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awesomerextyphoon · 3 years

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Speculum Cupido

Summary: You’ve been Dr. Strange’s apprentice for some time now and you wanted to prove your best friend wrong. It goes awry and both of you find yourselves in a ‘dark mirror’ universe where the Captain, the Asset, the Kraken, and the Fallen Angel want to make both of you theirs.

Pairing: Dark!Steve x Female Reader x Dark!Ransom, minor Dark!Bucky x OFC x Dark!Sam

Rating: 18+ / Explicit

Word Count: 3,072

Warning: Dub/Non-Con Smut, Oral (m & f receiving), Daddy Kink, MMF Threesome, Double Penetration, Spit Roasting, Non-Con Drugging, Breeding Kink, and Artistic License w/Biology

A/N: This is my gift to @labella420 for @drabblewithfrannybarnes, @chrissquares , and @amythedvdhoarder’s Happy Hoelentine’s Day Challenge. Dividers are by the lovely @firefly-graphics. Shout out to @saiyanprincessswanie for letting me borrow an idea of hers for this fic. Thanks to @the-soulofdevil for the beta.

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Another Valentine’s Day, another day for the world to mock me being single.

You were having enough of a ‘meh’ week as it is. Dr. Strange had to return to Kamar-Taj for an in-person meeting and Wong was who knows where. They had instructed you to work on your portal and transfiguration spells while they were away which was fair since you’ve been lacking in that department.

It’s just that you longed for some excitement.

Luckily you wouldn’t be spending Valentine’s completely alone; Isabeau, your best friend, was coming over due to as she put it, ‘no one cares about a day where all one gets is somewhat good sex’.

Fast Forward two hours and you’re getting your room ready for Galentine’s Day Movie Night. You had decked out your room with homemade baked goods, drinks, best friend movies, all the good shit.

“I have wonderful news!” Isabeau burst in with gusto yet again.

You shot her a bemused smile, “What is it this time?”

“I have a new crush! It’s Eric from IT!”

“Are you sure this won’t end up like last time?” you queried in reference to the time when Isabeau’s crush turned out to be a complete asshole.

“Oh hush! This won’t be like that at all,” Isabeau retorted, “Now how about you? Have you had any luck with a hot sorcerer?”

“If only I’d be so lucky,” you muttered as Isabeau started on the Toffee Crunch Cookies you made.

A few minutes later, Isabeau’s eyes narrowed and her full lips curved upward in a mischievous smirk.

She had one of her ideas again.

“Hey, why don’t you try an ambiance spell. They’re harmless and you always feel better afterward.”

You didn’t like casting them due to something always going awry, but you relented once Isabeau broke out her puppy dog eyes.

“Alright, alright, I give,” you submitted, “I’ll try a simple floating star spell. Let me find the book.”

Both of you went to the library for the book but it was nowhere to be found. All of the ambiance and illusion books were blank.

“Is this a sorcerer thing? I’m not seeing any words or illustrations,” puzzled Isabeau as you went through book after book in the library only to find them blank.

“No. Maybe we should just go back to my room,” you suggested as you made your way to the exit.

“Wait! There’s one book left. You could try that one.” Isabeau pointed to the last book on the shelf. It was a little worn like many of the books that resided in the library, but the inscriptions seemed odd; like it wasn’t supposed to be there.

Yet it was the only book that had anything in it.

“Fine,” you relented as you took the book back to your room.

The spells in the book weren’t anything out of the ordinary, but one spell seemed to stand out to both of you.

“Speculum Mundus?” Isabeau wondered.

“It means Mirror World in Latin.”

“Oh,” her eyes got a mischievous glint to them again, “I bet you can’t cast the spell.”

“Not this again.”

“Oh come on,” Isabeau goaded, “It’s a simple mirror world spell. You’ve done it before. What’s the worse that can happen?”

“I don’t know…”

“Are you gonna chicken out again?”

“No! Just give me a minute,” you mumbled as your hands got into the starting position and recited the incantation.

The room changed instantly.

It was filled with prism-like structures and kaleidoscope imagery giving the space a surreal ambiance.

It wasn’t unlike the last time you went into the Quantum Realm with Dr. Strange and Wong, and yet the hair on the back of your neck stood straight, and a chill shot through your spine.

You heard a gasp and turned around to see Isabeau with her protruding eyes opened wide and her mouth gaping. Following her line of sight, you saw four of the hottest men you’ve ever seen.

Though something was amiss.

For one thing, there were two Steve Rogers; one with a beard and one clean-shaven. Bucky Barnes’ arm was silver and not dark gray with gold highlights. All of them were in black uniforms with sections of vermillion and/or maroon. Clean-shaven Steve had a black tactical suit with a vermillion Kraken on his chest. Bearded Steve had a skull with tentacles on it. Sam had three vermillion stripes and one maroon stripe across his chest and shoulders with a falcon’s head in red surrounded by a black circle between his pecs.

But the thing that set off all your alarms was the fact that Bucky’s outfit was a dead ringer of his Winter Soldier days.

Instinctively, you grabbed Isabeau’s hand and made a mad dash for the hallway. You needed to get some distance so you could ground yourself.

You tried breaking the spell but to no avail. Not only did the spell not break, but your hands also burned at each attempt.

“We won’t lose you again!” one of the Steves yelled as you and Isabeau turned a corner.

“Come here, mici prințese!” another voice, probably Bucky’s shouted as the two of you made your way into a closet.

“I think we’re okay for now,” you breathed telepathically as the four Adonises crept past your hiding place.

“What’s the plan now?” Isabeau asked fearfully as her heartbeat started to rise in terror.

“I don’t know but-” you were cut off by a strike to the back of your head and your vision rapidly fading to black.

Muffled voices and the beeping of medical equipment brought you from the void.

“Nothing is wrong….they’re…good, sir.”

“Be sure that they are. We can’t leave anything up to chance.”

Groggily, you open your eyes to find yourself in a sleek hospital room lightly chained to a bed. Several other people were monitoring your vitals. One of them is Dr. Bruce Banner, or what seems to be Dr. Banner.

Bruce turned to see you looking around with a slightly confused expression, “Ah, you’re awake,” he turned to one of his aides, “Contact the Captain and Lieutenant. Tell them to come to get their bride.”

You blinked. Bride?

“Where is Isabeau, my friend?” you inquired as one of the aides brought you some water.

Bruce scowled, “Don’t think about her. You might be able to see her if the Captain and/or Lieutenant wills it.” he remarked while eyeing you up and down in a condescending almost lecherous manner, “Hmm, looks great for breeding,” Bruce noted as he fondled and prodded your curves.

You’ve always been proud of how you looked, but at that moment you wanted to shrink in the corner after giving this Bruce a roundhouse kick to the groin.

You were about to tell Dark!Bruce to fuck off when Tony Stark, fuck it, Dark!Tony entered the room. This Tony looked a lot more sinister with his silver, gray, light, and steel navy blue armor. His face and hair were mostly uncovered with his facial expression positively predatory.

“Cap’s one lucky bastard. He gets a sexy bunny along with Lieutenant Smart Ass.”

Recalling how some megalomaniacs liked shows of submissiveness, you lowered your head and asked where you were.

Whether it be out of pity, spite, or malice, Tony answered your question, “You’re in another earth, another universe.”

You nearly swiveled to look outside the window. NYC’s skyline was radically different. There were fewer buildings and HYDRA insignias everywhere.

“HYDRA took over this world.” You deadpanned. FUUUUCK!

“Sexy and smart.” Tony praised sardonically.

It didn’t take time for HYDRA to regroup after WWII. Zola and his associates were able to convince Howard Stark to give them the Tesseract with the promise of great renown, riches, and no longer being bound by the laws of weaker men. They were able to create a superweapon with the help of Dr. Whitney Frost and have been ruling the planet ever since.

It could be worse. HYDRA knew they had to offer the people comforts in exchange for their obedience. They eradicated all diseases, created a good standard of living, and ended all petty conflicts under the new world order.

Though Tony didn’t feel the need to tell you. You’ll figure it out on your own.

The doors opened to reveal Steve Rogers and his younger, clean-shaven counterpart in all their masculine glory.

“Good, you’re here.” Bruce welcomed smirking at your silent pleas.

Both soldiers walked over and inspected you.

“Hello, kitten. Name’s Ransom.” The clean-shaven soldier drawled as he moaned from your scent, “Nice set of lips you’ve got there.”

“We’ll definitely have some fun with her,” Steve noted as licked his lips ogling your curves.

You had to use all of your restraint not to spit in their faces.

“We’ll take her.” Ransom decided while Steve nodded.

Several of the aides breathed a sigh of relief as Steve broke the chains on your bed like they were nothing.

“Don’t have too much fun now!” Tony called as Steve picked you up bridal style.

“Who am I kidding? they’ll breed her like a Catholic rabbit!”

“Um, where are you taking me?” you queried, your voice barely above a whisper.

“You will address us as ‘Sir’ in public unless instructed otherwise. Is that understood?” It took all that Steve had not to push against the wall and pound your pussy with his cock he was so enraged.

No, he needed to wait. No one was to see what’s theirs.

Ransom, for his part, chuckled and shook his head, “Best not to anger this one, kitten. He hasn’t been in the best of moods.”

You gasped once the doors to their living quarters opened.

The place was huge!

It had a modern yet retro design; it should’ve been confusing, but it worked. Grand windows showcased the skyline with a balcony in the middle with a huge kitchen next to what looked to be a restaurant-style fridge and a huge living room with a TV and a fireplace.

Yet there seemed to be something missing.

“Place needs a woman’s touch,” Ransom commented sending a smirk your way.

“I’ll see you in the guest quarters Ransom” Steve deadpanned as he led you down a hall.

The bedroom was enormous yet sparse like they didn’t know what to do with it.

You were about to say something when Steve dropped you onto the incredibly soft mattress. His eyes darkened with lust and you knew what he wanted. You couldn’t think of a way out of this, not with the magic inhibitors Bruce placed on your wrists.

Maybe you could give escape one last try; you just had to wait for the right opening.

Steve smirked upon seeing you removing your clothes. He liked that you knew your place, his pretty little princess.

You could only gasp when Steve removed his uniform top. He had an incredibly defined musculature: broad shoulders, beefy biceps, chiseled pecs and abs, and a seriously drool-worthy Adonis Belt. The light shining behind him made his body appear even more glorious.

Steve looked like an ancient god brought to modern times.

With a predatory smirk, Steve slowly crawled to you loving the smell of your arousal. “Let me lay out a few rules, sweetheart. You will make our meals, clean our rooms, bear our children, and be our good little whore. You must earn the right to wear a bra; panties are out of the question.”

Each rule was emphasized by a kiss or a love bite to your jaw, neck, collarbone, and shoulders.

Finally, you are to address us as Sir in public and Daddy in private. Say it.”

“Yes, Daddy,” you muttered with your eyes downcast.

Steve lifted your chin up with his forefinger, “That’s a good girl,” and brought you in for a kiss on the lips.

The kiss was demanding yet soft. You were surprised he was capable of such gentleness.

Steve was about to push his tongue into his mouth when Ransom strolled into the room.

“Does she know the drill?”

Steve broke the kiss with a smirk,” Just finished explaining it.”

Ransom shot you a sardonic smirk, “You got the rules, kitten? Good. Now if you misbehave, I’m gonna send you to the dungeons for a few days.”

Steve started up again, “But...if you’re good-”

“A good little wifey,” Ransom interjected caressing your right cheek and leaning in for a kiss.

This kiss started off soft then intensified (really know how to lure a girl) into one filled with passion and dominance. Ransom forced his tongue into and moaned at your taste. A few seconds later he was pushing what felt like a small tablet past your tongue forcing you to swallow.

“Did you do it yet?”

“Cool it, grandpa! I did, don’t you worry. She’s gonna feel it. Aren’t ya, kitten.”

You started to feel strange. Your body temperature skyrocketed, your mind was in a deep haze, your thighs were clenching on overtime you were so turned on. You needed relief and fast.

“Please Daddies!” you begged as you tried your best not to touch yourself.

“See grandpa? She’s ready.” Ransom purred as he grabbed your thighs and placed them over his shoulders. He planted a few kisses near your entrance and groaned at the smell of your arousal.

It only took one long, slow lick to your slit to turn you into a moaning mess. You couldn’t believe the pleasure you were feeling. It was like a bolt of lightning shot through you.

Ransom groaned at the taste of your juices. Not even Stark’s overpriced chefs could compare. “Fuck, she tastes divine,” he groaned and dove in for more. Ransom attacked your folds and swollen clit with insane intensity and precision alternating between his tongue and fingers.

You were on cloud nine. Each motion took you further to the precipice of an orgasm. Ransom kept bringing you back from the edge only thrust you back into his level of tumultuous.

Steve got in on the action by covering your moans with a kiss of all-consuming passion and started playing with your breasts.

“Fuck, these tits are amazing! Can’t wait until these are filled with milk” Steve purred as he took one of your nipples into his mouth and the other between his big and forefingers.

After twenty minutes of teasing, Ransom finally let you come. A volcanic eruption of ecstasy erupted from your core and Ransom lapped up all of your juices.

“Rogers, you’re in for a treat!” Ransom exclaimed as he hopped off the edge of the mattress.

“I get her pussy first since you got to eat her out,” Steve uttered as grinned at your blissed-out state.

With a tsk, both of them got you into position with Steve’s thick, muscular thighs on either side of your hips and Ransom standing in front of you taking off his pants.

He was huge! His cock was long, thick, and veiny. It wobbled against his masterfully sculpted abs with each step he took. You wondered how that was going to fit in your mouth. Turns out Steve’s was no smaller if his tip being coated with your slick is any indication.

“This won’t hurt, kitten. You were made for us.” Ransom cooed.

You didn’t know how right he was.

Steve made his move by pushing into you inch by delicious inch and moaned at the sensation. “Fuck, she fits like a dream.”

“Don’t take forever, grandpa.” Ransom chided.

“Shut up, ya punk!” Steve retorted as he began thrusting into you loving the way your pussy clenched around him like a vice’s grip.

“Open wide, kitten,” Ransom started to push his throbbing cock into your mouth.

It took a bit of time and effort to loosen your jaw enough for him to fully enter you. He started fucking your mouth before you were ready. You tried not to gag he was so rough.

What happened to the man from earlier?

“Fuckin’ perfect.” Ransom breathed as he was approaching his climax.

Steve came with a primal roar that reverberated throughout the room after making you come two more times.

“Swallow it, kitten” Ransom ordered.

Funny thing is, you didn’t need the order. You delighted in the salty, tangy, and slightly sweet flavor.

Two minutes after you swallowed all of Ransom’s spent, both men decided it was time to move. Ransom got onto the mattress and pulled you on top of him with his tip nudging your entrance. Steve got behind you and placed kisses along the juncture between your neck and shoulders while positioning himself at your ass.

“Please...please don’t do this!” you pleaded, the pill’s effect slipping for the tiniest of moments.

Steve grabbed your neck with just enough force to pause, not hurt.” Best be a good girl now, sweetheart,” he warned.

Ransom slid in first, “Holy fucking shit!” he moaned, “Sam owes me $40.

“That depends on how well their bride is taking to them,” Steve pointed out.

“Eh, we’ll say ours is better.”

Ransom moaned again once he bottomed out and grabbed the globes of your blessed backside. He couldn’t wait to grab and smack it around in their quarters.

Steve moved slowly causing both of your breathing to hitch, his from pleasure and yours from slight pain.

With a grin and smirk, they started moving in tandem. Your body almost couldn’t take the immense pleasure you were feeling.

“I could get used to this,” Ransom remarked.

“Well, we have the week,” Steve breathed past your ear.

Both kept at it until they came in you twice. You nearly passed out after your twelfth orgasm.

“Rest kitten,” Ransom purred as you finally gave in to your exhaustion.

“The bride took to our seed,” Steve reported to Director Pierce.

“Good. We found their parents along with the rest of the resistance.” Pierce imparted.

Steve scowled at the information.

You and your friend, Isabeau, were the only ones to survive the Eve Project. HYDRA wanted to genetically groom compatible brides for their top soldiers. You were promised to Steve and Ransom and your friend to Bucky and Sam. Both of you were whisked away to another Earth by the resistance and your treacherous parents.

Now you were back where you belong.

“When do we leave?” Ransom growled.

“Once Strange and Wanda crack the protection spell. In the meantime, enjoy your bride.” Pierce turned to leave, but stopped before turning off the screen,” I want to see some little ones soon.”

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mdawritings · 3 years

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“Arrested” [Aaron Hotchner X Female Reader]

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Rating: E

Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader

Wordcount: 8,510

Summary:

The BAU is working a case in the DC area: an unsub killing women outside of nightclubs and bars. When you get arrested and manage to end up in the same precinct as Aaron Hotchner, the team discovers that their unit chief has been sleeping with a MUCH younger woman. Even more importantly, they discover that aside from being Hotch's fuck buddy, you have had direct contact with the unsub. Told through cute and smutty flashbacks throughout your relationship with Aaron.

AO3 Link

It had been weeks since you’d seen Aaron. The first week you didn’t see him was because of a case over the weekend in Florida. You had sent him a few scandalous pictures while he was flying home…

You rest your head against the arm of your sofa lazily. You reach for the phone and look at the simple text from Aaron. “On the way home now. I want to see you soon.” Just those words send bolts of happiness, excitement, and arousal through you. You press the top of your phone to your lips to suppress your growing smile. You text him back.

“Been imagining your hands touching me instead of my own”

Aaron picks up his phone at the chime. He reads the message from you and can’t help but start to stir a little. God, the thoughts of you home alone… touching yourself thinking about him. Yeah, that definitely does something to him. It’s not like you weren’t in his thoughts the entire time. It's difficult to focus on a case when all he really wants is to be home, buried under the covers with you, taking in your light, yet intoxicating perfume. Touching your soft, perfect skin. Hearing you scream his name… He almost lets out a moan but catches himself and looks around the jet at his sleeping coworkers.

He quickly replies to your message, “Oh yeah?”

You jump up from the couch, exhaustion rapidly dissipating from your previously sore limbs at the thought of seeing Aaron tonight. Memories of his large hands touching, groping, squeezing your body flood into your mind.

You hurry to slip on the purple lingerie set you bought. You stand in front of your bathroom mirror. You take a few minutes, capturing some, quite honestly, fucking amazing photos.

“Missing the feeling of you buried inside me” You send the photos along. You grow even happier at the thought of him getting a fucking hard-on while just a few feet away from his sleeping coworkers. You revel in the effect you manage to have over such a powerful, dominant, authoritative man. It makes you especially proud to think about his normal demeanor, stoic, hard-faced, serious, and how easy it is for you to reduce him to simpering, whimpering, moaning mess under your touch. Your phone chimes a mere seconds after sending the photos.

“You are torturing me. We HAVE to see each other when I land”

You fell asleep in your bed in that lingerie waiting for him. You didn’t see his messages until the next morning, saying the sitter for Jack fell through and he probably wouldn’t be able to see you until next weekend.

At the start of the second week, he got called away to a case in California. That one took up the whole week and by the time he got home, he was way too exhausted to spend time with you.

This kind of thing went on for two weeks. A full month without Aaron had been torture. It wasn’t like you expected him to drop everything and come running to you. You understand he has a kid to take care of and an FBI unit to run. Plus, it isn’t like you two are really dating. Do you sometimes wish you were? Hell yes. Is it reasonable or feasible? Absolutely not.

That doesn’t mean you don’t enjoy what you have going on right now. He comes over to your place, tired and frustrated from a long day at work, and he— well he fucks your brain out. You’re always working hard on your Ph.D. and Aaron’s job is just plain stressful. You both need and enjoy the amazing stress relieving benefits of casual sex. You do enjoy each other’s company without having sex sometimes. It usually happens on those weekends when you or he or both of you are way too exhausted. But really, it's the moments after sex that make you question what you truly are to one another…

Your heart rate begins to steady and you can’t help but smile up at Aaron. He looks down at you with that small Hotchner version of a smile. It’s a smile that wouldn’t seem like much to anyone else, but you know how infrequently he lets the corners of his mouth turn up in happiness. “How do you do it?”

You soon realize after letting the words out, (and from the confusion on his face), that he cannot, in fact, read your mind and understand what you mean, “How do you go from seeing all that bad out there in the world to lying in this bed with me with that adorable smile on your face?”

For a split second, you think you’ve said something wrong. The smile falls from his face and his brows tense up. You always tease him about his eyebrows, telling him the more he frowns the more wrinkles he’ll get.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to cross a line—”

“I don’t want to pull you into all this… my work. I want to protect you from it.” Your heart practically sinks into your stomach. That’s not the type of language you use with your casual sex partner. Then again, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t worry every time he leaves for a case. You worry that you’ll never see him again. You won’t even find out he’s dead because no one knows about the two of you.

“Y/N,” he pulls you out of your thoughts. His voice cuts through the silent room and you look back up into his soft eyes. They’re searching your face, scanning your behavior. You can tell he’s trying to figure out what you could possibly be thinking.

“Stop doing that,” you warn him, but your tone is light-hearted, “That whole studying my behavior thing you do.”

“Profiling,” he corrects you and runs a hand over your hair. The action is like a natural reflex for him, he’s not even consciously aware he’s pulling you closer to him.

“Right. That. Stop profiling me,” you laugh.

