniform that the seamstress draped atop the screen’s edge, eyes lingering for a moment on the fuschia strip running the length of his sleeve.

Eridan slid the folding screen back, stepping out into the room again once he stopped hearing his pusher beating in his eardrums. Kanaya was waiting for him, comparing two seemingly identical spools of black thread with a pin already pursed between her lips.

Kanaya?

Before Eridan could open his mouth to ask where Marlen had gone, Kanaya had vanished and Marlen was back. Her gaze lingered on him for a moment. “... Is everything alright, Admin Ampora?”

Eridan cleared his throat and shook his head, closing his eyes. “Yeah, uh. Sorry. Shit. Where do you want me?”

And there she was again when he opened his eyes. Kanaya waved her hand in front of her and he obeyed, in a daze as he tried to figure out what was going on as he stood before the mirror she indicated. This wasn’t right.

But as Eridan closed his eyes and opened them again, Kanaya remained. She extended an expectant hand, and without thinking he stuck out his own arm. Kanaya plucked the pin from her lips, pinching his sleeve to judge the give before using the pin to close up the excess fabric. “I must say, Eridan, I was not expecting much upon meeting again and yet somehow, I am still disappointed in you. Is this really how you are spending your time now?”

Eridan swallowed, managing a strangled “Nnng,” that Kanaya quickly dismissed with an imperious upward quirk of her eyebrow. Eridan cleared his throat before trying again. “Nice to… To see you, Kan?” His voice was a trembling murmur, almost unintelligible.

Kanaya let out a soft tsk, the click of her tongue echoing in the entire block. “Oh, do speak up if you have anything to say... though, I cannot say I can return the sentiment.” She held up a finger, looking down her nose at Eridan until his words shriveled like so much ash on his tongue. “You are well aware of what you did, and what you are doing now.”

“Do I?” Eridan flinched when Kanaya cast him a disdainful look, another pin coming dangerously close to piercing one of his torso gills. “Er, I mean, sure. I guess? I ain’t doin’ anythin’ wrong anymore, though.” His throat felt dry, a tickle itching at it and an increasing need for the bottles of soporifics starting to pile up in his block.

“Nothing legally wrong, perhaps.” Kanaya picked up her thread again, thumb running over the individual spools before selecting the thread on the right. She touched the end of the thread to her tongue, wetting the end. Her sharp fangs caught in the light, somehow so much sharper than Eridan remembered. She threaded the needle, getting to work tightening his sleeves. “But tell me, Eridan dear. How much dignity do you have left to you at the moment? I cannot imagine much, considering you are going belly-up faster than an inadequately fed pet fish.”

Eridan kept himself staring forward, focusing on the wall ahead despite the echoes of highblood rage gathering in his acidic digestive pouch. He tried exercising the control the Condesce had been doing her best to drill into him. You have to learn to control those feelin’s, guppy. Just turn them off, like a husktop. “You’re wrong.” Despite himself, his wigglerhood stutter almost lead him to stumble over his w’s, and he clenched a fist so tight his nails dug into his palm as he refocused his control.

“Oh, damn, I find myself helpless before the verbose defense you have placed before me,” Kanaya deadpanned, tutting again as she pulled out a pair of shears from her belt. The blades barely whispered as they cut through the excess fabric. “Why do you even bother denying this? You are only lying to yourself at this point.”

“I--”

Kanaya pointed her shears directly at him, and Eridan shut his mouth with an audible snap. “You know it. Your crew knows it. They whisper behind your back and it is only a matter of time before there is a mutiny against your authority that not even your captain will have the capability to suppress. The Empress will tire of you eventually, and you will be left to pick up the pieces should she deign to leave you anything.”

Eridan looked down at the ground, sweat dripping down the length of his nose again as Kanaya went back to hemming his uniform jacket. “No,” he said. “She’s thinkin’ of namin’ me a’ official consort, so I don’ know where you’re gettin’ all this talk of me bein’ some kind of throwaway lapwarmer.” He gritted his teeth, flinching to look away as Kanaya scoffed. “Really. I wanted this. I’m finally gettin’ the respect I deserve.” His nails dug even tighter into his palm, voice beginning to shake as violet blood started dripping down his knuckles to the floor. “I dunno where you’ve fuckin been, Maryam, but I’m makin’ strokes in the fuckin’ world all of you rebel fuckheads couldn’t imagine in your wildest dreams.”

“A gilded cage is still a cage,” Kanaya said. She almost sounded sad, then, but her tone quickly adjusted to reflect her earlier distaste. “Colors aside,” she paused, tapping the stripe of tyrian running along his sleeve before picking up her needle once again, “she marks you so shamelessly she may as well have you branded to finish the job.”

Eridan stiffened, suppressing a growl. “You don’ know anythin’.”

Kanaya sighed, setting down her needle and putting a hand on her hip as she gestured with the other towards his cut ear. “You know your history, Eridan, and you spend quite a bit of time with the last remnant of Ancient Alternian slavery practices.” She began to circle around him, leaning her cheek into her hand in exasperation. “You know why the Helmsman’s ear was cut, to identify him in the slaving markets. You know why the Condesce bit your ear, and why she failed to heal it back to functional status it despite her more than capable regenerative abilities.” Kanaya advanced on him, eyes narrowed to predatory slits as she reached out. “You’re nothing more than a lowblood slave playing at royalty.”

“Stop it! Stop it! Shut up!” Eridan lashed out before Kanaya’s fingers could touch his torn fin, digging his claws into the flesh of her cheek and flinging her away.

Marlen slammed into the mirror behind her with a crack with the force of Eridan’s strike, falling to her knees as she raised a shaking hand to the fresh wound on her face. Eridan’s chest heaved, mind reeling as he attempted to reconcile what he had just experienced to the terrified troll in front of him. He shook his head so hard his glasses flew off his face, jade and violet speckles of blood spattering to the floor from his now quite injured hand. “Go.” When Marlen hesitated Eridan bared his teeth, screaming as he threw out an arm. “Go!”

Marlen scooted backwards before she found her footing, scrambling up and bolting for the door. She bobbed an awkward curtsy as she left, which Eridan for the most hopeful moment thought intended for him until he caught the scent of the sea. He sank to his knees, defeated and staring down at the floor as he caught the sound of heels against tile.

“Oh, guppy, what have you done to dearest little Marlen?” The Condesce extended her trident, tipping up Eridan’s chin with a prong to enforce eye contact. “She looks a right wreck of a wiggler.”

“I… I’m sorry,” Eridan said. His throat felt dry, so dry, but he knew all too well that he’d drunk his entire flask only a few minutes before. He wanted to disappear. “I didn’ mean it.”

The Empress reached down, hauling him up to his feet as if he weighed no more than a couple of grapes, grabbing his glasses almost as an afterthought. She took his injured hand in hers, swiping away a streak of jade from the puncture wounds in his palm. The skin glowed pink before healing over, pain fading to a memory. She pushed his glasses up his nose, tutting at him. “But I so hoped you’d appreciate my little surprise. Don’t you like your new uniform, little clam?”

“Surprise?” Eridan struggled through his panic, trying to fight through his sopored up fog. “But… But she said you scheduled me for four? I was late. I didn’ mean to disappoint you, I’ll make it up to you, really.”

The Empress tittered as she circled Eridan, smile widening into a wicked grin. “Oh, did she? I must have forgotten to let you know. How shelly of me!” She slid across his shoulders, giving them a soft squeeze.

Eridan choked back a whimper, but the Empress’ amusement immediately snapped into cold indifference at the sound. “What was that?” Her claws bunched in the loose fabric on his shoulders.

Panic ran through him but he couldn’t afford to show it. He couldn’t give her a reason to be upset, he had to be good. “Nothin’.” There was only a fleeting sense of relief that graced him for the fact that those words didn’t shake.

“Eridan, Eridan, you shelly, foolish buoy.” The Empress stroked his cheek before sliding a hand down his forearm, moving back around to hold both of his arms at the wrists. “What did I say about your feelin’s?”

“They don’t matter,” Eridan said. He swallowed. “I gotta… gotta control myself.”

“That’s right,” the Empress cooed. She squeezed his wrists once before releasing him, setting her trident upon the floor. She held a hand out, eyes flicking once to the shears. Eridan obeyed the implicit order, fumbling the shears once before managing to hand them over to her. “Good buoy.” The Empress stroked his hair, rubbing a hornbed until Eridan sagged and closed his eyes. “And what happens when you lose control of yourself?”

“I get… I get punished.” Eridan could hardly more than a whisper, his adrenaline from his earlier experience fading into dull resignation. “It’s what I deserve,” he continued when the Empress paused in her ministrations.

“You’re learnin’, good.” The Empress pulled her hand from his horn, lifting his hand. Eridan opened an eye a crack, muscles tensing as she raised the shears to his finger tips. The Empress began to cut his nails with the shears, agonizingly slow so the nails fell to the floor in perfect crescents. “You know I take no joy in this, guppy. I want you to succeed, I want you to rise above your baser instincts.” The shear’s blades cut into the quick of Eridan’s pinky, but he schooled back his expression into a blank mask. He was lucky he wasn’t losing a finger at the moment. “Until then, we gotta take these preconchions. I don’ like treain’ you like a pitiful little meowbeast, but I can’t have you savagin’ any more of my trusted workstaff. Do you know how much I must invest into a reliable member of my staff? Do you know how easily ranks can be infiltrated by traitors?”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, Mistress.” Eridan flinched as a cool hand touched his cheek, but relaxed when the Condesce only wiped away an errant tear that he hadn’t even been aware of. “I won’t do it again. I promise.”

He yelped as the Empress smacked at his face with the flat of the shears’ blades, his eyes shooting wide open. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, guppy,” she said, no sickly pretense of tenderness left in her voice. “We both know what you’re like. What are you?”

“A… A failure.” Eridan knew the answer she wanted by this point. There was no point fighting it, at this point. He’d learned.

