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devoted-book-nerd · 6 months ago

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Candy Hearts Letter

AO3: Rinadoll

Dear writer,

I’m so excited for this exchange! Thank you so much for writing for me. I love these three fandoms so much, and can’t wait to see what you create. Please don’t feel constrained by the fandom prompts--use whatever inspires you from this section of likes or any of my posts here–everything is organized by season and fandom on my tags page. I’d love any of it! .

Snow is my all time favorite thing, so I would love a winter story. Being snowed in/cabin fics tend to be my favorites, but blizzards, flurries, snow dandruff, it’s all wonderful. So are winter activities–ice skating, sledding, playing in the snow, warming each other up after being outside in the snow, cuddling by fires while snow falls outside, enjoying the hush of snow, etc etc etc. (I was in NYC once when the entire city shut down because of a blizzard and it’s still one of my all time favorite memories. Walking down the middle of a completely empty and desolate 6th Ave was an incredible thing. And the next morning, with Central Park functioning as a neighborhood park and everyone leaving love notes in the snow and cheering on sledding kids, etc. Beautiful.)

The other big thing I love is touch and caretaking–sensory descriptions of hugs, massage, snuggling, kissing, swats and spanks, hair brushing/washing, bathing, spa days, caretaking of all sorts, h/c with an emphasis on the c, etc, make me squee. It’s my favorite thing after snow, and I search these things out by tags when I need a happy boost. (I watch a lot of ASMR vids, ngl. So relaxing.) The day I found cuddle service fics was a red letter day, let me tell you. I am always open to cuddle service AUs.

Other likes: banter, flirting, romps, shenanigans, humor, affection, teamwork, friends falling in love, competency, fake dating turning real, There’s Only One Bed, mutual pining with happy resolution, established relationships, abandoned buildings reclaimed by nature, nature (rain, snow, forests, beaches, bodies of water), and happy endings. Sex and other intimate scenes are fine if they push forward plots or character development, but definitely aren’t necessary to include. I love Hallmark style (romance or murder mystery) plots or AUs, too.

All of the above would be welcomed as art, too! My requests are fic, but I am always delighted with treats! Anything drenched in the spirit and colors of winter and/or coziness is wonderful. I’m not great with knowing how to describe styles, but I’ve saved a variety of fan art favorites in a tag! https://devoted-book-nerd.tumblr.com/tagged/fan%20art

Please note: I am clearly obsessed with 911 right now! But I promise you that I love my old favorites just as dearly, and genuinely would love to receive something for any of these fandoms.

DNW: dub/noncon, non-canon character deaths, PWP, self-harm, humiliation/extreme embarrassment, gaslighting, character bashing, unhappy endings, homophobia, anything Covid related, and dark, dystopian, mobster, werewolf, omegaverse, or supernatural universe AUs.

9-1-1, Betsy-Tacy, Hawkeye TV, MCU, Schitt’s Creek, Ted Lasso

911: Buck/Tommy, Buck/Tommy & Eddie & Chris; Buck/Tommy & Maddie, Buck/Tommy & Eddie, Buck/Tommy/Eddie

“This show is my newest obsession, which is pretty clear from my A03 and tumblr. I started watching last spring and have already watched the whole series twice! I really love the relationships with Buck, Tommy and Eddie–I think they had the potential to be the new Michael and Bobby with the ridiculous shenanigans they could get up to. Eddie and Tommy cracking up over Buck’s theory made me laugh so much, and I could see any two of them ganging up on the third in that way. I love the friendships that Buck and Eddie and Tommy and Eddie have, and see so much potential for a happy future for Buck and Tommy. Or, hey, Buck and Tommy and Eddie! Bring on the triad relationship.

I’d love to see any of these groups getting sucked up into something ridiculous–like when everyone broke into groups to find the buried treasure, when Bobby and Michael re-enacted Rear Window, when Hen and Karen went ��undercover” to get her ID back. Who instigated it, who pushed it forward, is anyone a rational voice anymore? And how could Chris end up involved? Is he an instigator? Did he and Buck discover something and get the others dragged in?

I also love seeing them all be so competent at their jobs, so maybe they’re at work or out together and get pressed into action. There aren’t enough teamwork disasters in fic lately!

I do love winter, so maybe a romantic cabin getaway for two (or three) sounds like a dream, but then comes the blizzard. What goes wrong and what goes very right?

My favorite things to read about are seasonal romances/activities and sensory descriptions of touch and caretaking. Go as iddy as you like! Bring on wintery dates, coziness, trips, accidents, disasters, plans gone awry, a Hallmark kind of plot (romance or murder mystery), I'll love it all."

It will surprise no one that I started watching when Buck met Tommy, and instantly fell for both of them. I love how much growth Buck has had, how he’s settled into himself at work and in his relationship, and how he’s still a bit of a golden retriever. He still looks for the good. He and Eddie remind me a lot of me and my best friend, and I love how he has a separate best friendship with Chris that’s outside of his friendship with Eddie or the relationship with the three of them. (I don’t see Buck as a co-parent, but a trusted adult and friend that he can rely on. Something closer to godfather or older brother/uncle.)

Tommy’s growth has blown basically everyone’s out of the water, though. It’s incredible what a backstory and arc they gave him way back in S2, when we saw him change through ten years at the 118, and how much he’s continued to work on himself since then. I love his bitchy, deadpan dry humor, and I love how that balance’s Buck’s personality. I also really love how he listens to Buck, and shares his own feelings with him right from the start. I have a lot of sympathy for him, his issues, and his self-sabotage.

Eddie is a sassy bitch and I love him to bits. His one liners and facial expressions delight me all the time, but I also have loved seeing him breakdown and start to build himself back up again. I hate that Chris is with his grandparents (I see them as harmful caregivers), but I’d love to see Eddie have a chance to be messy and put himself together much healthier than he’s been since he had to get married at age 19.

Maddie and Buck have such a special relationship, and I love how much she cares for him, and how he can trust her and that love. Her gentle prodding and confusion during S7 before and after Buck was realizing his bisexuality were hilarious and wonderful. It’s always broken my heart that we see in the Buck flashbacks when she was a young teen that she had already been conditioned by her parents to believe that sometimes people can only show their love by being mad. She was set up and harmed just as much as Buck, but I’m not sure she knows how much. I’d love to see them together, and how Tommy fits into their little family. Does she tell Tommy stories of baby Buck? Are their parents involved somehow?

I just love and adore each and every character on this show, basically! Include anyone you like.

Betsy-Tacy: Betsy Ray/Joe Willard, Emily Webster/Jed Wakefield, Gwen Fowler/Miss Sparrow, Tacy Kelly & Betsy Ray, Tacy Kelly/Betsy Ray

“I love this series, and I love winter in Deep Valley! There’s a quote from Betsy Was a Junior: “The holidays struck Deep Valley like a snowball, exploding with soft glitter in all directions. There were family dinners, visits to country relatives, parties for old and young."

I want to know all about these dinners, visits, and parties! Bundling up, sleigh rides, walks in frosty twilights, old fashioned ghost stories, ice skating, playing in the snow, being snowed in, sharing a bed for warmth (which maybe starts practical and ends romantic?), love. What do they get up to curled up in front of a winter fire, perhaps during a snowstorm? Give me anything winter trope related and I’ll be delighted.

In my latest rereads of Emily of Deep Valley, I have found myself drawn to two unmarried women: Miss Sparrow is the town librarian, Miss Fowler is the well-traveled high school English teacher, they are both part of Emily and Miss Fowler’s Browning Club. Ships have sailed on less. I am very intrigued by the possibilities for these two.

Do they agree to chaperone high school or library winter activities so they can spend time with each other, maybe on a date? Do they become “roommates”? How did they meet? What is life like for a “bachelor woman” in turn of the century MN?

I have had the joy of visiting Mankato (Deep Valley) in a gorgeous October twice now, and the vibrancy of the colors and rushing waterfalls is mesmerizing. So close, and yet still not the Mankato winter I dream of, ha. I’ve also stood behind the real Miss Sparrow’s desk in Betsy/Maud’s library, which was so much fun. I’ve been really loving following Betsy-Tacy-society.tumblr.com and seeing real life photos and all the book quotes. It’s made me love the books even more.

Because I really do love these characters. I love that the books show the varied ambitions of women of the time, and how the Misses Sparrow and Fowler are well respected with no men ever mentioned. I’d really like to learn more about them in Deep Valley. What do they get up to in their own time besides the Browning Club?

Both characters appear in various high school books, but most of Gwen’s characterization comes from Emily of Deep Valley, which is still in print and available as an ebook, so check out your local library.

Emily and Jed are also only in Emily of Deep Valley, and I love how this quiet girl becomes a passionate reformer, with a fiance who cheers her on. I'd love a happier future for Emily and Jed than real life!

And while I adore Betsy and Joe, there's just something special about Betsy and Tacy's connection, whether as friends or romantically. Let's play with it!

Hawkeye tv: Clint Barton/Kate Bishop, Clint Barton/Kate Bishop & Lucky, Clint Barton/Laura Barton/Kate Bishop

“I love Kate and Clint so much. I loved them in the comics first, and I was fully delighted with the Hawkeye show, including how they essentially traded personalities. I’m here for their dynamic and banter, cases together and time on the farm. Kate trying to seduce him and Clint is in favor but hiding his amusement at Kate's antics? Has Clint asked for help and is super annoyed by it? And I’d love to see how Clint and Laura could slot her into their lives and marriage.

Banter and tropes and love, oh my!

It took me a while to warm up to MCU Clint vs comics Clint, but Hawkeye TV really cemented it for me. With Clint romance fics, I prefer that either Laura is fine with his outside relationships, or Clint and Laura’s romantic relationship has ended and they co parent as friends. No cheating.

I really love how Clint is such a caregiver and Kate accepts it—I imagine few people are allowed to bandage her up. I’d love to see some great caretaking, especially Clint towards Kate. Bandaging each other up, stitches, concussion support, sickness, any hurt/comfort scenario that makes your heart sing. There’s just something about Clint that lets strong independent people allow him take care of them. Major dad energy.

(Speaking of, I like Clint’s kids, in small doses—include them as you like, just not as the center of the fic.)

MCU: Clint Barton/Kate Bishop, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton

“I love how Bucky and Clint are so over absolutely everything and everyone. I love their relationships with Kate and Sam, but I’d love to see these two grumpy cats working together and complaining and falling/being in love. Do they have to fake date for some reason? Stuck together in a cabin? Bucky ends up at the farm or Clint is stuck in NYC? How does Clint take care of Bucky and how grumpy does Bucky get while allowing it?

I love Kate and Clint so much. I loved them in the comics first, and I was fully delighted with the Hawkeye show, including how they essentially traded personalities. I’m here for their dynamic and banter, cases together and time on the farm. I especially love hurt/comfort for them, because I don’t think there are many people independent Kate will let bandage her up like Clint did.

I really love how Clint is such a caregiver and Kate accepts it—I imagine few people are allowed to bandage her up. I’d love to see some great caretaking, especially Clint towards Kate. Bandaging each other up, stitches, concussion support, sickness, any hurt/comfort scenario that makes your heart sing. With Lucky, if you like, because he’s a very good boy. Does Bucky submit to caretaking, too? (I didn’t mean that sexually, but I am also game for that!) There’s just something about Clint that lets strong independent people allow him take care of them. Major dad energy.

(Speaking of, I like Clint’s kids, in small doses—include them as you like, just not as the center of the fic.)

Schitt’s Creek: Patrick Brewer/David Rose

“This is definitely one of my happy place fandoms! I fell for Patrick’s dry sense of humor pretty fast and was sold on the pairing when he confidently told David he’d get those grants. I love his love of control, and his deep love for David combined with their banter and his tendency to troll him so affectionately. I love how David cares so deeply for so many and refuses to admit it because of his history, but won’t stop, and is always there to step up when Patrick is feeling like he lost his control.

What if David’s anxiety is heightened and Patrick takes him to one of Twyla’s partner yoga classes, or gets some poses from Twyla to try? A romantic cabin getaway for two sounds like a dream, but then comes the blizzard. What goes wrong and what goes very right? Honestly, just some fun ice skating on a pond/creek, snowballs, winter games, fires and hot chocolate, s'mores, kisses and cuddling, etc, would be fun.

I love the Apothecary, too--road trips to check out some great winter/Valentine vendors would be a delight. They host classes at the shop—maybe knitting, Valentine’s couples yoga with Twyla, more open mic nights, and what else? A season and its holidays through things sold in the store: vendors they meet, items they select, people who buy them, what David and Patrick buy for themselves. Bring on the hygge! And some mundane things Patrick throws in to annoy David. How do they compromise on decorating for Valentine’s Day, and what sort of things end up in the front of the store like the plungers?

I really love Patrick and David. Their dynamic is really fun—Patrick as service top and caretaker with sass, David needing all the praise and support, but they are good about switching as needed. (Loved Patrick telling David to think about what he’d done, in The Olive Branch.) Patrick is such a troll, and he gets so grumpy when emotions are involved. He’s better at hiding his issues than David is, but they’re still there. David can get pretty tunnel-visiony about himself as a defense mechanism, but I love how he steps up for Patrick whenever it’s needed. I wonder if he’ll get better about stepping up before those low moments as he settles into their future. And honestly, he really is correct a lot of the time, ha.

I love romance, but I also love all of the friendships in this show, and their deepness and importance. I love winter and Valentine’s day, so feel free to also lean heavily on my general likes!

Ted Lasso: Roy/Jamie, Roy/Jamie & Georgie

“I adore this show, and Roy is my favorite. I love the way he and Jamie grew, and grew together, and their whole relationship. Amsterdam! And Georgie was just such a lovely person (and Roy so hilariously couldn’t decide if he wanted her or wanted her to be his mum).

This is a new request for me, which means that I don’t have as many prompts here, but that does not mean I want this fandom any less! This is a great fandom to lean into the likes in my letter.

One of them plans a super wintery date, or mini break. They’re snowed in! They go up to visit with Georgie and Simon for a weekend. They go up to visit them and all four get snowed in. Massages after ice skating. One of them gets sick, and the other takes care of them (maybe with Georgie helping, in person or via phone support). Phoebe insists they help her work on class Valentines and they get roped into helping in her classroom. Sexy Valentines Day goes awry.

Again, this is a very new fandom, so while I am very enthusiastic, I’m still trying to figure out what to say. My letters grow each time I request a fandom, ha. Plus the last time I requested it, it was filled with Halloween themed prompts, lol.

I love Roy’s take charge, bossy leader nature, but how he let Jamie teach him how to ride a bike. I love his swearing and his gruffness and that he cried during his retirement press conference. I love that he’s trying to work on himself, and hasn’t quite figured out that he’s already a good person. I also love that Roy has a bit of a mommy kink (Jamie’s mom, Mary Poppins), so maybe he and Jamie play with that, ha. (That one is a without Georgie prompt, please!)

Jamie is also the absolute best, though! I love how he can really feel his emotions, like with his mum, and how he is actively working to be a team player and a person who can be counted on. But he can also totally be a twat, because he contains multitudes.

I like Keeley, so feel free to include her as a friend, and I also love every other character, so bring in any and everyone!

#candy hearts exchange #kinkley #bucktommy #schitt's creek #fic prompts #ted lasso #kate bishop hawkeye

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libermachinae · 4 years ago

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Night Shift

Also on AO3! Summary: Prowl and Jetfire analyze leads on a Decepticon smuggling operation, working together late into the night trying to find the missing connections. A sleep deprived slip of the tongue leads Prowl to revisiting old choices. Word Count: 2146

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Prowl didn’t keep track of his chronometer this late in the night. Morning was inevitable, and he knew he could rely on a burst of messages from Orion to let him know when it had arrived. As such, he had no idea what hour it was when Jetfire broke through the productive silence.

