#partial to the mask. just mask since (to her) bows are her little brother's thing

[darth-sonny]

deciding a mask for my girl is hard when you have three options and she looks good in all of them

[little-box-of-autism]

Hidden Blessing

Note: A gift for @hyperfixatedfandomer

It's been so long, too long, since Spider has been able to feel the wind against the skin of his face or taste the crisp air in his lungs, that he doesn't bother to hide himself as much as he usually would for moments like this.

When he'd take off his mask and breath.

Years ago he wouldn't have hidden it - his miraculous ability to breath Pandora's air - but that was before the sky people, the humans, returned and turned entire swathes of forest to ash.

If Spider had found out before that, under different circumstances than how he had, he wouldn't have hid it. He would have walked before the entire clan, no exopack in sight but still breathing, to show them the proof that he belonged, that Eywa had blessed him, but that never happened.

It was a stupid decision really, Spider could admit that, to go to the Village just two days after the RDA's return to Pandora, but he was fifteen and scared.

Scared for his friends, his siblings, for himself.

Neytiri had never hidden her hate for him, but she hadn't outright attacked him before that moment. Spider still could remember the wild look in her eyes when she saw him, her bow drawn in seconds and an arrow longer than his arm aimed at his chest.

Spider never forgot what Jake had said to him after he had calmed his wife enough that she withdrew her bow.

"It's best that you leave Spider, and don't come back for a bit. You'll do more harm than good being here right now."

Spider still thinks that those words hurt worse than an arrow to the heart ever would have.

Truthfully, he doesn't really remember what was going through his head when he had done it - taking off the mask he needed to breathe - and Spider doesn't like thinking about it too much.

Push it down, bury it and pray the darkness doesn't fester. Spider's learned how to choke down the pain, self-hatred, and sadness.

Spider is too caught up in the swirling storm that is his mind to hear the sound of approaching footsteps, or to hear the pained gasp, before long four-fingered hands are grasping his arms and big yellow eyes are staring at him in panic.

Neteyam.

"Spider-! Brother-!"

Hearing Neteyam call him brother is a shock to his system, it's been years since Neteyam has called him that. Hell, Neteyam barely acknowledged him since the RDA returned.

Spider only comes back to himself when Neteyam tries to shove the mask back on his face, clearly too panicked to realize that Spider's been breathing fine without it this entire time.

"Stop- Neteyam, stop! I don't need it!"

Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk'itan had many things he regretted in life, and his near death had forced many of those regrets to the forefront of his mind as he healed.

Spider was one of his bigger regrets, or specifically how he treated the boy he once called brother.

Before the weight of being the eldest son of Toruk Makto had been set heavy upon his shoulders; before the words of The People had become too hard to ignore; before his mother's grief had tainted his view of the boy he has known for as long as Neteyam could remember, he had called Spider his brother.

Neteyam would never forget the pain on Spider's face the first time he had called him a demon.

Fear had seized his heart and panic had stolen the air from his lungs when Neteyam had spotted Spider sitting at the far end of the beach, partially hidden by the trees and the shack that Norm had left behind for him, without his mask.

The mask he needed to breathe.

Neteyam had scrambled for Spider's discarded mask, long fingers trembling as he struggled to secure the mask back to his little big brother's face. He had barely heard Spider when he yelled for him to stop.

Spider who was breathing.

Without his mask.

.

.

.

Neteyam can't remember the last time he had been able to look at Spider without the visor of his mask in the way, been able to touch his face, or feel the breath coming out his mouth.

"Hì'i'tsmukan" Little brother.

It wasn't until after Neteyam had scooped Spider into his arms, practically pulling him into his lap as he held him as tight as he could without hurting the human boy, that he realized he was crying.

He could feel Spider breathing; the rise and fall of his chest under Neteyam's hand and the warm puffs of air against his chest, and he couldn't stop the litany of words that spilled from his lips as he praised the Great Mother.

"Nete…"

Neteyam couldn't stop the choked sound that escaped his throat at the old nickname. Kiri, Lo'ak, and Tuk, had always used 'Teyam' for his nickname, but only Spider had ever called him 'Nete' and Eywa did he miss that.

"Ma'tsmukan, ma'tsmukan."

Neteyam knew they would have to return to the village eventually, to tell everyone of the Great Mother's miracle, but for now he just held his brother.

He would never fail his brother again.

[thepaperpanda]

♥ Dangerously Perfect Match ♥ || Part II

♥Part I♥

Summary: You’re the Earl of little settlement deep inside the forests of Norway. After Ragnar Lothbrok’s death you and your warriors travel to England to support Ragnar’s sons in the battle against Christians. Shortly after a victory, you and Ivar turned out to be a dangerously perfect match?

Warnings: explicit content - smut

Words: 8846

Authors: Cass & Rouge

It's not that you all expected plain sailing, or for winds to be kind, the waves to be gentle; it's that you trusted your ships to carry yourselves to shore no matter the weather. It was a confidence born of faith, of feeling to your bones that with such tenacity you could achieve anything at all. They said it's only impossible until it's done, that was your motto under all skies, upon all seas.

Thankfully, Gods fostered your attempts of getting back to Norway - despite the storms and heavy rain, all the longships made it back to the homeland.

A smile spread across your lips, it was good to be back home.

Dressed in your usual attire with addition of a new warm cloak gifted by Ivar, you stood at the front of your ship. Holding the ropes tightly you turned to your troops. "We made it, friends! Gods blessed us and allowed us to return home so we can fight yet another day!,” You yelled and your people's voices reared loudly.

Ivar kept his eyes fixed on you since the moment you left England. He wasn't truly happy with you sailing among your warriors but it's your decision, with which he couldn't argue. They needed their Earl after all. He rolled head back to rest it against the wooden edge of the boat.

"Land sighted, master!," One of his men shouted.

"Drop the canvas," Ivar ordered as he propped head on the edge of the boat to admire the beautifulness of the shoreline.

Of course, his glance also moved to look at you. Oh, how he missed your body next to his.

Hvitserk's tone pulled him out of thoughtfulness. "Are you sure it's a good idea? Harald Finehair isn't a person you can fully trust."

"I trust no one," Ivar snapped back. "I have the last say."

You walked among your people, gently touching the shoulders of your warriors. It was a simple gesture, a little bit of a comfort and small thanks for their loyalty.

For now this was all you could do, to show your gratitude toward them all.

The ship moored in Harald's docks. You heard a lot about him and his ambitions, and honestly you expected much more from his settlement.

After jumping off of your ship you let out a sigh of relief. Solid ground under your feet. "I hope you didn't miss me too much, Ivar?," You asked him with a cocky smile which was partially hidden by your mask. Since it was damaged in the battle you didn't bother to fix it or make a new you. It was enough your scars weren't fully visible.

Ivar's blue eyes glistened in the rays of the setting sun, and his long lashes casted a little shadow on his clearly defined cheeks. "You need to answer this question to yourself, dear Earl."

After these words he passed you, offering you a mischievous grin as he did.

Hvitserk, who jumped out of the boat on the pier, gave you a long glance, his brows cocked. "Why are you questioning such an obvious thing?"

The red line on his nose reminded you about your last true interaction back in York. "It's called teasing, Hvitserk. Men love it. It's time to learn it."

Humming, you quickly boarded the ship that brothers traveled in. You crouched in front of the bishop and gently caressed his cheek to see if he even survived the long trip.

Man instantly reacted to your touch; he winced and spat right into your face. "Get off me, heathen whore."

You flinched and growled, wiping the spit of your face. Getting up to your feet, you pointed at one of your men. "Bring me one of my furs." Once the fur was in your hands, you wrapped it around the man that just insulted you. "Since Ivar has big predictions when it comes to you. The last thing we want is you getting ill."

Bishop was glaring up at you, not being sure whether you were mocking him or not. Your behavior was completely out of anything he could have expected. Deep inside Heahmund appreciated the fur being wrapped around his shoulders as he was cold.

"Now. You should be all warm," you muttered, tucking the fur in all the right places to shield him completely from the bitter cold. "Now, you can say that a heathen whore helped you." After those words you simply walked away to join Ivar and Hvitserk.

Two men tugged on the ropes wrapped tightly around his neck and wrists, pulling bishop behind them. He hated his position, but it was still better than death from pagans hands.

Harald groaned annoyed, getting comfortable in his throne. Last thing he expected or really needed was Ragnarssons visiting him. He already knew that young Ivar meant troubles. King watched them walk inside the great hall.

Hvitserk was the first one in, taking a comfortable for him spot on one of the tables, while Ivar shuffled behind with his crutch.

To his surprise there was one more visitor; a young woman in a mask. Suddenly the visit became much more interesting. "Ivar and Hvitserk Lothbrok. Why did you not return to Kattegat? I can also see you brought an interesting guest," Harald said with his deep, hoarse voice, pointing his finger at you.

Ivar stopped at the podium and leaned his weight on his crutches. "She's my guest," he said, pointing his chin on you. "You know we couldn't return to Kattegat. That witch, Lagherta, is still a Queen. Me and my brother are looking for alliances that could let us overtake the throne. The throne that belongs to us."

Harald raised from his throne and walked closer to the guests, nodding his head. "Ah, yes. As I can see your need for revenge on Lagertha is burning with a flame that will never go out." King smiled and took your hands into his much bigger and warmer palms. "I know the sons of Ragnar but I have never seen you with any of them. Who are you?"

"My people call me Earl Wolf but my name is Y/N. It's an honor to meet the future king of whole Norway," you said with your voice sweet as honey.

"The pleasure is all mine, Y/N," Harald said before placing a kiss to your palm.

Ivar kept his face straight but the fact you let Harald touch you pierced his heart like a cold needle. "Can we get to the planning? I am not going to spend another hour waiting for you two to exchange pleasantries," young man growled.

Hvitserk, who observed the entire situation while standing in the back of the chamber, snorted quietly. He would never think his brother fell in love so easily.

"Ivar. You brought a beautiful woman in and don't even let me take all of her beauty in," king rolled his eyes.

"As a lady, you flatter me but as the Earl I need to agree. We came here in important matters," you said. "social talks can wait until much calmer times. I can promise you we will have a moment for ourselves."

Listening to you, Harald smiled softly and nodded. "Beautiful and smart. Let's get to planning then. Ivar, I am listening. What do you expect?"

Ivar turned head to throw you a cold glance; did you just plan to spend some time with Harald? Did you really say it aloud in his presence?

"Let's get somewhere where not many curious eyes are on us."

Hvitserk, seeing how his brother and rest are moving to another chamber, followed them.

Oh, Ivar was mad. This is exactly what you wanted, your plan was to rile him up and to see if something interesting will happen. You followed them to be present during the planning.

Talks were long and boring.

Ivar and Harald were arguing for a long time and it wasn't about troops anymore.

The youngest Ragnarson wanted to be the king of the Kattegat after chasing Lagertha, Bjørn and Ubbe away.

At the same time Harald wanted to carry on his great dream of ruling whole Norway.

Thankfully, in the end, they somehow found a way to agree on something.

"You will be a king but when you die the title is passed on me," Harald said, rubbing his forehead.

You let out a little yawn and rubbed your eyes tired. Travel and long boring planning took a toll on you.

Hvitserk didn't say anything during talks; instead, he ate at least four apples and was playing with his little dagger which he used to cut the fruits. It wasn't his thing, all the great planning. All he wanted to do was to return back to Kattegat which was his true home. He didn't really want to stand against Bjørn or Ubbe, but did he have other choice? The decision was made the day he got out of the ship to join his youngest brother.

Ivar put his chalice on the table, nodding briefly at Harald's words. "Sounds like we have it. Just don't be surprised if I'll rule for many long years." The Boneless got up from the chair he sat at and using his crutches, he slowly walked off.

"My men will take care of that Christian prisoner of yours, Ivar," Harald said. "Whatever his point is. If I were you I would just kill him."

You let a soft sigh and decided to join Hvitserk, silently asking him for a piece of an apple.

"But you're not me," Ivar smirked widely at Harald and left.

Hvitserk was highly surprised by your request, but of course, as he had a good soul, he shared one huge apple with you, cutting it in half so it would be easier for you to eat. "You're welcome," he muttered slightly.

"Thank you, Hvitserk. You are a kind soul," you gave him a sweet smile and looked at Harald. "My king? May I know where I can find our prisoner?”

When you received the seeked answer, you bowed your head and walked off.

Bishop was held in a barn, tied to a metal pole in the middle which provided the stability to the roof and construction itself.

His hands were weak as he was forced to hold them above his head for the entire time. The blood circulation faltered and he barely could feel his fingers anymore. Yet, bishop Heahmund was praying quietly. Man was saturated with the intelligent energy of countless prayers - as such being able to carry out supernatural acts. "Credo in Deum Patrem omnipotentem, Creatorem caeli et terrae; et in Iesum Christum, Filium eius unicum, Dominum nostrum...," He was whispering all the time.

You stopped in the door and watched him, praying, it was quite an interesting sight.

"Those have to be a made up babble. No one speaks like this," saying this, you stepped inside and smiled seeing your fur on him, so you dared to point it out. "They let you keep it."

"What do you want, heathen?," He asked weakly. "If you came to kill me, I'll gladly accept my faith. I'm ready, in my God.

As if nothing ever happened, you simply placed yourself on his laps. "You know... I am just a heathen to you but I do have a real name. Maybe I should call you Christian from now on? What do you say, Heahmund?” You presented him the piece of an apple you got from Hvitserk and smiled innocently. "I also brought you this."

"Get off me, woman," he tried to kick you off, but your hips pressed to his side's strongly, holding him motionless. "I don't need your mercy!"

"It's not a mercy. It's called help, you Christian don't know what it is?," You asked with a smile, purposely pressing your hand into him. "Come on, I am sure you are hungry."

He indeed was hungry. Heahmund parted his lips, waiting for you to slip a slice of apple into his mouth.

"Good boy. See? I am not so bad," you chuckled and slipped the slice into his mouth. "I'll get you more if you will want."

He chewed viciously, gagging himself with a not fully chewed piece of the fruit. Truth was he was starving for the last few days and he would give everything for a piece of bread.

"Slow down, we are not going to starve you. I'll make sure of this," you said quietly, touching his shoulder.

He almost gasped as the skin under his clothes were bruised and swollen.

"Right, they got you bad during that battle. Maybe I should undress you and take care of these injuries?," You asked in a hushed voice. "I am sure you would feel much better. You need to be in good shape since Ivar has great plans for you."

Bishop's eyes fixed on your face. He hated your touch on his body but you didn't try to kill him.

Looking him in the eyes your hand started to unbutton the upper part of his armor, not breaking the eye contact for even one second.

Little did you know a pair of incredibly blue eyes were watching your every move. Ivar leant his forehead against the wooden wall of the barn, clenching teeth and rolling palm in a fist. He offered you everything, yet you were still chasing the fucking, useless priest. What man had that he didn't? He felt a strange thing, a twinge of envy.

Slowly you pulled away the armor and hissed, seeing his injury. "Oh, you poor thing, just look at what they did to you." You hand gently touched his skin, making sure to not press the blue and purple spots.

You could hear noises outside the building.

Bishop's eyes widened as he looked past you.

Three warriors, every of them armed in axes walked out of the darkness of the room. "Earl Wolf, you're going with us. Now."

You glared over your shoulder with bored and annoyed look

"What do you want, huh? I am busy, who is even summoning me in such a terrible moment?," You almost growled.

"Now," one of the men repeated and showed the exit with his ax.

Rolling your eyes you let out a loud sigh. "Maybe we will return to that. Only Gods know."

You adjusted Bishop's clothes as much as you could before getting up from his knees. Turning to the warrior you shrugged. "Lead the way," you said and followed them.

They walked in a silence through empty paths of settlement, eventually stopping in front of a little hut almost at the edge of it.

One of them pointed at the door and they turned with their backs to the building.

There was not much you could do but follow this game but honestly you were also really excited to see what is hidden behind the door. After taking a deep breath, you stepped inside.

The hut seemed empty and the only source of light inside were candles standing on the shelves around the chamber and hanging in the metal candle holders attached to the ceiling.

The sweet scent of mead filled the room, and you could spot a chalice full of alcohol placed at the table.

On the right side of the hut there stood a bed with many furs on top of it; it looked inviting. In the end the place was cozy and warm. Next to the chalice you found a piece of paper with one word written on it: UNDRESS.

You walked around the place. It was interesting, who set it up? There were two possible options. Harald who looked really interested in you or Ivar wanted to return the favor from York. That could be fun. Taking the chalice you sat down on the bed.

After drinking a few little sips of the really tasty mead you started to undress.

This actually felt good, as much as you loved your clothes the thick leather was annoying after too many hours in it. Naked, you laid down on the bed and waited.

Suddenly, the candles standing closest to the bed faded away. Then, the candles at the table, and the last to fade were the ones in candle holders.

You sat up and frowned. "Great," muttering, you lied back down, you weren't going to light those candles again.

And then, out of sudden, you could feel a soft touch on your ankle, followed by a hum. Your body's first idea was to react and protect yourself by kicking whoever tried to sneak on you but somehow you stopped yourself. The muscles only twitched a little. Giggling you shook your head. "Ivar, love. Don't do this, I do not want to hurt you."

"Prescient, aren't you?," His voice husky as he crawled fully out of the shadows. His hand placed against your leg and moved up , to rest on your knee as he brushed his full lips against your calf.

You let out a short laugh and hummed. "No other man would do such a thing for me. I am more than sure it was you. Besides, I recognized your hand, love."

Oh, if you could only see the grimace on his face. He continued to brush his lips against your soft, delicate skin until he reached your thighs. Only then he let go of your body and focused on getting on the bed, which was easy for him after all those years of crawling and supporting his upper body part on hands.

"But to send armed guards for me. That was... Interesting idea and the whole preparation for this? I feel like a real princess, you surprised me," you hummed and removed the mask that was still placed on your face. It won't be needed anyway.

He didn't reply, just slipped one of his hands between your thighs, forcing you gently to parted legs. His skilled fingers pressed to your pussy, where he rubbed little circles. "Was it wise to tease me with King Harald?"

"For this all? Of course it was," you said with a humor in your voice and opened your legs to give him as much access as he only needed. "I loved your face, this was my goal, sweetie."

"Was it?," He whispered as his fingers slipped lower to be gently shifted inside of your pussy. "Mmm, nice and wet."

"Yes it was. Everyone can fuck but build it up? It makes stuff more fun and pleasurable," you answered his question and let out a quiet sound. "Wet for my king."

He rolled to his side and to his belly in the end, diving right between your legs. He trailed the tip of his tongue up and down your clit, offering you a few long licks, then Ivar wrapped his mouth fully around your pussy, sucking on it lightly.

You gasped and let out a quiet moan. He was learning fast, he was making you proud.

He let you put your legs on his strong shoulders as he continued to eat your pussy out, humming in appreciation of the taste you left on his tongue. Soon, his mouth was accompanied by two of his slender fingers, slipping rhythmically in and out of your slick cunt.

"You like it? Don't you? You love it after our first night," you said playfully. Your hand moved into his hair to keep him close the whole other hand traveled up your breasts to tease your nipples.

Ivar growled which sent a little vibrations to your slick pussy. He placed a kiss to it and spat on it to make you even wetter than before. His fingers in you were joined by his long, skilled tongue as he tried his best to lick your inner walls and suck in your sweet juices.

His action made you shiver and moan for him even louder. Biting your lips hard,  you nuzzled to the furs beneath your body, focusing on the pleasure he was giving you.

He fingered you until you cum hardly around his fingers. Ivar gave one last lick and sucked his fingers clean, murmuring. "Oh, sweet Y/N, you taste so fucking sweetly I could eat you all day and night long."

Ivar placed kisses to your tummy and licked his way up your body, catching one of your nipples between his teeth, as gently as possible.

The climax washed over you and you tried your best in calming down your breath.

You muttered at the feeling of his mouth and teeth around your sensitive flesh. "I would like to taste myself... Can I?”

Ivar continued with licking his way up your body and finally his lips crushed on yours, and he slipped his tongue past your lips so you could taste yourself.

You returned the kiss and moaned loudly at the sweet taste of your own juices. Dominating his kiss was no use, he was too much into it, both of your hands moved into his hair which to your own surprise were completely loose.

Suddenly, a cold, sharp blade was put to your neck. "I distinctly remember saying I don't like to be mocked," he whispered into your ear.

You gasped loudly and your lips parted. "Ivar... You could warn me that you want to add a knife to bed," swallowing heavily, you could feel the blade against your skin.

"If I would there would be no fun, sweetheart," Ivar kissed your cheek. "Did you enjoy yourself with him? Huh? Did you?," He asked and the blade was pressed more to your skin.

It hit you then. He probably saw you with the Bishop or someone told him. You laughed loudly. "Oh, so this got you going? It made you so angry you planned all of this? Just to pin me down with a knife to my neck?"

"Maybe," he whispered. "I just want to remind you that you're mine, I marked you as mine back in York, and nothing is going to change it."

Ivar hid the knife in his pocket and got off the bed.

You giggled and looked at him while biting your lips. Even if you already knew that Boneless was crazy enough to kill, it didn't frighten you at all. To be completely honest, this action brought a different reaction for you. "I know I am yours. I have never claimed the opposite. You are my lover, my future king," you voice was a soft pur that you knew he loved. Your inner thighs rubbed together in the seek of any friction.

He used his crutches to get to the table and sat on the chair. He refilled the chalice you drank from and downed it quickly.

His eyes glistened in the darkness in a dim moonlight falling onto the chamber through a little window. He was watching you. "Yet you still seemed to seek some adventures. Who is going to be next to be blessed with your body on top of them? Harald? Or maybe my sweet, crazy brother? Or maybe you'll fall for Bjørn?"

You hummed, pretending to think. Your teasing game continued. "King Harald would be a fine adventure, I can already imagine what he sounds like in bed; thanks to that voice of his. Ironside... I heard he is big as a bear, it could be a lot of fun to ride him. Hvitserk... Not really the type of a man I enjoy."

Ivar smirked to himself in the darkness. Oh, he was jealous already, that if you continue, he would simply bathe his dagger in your blood watching how the last ounces of life escape your flesh.

Suddenly, the door opened and a young thrall stepped in. Ivar didn't look at her yet gestured for her to come closer.

You sat up on the bed and watched them with your eyebrow raised.

As the girl brought another jug filled with taste mead, she put it carefully on the table and circled the chair Ivar sat on to gently place her palms on his shoulders. She started massaging him, earning a long moan from him.

"What's your name, sweetie?," Ivar asked, his tone low.

"Katia, my lord," she replied.

"How many springs have you lived?"

"17, my lord."

"The younger the better," Ivar turned his head to the young thrall and pulled her into a short kiss.

You watched them, completely taken aback by his action. Honestly, you felt proud of him in some way. Just a few weeks ago back at York he was all shy and unsure of himself, only to do this. Of course Ivar knew what he was doing because it worked. It worked too well.

The jealousy burned deep inside of you, he gave you a taste of your own action.

Ivar grabbed the woman by hand and pulled her into his lap.

Young thrall pulled her shirts up and straddled his lap. Her arms wrapped around his neck. "I never knew I'll be so close to Ivar the Boneless himself, my master."

"Because you won't be for much longer," you growled as you got up from the bed to move closer to them. Your hand moved into her hair and grabbed a handful, pulling her head away. "Listen to me now, child. If you won't get off him right now and leave, I will make sure to cut you in all of the right places to make sure now man will ever touch you."

That's what Ivar hoped for. "You heard the lady," he looked at the thrall but let himself cup one of her boobs briefly. "Leave now, but stay tuned for maybe you'll be needed to warm my alcove one day."

Young girl hissed but obeyed your words. She got off him and smoothened her dress, quickly leaving.

You chuckled watching her run off.

Humming softly you placed yourself on his lap, and immediately moved into his long, dark hair. "Look at that. Ivar the Boneless, a man who a few weeks ago was afraid to lie with a woman for the very first time. Now is making her envy. Don't you know such a woman can be unpredictable, boy?"

"Is that so sweet Y/N?," Your name rolled from his lips as he moved his head closer to your naked body, inhaling your scent as he brushed his lips against your collarbone, his hands in gloves stroked the curves of your waist.

You giggled and continued to play with his hair, scratching his scalp with your long nails. "Oh yes, just as unpredictable as men can be. I think we saw both today."

Your hands moved to his throat and your small palms wrapped around it, squeezing it a little. "I could strangle you now," you whispered as your grip got a bit stronger. "And I should do this, for a knife you pressed to my throat and that thrall but you are lucky enough that I love you."

He kept face straight, chucking darkly at your sudden outburst. "Oh, I think I need to play with thralls some more as it's keeping you going," he whispered and parted his lips, tracing the tip of his tongue along his perfectly shaped teeth.

"I need to visit our prisoner often too," you nodded with a smile. "I still wish to have him in my bed at least for once... As long as he is loyal to my man and his orders."

Ivar's hand moved to grab your hips strongly. "You're such a tease," he mumbled deeply.

You laughed and rolled your hips against him as your hands slipped to his shoulders. "But it gets you going. You love the idea of misbehaving. It makes you jealous and it leads you to anger," you leaned over to whisper against his lips. "And this, my love, leads you to your desire."

He couldn't pretend any longer; you kept him going. A short moan left his parted lips, and his eyes widened a little.

"Ah! There you go. You couldn't keep it up for too long, huh, Ivar?"

With a soft giggle you slipped off of his laps and placed yourself on the floor right between his legs. It was time to return the favor.

He looked down at you while letting a sad gasp out. His palm was placed to your cheek. "You're like no other woman I met in my short life. You make me lose my head, all for you."

You smiled at him sweetly, nuzzling to his palm. "Maybe because you didn't meet the right ones." Your hands moved down his chest and started to work on his pants so you could move them enough to free his member. "You are like no other men I met in my life. You are brave, ruthless and strong despite your flaws. Wonderful leader, lover and warrior."

He smiled. "Come to me, little one," he demanded in a husky voice.

You didn't like this exact order. All you wanted was to make him feel good but still you followed his order, placing yourself back on his laps. "Your wish is my command, my king."

He reached his hand down his body to guide his cock into your cunt. As he did, he let a loud moan and rolled head back, his hands slipped into your hips to hold you strongly.

A soft moan passed your own lips. Even when he worked you hard back in York, you still felt so fucking tight around him. "Fuck... Ivar," you gasped, grabbing the chair back.

He rested his forehead against your chest, letting out some deep gasps when you were slowly going up and down his shaft.

Your hands moved into his hair, scratching his scalp and keeping him as close to you as possible. Soon you started to move faster, moaning and pulling on his hair.

Ivar let out a long, deep grunt as you tugged on his hair. His hands moved down to rest on your ass as he squeezed the flesh hardly, moaning and brushing his lips against your chest.

When you realized he enjoys the hair pulling you let out a soft laugh and used it to pull his head back so you could kiss him deeply.

Ivar stole a kiss from your lips and parted his, gasping harder and harder as he chased his climax. Soon, he milked your pussy, grunting and groaning as he did.

You moaned his name out at the delightful feeling of his seed flooding your cunt. This triggered your own high and your walls tightened around him.

Ivar's arms wrapped tightly around your waist, his forehead rested against your collarbone, he gasped, a few drops of sweat rolled down his neck and forehead.

You smiled and wrapped your arms around him, just to keep him as close as only possible. Humming quietly, you started to play with his hair. "I love your hair, you should be called finehair," you whispered and giggled at your own joke.

He didn't reply as he was buried deep in his thoughts and he was only about to get off his peak. "Yeah," he managed to mumble softly, nuzzling to you.

You chuckled and massaged his scalp, letting him relax and calm down right in your arms after such a strong climax. "You okay there, Ivar?"

He raised his chin and looked you up right in the eyes. "Yes. Go to bed, I'll join you soon but I have one more thing to deal with."

You frowned softly, cupping his cheek. "Like what?"

"I need to speak to my brother. Nothing much. You stay here and warm bed for me."

You kissed his cheek and nodded. Slowly, you remove yourself from him, growling at the feeling of emptiness. "As you wish, love."

The bed was soft and warm thanks to all the furs. You got comfortable and nuzzled to the pillow. "Don't leave me alone for too long or I will have to go and pay our prisoner another visit."

Ivar shifted his floppy cock back into his pants, and growled playfully at your words. "Don't you be worried about that, I won't be long."

He took his crutches and slowly got up from the chair, throwing you a cocky smirk before leaving. Ivar headed to another hut, located almost at the docs. We stepped in without knocking, just like he had it in the habit of his.

Girl that was currently kissing Hvitser jumped in her place and gasped before looking right at Ivar.

It was one of your shield maidens, the one that took most interest in older Ragnarsson back at York.

Hvitserk sighed deeply, seeing his brother. "Brother, as much as I love your company. This is not the best moment," he said and the girl nuzzled to him, hiding from Ivar's eyes.

Ivar offered the girl a brief nod. "Mmm, you're fast like a lightning, brother," Ivar claimed and shifted a chair for himself, placing it right next to the bed. His blue eyes shifted to the girl. "Be a good, little thrall and leave us for a moment."

"I... I am not a thrall. I am Earl Wolf's shield maiden," girl said.

"Go, Asta. Wait outside, we won't talk for long," Hvitser said, patting her shoulder.

Soon the girl was gone and Hvitserk looked at his brother annoyed. "So! What was so important that you decided to interrupt me right now?"

"Hold your horses, brother, you'll have her pussy soon," Ivar frowned as he moved his glance to make sure the girl closed the door. "Remember our last talk? The talk about relationships and things?"

"Yes, I do but I am still not sure if we really did have this time. You are asking for advice when it comes to relationships and bed... Could be just my drunk dream," Hvitserk muttered, crossing arms over his chest. "What about it, Ivar?"

Younger brother used his crutch to poke his brother's thigh. "Can you not be a dick for once in your lifetime?," Ivar asked, frowning hardly, he ran his other hand through his messy hair. "It worked. And I need to know more of those."

"Ivar. I am glad that it worked but I really don't know what else to tell you," Hvitserk said with a shrug. "Tell me about her."

"Like, listen to this, brother," Ivar was excited at the single thought about things he performed with you. "The things you advised me in your drunken state worked, what I mean is that after eating her out she was more eager for other things. Let's not pretend, you're not only older but many women came and went through your bed, so I hate to admit it, but you're more experienced than I am."

Hvitserk laughed and nodded, rubbing his chin with pride. "Well, of course I am. Just... I can tell she likes it rough. So just go with that, Ivar. Listen to her."

Ivar tilted his head like a puppy while listening to the owner. "How can you say such a thing when you haven't seen her?"

"Then why do you ask me what to do when I haven't seen her in action?," Hvitserk asked with a roll of his eyes. "Listen. Every woman is different, you just need to observe and follow your intent or heart if you are really in love... And have heart."

Ivar didn't comment on his brother's words, he only nodded and got up from his spot. He patted Hvitserk's cheek. "Thanks. You can be useful from time to time."

Asta watched Ivar left the hut and immediately went back inside to join Hvitserk.

Ivar took some time to enjoy himself in the cold air. He walked slowly back to the hut Harald had let him stay in. Door was open so he walked in.

You were already asleep, covered with furs.

Ivar took the sight in, smiling to himself, feeling like his heart was melting for the sweetness overload. He put the crutches on the floor quietly, he got undressed and crawled to the bed. As carefully as it was possible he got on and spooned you from behind.

The following week was filled with preparations for a great battle. Everything had to be just right.

The days were filled with planning and training with your people, making sure they all are ready for the upcoming battle.

Of course whenever you found time you liked to bother the Bishop who actually was free now and somehow agreed to fight on your sides of the conflict.

You screamed out Ivar's name as you both reached your climaxes. The remarkable feeling of his seed filling you because some kind of fixation for yours. You seeked it every night and he was happy and eager to satisfy your common needs.

Humming quietly you lay down on his chest and started to trace random patterns on his chest. "It's tomorrow. I can't wait to leave this place and set a camp... And get ready for the battle," You growled playfully.

Ivar's arm was wrapped loosely around your waist, his fingertips rubbing little circles on your belly as he held you close. "Don't be scared, Y/N, the seer predicted we'll win the battle easily," Ivar assured you and kissed the top of your head. "There's no need to be worried, dear. It's just a formality."

You laughed and looked at him with a cocky smile. "Me? Scared? You're joking! I am more than ready to fight, our last battle in York was so much fun! I craved more since that day."

He looked down at you and pecked your lips briefly. "I would never say you're more bloodthirsty than I am."

You giggled against his lips before kissing that one sensitive spot on his neck. "Is that bad? Is some... Boring, dress wearing, royal lady would be better for you? You dont like me the way I am?”

He moaned at the touch of your lips on the most sensitive spot on his neck; his grasp on your waist tightened. "You're perfect just the way you are."

"Let's get some sleep, love. We need to be rested for tomorrow." You kissed his cheek and then nuzzled to his chest, closing your eyes. Soon, you drifted into slumber.

Travel was exciting.

Everyone was ready for that great fight so were you.

To be honest you couldn't wait, fighting and then ruling by Ivar's was your dream ever since you two clicked just perfectly back in York.

In the camp as well as during negotiation with Lagherta and his brothers you stood there proudly, being by his side and supporting his action.

You fought for him just like you did in York, doing your best to tip the scales of victory on your side.

The battle was long and of course there was a lot of death and suffering.

Just like Ivar assured you that one night, you won. Kattegat was yours and you couldn't be more happy.

The Great Hall opened its door for the new king.

Ivar entered the familiar chambers for the first time since months. He felt like the very important part of his childhood was restored to normality.

People weren't truly keen on the change on the throne, but they could do nothing about it.

Ivar's royal warriors took care of those who didn't want to hail the king. Ivar took a place at the throne that once belonged to his father.

You laughed loudly walking in with Hvitserk and King Harald close behind you, all of you bathed in blood of your enemies.

"You did it Ivar, you won your home back. I need to say I am jealous now!” Harald joked.

You walked around, inspecting the inside of the Great Hall. You already loved the place.

"Of course he did. How could you doubt him."

Saying this you walked closer to your lover and sat on the throne right beside him.

Ivar offered you a smirk, yet tilted his head. "Y/N, what do you think you're doing?"

"Well, I am getting comfortable in my throne, love?," You answered, returning the smirk. "Just as we talked in York. We will be the most powerful couple in the world."

He rolled a little in his place, so he leaned his forearms against armrest. "We? A couple? We were never a couple, sweetheart. I just needed your troops."

You frowned deeply, looking into those beautiful blue eyes you so loved. "Excuse me... But. Your promises, the nights we spend together. Our plans for the future."

He laughed loudly, he didn't really pay attention to the fact there were people in the chamber. "Darling, I would never say you're so silly. You wanted to be fucked so I provided that to you. I just had to make sure you won't change your mind in the day before the battle. Now, get off the throne, it's not yours. You can go back to your sweet, lovely settlement. You're my vassal from now on, I expect you to pay 500 gold pieces every year. If you won't follow, I'll have to flatten your little place to the ground."

You got up from the throne, your eyes never leaving him. How could he do this to you? You shared so much from the past to the future. Did he really lie to you... Why it hurt more than the wounds you suffered during the battle. "Is this some kind of a cruel joke? Because if it is, then better stop, Ivar."

"Do I look like I am joking?," He asked, the smile vanishing from his face, leaving a cold grimace and raised eyebrow as he glanced at you. "Get out of my face."

You couldn't believe it. All the nights you shared, sweet words, the love and dreams... It all was his way of taming you. His way of making sure you will follow him until he achieves his goals. Your heart broke like a thin ice under a pressure. "You are a terrible man, Ivar the Boneless. Ragnar is ashamed of such a son. One that can't keep a promise and can't even avenge his mother fully. I will dance the day you die!” You didn't mean any of those words, it was the pain speaking through your lips. Just like he wanted, you turned around and left the Great Hall.

Hvitserk threw his brother had a cold glance and followed you. "Stop, Y/N! Earl, stop!"

Meantime Harald stormed to the freshly announced king. "What the hell are you doing, Ivar? She is a great warrior, she brought a lot of people, you can't simply send her away and push her off our common matter."

"Our? Mine. Nothing is ours, everything is mine now," Ivar chuckled darkly. "Go on, you can take her. She's nothing but a puppet."

You stopped and pulled out your sword, pointing it right at older Ragnarsson. Your face looked serious but the tears rising in your eyes were visible. "What do you want, Ragnarsson? Came to tell me how stupid I am for trusting your brother?” You growled loudly.