“Well, how am I supposed to know what’s spinning around in your head when you zone out like that.”

“I’m thinking about the fact that you listen to me rattle on and on about statistical physics but you don’t talk about your job.”

“You need to stop talking about physics after sex. It makes me feel like I’m sleeping with Reid,” he laughs and notices your confusion, “He’s a coworker of mine. You’d like him.”

You’d like him. That phrase sticks with you. Does that mean he wants you to meet his coworkers someday?

You’re not sure why you and Aaron never discuss a real relationship. Well, it’s more like Aaron never discusses a real relationship. Aaron doesn’t really discuss anything. The first time you really talked to him you thought his closed-off nature was charming, dreamy…

“Aaron Hotchner… right?” You look over the man who has just walked up to the bar next to you.

He reaches for the beers he’s just ordered, obviously for a group, but stops as you call out his name, “I’m sorry do I know you?”

“You work for the FBI… Behavioral something unit.” Your laugh sounds loud and obnoxious to you, but to him, it’s bright and cuts through the din of the chaotic bar.

“Behavioral Analysis Unit,” Aaron’s eyebrows furrow. He looks you over before turning his attention back to your face, searching it for answers.

“Oh god!” You're not really the type to strike up a conversation with a man in a bar but you’re feeling bold, not to mention empowered by the liquor, “I must seem so crazy. You gave a talk at Georgetown I attended. I’m a Ph.D. student there. It was about criminal psychology.” His face softens as he begins to realize you’re not a crazy stalker nor an obsessed fan. You stick your hand out for him to shake, “Y/N Y/L/N.”

“It’s nice to meet you, again, I guess,” He nods as he shakes your hand. You can tell he’s just trying to be polite and he glances over his shoulder at a group of people at a booth. Their eyes are all on you two. He wants to go back but something about you is drawing him in. “So you’re pursuing a Ph.D. in psychology?” He moves to sit at the bar next to you.

“Actually no.” You feel flush rushing into your face as he moves closer to you and sits down. You can’t help but look over his body. He’s much closer to your height now that he’s sitting down. He’s wearing a black quarter zip and dark jeans. His hair is neatly gelled back. He does not fit into this atmosphere. “I’m getting a Ph.D. in physics. I conduct theoretical research on the experimental implementation of quantum computing with trapped ions in— I conduct research.” Your blush deepens.

Aaron smiles widely at your ranting before jumping in, “So what were you doing in a criminal psychology lecture?”

Your face feels hot with embarrassment, “I snuck in. It sounded interesting.” You shrug slightly and reach for the drink from the bartender. “I almost didn’t show up, but then a classmate told me one of the FBI agents was very attractive.” You give a small wink before reaching for your check for your drinks from the night. “And she was right, Agent Prentiss is drop-dead gorgeous.” Your attempts to keep a poker face fail, your lips curling with delight.

Aaron laughs as he takes the check from your hands. “You don’t have to—” You protest slightly but Aaron holds up his hand to silence you.

“My treat. As a thank you, for breaking the rules to see my lecture.” He shares in your smile as he hands the bartender his card, paying for your drinks. Your ex just broke up with you a few weeks prior so you came out to cheer yourself up. Seeing Aaron Hotchner up close and personal is… definitely a pick me up.

“Do you have a business card or something?”

“Uh… yes.” Aaron is hesitant to hand it over but reaches into his wallet for one. You grab a pen and take the business card from Aaron. You scribble down your number on the back and hand it to him.

“This is my number.” You hold it out before reaching for your purse. He looks down at the number and then back up at you. For a grown, adult man, he doesn’t seem to understand. You can see confusion written all over his face, it’s quite adorable honestly. His face though it seemingly remains emotionless, in just the few minutes you’ve spent talking to him, you see hints of smiles hidden under a professional, powerful exterior.

“Call me sometime. You know, so I can pay you back for that drink.” You stand up from the bar, legs weak from the heavy drinking you’ve done, “Or if you just want some company.” He nods slightly in response and you turn to leave. You can’t help but turn for a second to watch as Aaron walks back to his table of what appear to be friends. One of the women looks back at you and smiles the most infectious, sweetest smile at you. You return it and move to leave the bar.

It wasn’t until late that night that you got a call. The drinking your sorrows away didn’t stop once you left that bar. You were curled up on your couch, a glass of wine clutched in your hands.

“Hello?” you mumble into the phone, pulling the blanket around your shoulders tighter.

“We didn’t really get to talk much at the bar, but I’m pretty sure you made some promises about paying me back for that drink,” A stern man’s voice cuts through the phone.

“Aaron?” you ask momentarily confused, “It—It’s late, are you drunk?”

Your laugh rings through the phone and it’s that laugh that has Aaron so intensely drawn to you. He can’t help himself. He needs to be near you, “Just go to the door.”

You stand up, “My door? How did you get my—oh right. FBI agent,” you muse and open your door. And there he is, standing at the door with the phone pressed to his ear. He pulls it away and hangs up. “This is incredibly creepy, I hope you know that.” You lean against the doorframe, pulling your large sweater around yourself tighter. His eyes run over you. You grin slightly, catching his wandering gaze, and at that, he shoves his hands in his pockets.

“So about that drink you owe me.” Aaron takes a few hesitant steps into your apartment. He closes the door behind him, “How about you pay me back wit—” he starts to talk but you don’t let him finish his sentence. You grip his shirt and pull him close, your lips melting against his.

It’s messy and passionate and needy. You struggle to stumble along, guiding him towards your bedroom and his hands are touching every inch of you. He hurriedly pulls your sweater off and tosses it off to the side before unzipping your dress. You let it fall to the floor and kick it off as you match his frantic pace, pulling off his shirt and pushing down his jeans. He lays you down gently and reaches around to unclasp your bra.

“Holy fuck,” Aaron groans as he takes a second to take in your naked body.

Then he’s leaving a trail of soft kisses down the expanse of your chest and breasts. He travels down further. His lips brush against your inner thighs, his stubble tickling your skin. He smirks up at you wickedly as he grips your thong in his teeth, pulling it down your legs. You already know your soaking wet pussy will give away just how bad you want him right now.

He doesn’t hesitate, he goes to work on you. Licking and stroking and rubbing your clit. Your back arches and you grip the sheets and his hair. You massage your breasts, panting heavily as two of his fingers press into you, his tongue flicking your overly sensitive bud of nerves. “Oh god, Aaron yes!”

His name rolls off your tongue and you continue to chant it like a fucking mantra as his somehow rough yet gentle touch drives you wild. You feel the knots building in your stomach. Your legs tremble with pleasure as your eyes shut harshly. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You’re panting intensely at this point and the whole room practically slips away as your orgasm hits and your body feels out of control. Every nerve ending on fire. And Aaron is merciless, he continues to lick and tease as you ride out your high.

He can’t help but grin proudly at the number he’s done on you. As he comes up to plant a few more kisses on your lips, you feel his rock hard erection pressing against your thigh. You kiss him hungrily while fumbling to stroke him through his boxers.

The groan the emerges from his lips is… holy fucking shit it’s sexy. You flip the two of you over so you’re on top of him, your chest pressed against his. You dip your hand into his boxers, pumping the entirety of his length. You feel him getting harder and his cock twitches in conjunction with a loud, throaty groan. “Y/N." His eyes flutter open and he grabs your arm to still your motions. “I need you, now.”

Within seconds he’s peeling his boxers off, you roll the condom down onto him and you slam your hips down on his. You can’t contain the loud gasps and moans as you feel your walls stretch around him. Fuck it’s been too long since you’ve had sex. You’re still for a second and Aaron bucks his hips, needing friction, needing to thrust and feel your tightness around him.

“Oh god." Your eyes are practically rolling back in your head as Aaron takes an agonizing pace, lifting your hips all the way up just to slam them all the way back down again.

He has a vice grip on your hips and you can feel the bruises forming under his fingertips. You grind your hips against his as you ride him faster. “Fuck you feel amazing,” Hotch lets out another one of those agonizingly sexy groans.

“I’m close,” you whine out. Aaron reaches to rub your clit with his thumb as he starts thrusting his hips up to meet yours chaotically. That combined with his large cock hitting your sweet spot sends you tumbling over the edge once again. It’s not long after that you feel his cock throbbing deep inside you, his hips messily thrusting and his face contorted up in pleasure. His panting becomes rapid and it's not long before he’s coming undone inside you. You flip off of him to collapse at his side on the bed.

“So when are we doing this again?” you pant heavily and hear a beautiful sound beside you. The sound of Aaron laughing.

Sometimes you worry if he’s embarrassed by you. I mean, you’re a few years shy of 20 years younger than him. You’re still in school. He was starting college by the time you were out of diapers. He runs a whole goddamn unit of the FBI and you’re still a student. You both are in entirely separate places in life, how do you reconcile that? It’s not as if he keeps you secret. Jessica knows you and you met his son Jack one time. Besides, you’re not really showing him off either. Not that you have many people to show him off to.

Like said, it’s been weeks since you’ve seen him which has just left you to sit around and overthink just about everything.

Aaron is working a case in DC. You saw the news reports the other day. Women were turning up dead in alleyways behind popular nightclubs and bars in the downtown area. Despite this horrifying news, you were happy when he told you the case was at home. It meant less travel. Less travel means Aaron is less tired. Which means more sex for you. And god, did you need sex.

It’s your friend’s 27th birthday and in an attempt to keep her from crying about getting a year older, you and a group of friends promised to go out drinking with her. You reach for your phone to check for any messages from Aaron. You would drop all your plans if he told you he was coming over tonight. There is one new message but it’s not exactly the text you were hoping for.

From: Aaron:

Please be safe for the next few days. Don’t go anywhere alone. Call me if there’s any trouble or if you need anything at all.”

You furrow your brows. It’s not news that Aaron cares about you and wants to look out for you but usually while on a case it’s radio silence from him. Yes, if you were really in danger he would want you to call immediately, but usually, he tells you he needs to focus on the job and nothing else. You dismiss the text, chalking it up to the presence of a serial killer in the city you both live in. Hell, you were pretty freaked out too. You had seen the girls on the news, 20-30, with your hair color and around your height.

You let out a long sigh, knowing you are most definitely not getting laid tonight. It’s time to get stupid drunk with your friends and enjoy your night anyway.

It does not take long for you and all your friends to reach the perfect level of sloppy drunk. Seeing as you all haven’t been out in months, what with some of you pursuing real jobs, grad school, med school, and whatnot, there hasn’t been a lot of time for screwing around as you did in college.

“So come on! You cannot still be single,” your close friend Sarah screams in your face over the music.

“It’s complicated,” you feel your words starting to string together. They’re not quite slurred but it’s getting there, “He just comes over, fucks my brains out, we spend some time together, and then it’s over.”

Your comments provoke a loud response of laughs and cheers from your friends, “So we don’t even get a name? Or a job? Or where you met him?”

“He guest lectured a course on abnormal and criminal psychology a few months ago,” You start to explain but Sarah is cutting you off before the words have left your mouth.

“Months? This has been going on for months?” You roll your eyes. The bartender places another full tray of shots in front of you guys. She nods towards a man at the edge of the bar. As you look up, he gives you a small wave and smiles. Creepy.

“No, I ran into him a few weeks after and I just gave him my number.” You down the shot, souring your face up before reaching for a lime wedge to chase it, “And then things just happened.”

“Name? Job? Age?” Another friend rattles off at you.

“Isn’t this Sarah’s birthday? Shouldn’t we be talking about her?” You try and steer the conversation away from yourself. You turn back to the bar and see that same man who sent you the shots staring at you. Even when you turn away you can feel his eyes boring into the back of your head.

“Well I want to know, so this is a birthday present,” she continues to pry and it drives you crazy. You're just not ready to share what you and Aaron have with the world.

“His name is Aaron and he works in the FBI and he’s 45,” You mumble that last part into your glass as you take a long sip.

“He’s how old?” Your friend’s jaw drops and another friend grins widely. Your face is burning hot at embarrassment and all the attention.

“Can we all just shut up and drink?” you command forcefully before downing your own.

Hotch looks down at his phone, waiting for any sign that Y/N has seen his text. He doesn’t panic though. She has a life, she’s busy. She probably has plans for the evening. Maybe she’s out… with someone. Aaron shakes his head slightly before forcing his attention to the case. But his mind wanders. Would she go out with someone? It’s not like anything between them is defined. I mean, he would never go out with anyone else. He just wants her. If she wants to go out on a date she can do whatever she wants. Yet, Hotch can’t help but feel the jealousy coursing through his body. The idea of someone else touching her… yeah, that makes him angry.

His more rational thinking takes over. Maybe she’s busy with school work. He knows how hard she’s been working on her research. He fails to hide a smile as he thinks about the way her face lights up when talking about her research. The passion she has for her work is extremely adorable...

You hear three short raps at the door, “It’s open!” you call out as you rush to get all your thoughts down on your computer. You hear the door open and the footsteps approaching.

“You leave your door unlocked? Do you realize how incredibly unsafe and unwise that is?” You can hear that Aaron probably has his stern face on, judging by the disapproval in his voice.

“I knew you were coming,” You shrug and gnaw at your bottom lip furiously as you work, “I just need one moment. I was thinking that in a controlled quantum environment...” As you start to ramble Aaron’s hands snake around your waist. He pushes your hair to the side, placing feather-light kisses along your neck.

“Mm,” He mumbles against you.

“Wait, wait,” you moan, “If you keep doing that I’m going to lose my train of thought and I will never forgive you unless you can formulate how to create thermal distrib—” He nips at your skin and gives your hips a squeeze. Your groans grow louder.

“The physics can wait,” Aaron growls against your skin, turning you around so he can passionately kiss you, “I need you now.”

The panic doesn’t ease because Aaron reaches to call you once again. You don’t pick up because well… you’re a little preoccupied drowning your liver. He thinks, if you had just given a small ok text, he would know you’re safe. But he’s panicking. He continues to panic for the next hour until something unexpected soothes that anxiety. The sound of your screaming drunken voice radiating throughout the entirety of the precinct the team is working in. But as soon as the wave of anxiety dissipates, he feels his stomach drop.

“I’m a victim here!” you screech and cement your legs in place so that the officers holding your arms are practically dragging you.

“Ma’am please!” You kick your legs violently as the officers try to seat you in a chair. They undo your handcuffs and redo them so that your hand is cuffed to the desk. “We’re understaffed and backed up so you sit here and shut up while we get you booked.”

“He was feeling me up! Under the skirt over the panties. He grabbed my ass, I’m sure I have a mark you wanna see it? He assaulted me!” you continue to screech and reach for the hem of your dress, ready to flash every cop in the precinct your ass.

“So you smashed a bottle over his head? Real ladylike,” one of the officers steps forward and holds your hand tight to keep you from lifting the dress.

“Don’t I get a phone call.” Now your words are slurred together. That last round of shots before you got arrested is hitting you hard.

“Once we book you.”

“I know a federal agent. From the FBI,” you spell out the letters obnoxiously, “Do you even know what that is?”

“Yes, I’m sure the federal government will come running to post your bail. Stay here. Don’t move,” the officer commands and you hold up your handcuffed wrist to demonstrate that you’re quite frankly incapable of going anywhere.

“Oh my god,” Prentiss lets out a small laugh from the conference room. “I can hear her through the closed doors.”

“Well, most of this room is glass and sound travels through the glass just about the same as it does air. A better insulating material would be a foam or fiberglass or even a mineral wood composite,” Reid clarifies before giving that signature tight-lipped smile.

“She is… really something,” Morgan laughs and nudges Hotch, “Hotch look.”

Hotch turns and sees what he’s dreading. He sees you, drunk out of your mind. Your skimpy dress is somehow simultaneously riding low on top and riding up on the bottom. You have a small cut lip and a little bit of blood on your dress. His brows furrow deeply. “Oh god,” he mutters under his breath.

“These cops are supposed to stay in the bars and clubs for protection. Why are they wasting time on drunk girls?” Rossi finally chimes in.

The cops finally get you settled into a chair and you kick your feet like a child. “Call the FBI! I know them.”

“Oh does she now. You guys know her?” JJ rolls her eyes and laughs, “I am so glad I never got arrested when I was in college. My parents would’ve killed me.”

“College? Girls do not look like that in college,” Morgan smirks.

“We have to focus on the case,” Hotch's jaw tightens as he sees Morgan look over your body. It’s not something new for Morgan but when he’s making those eyes at you specifically, Hotch feels that surge of jealousy again.

“Call them! Call Agent Aaron Hotchner.” You lean back and try to cross your arms, but your right hand is yanked back by the cuffs.

The team all turns to Hotch with wide eyes. “You know her?” Rossi smirks.

“Where exactly do you know her from?” Emily fights the grin growing on her lips as she looks over her stone-faced boss.

“I’m sorry what?” The cop glances down at you.

“Aaron Hotchner with the Behavioral Unit Analysis Science thing or something like that he’s in the FBI he’s unit chief. I know him.” You roll your eyes at the cop who is speechless, “Oh god. Are you that thick? A-A-R-O-N H-O-T-C-H…” you trail off the alcohol inhibiting your spelling capabilities, “N-E-R. Aaron Hotchner! Call him and he’ll tell you to let me go.”.

The cop glances at some of his coworkers before looking at the conference room. You follow his gaze and see Aaron with a large group of other well-dressed agents. “Oh fuck,” you mutter. Aaron opens the glass doors and steps out of them walking towards you.

“So how does he know this girl?” Prentiss tries her best to hide her spying on you and Aaron.

“I got money on babysitter,” Morgan nods.

“No way, she’d be with Jack right now. I’d say she met him at work." JJ leans against the desk, watching Hotch as he looks down at you, crossing his arms.

“Then we’d all have seen her before. Plus she wouldn’t be telling them she knows the FBI. She would technically be part of the FBI. Why not use that?” Rossi rubs a hand over his goatee.

“He’s sleeping with her,” Reid states simply before turning back to his geographical profile on the board.

“What?” Multiple members of the team turn in shock, not only at the statement but at the fact that Reid is the one making it.

“No way. She’s… at most 27 years old.” Morgan shakes his head, “She is not Hotch’s type.”

“Are you jealous that Hotch has more game than you?” Reid teases without turning away from his work.

“When was your last date, pretty boy? Huh?” Morgan hits him on the back of the head playfully.

“Officer.” Aaron steps in between you and the officer. Good thing, because two more minutes with that guy and you would be charged with a lot more than resisting arrest and public disturbance.

“Aaron!” you squeak, “I didn’t know you were here!”

“Well, she’s definitely not a coworker. She called him Aaron.” Rossi nods at the rest of the team still in the conference room. For a team of profilers, their attempts to hide the spying are weak at best.

“I’ll take care of her.” He doesn’t bother looking at you, but he gives the officer his best unit-chief glare.

“Sir we have a process to go through here. We’re still processing her arrest,” the officer attempts to argue with Hotch but you can see the discomfort clearly in the officer. He struggles to meet Hotch’s eyes.

“Please officer, we have much more to deal with here. I want to find this guy before another body drops. We need you out there patrolling the bars for the guys, not the drunk girls the creeps hit on.” Aaron takes on a stern voice.

“Yes agent.” The cop is visibly annoyed but isn’t willing to get into a fight with a federal agent all over your stupid drunk ass.

“Are you injured? You’re bleeding.” He grabs your chin in his calloused fingers, turning your face from side to side to assess the small cuts. You almost moan into his touch but remember the current location.

“No, no it’s someone else’s.” You turn out of his grip, trying to push his hands off.

“Someone else’s? What did you do?” Fuck. Aaron is furious with you. His arms are crossed against his chest and you can see the veins in his neck standing out. The tone he takes with you is harsh and you’re not used to him speaking with you like that… at least not used to it outside the bedroom.

“It’s not my fault okay!”

Aaron holds the bridge of his nose frustratedly, “Y/N. I have a serial killer to profile, catch, and stop from murdering innocent women. Can I just get the truth?”

“This creepy guy kept sending me and my friends drinks all night so when I went to the bar to get us another round he came over. Things got messy.” You shrug your shoulders. “Can you take off these cuffs now?” You hold out your wrists, pouting out your bottom lip. You can physically see him soften at that.

As Aaron reaches for the key and undoes the cuffs, he shakes his head at the stench of alcohol seeping out of you, “You’re gonna have to do better than things got messy.”

“I just…” You pause, knowing the details of the story are going to make him upset but he wants the truth, “I knew he was a little off. Weird and creepy and pushy, you know?” You rub your irritated wrists, “So he starts talking to me, offering me some drink. I know better than to accept a drink from a stranger so I turned him down. That's when he grabbed my arm and well… tried to cop a feel.”

“Cop a feel?” Aaron’s jaw has tightened and his hands are clenched so tightly at his sides his knuckles are pale.

“He slid his hands under my dress.” Your hand ghosts over the sore spot on your bottom where the man dug his fingers into your flesh, “He grabbed my legs and then my ass and then… and then he tried to get his hands in my underwear.” You show Aaron the red marks on your inner thigh. You’re not sure what you expect from him, but his face remains hardened. The only emotion readable on him is anger.

“The blood is from self-defense,” Aaron begins to understand.

You nod, confirming his statement, “I grabbed the first thing I could and smashed him on the head. I think I sliced his eyebrow. By the time the cops came, he was gone and I was in cuffs.”