“How did you come up with these predictions?” Jetfire asked. Worst of all, he was speaking with his mouth full, apparently too incensed by Prowl’s logic train to be bothered with common decency. “Every gun you’ve pulled in has been running on fumes; I’ve had to scrape the insides of the barrels just to figure out what they’re fueled on.”

The impressive thing about Jetfire was that even as a voice over the comms, he sounded like the biggest bot in the room. It wasn’t just that his voice was deep; Orion, who wasn’t that much taller than Prowl, had a voice you could feel through the floor panels. It was something about the way Jetfire talked, deliberate and straightforward, rarely stuttering even when caught off-guard. It was refreshing.

“I’ve outlined the logic process in my report. I won’t be repeating it,” Prowl said, scrolling back through his files.

“What are they teaching in the enforcer academy that reports don’t need to communicate anything?” Jetfire grumbled

It would be a reasonable estimate to say they spent 50% of these near nightly calls complaining about their targets, their coworkers, and the administration, and another 40% about each other. Prowl sat through them strictly as a matter of convenience, being a faster mode of communication than the intermittent data bursts preferred by the sanctioned enforcer agencies.

Having someone at the other end of the line also assisted the rust sticks and nucleon microcubes in staving off recharge protocols.

“It’s as I explained to Tumbler: it communicates everything I intended it to.” Ideally, very little to anyone who couldn’t have worked it out themselves. That way, the important information stayed with those who could actually use it, and the rest—

“Who’s Tumbler?”

Prowl lost his train of thought as the rest of his processor caught up to what the .5% he reserved for conversation had said. He froze, rust stick halfway to his mouth.

“No one,” he said.

“Okay.” Jetfire drew out the word. “Did he buy that line?”

No, of course not. Tumbler was always relentless about that sort of thing. His curiosity and drive could have lent to the makings of a detective or captain if he’d dedicated them more often to investigations and less on critiquing Prowl.

“He was young and failed to grasp the necessity of efficiency in our line of work.” Prowl had tried to be patient, but he’d been young too, and Tumbler was the first partner he’d had who would listen to him. Even if it was just to argue that Prowl’s opaque writing was the cause of their inefficiency.

“Hmph.”

Jetfire liked to intersperse their conversations with meaningless noises, and although Prowl needed more samples before he was certain of his explanation, he believed they meant Jetfire didn’t agree with something he’d said but was ending the discussion prematurely. It was illogical, leaving a matter unsettled for which a solution existed, but normally Prowl’s priority queues were ordered such that work came before ideological disagreements.

“What?” he asked, finally setting down the rust stick.

“You’re normally terrible with names,” Jetfire said without hesitation. “I’m just trying to imagine what a bot would have to be like to leave that much of an impression on you.”

“He was talented,” Prowl admitted.

“Do you keep in touch?”

“No.” Prowl straightened his back and flared his sensory panels, ready to move on. “It was not a practical partnership. Being together diminished our respective abilities and prevented us from fulfilling our responsibilities. It was for the betterment—”

“Hey, hold on, Prowl,” Jetfire said, his rolling voice enough to draw Prowl up short. “I know that you—but, you know what that sounds like, right?”

Prowl frowned, immediately recognizing Jetfire’s social theory tone.

“Pragmatism,” he said. “We can’t have everything we want in an ordered society. I—we did what Cybertron needed of us.”

“By disposing of a part of yourself?”

Tumbler hadn’t liked that explanation either.

“We weren’t conjunx.” And for very good reason. There were more important things in life than feelings or fleeting commitments, and it was idealists like Jetfire who—

“Just because it didn’t have a name doesn’t mean it wasn’t important.”

Prowl’s thoughts stumbled. He hadn’t expected Jetfire to say that, not because it was out of character but because he was right. That was the exact sentiment Prowl had tried to put to words maybe half a dozen times and now it was being turned on him like a spotlight.

“There are things that should never be sacrificed,” Jetfire went on. Prowl felt his silhouette thrown into sharp relief. “Things we’re worse off for letting go of.” He paused. “A while ago, I was made an offer: instant entry to the academies. No exams, no fees. Everything I’d ever wanted. In return, though, I would’ve had to give up my wings. My… sponsor, I guess, knew I had the processor for science, just not the frame. They asked for me to give up one part of myself to let the rest go free.”

Prowl shook his helm, leaning away from the speaker. Jetfire’s tone was the same one he occasionally used with Bumblebee. With Prowl, he was hard edges and warning lights. They weren’t this for each other. They didn’t do this.

“You were nearly the victim of a scam,” he said, searching blindly for familiar ground.

“I’m sure it seems that way,” Jetfire said, unperturbed. “Do you get it, though? Giving up any one piece would’ve meant tacit agreement with the Functionists, that I wasn’t fit to do my work in any form but what they prescribed. Even if I’d told myself it was for Cybertron, it really would’ve been a sacrifice in their honor, and nothing would ever be worth that.”

Prowl wasn’t entirely obtuse. He understood what Jetfire was saying, but he couldn’t afford to hear it, not with everything he had already done and the plans he had yet to set in motion. Maybe Jetfire had found a way to live that allowed him to maintain his idealistic commitments, but most mechanisms weren’t so lucky. Everyone had to give up something.

“And now you’re here, working on behalf of the Senate,” Prowl said, just to prove that point.

Jetfire made his noise again.

“Right, I forgot,” he said. Annoyed or frustrated: the usual feelings they brought out in each other. “Waste of time. Forget I said anything.”

Prowl wouldn’t, but he also wasn’t going to give Jetfire an excuse to keep pontificating.

It would have been a waste of their time, anyhow, because however sincere Jetfire was in his admission, Prowl had never understood the hypocrisy of bots who would claim to reject Functionism while maintaining an almost fanatical devotion to their frames. In some intangible sense, maybe he did enjoy the opportunity to go for a long drive, but he couldn’t imagine himself grieving his tires for their own sake. He tried to compare it to what he had felt when Tumbler had said going to Kaon was a selfish, pretentious idea and immediately recoiled.

“Results are exactly what I told you,” Jetfire said. Prowl realized he hadn’t gotten any work done in the last several kliks. “Not nearly the concentration of materials to support your theory the Decepticons have contacts in Uraya, and a few that will probably trace back to Kaon, like everything else.”

“I’d like to see for myself,” Prowl said, standing. He didn’t often get this badly distracted, and it was easy to pin it on the state of his desk: used energon cubes and wrappers from the cheap snacks he kept fueled on littered the spaces he should have been using for case notes and displays. When was the last time he’d cleaned?

“Really?” Jetfire asked. “The data’s pretty clear.”

“Humor me.”

“What do you think I’ve been doing?”

Neither said goodbye before they hung up: another of their customs.

Prowl cleared the mess into the trash. Exhaustion was nibbling at his processor like a corrosive. Another couple shots would get him through his morning meetings, and then a regular midday fueling would carry him over until he could recharge properly in the evening. Before that, though, the day had to begin, an event he discovered was closer than he’d expected when he stepped outside and saw the horizon just tilting toward the pale blue of an oncoming dawn.

The air was gentle, the pleasant cool that foreshadowed a blistering day. Jetfire was a dot over the Rodion skyline. Prowl glanced up at the few stars that could punch through the light pollution and was reminded, suddenly, of the time he and Tumbler had discussed getting a little patch of metal out on the Tungsten Moors. The barren sparkfields had felt nonetheless fertile with possibilities, and they had gotten hung up on whether it would be more practical to live in a house with two stories or just one. It had been a fantasy, nothing more; even on their joint income, it would have taken millions of years to save up. But there had been something, if not fulfilling, thrilling about it, making plans that didn’t hinge on work or promotions.

He wondered if Tumbler remembered that conversation.

Jetfire’s slow approach gave Prowl time to dwell while keeping an idle optic on his teammate. There was nothing spectacular about Jetfire’s flying: Prowl had worked with and chased down fliers who were faster, more maneuverable, and flashier in every way. But there was something resolute and sure about the way Jetfire coasted, a steadiness that Prowl would have appreciated sooner if he’d noticed it, his thoughts of Tumbler and past mistakes and pointless sacrifice sliding away as he watched Jetfire’s flight.

Jetfire’s flying was beautiful, in its own way. Its understatement reminded Prowl of his own assembly line colors, but with an underlying confidence that left Prowl feeling inadequate. Though technically strong, his power was limited to what he could siphon off Orion and their other high-level contacts. He’d experienced a taste of the real thing under Sentinel, but that had been an especially tenuous connection, liable to snap had he ever tugged too hard. Jetfire’s power was all his own. Not overwhelming, not enough to make the changes Cybertron needed. Incomparable, really, to what Prowl had wielded. But it radiated from the tips of his wings to the burn of his thrusters, self-realized, without reservation or concession.

Prowl’s tac net pinged him with the results for a problem he hadn’t realized he’d plugged in: 50% Prowl should have been strong enough to find another way, 50% choosing Tumbler would have made him stronger.

A perfect 50-50 meant his systems were badly in need of defrag. He cleared the cache and set his tac net to reboot, shaking his helm to dispel the resulting vertigo as Jetfire landed on the steps below him. Prowl waited patiently for him to complete his mode switch, taking two steps back so they would be at optic level with each other.

“Pleasant flight?” he asked.

“Wouldn’t trade it for anything,” Jetfire said with a smugness that allowed Prowl to scoff as he motioned for the datapad.

Jetfire handed it over. Prowl knew he was being watched as he powered it on and reviewed its contents, but he took his time, using Jetfire’s results to run through a few warm up calculations as his tac net came back online.

“You didn’t check for copper fluoride,” he commented.

“No,” Jetfire said slowly, “because it wasn’t one of the compounds we were investigating.”

“Run the tests again.” Prowl tried to return the datapad, but Jetfire refused to take it. “The chances we would find evidence of materials native to the Urayan region were always slim to none. However, the old blackmarket pipeline between Kaon and Yuss ran directly underneath the city. Does that make more sense?”

Prowl saw the moment Jetfire finally saw the case as he did, a knotted web of deceptions meant to dissuade even the most seasoned detective from untangling its core. Jetfire took the datapad from Prowl and stowed it, though the hard look in his optics did not waver.

“Could’ve said that from the beginning,” Jetfire griped.

Prowl didn’t bother to respond. What was done was done. Talking so much about the past was a waste of time neither of them could afford, because for all that it might have mattered, nothing they said could change any of it. All they had was the future, and the possibility of starting each day stronger than they had the one before.

#finally remembered to upload!#maccadam #transformers #prowl #jetfire #my writing #oneshot

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darriness · 5 years ago

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Klaine Fic - Care Part 5

Author: darriness

Word Count: 2954

Summary: The first time Kurt feeds from Blaine

Author’s Note: Happy Halloween! This part is longer, and darker, than the four parts before it so potentially read with some caution! There is nothing super graphic but if you are interested in more specific warnings before you read please message me (I don’t want to put them here because I don’t want to ‘spoil’ anything). Just keep in mind that Kurt and Blaine are a vampire and werewolf respectively in this verse so if anything that comes with that is not your thing or bothers you, then maybe this story isn’t for you <3

As of now, I have no immediate plans to continue this story beyond this BUT I won't say I'll never come back to it. It was fun to explore this trope myself (I've always been fascinated with vampires and werewolves) and who knows what the future will bring. Enjoy and be safe in whatever you plan to do this Halloween :)

Link to Part 1

Link to Part 2

Link to Part 3

Link to Part 4

AO3 Link

The first time Kurt kills someone, he and Blaine break up for a month.

“You don’t understand! I can’t trust myself!” Kurt had yelled the night it happened, “We’re done!” He’d screamed at a bewildered (and blindsided) Blaine.

Blaine had blinked and picked his jaw up from where it hung like a broken glove compartment, “What...what are you talking about?” He’d stuttered, “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying we’re over!” Kurt had screamed. It wasn’t the first time he’d said it that night but Blaine still hadn’t really understood.

“But why?” Blaine had asked, desperation creeping into his voice, “Because you accidentally killed someone?” Kurt had flinched at the words. Blaine had moved closer, reaching out to grab Kurt’s hand, but Kurt had pulled away.

“You have to go. I could hurt you next...or worse.” Kurt had pulled his arms around his body and Blaine ached to wrap him in his own arms instead.

“You won’t hurt me.” Blaine had whispered.

Kurt had shook his head, “You don’t know that. We have to end this. I can’t stay with you if it means I’ll hurt you.”

Nothing Blaine said had changed Kurt’s mind. He’d been through an entire catalog of emotions since Kurt had called him over in a frenzy and he had finally settled on...nothingness. An empty void was opening up inside and Blaine didn’t know what to do about it.

“Please don’t do this.” Blaine had whispered, tears forming in his eyes.

Kurt had put his head in his hands, “Go.” He’d whispered. When Blaine didn’t move, Kurt looked up with a face Blaine had never seen. His pupils had completely taken over his irises and the whites of his eyes were bloodshot - the red veins around his pupils seemed to pulse - and he bared pointed canine teeth as he growled, “Go!”

Blaine had stumbled backwards, not out of fear of what Kurt might do to him but out of astonishment that Kurt so clearly didn’t want him there...or at all. Nothing he could say was going to change Kurt’s mind and their relationship was over.

Blaine spends most of the month after as a wolf. He thinks less as a wolf. Well, maybe not less, but differently. As a wolf he doesn’t have to remember the feeling of emptiness that had settled in after he’d left Kurt’s house that night. He doesn’t have to deal with people’s reactions and inevitable pity about their breakup. He doesn’t have to think about the fact that their two year relationship, admittedly a tiny blip in the supernatural world, will stay with him for as long as he lives.

Which promises to be a very, very long time.

Sometimes, he hates being supernatural. He’s been a werewolf since his eighteenth birthday three years ago (a ‘fun’ genetic surprise none of his family felt he needed to know about earlier) and while he celebrated his twenty-first birthday a few months ago, he hasn’t actually physically aged much beyond eighteen. He’s not entirely sure why, reliable information on werewolves is hard to come by, but he knows that while he won’t live for eternity like a vampire, his life span is significantly longer than a humans. The prevailing theory is werewolves age physically one year for every ten human years. Blaine will be twenty-eight before his body makes it to nineteen. And he’ll be much, much older than that before his heart gets over Kurt.

But as a wolf, he doesn’t have to think about any of that. He can think about hunting, and finding warm sun to sleep in, and how to get his tail in his mouth (human Blaine would be horrified by that specific behavior, wolf Blaine is simply determined to make it happen).

There’s a general melancholy to his time in the woods but his wolf brain isn’t able to figure out why, so it continually tries to shake it off. It’s got no time for melancholy when there is a whole world (or at least a whole forest) to explore.

Blaine trots back to his clothes one night, intent on curling up by them to sleep, when a strange buzzing sound fills the forest around him. Blaine’s head tilts and he quiets his pants (a product of his bunny hunt a few minutes ago) to listen. It’s not a usual forest sound and his wolf brain tries to place it.

He narrows his search down to his pile of clothes and uses his snout to curiously push the fabric aside. On the ground under his jeans is his phone, buzzing and lighting up the immediate area as it glows. Blaine’s head tilts once again as he watches it buzz. His wolf brain doesn’t know what it is or what to do about it but is curious enough to watch it happen.

Eventually, his phone goes dark and silent and Blaine snorts at the strange contraption. He’s about to turn to lie down when his phone lights up again. This time Blaine’s snort is of irritation. What is this thing and why is it disrupting his peaceful evening?