"I had no idea what he was planning for all that time," Hvitserk instinctively raised hand up in the air, showing you he was unarmed. "Don't leave, I bet it can't be discussed and explained."

"Discussed? Explained?! What can be, Hvitserk?! He used my love, my feelings for him to get the troops for his plans," You said, desperately trying to hold your tears. "I wanted to stay here for him but I won't be a rug he can use and throw away as soon as he is done."

"Stop it, you can't leave! You're the only person who still keeps him on the straight and narrow!"

"HOW I DO THAT?!," You yelled as loud as your lungs let you, slowly lowering your sword as your body became too weak suddenly. All the emotions you felt and the post battle injury mixed together now.

"He threw me away as soon as my help became useless for him. I was never needed, coming to York was the biggest mistake of my life."

"Come," not being sure whether it was proper to do, Hvitserk wrapped arms around your figure, offering you his shoulder to lean on. "Take me with you then," Hvitserk asked openly. "I don't want to stay by his side, he's not a sane person. Please. I'll do whatever you order."

You nuzzled to his shoulder, wrapping your arms around him. All you needed now was some kind of closeness, of course you wished it was Ivar but he didn't care any longer. You started to cry into his shoulder, pawing at his back in an attempt to grab something in your hand.

"Now, move," he reminded you. "Let's not wait for him to change his mind and order his hellhounds to burn us alive."

Oldest Ragnarsson led you to the stable where your horse ate hay. He helped you hop on the animal. You sighed deeply, getting comfortable in the saddle. Rubbing your eyes you looked at him. "Thankfully my men are ready to go too," You said, grabbing the reins. "Let's leave him with his wonderful kingdom. Harald can deal with him."

"I don't think he is going to stay either," Hvitserk pulled his horse out of the box and got on his stallion's back.

"I have no idea who would want to stay with him now. Kattegat will burn under his lead," You muttered as your horse moved.

You quickly collected your remaining troops and then you all were on the way home. "Hvitserk?"

Hvitserk, whose horse galloped right behind yours, lined up with you. "Yes?"

"Don't you regret it? Leaving your own youngest and well... Creppled brother? For a woman who broke your nose?," You asked, looking at him.

"No," he replied hardly, being sure of his words. "I was afraid of my dear life. It was the most reasonable decision I've made in my lifetime."

"Let's hope you will feel much better in my home," you told him with a soft smile.

The trip took three day but it was worth it.

Your settlement made you feel better just because you were back home but there was still this void, somewhere inside of you. It felt even worse when you how your warriors greeted their families. Their smiles made you wish you could feel something like this.

Of course, people were happy to see their Earl and you returned to happiness but it wasn't the same.

You led Hvitserk into the Great Hall and as soon as you entered a big wolf's fur was placed on your shoulders, the hood that was made out of the wolf's head was pulled on your head. You laughed and looked at Hvitserk.

Hvitserk didn't think he could be greeted so warmly anywhere. Your people offered him not only furs and good words but also a roof over his head.

You sat on your throne and smiled, looking at your people. Tears will have to wait until you close the door to your room, now it was time to be Earl. "My friends, my warriors, my people. I can't describe how happy I am that God blessed me and our warriors with the chance of returning home," You said loudly and got up. "We lost many but many returned. Tomorrow there will be a feast to welcome the one that returned and honor the one that did not. I also want to introduce my special guest."

Hvitserk, as much as he was against the idea, walked closer to you, offering you a nod.

"This is Hvitserk. Son of Ragnar. Welcome him and be treated as your own because as long as he wants to stay with us. He is a part of our pack," You informed and your people cheered.

Hvitserk cleared his throat. "Thank you, dear Earl. Thank you, dear people. I assure you that I'll protect this settlement until the very last blood drop."

You gave him a sad smile. "You will stay here. There is one more room in Great Hall that wasn't used for years. I will order my thralls to prepare it."

Hvitserk bowed his head. "This is too much, my lady. I'll be fine just by staying among your people. I will stay at the edge of the city."

"I don't ask you as a Earl. I ask you as a friend, I want you to stay here. You will have days to get along with my people," You explained.

Hvitserk didn't complain anymore. "Thank you."

"No need to thank me."

Evening finally came and this one felt weird.

Most nights you shared with Ivar and you missed him and his body.

Letting out a deep sigh you get out of the bath and continue with getting ready for the bed. You put on a soft nightdress and brushed your hair. It felt different.

Since you joined Ivar back at York you didn't really have a chance to clean yourself properly. Suddenly you decided to visit Hvitserk so you got up from your bed and went to his room.

You knocked on the door, waiting for a permission to enter. Maybe he already had some girl over.

"Come in."

Hvitserk was sitting on the floor, his legs crossed and elbows propped on knees as he was meditating. He offered you a nod. "Earl Y/N. What have I done that you honor me with a visit? Do you need my help?"

You sat on the floor next to him and chuckled. "Don't start with all that Earl thing, Hvitserk. I am the same Y/N that broke your nose. No need to use my title."

"Don't need to remind me about the nose all the time," he offered you a little too cocky smirk.

"Just trying to remind you that I am no one special. Sorry" You sighed. "And well... I am here because. I felt lonely."

"Being lonely doesn't mean being sad, yet I hear sadness in your tone and see it in your manner."

You raised your eyebrow. "How being lonely doesn't mean being sad?," Shaking your head you shrugged.

"I just used to spend the night with your brother. It felt good, I felt happy... Loved," You already could feel tears in your eyes.

"Don't cry. You can't change him. He's a spoiled brat who doesn't care about people's feelings. You'll find yourself a man anytime soon, just look at you. Young, beautiful, in charge. All men are losing head for you already."

You sighed and wiped your eyes with a short laugh.

"You are losing head for me as well? Who would want a woman with a face like mine. I should cry for how stupid I was to trust Ivar's love."

"It was not stupidity, what you experienced is used to be called love," he smiled softly.

"Was... Was it too much to ask for? To be loved for once in my life?," You asked, looking at him. "Father, left me to die. Mother didn't care enough to protect you. Brother tried to kill me... Man I loved..." You couldn't finish your sentence.

"You're young, you have your entire life lying ahead. You'll fall in love not once, not twice. The pain is temporary, it will pass as soon as you'll sign a truce with yourself."

"I am young with a face eaten by a wolf," you muttered. "I... I have a stupid question."

"No question is stupid if you think about it."

"Can I stay here tonight? With you?,” you asked. "I don't think I can sleep alone... Not today at least."

"Of course. You provided me with a room with a bed for two. But you can take it full."

"I don't want to take it all. I want to share it with you... I don't want to be alone tonight, Hvitserk."

"Your wish is my command," he replied with a little smile.

You smiled and then climbed to bed. Letting out a sigh you nuzzled to the pillow and wrapped fur around yourself.

Hvitserk spent a few more moments meditating. After that he went to wash his face and neck with cold water. The he slipped into bed with you

"Thank you for that. I need to look pathetic... I am the Earl and I act like a child," you said cringing at your own action.

"Don't judge yourself. I don't mind it. I offered you that I can be a shoulder you can lean in."

"Yes, you did," you nodded and moved closer to nuzzle him. "And I am going to use it tonight."

He straightened his arm to make a room for you. As you put your head to his chest, he lightly wrapped arm around your waist.

You got comfortable and hummed quietly, closing your eyes. He was arm and soft, you just wished it was Ivar who would really hug you.

Hvitserk used his other hand to stroke your cheek. "Shhhh, you're going to get through this for you're the strongest woman I saw."

[babypink-cowboy]

[Selfish]

Summary: Prince Jeon Jungkook has been preparing to become king for the last 3 years of his life. While Jungkook feels as he has a good head on his shoulder, shows concern for his people, and tries his best to be a fitting substitute for his father, he can’t but feel lonely. 

With his father’s condition getting worse, Jungkook will now face his very soon reality of becoming king. Fully prepared to take on the weight of leading the Kingdom of Busan, until he meets his little sister’s new tutor. You were the kind of person that couldn’t help but be thought of all the time. So much so that he begins to lag behind on his royal duties. 

What happens when the two of you become closer? only now have you shared a few words and already have such an affect. 

Pairing: Prince!Jungkook x Tutor!Reader

Words: 3.1k

“Your Highness, I know this is hard for you to swallow, but with your father’s condition becoming worse, we will need to begin preparing you for the throne.” Beomseok, the royal advisor said to a 19-year-old Jungkook.

           Jungkook knew that all of his classes and training was going towards being King of Busan one day, but he didn’t assume it would be so soon. This wasn’t a yes or no kind of ordeal, the only other member of the family who is in line for the throne is Princess Jeon Dae, his little sister of only 10 years old.

           Jungkook stood and looked Beomseok in the eye, “I will take on this task, though it is heavy to bare, I will take responsibility and begin taking on the position of being our new king,” Jungkook said, his shoulders back and chin tilted high.

           That was 3 years ago, now at the age 22, his father still alive somehow, Jungkook has nearly taken on the full task of being king. He attends the morning meeting, the mid-day meeting, and the evening meeting too. He is in communication with the other parts of the Busan kingdom, making sure the people are content. He makes sure that all trade is going well and is extremely lonely.

           Though the prince has most duties under control, it is his wild side that still gets the best of him. He still will ‘accidentally’ release all the horses from the stable, he still bugs the guards until he gets one of them to chuckle. Whenever he can, he still plays with Dae. Whether it be a card game or sword fight or worst of all, a race around the castle (this usually means that many things will be in multiple pieces). He still likes to leave the castle at night when no one else is awake and sneak into the town and bustle around with the people. Drink and laugh until nearly dawn, then Jungkook bids them goodbye and returns to his role of being pseudo king.

           “In the outer villages, there has been some complaint of crimes there, which has only gone up since last month,” Noblemen Hoon says. “They say that their police is not taking it seriously and in some villages that the police themselves are the criminals.” He continues, Jungkook listens carefully, trying to figure out a way to solve this issue before it ripples onto other villages.

           “It’s just the outer villages,” Noblemen Hyan says, “they are smaller than the rest of the kingdom’s villages and poorer, of course crime will be high.”

           “Just because those villages are poor does not mean they should suffer from crime, they put food on your plate too, Noblemen Hyan,” Noblemen Ji says across the table.

           “Well it seems crime only seems to jump in those villages,” Hyan replies.

           “It also seems that you are rich, privileged ass-“

           “Gentlemen please,” Jungkook interrupts. He turns to Noblemen Hoon, “We will send someone from the palace along with Noblemen Hyan-“

           “Why me-“

           Jungkook’s eyes glide over to Hyan’s. “Because you seem to be forgetting what is truly dear to this kingdom,” Jungkook interrupts again. “We are not just men in tailored clothes, we are the knights and protectors of the people. We do not look down upon others, especially those who provide for us.”

           Jungkook glances at the clock hanging on the wall, it’s 11. “It seems you have forgotten that, Hyan.” He stands, “This meeting is adjourned.”

           Walking out the room, Jungkook immediately goes to search for Dae, knowing that she is somewhere in the library and waiting for him to show up. It seems his feet can’t carry him fast enough to his sister, he climbs down the stairs and nearly trips but catches himself before he falls. The sound of his heeled boots against the marble floor echo through out the halls, he nods at the staff as he passes and eventually makes it to the partially open library doors.

           As he makes his move to open the doors to step inside, he hears his sister’s laugh,

           “Really? What happened after that?” he hears Dae ask.

           And the question is followed by a wonderful voice, one that sticks on the tips of your ears and that makes you lean in.

           “Well she fell off the roof, she’s okay, she landed in a pile of hay that was laid out for the cattle.” A giggle tumbles out of their mouth and Jungkook leans in, pushing the door open but not noticing it until he almost meets the floor.

           “Jungkook!” Dae exclaims, she rises from her chair and rushes over to help her older brother. “Are you okay?” she asks with a chuckle as she wraps her hands around his arm.

           Jungkook blushes and nods, “Of course I am, just a little wound up from this morning’s meeting,” he says with a smile. He glances up at the one with the wonderful voice, “Is this your new tutor, Dae?” he asks.

           “Yes, this is Y/N,” Dae excitedly tells her brother. “Y/N, this is my brother, Prince Jungkook,” and pushes him towards you.

           You bow, “Your Highness, it is an honor to meet you,” you tell him, slightly blushing.

           Jungkook shakes his head, “No, Jungkook is just fine, Y/N.” He can feel his cheeks heat up more as he continues to look at you. Your shoulders are square and your is neck straight, hands small and slender, your hair tucked behind one ear and the sun hitting the back of you, making you glow like the sun itself.

           “Well, I must go, Dae, I’ll see you in an hour,” You look at the princess, she sighs but nods anyways.

           “I’ll see you soon,” You tell her, “Will I see you again, Your Highness?” you ask, looking at the prince.

           Jungkook blinks, a little struck by your forwardness, “I do hope so.”

_

           Jungkook now adjourns morning meetings 5 minutes earlier than usual. He also just about runs to the library every day, not just to see Dae, though she is important, but to also have a few words with you. Yesterday you wore light gray, making it hard to take his eyes off yours, especially when you would laugh at his jokes. Even the bad ones. Somehow your laugh is just as wonderful, if not more, than your voice. And it does stick to his ears, he hears it when he’s alone, writing letters and other important royal duties that he can’t seem to remember when he’s around you; it’s even in his dreams.

           “Your Highness,” Noblemen Hoon calls, Jungkook is thrown back into reality.

           “I apologize, what is it we are talking about?” he ask, sitting up straight and now listening to what the men are saying.

           “We are discussing the Spring Festival and Princess Dae’s birthday celebration,” Hoon tells him, a slight look of confusion ghosting his face.

           “Ah, yes, we will be doing what we do every year,” Jungkook explains, but this causes even more confusion.

           “Ah, Your Highness, your father said that you were meant to be in charge of it this year, and that you will be planning it as well.” Noblemen Ji says.

           Was I? I can’t remember.

           “Oh, yes of course, they should be with me,” the now flustered prince says, looking through his papers while simultaneously trying to remember the plans. A knock at the large doors causes everyone to look at them, Advisor Beomseok comes in with a stack of papers and hands them to Jungkook.

           “Your Highness, here are the spring festival plans, you seemed to have forgotten them on your desk this morning,” Beomseok says as Jungkook takes the plans out his hands.        

           “What about Dae’s birthday plans?” he asks, masking his lack of knowledge with confidence.

           “The princess hasn’t finished them yet, she says that she and her tutor will go over them and will turn them into you.” Beomseok promises. The advisor bows and leaves the room. It is quiet for a moment as Jungkook tries to gather himself.

           “Here are the plans for the Spring Festival.”

 The meeting lasted longer than the prince wanted it too. Jungkook knows that you are not in the library anymore, you’re somewhere walking around the castle or sitting in one of the gardens eating your sandwich. Either way, he won’t be able to see you today and this makes his heart a little less full.

_

Almost every meeting ran over for the last two weeks, planning the festival along with Dae’s birthday has made Jungkook’s life a little more tense. But sometimes he slips out just in time to see you leave the library, toss a joke or two before he feels too guilty about wasting your lunch.

Today is different, today is the first day of the spring festival and is also Dae’s 14th birthday. All meetings today are cancelled, and everyone is meant to go out and enjoy the festivities. At noon Jungkook, Dae and King Mal-chin will greet the people and officially begin the celebration.

Jungkook is dressed in a suit that Dae picked out for him specifically, a light rosy pink with compliments of white. As Jungkook steps out his chambers he is almost taken down by the birthday girl herself.

           “Good morning, Kookie!” she tells him as she wraps her arms around his waist.

           “Good morning, Birthday girl,” He greets her as he returns her hug.

Dae takes a step back and looks at her older brother, “You look dashing in your suit,” she says cheekily.

           Jungkook playfully rolls his eyes “Well, I did have a princess pick it out for me,” he teases as he holds her at arms length. “And apparently, we’re matching?” he asks, cocking one eyebrow.

           Dae giggles, “Only until tonight, then I get my gown and you’ll get your uniform, as per usual,” she says, letting go of her older brother’s hands. The two royals walk down the hall, chattering and joking with each other as they make their way to the main hall. Dae speaks excitedly about her birthday, her eyes lighting up at the thought of all her friends being in one place.

           Jungkook can’t help but laugh a little, “But Dae,” he says “You only have 2 friends within the kingdom’s village,” he points out. But Dae shakes her head.

           “Nuh-uh, Kookie, I have 3 now,” she tells him, her hands behind her back with a small smile on her face.

           “Who’s number 3?” Jungkook asks, curious of who this new friend might be.

           Dae rolls her eyes at her older brother, how could he not know, “It’s my tutor, dummy,” she tells him, along with a slight glint in her eyes that tells she knows Jungkook doesn’t just see you as his little sister’s tutor.

           “Your tutor will be here tonight?” Jungkook asks, a little dumbfounded.

           “Yes, but she won’t being staying with us like the others, she’ll return to her own room,” Dae tells her brother sadly.

           “Her own room? Doesn’t she live in town?” Jungkook asks and Dae rolls her eyes.

           “No, Kookie, the tutors have to live in the castle remember? Just like yours,” Dae says as the two walk into the main hall. All the assistants and Beomseok are there, but Beomseok has a grim look on his face. When the older man realizes the two royals have arrived, his expression perks up.

           “Your Highness,” Beomseok says with a bow to both of them, “and happy birthday princess,” he tells Dae with a stage whisper. This makes the young princess laugh, “Also princess, one of the maidens need to see you, something about your gown for tonight?” Beomseok tells her. Dae quickly nods her head and thanks the advisor then rushes off.

           “What’s wrong, Beomseok?” Jungkook asks as they are left together.

           “Come with me,” the older man says and leads the prince out onto the one of the smaller balconies, ones that will hold friends and staff of the royal family while the family will greet the crowd at the largest one.

           Beomseok closes the French doors as Jungkook sits down on one of the chairs left out, Jungkook can tell that whatever it is that Beomseok is about to tell him, that it isn’t good. The advisor turns to the prince, his face meant to look relaxed but Jungkook knows that about the small pinch in between this man’s eyes means something is wrong. Jungkook sighs and wants to push his hands through his hair but doesn’t because one of the maidens did it for him this morning by Dae’s request. “Just tell me.”

           Beomseok looks at him, Jungkook knows what the older man is doing. He’s checking off what he’s done right and what he’s yet to understand. There is a lot Jungkook still doesn’t understand, maybe too much. That could be why Beomseok isn’t speaking at all, maybe he’s came to the conclusion that maybe Jungkook isn’t ready to be king.

           “Your father will not be attending the greeting today,” Beomseok tells him, “today, you will be giving the opening speech.”

           Jungkook stands, paces, stops and lets out a long sigh. “Is he that unwell?” He asks.

           “Yes, but the doctors say that it will-“

           “Pass.” Jungkook finishes. “He couldn’t have given me more time?” he asks.

           “It was very short notice, Your Highness,” Beomseok replies.

           “Will he be at the celebration tonight? Or at least wish his daughter a happy birthday?” Jungkook asks, sarcasm weaving into his words.

           Your father is unwell, Kook. There is no reason to be mad about this.

           “Yes, he fully plans on being here tonight,” Beomseok tells him, growing more distant and rock like as the conversation pushes towards whatever is bottled up in the prince. “It’s time to go, your Highness.”

Jungkook walks back into the hall, an older woman waits for him with one of his crowns, the white gold one, another touch chosen by Dae. He leans down and feels the crown settle onto his head, his hair is retouched and then he and Dae are set. They stand side by side, the younger girl’s eyes are slightly puffy, but not enough for the rest of world to see. Jungkook offers his hand and she gladly takes it. The large French doors open and a rippling of shouts call from below, The two young royals walk out onto the balcony with wide smiles.

_

           Surprisingly, King Mal-chin did show up for his daughter’s birthday celebration. The sickly man is hidden underneath all of his medals and honors and a crown that to Jungkook seems to be slowing falling around his father’s head and will soon hang around him like a necklace. Jungkook can recall when his father’s crown reminded him of a halo, a heroic angel among the people. It seems this illness has taken much more than Jungkook’s father away.

           The prince hides in the corner of the ballroom, tucked away from the princesses guests and other women with wandering hands. It wouldn’t be nearly as bad if his sister’s friends were just a little less forward. Jungkook gives them props, he wasn’t that brave at 14, but it is a little unnerving. But with his nose in his glass, his bottom on a small couch, this prince is content on missing out on the action.

           “You seem lonely, Your Highness.”

           Jungkook looks up to see you, dressed in a egg-shell no-shoulder piece. Again the light hits you in such a way that Jungkook loses his words for a moment.

           “I think I am,” He replies when he gathers himself. You laugh lightly, a small jingling of a bell. “Please sit,” he says and stands to offer you the whole seat.

           You oblige, crossing your legs and watching the rest of the guests swirl around in their gowns. Jungkook takes this moment to watch you, he hasn’t gotten to in sometime now. Even though it’s been a couple weeks, maybe a little more, your hair has gotten longer. It’s also lightened, maybe because the sun is finally showing up more? He can’t help but notice your shoulders, not  particularly attractive part of the human body, but did yours look lovely. Just peaking beyond the fabric, smooth and soft looking. Almost wanting to bite into them-

           “Would you like to dance with me?” you ask him. Jungkook is thrown out his thoughts and back into the ball. You’re looking up at him, eyes wide and pleading, how can he say no?

           He holds out his hand, “Of course,” you take it and he leads you onto the floor.

           Before Jungkook can put his hand on your waist, the whispers begin.

           Never has the prince danced with a commoner, or anyone other than his own sister and his late mother. Why does he dance with her? It’s about time he did something other than sit in the corner and ignore us. What kind of leader is he by doing that?

           “Your Highness,” you say, Jungkook returns to the ground. He looks at you, your eyes full of worry, “You seem very far away, are you alright?” you ask him.

           Jungkook shakes his head, “No, I’m fin-“ he doesn’t finish his sentence. This was the first time someone had asked him if he was alright in a very long time. You’re still looking at him, eye brows knitted in concern. “I’m not sure,” he tells you. “And please, call me Jungkook,” he tells.

           You nod, “Okay, Jungkook, what is wrong?”

           Jungkook opens his mouth to speak, but instead twirls you around and curls you back into him. He dips you and can’t help himself but lets his nose brush against your shoulder. Jungkook leans into your ear, “Everything seems to be spiraling out of control and everyone is looking at me to stop it.” You hum in understanding.

           “I feel that way sometimes,” you tell him, nose against his neck, “but then I remember that everything passes, so I should hold on for the ride.”

           You chuckle quietly, “Or I remember how my best friend at home tried to decorate the barn for Christmas, she was so sure that she could do it, but then the ladder got knocked down by the wind, and soon she’s followed.”

           Jungkook pulls away a little to see your face, concern now laced in his face, “Is she okay?” he asks, this makes you chuckle again.      

           “Yes, she’s fine, she landed in a stack of hay for the cattle,” You tell him with a small smile. You look briefly at your left hand, “She’s married now,” you tell him. “Even has a baby on the way,” you say, sadness slipping into your words.

           Somehow you and Jungkook made it out onto the balcony, completely alone. Jungkook lets go of your waist and gently cups his hand on your cheek. He swipes away a tear you did not know that had began to fall. You suddenly feel a warmth in your chest, but also a tightness. You lean your head into Jungkook’s hand, the warmth intensifies. You bring up your small, slender hand and place it on top of his.      

           “Can I kiss you?”

[curiosity-killed]

a bow for the bad decisions: chapter 18

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(on ao3)

With my blood—                              —my soul as compensation,                                 Kill them all for me. Kill them all! Wei Wuxian, take revenge for me. Blood fills his nose, that familiar perfume. Cold presses into the edges of his bones, stone grating against his elbows and skull. Dragging his eyes open, he gets a hazy glimpse of a dirty floor and scorched blood. Oh, he thinks muzzily, so it worked. Only — destroying the Seal was supposed to kill him. He’d known that from the start, from the very moment he handed over a fistful of his own soul to bring it to life. If he’s alive, then— “Stop playing dead!” 

A heavy foot slams into his chest, rolling him hard onto his back. He scrunches his eyes at the nausea that swells up in his throat as that grating, shrieking voice continues on. What a lot of courage, he thinks, kicking the Yiling laozu. Getting a hand underneath him, he pushes himself up to his knees before a hand is in his collar, yanking him up. The kid has to be in his late teens, though his juvenile sneer suggests someone younger.