Aaron looks back at his team in the conference room. In a poor attempt to hide their spying, they all rapidly turn their eyes to their work. He takes a few steps closer to you, his eyes looking over the red bruising on your cheek. He fights every urge to reach out and touch you, stroke your face softly and kiss your lips, “Did he hurt you? We should get a medic to check you out or–”

He doesn’t have a second to finish that thought. “Hotch, another body just dropped,” Morgan and Prentiss come rushing out of the conference room, “We’re going to the crime scene now.”

Aaron nods at his team members, “Call me if anything stands out.” The team nods and Aaron reaches for your arm, walking you towards the rest of the team, “I don’t want you alone right now. You’re going to sit here and keep quiet, understand?”

You bite your lip and look around at the team, still pretending as if they’re not listening in, “Jeez way to embarrass me, Aaron,” you mumble under your breath as you drop down into a chair with a loud sigh like a child.

JJ can’t help but come over to talk to you, “I’m Jennifer." You give her your name, "It's so nice to meet you Y/N, how do you and Hotch know each other?”

“Hotch?” you let out before quickly realizing the nickname for Aaron. You shake her hand, “Oh Agent Hotchner and I are just fuc–“

“Friends,” Aaron cuts in, “Y/N and I are friends. We have a case to get back to,” Aaron frantically changes the topic of conversation but your little comment doesn’t go unnoticed by the team members. Even Reid is smiling slightly at your comment.

You sit back in your chair and take in the sight of Agent Hotchner, Unit Chief of the BAU. The confident and commanding energy he exudes is immensely attractive. It’s not long before the agents that left for the crime scene, Morgan and Prentiss return with news for Aaron.

“Sir we found something weird at the crime scene,” Morgan steps back into the room.

“Weird?” Hotch cocks his head slightly to the side.

“There were droplets of blood over the victim’s dress but it wasn’t her own,” Morgan shakes his head.

“But you called and said she had no defensive wounds, he drugged her like the others. How could he have been injured?” Hotch turns back to the other case files.

“We’re not sure,” Emily shakes her head, “It’s possible it’s unrelated but maybe he might have been hospitalized for something recently?”

“What about any witnesses?” Hotch nods, “Any people at Churchkey bar see anything unusual? A man that was a little too forceful with women?”

You snort slightly at that, “I wouldn’t say that’s unusual for a bar.”

Hotch shoots you a hard glare that shuts you up for good, while Prentiss lets a smile shine through.

“The bar was mostly cleared out. Apparently the bar was packed earlier tonight but it cleared out after a bar fight broke out.” Morgan informs the team.

You bite your lip harshly. Aaron told you no talking but… this is more important, right? “Wait, Churchkey bar?” You finally speak up and all the agents turn their attention to you.

“What about it?”

“That’s the bar I was at tonight.” You trail off at the end of your sentence.

“You remember someone or something off?” Rossi looks over your body language.

“I think I talked to the unsub. I think... I’m the one who injured him." You unconsciously wrap your arms tightly around your body.

“You think you could walk me through the night? Tell me about him, it could really help us,” Morgan moves to sit on the edge of the desk to face you. "We could do a cognitive interview." He nods at Hotch.

"A cognitive?" You look between the two men.

"It's a memory recall exercise. We would walk you through the night and you tell us as much as you can," Morgan explains gently.

"And it could help you find him?" You ask, unsure how much you remember about him.

"You might not realize the type of details that help us form the profile." Morgan places a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

Aaron clears his throat. “She’s not sober enough for a cognitive." You can tell that the fact that his personal life is bleeding into his work is driving him crazy.

“If I can help catch this creep, I want to help. I’m fine.” You touch your finger to your nose a few times in an attempt to demonstrate your sobriety.

“Then you should drink some coffee before we start,” Aaron dismissively addresses you before turning to leave, “And I’m going to want the whole truth.” He stalks off towards the interrogation room.

Rossi runs to catch up with Aaron, pulling him off to the side. “Aaron, you cannot conduct this cognitive.”

“Excuse me?” Aaron snaps, crossing his arms against his chest.

“Take a step back, pretend she’s not someone you clearly care about,” Aaron rolls his eyes at Rossi’s comment but plays along as he continues.

“She’s a young girl… just how young is she?” Rossi raises a brow at Aaron, losing his train of thought.

“Dave.” He lets out an exasperated sigh.

Rossi holds his hands up in defense, “Fine, okay. She’s a young girl, she’s a little drunk, and she’s been sexually harassed in a bar by our unsub. Who do you send in to talk to her?”

“The least intimidating figures to her,” Aaron nods.

“So definitely not the angry boyfriend who wants to kill anyone who touches her,” Rossi clarifies.

“I’ll send in JJ and Prentiss,” Hotch sighs and turns before pausing, “And I’m not her boyfriend.”

Rossi simply smiles and pats Aaron’s back, “Ok boss.”

You sit up in your chair tiredly as Emily and JJ walk into the interrogation room.

“Hi Y/N, I’m Agent Prentiss and you’ve already met Agent Jareau,” Emily sits across from you.

“He can hear us, right?” You bite your lip and look towards the glass.

“Who can hear us?” JJ takes a seat and places a file in front of you.

“Aaron.” You search the glass, knowing that you won’t be able to see him but that he definitely can see you.

“Oh uh-” Emily pauses, unsure what to say in response.

“Do you want more privacy? I can ask the agents to leave.” JJ starts to stand.

“Hearing this would help them figure who the killer is?” You’re gnawing your lip hard enough to draw blood, a nervous habit Aaron never hesitates to point out to you.

“Yes,” JJ sits back down.

“Then it’s fine.” You look over one last time, “Just make sure Aar— Agent Hotchner,” you correct yourself, “Make sure Agent Hotchner doesn’t lose his shit.”

“No promises,” Prentiss smirks and lets out a small breath, “We’re going to walk you through the night. If it gets to be too much you let us know and we’ll take a break, okay?”

Well, now you’re really nervous. You let out a small breath, “Okay.” You close your eyes as Agent Prentiss starts.

“You’re in the bar. It’s crowded…”

“Y/N I think he really likes you,” your friend Sarah laughs. “Come on go talk to him.”

“No, I really shouldn’t.” You feel dizzy and light on your feet from the alcohol the man has been plying you and your friends with.

“Why?” Another friend chimes in, “Big strong Agent Hotchner going to punish you for talking to another guy?” Your friends taunt you playfully.

You smile widely at them, “Yes, yes he will.”

“You naughty, naughty girl!” Sarah laughs. You feel eyes on you and look back to the man at the bar. He’s hunched over in his stool. He looks nervous, but he smiles sheepishly at you and waves. It’s not long before he’s calling the bartender over again and pointing at you animatedly.

“Next round is on me,” you say softly to your friends, keeping your eyes on the man’s face, memorizing every detail you can. His face is young but worn and tired. The wrinkles on his forehead tell you he frowns a lot. They’re lines that appear on Aaron’s face too. You think about how you tease Aaron about smiling more. God, you miss Aaron right now. You wish he was here to make you feel safe. As you walk up to the bar, your presence causes the man to stand up and move closer.

“I was going to order you and your friends more drinks. I ordered you a vodka soda. It’s what you’ve been drinking all night, right?” He stutters slightly as he talks to you. He slides a glass over to you, but you know better. Strange man... drink that you didn’t see the bartender actually make... no way.

“I was actually going to order a beer,” you try to reject the glass, “You take the vodka soda though. You’ll see why they’ve been my go-to all night. He’s been making them very strong.” You look at the bartender, ordering a beer. You pray that the young bartender senses your discomfort.

“Come on it’s a harmless drink.” The strange man moves into you, pushing the glass closer. “You have the drink, we’ll get to know each other better… you’ll like it. I can make you like it.”

Thinking about his words sends chills down your spine. You have to take a moment to let out a shaky breath.

“Are you sure you want to continue listening to this?” Rossi eyes Hotch. Hotch’s face is contorted so harshly into a mixture of anger, disgust, and sadness. His neck muscles tense, his arms are tightly crossed against his body. He doesn’t even acknowledge Rossi.

“Can you keep going?” JJ eyes your face. You nod.

“No thank you, and no more drinks for my friends and I. We can get our own drinks.” You turn to grab your beer but soon the man stops you. He grabs your wrist tightly, placing his other hand behind your back. He pulls you flush against him. His rough, calloused fingertips grab and scratch up your thighs, under the dress. He grabs your ass so hard you want to scream out. He continues to trail his fingers up, hooking around your panties and—

A sickening shattering noise and cracking erupt as you swing the beer bottle at his head. The man screams. “You bitch!” He slaps your face. You stumble back, falling on the floor, cutting your hands on the broken glass from the bottle. Your skin is sticky with alcohol and you glance down at the blood on your dress. The bar grows louder. The commotion intensifies. You feel a friend’s hands wrap around your arms pulling you up off the ground.

“Wait he—!” You look around for the man but he’s nowhere to be found.

“Not long after that I was being shoved into a cop car and escorted here.” You finally open your eyes and look at the two agents.

“I can make you like it?” Emily asks you to clarify. She speaks slowly clearly enunciating her words but you can hear the disgusted tone in her voice.

“That’s exactly what he said.” You wrap your arms around yourself, “Does that all help?”

“Yes, yes it does,” JJ reaches out to touch your hand gently. Your eyes flick back to the one-way glass. You can’t see Aaron but you can tell he’s probably fuming. He probably has that signature scowl on his face.

“Am I—” You clear your throat and try to adjust your dress for more modesty, “Can I go?” Prentiss gives you a sad, pity-filled smile and nods. You stand up quickly and exit the room in a rush, colliding with Aaron’s strong chest as you do. You look up into his eyes and you see something in his face you’ve never seen in all the times you've been with him: sadness. You bury your face into his chest and his arms wrap tightly around you. “I was scared,” You choke out as his large, warm hands rub circles into your back, “I needed you.” You ball up his shirt in your fists. You’re not one to cry easily, but your body shakes as you breathe heavily.

“I know,” his voice cracks as he rests his chin on top of your head. He runs one hand over your hair softly, shushing you gently, “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

You pull away from his chest and frantically pull his lips down to yours. A strong hand goes to your back, holding you close to him. You hear the interrogation room door open behind you, the two agents stepping out, but neither you nor Aaron break the kiss. “I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you,” Aaron breathes against your lips, pulling you back into a tight hug. “You’re safe here with me now.”

———

You lift the heavy metal knocker and let it slam down twice, waiting for the door to open. When it does, Rossi envelops you in his arms, a wide smile spreading across his lips. He grabs your face tightly, kissing each cheek joyfully. “Bellissimo! I’m so glad you could make it.” Rossi places a gentle hand on your back and leads you inside.

You walk into the crowded kitchen and the members of the BAU all turn and smile back at you. Aaron moves towards you and quickly gives you a soft kiss on your lips. “I’m so happy you’re here."

“I’m so glad you’re finally home.” You pull away from Aaron to make the rounds hugging the people who are like family to you at this point.

Morgan wraps a friendly arm around your shoulder and can’t help but tease Aaron, “Hotch, you couldn’t be bothered to pick up your girl?” He turns to smile at you while Aaron shakes his head.

“I had to stop by the research lab so I just had my classmate Tyler drop me off after we finished up." You shrug.

“Tyler, huh?” Rossi grins, hoping to rile up Aaron a little.

“Is he cute?” JJ chimes in with a laugh.

Aaron quickly clears his throat, hoping to change topics. He raises his brows at you, “So do you want to share the news or should I do it for you?”

“Oh my god, you’re totally preggers!” Garcia squeals and runs to hug you again. You glance at Aaron and can only laugh.

“No, no.” You smile as she pulls away and you look at the shocked faces of everyone in the kitchen, even Aaron looks a little rattled. You playfully nudge his arm, “See what you did? Always causing trouble.”

“Me? If I recall correctly you’re the one who got arrested for being drunk off your ass and trying to fight a serial killer.” His comment elicits a series of small laughs from everyone.

"Yeah and it helped you catch him, so really you all should thank me for being drunk." You playfully argue with Aaron. "Anyway, the actual news. No, I'm not pregnant." You point at Penelope as she opens her mouth to say something else.

“You’re looking at the proud new owner of a Ph.D. in physics!” You do a small cheesy spin as the rest of the team congratulates you, “Handed in my final thesis paper today.” Aaron smiles proudly as you move back to his side.

“Yeah that’s great and all but you’re still two Ph.D.s behind me.” Spencer can’t help but tease you. In the past year, he’s become one of your closest friends, especially since Aaron can’t even seem to begin to understand your thesis research.

“All right cool it kid.” You joke with him.

“Kid? I’m older than you.” Spencer laughs. Aaron comes closer to wrap his arm around your waist. The gesture is comforting and just this touch sends waves of pleasure through your body.

“Reid might have two more Ph.D.s than you but he’s got nothing on your good looks.” Prentiss winks at you.

“She’s got that right,” Aaron smirks as he kisses your cheek gently.

“Ok, ok, enough small talk.” You feel your face flush, “I came here to learn some cooking from chef Rossi, not talk about how hot I am.” You see Aaron roll his eyes with a smile and you pull him close as Rossi starts the demonstration.

“I love you so much, you know that?” Aaron has his arms wrapped around you from behind. He speaks softly so only you can hear.

“I know,” You smile, happiness flooding through your body, “I love you too.”

#criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #hotch x you #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #smut #ao3 #read on ao3

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cellydawn · 3 years

Text

sans IS gaster (OR the sans theory masterpost pt. 2)

Part 1 || ❤️ || Part 3

(drawn by me, color by @magenteel)

Previously, we discussed: Sans and his hand in the destruction of a world, his connection to Ice-E and Deltarune, and how he relates to Gaster. We’re going to continue the thread we left off on.

Section III - Gaster (Cont.)

Snails are mentioned too many times throughout Undertale for them to not be of any significance. As it turns out, they are pretty important in unraveling the mystery behind Gaster and Sans.

When you enter the area with Napstablook’s snail farm, you’ll notice that Sans’s theme is playing despite him not making an appearance.

In one of Papyrus’s phone calls, he mentions that Sans recently bought snail-shaped pasta and says “He’ll probably fill them with hotdogs and slime.” Toriel also owns a book called “72 User for Snails”. Track 72 in the Undertale OST is “Song That Might Play When You Fight Sans”. That’s multiple times that Sans is likened to snails.

Snails belong under the taxonomic class Gastropoda. Gasterpods.

These long pauses between words and phrases are not unlike how Gaster speaks.

Here is Gaster speaking with us in the opening sequence of Deltarune. And...

Now. Let’s move on.

(More under the cut.)

Mus_smile is the track that plays in room_gaster. This is my personal opinion, but the character that is the most strongly associated with smiles is Sans.

And Sans is certainly intelligent enough to be the prime suspect for being Gaster. The proper name for his namesake is Comic Sans Microsoft, or Comic Sans MS. MS can also be used as a suffix for the name of a person who has a degree in a Master of Science.

Sans also owns quantum physics books. The subject of Gaster’s scientific research is revealed in Entry #17: “photon readings negative”. Photons are described as a "quantum" of electromagnetic energy, and are of course within the realm of study under quantum physics.

Gaster, like Sans, is brilliant yet slow-working. Slower than Alphys, who is repeatedly noted to have nothing to show yet as the royal scientist in the eyes of the people and is shown to slack off constantly.

Gaster is implied to have perished, and I suppose he did, in a way, if these speculations do end up being correct. However, there’s something more to this statement. Ghosts are sort of in the realm of being not-alive, and Sans and Napstablook have a surprising level of comparability.

They both:

Get likened to “garbage”

Have connections to snails (Napstablook runs the snail farm)

Speak completely in lower case

Pretend to sleep and say “Z’s” out loud

Have black “sclera”

And the black sclera is also a topic of its own; it’s equated with the status of being brought back to life. Being “determined”. (See: Asriel and Undyne)

Undyne is especially suspect due to the strange right-eye-phenomenon she has in common with Sans, with spears shooting out of hers. Spears that are actually colored light blue, not unlike Sans’s eye.

To recap:

Sans and Gaster are heavily involved in Deltarune

They have been displaced from time and space

They have connections to snails

They are both doctors with knowledge in quantum physics

They both “fell” into the abyss

They both talk similarly

They are both slow

They are both characterized by their smile

They are both some degree of dead

Sans is Gaster or a significant piece of him. Sans has Gaster Blasters because they belong to him. If all prior conjecture proves true, he is and will be responsible for the destruction of a world or THE world within Deltarune. After all, the Latin definitions of “gaster” and “sans” are to destroy and to be without, respectively.

That brings us to the next subject: why is Sans Sans? More specifically, why is that his name? Why even change his name?

Below is the Japanese version of the fun event with Sans’s phone call. It features completely different dialogue from its English counterpart.

Am I Licca-chan? (Select No) Then from now on call me Sans. I need to check every once in a while. I won’t know when my name has changed.

“Licca-chan” is a well-known Barbie-esque dress-up doll in Japan, so popular to the point where it is even used as a synonym for other dolls from different companies. Perhaps it implies that Sans is adaptable due to Licca-chan’s nature as a doll and how she is in a constant state of change to reflect the times. It also seems to be a pun on “liquor” because Sans was talking about beer in the English version. I tried to scour the Japanese fandom for clues, but they also seemed stumped. If anyone has any ideas on what this could mean, please let me know!

Regardless, “Sans” doesn’t seem to be his actual name. Perhaps his true name was Gaster...?

Additionally, If the player changes the name of the fallen child via going into the code, this message appears in the stats menu. The vernacular is very Sans-like, with his frequent use of question tags at the end of his sentences (I counted 14 huh’s from Sans).

Finally, let’s talk about the number six. We know that it’s Gaster’s number--All of the explicitly Gaster-related fun events trigger for fun values in the sixties, Gaster’s stats are all comprised of 6′s, Gaster’s “typer-value” is 666--you get the idea.

The concept art Toby drew for the Alarm Clock’s character screen features what is presumably Sans and the number six.

“The Choice”--the track that plays during Sans’s judgements--is “Undertale” slowed down by 666%.

Section IV - Angels and Demons (The “Why”)

In modern day culture, 666 is closely associated with the devil. The Book of Revelation (13:17-18) asserts that 666 is “the number of a man” (this is important, and we’ll come back to it later) and is “the number of the Beast”. The Beast is mentioned as “coming out of the abyss”.

Sounds a lot like someone else we know, doesn’t it? And how fitting for Sans, the one who judges our sins and demands us “to burn in hell”.

But if we go further, the Beast of Revelation is described to have seven heads representing seven kings. The beast itself is an eighth king who is of the seven and "was and is not and shall ascend out of the bottomless pit, and go into perdition."

Chara is an eighth of the seven fallen children.

There’s something Chara, Sans, and Gaster all share, and it’s their association with demons.

Here is an excerpt from the Cutting Room Floor:

Among the four strings in version 1.0, the last one, designated by variable “demond”, stands out for two reasons.

The letter “d” is separate from the other letters denoting the demon variables--the rest, “x”, “y”, and “z” are in sequential alphabet order.

The speech pattern of the last string is different from the others. It has that signature question tag at the end of the sentence that a certain character is known for.

In version 1.001, the strings clearly reflect Chara’s speech pattern. This time, all the variables are in sequential order from “a” to “d”.

Pieces of dialogue at the near-end of a genocide route from Chara and Sans. Recall that Chara is using the same “Now” from earlier with Gaster and Sans.

Chara makes a reference to Banana Yoshimoto's book “Kitchen”. Take note of the page number.

Chara is also linked to the number nine. It’s the highest achievable stat in-game. It’s the stat of the locket and real knife. It’s how much damage Chara deals. It’s also the number six flipped upside down.

The connections are undeniable.

And yet, it goes further. Let’s take a look at how Christmas comes in to play.

In Deltarune, there are a few references to it, the most foremost probably being the importance of Noelle Holiday as a character. We also get Lancer’s laugh and the joke with “Krismas”.

Back to Undertale, there is significant Christmas iconography represented by “Gyfmas” and Gyftrot (bearing a strong resemblance to Photoshop Flowey, the DT Extractor, and Gaster Blasters).

What I’d like to focus on is Santa. Papyrus describes him as “a chubby, smiling man who loves to surprise people.” From the thank you note addressed to Santa we find in Sans’s room, we can assume that Sans is a Santa, at least to Papyrus. It’s pretty fitting, since Sans can be described as someone who “knows if [we’ve] been bad or good”. Maybe he can even tell if we’re sleeping or awake with how the Dark World appears to be linked with sleep and dreams (please read my theory on Sans being a Darkner for more on this).

So we can reasonably conclude that Sans presents himself as a friendly, child-oriented figure, in-line with the nature of Comic Sans, a font for children, and Ice-E, a mascot of a company marketed towards children.

…

Santa is an anagram of Satan.

…

To recap: Gaster’s association with the number 666 marks him as a “demon”. Chara and Sans are also called demons and similarly have connections to the number 6. This is more evidence that Gaster and Sans is or used to be the same people, and Chara has some form of correspondence with them.

I failed to mention before that there is actually a second Beast of Revelation “from the Earth” with "two horns like a lamb”. From the “earth” like Flowey, with horns like Asriel.

Asriel is most likely the “Angel” depicted in the prophecy within the scope of Undertale; he’s named similarly to Azrael, an angel of death, and one of his attacks is literally called “Angel of Death”. He also bears a striking resemblance to the Deltarune in his God of Hyperdeath form.