When his phone goes silent again and then begins to light up again immediately afterwards, Blaine barks at it before figuring, in order to make it stop, he’ll have to transform back to human. He doesn’t want to, but he also doesn’t particularly want to deal with this thing buzzing all night.

The process of transformation leaves him panting on the ground for a while as it always does. He takes deep breaths as his body settles and he tries to remember why he did this in the first place. The connection between his wolf and human self is always a little jumbled immediately after transformation.

The buzzing, his brain supplies after a few minutes. Blaine shakes his head. Not buzzing, his phone.

He pulls himself up and makes his way slowly toward his phone on the ground. His body hurts but it’s nothing compared to the ache in his chest. Now that he’s human all the feelings he’s been hiding from are rearing their ugly head.

The ache only intensifies when he sees who has been calling.

Burt Hummel - Missed Call x3

Blaine’s brow furrows. Why would Kurt’s dad be calling him?

He doesn’t have time to think about it too hard when his phone starts to buzz in his hand. Caller ID says it’s Burt calling again. Blaine, cautiously, answers the call, “Hello?” He asks.

“Christ Blaine - took ya long enough!” Burt hollers over the phone. Blaine’s not sure if he’s yelling because he’s mad at Blaine for missing his calls or because he has to yell over the noise on his end of the line. It sounds like Burt is at a demolition site - crashing, banging, shattering. Those are the words Blaine would use to describe it anyway.

“Burt?” Blaine asks, “What’s going…”

He doesn’t get to finish his question when a scream echoes from Burt’s end of the line. There’s a pause in the demolition noise for it to happen and Blaine’s heart immediately leaps into his throat.

Kurt.

“Blaine, you’ve gotta come.” Burt says over the line. He sounds out of breath.

“What’s going on?” Blaine asks.

“It’s Kurt.” Burt offers, needlessly, “Just...come. Please.”

Blaine doesn’t even have to think about it, “I’ll be right there.”

-- -- --

He makes it to Kurt’s in record time. Over their two years together he had made the trek from the forest to Kurt’s many times after he transformed. This feels different from all those times.

Burt opens the door before Blaine can even knock. The house behind him is quiet but Blaine isn’t sure that’s a good thing considering the sounds he’d heard over the phone.

“Come in.” Burt says, gesturing the younger man inside.

When they’re in the front hallway, Burt puts a hand on Blaine’s shoulder with a heavy sigh. Blaine holds back the wince the action tries to pull from him. Not only has it been a while since he’s felt human contact, his body is still aching after his transformation.

“Thank you for coming.” Burt says.

Blaine looks up at him in confusion, “What’s going on?” He feels like he’s asked that a lot tonight, “Is Kurt hurt?”

Burt sighs again and looks off toward the stairs to the second floor, briefly, before looking back at Blaine, “He’s not doing well.” Is all Burt says.

Blaine’s about to say something along the lines of ‘No shit’ or ‘That makes two of us’ but Kurt screams from the second floor. Both Burt and Blaine turn, sharply, toward the sound and Blaine goes toward it without thinking. It’s only Burt’s hand on his shoulder that keeps him in place.

Blaine turns to Burt with an incredulous look and Burt grimaces, “He’s...hungry.” Burt says. Blaine’s brows furrow, “He hasn’t fed since the night you two broke up.” Burt explains.

Blaine’s eyes widen. Apart from actually BEING a vampire, Blaine knows more than most about how vampires work. He knows that Kurt stopped aging permanently when he was bitten just after his eighteenth birthday. He knows that as long as Kurt keeps a healthy diet of blood, his body functions very similarly to that of a human’s.

He knows that without a healthy diet of blood Kurt’s body will start to shut down.

“How could you let this happen?” Blaine asks Burt, dumbfounded.

Burt’s eyes narrow, briefly, at the accusation. If Blaine hadn’t been fresh from a transformation and a floor away from a hurting Kurt, he would NEVER have spoken to Burt in such a manner. But Blaine is both of those things and he feels like Burt is to blame for at least the latter.

“You don’t think I’ve tried?” Burt asks, “I have tried everything. I’ve even offered my own blood. Nothing has worked.”

Blaine knows that, apart from right after becoming a vampire and that night a month ago when he took the man’s life, Kurt subsists exclusively on animal blood. The vegetarian diet, as Kurt had coined it, is enough to get the job done but the draw of human blood is always there. It tempts him like some sort of juicy steak. Refusing Burt’s blood must have been a Herculean effort.

“I was hoping you could help.” Burt says.

Blaine’s not sure what help he could possibly be but he nods. He goes to head up the stairs again but Burt’s hand on his shoulder stops him once more.

“Just,” Burt starts, “remember, he’s not himself right now.”

Blaine’s sure Burt would like to continue explaining, but Blaine just nods and a beat later Burt’s hand drops from his shoulder, allowing Blaine to finally make his way up the stairs.

When he gets to the second floor he can hear sounds he didn’t notice downstairs. He hears scrambling from behind Kurt’s closed bedroom door and a high pitched whine. He makes his way to the door and knocks.

“Go away, Dad!”

Kurt doesn’t even sound like himself - his voice scratchy and weak even as he yells. It sounds like he hasn’t spoken in months.

“Kurt.” Blaine says and all movement behind the closed door stops. Blaine sighs and leans his forehead and palms against the door, “Can I come in?”

He’s greeted with more silence and he actually wonders if Kurt passed out before he hears, “Blaine.”

His name sounds like it’s being strangled from Kurt’s throat and Blaine’s fingers flex on the wood door.

“Kurt, open the door, baby.” The endearment slips out before Blaine can realize he probably shouldn’t use it.

There’s silence again before the door slowly creeps open. When Kurt comes into view, Blaine sucks in a breath. He’s never seen Kurt look like this. He’s never seen anyone look like this.

Kurt’s skin is grey. His lips are the same colour as his face and are dry and cracking. The veins and arteries on his necks are purple and a stark contrast to the ashen skin around them. And his eyes. Blaine thinks Kurt’s eyes right now will be burned into his brain for the rest of his life. His irises are completely black, like they were the night he and Kurt broke up, but unlike that night the whites of his eyes are laced with purple and black veins. The purple bruises under his eyes are the only other colour on Kurt’s face. He looks positively terrifying.

Blaine blinks and shakes his head. This is still Kurt, his Kurt (even if Kurt doesn’t want him), and he’s here to help.

“Kurt.” He says again in a pained exhalation.

“What are you doing he…” Kurt cuts himself off before he can finish with a groan as he clenches a hand to his stomach.

Blaine’s muscles twitch as he shifts forward, trying to keep himself from going to Kurt. He’s fairly certain Kurt wouldn’t appreciate the gesture.

“Kurt, you need to feed.” Blaine says, needlessly.

Kurt groans again and turns away from the door, “Go away.” He moans.

“You’re killing yourself.” Blaine tries, “You need to feed.”

Kurt shakes his head as he grips his head in his hands, “Can’t.”

“Why not?” Blaine asks.

“Can’t.” Kurt says, again.

Blaine bites his lip as he watches Kurt pace his room. He notices for the first time that Kurt’s room is destroyed. The ‘demolition’ he heard over the phone was, in fact, Kurt tearing his room apart.

Blaine feels useless. He’s not sure why Burt thought he could help or why he agreed. Kurt doesn’t want him for anything. He’s of no help here.

Unless…

“Feed off me.” He blurts and suddenly Kurt’s terrifying eyes whip in his direction.

“Go. Away.” Kurt snarls.

Blaine shakes his head. He won’t leave this time. This time it’s Kurt’s life on the line, “No. You need to feed and I’m not leaving until you do. Either go hunting or feed from me.”

Blaine’s fairly certain Kurt couldn’t go hunting in his current state even if he wanted to. He’s too far gone, too weak, too hungry. There’s really only one way this is going to end.

Kurt growls in Blaine’s direction, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, “Leave me alone. I’m a monster. I shouldn’t be alive. Just let me die.”

Blaine feels a grip on his heart at Kurt’s broken words. He knows Kurt can’t actually die the way he currently seems to be trying to (his body will shut down but he won’t actually ‘die’), but knowing he wants to is enough to make Blaine want to cry.

Suddenly, Kurt lets out another scream as he doubles over in pain. Blaine is shaken from the emotional pain of hearing Kurt’s desires and into action.

He bangs a hand against Kurt doorframe, hearing it groan under the strain, “God damnit, Kurt!” He shouts, suddenly angry with desperation, “Stop it! Feed. From. Me!”

“No!” Kurt shouts.

Blaine’s frantic eyes flit around the room around Kurt as the other man lets out another scream that turns into a pained moan. Blaine’s eyes land on the twisted remains of the lamp that used to sit in the corner of the room. It’s bent and broken now but the light in the room almost seems to blink off the sharp point of metal Blaine’s eyes fixate on.

He moves toward it at lightning speed and, without thinking, drags his forearm along the metal. He groans at the sting of pain but as he looks down at his arm he can see the blood start to bubble up from the cut. When he looks back at Kurt, the other man’s eyes are locked on Blaine’s arm.

“Do it.” Blaine says.

Kurt’s lip twitches but he holds his ground. Blaine can see all of his muscles tense and he actually sways forward slightly, but he doesn’t advance.

“I want you to. I’m begging you to.” Blaine implores, holding out his arm, “You won’t hurt me.” He says even though he’s not entirely sure if that’s true. He’s never had a vampire feed from him. He’s not sure if it will physically hurt or even if he might actually die from it, but in this moment his only thought is saving Kurt. His own life seems almost insignificant in comparison.

“Please.” He begs again, his voice cracking.

Kurt’s lips shift around his teeth as he continues to stare at Blaine’s bloody arm before he slowly makes his way across the room. Blaine finds it amazing, considering how desperate and hungry Kurt must be, that he’s able to show such restraint but when he’s finally within reach of Blaine he takes Blaine’s arm almost reverently into his hands.

He hesitates then, looking up at Blaine’s face for the first time since Blaine cut himself. Blaine nods, “Do it. You won’t hurt me.”

It doesn’t hurt. Maybe that’s because Blaine had already been cut but instead of pain there is simply a tugging feeling. He alternates between watching his arm and watching Kurt’s face. It only takes a moment before Kurt’s skin starts to return to a more normal colour and Blaine feels the fist around his heart loosen at the sight.

He’s not sure how long Kurt feeds but eventually the tugging sensation disappears and he’s got an armful of Kurt. Kurt collapses against him, sobbing into his neck and clutching at his back.

Blaine brings his arms up and wraps them around Kurt’s neck. He’s forearm is still bleeding slightly but he doesn’t even notice as he holds on to Kurt for all he’s worth.

He’s not sure what tomorrow will bring but he’s here with Kurt right now and that’s what he’s going to focus on.

#klaine #klaine fanfiction #klaine fanfic #klainetober #my loves #my stuff #care

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charmingnines · 5 years ago

Text

biting the bullet - reed900 fic

Gavin hadn’t told Nines how he felt. To be fair, Nines hadn’t told Gavin how he felt… in so many words. Nines brought Gavin coffee each morning and again during the afternoon lull. Nines also made it his mission to hassle Gavin about going home when he stayed late at the DPD more than three nights in a row.

And there was that time Gavin had been exhausted enough to fall asleep at his desk and had woken up with Nines’ jacket around his shoulders. Gavin had thought sleepily that it smelled like Nines, clean, like fresh laundry. Then he’d jerked fully awake, thinking, how the fuck do I know what Nines smells like?

“Are you alright, Detective?” Nines had asked, not even looking up from his computer, the bastard.

“M’ fine,” Gavin had muttered, hoping the blush he’d felt creeping up his neck didn’t show on his face.

read the rest on ao3

or continue after the break vvv

Nines, Gavin thought, didn’t need to say anything. Nines had shown Gavin, over and over again, how he felt. If Gavin reciprocated… well, that would make it real, wouldn’t it? But Gavin wasn’t good at showing. And he sure as hell wasn’t good at telling.

Gavin thought about telling Nines all the time. Like when Nines hummed along to Gavin’s music he claimed to hate in the car. Or when Gavin felt that fucking magic between he and Nines when they bounced theories off of each other until a case was solved.

But Gavin was scared. Scared that he was reading Nines all wrong. Scared that it was all in his head….

“Detective Reed?” Nines waved a hand in front of Gavin’s face. “Did you hear me? Fowler wants us to check out the house on Rosemary. The warrant just came through.”

Gavin blinked. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been staring off into space. “Sorry,” he said, standing up and shrugging on his jacket. “Let’s go.”

Gavin could feel Nines scanning him. “I’m fine,” Gavin said, side-eyeing Nines. Nines raised a brow. “I slept six hours last night,” Gavin added. Nines interest in his sleeping habits bordered on obsessive.

Nines looked away. “Eight would’ve been more optimal.”

“Yeah?” Gavin said. “Having a partner who respected my privacy would be ‘more optimal’ for me.”

“I don’t mean to intrude,” Nines said stiffly. “But it’s in both of our interests that you’re functioning well, should we encounter any hostile persons-”

“Relax, I was just fucking with you,” Gavin said, pulling over to park. He undid his seat belt and turned to face Nines.

Nines’ gray eyes, Gavin knew, were meant to make him appear more intimidating than his predecessor (Gavin had no clue what they were thinking, giving Connor those ridiculous puppy dog eyes). Gavin wasn’t intimidated so much as fascinated by Nines’ eyes. As Nines’ searched Gavin’s face, all Gavin could think about was how his eyes were gunmetal around the edges and an overcast sky in the middle…

“You seemed off this morning,” Nines said, breaking Gavin out of his thoughts. “Is everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine,” Gavin said, too quickly. He clenched his fists, then unclenched them. “I was just…” Gavin noticed Nines’ mouth, thin with concern. Get a grip, Gavin told himself and raised his eyes to meet Nines’. “I was just thinking,” he said truthfully.

“What about?” Nines asked.

Gavin wet his lips. “Just- just some things I need to say,” he said quietly. Then he got out of the car like it was about to explode. Nines had given him the perfect in and he hadn’t taken it. Am I ever gonna bite the bullet and tell him? Gavin wondered, mentally wincing at his hasty exit.

Thankfully, Nines didn’t press Gavin any further as they walked up to the residence, a house that looked one good storm away from falling down. Gavin rapped on the front door. “Detroit Police.” No answer. Gavin knocked again. “Detroit Police, open up.”

Knocking was simply formality. They had a warrant; there’d been multiple calls about this place being a hot spot for red ice deals.

Gavin stepped aside and gestured to the door. Nines rolled his shoulders and knocked the door inwards with one good kick. “Show off,” Gavin whispered. Nines grinned.

They both drew their guns and slowly made their way into the foyer. There was a kitchen off to the left and a living room off to the right, filled with ratty looking furniture. There were no signs of life.

Gavin jerked his head toward the stairwell. Nines nodded and followed him up. It was dim upstairs, like the windows had been boarded up, which was why Gavin didn’t see the gun pointed at him, he just felt the bullet hit him.

“Fuck,” Gavin hissed, keeling over. Then Nines was in front of him, shielding Gavin with his fucking body. Gavin heard gunfire on both sides, then the sick sound of a body hitting the floor.

“He’s down,” Nines said, turning to Gavin.

Gavin nodded, sinking to the ground. The bastard had hit him right in the thigh. He couldn’t look at the blood gushing from the wound. “Call an ambulance,” he told Nines through gritted teeth.

“I already did,” Nines said, kneeling down and shoving off his jacket.

