#so when your face doesn’t magically rearrange itself it’s not their fault

[luminarai]

Gotta love the particular niche of influencers who claim that they turned their hooded eyes non-hooded or significantly changed some other part of their face by doing daily facial massages for years and years (and you can too by buying their 500$ 30 minute course!) when they’ve obviously had cosmetic surgery. Like cmon.

[imagine-loki]

Ragnarok

TITLE: Ragnarok CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 5: Sibling Rivalry AUTHOR: traveling-classicist ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine you take care Odin when he was homeless on Midgard (based on the deleted scene from Ragnarok). You take him in and listen his crazy stories about Asgard and Thor thinking he’s just some crazy hobo who needs help. Then one day, Thor and Loki break into your apartment looking for their father. Hela returns in your living room and insanity ensues. RATING: T 

AO3 Link: Here NOTES/WARNINGS: None for this chapter. Enjoy!

Loki, Thor, and Odin, walked towards the weapons vault with Commander Ingvild and a few more guards. Ingvild was a tall, strong woman, wearing silver armor and a gold cape similar to the rest of the Einherjar. Her cape had a thick band of embroidered knotwork along its border in a flashing gold thread that indicated her rank as High Commander among the Einherjar. At her side was a sword that bounced on her thigh as she walked alongside the King.

She had only faltered for a moment upon seeing Loki standing beside Odin and Thor but the rumor that Loki had finally revealed himself this morning at the theatre had spread through most of the city by now. She saluted her King and Loki acknowledged her with a smirk. Now, he walked beside her with purpose, ignoring his moping brother. Odin toddled along behind them, watching his son work.

            “I want extra guards posted on this vault and the patrols updated immediately. Did the guard I send tell you of the new post on that doorway?” Loki asked.

            “Yes, sire, I’ll add it to the log right away,” Ingvild responded.

            “Good,” Loki said. “I want it guarded at all times as well. In addition, I want you to contact the other Commanders. I will call a meeting with all of you in the War Room tonight at dusk but in the meantime:

“To Commander Brynja, there is to be an increase of our atmospheric security, effective immediately. I want all traffic in and out of Asgard halted. There are to be no space-bound vehicles entering or leaving Asgard.

“To Commander Dagfinn, I want increased legions posted on our walls in case of a terrestrial based attack. Also, muster the Warriors Three and Sif. They are to uphold their oaths and protect this palace, should something happen.”

            “Yes, sire,” Ingvild said. “We are preparing for war, then?”

            “No, but there is an eminent threat. Two actually, possibly more. We need to be prepared. Make sure the people are well versed on evacuation procedures in case the alarm is sounded. There should be guards available to ensure those measures can be enacted, if needed.

“Post Destroyers on the walls and on Bifrost, the armored bilgesnipe at the gates, wolves, sabrecats, whatever we have. And, please, keep the handlers with the bilgesnipe this time. We don’t want another one getting loose in the city again.”

“Yes, of course, sire,” Ingvild said, sending a chilling glare towards one of the men beside her. He looked down at his feet and nodded, rubbing his arm as if remembering a rather painful and shameful memory.

“Instruct the Einherjar, to arm the plasma canons with the anti-proton missiles first, should something happen,” Loki continued. “The enemy ships have advanced defenses.”

            “Loki, you speak as if you know the attacker that’s coming,” Odin said.

            “I don’t know anything, I’m just trying to prepare us in case he shows up,” he said to Odin. “Go,” he ordered Ingvild. The High Commander trotted off along with a group of guards and legionnaires, barking orders to them as she went. Loki turned away and pushed open the doors of the weapons vault

            “Who, Loki?” Thor asked, following him in with Odin close behind. “Who do you speak of?”

            Loki did not answer. He stalked down the aisle towards the end of the vault. They walked past Surtur’s Skull which had only just been placed on a new pedestal. It was chained to the rock where it sat. The relics had clearly been rearranged and reordered in Odin’s absence. At the very end of the vault, the three came to a stop. There, on a pedestal, sat the Tesseract in an armored box. Loki sighed, seemingly relieved. He reached for it, hesitating a moment, before picking it up, ensuring it was genuine and quickly setting it back down.

            “What is that, Loki?” Thor asked.

            “It’s a birthday present,” Loki said, sarcastically. “What does it look like, you idiot? It’s the Tesseract.”

            “No, ugh. I mean what’s that thing on it! Don’t call me an idiot, brother,” Thor warned.

            “It’s a lock that I forged for it. Your Avenger friends think of the Tesseract like a door that opens between two points in space. To dumb it down to something you can understand, think of this as a lock on that door. Only I know where the key to it is, so no one else can open the door.”

            “Smart,” Odin muttered as he looked around the vault.

            “I also replaced the Destroyer you destroyed,” he went on to Thor.

            “It was your fault,” Thor grumbled.

            “Hmm, was it?” Loki asked, cocking his head to the side.

            Thor wasn’t listening. He looked around the vault, frantically. “Loki, where is the Aether?” Thor asked.

            “Nowhere. Come on, both of you, out!” he ordered them, shepherding them both back out towards the door. He liked giving them orders. It was a new feeling. A nice feeling. The two big guards that had followed them in, promptly turned about face and walked out with them.

            “What? You lost it? What do you mean it’s nowhere?” Thor shouted.

            “Well, if I told you, it wouldn’t be much of a secret, would it? I’m the only one that knows, and I wiped everyone else’s memory that did,” he said, shoving them out of the weapons vault. “I even tried to wipe my own memory of it, so who knows if I even know, you know?”

            “Ugh, you’re insane,” Thor whined, dragging his hands down his face.

            “Yes, you’re probably right for once,” Loki laughed, shrugging.

            “You did what, Loki? You wiped your own memory?” Odin asked but Loki did not respond.

The door closed behind them with a bang. Loki turned around to face it and lifted his arms, palms facing the door. With a green flash, a massive, stony serpent appeared on the door and began to slither back and forth across the panels, tying itself in intricate Asgardian knots.

Loki seemed to control it, tying each knot with a flick of his wrist; making the serpent’s head rise and fall, twist and turn. Loki’s arms moved in wide arcs, forming a large circle. The serpent copied him, forming a complete circle of knots on the door. It opened its jaws and grabbed its tail in its mouth, sealing the door shut with rays of green light. Loki lowered his arms. He was breathing harder, the magic seeming to drain him a little. He held his injured hand, rubbing the pain away.

            “Hmph,” Odin said, stepping up beside his son and putting his hand on Loki’s shoulder. Loki flinched at the uncommon touch. “I’m impressed. Your mother would be proud.”

            Loki looked at him, surprised. He still was not sure how to take these new compliments. Odin had never really shown him true affection before.

            “Are you going to tell us who you’re so worried about?” Thor asked him.

            Loki snapped to, turning away from Odin and addressing Thor. “I’m worried about this deranged sister of yours. You know, I’m starting to think madness runs in your family?” he said, walking past Odin and Thor towards the stairs. “Your great grandfather, your grandfather, your uncles, more than half of your cousins, and now him,” he pointed a thumb at Odin. “Perhaps you should have the matron healer check you over before you succumb to it too, brother.”

            Loki patted Thor on the back and gave him a mock-concerned look before walking up the stairs. Thor desperately wanted to take a swing at Loki but knew well that he could not. He turned to his father and gestured at Loki, wanting Odin to help him, to say something, to stop him, to do something. Odin just chuckled, shaking his head, and followed Loki up the steps.

            “Ugh, I will go mad if I have to stay here!” Thor whined, plodding along behind them. He stopped in his tracks a moment, realizing something. “All this preparation has something to do with the Infinity Stones doesn’t it, brother?”

            Loki scoffed. “And what could you possibly know about those?” he asked, not turning back to look at his brother. They arrived at the top of the stairs in an elegant sitting room. Guards stood at the entrances of three hallways leading off in different directions.

            “Plenty,” Thor said, confidently. “That’s where I’ve been all these years. Searching for them,” Thor said.

            “And how has that gone? Have you found any? What have you learned about them?” Loki said, stopping in the middle of the room. His tone was condescending and sarcastic, as usual. He turned to face Thor, raising a brow at him expectantly.

“I know that there are supposed to be six. I know that the scepter you had on Earth was one. And now the Mind Stone rests in the head of Vision, a being that the humans created.”

            “Oh wonderful, I can’t see that blowing up in their faces at all,” Loki said.

“And then, there’s the Aether–”

“Yes, well done. We all know that,” Loki retorted.

“And the Tesseract.”

“Goodness, brother. Have you brought me any useful information or do you just—"

“AND, there is another one on—”

            “On Xandar,” he and Loki said together. Thor blinked in confusion.

            “Yes, brother,” Loki continued, turning away from his shocked brother’s face. “You may think me idle these past few years but I, too, have been looking for the Stones.”

            “To do what with them?” Thor asked darkly, suspicious of his brother.

            “What do you think I’d do with them?” Loki asked. He turned back to face Thor.

            Thor looked around, not wanting to say aloud what he truly thought. Odin stood behind his sons, watching their argument closely. Loki was hiding something that he was not yet ready to reveal to either of them. Frigga hated when their boys fought. She hated it more when Thor became physical, but now that Loki was surrounded by guards to protect him, the playing field had been leveled.

            “Do you think I’d try to rule with them?” Loki asked, snidely. “Well, I already have a kingdom, a throne, a people,” he gestured to the palace around him. “I didn’t need the Stones to get all this; I did that by myself!”

Thor faltered, unable to respond. “Do you think I’d kill with them?” Loki continued, taking a step closer to Thor and Odin. “Well, I’ve already done that too, haven’t I, brother? You were there. You saw how ‘savage’ I was. You saw what they could do. What I could do with them.

“You know now what the Mind Stone is capable of now, but you still think I was in full control, don’t you? You think I wanted all this to happen? You think I wanted to hurt that poor Midgardian girl in there?” he shouted, pointing towards the Healing Room. “I barely even remember it! It’s not even in here!” he shouted, hitting his head with his good hand.

Odin lifted his hand, wanting to stop Loki from hurting himself. He took a step toward Loki, but Thor put his arm out to stop him

Loki was stepping closer to them both. He put his hands behind his back. If Thor had learned anything from fighting his brother in the past, he knew that this was Loki’s battle stance. Loki was gearing up to throw knives at them, to use his magic, to do something. Thor felt vulnerable without Mjolnir and he did not like how aggressive Loki was getting.

Thor was not used to his brother being so loud. He had to protect himself and Odin, but he had nothing to defend either of them with nor anyone to come to his aid. Loki’s voice was growing louder, booming through the halls. Thor took a few steps back, pushing Odin with him. Loki followed them, taking three heavy steps towards them.

“Do you think I’d try to change my fate with them?” he shouted. “I already have! What do I need them for! I want those horrific things as far away from me as possible but its like I’m a magnet for them! They just keep coming back!” he roared. His fists clenched tightly behind his back. His temple bulged in his head, a vein popped in his neck, straining with anger. His face reddened.

            “Don’t you see, you moron! I’m trying to separate them! I’m trying to keep them as far apart as possible!” he shouted. His voice echoed through the halls. He stopped, as if regaining himself for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter but no less venomous. “If he finds them… if he assembles them… you have no idea what he could do with them!” he hissed through clenched teeth.

            “Sire,” a guard squeaked from the doorway.

            “WHAT!” Loki exploded at him. The echo of his voice could be heard at Bifrost.

            The guard fell backwards in fear of his King, the spear he carried clattering to the floor.

“The mortal woman, she… she… escaped out of the Healing Room after she started having vivid hallucinations from the potions the healers administered to her.” The guard was crying, nearly wetting himself with fear of the King’s response to the news he had given.

            “Argh,” Loki’s whole body tensed as did the whole room with him. His fists clenched, his arms flexing with rage. The air in the room seemed to vibrate with a powerful magical current. The guards braced themselves for the furniture to explode into splinters, for the drapes to shred themselves, for the carpets to set themselves on fire, and possibly for their clothes to do the same. Some of them still had painful memories from long ago when the young prince had similar outbursts. Back then, only his mother could stop him from destroying entire wings of the palace.

            “Wait!” Odin shouted at him. “Stop!”

            Loki’s head snapped around to him. His nostrils flared, his eyes narrowing on Odin. Thor thought his father would burst into flames himself at the look Loki gave him.

            Odin took a deep breath. He admitted internally, he had never been good at dealing with Loki’s outbursts. Frigga had always took control if Loki lost his temper, and that was rare. It was more often that Thor was losing his temper, crashing through walls in the garden or flipping over long tables in the dining rooms. He had been rather easy to calm with some mead or a good spar but Loki was far different.

“My son, take a deep breath,” Odin said. “Theo is a big girl; she can take care of herself. We can go look for her and bring her back to the Healing Room.”

            Loki held his stance a moment. He wanted so badly to let this rage inside of him explode like a volcano. He had been hiding inside an old man for four years. Not just any old man: the Allfather. He was not stupid. He had to keep some level of the reputation alive. But now he was himself again. And all he wanted to do was let out all of his anger on the two men that had ruined his life.

“Please, Loki,” Odin said. “Take a deep breath.”

Loki realized he had, indeed, been holding his breath. He took in a breath through his nose and closed his eyes. The muscle in his jaw tightened and released. He thought for a moment. He did like being King. Exploding like this would not look good on his first real day as himself as King.

He deflated like a balloon. His hands rose to his face and he rubbed his throbbing temples. A collective sigh of relief could be heard from around the room. Thor was wary of his brother after such a display. He had never seen Loki so angry. The room was still, all eyes were on the King, waiting to see what he would do. Loki straightened up and took a deep breath, shaking his head.

            “Of course, she got away,” he muttered. “No one can do their jobs, today,” he grumbled to himself.

            “Where’s Heimdall? He can find her,” Thor asked, trying to keep his tone as even as possible.

            “I charged Heimdall with the treason you made him commit, he exiled himself, no one’s seen him since,” Loki said, rubbing his eyes. “And good that he did. I would have chopped off his head if he didn’t.”

            Thor rolled his eyes but made sure his brother didn’t see.

“I need some datura for myself,” Loki groaned. “And a girl or two in my bed, and maybe a man, too.”

            Odin turned down the hallway towards the Healing Room, satisfied that his boys were no longer going to rip each others throats out and that his palace was going to stay intact.

            “Gross, Loki,” Thor muttered.

            “What? Are you jealous?” he smiled, devilishly. “Since you’re, you know, single now?”

            “Please, don’t tell me you’ve been doing that disguised as father.”

            “Ok, fine. I haven’t been doing that disguised as father,” he replied, giving his brother a wink and following after Odin.

            “No, no,” Thor whined, putting his hands on his head. “I can’t unimagine that. It’s in my head now. What have you done to me, brother? You’re disgusting! That’s disgraceful!”

            Loki could be heard cackling, maniacally down the hallways as they made their way back towards the Healing Room.

They walked in to find the healers bustling around frantically. There was broken glass on the floor and blood splattered everywhere. Torn linens draped over the Soul Forge and made a trail towards one side of the room. One of the healers was nursing another healer with a bruised forehead and blackened eye. Odin walked over to the Soul Forge where Theo had been laying. The sheets were strewn over the pallet and he could see blood and darker, decomposed tissue that had come off in Theo’s struggle. It appeared more like a murder scene than the scene of an escape.

            “What happened?” Loki asked.

            “We thought that we calculated the right amount of datura to give to her, but she is apparently sensitive to these botanicals, sire, I apologize,” the matron said, walking over to them. “She woke in a frenzy and tore off her bandages. We tried to settle her down again, but she went on a rampage through the room, screaming about monsters attacking the city. She was clearly hallucinating.”

            Thor glared at Loki but Loki paid him no heed, keeping his attention trained on the matron.

“She got into the potions over there and who knows what she inhaled. She hit poor Aslaug, there. Though, I don’t think she meant to hit her; sent her flying across the room,” she pointed to the woman in the corner being healed. Thor grimaced at the poor, old woman’s injury.

The matron continued, “We did our best to restrain her but she got free and then leapt nearly ten feet to that window and escaped! I think she must have gotten into one of the strength potions over there, I’m not sure, yet. She hasn’t been gone more than five minutes, sire. I sent the guards after her.”

            Loki looked at Odin, flatly. “Now, your pet has superpowers. Still think she’s going to be okay on a planet she’s never been to?”

            “Oh, she’s not my pet,” Odin said, gruffly, waving away Loki’s comment with his hand. “If you and Thor go quickly, you both should be able to find her with the guards’ help. I’ll only slow you down.”

            Loki scoffed. “You think I’m going to leave you here in this palace by yourself?”

“Loki,” Thor scolded.

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about me,” Odin said. “I’m retired now.”

            “The guards will find her or they’ll bring her body back,” Loki said. “I have bigger problems to deal with right now.”

            “Loki!” Thor shouted. Odin hung his head.

            Loki whipped around to face Thor. “We are on the brink of an attack by this sister of yours and whomever may have helped her escape! The people have no idea! Not to mention the ten billion other problems this planet is dealing with right now! The other Realms have felt the instability this throne has perpetuated in the last century; they’re on the verge of revolt and while you’ve been galivanting through the cosmos, I’ve been here trying to pacify them!” Loki shouted. Odin rolled his eyes as the two started fighting again.

            “Oh yes, you looked very busy this morning watching plays in your bathrobes—in his bathrobes!” Thor shouted.

            “Don’t criticize the way I rule. You have no idea! You never wanted to know! You left!” Loki shouted back.

            “Don’t put this on me! You tricked me! I didn’t fake my death again! I didn’t put my brother through mourning again!”

            “Oh, you’re such a victim,” Loki said, folding his arms and turning away. “Go be a cry baby somewhere else.”

            Odin waddled over to both of them. The rest of the room had quickly gone back to their business, trying to ignore the two fighting brothers. Centuries of sibling rivalry had taught many of the palace staff to get as far away as possible from a fight like this, lest they be hit with a stray bolt of lightning or rogue spell or worse.

            “DON’T YOU TURN YOUR BACK ON ME, BROTHER!” Thor shouted.

            Loki snapped around ready pounce on Thor but Odin made a swift move with his new cane, swatting first Thor, then Loki on the back of the head with his it.

            “Agh!”

            “Ouch!” the brothers cried.

            “Now, the two of you need to stop this nonsense and work together. Figure out where Theo is,” he said, gruffly.

            “Why does she matter so much to you?” Loki asked.

            He glared at Odin. Loki expected Odin to shout at him, to growl at him, to tell him to shut up, but the old man just stared at him with that icy, blue eye; his brow furrowed with worry for this Midgardian girl. Loki’s shoulders drooped and he sighed, rolling his eyes.

            “Huginn, Muninn,” he called. Two ravens flew in through the window.

“Oh!” Odin drew in an excited breath at seeing his pet ravens again. He used to throw bread at every crow he saw in Central Park hoping it were Huginn or Muninn. Loki hated his ravens, Odin had feared Loki may have gotten rid of them or killed them when he took over.

The ravens landed gracefully on Odin’s shoulders and both gave him loving headbutts before flapping over onto Loki’s head, pecking at his scalp and pulling his hair. Loki shook his head to get them off, swatting at them. Thor laughed at his brother as he struggled to wrangle the two ornery birds. The ravens finally hopped down onto Loki’s extended arm, satisfied that they had thoroughly annoyed him.

“Now, listen to me, carefully, this time,” he said, pointing at them. Loki’s hair was frazzled from all the pecking and pulling. It hung in his face. He desperately tried to flip it behind his shoulders as he addressed the birds. He held up a piece of raisin bread for them. They were both very interested in this snack.

“Find the Midgardian girl before she get’s herself into trouble,” Loki said. “AND,” – he withdrew the bread from them to make sure he had their attention – “Report back to me when you find her. Don’t forget that part this time, got it?”

“Ask them nicely,” Odin whispered.

“Please,” Loki sighed, rolling his eyes. The ravens made soft clicks in agreement, taking nips at the raisins in the bread. He gave them their treat. They snapped it out of his hands. Loki recoiled, trying to save his remaining fingers as the ravens both flew off, cawing to each other as they went, eating their treat. Loki’s whole body shuddered. He sighed and then fixed his tussled hair.

            “I hate those two,” he muttered.

“It’s good you tried the raisins this time. They like raisins,” Odin said, nodding approval at Loki’s choice of treat.

            “Maybe, if you didn’t throw rocks at them all the time when we were kids, they wouldn’t hate you so much,” Thor teased.

            “I only did that because he was spying on me!” Loki hissed, pointing at Odin but he was not listening to them anymore. He hobbled across the room and picked up several golden apples from a basket on a table, stuffing them into his pockets. Theo would need them when Huginn and Muninn found her. In truth, he was very concerned for her. The longer she was away from the Healing Room, the worse that wound would become and the less time she would have.

            “Well, now that we have some time to kill, there’s some things I need to speak to you about, Loki,” Thor said.

            “Thor, we just tried speaking and it really didn’t work out well,” Loki said, rubbing the lump on the back of his head. A guard walked up to him addressing him about another matter. Loki gave him a few orders and he trotted off as more servants, guards, and councilmen began to enter the Healing Room to address the King. “So, let’s not do that. As you can see, I have a kingdom to run.”

            “No, I’m serious,” Thor said, stepping in the way of noblewoman as she was about to address Loki. She withdrew with a gasp at Thor’s disrespect and turned away in a huff. “This is about Ragnarok. About Surtur.”

            “Yes, you did a very good job killing him,” Loki said, slowly, like a parent congratulating a child for a minor victory. “Well done. Do you want a medal?”

            “No, I… He said Ragnarok had already begun. That there’s no stopping it.”

            “And you’re going to trust a crippled fire giant whose soul purpose in life was to fulfil the limelight role of a prophecy spouted by an equally insane, severed head that the old man trusted more than his own council and which, on multiple occasions, ‘whispered’ prophecies to him that ‘foretold’ the death of us all?”

            “No. Well, when you put it that way it sounds like madness, but—”

            “Yes, because it is,” Loki said, promptly. “Matron, this man is suffering from bouts of insanity, please restrain him.”

            “Loki, I will kill…” Thor’s fists clenched as the matron gently pulled him away to sit down.

            “Hmm? I’m sorry? What was that?” Loki asked with a smile. He continued to address his other tasks, watching the matron press a wet cloth against Thor’s forehead.

            Thor growled. “Loki, I really have been having these dreams of Asgard in flames. We still don’t know what’s happening! When Hela will strike again or what any of this means!”

            “How long have you been having these dreams, dear?” the matron asked.

            Loki chuckled and left the Healing Room, instructing the guards to keep Odin and Thor there until Huginn and Muninn returned. He did have a kingdom to run after all, and those two were nothing but in the way today.

[sinsbymanka]

Update: Girl with the Arrow Tattoo Chapter 35!

Maria Cadash finds both a home and a title. She’s not a fan of the latter. Varric deals with his actions and their consequences.

Full story at AO3!

Maria stared, breathless, across the stone bridge her hand conjured out of nowhere. The fortress bled into existence, made of nothing but snow and clouds. Glittering magic pulled walls from both mountain and thin air. The stone rearranged itself with a laughing song nobody else but her seemed able to hear. 

Well, Nanna always said the stone sang to the dwarves if they listened. Maria never believed her, but now… 

As she watched, the great gate at the other side of the bridge rose, iron chains clanking and echoing as it lifted slowly. It seemed like a warm, gentle invitation to come inside. To stay. To  rest. She could almost feel curled fingers reaching out to her. 

“Great.” Varric muttered under his breath. “Haunted castle in the middle of nowhere. We’re going in there, aren’t we? Fantastic.” 