“Whose land do you think you’re living on? Whose rice are you eating?” the kid spits. “Everything you own should be mine anyway!” Leaning as far back as he can manage, Wei Wuxian tries not to grimace at the spittle hitting his face. Given how utterly exhausted this body is, it’s not difficult to simply go slack. His head’s still spinning, cottony pressure throbbing at the backs of his eyes. “How dare you tell Father and Mother? Did you really think anybody would listen to a lunatic like you?” What the hell, Mo Xuanyu? Wei Wuxian thinks as the rest of the meager possessions in the shed are trashed and he’s thrown back to the ground. The brat and his minions storm out of the shed and leave him alone in a circle of dried blood. Scowling at the closed door a moment longer, he exhales in a rush and rubs at the ridge of his brow with the heel of his palm. He pushes the hair back out of his face and eyes the array painted on the floor. It’s with a sinking feeling that he recognizes the pattern. He remembers this, in the way he remembers anything from that year when he tries to focus on it — hazy, half-there, a muddle of ideas with great black blanks in between. Picking up a tattered pile of papers, he winces at the too-familiar scrawl and groans. “Since when am I a ‘sinister ghost,’” he complains to the empty shed. “I just have a bad reputation.” A jolt of pain cuts through his arm and he flinches before reaching over to pull back his sleeve. Four ragged cuts bleed sluggishly, deeper than a physical wound. He scowls down at them, before groaning and flopping onto his back on the floor. “Mo Xuanyu, you brat,” he says into the dusty quiet, “you got the wrong person.” He’s not a vengeful spirit. He’s not even sure how much of a spirit he is — he remembers resentment, remembers the Seal burning through his chest, clawed hands ripping through his chest. Sitting up, he shuts down that line of thought. So he probably did die, after all. That’s. Well. He gets up to find water and something to hold back his hair. If he remembers right, the xianshe should have summoned him into Mo Xuanyu’s own body, but it’s his hands that reach for the bucket he finds in one corner alongside a workbench that makes his Demon Subdue Cave look as orderly as the Gusu Lan library. It’s his face that looks back, gaunt and pale as a ghost. Grimacing, he plunges his hands in and breaks up the reflection. He finds a set of dark robes, shorter than he’s used to wearing but not coated in old blood and dirt at least. Stripping down briskly, he pauses to eye the ruin of his chest and stomach in mild dismay. Deep lacerations cross back and forth over his skin, blood smeared across their edges both from being used as the ink pot for the array and from the rub of the robes against them. His old scars are there, under the blood. He’s not sure if he’s relieved or not to see the marks of his history peeking pink beneath all that red. His hand falls to touch a thin white line low on his belly, and he frowns at it as he pokes at his memory. He doesn’t remember this one. When he’s dressed and his hair tugged back in a high tail, he turns to examine the room he’s in. Even ignoring the cursed array in the center of the floor, it’s not exactly impressive. Filth has accumulated in all the corners, and the shabby bed he finds more closely resembles a rat’s nest. His day doesn’t exactly improve after that. It’s one thing to get dragged back to life, he thinks, and it’s another thing to get dragged back to life and then immediately blamed for murder. Again. He scrambles back from Madam Mo’s outstretched hand and swears at Mo Xuanyu for pulling him into this. The little Lans are competent, at least, and aside from the one threatening to punch him when he snagged a lure flag, they’re better company than the Mo family. He doesn’t really want them to get murdered by the cursed arm lunging for their necks. With a glance to check that everyone’s attention is on the sword formation the juniors are using to try to keep the arm at bay, he steps up next to Tong and Old Man Mo. “Still sleeping?” he murmurs into their ears before clicking his fingers, drawing up a burst of resentment. “Time to work.” Well, he thinks as he watches them go tearing after Madam Mo, at least I’m still good at this. He’d wondered, briefly. Resentment has been a steady pillar of his body for so long now, he doesn’t remember what it’s like to not be pieced together with it. Waking to find that his body hummed with quiet spiritual energy and only traces of that seething black had been nearly as disorienting as waking in a circle drawn in blood. After that, he’s too focused on the fight to pay much attention to anything else. Fresh as they are and angry as they are, the Mo family makes for strong fierce corpses — and they’re still torn and shredded by this arm. Even the Lans’ warded robes only temporarily hold it back. He’s reaching for the resentment around them, trying to coax something out of the shadows and the earth, when a familiar chord cuts through the night air. Even exhausted, the Lan juniors cheer. “Hanguang-jun! Hanguang-jun!” Wei Wuxian brightens, turning instinctively toward the sound of the guqin. Sure enough, Lan Zhan alights on the roof across the courtyard with his guqin out before him. Another chord rings out across the manor, flattening the fierce corpses and leaving the cursed arm groping across the dirt as if it can’t quite get purchase. Tucked against a pillar, he watches as Lan Zhan suppresses every tendril of resentment in the courtyard. He still looks just the way Wei Wuxian remembers him, though maybe a little older, a little sterner. “Still wearing mourning clothes,” he laughs to himself. Something eases in his chest at the sight of him, as if at least one plank of this unsteady world is solid beneath his feet. Lan Zhan’s alive and whole. As much as it hurt in the moment, at least that means his plans worked here. He slips away into the night and doesn’t let himself look back. He makes it to the feet of Dafan Mountain without any more reunions with his past and with some level of success in not thinking at all about his first life. He doesn’t really sleep during the few days, partially out of an irrational conviction that he’ll close his eyes and not open them again and partially out of a slightly more rational dread of his own nightmares. As much as he’s been avoiding trying to think about his last memories before he woke up in that shed, he’s not an idiot. The Seal was never going to let him go gently. Still, he’s relatively pleased with himself as he crosses the mountain, and he makes the mistake of thinking that this is easier than he’d expected. Of course, it’s at that moment that he stumbles across a gaggle of cultivators caught up in a spirit net. “Help! Help— oh. It’s you.” The dismay’s a little unwarranted, he thinks as he sets his hands on his hips and leans back to eye the nets. He doesn’t have any way of helping them down, but that doesn’t mean they have to look so disappointed before he’s even admitted as much. Before he can say anything, there’s the sound of running steps and he yanks Lil Apple’s reins till they’re tucked back in some bushes out of sight. Even with Mo Xuanyu’s hideous mask covering his face, he doesn’t want to risk being identified. The cultivators in the nets groan; one woman tilts her head back as if to beseech the heavens. “Rude,” Wei Wuxian murmurs to Lil Apple. The donkey, as usual, shows no sympathy. “You!” Peering through the leaves, Wei Wuxian spots two teens in cream and gold. The taller one reaches up to jab at the captured cultivators with his bow while the girl scowls at the whole scene. “Why is it always you idiots!” she yells. “You’ve broken ten of our spirit nets. Don’t you have any shame?” Ten? Wei Wuxian grimaces reflexively. The Jin really don’t ever change. “Young master, please let us down,” the cultivators chorus. The boy scoffs, bringing his bow down to cross his arms. There’s something familiar about him, though Wei Wuxian can’t quite place it. The girl shares features with him, similar enough to be a sister or at least a close cousin. His nose wrinkles at the thought of little Jin cousins terrorizing the countryside. “You can stay up there till we find the spirit-eating monster!” the girl huffs. “That way you won’t be in our way anymore.” Her brother flicks his ponytail over his shoulder and sets off away from them. “We’ll let you down once we catch it,” he says. “If we still remember.” What a brat. Wei Wuxian’s eyebrows raise a little, but he has no chance to think further before Lil Apple, that shrieking traitor, brays and tears off directly at the Jin cousins. “Ahh stop! Stop it, come back!” Wei Wuxian wails, to absolutely no avail. The two Jins have stopped short, twisting back to stare at him. He stumbles to a halt as Lil Apple finally jerks free of his hands and gallops into the woods. He’s going to kill that donkey. He doesn’t know how donkey tastes, but he’s eaten worse. “Oh, it’s you,” the boy says, crossing his arms over his chest. “What are you doing here?” He’s slung his bow over his back and eyes Wei Wuxian with disdain, but beside him, the girl has bristled like a cat thrown in water, her hand going white-knuckled around her own bow. “Eh?” Wei Wuxian manages. “What, did you lose all your memories after you were kicked out? And what’s with that mask?” the boy scoffs. “Huh, so you did lose your mind after all.” Well that’s an interesting detail Wei Wuxian wasn’t expecting to find out. He eyes his robes curiously, probing at the thought. Jin Guangshan must have led the siege at the Burial Mounds, and if his bastard son brought Wei Wuxian back, well. He stifles a laugh. “What are you laughing at? Show some respect!” the girl snaps. “Disgusting lunatic.” “Hey,” he calls, “I’m your senior! Where are your manners? Who raised you?” The girl takes a step forward, lips pulled back in a snarl, but her companion pulls her back with a hand on her shoulder. Wei Wuxian has about one breath to feel accomplished with his scolding before there’s a gleaming sword pointed at him. Oh no, he thinks a little tiredly. Not again. “You!” the boy yells. “How dare you speak to my sister like that!” The boy’s quick, he’ll grant. He lunges, swinging out with a slash that would cut Wei Wuxian’s throat if he didn’t sway to the side. He lets him have his fun for a few moments, dodging and slipping out of the boy’s increasingly irritated reach. It’s a good lesson. The kid clearly could use a reminder not to draw his sword on strangers. “Not bad!” he chirps, bending back to dodge the blade and plucking a leaf as he goes. He could keep this going for a while, but he doesn’t actually want to stay here all night and he’s not sure how long it’ll be till the sister jumps in as well. With a little spark of resentment, the leaf splits into a paperman, and he tacks it to the boy’s back with a quick call for a nearby ghost. In seconds, the boy is facedown in the dirt and groaning beneath the invisible weight of gluttony. Humming, Wei Wuxian steps neatly back to him and leans down to pluck up the discarded sword. He weighs it in his hand a moment, trying to figure out why the gilt and jade look so familiar. “Don’t touch that!” the boy yells, a frantic note entering his voice. “Mo Xuanyu, how dare you! Let me up!” The girl races over, tugging on her brother’s shoulder as if that will do any good. She glares up at him, all venom. “What did you do? Undo your curse! Let him go!” she demands. Rolling his eyes, Wei Wuxian adjusts his grip and flings the sword out to cut through the spirit nets. It’s not as neat an arc as Bichen, he notes with mild dissatisfaction, but then it’s been years since he wielded a sword. “Mo Xuanyu! Just wait till my uncle hears about this!” the boy yells. Wei Wuxian snorts, turning back to them with his hands on his hips. “Your uncle? Why your uncle and not your dad?” he asks. “Who’s this uncle?” “I am.” Oh. His feet are rooted to the forest floor, lips parted in soft shock. Anger rolls off Jiang Cheng, a violet stormcloud with Zidian already sparking on his wrist. Wei Wuxian can’t help but stare. If this is Jiang Cheng’s nephew and niece, then — then— shijie. He takes half a step forward before freezing. Fuck you, Wei Wuxian! Go to hell! He takes a step back, crooking his finger behind his back to peel off the paperman. It’s nearly to the safety of his hand when it’s tugged away by spiritual energy and crumpled in Jiang Cheng’s hand. His sneer’s the same, which is less comforting when it’s directed at Wei Wuxian. “I’m going to break your legs!” the kid — shijie’s son — Jin Rulan — yells as he scrambles to his feet. “Break his legs?” Jiang Cheng asks, shooting Jin Rulan a scathing look. “Is that what I’ve taught you all these years?” Of course, it makes sense Jiang Cheng would help raise their nephew after Jin Zixuan died. It explains why the swords looks familiar, too. Wei Wuxian never got too close to Suihua, but he saw it often enough during the war. Gnawing guilt chews at the base of his stomach. “You should’ve brought Fairy, Jin Ling,” the girl — his niece? — says now. “She could bite him and drag him back to Jinlintai for xiao-shushu.” That’s incentive enough for Wei Wuxian to turn tail and bolt from this unexpected reunion. It’s one thing if Jiang Cheng hates him, but he’s not sticking around to find out if the dog does, too. “Stop! You can’t run!” He most definitely can and is going to. His body doesn’t feel quite right even after a few days, like it’s just a little off from what he remembers. He’s more than willing to blame that when Jin Ling lunges for him and he trips, wobbling for a split second as the blue glare off a blade flashes just over his face. He falls hard, twisting almost enough to catch himself on his hands and exactly enough to crack his chin into the ground. Wincing, he lifts his head enough to find white boots directly before him and the edge of familiar white robes. Fuck. He lays his head back down. “Lan-er-gongzi,” Jiang Cheng greets, voice all cold venom, “you truly live up to your reputation of appearing amidst chaos. You had time to come to such a remote mountain today?” Having given himself two breaths to press his forehead into the dirt and wish Mo Xuanyu had never thought to summon him, Wei Wuxian pushes himself up on his hands and knees and scoots backward in as ungainly and hasty a retreat as he can manage. Jiang Cheng doesn’t spare him a glance as he stalks up to Lan Zhan, stepping too close for propriety or Lan Zhan’s comfort. Wei Wuxian frowns but barely manages to keep from protesting. It’s not like Lan Zhan needs him to protect him after all. “Are you here to steal all the credit from us or to look for someone?” Jiang Cheng asks, strangely snide. “You’ve been all over the place these thirteen years. Aren’t you done yet?” “Jiang-zongzhu, what do you mean by that?” one of the little Lans from Mo Manor — Lan Jingyi, Wei Wuxian thinks — calls out. The kid earns a small mark in his favor in Wei Wuxian’s estimation, more than making up for almost decking him over the lure flag the other day. He can’t think of a single Lan disciple who would have spoken out of turn like that before. Good for him. “What do I mean?” Jiang Cheng scoffs. “Hanguang-jun, you know what I mean.” If Lan Zhan does, he doesn’t show any sign of it. He isn’t really showing any sign of hearing Jiang Cheng at all; from where he’s still stuck on the ground, Wei Wuxian can’t catch any emotion on Lan Zhan’s face. “Young Master Jin,” the nice Lan — Sizhui — says, “the night hunt is supposed to be a fair competition between cultivators. However, you have set up so many nets that others can hardly proceed for fear of being trapped. Doesn’t this violate the rules of the hunt?” “They got caught because of their own stupidity. It’s not my fault,” Jin Ling retorts. “Anyway, why bother talking about it? We can talk after I catch the—mmph!” The slant of Lan Zhan’s gaze and the sudden, distressed muteness are familiar enough Wei Wuxian isn’t sure whether to laugh or wince in sympathy. He’s a little surprised, now that he thinks about it, that Lan Zhan never tried using the silencing spell to stop Wei Wuxian from playing Chenqing. It would have made it easier to tote him off to Gusu, for sure. The thought makes his stomach sink, and he regrets it even as a Jiang disciple comes racing up to them. She’s a gangly young woman and sketches a haphazard bow in her haste. “Zongzhu, a blue sword just destroyed all the spirit nets Jin-gongzi set up!” she reports. “Lan Wangji!” Jiang Cheng snaps, teeth bared. Lan Zhan doesn’t bother meeting Jiang Cheng’s gaze, holding himself as still and implacable as marble. Wei Wuxian bites his lips to hold in his laughter. It’s not really funny to see them fighting, but — well, he’s dealt with Jiang Cheng’s temper for nearly twelve years. There’s nothing that gets under his skin faster than refusing to react. It’s easier to think about that than to think about what Jiang Cheng said, about thirteen years. He focuses on the familiar irritation that flashes over Jiang Cheng’s face as he gestures for the two kids and the Jiang disciple to go before him, leaving Wei Wuxian alone with Lan Zhan and his little juniors. “That Jiang-zongzhu!” Lan Jingyi bursts out. “Who does he think he is?” Lan Zhan glances at him, disapproving, and the kid recoils with a look of mortification. Right, what was that? Rule two-hundred-thirty-something: one must not talk behind others’ backs. “Young Master Mo, we meet again,” Lan Sizhui says, leaning down to offer his hand. “Are you alright?” “Ah yes, still here thanks to you it seems,” he jabbers, his voice rising in something he refuses to call panic. He was trying to get away from any reunions, not fall face first into them. Lan Zhan looks at him for a long moment but makes no move to step closer. He turns to the juniors. “Return to your positions,” he says evenly. “Try your best but do not take unnecessary risks.” “Yes, Hanguang-jun,” they all chorus, saluting properly. There’s a moment, after they turn to leave, where Lan Zhan stands still and Wei Wuxian almost thinks he’ll say something. Has he recognized him so quickly? Surely not. If it’s really been thirteen years, Wei Wuxian’s probably just a faded memory by now. Maybe that’s it — that the combination of demonic cultivation and Jiang Cheng and all of it reminded Lan Zhan of his old friend for a moment. When the Lan party has been swallowed by the trees, Wei Wuxian flees in the opposite direction. Forget whatever beast it is; it’s not worth it anymore. He’s going as far away from anywhere he knows and then he’ll figure out what Mo Xuanyu wanted him to do or he won’t and his soul will be destroyed and never able to reincarnate again. He might be panicking, a little. Then, he encounters the ghost in the cemetery and hears the rumors, and Wei Wuxian might be an idiot, but he hasn’t forgotten the last time he came to Dafan Mountain. It had been hard enough for Lan Zhan and him to seal the statue back then, and now there are actual children going up against it with no idea what they’re facing. Of course, it turns out that his niece and nephew didn’t get any of their mother’s good sense, and Lan Zhan’s baby juniors missed out on his preparedness. “You didn’t restock signals?” he demands. “How could you not restock such an important item?” He combs his hands back into his scalp and tries not to scream. If they were his shidis, they’d be running laps for a week. He’s about ready to scold Lan Zhan himself; as their shixiong, he ought to have taught them better. They’d seemed so competent at Mo Manor! Letting out an aggrieved groan, he snatches Lan Sizhui’s sword before the boy has time to do much more than yelp in surprise. He sends a brief apology to the memory of Chenqing as he hacks out an improvised dizi from the bamboo and tosses Sizhui back his sword before he starts to play. As he raises the flute to his lips, an arrow flashes through the evening sky, a white flare through the statue’s forehead. “Jin-guniang! Jin-gongzi! Be careful!” Lan Sizhui calls. Shijie, Wei Wuxian thinks as he closes his eyes, what in the world have your kids been learning? The noises the dizi makes can barely count as notes, and Lan Jingyi gripes about the sound, but Wei Wuxian ignores him. The music itself is only a vector, only conveying his intention. He pulls on every thread of willpower he has, flings out his call to anything powerful and resentful enough to take the statue down. The goddess is a seething blot of anger and hunger in his senses, and he presses around her, pushes his lure out further, farther. Come to me, the garbled song says. Wake up and rise. He can feel her bearing down on Jin Ling, can feel the bright pulse of energy as the kid unsheathes his father’s blade and aims up. Come to me. Every scrap of energy is pressed into the call, every thin thread he can dredge up. All at once, there’s an answer. “The Ghost General! It’s him! It’s the Ghost General!” Wei Wuxian’s eyes shoot open, dizi dipping down in shock. Wen Ning shoots up from the ground, catching the goddess in her brittle chin. Something’s not right, though. Heavy chains swing from his wrists and ankles; his eyes, when Wei Wuxian catches a glimpse, are black as ink. Horror twists through Wei Wuxian. He’d sent Wen Ning away to protect him, to prevent him from getting caught by the sects. Who did this to him? Who could? He doesn’t have time to wonder further. With the statue destroyed, the cultivators turn on Wen Ning himself. He’s flooded with resentment, the energy rippling off him in gales. Without his own control, he’ll turn on anyone who tries to attack. Steadying himself, Wei Wuxian draws in a breath and reaches for the first calming song he thinks of. As discordant as the melody is on this dizi, it still thrums with gentle suggestion. It’s me, he says through it. Wen Ning, it’s me. Calm down. Blurry memories flit through him with the notes: Lan Zhan’s voice low and gentle in the dark of a cave, a gentle hand on the side of his face, red lanterns glowing soft in the night. Taking careful steps backwards, he lures Wen Ning away from the cultivators already yelling for Jiang Cheng. If he can just get a little further— A hand wraps around his wrist. Startled, Wei Wuxian nearly drops the dizi as he starts to pull out of the grip, but he freezes. Lan Zhan’s hand is warm and broad, his amber eyes wide as he stares at Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian’s lips part, though he doesn’t know what he’s going to say. “Zongzhu, the Ghost General went that way!” Shit. Taking up the dizi, Wei Wuxian starts again even as Lan Zhan doesn’t release his grip. He presses more urgency into the melody, urges Wen Ning to flee and hide. At last, he flings himself away, and Wei Wuxian allows himself to draw in a much-needed breath. The hand around his wrist tightens, clenches almost painfully. “Ah!” Wei Wuxian yelps before twisting his hand to flip their grip. “Don’t chase him!” He holds Lan Zhan’s wrist too tightly, but Lan Zhan makes no move to break his grip. There’s something open and trembling in his expression, something almost like awe. Wei Wuxian can’t look away, suspended there with his hand on Lan Zhan and time a distant idea far removed from them. “Zongzhu, he’s the one who summoned the Ghost General,” the gangly Jiang disciple from earlier announces. Breaking his gaze from Lan Zhan, he turns to see Jiang Cheng only a few paces off. There’s something about his expression that’s a little off, a strain that Wei Wuxian doesn’t recognize. “So you’re back,” Jiang Cheng says, spits. “And you went running to him? Wei Wuxian!” Zidian flares to life, unspooling in his hand, and Wei Wuxian can’t help but flinch back. The fern-like scars furled across his back tingle with the memory of pain. Before he can move, Lan Zhan has stepped before him, his guqin summoned to hover under his hand. A single chord knocks Zidian aside mid-stroke, the clash of spiritual energy sharp enough to resonate through Wei Wuxian’s ribcage. Watching from the sidelines, he can’t help gaping a little. Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan really have progressed while he’s been gone. Zidian and Wangji were both powerful enough in his memory, but the way they flare and respond to their masters is like something out of a story. Something, nameless and heavy as a stone, sinks in Wei Wuxian’s chest and he forces it away. Good for them. He backs away carefully before he pivots and starts to flee in earnest. “You’re going to run away now?” He gets no further warning before Zidian is burning a caustic lash across his back and he’s flung into the dirt again. He cringes, gritting his teeth through the pain. It doesn’t hurt as much as he remembers from Madam Yu’s enthusiastic punishments, but it still burns worse than a hundred wasp stings. He scrambles to his feet, rubbing at his back. Mo Xuanyu was recognized by Jin Ling and his sister; maybe he can pretend long enough to deter Jiang Cheng. Anyway, his shidi really ought to have better manners. He’s a sect leader, for heavens’ sakes, and he’s not in his own territory. “Who do you think you are! Just because you’re a rich sect leader, does that mean you can go about whipping people as you like?” he scolds. “Take off your mask!” Jiang Cheng yells. Wei Wuxian is briefly tempted to stick out his tongue, and then, because he’s supposed to be crazy anyway, does it. “No! You’ll be shocked to death if I do,” he calls back. “Jiang-zongzhu, please stop,” Lan Jingyi protests, stepping forward. “Wei Wuxian’s body and soul were destroyed when he died. You killed him yourself, didn’t you?” Jiang Cheng breathes in sharply, eyes briefly widening with hurt, and Wei Wuxian frowns. He died when he destroyed the Seal. Jiang Cheng didn’t— Jiang Cheng, fear and anger snarling across his face— burning — Wei Wuxian, you promised. He stumbles, exhaustion finally catching up to him, and the memories flood in. He wakes slowly, to the solemn chords of the guqin. He can’t count the number of times Lan Zhan insisted on playing Clarity for him during the war; he recognizes it now even in its last notes. As it fades into quiet, a new song begins, one that tugs deep in Wei Wuxian’s chest. It sounds so much better when Lan Zhan plays it. Opening his eyes to the dark wood ceiling, he swallows and breathes through the tear slipping down into his hairline. “It’s really been thirteen years,” he says softly, letting himself take the weight of that understanding. “It feels like a dream.” Even with the river-rush of his memories running through him, there are still patches missing. He remembers dying, but the moments before it are scattered and disordered. He remembers parts of Qiongqi Pass, but so much of it is drenched in red it’s hard to discern the details. When he thinks of that year in the Burial Mounds, it’s hard to tell where reality ends and the nightmares begin. “You’re awake,” Lan Zhan says gently and resumes playing. Drawing himself up to sit with his back against the frame of the bed, he listens to Lan Zhan and tries not to think too much at all. The song curls into a gentle close, and Lan Zhan rests his hands over the strings to still them. He doesn’t look up, his gaze carefully fixed on some point a few strides before his guqin. “These thirteen years…” he starts. “If I say I don’t know where I was these thirteen years,” Wei Wuxian says, “will you believe me?” Lan Zhan swallows before dipping his head in a slight nod. “I believe you,” he says. He speaks quietly, but such surety runs through his voice that Wei Wuxian feels both as if the breath has been knocked from him and as if he might start crying. Ridiculous, he thinks and of course it’s in Lan Zhan’s voice. He pulls his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around his legs. “I don’t remember a lot, I think,” he admits quietly, resting his chin on his knees. “But I remember what I said to you.” Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Lan Zhan still, hands tensing over his guqin. A twinge of pain and guilt aches in Wei Wuxian’s chest. So much for giving Lan Zhan an out, an opportunity to go make his life away from Wei Wuxian. Now he’s back, crashing into the peace Lan Zhan has surely cultivated in the intervening years. Thirteen years is far longer than they ever knew each other; what delicate balance has he created in that time that Wei Wuxian is now wrecking? “That day we ran into you in Yiling, the last time I saw you,” he says. “I’m — I’m sorry, for what I said.” Lan Zhan is still painfully still in his periphery, as if carved from jade. When he speaks, it is as if he is picking his words carefully, delicately. “That day in Yiling,” he echoes. “The last time you saw me.” There’s almost a question in his voice, and Wei Wuxian turns to him a little, frowning. Lan Zhan still doesn’t look to him. “Yeah,” he says. He swallows, forces himself to go on. “I — I thought I was protecting you by pushing you away but I was…it was wrong of me. I’m sorry for the way I treated you.” Lan Zhan’s chin lowers a little, but there’s a tension in the corners of his mouth like frustration or maybe dismay. Wei Wuxian’s brow wrinkles. Was it too much? Maybe he’s being too forward, assuming that he mattered enough to Lan Zhan to hurt him. Even as he thinks it, he knows that probably isn’t true. It’s just…well, it has been thirteen years. Maybe Lan Zhan doesn’t care for an apology so late. “Mm,” Lan Zhan says to his guqin. “It is forgiven.” He rises, robes cascading down like the white froth of a waterfall, and steps around the table to come to the bed where Wei Wuxian’s still curled. Perching on the edge of it, he studies Wei Wuxian’s face for a long moment, as if he’s searching for something. “What, Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian teases around the knot in his throat. “Did you miss my face that much?” “Yes,” Lan Zhan says quietly. “I missed all of you.” Blinking, Wei Wuxian can only manage a strangled, ‘oh.’ He can feel the back of his neck warming, startled by the sincerity, and he looks away as he clears his throat. He’s not actually sure where they are, except that the simple style of the house and the familiar cloud patterns suggest somewhere in Cloud Recesses. “Eh, Lan Zhan, where are we? I don’t recognize this place,” he says. “The jingshi in Cloud Recesses,” Lan Zhan answers, unperturbed by the change of topic. “My home.” The heat rising up the back of Wei Wuxian’s neck suddenly has less to do with Lan Zhan’s sincerity and more to do with the realization that he’s in Lan Zhan’s private home, in his own bed, and apparently Lan Zhan is utterly fine with this.    “Cloud Recesses? But what if Zewu-jun finds out?” he protests. “It doesn’t sound like people are lining up to welcoming me in.” “Brother already knows,” Lan Zhan says. “He greeted us when we arrived. He…understands.” Wei Wuxian glances sidelong at him but decides he isn’t ready to unpack the emotional depth contained in that one word. He skirts away from it, already feeling raw and bruised. “And Lan-laoxiansheng?” he prods. “Has he finally forgiven me for disrupting class?” It’s the least of his sins against the Lans, but at least that means he can poke at it a little without fresh blood. “Uncle is not sect leader,” Lan Zhan says. The corners of his lips twitch in the faintest hint of amusement. “I believe Lan Jingyi reported that a Young Master Mo aided in their mission and was brought here for healing and protection.” “Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian gasps, scandalized and delighted, “you’ve learned how to be sneaky! I really have been a bad influence.” Breathing out a soft huff, Lan Zhan looks down at where his graceful hands rest in his lap. His gaze flicks up to Wei Wuxian, still soft in a way Wei Wuxian hasn’t seen it in — well, in years. Not since that last visit. “Wei Ying is good,” he says firmly. “You should rest. You were exhausted.” Wei Wuxian wrinkles his nose at that, but he can’t deny the soul-deep weariness weighing him down. Still, as Lan Zhan starts to rise, he reaches out on impulse and catches the edge of one white sleeve. “Hey, Lan Zhan,” he says with a little smile, hopeful, “sing for me?” For a moment, he thinks he has really overstepped. Lan Zhan stands still and straight by the bed, expressionless. Then, the line of his lips relaxes just-so, his gaze softening as he gives a single nod. “Mm,” he says, brushing a hand featherlight against Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. “If you’d like.” He goes back to the guqin instead of staying beside Wei Wuxian on the bed, which wasn’t quite the plan, but Wei Wuxian can’t find it in himself to complain as he nestles back into the bed and Lan Zhan begins. With Lan Zhan’s voice lilting in his ear and the soft thrum of the qin strings humming through his bones, he finds he’s not afraid to close his eyes.

[naruwitch]

Code Geass: Paladins of Voltron Chapter 31: Battle of Kyushu

"Prince Schneizel, we appreciate you stepping in for Viceroy Cornelia during this time."

"When I heard about what happened I contacted the Emperor immediately," Schneizel said calmly from behind the Viceroy's desk, "I practically insisted that he leave Area 11 in my care until my sister could be recovered."

"Yes, and we're deeply grateful for your assistance. With you here, we can hopefully put a lid on this crisis!" the officer said with a bow.

"Hmmm, well I'm not sure if Area 11's forces will be enough against this Voltron threat, I do hope to at least quell the unrest as soon as possible," Schneizel said honestly.

Suddenly the doors to the office were thrown open and Lord Guilford rushed in, slightly out of breath, "Your Highness!"

Schneizel blinked, slightly startled, "Lord Guilford, what the matter?"

"Prince Schneizel, the enemy has destroyed the great Great Kamon Bridge in Kyushu block!" the knight reported gravely.

"What?!" Kanon exclaimed behind the Prime Minister, who's own eyes widened partially at this news.

"They also cut off vehicle access at four other points, and large numbers of assault landing craft are moving into the Genkai Sea!" Guilford continued.

Schneizel gasped in realization, "The Chinese Federation? Have they made a declaration of war?"

"No, Highness! The crafts are bearing the flag of Japan!"

At this piece of information, Schneizel frowned deep in thought. He had heard rumors that some of the old leaders of the Kururugi Regine had fled to the Federation. He always had a lingering suspicion that one of them could attempt an attack like this with the Chinese backing them up. It seemed they were finally playing this card.

"Send all available military personnel to Kyushu block, push them back!"

"Yes, Your Highness," Guilford said, but the knight didn't depart, meaning that there was something else to be said as well.

"Is there something else?" Schneizel bluntly, but not unkindly.

"There is sir… the military managed to locate Suzaku Kururugi…"

o~o

(Two days ago)

"I've dishonored you," Suzaku said, holding the Purple Bayard out to a shocked Allura, "I'm not worthy to be called a Paladin."

"Suzaku, this is crazy!" Milly protested, "You can't just leave! Even if what Mao said was true-"

"It is true," Suzaku interrupted, looking down remorsefully, "I can't forgive myself…"

"...Has being a Paladin become a burden for you?" Allura asked softly, still not taking the Bayard, "Something that troubles you?"

"No, I'm grateful for it," Suzaku answered honestly.

"Then why?" Allura inquired.

"What Mao said was true, I did kill my own father," Suzaku admitted sadly. Behind Princess Allura, the other Paladins plus Coran stood as well. Most of them gasped save for Lelouch who only grimaced. Coran and Allura looked the most horrified, "I was never punished for it. I just lived on like nothing happened. And right now…" the Purple Paladin looked up, emotion filling his eyes, "...I'm being protected again! Someone like me isn't worthy of being a Paladin of Voltron."

"But Suzaku," Rivalz exclaimed, "We won't be able to form Voltron without you! We need you!"

Suzaku just shook his head, pressing the Purple Bayard into Allura's hands, "There are far more worthy candidates to be Yoru's Paladin here. Like Tohdoh-sensei, or Ohgi… or even you Princess Allura. And if that's not the case, there must be someone else out there."

"Then… what are you going to do?" Shirley asked worriedly.

"I'm going back to Britannia."

This answer resulted in a ripple of protest, demanding to know if Suzaku had lost his mind, and what would he possibly gain from joining the enemy!

"What the hell Kururugi?! You know that Britannia is almost as bad as the Galra!" Kallen practically roared, "And if you want to keep up the pity party you don't have to go crawling back to them! You can work here among the ranks with us!"

"I know. And I'm not interested in changing Britannia inwardly, at least not in the way I originally wished. But at least this way, me returning can at least throw the Empire off our trail."

This reasoning had many of the group looking at Suzaku in bewilderment for a moment before he continued.

"Think about it. Seven missing students, seven Lions. Even without solid evidence, someone is bound to make a hypothesis like that sooner or later. Lelouch, you yourself said your brother is just as intelligent as you, maybe even more so. I wouldn't be surprised if Schneizel already suspects that that's the case here. And C.C. has already theorized that the Emperor is aware that you're Zero. If he can figure that out, he'll figure out who the Paladins are at some point as well. With me returning supposedly out of the blue, it will at least divert their suspicion for a little while, and it will keep our families safer."

"Suzaku…" Shirley said softly, "We don't care what happened back then! You're still a member of the team! Please-"

Lelouch's hand suddenly raised, silencing Shirley. The Black Paladin's expression was pained, but a layer of understanding swam in his eyes as well.

"Suzaku… if you really want to leave, we have no right to stop you…" he said firmly, his dark hair hiding most of his face, "But please, think about what you're doing…"

"...There's no need for that," Suzaku said softly, "My mind's been made." He then looked up and smiled as he turned away, "Thank you for everything."

With that said, Suzaku left the lounge quickly before any lingering thoughts could change his mind. He trudged to the transport hanger, where he had prepared a pod the night before.

"Suzaku!"

The Purple Paladin froze and feared to turn around. Painfully though, he did so.

At the entrance of the hanger, Nunnally had come in her hoverchair. Then incredibly, she forced herself to her feet and tried to run after him, but she only got five steps before she tripped and fell hard on the floor.

With a gasp, Suzaku put his remaining things down and ran to help Nunnally up.

"Nunnally! Are you okay?" he asked.

"Please Suzaku… please don't go!" Nunnally begged, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes. Looking deep into them, Suzaku's resolve dangerously wavered.

His own eyes grew moist as he gently picked Nunnally up and set her slowly back on her chair.

"Suzaku…?" Nunnally asked, looking up at him in confusion. He then enveloped her in a hug.

"I'm so sorry, Nunnally," he whispered, a small tear trickling down his face

"Huh?" the girl gasped as he pulled away. He all but sprinted to the pod, eyes refusing to look back.

"Suzaku, wait! Come back!" Nunnally shouted, trying to propel the chair forward, but it wouldn't budge. When he had gone to hug her, Suzaku had switched the movement function on the chair off.

"No!" she could only wail as she watched the pod's front close before rocketing out of the launch bay and disappearing from sight.

o~o

Suzaku gasped awake with a jerk. Nunnally's cries of despair and desperation still rang in his head. It took a few seconds to remember where he was as his eyes adjusted to the interrogation chamber he was being held in for the time being.

The second that he contacted the military, Suzaku was immediately taken in for questioning and all of them were ones that he was expecting. Where had he been for the last few months? Where were the other Ashford students? Were they kidnapped, and if so did he have any information on the captors?

Fortunately, Suzaku had been prepared for this. From the moment he decided to leave he thought of a story that he hoped would sound believable. It was true, he was with the six other still-missing Ashford students at Lake Kawaguchi where they were declared missing shortly thereafter.

He said he didn't remember much, but when the seven of them had decided to hike one of the trails, they were jumped by a group of masked assailants. The attack had been so sudden that he hadn't had time to defend himself. Later he would learn that he was actually the first of the group to be taken out. They were taken to a facility and were carefully monitored, given strict diets and 'training' schedules. They were given slots of 'social time' to interact with one another, and he reported that all of them appeared as healthy as he had been. He also suspected that they had been moved around a lot because he remembers times when he would suddenly blackout in his 'room' where a 'caregiver' would watch him eat his meals. They wouldn't leave the room until every speck of food had been eaten.

When asked how he got away, all he could say was that he must have gotten lucky. During one of the moves, the medicine they used to knock them out must not have worked for some reason. He woke up when they were being put into transports. He waited for the right opportunity to jump the captors and get away. He added that he had tried to take Lelouch with him, since he believed the captors didn't know his identity as a prince, and feared for his safety if they ever found out, but Lelouch had instead told Suzaku to find help. Dragging him along would just slow him down. So long as one of them got away the better.

Suzaku had no clue if the soldiers questioning him bought his story or not, but they weren't treating him like a criminal at the moment, so he could only hope it would remain that way. He just prayed that he threw any suspicions of the Paladins identities off for the time being. If anything, he at least bought them a little time.

His reminiscing was interrupted when he heard the doorknob to the room jiggle. He looked up just in time to see a pink blur practically tackle him out of his chair.

"Wha-?" Suzaku gasped before his brain registered who it was.

Euphemia broke off and dusted herself, blushing slightly from the display.

"It's good to see you again, Suzaku," she smiled.

"Euphie..it's good to see you too," he smiled back.

"Well, well, it seems you're quite the lucky man, Suzaku," a cheery voice sounded from the doorway. Looking up, Lloyd, Cecile, and, to Suzaku's honest surprise, Nonette were all standing in the doorway, each smiling, looking glad to see him.

"Suzaku, we're glad to see that you're alright," Cecile said, "the military and police have been looking for you and the others night and day."

For some reason, Suzaku didn't quite believe that. Sure, he was sure that Cecile was being honest from what she knew, but… it was more likely that the military was searching non-stop for Prince Lelouch day and night. While he wasn't sure about the other students, he doubted the military or other authorities would have given a damn if he showed up dead on the street.

To his surprise though, Nonette actually politely bowed to him in the traditional Japanese greeting, "It's an honor to officially meet you, Warrant Officer Kururugi. Earl Asplund and Miss Croomy have spoken very highly of you and your skills as a pilot."

Still partially stunned by such a formal greeting, Suzaku eventually nodded, "Thank you. I've been told you're quite the skilled pilot yourself, Lady Enneagram."

"Please, Nonette is fine," the knight shook her head, "we might as well treat each other as equals if we're going to be working together."

"Working… together?" Suzaku questioned cautiously, not quite understanding what the Knight of Nine was saying.

"Indeed," another voice said from behind the others. Looking up, Suzaku was completely shocked to see Lelouch's half-brother, Schneizel el Britannia walk in with a polite smile. In his hand he was carrying…

"...But… I thought Nonette had started piloting it?" Suzaku protested as he stared at the Lancelot key in the prince's hand.

"That is true, however, Lloyd's data doesn't lie either," the prince argued pleasantly, "You're the only other person with the skills needed to pilot the Lancelot. Besides, there's another project that I've requested Lady Enneagram's assistance with. It may be difficult to believe thanks to… some officers' views, but you are a skilled and valued soldier… Major Kururugi."

Suzaku gasped as his eyes shifted between Euphie, Nonette, Lloyd, and the key in the Prime Minister's hand.

o~o

"We hereby declare the resurrection of Japan as a lawful, independent, and sovereign nation!" the voice of Sawazaki rang over the Castle's monitors as the many of the residents listened to the latest news report of the attack in the Kyushu area.

"Atsushi Sawazaki, leader of the forces that have occupied the Fukuoka military base, was Chief Cabinet Minister of the Kururugi Administration in the former nation of Japan," a man's voice immediately followed.

"After the war, he fled to the Chinese Federation, but is apparently making his move now in response to the recent civil unrest caused by Voltron and Zero." Pictures of both Lelouch's mask identity and Voltron itself flashed on the screen.

"Whether the Black Knights or Voltron have played a role in these unfolding events is still under investigation."

"What the hell?! We're not part of this!" Tamaki shouted in anger. Ohgi, Kaguya, Coran, Kallen, Allura, and Lelouch watched the broadcast carefully.

"Kaguya, was Kyoto aware that this was going to transpire?" Allura asked the girl sternly.

"No," Kaguya answered immediately, "They were completely thrown off guard as well. They were just notified about his unilateral claims over the Sakuradite mining rights."

"I see…" Allura nodded in acknowledgment before turning to Lelouch, who was looking critically up at the screen, "Lelouch, what is our next move? Should we attempt contact or make a statement perhaps?"

"I wouldn't go jumping on that bandwagon just yet," Lelouch decided, "The fact that Sawazaki is being assisted by the Chinese Federation is troubling on its own. It's more likely that he's being used as a puppet for that faction to take Japan for themselves."

"Lelouch, if I may," Coran spoke up, "when you first informed us of your planet's conflict, you seemed to make it clear that Britania and this Chinese Federation certainly aren't allies. If this attack makes them Britannian's enemy, wouldn't that make them an ally for us? What's the saying the humans use? 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend?'"

"I don't know," Kallen admitted, "From what I've heard the Chinese Federation isn't that much different from Britannia. Isn't that right, Ohgi?"

"As far as I know that is the case," he nodded.

"While it's true that the Federation and Britannia are at odds right now, politically wise, their government isn't too different from Britannia," Kaguya explained, "The Chinese Federation is still an Imperial Monarchy. Officially the Emperor or Empress is the leader, but… the most recent Empress, Tianzi, has little to no power at all. The High Eunuchs are the ones with the power. She acts more as a figurehead. If you look at it a certain way, the Chinese Federation is seen as more of an oligarchic system than anything else. This doesn't make them too different from Britannia's Royal Family… no offense to you Lelouch."

"None taken."

o~o

Meanwhile in the coast of the Kyushu bay, a fierce storm was blowing through the area. The winds were so strong that it was preventing the Britannian forces from calling in any air support. They had no choice but hold out until the storm passed or calmed enough for Knightmares equipped with float systems to sweep in.

"It's a stroke of good fortune that this storm hit," General Tsao, a high ranking general from the Chinese Federation commented victoriously, "We must use it to tighten our grip on Kyushu."

"You see, General Tsao?" Sawazaki boasted proudly next to him, "Heaven is on our side. We're going to prevail in this battle with ease."

o~o

"Martial law is not necessary — such measures would only upset and frighten people," Prince Schneizel calmly reasoned with the two officers in his office, Darlton being one of them, "Contact E.U. Foreign Minister Gandolphi. Oh, and put a call in to the Toromo Agency in Cambodia."

"Prince Schneizel, using the Toromo Agency could be of–"

Darlton wasn't able to finish when the doors to the office opened and Princess Euphemia entered.

"Prime Minister," she stated.

"Yes, Euphie?" Schneizel asked gently as the generals parted to let her through, "Something wrong?"

"Is there anything I can do to help?" she asked, "I'm still the Sub-Viceroy of Area 11. There must be a way I can assist you."

"Thank you. Just your offer to help me is more than enough," Schneizel answered with a smile.

"But I…" Euphemia protested.

"Before her capture, Viceroy Cornelia ordered you to be kept out of as much military conflict as possible, Sub-Viceroy," Darlton informed her.

"She did…?" Euphie asked sadly, looking down at her feet.

"Uh, no, Sub-Viceroy, let me correct myself," Darlton amended when he saw the princess's expression, "it's just that-"

"Please, understand, Euphie," Schneizel spoke up, "We've already lost Cornelia. If something were to happen to you as well…"

"Wait, you don't really think-" Euphie gasped.

"There hasn't been confirmation of that yet," Schneizel explained carefully, "but the situation is simply too treacherous to take any chances right now."

Euphemia struggled to hold back tears as the feeling of hopelessness rolled over her. Once again she was being forced to the sidelines again. She had never felt so useless before.

"Darlton, concerning the matter we were discussing, I know someone who has a way in with them, so I will ask for help," the prince explained.

"Yes, Your Highness," the general nodded.

o~o

"Man… how long is she going to stay in there?" Rivalz groaned as he leaned against the wall across from Shirley's room.

Not long after Suzaku left the ship, Shirley had abruptly run to her room and locked herself inside. No matter who knocked on the door, or for how long, she refused to open up to them. She didn't even come to dinner that evening or breakfast that morning. Even the plate of food goo that they had left outside her door remained untouched. Everyone was worried about the Orange Paladin, but it was understandable. After all… she had killed someone.

At the moment, Rivalz and Milly were camping outside her room. They had been for the past hour, but no matter how many times they knocked, and even demanded to be let in in Milly's case, Shirley remained silent, stubbornly refusing to answer.

Before Milly could respond, Rai and C.C. came around the corner, with Arthur trotting along beside them as well.

Rai's looked between the door and two teens outside it. Then he sighed, "That bad, huh?"

"Well, what exactly did you expect?" C.C. asked bluntly, "It was bound to happen sooner or later. Shirley may have good intentions, but her mentality is certainly not that of a soldier."

"It's not like we're not willing to help her," Milly argued, "but if she doesn't talk to someone…"

Rai frowned sadly and looked at the door again.

"...I can handle this. Could you give us some space?" he finally asked before standing in front of the door.

Reluctantly, Rivalz, and Milly slowly picked themselves up and left. C.C. did as well shortly after. Once they were out of sight, Rai felt something nuzzle his legs. Looking down, he saw Arthur rubbing up against his ankle, before looking up at the Green Paladin with a soft 'mrow.'

With a small smile, he knocked lightly on the door.

"Shirley, it's Rai. Can I come in?" he asked cautiously.

It took several seconds, and for a moment Rai thought that Shirley wouldn't answer, until finally, he heard the small buzz of the door unlocking. Breathing a small sigh of relief, he entered with Arthur trailing close behind.

Rai easily spotted the Orange Paladin, sitting on her bed hugging her knees to her chest. Her eyes looked hollow and there were dry tear marks on her cheeks. Looking up, he noticed that two of the trash nebula creatures were floating close by, but from the sounds of their squeaks, they hadn't been successful in lighting Shirley's mood at all and seemed relieved that someone else had finally come.

Arthur actually made the first move, immediately leaping onto the bed and settling snuggly at Shirley's side, purring softly.

Following the cat's lead, Rai slowly approached her other side, cautiously sitting down, and - after silently debating with himself - draped an arm around her shoulders. Shirley didn't react and Rai took that as a good thing. At least she didn't start screaming or demanding for him to get out and leave her alone.

There was a heavy silence in the room for a while as Rai tried to figure out how to start talking. The only noise was Arthur's soft purring and the occasional squeak from one of the fuzzy aliens.

"...You made the right call in there," he finally said, "if you hadn't done it, Mao would've killed Lelouch and blown up the Castle. And who knows what would have happened to the Lions… You saved everyone."

"...I know that," Shirley mumbled softly, seeming to tighten her grip around her legs, "I know that he was evil, and if I hadn't, I… but… I-I can't handle it!"

She finally moved, letting go of her legs, and burying her face in her hands.

"C.C… she warned me that this could happen!" she sobbed, "She warned me that I'd have to do it eventually! But… I-I don't…"

"You just don't know if you can handle it, right?" Rai finished for her softly.

Shirley whined, practically collapsing against Rai's shoulder. He gently ran a hand down her back, waiting for her sobs to calm before speaking again.

"I understand. I've killed a lot as well," he said honestly, but not proudly. Shirley looked up at him, surprise shining in her eyes. He smiled bitterly, "Don't look so surprised, I'm a gladiator, remember?" Shirley's shoulders slumped as she remembered that detail about her crush.

"Anyway, I don't… I don't remember much about what happened while I was there," Rai continued, "but, I do know that every time I was put out there in the ring, each fight was either live or die. Only one of us would walk out of there still breathing. Some were bad, other gladiators like me, who actually enjoyed killing. Others… others were simply other prisoners, trying to survive just like me. All for Zarkon's entertainment…"

Shirley peaked up at his face. It was holding a pained frown and his eyes were haunted.