Gavin forced his blurring vision to focus on Nines, whose chest was splattered blue. “Oh, fuck, Nines,” Gavin said. “Where did he hit you?” he demanded. Nines began to rip his coat into strips.

Gavin reached out and gripped Nines’ wrist, forcing him to stop. “Where are you hit?”

Nines’ nostrils flared. “My thirium pump is damaged,” he said, easily freeing his wrist from Gavin’s weak grip.

“Shit,” Gavin said, trying to sit up more, willing away the wave of dizziness that hit him. “You need to go to CyberLife. You’re gonna shut down-”

“I’m going to shut down in five minutes,” Nines said, tying the fabric strips together. “Your femoral artery has been hit and in five minutes you’re going to be-” Nines broke off.

“Dead?” Gavin finished helpfully. Nines glared at Gavin. “The ambulance will be here soon, just leave me-”

“I am not leaving you here,” Nines said fiercely. “You need to let me do this.”

Gavin set his jaw. “You’re not any less important than me.”

“I’m not trying to play the self-sacrificing hero!” Nines cried.

Gavin blinked. Was he hallucinating from the blood loss or were there tears in Nines’ eyes?

“I can easily be fixed,” Nines said, softening his voice. “Plus, if you don’t let me keep you from dying, I’m going to fucking kill you.”

“Seems counterproductive,” Gavin said, but allowed Nines to tie a tourniquet above his wound, LED spinning red. “Are you really gonna be okay?” Gavin asked, once Nines was done.

“You’re bleeding out, and you’re asking me if I’m gonna be okay?” Nines said.

“Yeah, I am,” Gavin said. Then he reached for Nines’ hand. Nines took it. “Nines,” Gavin said. “You know that I-”

“I know,” Nines said. “Me too.”

Gavin woke up with a start, seeing nothing but white ceiling. “Nines?” he said hoarsely. Gavin tried to sit up. “Nines?” he repeated, louder this time.

“I’m right here,” Nines said, appearing at his bedside.

Gavin sank back into his pillows. “Thank fuck,” he said. Nines sat down in a chair beside Gavin’s bed. “And you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” Nines said. Gavin swept his eyes over Nines’ body. “I’m fine,” Nines repeated, softer this time. “You’re the one who’s been out for two days,” Nines said. “Are you okay?” he asked pointedly.

Gavin met Nines' eyes. “As long as you are,” he said honestly. Nines reached out his hand. Gavin took it.

“Nines,” Gavin said. “I’ve wanted to tell you- I’ve known for a while that-” he broke off and looked at Nines, who was holding back a smile. Gavin pointed his free hand at Nines. “You’re enjoying this too much,” he accused.

Nines laughed, loud and bright, and that was it. “Fuck, will you just-?” Gavin grabbed Nines by the shirtfront and kissed him, trying to say everything he couldn’t find the words for. Nines responded by lacing his fingers behind Gavin’s neck and deepening the kiss.

When he couldn’t breathe anymore, Gavin pulled away, pressing his forehead against Nines’. “Just so we’re clear,” Gavin said, “I was trying to say I’m in love with you.”

Nines kissed Gavin again. “I love you, too,” he said.

#reed900 #reed900 fic #gavin reed #dbh gavin #rk900 #nines #detroit: become human #detroit become human #dbh fic #my fics

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aliceslantern · 5 years ago

Text

Retribution, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 1

Newly a person again, Ienzo is weighed down by guilt and his humanity. He's prepared to do whatever it takes to atone... only to find unexpected solace in a familiar face. With more insight into the bonds between people than ever before, Ienzo reaches for a dangerous element from the past to help Kairi and Riku in their search for Sora. What is his life if it means saving another, brighter light?

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

Kairi woke up slowly. “Anything?” she asked, before her eyes had even focused.

Ienzo sighed. “I’m afraid not.” He began detaching her from the monitors.

Her own sigh was heavy, derelict. She sat up, rolling her shoulders, stretching. They woke her every five days--to be unconscious for so long was inhumane, good neither for her body or mind. Not good for them either, to work so constantly, but Ienzo cared less about this.

“It isn’t easy, to trace a heart,” he added. “We’re all working as hard as we can--but it’s beyond nebulous, beyond, even, theory.”

“I know,” she said. She smoothed her short hair. “I just… I thought I would feel him. I… don’t.” She forced a smile.

“I sincerely wish I had better news,” he said. More than a little harrowing, to see her moroseness.

“I know you’re doing your best,” she said. She stood, a bit shakily. She nodded once. “I’m going to go clean up. Take care of yourself, okay?”

Ienzo watched her leave, feeling a bit dazed. He set down his tablet, smoothed the chair where she slept. His eyes ached.

“...You woke her on your own?” Even asked. He’d gone out for some books. “I’d hoped to check her vitals.”

“She’s stable. Like she always is. I was trained in first aid, you know.”

Even rolled his eyes. “Did she ask again?”

“She always does.” He shook his head. “I’m not sure how much longer we can reasonably pursue this. There--continues to be nothing. ” A thin, needy pain bloomed between his eyes; he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“...You look like you should be the one sleeping.”

“You’re likely right. There were some things I’d hoped to check on. I’d best do so before--”

Even frowned. “Her break in sleep functions as a break for us, too. You need rest to do good work.”

“Pot calling the kettle black,” he remarked. “When was the last time you slept, Even?”

He scowled. “Go on, then, boy.”

Ienzo did feel more than a little shaky. Human physicality was so brutal, so constantly needy, all the time; his body felt very nearly alien. He made his way back towards his own bedroom. The ache in his head wasn’t getting any better.

“Freed you at last, huh, Zo?”

He almost groaned. It was much harder to squirrel himself away now, that was for sure. “...I see your day is done early as well.” This was certainly a variable he had not planned for, living here once more.

Demyx shrugged. “No more deliveries. I could just sit there, but why?”

After Xehanort’s death, the other boy had nowhere to go and nothing to do; evidently he’d found some satisfaction out of bringing Ienzo the vessels, as he now worked for Scrooge McDuck as a courier. It kept him mostly out of Ienzo’s hair, which was good. Convincing him to become human again had been… exhausting, but at least now there was assuredly no more bits of Xehanort. “...I see.” Small talk had never been his forte, and given his tiredness was the last thing he wanted to subject himself to.

Demyx stared at him. “All good over there?”

His interest in Ienzo’s work was disorienting. “The usual, I suppose.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “That sucks.”

Ienzo shrugged. He was right, which was the irritating thing.

“I guess she’s up and about, then? I should say hey.”

“If you like. She might like some company.”

Demyx didn’t notice the sarcasm; or else didn’t comment on it. “Awesome. See you around, Zo.”

Ienzo just shook his head. “Zo” was a vast improvement over “Zexy”, but he still did not care for Demyx’s nicknames. It had taken the boy long enough to stop calling him Zexion.

(If he were being honest, he still made the same mistake, especially writing his own reports--his fingers would hover over that Z key for longer than they should.)

He went into his bedroom. It wasn’t a large space, not helped by the clutter--books, more for research than for enjoyment, were piled around his desk. He should at the very least take the ones he no longer needed back to the library, but the library was still such a disaster. Relics of his childhood were here and there; the tapestry of constellations, storybooks gathering dust on the overpacked cherry bookshelf, a few moldering stuffed animals sitting in a box. He had no idea what to do with these things. All he knew was that looking at them made him feel vaguely ill. He shed his labcoat, loosened the ascot at his throat. He perched on the mattress and ran his fingers over the stitching of the old quilt, trying to orient himself, to prepare himself for the labor of sleep. Ienzo could feel how badly he needed it, much more acutely than he ever did as Zexion. But his mind was spinning--with disappointment, with the sickness of looking at his old things, with memories that wanted to come, with these heavy feelings.

Perhaps a bath might help? A bath and a trashy novel?

It was still… odd, to see himself in mirrors. Generally he tried to avoid it, but it was not always possible. He shuddered a little as his fingers brushed the scar around his throat. Most unbecoming. Religious application of scar cream didn’t improve things, but at least the color was no longer such a vivid violet.

He settled into the warm water. On a physiological level it was soothing, but the second he started to relax the thoughts invaded--wasn’t this so self-indulgent? He should be downstairs, right now, analyzing the data they’d gathered from this week of Kairi’s sleep. At the very least logging things, drafting a report. Reconnecting with Ansem and the others, to see what they’d found.

His breath, in the tiled space, seemed loud.

Dealing with them should not be difficult. But all he could think when he saw them was they told me you’d gone mad. He grimaced. This wasn’t helping. Maybe some chamomile?

(A stiff drink? Or a sedative?)

He bathed, because he was already here. His skin was weirdly raw, oddly sensitive to everything. It had been when he was a child, but he figured he’d have outgrown such issues. It felt like everything was scraping along his nerves. He put on a soft sweater, slacks (his body would not physically allow him to wear denim. It was extremely irritating). Tried to fix his hair, which continued to grow directly into his eyes despite best efforts. He’d considered cutting it, letting it all go, but likely that would be a shock to himself as well.

Would eating help? He was feeling dizzy. Blood sugar, maybe? Hard to tell. Just tell me what you want , he thought, towards his body. Enough of this vague aching.

He heated some soup Aeleus had made, forced it all down. Nope, that didn’t help. Was he legitimately ill? He could ask Even, who was indeed a medical doctor as well as a researcher, but frankly he’d rather just deal with it on his own.

“Hello, Ienzo.”

He jumped a little, despite himself. “Oh… hello, Master.”

“I noticed Kairi was awake.”

“...We were rapidly getting nowhere. I figured no reason to keep her asleep if we were getting nothing done. She had expressed interest in doing some visiting. She should. It’s summer, and she’s sixteen. Might as well enjoy it.” He was rambling.

“Why shouldn’t you?”

Ienzo scoffed. “More pressing things on my plate than socializing. ” He could hardly stand talking to Demyx, much less anyone else.

“These breaks are for us, too.”

“...Even said the same thing.”

Ienzo did get some pleasure from the spark of anger that entered his eyes at the name. “You should at the very least get some sunlight. When was the last time you left this castle?”

He thought about it. “We did need groceries a few days ago.”

“Other than that.”

Ienzo was drawing a blank. He bristled a little. “What of you?”

Ansem chuckled. “...Quite. I believe we’ve all been… engrossed.”

“I wish I felt like I were getting somewhere. Seeing the disappointment in her eyes every time she wakes up… is taxing.” He shook his head. “I’m trying to help, to be of use, but we…” Ienzo trailed off uselessly.

“Might I sit with you?”

“...If you like.”

Ansem joined him at the small oak table. It was still so odd, to talk to him after such a long period of separation. That Ansem forgave him was staggering. “How are you faring?”

“...A loaded question.”

He smiled. “I do hope you don’t forget you’re also a young person.”

“Oh, I never was.” He shrugged. “Old soul. So I’ve been told.”

“...You deserve to enjoy your life too.”

Ienzo snorted.

“Why is it you react this way?”

“After all the suffering I’ve wrought?” He raised an eyebrow. “The least I can do is try to help Sora, and the committee.”

“No need for you to also suffer.”

He laughed a little. “I’m not suffering.”

Ansem gave him a look that suggested he was full of it. “You struggle, Ienzo. I can just tell.”

He pursed his lips. “You needn’t concern yourself with me. I’m sure you have other things to worry about.”

“I’m not allowed to worry about you?”

“Well you needn’t waste your energy.”

Ansem blinked. “I’m aware we’ve… lost time we’ll never get back,” he said slowly. “But I do wish to repair our relationship, such as it is.”

More baffling yet. “Why?”

“Why?” He repeated. “Ienzo, you’re my son.”

“I was .”

“...A bond that only ended through no machinations of your own.” He reached over to take Ienzo’s hand; he flinched, the touch unexpected and unanticipated.

“How can you even bear to look at me?”

“You asked for none of this.”

Ienzo could feel something rising within him, heat building behind his already aching eyes. He regretted eating; it felt as though it may come up. “Didn’t I? I asked to do those experiments--”

“--Because Xehanort manipulated you into thinking it was your idea.” Ansem’s rust-colored eyes bore into his. “Because you were a child and wanted to please those around you.”

“What about everything that happened after?” The blood was hot in his face, the toxic slurry of emotion making him nauseous. “When I was older? When I should have known better?”

“You grew up with no heart. No conscience, no bonds with others. How were you to--”

“My actions killed people.” He stood up. “I am no innocent victim, Master. Who do you think was the Organization’s tactician?”

Ansem seemed to not know what to say.

“All those puzzles you taught me to love. Do you think I wouldn’t use that? People were pieces to me. Pawns. How am I any better than Xehanort?” He took a breath; the air was hot. “I need to take my leave.”

“Ienzo--”

He was already moving. He felt it coming at him like a wave, sticky, itchy and impossible to reckon with. Guilt like rivers, like oceans, making his heart race and his palms sweat. He couldn’t be of use if he fell apart. He couldn’t fall apart. Couldn’t. Get it together. He repeated it, almost like a mantra. Get it together.

“...Zo?”

Ienzo almost swore out loud. The last person he wanted to see. “Can I help you?” he asked.

“You look--”

Ienzo narrowed his eyes, daring him to say something.

“...Tired,” Demyx settled on.

“Yes, I am very tired,” he said. “I should like to get some rest. If it’s all the same.”

“I mean, sure, but…” He bit his lip. “Is there… anything I can do? For you?”

His eyebrows shot up.

“You just seem kinda overwhelmed and I--”

“Thank you, Demyx, but I do not need your help.” He scowled.

“Oh… okay.” Demyx bit his lip. “Well… get some sleep.” He tried to inject some cheer into his voice, but it fell flat.

"...I shall certainly try." His headache was only worsening. He limped back towards his bedroom and lay down, pulling the covers around himself. He tried to breathe, slowly, evenly, to lower his heart rate. It wasn't quite dark, but he needed to at the very least try to sleep, despite guilt, despite everything.

Ienzo counted his breath. He told himself stories, recalling novels from memory. Finally, finally… he drifted into an uncertain sleep.

There was a reason Ienzo avoided rest.

The memories, even in unconsciousness, constantly invaded. Tonight's choice? His very own death, the sensation of the replica's glove closing around his windpipe, darkness holding Zexion firm, unable to slink away or fight. Sharpness cutting into his throat, feeling draining out of his body--

Ienzo jolted up, breathing hard. The panic was familiar at this point, but no less painful. He tried to push through it, counting all the items in the room, but his hand had snapped up to his scar.

It's no less than what I deserve.

He was feeling nauseous now. He sat up slowly, checked the alarm clock at his bedside--he'd only managed a few hours, but now it was dark out. There was heat in his eyes.

Cry if you must, and get it over with.

Ienzo rocked slowly, in an attempt to self-soothe. He felt the dampness on his face, humiliation breaking over him in a wave. It was like purging; emptying the tears from his body. At least, he tried to think of it that way.

Eyes raw, he lay back down, hoping that was enough, but it wasn't. It was clear he would get no peace tonight. He exhaled heavily, got up, put his lab coat back on, and headed back downstairs.

At least, if it were this late, he wouldn’t have to deal with anyone other than himself. He sat in front of that computer screen for a long time, trying to put the pieces together.

#retribution #ienzo #demyx #ansem the wise #zemyx #even (kingdom hearts)#kairi #remind spoilers

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mittensmorgul · 5 years ago

Note

I don't mean to 'dog pile' but your recent discussions on s9 has brought up one of my few real peevs on the show. I recognize that the show has declared that without his Grace, Cas is human. I don't like it, but I understand that to be the case. But it doesn't make any sense? In s6 Cas says to Crowley, "I'm an angel you ass, I don't have a soul." And yet without his Grace he apparently has one? I go with it because that's what the show has declared even if i don't think it makes sense. Oh well!