“Where’s your sense of adventure, Varric?” She asked, daring a smile at him. It felt like the first time she’d smiled in days. A weight lifted from her chest, leaving her lightheaded and almost giddy. She took one trembling, hopeful step onto the bridge, swirling her still bare fingers over the stone walls. She had to be imagining it, but it seemed to greet her with the same joyful anticipation she felt, vibrating under her fingers like a cat who  finally  found someone to feed it. 

“In Kirkwall. With my common sense and good winter coat.” Varric surely meant to sound more grumpy, but he barely contained his own smile in return. It warmed her from the inside out like a cup of coffee. Made her think of his arms holding her, his voice conjuring stories out of thin air. 

She tucked that smile away inside her and tried to ignore the greedy clamoring inside her for more.

“There is magic here.” Cassandra’s lanky form melded to Maria’s side, staring up at the glimmering towers in the sun. “More magic than I have ever felt in one place. A building such as this…” 

“It reminds me of the Vyrantium Enchanter’s University.” Dorian, at least, seemed just as eager as she was to explore. “The place had seen so much magic, sometimes it did rather odd things. I knew a Magister who swore up and down she once got lost in the cellar for six months because the hallways kept changing.” 

“Preposterous.” Vivienne sniffed from beside him. “We would never let our circles become so unruly here.” 

“She wants to meet you.” Cole’s slender, bare fingers traced the stone near Maria’s with a tentative, small smile. “She missed the sun. It’s been so long.” 

“She?” Maria questioned, flipping her eyes up to Cole’s. His were nearly hidden under his jagged blonde hair, but warmth danced within them and he smiled sweetly. 

“Skyhold.” He answered. “She was lost, like you.” 

The wind kicked up and stole bits of her hair from the bun she’d knotted it in. She swore she heard something like a giggle hidden within it, vanishing quickly across the bridge, shaking the leaves from the trees outside the walls. 

That left nothing to do but follow the invisible yearning she’d been using as a compass since Solas told her to strike out north. She let her fingers trace the stones, holding her breath as she strode forward. 

Hello, she thought silently.  Hello, I’m here. I’m listening. 

She felt silly for a moment and silently hoped the blush on her face could be taken for nothing but the cold. Then the wind kissed her cheeks again, a touch as simple and uncomplicated as Bea’s lips on her skin. 

She reminded herself, more sternly, it was her imagination run amok. It had to be. But the stone seemed to tremble under her fingers with the same joyful greeting. Maria thought she could almost hear it.

Hello. Welcome home. 

They stepped under the ancient gate and Maria’s eyes landed on the first tree rising just inside it, leaves still unfurling, ripples of magic lacing the air as flowers became fruit, reddened before her very eyes, growing full and heavy in the branches. 

Apples, just like the ones Nanna and Bea cut up to make into pies and dumplings. A quick, hard pang of hunger laced her, mouth watering. Protein bars were fine, she guessed, if the other option was starving, but these… 

They were her favorite. She had no idea how Vivienne could waltz right underneath them without even looking up. 

One of them fell with a gentle plop, rolling on the cobblestones directly to her feet like an offering. Maria crouched, cautiously picking it up and turning the bright red flesh in her hands. She could smell it, the bruised flesh releasing a sweet, tart smell. 

“Do not eat that.” Cassandra directed immediately. Maria frowned and waved the enticing fruit under the human’s nose as she straightened. 

“Seeker, it’s an apple. It smells  wonderful.” 

“There’s a fairy story that starts this way.” Dorian remarked idyly. “Enchanted fruit. Endless sleep. Who, pray tell, will play our prince charming if you poison yourself?” 

“Do I get to choose?” Maria asked, only half paying attention, examining the apple more closely. It certainly  looked fine. It looked like a normal apple she’d buy from the store. 

“She made it for you because you like them.” Cole insisted quietly. “It’s good.” 

“Oh, and who would you choose?” Dorian asked, the words loaded with hidden meaning. Maria very pointedly didn’t look away from the apple in her hands, the skin so shiny she could almost see herself reflected in it. 

“You, of course.” She answered with feigned nonchalance. Dorian huffed, pleased in spite of himself. It wasn’t the truth, though, and she feared the witch knew it. If Maria got to choose who’d be kissing her… well, the man who slept chastely beside her to warm her frozen, battered body  certainly  deserved a reward. Varric Tethras, for all his complaining, had been a solid rock since they’d started moving north. Never far from her side, always easily located in a crowd. They were two moons spinning around each other, caught in their own gravity. 

What was it he said? I’m sick of near misses? Maybe he’d gotten it right. Maybe she… maybe she’d been incorrect. If he wanted her, if he really wanted… 

“Well, I am the obvious… fasta vass!” As he spoke, Maria brought the fruit to her lips and bit into it thoughtfully. Flavor exploded on her tongue, enough to make her moan in sweet, satisfaction. It was by far the best damn apple she’d ever had, made all the sweeter by her diet of cardboard-like rations for the last three days. Juice dribbled down her chin and she hurried to wipe it away, meeting Dorian and Cassandra’s horrified expressions with a wicked, mischievous grin while she chewed and swallowed. She held the bitten fruit up to them. “Just an apple.” 

Cassandra rolled her eyes skyward with a blatant noise of disapproval. 

“If you die, it is completely your fault and I want you to know I will undoubtedly be here saying I told you so.” Dorian crossed his arms and glared down at her, but she could see his lips twitching under his mustache. “Survives time travel, a dragon, an avalanche, dies because she ate a blighted apple.” 

“Would you like one?” She asked sweetly, fluttering her lashes. 

“If you are not dead in thirty minutes, perhaps.” Dorian shook his head and strode off after Vivienne, peering around with a scholar’s delighted gaze. 

She laughed and brought the apple back to her lips, tearing off another chunk of the sweet, white flesh and closing her eyes. It tasted like summer, like innocence, warmth, and safety. It tasted like Nanna’s kitchen and  home. 

She opened them again and found that Cassandra too had moved past her into the massive courtyard. Instead of witch or Seeker at her elbow, she was looking into the darkened amber eyes of an author fixed on her lips like he was taking notes. 

She chewed the apple slowly and held the fruit out to Varric instead with an arched eyebrow. He cleared his throat and shook his head, pulled a smirk back to his face. “Sparkler’s right. If you’re still alive in an hour, I’ll give it a shot.” 

“Kind of you all to let me be the test case.” Maria chirped, content enough with the situation. If she died now, at least, it would be with  real food in her stomach. 

“Hey, you’re the one who couldn’t wait.” Varric pointed out, letting his eyes roam the walls around them. He didn’t leave her side, even as Cassandra, Dorian, and Vivienne vanished further into the great space, examining what looked to be some sort of stable house. 

Varric ripped his eyes from the walls and back to her, his smile broadening as he caught her examining him. “See something you like, Princess?” He teased smoothly. 

He wanted her body, that much was obvious, but if that was it… if that was all, why did he stay here beside her? Why didn’t he stay back with the others where he wouldn’t have to plunge through snow up to both their asses? 

He wants more, a younger, softer part of her supplied. He  cares  about you. 

No he doesn’t, a harsher voice scolded. He  pities  you. He’s just here for a story. 

“Trying to decide if I can outrun you when the haunted castle decides it doesn’t like us poking it.” Maria reasoned lightly. “I like my odds, frankly.” 

Solas chuckled from behind them, but it was Cole that broke in, concerned. “No! She’s happy we’re here.” 

Varric frowned. “You know, for a haunted castle in the middle of nowhere, this kind of reminds me of that first Swords and Shields book. The stable right there could be a dead ringer for the one I described in the city keep.”  

He was right. She blinked, taken aback, squinting at it more closely while she chewed another bite of apple. 

“If Miss Cadash read your book, perhaps the magic in this place is rearranging itself to show her what she wishes.” Solas placed his own palm on the apple tree, looking up into its branches sadly. “This is an old place. It has missed the footsteps of people, their laughter as they lived their lives.” 

“I’m sorry.” Maria nearly choked on the mouthful of apple she was chewing. “You’re saying  I  made this.” 

“No. She did. For you.” Cole stated like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“This place has a mind of its own, Miss Cadash. You are the one who awakened it, it is  you it wishes to please. Whether it is pulling Varric’s… literature as an inspiration to do so, however, I cannot say for sure.” Solas wrinkled his nose when he said the word literature. It was a testament, she thought, to how shocked both her and Varric were that neither of them objected. 

“How?” Maria asked incredulously.

“For Andraste’s sake,  why?” Varric asked instead, abjectly horrified. 

“The mark.” Solas said gently, pointing to the stone high up above them. Maria twirled to follow his pointing finger, eyes landing on the emblazoned sigil of the sun high above their heads, carved into the walls. It matched her hand exactly. “It recognizes your magic.” 

“Oh.” Cole breathed softly, looking up, smiling widely. “Yes. You need to see.” 

“See what?” Maria asked. She barely got the last word out before Cole wrenched her forward, eager as a puppy, grin broad. 

“It’s perfect.” Cole beamed. “A place to keep the darkness out. The nightmares can’t catch you here.” 

Maria sputtered in protest, but Cole didn’t listen. He dragged her up the nearest stone stairs, the apple falling uselessly from Maria’s hand while he tugged her into the body of the castle. She paused, momentarily awestruck, to take in the soaring ceilings, the sun etched within the stained glass. Cole let her gawk for only a second before pulling her further in. She caught sight of both Varric and Solas following them. 

“There’s an awful lot of stairs here.” Varric huffed as Cole threw open the next door, revealing a plain, shadowy staircase spiraling upwards. 

“Yes.” Cole nodded as they piled into the shadowy stairwell. “The stone touches the sky like she does. Like they both do.”

“The stone is quite fine with being on the ground, thank you very…” Varric barely got his foot onto the step behind them before the door slammed shut like an exclamation point. They all turned to stare at it, shocked and in Varric’s case, more than a little dismayed. 

“Great.” He said immediately. “We’re all gonna die here.” 

“I believe that is unlikely.” Solas didn’t quite laugh again, but his lips carried a hint of amusement. “Perhaps the castle does not take kindly to criticism.” 

“She didn’t make it for you.” Cole blurted, shaking his head at Varric pointedly. “It’s for Maria.” 

“What’s for Maria?” She asked, redirecting Cole to whatever it was he wanted to show her. 

Cole beamed in the dim light, hauling her back up the steps with renewed vigor. When they got to the top he dropped her arm and turned to see her face, beaming at her. “This.” 

This. 

Tears came unbidden to her eyes and Maria swallowed them, blinking hard. The room was beautiful, carved of rough hewn stone, covered with sparkling wide windows looking out onto the mountains, stained glass casting bits of jewel-like color all over the floor. A crackling fireplace warmed the whole area, a plush red rug looked soft enough to sleep on. 

An armchair, overstuffed and slightly weathered, sat just beside the fireplace. It was almost  identical  to the one from Hercinia, the one she picked out in the thrift shop and helped Fynn carry down the street, laughing the whole time, dizzy with happiness and  so full of hope for their future. A quilt was slung over the arm of it, just like the one from Nanna’s house before it grew too old and careworn for use, the one Bea used to wrap herself up in as a child. 

The comforter on the low, dwarven bed was the same color blue as the one in her childhood bedroom. A desk in the corner had a neat stack of books with familiar covers, the Hard in Hightown series. Varric scoffed and made his way over to them, picking one up and examining it critically.

Maria couldn’t focus on him though, because to her left, next to the stairwell banister, a piano sat proudly. It looked like a piano that could sit in most schools, neglected by all but enthusiastic music instructors. It was in much better shape than the one she’d bought used in Hercinia, though, all gleaming mahogany and elegant lines. The bench was tucked neatly underneath it, the cover closed, hiding the keys. Maria exhaled a shaky breath when she approached it, half convinced she was dreaming. 

There was an arrow. An arrow inscribed on the cover, a match for the one on her wrist. It had her initials on the top and Fynn’s…

One hand grabbed the necklace under her shirt, but the other swept trembling fingers over the carving. From beneath the cover, she swore she heard one trembling note, a key pressed with uncertainty, a question hovering in the air. 

Is this okay? Do you like it? 

“Why?” She gasped, turning to Solas, wiping her hand across her eyes to hide the tears. She couldn’t conceal her bewilderment. “Why is it like this? Why…” 

“Because you have brought it back to life.” Solas smiled weakly. “I suspect it is grateful. Perhaps a bit exuberantly so.” 

“She saw you.” Cole answered simply. “And she knows what you are. What you can be.” 

 xx

They couldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

Or in this case, a gift castle. 

Skyhold threw it’s gates open like it had been waiting for Maria Cadash all her life and it seemed determined to furnish nearly everything they could possibly need. The castle sprouted an infirmary for the sick with rudimentary medical supplies. Food appeared hidden deep beneath the quaint, medieval kitchen, haunches of smoked bacon, frozen beef and chicken, flour, eggs, even barrels of cider. Enough to feed a small army, although cooking it in the great fireplace initially proved an adventure. Cots and beds lined formerly empty rooms, complete with blankets and small plush animals for even smaller hands. Fires lit themselves. Banners featuring Andraste’s flaming eye appeared with no warning. They found clean clothes in armoires and chests, soap in closets. Anything they needed or wanted just… appeared. Like magic.  

But, perhaps the most fascinating thing, was that Skyhold  learned.

The first night was so dark, even with flickering torches studding the walls, that Varric spent most of the second day helping to set up the portable generator they carried out of Haven. It was enough to power some flood lights in the courtyard and prevent them all from falling down the damnable steps to their doom at night. Particularly with all the kids they had running around. Although, mysteriously, there hadn’t been so much as a scraped knee with any of the children. 

Varric  never  thought Skyhold would look at their flimsy generator, scoff, and decide it could do better. He nearly pissed himself when he woke up the next morning to find the whole castle wired from top to bottom, lights in every room. Cullen damn near lost his mind when that happened. Varric spent most of the third day following Curly through the bowels of the castle as the man swore up and down he’d find the castle’s power source. 

Curly would be sorely disappointed. Whatever secrets Skyhold kept, it wasn’t sharing. But the more they settled, the more alive it seemed to be. Varric swore new rooms popped up daily. The more complicated, nuanced, and scarce medical supplies they’d brought seemed to replace themselves. Flowers sprung up in the courtyard and the weather, although it couldn’t be called warm, never grew bitterly cold inside the walls. The kitchen managed to spring some nearly modern appliances, although they still looked more at home in a dated restaurant than a place that had to serve two hundred people, and plumbing showed up immediately after Maria wished for it longingly.

But it was Maria Cadash that blossomed more than anything else.

She danced through Skyhold in a blur of crimson and gold. She sparkled in the winter sun and their universe revolved around her. Everything glowed under her tender care, from the injured soldiers to the children stumbling through the courtyard, coming alive, reaching towards her sunlight. 

And when she smiled…  Andraste  when she smiled. 

He wondered how close he’d come to never seeing it again. He wanted nothing more than to spend some solid hours basking in it. See if Skyhold couldn’t conjure up a pack of cards, take her off to some shadowy corner, and reassure himself that she  really  was as okay as she looked. 

But that was just his flimsy excuse and he knew it. What he wanted, what he desired more than anything, wasn’t to lure her into a friendly game of cards. Fuck, it wasn’t even to sweet talk her into the nearest bed so he could finish what he’d started now that they weren’t currently in danger of dying in a dragon’s throat. 

He wanted something altogether more precious. He wanted her the way she’d been in the tent the night she stumbled back into his arms. He wanted her without all that armor she carried, soft and sweet in his arms. He wanted her lashes fluttering against her cheekbones as she failed miserably to stay awake listening to, frankly, one of his most shitty stories. He carried that memory of her sleep warmed, sharp edges smoothed by exhaustion, clutched it to his chest jealousy. 

He wanted to press his lips surreptitiously to her cheek one more time and whisper his apologies into her ear. He wanted to hear her ask him to stay again. Wanted that sharp lance of vulnerability, the one that broke right through all his defenses and left him more naked that he’d ever been. 

Stay.

Ancestors, if she’d ask  anything  in that tone of voice, he’d do it. He stayed even after she’d fallen back asleep. His palm over the small of his back, her body curled against his, her marked hand on his chest where she hadn’t even realized it had fallen. He counted the freckles on her nose, her cheeks. Memorized the sweep of her lashes and the gentle rise and fall of her breath. He stayed until Bea stirred and asked if she’d woken, but tearing himself away… shit, it’d been harder than it should have been. 

But it wasn’t real. She’d been broken, bleeding, battered. Confused and addled. Exhausted to her very bones from attempting to slay an  actual  dragon. She’d have asked anyone to stay. He wasn’t special. Not to her. How could he be? 

She was the sun, after all, and she shined on everyone equally. It hurt to admit it, but Varric could handle painful truths. Maker knew he had practice. When she didn’t seek him out, when she poured her energy into Skyhold, he fell back, easy and casual, and watched her. 

He still had a place here, after all. Once they knew the truth… well. He may have to live outside her orbit. But at least she was alive. At least he had that memory of her sleeping in his arms. That was enough. It  had to be. 

Of course, he was assuming he’d figured out  how  to get them connected back to the civilized world long enough to reveal his own secrets. Between Maria’s magic hand, a score of witches, and the damn castle itself the magical interference was mind boggling. He  needed to call Hawke, needed her help, but reaching her… it seemed impossible.  

“I think that concludes the distribution of sleeping quarters for the civilians and refugees.” Josephine clucked, pulling him from his daydreams. “Was there any other business?”

“One, yeah?” Sera yawned and glared at the other woman. “Why do we all gotta keep coming to these meetings?” 

Varric stifled his amused laugh into his palm. Sera did about as well as anticipated during these meetings. Meaning, of course, that she’d already drawn some rather colorful pornography all over Bull’s muscled arm after Maria stopped her from carving it into the stone rather emphatically. 

Their group sat in an airy room around a massive table that looked to be made of one solid piece of wood. This, Varric thought with no small degree of amusement, was the best of the Inquisition.They ranged from a Tevinter exile to a raving spirit turned boy. Grey Warden to exotic dancer. The Inquisition’s inner circle. A mad little bunch of religious and distinctly irreligious figures. Who’d have thought? If the late Divine could see them now, she’d probably lose her exuberant hat when her head exploded. 

In the window seat, Bea made a muted noise of agreement. Maria had her hands in her sister’s hair and smirked while she shook her head in playful exasperation. Bea’s curls looked sleek and shiny again, makeup perfectly applied. Skyhold must have been supplying that shit too. 

He couldn’t complain, though. He’d opened a cupboard their second day here and had a razor chucked at his face. Maria, of course, said he was exaggerating about the velocity. But he knew what happened and so did the damn castle. 

“There is… one other matter we need to address.” Cassandra straightened from where she bent over the table, sweeping her gaze across the room. “We do not have a leader.” 

“Wait.” Maria stopped and pierced Cassandra with her gaze, then looked past her to Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine. “I thought you four  were the leaders.”

“We need  a leader.” Leliana insisted smoothly. “One person who wields the ultimate authority in precarious situations. An Inquisitor for our Inquisition.” 

“How do you propose choosing this leader?” Blackwall asked gruffly. “Should we collect resumes? Interview the candidates?” 

“A vote.” Bull suggested, far too casually, flexing the arm Sera was drawing on. It made the mermaid she’d drawn look like her tits were bouncing. “Nice and democratic.” 

“From everyone?” Vivienne asked pointedly. “My dear, some of the refugees are so frightened they barely know their own names. Let alone ours.” 

“Pft, nobody is votin’ for you.” Sera grumbled. “Little people don’t like shite like you. They know the good names.” 

They knew one name, at least. All those refugees knew one name  very  well. 

“So we vote?” Maria asked skeptically, tearing him from his overwhelming feeling of dread. “For everyone?” 

“We’ll ask the people if they accept it.” Cullen fingered his gun thoughtfully, peering at Maria with a tight frown like his thoughts had gone the same way as Varric’s. “If they say no - we devise another plan.” 

“Alright then.” Maria sighed. Bea was beginning to look a bit nervous, shifting to eye her sister from the corner of her eye. 

“I don’t want to vote.” Bea said quickly, shying away. “I don’t actually do anything.” 

“That’s most untrue.” Josephine reproved, looking up and frowning. “You have been…” 

“I’m not voting.” Bea's tone brooked no argument. Josephine frowned, opened her mouth as if to insist, but Leliana cut in. 

“One abstention, then. It will go with the majority, if that is alright Beatrix?” 

“That’s fine.” Bea curled her knees up to her chest and frowned. 

In the heavy silence, Varric reached for the battered journal in his pocket. The Lovers stuck out like a bookmark and he flipped past it without thinking too hard, grabbing three sheets and ripping them out. He began to tear them into tiny slips. “Anyone got a pen?”

Sera ceased detailing the engorged male genitalia on Bull’s bicep and lifted her pen with a sharp grin. Cassandra plucked it from her hand and Varric passed around the papers. Everyone took only a second to dash a name on their slip, folding it in half and tossing it onto the great table. 

“What is with you?” Maria asked as Bea brought her manicured nails to her lips like she’d start chewing them at any second.

Maria, it seemed, was blissfully unaware of where this was going. Bea, of course, was not. Bea heard the way people talked about Maria, knew what they said. And Bea couldn’t vote  against  her sister, but she couldn’t vote  for  her either. 

The pen came to him and Varric scrawled one word on it before tossing it to Blackwall. Bea couldn’t force herself to do it, but Varric had to. 

Princess.

Maria may never forgive him, but it  had  to be her. She was  sane, she was  brave. More than all of that, however, she was so overwhelmingly  kind. If it wasn’t her, if it came to someone else… Maker forbid, the Seeker… 

Maria’s vote joined the others and they all stared, at a loss for what to do next. It was Cullen that reached forward and picked up the first one. He unfolded it and cleared his throat before reading it into the silence. “M Cadash.” 

Maria snorted in disbelief. Cullen picked up the second one and read it aloud as well. “Maria.” 

Maria’s amusement dropped like a ton of bricks by the time Cullen read the fourth. When Cullen stumbled on the word Princess, cheeks flushing, the lights above them flickered menacingly. Varric couldn’t meet her eyes, even though he felt them searing into him. 

In the end, every single vote said Maria except one, solitary piece of paper that had Leliana’s name dashed across it. The silence felt miserably heavy and in the window seat Bea finally sighed her sister’s name. “Ria…” 

“Fuck  all of you.” Maria snapped, folding her arms across her chest. A snarky part of him almost said that he’d heard worse plans. Almost. 

“Interesting diplomatic strategy.” Bull leaned back, crossed his arms over his chest to match her posture and waited. Maria’s sparking eyes turned to him. 

“Fuck  you  in particular.” Maria seethed with a rather ferocious glare. To his credit, Bull did not immediately burst into flames. Lesser men probably would have. Varric felt his chest hair curling and smoking just being in the general vicinity.  

“You’ve been calling the shots since you stepped out of the vortex and all these people know it, Boss.” Bull rumbled with an easy shrug. 

“I’m not qualified.” Maria spat out.

“Where does one get qualifications to fight pure evil and save the world?” Dorian asked, stroking his mustache. “I  certainly  never saw it listed as a major.” 

“Enough.” Cassandra glared at Dorian and turned her attention to Maria. “The Inquisition needs an Inquisitor. It is  your  choices that have gotten us to this point. There is no better person to take the mantle.” 

“We’re in a magic castle in the middle of nowhere and  nobody  knows we’re alive.” Maria hissed. “Is this really the track record you want?” 

“We’re alive.” Cullen stated in a rather matter-of-fact tone, but he wasn’t brave enough to meet Maria’s eyes. “And we should not be. That, in and of itself, is enough reason to trust you.” 

“I can’t do this.” Maria insisted. Varric watched her right hand trace her left wrist, finally recognizing the gesture for what it was, a way to soothe panic. The realization hit him like a punch in the gut. 