The Empress lowered the shears, rage immediately dissipating. “That’s right.” She set the shears down, considering she’d clipped all his nails anyway, holding out her arms out. Eridan’s feet moved of their own accord, shuffling him forward into her embrace. She tucked his head into his chest, rocking him slowly in a rolling motion like the waves. “There we go. Should we retire to my blocks? We can get you a nice pick me up before you work to make up for what you’ve done. Do you like the sound of that, little one?”

“Yeah, yeah. I want to.” Eridan hung his head as the Empress pulled away, staring at the floor all the way back to the Empress’ bedchambers. After a few drinks, the panic his own mind had conjured faded into the background. His view shifted from floor to ceiling, the intricately gilded designs of the Empress’ ceiling tiles branding themselves into his eyelids. He saw nothing more.

#homestuck #homestuck au #interrogatormentors #fic #eridan ampora #the condesce #illustrated fic #hallucinations #kanaya maryam #gaslighting #emotional manipulation #abuse #visual hallucinations #alcoholism #alcohol use

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i-write-shakespeare-not-disney · 6 years

Text

Fragile Hearts Ch. 10- When I’m With You

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AO3 Link: Chapter: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11928798/chapters/38455013 Full Story: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11928798

Aside from a couple nightmares in the past few nights, it was relaxing being able to be in Vegas with Matt and Hunk. It felt good not to stress over school for a bit, and it felt good not to be alone.

It also hadn’t been the last time Pidge ended up staying at Hunk’s. Lance took to using the couch when he found the two of them cuddled up on the couch a second night. Sharing his bed also meant he didn’t wake her when he left for work.

After a nightmare, Pidge woke up to an empty bed and the sound of scratching at the bedroom door. Pidge caught her breath and went to open the door only for Leon to immediately hop up on his hind legs and place his paws at her hips like a hug. Pidge pet his head and realized her hand was shaking.

Then, because Leon was the only one with her and he was a dog, she fell to her knees and allowed the tears to stream into his fur as he nuzzled against her, keeping his paws firm on her arms.

It wasn’t the nightmare itself that drove her to tears. It was the fact that she still got them so much, and she feared she might never break free from their grip. It was suffocating to wake up to them all the time. She felt like she might never get her peace from everything she went through. In a way it terrified her more to think that the people she loved still had to deal with it and that it could possibly drive them away.

Leon sniffed and huffed, bumping his wet nose against her cheek. Pidge smiled and ruffled his hair. “You’re a good dog, buddy.” Leon’s tail wagged frantically. “Thanks. I’m okay now.” Leon stayed on her until Pidge nudged him gently so she could stand. Even then, he began to follow her as she went to the kitchen to make herself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

About an hour after she woke up, Lance came back to the apartment, having finished his last book signing. He plopped down on the couch beside Pidge and laid down to rest his head on her thigh.

“Rough day?” she asked. Leon hopped onto the couch to curl up by Lance’s stomach, resting his head on Lance’s side.

“Not really,” he sighed. “Just… tiring.” Pidge raised an eyebrow and lowered the volume of the TV.

“Care to elaborate?”

Lance huffed and turned to lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. “You know how when you watch a show or read a book, you have favorite characters?” Pidge nodded. “It’s really great to hear about it from the people who read my books. The kids will have little drawings or some people will dress up. And it’s so funny to see people dressing up as me or Hunk or you.” He sighed and met her eyes. “Today, there were a lot of people asking about Kyle.”

Pidge furrowed her eyebrows in confusion before realizing what he meant. “Oh. Keith.” Lance nodded.

“And usually, I’m good with that! Like I said, I made my peace with it, kind of. It’s not like we hate each other, we just had different plans. And I’m usually good about not letting my emotions get in the way when I see the cosplay or the artwork or get the questions. I mean some people manage a really good resemblance sometimes.”

“So what made it harder this time?”

Lance took a breath and sat up to ruffle through his messenger bag. He had a few papers all in their own plastic sleeves. “Ever since you and Hunk found me, I guess a part of me has also been waiting on Keith. I don’t know anything about him at all, and that didn’t bother me until I realized how much I needed you guys. The latest book has a lot of the beginning of our relationship, so of course….” He held out the papers and Pidge took them.

The first one looked like a kid had drawn it, in that cute little anime style Pidge remembered people doing when she was in middle school. It had what Pidge assumed to be Keith- or Kyle- with his arms around Lance. She moved to the next page. This one seemed like an actual page from a graphic novel. A comic of what Pidge assumed was one of the scenes in the book, because she recalled Lance telling her and Hunk about this moment when he was gushing about Keith while they tried to run a diagnostic. The next page had cute mini versions with big heads of Lance and Keith doing cute little things with hearts around the borders. The next page had a beautiful watercolor version of the two of them kissing.

She sighed and looked at him. He was holding out a few more papers. “There’s some of you and Hunk too, if you want them,” he said tiredly.

Pidge rolled her eyes and took the papers, stacking them all on the coffee table. “Lance, come here.” She opened her arms and Lance laid back down as she cradled him. He hid his face in the fabric of her hoodie- which was actually Hunk’s- and Leon took his place by Lance’s feet. “It’s okay to miss him.”

“I know, but it feels fresh again.” His voice came muffled and weak. Pidge hugged him a little tighter. “You really should look at the ones of you and Hunk though, they’re really cute.”

Pidge laughed ruffled his hair. “You’ve got some talented fans.” Lance turned his head, no longer hiding his face as he smiled and nodded.

When Hunk came home, he treated them both to dinner at a restaurant, and Matt met up with them when he was off of work.

While Hunk and Lance went on a tangent about their jobs, Matt nudged Pidge’s arm and leaned over.

“You okay?”

She frowned and nodded. “Why?”

“You had a nightmare, didn’t you?”

“How do you know that?”

Matt rolled his eyes. “You’re my little sister. I know you pretty well. You always act skittish after a nightmare, and you look like you haven’t slept.”

“Gee thanks,” she muttered.

“You know that’s not what I meant.” He looked over at Lance and Hunk then lowered his voice. “You know if you need to talk, I’m always here for you, Katie.”

She smiled at him and nodded, squeezing his hand as a thank you.

They stayed at the restaurant long after finishing their food. They talked about everything, from the memories of their time in space, the games they’d play when they got bored, or just recalling how naive they were at such a young age to the various changes and personal stories from the last five years actually on Earth.

Just as Pidge had expected, Matt and Lance were able to bounce their jokes off each other with ease, practically being two sides of the same coin. It led to Pidge laughing almost non-stop until she was crying and hunched over with a stomach ache.

Matt didn’t ask if Pidge was coming home with him seeing as she’d been spending her time with Hunk and Lance, but Pidge did want a day with her brother. So she gave a Hunk a kiss on the cheek and said she’d see him tomorrow then hugged Lance before racing over to catch up with Matt.

Matt smiled, the scar on his face outlining the curve of his cheeks when he did, and threw an arm around her. “Aw, you miss me.”

Pidge laughed and rolled her eyes.

When they got home, Matt went into the kitchen to make himself a coffee. Pidge had been so full, she had no idea how he still had room for it.

“Do you still get nightmares?” she asked as he looked for a mug. “You never tell me about them.”

He looked over at her and shrugged. “Every now and then. Not often. They’ve been sparser as the years go by.”

“When do you think that’ll happen for me?”

Matt poured his coffee and sat down across from her. “I don’t know. I mean, you don’t get them as much when you have classes. I’ve noticed you don’t call me about them much. Then every time you visit, you get them more.”

Pidge grimaced. “What, so you think you’re triggering them?”

Matt shrugged. “I don’t really know, Katie. But I do think you should talk to somebody when you get them. Me or Hunk or Lance or maybe even your roommate. You said you told her about Voltron and everything, right?” She nodded. “I think it would help not to bottle up the nightmares.”

“But it’s all the same. Or about the same stuff. At this point, I’m more panicked about the fact that I can’t stop getting the nightmares than the nightmares themselves.” She frowned and ran her hand through her hair. “Anyway, I don’t want to talk about them. I just want to hang out with you.”

Matt scrunched up his nose. “Hanging out with your big brother? What a nerd.” Pidge grabbed the roll of paper towels on the table and threw it at him.

The next morning, Pidge decided to go sightseeing. Lance said he was feeling a little sick, so he didn’t join her, and Matt and Hunk were both working. She didn’t want to stay in the apartment all day, even though she had already seen the Strip multiple times at this point. It was still cool to see the booths with little tricks and the street performances. Since it was spring break, the entire Vegas was still very much alive during the day, not just at night.

Sure enough, as Pidge was walking out of Caesars Palace, she saw a girl being held up by her friends as she walked, obviously wasted. As she walked away, her phone started buzzing with an incoming call. She pulled it out and saw Hunk’s picture on the screen, which immediately made her smile.

“Hello?”

“Hey, honeybee. What are you doing?”

“Just walking around. How’s work?”

“Slow, actually. We’re closing early. I was about to grab lunch, where are you?”

“I’m actually pretty close to the bakery, I can meet you there.”

“Perfect! I’ll see you in a bit.”

They counted to three and hung up. Pidge walked across the street and down a few blocks until she reached the bakery. The closed sign was on, but Hunk was at the register with one of the workers and went over to open the door for her, greeting her with a kiss.

Pidge wasn’t going to lie, the act made her feel little butterflies in her stomach.

“It’s all locked away, Chef,” the girl at the counter said. “Are you locking up?”

“Yeah, go ahead and clock out, Amy.” She nodded, meanwhile Hunk turned to Pidge and raised an eyebrow. “So, what are you in the mood for?”

“Honestly, right now? Cake,” she said. The smell of confectioner’s sugar and frosting was making her mouth water, and all the impossible cakes around her were so colorful, it only made them that much more enticing.

Hunk laughed at her. “Really?” She nodded. “Well, I’ve got an idea. Come on.” He took her hand and led her back to the kitchen. Amy left out the back door with a wave, leaving Pidge and Hunk alone in the bakery.