"Whenever I sleep... I always see myself in that same pit again. There's so much noise; all the spectators yelling and cheering... The monsters I fight roaring at me... And all I have is a sword, sometimes half a sword. I'm only given armor or even a shield for 'special' fights. I look up, and I see that monster sitting on his throne, his eyes baring down on me like the devil. The only thing I know for certain is that I'm facing an enemy that wants me dead. But... I do it. I endure it. Because my life doesn't end here. I have people that I love waiting for me, people I want to protect. I have my mother and my sister, but now it's more than just that."

He leaned back and smiled, though it looked fairly forced from what Shirley could see, "Now I have Allura, Lelouch, Kallen, Suzaku, Rivalz, Milly, Coran, and so many others... I got you to Shirley. And I know you have the same thing. You have people who love you, people who care about you, people that are worth protecting. Mao is not going to be the only one. We're probably going to fight people that we might have to kill, if not to save our own lives, but maybe even so many others. If we can avoid it, great; but if not, we have to do it. Taking someone's life is never easy, and it's something you never get used to. Something you shouldn't get used to. But as long as you have faith in the people who are willing to help you share that burden, and the cause that you fight for, then you'll never stray from your path. I already know what I'm fighting for, what you are fighting for?"

Shirley felt tears gather in her eyes again, but they weren't of sorrow. Rai's speech had really touched her and helped her see a different perspective of everything. Yes, the guilt of what she did didn't leave, it likely never would, but a mix of the Green Paladin's words and Arthur's constant purring dampened it.

Speaking of Arthur, the cat took the opportunity to climb onto Shirley's lap, curling up tightly.

Shirley remained silent for a moment, before she clenched her fists, eyes lighting up in determination.

"I want to fight to protect the weak. I'm a Paladin of Voltron!" she exclaimed.

Rai smiled proudly as he wrapped her in a warm embrace.

"Thank you, Rai," she whispered.

"Anytime," he replied.

o~o

"Hey…"

"Oh, hi!" the newly named Chigusa smiled as she greeted Ohgi who rounded a corner of the hallway into the kitchen. The amnesiac had been sorting through various seed packs that the Paladins had brought back from Earth when they had dropped the Black Knights off. In hopes of providing a more diverse, but still slightly familiar diet to the crew, the Paladins discussed with Coran and the Princess of starting a greenhouse in one of the more temperature-controlled rooms and possibly bringing up some chickens and cows in a different room for some eggs, milk, and protein as well. The idea certainly seemed to intrigue the Alteans and they agreed to give it a shot at the very least.

Most of the crew had returned after learning what happened, and it became clear that just because they were in space didn't mean that they were untouchable. Yes, the Galra could come at any time, and Rakshata and her team, along with Coran, were working rigorously to get a space Knightmare ready for testing. However, the fact that Mao managed to sneak onto the ship was still baffling. Although the Castle's security was high for most unknown lifeforms entering and exiting the ship, the crew started a rotation where at least one Black Knight was on camera duty at all times.

The Paladins eventually came to the conclusion that Mao must have snuck onto one of the Lions while they were on Earth. Why none of the Lions had reacted to an intruder entering them was another mystery, but then again it was exactly how C.C. managed to sneak on board Polaris in the first place as well.

If any good things came out of the situation, it was that Ohgi noticed that Villetta-no Chigusa he had to remind himself- seemed to be more at ease around the others on the ship, which honestly surprised him. Perhaps it was because they showed that they did care for her safety, despite her status in her lost memories. He was personally happy with the new name too, and thought it was adorable that Nunnally had been the one to pick it. She had good taste.

"Look," he said, hesitating for a second, "I realized I never personally apologized for what happened the other day. I was put in charge of keeping an eye on you, and you almost got killed. So… I'm sorry."

Chigusa shook her head, "You don't need to apologize Kaname," she said reassuringly, "sometimes things happen that are out of our control. Unless you personally asked Mao to kidnap me, none of this is your fault."

"Well… still, I wish there was more I could do," he admitted, "I'll admit, I feel pretty useless right now. I mean, the only ones that can actually go out and fight are the Paladins right now until we can get some Knightmares up and running."

Chigusa chuckled, "Well if you're looking for something to do, you can help look through these seed packs. I'll admit my Japanese is a bit rusty, and some of these are in your language."

"Oh, sure," he smiled, walking over to the counter.

o~o

Suzaku scratched his arm as the tight fabric of the Lancelot suit irritated his skin. A folder lay in front of him at the table inside of the Camelot division's quarters. A mission briefing to be exact. The second that the current storm showed signs of letting up, Suzaku was to take the Lancelot into battle against Sawazaki and push him and the Chinese Federation troops back. A mission perfect for the Lancelot. He would be able to clear a path for the rest of Britannia's forces to swoop in and finish the job that way.

The door opened next to him and Cecile walked in with a pleasant smile.

"I thought you might be hungry," she said, holding out some tea and rice balls to him.

"Oh, thank you, Miss Cecile," he said graciously, taking one of the rice balls. If Suzaku was honest, he really missed the taste of his native country's cuisine. He hoped the greenhouse project worked out back at the Castle so that the other Paladins could have a piece of Earth back with them as well.

Cecile smiled warmly as Suzaku ate. He had to restrain himself from devouring the food. Miss Cecile was a great cook.

"Suzaku, just so you know, I really am glad that you're alright," Cecile said honestly, "We spent every spare minute we could looking for you and those friends of yours."

Suzaku smiled. He could tell that Cecile really meant what she said. "I appreciate it, Miss Cecile. And I want to thank you as well. Ever since I got here, you've always been kind to me, even though I'm an Eleven. I'm really thankful for everything you've done."

"Oh, I really didn't do that much," she denied, "Honestly, most of the time I'm sad that I can't do more, but I can tell that you're a good person, Suzaku. Despite what most of the rest say, I don't really care about Britannia's views on race. I personally think the whole number system is stupid. In my eyes, you're a person who wants to change the world for the better, and I assure you, you'll have my support no matter what happens."

With a final smile, Cecile turned and left to let Suzaku finish his food.

"No matter what, huh?" he muttered, glancing down at the key to the Lancelot. For a moment, the small drive disappeared, being replaced by the cool handle of the Purple Bayard.

He'd admit the time he spent with the other Paladins had been a pleasant reprise. He'd honestly felt happier than he had in a long time simply being there with everyone. Just… being be.

Which was why a sin like the one he carried shouldn't drag them down. Though he was no longer a Paladin, he would work on his end to help achieve peace for Earth and the universe. That was the best he could do now… right?

o~o

"Princess, you wished to see us?" Tohdoh asked as he and the Four Holy Swords entered the lounge she had specified over the intercom. Waiting with her were Kallen and Lelouch, who gestured to the couches behind them.

"Please have a seat," Lelouch invited and waited patiently for them to settle.

"We'll get straight to the point," Allura said promptly, "Regarding this Sawazaki character's actions in Kyushu, we wish to get your personal opinions on the situation. Would it wiser to view him as a potential ally or an enemy as of now?"

"Sawazaki was always a coward," Chiba responded immediately with a scowl, "He may have supported the movement for Japan to fight after surrendering, but the second he got he fled to the Chinese Federation with barely any warning at all."

"True," Urabe nodded, "And neither Kyoto nor the JLF had heard a peep out of him up until now."

"How do the kids put it nowadays? 'All bark, no bite?'" Senba quipped bitterly.

"Most likely, the Chinese are using Sawazaki for their own agenda," Asahina agreed, "He's just a front. I have no doubt that he cooked up some sort of agreement with them in order to get them to cooperate. Who knows what'll happen should this siege succeed."

The three nodded, taking in the information. A couple more questions followed, regarding Sawazaki's loyalty to Prime Minister Kururugui and other actions during the Pacific War. As more information was gathered, the more Lelouch saw that Sawazaki was more like a rat who preferred to work in the shadows, and only strike when the enemy's guard seemed down. While a decent strategy, it was a cowardly one as well, just like Chiba first said.

After feeling like they gathered all they could, Lelouch nodded, "All right, thank you. Now if you everyone doesn't mind, there's something I want to discuss with Tohdoh in private."

"You sure?" Kallen asked.

"Yes, please," Lelouch nodded firmly.

Reluctantly, everyone slowly trickled out of the room, with Kallen lingering a moment longer at the door before finally stepping out, the door sliding shut behind her.

"Can I assume that what you want to talk to me about is what happened to Suzaku's father?" Tohdoh asked calmly, looking at Lelouch expectantly.

"Yes," Lelouch nodded, "We got the gist of it thanks to Mao, but I want to know what really happened if you're willing to explain."

Tohdoh sighed wearily before speaking, "Well, as I'm sure you're already aware, Prime Minister Genbu Kururugi did call for a do-or-die resistance when Britannia invaded. Suzaku feared that this would lead to the deaths of millions, which of course it would, and he attempted to oppose his father and convince him to change his mind. However, the Prime Minister was one of the most stubborn people I ever met, and he refused. When it became clear that reason was no longer an option, Suzaku raised a knife against him, but even then, Genbu called his bluff. I don't think I need to elaborate further about what happened afterward."

"Suzaku used that knife and killed his own father with it," Lelouch confirmed with a grim frown.

Tohdoh nodded once, "When that happened, Kyoto made up the yarn of the Prime Minister's suicide, in order to protect Suzaku. If the truth ever came out, the Japanese citizens would no doubt attempt to take revenge, even though he was still a child. Not long after, Suzaku went on to join the Britannian military, making claims of creating a change from the inside."

"In reality, he sees it as his penance, correct?" Lelouch guessed, "A way to atone for an unforgivable crime he committed."

Tohdoh remained silent, but Lelouch didn't need an answer to know that he was correct.

With a sigh of his own, Lelouch got to his feet, "Thank you."

Just as he reached the door, Tohdoh spoke, "You've changed Lelouch. When I first met you, you were a small, spiteful boy that was always angry at the world. Now, I don't see that child. You've grown into a leader that people can trust. And includes myself."

Lelouch smiled and glanced back at the Colonel as the doors slid open.

"Thanks."

o~o

'A figurehead,' Euphemia li Britannia pondered as she gazed up at a portrait of her late brother Clovis, 'that's all I was from the start. I knew that, but I thought if I gave my best effort, maybe I could make some difference. Forgive me, Clovis. I met Zero face-to-face but I didn't avenge your death… I have to think of some way to save Lelouch and Nunnally, but how? I don't have the kind of power that my sister had. I'm not like her or Schneizel. No matter where I go, I'm just a burden, and I act selfishly, though I don't mean to… maybe if I had tried harder, Cornelia wouldn't…'

Euphemia choked back a sob as thoughts of her sister, and her unknown status lurked in her mind. It was agonizing to not know if Cornelia was alright, or even alive right now. She was sure that Lelouch wouldn't kill her, but as for the other Black Knights, she wasn't so sure. They technically had the right to do it, considering the damage Cornelia had brought to their home.

"Sister, please hold on for me…"

o~o

"Oh yeah, they told me about you," the museum's security guard said, looking at the form that had been handed to him, "You need to get the document signed today, right? But a member of the Royal Family is viewing the art right now."

"Huh? Which member is it?" Nina Einstein asked.

o~o

"Wait, so you're saying…" Tamaki began as he and the rest of the Black Knights looked up at Zero from the ballroom floor. Lelouch with his Zero guise on was standing at the top of the chamber's steps, the remaining Paladins, Allura, Coran, Kaguya, Tohdoh, and Ohgi by his side. Nunnally was also there, with Sayoko and C.C. by her side.

"We aren't going to collaborate with Sawazaki. He's not independent, he's a puppet of the Chinese Federation." Lelouch stated.

"But he says he's fighting for Japan," one of the Black Knights protested below.

"Japan would get a new name and a new master but nothing would change," Lelouch leveled his head, "His Japan is a sham."

"Yeah…" Asahina said, "so what you're really saying is…"

"That when Britannia strikes back we play dead?" Urabe finished.

"Zero," Tohdoh said, "Perhaps you should clarify our goal."

"Yeah," Ohgi agreed, "I mean, preparing for the Galra's arrival is clear, but how exactly are we going to do that?"

The Black Paladin's answer shocked everyone.

"Our first step is making Japan an independent nation."

"Independent?!" Kallen's eyes went wide as she stared at Lelouch, along with most of the rest of the Paladins.

"Is he serious?!" Rivalz gasped.

"A nation?!" Asahina exclaimed.

"You mean us?!"

"An independent country?!"

"Wait a minute!" Ohgi stepped forward. "No matter how much the Black Knights have expanded-"

"Our enemy is an empire that controls one-third of the world. And the Galra are an alien race that has conquered almost the entire universe!" Chiba finished.

"We can't pull that off alone!" Tamaki stepped forward.

"We must!" Zero countered, "We must send a message to not just Britannia, but the Galra as well! And that is this: You don't need to be a super-power to be strong and stand on your own two feet. However, creating an independent country is only the first step! The second is to build a coalition of nations to unite Earth together! That includes both the smaller countries and other superpowers, as well as those from Britannia. Only then will the final stage be accessible. A truly united Earth, where there are no more divisions. Simply one planet with one people standing together. Though separate nations will continue to exist, we'll stand united. Only then can Earth take the next step of becoming part of the Universe!"

o~o

The sun began to set behind the horizon as Princess Euphemia's transport began to depart the museum.

"Princess Euphemia!" Nina screamed desperately as she attempted to run past a security guard, only to be grabbed roughly from behind.

Euphemia gasped from inside the limousine as Nina was wrestled to the ground.

"Secure the perimeter!" the head guard ordered, ignoring Nina's protests, "Code Delta! We have a Code Delta!"

"Please!" Nina begged, "I just want to- Princess Euphemia! To get-a look at her!"

"Secure all exits!" Another guard shouted as several more began to surround the distraught student.

Looking bewildered at the sight, Euphemia gasped as recognition spread across her face. That was the same girl from Kawaguchi. The one she saved from those JLF terrorists.

"We got a suspicious girl at the building's perimeter!" more shouts followed as Nina's tears fell freely down her face.

"Stop it!" Euphemia ordered, stepping out of the limo, "That girl is a personal friend of mine!"

o~o

"Wow, Lelouch, I honestly wasn't expecting that bombshell to be dropped in there!" Rai commented as the Paladins, accompanied by Allura, Coran, C.C., Nunnally, Sayoko, and Kaguya, returned to the bridge.

"It makes sense though when you think about it," Milly continued, "You gotta lay the foundation somewhere as they always say."

"While this development has truly uplifted the spirits of the Black Knights, there is still another problem," Allura said, sad to have to return to this topic. "Without Suzaku to pilot his Lion, it is impossible to form Voltron. And we can not win this war without him."

"Meaning, we either need to choose a new Paladin or somehow convince Suzaku to rejoin us," C.C. concluded.

"Well, we obviously aren't going to replace him, right?!" Rivalz exclaimed, "I can't think of anyone else that could pilot Yoru as well he can!"

"Even so, Rivalz," Kallen murmured, "It's like Lelouch said the other day. We can't force him to stay. Plus, doesn't our bond as Paladins rely on willingness and trust too? It's something like that, right Coran?"

"Indeed," the older Altean nodded, "the only way Voltron can form properly and function at all is because you all trust one another. You have no doubt of your loyalty. However, with this secret now out in the open, I wouldn't be surprised that if we forced Suzaku to stay, that would have greatly affected or damaged the Paladin bond, making it that much harder to fight. Why even the bond he developed with his own Lion could have been damaged."

Lelouch grimaced at that. He knew exactly what that felt like. After all, he went through the exact same thing after they invaded Zarkon's main base. If he was being honest, a small part of him was still wary of Zenobia's loyalty to him. Whether his bond with her was really strong enough to overcome Zarkon's.

"So… what do we do then?" Milly asked, scowling a little, "It seems… it seems wrong to replace him just like that. I mean, wouldn't us doing that only solidify his decision to stay away? It would just prove to him that he's replaceable when he's not!"

"When you think about it though, a lot of what we learned from Mao's actions makes sense regarding Suzaku," Lelouch murmured.

"What do you mean?" Rai asked.

"He's at odds with himself... because he used to be different," Lelouch continued, remembering the younger Suzaku at the Kururugi Shrine, "He never placed any importance on another person. Why, it was tough enough for me to kill my half-brother. But Suzaku killed his father when he was only ten years old, and he's been carrying that burden around all these years…"

"I can't imagine the pain he's been in all this time," Allura said softly.

"Just killing someone in general…" Shirley whispered, looking sadly at her feet, her eyes haunted, "I mean… I'm the one that did it. I killed Mao. Someone I knew was a homicidal maniac. But even still knowing that…"

Silence followed, a heavy weight seemed to hang in the air as they thought of their missing friend. Their missing brother. They wanted to help him, but how could they…

"Hold on," Rai suddenly said, "There's something I still don't get. Even if Suzaku didn't want to be a Paladin anymore, worthy or not, why did he choose to go back to Britannia of all places? He could easily have been absorbed into the Black Knights as a ground soldier or pilot. Heck, he could have simply stayed on the Castle as a tenant if he really wanted to. Plus, I doubt his main reasoning was simply to help cover up our identities…"

Lelouch grimaced. He had a theory, and it wasn't a pretty one.

"Do you all remember when I told you how C.C. and I met, way back in Shinjuku? When I got my Geass?" Lelouch questioned.

Everyone's eyes were suddenly on him, dubious expressions on their faces.

"Yeah… you said Suzaku was there too," Rivalz remembered, "he helped you and C.C. get away."

"Well, that is true," Lelouch nodded, "but… there's a little more to it than that. And now that I know Suzaku's secret, it makes so much more sense now."

"What happened?" Kallen asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Well, shortly after C.C.'s canister opened, and after Suzaku revealed who he was to me, there was a group of soldiers directly under Prince Clovis's command that found us and cornered us. They knew what the real mission was, which was to recapture C.C., but Suzaku had been briefed that it was poison gas that had been stolen. So he was just as surprised as me when C.C. came tumbling out instead."

Kallen couldn't quite hide the grimace on her face as he memory of that day flashed in her mind again, but she held her tongue as Lelouch continued.

"Anyway, despite the fact that it was clear that I was a Britannian student, the captain ordered Suzaku to kill me. To not leave any witnesses. But Suzaku refused to follow that order and defended that I had nothing to do with this. He was practically begging for them to let me go… He knew… As a Britannian soldier, especially an Honorary Britannian, an Eleven, that defying an order like that would have consequences. Deadly consequences."

"...It's a death sentence," Milly was the one to say it aloud.

"Exactly," Lelouch nodded, "Suzaku knew that all too well. He made no attempt to stop them either. Didn't even resist. Why he was even smiling when the captain shot him."

The sense of foreboding seemed to triple in the room, as all the occupants came to a terrifying realization, but none of them dared to speak aloud.

Nunnally, who had stayed quiet for most of the conversation along with Sayoko, swallowed back bile from the sick feeling she had in her stomach.

"Lelouch... what... what are you saying...?"

The Black Paladin's answer felt like a guillotine's blade falling.

"He wants to die."

There was a collective gasp from everyone in the room - even C.C. looked stunned. It was only then that the horror of the situation was truly realized.

"He thinks if he dies for a cause he believes to be right, it might redeem him," Lelouch continued, "You all heard what he said when he left, he wants to be punished for what he did."

"We can't let that happen!" Nunnally blurted out, leaping to her feet. Sayoko tensed, ready to catch the girl if she started falling, "We have to help him!"

"Yeah, this… isn't there some sort of medical term for this?" Shirley asked.

"Medical term?" Coran asked, looking concerned.

"Yeah, it's called 'Survivor's Guilt' on Earth," Rai elaborated, "It's when a person has feelings of guilt because they survived a life-threatening situation when others didn't. It goes hand-and-hand with PTSD too. Usually, this should be a fairly natural reaction if something bad happens, but this is being taken to the extreme."

"I do know that a lot of war veterans go through something like that at some point," Milly added.

"Still, Suzaku was ten!" Rivalz protested, "He probably didn't even know what he was even doing!"

"I'm sure once we convince him to come back, we can assist him in understanding that," Allura reasoned.

"Everyone, calm down," Lelouch said, "I want to help Suzaku too, but we need to be careful about this. One wrong move and we risk our identities getting exposed and that will bring its own plethora of problems."

"Well, we aren't just going to leave him be, right?" Shirley exclaimed.

"Of course not," Lelouch scowled, looking almost offended, "We just need the right opportunity…" he glanced up at the monitor displaying the battle happening at Kyushu back on Earth, "...In fact, I might have an idea."

o~o

"Incoming missiles. Appears to be coming from Fukuoka base! One minute, five seconds to impact!"

"An air raid?" Suzaku asked from inside the cockpit of the Lancelot. Due to the Avalon being destroyed thanks to Voltron, the Camelot unit was currently on a smaller airship dubbed the Le Fay. The overall structure was the same as the Avalon (at least according to what Suzaku had been told), including the ports where the Knightmares were located.

"We'll be fine in this position," Cecile answered over the intercom.

Suzaku found himself nodding as he felt the impact from the missiles beneath the Lancelot, the Le Fay's lower shields absorbing the attack. Any moment now he would be ordered to deploy from the transport and into the battle below

He hunched over in his chair, ready to act the second he was told.

Strangely though, he felt… out of place. Suddenly, the superior armor of the Lancelot felt like only thin layers of tin foil, and he found himself shifting his hands repeatedly over the controls. He feels exposed like he could be shot at any moment, and the Knightmare's cockpit won't be able to stop anything.

Not like in Yoru. Who wasn't another machine, but… a part of him...

Suzaku shook his head. He couldn't think about that now. He made his choice. Made his bed, now had to lay in it.

So why did he still feel like there was a gaping hole in his chest now?

"Major Kururugi, I'm laying out the mission plan for final verification," Cecile's voice rang again through the cockpit as a screen lit up in front of him with a map of the area, "This ship will breach the enemy's front line from high altitude and move directly to the launch point. The advanced weapon systems Z01-Lancelot using the Float Unit will attack the enemy headquarters at Fukuoka base. The Float Unit consumes energy fast so pay attention to your operation time."

"Yes, My Lord," Suzaku acknowledged, his hands running over the throttles once more, before pressing down on the button. The Lancelot leaned forward, in position ready to launch into battle, "M.E. boost."

"Lancelot Unit, now launching!" Cecile exclaimed.

"Launch!" Suzaku parroted before the familiar pressure of the air in his face from shooting forward hit him.

The Knightmares charged down the launching system and shot off the ramp of the Le Fay. The Float Unit unfolded on Lancelot's back, propelling him towards the enemy base.

'Here we go,' Suzaku thought as his eyes zeroed in on the mission.

o~o

"The enemy ship seems to have launched a bomber but it's moving faster than a fighter plane!" a soldier alerted Sawazaki and General Tsao as they gazed at a map of their own.

"I have picture," another soldier informed as a pop-up screen appeared, showing the form of the Lancelot speeding towards them. Gasps were heard all around the command center.

"A Knightmare?!" Sawazaki gasped.

"It's not being transported; it's just flying on its own!" Tsao realized.

"That weapons report we got, could this be it?!" Sawazaki realized.

"You mean that novelty weapon?" General Tsao asked.

"So then, the pilot must be-" Sawazaki's eyes widened. If it was true that he had been found, then there was only one explanation.

o~o

"The military force that's trying to occupy the Kyushu block is fighting under ex-Minister Atsushi Sawazaki. If they lose him, the new Japanese government will collapse very quickly. In that case, the Chinese Federation will lose their excuse for being here and have to withdraw."

Suzaku remembered Lloyd's explanation from before the mission as the Lancelot twirled gracefully around dozens of missiles fired towards him from several helicopters. With a grunt, he fired a single slash harken from the Lancelot, catching one of the helicopters and twirling it around, making it crash into the others.

Despite this though, Suzaku couldn't help but feel like the Lancelot felt jerky compared to that of Yoru's fluid movements when she weaved around asteroids and Galran fighters.

"There it is…" Suzaku muttered as he spotted the enemy base, blocking an attack from another aircraft with his Blaze Luminous. "The enemy headquarters."

Then a beeping sound caught his attention.

"An open channel?" Suzaku gasped as a grainy image of Sawazaki glitched onto the screen.

"This is Minister Sawazaki," the politician addressed, "is that Prime Minister Kururugi's son in the pilot seat?" Suzaku gave no answer. "I see. I didn't know he had a son like you."

o~o

"Are you sure about this Prime Minister?" Nonette asked as she settled into the seat of the large black Knightmare waiting to be launched from another port on the Le Fay, Prince Schneizel's face displayed in front of her, "I'd much rather prefer to fight with Kururugi than use him like this. It feels like we're playing dirty."

"I understand your concern Lady Enneagram," Schneizel reasoned, "but this is the best course of action to stop this attack and avoid as much collateral damage as possible. Besides, Major Kururugi is an excellent pilot. He won't go down without a fight.

"...I understand Prime Minister," Nonette could only mutter as the Gawain's cockpit slowly closed and the power-up systems began.

o~o

"-and then, when you saved me," Nina explained fervently, kneeling by a small fire pit in front of Princess Euphemia, "Princess Euphemia — I'll never forget it — you looked like some kind of goddess… like you were bathed in radiant light."

Nina suddenly gasped in realization, as she fidgeted in the dress she was now wearing, "Oh, forgive me! I should have thanked you for these change of clothes you gave me."

"Oh, don't worry about that, Nina," Euphie smiled softly, "Besides, I'm not at all the wonderful person you think I am. I'm no good compared to my brother and sister…"

"No, that's not true!" Nina nearly shouted in horror, as Euphemia looked up with a gasp, "How can you say that about yourself…? There's not one good thing about me… really, nothing at all. My parents are ordinary, I'm not the least bit pretty, and there's just nothing special about me!" the spectacled girl lamented, looking at her clasped hands in shame.

"That's wrong, Nina. I think you're a very cute girl," Euphie argued, hoping to cheer her up.

Nina looked up with a gasp, her cheeks dusting with red before looking down in embarrassment, "Oh, no… I'm not really good for anything… not at all. And now…" Nina had tears in her eyes now, "Now all of my friends have gone missing, and I'm the only one left! And now there's that Voltron-monster that could attack at any time. I just feel… Why am I so useless?!"

Euphemia gazed at the girl in front of her with sympathy. She understood what this girl was feeling all too well.

'She hates herself. But so do I… both my sister Cornelia and Nunnally and even Lelouch are missing, and I can't do a thing about it to help...'

"I guess I understand, but Suzaku makes me uneasy," Nina murmured off-handedly.

Euphemia's eyes suddenly widened as the fire crackled next to them.

'That's it! Suzaku feels badly too!' She had seen it. Sure he hadn't really explained why, but it was clear that Suzaku was in pain somehow. It had always been present, from the moment she first met him, to reuniting with him just the other day, but now it was much more pronounced.

"So please, oh please, don't say that you're no good, Princess Euphemia! I beg of you!" Nina pleaded, desperately, "Because… because… I need you… I need your goodness."

Euphemia smiled, "Thank you so much, Nina. I'm glad I got to know you. You've really helped me understand!"

o~o

With a hiss, the doors to the vacant Purple Lion's chamber opened. The Lion, dubbed Yoru by her good, honored-bound Paladin, usually would look proud and strong as she sat on her hind legs, her shield up to prevent intruders from getting in.

Now, a sense of melancholy seemed to darken her features, her head even looked slightly tilted down. If she had the ability to, there would no doubt by streaks of tears running down her snout. She had felt her sisters leave the ship just moments ago, but with no Paladin to fly her, she would be nothing but a nuisance, a wild beast on the battlefield.

"She looks so sad," Nunnally's small voice murmured as she gazed up at the Lion from the hoverchair, Sayoko and C.C. flanking her.

"Lady Nunnally, your intentions are noble," the kunoichi maid said, "but you don't even know how to pilot a Knightmare."

"Not to mention that it's ultimately up the Lion if you can even step foot on board," C.C. added, "According to Allura, the Lion chooses the pilot. I hope you realize there's still the chance you could be rejected."

"I know that!" Nunnally exclaimed firmly, "But… my brother and his friends are down there. I can't just sit back and not do anything. Not while Suzaku is…"

She grit her teeth as she pushed herself off her chair. She almost immediately fell, only for the two women to catch her and steady her. Once regaining her footing, she straightened, and with small, careful steps approached Yoru's barrier. Once within arm's reach, she placed a hand gently atop of the forcefield.

"I know I'm not Suzaku, but... but he needs help. I want to help him, and you're the only one who can let me help him!" Nunnally exclaimed, practically begging with the Lion, "Please... he's... he's like a second brother to me... and I know he means a lot to you too!" Nunnally gasped as tears welled in her eyes, "Suzaku... he... he wants to sacrifice himself! I know this is selfish but... please! I'm begging you! Help me save him!"

There were several seconds of dead silence. Then with a flash, Yoru's eyes blazed golden. With a gasp, hearing a distant roar in her head, Nunnally stumbled falling back, the particle barrier vanishing.

Behind her, Sayoko and C.C. gazed in awe as the Lion roared to life.

As Yoru lowered her head to let her pilot in, Nunnally shakily got back to her feet, a relieved, emotional smile on her face.

o~o

"This has nothing to do with my father. I came here to put an end to this fighting. I will accept your surrender," Suzaku said stoically as he landed the Lancelot on the ground below the wheels squealing against the metal surface.

"You want to rob Japan of its dream of freedom?" Sawazaki asked.

"Freedom has to come the right way, not like this," Suzaku replied. However, as the words left his tongue, they felt hollow to him. His time as a Paladin really helped open his eyes. If Voltron took this approach with Zarkon, they would get nowhere. But what else did he have now? Saying that phrase now simply felt like he was falling into an annoying habit again.

"You act out of selfishness? It's justice without ideology," Sawazaki retorted.

"No, you're wrong! That's not what I-" Suzaku was cut off as something exploded behind him. The VARIS rifle flew out of the Lancelot's hand and was destroyed a second later as Knightmares moved out and attacked.

"My VARIS…" Suzaku grunted as he looked at the Knightmares. "These are Chinese Federation Gun-Rus!"

o~o

Sawazaki smirked cockily as he watched Suzaku getting ambushed, "He allowed me to distract him. He still has much to learn!"

o~o

Back at the Viceroy's Palace, Euphemia walked confidently up to her brother's desk. The Prime Minister seemed to be in the middle of a conversation with Darlton, both their faces were grim.

"Euphie?" Schneizel questioned, honestly surprised to see her.

"Schneizel, may I have access to a private communication line?"

o~o

Suzaku grunted the Blaze Luminous on the Lancelot's left arm exploded along with his Float Unit as he tried to take cover behind some crates. However, dodging attacks was the least of his problems as warning lights began to beep repeatedly throughout the cockpit. "My energy filler!"

o~o

Back on the Le Fay, the Camelot Unit was in a near panic.

"Are you kidding?!" Lloyd exclaimed, turning to Cecile. "They blasted off the float!"

"The Le Fay has to strike at the base!" Cecile said urgently.

"No, the shield doesn't completely surround us! One direct hit and we'll go down in flames!" Lloyd panicked, gripping his head almost ripping his hair out.

"Suzaku, reroute all power to combat and comm systems!" Cecile ordered promptly, looking down at her console.

o~o

"Got it!" Suzaku replied before rushing to do so, trying to stay calm. The factspheres on the Lancelot shut down.

"You had better surrender, Suzaku," Sawazaki sneered, "Since you're Prime Minister Kururugi's son I guarantee you will be very well treated, my boy."

"I decline. If I used my father's name for this I'd never forgive myself," Suzaku retorted, as Knightmares surrounded him, "This is between you and me."

"I see…You are very much your father's son, as foolish and stubborn as he was."

Suzaku growled, wracking his brain to figure a way out of the situation he was in.

"Suzaku Kururugi!" the voice made Suzaku's eyes widen as he looked up and saw…

"Princess Euphemia!" Suzaku gasped.

"Suzaku, the truth is you and I…That is…" Euphemia trailed off.

"Sorry." Suzaku wheeled the Lancelot out and attacked the enemy Knightmares. "But right now…"

"You see…I hereby command you to love me!" Euphemia shouted.

"Right… Wait, what?!" Suzaku stopped upon realizing what Euphemia had said, his eyes bugged out.

o~o

"Huh?" Cecile gasped too at what she just heard.

"What? What is it?!" Lloyd asked anxiously, his eyes wild.

"Uh…Sorry but this is private." Cecile said, her face flushing as she removed her headpiece.

o~o

"And in return, I will love you! Forever!" Euphemia continued steadfastly.

"Princess Euphemia!" Suzaku gasped as he weaved around the enemy bullets.

"Suzaku, I love your stubbornness and your kindness and your strength! Your sad eyes, your clumsiness, and the way you have trouble with cats! I love everything about you! When you disappeared, I thought about you every day! I hoped that you'd one day be found and come back to me!" Suzaku fired his flash harken once more as the Princess went on, "So please, don't hate yourself!"

For a moment, Suzaku found himself at a loss of words, before he smiled softly, "I see that I've made you even more worried than I did before. You really are…" like a whip, the Lancelot threw one Knightmare against several more, making them fall like dominos, "Everything you do is impulsive. When we first met, when you told me you were a princess, when you selected my school — always!"

"Yes, they were all sudden," Euphemia confirmed with a smile, "but that's because…I suddenly realized..."

"But then it's that spur of the moment feeling that's opened so many doors for me." Suzaku wheeled the Lancelot towards the enemy command center. "Thank you."

o~o

"What are you doing?!" Sawazaki exclaimed, feeling panic rising in him for the first time that evening, "Stop him now!"

o~o

Suzaku opened his eyes. "Princess, can I make one final request?"

"Final?" Euphemia gasped on the other side.

"Please, transfer this to a separate line," Suzaku requested, "one that no else is using."

Euphemia was confused but did as he said. Suzaku followed suit in the Lancelot.

Suzaku knew what he said next had to stay between himself and the Princess. No one, especially from Britannia could overhear this.

"Euphie, I just want you to know… your sister, Cornelia, and Lelouch and Nunnally, they're all right. They're safe and being well-taken care of," he explained the best he could.

"Wha-they are?" Euphemia gasped, hope and joy bubbling inside her.

"Yes," Suzaku nodded as the Lancelot's energy filler blinked on its final bar, the enemy sweeping in for a final blow, "You may see them again really soon, and when you do there'll be a surprise for you. A good one."

Euphemia gasped happily in relief upon hearing this. But something told her that Suzaku wasn't finished.

"And also, when you see them again, please deliver a message for me. Tell them, I'm sorry I couldn't be there for them. I'm sure they'll be fine without me."

"Suzaku, don't tell me you're-"

The Lancelot wheeled down a pair of walls with one leg on both walls and leaped out into a circle of enemies. "Tell them thank you for everything, and Euphie, I mean that for you too. Thanks for everything," he sighed in acceptance as the enemy raised their guns, "I was stubborn all the way to the end."

"Why don't you tell us yourself?!"

Suzaku gasped as suddenly, lasers of ice and fire rained down from the sky, freezing and burning the Knightmares, their pilots along with them.

o~o

From the Chinese transport, Sawazaki gasped, "What was that?"

"Something just appeared on the radar. And they're huge!"

"We've got picture!"

"Sir! You need to see this!"

Sawazaki gasped as the seven Voltron Lions descended onto the battlefield. The Black and Purple ones landed directly in front of Suzaku, growling aggressively like a real lion would protect its cub. The Green, Yellow, Orange, Blue, and Red ones circled them protectively as well, firing and destroying any Knightmares that got too close.

Suddenly the line went black, only to be replaced moments later by the laughing face of Voltron himself.

o~o

Euphemia gasped in surprise as the same laughing image flashed on her private line as well.

o~o

Rai's fingers danced rapidly across Zerith's keyboard as he quickly and effectively hacked into both the lines that the Lancelot was connected to and effectively cutting both Sawazaki and Euphemia (as well as any other Britannians listening in) out, while also establishing a private line of his own, connecting all the Lions to the Lancelot's communications.

"Wha-Yoru?" Suzaku gasped at the sight of the Purple Lion, "But how are you-?"

"Suzaku!" Nunnally's voice rang through the channel, making him gasp, "Are you okay?"

"Wha-Nunnally?" he gasped, a mixture of awe and horror in his tone. His brow furrowed, "Lelouch, what the hell-"

"For the record, I never agreed to this arrangement," Lelouch answered. One could clearly tell he was frowning as he said this. Lelouch hadn't exactly been pleased when he discovered that Nunnally had gone behind his back and did this, only for Nunnally to argue back that Suzaku needed as much help as possible, and Yoru didn't want to sit back and do nothing while her Paladin's life was in danger.