“You can.” Leliana said softly. “We will help.” 

“We need to ask  everyone  to vote.” Maria lifted her chin defiantly.

“That’s… going to go the same exact way.” Bea whispered from the window seat, staring despondently at the papers. Maria whirled on her sister and pointed at the table like Bea could offer more of an explanation. 

“What do you think of this?” Maria demanded. 

“Ria…” Bea sighed, rubbing her face with her hand briskly. 

“The glass throws rainbows over my skin. The walls. I giggle. Nanna’s fingers lift it high, stands on tiptoes to put it on the shelf. ‘This is where we put precious things, chi shugra. Up high so nobody breaks them.’  Safe. Safe where he can’t touch her ever again.” Cole mumbled. 

“Balls.” Bea groaned. 

Maria’s expression slammed shut beneath a veneer of ice worse than the flickering flames of her fury. She drew her shoulders back and glared at Bea before twisting away. She nearly shoved Cullen over to get past him to the door, but it swung open before she even reached it. The moment she passed through the threshold, the castle slammed it shut behind her back. 

“Balls.” Bea mumbled again, hiding her face in her hands. “For  fucks sake Cole.” 

“She wanted to know. You wouldn’t tell her.” Cole frowned down at his hands. 

“For a damn good reason!” Bea exploded. 

“She  needed  to know.” Cole insisted. “Or it would’ve been a knot.” 

Bea couldn’t pass up the opportunity to keep Maria safe. Bea couldn’t shove her sister’s name forward for a job that seemed impossible. Varric got it, he really did. 

He wished there was someone else to choose. Anyone else. But there wasn’t. Ancestors forgive them for doing this to her, because it would probably kill her. Like it nearly killed Hawke. 

“Does anyone want to take bets on whether the castle just locked us in here?” He asked wearily instead. It seemed easier than facing his own guilt. 

xx 

Soft, gentle fingers smoothed Maria’s hair back, a simple repetitive motion as a clear, bright voice sang beside her. The melody ached inside Maria’s chest as the fingers continued their patient stroking. “Down in the mines, the mines so low. Hang your head over, hear the song low. Hear the song low, dear, hear the song low…” 

“I can’t do this.” Maria whispered, tucking her chin in and looking over her shoulder at the woman peering down at her with such gentle, honest affection. Gray eyes and honey brown hair, a woman with Bea’s elegant features. 

“You’ve already come so far, my darling.” She smiled, resting her palm on Maria’s cheek. “It will be okay. I’m here now.” 

“You’re gone.” Maria barely remembered her, but this serene image of her pulled from old photographs looked right. “Mom’s gone.” 

“Yes.” The woman tapped her fingertips against Maria’s nose, bright and playful, eyes sparkling with mischievous humor. “But I am not. You are mine and I am yours, darling.” 

 Maria awoke to a gentle breeze on her face, invisible fingers playing in her hair. She lifted her head off the pillow and paused, momentarily disoriented, pleasantly dazed. It took a moment to remember where she was every time she awoke, usually at the crack of dawn.  Skyhold. 

Safe. She’d been plagued with nightmares after Haven, but here, they ceased. Here…

Well, nothing was easy. She still wore her fear like a collar around her neck. Sometimes, the scent of a fire in the hearth was enough to choke her with panic. Sometimes, when she closed her eyes at night, she pictured Redcliffe crawling with monsters, the behemoth crushing Bea beneath it or Varric bleeding at her feet. 

But it was nicer to live with when she woke in the beautiful room at the top of the tower wrapped in an old quilt that smelled like home, somehow. The terror felt more manageable here. 

She noted the sun wasn’t coming in the windows right for dawn, but rather the light faded with dusk. Drool and bits of hair stuck to her cheeks. Tears, she thought ruefully. She wondered how fucking awful she looked. A mess, she was sure. 

“Cadash?” Cassandra’s brisk voice called from the bottom of her stairs. “Cadash, are you up there?” 

“Where the fuck else would I be?” Maria called back down the steps, quickly scrubbing her eyes with the back of her fist. Flakes of eyeliner came off on the back of her palm and she swore, irritated. 

“May I come upstairs?” Cassandra yelled again, cautious and wary. Maria paused, discarding the quilt from over her shoulders and flying into the adjoining room. The taps had changed again, she noted distantly. This was the one part of her room that kept changing like Skyhold hadn’t quite determined what kind of bathroom she wanted. At first, it held one ornate washbasin. Then, thank the Stone, it implemented plumbing. The sink was granite today, a matching tub behind her. She turned the warm water on and scrubbed at her ruined makeup. 

“If you insist.” Maria grumbled, hopefully loud enough to be heard. She examined her reflection in the mirror with a tight, tense frown. 

Inquisitor. 

Not if she had anything to say about it. 

She brushed a towel across her face and stepped back out into her bedroom to find Cassandra standing, uncertain, by the stairwell. The Seeker’s eyes never stopped roaming, always looking for threats. Once she’d inspected every nook and cranny and found them free of danger, she turned to Maria. 

“We attempted to visit you earlier.” 

“Who’s we?” Maria asked nonchalantly, sitting on the edge of her bed and folding her arms under her chest, examining her booted feet. 

“All of us in turn. The door would not open.” Cassandra made a small noise of dismay. “Solas says there is a… spirit guardian of this place. It answers to you.” 

“No it doesn’t.” Maria scoffed and rolled her eyes. “If it did - you’d still be locked out.” 

“If it answers to you, even slightly, then that is all the more reason for you to bear the title of Inquisitor. We have the walls to put up a fight if we are attacked again, a place to grow our forces, and Cullen is adamant there would be no retreat. This… war with Corypheus is not the fight we anticipated.” 

“It’s not one I bleeding signed up for.” Maria reminded her pointedly. She hadn’t signed up for  any  of this. She was supposed to close the vortex and leave, free and clear, Bea and Cole in tow. 

Cassandra sighed and shook her head. “I know. You… you have asked for none of this. The power inside you… it allowed you to survive the destruction of the conclave. It is something this Corypheus wished to have, and whether or not it is divine providence that you have it now…” 

Maria scoffed again and Cassandra met her skeptical gaze. “It matters not to you, I know. The most important thing is that Haven  cannot  happen again. The most important thing is that we keep this power from him.” 

“He said he couldn’t take it. It’s useless to him, so I need to die.” Maria pointed out bluntly. “That’s it. My magic hand doesn’t qualify me to be in charge.” 

“Your mark has power.” Cassandra lowered her shoulders and eyed Maria with a certain mix of apprehension and… respect. “But it is not why you are still standing here.”

She was standing here because of a mine shaft and an unbelievable stroke of luck, but before she could say that, Cassandra plowed on. “Your decisions helped us heal the rift in the world. Your  determination  led us out of Haven. You are the only one to rival this demon because  you  are the only one who has faced him and shown the bravery and sacrifice needed to save us. To save us all.” 

“I didn’t…” Maria protested. 

“I was there.” Cassandra snapped before Maria could finish, running fingers through her short hair. “I know what I saw when I left you. I saw one woman wreathed in flames standing against the darkness and chaos. I saw  you.  We all did.” 

A dismayed bubble of laughter jumped to her throat. “Ancestors, Cassandra. That’s fucking good. Don’t repeat it around Varric, he’ll steal it for his next book.” 

Cassandra’s disgusted noise rang across the room, but she jerked her head to the balcony. “Word has leaked that you were asked to lead. I suspect Vivienne, although I have no proof. The people are outside, waiting to congratulate you.” 

“Tell them I said no.” Maria commanded weakly. “Tell them everything you said about me at the beginning. I’m a smuggler, I’m a criminal, I’m…” 

“Stop.” Cassandra pleaded. “I… I would not say those things about you.” 

“They’re true.” Maria argued. “You’ve said them before, just go out there…” 

“I should not have!” Cassandra exploded, curling her hands into fists. “If I had known, if I had trusted in the Maker that he would not… but I didn’t. And I was cruel. I will never be able to make amends for it.” 

The silence stretched between them. Maria stared at the woman, confused, a bit alarmed. “Cassandra, just tell them I don’t want it. Do that and we’re square, promise.” 

“I can.” Cassandra clenched her jaw tightly. “I will, if that is truly what you wish. But I have a better proposition.” 

“If this is about faith…” Maria began to roll her eyes skyward. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t listen to Cassandra preach about Andraste or the Maker. If she started, Maria swore...

“My faith.” Cassandra admitted. “Which is not yours. What is yours… What could be yours is a force that would change the world. People are hungry, homeless…” 

“You’re making a great case for the world being a piece of shit, Cass. Preaching to the choir.” Maria mumbled, dropping her eyes back to her boots. “Nobody is going to follow me. You’re all…” 

“Those people owe their lives to you. They would follow you to the gates of the black city.” Cassandra declared proudly. “If you do not believe me you need only go and peer out. They are  thrilled that you would be their Inquisitor.” 

“And you?” Maria challenged, glaring at Cassandra. “You  really  think this is a good idea?” 

“It terrifies me.” Cassandra admitted quietly, voice soft and startlingly vulnerable. “To hand over such power to one person. But I have faith in what I have seen you do. If it must be anyone, it  must  be you.” 

Maria pulled her eyes from Cassandra’s again and stared at her domed ceiling, blinking back tears. Cassandra let the silence weigh heavily between them before she sighed. “If I could not convince you with that, I was supposed to add in one more thing. On your sister’s behalf.” 

“Great.” Maria huffed. “Wonderful. What does Bea  possibly have to add?” 

Cassandra waited until Maria looked at her again, then held Maria’s gaze unflinchingly and said the words that shot a bullet right through Maria’s heart. “I was supposed to ask what Fynn Dunhark would have you do.” 

Fynn.  Fynn. Earnest and brilliant, his shirtsleeves rolled up, elbow on their kitchen table. Expounding on the flaws of capitalism, railing against injustice, pouring his father’s money into charities and whispering against her skin how someone like  her  should be the one taking the lead, that  she’d  get things done because  she  was terrifying and  adorable  when she was angry and  Ancestors he loved her…  

He loved her. He loved her and it got him killed. Maria nearly fell back, grief like a sucker punch in her stomach.  It should have been Fynn. He could have done this, he could have carried this  well. Her father could have. Anyone  except  her. 

“I’m going to fuck this up.” Maria admitted. “I’ve always fucked everything up, Cassandra.” 

Every single thing. From not taking her father’s downward spiral seriously, to her failure to save their grandmother, running away with Fynn. From losing Varric in Redcliffe to  nearly  losing everyone in Haven. Maria rubbed her face with her hands briskly again, the marked one prickling uncomfortably. 

“Well.” The Seeker chewed her words for a moment before she gave Maria a weary half smile. “If we truly do awfully, we will all be dead regardless. Cold comfort, perhaps, but at least we won’t have to live with it.” 

The humor surprised her and a broken laugh slipped past Maria’s lips. “Ancestors, that’s morbid.” 

“I will be with you.” Cassandra swore like some overzealous knight in a fairy tale. The Seeker thrust her hand forward, fiercely determined. “You will not do this alone.” 

Maria ran her thumb up and down her left wrist, tracing the arrow there. She promised. She  promised  Fynn when they left Ostwick together that she’d stay on the straight and narrow, that she’d do better. She’d be better. She’d be the woman he thought she could be. No more darkness, no more shadows, no more lying or stealing or… 

“I’m not the Herald of Andraste.” Maria blurted. “I’m  not  and we can’t  say  I am. If that’s why you want me to be the Inquisitor…” 

“Some people will say it, regardless.” Cassandra frowned. “But we do not have to do so here, if that is your caveat.” 

Maria nodded, stopped stroking her tattoo and looked down into her palm. The sun emblazoned there flickered gently. 

“The motto of the old Inquisition was ‘Into darkness, unafraid’, Cadash.” Cassandra supplied. “Perhaps you could keep it. Perhaps you could make your own.” 

No more darkness, not anymore. She held the sun in her hand, after all. Maria took a deep breath and stood, grasping Cassandra’s hand securely within her own. 

The taller woman relaxed immediately, sighing deeply. “They are waiting. Outside. If you can…” 

“Now?” She asked, running a hand through her frazzled hair. She looked like shit, although she supposed she had looked worse half dead and frozen. 

“Before you reconsider.” Cassandra stated firmly. “Persuading people to do difficult things is… not my strong suit.” 

Fair enough. Maria nodded and jerked her chin to the stairs. “After you then, Cass.” 

Cassandra nodded and marched down the stairs. Maria took one last deep breath and followed, trailing her hand across the piano’s cover as she passed it. Tears pricked her eyes and she stopped, choking them down. She splayed her palm over top Fynn’s initials and pressed until she felt her marked palm ache, until bits of light shimmered between the gaps of her fingers. 

“I’ll try.” She promised to the silence. For Fynn. For Nanna and her father, Bea and Bull. For Cole, Varric, Dorian, Cassandra… 

Underneath the cover, the keys trembled again, a half note like a whispered answer. 

That’s enough.

 xx

Varric's thoughts drifted, again, to Bianca. He’d give his weight in gold to have her staring down this problem. Somehow, he suspected, it would have been solved days ago. Instead, Varric kept banging his head against the issue, quickly losing patience.

Skyhold could give them anything they wanted, apparently, except the fucking internet or a phone signal. No matter how he tried, a connection to the outside world remained out of reach. He almost suspected the castle was doing it just because  he was the one asking for it. He even stooped to asking Cole to try and convey what they wanted because the kid seemed to be able to communicate with the damned place, but all it had done was confuse them both and give Varric a raging migraine. 

Bianca would have known what to do. She’d laugh, shake her head at his elementary attempts, and…

“Alright Varric, what’s the issue?” 

Cue the wave of guilt, although which woman was the wronged party, Varric couldn’t say. He’d as much as told Bianca it was over right before they marched into Redcliffe, before trying to jump Maria’s bones, so… 

Yes, he reminded himself acidly, because he’d never said goodbye to Bianca before. 

“Well, your Inquisitorialness.” He lapsed into smooth bravado, rocking back on his heels and studiously not meeting the gray eyes he could feel searing into the back of his skull. “Your castle doesn’t believe in wireless connections, wireless networks, or 5g no matter how much I try and talk it up. So, I guess maybe we should consider carrier pigeons.” 

“I never cared for birds much.” The wind whistling through the ancient battlement muffled her footsteps, so he was shocked when she dropped down beside him to examine the mess of salvaged guts he had spilled out in front of him. Bits of radios. A battered old laptop. “What do you need?”

“The modern world.” Varric grumbled, trying not to inhale her scent too greedily. He realized with a start they were  alone  on this far corner of Skyhold’s walls. It was the first time he’d been alone with her since… 

“Varric.” She chided softly. He sighed in irritation and tore his hand through his own hair, glaring down at the parts on the ground. 

“A receiving dish for the satellite.” Varric rubbed at his stubble and stood, turning his back on the mess behind him and offering his hand to Maria. She took it and pulled herself up, staring up into his face with a tiny frown. 

Her eyes were the same color as the sky above them, a soft gray right before snow fell. Her freckles stood out starkly over her cheeks, wisps of red hair tickling her jaw. She still slouched when she stood, hands shoved deep in her coat pockets, eyes blazing forward. If the mantle she’d adopted at their insistence felt too heavy to bear, she didn’t show it. 

“A receiving dish?” She questioned. “Does it look like a satellite, but down here?” 

“You’ve got it, Princess.” He tipped his lips into a smile for her. “To catch the signal and amplify it.” 

“What are they made of?” She asked. “How big does it have to be?” 

He shot her a skeptical glance and shrugged ruefully. “Metal, usually something lightweight. I’d want it hooked up to the power grid here, if we could swing it. Boost our signal a bit more. As to how big… in this case, bigger is better. About the size of a pickup truck.” 

“You’re not asking for much.” Maria’s lips twitched. Varric fought the urge to touch the corner of them, trace their shape with his thumb. 

“What can I say?” Varric grinned, trying to maintain his tenuous control. “I’m a man of simple tastes. Now, of course, if I could get a phone call out, I’d order you the perfect one. Just right for someone of Inquisitorial standing. Have it delivered and installed free of charge.” 

Maria sighed and looked out over the mountains. Something in his chest squeezed uncomfortably. “Hey.” He soothed softly, dropping the playfulness for comfort immediately. “It’s gonna be alright. We’ll figure it out.”

When she didn’t look back at him, his arm acted on it’s own accord. He gently placed his palm over her shoulder and squeezed. Varric lowered his voice to a gentle whisper. “Now that we have a minute to breathe…” 

“Varric, listen…” She began, tensing under his palm. 

“How are you holding up?” He finished. Whatever she’d been expecting him to say, it wasn’t that. Her eyes flicked to his, stunned, before they quickly swivelled back out into the mountains. Not before Varric saw the shine of emotions in them, the fear, the panic. 

“Well.” She managed to sound breezy in spite of all of it. “I’m heading a human religious organization, retrofitting a fairy tale castle, trying to figure out how to kill a demon and his pet dragon  before  he kills us, and we all almost died this week. Twice.”  

She controlled the emotions in her eyes and turned a weak smile back up to him. “I don’t have any idea what I’m doing.” 

Her admission, quiet and soft, felt precious. He hadn’t heard her complain since she’d waltzed out past them, a queen before her subjects, to receive their acclamation. The praise came easily. “Well, whatever you’re doing, you’re doing it really well. Nobody could manage it better.” 

She scoffed and looked down at her scuffed boots, shrugging his hand from her shoulder. “We haven’t been alone, Varric.  Really alone. Not since…” 

Not since she fell into his arms. Not since he carried her up the stairs, not since he undressed her and prepared to worship at the altar of her body. It hadn’t been that long ago. Less than a week, really, but it felt like a lifetime ago. 

He’d seen an enemy he unleashed rise again. Heard Maria’s agonized screams, watched the mountain bury her and tried to live in a world she no longer inhabited. He’d seen her rise from the ashes like a phoenix, inexplicable and miraculous. He felt… he felt like it had changed him. Somehow. He wasn’t sure if it was for the better. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been this frightened before. Never faced anything so daunting. Corypheus. The Inquisition. Maria’s shining eyes and compassionate heart sacrificed for expediency’s sake. 

Things had been simpler, before. Maria watched his face closely, frowning at whatever she saw there. When she opened her mouth again, the words that fell from her lips stung bitterly. “It was just a couple kisses, we can forget about it... if that’s what you want.” 

No he couldn’t. Never. Not in a hundred years. He’d take the feel of her body under his to his grave, the last desperate meeting of lips in Haven to the stone itself. It wouldn’t matter if that’s what he  actually  wanted, because he’d never be able to do it. She was beneath his skin now, regardless, and what he wanted… 

Maria’s right hand traced the tattoo under her left sleeve and Varric nearly choked on a surge of blinding, unreasonable jealousy. Fynn Dunhark was  dead, Maria Cadash was  alive. And Varric…

Varric didn’t deserve her. Other people did. Better people. People who didn’t trade in secrets and lies. People whose friends didn’t destroy entire cities. People who didn’t let monsters out into the world to kill hundreds. People who didn’t put  her in danger. 

But…

“Hey.” Varric murmured, fought the urge to run his thumb over her cheek. He had to try. He  had  to, or he’d never forgive himself. “I’ll be whatever you need, Princess. Whatever gets you through this.” 

Whatever keeps you safe. Whatever makes you happy. Whatever you need. Varric, of course,  wanted her to need him. Wanted it so desperately he could hardly breath around it. 

Maria looked away again, back to the mountains. He saw them shining, brilliant and white, in her eyes. He watched something slam shut inside them, watched her throw away a key. His heart sank to the bottom of his stomach. “You’ve been a good friend, Varric. I don’t want to lose that.” 

She wouldn’t be his, then. Another woman just beyond his reach, too good for him, too brilliant. Varric burned his fingers on the sun, again. But that wasn’t Maria’s fault. She, at least, wasn’t asking him to play second fiddle to someone else. She owed him nothing, anyway, and he… he owed her so much more. “You won’t. Promise.” 

He could grab her, crowd her against the castle wall, kiss her until she didn’t know up or down. He could chase all those thoughts out of her head. He could contrive… But it wouldn’t be real. It wouldn’t be what he wanted. 

The tension still simmered between them, but it would get better with time. It had to, anyway. He turned from the mountains, bracing himself to make some excuse about returning to work. The words shriveled and died on his tongue as he looked at what had appeared on the tower above them. 

A satellite receiver as large as a Maker-damned pickup truck made of the shiniest metal he’d ever seen, looking like it had been there for ages. It almost seemed like the castle’s middle finger aimed squarely in his direction. 

“Holy shit.” He muttered, half laughing in shock. “Look at that.” 

“Maybe she just needed you to be a little clearer about what you wanted.” Maria advised, voice cold, the tone completely unfamiliar to him. “Will this get our communications up and running?” 

Varric wondered if she’d already begun the process of becoming two different people. The same way he’d watched Hawke become the Champion when the world demanded it. Varric distinctly felt like the pale eyes watching him didn’t belong to  his  Princess any longer, but a woman isolated on top of a burning pyre. 

But then again, she wasn’t his. No part of her was. He wondered how many times he’d have to remind himself before it sunk in. 

“Yes.” The word felt like a nail in a coffin. Ending their precious moment of intimacy, extinguishing any chance to plead his case. “I promise. Can I borrow your phone, Inquisitor? It’ll go quicker, yours is the only other one with enough processing power…” 

She produced it with razor sharp efficiency, dropping it into his hand. “I’ve got to go check on the wounded. Let me know if you need anything else.” 

You, he thought wildly. The thought was barely formed before she was already halfway down the battlements, red hair vanishing down a set of steps. The wind blew sharper, colder without her and Varric shivered. 

He stared down at the phone in his hand and retrieved his own, placing them both in his pocket. He needed to climb up that damn tower to get a closer look at that dish, and he had a sneaky suspicion he was going to have to figure out some way to adjust it’s trajectory, but… it would work. It would work, and he could call Hawke and…

Fuck.  Fuck. 

He knew what he had to do. Knew what he needed to do. He couldn’t live with himself if anything happened to Maria, couldn’t stomach the guilt. They  needed Hawke. Hawke, who’d given so much already and gotten so little in return. Just like Maria would, someday. He could already see the writing on the wall. 

Anything they could do to protect her. Anything  he  could do. 

“Bianca.” Varric muttered. 

“I am already experiencing a weak link with the satellite, but more stable than we have experienced in days. My estimate is the receiving dish needs adjusted to approximately a ninety-five degree angle...” 

Excellent. He’d be climbing out a window trying not to fall to his death for sure. “Great. While I’m trying to manage that, I need you to airdrop a copy of your program onto Maria Cadash’s phone.” 

“Inadvisable.” Bianca argued immediately, joyful tone vanishing. “Every additional user is a security risk. Maria Cadash has an extensive criminal history and you have only been acquainted…” 

Varric laughed. “I know. I want you to do it anyway, baby.”

Varric could almost hear the muted rebellion in his earpiece. “Should I make a note to inform Bianca Davri of the additional user?” 

“Absolutely not.” The real Bianca never checked the AI’s permissions. Only used her, really, when she needed the extra processing power. Otherwise, they just got in each other’s way. “Give Cadash the same permissions Hawke has.” 

“Hawke has permissions just short of a system administrator…” 

“You’re not telling me anything I don’t know.” Varric shoved the door to the tower open and looked up at all the stairs, dismayed.

“File transfer started.” Bianca finally responded, voice clipped and tone short. “Is there anything else?” 