Surprise, surprise, he and Sans also share parallels.

Let’s start with their introductions. “Flowey the flower”. “Sans the skeleton”. It’s a similarly alliterative greeting and they’re both using fake names.

Mirrored dialogue yet again...

…and similar meta-commentary.

These three characters--Sans/Gaster, Chara, and Flowey/Asriel--they have all fallen. Gaster fell into his creation. Chara fell into the Underground. Asriel had “fallen down”. (Sans and Papyrus are also the only sibling pair other than Chara and Asriel. I won’t talk about Papyrus in this part though because this thing is shaping up to be too long already.)

What does this mean for Sans? I have a personal theory.

Above the entryway of the Judgement Hall, there is a reversed Deltarune. The triangles are inverted and the wings are more bat-like. In the room where only Sans appears, the same room that plays a version of “Undertale” slowed down 666%.

I think Sans is a candidate for the Angel prophesized to destroy the world in Deltarune. I think he is Sans Serif, a seraph. He fell into his experiment and became a “fallen” angel, a demon.

The Angel’s Heaven mentioned alongside, on the other hand... Heaven can also be used to refer to God. Dog is an anagram of God.

Sans has many, many connections with dogs, especially one Annoying Dog. More on this next time.

Part 1 || ❤️ || Part 3

#undertale #deltarune #undertale theory #deltarune theory #sans #gaster #cellytheory

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spooks-and-tea · 4 years

Text

Entangled (Spencer Reid x femReader) [Ch.11] The Final Chapter.

Summary: You don’t know how it happened. One moment you were watching Criminal Minds, and the next moment you were literally in the show. Can Spencer be the key to helping you find your way back home?

Warnings: minor character death, mentions of su*cide, bad explanations of quantum mechanics, bad words, sexual situations (some non-con), the usual criminal minds-type content

A/N: Some big bad interrogation Spencer vibes. Thanks for reading. This chapter was short, so I just decided 2 chapter posts in one day. Let me know what you thought of the story~Pleeeeease no one repost on other sites without my permission.

Word Count: 2,015

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. Chapter 7. Chapter 8. Chapter 9. Chapter 10. Chapter 11.

************************************************************************After Spencer had disappeared, JJ was surprised, to say the least.

She held the unsub by the cuffs as he angrily spoke about Spencer's big genius brain solving an equation in 2 minutes which had taken himself a lifetime of work to figure out. She asked him where the machine had taken Spencer and he replied with all of this talk about quantum mechanics, particle waves, split dimensions, and voids. Stuff that Spencer had been info-dumping about for months, regarding the case.

All JJ cared to know about was if Spencer was safe, and to that the unsub just shrugged.

The first thing the team did when you all returned to the BAU was throw the unsub into an interrogation room.

Spencer was quick to volunteer as the only interrogator in the room, he argued this unsub would react the strongest to him.

The rest of the team were still flustered from all of this inter-dimensional information that Spencer had gone on about on the ride back. You had backed him up wholeheartedly and you were seemingly in great health after being gone for 5 months.

"Alright Reid, you seem to be the only one of us that has a good idea of what's going on. We'll watch from here, and if he gets too aggressive, we'll send someone else in," Hotch agreed.

You watched from the double sided mirror, the unsub was looking at it as if he could see you. You clenched your fists. He was the reason you'd nearly lost Spencer. He was the reason that Spencer looked sick from overworking and you had nightmares for 5 months straight.

"Hey, will you be okay in here?" Spencer lowered his voice to ask you. You had refused to stop holding his hand since you got here. He noticed your fist clenching tighter.

"I don't want him to take you away from me again," you replied.

"He's in handcuffs, and his machine is being collected for evidence. He isn't a wizard, he needs that machine like Nikola Tesla needs an inductor. He can't hurt us anymore," Spencer tried to comfort you, using the soft tone he knew you loved.

"Just don't take too long in there, and give him hell for me, alright?" You stood on your toes and kissed him.

He gave you a small smile and nodded.

You slowly slid your hand from his as he turned to walk out.

When he entered the interrogation room, he was no longer soft-Spencer.

The unsub didn't even turn to look at him, he was fixated on the double mirror. His eyes unnerved you.

You crossed your hands over your chest and leaned against the wall, deciding to keep your eyes steadily on Spencer.

"We know who you are." Spencer spoke. You smiled, recognizing that Spencer was turning the unsub's words to you against him.

Was Spencer purposefully trying to make you happy while he was in the middle of an interrogation?

"I know who you are as well, Dr. Reid," his gritty voice made your skin crawl.

"Good, then you should know that I understand the significance of the science experiments you've been conducting, Dr. Arnold Lynch. You've been labeled as a dangerous person to the entire world; a mad scientist." Spencer sat in a chair, his arms crossed.

"Now they listen." Lynch, rolled his eyes, finally looking at Spencer. His unimpressed gaze trailed up and down, sizing him up.

"I was like you once. Young, an impressive mind; maybe if I had found her sooner she would have loved me." Lynch added. He looked back to the mirror, you tasted bile at the back of your throat.

Spencer leaned forward in his chair, putting his elbows on the table.

"You're trying to change the subject." Spencer pointed out. "Tell me how all of this started. Tell me where your partner, Dr. Deborah Tryst, is hiding and how she helped you."

Lynch's eyes widened. "We were colleagues. She helped me build the machine, and I wrote the equations that made it work. We went in together, the first time."

"She tested the machine with you?" Spencer asked.

"Yes, we experimented. We tried to study the void space for years. Then, one day, a crack formed. Through that crack I saw her." The unsub looked towards you, seemingly locking eyes with you through the one-way glass.

"Y/N?" Spencer clarified.

"Correct. She was spectacular, the girl from a parallel dimension. We didn't know why the crack revealed her at first, but then we saw the string. It was barely noticeable, like a fishing line. It led from her dimensional crack to ours. All it took was a tug on that wire to know who the other end of that line connected to."

He was watching me? What a sick creep!

"Who?"

"Don't play stupid with me Doctor, I know you feel it."

Spencer swallowed, his eyes flicking to you for a moment.

"I should have gotten rid of you when I had the chance. My colleague thought differently. Now that the cracks were open, she observed you both, she knew you both would feel-" he sighed, "-incomplete until you were in the same space. She decided to play matchmaker and ruin everything. I loved Y/N first. Y/N was mine and she was a beacon, a magnificent anomaly! I took her back so she could be my pet; so she would never be yours!" He angrily spat, slamming his fists onto the table. Spencer stood, seething. You felt similarly.

"You had no right!" Spencer's voice was deep and angry. You'd never heard him so angry, other than in the show.

"No, Tryst had no right bringing her to you in the first place!"

"Y/N wants to be here. This is her decision. If you're so convinced you love her, you would want what is best for her."

"What's best for her Dr. Reid, or what's best for you? Is she any better off fighting criminals for the BAU? A job she isn't trained for." He cruelly laughed. "Is putting her in danger just so you can fuck her every once in a while off-duty not selfish? You think I'm the selfish one, look at yourself. You're just expecting her to be the lawful Bonnie to your Clyde, how long until you drive her into a hail of bullets?" Lynch smirked.

Spencer's eyes widened and he gripped the table.

No Spence, don't let him get to you.

"That's it, I'm going in there." Morgan spoke up next to you.

Hotch held his hand up to block him; his eyes on Spencer. "Wait, let Spencer speak. He's getting the unsub to talk, and that's good."

Spencer quickly collected himself, his expression going blank.

"Where is Dr. Deborah Tryst?" Spencer asked.

"Ooh, did I strike a chord, Doctor?" Lynch chuckled, leaning back in his chair.

"Where is Dr. Deborah Tryst?" Spencer repeated, angrier.

"Probably playing matchmaker. There are an infinite amount of dimensions for her to play with." Lynch shrugged.

"She's still in the void?"

"Yup, she's the reason the crack sealed when you two went through. She trapped herself in there and made sure I could never go back. Whatever she's doing, we'll never know for sure because it is impossible to recreate the initial crack. You should know just how improbable it was to create one in the first place, Dr. Reid."

"So there is no further possibility of danger?"

"Not cosmically, but, for our impossible girl over there, who knows what kind of dangerous situations you will put her in." Lynch nodded to the double mirror.

"She is not yours and she will never be yours. We're putting you in a maximum security prison where you will never see her again. So you can sit in your cell for the rest of your life and remember that she's with me, not you." Spencer's eyes darkened. You wanted to end this fight and get him out of there. He was only getting angrier.

Hotch walked through the interrogation room door, holding it open. "Reid," was all he said.

That was it, Spencer had gotten a lengthy confession from the unsub. The details would come up during his trial.

Spencer stood up, not caring about the wobbling chair as he did so. He walked out of the room and you went to the hallway to meet him. You met him as he was stomping down the hall away from you. "Spencer!" You called, hurrying to follow him.

He made his way inside an empty meeting space and you quickly slipped in behind him; closing the door.

He loosened his tie and ran his hands through his hair. You let him cool off for a few moments.

"He's right. I am selfish." He sounded beyond angry, even guilty.

He leaned forward on the meeting table, clenching his fists against the wood.

"He was just trying to get the last word in. Don't pay his words any more attention." You spoke, softly; placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"You shouldn't work here. You're not properly trained for the high-intensity, high-risk situations."

"Then I can train. Anyways, I doubt Hotch is going to let me work here now that he knows," you said, sadly. You loved working here. You loved helping people and being with your BAU family. You loved Spencer's daily teasing.

"Being with me puts you in enough danger. I couldn't protect you. What's stopping something from happening to you again?" He looked up at you, though he was still hunched over the table.

"All the other times you protected me." You gave him a small smile. "When Chris threatened me, you confronted him. When I jumped into the lake, you stopped me from drowning. When I was stuck in my dimension, you rescued me from a life of being absolutely miserable without you. When the unsub first encountered us, you stood in front of me even though you couldn't see him. You've protected me far more times than you are choosing to acknowledge. I trust you with my life, Spence."

Spencer's shoulders fell as his breath evened out.

"I love you Y/N, I just don't want you to get hurt." Spencer whispered, his grip on the table loosening. He slowly stood up straight to look at you.

"We aren't some alternate justice-duo, Bonnie and Clyde. We're perfectly capable of protecting each other, and we aren't some crazy serial-killing, bank-robbing couple. We're Spencer and Y/N, the BAU's hottest couple." You spoke with exaggeration and winked.

Spencer gave you a small smile. His hair was a mess, his clothing was wrinkled, and his tie was undone.

"It's been a long day. Take me home?" You asked, giving him your best doe-eyes as you reached up to fix his tie.

"Oh. About that- you're apartment and all your money and assets are sorta gone now. You were presumed dead."

"I'm not talking about that place." You rolled your eyes; unaffected by the news.

You were used to being dirt poor anyways and that house was nothing but an empty shell.

"Home, with you," you explained.

"Oh."

Spencer broke out into a large grin. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you into a kiss. His coffee and woodsy-vanilla scent enveloped you like a warm hug. When he pulled away, he held his hand out to you.

"Come on then, I'll take you home."

Home, it was a strange concept. Your now-empty apartment in your dimension was once your home. You'd once almost drowned yourself to try to get back to that place.

Then you fell in love with Spencer, and living with him made you discover what a home truly was. It wasn't where you were from, it was the place you loved to be; the place you felt most comfortable, the most yourself.

Your home was in Spencer's dimension, Spencer's apartment, Spencer's arms, Spencer's everyday gestures, Spencer's smile, Spencer's late night chess games, Spencer's "I love you's," Spencer's raspy morning voice, Spencer's unruly hair, Spencer's hand kisses, Spencer's scrunched nose ticks, Spencer's info-dumps, Spencer's everything.

It was the most improbable circumstance and the one thing you were most thankful for. You got to spend your new life with Spencer.

In the end, Spencer Reid kept his promise; he did help you find your way home. Your way home to him.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #cm #drama #fanfiction #romance

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captainkurosolaire · 3 years

Text

Shoot Yer Shot

Curiosities were killers and fortune-filled coffers that rewarded boldly and swallowed unequipped venturers. Shelah quickly leaped backward to try for advantage in the shooting but she’d tilt ahead to notice and feel the breath of a kissing dirk striking against her shoulder disrupting the wind, a partner to an assigned sniper, she had the same technique as Captain’s a modified and elevated move on the Shukuchi or ghost-step. The cut against the Duskwright’s arm shredded an amount of spurting violent rain, that soaked on this savage-fighters face she’d gobble and wipe it up with using her own flat secondary blade and slather it for new face-paint, a trademarked habit to wear her slain victim’s as her battle paint. Sadistic but twistedly was seen as ‘honor’ to prey, by Fiona’s standards. The Elezen’s arm weighing more, her rifle was special, known as a Kog’we from her origins was often weightless but acquiring an injury to her main shooting limbs was dangerous. That arrow’s shaft luckily was also unusually made of the same thing and deflected a second hit that wouldn’t be acquired if Shelah didn’t keenly use those advanced senses. Captain struggled to know his crewmate’s intentions or plan. Though snapped out of his state something triggered in those Red-Gloved words that made him begin trying to think of means to escape this situation. Shelah and Captain had one fail-safe plan, but his sniper would have to acquire the opportunity to hit that target. Not moving was vital for them. Shelah raised up shooting a chamber shot that caused Fiona to break out manically and laughter challenging the velocity of the bullet and deflecting it with her steel at the right angle. Uplifting it up, Shelah fired another, six bullets left within the mag which, unlike her rifle, were natural bullets that required ammunition and to fill, reload, replace them organically. The first one deflected Shelah focused her sight on stopping and halting its velocity. The second one was a dummy shot, Fiona was rushing forth, juking this one, a third low shot she took in how her ranged opponent angled for precision and would leap over by studying preemptively. The fourth shot came whizzing and whiffing seemingly, unimportantly signaling that this sniper was out of her match, she was desperate now, the fifth accompanying right by requiring that to block or dodge by Fiona or it’d hit her in the heart. She crossed her-blades to deflect. And ran through it. This savage relished in despair. That was her dance or <Improvisation> Why among her assassin’s organization she was infamously heralded in the silent’s of her colleagues as the Chaos Swan. Her movements were graceful. Shelah’s fourth shot ricocheted off the paused bullet frozen from her time-clocked-halt irises in effect, to angle back in a trajectory towards Captain’s ship, where her crow’s nest and look out, she held hanging stoned talisman’s that looked like slabs of hollowed mirrors but they were surfaced with a special stone solid that helped deflection, but they were her ‘territory’. Within the velocity of her Nest, she took advantage of her axis, times, measurements, and placements, inside her head, the world was on a grid. The tickling clocks of overabundant watches sleeved on her arms allowed Shelah to close out all other thoughts and focus on them individually honing in on them with her Elezen ears. She solved her armed-shots like a blueprinted tactician, on her Island. She was the weakest and hadn’t brawn and couldn’t win ever physically against Elder-Sisters. While normally bullets colliding with others wouldn’t result in a rebound Shelah’s quantum stoppage prevented the object’s flow of aether and every function to become stationary on stand-still. This was like creating a wrapping point for her bullet to bounce at off the same energy values depending on her angle, which recalibrated the wind soaring into a heard ‘twang’ it hit back at her hung assortment of her ranging rubber-hollow wards. Sending that concentration once again back.

Back towards the sender but coming in-from behind. To Fiona’s pursuing march. Her daggers were ecstatically ready to cleave and puncture. “Ye like range so do I!” She’d fling one of her daggers, the throw would be offset as that bounding series of the shot, finally all came together and hit the same shoulder of the flinging projectile of Fiona. Shelah launched her arrow to try to upset the trajectory more but she’d be stuck in the kneecap still by Fiona’s stray blade still prone unable to flee back any more distance, Shelah wore steel-protected pads in that spot, though that dagger did get a piercing contact. While Fiona’s bone took up the hit of that shot, the energy was less-powered and reduced. Which caused her to become unbalanced and lose footing. Gasping but not downed, in-fact, Fiona’s blood boiled and rushed from actually being delivered a hit against her assumed helpless prey becoming lusted in this fever. “Blimey! Ye a’ surprise! Pointy-hood!” Groaning out though terrifying regulating herself. Shelah dropped in anguish, only one-last bullet remaining. She searched for Captain and looked with a prepared sorrow of this inevitable failure to return to protect Captain back. All she could do was resort to one-remaining shot to the dark. Succumbing and her blood-loss was making her become more unstable and numb her own stability shaky. Fiona’s last pursuit was inbound, she was like a rabid winter-wolf charging in as she put her hilted remaining dagger in-between her gnarling teeth and would rush for a slash across the juggler in one more sprint, though, Shelah held that rifle now in both arm’s aiming so she’d have to be a bit more careful in how she graced against this shot, more concentration and focus came and it only took one-shot to end everything. That went for snipers and assassins alike. (Previous) — / References / — ♫ — (Next Page)

#Final Fantasy XIV #Tales of the Goldbrand #Shelah #Fiona #Chaos Swan #Red-Gloved #The Cleaner #FFXIV #Seeker of the Sun #Sniper #Assassin #Savage #Mysterious #Chronomancy #Duskwright #Midlander Hybrid #Midlander #Tw : Fantasy Violence #creative writing

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izukult · 4 years

Text

this is the end {chapter one}

summary / you look so different, peter thinks, under certain circumstances as you share your old song with the world. the chapter in which the first video is released.

warnings / the word fuck is used like 483748 times. violence! mentions of drinking! not edited writing lmao

word count / 2,043

notes / aight so this is another set up chapter and it’s pretty redundant i’m sorry but YES we boutta get into it soon. masterlist? nope.

fly me to the moon

let me play among the stars

let me see what spring is like on jupiter and mars.

peter held your hand above your head as he spun you away from him, chuckling as you stumbled over your own feet. you grinned as you looked at your shoes, trying to work out the steps as best as you could.

in other words, hold my hand

in other words, baby kiss me.

he pulled you towards him again and let his palms rest on the small of your back. “and i thought i was bad at dancing.” his voice was quiet and his breath was hot on your ear in comparison to the cold air outside. you laughed, glaring playfully at him.

“fuck off, parker. i’m sorry if i’m not used to waltzing on the rooftops.” you looked past him, towards the skyline of new york, and then you met his soft eyes again.

fill my heart with song

and let me sing forever more

you are all i long for

all i worship, and adore

“ah, so you haven’t mastered the spiderman dancing technique then?” you rolled your eyes, but placed your head on his shoulder as he swayed you lightly. “i’m glad we did this,” his words were sincere and you could feel the grin that was radiating off of him.

“me too,” the fabric of his suit jacket wasn’t the most comfortable, but with the heat coming off of him mixed with the smell of his cologne and, well, him himself, you felt yourself sinking into complete relaxation.

if you squinted hard enough, you could probably see the lights coming from your school’s prom. if you tried, you could probably feel the kick from the spiked punch or the movement of the awful dj; but instead you centered on the feeling of peters hands and the sound of your playlist coming from his shitty phone speaker. just two teenagers, dancing on the top of a building, living within themselves.

in other words, please be true

in other words, i love you

you hit the ground again, eyes almost rolling back. your hands took the brunt of the fall, and a harsh cough scratched the back of your throat. bile filled your mouth as you let your head fall to the back of your hands.

you clenched your eyes shut but you were yanked back to your feet before you had the chance to even try to gain composure. the room spun around you— whether that was from the blood loss, concussion, or the lack of food you couldn’t tell— and your head felt heavier than it ever had.

you were pathetic. you didn’t technically know how long you’d been there but you guessed it couldn’t have been more than thirteen days (except with how often you passed out and the fact you never saw a calendar, or the sun, you couldn’t tell), and you already felt your body completely giving in. only, give or take, thirteen days and you wanted to completely give up. you wanted to sink to your knees and then a little farther and not feel yourself come back up. you wanted to punch one of those motherfuckers in the face and have their next strike to you be the final one. you wanted to lift one of your hands up to flip them off before they finally caved and snapped your fucking neck. but, you knew you couldn’t let in. you knew that there were things you had to stay alive for.

you turned your head to the man holding you and offered him a sharp but weak grin.

“wow, what’s someone with such a pretty face doing down here?” you laughed at your sentence before you were cut off by the masked man yanking on your hair. “betcha never imagined the queen being such an annoying bitch, yeah?” your nose was crooked, eyes bloodshot and face covered in bruises.

you were fucked. literally and figuratively and everything bad that could come with that sentence. the environment was bad, the people were awful, but missing your home was probably the worst.

whenever you could, you thought about peter. you thought about how you were certain may would be trying to calm him down every day, or how he would crack a small smile whenever ned gave him a weak attempt to make him feel better. you thought about the way his shampoo smells, or how his fingers felt when they’d trace your arm.

he was your escape from this place, as well as your need to escape.

you closed your eyes as another wave of pain crashed over you, two more of your captors coming over to hold you down (which wasn’t really necessary, you were fucking tired) as the original man left a beating on your skin. fuck, it was going to be a long death.