“Are you making me a cake?” she asked.

Hunk laughed and grabbed an apron that was hung up before going over to her. Pidge raised an eyebrow. He draped the apron over her and gave her a cheeky smile. “No, you’re gonna make one with me.”

“That’s a horrible idea on several levels,” she said, as he turned her around to tie the apron.

“You’ll be fine.” He turned her back around, tucked a strand of her hair back with a gentle hand, and kissed her nose. “Come on.”

Weak-kneed, Pidge did.

He got out all the ingredients, laying them out along the counter, followed by the utensils. Pidge stared at all of it, feeling completely out of her element. She’d seen Hunk bake several times before. She’d watched and taste-tested and handed over ingredients or utensils as he asked for them mid conversation. Hell, she’d even fought the goo machines with him.

But actually partaking in the cooking? She had never done that. Hunk was gourmand, what could she possibly have to offer?

“Honeybun, it’s not that bad. Come on, I’ll be helping you with it.” With a light hand at the small of her back, he nudged her forward and began to take her step by step on how to make a cake from scratch.

As she did it, it started to seem a little easier. She was just measuring out ingredients and adding them to the bowl. Hunk smeared butter and sprinkled flour onto some baking pans, humming something under his breath.

Then he handed Pidge a mixer and told her to beat the wet ingredients before adding them to the dry ones. Pidge wasn’t sure why, but she did it. Her tongue stuck out slightly as she concentrated on mixing the wet ingredients. She poured them into the dry ingredients and turned the mixer on again.

Suddenly, the flour, sugar, and the egg mix all flew out of the bowl, startling Pidge further and making her knock the bowl over onto herself.

All she could hear was Hunk’s unreserved laughter.

“Pidge, you’re not supposed to start the mixer that fast!” he wheezed between breathless laughter, leaning against the counter for support.

“My finger slipped! Stop laughing at me!”

But Hunk’s full laughter already had him keeling over. It resonated through the kitchen and Pidge didn’t even mind that she was now covered in milk and flour and eggs. Still, she turned and grabbed a fistful of flour, flinging at him, making the crown of his head completely white.

“Wh-what! That’s not fair!” he said, still smiling with remnants of laughter in his eyes. He grabbed a fistful of his own bag of flour and blew it back at her.

“Oh, you jerk!” Pidge yelped, squeezing her eyes shut. She grabbed the bowl of what remained of the mixture. Hunk seemed to know what she was going to do before she did it.

“No, no, no!” he said, immediately backing up to the other side of the kitchen. He felt for the fridge handle behind him and blindly grabbed for something as Pidge neared him slowly. “Pidge, I’ve got a full container of whipped cream, and I’m not afraid to use it!”

Pidge smiled and grabbed a fistful of gunk from the bowl. “I dare you.” She raised an eyebrow.

Suddenly he was dashing across to the other end and she was running after him, throwing fistful after fistful while he flung back handfuls of whipped cream that clung to her clothes. Laughter filled the kitchen the more and more intense their food fight got. Suddenly they were throwing eggs, and Pidge managed to smear butter on Hunk’s face, then Hunk managed to douse Pidge in sporadic splatters of milk.

Soon they were covered in various ingredients, both refusing to back down until they ended up slipping on something they spilled. They collapsed on the floor trying to catch their breaths.

“Oh my God, my kitchen’s a mess,” Hunk said with a laugh, resting his head back on the wall. “How do you screw up a cake to this level?”

“In my defense, you helped in the wreckage.” Pidge scooted closer to him. She wrinkled her nose as she leaned in to kiss him. “You stink.”

“You got egg in my hair,” he pointed out. Pidge laughed and shrugged, running her fingers through her own matted hair. “Come on, the sink should be big enough to wash our hair out a bit.” He stood up and took her hand to help her up.

After managing to uncomfortably wash out their hair, they both put their hair up and wiped down what they could of their arms and faces. Their clothes would sadly remain until they got a change of clothes.

Before Pidge could start helping him clean the kitchen, Hunk told her to wait and took out the polaroid camera she’d gotten him from his office. He took two pictures of the scene before putting the camera and the photos back in his office and getting back.

“Okay, now we can clean.”

Pidge planned on never again having a food fight in a big kitchen. It was ridiculously tedious to clean everything down. Even with Hunk’s playfulness as he twirled her around and hummed different songs while they cleaned up together, Pidge ended up feeling exhausted, and still pretty gross from the stickiness of her clothes.

But it was a memory she would cherish forever. Hopefully it would be a memory to overlap one of the many horrible ones that contributed to restless nights.

In the end, Hunk did make her a cake. He took over while she watched and sat on a counter, just like old times. Except this time, he took to passing time by providing Pidge with light kisses and gentle nose bumps and sweet smiles.

When the cakes were done and cooled, Hunk went back into baker mode and began cutting the tops off before layering the cake. Pidge took to eating the pieces he cut off as he blocked her from seeing what he was decorating it with.

She could only see the Hunch of his shoulders, the slow, patient movements as he worked.

Finally he turned and presented her with her cake.

It was decorated in green frosting with a pretty yellow honeysuckle bunch and two small bees. Pidge smiled as she looked at it and covered her mouth. “Hunk, this is so pretty!”

“I would make you a much more intricate one like the ones on display, but you kept eating the scraps so I knew I had to feed you.”

Pidge scoffed and rolled her eyes. “I love it,” she said.

Hunk smiled and cut her a slice. “Try it.” Pidge took the slice and ate a forkful, sighing contentedly. “Good?” Pidge nodded, stuffing her face with more cake. Hunk laughed wiped some of the frosting from her lower lip. “I’m glad you like it, honeybee.”

Pidge set the cake aside and took Hunk’s hands in her own as he leaned in to give her a soft kiss. “I’m really glad I’m here with you,” she whispered. “And I’m so sorry about all that stupid stuff I’d say on the phone about you meeting someone new. Now that I’m here with you, it just feels so stupid-”

“Hey,” he said, cupping her face. “You’re not stupid, Pidge. I get why you said that, and I get why you worry. And the people that think we can’t make this work have no idea what we’ve already been through. I know you like to plan everything out and think of every possible scenario, so I really do get it, Pidge. Just….” He pressed her hand up to his lips. “I need to know you believe me when I tell you I won’t ever do anything to hurt you.”

Pidge smiled and nodded. “I believe you. I love you.” Hunk’s lips parted slightly before curling into a smile.

“You mean that?”

Pidge bit her lip. Saying it made her feel lighter. Everything she felt in response to Hunk, every wild butterfly, every giddy laugh, and every moment of peace…. This was what they all amounted to. To this unfiltered love she hadn’t even realized she’d been nurturing for so long already.

“Yeah,” she breathed.

Hunk smiled and kissed her again before whispering, “Oute alofa ia te oe.”

Pidge furrowed her eyebrows. “You’ve said that before, haven’t you?” Hunk’s smile grew wider. “Wait. No.” He chuckled and kissed the tip of her nose. “I can’t believe you told me you loved me and I didn’t even realize it.”

Hunk touched her cheek lightly, looking at her with soft, big, brown eyes that made her feel like she was the most important person on the planet. And maybe to him she was for that moment.

“Okay, as much as I would like to keep kissing you, we need to get a change of clothes because they’re really starting to smell,” he said, pulling her off the counter. Pidge sniffed her sweater and grimaced. “I’ll put this in a box and we can take it back. We should also probably get some actual food.”

“I’ll call Lance and see if he wants anything. He said he was feeling sick.”

Hunk busied himself with putting the cake up, and Pidge followed him to his car as she dialed Lance.

“Hey, what’s up?” he answered. He sounded… flustered.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

Pidge hummed. “How are you feeling?”

“Um. Tired.”

“Well, are you hungry?”

“Yeah, actually I was about to order Thai. You coming over?”

“Yep. Hunk’s with me, he closed up early.” She looked over at Hunk. “Lance is ordering Thai.”

“Tell him he’d better be using his own card this time.”

Pidge laughed and relayed the information to Lance.

“Wa-wha-huh? -idge? You- cutting ou- guess you’re going through a tunnel, bye!”

“We’re not-” He hung up and Pidge stared at the phone. “That was a horrible impression of a broken call.” In the driver’s seat, Hunk groaned and shook his head.

When they got home, the Thai food was already there and Lance was stuffing his face with rice at the table. “You’re paying my next bill, man,” Hunk said as he grabbed an eggroll.

“What the hell happened to you two and why do you smell like a dairy aisle?” Lance responded through a mouthful of food.

“Food fight,” Pidge said. Lance nodded and furrowed his eyebrows as they went into Hunk’s room. Hunk lended her some drawstring shorts and a hoodie. She went into the bathroom to change and once they were both in clothes that didn’t smell, they joined Lance at the table.

“Pidge said you were sick,” Hunk said. He looked at him and put a hand to his forehead. “You don’t feel warm. What’s wrong?”

Lance looked at them, stuffing more food in his mouth. Then he said, “I’m heart sick. I have a broken heart.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Pidge answered in exasperation. “What are you talking about?”

“Being heartbroken totally counts as being sick, Katie.” Lance stuck his tongue out at her and Hunk chuckled at his expense.

“Alright, well who broke your heart?”

This time, the light playfulness in Lance’s eyes dimmed a bit and he opened his laptop. “It’s not….” He sighed and took a breath. “I found Keith.”

“What?”

Lance ran a hand through his hair and hugged his food closer. “Not like in real life, and not like… to where I can contact him. I just….” He turned the laptop and Pidge and Hunk leaned forward to see the screen better.

All she saw was a variety of photos from different places, different countries. “Uh?”