“Let me know the second I’ve got a strong enough signal to make a call.” Varric sighed. “There’s one I probably should have made a long time ago.” 

 xx

In the fade, Solas found that Skyhold hadn’t changed at all from the palace he remembered. Gone were the Inquisitor’s sturdy stone walls, replaced with graceful, smooth marble. The hallways framed courtyards overflowing with vines and flowers. Magic orbs lit the courtyards and gleaming precious stones shimmered in mosaics and portraits. 

In the fade, perhaps, he could still call Skyhold the name  he  had given it long ago. Tarasyl'an Te'las, the place where the sky was held back. He paused in the flowering courtyard and inhaled the blooms that faded so long ago. 

“On dhea'lam.” A soft voice called from behind him. “It has been a long time, hasn’t it?” 

“Longer than I wished.” Solas admitted, turning to face the spirit who’d sought him out. She wore another face, one he didn’t know, but one he recognized regardless. The woman shared the Inquisitor’s striking eyes, her sister’s brown hair. The crooked tip of her lips that both women wore so well. 

“Her mother?” He guessed softly. 

“Yes.” The spirit paused, tipped her head to the side as if listening to a whisper in the wind. “She left this world some time ago. This is how she is remembered.” 

“It is not the form you took for me when I was a young man.” He would not be jealous, however. Not when Maria Cadash had so few comforts on her hard journey. If the face of her mother was one… 

“When you were a young man, you left me to start a revolution.” The spirit chided. Solas shut his eyes and turned his face to the warm sun. 

“Did you find what you wished, da fenlin?” The spirit asked. “When my little wolf grew teeth and claws, did the whole world tremble?” 

“I am surprised you recognized me.” Solas didn’t wish to look into those stunning gray eyes, even if they were not framed by the Inquisitor’s red hair. He kept his own firmly closed. 

“I did not. Not at first. I only knew your magic, I only knew it was no longer a part of you. I could see nothing past her when she arrived.” The spirit smiled, gentle and proud. “Da’lath’in. What is it you call her again? I do not understand it.” 

“Inquisitor.” Solas explained. “It is what the shemlen call her, the title that gives her power.” 

“Da’lath’in suits her better.” The spirit protested. 

Da’lath’in. Little heart. Yes, Solas could see that. A woman who carried her heart on her sleeve, who showed compassion for the smallest and most helpless. 

“You have seen inside her soul, yes?” Solas asked. He feared the answer, but he had to know. “Was she… has the magic changed her?” 

“You wish to know her secrets when you will not give her yours?” The spirit asked, incredulous. 

“Yes.” He answered with conviction. “I must.” 

The spirit sighed, her breath rustling the blooms and trees. “Yes. And no. Your magic will give her strength and courage, but she has her ancestors’ spirit. She comes from warriors, she comes from the Earth. She has always been a soul that would bleed for others. It is in her nature. You know this.” 

He did. He felt the oft-broken bones under her skin and allowed his magic to probe the shattered, raw pieces of her soul. He watched her feed the hungry, clothe the poor. He saw her rise from the ashes. 

“If she is true, you are wrong.” The spirit murmured. 

“Perhaps.” He admitted. 

“Will you harm her? Or will you help her?” The spirit asked. 

Solas opened his eyes and looked down into the spirit’s open, grave face. 

“You would stop me.” He marveled. 

“She is mine and I am hers.” The spirit’s eyes crackled with bright energy. “As you know, Fen’Harel.” 

“I do not know if Fen’Harel exists any longer.” Solas sighed. “This is not his world.” 

The spirit softened. A small hand rested on his elbow, just as it had so often in times long past. Solas ached with the pain of it. His friend, his home, sleeping just as he had. Alone in the darkness, watching as time left them both behind. 

“Fen’Harel lit the world on fire.” The spirit said softly. “Perhaps it is Solas who must try to find beauty in the ashes.” 

“Is there any beauty left in the world of metal and machines?” Solas asked, unable to keep the bitter venom from rising to the surface. 

“How could you ask that?” The spirit tightened her grip on him, voice imploring. “Have you not seen them? Heard the laughter of their children? Listened to their prayers? How can you be so blind?” 

The silence over both of them was not as comfortable as it once had been, but it still felt more like home than it had a right to. 

“Will you tell her?” Solas finally asked. “My secrets, old friend. Will you confide them to the Inquisitor?” 

The spirit sighed once more. “No, da fenlin. I will not. She would not understand, and I know you wish to right this mistake of yours. But you  must not harm her.” 

“I will not.” Solas swore.

Not if he could help it.

[socoolraywoodbloghere]

Kiss It and Make It Better 2

Hey, y’all remember [this post] from uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh 2016? Guess who wrote a second chapter

Why am I having a fanfic-writing renaissance? I literally don’t know. 

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8297977/chapters/47506960

Ray tapped at the DS’s buttons unthinkingly, the Pokémon battle taking absolutely zero priority in his mind. It may not have his interest, but he had to do something. He couldn’t just sit there and do nothing, even if this something wasn’t actually fucking helping.

There was a deep breath from the bed he sat beside, and Ray stiffened to attention. He watched the bandaged chest fall back down in a way that looked like it probably hurt, but Ryan didn’t otherwise stir. Ray let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Ray watched him, lying there. He’d been awake when they’d stumbled their way into the med bay, so they were at least pretty sure he wasn’t concussed. Just hurt. Just very, very hurt. Just so stupidly hurt. Ray volunteered to keep an eye on him until he woke up – wouldn’t be the first time one of them woke up hurt and popped stitches trying to get up. Jack tried to argue, say he should be resting too, but Ray insisted he probably wasn’t sleeping tonight anyway. To be fair, he wasn’t sure if Jack was – she gets so worried – but she can be worried about all the other things there are to be worried about. Ray’s got this one covered.

This whole thing is Ryan’s fault, anyway. Ray told him to get in the car and go. Ray told him he was fine and had his bike as backup. But then Gavin blew something up, some other pieces of the plan got rearranged on-site, and Ryan refused to leave until he was sure Ray was able to get out without getting caught. Which is stupid, because yeah, there were more police swarming the place than anticipated, but Ray usually gets out fine. The last time was a fluke, and he got out of the handcuffs before they even realized he was a Fake and not just some random criminal, so it really doesn’t count.

If Ryan had gotten out sooner… At least he won his stupid knife fight in that stupid alley. At least he didn’t fall off the bike while Ray raced to their medic. At least there weren’t any complications sewing him up or getting him to this safe house. Ray tried to be comforted by these thoughts, but he just couldn’t be – not without having Ryan wake up first. If Ryan were awake, Ray could tell him what an idiot he was and feel better. Right now, all he can do is think it and hope he gets to say it.

Ray sighed and returned to his game, mind wandering off elsewhere. Ray’s got to say, at least working for Ramsey gets them the best healthcare he’s ever had. And they’ve needed it. He can still feel the phantom pain of a shot to his leg from some pig chasing him. The shot wasn’t as bad as the scare of tumbling off the roof he’d been running on – he was way lucky to have gone off the side with the fire escapes.

Before Ramsey, when it was just little ol’ Ray against the world, he got himself pretty savvy in fixing himself up. Studied a combination of Red Cross first aid guides and Wiki-how articles and got by just fine. Should he have done this studying before going into the situations in which he became injured? Arguably. Did he live? Apparently. So, there’s always that.

Well, and it wasn’t all internet wisdom. He and his mom didn’t exactly have health insurance back in the days before… well, before the rest of his life. Bags of peas for bumps and bruises, store-brand bandages are no different than name-brand, VapoRub and honey for coughs. Not to mention his mother’s habit of just ignoring when things hurt and praying it went away. Well, and the kisses.

It definitely felt silly thinking back to it now, but he was, once-upon-a-time, an actual little kid who got treated like it. Whenever there was a cut or a scrape or a bump or a single trouble, his mother would fix him up the best she could, and kiss wherever it hurt. For all the good a couple bandages and some rubbing alcohol could do, Ray really had been convinced that the kissing did the actual healing. Kisses were love, and love was magic, and magic could heal and protect. That’s what his mom said, anyway.

They needed the protection, too, what with all the monsters lurking in the closet and under the bed and in Ray’s dreams. They looked like the landlord with his big cigar, like the teenagers down the street that messed around the whole day long, and like a weird fish monster he’d seen watching power rangers once. So long as they had their magic, though, nothing could touch them.

Ray smiled sadly to himself. He wished that was how it all worked. He wondered how his mom was doing; he knew, but only in a remote way. He knew she still lived in New York, had a better job and a better apartment, and that she was seeing someone (his background check cleared fine, so it wasn’t a concern). But those were all numbers and bullet points from some people he had keeping tabs on some stuff. They didn’t tell him how she was, how she felt and what she thought and the last thing she saw on TV and if she’d picked back up on knitting. He wished he could know. It’s not safe, though, for them to know each other, and even if it was, he doubts she’d be very proud of her son: the wanted criminal. Making your way in life as an assassin isn’t exactly the bright future someone wants for their child. It was better this way.

Ray leaned his head back against the wall and sighed deeply. Why does he bother to think about things that don’t matter? He glanced over at Ryan again. The only thing that matters at the moment is that Ryan wakes up at some point. Ray can’t help but laugh a bit to himself at the thought that a little bit of magic wouldn’t be too bad right about now. Kissing and making things better doesn’t work, though. He knows that and it’s a fact and the little voice in the back of his head that insists that maybe it does, though, is very stupid.

He’s not going to fucking kiss Ryan in his sleep, that would be weird. He’s not going to kiss Ryan at all ever, because he’s a friend and a coworker and he doesn’t like Ryan like that. He just thinks he’s hot – which is honestly an objective fact and therefor cannot be held against him – and smart and skilled and maybe Ray appreciates his upper arm strength more than normal, but he never claimed to be normal, so it’s fine. Everything is fine. Ryan is fine. Not that kind of fine, like hot fine, though he is that, but like fine as in physically like going-to-live fine.

Ray put a hand over his face to try and stop his brain from snowballing further. Why was he here? Why did his brain insist on rambling to itself about nothing? Oh, right, get-better kisses. Ray looked at Ryan. He has to admit, for a guy passed out from blood loss he looks pretty serene. The moonlight streaming in was definitely shading his features in an unfairly dramatic way. Ryan would be happy that he woke up in a suburban safe house, he likes getting away from the city every now and then.

Ray looked at the bandaging on Ryan’s chest, watching it all rise and fall with each breath. He tried not to think about how it looked when he’d helped the medic cut away the shirt, before he was shooed out of the room and made to wait outside for everything to stabilize. So stupid, putting himself in danger. The need to do something, anything, returned to Ray. He wished there was a way to help other than being patient. Being patient right now sucked. He needed to do literally at least something. Even if it was stupid.

It couldn’t really hurt anything, right?

Ray pressed his lips together and watched the bandages. Fuck it. “No homo,” he whispered as he bent down, and, before he could talk himself out of it, gave a soft, chaste kiss to the bandages. He pulled up and looked at them for a long moment, as if expecting something to suddenly happen. But nothing did.

Ray’s face burned in embarrassment and he sat back properly in his chair, burying himself in his DS. That was stupid, he felt stupid. Ryan being hurt is stupid. The Pokémon battle he barely realized he was in was stupid. This was all stupid.

It’ll all be better and be put back in the right place once stupid Ryan wakes up, already.

Until then, Ray will be right here watching his stupid ass and playing this stupid game.

--

Everyone – Jack, the medic, Ryan himself – was surprised at how fast Ryan recovered.

[lightwormsiblings]

Flufftober Day 22: City

Read on AO3

1

Alec is on his feet, bow in hand, the second he hears the footsteps approaching him. The bomb he’d been trying to disarm beeps alarmingly behind him as he comes face to face with the last person he wants to see.

Warlock, New York City’s mysterious magical protector and all around pain in Alec’s ass. They’ve never actually met in person but they’ve been competing for missions around the city for the last three months and Alec hates it. Competing with a magical being who leaves chaos behind wherever he goes is not what Alec had signed up for when he became a vigilante. It’s infuriating.

He groans inwardly as he drops his bow and stares back at Warlock.

“I’ve got this covered?” he tells him, even though he knows that Warlock won’t leave.

They stand staring at each other a moment. Warlock is wearing a long dark purple trench coat that flutters in the wind and Alec can see the way his eyes glow gold in the darkness of the night.

It’s even more infuriating that he’s so much more attractive in person.

“Hmm, you must be Archer,” Warlock purrs, seemingly unbothered by the bomb that continues to beep behind Alec.

A quick glance at it shows Alec there’s only 2 minutes left till it goes off.

“You know me?” He asks, using the bomb to distract himself so that he doesn’t keep staring at the way the moonlight paints shadows over Warlock’s skin. He opens the back of the mechanism to reveal a tangle of wires and almost jumps when Warlock steps closer and peers over Alec’s shoulder.

“You’ve been stealing my job for the last 3 months. Of course I know who you are,” he says and swirls his fingers in the air, blue magic shimmering off of them and rearranging the wires so that it’s easier for Alec to get to what he needs to.

Alec rolls as he keeps working,“doing your job better, you mean” he corrects, and almost laughs out loud at the sound of offense that leaves Warlock’s lips.

“Hey!” Warlock says, “this is my city.”

Alec rolls his eyes again, cutting one of the wires and searching for the second set.

“You can’t just claim an entire city.”

Warlock crosses his arms and narrows his eyes at Alec. Alec curses himself for finding it so attractive.

“I can and I did,” he says, stray sparks of magic floating off his body.

“Well you aren’t doing that great of a job protecting your city seeing as there’s a bomb about to go off,” Alec informs him, decidedly not looking at the mesmerizing way magic zings off of his body.

Warlock just glares and Alec is getting ready for a scathing comeback when he suddenly sees his eyes widen with panic.

When Alec turns around he sees that the bomb only has ten seconds left until it goes off. His hands scramble to find the second wire but he’s pushed aside by Warlock, who quickly creates some sort of forcefield around the bomb.

Alec watches from the ground as the bomb explodes, the forcefield holding the explosion at bay just barely.

When it’s over there’s singe marks all along the roof they’re on and a burning hole where the bomb had been.

Alec stares at the floor for a long moment before standing up carefully.

That night, on the roof of an old building, a strange sort of relationship is born.

“Look what you did.”

“I did? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“If you hadn’t distracted me from the bomb this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Well if you hadn’t stolen my city I wouldn’t have had to distract you.”

“It’s not your city.

2

Magnus ducks under a punch aimed at his head and tries to swipe the legs out from under his opponent but ends up being knocked onto his knees from behind.

His hands shimmer to life with magic despite his exhaustion, but before he can do anything, he hears the sound of two arrows whooshing through the air in quick succession and both of Magnus’ opponents slump to the ground.

When he turns toward the direction the arrows came from he can’t help but smile slightly at the dark hooded figure perched on top of one of the buildings.

“I was handling it,” he calls up and rolls his eyes when Archer nods with exaggeratedly raised eyebrows.

“Oh yeah, of course,” he says, a smirk pulling at his lips as he hops down from the building to come stand beside Magnus.

Magnus’ gaze absolutely does not linger on the fingerless gloves on his hands where they’re still curled expertly around the bow.

Alec gives him a two fingered salute, breaking Magnus out of his reverie, and starts walking backwards down the alleyway.

“I’ll see you later,” he says, a vicious smile taking over his features, “I’ve got a city to take care of and all that you know?”

Magnus snorts under his breath. Ever since the bomb incident on that roof where they’d fraught over whose city New York was, Alec has decided to bring it up in every conversation they have.

It’s become a kind of joke between them at this point.

He rolls his eyes much more fondly then he’ll ever admit outside of his own head

“How many times do I have to tell you? It’s my city.”

3

Alec drops the last little girl from the burning building down on the pavement and turns to watch as Warlock’s magic drifts out of his fingertips and douses the flames. The magic moves gracefully across the building, removing the fire as it goes. It’s almost as if the magic itself is an extension of Warlock, who stands strong and graceful in front of the building in his long trench coat, eyes shining in the light.

When the flames are gone, Warlock turns and starts making his way to where Alec is standing a little bit off to the side from the other people.

He’s stopped by a small boy when he’s almost to Alec and Alec watches on as the boy tugs Warlock down to his level with wide eyes.

“You are so cool,” the boy says, hero worship obvious in his eyes.

When Warlock finally makes it Alec he’s smirking cockily and Alec rolls his eyes at him.

“Hear that?” Warlock asks, eyes gleaming, “My city thinks I’m cool.”

Alec hides his grins as he gives the familiar reply.

“It’s not your city.”

4

Magnus’ heart sits in his throat and his chest feels tight as he stares down at the city skyline.

“This city ain’t big enough for the both of us,” comes a voice from behind him softly. There’s an edge of teasing in the tone but when Magnus turns around he finds Archer standing at the center of the roof, eyes full of soft concern.

To Magnus’ surprise, he feels a sort of relief wash over him at the sight.

He huffs a short laugh and pats the spot next to him on the ledge.

Archer takes a seat next to him, shoulder pressed to Magnus’.

“How’d you find me?” Magnus asks, eyes back on the skyline and voice soft.

He doesn’t look at Archer’s face but he can hear the slight smile in his voice.

“Lucky guess.”

“They sit in silence for a long drawn out moment until Alec takes a deep breath and speaks.

“It wasn’t your fault you know,” Alec says so softly Magnus almost doesn’t hear it.

Magnus breathes out shakily, tears springing to his eyes unexpectedly.

“I lost control,” he says, fighting to keep his voice steady as the events of the night replay in his mind, “I hurt people. I’m a monster.”

When Magnus turns to look at Archer his hazel eyes are dark with reverence.

“It was an accident,” he says, turning and moving a hand to cup Magnus’ cheek. Magnus leans into the touch, eyes fluttering closed and breathes out shakily, “ you are not a monster.”

Archer is looking at him with fierce determination and unbridled faith. Magnus trusts him. Trusts him with everything he has. Which is why he blurts it all out.

“I don’t know how to control it sometimes,” he says softly, “I’m always holding it back and sometimes something will hit my careful hold on it just right and I lose it all. And people always seem to get hurt when that happens,” he blinks back more tears and averts his eyes to the ground, not strong enough to keep looking at Archer as he goes on, “Sometimes I just wish I was normal. Human. Instead of this-,” he sighs, “I don’t even know what I am.”

Archer is shaking his head before Magnus can even finish. He grabs Magnus’ hand with calloused fingers.

“You are so special. You are the best person I've ever met. How many other people would think to protect the city if the had magic? You could be off living in some mansion halfway across the world, but you’re not. You’re here. Protecting everyone. Because that’s who you are,Warlock.”

Magnus stares in shock for a moment, warmth curling in his stomach when Archer doesn’t let go of his hand.

“Magnus,” he says, voice thick with emotion.

Archer looks at him in confusion and Magnus laughs wetly.

“Magnus,” he repeats, “that’s my name.”

Archer’s eyes shine back at Magnus and Magnus scoots in closed to him, dropping his head to rest on his shoulder and watches the stars above the skyline.

Much later, when Magnus is almost half asleep Archer speaks.

“Alexander.”

5

Alec runs into the alleyway to find Magnus holding back a gun with his magic, the blue sparks shining through the air.

“Nice of you to join me,” he says, sending a wink over his shoulder. Alec ignores the blush that rushes to his cheeks at that.

“I’m always on time to save my city” Magnus continues, dropping the gun into his hands using his magic, and spinning gracefully on his heel.

Alec rolls his eyes, “curse you and your stupid portals,” he mutters under his breath.

Alec knows Magnus hears him from the satisfied glint in his eyes as he points down the other side of the alley.

“The other guy went that way,” he says.

Alec follows Magnus’ instructions, pulling out an arrow and starting to walk backwards down the alley.

“For the record,” he calls out to Magnus who is spinning the gun absentmindedly and smirking idly, “it’s my city.”

+1

Magnus sees it in slow motion.

Sees Alec’s bow get knocked out of his hands and go flying. Sees the kick pressed to his chest that sends him tumbling to the ground. Hears the crack of ribs and his head hitting the cement. Feels his heart plummet in his chest when he doesn’t get back up.

Heart thudding in his ears, Magnus makes quick work of the thieves they’d been fighting in one adrenaline fueled sweep of magic.

Once they’re all on the ground Magnus practically throws himself onto the floor by Alec’s alarmingly unmoving form. His eyes are closed and blood is trickling down his temple. Magnus’ heart beats so fast he can’t hear anything over it, he can’t lose him. He can’t.

His hands move to Alec’s chest on autopilot, pushing healing magic into him with everything he has.

When Alec’s eyes flutter open a few minutes later, Magnus entire body heaves a sigh of relief and he slumps further into the ground.

“Don’t ever do that to me again,” Magnus screeches without thinking about it. He’s breathing hard as Alec sits up and looks back at him.

“You were scared,” Alec says after a moment and Magnus’ walls go flying up. He hasn’t ever gotten as attached to someone as quickly as he had to Alec. He doesn’t know quite what to do about it.

“Only because the city needs you,” He says quickly, even though he knows Alec won’t believe him.

Alec grins, wide and boyish. And Magnus’ hold on his walls starts to crumble, “So you admit it’s my city.”

Magnus looks at him, a small smile quirking his lips, “I’m saying we can share.”

[celestial-leaves]

Things you didn’t say at all

Emerald Knight Complex. 2027

The room was chilly. A stagnant cold that sunk into the very flesh and rooted itself in the bones. It did not come from an air conditioner turned up to high, or even from the weather. Outside it was lovely, the sun was rising, deep hues of orange and pink lighting up the sky. Inside, however it was freezing. The sort of cold brought on by pure unmitigated hatred. Hadrian wanted to sigh, to shift restlessly and cross his arms. Such a thing was not possible though, this was not his body and its real owner was holding himself as tight as a wooden plank. Across the room the source of all this chaos, lounged in an armchair, the picture of insouciance. Long black hair barely restrained by a collection of pink hairclips. Thick lashes that hung low over his gray eyes, tanned skin, full lips, and a smirk to infuriate the calmest of men. He was good looking, a fact that was not helped by his half-dressed state.

Hadrian sighed mentally again, wishing that he could reach out and fix that loose collar, perhaps even tug it over that narrow shoulder it kept falling off. His host sighed gustily, and he felt the pinch of nails as the magician clenched his fists. The door slammed open, bouncing off the wall with a resounding crack. The last two members of this meeting strode in, or more accurately one stomped in and the other was hauled in like a disobedient cat. Clearly, his host-

 <<Abnar!>>

Hadrian rolled his eyes again, before continuing his train of thought despite the interruption. <<Clearly, you think the same. I can feel you trying not to smile,>> he thought at the Crystal Magician.  

<<Using my name is the least you could do,>> Abnar thought back, his mental personal even went as far as to turn up its nose, before it turned away, glaring at the newcomers.

Hadrian sunk deeper into the mental plane, his form shifted as it did, the clink of chains loud in his ears. He watched as Wellan, the current Knight-Commander, shoved young Kira forwards. The girl caught herself neatly and hissed at him her ears practically flat against her head. Her tail lashed angrily. Hadrian could not find it within himself to blame her, if her dress was anything to go by, she’d been pulled straight from her bed. The princess fixed her clothing with several muttered words, unfit for a young lady to utter. That done, she sulkily cast herself into an empty chair, curling up there like a grumpy kitten.

There was a long moment of silence, the renegade king and the knight-commander attempting to disembowel each other with their eyes. Eventually, Onyx tossed his head and looked away. Wellan turned his glare onto them. Hadrian felt his host stiffen further.

“Is he still in there?” Wellan growled.

“Yes,” Abnar said, “research into finding a method to extract him as been inconclusive.”

Wellan gave a nod, his eyes growing colder, without looking away from Abnar he spoke again, “Have you discovered a way to fix your screw-up, girl?” He asked. Kira flinched at his words, and she sunk further into the chair.