So, with the promise that they would discuss this when they returned to the Castle, Lelouch relented, knowing Nunnally would at least be physically fine inside the Lion.

"Wait so… Nunnally are you…?"

"No," Nunnally answered, "Yoru's letting me fly her because she wants to help you Suzaku, but… she couldn't do that on her own."

Suzaku was at a loss for words. The Purple Lion still wanted to help him, even after learning what he did? Why? He was sure that anyone on the Castle would have been a better fit than him.

"Suzaku, we all want to help you!" Shirley suddenly exclaimed as the other Lions surrounded the Lancelot, "You did a bad thing, but that doesn't make you a bad person. What about all the times you saved our lives? Like when you helped fight off Sendak when he took over the Castle?"

"Or what about the time you, me, and Milly saved all those Merpeople from that Baku monster?" Rivalz added.

"Or when we fought all those Ro-beasts Zarkon sent against us?" Milly continued.

Rai spoke next, "You've done something that you think you can't forgive yourself for, we get that. I especially know what that's like... But just because you did something bad, doesn't mean you can't redeem yourself."

Kallen huffed out a laugh before speaking next, "You're a stubborn idiot who doesn't know when to quit. But, at the same time, you're someone we can depend on. You didn't even hesitate to help me fight Zarkon back at Galra HQ. And... I never did get a chance to thank you for that."

"Suzaku, please," Nunally begged, "We might have different parents, but you're family to me! I don't want to lose you! I know I'm being selfish right now, but I don't care! Please come back to us! I love you!"

Suzaku was stunned. He was sure that once it had sunk in for the Paladins of his sin, they would leave him. They had the right to after all.

But no, that's not what happened. They didn't see a murderer. They saw a friend, a teammate, a brother, and a member of their family. One that they wanted to come home.

"Suzaku…" Lelouch intoned, shaking him out of his thoughts, "When I first arrived at your family's home, I didn't trust anyone. I completely shut myself out from everyone except Nunnally. But, you were able to help break through my shell, you became the first real friend I ever had outside my biological family. You're always putting everyone else first ahead of yourself, but every now and again, you're entitled to be a little selfish, you're human too. I don't want to lose the first friend I ever had. I don't want to beg, but I will if I have to. You, and everyone else, you've all been there for me. Now it's our turn to return the favor."

Tears had begun to build in his eyes as he listened to Lelouch's speech, but the final statement made them spill over. He gasped and tried to muffle sniffles with his hand. From inside, he heard an almost impatient whine and the sound of metal approaching the Knightmare. He half expected Yoru to start pawing at the Lancelot.

With a hiss, the cockpit of the Lancelot slid open, and just as he suspected, was met with Yoru's long snout.

Patting the top of the Lancelot's head in a clear goodbye, Suzaku jumped to the ground as Yoru lowered her head in front of him with an eager purr.

Making his way up into the familiar cockpit, he was immediately greeted by Nunnally, who instantly leaped up and hugged him tightly. A hug that he gladly returned.

"Thanks for keeping Yoru company," as he pulled back, Yoru's familiar soft growls echoed in his mind, "Yeah, it's good to see you too, girl."

Throwing her head back, Yoru roared loudly, followed by the other six Lions before shooting up into the sky.

"I recognized that strategy the second you appeared in the battle," Lelouch addressed, "They send a single fighter in to try to disrupt the main force so that even if you failed, Britannia's militia would have swooped right in. This has Schneizel written all over it!"

"You think he's here? Maybe on one of those boats?" Kallen asked.

"No," Lelouch shook her head, "Schneizel prefers to stay back and command from a distance, unlike Cornelia who participates actively in the battle."

Before further discussion could ensue, the group suddenly found themselves surrounded by several Chinese helicopters.

"Hey!" Rivalz exclaimed, activating Polaris's sonic ray, "Out the way!"

With a roar, Polaris fired the sonic ray, effectively disabling all of the helicopters, causing them to fall back to Earth.

"So, now what? Who do we attack? One or both sides?" Shirley asked.

Before Lelouch could reply, a screen appeared in front of him, receiving a signal. It seemed to be coming from the Chinese Federation.

"Well, well, Minister Sawazaki," Lelouch addressed as he quickly slid on his mask before answering.

"Zero! Why are you attacking us, we're both on the same side! Shouldn't we be fighting together as comrades?! Don't you care about Japan?!" the Minister exclaimed, but Lelouch could see the fear in his eyes as well.

"Voltron stands against anyone who uses violence unjustly for their own selfish end," Lelouch informed indifferently.

"Selfish?!" Sawazaki shouted in offense, "I'm doing this for Japan!"

"Sawasaki! If this is for Japan, why did you run away to the Chinese Federation?!" Suzaku asked, activating a voice-only connection, "You should have stayed, for everyone's sake!"

"You're still a child!" Sawazaki shouted.

Lelouch sighed dramatically, "It seems words have no effect on you. Very well. Paladins, we're attacking the enemy command center!"

"Wha-what-!" was the final thing Sawazaki said as Zero cut off the connection.

"Form Voltron!"

o~o

"Lady Enneagram," a radio crackled, "Voltron's here! The Lions just converged."

"What?! Why aren't we attacking then?" she exclaimed.

"That's the thing, they appear to be fighting the Chinese Federation!"

"What…? That doesn't make any sense?" she muttered, "Why are they fighting on our side now?"

o~o

"Suzaku… you and Lelouch are…" Euphemia murmured in relief when she heard about Voltron appearing at the base.

o~o

"So that was the plan," Tohdoh said, as he and the rest of the Black Knights watched the footage from the Castle, "It was clear that the Lions were more than enough to take the base…"

"Still, we at least could have helped with Earth-bound Knightmares. Give them some sort of back-up!" Tamaki protested.

"Yeah, even I'll admit it feels weird to be fighting on Britannia's side…" Ohgi trailed off before Allura interrupted.

"You're misunderstanding," the Altean corrected, "Victory is not necessary in this case. But Voltron's participation in this battle is an undeniable truth. It's showing your planet and people exactly where Voltron stands in this war, and that is protecting your nation."

"And even if this battle isn't officially reported," Coran added, "Rumors will spread. By the time this is over, I'm sure the entire country will know about it."

o~o

"What's wrong with going to another country, then waiting for the right moment to strike?!" Sawazaki demanded as he rode in a military vehicle to escape the base that Voltron was currently tearing to pieces. A helicopter was waiting for him and General Tsao., "That's an effective strategy, isn't it?"

"We can set up a new line of defense at Kagoshima," Tsao suggested.

"Right. I appreciate your help," Sawazaki nodded as they finally approached the helicopter pad.

Before either of them could enter the helicopter though, Aka's head suddenly slammed down on it, destroying it completely. Sawazaki stumbled backward in shock as Voltron levitated directly in front of him and Tsao.

"Sawazaki, that's far enough!" Rai ordered from the Green Lion.

"You won't get away that easy!" Kallen shouted.

"Im-impossible!" Sawazaki stuttered in fear before falling to his knees, "They took the largest fortress in all of Kyushu, with hardly any effort?"

The sound of Knightmares and vehicles approaching was heard from below as Voltron turned to leave.

"I think Britannia can handle things from here," Milly stated.

"Right… let's go home," Lelouch ordered before the Paladins rocketed back into the sky, reunited once again.

o~o

Taking one more moment to adjust his armor for the hundredth time, Suzaku took a deep breath before walking steadily onto the bridge, where Allura, Coran, Nunnally, and the other Paladins waited for him.

Allura smiled softly as Suzaku approached from the opened door.

"Suzaku Kururugi, Paladin of the Purple Lion, Yoru, reporting for duty," he said with a bow.

"Welcome back, Suzaku," Allura smiled and handed his Bayard back to him, "I believe this belongs to you."

Suzaku took it, but the feeling of unease still remained. Yesterday, the team had made it clear that they wanted him here. But was he truly worthy as a Paladin?

"I'm grateful, Princess Allura," he said honestly, "but… despite all this, I still feel undeserving of this."

To his surprise, Allura approached and placed a hand on his shoulder, causing him to look up in surprise, "I'm not so sure. I don't know if you're already aware of this, Suzaku. But the Purple Lion's previous Paladin was my mother, Queen Melenor of Altea," Suzaku's eyes widened at this information, along with the rest of the team besides Lelouch, "In a way, she was much like yourself, every bit as stubborn as you are, while also putting the lives of others above her own. But, what made her truly stand out was how she always told me, that when you make a mistake, you can always find a way to redeem yourself no matter how grave your mistake was. You took the life of your own father, and I can't imagine what that must be like for you, but despite all your flaws and shortcomings, the Purple Lion chose you to be her Paladin for a reason; because it recognized the best in you, just as we all do."

Suzaku didn't know what to say, still trying to process this new revelation, so Allura continued.

"When I was a child, my father told me something. I didn't quite understand it back then, but now I do. The real test of honor is not how you die. It's how you live."

Suzaku gasped at this, before smiling, gratitude, and determination on his face, "I won't let you down."

Allura nodded, "I know you won't."

"Yay!" Nunnally cheered, before rushing to hug him again. Suzaku laughed as he gently hugged her back once more.

"All right! Welcome back!" Milly cheered.

"This ship has been way too boring without you Suzaku," Rai smiled.

"Eh… Yeah, I guess it was," Kallen shrugged, but a smirk was still present on her face.

"We've all missed you Number Two," Coran said, patting Suzaku on the back.

"Anyway, now that that's out of our system," Rivalz said, suddenly looking at Suzaku almost accusingly, "bro, why didn't you tell us you had a thing for Princess Euphemia?"

"Wh-" Suzaku sputtered and his face turned tomato red, "Wha-What are you talking about?!"

"You can't fool us, Suzaku," Rai grinned, "Plus, I may or may not have hacked into the Lancelot's communication system halfway through your little love confession. A pretty decent one too if you ask me."

Milly chortled, "So was that your plan to change the system? Marry into the royal family?"

Kallen continued smirking, shrugging again, "Well that does sound like a good idea on paper, but you know all those royal assholes would have a field day with that."

Rai chuckled, "Still, I'd love to see the looks on all their faces if Suzaku and Euphemia did marry."

"Guys!" Suzaku whined, covering his face to hide his blush. He felt absolutely mortified.

"Leave him alone, everyone!" Shirley scolded them, "He literally just got back and we're teasing him already?"

"Yeah!" Nunnally joined in before turning to Suzaku again, "You don't have to listen to them Suzaku, I think you and Euphie would be a great couple!"

"I have been curious to research a couple of Earth's marriage customs for a while," Coran added in, stroking his chin in thought, "If you're planning to propose soon, please inform me."

Though Coran hadn't meant to, this did elicit another round of chuckles from the group. Even Lelouch.

Suzaku sighed, but a smile was spread across his face as he looked up at them.

"It's good to be back."

[rory-of-nantes]

P(e)acemaker // Rory & Marco

Location: Rory and Marco’s house, May 2022

Summary: Rory has been hiding the truth about why she returned to Vannes from Marco (@marco-pierre) since she first moved in. She’d asked her parents to promise not to tell her eldest brother for fear of how he’d react. But now she knows it’s time to come clean. It’s best he know the full truth, especially in the event of an emergency... Her opening up to Marco leads to some tears and some strong sibling bonding.

Triggers: Mentions of chronic illness

As soon as Gen went to bed, Rory knew it wouldn't be long until Marco reminded her what she'd signed to him earlier during dinner. There was no way he'd forget how she'd told him to remind her she had something she wanted to talk about. And as much as she was starting to dread the fact she'd even mentioned such a thing, she knew it was too late to take it back. If she put off this conversation any longer, she'd probably never talk to him, not until it was too late and he found out some other way... And that would be bad. Very, very bad. 

Walking into the kitchen, she leaned against the doorframe, watching her brother do the dishes for a long moment before finally speaking up. "Um... Marco?" She began, waiting for him to turn around. As soon as he did, she switched to signing. Can we talk?

Marco had such a great night with Gen and Rory. He wasn't as sleepy as they were, so after he put Gen to bed, he came back out to wash the dishes and make sure Rory took her nighttime meds so she could go to sleep. Hopefully they would be able to talk before she went to bed. He wondered what Rory had to tell him, he couldn't lie, he was a bit nervous about what she wanted to tell him. He had a million thoughts running through his mind, but he was going to focus on the dishes right now. When he heard her voice he turned to face her, Hey you...we sure can talk, I'm interested in hearing what you have to say.

Once Marco turned around, Rory saw the pile of dishes in the sink. You can finish the washing up first. We can talk about it later. She hastily signed, hoping he'd let her use the dishes as an excuse to push the conversation off just a little bit longer. Besides, she wasn't even sure how she was going to go about tell him. Once he learned she'd been keeping the truth from him this long, he'd certainly be upset. And she was dreading that. 

Marco shook her head, No it's fine, I can wash the dishes later. He didn't want to hold off any longer with this conversation. I really want to know what's going on with you. He put his towel down and walked over to the table, pulling out a chair for her to join him. So what is it sis? Talk to me.

Great. He wasn't going to let her put off the conversation... Rory let out a heavy sigh before slowly making her way to the table, taking a seat in the chair her brother had so gracious pulled out for her. She placed her hands in her lap, fidgeting with them for a long moment, her gaze shifted downward to a random spot on the floor. She wasn't sure how to begin. Did she just come right out and tell him? How did she even do that? Eventually, she glanced up and made brief eye contact with Marco; though she still kept her hands in her lap for a few moments longer. "Um..." She swallowed hard; the words weren't coming to her. So finally, she decided actions might be best. Hesitantly, she reached for the collar of her blouse, tugging the fabric down just enough so he could see the scar from her pacemaker placement surgery. Without saying a word, she let out another sigh, waiting for his response. After all, she wasn't sure he'd even know what the scar meant. So if she had to explain it to him, she was trying to mentally prepare herself to do just that.

Marco sat and waited for Rory to tell him what was going on. The longer she hesitated, the more he got worried what this was about. He didn't want to think about worst case scenario, but she was scaring the hell out of him. He watched as she started pulling her blouse down, and then he saw the scar. His mind starting racing, he wanted her to just tell him what this was about, because he didn't know what to think. He couldn't take his eyes off the scar, but his mouth wouldn't form any words. He shook his head, blinked his eyes, "W-what is..." He pointed to her.

And Marco had no idea what the scar was from. That meant Rory was going to have to try and find the words to explain. Pulling the collar of her blouse back up to cover the scar, she began to sign; though since there wasn't really a sign for pacemaker, fingerspelling it was. P-A-C-E-M-A-K-E-R. She knew she'd have to explain more than that. Tell him when and why. He'd pester her for all the details; so she'd be better off just being as straightforward as possible. My arrhythmia wasn't well controlled anymore. It's why I left America two months early and never made it Costa Rica. I got sick; and went back to London for the surgery... And before you ask, maman and papa already know. Paxton contacted them after I got sick. Once she'd finished what she could bring herself to say for now, she bowed her head and folded her hands in her lap.

Marco was speechless when she spelled out pacemaker, that was the last thing he would have ever thought. A p-a-c-e-m-a-k-e-r? He was shocked that it came to this for her. She had been through so much in her life already, to add this on top of it didn't seem fair. He was shocked to hear that their parents knew and no one told him. Why would no one tell him? And no one thought to tell me? Am I not part of this family? He stood up and started to pace around the room. Rory was his little sister, someone he spent so many nights taking care of. And now when something major happens in her life, no one says anything. He turned to face her again, So what does this mean? Is there something that I need to worry about?

Rory kept her gaze averted until she felt the vibrations of the chair moving and Marco standing up. She glanced up, noticing her brother now pacing back and forth in the kitchen; and instantly, she felt horrible. Chewing at her lip and wiping away a stray tear with the back of her hand, she tried to focus her attention on watching as he signed. She could see the hurt in his face, hurt that he wasn't informed of this sooner. I'm sorry. She began, letting out a heavy and somewhat pained sigh; though she tried her best to mask the pain. She didn't need to give him anything else to worry about in that moment. I know I should've told you sooner; but I wanted to tell you in person... And then I was just waiting for the right time to do so. She explained, hoping he'd forgive her for taking this long, especially since the pacemaker placement surgery had been nearly two months back. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't something you need to worry about... Right now, we're just seeing how this helps the arrhythmia. And if I still have issues, there are other options. But she wasn't going to get into those right now, partially because she didn't know all the options. All she knew was that the pacemaker was supposed to help regulate her heart rate. But if she was still dealing with the irregularity as well as the chest pains and shortness of breath such a thing brought about, her cardiologist would want to look further into the cause and look into other ways of helping manage things. And as much as she didn't want to admit it, she knew that could mean another bigger surgery at some point. Even if the pacemaker did its job, she couldn't help but feel like something was going to happen that would lead her to needing another big surgery... And to think, she'd gone twenty years without needing a fourth.

Marco knew he shouldn't be upset with Rory, but she couldn't help but feel hurt by this. He cared so much about her and he worried about her every time she traveled. Now hearing that she had undergone a serious surgery and no one thought to tell him broke his heart. He let out a sigh when she apologized, I get you wanting to tell me in person, but I would have wanted to be there with you. When you come out of surgery I would have wanted you to see my face when you woke up. He let out another sigh and shook his head. He sat back down and watched her sign out what this all meant and his mind was still reeling from the news. I just don't know what to think right now, I'm scared for you right now, not going to lie. He hated that she was dealing with this and that he was feeling like this. He should be supporting her, but his feelings were hurt. Other options? He wanted to know all the options but it was obvious that she really didn't know what they were. He took her hands in his, "Look, I may be overprotective sometimes but I care about you and I want to know what is going on with you. If you have a slight pain, I want to know."

Rory knew it was no use continuing to try and explain to Marco while she hadn’t told him sooner and told their parents not to tell him. The hurt on his face was too much for her; and knowing she was the cause of it was even worse. As he sat back down, she just kept her gaze on his hands, unable to look him in the face right now. Then when he took his hands in hers, she completely lost it. There was no keeping the tears welling in the corners of her eyes from beginning to course down her cheeks. Blinking them away did nothing except blue her vision. Pulling her hands away from Marco’s grasp, she wiped at the tears before speaking up, her voice shaking. “It hurts, Marco...” 

Now with those words, Rory knew she’d have to elaborate to the best of her current ability. “It always hurts now, Marco; and it terrifies me... I-“ She choked, the words no longer coming out as she now felt like there was a giant lump in the back of her throat, like she was going to be sick. I guess this is my new normal; and I hate it. I fucking hate it... I don’t know what any of this means for me; and that has to be the worst part.

Marco didn't want to make Rory cry, that was the last thing he ever wanted. She was his sister that he would do anything for. There was nothing that he wouldn't do for her. And when she started to cry, he broke down as well. His heart was breaking for her. He didn't know just how much pain she was in till now, and that scared him so much. "Rory..." He could see the pain in her eyes and he never wanted to see her like that. He listened to her talk about her "new normal" and how terrified she was and he wished there was something he could do to fix this, but he knew he couldn't and he felt so helpless.I'll be here Rory, please know that, in whatever way you need me. I promise. The tears were steady coming down his face.

Rory tried to blink away her tears once more before deciding to just wipe them away with the back of her hand. But like before, that just blurred her vision, thus making being able to understand Marco’s signs a bit more difficult. So she didn’t respond to whatever he’d just said. Instead, she shut her eyes and bowed her head as she tried to stop herself from crying too much. Crying always made her chest hurt more and made her lightheaded, two things she really didn’t want to be feeling right then and there. She tried to focus on her breathing so she wouldn’t get dizzy; but it wasn’t really working. Unfortunately that meant she was now stuck where she was sat. As much as she wanted to just up and bolt from the table: she wasn’t about to chance stumbling and losing her balanced in front of Marco.  She didn’t need to give him any further reason to worry, any further reason to be more of a protective big brother.

Marco didn't want to make this about him, if he felt this way, he could only imagine what she was feeling. She was crying and he wanted it to stop, so he wiped the tears from his eyes and knew he needed to be her rock through all of this. He got up from his chair and knelt down in front of her and hugged her tightly. She couldn't see his lips, so it would be futile to talk to her in this moment, all he wanted to do was hold her tight. She was going through so much, so all she needed was her brother, and he was going to give that to her. She was so important him, and he wanted to keep her happy and as safe as possible.

Rory only looked up as she felt the vibrations of Marco moving from his seat. And next thing she knew, her brother was kneeling in front of her, wrapping his arms around her in a tight embrace. Resting her head atop his, she carefully wrapped her arms around him and let out another heavy and pained sigh. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner." She muttered into his hair, still feeling horrible after seeing how keeping this information from her brother had hurt him. That certainly hadn't been her intention.

Marco held her tight, he felt better having her in his arms. He wanted her to feel as safe as possible with him, so she didn't feel like she couldn't tell him things. He shook his head when she was apologizing for not telling him, still not talking because she wouldn't be able to see his lips. He couldn't let her go at this point. After a few minutes of holding her, he pulled away and looked at her, "It's okay, just know I will be here...no matter what, okay?"

Staying in that hug with her big brother was exactly what Rory needed to help put herself together in that moment. With his arms safely wrapped around her small frame, she was able to focus on regulating her breathing; and that helped with some of the lightheadedness as well as some of the chest pains. She still felt like she was going to be sick; but now she didn't feel like she'd fall over if she moved to stand. So when he finally pulled away, a deep frown began to find its way to her face. Then she noticed him start to speak; and she knew that was the only reason he'd broken the embrace. Watching his lips, she nodded softly. "O-Okay."

Marco was a mess, but he wasn't going to show that to Rory anymore. From this point on, he was going to be the Rock that she leaned on. He smiled when she saw what he was trying to say, *Good, now I think it's best if you go lay down and rest. I'm sure this took a lot out of you, and I don't want you to get sick or be in any pain." He stood up, Do you need help to your room? A small smirk came across his face, I can carry you like I used to do when you were a kid. He chuckled.

As Marco suggested she go lie down and rest, Rory just shook her head. I don’t want to lie down. While she knew lying down would be for the best, she didn’t want to go and rest just yet. If she felt her heart start racing like it had been on and off most of the day, she’d go lie down. Or if her chest pains increased or her shortness of breath increased, she’d go lie down. Otherwise, she felt like she’d be fine just curling up in front of the TV and watching a movie. If you try and carry me like you used to do when I was little, don’t think I won’t hesitate to bite you like I did when I was little. She pouted as she watched him move to stand. She wasn’t a child anymore; and she definitely didn’t wish to be treated like one. But do you think you could help me to the couch? She still wasn’t 100% certain she could stand up without wobbling and falling over. Whenever she got even a tad bit lightheaded, she knew she became high-risk.

Marco really wanted Rory to lie down, but he knew better than to fight with her. She was stubborn just like him, so he just let her decide what she wanted. He laughed when she threatened him to bite him, You better not bite me, but if it was necessary that I carry you, then believe me, I would. He was going to respect her space and her wishes, but if he had to do something extreme and carry her, he would. He smiled and helped her up, Yes I can help you to the couch, do you want to watch a movie? He really wasn't in the mood to watch a movie, he was going to turn in early, he was tired.

Rory was fairly certain there would come a time when Marco had to carry her. After all, she’d been prone to dizzy spells and even fainting most her life. And lately, both things had increased in frequency. Oh believe me. I know you would... And I suppose now’s a good a time as any to tell you that if I pass out, I don’t need to go to the hospital unless I’m unconscious for more than a few minutes, hit my head, or my heart rate or oxygen levels aren’t good. But if I just pass out for a minute or two, I’m okay. I’ll just need to ensure I rest afterwards. She tried to reassure him; but she knew her words most likely would cause further worry... She’d type up some whole reference sheet or something, everything he’d need to know about her health currently, include all the stuff she struggled with sharing. Letting him help her  to her feet, Rory leaned into Marco’s side for support and switched to using her voice. “I’ll put a movie on; but I’ll probably fall asleep before anything good happens.”

Marco was glad that Rory knew that he was just as stubborn as she was and if push came to shove, he would carry her anytime he felt like she needed it. Her next comment had him stunned, he couldn't have read that right, did she say if she passed out? He wasn't going to believe it, but then she continued on about when it was okay to take her to the hospital and when not to take her. Pass out? Is that something that happens often? Do you have something that can alert help if you are alone and this happens? Now his worry factor just spiked to 1000% his mind was racing with things he needed to get for the house. This was a very heavy conversation and he was drained from all this information he was receiving tonight. He helped her to the couch, "Well if you do, I'll make sure you get to bed."

Once they were at the couch, Rory plopped down, situating herself so she was leaning against the cushions. Letting out a heavy sigh, she finally answered Marco’s inquiry about her passing out. It’s happened more often since the whole arrhythmia thing began. But I can usually tell when I’m starting to feel faint; and I can lie down or do something to prevent myself from full-on passing out. She explained, hoping that bit would lessen the worry she read all over her brother’s face. This is actually one of the main reasons I want to look into getting a service dog. I’ve wanted to get one for awhile now; but with all my traveling, it didn’t seem feasible. But now that I’m no longer able to travel... She bowed her head at the mere thought of no longer being able to travel. She hated it. Traveling and her blog had become her life. And now, the travel side of her blog was no more, at least for the foreseeable future. “If I start to feel dizzy or faint, I’ll be sure to let you or whoever is around know. I promise.” She then glanced back up, holding out her pinky towards Marco, offering up a small smile.

This was starting to seem like so much more than just a health issue, it was feeling like a health tsunami and he hated that for Rory. He listened as she talked about her situation and why she decided to get a service dog. Well we definitely have to look into getting that service dog as soon as possible because it would definitely ease my worry a little to have a dog with you. He could see the pain in her eyes when she mentioned not being able to travel, he knew how much that was part of her life and he felt so bad that she wasn't able to do that anymore. He sighed and nodded, "Okay, I'm going to hold you to that. I think I'm going to look into getting one of those alert bracelets that can sense when something is wrong and if you pass out and hit your head when I'm not here, or you're out in public."

It takes a little while to properly train service dogs. Like six months to a year. I’d mentioned the idea to maman and papa when I went back to London; and they said they’d start looking into things. Technically I could get the dog now and train him or her myself; but a professional trainer would be best. Little did Rory know, her parents already had a dog in training for her. They were planning on surprising her once the dog was trained or she started looking more into obtaining one. An alert bracelet? Seriously? That was the last thing she wanted. She had her medical ID bracelets she wore all the time; but having to wear another piece of jewelry because of her health... it would only make her feel even more self-conscious about things than she already did. At least a service dog would be cute. I think I’ll wait for the dog. Thanks.

Marco watched as Rory explained  how long it could take to get a service dog, he was glad that she talked to their parents about the dog so hopefully she will get it sooner than later. I'm glad that you talked to them, and I hope they followed through with it so you can get the dog as soon as possible. He let out a sigh when she refused the alert bracelet, Come on Rory, I'm only asking you to do this to ease my mind a little. Can you compromise and wear one until you get the dog?

There would be no way in Hell Marco would drop the whole alert bracelet thing until Rory agreed to one or got a service dog, whichever came first. "Fine." She huffed, crossing her arms over her chest and slouched back against the couch cushions. "I'll wear an alert bracelet or necklace or something if it'll get you off my back... But it can't be all that noticeable." She didn't need another reason for people to treat her differently. She'd already dealt with enough bullshit throughout her life.

Marco knew Rory didn't want to do it, but he was grateful that she was willing to compromise. I know you hate this, but I would constantly worry if you didn't have it. He sat next to her on the couch, "It won't be noticeable and as soon as you get the dog, you never have to wear it again.* He wanted her to have a  normal life and not be treated any differently from anyone, I'm only looking out for you, I promise.

Look, making you worry has never been my intention; so I'm sorry for worrying you so much. Rory knew he'd tell her she had no reason to apologize; but she couldn't help herself from doing just that. She knew she never had to apologize for anything related to her health; but it had almost become a habit at this point. She hated that she caused others to worry; and she hated constantly feeling like a burden because of her health. Thank you. "Thank you for always being there for me, Marco. For always listening... I don't think you realize how much it means to me." She began. "But know you don't have to treat me like I'm made of glass. I'm not going to break." While she obviously wasn't made of glass, she was definitely still very fragile; so in a way, she understood why people treated her as such. She just hated it, especially when it came from her family.

Marco knew that Rory wasn't trying to make him worry about her, but there was really nothing she could do to prevent that from happening. I know you don't want to make me worry, I just do. It's my nature to worry about you and I don't see that changing anytime soon. He waved his hand at her, Don't you dare apologize to me about being worried about you, I care so much about you and I would worry about you even if you didn't have any health issues. He knew more than anyone that she wasn't a fragile being and he would never treat her like glass, but he wasn't going to treat her like there was nothing wrong with her, she was sick, that was facts. He needed to make sure she was always okay, but he knew that she was also a grown woman and needed her independence from time to time. Listen, I will always be here for you, and I should be the one thanking you for allowing me to help you. You gave me purpose and help mold me into the man I am today, so I thank you Rory.

Rory could feel the tears welling up in the corners of her eyes as Marco signed. His words... A wide smile began to form upon her face; and without hesitance, she shifted her position on the couch and leaned forward so she could wrap her arms as tight as possible around her brother. “I love you, big brother.” She stated, staying in the embrace for several seconds longer before pulling away. Wiping away at the happy tears with the back of her palm, she then gestured towards the TV. “Um, could you do me a favor? There’s a green DVD case I put with the others. No label or anything. Just has 2001 written on it. Do you think you can pop the disc in, press play, and then come sit?”

Marco smiled and hugged Rory so tight, he would never get enough of hugging her. Once she pulled away, he smiled, "I love you too sis." They were always close and he liked that they were able to connect again and continue building their relationship. He sat back and looked at her when she asked if he could do her a favor, "Yeah no problem." She directed him to a green DVD case and asked him to put it in for him, but she wanted him to sit and watch it with her. "Okay..." He got up and found what she wanted, and popped it in the DVD player. After he sat back down, he grabbed the remote and turned it up some, "So what's this?"

Rory knew Marco would ask her what was on the DVD; but she wasn't going to tell him. That's why she wanted him to sit and watch it with her. It'd be much more effective to show him the DVD's contents. So after he popped in the disc and moved to sit, a wide smirk began to form upon her face as she read the question on his lips. Just watch. And with that said, she turned towards the TV, waiting for the first image to pop up and reveal what 2001 meant... 

The DVD was a compilation of home videos from the year 2001. She'd gotten then from their parents; and with the help of her best friend from university who happened to be a tech genius, the videos were converted to a DVD with captions so she could enjoy them. And they were all in order. She had a few DVDs made for different years; but 2001 had been a big year in her life. She was 5; and it was the year she got her third and final open heart surgery. It was also a year that involved a lot of videos of her and Marco, videos that showed Marco being the most awesome big brother ever... So as the first image popped up, she sent a quick glance over to her brother to watch his reaction.

Marco should have known she was going to say that, so he just stuck his tongue out at her and sat back brat. He smirked and watched as the screen came on. When the first video started, he was instantly transformed back in that time when he was 16 years old and he was taking care of her before her surgery. His jaw dropped, he signed, When? How did you do all this? He wasn't sure how she was able to do this, but it was already tugging at his heartstrings. 

He watched the DVD with a smile on his face and tears in his eyes, still not believing she had all this from 2001. He had some pictures of them, but nothing was like this. He couldn't stop watching, it was so sweet seeing all the pictures of them together. Seeing that beautiful smile of her, and even the ones where she was frowning. When another picture came up and he laughed, I remember this like it was yesterday. You had just come from the doctors and you were feeling a bit down, so I dressed up in my pirate costume and read your favorite story. All I wanted to do was make you smile, so I went all out and acted every part of the story. I always wanted you to have adventures in life and I am glad you were able to fulfill all those dreams. He smiled and continued watching.

Between the actual home videos, there were some pictures thrown in as well. All in all, it was just a nice trip down memory lane, even if some of the memories were ones Rory would've rather forgotten. She never liked seeing pictures or videos from when she was little and really sick. She hated how she looked with nasal cannula or even that stupid brace for her clubfoot... But putting the video compilation together had been a fun project; and she'd wanted to share it with Marco for years now. The opportunity had just never presented itself before now. You like? She asked, already knowing what the answer would be. My friend J-A-Y from uni helped me with this. He's into all that tech stuff; and he said as long as I got him the source materials, he could put all the videos and pictures onto a DVD and add captions to the videos so I know what's going on. Her friend's help had allowed her to enjoy old home videos for the first time in her life. She'd seen them before over the years; but she'd always had to ask her family to tell her what was being said. And that was always annoying. Turning her attention back to the TV screen, she smiled wide as an actual video of pirate Marco started to play. He looked ridiculous; and she could only image he sounded just as silly.

Marco couldn't stop looking at the screen, it was so many memories flashing before him, he couldn't believe that she had this made. The tears were welling up in his eyes, it was so nice to see all these pictures and videos again. Of course I like it, this is amazing. I can't believe you did this. He wanted to hug her, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the screen. Not that I mind, but why did you decide to do this? I love seeing all of this but.... He was getting choked up, What made you do this? He turned just in time to see him reading her pirate story,  Wow, I didn't even know someone was recording that. He laughed hearing his silly pirate voice, he couldn't stop himself from laughing at how silly he was. Seeing your face when I would do this was why I loved it so much. Look at how excited you get.

Rory only pulled her gaze from the screen as she caught Marco signing out of the corner of her eye. Turning to face him, she smiled at his words before momentarily shifting her attention back to the TV, her smile widening at the current video. As the video ended and some pictures started to pop up, she shifted her seat and once more turned to face her brother. You asked why I had this made? That's simple. She began. I was away at school; and maman sent me a box with a bunch of old pictures in it. There was a video in there too; and when I went to watch it... Well, let's just say I realized how much more enjoyable it would be with captions. So I decided to look into having that done. I wanted to be able to better follow along, know what was going on. While she could easily follow along when someone was signing in the video and was facing the camera so she could see their hands, there were plenty of videos where she couldn't make out the signs or there weren't any in the first place. It became a little project of sorts for me and J-A-Y... His name sign is— She stopped to demonstrate his name sign. He's like my third brother; so I talk about him a lot. He was also featured a lot in her blog posts about her three months in India, mainly because he'd been the one she'd gone with. He was born there and still had family in the country. I had maman send me more videos; and he compiled them into different DVDs by years and added captions where needed.  There was also a secondary reason Rory had the video compilation DVDs made; but she didn't want to share that with Marco, at least not yet.

Marco couldn't stop watching the screen, it was so sweet that Rory would go through the trouble of getting this made. It gave him the confirmation that everything he did for her was special and she appreciated it. He loved her more than anything and he would act a fool anyday. He listened to why she had this made, and it made sense to want something like that. I wish I had something like this when I was in the military. He smiled looking at how they were when they were younger, I probably wouldn't have been so lonely. Next time you meet with J-A-Y, please tell him I said thank you for doing this.

We try and Zoom weekly. Next time we have a chat planned, I’ll call you into the room if you’re home. You can thank him yourself. It would be nice for Marco to meet Jay, even if it was just via a video chat. Since Jay was like a third brother to Rory, she definitely wanted him to finally meet at least one of her biological brothers. Otherwise, I may have to invite him to come visit over the summer.

Marco smiled, Great, then call me when you do so I can come say thank you to him. He did an amazing job. Watching this was bringing back so many wonderful memories and he wanted nothing more than to see more of the video. He laughed when she said she was going to invite him You should, I'm sure he misses you as well and would love to spend time with you.

Rory really did miss Jay. He’d become quite special to her during her university days and continued to be quite special to her ever since, even to the point he’d been there at the hospital in London when she’d gotten her pacemaker. Whenever she was in the hospital, he‘d been there. You know how you said you wished you had known about my surgery so you could’ve been there when I woke up? Well I had Jay there. So I did have someone making sure I was okay.

Marco looked back at the screen, laughing at him playing dress up with Rory, still not believing he did that. He turned and looked back at her as she signed at him, and he knew that hearing Jay was there for her when she had her surgery should be comforting, but it wasn't, he really wanted to be there. He didn't want to make her feel bad, so he smiled, I'm glad someone was there to be with you.

Rory could still tell that her not telling Marco about her surgery until now had hurt him. She could still see the desire to have been there for her behind his eyes. Even though his words said he was glad Jay had been there for her, she knew that wasn't the full truth. Letting out a small sigh, she returned his smile, momentarily turning her attention back to watching the current home video on the TV before speaking up. "I'm really sorry I didn't tell you sooner. And I'm really sorry I made maman and papa promise not to tell you either." If she had know her keeping this from him would've hurt him this badly, she definitely would've told him. It hadn't been her intention to hurt him. It had merely been her intention to not cause him further worry.