Lance rolled his eyes and scrolled, clicking on an album. This one had what looked like a silhouette standing somewhere with a pretty mountain backdrop covered in fog and a soft blue sky. There was a caption on the bottom that said, I see you in every sky. Lance clicked through the album. Each photo had a silhouette which Pidge assumed was Keith against a pretty scene whether it was cobblestone roads, between clotheslines in what looked like some ethereal field, or blending into the silhouettes of trees. Each photo had different captions that seemed too vague to pertain to the photo itself like I wanted to believe, Has time erased the love from your life?, The stars are nothing in comparison to your galaxy.

“How do you know it’s him?” Hunk asked. The silhouette never had any actual features. Short hair, a lithe posture, and various clothes for the weather. It wasn’t like Keith was still wearing his red crop jacket or still sporting a stylized mullet anymore.

Lance scrolled all the way down and clicked the “about” button. It led to a resume style page with a portrait photo of someone who was undeniably Keith. The burn scar was still prominent on his right cheek and Pidge had yet to meet anyone with the same lavender eyes. His hair was much shorter than the last time she’d seen him, but he was still all angles and sharp edges. He was holding one of those fancy cameras, but his expression remained somber. He could’ve been a model, and Pidge found ironic that he preferred to be behind the camera.

“Oh my God,” Hunk breathed.

“Apparently he’s traveled to major cities already and started taking to finding the lesser known villages and small corners of the world to photograph them and make them known. I don’t really know what the captions are for, I can’t tell if it’s a story or not, but… yeah. He’s a fucking photographer somewhere out in the world.”

“How did you find this?”

Lance blushed slightly. “I Googled him. I went through a bunch of Facebook and Instagram profiles with the same name before I found one that talked about a photograph website. I didn’t think it’d be him, and I almost gave up, but I figured what if? And it was him.”

Pidge looked at Hunk and then back at the screen before looking at Lance. “Are you going to try to find him? Contact him?”

Lance shoveled food into his mouth again and huffed. “There’s no contact information on there. It doesn’t even say where he’s at right now. And there’s no actual personal bios, just explanations of the project and the captions on the photos.”

“Yeah, that sounds like Keith,” Hunk said. “Do you want to find a way to contact him?”

Lance stirred his rice and Pidge noticed Leon trot a little closer, curling by his legs. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “I mean… he’s doing what he wants, right? He’s seeing the world. I’m in New York and after all this time, it’s not like we can just…. What if he found someone already? Someone who travels with him and takes his pictures and he takes their pictures and….” Lance shook his head. “We already had our story. And it’s over. If he doesn’t have any contact information, it’s because he doesn’t want to be contacted.” He put the food on the table and groaned, placing his face in his hands. “It’s been so long and all of these feelings are just flooding back. I don’t even know what to do about them. All that love and the hurt and the sadness and the nostalgia it’s all just… back.”

“That’s normal, man,” Hunk said, scooting his chair closer to Lance to put a hand on his shoulder. “You guys were still in love when you broke it off. Most people who break up see it coming or at least there’s a reason that you can’t go back from. You guys ended it because you were both taking different paths. You didn’t stop loving him.”

“What if he did?”

Pidge furrowed her eyebrows, her heart breaking with the amount of pain in Lance’s voice. Hunk brought him into a hug and Leon stood on his hind legs to paw at Lance’s arm. Lance sighed and looked at Leon, petting him gently. “I think I’m gonna take a nap. I was up all night obsessing over that website, and now I’ve eaten most of my feelings, so…. Can I use your bed?” Hunk nodded and Lance shut his laptop before heading off to Hunk’s room.

As soon as the door shut, Pidge looked at Hunk. “Can I see your laptop?”

Hunk frowned, but got up to bring her the laptop. She turned it on and searched the website, happy to see that Hunk already had the same software she’d downloaded on her own computer for occasional hacking. “What are you doing?” he asked, leaning over to look over her shoulder.

“I’m figuring out where Keith’s at.”

“What?”

Pidge used the pictures to trace the locations, finding places she’d never even known existed. Keith had really gone into the most obscure places.

“Honeycomb, he could be anywhere at this point, finding the photo locations won’t- is that a government website?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” she answered.

“In a few years, I’m gonna be visiting you in a federal prison, aren’t I?”

“Bold of you to assume I’ll get caught. I’m offended.”

“Well- whoa, what the hell?” Pidge had managed to pull up a file on Keith. “How…?”

“We were paladins. We fought aliens. You think the government isn’t keeping tabs on us?” Hunk grabbed his food and pulled his chair to sit closer to Pidge as she scrolled. “Jesus Christ. He’s been to over 100 countries. And even more cities and towns.”

“Is that his permanent address?”

“It’s what’s listed, but he hasn’t been there in over a year,” she muttered under her breath.

“This is borderline stalking.”

Pidge looked over at him and raised an eyebrow. “Everything we’ve been through, you’re drawing the line at this?”

Hunk laughed and shook his head. “Absolutely not. My girl’s a fucking genius.” Pidge winked and returned to the screen. “What about a phone number?”

“There’s a house phone listed. No cellphone. God, why is he a real life cryptid, what the fuck?”

“Maybe Lance is right. Maybe he doesn’t want to be found. He doesn’t have any family on Earth, there’s no one for him to stay in contact with.”

“We were his family! We spent all that time together, building relationships, fighting a war, and we created our own family. We all wanted to be found, you, me, Lance. Keith does too.” Her fingers flew over the keys almost maniacally. “There. If a former paladin is traveling, you can count on our government following them. He last made it to… Attu island.”

“Holy shit. You actually found him.”

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

“I mean I knew you would, just not that fast.” Pidge shrugged. There was a beat of silence, where they both stared at the name of the island on the screen. “Lance doesn’t even know if he wants to contact him though. I don’t think you should tell him yet. Let him sort out what he’s feeling.”

Pidge took a breath and eventually resigned, nodding her head and exiting the site. But she made a note in her phone of Keith’s website before finally dropping the subject fully.

Hunk wrapped an arm around her. They finished their food in silence, Pidge leaning against Hunk as they both tried to let all the new information sink in.

It was strange to believe that just a few hours ago, she had told Hunk she loved him for the first time. It was a moment she thought would have been big and dramatic, probably said in front of the Bellagio, and honestly, said by Hunk first. Of course, he did say it first, but she didn’t know that.

Now she was reeling with the fact that Lance had managed to find Keith. It was concerning that he was so hung up on finding him that he managed it, but… Pidge was the one hacking government files for information. And now they knew where he was.

Maybe it was the fact that she didn’t have much of her blood family left. All she had was Matt. The prospect of getting her space family back together felt like a necessity. To get them all back in her life, to build that support they should have been for each other from the start.

But Hunk was right. Shiro had gone under the radar with some work for the Garrison, and Keith obviously didn’t want anyone contacting him. She wondered if they missed each other. They’d been practically brothers after all. She wondered if Keith had been living through acquaintances this entire time. Five years bouncing from place to place… it couldn’t have given him time for friends, much less a relationship as Lance feared. She wondered if Shiro was okay, and if she could maybe bring herself to go back to the Garrison, if only to see him again.

Then she began to wonder about Allura and Coran. If they had rebuilt their lives, if they remembered the paladins, if Allura ever thought of them or if Coran still called her Number Five when or if he ever talked about her.

And suddenly she was crying. She hated how often she was starting to do that, and ever since Matt pointed it out, she realized it really did happen more when she wasn’t at school. In a way it made sense because at school she wasn’t surrounded by reminders or talking about the memories. But she also didn’t want it to be a bad thing because she loved being with Hunk and Lance and Matt. She was creating new memories with them.

“Oh, Pidge, come here,” Hunk murmured, pulling her from the chair and taking her to the couch where he could properly cuddle her.

“I miss them so much,” she whispered, wiping her eyes and trying to force herself to stop crying. She’d never cried this much even as a teen in a war. It was ridiculous.

“I know. I miss them too.” Hunk scratched her head soothingly, bringing her in closer. “We’re always going to hold on to pieces from our past. And honestly, knowing Keith? It seems like he’s been running from it. It won’t be long before he has to face it. For all we know, he’s just as strung up on Lance as Lance is on him.”

“How did we all make things so difficult for ourselves? We should have stuck together.”

“We all needed different things, Pidge. We just have to take it step by step.” She nodded and held onto him tighter, letting the rise and fall of his chest soothe her. “Hey.” She looked up at him. “I love you.”

Pidge smiled and bit her lip. “That’s the first time you’ve said it in English,” she whispered. He smiled at her. “I love you too.”

He pressed a kiss to both of her eyelids before kissing her lips. He cupped her face with large hands that cradled her gently, like she was fragile. She loved how safe she felt when he did that. How adored she felt because of it. She loved Hunk.

“Got your passport?” Pidge nodded. “Your chargers, laptop, phone?” Pidge nodded. “Do you have snacks for the flight, I know it’s a long plane ride. Here, I got you some chocolate covered pretzels and-”

“Matt, I’ll be okay,” Pidge said with a laugh. “It’s not the first time I leave.”

“I know, but the next time I see you, it’ll be for your graduation. It’s kind of freaking me out.”

“Yeah, well once I graduate, you’ll get sick of me because I’ll be living with you.”

Matt rolled his eyes and pulled her into a hug. She returned it just as tightly. When she pulled away, he was giving her the bag of pretzels which made her laugh. “Tell me when you land, okay?” She nodded. Matt turned to Lance. “You stay in touch with me. Spent a whole war without hardly a word to each other and now-”

“We’re practically giving these two a free comedy improv show,” Lance said with a laugh. “Yeah, I was a little naive as a kid. I’ll stay in touch.” Lance turned to Hunk giving him a hug and a thank you for letting him stay before pulling away.

Pidge walked over to Hunk and smiled as she thought of the last time she’d been in this airport with him. How close she’d been to kissing him, only to chicken out. It was funny to think about now.

“I love you,” Hunk murmured into her hair as he hugged her. “You’re gonna kick ass in your classes, and I’ll see you for your graduation, okay?” She nodded and got on her toes, pulling him into a kiss.

“I love you. I’ll call when I get home, okay?” Hunk nodded and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“Ready?” Lance asked. She nodded and they walked over to the person checking tickets. Hunk and Matt stayed until they’d gone through the doors.