Disclaimer for everyone who is not li-izumi and is reading this feeling sort of vaguely confused… I got this message yesterday, and had a very limited time to reply before having to run out and Adult™, but I sent a bunch of links to past things I’d written, which can all be found in my tags:

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/tagged/angels%20and%20souls/chrono

and

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/tagged/on%20the%20nature%20of%20angel%20grace/chrono

there’s some overlap between those two tags, but almost everything i’ve ever written about the subject is in there… I say “almost” because tumblr refuses to organize tags out beyond, I believe, the 5th tag, so if I rambled in the tags and then stuck the grace tags on at the end, it won’t filter into these searches… sorry… I did, however, put all the contents I had in these tags as of December 2018 into this ao3 post, which might be easier to read through, or might be more difficult to read through, and doesn’t include anything I’ve written after 12/2018…

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17019936

There’s also my tag for “Cas vs Humanity,” where I talk about all of this from another direction:

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/tagged/you%20learned%20it%20from%20the%20goats/chrono

And for further reference, this is regarding the long back and forth I had with zerbe yesterday, here:

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/190817337615/i-was-rewatching-s9-and-i-reached-the-ep-where-cas

I was originally gonna reply to this privately, but I think I did a fair job summing up my core thoughts on this in just a few paragraphs, so I’m posting it here as a sort of tl;dr for everything linked above… :’D

OKAY, NOW ON TO THE ACTUAL REPLY!

***

I don’t know if everything from that post back and forth with zerbe answered your question or just gave you more… or if any of those links I through at you in the chatbubbles yesterday helped…

But one more thing, which I’m not sure was included in any of those linked posts or not, but is something I know I’ve talked about in the past, including as recently as 14.19 when Jack was turning humans into angels, is the commonalities between angelic grace and human souls.

My theory since s4, since we first met Anna, has been that there is a core to the being of an angel that encompasses their “personalities,” for lack of a better word, and their thoughts and memories… and that this kernel of being is the “identity” of an angel separate from the “power pack” of the grace that encompasses their “mojo.”

The fact that Anna still could hear angel radio and was eventually able to access her memories of having been an angel even though she’d cut out her grace and literally been born as a human, with a human soul, was all the proof I personally needed that despite everything else they are, angels do have a nascent or primordial seed of a human soul within themselves that they can literally choose to nurture or not. And Cas, by his choices, has been nurturing that part of himself since s4.

And when Cas had the “power pack” portion of his grace cut out by Metatron, he wasn’t left “soulless,” in comparison to every other example we have of a soulless person on the entire run of the series. He was perhaps even MORE overwhelmed by his own human feelings than at any other time in his history on the show. His personality, memories, his preferences and emotional engagement with life, and the essential core of his identity wasn’t extracted when his grace was. So what was left? The show seems to be actively begging us to consider this, especially when Metatron stated directly that he believed he’d left Cas with the equivalent of a human soul in 8.23.

Cas had no wings, no “mojo,” but he had his entire personality, all his memories, everything that comprised his fundamental identity… but no grace.

The show has contrasted this by demonstrating the other way an angel can inhabit and then leave a human vessel– as that glowing cloud of grace– that incorporates all these “personality traits” and memories, etc. into the grace cloud. So clearly, that portion of an angel’s grace is somehow not the same thing as the “mojo” portion.

That leaves us to question what exactly Cas was at that point, and because of all of his other actions and choices during that time, the only reasonable conclusion I could personally arrive at was that yes, that was the equivalent of a human soul.

I mentioned Jack converting human souls into angels in 14.19, because before when I’d mentioned my theory of grace as stated above, folks countered or dismissed my theory because it apparently didn’t work in the other direction, of the potential for a human soul to have this “mojo power pack” grafted on to it, to make a human into an angel. But this is exactly what Jack did, so I feel even more content with my personal theory about what angel grace actually is, and how it functions, and how at the very center of every angel is this kernel of potential to nurture their very own human soul.

OH! And after going back and writing the long intro into this post and considering how the heck to actually tag this thing, I feel it’s important to also mention that 6.20, where Cas delivered that “I don’t have a soul” line, was written by Ben Edlund, who also wrote 5.14, wherein under the influence of Famine, Cas developed a craving for burgers that, in episode, he deflected HARD and blamed his sudden craving for red meat on Jimmy, on his vessel… but I always ALWAYS have read the fact he turned away, broke eye contact with Dean when he made that statement, as a direct deflection, as him deliberately handwaving the fact that Cas himself was “becoming more and more human” during s5, culminating with the near-complete loss of his powers by the time he wakes up in the hospital in 5.21 and could no longer deny the fact that he’d lost his angelic powers.

And for those who require Authorial Intent as proof of things like this, that’s essentially what Edlund said he was attempting to prove with that line.

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/159579521875/i-always-reserve-in-castiels-overall-makeup-the

“I always reserve in Castiel’s overall makeup the fact that there is an aspect of him that is purely flesh and purely human, which can function as it did in an episode before as a real Achilles’ heel, when he started to eat meat, because he just loved red meat. He couldn’t stop himself.”— Ben Edlund (May 6, 2011) in Supernatural’s “Cliffhanger Is Deeply Involved With Castiel’s Fate” (via justanotheridijiton)

I wrote in far more detail on that episode, and what it implied about Cas himself, right here:

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/159772440305/514-same-cas-same-lizbob-was-laughing-at-me

I hope that covers it, but if not, please feel free to poke at it some more :’D

#spn 6.20 #spn 5.14 #spn 14.19 #on the nature of angel grace #angels and souls #you learned it from the goats #actual quote i just used elsewhere: Damn Ben Edlund #li izumi

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draw-you-coward · 6 years ago

Text

(some violence, killing, an offhand comment abt a bj)

ao3

“Gentlemen,” Thancred says to empty air, “How may I be of service?”

The heavy footsteps behind him come to a stop. Thancred allows himself a small, private smile before smoothing his features and spinning around on his heel.

The thugs don’t seem terribly intimidated by his hearing, nor his graceful footwork. One of the pair crosses his arms, shifting his weight. Thancred shrugs a knife down his sleeve until he can feel the comforting weight of the handle resting against his palm.

“I bet you felt mighty brave,” one of them mocks, advancing, “Telling us off in there.”

Thancred's gaze flicks to the right, at the tavern he had just left. “Not really,” he admits airily. “The lovely lady did not wish to be… plagued by your boorish company, and I didn’t think it was in your rights to argue against that.”

This earns him a laugh. “Your fancy words ain’t going to help you here,” the one who hasn’t spoken yet remarks, advancing. “Neither is anyone else.”

The other one moves to Thancred's right, cutting him off. Thancred licks his lips and smiles, turning to face both of them. The tavern is behind him, now.

“Gentlemen.” He spreads his hands. “Although I am touched you missed me enough to follow me, surely we can agree to part ways peacefully?”

“Oh, so now you don’t want a fight?” They keep walking forwards. Thancred steps back, feels his heel touch the cold stone of the tavern’s exterior wall. “You seemed very eager to pick one ten minutes ago.”

“True colours of a coward, eh?” the one on the left says. “I’d reckon the only reason you said anything earlier was to get your prick sucked by the grateful lady.”

They both laugh, the heavy mockery in their voices thickening the air. Thancred raises an eyebrow as he shrugs another knife down his sleeve, forcibly casual.

“Jealous of my innate charm, are we?” he challenges. “Well, if all you wanted was for me to suck yours, you could have asked nicely.”

That earns him a sudden furious growl, and he ducks down just in time to avoid a swing that would have knocked his head off his shoulders. Not in time to avoid the kick aimed at his stomach, however, and although it only catches him in the knees, he drops the ground with a pained grunt.

He catches himself with one arm and throws out the other, sending his knives spinning at a regrettably awkward angle. He must have hit something solid, however, because when he rolls to avoid another blow and straightens into a crouch, he sees one of the thugs curled up on the ground.

A large cutlass glints as it arcs towards Thancred’s neck, and he parries it with the blade at his belt, drawn by quick fingers. He slices the man’s stomach open, stepping away as he gurgles and falls to his knees.

There is a gunshot, startlingly loud. Thancred’s head whips towards the other thug as a chunk of wood breaks off and falls from the tavern’s roof.

A miqo’te woman is standing astride the fallen man. Thancred watches as she kicks his pistol away before bringing her heel down on his neck, quick and vicious. He hears a dull snap, and the man’s head goes unnaturally limp.

“I suppose it is too late to simply wait for the authorities to apprehend them,” Thancred comments wryly, his reflexive sarcasm functioning even as the rest of his brain tries to puzzle out the situation. Who is she? Why did she step in to help him, since she appears unarmed? Why hadn’t Thancred noticed her?

The woman looks up at his words. She steps down from the body and faces him, quickly taking him in. Thancred does the same, curious.

There are wrinkles by her eyes and mouth, but her gaze is piercing and spry. The end of her hair is pulled into a loose black braid, slung over her shoulder in a miqo’tian style typical of those who dwell in the desert. There is… something about her eyes that is odd, but Thancred cannot tell in the dull light of dusk.

She smiles, then, and the oddness manifests in the form of familiarity. How strange—Thancred does not recall ever meeting her. But he meets a lot of people, as the life of a Scion is, at times, a social one. Well, the way he does it, at any rate. He doubts, say, Urianger spends much time with anyone at a tavern, let alone complete strangers.

“You could always try,” she replies, walking towards him. “I would love to watch from a distance and see how it goes.”

Her voice is moderately accented, and it solidifies Thancred’s theory about her being from the desert. He has only heard such a cadence from the rarely-seen miqo’te that dwell in the Sagolii—Ikael’s people, actually, although the fellow himself has mostly worn his own accent down.

They are in Thanalan, so it makes sense, but it is odd to see a lone miqo’te out in a tavern, away from their tribe. What is she doing here?

Thancred bows, not wanting to forfeit his manners in the place of rude curiosity. “I doubt it will end without me getting a stern talking-to,” he says. “In any case, I must thank you for aiding me, my lady. I am called Thancred, and I am at your service.”

He straightens up in time to catch her amused smile. She replies, “You did not seem to need the help, Thancred, but you are welcome. I am called…”

There is a short, insincere beat.

“M’aev,” she finishes easily. It is a lie, but a smooth one. Thancred politely does not point out that he is quite sure the M tribe is Ala Mhigan. What does the average hyur know about miqo’te, anyhow? He would be a hypocrite to disallow her her secrets.

Thancred takes her hand—rough, tight brown skin��and brushes his lips over it. “I must thank you regardless, M’aev,” he states. “Anything can go wrong in a fight.”

A twinkle of amusement dances in her eyes. She pulls her hand back, then briefly touches her fingertips to his cheek, idly tactile. “Then it was bold of you to stand your ground,” she says. “I noticed you earlier, in the tavern. Getting between that girl and these,” she curls her lip up at the thugs’ motionless bodies, “… ruffians.”

Thancred bows. “A gentleman does as he must.”

“Of course, dear.” She pats his cheek in an almost maternal fashion. “Are you injured?”

Thancred shakes his head. “Not more than a little bruised, he says. “We should get going before anyone notices us.”

He glances at the tavern’s windows. “Not to rush a lovely conversation with a lovely lady,” he adds out of persistent habit, “but it is only a matter of time.”

M’aev’s lips quirk up before straightening. “Of course.” She gestures to him, then begins to walk away. “I set up camp not too far from here. No inquiring eyes will go searching there.”

Except for Thancred's. He trots up to her, following with a quiet tread. Her stride is quick, but confident. Curiouser and curiouser.

“Protecting the innocent and those who cannot defend themselves,” he comments as they walk, “is what me and mine do. Our organization, that is.”

She raises an eyebrow without look at him, and ducks under a low-hanging branch. “Oh?”

“We are the Scions of the Seventh Dawn,” Thancred tells her as he follows suit. “And I find myself thinking that your graceful and deadly self would be a good addition to our numbers, if you so wish.”

This time she outright laughs. “Oh, so that is the reason for the excessive flattery, is it?” she asks. She sounds amused, thankfully, and not offended. “I am sorry, young Thancred, but I am not quite the energetic and hopeful adventurer to whom joining a supposedly secret organization would seem like an appealing idea. I appreciate the offer, however.”

He nods, easily acknowledging the rejection. “I did not hold out much hope for it to be accepted,” he admits with a smile. “But I am supposed to try nevertheless. I reckon telling you that we house the newly-acclaimed Warrior of Light would not sweeten the pot?”

She pauses. Thancred pauses as well, watching her carefully. And then M’aev lifts her hand and points to a hill.

“There is my camp,” she says simply.

They settle down as comfortably as they can. There is a firepit already set up; Thancred watches as M’aev waves a hand over it ignite it. Curiouserer, he thinks as the conjured flame dances in her eyes. Is that a word?

“I know about you.” She speaks up. Thancred glances at her, readying himself for antagonism, but he sees only calmness in her gaze.

“Of you Scions and your Warrior of Light,” M’aev continues, smiling softly. “Your very secret headquarters are in Vesper Bay, are they not? Where there is no aetheryte.”

Her eyes are shrewd. Thancred breathes out a laugh, stretching his neck before lightly shaking his head.

“You seem to know a great deal more about me, my lady, than I know about you,” he ventures. And this is not something he would usually bring up, but… “In my way of business, such a thing is odd.”

M’aev begins to undo her braid, fluid and efficient. “Of course you are,” she murmurs, as a reply to what he has not said. “Charming and handsome lad like you? What else would they use you for?”

And there is the interesting commentary Thancred had been hoping for.

“Charming and handsome? My dear lady, you flatter me.” He ducks his head in a semi-serious bow. M’aev lets out a light laugh.

“So did they use you to recruit—the Warrior of Light, then?” Her hesitation is barely there; such a fleeting thing… but Thancred notices it. “From what I have heard of him, he does not seem like the rough and tumble adventurer type either. But someone like you could have convinced him, I would imagine.”

Thancred raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Are we a Warrior of Light fan?” he asks with a wink. “I should tell him I caught another one; he will go red and perhaps faint from the attention.”

She laughs again, soft but long. Thancred gets the oddest feeling that he is missing something.

“Is that so?” she says. “He shies from it, then?”

There is… something. The tone of her voice. The oddest little upturn to the corner of her mouth, the strange softness in her eyes. Thancred dwells on it for a moment… and then sighs inwardly. Of course Ikael would still have that effect on a complete stranger who had never met him.

Thancred grins, a spark of remembered familiarity emerging as the opportunity to tease his (admittedly absent) friend presents itself. “He really is,” he says. “All of that attention from all of those beautiful ladies is wasted on him! He actually did faint, once; turned red as a rolanberry and before we knew it…”

He pops his lips, imitating Ikael swooning and falling to the ground in perhaps an overly-gratuitous fashion. M’aev seems delighted, however, and Thancred is rewarded with another laugh. He joins in, chuckling at the memory.

“The poor dear.” M’aev presses her lips together. “Ah, I am sure the flood of attention will die down in a few moons.”

“Ikael would be relieved to hear you say that.” Thancred pokes at the fire. When he doesn’t get a response after a minute, he glances back at M’aev.

She is focused intently on the flames. Thancred drops his stick, and her gaze flicks back up to his. Her expression relaxes.

“Ikael… Jelaar?” she pronounces carefully, curiosity edging her tone. “That is what he is called, yeah?”

Thancred nods. “Almost,” he says. She had put the emphasis on the wrong syllable in “Jelaar”. “Jelaar.”