Hadrian bristled instinctively, for all her faults Kira was still one of his descendants. There had been no need for that tone.

“Don’t speak to her like that,” Onyx said. He remained unperturbed even as every other eye swung to him in surprise.

<<What is he playing at?>> Abnar’s thoughts pressed into him, and Hadrian shrugged back. Taking advantage, he swept his own gaze over his friend, noting the faint lines around his eyes and the way his tongue swept out to lick his lips. <<Focus!>> Abnar snapped, disgusted. Hadrian pulled back long enough to glare at the magician, but when he turned his attention back on Onyx the latter was staring straight at him. Hatred brewing darkly in his eyes, but for a moment he saw a flash of warmth. Oh, Hadrian thought. Of course.

<<Of course, what?>> Abnar sounded exasperated.

<<Nothing you need to worry about,>> Hadrian replied. He retreated from the magician’s questioning, shutting him out as best he could.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Wellan was saying, “your presence here is by lucky circumstance. You are no more welcome than a cockroach would be.”

“So poetic,” Onyx hummed, “fortunately for you my presence is much more beneficial. Isn’t it, magician?” His head tilted mockingly, and a mental image flung itself into their heads. Kira yelped. Wellan snarled. Abnar recoiled with an outraged cry. Hadrian for his part turned red, the memory of that kiss, surging to the front of his mind. He blinked it away, surprised to find himself in control of the body. “Old friend,” Onyx purred, he flickered, appearing in front of Hadrian in a careless flaunt of magic. His hands reached up to gently cup his face, gray eyes glistening.

“Nice hair accessories,” Hadrian replied, already the magician was fighting for control of his body, but the former king pushed him back without much effort. “You’ve caused much chaos again,” he continued softly. “has it been worth it?”

Onyx smiled up at him, baring his sharp teeth. To some the gesture might have been threatening, but Hadrian knew better, even now the renegade’s eyes were crinkling and a dimple had appeared in his cheek. It was stupidly endearing, and Hadrian felt his disapproval soften. “Must you always be so careless,” he muttered and gave in to the urge to rearrange Onyx’s clothing. The latter leaned into his hands, still smiling that wolfish grin.

“If that self-centered magical maggot begs nicely, I’ll drag him out of his bondage,” Onyx said.

“It was his body originally,” Hadrian said, finished with their task is hands came to rest on the smaller man’s shouders.  

“You need a body as well, one much sturdier than this one.” Fingers flexed against Hadrian’s cheeks, sharp nails digging into the flesh. Hadrian felt no pain, though Abnar must of for his thrashing redoubled.

“I’m a ghost far past its prime,” Hadrian tried again, “I’m of no use to this world.”

Onyx frowned at him, words swimming in his gaze but he spoke none of them. He had always been that way, silent about the important facts, unless forced to anger, and then it always exploded out of him leaving broken bodies in its wake.

“That’s not true!”

As one they turned. Kira had recovered from her embarrassment and was now standing in the armchair. “That’s not true,” she repeated. “You are very useful to me. I told you, I need your help!”

“To become a Squire,” Hadrian reminded her, “which you have become, have you not?”

The 10-year-old shrugged mutinously. “Doesn’t mean I don’t need your help still, Uncle Wellan is going to kick me out for sure!” She gestured towards the knight, who had been surprisingly silent through this debacle.

“No, he will not,” Onyx said, the cloth with which he had bound the knight-commander grew tighter.

“Onyx,” Hadrian scolded, but a smile was fighting its way onto his lips. “You shouldn’t turn people into burritos.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, ghost,” Onyx replied. He bit his lip, seemingly struggling to form words, but they were not given the opportunity to emerge.

Abnar had chosen that moment to wrest back control of his body, and he sent the renegade flying with a vicious shove. Onyx landed hard on the ground, and immediately rolled to his feet, his sword appearing in his hand, but even as he did chains were wrapping around his ankles. He struck at them, snarling, and rolling away under the table.

<<Magician.>> Hadrian snapped reaching out to grasp at Abnar’s wrist. <<Stop! You cannot defeat him!>>

<<Killing him would be blessing on the lands,>> Abnar replied, but he did not set the table on fire. Instead he turned his attention on freeing Wellan. The latter burst out of confinement, red in the face, and eyes glowing disturbingly.

“He is gone,” Abnar said grumpily. “This was a waste of time.” He strode from the room despite Hadrian’s protests.

[aerkan]

Prompt #018 - The pact of the Wicked

Can you imagine Hades, Hel and Satan making a deal with each other? An agreement that if one of them needs help, the others will come to their aid? That can be very useful in war times, but can you imagine one of them calling for help while there’s peace? Let me paint you a picture. --- ,,Ah, it seems that Hades has summoned you as well, lady Hel?”

Mentioned goddess spun around to face the ruler of Hell. His dark wings were neatly folded behind him and he was dressed in the royal version of his people’s casual clothing. Even though, his sword was strapped to his hip and his eyes held a guarded expression, when he bowed his head slightly in respect. He was prepared for a battle if there was a need. That was good, she herself was ready to fight.

,,Yes, indeed he has. But I am just as surprised to see you here as well, lord Lucifer.” she said while reciprocating his gesture. They stood side by side while they waited for Charon to appear and take them to the Underworld. The river Styx was softly humming a calming melody that was oh so different from the constant clashing of swords in her realm. Lucifer beside her was silently stretching his wings in the anticipation of a battle. She did something similar with her magic. It’s always better to be prepared for the worst outcome and a distress signal from one of her limited amount of allies wasn’t a situation she could underestimate.

,,So what do think is happening in the realms that demands the presence of all three of us? What can our dear friend want from us?”

She honestly didn’t know. Which scared her a little, because she prided herself in always knowing what was going on. But Hades decided to be mysterious once again. What does Hades have with being secretive anyways? For someone who detests being called ‘The invisible one’, he sure hides a lot of things. Ugh, she wasn’t looking forward to this. But even though she didn’t particularly wish to be here today, her need to honor this agreement between them was stronger than her discomfort. Not for the first time she was surprised to realise that yes, the two men became very dear to her. In a way she had no idea how to deal with. She never had many people in her life that she could say she was close to, except for her family of course. So the fact that these two weird immortals called themselves her friends was foreign to her. However it didn’t make her want to stab them in their sleep, so that may have meant she wasn’t totally opposed to it.

,,Meaning of this meeting of ours is escaping me. I am just as uninformed about this gathering as you are. Although if I had to guess I would say that Hades spoke with one of his brothers about the matter regarding the Edgewood academy. And didn’t leave very pleased.” Her lips curled into a grimace without her will. She disliked those two younger brothers of his. They were arrogant to a fault and held themselves like parrots trying to impress the other sex. If it wasn’t so irritating it would be impressive, how they together managed to turn every event into a mad hunt after this or the other unfortunate girl. It disgusted her. Maybe that was the reason she often found herself in the company of Hades, Lucifer or both during all of the important meetings down on Earth. She couldn’t stand the constant bickering of the Greek gods and goddesses just as much as she avoided the absolutely awful holy presence of angels with sticks up their asses, or the unending talks about hunting and war that seemed to buzz around her distant relatives. Lucifer with his goodhearted humor and quick smart tongue and Hades with his silent comfort and inteligent if a little bit awkward remarks made something of a peaceful paradise for her fried nerves.

Her companion let out a quiet laugh, ,,I wouldn’t be surprised if that was precisely what happened. Poseidon and Zeus are making the founding of the new school very difficult from what I’ve heard from our friend. Michael and other archangels aren’t much better mind you,” His face held a crooked smile that seemed more pained than anything else. ,,I’m slowly losing my patience with them as well. Their demands are almost impossible to meet, but every time I tell them so, they ignore me. And I’m used to that at this point, it doesn’t bother me anymore even when it should, but the council will not be happy about the terms my brothers set.” His wings drooped a little in defeat and puffed in irritation. She put a hand on his shoulder in what she hoped was a comforting gesture. Lucifer gave her a grateful smile in return. Her own family wasn’t very demanding regarding the Edgewood project. Of course they had their own ridiculous ideas, but most of them were actually good. It looked like Odin understood the importance of having the young demigods and half-breads under control, before they got to go out and started wreaking havoc. But she could sympathize. Oh Ancestors, she could sympathize.

,,You know, I’m starting to think we should just found the academy ourselves and deal with the consequences latter. Better beg for forgiveness than ask for permission, right? At least that’s what humans say.”

Her lips twitched in a smile at the desperation and hope in his voice. His eyes met hers shinning with amusement. His face split in half with a grin as he hooked his left hand around her shoulders. Weirdly enough she didn’t mind it. ,,I missed this.” He admitted with a relief written all over his face. Sometimes she forgot how alone he must feel. She nor Hades could really understand that. Hades had a kingdom full of gods and a wife with four kids. She had her dad and three brothers. Lucifer was completely alone in his realm. Maybe that was what made her whisper this sentiment back to him. But his bright smile was worth it, she concluded.

Not long after they finally heard the telltale sound of Charon’s boat quietly drifting on the waves of Styx. When he stopped in front of them, he deeply bowed with the rattling of bones. His undead form was hidden among dark folds of his long cloak, but the bits that remained visible resembled more of a charred skeleton than a deity. The only god-like thing on his person were big gray wings that looked like bat’s but created out of fog and smoke. She and Lucifer made their way on board of the ancient looking ferry. Both of them muttering a whispered greeting to the silent ferryman, mindful of his dislike of loud noises. There was no need to make a lot of noise in the place of dead.

Their journey to the depths of the Underworld was a short one. Charon knew very well where they were headed and didn’t need any prompting. All three of them were silent, the two visitors always felt unease while travelling on the river Styx. Maybe it was the fact that it separated them from the rest of the world, or just the absence of rivers in their own realms. Either way, they didn’t like the River of Oaths. At last they finally reached Hades’s palace. It was a beautiful structure that surprisingly enough didn’t resemble Greek architecture, but instead looked more like a medieval castle from black stone. Some parts of it were floating in the air without anything to hold them there and the whole building was constantly rearranging itself. She was certain that this little detail was a work of Persephone the first time she laid her eyes on it. The stoic Underworld and it’s ruler clearly benefited from the touch of their Queen.

At the gates of the palace her and Lucifer bowed to their ride and started walking inside the enormous castle.

,,Persephone should be here with kids, right?” The question surprised her. She didn’t think that she would see her god-sons today, but it was winter in the mortal realm now, wasn’t it? It was so confusing sometimes to remember what season it was where. Every world has their own time-flow and she needed to keep check on all of them. Tiresome.

,,Yes, I believe so. That is if she didn’t go to visit one of her siblings. You know she doesn’t get to see them very often with her work on Earth and in here.”

Lucifer used his wings to hop easier three steps up like a bored child and nodded absent-mindly. They quickly ascended the rest of the stairs and found their way through the palace into the Hades’s office. She softly knocked on the wooden door and waited until they heard muffled: ,,Come in,”

,,Ah, friends! Welcome, I’m glad you both made it here today. We have a lot to discuss.”

Hades was sitting almost buried under piles of papers and folders with tired expression on his face. He gestured at two seats in front of his desk. She sat on one of the while Lucifer tried and failed to fold his wings into comfortable position for sitting on not modified chair. So he magicked them away with a sigh and lowered himself into his own seat.

,,Greetings old friend, you summoned us quite unexpectedly I must say. What prompted this sudden visit of ours?” the archangel beside her was clearly in no mood for small talk and she found herself agreeing of this approach.

,,You know I always love to visit this place, but Lucifer is right. This was very abrupt, even for your habit of popping out anywhere you want whenever you want.”

Deep sigh resonated through the silent room. Hades’s shoulders slumped as he leaned back in his chair. One of his hands pinched the bridge of his nose before falling back to his lap. ,,It seems,” he started tiredly with so much irritation in his voice she thought the world must be ending soon. ,,that my brothers insist on having a volcano and an actual ocean inside of the academy for training purposes.”

There was a moment of absolute quiet before both Hel and Lucifer exploded in a burst of laughter.

,,Hey! I need your help, you morons!”

[polarishpd]

A Month of Truth: Narrated by Lance and Pidge (Chapter Five: Finale)

DAY 18: CONTINUED

"Lance-"

"THIS IS WHY I SAID TO FOLLOW HER. BECAUSE I HAD A FEELING SHE WAS GOING TO RUN, WHETHER SHE WANTED TO OR NOT!"

He collapses wearily on the sofa of the recreation room, the rest of Voltron and Coran concernedly pacing the room, quietly debating, trying to analyse Lance.

He looked kind of broken.

"We'll get her back, Lance. She's our family," Keith says softly. Shiro nods in silent agreement.

"I let her go," Lance breathes out quietly, eyes glassy as if in a daze. "I knew she did going to go, and I let her go." He pauses. "I let..Pidge...go."

"It wasn't your fault," Shiro jumps in, like he can practically see and hear the alarms going off all around him. Lance, still holding on to the tension, looks down at the floor.

"I had the chance to stop her, but I didn't. I couldn't. And now Lotor has her."

Allura blanches, stepping up to Lance and placing a hand on his shoulder, pushing his body up, directing his gaze to her.

Its startling, how dead and tired he looks. And worried. And anxious. All for Pidge.

"Listen, Lance. It's not your fault. Even if you had tried to stop her, the spell wouldn't have let her stay," Allura reminds.

Silence hangs in the air.

"I should have gone with her," Lance finally comes to a conclusion. "I could have stopped her. If I could have changed what she really wanted, she wouldn't have gone."

Allura raises her eyebrows.

"How exactly do you have such good knowledge of the spell?"

Lance sighs, huffing out and slamming his hands on his lap, getting up and rubbing his fingers subconsciously.

"I think you'll want to come with me."

The air of the Galra prison is cold, unwelcoming, stale, the showpiece of the dark and emptied room being a tied-up, furious Pidge Gunderson.

Hands bound above her head, legs bound in a spreadeagle, Pidge can already feel her whole body aching and hurting from exhaustion. Her Paladin suit does nothing to help, and her Bayard is unreachable from this position.

Luckily, she's good at hiding things.

Unless it's the truth. Then she has a problem.

"Did you really think infiltrating the Galra prison would be so easy, Pidge?"

Lotor paces the room, cape sweeping behind him, regal hair shining bright in the relative darkness of the purple-black room.

"Not easy, but certainly doable," she answers, not even flinching, not even losing his gaze. "And it's Gunderson to you."

"Okay, I'll respect that, Gunderson. But I'd also like you to tell me something."

No, no, no, no, no, Pidge cannot afford to lose everything, answer to him, give up her secrets and Voltron's secrets just because she...she hadn't been able to break a spell. And because she had been irrational, unable to control herself.

And Lance...

She misses Lance.

Who knew what could happen in one month?

He's really the only good that's come out of this whole scandal. He's the only reason why she'd ever want to tell the truth.

Telling the truth had undeniably brought them closer, and she was grateful for that.

Lotor stares at her.

"Tell me your deepest, darkest secret. The only secret that the spell doesn't compel. I want you to tell me, and I'll drop you happily back at your precious Castle."

Lotor's eyes glint surreptitiously. Hands folded behind back, head tilted downwards, he stops pacing in front of her.

"So?"

"Why do you want to know that?" Pidge questions, cocking an eyebrow.

Lotor laughs, probably the most emotion he's shown throughout the whole interrogation.

"Knowing a person's darkest secret can tell me so much more about them, don't you think?"

He steps closer to her, Pidge able to feel his inhumanly cold breath on the tip of her nose. She growls in a feeble attempt to keep him away, inciting laughter.

He's right, though.

Lotor had always made perfect sense, and this was yet another one of those situations.

Goddamn.

~~~

"It seems that we are in a bit of a predicament," Coran remarks offhandedly as the team eyeball the three leaflets of interconnecting papers.

"Ya think?" Lance sasses, bending down and peering at it.

"Lance."

"I'm under a truth spell. It's a little hard to be 24/7 polite," he responds, making a face at Allura.

Hunk rearranges the papers, arranging them in order, creating a vertical line.

"That's the order of the poem, right?" he asks, glancing at Lance, who answers with a nod.

Hunk tries turning it upside down.

Shiro tries turning it horizontally.

You see, yes, they understand the poem; in other words, he and Pidge were dead if they couldn't confess their deepest secret.

He needs to tell Pidge.

Even if Pidge didn't love him back...he has to tell her.

Coran had the idea of finding some extra information, perhaps hidden in the physical copy of the poem itself.

Allura, Coran, and pretty much everyone else definitely weren't mad that they hadn't been told about the whole poem. Not that they could have helped it, right?

Lance finally grabs the papers out of irritation when he sees Hunk about to tear it ("what if there's something hidden inside the paper?") in half.

Holding it the right order, Lance flips it down, revealing the intricate set of markings spiralling across the surface of the paper.

"Here."

Something clicks.

Suddenly, Lance has a thought. It's an Altean spell right? Maybe all it needs is an Altean. And it doesn't get any more Altean than an Altean princess.

"Allura."

"What?"

"Touch the paper-right here," he directs. Questioningly, she raises an eyebrow, but doesn't end up asking. Her slim fingers tentatively graze the paper.

And it bursts into blinding, blue colour.

~~~ VOICEOVER #CANWESTOPALREADY:

I went missing and you want to name this part of the voice-overs like that??? Not to mention the next part was really pretty terrible?

Issa joke, Pidge

Fine then!

Nononono come back I need my cuddles-

Lanc-! Jesus-

Aww, you don't like it?

Maybe not where it is now.

Hmm, and where would you prefer it?

Oh-okay-fuck how do I turn this off-LANCE

~~~

The only good thing Lotor did was let Eejin and Pidge be prison roommates.

Wow, what has her life sunk to?

"Did he question you?" Pidge asks desperately, straining against the bonds of her handcuffs and leg bondages.

"Did he hurt you? Did he do something to you?"

Pidge gets no answer, not even a sound in reply.

Pidge is so lonely that she's resorted to talking to an unconscious princess.

Eejin.

Please wake up.

There's time.

There's hope.

~~~

Much like the time that Allura had introduced the lions, the room fills with a vibrant, blue glow, shimmering with transitioning images. Allura looks awed, her hand still touching the aged parchment paper, her eyes bright and wide as she stares.

"Seems like you have found an ancient archival record, Lance," Coran states, peering at the ever-shifting images. "How exactly did you come around this? We haven't found an archived book so old since we woke up."

Lance honestly doesn't know. The mystic appearance of the papers whenever he and Pidge were together was a mystery that he-they-would probably never solve.

Lance settles for shrugging. Coran returns the motion, focusing his attention back on the lights.

Now, Altean characters swirl around the lights, and Coran jumps.

"I recognise this! Oh, it makes so much sense now-I thought it was a Galran spell, but it's not-My grandfather used to tell me stories of this spell!"

Allura jolts.

"Your grandfather also handled the royal prisons and executions?!"

Hunk, Shiro, Keith and Lance jump.

"What?!"

Coran's eye glint, fingers tousling his moustache to perfection.

Story time!

"This spell was engineered for interrogations; criminals only. Only Alteans can concote it, so we could control the circulation. I mean, look what happens when it gets out of hand!"

"Hey, at least I didn't grow myself a moustache or mullet!"

"Hey, what do you-!"

"Continuing on, the spell would cause the prisoner to reveal everything, but it was not only a spell: it was also a test. My grandfather said the spell gave the prisoner the chance to willingly tell the truth and redeem themselves."

Lance arches an eyebrow.

"The spell gave them the time-a month of moon-to tell their deepest secret."

Something clicks.

Did Lotor spell them specifically? Target them because he knew a secret between them might break them apart?

Maybe he did.

As Allura finds out more details, the other Paladins engrossed in the extra majestic details of the magical truth spell that had tormented Lance for days now, Lance's brain goes elsewhere.

He needs to talk to Pidge. He needs to tell her.

She's the only secret that he's had yet to reveal.

"-if the truth isn't revealed by the end of the month, the prisoner would be stuck telling the truth forever-or, at least until their execution."

"You sound a bit too excited about that," Lance remarks, folded arms and raised eyebrows. Yes, he's going to end up being a dick 99% of the time now. Controlling himself isn't exactly an option.

"So you're saying that we need to get Lance to confess his deepest secret in practically nine days?" Shiro questions. Coran nods.

"It seems so!"

Lance sees Hunk and Allura's eyes gleam, and he knows he is so freaking dead.

~~~

VOICEOVER #IGIVEUP:

Aww, were you really that stressed about me?

Yeah, where else was I going to get my headphones and electronics from?

...wow, I feel loved.

Mmm, okay then...guess you don't want this...

CRAP YOU, I WANT IT BACK!

nuH-UH, Pidgeon, what's mine is yours!

That doesn't-doesn't make sense in this situation-

Ah-sorry, English phrases always get the best of me-but YEAH, BYE-

LANCE-

DAY 19:

She's so incomprehensibly tired that she doesn't notice a certain princess waking up beside her.

"Where-where am I?" a quiet voice mutters. Pidge nearly jumped, jerking against the bonds.

"Ee-eejin?!"

Pidge jolts up, looking at a bedraggled and bloodied girl, her formerly-pristine lacey gown ripped to shreds, nothing given to her in replacement. It hangs off her unceremoniously, a disrespect for the princess.

"Who-who are you?"

Pidge's jaw hangs open in disbelief.

"You're joking right, Eejin?"

But the look on the Princess' face tells Pidge otherwise. Furrowed eyebrows, a blur expression.

Has...has Eejin forgotten her?

"It's me, Pidge, green paladin, I sat next to you at the ball, got fuckin' drunk-"

Pidge bursts into laughter akin to Veronica Sawyer, stupid and inappropriate, but there nonetheless.

Eejin raises her eyebrows.

"-danced with the blue paladin?" she ends it like a question, hoping it could jog her memory. Eejin isn't dumb, she doesn't just forget things. But yet she shakes her head, her matted hair flying around.

"What ball?"

Lotor got to her.

Pidge can't even claim to be very good friends with the princess. But they had formed a friendship, a female friendship that she hasn't had for a long time. Allura was great, but the fact that she was authority did take a little away from it.

And now it's all gone.

Eejin.

He must have wiped at least a week or two from her head completely. But why? To get to Pidge? Or for Galaxor?

"What do you remember?"

Eejin frowns, as if struggling for a while, shaking her head with frustration.

"I don't even remember who I am!" she shouts, suddenly becoming extremely hysterical. Struggle after struggle, Eejin forces her arms against her bounds, kicking at her tattered skirt, releasing an overdue scream and falling limp again.

"I don't remember anything!"

Pidge looks at Eejin, with sallow face and body, so different from her beautiful and full self that Pidge had first met, her face more haggard and aged in only a few days of war.

Her eyes did it.

Her eyes, pleading and desperate, prompt Pidge to proactivity.

"Okay. I'll fill you in, but you're going to need to trust me. Maybe if you recover something, we can get out of here," Pidge declares, looking around the room. Literally bare, save for a few threatening torture devices in the corner. God, how primitive.

"Tell me everything," Eejin nearly begs, sounding more resolute, eyes pleading.

Pidge nearly wants to cry. Gone is the Eejin, bubbly alien princess, sweet and kind but also fucking intimidating when need be (something Pidge highly, highly respects), Eejin that she only knew for a day, Eejin who helped her with...Lance.

"Okay. So..."

~~~

"This looks so NSFW."

Damn straight it does.

Lance fights the urge to break out of the leather bonds tying him to a pole, unable to move.

"Well, you could let me out of here, and then we're back to G-rated goodness!" Lance sasses.

He's not pretending that the team acts differently towards him now. Now that he has a more sharp than flirtatious tongue, more raw and honest.