After getting through all the tedious routines, they boarded the plane. Once take off started, Pidge focused on breathing and staying calm against the rumbling and slight shudder of the plane. She felt Lance take her hand and squeeze it.

Strangely, that helped her relax a little more. Especially since he wasn’t looking at her. He’d just taken her hand and held it tightly, giving her something to tether herself with. Leon also poked his head out from under Lance’s feet, placing his head on her lap. Soon enough, the plane leveled out and the shuddering stopped.

She loosened her grip on Lance’s hand and he let go. “I wonder when the drink cart is gonna come. I’m craving a soda.” Pidge smiled.

Lance flight from Massachusetts to New York wasn’t for another four hours, so he took her home and made sure she was stocked up on food to survive before they split a pizza. It was very little time before Lance had to get back to the airport.

Before going through the next goodbye, Pidge knew she had to tell him about Keith. But maybe not all once. Or maybe not everything.

“Hey, so about the website….”

What webs- oh. Yeah, what about it?”

Pidge bit her lip and shrugged. “I’m the girl that hacked into Garrison files and tricked them into thinking I was a boy for a year. I also decoded alien communication and coded upgrades into Altean castle defenses.” Lance stared at her, his eyebrows furrowed. She sighed. “I’m pretty sure I could figure out where Keith’s at so you could try and contact him…. If that’s something you wanted to do.”

“Oh. Oh God.” Lance chuckled awkwardly. “I don’t wanna ask that of-”

“Lance, you’ve helped me a lot too. You’re one of my best friends, practically another brother. I’m good at hacking and tech. So if you want my help, just ask. Think it over, you don’t need to tell me now. I just wanted you to know it was an option.”

Lance smiled and nodded. “Thanks, Pidge. I gotta sort my head out a bit, but… I’ll keep it in mind.” He hugged her tightly and added, “Good luck with the rest of school. Feel free to visit me in New York if you ever have a long weekend, okay? I can drive down, it’s not that bad of a drive.”

She laughed and nodded. “Okay. Let me know when you get home, okay?” He nodded and whistled for Leon so he could put his leash on. Pidge stayed at the door, watching as he got into the Uber and staying until the car disappeared down the street.

#hidge #platonic plance #fragile hearts #team punk #reblog #feedback pls

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ifwegettherebysunset · 6 years

Link

Repost with the story under the cut ‘cause I finally got back to my desktop

Anyway here’s the synchro fae au that one person asked for and that person was me

Reigning in Unseelie is nothing short of fun. Atem has the armies of the Hunt at his heels and thousands of shadows bowing to him wherever he walks. His Puzzle grants him other abilities besides: display a hapless human's duality of soul for their fellows to cower from, summon creatures from his collection in the deepest mounds, and an eternal shield from potential invaders in his psyche. He enjoys traipsing his pyramid's labyrinth to see what flies have been caught in its net.

And, of course, there are the Shadow Games.

Atem's inner circle has treasures like his Puzzle, but none of them can play the king's games. They're mostly duels between shadow monsters, but variety is the spice of life. Atem enjoys nothing more than pairing a game with a challenger, one that symbolizes his opponent's failings. A broken mirror for a vain idiot, crumbling statues for a mindless tyrant. Sometimes the challenger is so one-dimensional that Atem is instantly bored, but his notoriety usually brings amusing competitors.

One opponent comes every year and a day. Atem supposes it's his fault. He has such confidence in his victory that beating him in a ceremonial game has become the path to his throne. Bakura has a reserved seat at this point, this year included. If there are any challengers before him, Atem takes them all on in a battle royale, sneering all the while.

Games with Bakura are interesting. Mostly, anyway. Sometimes he rambles a bit too much on how Atem's father snatched the throne from Bakura's line by soaking the Unseelie Kingdom with the family's blood, then making the Puzzle and its companions from the massacre. Atem knows. Everyone knows. And Bakura should stop expecting sympathy from the howling fae. The fact that he still looks around proves that he is far from fit for an Unseelie throne.

This year's game contains such babbling. Atem, as always, responds with "I'm not my father" and a recount of how he had taken the throne by defeating Aknamkanon in a Shadow Game. His subjects love that one. There are wounds on both sides, since Bakura is counted among the king's few worthy opponents despite his harping. It ends with Atem's victory and Bakura crawling from the consuming shadows through sheer wrathful willpower.

But Bakura is nothing if not clever.

Atem is able to keep himself upright until his chamber doors close. Mahaad catches him.

"Good shot," he mutters, clutching his side.

He looks up to see Mahaad frowning. That doesn't bode well.

Once he's curled on his bed, Atem asks, "What did he do this time?"

"I should examine it more closely," Mahaad says. He already sounds worried. Wonderful.

Stripped of his ceremonial garb, Atem gets a better look himself at Bakura's handiwork. His side is blistered, skin bunching with strange shining warts on charred flesh. It burns with the slightest breeze.

Even when his soul was shattered, Mahaad has never panicked. Since being reshaped into an elf mage by twisting shadows, he is the calmest being in the entire kingdom. Now he stares, wide-eyed, like a foal swept in a storm.

"What is it?" Atem asks, sharper with unfamiliar fear.

Mahaad swallows and schools himself into a bow. "Your Majesty. Bakura has somehow used Seelie magic."

Atem starts. "What?"

Mahaad's hand hovers over the warts. They glow brighter. "This is a Starscourge. Ancient magic, the likes of which only few know today. When the Seelie and Unseelie first separated, this curse was one of the Seelie's greatest weapons. Using the light of darkness, the Seelie would reduce intruders to stardust. It is why their constellations shine so brightly."

Atem raises an eyebrow. "Light of darkness? That's confusing even for fae."

Mahaad gestures to the lumps. "What can shine brightest at night? The moon and stars. It's a rough translation."

Atem looks back at the wound. "How long?"

"No royal has been its victim. But with your power and will, you have at least seven days."

"What are the cures?"

Mahaad averts his eyes.

"...no cure has ever been listed, Majesty. We would need an ancient Seelie."

Atem grimaces. The two kingdoms haven't been at war for millennia, but that doesn't mean they particularly like each other. The Seelie king is annoyingly kind just as he finds Atem's terribly violent. If there is anyone Atem would hate to be indebted to, it's him.

"Are you certain?" Atem asks.

Mahaad nods.

If Atem succumbs to the curse that Bakura struck him with during their game, then Bakura will have a right to the throne. Atem despises losing. More than that, he despises Bakura and his careless philosophies on ruling. His rage will only supply the Unseelie's bloodthirst for so long. You need more than that to wear this kingdom's crown.

No. Atem will not die here.

"Bring Isis to me. I need to send a message."

If there's one thing Atem doesn't like most about the Seelie king, it's how gentle he makes Atem. Yugi has a special aura about him that appeals to both sides of the fae: a forgiving, generous heart and a fierce, mischievous spirit. Although wary of Atem, Yugi always has a smile for him on the rare occasions they meet face to face. You can't talk to Yugi and not be candid, though that may be his griffin blood.

But Atem is not talking to Yugi. He is writing. As far as Yugi knows, Mahaad has been affected by the Starscourge, cast by Bakura when Mahaad banished him once more from Unseelie's court. Yugi shouldn't be any the wiser.

Atem wrinkles his nose at the guilt simmering in him when he orders the message off. But the Unseelie treat their friends differently.

Yugi replies that same day, sending a Kuriboh instead of a shadow message or a sunbeam. The creature lands at Atem's window and chirps until Mahaad lets it in. Versatile beings, Kuribohs―able to fly freely between Seelie and Unseelie. Yugi's smart to use them as messengers.

Although it utters nothing but kuri noises, Atem and his circle inherently understand the meaning. Yugi starts by expressing his grief over Atem's plight, not Mahaad's, which generates some amusement. Atem should have known Yugi would see through that.

I have no idea where Bakura could have learned that curse, the message continues, seeing as there is only one Seelie who knows that magic, and he's one of the most honest fae I've ever met. With your permission, I will send him to you. All I ask in return is that he can keep what he extracts.

I hope to see you recovered when we see each other again. I'm anxious for your reply.

"Do you think Anzu had a hand in articulating?" Shada asks dryly.

"Her mouth is definitely as quick as her feet," Mana replies, smiling. "But did you hear? The king will be cured!"

"Can we be certain?" Karim asks gravely.

Mana waves her hand. "The Seelie King is trustworthy!"

"He is also very trusting," Set says, arms crossing, "Too much, sometimes. If that fae truly is the only one who knows the Starscourge magic, he may very well be the one who supplied Bakura with it."

"Yet the king knows his kingdom from every burrow and leaf," Isis says, "If this fae is the only one, then he is the only one."

"And therefore our only viable option for His Majesty's survival," Mahaad says.

They turn to Atem, who in mere hours has been forced to being bed-ridden. He stares at his hands, leaning heavily against the ornately carved headboard. Atem feels the designs poking ridges in his back: victories and Hunts, bordering a throne of dragon talons.

He smirks. "If Bakura did obtain the magic from this fae, that simply means we can make a deal that much easier."

"What of this 'extract'?" Siamun asks.

"Yugi has a right to keep his secrets. The price is a fair one, and I'm willing to make concessions." He nods to Isis. "Send my consent. The visitor has one day to arrive."

The next morning, Mahaad admits a cloaked figure through a side entrance to the Unseelie king's underground palace. The subjects can't know of their king's condition, after all. They'd start an uprising just for fun.

In the dawn, the Seelie's sleeved cloak appears simple: crimson fabric with a silver dragon head clasp. There are no further embellishments. Among the Unseelie elite, it hardly recommends him.

When the shadows kiss the material, the king's council is staggered. The stars covered by the sun are reflected, humming in constellations of harmony to create a soft, soulful whole. The deep-seated restlessness of the Unseelie realm is soothed for a few startling moments.