Marco hated that he couldn't shake his feeling of sadness when it came to not being there for Rory during her time of need. He had always been there for her no matter what, and for something like this happen and him not know about it upset him. He tried to keep his emotions to himself, but obviously Rory still picked up on it. He sighed when she apologized again, It's okay...you had your reasons and no matter what they were, it was your choice and I have to respect it.

"I just didn't want to worry you." Rory opted to continue to use her voice, knowing how Marco loved hearing her speak despite her own hatred of how she assumed she sounded. She figured letting him hear her speak when signing was clearly an option might make him happy. "It honestly wasn't even that major of a procedure. Could've been done outpatient and with local, um, anesthesia—" She paused as she hated fumbling over her words; and that was such a word she never failed to fumble over. "—if I wasn't allergic to the stuff." Her allergy to local anesthetics had always been quite inconvenient. Made even the smallest procedures 10x more complicated and risky.

Marco shook his head, "I understand why you felt it was necessary to do that, but I would be lying if I said I didn't still feel a little hurt by it. But you are a grown woman and can make your own decisions about your health and healthcare. I respect your choices Rory and no matter what, I'm going to always be there for you."

Rory watched as Marco spoke, still unable to feel a bit of guilt for upsetting her brother. But she just nodded at his words, offering up a small smile before shifting how she was sat on the couch so she could rest her head on his shoulder as she let out another heavy sigh. Thank you. "I love you, Marco."

Marco wrapped his arms around her shoulders, he could tell she was sincere about her apology and that meant a lot to him. He signed, I know you do, and I love you as well...always and forever. He leaned down and kissed her on the top of her head. They stayed like that for a little while longer, when he heard shuffling from his room, I'm going to head to bed, I don't want Gen to think I abandoned her. You should head to bed as well. He smiled and got up, kissing the top of her head, Night sis. He headed back to his room feeling better about things.

[the-god-of-nihon]

Writing Idea: It’s called an AU pt1

RWBY characters interacting with alternate versions of themselves and their friends from different universes.

Future Jaune wakes up in his bed back at Beacon, which is odd considering he went to sleep on a ratty couch in an abandoned house. Also Beacon was destroyed 20 years ago.

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Jaune roused from his slumber, the softness of his bed urging him to stay where he was, in that moment he knew something was wrong. Jaune distinctly remembered falling asleep on a lumpy couch in an abandoned house within which he took shelter. His eyes shot open, met with the sight of a plain ceiling with a single light fixture in the center; a ceiling he knew but hadn’t seen in nearly 20 years. He sat up stiffly, eyes darting from side-to-side taking in the details of the darkened room around him. The bookshelves, the wallpaper, the curtains, three beds to his right it was all the same; this was undoubtedly his dorm room back at Beacon. Which shouldn’t exist anymore. His fists balled in the sheets underneath him, the sensation should have comforted him.

Who would even know what it looked like, let alone the exact placement of everything? Jaune reasoned, thinking the ability to touch things ruled out visual illusions, an ability to alter perceptions to this extent seemed unlikely, even more so due to the nature of what exactly was presented before him. He glanced at the other sleeping figures in the room wondering half-joking to himself that perhaps he fell into some kind of wormhole. He slowly stood, taking deliberate and careful steps towards the bed closest to him. Where Lie Ren, his former teammate, and brother in all but blood slept as he always did, like a log, so still you could mistake him for a corpse. Ren had been gone for years, and yet here he was, younger than he last saw him, but here all the same. “Then that means . . ,” Jaune hazard a look to the other side of the room, and his feet carried him to the furthest bed from him; He leaned over the sleeping girl in it, and gazed down on the face of a beautiful young woman with long crimson hair.

He couldn’t believe it, “Pyrrha?” Jaune extended his hand to touch her, but stopped partially due to how creepy he suddenly felt, partially due to the fear of finding out this really was a dream. The girl in the next bed over turned over, throwing off the covers off her body revealing Nora Valkyrie in all her glory, snoring and drooling. Jaune felt tears burn at the corners of his eyes, this had to be a dream, it was too good to be true.

A quiet gasp drew his eyes back down to the girl he was still leaning over, whom appeared very confused and shocked, Jaune pulled back quickly sputtering out words to explain himself.

Obviously waking up to find a dirty, armed old man leaning over you, even the bravest of individuals would be at least a bit surprised. So Pyrrha sat up and screamed, and almost immediately a blur of pink and orange slammed him into a wall.

Jaune rolled out the way of Nora’s next attack, but found the barrel of a gun pressed against his cheek. Ren staring him down with a look that promised pain, “Who are you?”

“Ren, Jaune is gone!” Pyrrha who had stood and grabbed her own weapon, was near hysterical not due to intruder, but because their leader had apparently vanished into thin air.

“What have you done with Jaune?” Ren pressed again, rage clear on his face.

“If you did anything to Jaune, I’m gonna make you wish you had never been born!” Nora returned with her warhammer, her usual bubbly disposition nowhere in sight.

“I know how this must look, but please listen to m-“ Jaune held his hands up to show his surrender, and try to explain the situation when Team RWBY busted through the door falling in a heap.

The youngest and leader, Ruby climbed out of the pile, worried expression juxtaposed against her pajamas and sleeping mask. “What’s wrong? Who screamed? Did something happen?” Questions streamed out of her mouth as her teammates worked to untangle themselves. Finally taking in the situation at hand, Ruby saw three of her friends in their pajamas holding a middle-aged man at gunpoint.

“What’s going on here?” Yang asked following up on her sister, “who’s the old guy?”

“We were just getting to that,” Pyrrha replied moving closer to her, letting Ren and Nora keep an eye on him. “When I woke up this man was standing over me, I screamed and Nora tackled him. Then we got the situation under control.”

“So he’s some kinda perv?” Yang cracked her knuckle angrily taking a step towards Jaune.

“But how did he get in the first place, we’re not on the first floor, and the doors require a pass code. He’d have had to break in first, which obviously wouldn’t have been quiet, as you noticed when we made out entrance, and there isn’t any sign of forced entry.” Blake straightened out her yukata, pointing out a logical question.

“We think he did something to Jaune as well, he was gone when we woke up!” Pyrrha threw out quickly, indicating to the empty bed against the far wall.

“What!?” Ruby clearly distressed advanced on the man, shouting at him as she got closer, “Why?! Where is Jaune!?”

“Please just let me explai-,” Jaune attempting to start again gesturing with his hands for everyone to calm down.

“Oh dear, this looks like a mess,” the even tone of Ozpin’s voice clearly not fit for the tense situation, inspecting the broken doorframe, then his eye falling onto Jaune.

“Yes, more people just what we need,” Jaune let out a sigh, he would have face-palmed if not for the weapon digging into his cheek. “Just get CRDL and SSSN we can have a party.”

“There had better be a good reason for breaking school property and causing a racket so early in the morning,” Glynda moved into the room riding crop at the ready, soon finding herself glaring at the man sitting on the ground with weapons pointed at his face. “I do not believe we know you sir, and unauthorized individuals are not allowed on campus.”

“Can I finally explain what’s going on,” Jaune snapped, only to find Glynda’s crop pressed against his nose as well, “right.”

“Now now, let’s at least hear what he has to say, there is a process to these kinds of things,“ Ozpin moved as if he had all the time in the world, “if he is found to be unsavory, he will be dealt with.”

“Always with the dramatics Ozpin,” Jaune wanted to snark more, but his position made it a bit difficult.

“Oh, so you are familiar with me, are you a Huntsman?” Ozpin took a sip of whatever he had in the mug, even after 20 years Jaune had never found out.

“In a way,” Jaune replied as Ozpin motioned for everyone to lower their weapons, “I never actually graduated from an academy, but yeah I’m classified as a huntsman.”

“I’m afraid I can’t remember your face, would you mind telling me your name?” Ozpin smiled his Ozpin smile, friendly, but somewhat disconcerting.

Jaune contemplated for a moment, then exhaled deeply causing his shoulder to sag before looking Ozpin straight in the eye, “my name is Jaune Arc.”

Silence. A beat, then all hell broke loose. A flurry of accusations, threats, and various swears were sent his way.

Glynda’s voice drowned out the other voices, gaining a handle on her students, she once again pointed her crop at Jaune staring him down, “I have little patience for games, if you continue to try my patience you will regret it. Where. Is. Jaune Arc.”

“I am Jaune Arc,” Jaune grabs onto the shaft of the crop returning her intense gaze.

“I’m afraid we are a bit reluctant to believe you, because while there is a Jaune Arc at this institution, he is undeniably a young boy, around the age of 17.” Ozpin gazed at the man over the rim of his glasses, who in turn met his eyes, “which you are obviously not.”

“Clearly. How bout some proof?” Jaune proposed, letting go of his grip in Glynda’s weapon, “I can prove I’m really Jaune Arc.”

“We’ll be the judge of that.” Nora spoke up, a sentiment of which all the other students present agreed on. Since the teachers had arrived she and the other students had calmed down, although clearly they were more than ready to lay into him.

“Okay, my name is Jaune Arc, when I was 17 I started attending Beacon Academy in Vale. I have seven sisters, never went to a combat school, and got into Beacon using fake transcripts.” Jaune gestured with his hands as if to ask if that was enough, “need more? Blake is a faunus, and uses her bow to hide it. When Pyrrha and I first met, she speared me to a wall, and again in initiation. Growing up I had a collection of lucky Pumpkin Pete’s hoodie, and the code word Nora and I agreed on to use in case of body snatchers, or mimics is. ‘Chrysanthemum.”

Nora gasped the biggest gasp to ever gasp, pointed at Jaune shouting, “Oh my god! It is Jaune!”

“Ozpin?” Jaune directed the unspoken question towards the headmaster.

“Hmmm, Miss Belladonna who is aware of your heritage?” Ozpin asked without looking at Blake.

Blake seemed surprised by the question, ‘uh, only my team, who told JNPR with my permission. And a student from Haven who is also a faunus.”

“Miss Nikos?”

“Ah. Uh. . .,” Pyrrha blushed slightly, and coughed into her hand, “Y-yes, I did spear him. His hoodie, I mean, of which he has a surplus.” She finished and opened a dresser, revealing a drawer full of identical black bunny hoodies.

“There, that fit the bill?” Jaune crossed his arms leaning against the wall, “or do I need to go into my family history?”

“How about Crocea Mors?” Ruby piped up, her eyes shift from person to person before settling on Jaune, “I mean, if you’re really Jaune you should have his sword. He told me it was a family heirloom.”

Leave it to Ruby to identify by weapon, “unfortunately I am no longer in possession of Crocea Mors, it was destroyed in a battle, sorry Ruby.” Jaune shrugged, “but that does give me an idea, Ruby do you remember when you first met me- er Jaune?”

“The day when we all arrived at Beacon on the bullheads?” Ruby tilted her head, finger on her chin thinking back, “the day Jaune puked on Yang’s shoes, and I exploded?”

“That’s the one,” Jaune pointed in affirmation, then pulled back his hand and looked at Yang, “Sorry about that. Again. But uh- do you remember how I introduced myself?”

“Yeah, he said ‘The names Jaune Arc, short sweet, rolls off the tongue. The ladies love it!” Ruby quoted, Jaune joining in and repeating the exact same words along with her.

This man so different from the boy she had met that day looked up at her and smiled, the same smile she had seen many times, “Then you asked if they really did, to which I said that they would, or at least I hoped. Then went on about some advice from my mom. We ended up lost, and had to backtrack to find the auditorium.”

“Oh. It- it is you.” Ruby was dumbstruck, not sure exactly how to feel about the revelation. She extended her hand to touch him, but stopped short, “but how? Why are you?”

“Old?” Jaune laughed, “if I had to guess I’m not actually your Jaune, but a Jaune from a point in the future in another timeline.”

“Future? Timeline?” Weiss spoke with a dissatisfied tone, “as in time travel?”

“Another timeline’ implies more than one, it sounds more like multi-verse theory,” Ren replied instead, “essentially a timelines exists for every possible difference, or outcome. Say one day Nora has a choice to eat pancakes or waffles. In one timeline, she chooses pancakes, in the another waffles. Both are equally valid timelines, the only difference being that choice.”

Nora oddly enough seemed to understand fairly well, while playfully smacking Ren on the back. Yang rubs her head in frustration, “so for every possible difference an entirely different timeline exists? Even stuff that doesn’t matter like breakfast food?”

“Breakfast most certainly does matter, it’s the most important meal of the day!” Nora interjecting a bit indignantly at Yang’s words.

“That’s why it’s called the many worlds theory,” Ozpin states swirling the contents of his mug idly, ”although I suppose it’s not much of a theory if this is true. I must say I surprised you’re familiar with the concept, Mr. Arc.”

“Multiverse plotlines are pretty common in comics,” Jaune replied making a bit of a show of being bashful, and clearing his throat.

“How can you be sure you’re from another timeline, and not the future of this present?” As nonplussed as usual, Blake’s even tone and expression helped to mellow the situation.

Jaune shrugging, and giving a small chuckle, “cause this didn’t happen in my timeline, if this was my timeline I’d remember it. In theory at least.”

“In theory, how would all this have happened?”

“I’m not exactly sure how, but I ended up in the bed of this timeline’s Jaune,” Jaune pressed his fist against his mouth in thought, “which doesn’t bode well for your Jaune if we switched places.”

A wave of fear spreads through the students present at this realization, before Jaune speaks again, “if he stays put he probably won’t get into too much trouble, provided he keep calm. But knowing me back then- uh now, he’ll be freaking out, and that might bring Creatures of Grimm to him.”

“We have to do something!”

Jaune spoke crossing his arms, face twisting into a grimace, “not much we can do, considering I don’t even know how I got here, or how I’ll be getting back.”

The fear circulating between the group, turned to dread, as looks were exchanged back and forth.

“Uh, what’s the date?” hoping to change the subject, Jaune drew the group’s attention elsewhere.

“Does it matter?”

“how long until the Vytal Festival?”

“A few weeks,” Glynda replies quickly, “the majority of the students from other kingdoms have begun to arrive.”

“So it hasn’t happened yet,” Jaune’s brow furrowed, “But the breach happened, and security control for the Festival was given to Ironwood, correct?”

“How do yo-“ Glynda began to ask shocked by the question.

“Yes.” Ozpin cut her off, “Roman Torchwick was apprehended and the causalities were kept to a minimum due to quick response of the combined forces of Vale’s huntsmen and huntresses, and the Atlas Military. Why is this significant?”

“Well in my timeline during the finals of the Vytal Festival Tournament, the matches are sabotaged, and a combined attack of the White Fang, Grimm and hacked Atlas machines destroys Beacon, and nearly does the same to Vale.” In that moment Jaune swore he could hear a pin drop, all eyes directed at him in shock.

“W-what?” Ruby squeaks out, taking a step towards Jaune, “is that really going to happen?”

“No way to know until it happens, or doesn’t. Who knows this timeline could be completely different,” Jaune shrugs, and then moves to stand up finally. “But at least considering the events of the Breach are the same, this timeline bears some similarities to mine.

“Whoa wait, isn’t you telling us this gonna like paradox or something?” Yang still reeling places her hands on Ruby’s shoulders.

“Nah, like I said this isn’t my timeline so any changes in this one isn’t going affect mine, probably” Jaune pats Ruby on the head, and grins.

“Do you have any actually proof that’s true?” Weiss asked, always the skeptic.

“Nope, but it’s already done, and we haven’t imploded, so no use worrying about it now,” Jaune waved his hand noncommittally. Weiss prickled in response, reared back about to point out how irresponsible that is.

Ozpin stepped forward directly in front of Jaune, “if it is not too much trouble I would like to hear more about this event.” “Of course not right now, if seems everyone could use some time to process this new information, and tidy themselves up,” the older man analyzing the man in front of him as he sipped away at his mug, “please drop by my office when you feel like continuing.”

“Can do. But yeah should probably let everyone get out of their pajamas at least,” Jaune gestures to his friends still in their sleepwear, with their bed-head.

[dante-vergil64]

December Rain

People used to say that the meaning of life would be found in great exploits and achievements, that through adventures and diligence one would become who one was meant to be.

He often wondered if the people who believed such things ever experienced the true significance of their existences.

As a young boy, his entire world was viciously ripped to sheds in the most brutal manner imaginable, event that tangibly shaped his life into a blood-soaked road fully consumed by vengeance.

As a teenager, he abandoned all loyalties and became a ruthless criminal walking further into the shades that would empower him in order to materialize his ambitions, going as far as to almost kill the one he had, from the bottom of his tattered heart, considered to be his best friend.

As a young adult, the death and subsequent revival of his beloved older brother had sent his mind into a spiral of madness that had nearly threatened to consume their world in a black fire of which there would have been no return from.

He had raged through an unholy war, crushing endless enemies with a peerless might that had permanently carved his name in the tomes of history. Crimson eyes witnessed the fall of both living and dead in a catastrophic conflict that shook the world to its very core. 

Indeed, he had experienced his fair share of unbelievable events, but it wasn’t until that rainy night in mid-December that he truly caught a glimpse of the reason he had ever been given the blessing of life.

The post-war world had left their once bright and vivid village in somber shambles, a diverse collection of scars marring the city streets he used to walk through as a child.

Despite all the tending and healing, and mending and rebuilding, the sky had remained a bitter grey to his obsidian gaze. A consuming emptiness inhabited his being like a parasite, unwilling to release him as he vaguely pondered if it would have been any different had he succumbed to death in the battlefield.

For the first few months after the final battle, his days were spent inside a cold and dirty makeshift cell as the village leaders reluctantly debated what his fate would be. 

Bound by chains and seals all around his body, with no visibility and in complete isolation, all that had remained were tragic memories of the past replaying endlessly, one after another.  

He had had nothing. No goals, no desires, no ambitions, no fears, no passions, no worries, nothing but regrets and guilt. Not even the murderous anger and the vicious hurt he had carried since the massacre had been left. He had been empty, his body barely going through the necessary motions to survive.

After a rather aggressive intervention from Naruto, the five Kage had decided on  allowing him freedom with the condition that he had to be severely restrained and kept on watch for an unspecified period of time.

He had merely agreed because of the discomfort the tight chains caused him. 

He had been subsequently relocated to a small, dimly lit apartment that had been confiscated by the authorities, standing close to the Hokage building by the center of the village. 

His release had held no significant distinction to his nihilistic perspective. His time had been carelessly spent in isolation with his mind constantly drifting, his surroundings entirely forgotten.

Confrontations with others had been kept at a minimum despite Naruto’s deep efforts and insistence.

He had rapidly started avoiding even him, yearning reprieve from the incessant noise and activity within the village.

By the end of his first year back in that place, he had developed a consistent habit of wandering around the dark empty streets during the middle of the night, basking in the silence that followed like an insulating blanket.

He had rather become inclined of doing so when it rained. The light sounds the raindrops made as they met the cold ground pavement, and the feeling of the water gently brushing against his skin had been one of few things he pleasantly discovered soothing.

It had been a night not unlike that, when he first met...Her

His feet had been unhurriedly carrying him through the deserted streets of the commercial district of the still recuperating village without any particular destination in mind.

Heavy downpour had deafened unwelcome distractions as his steps echoed silently in the rippling water below.

As an ash grey sky had thoroughly masked the darkness of the night, he had allowed himself to fall prey to his disarrayed thoughts.

His mind had been deliberating incoherently, his continued existence purposeless and without further significance. He had remained in a perpetual limbo that he couldn’t escape from with a cacophony of emotions that had left him entirely exhausted.

He had stopped steadily in front of a large circular stone fountain at nowaki plaza. His clothes had stuck to his body as he stood staring blankly at his blurred reflection in the undulating water.

Temperature had gradually dropped to the mid-thirties and despite the fact that his body was internally heated by his fire nature chakra, the increasing ferocity of the gelid winds had started to become unpleasant.

Unbothered by the pouring rain, he had begun heading back through a lesser known path on the third corner of the 20th ward that lead to the main residential sector.

A pleasant, bitter smell had suddenly reached his senses as he was quietly crossing a street flanked by a number of small old rustic buildings.

Jasmin and earl grey had permeated alluringly through the sturdy cypress walls of a humble-looking tea shop as dim light faintly escaped the narrow windows.

The name written in the hanging banner had been unrecognizable to his gaze, never having encountered such place before.

Enticed by the appealing fragrance of the leaves, he had wistfully turned to the entrance of the shop before heading inside.

The smell had grown significantly stronger as his feet moved closer to the wooden counter, a small trail of water being left behind with each step.

Charcoal eyes had roamed appraisingly across the small establishment, a tranquil silence encapsulating the space within.

Old wooden tables had rested spread around the tidy room, pale walls duly decorated with heirlooms and antiques. 

Several colorful lavender flowers had laid perched on tall glass vases that were attached to upper segments of the walls , conveying a pleasant harmonious atmosphere with the rest of the ornaments. 

A woman had lied seated as the single costumer a few spaces to his left, long thick strands of straight indigo hair flooding silkily down her delicate shoulders.

She had been scribbling measuredly on a piece of parchment as her table was occupied with several open books. Her movements had been slow, tired. she had seemingly been there for quite a while.

A cup of warm jasmine tea had lied to her right as she continued diligently with what had most likely been her work.

Her factions had been obstructed to him by her lengthy hair, yet he had noticed the white lavender jacket and the navy shinobi trousers that she wore.

He had been briefly surprised that someone other than himself had been out of their homes during the rain.

His obsidian orbs had then turned away from the woman to the store owner behind the counter. 

A slight frown had marred the man’s factions, eyes shining with unbridled wariness as they had focused on him. Recognition.

He hadn't been surprised, his reputation had been rather infamous. The pain and anguish his name had caused had remained an open wound for many within the village. 

Gazes full of hatred and mistrust had followed him around wherever he went. He had become accustomed to it all, being able to easily ignore it.

“One black tea” he had said indifferently as he placed a pair of coins on the counter.  

The old man did not move to take the money, his brown gaze watching expectantly for his suspicions, his fears to be confirmed, “We do not serve your kind here, demon” he had muttered gruffly, great resolve steeling his frail body as he had clenched his fists in apprehension.

He had remained unconcerned, his ebony eyes as serene as when he had first stepped inside. Inwardly, mild annoyance had invaded his senses as his gaze had lingered motionlessly on the man before him.

He had been about to turn around and walk away from the little tea shop when a gentle, soft feminine voice resonated to his left as the chair in which the woman had been seated scraped backwards against the stone floor. “Mr. Shiroe! That was very rude of you!” she had called as she turned to the man she had been addressing, faint displeasure and something akin to disappointment adorning her delicate factions.

Charcoal eyes had stared with slight intrigue, not expecting her involvement at all.

Her eyes had been a captivating shade of lilac tinted white, unhidden compassion and kindness shining full in display.

A delicate button up nose had descended down the middle of her elegant face framed with supple aristocratic cheekbones that gave her a peculiarly regal visage. Her full lips and small ears had had a feminine quality that was simply alluring.  

She had been positively enchanting as far as appearances were concerned, evidence of her high-praised bloodline.

Her movements had been impressively graceful as she stood and approached  them determinedly.

“L-lady Hinata!” the old man had gasped, his surprised chestnut gaze centered strugglingly on the indigo-haired woman.

“It is not right to be so disrespectful of others.” she had said glancing his way before turning back to the other man “He is a person, just like you and me. I know you are better than this, Mr. Shiroe” the words had flown out of her mouth gently, almost like a whisper. A pleading expression had crossed her factions as she continued to stare earnestly at the shopkeeper.

Sasuke had noticed the man had the decency of looking ashamed for his attitude as he partially bowed to the woman at his side. 

His reluctant gaze had centered on him for an instant before taking the money on the counter and leaving to prepare the tea.

“I did not require your assistance.” he had said indifferently, his blank gaze traveling to the delicate-looking woman.

His words had not seemed to bother her in the least as the tips of her lips lifted into a candid smile. He remembered being surprised at how beautiful she was.

“I apologize if my involvement was unnecessary, I just did what I thought was right” she had continued in that pure almost bewitching voice as she respectfully bowed to him.

it had been an inkling of something, surprise, intrigue, curiosity and something more he couldn't name that enveloped his body unexpectedly.

That was the first time he had felt something other than overwhelming emptiness since the end of the 4th war. 

She had invited him to drink his tea in her company, her work patiently left aside temporarily. He had agreed nonchalantly, interested in satiating his curiosity of the woman who could look at him and see an ordinary guy.

Their meetings had begun from that day onwards, intermittent at first due to the unfamiliarity with one another, but slowly, gradually becoming more recurrent.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity he had started looking forward to things, to seeing her.

And she was so...incomparable. He had often found himself just staring trying to memorize each and every quirk of hers. 

Hinata Hyuuga was kind, soft-spoken, mature, stubborn, diligent, optimistic, wholesome, naive, clumsy, and a million things more.

Without realizing it he had quickly fallen in love with her.

When her teammates had found out about their meetings they had been greatly displeased, their distrust of him leading them to believe he could be a danger to her.

It was the first time since the fated battle with his brother that he had truly been afraid. Apprehensive of the possibility that she would heed her friends’ warnings and terminate whatever relationship they’d had.

He had been a selfish man, and even though he had not understood his feelings at the time, he knew with complete certainty that he did not wish to be separated from her.

But he could not demand her affection, and so he had left that choice to her.

She had reached for him with her delicate fingers, holding him close by the sides of his face as their foreheads touched soothingly, dissuading all his fears and insecurities. 

Her voice had echoed as gently as the day he had met her as she addressed the words she had been holding deep within her heart. “It doesn’t matter what anyone says, you are very important to me. I will not let anyone take you away. So please, stay with me.” 

She had offered those words to him with all the courage she had been able to muster, a trail of tears descending down her cheeks at the prospect their parting. 

That day was the first time he had kissed her. And nothing else had seemed to matter from then on. He had held strongly onto her with his both arms, finally allowing all those complicated feelings he had once been hiding to reveal themselves to her.

That was when he truly understood. That it had been her all along, the reason he had been born in that beautiful terrible world. The reason he had loved, and lost, and lost again. The reason he had remained alive despite it all. it had been her.

To meet her, to fall in love with her, to hug her, to kiss her, to make her laugh, to wipe her tears, to stand beside her, to make love to her, to make sure she was the happiest she could possibly be, to protect her. It had always been her.

Not a single day passed in which that fact was forgotten.

Now, seven years later, as he lay seated on his large silky bed, gentle rain pounding against his glass windows, he brought a bundle of blankets in his arms closer to inspect.

The whole world lied in the safety of his arms, the product of their love, his hope and pride softly tucked inside her lilac cotton blanket. 

His warm obsidian gaze then drifted to the space beside him. Straight indigo strands of hair fell silkily down the nape of a neck. Her even breathing had remained unperturbed as he dedicated himself to watch her, to thank her, to lover her.

It had been one long, rainy night in mid-December when he discovered it had never been because of his past, his achievements, or his fame that his heart continued to beat, but a very special woman with kind eyes and an a beautiful earnest smile.

[sabraeal]

We Seek That Which We Shall Not Find

“Name.”

The word itches in her ear as she stares at she box, stymied. She’s used to the ones at the apartments, where you press a button and talk, but this one is smooth, sleek, barely more than a speaker. It’s meant to not ruin the line of the gate.

Shirayuki shifts, staring up at the spear-points of the finials, the toe of one sneaker scratching at her ankle. She hadn’t known -- Zen hadn’t told her there’d be some sort of gate keeper. She’s known he was well-off -- hard to miss that, with the sort of gossip that went around him at the school -- but she’d thought -- Mcmansion. Three car garage. The usual sort of extravagance.

She was not expecting Wayne Manor, complete with wrought iron gate and stylized W, driveway stretching endlessly behind.

“Name.” Also complete with disembodied voice. “Just say it. We can hear you.”

That...does not make her feel any better. “S-Shirayuki.”

A sigh huffs out of the speaker. “Full name.”

“Shirayuki Nowakowski?”

“Are you expected?” the box demands, with about as much emotion as a toaster.

“Uh.” She stares at the brick wall, at the little spearheads on top of the gate. “I’m here for D&D?”

There’s no answer from the box this time, just a buzz as the gates swing open. It’s so slow she’d be waiting whole minutes if she was trying to drive up. As it is, she slips through the gap as soon as it’s big enough to fit her.

She turns back when she’s halfway up the drive, just in time to see it open fully, standing there like there’s an actual car to let through. She giggles at that, stumbling over some curbing, and –

“PLEASE DO NOT STEP ON THE GRASS!”

“Oh gosh!” she yelps, dodging the aggressive spray of a sprinkler. “It was a mistake!”

The sprinkler, for its part, is unmoved. Her left sock is partially soaked. A great impression to make the first time she does – whatever this is going to be.

Fun, she hopes.

Shirayuki’s seen a bunch of fancy entrances in her time. She grew up in a Victorian townhouse with full veranda, wrapping front to back, and most of the neighborhood was the same, save for where houses had been pulled down in the 50s to make room for pre-fabs.

Still, this isn’t -- this isn’t a porch, the wood musty and probably rotting in places, just waiting to give an unsuspecting kid a splinter they’ll never forget -- it’s a portico, all columns and statuary, like she just strolled up the lawn to Pemberley. There’s even a round-about that goes through it, so that cars can drive right up, and -- it’s a lot. Just a whole lot.

She gets to the front door -- real wood, she can tell, inset with tasteful stained glass that does not look like it came from Home Depot -- and fully expects a butler in full dress at the door, Jeevesian accent in full force as he asks, your coat, madame?

So she’s not expecting Izana. Not at all.

The number of things she knows about Zen’s brother could fit on the palm of her hand in nine-point-font, double spaced.

Bullet One: He’s older, not even in college anymore, though she’s not quite clear on what he’s doing now. Something important, from the way Zen always talks about him.

Bullet Two: He’s actually serious about this whole Dungeons and Dragons thing, or as he gently corrected after he first anxious text, Pathfinder. She never quite worked up the nerve to ask how long he’s been playing, but it’s long enough that he’s as comfortable modifying its rules as she is with a bread recipe -- he spent most of their first conversation trying to explain gestalt, but she really didn’t understand much beyond being able to start with two classes instead of one.

Bullet Three: He’s even more serious about Arthurian Myth, to the point where she’s sure he must have minored in it or something. He sent her the full text of Le Morte D’Arthur -- in English, thankfully -- as prep for the game.

Meeting him, she can now add bullet point four: he’s extremely, extremely tall.

“Shirayuki,” he says warmly, looming over her with almost a full foot of height. She’s seen him before, met him before, even aside from their late night texts about her character, but – not this close. Mitsuhide’s even taller, but somehow it never seems like this, like something she should be aware of.

“Oh!” she yelps, clutching at her hood. “I didn’t – you – I thought someone –“

“Security told me you were walking up the drive.” He says it so simply, like everyone has 24/7 surveillance at hand. “Can I take your…jacket?”

She shrugs her hoodie closer around her. “N-no! It’s fine. I get cold easy.”

He shrugs. “If you want.” He turns, clearly expecting her to follow. “Do you need me to validate your parking? Next time you can come right in. We have plenty of room, but I can send someone out to put a pass on your windshield. They’re a little strict about street parking here.”

“Oh no, it’s fine,” she assures him, wishing her voice didn’t tremble. “I took the bus.”

His steps stutter on the stairs. “The bus?”

She stops herself just short of saying, do you know what one of those is?

He recovers. “I didn’t know there was a bus stop near here.”

There isn’t, but she doesn’t want to explain how she walked almost a half hour from the nearest one to here. “I don’t have a car. Or a license! So…”

“Hm.” She’s not sure what to make of that sound. “I’m sure we can figure something out.”

“Shirayuki!” A chair clatters against the wall as Zen stands, slipping around the side of the table to…stand an awkward distance from her, as if he’s not quite sure he should hug her or shake her hand or – just let her exist in space. Mitsuhide, for his part, is half out of his seat too, while Kiki hasn’t moved an inch, only giving the barest nods as a hello. “I’m glad you could make it.”

She opens her mouth to say – well, something, she hasn’t really planned that far ahead, -- but –

“She took the bus,” Izana says offhandedly, sitting at the head of the table. It sets off a chain reaction across the room.

“The bus?” Zen’s face is a mask of horror. “Shirayuki, you should have said something. I could have sent a car around.”

She doesn’t miss how he says a car; it comes out so easily she’s not even sure if he knows that it isn’t normal for people to have drivers that can just…go pick people up. Without them there. It certainly doesn’t seem to faze Kiki, and though Mitsuhide makes a face, it’s a resigned one.

“Not to worry,” Izana drawls easily, spreading out his screen. “We have another player coming from that side of town. I’m sure he wouldn’t mine carpooling.” He glances up, gaze fixed over her shoulder. “Right, Obi?”

“There’s worse things than driving around cute girls.”

Shirayuki spins, staring up -- and up -- into a pair of gold eyes looming above her. He takes a step down, right beside her, and then he’s nearly normal height, only a head or so taller than her, mouth quirked into a grin.

Zen scowls. “Who is this?”

“Our other player,” Izana says easily. “You inviting Shirayuki reminded me you were very much missing another important role in your party, and I asked Obi if he’d be willing to fill it.”

Zen frowns. “Do you know how to play?”

His shoulders twitch, barely a shrug. “I played Skyrim at a friend’s house, once.”

Zen looks like he’d like to argue his credentials, but Shirayuki offers, shyly, “You’re already doing better that me.”

Obi stares at her, eyes round, as if he’s not used to -- to anyone taking his side. It last only a second, and then he’s back to his grin, back to his gaze sliding off of her like she’s furniture. “Guess we’ll see about that.”

You have heard of the great castle of Tintagel, but even the tales pale to the halls you are walked through. Everywhere, blue and silver hangs, a dragon and a lily sewn over every one, and when you reach the great doors to the throne room, over them is carved in bold script: Toujours Beau.

Always Beautiful. Always Good. The Pendragon way, it is said. You only hope that it is so.

You are instructed on how to approach the throne: head bowed, stop three steps from the dais, and perform an obeisance. You are glad to be reminded – you have long resisted your lessons, and now, when you need them, you wish you had paid attention.

You have barely dropped into your curtsy, when you hear a soft gasp, when you hear soft footsteps on the stairs, and suddenly you are being lifted upright.

“There is no need for that,” says the man that holds you. He is swathed in blue and silver, a coronet on his pale hair, and you know – this is Arturius, Prince of the Angles. “No women must humble herself before this throne.”

“My lord,” you manage, confused. His hands leave you, and already you breathe easier.

“Come, tell us what must be done,” he says, stepping back, taking his place on the dais once more. And empty throne, larger than the one he takes, sits beside his.

“My name is Lynet,” you say, “and my sister --”

“Lynet?” Zen frowns, craning his neck to see her sheet. “I thought you were going to be Gwenhwyfar.”

“I was,” Shirayuki says, gritting her teeth. “But I read around, and Lynette seemed a lot more –“

Interesting. Not that Guinevere wouldn’t have been, but – Lynette had possibilities. Possibilities that didn’t say healer girlfriend.

“We talked it over,” Izana interjects smoothly. “And Gwenhwyfar was more of a cleric/druid build, which Shirayuki wasn’t interested in.”

Mitsuhide’s brow furrows. “So what exactly are you?”

Force bursts from your hands, magic trailing like crystal flowers from your hands as the missiles shoot straight through the quintain. Sir Bedwyr stands next to you, solid as a wall, stymied.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve had arcanists in Tintagel,” he says finally, smile wide.

“I’m not so bad with potions, either,” you offer, blood rushing to your cheeks. “And a bomb or too might be in my purview as well.”

Zen may not be pleased with her choice of character, but Arturius Pendragon, Prince of the Angles, is enchanted with Lynet, and hardly a half hour passes before he is pledged whole-heartedly to her quest to free her sister from dread enchantment.

Obi’s character has still not made his debut.

“Just what are you supposed to be?” Zen asks crankily, after they’ve had their break. “Do you have some quest or what?”

Obi looks up from his phone. “Oh yeah,” he drawls, mouth quirking up in a grin.

Izana glances down at his own phone before setting it aside.

“Shirayuki.” She startles, glancing up at him. “I’m going to need you to roll Reflex.”

“An arrow?” Arturius paces his study, incensed. “Someone dared to harm you in Tintagel, my own home?”