"You know what happens if we let you go, Lance," Keith reminds, "the last time we let you, you almost managed to pummel me to the ground and break for the Red Lion. We can't have that."

"Almost managed?" Lance scoffs, grinning mischievously. "Bitch, I pummelled your ass faster than you can say-"

"Lance!" Allura exclaims.

Why is Allura his freaking alarm clock now?

"Also, that sounded really wrong, so..." Hunk trails off, not looking at an infuriated Lance and Keith.

"But anyway, " Shiro cuts in, shooting glares at both Lance and Keith, "Lance, you either stay on the pole, on the chair, or you get locked up on your room. We didn't want to do this, but you've got to confess."

Something boils under Lance's skin, anger, annoyance, frustration. No, he can't fucking confess. He can't. He doesn't have-no, Pidge isn't here with him. He can't do it.

He doesn't know what's holding him back, but it sure as hell isn't the truth spell.

Lance huffs, wriggling uncomfortably.

"Can't we go rescue Matt? And Eejin? And King Andreas? And Pidge?!"

"Lance, the cycle of planets is completely impenetrable right now: look, see," Allura points at her screen, displaying some kind of barrier between Lotor and Voltron. "It's created a barrier between us that Pidge only got through by jumping on Lotor's jetship."

"Yeah, so let's do that too!" Lance happily suggests.

. . .

"What?"

"Lance, we really need to get you fixed up," Shiro sighs. "You and Pidge both."

Lance already knows he's a lil inferior to the rest, that there's something that sets him apart, perhaps not in the good way. But to hear Pidge's name mentioned like that? It's strange.

"So I take that we can't break into Lotor's jetship?"

"NO."

~~~

DAY 23:

Pidge aches. Everywhere.

They definitely didn't tighten her bounds by fifty inches after yet another refusal to divulge information. Yep.

Wait.

Quiet voices?

"He's escaped? Off the ship? How exactly did this happen?"

"-intelligent, clever, untraceable."

Pidge hears a few loud thumps and screams, followed by the sound of running and panicked soldiers.

Interesting.

Pidge knows that Lotor isn't going all out. He definitely isn't. Simple verbal abuse and the bounds is nowhere near torture tactics.

He'd asked her about Voltron's plan, maybe yesterday? Pidge hadn't talked too much, mostly because Allura had kept Lance and her out of the know (which really, really pissed her off despite the sense that Allura had to do that).

Lotor had taken it as rebellion. Chained her tighter, shoved her back in the room with Eejin.

She's getting better. Remembering a bit. Still doesn't remember the night of the ball, but it's a start, going back to talking about food, dresses, favourite way to kill someone, and boys. It helps them both, really. Takes the mind of things. And that's the only thing Lotor has done right, make them prison roommates.

"Pidge, what do you think-what's his name again-ah, Lance," Eejin starts inquisitively, "how do you think he felt when you ran away from him?

Lance?

Oh.

"Upset, irritated at me, maybe? You see, I had just nearly kissed him like really romantic and all and confessed all my long-held and denied feelings for him but then we left to go protect Galaxor, which we lost anyway, and then I got pissed at everyone including him and just ran away to get Matt, who I might probably never see again because of my recklessness and Lance will think my last actions were to leave him, he won't ever know that I-"

Pidge chokes up, the words jamming in her throat, a loud cough and sudden tears in her eyes appearing despite herself. And then, everything starts rushing out, tears, pain, terror, hopelessness.

She might not make it out alive. Lotor won't want her alive once he finds out she really does know nothing.

She might not see Matt ever again, who's impossibly close and impossibly far at the same time.

She may not see her team again, because she had failed to think straight. No, it wasn't the truth spell's fault, it wasn't; she truly believed she had to go, the spell had simply helped her leave.

She may not see Lance again. Never tell him that she loves him, something she's denied and harboured for too long, never hug him ever again.

And even, on the small chance that she makes it out alive, she'd be stuck living truth for the rest of her life. Probably would never tell Lance, who knows?

Tears flow down her face, hot and heavy.

"Oh no, I'm sorry, I didn't mean for this to happen," Eejin says softly. "If it makes you feel better, I'm sure that this Lance boy loves you very much."

"How do you know?" Pidge chokes out. "How do you know? You don't-dont remember him, you don't know how much he talks about Allura, as if she's the light of his life-I think she's his secret, the one that will set him free-and I'll be alone and unable to free myself-I'm not supposed to be so dependant on a man!" she screams. Pidge hears sudden footsteps pattering down the hallway, the rigid and clock-work like motion of the Galra sentients. Her words turn angry, with an air of something she can't quite place; hopelessness, sadness, faithless behaviour?

"I loved my brother, depended on him, and he disappeared. I loved my father, depended so much on him, and he disappeared. I-I can't afford to fall into the trap anymore, Eejin, I don't know how to fix this-"

"Pidge!"

The sentient's hand crushes down on Pidge's skull.

DAY 26:

It's like this for the rest of the week, and the few days after. The days blur incomprehensibly...

Lance doesn't know when he'll be set free, when he can be liberated from the confinement of his room or the watchful eyes of one of his friends at any given time. He's just trapped. All. The. Time.

With all the spare time, he-and the rest of the team-work on finding a way to break through the planetary barrier; simply waltzing through it wasn't exactly an option. Would you rather vaporise on the spot or be captured by the Galra for probably life?

Lance would go through either if it meant he could save Pidge.

Pidge.

How is she doing? Is she healthy? Safe?

A little voice questions if he's even alive, and Lance fills with dread.

Is that why Lotor didn't Skype-call them and demand something to return Pidge? Because she's-she's dead? Is the prince playing mind games with them?

Lance furiously storms in futile circles around the room. He needs to get out, he needs to find her! Honestly, he just wants to make sure she's safe; Pidge is the most capable and intelligent girl he's ever met, but she's also an intelligent girl under a spell that she can't control.

Pidge...he misses Pidge so much. Who knew what she meant in his life?

Maybe that small, genius techie from the Garrison had taught him some important lessons.

Sure, he had looked at Allura first. He admits that.

But maybe what he wanted wasn't what he needed? Who knew that he would want the smart one? Pidge, who deserves so much better than his shallow self, Pidge, who makes him smile, Pidge that he loves?

Lance isn't sure.

Can she return? Or does he have to fly out to find her? Has she confessed her secret, broken the spell, or is she unintionally feeding Lotor pivotal information?

Lance doesn't care what she tells them, if he has to give up his lion, Voltron, as long as she can return safe. Run back into his arms, where he'd hug her so tight and never let go. Tell her how he feels, for real, and save both of them.

It's a dream right now.

Lance needs to get out, and soon.

Before it's too late.

~~~

DAY 27:

Quiet whispers, murmurs, the air in the room deathly still.

There's no space in this room.

Pidge shakes.

It's not a room.

Pidge's eyes fly open with a jolt, and suddenly she feels something stabbing into her arm.

"Shit-!"

With the small light at the top of the room, Pidge tries her best to look around the not-room she was in.

A closet.

Lotor stuck her in a fucking closet.

Lotor stuck her in a fucking closet because she'd ranted. She ranted.

Is that even a valid reason to stick someone in a closet?!

A torture closet???

God, it's about time to get out of the closet...

Pidge glances down at herself. She's stripped of the little bits of Paladin armour that Lotor hadn't cared enough to remove, and the Bayard that she had so carefully hidden, the little bits that might have protected her from each puncture.

Pidge can't really feel the pain now. It's not much compared to some other things she's been subjected to.

Okay Pidge, don't panic, don't panic...

Just do what you normally do. Be the computer. The brain of Voltron.

Pidge looks around, scanning the little area. One wall seems dotted with sharp, small spikes, the ones that had caused the river of blood now trailing out of her arm. The wall next to that has one rung on it around the back-level, which Pidge curiously touches.

Bam, bad decision, she flies back-first into the opposite wall, decorated with a nice (and jagged, and sharp, and possibly poisonous for all she knows) Galra rock mosaic.

And her world goes black.

Again.

~~~

Day of the mission. Save Galaxor and save Pidge. And Eejin, and Matt.

"Let's go, Lance."

The simple words sounded like fucking heaven to a guy trapped in occasional-solitary-confinement, and Hunk the angel delivering his prophecy. Beautiful.

Hunk smiles, bouncing on his toes.

"You know I can guess what your secret is, right?"

Impossible.

"No way-okay, maybe it's possible, I'm not exactly the most subtle guy," Lance rescinds, making a face to further emphasize the pure impossibility of the scenario that switches to a bashful grin.

Hunk scoffs, giving him a small knowing grin. Lance picks up his jacket, swinging it on and walking out of his prison alongisde Hunk. And for the first time in days, maybe a week, Lance doesn't feel the desire to run away. Ironic.

And he smiles.

"You haven't been cooped up in your room, I don't occasionally hear you scream Pidge's name, I haven't seen you infinitely more depressed because of a lack of Green Paladin," Hunk lists off, looking as if he could go with more. "But yes, I think you get my subliminal point."

"Gee, Hunk, when did you become so socially-intelligent?" Lance quips. The control room slowly comes into view, Allura helming the castle, the rest of the paladins already geared up.

"Since the Garrison, where you two were already probably the most shipped pair in class? #Plance trended, if you remember."

Wait, what? Lance does a double take, and Keith starts laughing, having overheard Hunk, giving him a simple low five.

"Even me, 'standoffish' outsider, got fifty thousand messages about it at one point-I think that was the day that you two were seen-"

"-Okay, that's enough!"

"Is this some kind of Earth tradition? Embarrassing friends? What is this shipping thing?" Allura blasts Shiro with a thousand questions a minute, which Shiro is surprisingly adept at answering at the same rapid-fire.

It takes Lance a while to notice what they're doing, all kind and happy and welcoming. Not cutting him off, not talking about work. Maybe they noticed the insecurity. The worry. Maybe they pity him.

For once, Lance has given up on caring about shit like that.

He feels comfortable among them. Like an equal. Like he isn't 'a boy from Cuba' among a princess, a hero, a prodigy, a genius. They're friends.

They are friends, close ones, equals, but they're missing someone very important, and they're going to get her back.

The mission begins now.

Of course, Lance had immediately volunteered to go on the rescue mission, solo. His first solo mission. Keith was due for a mission with the Blade of Marmora, working on researching Lotor's newest tactics, like the Galaxorian technology he had invaded the planet for. Allura, Shiro and Hunk were going to work on sourcing out the sentients controlling Galaxor. Hopefully take them out in the process.

And as Lance gets into his Lion for the first time in days (totally without some fun pickup lines thrown around), he makes one promise to himself. Honestly.

The end is coming, Lance...tell...end...secret...

That he's going to get his Pidge back, no matter what.

Beware...

Lance's hands grip tightly onto the controls of his Lion, speeding out into space, aiming right for the thin membrane stretched between a ring of planets.

...the end.

Deadly.

~~~

DAY 28:

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Pidge is vaguely aware of the blood trail she's painting behind her as she wearily walks. Blood trickles from the tips of her fingers, little stabs in her chest, cuts covering her legs. She even looked a little...burnt. Probably from the multiple electric shocks. A blackened, peeling right foot.

She's pathetic. Dragging herself along the corridor as discreetly as she can.

Death would be easy now. The easy way out.

But she has to fight on. It's not just her that she's escaping for. She's fighting for Voltron, for Galaxor, for Eejin, for Matt...for Lance. She's the only one free to save them now.

Her eyes cloud over.

It had been no easy task escaping the the closet, the closet that she found had a trapdoor in the ceiling.

Swinging one bare foot to grip the electric ring, the other gripping it's best on the rock wall. Hands snatched out to push the trapdoor out and clamber onto the top.

It's impossible to describe the pain she felt. Electrifying, like needles ripping into her skin. Doesn't hurt now...she's gotten used to the pain.

But now she's tired, drained, and looking for her brother. Where could he be?

It was worth it, enduring the pain if only to see her brother again for even a minute. Matt.

Why does she feel so tired? Maybe it's the red liquid that will give her away in seconds, the drain from being repeatedly electrocuted, the likely poison flowing through her veins.

Pidge nearly collapses to the ground.

"Ka-Katie? Katie!" A panicked voice whispers tentatively, then screams.

Katie. Someone called her Katie. No one calls her Katie except...

Pidge isn't sure if she's imagining it when she sees a blurred image of Matt Holt running towards her.

And again, for the THOUSANDTH TIME, Pidge blacks out.

God freaking damnit.

~~~

The minute that Allura sets down on Galaxor, it's obvious that something is very, very wrong.

She's used to being greeted by King Andreas, by Princess Eejin running down the hall of the brightly lit, glittering castle to throttle her with an amazing hug.

There's none of that here.

Allura steps in the castle, whip at the ready, Shiro and Hunk following closely behind her.

There's a quiet echo of a song, ghostly emanating throughout the ghostly castle.

A dance turned evil.

Suddenly, something pierces into Allura's side, slams into her head, and the whole room breaks into chaos. Allura yells, jerks to the side.

Hundreds of thousands of sentient Galra, once hidden, emerge out of their hiding spots.

Ready to kill.

They're cornered. From every angle there is a Galra waiting to attack.

Allura feels stupid. It was obviously going to be a trap.

Now they're stuck in the centre of a room, surrounded by bloodthirsty robots, and only two fighters beside her and no way to the lions that they had parked outside.

Her heart thumps.

One.

Two.

One.

Two.

Allura breathes in. Readies herself.

With the power of a hurricane, Allura slams her whip on the rock hard ground, causing the whole floor to freeze, shatter and erupt, piercing the armour of and perfectly killing hundreds of rows of soldiers in droves.

Chaos ensues, and the battle begins.

~~~

Pidge is a little tired of randomly waking up in rooms. What's it been, five rooms, fifty blackouts?

But this time, she doesn't mind so much.

Turns out that she wasn't so drunk and high and kind of poisoned when she'd been stumbling in the hallway.

Matt, surprisingly tidy and neat, stands at the counter with back facing Pidge, casually cleaning a knife with a rag, a few bloodstains blooming on the cloth. He's taller than Pidge remembers, more bulked up and muscly than the nerd she remembers from home.

Matt.

Matt.

Matt!

With surprising strength, Pidge launches herself on Matt, hugging him from behind. Matt jolts, yelps, quickly swinging around to face her and realising that Pidge, Pidge his baby sister, is alive, throwing his arms around her.

"Ah, shit!" she winces, the bones of her back suddenly hurting again. Then she remembers the blood, the shock, the pain, and she crumples to the ground.

"Pidge!" Matt quickly supports her back, checking her like a medic. "Sit back down."

"I would say I'm okay, but I'm not," she groans. But she's not even thinking of the pain. She's thinking of how Matt is safe, healthy, strong. Alive, most importantly. Pidge nearly starts crying out of happiness, relief, thankfulness. Thank whatever gods there are in this universe for keeping him safe.

Pidge suddenly remembers the voices outside her cell. Talking about an intelligent, very clever prisoner who escaped the ship. And she takes on a stupid grin, realizing what her amazing brother had done.

"You're going to need more polyethan-"

"-They think you're off the ship," she breathes out, cutting Matt off. "You cloned your prisoner tag, hacked a ship-"

"-disabled the tag and learned the sentient's schedule to send the ship off and live here," Matt and Pidge finish in unison, making them chuckle. Just like old times.

"Why didn't you just leave? You had the opportunity to leave."

"I was going to leave, but then while I was accessing ship records I found records of the Green Paladin of Voltron. I mean, being a rebel officer comes with knowing these things-"

"-wait, you're a rebel officer?"

"-yes-"

"-that's so cool!"

"-you're a Paladin of Voltron, sis, that's even cooler!"

"That was completely coincidental, but thank you," Pidge answers. Matt simply grins with a doofus face.

"I knew you were going to make it someday, sis. But I guess that now that we're on a time crunch, we better get that Princess and get off this ship. But if you feel tired, hurt, if your wounds start hurting again, you must tell me."

"I can't, Matt. I have a mission. Even if I get hurt, I'm still going through with it."

Pidge curses the truth for appearing again. But she probably never would have answered Matt truthfully.

How did this happen? Genius siblings with a happy family turned galactic officers and paladins in an intergalactic war against a crazy purple alien species.

Matt helps her with her wounds, suits her up with what he has. Apparently her Bayard is still in her old room where Eejin is still locked up.

Step one: Find Eejin, and the Bayard.

Step two: Hack the ship, figure out how they're controlling Galaxor

Step three: Escape to the Castle.

Simple plan, easy plan. No problem.

Matt high-fives Pidge as they run out of the room, the legendary Holt duo reunited again.

~~~

"In position, Lance?"

Lance, with a steady grip on his Lion, nods resolutely. Keith jabbers something that he isn't really listening to.

"Boarding the ship now."

~~~

It doesn't take long for the Holt duo to navigate back to the original prison, hidden away in a secluded area of the ship. Two geniuses = no problems.

Looking around, Lotor seems a lot weaker than he was previously. Runs the ships on sentients, probably does the same for Galaxor, low on manpower and airpower. Hell, his defence had been an interplanetary cycle.

Katie Holt...Pidge Gunderson...The end is near...

"W-what?" Pidge stammers, The voice dissipates.

"You okay?" Matt asks, quickly walking up to her, machine gun bouncing on his hip.

"I'm good," Pidge answers, trying not to wince when she accidentally puts a little too much weight on her right foot.

"Don't go doing crazy stunts, you're nowhere near healed from Lotor's torture chamber. I was in there at one point."

Pidge notices the punctures on his arms. The little burns that don't want to go away.

"This should be the one." Pidge points the door, looking different on the outside. But she's sure it's hers.

Matt, with the power of god and anime on his side, effortlessly blasts the door open.

"Hyaiiiiiah!" he screams, as way of a battle cry. In that moment, Pidge doesn't understand how exactly her brother survived for so long.

Without hesitating, Pidge claps her hand on the mouth of her doofus brother, effectively shutting him up.

She pushes forward into the room.

And there's no Eejin, the bounds devoid of people. All Pidge sees is a dead body lying on the ground, the body of a Galra guard, stripped of armour. And this one was no sentient.

Her heart stops.

Shit.

"Where's the princess?"

Pidge frantically searches the room for her Bayard, turning up with nothing. Nothing.

The little glimmer of hope she had when Matt appeared flickers out.

Pidge...your time is up...coming...

Wait.

"Pidge? Pidge!" a voice hisses from around the corner. Spinning around, Pidge instinctively whips out her blade, right into the face of Princess Eejin, wide-eyed as ever.

"Woah, woah, you can put that away now!" she exclaims, putting her hands up defensively. Pidge, stunned, lowers the blade. Then, she throws her arms around Eejin, hugging her tightly. So many reunions in one day.

Pidge lets go, noticing the slightly too-large armour hanging on her body. Eejin notices her gaze.

"Well, I escaped by getting that Galra soldier to release me. Guess I still have some good flirting left in here, those soldiers really will do anything for a snog," she chuckles. "Then I knocked him out using your weapon thing-Bayard, is it?" she checks, twisting around to pull something out from behind her. "Ah, yes, here you go."

"Thanks, Eejin." Pidge accepts the Bayard, firing it up and savouring the familiar feel of the grip in her hand. It takes her a while to realise that Matt hasn't said anything. Pidge whips around, finding Matt with his jaw hanging open, arms hanging open.

Pidge facepalms.

Now she remembers who Lance reminds her of.

Eejin smiles brightly at Matt, which makes him burn red.

"Hello, duplicate Pidge!"

Pidge bursts into laughter, barely able to contain herself.

"Pidge, she's so pretty what the hell-and squishable? And badass?" he mutters into her ear, with an air of astoundment. Pidge swats Matt away with a chuckle.

"It's good that we're getting to know each other well, but we really have to go now."

Matt and Pidge turn to leave, beckoning Eejin to join, but she grabs Pidge's wrist.

"Wait."

With a sense of urgency, she yanks them behind the very corner they'd been in. The three crouch together like a team huddle.

"I figured out how Lotor's controlling Galaxor, and why he wants my-MY planet so badly," she starts. "I've been getting some of my memory back, but I think Pidge filled up the gaps quite nicely. Lotor's using Galaxor's-the planet's natural ability-to implant memories or knowledge as if from thin air."

The ball.

Pidge in her dress. Lance dancing with her. The both of them magically-just magically knowing how to dance. Something clicks.

Pidge...your time is coming...

"I think he wants to harness that power. After all, Lotor is kind of a baby right now compared to Zarkon." She shrugs so cutely that it's funny, the way she says it.

God, she's missed Eejin.

"I hate to break up the reunion, but we have to go now," Matt calls, looking from around the corner with a hand readying itself on his gun. Footsteps, perfectly synchronized, sound from a distance.

Eejin grabs Pidge's hand.

And they're off, running.

Matt, the resourceful and brilliant brother Pidge always remembered, sources the main ship records. Connections to the Galaxor records.

Upon encountering small groups of Galra, often in threes, they had no problem.

Matt whacks one over the head with his new-found staff, Eejin uses her deceptively great martial arts skills, and Pidge happily goes wild with her Bayard.

A high-five shared, and the small group enters the control room.

Eejin is by no, no means dumb, so she crouches down with Matt in front of the computer, brilliantly lit-up diagrams and images lighting up the large screen.

They quietly mumble like a bunch of pretentious philosophers. Pidge isn't used to being a defense mechanism rather than a thought machine, but native Eejin would undoubtedly be better for the job.

Pidge, standing at the sealed front entrance with two guns at the ready like a Texan cowboy and her Bayard slung on her waist, looks over her shoulder at the screen.

Dots and dots represnting the population.

White lines slowly, but surely becoming corrupted by dirty purple.

Pidge...He's near...

"Shut up!" she screams, shaking her head. Lance is a distraction right now.

Suddenly, she hears more footsteps, louder, unsynchronised, messy and frantic. These were real Galra. Real, live, terrifying Galra.

For a moment, she flashes back to Sendak, to his malicious grin. A memory she's always wanted to forget.

Hanging off the edge of an endless drop.

"Find the prisoners!" Pidge wakes up to the voice of Prince Lotor emanate intimidatingly throughout the corridor.

And they start coming. Throes of them, running in bunches. Pidge sees it all through the cameras, and they're headed straight for her.

All straight for her.

"Pidge!" Matt yells, turning around. Eejin continues to plow away at the computer, fingers flying, so focused that she does not seem annoyed by the disturbances. "Come on, I'll help you-"

She can't risk the mission. They're so close.

The purple bars nearly corrupt the entire screen.

Matt starts to head towards her, abandoning the computer. Eejin slows down.

Pidge has to make a split second decision.

Not like she really has the choice.

The truth spell will make it for her.

She glances back at the screen.

Wait.

Is that a flash of blue?

No way.

Lance?!

That's enough.

She pushes Matt away, to which he howls angrily, screaming at him to finish the job.

Quickly, she launches herself out of the room, completely sealing off the door to the control room.

Sorry, Matt.