She tilts her head. For a second, that strange familiarity flickers back, and it gives Thancred pause. M’aev’s chin lifts upwards incrementally, and she—for an instant Thancred is sure she sees something in his face, she knows—she—

—turns away, running her fingers through her unbraided hair and shaking her head to allow it to settle naturally. It falls as a thick black curtain, blocking her face from Thancred's view. He looks away.

“Do you have a linkpearl?” he finds himself saying after a few minutes, when the silence feels as if it is just about to burst.

M’aev shakes her head, scattering it. Thancred is already digging through his things.

“Here,” he says, holding out the extra he keeps for new recruits. M’aev takes it, looking it over curiously. “You can contact me with it. In case you ever find something you think we should see… or change your mind about not wanting to join.”

He adds a wink for good measure. He bites back his words about her contacting him if she is ever in danger; somehow, he doubts she would.

She smiles, dipping her head graciously. “Thank you, my dear,” she says. “I appreciate it, although I have nothing to give in return.”

He smiles back and shakes his head. “The pleasure of your company for an evening was enough,” he says. His smile turns into a grin at her ensuing raised eyebrow and flat look. Too far, then. “I only mean the conversation, of course! Ah, you remind me of a friend of mine…”

She gets up, moving away from the firepit to shake out a sleeping roll. “This is my extra,” she calls over her shoulder. “Feel free to stay here if you have nowhere to rest for the night. You will not have to worry about keeping watch.”

She makes to duck into the small tent set up a few fulms away, but pauses. “Goodnight, Thancred,” she says quietly. “And goodbye.”

The farewell seems oddly final.

She disappears into her tent. Thancred keeps looking as the flap closes and the night goes still. Her comment about not keeping watch intrigues him; she must have warded the grounds somehow. Not an easy task unless one is at least proficient in the arcane.

Thancred scoffs at himself, shaking his head. Some part of him recognizes that had she been so inclined, this would qualify as a missed opportunity for quite an interesting new Scion. And yet…

He puts out the fire with splayed fingers and a willpower that is not as strong as others’ could be, but still sufficient. Then he crawls over to her sleeping roll and lies on it, connecting the stars in the sky into familiar shapes. He has a feeling this will be gone in the morning: firepit, tent, and miqo’te all. Perhaps even her bedroll. The entire encounter, vanishing without a trace of its existence.

Thancred closes his eyes and goes to sleep.

He is right.

~*~

#thancred #i'jela #writing #drabble #Yes that's Her

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shenala · 7 years ago

Text

Familiar Faces in Unexpected Places Chapter 3

AO3 link - Chapter 1- Chapter 2

Summary: Sophie lives isolated from everyone and is safe in her solitude, until one night the outside world comes crashing into hers.Steve recognises her, but why? Who is she and why is she alone?

While Bruce was treating Sophie in the med lab everyone else went back to their rooms to clean up and get changed before heading to the kitchen for food.

As the elevator opened and Bruce stepped out all eyes turned to him as everyone waited for an update on their visitor.

Taking off his glasses, Bruce sat down at the counter and after thanking Nat for the cup of coffee she placed in front of him, he began, "Right now she's still under sedation but I expect that to wear off in a couple of hours and then she should wake up by herself not long after. The bullet went straight through and caused minimal damage so it was going to be a relatively simple procedure anyway..."

Before he could continue, Tony cut him off, "wait 'was going to be'? Why wasn't it?" Clearly, the others hadn't picked up on Bruce's choice of words and they all tensed as they waited to hear his explanation.

This time Bruce focussed directly on Steve and Bucky as he spoke, "She was already healing. By the time I started almost all of the internal damage had fixed itself. When I left, the wound had closed and looked like it was days old, not hours." Pausing to let them absorb what he'd said so far he continued, "Sophie healed in a way I have only seen on two other people, you."

At this Bucky let a choked gasp and as Steve pulled him close with a strong arm around his shoulders he let out his own resigned sigh, "So you're saying she's been given serum? Like us?"

"I can't say for certain what she's been given until the blood work is complete" Bruce replied. "But yes, she's been given something that, at least in terms of healing, acts very similarly to the serums administered to both of you. I can't tell you the what, the how or the why. Hopefully, she'll be able to."

Shaking his head Tony stood from his seat, already tapping away on his tablet "No, we can get at least some of the work done while she's out. Friday, pull up the mission file."

On the large screen in the common area the file that detailed the mission they had been on when they'd crashed into Sophie's life appeared. It was sparse in information and was just a small remnant of the files they'd dredged from SHIELD, but it indicated there was an "item of interest" in the area and so they had gone to investigate. Unbeknownst to them, there was still an active Hydra base nearby that had somehow not only tracked the QuinJet but also brought it down.

Turning back to the team Tony gestured at the screen, "What if the item of interest is actually a person? What if it was Sophie?". Frowning, Steve replied, "But why would she be of interest, she was just a woman living in the middle of nowhere, completely isolated."

His query had been directed at Tony but it was Natasha that responded, "She should be 100 years old. Her healing shows the presence of something similar to your serum and she was living near a Hydra base. We all saw her reaction when Tony mentioned their name. What if Bucky wasn't the only prisoner they took?"

At this Bucky fervently shook his head, "No she wasn't involved in the war, she lived on her own with a cat and worked at the library. There's no way Hydra would even know she existed and what value would she have?" Despite his words, his eyes were filled with panic as he looked at Steve.

Tony spoke to Friday again, this time directing her to a different source, "Friday, go through everything we have from Hydra and SHIELD to see if there's anything on a woman from Brooklyn, name Sophie--" here he paused, unsure of her last name he turned back to Steve and Bucky and it was the latter that filled in the blanks "Sophie Peters", before adding "her birthday's the same as Stevie."

Friday acknowledged the information and added she would let them know once her search was complete.

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

It was only a matter of minutes later when Friday spoke again but to the people scattered around the common area, it seemed much longer. "Boss, I have found something."

Springing out of his chair, Tony stood in front of the screen once more "Ok Friday pull it up" and as information appeared in front of him added, "what are we looking at?"

"Sophie Peters, born 4th July 1918 in Brooklyn, New York to Irish parents, Mary and Seamus." Friday began before Sam interrupted, "She's like a female Steve!"

Steve waved him off with a roll of his eyes, "Yeah alright, she was always a lot healthier than me, taller too. What else Friday?"

The AI continued, "As Sergeant Barnes already mentioned she lived alone and worked in the local library, she also volunteered at the Babies Hospital in Manhattan. She had no surviving family at the time both Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes left for the war, both parents had died from complications with pneumonia."

This seemed to stir something in Bucky, perhaps memories of how many times he had nursed a sickly Steve, and he hugged him closer and rested his head against the blonde man's shoulder as Friday continued to divulge the information she had found.

"According to a Hydra file, a woman matching the description of Ms Peters was retrieved by agents who were conducting a reconnaissance trip to the residence of Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes after neither returned from the war in 1945." As Steve and Bucky looked at each wide-eyed with shock, Friday allowed a short pause before proceeding.

"It appears that Ms Peters was home at the time of the Hydra visit and attempted to prevent the intrusion into the property. It is not explicitly stated in the files but it can be assumed at some point during this interaction her friendship with both men was revealed and the operatives decided to take her with them."

As Friday fell silent, Tony spoke up "Ok, so we know how Hydra got her. Friday anything on why?"

This time the AI sighed, almost sounding sad as the reply came "Yes boss. The files state that it was hoped she could become something of a reset button for the Winter Soldier. There was a theory that Sergeant Barnes' past familiarity with Ms Peters could be used to put him into a different mindset, he would effectively become a sleeper agent. Still the Winter Soldier but functioning autonomously until called upon."

At this Bucky's panic hit like a freight train and it was only Steve's firm hold that kept him seated. Before he could voice his fears, Friday added in a kind tone "It is also clearly recorded that she was never used for this purpose and that no interaction between Ms Peters and Sergeant Barnes occurred during his incarceration."

Steve pulled Bucky close to his chest and as he pressed gentle kisses to his forehead whispered quiet reassurances "you're you, Buck, you're home, you're with me and your mind is your own. If you want to ring Shuri for reassurance we can."

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

After everyone took a much-needed breather and Bucky regained his calm, Bruce stepped up with the question this time. "We know how, we know why. Friday does anything mention any treatments given to Sophie? Any trials or experiments?"

Again Friday sounded regretful at being the bearer of bad news, "Yes Doctor Banner. After Ms Peters arrived at Hydra she was held in cryo, much like Sergeant Barnes, but in the early 70s during a routine medical examination, she was injured. I have no further information on that incident. The notes indicate that she was given an injection marked only as RB45. There are some medical notes attached detailing how she responded and the results, I have forwarded these to you, Doctor Banner. Ms Peters healed fully and was placed back into cryo. The notes only hold one more thing, a short note with a date of 3 years ago; 'subject escaped'. I have no further information."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------- As Bruce retook his seat, Tony turned to Steve and Bucky, "so we know Hydra took her because she was trying to stop them breaking into your house, which is friend goals by the way" pausing he turned to Peter "did I say that right?" and after receiving a nod of approval he continued. "They wanted to use her to turn Barnes into a sleeper but didn't and that when she was injured somehow they gave her something that we can assume is related to the serums both of you strapping gentlemen received. Then after 40 more years of being an icicle, again like you two, she somehow escaped to a house that while isolated was also dangerously close to a Hydra base we didn't even know existed until we flew over it earlier."

With a nod from the recliner, Clint added a simple "That about sums it up."

"I'm not finished" Tony carried on, "After we flew over said Hydra hangout and they somehow made us crash-land into a field, we all magically went from plane to house and woke up to find this mystery woman had patched us all up. Then Hydra arrived, she froze, they shot her and now she's zonked out in the med bay." After a pause where everyone looked at him as if expecting more, he ended "ok now I'm finished."

Before anyone else could say anything Friday's voice echoed through the room "Boss, Ms Peters' sedation appears to have worn off and she is in the process of waking up. It might be advisable for her to have some supervision as she does."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------- When Friday had said "some supervision" it's unlikely that the AI had meant everyone but that's what happened as they all headed down to the lab and stood outside the glass partition looking in at the woman lying on the bed hooked up to various monitors.

As Tony stepped forward to open the door, there was a sharp crack as the electricity cut out. The darkness only lasted a split second before the backup power cut in, but when they were able to see again Sophie was sitting up in the bed staring at them before she uttered a quiet but firm question "where am I?"

#marvel fanfiction #steve rogers/bucky barnes/ofc #hydra are bastards

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haunting-kind-of-high · 8 years ago

Text

The One Who Corrupted Thomas Sanders (Part 3)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Warnings: A few small swears, also lots of anger and people snapping at each other. Also minor aggressive thoughts

Tag list: @musicphanpie-b, @imin-loveanon, @ordinary-chaos, @sandersandthesides, @ajumbleofwords, @demonickittykat, @zadi-jyne, @serenefreakgeek, @fandons-mangoes, @leesacrakon, @gayfagg, @tree4life25, @loverofpizzaandallthingssweet, @ilovemygaydad, @kittyboof8, @alwaysmy-lilith, @cinquefoilelove, @kenziecole-green

Read on AO3 here

"What was that all about?" Patton asked as the two remaining sides sat back down on the couch. No one seemed to have noticed that there were three men in the room, where there should have been four.

"No idea," Virgil lied, not looking at the moral side, "he was talking about trying to find out what happened, I think."

As he finished his sentence, the anxious side looked at the prince next to him. It felt bad to keep this from Patton. It felt bad to lie to him, the moral side. It all felt bad. Roman noticed the troubled look on the younger trait's face and shot him a reassuring smile. He understood what the other felt; he was going through the exact same problems himself. Both of them knew it had to be done. Patton could not know what Logan was trying to do. Neither of them knew what was going on; it could prove to be a catastrophe if Patton found out Logan was trying to figure out the situation they were in. Both of them knew this, but it felt wrong. Especially because this was Patton.

But still, the two sides managed to come up with an explanation that Patton accepted and they were able to let the subject go, leaving them all in an awkward silence.

Hours passed as Logan leafed through his many books. He could often feel his mind clouding and his attention drifting off. It was as if he was losing control over his body. Sometimes, he would feel like he lost consciousness and when he regained it, he would be somewhere else, with no memory of how he got there or what he wanted to do. But the side knew he could not let anything distract him until he had found the solution to their situation. And so he pushed himself to go through with his search until he had found what he was looking for.

Thomas had already fallen asleep by the time Logan found a possible solution. He had opened one of the old, leather-bound books on his shelf. He rarely touched those books; they were merely there for decoration, to look pretty and to add some prestige to the room. Logan had never thought those old books would come in handy one day.

His eyes scanned the pages, reading the passages over and over again. Soon, he found something that caught his eye. In a book titled Threats of the Conscious Mind, he read:

A demon is a soulless being. It leads an eternal life, trying to find a body to possess. The demon can appear as a physical being, but the absence of a soul results in them being cold to the touch. The lack of a soul also means that demons do not have a physical appearance. They can change their appearance at will in order to gain their victim's trust or frighten them.

Demons cannot appear in the physical world. They only exist in the mind of a living being. They live in a spirit realm which they can only escape when a bridge has been formed with the physical world. Once this bridge has been established, a demon may cross the bridge to step into the physical world - this being the mind of their host. The demon's appearance will not start the corruption of one's mind yet. It isn't until the demon comes in contact with one's main functions that it can start to corrupt them.

Theoretically, a demon can live in one's mind without the host being faced with the consequences of a possession. However, this rarely occurs, as the demon is driven by the desire of possessing a soul of their own.

A demon will try to possess someone by taking over their mind, slowly corrupting them and gaining control over their main functions. Once someone has been fully corrupted by a demon, it will be difficult to undo this. And even if one manages to expel the demon for good, chances are the aftereffects will still linger. A part of their mind may always remain corrupted.

This was it. It had to be. Just like a demon, Seth's touch was unusually cold. Patton's odd behaviour could be explained by saying he was being corrupted by the demon's powers. Even Logan's strange feelings would be justified by this theory. It all made sense! He just had to find out if any of his books offered more information on demons. And he would have to do so before the corruption got the better of him.

On second thought, maybe it would be wise to tell the others about what he had found before he was completely corrupted by the demon's powers.

A few hours later, Roman and Virgil were sat in Logan's room, both still half asleep. As soon as they had woken up, Logan had summoned the two sides to his room. The sooner they heard about this, the better. Most of the night had been a blur to him and he knew this was bad. He could almost feel his heart and mind were being corrupted. It felt like there was a battle for the control of his mind and his body. And he was losing. He didn't have a lot of time.

"Logan, why are we here?" Virgil asked, rubbing his eyes as he sat down on Logan's couch. Roman pushed a few notebooks aside to be able to sit next to Virgil.

"I have found something that might be a solution to our issue." Logan held the book close to him as he looked at the two sides in front of him.

"Is this about Seth again?" Roman asked, rolling his eyes. He was done with all Logan's talk about the man. "This is all you-"

"Could you just shut up and listen for a few moments?" Logan snapped, his fingers gripping the book in his hands tighter. "Would that be so hard for you? This is important, okay? You just need to listen for a few moments, that can't be that difficult, right?"

Roman raised his eyebrows and he was about to note how rude Logan was, but Virgil spoke up before he could.

"Let him be," he said softly, not taking his eyes off of Logan. The logical side looked terrible. His skin was ten times paler than usual. His tie was darker than it usually was and even his black shirt seemed to be blacker. "I think he's right. You've seen Patton, he looks horrible and... well, Logan doesn't look great either. I don't know what's going on, but I think we should hear him out."