“I dodged,” you offer weakly. Morgaine, from where she stands, slowly shakes her head. His sister would know as well as anyone how intractable the prince could be in this temper.

“There was a message as well, brother,” she says, holding out the scroll. “’To our red haired guest…’”

There are more incidents like that over the next hour. Lynet locked out of her rooms in the tower, flower pots from high windows, all manner of accidents.

Obi keeps looking at his phone. So does Izana.

“You missed,” he says suddenly, while she’s preparing her bombs. “Shirayuki, I need you to roll me initiative.”

The knife hits your desk, rattling your alembic on its burner, and finally you cannot ignore it anymore. You whirl to face the shadows, unnatural in their corner, and spread the salve of true-seeing over your eyes.

It is a man, or something like, twisted ram’s horns curling back along his head and around his ears, eyes darker than night, only a slit of gold to mark them in his face.

“You!” you call out, no longer afraid, but – annoyed. “You are the one who keeps trying to kill me!”

He tries to run for it, but you’re ready, bag of tanglefoot bursting as it lands on the stone. He trips, wines wrapped around his ankles, struggling. You storm closer, immune to the touch of your own magic.

“Kill!” he coughs, smiling wildly as you lean over him. “Kill is such a strong word!”

“Apparently,” you deadpan, hands on hips. “Since you keep botching the job.”

“Botching?” His smile takes a wicked edge. “Is that what you think?”

You tumble, his hands around your wrists, hot and strong like bands of iron fresh from the fire. It tickles, really, you realize as you lay under him.

He stares. “Are you…?”

“I’m an alchemist,” you sigh, wriggling restlessly under him. “Do you really think I’d make bombs without some kind of protection?”

His grin breaks wide, into a smile. “You are the most interesting woman I’ve ever met,” he admits, the heat in his hands dying until it’s…almost pleasant. “Do you happen to have a sister?”

You groan, rolling your eyes. “Gods --”

“Unhand her, scoundrel!” Arturius shouts from the door. “Never fear, Lynet, I heard your calls for help --”

You stares. “I didn’t call for help.”

Arturius stares.

“You didn’t?” Zen says, brow furrowed. “Are you --?”

“Yes,” Shirayuki sighs. “I thought I could handle it myself.”

“Mm,” Obi hums, pleased. “Beaumains certainly feels handled.”

“You’re certain you renounce your ways?” Arturius sighs, annoyed. “You won’t try to harm Lady Lynet?”

“Quite sure,” Beaumains the tiefling assures them, with little conviction. “No point after being caught. And if you pay me more coin than my last master –“

“We will.”

The room startles as Uther, King of the Angles strides in, resplendent even without his royal vestments. “I think it only makes sense that since you tried to take the life of Lady Lynet, that you should now be charged with protecting it.”

“Brother --” Arturius objects, but it’s cut short by a wave of the hand.

“There is no one better,” Uther tells him. “After all, even if he will not speak the name, he knows who plots against her, does he not?”

Shirayuki knows she should feel uneasy getting into a car with a man she doesn’t know, even if he’s apparently a friend of a...friend? But even though Obi’s spent the last three hours trying to kill her character, she sees his beat up Honda rusting on the side of the street and doesn’t even feel a twinge of doubt when she slips in.

“Sorry it’s not the town car,” he intones, not sounding anything like Izana, but still, she knows exactly who he’s imitating. “If i knew I was going to have a passenger, I would have at least stocked the minibar.”

“It’s all right,” she assures him, trying to smother her smile. “I think I would be afraid to leave fingerprints on the leather if you did.”

“God, right?” He shakes his head, pulling off the curb. “Our Overlord there tried to offer to have someone pick me up, and all I could picture was some butler rubbing his glove over the seat and pulling up dirt. No thanks.”

She laughs at that, tucking herself into the corner of the seat. It’s not a long drive to her part of town -- their part of town -- but it feels even shorter with Obi, who keeps her giggling almost the whole time.

“Beamains,” she says, eyeing him warily. “That’s not his real name, is it? You didn’t decide to call him Beautiful Hands.”

“He does have beautiful hands.”

She gives him a flat look.

Obi grins. “Beaumains has many names, and many secrets.”

They pull up in front of the apartments, and she tells him, “Sounds like an answer from someone who would name their character Beaumains.”

His grin widens, and there’s just -- something. Something more in the way he looks at her, like he -- he sees her. It’s almost soft, but not -- not the same softness Zen has when he looks at her, half-hopeless and half-determined, like she’s a puzzle to be solved.

He’s handsome like this. It’s a devastating realization, and she tries to -- to un-have it. If only to keep her heart from doing what it’s doing in her chest, to keep her hands from breaking out in this clammy sweat.

“Hey,” he starts, almost awkward, “you wouldn’t...”

He hesitates, eyebrows drawing down, like he’s -- he’s thinking.

There’s a part of her that just wants to bolt, wants to run up the walk and disappear inside to have an existential crisis in peace. But there’s another that wants to stay, that can’t help but wonder what all this -- this tension is. “I wouldn’t...?”

“You go to school with Zen, right?” he says, suddenly very...removed.

Her breath tangles in her chest. For no reason at all, we’re just friends sits uselessly on her tongue. “Yeah, I’m a senior.”

“Great.” Both of his hands grip the wheel, knuckles nearly white. “That’s -- great. I guess I’ll see you next week?”

She wants to ask what he was going to say, but there’s something about the way he’s turned, not quite looking at her, almost -- disappointed? angry? -- that makes her say. “Right, next week! Text me when you’re on your way.”

“Great,” he says as she slips out, closing the door behind her. She’s halfway up the walk when he calls out, “Hey, your birthday though...?”

“May!”

“Right,” he sighs, his whole body slumping into his seat, one hand lifting to his temples. “Right. Next week. Text before I come over. Perfect.”

He drives away, and Shirayuki can only wonder at the disappointment in her chest, at the way things feel unfinished.

“Oh well,” she murmurs to herself, hands trembling as she tries to fit the keys in the lock. “There’s always next week.”

[cruzrogue]

Chapter 4

Earth-2 Felicity Q-Smoak

cruzrogue

Late night at the Marina

Summary:

Thea Queen and two friends stumble on a night where they get to see the Hood vs Smoak's men at a marina.

Notes:

Still a short chapter. Per request- Thea comes into the fold.

I’m going to try to start the story in present tense of what is current time and then cut to the past as Earth2 soulmates find themselves and become the current versions of what the reader will see them become. Any ideas are welcome! Tumblr: cruzrogue twitter: @cruzstar75

-previously

“Oliver, you are the only one I let myself be vulnerable with. Never thought I’d have so much faith in one person as I do with you.”

He nods because it is the same with him. “If I do this, I want… No, I need you to come home with me.”

“Your family thinks of me as the devil incarnate. That the reason you stay with me is because of Stockholm syndrome.” He can see the deep-rooted emotions of that time cross her face. “How could their loving son become a killer if not for the woman who supposedly owns him.”

He is on his knees before her taking her hands into his. “Baby, I chose you before I knew I loved you. With so much darkness around us and with Zoom always looming around the corner becoming the Dark Archer was… is my choice.”

Still on his knees holding her hands as he let’s out a chuckle knowing it somewhat will her annoy her when he adds the truth to how his family really sees her now of all things, “No, my family once thought very low of you. Now they welcome you with open arms. It’s me they are upset with. They want their son back and I’m finally ready.”

“Okay, they don’t hate me but my reputation is not favorable. How will the Queens publicly align themselves with a woman who is seen above the law?”

“Well… That’s only because you created a sovereign empire. You are the law.”

“Funny!”

“Come on. My ruthless queen who takes in the rift rafts of the world and gives them a life and purpose.” He gets up from off his knees and holds out his hand for her to take. “Don’t you think that is so cool?”

“I think I may have some marbles loose.”

“Your sanity is as my own.”

He walks her to the large picture window he had been looking out earlier and has her in front of him as he wraps his arms around her front keeping her in place as she looks at a city, they have built from ground up.

“Oliver, Starling was once your home and can be again.”

She can see from the reflection of the window that he sways his head no.

“You are my home, you and our two plus the one that will grace us in a few months are where I belong.”

“Your sister may try to sway you to go corporate with her.” Her head turns to look at his as he’s looking down and his eyes tell the story that it will never happen. Thea is a really good C.E.O. since Robert Queen stepped down.

“Can’t believe we are at this shady marina.” Morgan whispers to her two friends. Looking at her friend Shane Colvin eyeing his sweetheart Thea.

“My dad is going to kill me if he finds out. We are supposed to be at the wharf with the other kids our age.”

“Calm down Thea. Your daddy will never find out we are just hanging out no big deal.” He takes her hand. “Hey I’m here. Okay?”

“I just don’t want to get into trouble. You know how my dad is super protective since he’s come back home. He says I’m all he has now. It makes me miss my brother more.”

Shane doesn’t mean to say it but it slips from his mouth, “He’s not your real dad.”

Morgan's mouth opens in shock. Everyone knows Malcolm Merlyn fought Moira Queen for visitation rights once Robert and Oliver Queen were presumed lost at sea. Even with Merlyn’s supposed death recently when the man in the hood partially stopped the madman’s attack on the city.

Thea notices it first the green leather man coming out of the upper corner of a building as he heads towards the newly docked ship. Pointing upwards her two friends look and catch the Hood coming upon the ship with his bow raised.

Seeing but being of distance to hear what is being said as the Hood’s arrow hit something. The onlookers know the woman, the owner of this huge yacht wasn’t hit if she were, she’d be dead. Seeing another man running and looking super awesome like some ninja by running up the sleek siding of the boat he flings himself toward the emerald archer and they begin to have some sort of hand to hand combat.

Monica giggles at watching Felicity Smoak looking a little puzzled. “I bet she’s upset that one of her babies died tonight.”

“Yea, I hear she names her tech toys.” Thea lets out a small laugh.

“Powerful and yet a geek.” Shane looking at his two companions. “I think the flying ninja just said something that made her leave him to defend her.” Shane’s swaying his head at the absurdity.

Both men dancing around each other but as backup to protect Ms. Smoak arrives the Hood retreats. Shane lets out a low whistle at seeing all this action and that is enough to lure two men with guns their way. All three captured and brought to the large ship.

Felicity is brought to where the three teens are sitting. Oliver trailing behind her in a respectable distance. Looking at the kids and seeing just young juveniles who at the wrong place and time.

“What are you three doing so far from home?” She looks at them all mum to any answers. “There are no residences in half mile radius of this marina. Its all industrial. It’s past ten at night. Do your parents know where you are?”

“Why do you care?” Shane lets out. Making the two girls look at him.

“I may or may not but being investigated because the likings of three youths gone missing would be bad for business.” Felicity looks at the guards looking after these three. “Let them go after you get their names and hand them over to SCPD.”

“No, no. My dad would ground me for life. Please can’t we just leave.” Thea is up from her chair and the guard raises his gun automatically.

Felicity eyeing the man he lowers it instantly. “What is your name?”

“It’s…” taking a moment before saying, “Thelma.”

“Thelma? Do you have a last name?”

“Um… it’s Dearden.” Felicity looks at the girl and says, “Now the truth please.” She can hear Oliver take in a long breath.

“No really, it’s…” Thea hangs her head low as she speaks, “It’s Thea Queen.”

Felicity’s head spins to look at the man with the mask as he’s looking at the girl in question.

“Well Thea, I can’t leave you unescorted so…”

“We’ll leave and not cause any problems please just let us go.”

“I can’t do that.” Felicity looking at one of the guards. “Call a cab service and escort them off the premises make sure no harm comes to them.” She retreats from the room passing Oliver and his eyes are still on what seems to be his baby sister.

Once Felicity has left the room Oliver nods to the guard and leaves to meet up with Felicity. Finding her just down in a room his sister and two friends will pass on their way out. He is in shock but he holds his stance as the commotion of the youths pass his way and are escorted off the boat to wait for a cab it seems.

Halfway through Thea stops. “Shoot I forgot my bag.”

“Thea!” she hears two worried voices.

“Just go I’ll meet you both out on the dock.”

She looks back at Shane then at Morgan before leaving to get her bag. Hurriedly walking through a few corridors to where she and her two friends were escorted out of when she hears voices and slows down to eavesdrop.

“She’s so big. Little Thea isn’t so little.”

She’s thinking to why these people are talking about her but her mind registers to that voice and she gulps because that is only a voice she can now only hear from past recording. Family recordings of better times for the Queens. Without thinking she runs in calling out her brother’s name.

“Ollie?” she short stops to look at a ghost who really isn’t a ghost but a man who she saw fight the Hood. “Oh my…”

“Thea!” Oliver is beside himself he looks at his baby sister and back at the woman he was sharing a moment with.

Felicity looking at the two siblings decides to let them to talk. “I’ll be in my office.” She waits until he gives a sign he understands before actually leaving them.  

“Thea.” Is all he can muster to say.

“You’re not dead.”

“No. I…”

“Why did you let everyone thing so? How could you…”

“Thea, it’s not like that. I had no choice, believe me, I had no choice.”

“Felicity Smoak has held you captive? I’ve heard things but how could that bitch…”

“Thea! No, she had no control of it either.”

“What?” she gives him I don’t believe you face.

“I met Miss. Smoak some days ago. My captors released me to her.” Oliver slowly walks the distance to his sister. “Miss. Smoak is someone I owe a debt to.”

“Did she buy you? We can pay whatever it is. Oliver, you’re alive. We can make everything better.”

“No Thea, there are things in this world money can’t buy and I was given to Miss. Smoak if any rumor of me being free could jeopardize you, mom and dad. I can’t allow that to happen.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Thea, I need you to forget you saw me, just for now keep any news of me being alive to yourself.”

“What? Why? You’re alive. I miss my big brother.”

He pulls her to him and she begins to cry.

“I’ve missed you too.”

[limitedrevolverworks]

Little Stinger

The bull’s eyebrows began a steady march across his forehead that left his beady eyes alone with their bewilderment. His ears shook the dreads partially covering them like predators about to pounce their prey - an attitude which, for that matter, seemed to accurately describe the most likely intention for his next course of action. Kl’athr regarded his employer, specifically the fingers coiled into fleshy boulders seething with painful promises, with a faint trace of interest reflected on his ocelli. The bull had reacted exactly as predicted: by jumping to conclusions and preparing to do so the same with the people he felt had crossed him, like brutish muscleheads of his ilk were wont to do. “This isn’t what we agreed to, buzzer. And Grudo doesn’t take well to no lying bitch.” Grudo’s breath was a fetid miasma with a consistency that bordered on outright liquidity. It splashed all over Kl’athr face with the welcome pleasantness of a flytrap vomiting on its victim, only with far less grace. But the wasp stood his ground, over which the bull’s shadow loomed like a stormy and somewhat rancid cloud. It would have taken three of the former to at least match the latter’s height, or just one of him fluttering his translucent wings. But there weren’t enough of the first, and he purposefully chose not to rely on the latter, in a show that combined humbleness and defiance in an ambiguous cocktail that served its purpose well: he hadn’t been turned into a plulpy, goopy mess yet, for instance. Now, he only had to ensure this wouldn’t be going to change anytime soon. “No lies. You agreed to pay us to help you. We cannot do so if you hinder us.” Kl’athr’s mandibles and the rest of his mouth’s apparatus worked carefully as possible to articulate in a Common heavily affected by his sharp, clicking cadence. It was an effort unworthy of the language - an imprecise tapestry of noises it was, signifiers turned into bowls full of diluted meaning, insipid if easily digestible, just sort of skirting the line of efficiency for the sake of universality. The entire reason he was risking his carapace to begin with… but without that weakness and the risk that came with it, he wouldn’t have been able to take the job. Not by the terms he was about to clarify. Compromises in the wastelands always came with this sort of edge, and Kl’athr relished in dealing with them with the cautious abandonment of conscious alcoholic. It was a good reminder of what had driven him from the hivepost, of the dullness of its disputes and the staleness of its resolutions. He really could have done without the noxious odor of bovine halitosis, however. “You tryin’ to bullshit me, buzzer? Is that funny to you?” Kl’athr refrained from commenting. Life in the hivepost hadn’t fostered much of a sense of humor in him - mostly, though, he was smart enough to tell that the joke was terrible, both for his prospects of survival, and because, from a comedic standing point, it just plain sucked. “The shot will be taken. The job, completed. Either we get your money, or you get nothing. What will it be?” “He’s fucking with us, Grudo.” The deer snorted through the bandana covering his mug, tightening the grip on the steel pipe he was holding. “This little shit must have thought he could pull a fast one on us. I say we pull off those spindly limbs of his and feed him to the diremaw. Should net us enough time to recover the cargo.” “Enough time to become a carcass no richer than you are now.” Kl’athr’s ocelli met those of the deer like a steel emergency door stomping close in front of a blazing fire. The rusted pipe began playing a dull rhythm against the brute’s palm, all too eager to do the same against the back of the wasp’s skull. The three other mutants that made up the motley crew joined soon thereafter, an orchestra of pain waiting to happen. “Hold on. Wait. Just give me a goddamned moment to think.” Grudo began pacing nervously around the cramped interior of the abandoned outpost’s guard cabin, each step leaving behind a tiny cloud of dust like an echo of his passage. Rummaging through his thick hair and scratching the juncture from whence jutted out a fractured horn wasn’t helping much, Kl’athr reckoned. And that, too, he knew well in advance. Greed had a way of narrowing options down for those too stupid to do so on their own - especially with a little push from the right insectoid. “Fine. Fine.” The bull’s lazy charge ended back where it had begun, in front of the wasp that hadn’t moved a single reed-sized leg from his spot. A furry finger hovered menacingly in front of Kl’athr’s face, reeking of cheap booze distilled from fuel and slightly singed from some past accident involving a campfire and six or so glasses of the aforementioned. Bovine eyes stared, bulging from their sockets as if all too eager to deliver the beatdown of a lifetime, a nice preview of things uncomfortably likely to come. “I don’t know whether you’re crazy, an idiot, or trying to pull a fast one on me, in which case you’d be both. Do whatever, but if you fuck this up and somehow come out of this alive? I’m coming back to finish the diremaw’s job.” Heavy breaths like quiet growls sent violent vibrations against Kl’athr’s antennae. He let them dissipate into a steadier, subdued fury before turning on his heels and walking towards the window without sparing a look over either of his four shoulders. “The only job to be completed will be ours.” Behind him, the wasp could hear the lack of attempts on his employers’ part to conceal their comments, which ranged from the dubious to the vulgar, the latter spoken in that soporific bovine tongue of theirs. Beasts, the lot of them; but they were well-paying beasts, at least. That about covered the angle of ‘necessity’. The other, more important reason for taking the job was kneeling on a chair propped in front of the window, minute gloved hands perched atop the shattered pane and a jacket some sizes too big draping over her like a coat. The child turned her head, meeting Kl’athr’s gaze with the glass eyes of the rubbery gas mask slung over her face. A series of clicks and buzzes and frrr’s struggled to make their way from her hidden lips through the thick material, to which they clung until only a warped, muffled shade of their original self could make it out. It was a good thing that Kl’athr’s antennae were sensible enough to welcome those scraplets and suck the essential marrow of their significance, and that the young human’s grasp of Vespa had gotten about as good as her vocal apparatus could ever achieve. “You got into trouble again because of me, Kl’athr.” The wasp stopped right next to the child, casting his attention to the uneven road that stretched to and fro two different ends of the horizon, mere meters in front of the abandoned outpost. To the east, about half a kilometer from their position, he could see the target. He answered in his usual tone, which was about as matter-of-factly as Vespa gets - that is, a lot. “No trouble has befallen me yet. Whether that ends up changing is entirely up to you, Little Stinger.” They shared a silent exchange of looks, peppered with the occasional sound of beefy arms thrown up in rapidly mounting exasperation from the back of the room. Then, with the measured discipline of a dutiful student, the girl - ‘Little Stinger’, like Kl’athr called her - shifted on the chair so that she could face the wasp, exhibiting herself in a deep bow punctuated by a single snap of her tongue. Following the same motion, she bent forward a little further, and took ahold of the rifle. The old thing had seen better days, and it appeared unlikely there were many left yet to see. Already cobbled up from scratch with parts salvaged from guns past their useable prime, the original gun had been modified, repaired or tweaked to the point it was hard to say if there was anything of the original left in the current version. And what was left didn’t amount to much anyway: it was the kind of tool best described with the word ‘trusty’ inked on a yellowed page, the t so smudged as to be barely visible. It was long past its prime, somewhat ugly, and still somehow served its purpose with uncanny affidability. The rifle was a testament to Kl’athr’s technical prowess - and perhaps kept together by trust and sheer stubbornness, than with any number of screws and bolts. The girl hoisted the firearm with methodical care colored by a sentiment akin to reverence. It had been accompanying her and Kl’athr’s travels ever since her awakening within the artificial cocoon: in a sense, it was like the third, silent member of their strange little family. The big brother specifically, considering it stood a head and a half taller than her. To the surprise of nobody, and the livid consternation of at least two beastly customers, it made her sniping position look awkward, uncomfortable and any number of other monikers save for reliable. The girl pretty much had to make use of the windowsill to help balance an entire half of the weapon, while somehow stretching her frame and limbs over the remaining segment in a way that would make aiming and shooting at least feasible. It took her several tries and a good portion of her contractors’ rapidly diving patience before finding the ideal positioning. She marked her success with a low hum that did not go past her throat, at which point she reached for the straps that held her gas mask tight, and loosened them enough to let her remove it. Kl’athr received it with the practiced speed of motions that grown into a secret, intimate ritual of sorts. Deep green eyes, framed by short curtains of pale yellow hair, peered down the barrel that seemed to stretch ‘til the horizon, accompanying the ironsights in their search for the target that Kl’athr had already spotted. “Do you see your prey, Little Stinger?” She did. The beast was a minuscule shape no bigger than the steel rectangle tiptoeing at the edge of the barrel, a cruel silhouette prowling amongst a caravan’s scattered remains. Crates brimming with precious materials and provisions lay upturned around the carts that had been transporting them, their contents spilled on the ground like guts of a maimed beast. In the same fashion, only far more literal, the strong-limbed beasts tasked with pulling along the cargo were now little more than scrap meat ripe for the picking, bones exposed to the elements and the hunger of their stalkering assailant. “The diremaw is unlike any prey you have slaughtered thus far, Little Stinger. Once the first shot has hit, it will know where the next come from, how fast and how strong they are. When it knows the shot, your life is forfeited, for it will charge with uncanny speed and relentless fury. That is why it is said that the first bullet which strikes a diremaw must also be the last - whether for you, for for it.” She could see it. Lean muscles rippling underneath a thin coat of gray fur. Hind legs like maws ready to hungrily snap on the concept of distance. Arms like steel beams warped by evil intent, tipped with razor-sharp claws that tore fleshy strips from a meal made stale by boredom. A head drawn by some twisted god to resemble that of a rabid dog, a porcine mutant and a cancerous growth. Ears long and flat, deceptively so. Lidless eyes darting in every direction without being able to settle on one, paranoid and attentive. And the kind of mouth that left no doubt as to why this beast had been christened ‘diremaw’ by the inhabitants of the region. An ugly, terrible beast that entirely warranted its fearsome reputation as a killer among killers. “But those who say so, unlike us, do not follow the Wasp Ways.” Kl’athr followed the invisible pathway that connected his protégé’s line of sight and the almost indistinct figure at the end of it. He was fully aware that what appeared to him like nothing more than a vague assembly of limbs in continuous movement, to the child was the perfectly distinguishable outline of a prey. That was what Grudo and his cronies failed to grasp - that this was a shot only she could have taken, not him. “The bee stings once to die. The wasp stings many times to live. Fell your prey like a wasp, Little Stinger, or you will perish a bee’s death. Do not falter. Take aim and strike relentlessly. If the prey moves, sting it again. If you miss, sting it again. If the prey stops moving, sting it again. Yours must be the silent fury that kills before you are killed. Follow the Wasp Ways. Conquer your prey, Little Stinger.” Her fingertip felt the familiar cool touch of the trigger as it pushed against it. She had long since acquired the target - that was the easy part. What she needed to prepare for, the reason why air was trapped inside her lungs and her heartbeat’s rhythm subdued by conscious effort, resided in the part after that. The first shot boomed across the plain with a thunderous echo. “Did she get it?” “Shit, ‘course not! Look, it’s coming! The bastard’s coming! Run for it” Frantic footsteps. Panicked voices, frustrated voices. Metal, wood and lead clicking together as her hand pulled the bolt back and chambered the next bullet. A distant screech like a blade tearing a wound open across empty air. “Sting, Little Stinger. Do not stop until it has stopped.” Urged on by Kl’athr, the young girl steadied her aim on the gun almost twice her size and erupted another shot. The diremaw was fast, so much so that the description felt unfairly diminutive to its prowess. Its leaps fed dozens upon dozens of meters into the jaws of a mere seconds. Erratic patterns sent it flying in a myriad different directions in its relentless pursuit, defying the attempts of its wannabe predator to bring it down with the cowardly aid of a firearm. It kept moving, steadfast in spite of the twin tails of viscous yellow that seeped from its flank and a shoulder. It knew, and likewise did child. She could see her eyes reflected in those of the diremaw, aware that the opposite was true for it. Their mutual understanding was one built upon something more indistinct yet definite than hatred: it was sheer, utter purpose that pit them against each other. Survival and murderous instincts, meshing together in a blur where one defied and sought the other. The rifle fired a third time, lopping off most of the creature’s right ear off and prompting another rabid screech. It mingled with those being emitted by the mutant gang, scrambling and yelling at each other in their inability to decide whether they’d find better chances of survival in the open, or within the confines of the cabin. The child nor her mentor paid no heed to them. Already the fourth shot had pelted the diremaw in the middle of the stomach, but it hadn’t been enough. Not yet. Not enough. Another bullet went in, the last one in the clip. There wouldn’t be any time to load a second batch: the next leap would make null the distance between the beast and the window, along with the little sniper holding her position. The bolt slid back, welcoming the bullet in the rifle’s chamber. At the same moment, the diremaw put its everything into exerting strength on its legs to leap forward, its claws outstretched and already clasping the empty space where soon the child’s neck would take its place. The bolt slid forward and locked in position. Kl’athr’s mandibles snapped once, loud and imperative. “Sting!” The barrel blazed brightly, devouring the beast’s last screech as it was brewing inside its throat, where the bullet had tunneled a fresh, lethal opening. The carcass, propelled forward by sheer momentum, painted the dusty wooden floor with the sickly yellows and greens that filled it. The massively sized bovine stared in horror, rippling muscles quaking madly from broken horn tip to hoofed toe, as the once lively diremaw slid lifelessly in front of him and his speechless gang. They spent at least a dozen seconds in motionless contemplation, before finally raising their heads in unison. On the opposite side of the room, Kl’athr was busying himself dutifully wiping off diremaw blood from the child’s face, her eyes and mouth scrunched shut with all the innocence that had no right to belong there. The wasp, without interrupting his task, turned his head to the carcass, then the clients. The trinity of his eyes betrayed no emotions whatsoever, like always. “We have done our job. I trust your pockets to do the same sooner than later.”

[all-sortsa-stuff]

This life, part 2

(This beautiful image does not belong to me!)

Pairing: Reader x Eventually Loki

Word Count: 2362

Warnings: None

Part 1

The stars looked down upon you as night drew further along.  You had returned to that field as you had many times in your life.  It was the place you had trained, as a child, with Loki and Thor to fight.  The large tree had been your refuge when your father had told you; his daughter would never battle alongside his Defenders.  That you would be queen, to rule and bring forth the next heir of Asgard, as of you were nothing more than the vessel to bear a child.  It was Loki who comforted you when your cried, believing that your father thought you weak.  He had promised he would train beside you, so that one day you would show your father how strong you truly were.  All the memories long forgotten were slowly returning to torment you once more.  Since the time Loki disappeared and thought dead, everything in your life had changed. Some of it for the better and some for the very worst.  All of those troubles and discord had lead you to the place in life you now were.

Your skills as a fighter were so much more than they ever had been.  Utilizing dual swords with a confident style few had ever seen.  Those skills were not the only thing that had developed in the past years.  You also had other abilities that had manifested in a violent display, which if Frigga had not aided you in gaining control, would undoubtedly have killed yourself and those around you.  All of these thoughts were haunting you now as the days had come and gone, without the return of Thor.  Tomorrow would make the seventh day.  Seven days he had sent not a word as to whether he had succeeded or if Loki had made good upon his plans.  Today had been a day of preparation.  Your armor was ready as were your weapons, laid out waiting for your departure.  

It should not feel any different from the journeys you had since joining with Thor, Sif, and the Warriors in the protection of Asgard.  Nevertheless, something felt off.  A feeling that something was going to bring about change to your world, whether you were ready for it or not.  With a long released breath, you stood from the grass walking back to your grazing horse. He butted you with his nose, resting his head on your shoulder.  You smiled leaning your head against his neck, petting him gently.  “I know my friend.  Something is coming.  I know you feel it as I do.  We better prepare.”

Lifting yourself onto the saddle, you encouraged him forward towards the palace.  The King and Queen requested you leave from the palace in the morn, so that they may see you off and bless your journey.  Though you believed, it was more the Queen who made the request. Odin had spoken few words to you since your last meeting.  However, he allowed you to share chambers with Sif so you would be well rested before parting.  Sif was sharpening her sword when you entered late that night.  She looked troubled as you pulled off your boots setting them with the rest of your gear.  “What is it, dearest Sif?”

It took a moment for her to answer.  Setting the sword and stone beside her on the bed, she walked towards you.  “You may not return from Midgard.  I know you are strong and fearless.  But tell me you will come home.”  Her words sounded like those you had said to Thor the week prior. Sif’s concern made you smile.  You moved across the room embracing her.

“I will return as will Thor. I refuse anything less.”  There was so much more she wanted to say, you could see it in her eyes, but Sif nodded quickly, turning back to her bed. No more words were said between you before laying down to rest.  You stared at the ceiling for hours before sleep finally took hold.  Even then, you were still up before the dawn.  Watching the sunrise over the city, felt as though the Gods were infusing you with their strength.  The golden light touching and blessing ever point on the horizon before waking for the day.  Your eyes closed, as the light finally reached the window where you stood, warming your face.  It was time.

Sif woke as you were pulling your hair back.  Half up off your face, tied into a waterfall down your back.  She watched you silently from the edge of her bed as you prepared. Darkening around your eyes and blood red color applied to your lips.  Your leather coverings slipped on first followed by the metal armor, which left your right shoulder and armor bare.  The last piece was your helm.  It fit around your face and looked similar to those the Valkyries wore as they brought warriors to Valhalla.  Their wings on either side to protect you.  Once in battle you would slip the faceplate into place leaving only your eyes visible.

Your friend did not follow you to the Bifrost, but you were met by the King and Queen.  Odin watched you closely as the Queen held you tight. “Bring them both home, my dear.  I need all of you safe.  Remember what you were taught and you will prevail.”  

“Yes, my Queen.  My Lord.”  Bowing towards the King before you stepped towards Heimdall.

“Lady [Y/N], you look as though you are prepared to conquer all the realms.”  Heimdall smiled from behind his golden helm.

“Good.  I may need to do just that.  Send me to the Prince, Heimdall.  Seems I need to save his ass once more.”  You could hear a laugh from the Queen behind you.

“Of course, my Lady.” As you stepped into position, you slipped the faceplate on.  Your heart, felt like it would be pulled from your chest as you were sent towards Midgard. The colors and light were almost blinding, but before there was the moment to get used to the travel, you had already landed.  The city before you was in panic.  Screams and sirens heard from every direction.  Buildings were badly damaged, there were large vehicles traveling through the crowded streets extinguishing fires.  Chitauri vehicles were flying through the sky terrorizing where they could.

You found yourself on the top of a building looking over much of the fighting and destruction, not far from a device that opened the portal allowing more Chitauri to enter the realm.  You could see someone, a woman close to the device.  If she was aiding Loki then she had to be stopped.  One of the Chitauri vehicles was flying close to the roof where you stood.  Vaulting yourself over the edge pulling one of your swords free, you landed behind the being with your sword slicing through his body.  Kicking him off, you sped over towards the device and the woman. The vehicle crashed close to your targeted area as you jumped out of the way.  The red hair woman stood there with Loki’s scepter pointed towards the device.

“Don’t even try it.  I am destroying this thing.  You and the rest of Loki’s army aren’t stopping me. Come on Stark.”  The woman edged closer to the device though seemed hesitant to cause it damage, looking up to the sky.

“I am not part of Loki’s army.  I am here to assist Thor in stopping this madness.  Destroy this machine.  Stop the Chitauri from invading the realm further.”  Stepping closer to the woman, you sheathed your sword. It was then the Chitauri started falling from the skies. You heard a voice come from the piece in the woman’s ear.  Close it.  She pushed the staff through the field surrounding the device, destroying the beam that opened the portal.  Just before it closed completely a body passed through, falling at an incredible speed. The woman smiled beside you, looking relieved to see it.  “It is far better that you have closed the portal but we must get Loki.  Where is he?”  The woman held a finger up to you as she pressed the piece in her ear.

“Hey Cap, seems we have a new friend here.  Says she knows Thor.”  There was a moments delay before an answer was heard.

He knows who it is.  Both of you meet us in the tower.  We have to get Loki.

“Will do.  Follow me; it’s time to get the bad guy.  I’m Natasha.”  She rested Loki’s scepter on her shoulder extending a hand out to you.  Looking at her hand a moment you offered yours in return, shaking firmly.

“[Y/N] of Asgard.  By ‘bad guy’ you mean Loki?”  Your words muffled by the faceplate.  She nodded as she walked towards the interior of the tower.

“Yeah he is definitely the ‘bad guy’.”  

The pair of you met up with the rest of the group minutes later.  Thor grinned seeing you with Natasha.  “It is good to see you my friend.  You missed the battle.”  He rested his hands on your shoulders.

“The battle perhaps, but Loki is still not caught.”  The others in the group watched the exchange.  A man looked to be made partially of metal took a step towards you.

“We have him; Big Green here left him broken upstairs.”  

“Lead us, then Metal Man.” Upstairs you found Loki trying to crawl away, obviously in pain from whatever the large green being had done to him. You stayed towards the back of the group not wanting him to see you right away.  Though he would probably only recognize you as Asgardian since you still wore the helm and face plate.  Never would he think you would be here to return him home.  He had a look of defeat on his face and spoke little as the group escorted him to a cell at the compound of the group Thor called S.H.I.E.L.D.  Since he considered everyone below his station, Loki paid little heed to the extra person who joined along with the group.  At least until he saw you speaking with his brother.  He was locked in one of the clear cells with her arms still bound in front of him.  The exchange between you and Thor had him curious.

“Tell me brother; is this your new pet?  Does she follow behind, pining for you as you are oblivious to her wants?”  Thor stepped forward with a growl, but you placed a hand on his chest stopping him.  Shaking your head, you looked up to him whispering.

“No, he wants to antagonize you further.  As he always has.”  You turned back to face Loki narrowing your eyes.  The others in the room quieting as you took a slow step towards the cell.  In one swift motion, you pulled off your helm and mask, staring into Loki’s eyes.  Your chin raised in defiance, as you had his father.  “You know nothing of my wants, Loki.”  

His face paled and his mouth hung open. “[Y/N]…”

The Man of Iron stepped forward laughing.  “Oh look Reindeer Games is speechless.  We need to keep her around.”  The insult brought Loki back to reality.  The former sour look appearing as he recovered.

“So brother, you brought your wife.  Is she here to ensure you take no other to your bed?  We would not want any heirs to Asgard diluted with Midgardian blood.” Loki sneered knowing he would hit a chord with the both of you.  You could feel the anger rolling off Thor behind you as you clenched your fists.  Those gathered around stared wide-eyed at Thor.  He had never told them of a wife.  The energy gathered inside your chest spreading throughout your body until it glowed over your skin. Your boots echoed over the grating of the floor as you stomped towards the enclosure.  Loki’s eyes wide as your glowing form moved towards him.  With the exception of Thor, who knew you best, everyone thought you would stop at the clear wall of the cell.  However, you simply walked through it, melting it completely around your form as you stalked up to him.  Sending as much energy as you could through your hand you punched Loki in the face as hard as you could.  He flew back against the wall causing quite the dent, and then crumbled to the floor.

“You know nothing of which you speak.  I would caution you against speaking again.  For I would enjoy doing that once more.”  Turning without another word you left the enclosure and the room, releasing the pulsing energy from within you.  