——————————

peter rolled the skin of his bottom lip between his teeth, shaky hands going to grip at his thighs. he took in a harsh breath and his eyes darted along the papers in front of him. “fuck, fuck, fuck!” a strangled sob came from him and he shook his head, standing up quickly. his legs wanted to give out from under him but he held his own as he let tears fall to the ground below him; he grabbed his glass of water, almost bringing it to his lips for a drink before he threw it at the wall, not flinching as it shattered.

he’d been like this since he found out you were missing. actually, he’d been like this since he got the familiar feeling in his gut as he waited for you to text him back in the middle of your conversation about the show ‘quantum leap’, but by the time he’d taken action to try to find you, you were already gone.

he gripped his hair, tugging on it. if you were there, you’d tell him to be careful of ripping it out. if you were there, you’d hold his hand and tell him it was going to be okay. if you were there he wouldn’t be in this mess. and then he was screaming, his head in his hands and his heart rate erratic.

he sniffled, wiping the tears off his face with the palm of his hand before walking out of the room, leaving the glass on the floor. he ignored the look on may’s face (but he knew what it was- concern, pity, empathy) and went out the front door, leaving it open.

he was shaky, out of it, off his game; he hadn’t been patrolling recently and he was sure if he wasn’t all about stopping crime, he would be drinking. his eyes were bloodshot, an after effect of crying and constantly staring at anything that could help him find you, and he was just a complete mess. he didn’t know where he was walking, and he was scanning everything he passed to see if it had a connection to you.

he jumped a little at his ringtone, pulling his phone to answer a call. ned’s smiling face was on his screen and for some reason it brought tears to his eyes again.

“yeah, man?” he sounded broken. he waited for ned to comment about having a movie night or tell him an anecdote of something crazy that had happened at school today.

“turn on the news.” ned sounded almost as shaky as him and peter stopped in his tracks.

“uh, not near a tv right now, buddy.” he had already turned on his heel and was running as quickly as he could back to his apartment, but ned didn’t need to know that.

“get to one. god, man, it’s-” ned cut off, clearing his throat. “i’ll let you see it yourself.” it had to be about you, that was clear, but there were a lot of different possibilities. before he could think about them, though, he was running up the stairs, tripping over his own feet, pushing past people, the whole nine yards before he stumbled into his living room to see a crying may.

he looked at the tv and there you were. his phone fell from his hands onto the floor, and he took a slow step closer.

“i was- i was just watching the cooking channel and this came on.” that must’ve meant it wasn’t just the news then, that was showing this. peter swallowed but his mouth was so dry it felt like he was choking- or maybe he was choking, he couldn’t tell- and his eyes never left the screen.

you looked tired. not tired like when you and peter would stay up late talking, not tired like when you would be up doing homework until three am, but you looked fucking exhausted. you were covered in a series of bruises, cuts littering your features. you were surrounded by a series of men of different statures, all wearing masks. the one closest to you on your right grabbed the bottom of your chin, gripping tightly before you jerked your head away from him.

the man shook his head. “oh, sweetie,” he shoved you onto your knees and you glared up at him, wincing at the harsh contact. “when will you learn to behave?” you rolled your eyes before you smiled.

“go fuck yourself.” the smile that graced your lips shifted to a scowl. the sound of the slap would’ve been enough to make peter kill, but instead all he could do was watch. the man leaned down next to you and said something peter couldn’t hear, but he felt his blood boiling. he shouldn’t be that close to you. he shouldn’t be touching you. you shouldn’t be there. peter didn’t know what he said, but he could tell the effect it had on you.

you were trying not to cry- he knew that, he could tell at the way your eyebrows furrowed just slightly and your right eye twitched barely enough for him to notice and peter made a promise he was going to fucking end the man who was making you cry and he was going to fucking find anyone who ever put a hand on you and he was going to make sure they never-

“peter,” his name sounded like honey on your tongue. and then he was sobbing and he was on his knees, mirroring you, and he was staring at the screen waiting for you to say something else and he hoped to god someone was tracking the location you were streaming from and he should’ve tried it himself but he was too busy staring at you. your response was delayed and you flinched as the jazz of a familiar song came over your ears. the song was prominent in both of your eyes, and, peter could tell, it showed they had watched you two for a long time and they knew exactly who he was. peter didn’t miss a beat when your first tear fell as sinatra’s voice made its entry.

“god, fuck,” your tears were pooling now and you looked so fucking scared and peter hated that. he promised to keep you safe and now all he could do was stare at you through the screen like a blubbering idiot. “peter, baby,” the man next to you squeezed your shoulder, nails visibly digging into the skin at the petname.

in other words

“i need you to let me go.” the world took a pause at that, peter was sure of it. the axis had gone off of its tilt just slightly, and the whole rotation had been completely destroyed.

please be true

“no,” he knew you couldn’t hear him, that he was pleading to a screen that you wouldn’t say what he knew you were going to. “no, please don’t.” but you didn’t listen.

in other words

“because if you don’t, that will be the hardest part about this.”

i love you.

and then you were gone. mays cooking show was back on and peter was scrambling for a remote, desperately trying to get you back to where he could see you. but, just like the past couple of weeks, he couldn’t bring you back.

tag list: @sarahalkhalifaa @lilsxtan @honeymarvel @spider-manffh

#peter parker #spiderman #tom holland x reader #tom holland #peter parker x reader #peter parker fluff #peter parker angst #peter parker smut #spiderman x reader #tom holland angst #mcu #marvel cinematic universe #far from home #spiderman far from home #spiderman homecoming #spiderman angst #tom holland fluff

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x1-imaginesreturns · 5 years

Text

The Lightning God - Seungwoo Quantum Leap Part 1

Masterlist

Pairing: Seungwoo x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, violence

Word Count: 10,856

Notes: The beginning of this is kinda crap, but it gets better later on. I made this mostly while listening to Inuyasha OST’s lol. I’M SORRY THIS TOOK ME SO LONG BUT IT’S HERE NOW I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE IT!

Song Recommendation: Flash - X1

Quantum Leap - The Beginning

You tossed and turned in your bed for hours, finding yourself unable to sleep. It was one of those nights, and you figured, there was something off and you just couldn’t find pinpoint a spot to settle down and fall asleep.

After being unable to fall asleep for about 2 hours, you thought, you looked over at your alarm and clock and saw it was 2:03 am, meaning you had only been trying to sleep for an hour now. Sighing, you slowly get up from your bed and make your way over to your bathroom.

Wincing as you turn on the bathroom light, you turn to face the mirror, noting the dark circles that had already formed underneath your eyes. ‘I wonder if I actually just woke up from that nightmare,’ you think to yourself, ‘It wouldn’t hurt to go and look and see if it’s still there, right?’

Sighing, you walk back to your room, knowing your curiosity will just get the best of you anyways. As you peer back into your room, you see the bracelet sitting exactly where you set it last night, right on top of your night stand. Sighing to yourself, you walk over to it.

“I guess I haven’t woken up yet,” you say to yourself, “Let me just pretend for a second that you’re actually magical, you little bracelet thing,” you say, now actually talking to the bracelet itself, “Where exactly are you going to take me?”

After a few seconds of silence between you and the bracelet, you know it’s not going to convey you any kind of answer. You sigh and pick it up, glancing over each one of the charms… before your eyes stray to a particular one.

Your eyes land on the lightning bolt. You can recognize its vivid yellow color, even in the dark, almost as if it’s glowing in the dark. You turn the charm in your fingers, revealing the other side to be vibrantly blue, something you hadn’t observed before.

Shaking your head, you know you shouldn’t be pretending like this. You should in fact try and get some sleep instead. Placing the bracelet back down on your nightstand, you take a deep breath before snuggling back underneath the covers of your bed.

As you’re trying to fall asleep, the image of the lightning bolt plays in your head, over and over again, almost as if you’re in the middle of a terrible thunderstorm with no sound. The slender shape is imprinted in your mind, even as you’re finally falling asleep…

Not too long after you drift into what you thought would be a peaceful slumber, and you start to feel yourself fall in and out of slumber, you felt a faint sensation of being wet. Initially, you thought you were dreaming, but as you started to wake up… you felt absolutely soaked.

As your eyes flew open suddenly, almost as if you couldn’t control them, you were met with your soaked clothes. You looked up into the darkened night sky covered with clouds and more rain continued to pour onto you.

Sitting up, you beheld the towering trees that towered many hundred feet above you. “Really?!,” you exclaim to yourself, “A forest, of all places! It’s raining too, what the hell?!” Your words echo among the trees, when suddenly a large lightning bolt strikes the ground near you.

As you jump back wildly in surprise, landing on your back, the light from the bolt still blinding your eyes. As you start to recover your vision, you then notice a faint glowing coming from your right wrist area. You lift up your wrist curiously, wondering if it was indeed coming from you.

And of course, as you look at your wrist, the bracelet was on it… except only the lightning bolt charm was attached. “What the…,” you mutter to yourself, touching the bracelet and charm to make sure you’re not going crazy.

However, the bracelet does nothing as you’re suddenly struck with a bolt of lightning. If you thought the previous bolt was blinding, then this was on a whole other level. You felt the ground around you shake from the force of the bolt, and were certain that you were going to die. However, as the light evaporated, you were okay.

No burn marks on your skin, your hair was a bit frazzled, and even though your eyes were a bit misty with tears, everything felt fine. ‘What the,’ you think to yourself, ‘How is that even possible?’ You look down at the bracelet again, noting how the lightning bolt charm was glowing extremely bright and pulsating every few seconds.

Another monstrous rumble of thunder echoes from the sky, and you glance up, noticing how the cloudy sky is covered in a variety of colors, flashing from pink to blue to green to yellow in the matter of a few seconds. It was delightful, honestly, but you were confused on how that was possible.

Suddenly, a brief flash of colorful light passes right past you, and lands only a few feet from where you’re sitting. As you’re blinking from the amount of light again, you notice a figure start to stand up from where the light had landed.

The person doesn’t hesitate to start walking over to you, stopping once it was only a few feet from you. “Hello?,” you say, “Can I help you? Or can you help me? I don’t know where I am!” Before the person can answer, another flash of lightning strikes behind it, allowing you to see its face.

He, as you now had identified, was extremely handsome. His facial features looked warm, even with the thoughtful expression now displayed on them. He was also not wearing a top of any kind, so you saw his toned body and muscles too. However, what struck you the most was that he was wearing a necklace that had the same exact lightning charm as the one on your bracelet.

He takes a couple more steps forward, allowing you to undoubtedly see how handsome he is. His left eye flashes an intense blue, but only for a moment. For a second you thought you hallucinated that part. He tilts his head at you before saying, “How did you survive?”

“What do you mean how I survived? Survived what?,” you ask, clearly frustrated. He doesn’t say anything in reply, but his eyes are moving every which way. Eventually, they stop, and land right back on you, his left eye flashing blue once again before he says, “The lightning bolt that struck you. How did you survive? No one survives from my magic unharmed like that.”

‘Magic?,’ you think to yourself, ‘Didn’t the bracelet’s cryptic word thingy state something about worlds with magic? Or am I tripping?’ “I-I don’t know how I survived,” you say, stuttering a bit because of how cold you finally noticed it was, “I-I don’t r-really know what you desire from m-me.”

He frowns, taking notice of how badly you’re starting to shiver. His eyes flash again, but instead of flashing vibrant blue, only a quick glimmer of gold passes through them. This time, you were certain you didn’t imagine it.

“Who are you?,” he asks, “One of the Empire’s spies sent to trick me? To slay me? And don’t give me any other crap.”

“I- what empire? I literally don’t even know where I am! Or who you are!,” you exclaim back, noticing the prominent frown on his face. “Lies!,” he says through his teeth, a clap of thunder echoing behind his words, “My magic isn’t survivable! You have to be someone from the empire who has obtained a piece of starsteel.”

He advances once again, stopping right in front of you. His intense glare lines right up into your eyes, making you cower back, placing your hands over your eyes, not even thinking about the bracelet currently adorned on your right wrist.

You can practically feel his eyes land on on the bracelet, and a few deep rumbles of thunder go off in the sky above you. “What the…,” you hear him say softly. He makes a small humph sound, almost as if he’s considering what exactly to do. You slowly withdraw your hands from your eyes, and when you do, you’re met with his eyes.

The two of you lock into a gaze, and you see the deep, tawny color of his eyes. His eyes don’t move from yours, and it’s practically as if the world stills for a second. You don’t even detect how the sound of distant thunder fades, or how the clouds suddenly disappear. A slight breeze whips around you both, causing you to look away from him quickly.

Suddenly, he rushes forward, wrapping his arms around you in an embrace. Your face heats up quickly, and before you can shout at him to let go of you, he jumps off of the ground, causing a blazing light to envelop both of you.

As soon as that happens, he seemingly pushes off of the air, and darts off, practically at the speed of light, into the pitch black night. “Ya!,” you shout, “What are you doing?! Where are we going?!!” Your exclamations get drowned out by the sound of the wind he’s creating. As you look up at his face from your position, you can see how his eyes are glowing bright blue, his face calm as he flies the two of you through the sky.

You sigh and look back into his toned chest, your face still warm. ‘This is downright surreal honestly,’ you think to yourself, ‘What the hell is this bracelet exactly?’ Even though flying was always a scary concept to you, you felt secure in his arms for some odd reason.

Soon enough, you feel the wind around you start to lessen, meaning he was slowing down, making you curious as to where he was going to land. Surprisingly, it looked like he was going to land in the small village that had appeared below. There were no lights throughout the village, and the ground was still clearly wet from the storm.

Suddenly, the whole world light up with light before you dizzily landed right in front of the biggest hut-house looking structure in the whole village. Looking up, he was still standing over you, but he was looking directly ahead, right at the entrance of the hut you had landed in front of. Behind you, you sensed the sounds of people opening the flaps at the front of their huts, as well as whispers from the people that had already gotten a chance to see exactly who was standing behind you.

Suddenly, you hear footsteps coming from the inside of the hut you were standing in front of. “Well, well, well, someone just decided to drop by, I see,” a voice sounds out from the inside, “It’s been a while, my disciple. What have you brought me?”

A older-looking lady steps out of the hut, walking with a wooden cane that had a bunch of lightning-shaped marks engraved into it. He pushes you forward suddenly, causing you to be face to face with the lady now before he says, “Take care of her.”

As he’s turning around, the lady says, “Now, now, is that all you have to say for yourself? Leaving something that you found here with no explanation?” You turn around to see his shoulders go up and down, as if he took in a deep sigh.

The light surrounds him again, and he blasts off towards the sky, looking like a shooting star as he zoomed away in the black night. The lady sighs behind you before yelling out, “Everyone go back inside! I shall talk to the council in the morning. Get some good rest.”

You turn back to her slowly, and she smiles politely, “No need to be so jittery, little one, come inside. I shall make a place for you to rest and get you some warmer clothes.” She starts walking back inside, motioning for you to follow her in. You take in a deep breath and exhale it as you walk through the flap at the front.

You can’t see much as it is dark, but you can tell it is a cute and lovely little home. “Back here child!,” the lady calls, her voice near the edge of the living space, “You will sleep over here.” You walk over to where she’s standing and she hands you a bundle of clothing. “Put these on,” she says, “You’ll be a lot warmer.”

Before you can even thank her, she says, “It’s my pleasure, child, And before you ask any questions, we shall talk with the council in the morning, and we shall answer any question you may have. Just get some rest tonight. I will be near the front if you require anything.”

She slowly trots back near the door before you can say anything, leaving you to change and go to sleep.

A flute-like sound wakes you up in the morning. You jolted awake, looking around frantically as you did so. ‘Right,’ you think to yourself, ‘Somehow I’m stuck in this extraordinary world with whoever that handsome guy was and this mysterious lady.’

Now that you can see what’s in the hut, you notice the brightly colored tapestries covering the walls and the delicately carved wood furniture lining the room. The lady had disappeared from her sleeping spot already, leaving you unsure of what you should do.

The flute or whatever it is, continued to perform an enchanting melody before many other kinds of instrumental sounds started coming from throughout the village. It sounded absolutely gorgeous, and you wondered how long they had been playing for. You got up slowly, taking note of the stunning colors that were patterned onto your clothes.

Your shirt felt lightweight and it had an intricate pattern of flowers sewn across it. Your pants were some sort of jean-like material with rips every so often, but the rips had been decorated with different colored dye, making them look unique.

As you slid your feet off of the bed and looked down towards the ground, you noticed your original clothes sitting on the floor. They had clearly been cleaned, as they were no longer wet nor covered in mud stains.

You decided you should just stay in these clothes, as they did fit you well and looked pleasant on you. Slowly, you made your way towards the edge of the hut, peeking out from the edge of the flap carefully. There were many villagers walking about, talking to each other, and some were still playing the exquisite melody that surrounded the village.

You step out of the hut cautiously, wondering exactly what you were supposed to do. Suddenly, a brilliant beam of light lands next to you, causing you to jump back in surprise. The light dissipates quickly, and you promptly recognize the figure that comes out of it as the lady who took you in last night.

“Sorry, I did not mean to startle you,” she says, “Though it seems you are unfamiliar with our magic, young one.” You nod your head slowly. “I see. That is why you were so frightened last night, am I correct?,” she asks, causing you to nod again.

“Follow me dear,” she says, taking a few steps forward while motioning for you to follow her, “The council and I shall answer any questions you have.” You follow after her as the two of you pass through the village. The villagers all watch as you walk by, whispering things among themselves. The musicians even halt their playing to observe you walk by.

Soon enough, you are past the last of the huts, falling into a gloomy forest. She doesn’t say anything as pass by trees after more trees… but soon enough a gathering opens. As light finally reaches your eyes again, you look up the see the biggest tree you’ve ever seen in your life.

Its branches reach past the sky, and it has glowing, golden leaves, unlike the smaller green leaved trees that surround you. The bark of the tree is decorated in lightning-like patterns, just like the lady’s cane. The lady walks right up to the tree, stopping at the base. You were still gawking at the tree. It was marvelous.

“Come little one,” she calls, “Do not be afraid. This is the Xanthe tree, the source of all magic and life within our village.” You walk up to the tree as well, halting next to her at the very base of the tree. “Just follow my lead,” She says, “It will seem daunting at first, but you merely have to believe you can go through.”

She steps into the tree, clearly not even fazed, and passes right through it. ‘What the,’ you think, ‘They can teleport, fly, and now even walk through solid objects? This is insane! But... I suppose I have to follow her…’

You take in a deep breath, closing your eyes and holding your breath as you walk right into the tree. Taking a couple large steps forward, you open your eyes slowly, wincing at the newfound light. You do a double-take as you look around in the narrow hallway that you’ve now appeared in. “I did it!,” you say excitedly.

“Yes, yes, you did,” you hear from behind you, “Good job, little one.” You turn back around the see the lady standing there, smiling at you. “Now come, we have much to discuss.” She walks forward, pushing open the massive wood doors at the end of the hallway. You follow closely behind her as she steps into the new room.

As you finally step into the room, you don’t believe what you’re perceiving once more. You had entered into a vast room, the walls wide and expansive, and the ceiling seemed to go to the heavens itself. The room was illuminated with all sorts of floating lights that flickered around, almost as if they were fairies.

The walls were carved, depicting many different stories and people. As your eyes came down from the walls, you saw the intricate structure made of wood that was in front of you. It was beautifully carved, and had many levels, each containing seats. Five of the seats already had people in them, and the two highest seats were completely vacant.

‘They must be the council she was talking about,’ you think to yourself, ‘They must be powerful.’ Your eyes stray upwards again, taking in each person who sat in one of the seats. On the two lowermost seats, the ones closest to the wall, there was an amused-looking man who clearly was well-built, and another man with hair as dark as the night you flew through last night.

On the middlemost seats, there was a very serious-looking man, with a pair of round glasses adorning his face and the other one with many tattoos upon his exposed body. The upper seats were completely empty, and you wondered who they belonged to.

“Good morning Elder Xanthe!,” the one with the tattoos says, smiling broadly at her. ‘Wait, Xanthe?,’ you think to yourself, ‘Isn’t that the name of the tree?’ “Good morning Feng,” she answers, “Are we all ready?” The four of them nod simultaneously, looking among themselves.

Elder Xanthe nods back at them before saying, “Then we shall begin. Little one,” she says to you, “Sit in that chair right there.” She points at the raised chair that’s still somehow underneath where the council is sitting. It retains an excellent view of all of them, and you can feel their eyes on you as you climb the stairs towards the platform where the chair stands.

As you sit on the chair, you note how Elder Xanthe has made her way to the top of the platform, sitting on the highest seat. ‘She must be extremely formidable,’ you think. “Now for our first order of business,” Xanthe announces, her voice filling the broad space easily, “Little one, what shall we call you by?”

“Y/n,” you say, surprised at how loud your voice sounds in such a massive room. Elder Xanthe nods and says, “Y/n it is then. Welcome to Okliven. Home of the ones who control the weather.”

“We have not seen an outsider for many thousand years. But you are here for a reason, no doubt,” she says, her eyes profound, no longer holding the kind warmth that they formerly had, “Let me introduce you to the members of my council.”