"Thank you, Virgil." Logan put the book down and cleared his throat. "I- I must apologise for that... outburst. I don't seem to have full control of what I say or do."

"That's fine," Virgil said quickly. "But what did you want to tell us?"

"Right. Seth," Logan nodded. "I have reason to believe he’s a demon."

"What?" Roman asked with an incredulous smile. "You can't be serious."

"I am," Logan announced. He grabbed the book again and showed the two other sides the cover. "This book explains it all. He’s a demon. As Patton said, he’s cold to the touch. A reasonable explanation for this would be the lack of a soul-"

"So you’re saying he doesn’t have a soul?" Roman asked. Logan closed his eyes and took a few breaths. Something inside of him got really annoyed at the prince's comment. It couldn't be that hard to just listen to him for a few minutes, could it?

"Exactly." He managed to calm himself down and smiled at Roman. "The absence of a soul is what spurs demons to possess living beings. By touching us, he’ll be able to take possession of our minds, unti-"

"But I touched him in the dreamscape," Roman interrupted once again. "I shook his hand. Does that mean he’s going to possess me too?"

He was going to murder that stupid prince. He had asked him so clearly to just shut up and listen for a few moments. How hard could it be for that self-centred bastard to fucking shut his mouth for less than five minutes? Could he really not st-

No. No. He had to stay calm. He had to explain the situation to the other sides and make sure they knew enough to figure out a way to stop Seth. He couldn't let the demon win now.

"I don’t think so," Logan said softly, fighting the urge to lash out at the creative side. "I believe that you were the bridge to the mindscape and he needed you to get here in the first place. Only then could he start corrupting Thomas’ mind. I think you’re good. But, as I was saying, I think the headache that follows touching him is a result of his spirit attacking and corrupting ours. Right now, he’s too weak to corrupt without touching you, so you need to watch out for him. Don't let him touch you."

"You said it’s his spirit attacking you, but didn’t you say he doesn’t have a spirit?"

And Roman was back with yet another stupid question. He was on a roll, even for his standards. Logan was pretty sure he hadn't heard a single useful word coming from the prince.

"I said he doesn’t have a soul," Logan explained with forced calmness. "He does have a spirit."

"What’s the difference?" This whole conversation confused Roman. There was so much out there he didn't know and it was overwhelming to hear all of this new information at once. He was trying to follow Logan's explanation, but it was difficult.

"A spirit is the core of a living being," Logan said quickly, "a soul is merely the immaterial essence of a human or an animal. Every living being has a spirit, even plants. You can’t live without a spirit, but you can live without a soul."

"Do you know how we can defeat him? How can we stop him from corrupting Thomas any more?"

"Not yet," the logical side said quickly, before his thoughts could intervene. "But I fear I won’t be able to do much more. You know he’s corrupting me too and in a day or two, I won’t be of any use to you. It has been difficult to find this little bit of information. You will need to figure this out yourself."

"One last question," Roman said with a sheepish smile. He knew fully well that his many questions annoyed Logan. He could see that Logan had to calm himself down every time he was interrupted. But he had to know all of this. When Logan's corruption was complete, he and Virgil would be on their own. They would have to trust on their own knowledge; they could not turn to Logan for help. The corrupted side wouldn't help them anymore. That's why Roman asked all the questions he asked. He wanted to learn as many things as possible, before Logan would be taken from them. "Can you or Patton corrupt us when you’re fully corrupted?"

"No. We do not have the power that it takes to perform such an action. It’s only Seth who can do that."

"That's good," the prince nodded. "that's a relief. Is there anything else we need to know?"

"Not yet. This-" Logan paused for a few moments as he felt another wave of pain rippling through his body. He squeezed his eyes shut and focussed on blocking out the pain. In the distance, he heard two voices calling his name. He felt two pairs of hands holding on to him, holding him back, it seemed. When the pain faded away and he opened his eyes again, Logan noticed he was stood in the kitchen.

That was odd, he could have sworn he was in his room just moments before that.

"Logan, what happened?" Virgil asked worriedly. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah... I... I think so," Logan responded absently, "I have no idea what happened. I fear it's the corruption taking over."

"Okay, shit," the anxious side muttered. "You... you were saying something before- before... that happened. What were you going to say? Do you remember that?"

Logan had to pause for a moment to think back to what happened before he blacked out. His memory was blurry, but eventually he managed to recall what the three had discussed.

"Right, I was going to say that I haven't been able to find any more information yet," Logan remembered, "but you can use any book in my room to find out more. I would definitely suggest you read this book-" He looked down at his hands, expecting to see Threats of the Conscious Mind, but he realised he left it on the table. "That book," he corrected himself, gesturing to the living room. "It has been very useful for me. And I think it will be just as helpful to you."

Virgil and Roman nodded as they both looked at the book Logan had referred to. As they did so, the other side started speaking again:

"Keep an eye on Patton, to make sure he doesn't do anything... anything. You should also keep an eye on me once the corruption has been completed. And watch out for Seth."

With those final words, he sank out, leaving the other two sides behind in confusion.

#Sanders sides fic #Sanders sides fanfic #Logan Sanders #Roman Sanders #VIrgil Sanders #Patton Sanders #Mercy's writing #towcts

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avidbeader · 8 years ago

Text

Voltron fic: “Scattered” Ch. 25 (complete!)

Rated T. Genfic/no ships. S2 AU. You can begin at the beginning here and follow the tag or read it on FF-Net and AO3. FEEDBACK IS WELCOME.

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They started for the paladins’ quarters, Hunk carrying Keith, Allura and Coran supporting Shiro. They were only halfway to their destination when Keith groaned and opened his eyes in confusion.

“What the hell?”

“You passed out, dude. You had the glowy-eye thing going on just like Pidge.” Hunk shifted to hold him more securely.

Keith groaned again and let his head fall back. “A little warning next time, Red?”

I will try. But a declaration needed to be made.

Allura stumbled, her mouth open in shock, but quickly righted herself. The movement caught Keith’s notice and he looked at her.

“Put me down, Hunk.”

“Keith, you just had a lion knock you out by being in your head. That’s not the best way to recover.”

“I’m fine. Put me down.” Keith started kicking to get loose and Hunk relented, keeping an arm around him until he was sure Keith wasn’t going to keel over again. When he spotted Shiro being supported by the Alteans, he tried to get out of Hunk’s grip. “What’s wrong with Shiro?”

“He’s okay!” Lance grabbed Keith’s free arm. “He just passed out like you did after Black finished talking through him!”

“Oh, right. Sorry, I remember now.” Keith relaxed and they let go of him. He turned his attention back to Allura, a frown on his face. “I asked you before, Princess. What does it mean to merge with the lions?”

She looked around at them. Hunk and Lance were confused and a little frightened. Pidge was wary but also curious. Coran seemed to be trying to hide behind Shiro. Her tongue darted out to run across her lips.

“To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure what is happening. Let’s go to the lounge, get Shiro settled, and I’ll explain what I know.”

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By the time they reached the lounge, Shiro was also awake and mostly walking on his own with a little help from Coran. Allura’s eyes kept flitting between him and Keith, her expression uncertain.

Once they were all seated, Shiro looked around. “Okay, what happened out there? The last thing I remember is Black…rendering judgment?”

Pidge snorted at that. “Oh yes, he did. Turned that bastard into a drooling turnip. And when the judge questioned it, Red got in on the act.”

Shiro turned to Keith in concern. “She did? Are you all right?”

Keith shrugged. “I should be asking you that. Wasn’t my first time.”

That made Allura sit up and now Shiro had a visual reference for “tearing one’s hair out”: the princess reached up, digging her fingers into her elegant up-do and pulling in frustration.

“How? How are the two of you awake and coherent? It took my father ages to recover after he merged with the Red Lion!”

That got all the paladins’ attention.

“Whoa, your dad was the Red Paladin once?” Lance’s voice was eager.

“Did it happen with all the paladins?” Pidge leaned forward, adjusting her glasses.

My paladin, ask for patience. This will be difficult for her.

Shiro did so immediately. “Knock it off, everyone! Let Allura tell it her way.”

There was instant silence. As they waited for Allura to gather her thoughts, Shiro sought Keith’s gaze. Keith nodded slightly toward Pidge, who was sitting beside him. Shiro got the message: the three of them needed to compare notes at some point. He gave a tiny nod of agreement back.

“When my father was a paladin, his team accomplished many great things. They discovered abilities in the lions and were at times in a constant state of astonishment as they fought the enemy.”

“Like jawblades?” Shiro asked.

Coran nodded. “And that rail gun on the Red Lion.”

The other paladins turned to Keith.

“Rail gun? Is that what I saw cut all the way across and take out one of those border rings? That was you?” Lance asked. “How did you activate it?”

Keith raised his hands palms-up. “I…I’m not sure. Zarkon had just thrown us into the command ship with some kind of energy whip and Red wasn’t responding at first. I just kind of…reached further for her. And then it appeared and went off.”

Something tickled in the back of Shiro’s mind. Black wasn’t coming out and saying it, but hinting that all the paladins would be able to do something like this. But this was getting them off track. “Okay, back to the point. Is this…merging another example?”

Allura shrank back a little. “One time, we had a situation rather like this one. There was a race, the Varubans, who had a technology that worked essentially like miniature wormholes. Trigel, the Green Paladin, fell through one into another sector of space. The planet she arrived at, Fisadore, was very isolationist. They lured her out of her lion with promises of starting diplomatic talks, then imprisoned her. They put her on trial for the sins of all races who had acted against them when the rest of the paladins arrived.

“Green chose that moment to merge with Trigel and distract the court, making some pronouncement about their small-minded and oversimplified views. According to Father, they convinced some of the Fisadori that their goddess was seriously displeased with them and speaking through Trigel. The Green Lion timed the speech to end just as Father and the others brought their lions down in the public square next to the building.”

Allura wrung her hands. “Trigel took hours to wake and it was at least eight quintants before she could leave her bed. She had no strength—others had to help her with everything. And she couldn’t explain what had happened. The best she could describe was that her mind had been invaded and the lion was using her voice to speak.” Allura looked up at Shiro. “Just like you.”

Shiro nodded. “But Black didn’t invade. He asked my permission, both times.”

“Both times? When was the first?” Allura’s voice rose, trembling, and Shiro realized just how much trouble she was having accepting this. Whatever the lions had been like in her time, it was clear that things were very different now.

Quite different. You are younger. You are more open to working with us as partners instead of seeing us as tools.

“Is it really that simple?”

Shiro hadn’t realized that he had asked that aloud until everyone was looking at him.

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Coran kept his arm around Allura, trying to offer as much support as he could. Allura had barely left her toddler stage when the other paladins had brought a weak and barely conscious Trigel back to the Castle of Lions. He hadn’t realized that she remembered so much, of the confusion and fear as, one by one, each of the paladins went through the merging process and collapsed into a state of profound, lingering weakness.

Except Zarkon. At the time the prevalent theory was that Zarkon was somehow stronger than the other paladins, that he had proven his mastery over his lion where the others had been weak and lost control, allowing themselves to be possessed. The others had fought to avoid it happening a second time.

Now, Coran wondered if the reverse were true. Shiro had been the first to connect with his lion at a deep enough level to fly blind. He didn’t have all the details of the battle, but he knew that somehow Shiro and the Black Lion had been separated, Keith had gone in and prevented Zarkon from taking it, and Shiro had gotten back in time for them to save Keith and the Red Lion.

Teamwork. Real teamwork. These five fit together better than the original paladins ever did.

The first paladins had stated their commitment to the cause, had delighted in discovering the capabilities of Voltron, had socialized and appeared to be friends. But there had always been a faint undercurrent of trepidation, of never quite letting go of diplomacy. A question of when—not if—one of them would choose their own planet over the greater good.

This group of young Earthers had arrived already functioning as a team. They knew they didn’t have all the answers and looked to the lions as guides. There was even a casual affection in the way they spoke to and about them: Black, Red, Blue…

“Is it really that simple?” Shiro’s non sequitur threw them all briefly.

Then the paladins’ expressions shifted to recognition and Coran realized. Shiro was talking to the Black Lion.

“Is what simple, Number One?”

Shiro glanced over at him. “From what Black says, it sounds like we’re the first paladins to treat the lions as equals, even though that should be obvious. I mean, they’re sentient. Blue was communicating with Lance within minutes of him sitting in the pilot’s seat. At some point Black started using words with me—have any of you gotten there yet?”

There was a round of affirmative answers from the other paladins and Coran felt his eyebrows reach for his hairline. Alfor had certainly never described anything of the kind to him. Perhaps a search of the archives for Alfor’s journals was in order.

Allura sat up a little at that. “Father never said anything about the Red Lion talking to him!” She turned to Keith.

He held his hands out. “I’m really not sure when it started happening, but yeah. Sometime in the last several days the feelings from Red just turned into thoughts. She definitely called to me the first time we merged, pulled me in to try and protect me.”

Pidge’s expression turned hard and she looked up into the air and hissed, “Green?” After a pause, she seemed to relax slightly. “Green says it was sort of an accident with us. We were both so furious when we found out about Darzi trying to kill Keith that we just sort of fused before we knew what was happening. She says she’ll be more careful in the future.”

“So wait, what exactly does this feel like?” Hunk was fidgeting nervously.

Coran watched as Shiro, Keith, and Pidge looked at one another. Shiro answered with a bit of hesitation, “It’s not bad at all, not painful, just different. You feel like you’re sharing the same space, the same mind with your lion. You can see what the other is seeing.”

“People look different,” Keith added. “Everyone had this…glow inside of them.”

Pidge nodded. “Yeah, I could see that you were overloaded with Quintessence. The radiance was intense…it was all shining white.” Coran saw Allura almost nod at that.

Shiro shuddered briefly. “Darzi…he was revolting. Like the worst polluted muck you can imagine. Compared to everyone else it was obvious that he was damaged. And then when Black did…whatever he did it seemed to draw a lot of my strength out of me. Like it needed both of us to happen.”

“And yet you are here and talking and able to move,” Allura observed with an accusatory glance.

Shiro sat up at that. “Princess, all we can do is describe what happened.”

Coran gripped Allura’s shoulder. “All right, I think we’ve gotten as far as we can for now. Perhaps I should look through the archives and see if the last paladins left any records, observations of this phenomenon.” Allura glanced at him and nodded, letting the matter drop for now.

“Besides,” he continued, “I’m afraid we need to do one more thing before we leave.”

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Iverson took one more look around, making sure everything was in place. Even doubled, the line of cameras stretched the length of a football field in front of the Garrison’s perimeter. The platform with six miked podia was in place. The enormous alien ship was positioned about a mile behind the platform.

Everyone was ready and waiting.

Iverson lifted the sleek white alien communicator to his mouth and spoke. “We’re ready.”

The rushing sound of displaced air overlaid with a rising hum caused the media crews and observers to look up.

Five large, lion-shaped ships descended and landed in perfect formation directly behind the platform. Five pairs of eyes flashed gold. Five heads lowered and opened their jaws.

As everyone watched, five armored figures emerged. A sixth person, in an elegant but practical combat uniform, followed the man in black and allowed him to assist her from the lion and up to the platform. Each of them took position behind a podium as the lion ships sat up once more.

The woman’s gaze swept slowly across the crowd of people, making every one of them think she was looking at them for a moment.

“Greetings, people of Earth. I am Princess Allura of the planet Altea. I have been asked by your Galaxy Garrison and Earthforce to take this opportunity and introduce the Voltron Force. These five young people from your planet were brought to us by chance, but have come together to bring back Voltron, the Defender of the Universe.