Eyes that seem to melt through every shade of blue glow with the woven stars. When asked about the cloak, they simply blink.

The moment the Unseelie King sees him, he knows Bakura received nothing from him. Atem has never met him, but the Seelie radiates constancy.

Still, it's best to be absolutely certain. Atem signals to Shada, and the Seelie is presented with a chalice.

"This contains griffin's blood and dragon ash," Shada says, "Lies will be burned from your tongue and truth will flow in your veins."

The Seelie looks at it. Looks at the king.

"I have some questions I want to ask first," Atem says blithely.

A quiet, steady voice replies, "I thought you'd want to be cured as soon as possible."

"Don't question His Majesty," Set snaps.

Holding a hand up at Set, Atem says, "I'd rather you answer first."

The Seelie nods and drinks. The potion is vile; Atem had to drink it at his coronation. But this one seems to have a king's composure.

Atem makes a show of getting comfortable, as if the Starscourge has no effect on him. "What are you called?"

"Yusei," the Seelie says. He doesn't sound like he drank the potion at all―no hurried speech, no high-pitched surprise. Interesting.

Atem gestures to his wound. "How do you know this magic, Yusei?"

A change in expression, if only slightly. A sad downturn of the eyes, a small frown.

"I was born of the stars."

"Many creatures and legends are. What makes you different?"

"My father was a supernova. The kind that scorched the soil and tore kingdoms apart in his dying flame."

"Like the one that destroyed the original kingdom and split the Seelie and Unseelie," Mahaad says.

Yusei looks at him. "That was my father."

Even Mahaad can't hide his shock.

Yusei looks back at Atem. "My mother is the crimson that flies in dusk and dawn. My sibling-soul, who harbored me from my father's explosion, is made of stardust. The Starscourge and every lunar spell was not taught to me, Your Majesty. I knew it the instant I was born."

Siamun regards the stranger with new eyes. "You are a child of Akakiryu."

Yusei removes his hood, revealing raven hair streaked with burning oranges and yellows. He removes his right glove, showing his bare arm to the chamber. A Crimson Dragon's Sign, the same dragon head on his cloak.

Atem laughs. "The Seelie King willingly sent a rare gem into my realm? Too trusting indeed."

Yusei says nothing, but there's a steel in his eyes that Atem likes.

"Did you give Bakura the secrets of Starscourge?" Atem asks.

"No," Yusei answers without hesitation. "I am the only Seelie who knows the magic, but that doesn't mean an Unseelie hasn't stolen it."

"Someone in my court?" Atem says. "Typical." He smirks at Yusei's furrowing brow. "We are a realm of tricksters and scoundrels, Yusei. Your king might not expect betrayal, but anything outside my council is a liable challenger. You must have heard of our games."

Yusei stiffens. "I have."

At least some caution, then. Good. "I don't discriminate between classes for my opponents. I enjoy variety."

"And destroying them."

Atem speaks over a few council members' snipping, "Yes."

"And you will keep destroying."

Atem grins. "Yes. But your king has already made the deal, so you must cure me regardless."

Yusei grips his glove. "My king seems to hold a high opinion of you. There must be something about you that is worth saving."

More angry chatter. Atem rolls his eyes and orders all but Mahaad from the room.

"You're just as trusting as your king, I see."

"No," Yusei says, "I'm not. But I have to believe there's some good in this realm."

Atem scoffs. "Then you really are as trusting. But if you didn't give Bakura that magic, who did?"

"The soil that my father burned also birthed creatures. Bound by dead earth but immensely powerful."

For the first time since swallowing the potion, Yusei tries keeping his mouth shut. Naturally it doesn't work, and the rest tumbles out: "One of them is my friend, but he was twisted by the dreaded spirits and absorbed a giant's heart. This giant is tall enough to touch the stars. It's possible he stole the secret. But he is good, Your Majesty!"

Atem glances at Mahaad. "It doesn't sound like he's good."

Yusei twists his glove in both hands, at last slipping into agitation. "As I said, he was twisted. Deceived. A misunderstanding drove him under the cursed earth. It's my fault."

"Why do you Seelie always blame yourselves for others' injustice? It gets annoying. No," Atem adds when Yusei opens his mouth, "Give his name."

Yusei covers his mouth.

Atem isn't impressed. "Mahaad."

Mahaad's staff stomps the floor, sending a surge of magic at Yusei.

Yusei's birthmark darkens the veins around it in wrathful crimson and repels it.

Frustration overcomes Atem's shock. "That which is precious to the child is precious to the mother, hm?"

Yusei, who had spoken the culprit's name against his hand, freely replies, "There is no blame placed on the victims of the Earthbound, Majesty. They are cursed just as much as the other spirits' targets."

"You have pretty words, Yusei," says the Unseelie King, "and a faithful heart. I see the stars in your blood. But if I can't get the name from you, then I'll have to search for him myself."

Yusei squares his shoulders. "You will see his curse, then. Would you like to be cured now?"

Atem smiles. "By all means. My questions are done."

Yusei removes his other glove, stuffing both in his cloak. "The stars are more capricious here, but they're willing to help. You've made a good impression on them."

"Well, I'm capricious too."

Mahaad doesn't move, but Atem can feel his amusement.

Speaking of. "Mahaad, I think I'll be fine on my own."

"Majesty―"

"Leave us."

Mahaad hesitates, but soon it's just Atem and Yusei.

Yusei kneels beside the bed and runs his fingers over the wound. The embedded stars sing at their kin's touch, eliciting a smile. He's quite lovely to look at.

"Do you like games, Yusei?" Atem asks.

The smile vanishes. "Not your kind of games, Majesty."

"Oh, I think even a Seelie could grow to like those. Especially one with so violent a beginning."

Yusei's fingers twitch. The Starscourge flares, as if to punish Atem for upsetting him.

"My beginning left me with the opposite," Yusei says, "I abhor violence and destruction. Take a deep breath."

The Starscourge bubbles as Atem's ribs expand. "How does this work?"

With his ending the questioning, the potion Shada had given Yusei has no effect. Atem wants to see how Yusei lies.

"I extract the stars," Yusei says.

Ah, by omission then. And not very well, either.

"You're awfully earnest," Atem says, "I'd tell you not to come here, but."

Yusei hums, accidentally triggering an answering coo from Atem's wound. "Take another breath, but let it out slowly." He places both hands on the curse. "Slowly...keep going, and don't move. This will hurt."

Atem nearly yells under the flaring pain. The embedded stars are screeching in protest, trying to tangle themselves deeper. Yusei whispers to them in a language not even the king understands, full of sharp crescendos and rumbling syllables. With every word(?) he utters, his pupils draw thinner and his irises pale, until golden dragon eyes are growling at Atem's side.

Sibling-soul, Yusei had said.

The agony drains slowly. Atem clenches every muscle, steadies his breath. Yusei's sibling's voice braids with Yusei's, creating a strange, ever-changing frequency that Atem uses as a distraction.

Yusei says, "You're free," and the room trembles into black.

Atem wakes to see a guard holding a blade of shadows to Yusei's throat.

"You said you would be alright alone," Mahaad says.

Atem sits up and stretches. "Don't I look alright?"

Relief peeks at the council members' faces. "You are cured, then?" Isis asks.

Atem pokes at his side. The stars did leave a blistered scar, but he can move. "Entirely. Oh, you can take that blade away now."

Yusei glances stiffly around. "Kind of you, Majesty."

"A deal's a deal. You get to keep what you extracted. But."

Yusei's eyes narrow. "But?"

"Well." Atem stands, beckoning the shadows to him. "There was never anything about letting you go."

"What?"

"You're a fae, Yusei. You must know wording is important. Yugi obviously thought that I would allow you to leave. Maybe I should teach him a lesson. After all, a creature like you intrigues me."

Yusei's jaw works. "Are you trying to goad me into playing a game with you, Majesty?"

"Perceptive."

"...if I win, I can leave."

"If I win," Atem says, caressing his shadows, "you stay until I'm done with you."

Yusei ducks his head. "And if I try to escape instead?"

Set laughs. "You wouldn't get far, Seelie."

"A duel would be best," Atem says, "As a child of the stars, you must know of the void."

"I don't wield it," Yusei replies tersely.

Atem smirks. "But you can."

No reply.

"Do you accept?"

Yusei looks at the door. It vanishes in an instant. An illusion, which Yusei likely sees through, but a solid message.

The steel from earlier stares Atem down.

"Yes."

#synchroshipping #writing by sunset

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8bityeol · 7 years

Text

Electric Touch [m]

Smut // Dom!baek, spanking, choking, daddy!kink // rewrite

“I’ll take your jacket,” Baekhyun says the moment you too step into his apartment.

“Thanks,” You unravel your scarf then slip out of your leather jacket, “I still can’t believe we’re doing this.”

“If you’re not comfortable you can back out anytime,” He takes your jacket and drapes it on top of his coat hanger, “You don’t have to do this.”

You shake your head, “I want to, I wanna try out new things plus I think I might be into it. I can’t be vanilla all the time.” You flourish your words with laughter that you hope can mask your nerves. “Like, I’ve not gone you all the way or anything like but yeah.”

He raises an eyebrow at your answer, and now he can’t help but think of having done this sort of thing before. And he certainly didn’t coin you as the type to be into domination considering how headstrong you can be at times.

“So you have experience?”

Well, you wouldn’t call it experience per say, it more like an accident that just happened to excite you, recalling it now was bordering on embarrassing. “Not really no, I’m sure it doesn’t qualify as experience anyway.”

He gives you a cat like grin before placing a hand to the small of your back, “Don’t be shy, I mean you can be, the whole ingenue looks suits you but i’m guessing you aren’t so innocent.”

Flustered by the seemingly innocent words, you can’t help but fix your eyes on the small cactus he has on his coffee table. “It was a bit of spanking…hardly innocent but yep,” You whisper.