“First, there is Feng,” She says, pointing at the one with tattoos, “His powers control the wind, and he is the most powerful member currently on my council.” He smiles down at you, a small breeze flying by you, as almost as if he was saying hello. (Seungyoun)

“Next is Lei,” she says, directing your eyes towards the one with round glasses, “He is in control of the colors of the sky and the transition from night into day.” His glasses light up in a shimmer, his brown eyes, reflecting many colors in them, even though his facial expression stays serious. (Wooseok)

“Next is Van, Feng’s younger brother,” she says, pointing at the dark-haired one, “He handles the everyday weather and keeps us safe from vicious storms.” He smiles shyly at you, clearly flattered by the sudden praise. (Yohan)

“Finally, there is Makani,” she says, gesturing to the well-built man, “He controls the melodies that fly through our village in the mornings.” He waves at you kindly, and even gives a little smirk when you shyly wave back. (Hangyul)

“Now that that is done, we have more significant business to attend to,” she proclaims fiercely, and each member of the council returns their facial expression back to a serious one. “I said we would answer any question of yours, but that comes at a price,” she states, “Are you willing to answer any question we may ask you?”

You nod timidly, knowing this is the sole way you’ll be able to figure out anything about where you are. “Good,” she answers, smiling, “I shall begin. Where are you from, and why have you come here?”

“I’m from what’s called planet Earth,” you answer, “I didn’t come here by choice, it’s kind of a long story, but basically I bought this bracelet here,” you continue, lifting up your right wrist so they can all see the bracelet and its singular charm, “And it brought me here. It initially had more charms, but now it merely has this one.”

A few seconds of silence pass, and you’re unsure what they’re thinking about. “May I see the charm again?,” Lei asks, leaning forward in his chair. You hold up your right arm again, turning the charm towards him. “Xanthe, that can’t be-” “It is,” she says, “I think I have some idea of why you are here. But that is for later. Feng, it is your turn.”

Feng looks down at you, clearly considering various things in his head. “Does your home world ‘Earth’ contain any sort of magic?,” he asks, making another small breeze glide by you. “No, there’s no magic of any kind,” you answer. “Then how was the bracelet able to work?,” he asks.

“I-I don’t know,” you say back, “It wasn’t under my control.” Feng leans back in his chair, clearly frustrated by your answer. Xanthe sighs and looks over at Lei. “Go ahead Lei,” she says.

“You haven’t lied yet. That is considerably better than most that have come in here can say. Now, tell me, is there someone or something after your bracelet?” Your mind flashes back to the phone call and the cryptic wording of his pleas. “I think so, yes, but I’m not sure what,” you say, looking at him confidently, “I received a phon- message,” you continue, changing your wording so that way they would understand you, “That said that if don’t return the bracelet to where I bought it from, then something terrible will happen to that place.”

Lei nods at your words, a look of perplexity written on his face. “I think that is all we desire to ask you,” Xanthe says, “You are honorable, young one. Not many have the bravery to come in here and tell the truth. We shall answer your questions honestly as well.”

‘What should I ask them first?,’ you ask yourself, ‘There are so many things I need to know if I’m stuck here.’ You sigh gently before looking up at Xanthe and asking, “You said you possess some idea of why I’m here. Please tell me why you think I’m here.” Xanthe considers you for a second before replying with, “I believe you have been sent here to bring Raiden back to us.”

“And what or who is Raiden?,” you ask curiously. The four of them exchange a look of worry before Lei says, “Raiden is who saved you last night. He is the heir to the Xanthe tree’s power, but he ran away from us over 4 years ago. It is his destiny to take Xanthe’s spot when he is ready.”

Xanthe clears her throat and says, “Thank you Lei. You, young one, possess a bracelet which shelters you from Raiden’s powers. I can also train you to use the bracelet’s power.” She sighs, her eyes casting upwards, clearly upset at the memories of him.

Feng detects this and continues for her, “It’s very crucial that you’re here, because Xanthe is approaching the end of her life span, and we require someone to take her place before that happens… but unfortunately, Raiden is the only one who can take Xanthe’s place.”

“Raiden clearly already likes you,” Makani starts, “He does not simply bring anyone by to our village that he hasn’t been in for many years. If you were anyone else, he likely would’ve slain you on the spot.”

You shudder at the thought. ‘I could’ve died!’ you think worriedly, ‘How the hell am I meant to persuade him to come back then? Are they actually serious about this?’ You look back up at everyone and observe all of their solemn faces and the realization truly hits you.

“Well then, where do I start?”

As soon as you and Xanthe had returned from the council meeting, she sent you to work. You had agreed to work for her in return for her guidance on how to bring Raiden back and on how to use the bracelet’s powers.

She had just sent you to collect ingredients from the local markets… but she hadn’t offered any directions so you were currently wandering around the village cluelessly… and getting even more weird looks from the villagers. There were many ingredients listed, some of them familiar and others you had never even seen nor heard of.

‘How could she merely send me off, expecting me to be able to obtain everything?,’ you think to yourself, your face clearly displaying frustration, ‘I’m going to have a breakdown in front of all of these people that I’ve never even met before!’ You inhale through your nose, already feeling the tears pushing against the brims of your eyes.

“Hey, are you okay?,” a voice says suddenly, causing you to jump around. ‘Y-Yes, totally f-fine!,” you exclaim nervously, looking over the stranger. He had gleaming white hair, and probably the cutest smile you had ever seen.

“Yeah, no, definitely not okay,” the stranger says, “And knowing you’re the random stranger that Seu- I mean Raiden himself brought last night, I can put out a reasonably good guess and say that Elder Xanthe sent you out to do errands, correct?” You nod slowly, just a bit suspicious of how he figured that out just by looking at you.

“Oh no, I can see the suspicion in your eyes,” he says, “Don’t be! Trust me, every person who has grown up in this village has been given a weirdly impossible task given from Elder Xanthe.” He smiles at you, sticking out his hand, “I’m Minhee, what’s your name?”

“...Y/n,” you say shyly, trying not to get too caught up in his smile. “Y/n hmm… I like it! Now come on, I’ll help you out. What did she send you to do?,” he asks, clearly looking at the list in your hands. “She sent me to gather ingredients, but I have no idea where they’d be!,” you exclaim, without realizing it.

Minhee merely smiles at you and says, “Calm down, don’t even worry about it. Give me the list.” You hand him the list and he quickly scans over it, nodding every couple seconds. “This isn’t too hard,” he says after about a minute, “I know where everything is, so don’t even worry about it. I’ll show you around while we’re at it.”

“Come on!,” he exclaims, grabbing your hand. He starts walking in the direction of the fields that you had seen at the edge of the village. “First up is our local fields, which is where you’re presumably going to find the majority of the things you’re looking for from now on.”

From the village center, you can’t even begin to tell how wide and expansive the fields are. You’re sure they go on for miles and miles, and they’re definitely bigger than any produce fields you’ve seen back home on Earth. “Don’t worry about getting it today,” Minhee says, “I know most of the villagers are still in awe or are scared of you, so I’ll do it.”

He runs off with the list, clearly heading towards a large stand that clearly offered a large selection of produce. You see him flash a smile at one of the workers, and they instantly melt at the sight of it. ‘His smile is pretty cute,’ you think to yourself, ‘I wonder what Raiden’s smile looks like- No! Wait, don’t think about that y/n, don’t do that!’

You shake your head, trying to rid yourself of the image that you had now imprinted in your mind. “Uh… y/n, you good?” Stopping yourself in your tracks, you see Minhee looking down at you with a half-confused, half-amused face. Your face heats up at what you were thinking about again but you manage to stutter out, “Y-yeah, perfectly fine.”

He giggles a little bit, showing a shier smile, “Alright, whatever you say. Let’s go to our next destination.”

You and Minhee went out every afternoon, properly completing whatever peculiar task Elder Xanthe had assigned. The two of you got along splendidly, and you were delighted Minhee had approached you that day. And as the days went by, you got less and less stares from the villagers.

At the end of each week, Elder Xanthe always rewarded you with a gift, usually more clothing or small trinkets or jewelry, which you did appreciate. However, Xanthe had promised a different kind of gift at the end of this week. She assigned you the most laborious tasks that you had seen yet, and you and Minhee worked harder than you ever had before.

During all of this, you had gotten more and more used to everyone’s weather powers. You had seen Makani wandering around in the morning, playing various kinds of instruments. And on the one night that a storm rolled in, you had noticed Van waiting at the edge of the village.

And every so often when you walked down to the fields, you saw Feng directing large breezes through the fields, harvesting any ripe crops. It definitely made you realize that Elder Xanthe wasn’t lying when she said that Feng was the most powerful member of her council. Although he always did walk around with a shirt off which you didn’t really mindoeivnioewofi

Surprisingly, Lei had joined you and Minhee on a couple of your outings, even escorting you in the proper direction when Minhee didn’t know exactly where to go to. Besides that, you had seen him on early mornings, just sitting at the front of the village painting a picture of the sunrise or whatever else was on his canvas. Whatever he was painting though, you could always tell it was gorgeous.

The end of the week just wouldn’t come swiftly enough, and you felt like you were stuck in a continuous loop of errands and other lesser jobs. Until… came the last day of the week. You woke up bright and early like you did every morning, only to find Elder Xanthe patiently waiting on her sleeping chair.

“What do you need me to do today Elder Xanthe?,” you ask politely. She smiles back at you and says, “Nothing today, little one. Spend some time with Minhee today. You’ve worked hard enough, and I am quite certain you are prepared for tonight’s gift.” You nod, surprised at her words. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to at least aid you today?,” you ask, also suspicious that this was a test of some kind.

She merely laughs at your words. “Nothing at all my dear y/n. Make sure you’re back here before the sun starts disappearing behind the horizon. Enjoy your day off.” She directs you towards the door, and picks up an intricate weaving piece that she had been working on for a while.

You slowly step out into the village, taking in the stunning sunrise that was currently happening. And of course, Lei was sitting at the edge of the perimeter, painting away at an already stunning piece of work. “Y/n!,” you hear Minhee call from the distance, causing you to turn around to greet him, “What kind of crazy task has Elder Xanthe assigned for you today?”

“Nothing!,” you exclaim, making Minhee blink in confusion. “You’re not tricking me, right? You actually don’t have to do anything today?” You nod enthusiastically. Minhee pops the widest grin you’ve ever seen on a person’s face and says, “That’s great! That means I can finally introduce you to all of my friends!”

Minhee had always talked about his friends quite a bit, especially the ones named Hyeongjun and Junho. But you knew of Dongpyo and Eunsang as well. “Everyone but Junho won’t be awake early, so let’s go visit him,” Minhee says, “He’s the son of the couple who runs the bread shop.”

You vaguely recall him mentioning that, but you know you’ve never seen him before. Considering how beautiful everyone in this world is, you were betting all of Minhee’s friends were attractive and cute, just like Minhee himself.

Minhee grabs your hand, just like he always does, and guides you towards the bread shop. He opens the flap and calls out, “Good morning Mr. and Mrs. Cha! It’s been a while!”

After stepping into the shop right after Minhee, you are instantly hit with the delicious smell of freshly baked bread. “Minhee dear, it has been a while! What brings you around today?,” the woman, who you assumed was Mrs. Cha, smiles at both you and Minhee. “Elder Xanthe let y/n here have a day off, so I wanted to introduce her to all of my friends. Is Junho up yet?”

“I’m right here, Minhee,” a boy says, causing both you and Minhee to turn around. Junho, you presumed, had just walked out of the back half of the bread shop, which was definitely their house, as most villagers set up their businesses like that.

Junho had short brown hair, and cute little brown eyes as well. You could tell just by looking at him that he wasn’t someone who displayed many emotions, but he possessed a peaceful look to his face. “Junho, this is y/n, as you might already know, and y/n, this is Junho.”

“Nice to meet you!,” you say, sticking out your hand out towards him. He smiles shyly and says, “Nice to meet you too. Minhee talks a lot about you.” You smile shyly back and Minhee just says, “I’ll be taking Junho for the day if you don’t mind! We’ll be back before the sun goes down!”

Minhee quickly both captures you and Junho’s arms, pulling you out of the shop before Junho’s parents even have a chance to reply. “What the hell Minhee!,” Junho exclaims as soon as the three of you are out of the shop, “My parents need me to work, ya know!” Minhee merely gives Junho a mischievous grin in return and retorts back, “Yeah, so what? Today’s a casual day! Now, come on, let’s get everyone else!”

And so, the pack of you traveled from place to place, locating each and every one of Minhee’s friends.

First was Eunsang, who also appeared to be quiet, but was a total goofball when everyone started coming around. He had an extremely broad and cute smile, and you could tell he was the kind of person to not judge you for anything. And after Eunsang was both of the “cuties” of Minhee’s friends, Dongpyo and Hyeongjun. Both of them were super energetic and were totally clingy and loving towards each one of their friends.

After Hyeongjun and Dongpyo had caught up with Minhee and everyone else, Hyeongjun had gone right up to you and latched himself on your arm before saying, “Minhee~ why didn’t you tell us that y/n was so cute??”

To which Minhee replied, “Hyeongjun, you could’ve just like, walked outside and gone up to her and introduced yourself. She’s been running around undertaking jobs for Elder Xanthe for weeks now.” In response, Hyeongjun merely made this adorable little pouty face and everyone giggled at his cute antics.

“So, where are we going for our day off?,” Dongpyo asks, glancing around at everyone. Naturally, even after a month of being here, you only really knew your way around the village, and hadn’t seen any of the places that Minhee said he went exploring too.

“Hmmm,” you hear Junho start, “How about we take y/n to canyon cliff for the day? From what I’ve gathered, she hasn’t been very far outside of the village, and it would be an enjoyable place to relax.” Everyone starts to nod and murmur in agreement, but Minhee turns to you and asks, “How does that sound y/n? You’re a part of the team too.”

“It sounds pleasant,” you say, “Let’s do it!” Everyone smiles at your enthusiastic remark, but you notice a look of questioning cross Eunsang’s face. “How are we gonna get up there? None of us have teleportation powers, and Seungwoo was the one who would always transport us up there.” A second of real awkward silence passes by, and every one of them seems to be glaring at Eunsang for some reason.

But the name piqued your curiosity. “U-um, who’s Seungwoo?,” you ask timidly, and you watch as each of their heads turns towards you slowly, each with some form of panic on their faces. “U-uh Seungwoo is an old friend of ours, but he u-uh abandoned the tribe like years ago,” Minhee says, his eyes straying anywhere but yours.

You could tell he was telling some form of the truth, but you knew he was definitely lying in some regard. Whoever he was, they undoubtedly did not want you knowing about him. “Okayyy then,” you say, dragging on your words a bit, “Do you know anyone else with teleportation powers?”

“Doesn’t Makani’s little brother have teleportation powers?,” Dongpyo asks, “I feel like he does.” The rest of them nod in agreement, and Minhee says, “Let’s go then!”

The six of you walk back towards the fields. Makani lived in a hut at the edge of the village, and he usually played different instruments all day until the sun faded beyond the horizon. You had been to his hut once on one of your errands from Elder Xanthe, in order to retrieve a couple pieces of the quality wood Makani uses to produce his instruments. She had used it to make a fire on the night of the full moon, which is when everyone gathered around to listen to her stories. The fire literally followed her words and assembled pictures. It was utterly impressive.

Anyways, as soon as the six of you had arrived at his house, you could hear Makani singing a lovely melody that seemed to echo through the trees. Before any of you could even knock, the front door flew open, revealing a tall but young-looking kid. “Hey Dohyon!,” Minhee chimed, smiling right at Dohyon, “Do you mind doing us a favor real quick?”

“And what would that favor be?,” Dohyon asks grumpily, glancing at the six of you, his eyes not failing to widen at the sight of you. “Could you teleport us up to canyon cliff? Y/n has the day off and we wanna take her there.” Dohyon almost rolls his eyes but says, “And why should I do that? It’s not like I’m receiving anything in return.”

“Well,” Dongpyo says, “What do you demand in return?” Dohyon’s mouth twitches upwards briefly, almost as if he knew this was headed in the direction he wanted it to. “I want the first piece of dream bread, every day for the next week,” he says, looking directly at Junho. Junho sighs, clearly not happy about his proposal. “Fine,” Junho scoffs out, “Just get us to canyon cliff, and I’ll inform my parents when we get back.”

Dohyon nods, clearly satisfied.

He steps out of the doorway of his house, stopping in front of the six of you and holding out his hands to Minhee and Hyeongjun, who clasp his hands before extending their own hands out to the rest of you. Soon enough, the seven of you have formed a circle, and you can see a faint white glow coming from Dohyon’s hands.

The world suddenly fizzes out of existence, and you feel as if you’re in between worlds. Everyone else is closing their eyes, while you can’t even bear bringing them shut. You see different images fly by, each one unique in color and place.

You saw fields filled to the brim of flowers, extravagant castles, delicate coffee shops, the deep and rich blue color of the ocean, a mountain range, dusted with the colors of the sunset, a forest covered in snow, a library with shelves to the heavens, stone hallways, only lit by small torches adorning the walls, a small apartment building, a river glistening with all sorts of different light, a dark forest overlooking a small town, and even your own bedroom.

Soon enough, the images started to fade, and the blinding barrier came off of the seven of you. They all opened their eyes at the same time, and you wondered why you weren’t affected by the affects of teleportation.

Suddenly, all of their heads whip towards you, specifically next to you. “W-what?,” you stutter out, flustered by their stares, “What’s going on?” Eunsang just points at your right wrist and exclaims, “Your bracelet… it-it’s glowing!” You lift up your right wrist quickly, immediately beholding the sight of your bracelet glowing once again.

A few minutes of silence pass between the seven of you, waiting to see if anything would happen to your bracelet. “What happened when we were teleporting y/n?,” Minhee asks suddenly. “I-I saw many various worlds as we were teleporting, including my own home.”

All of their faces scrunch up in confusion, and you can tell they don’t know what to think about the situation. “Dohyon,” Dongpyo starts, “What do you think- WAIT WHERE DID DOHYON GO?” Everyone jumps up at Dongpyo’s remark, finally realizing that Dohyon had mysteriously disappeared. “He must’ve teleported back while we weren’t looking,” Hyeongjun says, “He’s so sneaky!,” He finishes with one of his classic pouts, which definitely causes the rest of them to smile again.

Apparently now in a more upbeat mood, Minhee turns to you and says, “Now, let’s try and figure out what’s up with y/n here.”

The six of you spent the rest of the day up on canyon cliff, first trying to figure out the secret behind your bracelet, because it clearly reacted to more than Raiden’s powers. However, the glow of your bracelet had faded away after about an hour. None of the boys had magic powers either, so you couldn’t try seeing if would react to their powers either. So, you collectively decided to give up on trying to figure it out.

Next, you spent a few hours running around and playing various games. They showed the invisible barrier that protected anyone from falling off. You spent a while just jumping off of the cliff and laughing at the ticklish sensation of being brought back up to the cliff face.

And as the six of you started to tire out, you laid in a circle and told each other stories from your worlds. You told stories of school, and the incredible inventions you had created, even without magic. They told stories from their childhood, about Elder Xanthe’s peculiar tasks, even stories of when Raiden still lived among them, and even the time they all tried to run away for fun.

And that’s where you were now, the six of you sitting on the edge of the cliff, watching how the sun was getting closer and closer to the horizon. “So…,” you started, “How exactly were we going to get back? We never told Dohyon when he needed to get us.”

Minhee just sighs in response and says, “We also never made him agree to come and get us. We probably should’ve thought this out better.” Panic starts rising up inside of you. “I’m never gonna make it back in time!,” you exclaim, “Elder Xanthe’s gonna punish me!”

You notice all of their faces contort into a face that resembled something like guilt, but Minhee walks over to you and says, “We’ll figure it out, we always have, remember?” You nod solemnly, not genuinely believing his words of encouragement. Hyeongjun wraps his arms around your left arm and says, “Don’t be sad y/n! We’re not gonna get anywhere with you feeling down!”

He smiles at you, which now makes you realize what Minhee meant by ‘it can convince you to do anything’. You smile a bit at him in return and say, “Alright then. Let’s try and figure out some way to return.”

“There’s no need for that,” a voice says from behind you, causing all of you to jump in surprise, Hyeongjun even letting go of his grip on your arm. “Big brother Lei!,” Eunsang exclaims, running over to him, “How did you get up here?”

“Greetings little brother,” Lei says, smiling fondly at Eunsang before saying, “Elder Xanthe teleported me up here so I could come and get the six of you. It is time for y/n to return to Okliven and receive her gift from Elder Xanthe.” Everyone looks at you, making you feel pressured and a bit awkward but you say, “So how are we getting back down?”

“I’ll merely send Elder Xanthe a signal once we are ready,” Lei says simply, motioning for all of you to come closer. Everyone circles up again, joining hands before Lei transmits a dazzling light up into the sky, the color rippling through the clouds that were in the direction of the village.

The world fades away again, and this time your eyes are forced shut. This time however, you feel as if you’re spiraling in circles. Each time you spin around, it seems as if you’re heading towards an even darker space.

Suddenly, your eyes fly open again, and you’re met with the familiar setting of the village. Everyone is staring at you, including Lei. Lei kneels down close to you, his face only about a foot from yours. “Y/n,” he says grimly, “Are you alright?”

“W-well,” you start, “I have a headache, but other than that I think I’m fine.” Lei nods, his face skeptical. “We must hurry to Elder Xanthe,” he says, glancing in the direction of Xanthe’s home, “I’m afraid we don’t have much time before…”

“Before what?,” Minhee asks for you. “Nothing the five of you need to concern yourself with,” Lei says to them, “You should head home. Your parents are probably concerned.” All of them glance at you worriedly, and Hyeongjun waved slightly, offering you a slight smile, before the five of them walk their separate ways.