And then she looks up, straight into the eyes of Prince Lotor.

~~~

They hadn't even won that battle. More like they were lucky to have even made it out alive.

The rubble that was the Castle glitters a macabre gold. A reminder of all they'd lost. Their failures.

It's disgusting.

Allura, clutching her arm, staggers out of the Castle with one mission on her mind. Get to the Lions. Shiro and Hunk, similarly ailing, follow behind her, talking about something that she's not listening to.

That's not even the full summary of their problems.

Lance and Pidge stuck on the ship, Keith stuck on a solo mission with the Blade, the team down a Lion, and those two aforemented idiots stupidly still refusing the confess the secret.

Maybe Lance is up to something. She doesn't know.

Where are the lions again?

She walks into the clearing where she remembers parking them. Yellow and Black waiting for her.

"Uh...Allura..."

"Wait."

Hunk stands nervously beside her, Shiro standing on guard on her other side. The three of them together.

The lions are there, majestic and proud, standing out clearly in the clearing of porcelain walls and white grasses.

But there's something amazingly off.

Hundreds, thousands of Galaxorians, their friends, bloody, cut up bodies and hollow faces, surrounding the Lions in droves like an undead army risen again. Ghostly, skinny, faces with bone showing through and a macabre smile.

We are coming for you...

All of them point out their finger, aimed right at the Princess, at Hunk, at Shiro. They don't move. Not even an inch.

What do we do? Allura can basically hear Hunk saying. Something tells her that they can't exactly just talk to them.

Lotor, the destructive bastard...Allura made a mental note to break his nose the next time they met.

Allura takes one tentative step forward.

And suddenly, brilliant blasts of light and laser start flying towards her, the Galaxorians growling hungrily, all moving forward two steps each. Allura slides down to her knees to avoid the onslaught, spinning her whip around her.

She wants to fight. Get back to the Lions.

But it would mean harming the Galaxorians, injured, possessed, likely already close to death.

And the whole time they stand on the field, tense, terrified, the same quiet tune plays like a loudspeaker over the planet.

The haunting melody of the Ballroom, twisted, warped. Playing over, and over, and over again.

We are coming for you...

~~~

"Pidge. Nice to see you," Lotor drawls, smiling.

"It's Gunderson."

"My mistake," he apologises sardonically, giving her a mocking bow.

Pidge takes the opportunity to kick him in the nose. Hard.

Lotor slowly gets up, laughing, commanding his soldiers to stay back. But the laugh turns to something more sinister within a matter of seconds.

Pidge sees someone dressed in white flash beside her out of the corner of her eye.

"My name is Prince Lotor. You broke my nose. Prepare to die."

With a scream, the battle begins.

~~~

Meanwhile, Princess Allura is fighting for her life.

It would be easier if she were fighting opponents she could kill, strike down, defend against without a second thought. But now, she is being swarmed by thousands, tens of thousands of Galaxorians, their slow approach suddenly becoming a speedy onslaught.

One of them pulls at her bunned-up hair. It's a child. A child. Beaten up face, blood cuts on her arms and legs, the child laughs mercilessly, eyes devoid of emotion, of childlike wonder and happiness. A child. Lotor has never seemed worse than now. Taking the lives, consciousness of the innocent, the children, the elderly, all for himself.

Allura cannot fight. She wants to, so, so badly, whack Lotor on his arrogant ass, but Lotor's up there in the air, and she's down here on the ground.

There are so many that she can't even see Shiro and Hunk anymore.

She endures hits, at best able to deflect with her arm or her shield. But whatever damage she deals now will stay when they wake. Allura takes every hit with honor and bravery; better it be her than them.

She doesn't know what to do.

The Lions move further and further from her sight.

Pidge...please...Lance...

~~~

Pidge has to slide under legs, slashing her Bayard as she quickly navigates as a small person under tall legs, screams and shouts and sounds of confusion filling the air.

It's satisfying to watch them fall.

Pidge doesn't hold back, moving so fast and dodging blows and kicking Galra in the nose.

Should be her signature move.

"Pidge!"

Lance. Lance!

"Lance!" she screams, frantically abandoning her earlier task to scan the crowd for Lance. Nowhere to be seen. Lotor seems to have disappeared, the arrogant,cowardly bastard, so Pidge settles for angrily slapping (actually bitch slapping) a soldier in the face followed up with a solid punch to the gut.

Her only advantage here is her agility, her size.

"Pidge!"

Close...end is near...almost there...

"Shut up!" Pidge yells, clutching at her head, nearly losing her grip on the Bayard. The voices in her head...they hurt, they haunt.

She's so close.

But if she doesn't fight her way out of this, she'll have that voice in her head telling her what to do, and Pidge is scared that she'll always obey, like she doesn't have a mind of her own.

Pidge has to pull herself together.

Even if she can't see Lance...she can imagine him. Fight with him like they always do.

Pidge spins around, judging from her position, totally surrounded, that fighting is actually the worst option here.

What choice does she have?

She barrels through, that's what. Pure instinct, no brain necessary, Pidge jumps back into the battle.

The sheer number of now-gleeful Galra soldiers keeps her from Lance, on the other side.

So what will she do?

Fight her way through.

For a moment, she almost sees Lance fighting by her side. She imagines the soldier that's coming for her is struck down by his sharpshooting from the side, which he is. Pidge ducks, wrapping a bunch of their legs together using her Bayard, neatly tying them in a bundle.

Then, with a grin that scares the shit out of the soldiers, Pidge electrocutes them all in one clean shot.

"I would say I didn't want to do that, but I did want to, and I can't lie," Pidge snarls savagely. A soldier sticks out a knife at her.

She shocks him again.

Blowing her hair out of her face as if she were the badass girl in the superhero spy movie, Pidge scans the room, the scene of the battlr. How is it humanly possible that she got most of the soldiers with her Bayard, the other group all taken down by clean headshots?

Most importantly, where the hell is Lance?!

Suddenly, in her distraction, she's kicked by a soldier in the side, making her fall, pushing her with immense speed to her side. And with that, Pidge lets go of the Bayard.

And in impossible time, the soldiers begin to all attack her. All at the same time.

A whack there.

A hit on the chest.

Reopening the old wounds.

Pidge hears screaming, tentative gunshots, the soldiers dropping one by one.

The ones that don't die run away.

Cowards.

If they came for her, surely that means Matt and Eejin did their job?

Or they don't care anymore.

Maybe they're like Pidge. All instinct, no brain.

Ow.

Does her head hurt now? Pidge is so numb from everything. Vaguely, she registers a presence rushing to her side, with eyes rapidly fluttering shut. Familiar hands, now beaten up and scratched, hold her side gently, whispering in her ear.

Everything is painful.

She sees Matt and Eejin run out of the room, screaming bloody murder, how Lotor had remotely stopped their hacking from another room, how they need an amazingly large energy outburst, or something like that.

Pidge...wake up, Pidge...

"Lance! Have you gotten them out yet?"

Who's voice is that?

Wait.

Lance?

Lance!

Pidge opens her eyes blearily.

There he is, illuminated only by the neon lights, breathing heavily.

She stares at Lance, tired, beat-up, but still Lance.

"Pidge!" he exclaims, mildly startled. Her mouth drops open, his hand dropping his gun. "Are you-"

She's running.

And all of a sudden, Pidge is kissing Lance, wrapping her arms around him, and Lance cradles her, carrying her up, kissing her in return.

Pidge gets lost in the moment, in the daze of the feeling. How nice, great it feels, finally having her Lance. His lips are soft, surprisingly so, her hands entangling in his hair, his hands moving slightly on her waist as if never wanting to let her go. And he shows it too, the desperation of the kiss, the feeling of finality. Day twenty eight. She forgets all about the fact that they're on a dangerous ship, they've got an invaded alien planet to save, and they could he killed at any moment. She kisses him.

She feels only him, only him.

Finally, they break off, now much more alert, awake, and actually motivated to live. Both of them definitely red, still in each other's arms, Pidge breathlessly speaks, a little dizzy, a little stunned, very happy. Lance bashfully grins, and that little smile strikes Pidge in the heart so hard.

"I think there's something we better confess? Now?"

"Yeah-yeah, well..."

Lance seems to find it difficult to speak, choose the right words. Pidge supposes that it's been a while since they've both had to actually thinking about what to say : she's used to the spell doing the work. But now, for this momentous secret, they finally get some freedom of choice back for themselves.

Pidge coughs, and Lance looks up from his feet to look at her.

"If you don't mind, I'll go first."

Pidge coughs, twiddling her feet a bit, adjusting the ill-fitting glasses that Matt had provided, mannerisms akin to delivering a speech..

"The first day I met you, I thought you were arrogant. Lovesick. An idiot, to summarise." Lance noticeably falls at this less-than-stellar beginning, but Pidge moved to hold his face, her thumb gently stroking his cheek, Lance's eyes following her every little movement. "But I was also ignorant, close-minded, and prejudiced. Prejudiced because I thought I'd met guys like you before. But you were nothing like them. You surprised me. You changed to a guy that I'd never be into, into, well, a guy that I'd kinda be into. Suddenly, you were smart, clever, kind, caring, supportive, generous, and always there for me. Even when I tried to push you away at the Garrison, you didn't let me. Thank you for that." Pidge coughs, clearing her throat again, oblivious to the fact that Lance looks like he's either going to cry or kiss her again. "I think, I think what I'm trying to say is that I care for you very much...almost to the point where I can say I love you."

Pidge huffs out nervously, finished. Lance doesn't respond except with a glittering stare, parted lips, and a stunned expression.

She's terrified of confessions.

Lance doesn't hesitate, letting go of Pidge (a little saddening for her, frankly) , taking her hands in his, slowly turning them over, giving them a gentle and reassuring squeeze. He looks her over, every damaged, broken bit of her. Pidge holds her breath, preparing for disappointment.

Lance has always looked for the pretty, the hot. She's not on that parameter right now.

"You're beautiful, do you know that?" he says slowly, getting started.

What?

Pidge flushes, looking up at Lance, stunned. He chuckles a bit at her expression. "See, this scar here shows how you fought your way to your brother. This bruise here shows how you endured the torture of the Galra. The little marks here show how you just near-singlehandedly destroyed a group of oversized purple aliens." Lance slowly traces up her arm as he goes. "You're beautiful, Pidge Gunderson, in the best ways possible, even if you don't believe it. I know I used to believe only in the beauty of appearances...you made me appreciate, love the beauty on the inside and the outside. You're beautiful for both, holy shit." Pidge gapes a little bit at the confession. She's never heard Lance speaking like this before. "You're brilliant, resilient, amazing..." Lance's tone changes, quieter, more wistful. "and that's why I have to tell you how godawfully bad I have it for you right now. I never thought I'd say this to anyone but God, Pidge, I love you, so much."

Pidge is nearly crying, Lance is smiling like a lovesick doofus, and Pidge can't hold it back anymore.

She's kissing Lance again, differently this time, gently and slow, less like the passion-filled reunion. It's a kiss filled with love, and nothing else, with truth, honesty, baring themselves to each other.

I love you.

Suddenly, a blinding white light flashes from in between them, forcing them apart, a brilliant blue and green streak spiralling up into the top of the ship.

Truth.

The brilliant light fills the room.

I love you.

Pidge grabs on to Lance's hand, Eejin taking hold of Matt, and together they run towards the Lions as fast as they can.

She hears screams in the distance. Lotor screams, yells, growls, barking orders at his men, half of whom were now dead.

I love you.

Lance and Pidge watch the ship burst into a blinding, beautiful, star of light.

~~~

It all goes quiet.

Suddenly, they all drop one by one. Purple bodies start to fill the green grassy grounds, eyes glazing over and body falling limp with each one.

Are they dead, asleep, conscious?

And then, like the mystical rebirth, Allura, Shiro and Hunk watch as they all awake one by one, like dazed characters in a film. Watch as they stroke at their now-matted and torn and ripped skin, some in wonder and curiosity, others in horror and terror; what they did do, they think?

But if there's one thing for them all to be grateful for...

It's that they're alive.

~~~

"Hey, Lance?"

"Yeah?"

"Tell me a truth. Willingly."

"Eejin is threatening to cut my balls off if I hurt you right now. What a weird backseat driver."

"You're the worst."

"Love you."

"Love you too."

~DAY 28: ONE MONTH:END~

Eejin drops one final bomb on them. Team Voltron, save for Allura who stands beside Eejin in all her Altean royalty glory, stands beside her in the castle on Galaxor, half the front wall obliterated.

The Galaxorians, all in lines, stand facing their new Queen.

Eejin gives Pidge and Lance (totally not holding hands) a knowing wink before she takes in a deep breath.

"Galaxor can never return to what it was. We don't have our technologies, ruthlessly corrupted by the Galra to the point of no return. My planet is damaged, broken, plundered. My people...I do not want to talk about what unspeakable horrors he did to them. Even I am no longer the person I used to be; Lotor managed to rob even that. But mostly, I am so, so sorry that you had to suffer the way you did."

She stumbles a little, her words catching in her throat.

Allura grips Eejin's hand, squeezing it reassuringly. They share a look that it seems that only they can understand; maybe it's the feeling of a lost nation, planet, father.

Maybe it's something more.

Pidge lets her head fall on Lance's shoulder, Lance letting his hands gently rest on her waist. They pretend not to notice the eyebrow wiggles and implying smiles on the faces of the team.

"My father didn't make it out of the ship alive. My memories of him, what was not robbed from me, was of his greatness of a leader, his kindness to the people, his love towards me. I hope I can become a leader like him for you in the future, beginning with our alliance with Voltron, our saviour."

"She's going to make a great queen, don't you think?" Lance whispers in Pidge's ear. The crowd applauds raucously, Team Voltron joining in.