He closes the distance, your body’s less than a centimetre from his and face is dangerously close, close enough that you can count the individual lashes framing his eyes. You let a sharp intake of air seep into your mouth and try your hardest not to show you’re affected.

“Really, spanking? You’re naughtier than I expected.” He says. “We can do spanking today and maybe some choking but first all, let’s do some rules.”

You’re listening and nodding but you can’t simply ignore the fact that his hand is making its wave under your skirt then to your rear.

“We need a safe word, so what shall it be?” He asks.

“Uh apple, yeah apple,” You stutter. “I can’t really think of anything else.”

“No, it’s alright, That a good one. Remember you can say it anytime you want, when you feel like it’s all getting a bit too much. I’ll stop immediately. Understand?”

You nod.

“ And from this moment on, you must call me daddy and don’t expect me to go easy on you, I like it rough princess.” He continues with a smirk, “Oh and I can be very kind but, don’t test me ok?”

“Don’t worry I won’t.”

“You’re missing something princess,” He chuckles.

“Oh god, It just slipped out of my mind, I’ll do better next time…daddy.” The word was to get out than expected but the effect it had on him pushed you at least say it with burning bright.

“Don’t worry soon enough you’ll be used to it and i just have to say, it sounds so good coming from your pretty little mouth.” As he talks he unashamedly stares at your lips. “Let’s head to my room Princess.”

You hum in agreement as he ushers you down the hallway and into his room. His room is just as you expect it to be, grey with hints of black and very minimal. It compliments him and the dark aura he usually has going on.

Swiftly, he slips his shirt over his head and throws the black cloth into a random corner. And as expected, his body’s built very beautifully. It’s not all hard muscle, just lean muscle that manages to work well with his slender build. And of course he notices you staring, so he just has to throw another smirk at your direction. You face burns bright at you try and concentrate on anywhere but him but he just seems to pull in. He sits on the edge of the bed and gives you an excruciatingly slow once over. Not knowing what the hell you should do, you begin playing with the sleeves of your jumper.

“Strip,” with the simple utterance of the word strip, his demeanour shifts from playful to rigid and cold.

With a surge of adrenaline rushing through your system, your hands move to pull your sweater off. Next, you slip your boots off and along with them comes your tights. Assuming he means all your clothing, you unclip your bra and roll your panties off your legs.

“Now, come sit on my lap,” He beckons you with his index finger.

With as much pseudo grace as you can manage, you place yourself on his lap. “You look so beautiful right now,”soon after he places a kiss at the side crook of your neck, and then another one on your jaw all, “So beautiful, isn’t that right princess?”

“Thank you, daddy,” The effect of your words on him is undeniable, and clearly shown by the way his muscles tense and holds you tighter.

Not wasting any time, he pries your mouth open with his tongue. And as expected his doesn’t do ‘soft’. He bites the bottom of your lip, and places enough pressure into the bite just so you can feel the slightest hint of pain. But of course it’s not unbearable, it’s quite hot if you’re going, to be honest. Your eyes are practically begging for more the moment he pulls away and stares at you with dark hooded eyes.

Placing your lips at the stretch of his neck, you run your hands down the expanse of his chest, feeling every single muscle and the deep rise of his chest. Meanwhile, Baekhyun’s hands trail from the soft skin of your stomach, then all the way up to your breast. You can’t help but whimper when begins to roll your nipples between his finger and grope the supple flesh.

“Stop. Lie on the bed, on all fours.”

Upon hearing the command, you stand up from his lap and crawl onto duvet coloured bed.You can feel his presence behind you, His hands land on your arse and firmly caress the two humps, “You know what, I’ve been watching your ass for some time, especially when you wear those skinny jeans. And then you always have to drop something in front of me, hmm why d’ya do that Princess?”

Your face is burning brightly at his words, you didn’t think he noticed, maybe he may have glanced one or two times but you didn’t think he actually looked. The ‘pen drop’ moments give you a small rush of adrenaline, it adds the risk into your mundane life. “Uh, I don’t know daddy,” if only you can be a good liar.

“Princess, are you really gonna lie to me?” He asks, somehow managing to make you feel guilty and skittish. Like a parent would to a child.

“I’m sorry I lied, I do it so you can look at my ass-”

WHACK

“How naughty, did you want me to bend you over that bad?” He says over your yelp, “No no, I think you wanted me to spank you. Do you like it when I spank you?”

His hands come flying to arse, this time much harder. You bury your soft cry into one of his pillows, “I do,…I like it a lot daddy,” You breathe out.

He slaps down another three in quick succession, each of them no matter how painful, incites a dull throbbing in between your legs. “Of course you do, I can already tell,” He swipes a thumb between the folds of your pussy and grazes on your clit. The brief touch has you biting down on your lip.

He stares at the glistening thumb, clearly proud, “I’ve only smacked you a few times and you’re wet, tell me, princess, why are you so wet?”

“B-because you’re spanking me, daddy, a-and it feels so good- ahhhh!” He slides not one but three fingers inside you, each of them filling you up oh so heavenly as he moves them in nice long coordinated strokes. His thumb rests on your clit, making soft circles.

Your arse is burning hot as he continues to hit you, the spanks in addition to fingers are quickly sending you over the edge. “Tell me, when you touch yourself, what do you think ”

You want to speak but all he comes out are moans and whimpers. Suddenly, you feel a hard tug on your hair, which causes your body to arch into his direction, “I said tell me.”

“I think of you spanking me,” You choke out. Pleased with your answer, he releases your hair and you fall back onto the bed like a feather. “I’m sorry daddy, I’m so sorry…” you mutter into the pillow.

“I know you’re sorry Princess, but next time you need to listen like a good girl does.” He says before sliding his fingers out, and of course, you groan at the emptiness, “Don’t whine Princess, I’m giving you something better.”

As you nod, you the distinct sound of a zipper along with the rustle of fabric. Baekhyun strokes the hardened length of cock, he was painfully hard from hearing your sweet moans and of course when you said, daddy. Not being able to contain himself any longer, he aligns the reddened tip of his cock and pushes in with a deep and guttural groan.

His cock’s nests inside you nearly to a full hilt and you can’t do anything but grab at the sheets with all your might. He moves out and slams back in with force, “God, you feel so tight,” He groans, “So fucking good.”

You moan out a small and shaky thank you as he continues to slam into you with a tight grip on your waist. You’re certain there’ll be a mark in the morning. And god do you want for there to be mark, because it all feels like a dream. A good dream, but still a dream. If it does turn out to be a dream, you know deep down you won’t be able to keep yourself from leaping on him.

Amidst the groans and dirty mutterings, he slides his hand down to your clit. As he masterfully rubs your clit, you can feel your pussy contracting tighter around his shaft. “D-daddy…I’m.”

“What is it princess, are you gonna come?” He says, thrusting harder.

“Yes,” You just about manage a word, and you don’t even know how. Your muscles are all tensing up, just rearing up for sweet release.

“Go go, cum for daddy.”

With those words, you let yourself go. It’s as if a giant wave of pleasures washes over you, sucking the air from your lungs, but leaving just enough so you can revel in the feeling. As you twitch around him, you feel his thrusts becoming erratic and with a final moan, he empties himself in you.

A/N

*sighs*

This scenario is demonic, I don’t know who I was when I wrote this but it’s here anyway. Alas, did you guys like it? And if so, what time do we need to arrange the prayer group?

This week has been so tiring, and lonely, I need friends instead of playing games.

#exo smut #baekhyun smut #kpop smut #baekhyun scenario #exo scenario #baekhyun one shot #exo oneshot #baekhyun #exo #kpop #bbh #8bityeol

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kidsviral-blog · 6 years

Text

I'm Mending My Broken Relationship With Food

New Post has been published on https://kidsviral.info/im-mending-my-broken-relationship-with-food/

I'm Mending My Broken Relationship With Food

After a lifetime struggling with disordered eating, I’m still figuring out how to have a healthy relationship with my body and what I feed it.

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Justine Zwiebel / BuzzFeed

It’s a late night in winter, and I am standing over my gas stove heating a metal spoon. I hold the handle gently in my fingers, carefully rotating the bowl over the tips of the indigo flames as the pale yellow pat of Smart Balance butter inside begins to liquefy. The sleeves of my oversized sweatshirt graze the middle of my palms and I step on the hem of my baggy sweatpants as, slowly, I pull the spoon away. A tiny drop of hot liquid falls on my toes as I tip its contents over the edge of a plain white bowl filled with sugar. I add flour, some milk, a few drops of vanilla, and a handful of chocolate chips. I stir. I taste.

I take the bowl to the couch, balance it precariously on the edge, and lie down on my side, my fingers the only utensil, pinching stray sugary flecks off the velvet dark gray fabric as The Real Housewives of New Jersey blares on the TV. It’s been nearly three years since a therapist told me I’m a disordered eater. Yet, after one personal trainer, over two years of therapy, three juice cleanses, four gym memberships, 20 pounds lost, 30 pounds gained back, and thousands of dollars spent on healthy groceries and high-end cookware, I am 24 years old and spending another night, like so many nights before, eating a bowl of last-minute, mediocre cookie dough alone in my apartment at 11 p.m. And I hate myself for it.

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Justine Zwiebel / BuzzFeed

I’ve been overweight — or bordering on it — nearly my entire life, at least since my family moved to the U.S. when I was 4. When I was a child, a routine fight between my Hungarian mother and me was over how much I ate for dinner. Propping my elbows on our scratched dining table, I’d watch her petite, pale hands hovering above me, ladling spoon upon spoon of rice on my father’s plate. “NO FAIR, DAD GOT THE BIGGER ONE,” I’d cry out when my own would finally land, unable to grasp why a 5-foot-10-inch, 200-plus-pound Nigerian man would need to eat more than I did. Seconds, for me, were a must. Thirds weren’t unusual.