“We will now hear a few of your questions.”

To her far left, McClain made finger guns at a red-haired woman among the reporters.

Iverson groaned and let his head fall into one hand.

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Haggar had waited for quintants, nearly half a lunar cycle, monitoring Zarkon’s thoughts and moods with spells that she would never share. Should the Galra Emperor discover them, he would try and kill her on the spot. And as long as he held the bayard of the Black Lion, they were too evenly matched for her to risk such a confrontation.

But Zarkon had finally begun to calm down after Voltron and the Alteans escaped. Now was the time to approach him, especially as she had an idea on how they could track Champion. Did he not bear her gift? And was she not capable of sensing her work and its effects? All that was needed was research on how to amplify her magical senses and she would be able to pinpoint his location at greater and greater distances, just as she had the moment he entered the base. She could already sense Altean life force when in deep meditation, so the theory was sound.

She entered the audience chamber and inclined her head, as always. Zarkon brooded, stroking the bayard as he replayed the battle in his mind. Haggar waited, rather that interrupt him and dare angering him.

Suddenly he growled and flung the bayard across the floor. That surprised her. It was his most treasured possession, his reminder of how far he had risen since the days of being the Black Paladin and the leader of a single planet, one of five members of Voltron.

“I know I’m right! It’s not enough!”

She edged closer, putting sympathetic attention in her posture. “Sire?”

“We’ve accomplished great things over the eons, Haggar. Great things. But we’ve done it by overwhelming numbers, by creating the sentries and improving them so a single Galra officer can command thousands of expendable troops. But that innovation happened long ago and, with Voltron’s return, the game is changing.”

Haggar was surprised Zarkon had finally noticed. The more spread out their influence, the harder it got to keep the Empire pacified. It was one of the reasons she had driven her druids so hard in crafting the new process to harvest Quintessence – they had barely been able to keep up with the growing demand with the old methods.

“What are you thinking, sire?”

“We need to expand the abilities of the sentries. We need more options than the old genetic imprints of our officers. We need more diverse source material.”

He paused, then looked her in the face. “We need the Skydancer.”

“Who?”

“The one in the Red Lion. He held me off for an extended time. He woke the lion’s rail gun. There was one point where I actually began to worry that my shield would not withstand his assault. He is possibly the most talented pilot I have ever seen.” Zarkon stood and strode to the enormous window, looking out as drones repaired the damage to the base. “With his genetic blueprint incorporated into the fighters, they would be much improved in their capabilities. Possibly the sentries as well, should he prove to be skilled in hand-to-hand combat.”

Haggar was intrigued but unsure. “It is an idea, but I need to research it closely. Those Paladins are not any species we know well. We must ensure that the genetic material is compatible. If you will be patient, I have enough left over from my work with Champion to make the experiment.”

Zarkon nodded at her, pleased that she supported his idea.

“At the same time, I can research my own idea. If I am successful, I will have a way to track Champion at great distances. We find him, and we find your Skydancer.”

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And that’s all, folks! I am pretty certain there will be a sequel to this in the future (because Keith is my favorite and I can’t stop putting him in peril and there’s all kinds of plot threads to pick up like the Holts, etc.), but I’m going to give some love to other fics first. Please feel free to follow me on FF-Net or subscribe on AO3 for updates! Thank you to everyone who has read and commented on the first of my “Voltron” fanfics!

#voltron #scattered by avidbeader #voltron fanfic #voltron genfic #fanfic: voltron

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avidbeader · 8 years ago

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Searches - Voltron S3 Speculation Fanfic

Season 3 speculation. Rated T for mild violence and language. Sheith pairing.

Okay, friends and neighbors, this is theoretically the end of this story. I am looking for feedback: does the title work? How about the ending? Is there anything else I should include in this part, as a final chapter or interlude? Keep in mind that I’m not necessarily looking to include something that would push the story to a higher rating. Let me know what you think. I’d love to be able to get it onto AO3 and FF.net in time for “Shiro loves you, baby” day tomorrow! (That is tomorrow, right? June 23?)

Part 1 - Keith

Interlude 1 - Haggar

Part 2 - Shiro

Interlude 2 - Davrith

Part 3 - Shiro II

Interlude 3 - Lotor

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Part 4 - Keith II

Keith panicked for a moment before realizing he was still able to breathe. He looked around, seeing a vast, empty black landscape with a starry sky above.

The astral plane. This is how Shiro described it.

His consciousness was here, his body still in the pilot’s seat of the Black Lion. In theory, anyway—he felt awfully solid and real as he took a few steps on the sandy black ground.

“Why here? Is Shiro here?” He spun around, looking in every direction for a sign of something other than the endless dark. “Black?”

But, like Red, Black was no longer present in his mind.

“No! Black, where are you?” He fell to his knees, the isolation crashing down over him.

He was alone. He was trapped and utterly alone. Some leader he turned out to be.

“Allura! Pidge! Anyone!”

There was no answer. He tried to move a little farther, to see more, but the flat scenery showed no change at all.

He got to his feet, picked a direction and started running.

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He slowed down when his heart was hammering in his chest, when pain shot through his side, and fell to his knees.

Nothing around him had changed. The silver motes in the sky did not move. The ground beneath him suggested hills in the distance, ever out of his reach. Only the line of the horizon showed a faint purple.

Keith gulped in air, digging his fingers into the sand. He needed to feel something tactile, something solid. He looked around again, trying to estimate how far he might have run. It occurred to him that leaving the point of entry might have been a bad idea. He could follow his footprints back—

But there was no sign anywhere. He shifted to the balls of his feet and turned, looking for any disturbance at all in the smooth, unbroken sand.

“Black…please…”

There was no response.

Keith collapsed into the sand, his head in his hands. He was lost to the others.

Shiro was lost to him.

His tears fell and glowed on the sand, reflecting the faint starlight.

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He had no sense of time at all. No clue how long he had been in this place, how long he had huddled here weeping. The stars were frozen in their positions above. The horizon line remained a constant thread, neither brightening nor fading with the suggestion of a sun or moon to rise.

He was alone, again. As he had been for so much of his life. And this time it might be forever, until he died of starvation or thirst. If that could happen here. His thoughts turned toward his blade, in its sheath at his back. That was a possibility, a last resort…

Keith!

His head snapped up at the voice.

Hang on, buddy!

He looked around wildly. “Shiro! Where are you?”

Keith, you have to come to me. The mind-meld can only get me so far!

He remembered the mind-meld practice Coran had put them through. Keith had been willing to share. Pidge had not; she had not yet confirmed her identity to everyone then.

Pidge, who was in a cryo-pod right now, who had almost died because he hadn’t stuck to his guns as leader. He had known it was a dangerous plan but let Lance’s accusations goad him into risking it anyway.

He curled up on his side, forehead to knees, squeezing his eyes shut. He was coming apart, hearing Shiro in this empty place.

Keith, please! Come to me!

“You shouldn’t have made me leader, Shiro. I’m no good at it. Lance hates me, I got Pidge hurt, Hunk doesn’t trust me anymore.”

I’ll make it right. I swear I’ll fix it all if you’ll just come to me. I need you, Keith. I need you to wake up. Please!

Keith opened his eyes and spotted a flash of white against the endless black. He tried to keep it in his line of vision, even as it blinked in and out.

That’s it! Come on, I’m here, find me!

As Keith watched, the white shape approached and sharpened. It was Shiro. Shiro in his paladin armor, striding toward him.

“Shiro!” Keith shot to his feet and started running toward him. The white armor, Shiro’s pale face, his shimmering eyes, everything stood out against the midnight-purple landscape.

“Shiro! I found you!”

We found you, Keith!

Keith reached Shiro and flung his arms around him. He felt Shiro return the hug and buried his face against Shiro’s shoulder, against the smooth white armor…

…the soft black cloth?

“I’ve got him! Do it!”

Before Keith could ask what he meant, the black landscape shattered into brilliant blue-white.

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Keith was nearly to the exit, his jetpack on full blast.

“The virus is up! All Galra systems are down!”

“Keith! What’s your status?” Shiro’s voice echoed in his helmet.

“Almost there! I—”

Keith’s voice choked off as a net of purple energy appeared between him and his goal, wrapping around him and dragging him down. He drew breath to shout a warning to the others, but the net contracted, sending searing pain throughout his body, and he couldn’t even scream. Dimly he heard a woman’s rasping voice issue orders.

“Keep it at the maximum level! It will prevent his Lion from finding him until we can get him into an isolation pod!”

Red! RED! Help me!

There was something in the way. He couldn’t find Red anywhere in his mind. He tried to reach harder and the net around him flared again, sending him into oblivion.

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Keith squeezed his eyes shut against the sudden onslaught of bright light, the sounds of many voices assaulting his ears.

“Quick, get him out of there!” Pidge’s voice was shrill.

But Pidge was in a cryo-pod.

“We need him over here!” Allura whipcracked the command.

“Keith! You’re back!” Lance hooted.

Why did Lance sound relieved?

Keith felt himself being lifted by two sets of arms out of some kind of enclosure, then someone took a firmer grip as the other person let go.

“You got him?” That was Hunk.

“Yeah, I got him,” Shiro replied.

Shiro! What’s going on? Keith tried to call out, but he seemed to have no control of his body. He hung limp in Shiro’s arms. Shiro moved with him several steps and then laid him down on a padded surface.

Where are we?

As Shiro let him go, Keith tried to protest, tried to grab for Shiro and hold on, but his body would not respond. Someone pulled his helmet off. Hands were working on his armor, removing the hard shell pieces. He felt hands smooth his hair back before resting on his forehead and Allura’s voice sounded from directly above him.

“You’re safe now, Keith. We’ve got you. Let us sort it—we’ll get rid of every last speck of that witch’s contamination.”

What? I wasn’t in danger, Shiro was! What do you mean, contamination?

An image blasted in, a net of purple energy surrounding him, and now his body moved, jerking as agonizing pain raked through every muscle.

“Allura! What’s happening?” Shiro’s voice was alarmed.

“He’s remembering… Keith, it’s over! Whatever you were seeing, it wasn’t real! You’re safe, we have you!”

“Sh-Sh-Shiro!”

A pair of hands seized one of his. “I’m here, Keith. We’re all here!”

As suddenly as it started, the pain began to recede. Relief seemed to flow from Allura’s hands through his head and shoulders and down, pushing the pain out.

“That’s it. Just breathe, Keith. We’re almost done.”

With her words, another wave of energy passed through him, cool and soothing. And in its wake he felt the bond with Red fill him as she stirred, growling protectively as she wrapped her warm presence around his. He felt tears trickle from his eyes down his temples as he welcomed her back in.

Shiro’s hands tightened around his and now Keith could squeeze back. He opened his eyes and found Allura leaning over him, surrounded by a glittery pink aura. He tried to look to the side and found Shiro.

“Hey there.” Shiro reached up and put one hand to Keith’s face.

“Where…where were you?”

“I was right here.”

No…you were…gone, missing. It’s been weeks…”

Shiro traded glances with Allura, his eyes filled with worry. She carded her fingers through Keith’s hair as she spoke.

“Keith, you were captured by Haggar in our last battle. She managed to block your bond with Red. We thought you’d been killed. If it hadn’t been for the Blade of Marmora, we might never have realized you were still alive.”

“But…Shiro was missing…I had to try and lead the team…”

A new voice spoke up. “The witch imprisoned you in an isolation chamber. The device was invented to aid those suffering from insanity or psychotic episodes by projecting calming surroundings. But she used its function to trap you in an illusion, feeding off your own worst fears.”

Keith looked for the source of the voice and recoiled slightly at the sight of an unfamiliar Galra. Shiro steadied him.

“It’s all right! She’s with the Blade! Her name is Davrith. She helped us get this chamber off the command center before we tried to break you out—Haggar had it set pretty deep into your mind.”

Keith swallowed and tried to look sorry for his reaction. Davrith smiled at him. “You’re forgiven, Paladin. Now, we will need to get you into a proper healing pod at least long enough to measure your health. You’ve been sustained by an airborne substance being pumped into the pod and it wasn’t a good fit for a human.” She began pulling one of his boots off.

“Ah…not human…��

She looked up, amusement filling her yellow eyes. “Of course you are. I’d say you were one-eighth Galra at best, somewhere in the great-grandparent range, based on the readings I saw. Otherwise Haggar would have picked up on it right away and pursued it. It made dismantling the probes in the iso-pod very tricky; one was very close to piercing a major artery. Those are a bit deeper, more protected, in the Galra.”

Keith blinked as she continued to chat and help get the last of his armor off, occasionally breaking off to give advice to Allura, who was still leaning over him, sending the cool energy through every cell in his body.

Then he felt Shiro’s lips against the back of his hand. They moved, his tongue darting out to touch his skin for the briefest instant. Keith turned to look at him and found Shiro’s eyes boring into him. He shifted, pressing Keith’s hand to his cheek, and his lips moved again, silently. This time Keith could read them.

I love you.

Keith mouthed the words back. I love you.

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Reentry was hard.

It was a major focus in training to pilot spacecraft: mastering deceleration, achieving a trajectory that was not too steep or too shallow, juggling gravity and drag and lift. Reentry, even more so than take-off, was a bitch.

“Five days.”

Shiro nodded as Keith repeated that bit of information in a flat voice.

“Five days.”

Shiro reached over and took Keith’s hand. They were alone in Red’s hangar, facing one another as they each sat on a claw on one enormous front paw.

“How long did it feel?”

“Weeks…maybe months. We ran all kinds of strike-and-run attacks on Galra ships. And then Lance did something colossally stupid and when I called him on it the whole leadership thing blew up in everyone’s face. It was terrible: Hunk stuck by Lance because they’ve been best friends forever and for whatever reason Coran sided with them. Pidge and Allura were on my side. It was a wonder that we could keep it together long enough to fight the Galra.”

“You do realize it would be different if it were real? Haggar set up that chamber to reflect your worst fears. It wasn’t really them. You do have it in you to be a strong leader.”

Keith swallowed hard. “It felt real. And it worked. I’m afraid of not being able to get them to function as a team. I’m afraid of screwing up and getting someone hurt. I’m afraid of losing you—” he paused as Shiro took his other hand “—and I’m afraid of being left alone. And right now it’s taking everything I’ve got not to go crawling up to Pidge and apologize for getting her shot, or apologizing to Lance for my part in fights that we never actually had. It’s like…it’s like here and now feels less real than the other. It was so easy to believe the other.”

Red growled a little, making them look up at her glowing golden eyes. The growl echoed in Keith’s chest as she gently scolded him. Shiro chuckled.

“She’s right, you know. You need to believe in the positive things about yourself. You are a brilliant pilot. You are a stellar fighter. You are better at helping others and leading others than you think. You are smart and resourceful and quick.” Shiro slid off his perch and moved to stand in front of Keith, leaning into him between his legs. “But I understand being afraid. I’ve been afraid plenty of times in my life, and not just because of the Galra.” He ran his hands up Keith’s thighs to settle on his hips. “I let fear get the better of me at times. And one time, it was a huge mistake.” He leaned forward and Keith felt his heart in his throat, realizing what Shiro was referring to. “I wanted to ask you to wait for me, even though we’d only been dating a few months. And I didn’t.”

“I would’ve said yes,” Keith whispered.

“What do you say now?” Shiro brought his face closer, hovering just out of reach.

“What do you think?” Keith slid his hands around Shiro’s neck, pulling him in.

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Seriously, I’d love to know what you think. Thanks for reading!

#voltron #voltron legendary defender #sheith #searches by avidbeader #voltron fanfic #fanfic: voltron

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