Lei helps you stand up before the two of you walk hastily to Xanthe’s hut. The two of you walk in without saying anything, causing Elder Xanthe to look up from her current weaving. Lei immediately walks over to her and whispers something in her ear, causing her face to scrunch up in frustration. He walks back over to you and says, “It is time for your first… and only lesson.”

“Lesson on what?,” you ask. Lei points at your bracelet and says, “On how to manipulate your bracelet’s power. We are running out of time. If you do not go to Raiden soon, he will lose control and wreak havoc on our village,” he finishes, his eyes critical.

“Can you possibly explain?,” you ask frustratedly, “I’ve been sent around and around, time and time again, with no explanation as to why, and everyone seems to be hiding something from me! So, what the hell am I actually here for? And what the hell is this bracelet?!”

Lei and Xanthe exchange a glance, clearly skeptical of telling you anything. “We can’t tell you those kinds of things-” “Don’t give me that crap!,” you exclaim as tears start falling out of your eyes, “If I’m here to bring back the person who has to replace Xanthe when she dies, then I must be valuable, right? Just provide me the answers, please, it’s all I ask for, I have to know if I’m stuck here for the rest of my life!,” you finish, many tears still cascading down your face.

“I just said that we can’t-,” Lei starts, but Xanthe holds up her hand. “I shall tell you,” she says, “Lei go home. I’m sure Eunsang would like to spend some time with you for once. You’re never home. And y/n, come here, we must go somewhere special.”

Lei walks out, guilt clearly stricken on his face. You walk over to Elder Xanthe, and she stands up from her chair, holding out her hands to you. “Where are we going?,” you ask before grasping her hands. “I’m not going anywhere,” she says, “You, however… I do not know where you will be going. I did not explain to Lei how your bracelet works, but I shall explain it now.”

“Its powers aren’t something you can control,” she states, “They have to be activated. As I’ve observed, not one specific thing activates it. I know that Raiden’s powers definitely activate it, which means that mine most likely will as well.”

“I’m going to try and activate your bracelet,” she says, “If I’m correct, it will link your mind to Raiden’s. He won’t feel anything, but you will be brought to him. I’m also not sure how long it will last, but this is test anyways.”

“A test?,” you ask, “A test for what?” Elder Xanthe sighs before saying, “To see if it’s time for me to send you to Raiden himself. If the bracelet allows you to enter his mind, and if you feel a pull to go to him, then it is time to go. We can’t have him losing control of his powers.”

You nod, and Xanthe says, “Then let us begin, we cannot lose anymore time.” Xanthe’s hands start to glow a pale pink against yours, and you can feel them start to heat up. You close your eyes slowly, and tilt your head up to the sky. As you start to feel the magic run throughout your body, it starts to feel as if you’re flying, you can even see yourself soaring far above the village, just like the night Raiden saved you.

‘This must be what Elder Xanthe was talking about,’ you think to yourself, ‘I must be heading towards Raiden then. Or at least his conscience.’ You continued floating, passing over trees after trees after trees. Eventually, the trees lead into a large clearing overlooking a massive mountain range. Whatever is causing you to fly twists you upward, making you face a tree, adorned with an elaborate tree house.

For some reason, you stop right in front of the tree house, allowing you to obverse how intricate it was. There were little jars containing sparks of light hanging from various spots around the perimeter of it, and an intricate pattern of vines had grown along the structure. Little lights flickered past you every few seconds, but you were suddenly distracted from your observations when you heard a voice come from the inside of the house.

“Why did this have to happen now?,” the person exclaims, and you’re suddenly jerked forward to the inside of the house. You weren’t surprised when you saw Raiden sitting on the floor, his eyes casted towards the window, which was currently displaying the ongoing sunset.

“I’m not sure how much longer I can resist the pull of the necklace,” he says sorrowfully, “I wonder if she’s experiencing it too… but it’s likely just me,” he continues, pausing only for a moment to sigh, “I know that if I don’t go to her soon, my powers will overtake me.”

“Is she really Xenia? The person I’m supposed to defend from the kingdom and if I don’t misfortune will fall upon everyone I care about?,” he says, his voice sounding wobbly, like he was about to cry, “Didn’t I leave the village so that way no one would have to deal with that? But now it looks like I’ve doomed them all!”

His necklace flashes, causing him to sigh once again. “Is that your way of saying yes?,” he asks sarcastically, turning the charm in his hands. The mysterious force moves you forward, making you sit next to him. “What if Youngho gets his hands on her first?,” he murmurs to himself, before he shakes his head. “No, no that won’t happen. Xanthe’s smart and strong enough to prevent that from happening.”

“But what if she’s not…?,” he says, his face stricken with frustration. You reach out your hand out of reflex, intending to rest it on his shoulder, but just as you’re about to, you’re launched backwards, every tree and plant you passed by flying past you. You squeeze your eyes shut, and not even a few seconds later, you feel yourself slam back into your physical body.

You open your eyes quickly and take in a large breath. Elder Xanthe lets go of your hands before saying, “We must hurry my dear y/n, we don’t have much time.”

As soon as you received a bit of rest, of course after your soul literally abandoned your physical body, Elder Xanthe was already preparing a sack for you. And, of course, you didn’t even have to ask to know where you’re going.

You gulp at the thought. Whenever Xanthe finishes, she’s sending you straight to Raiden himself, meaning a lengthy journey for you. The walk there itself isn’t what is intimidating you, it’s all the possible scenarios of when you actually get there.

‘What if he sends me back?,’ you think, ‘I mean, considering what he was remarking while I was there… he wouldn’t send me back per se, but maybe he’ll make me stay outside or something! What if he… I should stop thinking like this!,’ you exclaim in your head, even shaking your head to clear it of those thoughts.

You stand up from where you were sitting, which was your bed and take a step outside. Glancing up into the sky, you can see the light from the sun is finally fading, and the colors of the night are gradually approaching. But as you look in the direction of the setting sun, you see a figure running towards you at full force.

They skid to stop in front of you, and before they even say anything, you already know it’s Minhee. He looks up at you, his face desperate before he says gently, “Is it really true that you’re leaving to go to Raiden now?” You look downwards, an expression of guilt written across your face, before you nod and say, “Yeah, I am.” Minhee lets out a quick sigh before stepping forward and pulling you into an embrace. “Be careful y/n,” he whispers into your ear, “Promise me that you’ll come back.”

“I will come back Minhee, I promise,” you say, slowly stepping out of his embrace. “Y/n!,” Xanthe calls from inside of the house, “Come collect your stuff, it’s time.” You look back nervously before glancing back at Minhee quickly. As you step back towards the door, Minhee grabs your hand and says, “Be safe y/n. All of us will always be here for you.”

You smile back at him quickly, and he offers you a small wave before he runs off again. And so, you knew this was it. You walked back into the house, your steps rigid, like a clockwork. Elder Xanthe was standing at the center of the room, holding a medium sized satchel. She holds it out to you before saying, “Van shall escort you to the edge of our village barrier. From there, you are on your own. I know you shall not let us down, but please be careful. It will be dangerous out there.”

“Now go,” she says, pointing her hand out the door, “You don’t have any time to waste.” You nod, before turning around and sighing one last time. ‘This is it,’ you think, ‘No more fear, or regrets or anything else. I just have to stay strong and move forward.’

You step out of the hut confidently, already noticing Van waiting for you. Van turns around once he hears you come out and smiles shyly before waving for you to follow him. He starts walking forward before you even catch up with him.

The whole way you trail behind him, observing him weave in and out of trees, lighting the way with a small globe of light that leaves a trail so you can see as well. But then, you notice how the light trail starts getting shorter and shorter, until you’re eventually standing right next to him. He sweeps his hand outward, the light still following it.

“This is as far as I can escort you,” he says, “Be very careful out there y/n, what you’re undertaking is not only significant for our village but for Raiden as well.” His voice echoes slightly among the trees before he holds his palm out to you. “Since you have no way of illuminating your path, I’ll provide you with a temporary light that should last until dawn, okay?,” he says kindly, his mouth curling up into a bit of a smile.

You nod thankfully and lightly grasp his hand in your own. His hand lights up quickly, and when he releases your hand, a small ball of light is now in your own, little ripples fluttering through it every couple of seconds.

“Thank you!,” you say to him, flashing a gentle smile to him. He smiles even wider in return and waves at you before he jumps up into a tree disappearing into the forest. You hold the palm that has the light ball in it outwards, illuminating the path that lays before you.

You step forward with no hesitation, and feel something slide off around you. ‘That must’ve been the barrier,’ you think, before continuing to move along. Just like when your spirit was flying through the sky, you pass by hundreds and hundreds of trees, each one having various kinds of leaves or unique patterns carved into their bark.

After walking for about an hour, the sky, a deep, deep black and filled to the brim with stars, you decide to sit down and figure out what exactly Xanthe had packed for you. As you dug through the bag, you found a few changes of clothes, a bit of food, and a letter. It had Raiden printed on the front, so you knew it definitely wasn’t any of your business.

Right as you finish stuffing everything back into the satchel, you hear a mighty bang in the distance, causing you to jump back slightly. You sighed softly, glad it wasn’t near you. You try and stand up, but you’re suddenly knocked down by the earth practically erupting beneath you.

You fall over, slamming decently hard onto the ground before rolling a few feet. The ground continues shaking, the leaves high in the trees shaking as well. You curl up into a ball, a few tears slipping out of your eyes. After a few minutes, the shaking subsides, and you try and push yourself off of the ground, your hair clearly messed up and your eyes wet from tears.

“Need some help, princess?,” a voice suddenly sneers from above you, causing you to actually jump back a few inches before looking up at the stranger. Turns out, it wasn’t only one person, it was five people! They were all equipped in battle armor, each one a different color. The man standing in front of you was donned in red armor, and an obnoxious smirk was plastered on his face.

“W-who are you?,” you stutter out, looking up at him warily. “Me?,” he says cockily. “Man, I really, really thought Xanthe was smart enough to tell you who I was,” he leers, his eyes clearly sarcastic, “The name’s Youngho, your new savior, and the true heir to the Xanthe Tree’s power. And behind me is the Element clan, composed of Tomoko, Sujin, Minjun, and Chiyo.”

‘Is he lying or telling the truth?,’ you think, ‘I can’t tell. Besides, I would never want to go anywhere with this cocky bastard.’ He raises an eyebrow at the lack of a response. “What, no, ‘My savior, finally, they’ve been keeping me captive and now you’re here to set me free!’?,” he asks cockily, popping another stupid smirk onto his mouth. You stand up fully now and say firmly, “No offense, but I’d rather go back to Xanthe instead of go anywhere with you.”

His face darkens, and you look up to the sky at the sound of thunder. Vast, murky clouds have now rolled over the seven of you, obscuring even the moon, leaving the light in your hand as the only light source. Youngho steps towards you, grabbing the light in your hand.

He squeezes it tightly, flashing a deep red light through it. It explodes, sending bits of light in every direction, causing you to flinch back in surprise. “What did you say Xenia?,” he asks creepily, his face only lit by the flashes of thunder lighting up the sky behind him and his now glowing, red eyes.

“You are coming with me,” he says, “And you will not fight back. You will not complain. You are under my control, and will do whatever I command of you,” he finishes, his booming voice echoing throughout the forest.

You’re not sure what compelled you to advance forward and kick him right in the crotch, but you did. “I am not going anywhere with you! I’ll repeat it until I’m on my deathbed!,” you exclaim, your voice louder than Youngho’s ever was. You close your eyes shut as more tears fall out of your eyes.

“You bitch!,” you hear Youngho exclaim, and fling your eyes open once you hear his angry footsteps approaching your direction. His fist is raised, and you cower down, knowing it’s heading directly for you. And in a moment of desperation, you exclaim…

“Raiden!”

In the blink of an eye, Youngho was thrown back into the element clan, knocking them all over as he flew right into them. Another figure was standing in front of you, obviously shirtless, an electric yellow light radiating from his body as he breathed heavily.

He turned to you slowly, confirming your thoughts. “I’m here now,” Raiden says, “I’ll be back. Just hang on, I promise you’re safe now.” Your face heats up slightly as he powerfully strides towards where Youngho landed. You can’t exactly make out what they’re stating, but you can see how the yellow aura around Raiden starts to intensify the more Youngho says.

Suddenly, you hear Youngho exclaim, “TAKE THIS B̷̨̍̄̀͊̇͋͘͘͜Ṙ̵̦̫͓͓̹͎̤̥̺̮͙̪͙̘͔̣̱̾̆̄̂́̎͆̊̕͘͜͝Ö̷̤̝̳̤̞͇͔́͋́̉̆̓͆͠T̴̥̠͚͎̪̤̞̖̱̱͙̭̮̥̪̭̒̄͌͂̽̀̈̂̔͐͋͝ͅH̶̨̡̲̭̖͓͇̟̭̙͆͐́́̍̒́̕͜͠ͅĘ̵̡̣̹̙͔͈͎̦͔̺͍͂ͅR̷̩̗̊̆͋̔̂̀̋͗̆͊̾͘͜,” !,” as he lifts up his left hand and focuses a beam of light right at you.

In an instant, all you can feel is a shock ripple through your body. In your last moments of consciousness, you see where the bolt burned through your body, and the last thing you hear is Raiden screaming your name.

And then, you slammed into nothingness.

Seungwoo (Part 1) (Part 2) (̶̛̛͍͓̟͖̠̥͚̍̽̊͊̈́̊͑̄͘̕͜͠͝ͅʇ̷̛̲̦̯̫̪̰̘̩̩͕̈́̈̀̈̅͘̚͜͝͝n̴̠̖͎͑͊͋͘o̵̧̭͈̹͗͑̊͂͒͜͠ ̸̧̢̬͔̯̪͗̇͐̀ɥ̶̨̦̿͐̋͛̔̈́̋͐̾͌̎̓̓͠ɔ̷̢̯̭̠̬̬͕͗̾̂͗́̆̓̚͜͜ͅʇ̶͙̳̙̫̪̹̣̲̦̭͊̇͆̕͠ɐ̷̨̹̟̺̭̗̀ʍ) (Part 3) (An Evening Dance)

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allofthefeelings · 4 years

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Hi. I forgot that sad endings exist, and now, I'm scared stupid after your last BW movie post. She's dead already! I want something close to happy! (Oh god, I hope the fanfics come through 😭😭😭)

(Before I begin, I would also like you to know that, while this is over 4000 words long, I did cut a several-paragraphs-long digression comparing the BW movie to Beauty and the Beast: The Enchanted Christmas. You’re welcome.)

I know I’m once again outing myself as an optimist here, and I’m sure I’ll also end up getting smug asks in four months when much of my speculation is wrong, but what the hell. If I was on this tumblr to be right I would have made a LOT of different decisions.

So.

I really, truly don’t think we’re going to get a sad ending.

But the question is, how does it achieve a not-sad ending? Or, to completely re-frame and re-structure: for a character like Natasha, what exactly is a happy ending?

Buckle in, because this gets long.

I think we can all agree that, by definition, we’re starting the movie from a point of melancholy at best, just because we know that in 2023 Natasha will be dead. She doesn’t get to ride into the sunset in any way, shape, or form. Every other solo movie- even the ones with tragic endings, like Thor Ragnarok’s destruction of Asgard and a large portion of its people- have given characters a path forward and the odds that even if this won’t give them a happy ending, it gives them a way towards one. It ends with hope. There isn’t room for that here, for obvious reasons. But what there is room for- and this is, ironically, achievable because of one of the major flaws of IW- is the idea that she did achieve growth, and then had six years to live the life she wanted.

Or, not the life she WANTED, which probably would not have been one part on the run/five parts half of society obliterated by Thanos. Let’s say she had the chance to live a terrible life self-actualized.

IW’s complete and utter lack of meaningful characterization for 90% of the cast means that we don’t really have a sense of where Natasha was in that movie. That gives a lot of room to play with, to put Natasha at the end of the BW movie in a place that she wants to be in. In other words, they can retroactively argue that the reason Natasha isn’t given room to grow in IW is that she had achieved her growth in between CW and IW.

Which, look. Doylistically this is beyond bullshit. Doylistically this is actually offensive, and if they’re looking to retroactively placate us about how Natasha’s arc went, it really doesn’t work. I’m not talking about what was intended, or what was achieved; I don’t think this is either of those. I’m talking about what we can choose to read into it.

And, frankly, as a Natasha fan, that’s pretty much all we do anyway. I can argue (and clearly have argued) her arc for ages, but that’s all the work I’ve done, and you (collective, Natasha fans) have done- not the work the text has done.

None of this is remotely answering the question. But I think it’s necessary groundwork to begin to answer the question.

Because what the BW movie can give us is that growth arc that takes place in the negative spaces of canon.

Well, first of all, the BW movie gives us the fact that things happen at all in the negative spaces of canon. I know I’ve discussed this already, but it’s worth mentioning again: the way audiences are supposed to read texts is that everything pertinent happens on screen. Even supplemental texts that are considered canonical (cut scenes, novelizations, official tie-in comics, movie scripts) are deemed inherently less valuable because they aren’t on the screen. This movie affirms that important events are happening off-screen, to everyone- or at least everyone who isn’t front and center.

This is, again, infuriating, and I feel like when I say this I’m inadveretently contributing to justification. That is not my intention. Natasha’s growth should have been on screen and should have been seen as important. I hate that it’s reduced to a single movie after ten years and the character’s death. I don’t think this justifies it. AT THE SAME TIME, I think this opens space for us to look at lots of characters who haven’t gotten the screen time they deserved.

(Like, they may never give Rhodey the movie he deserves, but at least no one can tell us that if he did something worth seeing it would have been on screen. This movie’s existence is a rebuttal of that. This is a digression but one I’m gonna keep making until everyone starts casually referring to awesome shit Rhodey did off-screen because WHY THE FUCK NOT, YOU CAN’T PROVE IT DIDN’T HAPPEN, “IT DIDN’T HAPPEN ON SCREEN” IS NO LONGER PROOF OF ANYTHING EXCEPT THEY HAVEN’T DONE THE SET-IN-THE-PAST MOVIE YET. Y E T.)

But we also get the possibility of growth, and to analyze what growth means for Natasha’s character.

So here is an issue: I can tell you, with a frankly absurd amount of confidence, what I read Natasha’s arc as. I can lay it out from film to film, I can point to key growth moments, I can read a lot into every scrap that made it into the final cut and I can tell you exactly why, and I feel like if you dig into my history you’re going to find a lot of me citing specific scenes to make my point so I’m not going to go too in-depth on an already-long post that is getting exponentially longer. I think that Natasha’s key arc is in figuring out who she is and what she needs, and how to be a person rather than a reflection of what is asked of her. I think that the mirror imagery in the trailer and in the SDCC/D23 BW footage lends credence to this being a key theme of the movie.

But I have absolutely no idea if I’m right, because the MCU has never considered Natasha to be important enough to be the focus, and as a result I read her arc mostly through the ways she mirrors other characters’ stories, usually to show their strengths by comparison. I do my best to make arguments that are textually supported, but at the same time, it’s like describing the sun entirely from the way that its light reflects off the moon.

So I can say that for the BW movie to be satisfying, it needs to offer completion to her arc, which is then capped in IW/Endgame but would have reached its climax in the BW movie. But since I cannot confidently tell you what her arc has been so far, I can’t figure out exactly how that arc could be satisfactorily completed. Which means, after SEEING the movie, I will have to retroactively figure out how they saw her arc, and then figure out if this was a satisfactory way to end it.

But an argument done in hindsight is colored by what I’ve already seen, and that’s a cheat. So let’s start over.

Here is what we know:

Natasha was taken from her family very young (Endgame: didn’t know her father’s name). As a child, she was abused and manipulated by the Red Room (Agent Carter; Age of Ultron). She was trained to be a Black Widow, did terrible shit for them for a while, defected, became a mercenary, did terrible shit for the highest bidder (Avengers). Clint was sent to kill her but made a different call and brought her in to SHIELD (Avengers). Natasha quickly rose in the ranks and became one half of a STRIKE team watched over by Fury’s right-hand man, Coulson (Avengers). Natasha also became very close with Nick Fury, the head of SHIELD (IM2, Cap2). At some point in there she was shot by the Winter Soldier (Cap2). She was one of the people behind putting together the Avengers Initiative, identifying Tony Stark as not qualified (IM2), and recruited into the team herself (Avengers). She did not leave the Avengers teams for the next 11 years; she was on the first iteration (lasting through Age of Ultron), the second (Age of Ultron through Civil War), and then the Secret Avengers (which we can now assume starts post-BW through Infinity War) and Avengers 3.0 (five-year gap team), as well as the Quantum Realm Team-Up Team right up til she got yeeted off Vormir.

We’ll set Secret Avengers and Team 3.0 aside for the moment, as they’re things that will exist post-BW movie canon.

Natasha’s narrative role has often been to be so amazing that when she’s bested, we know the other person is really good. The best way for me to pull this together into a coherent throughline is that Natasha tends to be bested by people with passion and emotional stakes. When Natasha is just doing her job, but Pepper cares about Tony or the Dora Milaje care about T’Challa, she is outmatched. In Cap2, when Natasha cares deeply about SHIELD and who she’s loyal to, she is able to outmatch everyone she faces, but since she’s a secondary character and her act isn’t as highly visible on screen, her heroism isn’t as spotlighted.