Growing up in a white, affluent neighborhood in Lubbock, Texas, I was the only Anita in a sea of Amandas, Brittanys, and Tiffanys. I was biracial, brown and round, with a puffy ball of hair that sat squarely banded in the middle in my head. The boys called it a “burnt marshmallow” and “tumor.” Isolated and othered, I began using food as a coping mechanism around middle school, when my parents began letting me walk home (across the street) alone. I’d spend the two hours until my mom got off work by myself. My best friends had “boyfriends” in the way suburban preteens can — notes, stuffed animals, dates at the roller rink on school skate night. I had a gallon of Edy’s chocolate chip waiting in the freezer for me each day.

Eventually, my mom realized I was sneaking food and she started hiding sweets in the kitchen in hopes of curbing my steady weight gain. Instead, I became an expert at climbing on countertops, calculating how much I could eat of something before she would notice, and burying wrappers in the trash. Often, I’d throw away the balanced, nutritious lunches she’d pack me — whole wheat wraps and sandwiches, fruits, veggies, hard-boiled eggs — in favor of pizza and curly fries. “You ate your lunch today, right?” she’d ask cautiously, waiting for the “yes” we both knew was a lie. She was careful not to tie my weight to my worth, but rather reminded me constantly that what I was doing wasn’t healthy. Looking back, I can’t blame her, but at the time I felt betrayed. Though I couldn’t articulate it then, taking those foods away from me was taking away the one thing that made me feel like I wasn’t alone. I was already the chubby black girl; I didn’t want to be the chubby black girl on a diet.

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Justine Zwiebel / BuzzFeed

As I grew older, I prided myself on being good. I volunteered. I got straight A’s. I didn’t drink, smoke, have sex, or do drugs. But I ate.

What had begun as a way of burying my insecurities morphed into a way of self-medicating full-blown depression and anxiety. Food was my salve and my secret. By the time I was a high schooler in Arkansas, where we had moved when I was 14, I was regularly driving through the local Chinese restaurant, eating crab rangoon alone in my car in the parking lot of an abandoned strip mall. Overwhelmed by a laundry list of extracurriculars that I hoped would get me into the “right college” — student council, cheerleading, theatre, National Honor Society, Key Club, jazz, tap, ballet — I ate until I was too full to worry. When I was cast in my senior musical, I ran to my car after last bell and sped up the highway to Sonic to buy Cinnasnacks (think mini-cinnamon rolls, but more gross) and a cherry limeade in the half hour before first rehearsal. I realized what was happening wasn’t normal when I thought more about what I’d eat when I got to my friends’ houses than the time I’d spend with them.

At the time, I tried to figure out what was wrong with me the same way I tried to find solutions to all of my problems as a teen: magazines. Yet, in article upon article, all I saw were stock images of thin white girls with whom I seemed to have nothing in common. I was obviously not anorexic. I never could throw up after eating, though god knows I tried, so bulimia was out. And while my habits were definitely in line with bingeing, which wasn’t recognized as its own disorder until 2013, I never felt like I ate quite enough to qualify. I had a tendency to buy a lot of things on impulse, take a few bites, then throw them away. I once read somewhere that Lindsay Lohan poured water on her food after she was full so she’d stop eating; I’d subsequently watched many half-eaten tubs of ice cream swirl down the drain.

I hoped going to my dream college would somehow absolve me of my lack of self-worth and, with that, my eating habits. Instead, I spent much of my freshman and sophomore years at Brown feeling like a fraud and making full use of my unlimited meal plan by stuffing to-go containers and eating alone in my dorm room.

Eventually, I began seeing a therapist, who diagnosed me with dysthymia — a low-grade, chronic form of depression — and generalized anxiety disorder. I also began seeing a personal trainer. By senior year, my body finally felt like it fit my 5-foot-2-inch frame. I spoke in class like what I had to say actually mattered. Instead of ruminating alone and in doubt, I opened up to friends and socialized. I went on spring break in Florida and took pictures in a bikini for the first time ever. I felt more in control of my life than I ever thought I could. I was finally, finally, happy.

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Justine Zwiebel / BuzzFeed

But, despite my progress, there was one hurdle for which I couldn’t shake my anxiety: finding a job. An aspiring journalist, I had carefully checked off all the necessary boxes — writing courses, writing and editing for campus publications, three internships — but was terrified of rejection. So instead, I joined Teach for America after graduating in 2012, rationalizing it as a necessary experience to one day write about social justice issues. After a few months teaching third grade at a charter school north of Providence, I was miserable. Inexperienced and ill-equipped to handle the needs of my students, I began yo-yoing between jars of baby food that I’d eat as meals and cartons of Chinese food and quickly gained back half the weight I’d previously lost.

So, I finally sought out a second therapist who specialized in weight and body issues.

“The only reason you felt happy your senior year is because you were thin,” she told me during one of our first sessions. It was then when I learned the name for what I’d been struggling with my entire life: disordered eating, in my case chronic enough that it was periodically a full-blown, though unspecified, eating disorder (the distinction between the two is the frequency and severity of patterns). My therapist coaxed me to recognize how my entire identity and self-esteem seemed dependent on what was on my plate at any given moment. She pointed out that even when I had felt my best, I was undercounting calories, considering a couple dozen spears of asparagus or a couple of eggs to be adequate dinners, despite running regular 5Ks at the time. Instead of becoming healthier during college, I had swung from one extreme to the other. Now I was bouncing back and forth between the two.

Yet, as thankful as I was to have a more concrete understanding of what was going on with me, I rejected her theory. After all, I thought, much more had changed that year than just my weight and diet. The real problem was my job. The real problem was Rhode Island. So, I quit and I left. And, like a bad movie on loop, within a few months in New York I was juice cleansing and takeout bingeing, with a job at a fashion magazine where I was thankful for a cubicle so that that no one could see me inhale the finest Midtown’s hot buffet delis had to offer. Then, for a host of reasons, I quit that job after half a year and spent my “funemployment” obsessively looking for another one, watching all of Breaking Bad, and ordering Seamless at midnight.

Pause. Play. Rewind. Repeat.

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Justine Zwiebel / BuzzFeed

I’m now nearing the end of my second year in New York, and by and large my life has begun to stabilize. I’ve moved out of a claustrophobic apartment I shared with roommates when I first got to the city into one of my own, and have both a job and a boyfriend I love. I cook more and, overall, eat much better, often Instagramming the meals I’m most proud to have made.

And yet — two weekends ago, I visited my parents in Arkansas, and it went badly: My boyfriend and I were fighting, the flights were changed because of bad weather. Exhausted, I spent much of my airport layover on the way back to NYC agonizing over what to eat, wanting nothing more than to drown myself in a combo plate at the King Wah Express, yet ultimately settling on a sensible salad from the glaringly obvious sensible salad place (“green to greens…” “earth fresh…”). The canned salmon was too pale, the dressing too much like something out of a Kraft bottle, and I was too aware of being the overweight woman eating a salad. I pushed it over to the side and grabbed my wallet. After another lap around the food court, I was back in front of King Wah Express.

“How much is just a side of lo mein?” I asked the woman behind the counter.

“$4.99.”

It wasn’t a lot, but I was frustrated that I’d already spent $13 on something that was going in the trash. I changed course.

“I’ll take two crab rangoon, please.”

I sat back down and ate them my usual way: crispy corners first, then soft, squishy middle full of filling. As I dribbled duck sauce out of individual packets and wiped grease off my fingers, I wondered, like so many times before, if my eating habits will — can — ever really sustainably change. I pulled up the waistband of my leggings, aware of the strings already unraveling at the seams in the thigh and that I’d just bought them a little over a month ago. Packing for this trip was easy; I am at the heaviest I’ve ever been and most of my clothes didn’t fit anyway.

The last time I ate crab rangoon, it was 2013 and I was still living in Rhode Island. After failing to go to the YMCA that was across the street from my apartment, I had purchased a membership at a discount gym in a small town 10 minutes away because, somehow, that seemed like a better motivator than a building I could literally stare at out of my bedroom window. I can count the number of times I went to that gym on two hands and have few memories of it, but I do remember the Chinese buffet that was in the shopping center next door. I went to it twice: one time to eat inside, in a pleather booth near a couple and their annoying kids, the other to eat takeout, in a red plastic Ikea chair in my kitchen.

I can’t believe I am fucking here. Again. I thought, as I thumbed crumbs off the airport table.

But that was two weeks ago.

I’ve come to realize I eat the same way I hit my snooze button every morning: just a little bit more. Tired when I should feel energized, so empty despite being so full. Food is still the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing I think about before I go to bed. I still spend much of my time trying to hide just how much I eat it. After nine months in my own place, I’ve yet to buy my own microwave, hoping the lack of ease with which I can heat things will keep me from eating myself out of control. I’ve also yet to find a therapist in the city, an endeavor I’ve embarked on most weeks since I moved here and feel wholly overwhelmed by. However, I’m slowly, finally, acknowledging that my disordered eating — though inextricably intertwined with other issues — is also its own source of unhappiness, rather than a symptom of it.

And now I’m trying a new routine. Today was my fourth day starting my morning curled on my couch, sipping a cup of tea before I reach for the handle of the fridge. Before I leave my apartment, I pack lunch — a proper serving of “pad thai” made with spaghetti squash and shrimp, which I relished making earlier in the week, plus blueberries — in a plastic teal bento box with dorky handles. I feel equal parts embarrassed and ecstatic about carrying it on the subway and into my office, mindful of what my co-workers might think of such a marked departure from the spread of constant, countless snacks I’ve carted to my desk, but knowing after I’ve finished what’s inside, I’ll feel better somehow. This time, I won’t throw it away.

Resources

If you or someone you know is struggling with an eating disorder, here are some organizations that have trained support staff available by phone:

National Association of Anorexia Nervosa and Associated Disorders Helpline: 1-630-577-1330

Binge Eating Disorder Association Helpline: 1-855-855-BEDA

National Eating Disorder Association Helpline: 1-800-931-2237

Read more: http://www.buzzfeed.com/anitabadejo/confessions-of-a-disordered-eater

#Body Image #eating disorder #essay

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