"Yeah."

~~~

FINAL NARRATION: HERE YOU GODDAMN GO ALLURA, YOU BETTER MAKE A NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC DOCUMENTARY OUT OF THIS MASTERPIECE

Wasn't that a rollercoaster?

You're telling me.

Hey, in one month, we attended a ball, learnt about magical Galaxorian mind-intelligence transfer, fought for the safety of a high-risk planet, beat the shit out of Lotor's soldiers, got beat the shit out of, then we vaporized his ship-and hopefully Lotor too, that bastard.

That was a lot of word vomit. Don't forget the actual vomit-

-shut up-

-Hey, you were really cute alien-drunk. Like flirty and hot and really cute-not that you're not always these things anyway-

Mmhhmm, you're too sweet, Lance.

You know, I've got to admit, these narrations kind of helped. It's like reliving the whole torturous, terrible, terrifying, tormenting-

-okay, that's enough poetic alliteration. But you're right. We've reflected. And I now know that I can never again look Keith in the face without him rubbing that whole 'he was like an idol' thing IN MY FACE-

-Just come here, Lance, I think we're done with this recording. Thanks for listening to our random and rather terrible narration, we hope you enjoyed the experience!

-yeah, I'm totally not about to get hickeys in T-minus five minutes-

-shut up!-

-you're red, Pidgey, but I bet I can make you redder-

-okay OKAY STOP FOR A MOMENT I'M DISTRACTED NOW-Thank you again for listening, and if there's one thing to learn; honesty is the best policy, especially if you ever have to deal with revealing some terrible, hidden truths when drugged by a purple alien prince. Okay, we're out!

-----------END OF NARRATION---------

The camera clicks off, and the final tape is labelled and packed away. Allura better be happy.

The room is quiet, mostly, save for some quiet noises and whispers.

"God, Lance, we actually need to go for that mission on Galaxor," Pidge reminds, laughing as she dodges her boyfriend's weak attempts at getting kisses as she darts out of her chair in the vlog room. "Allura's going to barf when she hears the audio clips."

"Well," Lance starts, giggling when he accidentally boops noses with Pidge, "she always wanted us to get together." Lance kisses her on the neck, finally successful for once, and Pidge just melts, a goofy smile appearing on her face. God, how did she get so lucky?

She finally gives in, pushing him off her and returning the kiss.

"C'mon, Pidge, can't we just skip the mission?" he whines, chokes out. At this point, Lance is still in his chair with an annoyed Pidge straddling his lap, wondering how he got so lucky. He laughs, tickling her before she gets too feral. "It's only a diplomatic mission..."

Pidge licks her lips, parched from the multiple hickeys she'd given Lance just to be funny, and Lance presses a kiss to her forehead, nuzzling his face in her neck. She's so comfortable to hug, gosh, like they're a perfect fit.

They are, aren't they?

"To be honest, I'd love that. But we have a job to do."

Pidge stands up, offering her hand to Lance, smiling.

She's the only one in his eyes, illuminated by the camera light even in the darkly-lit room where they've had one too many 'adventures' in, like an angel offering her hand.

Who knew what the truth would bring, huh?

Lance doesn't hesitate, gripping her hand tight, pulling her in for one last kiss.

And they're off, running.

"Truth or dare, Pidge?"

Pidge never hesitates to answer that question now.

"Truth."

"Do you love me?"

"No doubt. And you?"

"What do you think?"

"Yes?"

"Honestly, yes."

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Reblog, like, I’m happy!

@voltronrarepairbang

[k-renne]

II

Chapter II

Previously: I

a/n: If you catch the movie reference I make you’re awesome, hope you enjoy

Kylo woke up in a cold sweat, another nightmare. He sighed and dragged his fingers through his hair, he felt the sleep deprivation weighing heavy on him, urging him just to lay back down. Instead, Kylo willed himself to get out of bed, deciding to start his day before dawn. He’d have to make more sun potion but he’d make it, anything was better than the horrors he saw when he closed his eyes.

After finishing some chores and a few more requests, Kylo decided to check on you and see if anything had happened. He was worried about you, all vulnerable out in the middle of the woods. Sure he was as well, but he had many ways to protect himself and few would dare to go after him. You on the other hand, were an easy target.

He thought back to yesterday, to your seeming innocence of who he was. It was refreshing really, not to be looked on with disgust or fear, called some kind of demon. However there fear was probably smart, he was an extremely gifted magic user, made even more powerful by his use of dark magic. It was…frowned upon, but Kylo found something attractive about the dark. It had always fascinated him, ever since he was young it was like he was destined to fall into it to the behest of his family of light magic users.

He was hardly paying attention when he a strong whiff of blood overcame his senses, he felt a twinge of panic when he realized that it smelled very familiar. Sprinting to the source, Kylo was horrified to see you lying in a pile of your own blood. Please be alive, you can’t be dead, please. This is all my fault, I should have never…she’s alive! Kylo’s thoughts ran a mile a minute as he quickly swooped you into his arms, running back to his home to help you.

Whatever curse had fallen upon you, was a deadly one. Kylo hadn’t seen this type of magic in a long time, there was only one who would do such a thing like this.

He lays you on his bed, and immediately sets to work on you. He wets your lips with a few drops of black birch oil to stop the bleeding, you were still on death’s door but this would buy him some time. You released such a weak and small whimper that Kylo wouldn’t have heard it if he wasn’t listening, but he does and his heart almost breaks. You must be in so much pain, poor girl. To soothe you he gives you a powerful sedative, forcing your body to rest and recuperate.

He carefully cleans off the blood, doing his best not to invade your privacy. A few drops of sweet syrup and water of life keep your body from giving out. Kylo rushes to his workbench, beginning to research the curse. He had to counteract it, as these were all temporary solutions and the longer he waited the more damage that would be done.

He promised himself that he would never open this book again, as the pages within still haunt him. But for you, he would look through the Necronomicon, no matter how much misfortune it would bring him. It was stupid of him to steal it from Snoke in the first place, and he regretted the only spell he cast from it deeply. Yet the only way to counteract a curse like this is to know it so that he could break it.

The Necronomicon was a tricky text, it would often try and deceive the reader and make it incredibly difficult for them to find what they were looking for. Words would rearrange themselves, even switch languages, and reading them would take a great toll on the reader though the ones most sinister embraced it’s side effects willingly.

Kylo worked late into the early hours of the next day, without break, until he found what he was looking for. He scrambled to fetch the ingredients which he luckily had, quickly making an antidote. The curse itself was far worse than he thought, and he wasn’t looking forward to dealing with it’s aftermath. To take something like that away…you at least deserved a choice in the matter. At least, you’d be alive.

He didn’t sleep much last night, maybe dozed off for ten minutes by the fire, but his mind quickly found something more important to occupy his time. When he wasn’t caring for you, he was pacing around his bed, wringing his hands and just praying to any god that would have him that you’d be alright.

When he does sleep, images from the Necronomicon haunt him, violently latching onto his fears and feeding off of them. Stoke the fire. A few drops on your lips. Pace. Repeat.

Kylo was hardly taking care of himself, running off of a hefty concoction of potions to keep himself awake. After a few days he decides to change your clothes anyways, because the smell of blood still lingers on them and it bothers him immensely. Of course he looks away while he does it, fumbling with your dress and flinching back when he feels the skin of your bare breast. At least he didn’t see anything. He gives you an old black tunic to wear and washes your undergarments.

He’s blushing as he looks at the pink lace in his hands but nonetheless continues to scrub them on his washboard and again when he sees them hanging over his fire. He certainly wished he was washing them under different circumstances, because it was just so intimate, something he had never really experienced with anyone. All of his encounters with people were business like, cold and unfeeling. Seeing you yesterday had peaked his interest in something he hadn’t thought about in a long time.

Kylo was so relieved to see signs of life from you, from turning your head to more visible breathing, you were finally recovering. It took time, it was a few days more before you opened your eyes and another after that before you could speak. “Kylo,” You rasped.

“Y/N! It’s a pleasure to hear your voice.” He was so happy he could kiss you right now. You weakly smile to him and he rushes over to you to cradle you in his arms, overcome with joy that you were coming back to him. “I was so worried, you were so close to death and you’re still very weak. Please, rest as much as you can,” He urges.

You want to say no, that it’s already enough that he’s been caring for you for however long you were out. But your voice is to weak to say so many words and you can barely lift your head, so instead you use your strength to simple nod and close your eyes again.

Later, Kylo feeds you and helps you go to the bathroom. You’re surprised that he’s willing to do such a thing, and quite embarrassed, but he very respectful and you appreciate his help nonetheless as it was better than making a mess of yourself.

“May I read to you?” He asks. You nod with as much eagerness as you can muster. The sound of his voice is velvety and warm, and you don’t think you could ever get enough to it. You can hardly pay attention to what he’s saying, and after a few pages you fall back asleep. Kylo chuckles at you, next time he’ll have to choose something more stimulating.

The next day you feel strong enough to stand and ask Kylo if you can take a bath. “I don’t know Y/N, I’d have to help you.” He bites his lip. He really did not think he’d be able to handle seeing you nude.

“I know, but still I feel absolutely disgusting and I can’t go a minute longer without bathing. I must smell terrible to you.” You shake your head.

“Are you worried about what I think? It doesn’t bother me at all, and I’d rather not invade your privacy which I’ve already overstepped.”

“Well I don’t care either and I want a bath, so if you don’t help me I’ll do it myself,” You get out of bed, almost falling to your knees before Kylo catches you. “Fuck.” You curse. Your legs are weak after not using them for so long.

“To the bath it is,” Kylo sighs. He looks you in the eye as he helps you undress, though he was very tempted to look down. He fills the bath with a lot of bubbles, until he can’t see anything but your face peaking out from under.

“Did you have to use this many bubbles, this is ridiculous?” You ask incredulously.

“Yes. Do you want me to wash your hair?” He offers. And that’s all he’s doing, hopefully the hot water and soap should be enough to cleanse the rest of you. It was a great test to his self control, as Kylo thought of many ways he could seduce you like this. Maybe one day he’d get the chance, not today.

He lathered soap into your scalp, and began to gently wash you hair. You closed your eyes and laid back, enjoying the massage. “You better not fall asleep,” He warns. It would be very difficult to get you out of the tub that way.

“I’ve always wanted a bathtub like this,” You say wistfully.

“Hmm well when you’re my size a smaller one isn’t really an option,” He muses, and Kylo sure did love his baths.

“I bet you could fit two people in here,” You joke. Though Kylo thinks you mean something different. Before he can say something he regrets, he dumps water on you to wash out the soap. “Hey!” Kylo laughs, before pouring more water on you.

You turn around and scrunch your face at him, before splashing water at him. He just laughs even more, as you drench him with water. Suddenly he goes silent, eyes widening, your breasts pressed up against the tub and he could see your backside as the bubbles popped away. Kylo clears his throat, “I think it’s time to get out, can you empty the tub?”

For now, he’ll try and pretend he didn’t just see that. But realistically that image will be burned into his mind, and he’ll definitely think of it later. You didn’t seem to notice at all either, at least if you did you were completely unashamed of it which might be even more attractive. He turns his head as he holds a towel up for you, as you feebly make it out of the tub. You feel faint so you rest against him, and he wraps an arm around your waist to support you.

You sit on the bed and Kylo can’t help but admire you, the way water droplets bead on your skin, how the heat of the water adds pink to your skin, you looked like an angel in that white towel of his. He helped you dress, looking away as he put your legs through your underwear. His face must be beet red right now with how hot he feels.

This night you eat dinner together, laughing as you joke and tease one another. Kylo will miss your company when you leave, and continues to urge that you’re weak so you stay longer. He didn’t want you to leave him, not just yet.

“Kylo, please sleep tonight. I can see exhaustion clearly on your face. There’s plenty of room in this bed.” You plead.

“That would not be wise, besides what if something could happen to you?”

“Even if something does, you’ll be more prepared if you’re alert and not tired.” You emphasize the tired part. Kylo sighs before disrobing and joining you under the covers. You can’t help but admire his form, the way the fire casts shadows on his muscular back. His broadness and form that drips with power is even more attractive than you could imagine under those robes.

“Happy?”

“Yes” You smile to yourself. Kylo turns to face away from you, still keeping his eyes open to stay alert and watch out for you. But under his soft sheets and against his comfy mattress he can’t help but submit to sleep, worries slipping away into white noise.

[goodlucktai]

Personal Concerns (1/3)

back at it again with the always self-indulgent full circle au ٩( ᐛ )و 

x

“Right there,” Satoru says, feeling a little rude as he points straight at the ayakashi shuffling away toward the opposite side of the park. “You don't see it?”

Taki is squinting, face screwed up in concentration. Her hands are balled into fists in her lap.

“Only sort of. Its edges are all vague. There isn't really a shape to it.”

“Same here,” Tanuma says. “It's more like a blurry shadow than anything else. But my head doesn't hurt, even with it nearby, which is already progress.”

Satoru stares at them for a long moment, then looks back toward the spirit. It has a distinctive shape, long and skeletal with arms that hang so low its tapered fingers brush the ground with each step. It moves stooped over—as tall as it is, Satoru thinks its height would be alarming should it decide to straighten its spine. It seems a little anxious to get away from their prying eyes, head ducked and slooping shoulders bunched.

He doesn’t really blame it. The ferocity of Taki and Tanuma's stares would make anyone uncomfortable. 

“How come?” Satoru says faintly. “I can see it just fine, and you two have the same circle as me.”

He tugs up the sleeve of his hoodie, bearing the proud circle sitting in bright green marker on his inner forearm, and compares it to the diagram on Tanuma's arm. It's a perfect match.

“This isn't a science, Nishimura,” Taki says without heat, plucking at her skirt and rearranging her folded ankles. She looks very business-like all of a sudden, very professional, like she knows exactly what she's talking about. Satoru finds himself listening more closely as she goes on, “It's much closer to magic, really, as silly as that sounds. But for all we know, this variation of the circle only works for one, and you're the one who found it.”

“Sorry,” he says automatically, and she swats him on the shoulder.

“It's hardly your fault. Like I just said, we don't really know what we're doing here. The best we can do is puzzle along.”

She puts out her hand expectantly, and he gives her his. Her fingers close around his wrist and tilt his arm a bit to put his circle in better light.

“I think it might have something to do with your handwriting, maybe. See, the way you draw this character here is different than the way I do it.” She traces the diagram with a fingertip, brow furrowed in thought. “I start from the top and go down, and it looks like you went from the bottom up. I've read that some people believe our handwriting is as unique as our fingerprints.”

“Is that really that important?” Tanuma asks, leaning in from Satoru's other side. Satoru's arm feels like a specimen on display at a super hands-on museum. It's a little uncomfortable, but he can deal. “It's such a small thing.”

“It's worth looking into,” Taki decides. “I can go through grandpa's library again tonight.”

Her hand moves, and suddenly her fingers are wrapped warmly around Satoru's. Her smile lights up her whole face.

“This is fun,” she admits. “It's like we're solving a mystery together that we didn't even know was a mystery.”

“And until we get it figured out, it seems like we can borrow Satoru's circle,” Tanuma adds. He's smiling, too, Satoru can tell from the way his words come out. “Kind of like borrowing someone else's prescription glasses.”

Satoru watches the spirit pause politely at the sidewalk to let a little family go by. Two women and two little boys are walking a dog, and the dog pauses to look up at the spirit, head tilted to one side. It stays there until the length of its lead goes taut, and then it turns to catch up to the boys on the other end of the leash with a few energetic bounds.

The ayakashi watches it go with blind white eyes. One hand is half-extended, as though it had been thinking of petting the puppy, but hadn't quite worked up the nerve. It curls the appendage back in and continues on its way.

Satoru watches it take care to move around humans without disturbing them, slowly turning a corner at the end of the street and disappearing from sight. Headed towards a busier neighborhood, Satoru thinks, with a faint edge of concern. Foot traffic is a lot heavier there, especially at this time of day.

“Nishimura?” Tanuma says, nudging his shoulder. He's looking at Satoru the way he looks at Natsume when he thinks there's trouble waiting for him around the corner. Satoru isn't sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. “You were watching that yokai, weren't you? Was it doing something dangerous?”

“Oh, no, it was cool,” Satoru says quickly. “It just, looks like it doesn't do too well in crowds.”

His two companions give him twin versions of a patiently uncomprehending expression. Satoru rubs the back of his head and changes the subject.

“Anyway. Do you think me and Tanuma could help you look through your grandpa's books? It'd probably go a lot faster if we all put our heads together.”

“That'd be great!” Taki claps her hands together. “We should meet up sometime this weekend! I'll text you when I know the house will be free.”

They say their goodbyes, and Satoru waves until they're both out of sight. Then he turns in roughly the opposite direction of his house and takes off after the shuffling yokai. He's not as good at weaving through the crowd as it was, bumping shoulders with strangers a few times, but he doesn't knock anyone over at least.

It only had a few minutes' headstart, and with as slow as it moves, Satoru catches up in half as much time. The spirit is stuck at an intersection, hovering fretfully at the curb of a busy street. It looks like its ringing its hands.

Satoru crosses the last few feet between them, shoving his hands into his pockets. Ignoring the chills that run down his spine, as well as that little voice in the back of his mind that sounds like Kitamoto's asking “what the heck are you doing?” because he doesn't think this spirit is one of those mean spirits. It wanted to pet the puppy earlier, and it couldn't, and now it's just trying to get home, and it can't.

“So,” he says, more to the ground than to his inhuman companion—it's still pretty creepy-looking, despite everything. “I take it you don't get out much.”

It doesn't have a face that lends itself well to expression, but Satoru can tell its startled. It goes still abruptly, and cranes its head around to stare at him from hardly an arms length away. Yokai or not, its mannerisms are almost familiar. Something about its round white eyes reminds Satoru of Natsume, and all the times he's been surprised by the smallest acts of kindness, even from where he’s supposed to get them, from his friends and the people who love him.

“This is probably a stupid decision,” he informs it cheerfully, leading the way forward when the pedestrian crossing light turns green. “But if you remind me of him, you can't be all bad, can you?”

The yokai doesn't answer him. It doesn't really make a sound at all. Even its shuffled footsteps are silent, while Satoru crunches obnoxiously through dead leaves. He can feel the spirit's sightless eyes boring into the side of his head, and does his best to pretend it's not off-putting.

They walk almost the length of town; past the river and the lotus fields, and up in the direction of the mountain, following the treeline to the denser part of the forest. Satoru's never been here with one of his circles before, and he's on edge almost the second he steps onto the worn dirt path.

There's a lot of them here. Up ahead, something with red eyes peeks out from behind a line of crooked concrete lanterns. Satoru stops in his tracks.

“Well,” he says lamely, to the ayakashi hovering directly behind him, “I think you can take it from here.”

He manages most of a step before he's hauled back by a hard yank on his wrist. Those tapered fingers, the ones that had curled harmless inches away from a small dog, are biting into his skin with a grip like unyielding steel. It looms above him, inch after inch after inch, until Satoru is looking all the way up at something tall and terrifying and not in the least bit like anyone he knows. 

Definitely a bad decision. Bad, bad, bad decision.

It doesn’t let go. He panics. 

“Get off!” he yells, and wrenches at his arm. The yokai peels away from him, skittering back a few steps at Satoru's sudden shout, and Satoru doesn't waste time turning tail and running like his life depended on it.

His lungs are heaving as he pelts down the road back into town. His heart is in his throat. He doesn't stop shaking until he's halfway home, and even then he doesn't want anything but to go to Kitamoto's apartment and fall into his best friend's arms and hug the breath out of him until this terror recedes into something he can deal with—

But he can't do that. Kitamoto would want to know what happened—Kitamoto would demand to know what happened—and Satoru isn't ready to betray Natsume's trust in such a big way.

So he walks up to his house on unsteady feet. His wrist is burning. He can't bring himself to look at it. It hurts when he pushes the gate open.

Kiyoshi is waiting in the entrance hall when Satoru comes through the front door. He manages to restrain himself for a full twelve seconds before he starts the interrogation.

“Where were you?” Kiyoshi asks, arms crossed. “You're later than you said you'd be, mom was getting annoyed.”

He tries to look impassive but really he just looks annoyed. It's familiar, and somehow, oddly comforting. Satoru sits in the genkan to fight his sneakers off, because his laces are tangled, and not at all because his legs are still shaky.

“Mom's always annoyed,” he says, but his voice drops to half its normal volume, because he has no idea where she is and he doesn't want to start a fight. He's all but whispering when he adds, “Tell me something I don't know.”

Kiyoshi notices. Deadpan, he says, “She's out getting groceries. You're lucky I covered for you.”

Sagging with an exaggerated sigh of relief, Satoru tilts a winning smile his brother's way.

“Anyway, I'm late 'cause I was helping a friend get home. Sort of underestimated how far away they lived, that's all.”

The excuse rolls easily off his tongue, and it's even mostly the truth. If by 'friend' he meant 'freaky ayakashi' and by 'home' he meant 'random spot in the forest, because he was stupid enough to follow it to the forest.' But no one's that interested in the details. He'll keep them to himself.

Kiyoshi studies him closely for a minute with a narrow gaze—and maybe Satoru's circle has made him more perceptive in general, even to things outside the spiritual realm, because he can't help noticing the dark circles under his brother's eyes; how pale he looks in the warm lighting of their entrance hall.

“Have you been sleeping?” Satoru blurts without thinking. “You can stop studying long enough to sleep, nii-san. Those books won't run away without you.”

Kiyoshi looks taken aback, for all of a moment, and when the surprise fades his face has softened. Just a little bit. Just a little more like the big brother Satoru used to be close to.

“You're one to talk,” he says, and his voice has gentled, too. “You think I haven't noticed how tired you are every morning? What do you do all night if you're not sleeping?”

That backfired beautifully.

Satoru steps up into the hall beside Kiyoshi and past him, quickly, because Kiyoshi is way too smart for his own good and can read Satoru like a book. Just like everyone else who knows him can.

(So maybe it's not a them thing, maybe it's a him thing. He should probably work on that.)

“I'm not an old man like you are,” he taunts, “and I definitely don't need as much beauty rest.”

Kiyoshi smacks him, and Satoru squawks indignantly, but they drift upstairs together and Satoru follows Kiyoshi into his bedroom instead of shutting himself up in his own. Shoving some books on the bed to one side, Satoru takes a seat in their place with an unapologetic flop.

“Can you take a break from work for a minute?” he asks, fishing out his phone. “I wanna show you a video.”

His brother rolls his eyes, but moves another pile of stuff out of the way to sit next to him. Satoru finds the link Tsuji sent him earlier, glad he has something on hand.

One video will turn into five if he's lucky, and Kiyoshi will be a small world away from his studies; at least for as long as it takes mom to make dinner.

Satoru should do this for him more often than he does. Kiyoshi has to carry their parents' heavy expectations all on his own; the least Satoru could do is make him take a break every once in awhile.

“Is your wrist okay?” Kiyoshi asks abruptly, a quarter of an hour later, while their fourth video is buffering. He's looking down at Satoru's lap, where his arm is cradled gingerly on his folded knees. “You haven't put any weight on it since you got home. And you took your shoes off one-handed, too. Let me see it.”

“What are you, a doctor? I'm fine, leave me alone.”

But Kiyoshi rolls his eyes at him, all long-suffering sibling exasperation, and snatches Satoru's elbow before his little brother can backpedal across the bed out of the way. His fingers fold around Satoru's arm the way that ayakashi's did, but they don't hurt. And he's careful as he draws the sleeve of his jacket up, turning Satoru's arm up toward the light.

Satoru's breath catches at the vivid bruising circling his wrist like a grisly manacle, but Kiyoshi doesn't react to it at all. After a moment of careful examination, his brother lets him go with a mild, “You're fine, after all,” and Satoru stares at his hand in something like horrified fascination.

Yokai bruises, he thinks faintly. That makes sense.

Taki and Tanuma are going to kill him.

[lapzoli]

history repeats itself: I

//screams because I finally finished chapter one

Summary: In which some people end up with an unwanted roommate.

ao3

.

It had been a perfect trip planned in the spur of the moment.

Or perhaps on the whims of a teenager’s obsessive fanatics.

Either way, upon hearing there was a museum dedicated solely to Ladybug (and Chat Noir), Chloé had instantly demanded her father fund a trip for her to go.

The mayor, however, saw it as an opportunity to gain favor with the voters and the heroes as their third anniversary approached. The way he saw it, if the heroes saw how much he appreciated them, they would help his campaign, and once the people saw the heroes favoring him, they would too.

Simple.

So he compromised with his daughter; an exclusive, all-expenses-paid field trip for her class to see the museum in London, where they would roam the city and be able to learn the history of the two heroes before returning to Paris in time for the anniversary banquet he would hold on Ladybug and Chat Noir’s actual anniversary (since becoming heroes, that is).

It was perfect, and it certainly got the rest of the class up in a frenzy.

Alya, in particular, was bouncing with joy. She was almost excited enough to copy Marinette’s infamous butt wiggle.

Almost.

“Girl, can you believe this?” Alya gripped her phone, grinning ear-to-ear. “We’re going to learn all about Ladybug and Chat Noir! Where they came from, what they did...agh, I can hardly wait!”

Nino turned in his seat, unable to not hear his girlfriend’s excited squeals, and leaned close to remark, “Yeah, I’m pumped too. And, not that I’d ever tell her, but I’m glad Chloe’s dad is funding this trip. No way my family would have been able to afford it.”

Alya sighed at that. “Yeah, same here. I hate the idea of having to thank her though.”

“Don’t worry. She’s gloating enough to let us know she knows we’re thankful,”remarked Marinette, rolling her eyes. “It’s a miracle she hasn’t shoved in directly in our faces yet.”

“Well, I think the real miracle is that Adrien’s old man let him go,” said Nino, playfully nudging the blond next to him. “How did you do it?”

Adrien rubbed the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly. It was amazing how at seventeen, he still had the same innocent smile he did three years ago.

“Well, Chloe can be pretty persuasive when she wants to be,” he said as an explanation. “And...I had a good argument myself to go.”

Alya leaned in. “Really? And you won?” She grimaced. “Not to sound...impressed or anything, but your dad’s one hard nut to crack.”

Adrien sighed. “Believe me, I know. But yeah...I had a pretty solid argument for why I should be able to go. Aside from it being paid for and all that. Nathalie already rearranged my schedule and everything, so he can’t change his mind at the last minute.”

He sunk down in his seat a bit.

“And I happen to know he’s pretty good at backing out at the last minute.”

Marinette clicked her tongue, reaching across to rub his shoulder in what she hoped was a comforting manner. While it was true she still had feelings for him, she was proud of herself for reeling in her emotions. If she hadn’t done that, she wouldn’t have been able to grow closer to him the last three years.

(Though not all of the posters had come down off her wall yet…most! But not all.)

“Hey, if your argument is as solid as you say, no way he’d have a reason to suddenly back out,” she reasoned.

Adrien smiled a bit and put his hand over hers, squeezing her fingers lightly.

“Thanks, Marinette,” he said. “So everyone in the class is going?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” said Nino. “Who’d turn down a free trip? My parents are thrilled about it. But maybe that's cuz my mom is probably planning to deep clean my room while I'm gone.”

Alya rolled her eyes. “I've been in your room; I don't blame her.”

The aspiring DJ grinned as he shrugged his shoulders.

“Hey, not all of us can magically keep our room clean - despite having two tiny tornadoes you call sisters,” he said. “How do you even do it?”

“Easy. I tell them there's a giant octopus monster in my closet that tickles little girls all day long, so unless they want to be tickled, they have to stay out of my room,” explained Alya. “It's...pretty effective.”

“Would work on me,” said Adrien, grinning at the two. “You think they won’t go in your room while you’re gone though?”

“Who’s gonna save them from the giant octopus monster if I’m not there?” Alya remarked, snorting. “They won’t be going in there, trust me.”

“But they may try to convince your dad to let loose one of the animals at the zoo and eat the octopus monster,” pointed out Marinette. “Wait, why are we even discussing an imaginary octopus monster?”

Nino shrugged. “Why not?”

Adrien chuckled and looked at the aspiring fashion designer.

“He’s got you there,” he said.

Marinette rolled her eyes, slumping her shoulders. “He does, doesn’t he? So is your mom really going to deep clean your room while you’re gone, Nino?”

He laughed. “Probably, but it’s all good. Nothing really worrying for her to find that she doesn’t already know about.”

“That poor woman,” said Alya, her voice oozing with sympathy. “What horrors has she seen?”

“Er, an empty turtle tank I use to store random stuff?” Nino remarked. “That’s about the oddest thing in my room.”

“And why do you have an empty turtle tank in the first place?” Adrien had to ask. “You don’t have a turtle.”

“That’s why it’s empty, duh,” teased Nino. “Eh, I wanted one when I was a kid. My neighbor had a tank he didn’t need anymore so he gave it to me, and I just never got a turtle.” He laughed. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll get one later. It’s a good tank, huge and full of space, so it’d be a shame that a little turtle dude didn’t get to use it.”

“It’d be like having a bunch of catnip and no cat to play with it,” remarked Marinette, thinking of the plants on her balcony.

“A shame,” said Adrien, shaking his head gravely. “No catnip should be neglected.”

“Well, it’s gonna be, unless you have a cat you’d love to lend for a few hours,” replied Marinette, resting her chin on her hands. “Maybe I’ll just ask a stray cat I know…” She chuckled suddenly, as if remembering an old joke. “Mm, maybe I’ll do that.”

“Okay…” Alya shrugged off her best friend’s kookiness; she was used to it at this point. Though she was never any closer to figuring out what Marinette was so amused by. “Well, back to the trip, at least we know we’ll be comfortable. Chloe would never forgive her father for putting her in a cheap hotel, and since he can’t show favoritism - more than he already does, clearly - he’d put us in pretty decent rooms.”

“That’s true...hey,” said Nino. “You think we’ll get to choose who we room with?”

“Mm, I don’t know.” Adrien furrowed his eyebrows. “We should, right? As long as we’re not inappropriate,” he said as if scandalized by the word alone.

“Can’t be any worse than what some people do in the hallways,” said Alya. “Then again…”

Marinette snorted. “Not everyone has, as Adrien said, inappropriate intentions.”

“Not everyone,” agreed Alya. “But a bunch of teenagers? Wouldn’t be surprised. But I hope they don’t randomly assign us rooms. Ugh, imagine getting roomed with Chloe.”

“She’s not that bad, really,” said Adrien, quick to defend his childhood friend despite their faults.

“Yeah, you saying you want to room with her for two weeks?” Marinette cocked an eyebrow at him. “I’ll go tell her now.”

“Don’t, please,” said Adrien, making a face. “I...alright, fine. But I mean, aside from Chloe - and Lila - everyone gets along with each other fine; what’s the worst that could happen?”

.

“Can...Can you repeat that, Madame Bustier?” Rose squeaked as she and her classmates stared at their English teacher in shock. “I don’t think we heard you right…”

The red-haired woman hummed, mindful of the bright screens above their heads, each one depicting the flight times.

“Ladybug and Chat Noir were presumingly thrown into a new situation and forced to adjust, despite - we assume - being strangers,” she said. “You all will face a similar situation, by your room partners. This was decided by a random generator, and this means anyone can be your partner. Now, there’s an uneven number of you so one of you will have a room to yourself. And no trading is allowed.”

“Is this even...allowed? The school allowed this?” Mylene asked quietly, blinking up to see if anyone would answer her.

Madame Bustier didn’t hear her as she pulled out a sheet of paper.

“Since there are chaperones waiting for you in London, I will not be attending this trip with you. Therefore, I’ll be reading you your partners’ names now,” she said, a hint of tiredness - and, was that amusement? - in her voice. “I do not want to hear any of you complaining - or trading. Your chaperones have already been told of this, so they will know if you switched.”

She cleared her throat.

“First, Rose.” The blonde-haired girl squeaked a little. “You’ll be sharing a room with Juleka.”

“Wicked,” said Juleka, smiling at her best friend. She nudged Rose a little, allowing the smaller girl to sigh in relief.

Everyone else shifted anxiously. Even Chloe was eyeing their teacher, silently hoping to be paired with at least Sabrina if not Adrien. She wouldn’t be able to stand anyone else.

“Ivan, you’ll be rooming with Max,” continued Madame Bustier.

Ivan and Max glanced at each other, both clearly skeptical but also fairly relieved. This was good; the random pairing wasn’t that bad. And no one had been paired with a member of the other-

“Kim and Alix.”

Spoke too soon.

Alix stared openly at her teacher before she gaped at her rival, who did the same. 

“Oh, no,” she muttered.

“Please don’t kill each other,” said Madame Bustier simply before she looked back down at her list. “Next, Mylene and Sabrina.”

The two girls eyed each other suspiciously; they weren’t exactly friends, after all. Not enemies either, but not friends. Nowhere near friends. That was fine; there were plenty of roommates who weren’t friends but managed anyways, right?

Madame Bustier eyed Nino and Alya for a moment before she said, “Nino, Alya. I know you two are dating, but no funny business, please.”

The two of them had the decency to look abashed, though didn’t hide their excitement at being paired together.

Chloe had moved closer to Adrien at this point; since Sabrina was taken, she was confident she’d be paired off with him. It’d be better than being forced to share with Marinette Dupain-Cheng, of all people! Hell, she’d even take that lying fox or the lovesick artist-

“Nathanael, you’ll be with Chloe.”

“Wha-?” The redhead looked as if she had just told him his death date as his eyes darted between the teacher and Chloe, who was gaping at Madame Bustier just the same.

“What? No,” shrieked Chloe. She looked between Adrien, Marinette, and Lila, the latter of which looked all too smug. Just like she had before she was assigned with the boy who couldn’t even accessorize properly!

“No trading,” said Madame Bustier firmly. “Now, to the three of you left.” She stopped as an announcement came on, telling them it was time to board the flight. “Alright, alright. Hurry, hurry. We don’t want you to miss your flight, do you?”

She ushered the kids towards the boarding area, ignoring their surprised cries as they picked up their suitcases.

“Wait, Madame Bustier,” protested Marinette before her teacher could push her into the plane, mindful of the poor flight attendant nearby. “Who are we-”

“You’re with Adrien,” said Madame Bustier quickly. “Lila, you have your own room. Now go and find your seats.”

She smiled at the teenagers, waving them goodbye.

“And have fun!”

Marinette gaped at her teacher even as Alya dragged her along.

“What?!”