“If she isn’t your wife, Thor, does that mean she is single?”  Clint asked from the back of the group, receiving an elbow to the gut from Natasha.

 It was another day before the Tesseract was contained safely in a casing, ready for the return to Asgard.  During that time, you had gotten to know some of Thor’s Midgardian friends and found that you enjoyed their company immensely.  Captain Rogers, was very handsome and found yourself talking to him often.  It was endearing that he blushed frequently when you spoke. Loki had been muzzled earlier in the day, though it was more for his protection than anything else. While Thor enjoyed watching you send Loki across the room, he thought it best not to test your patience further.  The group of Avengers gathered once last time in the center of the city to say goodbye. You had promised Captain Rogers you would return sometime in the future with Thor to visit.

While Loki could not speak, he watched you intently whenever you were near.  You could feel it even when you were not looking.  When you would turn to look at him, you would not back down.  Staring at him until he finally turned away.  Never would you let him make you feel less again.  You were no longer the same girl he turned away from all those years ago.  Thor and Loki grabbed either side of the Tesseract and you laid a hand on the casing itself.  With a nod in parting to all gathered, the three of you were transported back to Asgard.

Part 3

@feelmyroarrrr  @bolontiku  @aquabrie   @malindacath  @mysteriouslyme81 @independentgirl  @frenchfrostpudding  @lokislonelylady

[cagedbirdsong]

At long last, part three of To Build A Home! This one is significantly longer than the previous installments, and hopefully lives up to its predecessors! Everything right now is a bit slow, but I promise is picks up soon! We’ll be following through the Culloden plot line, and then diverging from cannon, as promised. Here is a small teaser of what is to come! Note, for this part all previous trigger warnings are still applicable, including the death of a child, depression, and the burial of a child. 

You can find part two here! 

You know the drill! Feedback is welcome, encouraged, and appreciated. Enjoy!

Part Three

Lallybroch, Summer 1744

By the time Jamie managed to drag himself bonelessly back into the house, the sky was blushing with the early signs of dawn, and a chorus of birds greeted the sun as she woke up, blissfully oblivious to the loss the night had seen. Listening to them, Jamie wanted to cry all over again. He wanted to yell and throw things and make them stop. Most of all, he wanted to sleep. He wanted to lay down and close his eyes and pray to whatever cruel God existed that he would wake up in the morning to find this had all been some horrible dream.

The dirt under his nails suggested otherwise.

Sometime long after they buried her, Ian had all but carried Jamie inside and deposited him as carefully as possible at the kitchen table, and Jenny had sheepishly draped a blanket over his shoulders and pressed a warm cup of something into his hands. It had long since gone cold, and his hands were stiff and trembled ever so slightly. With a feeling like his bones were breaking, he pried them off of the cup and dropped them into fists in his lap, stretching out his fingers as best he could, though that only made them shake more.

He could see Jenny fidget nervously from the corner of his eye where she sat on the other side of the table, wringing her hands over her own swollen belly. He spared a glance at her face, which was streaked with tears, eyes red and cheeks flushed from her own mourning.

“Jamie-” she started again, for what must have been the seven hundredth time that night. Every so often she would say his name, mouth working for words, and then fall quiet, the tension radiating off her in waves. At one point, she reached a hand out and touched his arm, but immediately reeled back as if she had been burned.

“How is she?” His voice sounded alien in his ears, hoarse and cracking. He cleared his throat weakly and tried again, his mouth like cotton. “How-” His voice broke again and he slammed a palm down on the table in frustration, teeth bared, and Jenny gave a start, eyes blown wide open.

After a moment, she reached her hand out to cover his, and Jamie bowed his head to take a shaky breath, deflating slightly. “She needs ye,” Jenny whispered cautiously, her hand still warm on his, and Jamie’s eyes stung as fresh tears welled up once more.

He managed the faintest of nods, drew his hand out from beneath hers, and slowly made his way for the stairs. His feet might have weighed ten stone for as hard as it was for him to move, and he clutched the banister for support as he fought his way upstairs.

Claire had been moved from their bedroom, and the door hung open ever so slightly, the room dark as sin. Jamie tried to suppress a shudder as he passed it, but doubled over against the wall within a few steps, heaving harshly. Nothing came up, and he sank to his knees, bracing himself against the wall, head throbbing. He sat there for a small eternity, gasping like a fish, and then pushed himself back to his feet, one hand outstretched to support himself as he made his way to the door at the end of the hallway. This too was slightly open, but the light of a single candle danced along the floorboards in greeting as he approached, and welcomed him as he stepped inside and shut out the world behind him.

The curtains on the windows had been drawn, fending away the coming sunlight, and the drapes on the four poster bed had been partially closed as well. He could just make out Claire’s form curled up in the bed, and the lump in his throat seemed to grow. Carefully, he toed out of his boots and drifted to the bed, sitting down on the edge gently. He sat, teetering for a moment, but Claire didn’t move or speak, and he was too exhausted to stay upright, so he collapsed onto the pillows, staring up at the ceiling even though his eyes seared.

Neither spoke for what might have been hours, and Claire only moved when Jamie reached out to touch his knuckles to her back. Her shoulders  tightened immediately and she went rigid, even the sound of her breathing momentarily pausing as she froze. He felt the energy come off her in a direct shock up his arm, and recoiled with a pang in his chest, his stomach turning in on itself. He whispered her name weakly, but it was as if he wasn’t even there, and he turned on his side as well to try and rest.

He drifted in and out of consciousness, but only managed to really fall asleep sometime later when the bed shifted and Claire scooted closer, hesitantly pressing her back up against his.

Claire spoke little in the days following the death of their daughter, and ate even less. It was a miracle she even drank anything. She seemed compelled to join her child in the grave, and Jamie couldn’t say he blamed her.

The week just after Brigid died was one of the worst of his own life. The days were long, and he spent them slogging away with whatever mundane tasks he could get his hands on, doing anything to keep himself from slowing down, from giving his mind a chance to catch up with him. For the most part, he managed to keep busy, though he could never quite escape the shadow lurking at the edge of his consciousness.

The evenings were easy. He stumbled into the house at whatever godforsaken hour he saw fit, and collapsed into bed in an unceremonious heap, sleep claiming him immediately and ushering him into the coma that comes with true, bone deep exhaustion.

It was the mornings that were the hardest, when he woke to the sounds of birds outside and the smell of life in the air. It was then that he was unable to escape reality, and it came crashing down around him like the bricks of some old broken house, leaving him buried in the rubble.

He couldn’t say he blamed Claire at all.

But it was becoming increasingly evident that her condition was rapidly deteriorating. Her face had become taut and drawn, the delicate angle of cheek and brow stark and harsh in contrast to their normal grace, and when Jamie touched her, he could feel the bones beneath her skin, delicate as those of a fledgling bird beneath his hands.

She was dying, and she was intent on letting it happen.

When his brother William had died, Jamie had been much the same way. At first, it had been shock that kept him from moving or speaking. He would wake up the first few mornings and roll over, expecting to see the sheets on his brother’s bed turned back, but where the indentation of his head would normally adorn his pillow there was only dust. And then it was anger, anger at the world, at his parents, at God for taking his brother, at Willie himself for going and dying. He became a spiteful child, and it was the spite that paralyzed him.

He must have lost a stone in the days after they buried him. Eventually, it was his father that reached into the darkness and plucked him out, one stubborn Fraser against another. It was a memory Jamie remembered vividly; it had been an early morning and his sister had tried, and failed, to get him to take something to eat. Frustrated, Jamie had overturned the tray of food and Jenny had brought, leaving the porridge splattered across the floor. It couldn’t have been more than a quarter of an hour before Brian Fraser had come in the room, pulled Jamie up by the collar of his shirt and dragged him outside.

At first, the sunlight had been blinding, and Jamie had dug his heels into the ground, eyes screwed shut and both hands wrapped around his father’s wrist, desperately trying to get him to let go, but he had been far too weak to put up a fight, and collapsed some few feet away from the front door, letting his father half drag him the rest of the way to his brother’s grave.

Brian had set him on his feet in front of the small, makeshift headstone - which was, in reality, just a small pile of rocks haphazardly stacked into a makeshift cairn - and had grabbed onto his shoulders, holding Jamie up. The dirt on his brother’s grave had still been freshly turned, not yet covered with grass, not yet accustomed to Willie’s death. Jamie distinctly remembered seeing a small, writhing worm burrow through the damp dirt, and had been momentarily filled with rage.

“I ken ye hurt, mo bhalach, but he’s gone, and there’s no’ ye can do but accept it, aye? Ye cannae bring him back, Jamie.” His father’s voice had been warm, perhaps warmer than Jamie had ever heard it, and then the large hands had dropped away from his shoulders, and the two stood side by side, looking down at the grave, for what might have been hours.

Jamie wasn’t sure whether it was the reality of seeing the grave, or simply the passage of time, but he had healed after that, to the extent of his ability. Slowly, he had begun to eat and put on weight, venture out of the house with Ian, act like himself.

He had seen Willie’s body when it happened, just as Claire had seen Brigid’s, but there is a certain sickness about death that masks itself as sleep. It is far too easy to pretend death is nonexistent when there’s no garish, disgusting evidence of it.

He slipped into the room some time in the early evening, to find Claire, surprisingly, standing by the window. She had picked up a small shawl and wrapped it around the narrow frame of her shoulders, but Jamie could see that she was still trembling in the cool of the night air. She heard him close the door behind him and seemed to draw into herself, hugging her arms closer around herself.

He stood for a moment watching her. Her shift was thin, despite the chill in the air, and nearly translucent in what little light was left as the sun dipped below the horizon. Beneath the chemise, he could see the prominent bones of hip and shoulder, the slender curve of her waist now gone almost to the point of being sharp. A brief pang of fear went through him. She looked as if she would blow away, shatter into a million little pieces with just the right gust of wind.

Hesitantly, he crossed the floor to stand near her shoulder, not saying a word. She tensed beside him, but didn’t draw away this time, and he reached a hand out to touch her back. Beneath his palm, he could feel the curve of her spine and the shell of her scapula, and had to resist the urge to wince. She made a small noise in the back of her throat like she had been burned, but shifted ever so slightly closer to him. Her skin was cold, and he heard her teeth clack together once. Briefly, he wondered if she drew near to him simply out of the necessity of warmth, not comfort.

Following his previous line of thought, he ran his hand up and down her back, trying to rub some warmth back into her, and felt some of the tension go out of her shoulders. They stood that way for a few silent minutes, the few inches between them a yawning chasm, and Jamie pursed his lips.

“I’ve something ta show ye, Claire.” His voice shattered the silence like a rock through glass, and he winced momentarily as Claire stepped away from him.

“I don’t want to see it,” she rasped, her voice gone rusty from the silence, and he watched her fumble with the shall for a few moments, as if unsure what to do with it.

“A walk then, mo ghraidh, the fresh air will do ye good.”

She drew in a breath and swelled up like she was going to argue again, but set her jaw and walked round the bed to step into her shoes and pick up her cloak from a nearby chair. She didn’t say a word as she clasped it around her throat, but turned to look at him, and gingerly put one hand in the crook of his arm as he stepped over.

Outside, the wind greeted them with the sounds of frogs and crickets, and from somewhere distant the sweet smell of fruit. It was significantly cooler than the house, and Jamie felt Claire shiver beside him. He gave her hand a small squeeze and set off down the winding stone path that snaked from behind the house into the fields.

They reached the small, babbling stream that crisscrossed the property, winding in loops through the hills, and Jamie turned left, towards the weeping silhouette of a willow. Fitting, he thought briefly. Beside him, Claire planted her feet.

“No.”

He stopped as well, looking down at her, and sighed. “Ye need ta see it, Claire.” He slid his hand up past her elbow as he felt her begin to shake, her eyes wide.

“I said no, Jamie, please.” Her chin trembled, and he thought he heard his heart break, neat and clean like the snapping stem of a flower.

Reluctantly, he pressed forward, and Claire followed almost willingly, despite her quiet protestations and the hitch in her breath. As they drew nearer, her panic began to rise. He could hear her breathing pick up pace, and felt the tension shoot through her like a shock.

Someone had laid a small bouquet of white ginger lilies on the upturned earth, and a small pile of rocks had been meticulously laid where one day a more permanent marker would sit.

Claire broke.

She whirled around and flung herself at his chest, sobbing and beating weakly at him with her palms, and he reached to grasp her wrists, stilling her hands. She struggled for a few moments, and then the energy went out of her, and she collapsed against him, now and then thumping him halfheartedly.  He brought his arms up around her shoulders, holding her against him as her body gave way and she nudged her face into the crook of his shoulder, her fingers curling in the front of his shirt. Neither said a word, but Jamie blinked up at the sky harshly, trying to push back the stinging in his own eyes.

Eventually, Claire carefully drew away from him, though she kept an iron grip on his hand, and turned to face the grave once again. She hiccupped wetly, and then dropped down to her knees, and Jamie mirrored her. She touched once the flowers, the small pile of rocks, and the dirt, wet with dew, almost ritualistically. Her hands shook, but her crying gradually subsided to sniffling aftershocks, and she leaned in to Jamie as he pulled her to his chest, both her hands coming up to hold onto his arm as he leaned his face into the top of her hair.

Eventually, Jamie moved to sit next to her in the grass, and they stayed locked together, each in some way holding the other up, until the last flush of sun gave way to the full richness of night.

Continue reading here! 

[irlaimsaaralath]

Drawn By Sorrow - Part 6

More fluff!

The oilcloth of the tent flap rustled when she turned it back, and laughter tinted her words as she spoke, “I’m surprised at you, Sentinel.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile so much.”  Her head dipped as she ducked into the tent, and a twirl of her lithe fingers lit a pair of lamps with golden magelight.  He was close on her heel, and his chuckle was a gravelly rumble in his chest, “You thought me incapable?”  The firm shaking of her head caused the drape of her hair to sway, gilded threads of white beneath the enchanted flames of the lamps.  “Perhaps when I first met you, but now...I just didn’t expect it to become more than a rare occurrence,” she confessed with a grin as she turned and sat on the edge of her cot.  The line of his brow slanted as he gazed down at her, only barely capable of standing to his full height at the peak of the tent. 

“I smile around you,” was his protest, and the color on his cheeks was more due to the mead he wasn’t used to drinking than any genuine upset.  Comparatively, he knew he was reserved; it was a trait that had been drilled into him, reinforced, and practiced dutifully for more than a millennia.  It’s not a discipline easily shed, a habit thrown off as one might discard a cloak.  It was so ingrained in him, it was no longer a practice; it was simply who he was.  Over the months he’d spent with the Inquisition, specifically with Niyera, her friendship and presence had drawn him out of himself to a degree.  He found himself more at ease, less rigid than he could ever recall being.  It was apparent to him that she was beginning to etch cracks in the surface of the mask he wore as effortlessly as anyone else might breathe.  

She was already busy unlacing her boots and loosed a snort of a chuckle before flashing a glance up to him, “When?  It must be when I’m not looking.”  His arms crossed over his broad chest as he adopted a disapproving expression as he struggled to recall an actual, relevant circumstance.  After a few moments, his brow lifted slightly, and he said, “When we spar.  I smile then.”  Her hands stilled completely, and she propped one on her knee as she craned her head up, “Is that what you call that?  I thought perhaps you were in pain.  Or snarling.  Or caught in an upwind draft from the stables.”  The tension that evolved in his posture and creased his lips into a frown told her that he didn’t find her teasing a fraction as amusing as she did, so she tried to mask her wide grin and only partially managed to succeed.  

When she still found him frowning, squinted at him, saying, “Pull,” as she leaned back and stretched her booted foot out to him.  One side of his nose wrinkled, and he hesitated, but only a moment before he gripped her boot, toe and heel, and tugged it off.  The process was repeated for the other foot.  Task completed, he went back to his disapproving frown, and without another word, he sank down onto his cot across the tent from hers.  As the quiet drew on, she began to feel guilty for poking fun at him, but she let him pout until the silence became uncomfortable.  With a deep sigh, she crossed to his side of the tent and sat beside him, intentionally bumping her leg into his.  

“I know you smile, Abelas.  I spoke only in jest,” she said, leaning forward to find his eyes beneath the bow of his head.  “I realize that,” he returned, not glancing up as he fished through the satchel on the ground between his feet.  She observed him in silence, clasping her hands between her knees awkwardly.  “Was it something else I said?  It wasn’t my intention to-,” and he cut her off, saying, “I just do not have any pithy commentary to offer you about my smiles or lack thereof.”  Tugging his sketchbook free of his satchel, he slid the bag under the cot before he sat back and looked over at her.  “I am what I am, and I smile when I smile.  I cannot say I have ever thought on it over much,” he finished as he tapped the leather-bound book against his knee idly.

It was obvious to her she’d touched a chord and that he didn’t intend to discuss it.  She felt like she had just ruined what had truly been an exceptional evening with her insensitive attempt at humor.  Glancing away from his gaze, she tapped a fingertip on the cover of his sketchbook.  A change of subject.  “I noticed you sketching earlier.  May I see?”  His head fell a tick to the side as he eyed her, then with a single nod of his head offered the book out to her.  Her feet lifted onto toes to elevate her knees as she rested the sketchbook between them and splayed it open to the satin ribbon marker.  

The first few sketches seemed to be of patterns:  the designs in the sails of the aravels, the weave of the grass rugs around the fire, the tight thatch of the water hyacinth baskets.  She turned the page carefully, and she felt Abelas’s weight shift beside her, the press of his shoulder to hers as he endured her appraisals.  Next, were things and people:  the talisman the clan Keeper had worn around his neck, the young twin brother and sister that fell asleep against each other at the fire’s edge, the hands of the elder that had stone-baked their bread.  “These are lovely.  You capture the details so well.  Is this something you’ve always been able to do or did you learn?” she asked, sparing a short glance before she turned the page.

He steepled his hands beneath his chin as he rested his elbows on his knees, still keenly watching her.  “I have always enjoyed art, and I had some natural talent.  The rest was simply having many years of practice,” he said, and she gave him a smile at that.  “I’m sure.  What do you prefer to draw?  How do you decide what you’ll work on next?”  His eyes drifted from her as his shoulders drew up in an absent shrug, “I draw what I find beautiful or worth remembering.”  She had just begun to voice her reply when she turned the page and found a sketch of herself.  It seemed he’d caught her while she was teaching one of the children how to weave fringed stalks of tickleweed into small poppets.  

She was taken aback.  Heat rose to her cheeks and quickly spread, and she felt at once embarrassed and touched.  Before she could help herself, a question escaped her lips, hesitant and quiet, “Which am I?”  When he tilted his head to look back at her, his braid fell over his shoulder, and his brows lifted.  He angled his body so that he could better see which drawing she’d discovered, and she found herself staring at him.  Eventually, his eyes panned up to hers, and very simply, he said, “Both.”  His answer tugged a pleasant thread of heat through her body, and she wasn’t quite sure what to make of her reaction.  Her mouth opened, and she expected some manner of sound to come out, but when it didn’t, Abelas smiled and leaned a little closer.  

“Niyera,” he began, his golden eyes fixed to hers.  Her heartbeat was a whispered rush in her ears, and when she said Yes? her voice cracked a bit.  Gently, he gripped her chin between his thumb and his curled forefinger and whispered, “This is me smiling.”  She blinked at him, at the faint hint of mischief that tainted his words and glinted in his eyes, and she abruptly laughed.  The warmth in her cheeks was all embarrassment now, and it was evident that he’d noticed as his smile quickly dissolved into a smirk.  “You’re an ass!” she accused as she shoved him, snapping the sketchbook closed as she shot to her feet.  “A complete cad,” she said as she pushed his book into his chest.  He just chuckled at her as she stalked back over to her cot and flopped down onto it, stretching out on its length in a huff.  She roughly crossed her arms, and when she glanced, she found a smug grin on his face.  A disgusted noise fell from her lips as she snapped her hand on the air, and the lamps extinguished.  In the darkness, all she could hear was his renewed chuckling.

Though much of Skyhold had already retired for the evening, she knew that she would most likely find Abelas awake as the ancient seemed to sleep less than most she knew.  And, despite that dinner had been filling and she wasn’t exceptionally hungry, she’d stole into the kitchen after the cooks had departed and scrounged up a few of the treasures they liked to keep hidden:  strawberries, white nectarines which she’d sliced, a piece of dark chocolate, and some wildflower honey.  Arranged in a segmented dish, she’d padded across the ramparts to the tower where Abelas’s room was housed.  It had been a couple of weeks since their visit with the Dalish, and they hadn’t had a great deal of time to talk.  At his door, she knocked and waited.  When she heard no reply, she knocked again a little louder.  There was still no answer, and she became a bit concerned.  

Pushing open the door, she poked her head in and called out to him, “Abelas?”  The room was lit by a single candle, enough for her to see that the bed was empty, and he was nowhere else in the room.  It surprised her a bit when she heard his voice, but couldn’t quite place it, “I am here, lethallan.”  She stepped more fully into the room and only then noticed that he’d removed the planks boarding the window -- they were waiting for replacement glass -- and it stood open to the night air.  Stepping over to the arched opening, she craned her head out to find Abelas lying on a blanket he’d spread over the sloped roof of the overhang, with one arm tucked back beneath his head and other draped over his stomach.  His head tilted to regard her with his golden eyes, meeting her perplexed expression with one of relaxed ease.  

“Are you not cold?  You must freeze at night without the window,” she said, a hint of concern in her voice.  He only shook his head.  “You have provided me with blankets enough.  I prefer to be able to see the sky.”  When he turned his gaze upward again, she followed his eyes, staring for a moment into the inky black above them.  Stars littered the darkness like thousands of tiny diamonds set in velvet, winking in and out of existence, it seemed, with every blink of an eye.  “May I join you?” she finally asked, and he didn’t look her way when he answered with a simple If you wish.  Setting the dish on the table near the window, she boosted herself up onto the sill and swung her legs over to the roof.  Before she stood, she retrieved her treats, then carefully shuffled her way over to Abelas and sat down on the blanket beside him.

“I brought things to nibble on.  Strawberries and nectarines,” she said as she scooted down on the blanket to lay at his side.  Her hip brushed his.  He didn’t shy away from the contact, but something in him seemed to tense as he glanced over at her.  “Why?  Did you not take your evening meal?”  She made a noise that lay somewhere between a snort and a chuckle as she settled the dish on her stomach.  “I did, but hunger isn’t necessarily the only reason to eat,” she said as she plucked up a slice of nectarine and waggled it at him.  The line of his brow straightened, the corners of his mouth tightened, and he gave her a somewhat disapproving look.  “It is the only reason that should be indulged.  Anything else is frivolity,” he offered, only watching as she crunched through the last bite of her nectarine.  

She answered his disapproval with incredulity, one brow drawing higher than the other, “Did the ancients not indulge from time to time beyond what was strictly necessary?”  He hummed something behind the line of his lips and looked back up at the sky.  “Those of my station did not.  It was very rare to encounter such luxuries,” he said, and he only glanced her way again when her silence and the weight of her gaze became uncomfortably heavy.  His expression was neutral, as it frequently was, though the angles natural to his face made the look harder than she knew it to be.  It would have been impossible for her to mask her thoughts completely, but she managed to keep the bulk of it locked away and betrayed only the slightest hint of sadness in her eyes.  

She knew she’d failed to hide it all when his lips twisted, and he looked away from her.  “Do not look at me like that, lethallan.  There is no reason to.”  Her mouth drew into a frown as she spoke, “Like what exactly?”  He shifted a little, bending his arm to set his free hand behind his head for support.  “Like you pity me.  I have no need of pity.  I have lived well, my needs satisfied.  What else could I want?” he finished, canting his head look at her out of the corner of his eye.  “I think you misunderstand me, Abelas.  It’s not pity or even a matter of what you might want for yourself.  Perhaps I just want more for you.  More than simply having your needs met,” she said, pausing only to take a deep breath as she looked skyward.  

“This is a different place and a different time.  I would like for you to take some pleasure in it, to find something beyond duty.  That’s not all you are.  It’s not all you have to be.”  She was still gazing at the stars when he turned his head to fully take her in.  The light breezes had stirred wisps of hair and tugged them over her forehead, and the moonlight painted silver strokes over the slope of her cheeks and the bow of her mouth.  An unfamiliar sensation coiled in his chest as he watched her, and it furrowed his brow.  He was uncertain what to do with her words, so they hung in the forefront of his thoughts, turning over and over until they were rolled smooth like rocks on a riverbed, and then sank into his heart.

“Which should I try first?” he asked when he finally spoke, having never looked away from her.  “What?” she returned, voice pitched in mild confusion as if he’d pulled her from her thoughts unexpectedly.  “The strawberries or the nectarines.  Which should I try first?” he explained, never moving, never pulling his gaze from hers.  The smile that bent her lips was slow to form, but it did so fully and lit her eyes.  She fished a slice of pale fruit from the dish, offering, “The nectarines,” before she swirled the end of the crescent in honey.  With a twirl of her wrist, she wound the threads of honey around the fruit as she pulled it from the dish, then offered it over to him to sample.  He leaned up from his hands to bite the slice, breaking half of it off before settling down again.  

“Oop,” he heard her say as she reached for his face, scooping from his chin an escaped drop of honey.  Before she thought about it, she popped her thumb into her mouth to suck off the bead of sweetness, and he couldn’t help but watch her do it despite his attempt to look away.  She seemed not to have noticed his being transfixed or that he’d forgotten to chew, and quipped an expectant, “Well?”  His eyes slipped back up to hers, and he chewed, then nodded.  “Crisper than I expected.  The honey is a nice complement.  Wildflower, is it not?”  She hummed her affirmation before she bit down on the other half of the slice.  “I like them a little underripe.  I prefer the texture, and it gives me an excuse for the honey,” she smiled, a soft upward turn at the corners of her mouth.

Without warning, she scooted flush against his side and rested her head back on his shoulder as she set the dish of fruit to balance across their bodies.  He stiffened slightly, but didn’t move, not quite sure what to make of her.  Either way, she seemed unaffected and glanced up at him with a vaguely pleased expression.  “Ready for a strawberry?”  He could only murmur his confirmation and try to ignore the fist that gripped at his insides and the fingers that tickled along his spine.  Picking up the piece of chocolate, she broke it into several smaller pieces and handed one over to him.   

“Let it melt a little on your tongue,” she began as he accepted the sweet, “and then take a bite,” and followed up by handing him a plump strawberry.   Doing as instructed, he found himself averting his eyes from her expectant gaze, not at all sure why, though it gave him an air of thoughtfulness.  When he sank his teeth into the berry, he was forced to close his lips around it and make an embarrassing slurping noise.  It was juicier than he anticipated, and her soft laughter summoned his eyes back to hers.  The flavors mixed on his tongue, the subtle bitterness of the dark chocolate chased away by the sweet ripeness of the strawberry.  He found it very agreeable.  He nodded to her as he nibbled away the bits of fruit clinging to the green and casually tossed the leaves over the edge of the overhang.  

“I...like that one much better,” he commented, and he was again greeted by the light burble of her laughter.   “I thought you might,” she said without explanation as she shifted the dish to lay on his stomach.  When she didn't explain, he shifted a bit to bump his hip into hers and met her gaze with a silent question.  She only smiled and shrugged before she stole a piece of chocolate for herself.  “You just seem like a dark chocolate kind of man,” and with that, she passed the dark candy across her lips, and he could tell by the working of her jaw that she was rolling it over on her tongue.  He half-hummed, half-grunted his acknowledgement of her words, then looked back up at the sky.

They spent hours on that small patch of roof, stargazing in comfortable silences that were bookended by bits of conversation that she managed to tease out of him.   He wasn't sure what loosened his tongue, perhaps the chocolate, but he was glad to have some time to talk with her.  He found it unburdening, and though he wouldn't admit it to himself until later, he felt bereft when they'd finished the fruit and she'd withdrawn from his side to finally turn in for the night.  It was more than the sudden intrusion of cool night air that rushed in to take her place, but rather a warmth that lingered in the pit of his stomach even after he himself retired to bed.

[queenofairandsnarkness]

Do you remember Brienne x Lucas Blackwood? Because I do and right now I am craving fic where he bakes her cupcakes that are inspired by her. And they are delicious.

The St. Cecilia’s Bake Sale was started... oh, ages ago. Brienne did it when she was a child, wide-eyed and following a bickering group of more interesting students. Mrs. Stark said she’d done it, and Rhae’s gran said it was done when her eldest was a student. It was all about responsibilities, and civic involvement, and getting the biggest sugar high possible.

(People still played poker with Rhae, then. No one thought a seven year old could fleece them.)

It was a little competitive- the students got to choose what they wanted the money to go for, and all of the teachers picked out their own projects. (Brienne had suggested better, safer gym equipment, Walda always suggested a knitting club, and Rhae wanted it to go to the theater program. Howland Reed suggested a summer garden program, because he was mad as a dragon. Cerelle Lannister’s idea of new technology won, because she said it would make the school like Star Wars. She was good at playing the kids.)

Then, of course, you have the actual baked goods. No one was allowed to buy things- it wasn’t in the spirit of it. The culinary school across the street allowed them to have an afternoon helping the students bake, of course, treating it as a lesson for both groups of students, and unofficial groupings did happen. Plus the teachers’ own contributions, which were evaluated by students and voted on. (Walda won last year with mini chocolate chip waffles, a Gull Arryn the year before with some salted-caramel maple syrup thing that had been too sweet for Brienne’s own liking.) It came across as a slightly manic Bake-Off, and was generally the most entertaining day of the year.

Walda had bubbled off too many ideas for Brienne or anyone else to keep track, Rhae was merely smiling and not answering, and Cerelle was probably going to hire a chef to do most of the work. She hadn’t gotten around to asking Lucas, as they tended to communicate better under masks. When on rooftops. Or beating people up.

Brienne had made scones- her mother had left behind a scrapbook of recipes, stained and still smelling faintly of spices. (Also, cider, but Selwyn Tarth inherited the Sapphire Isle before he married.) As a girl, she’d sometimes tried them, feeling awkward and sure to failure. (Renly had suggested that she not act like everything was a battle, but Renly was kind of a dolt who didn’t follow his own advice.)

Over the years, she’d gotten better, and her orange scones tended to vanish quickly whenever she brought them to a meeting. She made a batch of orange for confidence, then tried a lavender-honey mix that she’d been meaning to get around to. (She smelt strongly of lavender for two days before the bake-off, when she was experimenting, and was slightly baffled by Lucas Blackwood’s expression.)

Rhaenys was carrying three large boxes on her lap as she wheeled through the hallways, an honor guard of some of her favorite art students making sure none of the littles crashed into her. Normally it would drive the other woman crazy, but Rhae’d been in more pain then usual, and was looking faintly exhausted all week. Also, the boxes were huge and Rhae normally had something good and the allergy sufferers went to her, first. She labelled.

“Shoo, shoo, I’ve got it from here,” she said. “Thank you, though, for asking me if I wanted help.”

“Is it biscuits?” asked a girl. “Miss Tarth always brings scones.” Rhaenys winked. 

“You’ll find out in the afternoon,” she said. “Now, get to class!”

“Scones, again, Brienne?” Rhaenys asked. “I’ll take a lavender one with my meds.”

“Pain pill?” Brienne asked. Rhaenys nodded.

“One day,” she said, pinching her nose, “I’ll say yes when Q offers. One day, when I judge the risk to my sanity worth it. I haven’t been able to use the canes in two months without feeling like I’m reenacting the little mermaid.”

Damn it- Rhae could occasionally walk with a pair of canes, but Brienne had seen them only infrequently since they started at St. Cecilia’s. She knew the damage was slowly degenerative, that the healers had only managed that, but...

“The visions?” Brienne asked.

“It’d fry them,” she said, absently, ignoring the question Brienne was trying to ask. “That’d be the risk to my sanity- I’d be able to keep up the mirror tricks, but that’s it. Also, go visit poor Lucas. This is his first bake sale here, the poor boy is probably terrified we all went mad.”

The poor boy was their age and taller then Garlan Tyrell, but Brienne went, suspecting Rhae wanted some quiet time.

Lucas had two boxes on his desk, and Brienne sighed. “Lock them up.”

“What?” Lucas looked up from his planning, blinking. 

“The sweets- the students will stare at them if you leave them out,” Brienne explained. “Put them in a drawer or cupboard you won’t be using today- don’t stash them in the teacher’s lounge, they’ll all be stolen.”

“Ah,” he said. “Thanks for that.” 

Brienne wondered what she should do- she wanted to stay for a bit, but she wasn’t quite sure how to talk to him in the school. “How was the...” she waved her hand, not quite sure if there were curious ears nearby. 

“Fine, fine, thanks for the assistance, by the way,” he said. “I think Stannis Baratheon is dealing with the aftermath.”

Brienne tried not to pull a face- Renly’s brothers were both dicks in their own ways, but rigid Stannis just didn’t... well, probably remnants of her embarrassing teenage crush on Renly.

But she couldn’t see Stannis liking a vigilante. 

She moved to help grab the baked goods, and Lucas blushed and snatched them away. “I’ve got it.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You have Pari Martell in your class, right?” 

He nodded, locking them in a mostly empty drawer. “Yes...”

“Did she start making illusions in spelling, yet?” Brienne asked. “I had her last year.”

Lucas blinked. “...Not yet... is that something I should worry about?”

“Probably,” she smiled. “She likes to visualize words to help her memorize them.”

He nodded. “That’s going to be entertaining. I suppose we should avoid the dino unit...”

“I know for a fact she loves Jurassic Park,” Brienne agreed. “Her mum finds it hilarious.” Mostly because the ghost-raptor had nearly bit Darkstar in the rear.

“Any other disasters you’d like to worry me about?”

“Fairly sure Walda Frey is a serial killer, so don’t be rude to her,” Brienne smiled. She was ninety-five percent sure.

They chatted with slightly more ease, and Brienne realized she was faintly unhappy when the time came to run to her room.

~

Rhae was looking at Lucas’ blueberry cupcakes. “They have a plastic sword on them.”

“You think he bought them?” Brienne didn’t think that he was the type to cheat.

(Also, he’d arranged a small gluten-free table decorated with raptors and Iron Man that a pair of pleased nine-year-olds were manning.)

“No, no, the frosting is too awful for him to have bought them,” Rhae said, tilting her head. She’d made candied-apples, and had found a glittery witch hat somewhere, complete with ruby slide-on slippers. Brienne’s paper chef hat felt a bit silly, and kept falling off of her.

It was true, though, that his cupcakes had the swords coming out from a sliding, partially melted blue frosting.

“They match your eyes,” Rhae added. “The frosting, that is. And the cupcakes are blonde!”

“And they have lavender in them,” Walda added, munching on one. Some of his students had bought them out of pity, but Walda seemed pleased. “They look a bit silly, but they taste divine.”

“If they’re meant to be inspired by me, that explains the looks,” Brienne said, feeling... confused. Among other things.

“Lord, what fools these mortals be,” Rhaenys muttered. “Or he could be someone who never made cupcakes before.”

Pari Martell walked up. At some point. She was far too good at sneaking, and she hadn’t been seen at Lucas’ table. “Hiya, Auntie, hullo, Miss Tarth.”

Rhae raised an eyebrow at her niece. “What did I tell you about calling me that in school?”

“Deria calls you that!” Pari protested, nearly dropping the cupcake she was holding.

“Deria’s three, I’ll explain school rules when she can read,” Rhae said. “Did you buy one of Mr. Blackwood’s cupcakes?”

“He said to give it to Miss Tarth,” Pari said, big brown eyes wide.

“Thank you,” Brienne said, leaning down to grab it. “And you know your aunt just prefers you not adding the silly nicknames to the auntie, right? The other teachers might tease her.”

“Oh,” Pari nodded. “Okay. Bye, Miss Tarth! By Auntie Seer!”

“Try not to make anyone cry,” Rhaenys called, head bowed. “...She’s worse than her mother.”

Brienne bit into the cupcake, which was... amazing.

“Yum?” Walda waggled her eyebrows. 

“Yes,” Brienne admitted. 

“Like the chef?” Walda pressed, smirking.

Brienne felt the ugly red blush creep up her face, missing the delighted gasp of  one of the girls. (One of the ten-year-olds who had been running the apple booth with Rhae, and then set off giggling.)

While they obviously didn’t win, Lucas had received a large bundle of votes from the older girls that made Mrs. Smallwood frown and Rhae cackle.

“I’ll tell her the girls are shipping their teachers, don’t worry,” she said, because Brienne’s friends were awful people.