(That said, make no mistake, WE WILL BE COMING BACK TO HER HEROIC MOVE IN THIS MOVIE.)

Her role has also been, as I mentioned earlier, to be a mirror to the white male heroes. She mirrors Tony in IM2, Clint in Avengers, Steve in Cap2, and Bruce in Ultron. I can make a strong argument, that I feel is supported by each text, that each of these mirrors is about moderation, and both the white man of choice and Natasha finding that the ideal is somewhere between both points: the space between how and why Tony and Natasha handle secrecy; between how Clint and Natasha handle guilt; between how Steve and Natasha handle trust; between how Bruce and Natasha handle self-hatred. That the writers and directors often disagree with my read of this does not, in any way, dissuade me from believing it, but it does mean that this may not be the arc we’re looking at in the movie.

By the arcs that I’ve traced, though, they have a fair amount of leeway to give a satisfying conclusion no matter what the plot is. By having other characters mirroring Natasha, she is centered in a way she never had been, and simply being the protagonist of her own story is part of Natasha’s journey we haven’t seen. We know that this is going to in some way revisit the Red Room, and that means that we’ll get to see a story where Natasha is passionate about and personally connected to what she’s fighting. We also know that whatever the story is, it will not be Natasha mediating someone else’s approach to the world, but Natasha’s approach to the world with someone else (I’m guessing Yelena?) mediating her worldview, in a way that gives Natasha growth but does not undercut her as someone who had so much to learn from the REAL hero.

All plot to the side, simply because Natasha is the protagonist, there is an element of satisfaction inherent, both textually and metatextually, because Natasha’s role of being sidelined is both within the text and within the media landscape a struggle she’s finally able to overcome. There is also a metatextual satisfaction just in cleaning up the bits and pieces of canon that we’ve gotten that were left hanging. For example, in her heroic climax in Winter Soldier, Natasha- who was so focused on being able to transform into whatever was necessary- released a fuck-ton of national security information on the internet, including her own history, that made her both immutable and knowable. (Do you ever think about how this means that people living within the MCU know more about Natasha’s background than we, the audience, does? Because I do, c o n s t a n t l y.) Natasha went from working undercover and in the shadows to being an Avenger and releasing not just her own and not just SHIELD’s but also the Red Room’s dirty laundry in public, and that has never had narrative consequences; this is a great opportunity to use that, closing a loop that most people probably forgot even existed.

Speaking of closure.

I think this movie HAD to be designed with that specifically in mind. I don’t think they necessarily expected the backlash they got from Natasha’s death (I’m going to be honest here; I didn’t expect it from anyone but Natasha fans), but at least they had to know that people who had been promised Natasha would get her due in canon would be frustrated and want some sign that the complexity of the character that had been talked up for a decade was actually part of the story they put on film. Marvel wants to placate fans, yes, but they wouldn’t waste millions upon millions of dollars on a movie to get us to shut up; their job is to bring in money, and it’s not like they haven’t gotten ten years’ worth from us. They’re also savvy enough to know that for a character who’s no longer alive in canon, they need to do things that make their story relevant even without them having future appearances- and I think we’ll see that in Yelena and Taskmaster- but also to make this story have stakes.

Yeah, we never spend a Marvel movie saying “Oh geez, what if the hero dies?” (well, aside from Civil War, because comics oontext), but right now we’re going in knowing (or, bare minimum, thinking we know) exactly what happens to Natasha. Where she’ll end up just under two years from when the story starts is set in stone (NO PUN INTENDED). So we need another way to give the story stakes. Natasha’s life and her future aren’t up in the air. Her past is, I guess, but they’ve been clear this movie isn’t about her past. And where that leaves us is the emotional journey. I outlined above what I think that is, but it doesn’t have to be that to be satisfying- it just has to be some way to leave Natasha changed in a way that surprises us as audience.

And, sure, that could be loss- that could be betrayal from everyone in this movie, leaving her alone and with no one to turn to but the Avengers- but I don’t think that is. I think that’s looking at Natasha’s story like she’s still a secondary character, rather than the protagonist. The basic structure of a superhero movie (and specifically a Marvel movie) is that the protagonist suffers defeat but ultimately triumphs, internally if not externally, having learned something that takes them farther on their emotional journey. Since (as far as we )know this is the only movie Nat’s getting- she’s not getting a trilogy or a Dis+ show- this needs to take her farther than most single-protagonist movies have.

In terms of another kind of closure: If the movie doesn’t offer at least a hint of a way Nat could come back (and I’m still hoping for that no matter how unlikely it is, and if it doesn’t happen I’m hoping for it in the Dr Strange sequel, and after that I’m sure I’ll find another path), I think there’s an excellent chance the post-credits scene will be a funeral for her. Given that they have SebStan and Mackie and Emily Van Camp shooting together right now, it would be very easy to at the VERY least get us a scene of them mourning her. It’s not the same as Tony’s giant lakehouse memorial, but it’s about half the characters who were close to her when she was alive (the others being Clint, Maria, and Fury, and I’m pretty sure they could have put an hour of time on the FFH set to the latter two having five seconds of looking solemn). I think that, given the backlash to Endgame, they need something like this: we need to see, on screen, conclusive proof that Natasha’s life mattered, not just for the audience, but for the world she lived in.

My dream would be for the entire movie to use a frame story OF her funeral- people talking about her, different memories and different understandings, that combine in different ways to collectively show a whole. Fucking Rashomon that shit. But we all know they’re not going to do that.

I recognize I am still talking satisfying and not happy.

But what exactly is happy? What exactly is the happy ending Natasha might want?

She’s not a character who wants to retire or settle down somewhere. As much as we in the audience talk about wanting her to get a break, we’ve never seen that from her, and we also don’t see a world that could really offer that to her; especially post-Cap2, Natasha does not have the luxury of escaping her past even if she did want to.

We don’t know her goals. We don’t know what she wanted outside of making amends for her past. We’ve gotten that from almost every other character- say what you want about Steve’s Endgame ending (god knows I have), or about Bruce being a public figure that kids love, but at least there was groundwork laid for it.

i think the best argument we have for what makes Natasha happy is in Civil War, when it’s taken away. Natasha is willing to give up things that are important to her (her autonomy) in favor of not losing her team; being together is the priority for her. By the end of Civil War, she’s lost even that; she’s seen to have betrayed her entire team and has no one. By IW we know that she re-finds her group, that she and Steve and Sam and Wanda are a tightly-knit unit, but we have to piece it together ourselves, and we have no way to know that it’s by choice rather than necessity. (The BW trailer is really the first time we get evidence that Natasha has more resources than just the Avengers or SHIELD; even fic has tended to just posit she has empty safehouses, not living people she can go to.) The BW movie could give her that team, and retroactively make her appearance in IW a reward for her- having found the team she wanted- rather than just the natural place for her to end up.

But I can’t see how that would even work without at least some of Chris Evans, Anthony Mackie, and Elizabeth Olsen appearing in this movie and showing on screen that Natasha has her people. We haven’t seen evidence they aren’t, but at least I haven’t heard any rumors they are, the way we’ve heard rumors about RDJ.

And there’s something awful, to me, in Natasha constantly being supporting in other people’s movies, which exist to seem self-contained even if they’re not, but then in her movie her emotional fulfillment relying on things that happen elsewhere- the implication that her emotional arc can’t even support a single movie.

In terms of what we’ve seen achieved, Natasha seems happiest when she’s solving a problem, when she’s fighting and winning and being the hero she doesn’t quite believe she is. But that’s not something that can be an end to an arc, of a decade or even of two hours. No matter how great that is, it’s a momentary thing, and it’s fleeting. That’s happiness but not narratively satisfying

This remains not an answer to the original questions.

I think part of the issue is, it’s not necessarily that we need Natasha to be happy, for her to have a happy ending. It’s that we, the audience, wants to be happy- and frankly, I don’t think that’s unreasonable; we’re not going to blockbusters to have our hearts torn out (and I think that after Endgame especially, Natasha fans are not ready or willing to do that again). And so we’re looking less at how Natasha can be happy, but how we can be happy. Selfishly, I’d even add: how we can be happy without doing the work. How we can be happy without conspiracy-theorizing our way to a satisfying narrative, but rather, a narrative that’s already on the screen, that we can just roll around in and enjoy.

I realize how bizarre this is to say after 3000+ words, but: I want the opportunity to be a lazy viewer. I want the chance to take things in without having to take responsibility for making them into something I want to see. I don’t want to have to reverse-engineer her story; I want to dig into the minutiae that is maybe actually intended.

On some level, that’s going to be the happy ending for me. Just having a whole text to dive into is a gift. (I am probably monkey-pawing myself just by saying this, which is the same kind of bullshit I argued for Age of Ultron- but then, I still can rewatch Ultron and find a lot that I like.) And Natasha getting a narrative win- which, as protagonist, she kind of has to- will be a happy ending for me.

But I’m a Natasha fan. This is expected.

What I think is the real question under all of this- what I’ve been struggling to tease out from my own feelings, and maybe now I’m finally getting to it- is a different question entirely: how can Marvel craft a story that sticks with their formula of giving a protagonist a win and something like a happy ending, while telling a story about a character who has been sidelined for ten years until they killed her off? Setting aside those of us who are overly invested in Natasha’s arc, what is the path to telling a story that the majority of the audience- most of whom haven’t traced her history, many of whom are casual fans, some of whom probably didn’t even see Endgame- finds fulfilling and happy?

The hero has to win, obviously. The hero has to triumph. Natasha has to come away having saved the world (stopping a villain from destruction), her world (protecting those close to her), and her internal world (some kind of emotional progress/catharsis). There will be moments intended for the audience to cheer. That’s a formula that you can find in nearly every superhero movie, and with good reason; I can’t think of why it wouldn’t apply here.

So looping back around, the question about the sad ending really is just for those of us who are deeply engaged. It’s not “will Natasha triumph?” because yes, she will- of course she will. We are going to get a movie where the world will be saved by Natasha (which has happened before) and the text will acknowledge that (which it really has not). The real question at hand is “will Natasha’s triumph be enough to mitigate the substantial losses she’s had in the other movies, or will it be bittersweet, her success here just underscoring the way that her biggest narrative win was to kill herself for no recognition?”

Which, of course, on some level, will vary from audience member to audience member. But I think that, with the awareness of how Endgame worked, and the knowledge of exactly when this movie is coming out, they have to at least try to give her- and us- this.

It’s now 5:15 AM and this is over 4000 words long and if you’ve read all this you deserve a medal. I’m happy to clarify or expand on anything in a few hours when I get up; I know that I circled a few points rather than clearly making them, but I’m no longer even completely sure what is common knowledge and what is me projecting. Hopefully this can at least start a conversation?

ETA: And anon, I am sure no matter what happens, fanfic will have our backs.

#allofthereplies #Anonymous #meta #Black Widow #Black Widow movie #BW speculation #Natasha Romanoff #IM2 spoilers #Avengers spoilers #Cap2 spoilers #Avengers2 spoilers #Cap3 spoilers #Avengers3 spoilers #Avengers4 spoilers #I cannot stress enough that I'm sorry I'm like this #long post

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authorsofparadiseroleplay · 4 years

Text

Tales of the Wildermere: Darkness Bound, Chapter 1

Warnings for violence, kidnapping, non-consensual/psychically-induced forced arousal, and injury in this chapter. Proceed at your own risk.

Dorian Ash didn't enjoy this place, even though he was in part made from it. Even though he spent the better part of his time here. The Wildermere was a hazardous realm, full of things that can follow you back to the real world if you weren't careful. It was not an easy realm for mortals to access as a rule, but they still had a tendency to stray here sometimes, stumbling on access points in their dreams. Occasionally they found themselves trapped, perhaps caught up in the illusions and memory fogs of the place, perhaps captured by dream-feeders or other, more terrifying creatures, and sometimes simply lost, unable to find their way back to their bodies and awaken.

And there were predators from outside this realm, predators from the other side of the proverbial sea, that also hunted here. He had been on the trail of just such a predator for some time, a powerful, elusive creature that used this place as its stalking grounds, tagging victims to abduct later out of the waking world.

Tonight, Dorian was here to stop the creature, whatever the cost to himself, and to save the people it had abducted, if they were still alive to save. It was a part of who and what he was. A faction of the Dragons friendly to humanity had created him long ago to be a protector, a guardian to the mortals, eons ago when they had removed themselves from the human world to retire to the cliffs and aeries of the Wilderland, the world that existed on the other side of the Wildermere. It was his purpose, his drive. It was in his blood.

The stone in his hand looked like a cut garnet, and it gave off a faint glow and a softly melodic hum whenever he turned in the direction of a deathly frightened human in need of help, however far off that human may be. Dorian remained alert. In this place, wherever a terrified human was, there were sure to be predators close by. They were drawn to mortal fear like moths to flame.

The glow and hum grew steadily stronger as he neared his quarry, and as he pushed through the brambled underbrush that crowded the twisted, nightmarish trees of the forest, he saw the young woman curled up in the roots of an ancient oak.

She was dressed all in white, with luminous, pale skin, vibrantly blue eyes in a sculpted, somewhat angular face, and a fall of waist-length hair the color of ravens. She had her arms wrapped around herself as she rocked and trembled, murmuring unintelligibly. He approached her and lowered himself beside her as nonthreateningly as he could manage, and she looked at him with wide, clear eyes.

“A-are you going to hurt me?” she whispered in English.

“No,” Dorian said gently. The accent of his youth still tinted his words, a hint of old Scandinavia, though it had come from a different world altogether. “I'm here to help you get home. Come with me.” He offered her a hand.

She hesitated, then reached for his hand, clasping it with her own.

Her hand was cold, like that of a corpse's, and very solid, unlike the humans who became lost here, and it pulsed with energy black as the furthest reaches of space. Dorian tried to snatch his hand away, but the woman gripped it with surprising strength. She flowed to her feet, and the image of the raven-haired beauty melted into that of a sensual nightmare. Her skin turned several shades whiter, white like bleached bone, the hollows beneath her cheekbones and around her eyes dusted with grey, and her features became sharp, angular, though her lips remained full and inviting, their shade deepening to the color of blood. Her eyes were jet black, and a pair of twisting horns grew from her head. She was fully six feet tall when she rose to her feet, and a pale, leathery tail flicked about her legs. The sheer white shift mutated into a skimpy leather bodice which crisscrossed with strategically-placed straps that barely covered her small breasts, a skirt made of writhing, fluttering shadows that was almost indecently short in the front and trailed long in the back, and a pair of black leather, spike-heeled boots that reached halfway up her thighs and gave her enough height to be a sliver above eye level with Dorian. Only her hair remained the same, still long and black and impossibly glossy.

A tidal wave of lust crashed over him, and he gasped, struggling to hold it at bay.

Still gripping his hand painfully tight, her claws digging into his flesh, she stepped closer to him, brazenly crowding him with her body. He held his ground and snarled at her, and she smiled, reaching up to touch his face with her other hand. “Such a beautiful man,” she purred, gliding one black-clawed finger over his cheekbone, tracing the stubble-dusted line of his jaw. “I think I might keep you.”

Dorian’s body became instantly, painfully hard at her featherlight touch, somehow made all the more intense by the growing pain in his hand as her claws gouged deeper. Frantically grasping for the last shreds of his control, he gnashed his teeth at her and jerked his hand free, heedless of the way her claws rent his flesh or the bright red drops of blood that blossomed on his skin. The instincts that guided his steps and provided him with insight honed in on a crystal-clear fact: this creature was the one he had been hunting.

His purpose here was at a head. His intended nature took over, and whatever seductive magic the demoness was using on him shattered like brittle glass. She took a step back, surprise flickering across her features.

“Found you, demon,” he growled, and bared his teeth in a way that only distantly resembled a grin.

He let the change take him, shifting form as quickly as the demon woman had. It was easier in this place, with its far more malleable reality structure, than it was in the real world. Urged by curiosity long ago, he had once looked at his shifted form in a mirror. He knew that he maintained his height and build, but the color of his skin had deepened, taking on a metallic, gold-dusted bronze hue. A pair of enormous, black-feathered wings, each tipped with an obsidian claw, sprang from his back and beat the air, and his fingers also tapered into claws. His eyes burned golden in a face that now had bony ridges accentuating his cheekbones and the line of his brow, and he bared gleaming fangs at the woman, a low, animalistic growl rippling from his throat. His fingers closed around the long, wickedly sharp dagger that he had strapped to his leg. It was a gift from an old friend. A demon killer.

He just had to get close enough to use it on her.

The demon laughed. “Oh, magnificent. I knew I liked you.”

She hurled herself at Dorian before he could register that she had begun to move. Her claws raked towards his face, and he threw an arm up to block them, taking a row of long, bloody furrows down his forearm that seeped a deep scarlet into his torn sleeve.

He whirled and thrust the blade at her, but she spun out of the way, shadows whirling and whipping around her like living things. He followed her movements, matching her speed, striking and pivoting and dodging in a blindingly swift, deadly dance. Tendrils of shadow leapt out from her, reaching for him, but he scurried out of reach. The tendrils followed, darting towards him like serpents, and he slashed at them with the dagger, disintegrating them in a sweep of light, shadows fracturing and scattering like an explosion of dark glass.

The demon gasped in pain, and the shadows still undulating around her suddenly swept around her, concealing her from sight. An instant later, she was a dozen feet away, leering at him.

Star Queen's Fire! Few creatures of flesh and magic could move like that, even demons, even Dragons, and certainly not that quickly. Teleportation spells were possible, but it took hours of planning and careful quantum-geometrical calculations to pull off, and even then they were often highly dangerous even to innately magical beings. The risk of coming back wrong was too great. Dorian had seen the aftermath of some botched teleportations; he wouldn't wish that fate on his worst enemy.

And this Damiana had transported herself in the blink of an eye, none the worse for wear. What was this creature?

She prowled towards him, a feral grin twisting her lips and baring her fangs. “Oh, you beautiful, foolish man. You believed I was simply a night-wight, didn't you? A mare. A skulking little imp that sits on the chests of mortals and drinks up their fear like fine wine. But I am more than that. I am Queen Damiana of the Night Realms. I created nightmares, and all the intoxicating pleasures they bring.” She tilted her head and regarded him, hungry eyes traveling over his body. “Have you no desire to taste my delights?”

“Not interested,” Dorian rumbled, and started forward.

“But I have so, so much in store for you,” she murmured. She threw a hand out, and a ball of inky energy hurled towards him with astonishing speed. He tried to dodge, but it followed him, whipping around and striking him in the chest with the force of a freight train. He felt several ribs crack under the strength of the blow and flew backwards, slammed into a tree, and tumbled face down to the ground, the breath knocked out of him.

She was on him lightning-fast, pouncing on his back with an avian shriek, tearing at his wings with her claws. Agony ripped through him, and he screamed and bucked, thrashing his wings, and she tumbled off. He leapt to his feet and drove forward with the dagger, his eyes flaming molten gold, and she vanished in a puff of darkness again, reappearing several feet away.

“Give it up, handsome,” she crooned. “You're not going to prevail. I have the upper hand. I always have the upper hand.” Her lascivious black eyes roamed over his body again, and she licked her lips. “What a fine plaything you're going to make. I am going to greatly enjoy breaking you.”

She sent another wrecking ball of dark energy towards him, and this time, he danced to the side, stabbing at it with his dagger. The shadowy sphere parted like water, disintegrating around the blade in a spray of shrapnel that tore thin ribbons of blood all the way up his arm and lashed at his face, but the tremendous force it had generated still carried forward, unstoppable. It wrenched the dagger from his hand, snapped his wrist like a twig, hit his stomach, and sent him hurtling through the air, hitting another tree with enough force to split its trunk. He flopped bonelessly to the ground, his face in the dirt, the breath torn from his lungs even as he tried to choke out a cry of agony.

She held her arm out and he felt cold shadow-tendrils wind around his body. With a quick motion, she turned her hand palm-up, and the tendrils flipped him onto his back, twisting around his arms and legs and immobilizing them. Her fingers curled into a fist, and he found himself being dragged towards her, struggling and snarling but unable to break free.

He had one last chance. It was a terrible risk, but he was out of options.

He closed his eyes, reached out with his senses, and connected with the Wildermere.

The Wildermere is psychically connected with all dreamers, though it was created by beings much older than humanity-- older and more powerful even than the Dragons. For reasons he might never know, the Old Ones had created the Wildermere to serve as a bridge between the human world and the Wilderland, accessible to the mortal human minds that created an anchor point by which the denizens of the Wilderland could enter into the mortal world. Though it has an ostensible kind of stability to it, a strong human mind can still shape it to a degree-- at least until the Wildermere takes note of it and turns its hunger on the human.

Dorian wasn't human. In fact, he was in part made of the same stuff as the Wildermere, fashioned to be a champion of humankind, a being of immense will and mental strength who could walk between all three worlds at will. When his mind touched the world around him, it responded instantaneously, reaching back and entangling with him until it became an extension of his own consciousness, and he an extension of it.

It was not a thing he cared to do often. The Wildermere was sentient in its own right, and furiously hungry, ever greedy to expand and grow. If he did not keep full control of himself, he would be consumed, reduced to a dream-lost ghost forever haunting the forests, moors, marshes, and deserts of the place.

He lifted his head and locked his eyes on Damiana, and the root systems buried in the forest floor sprang to life, reaching up through the soil and lashing themselves around her, much in the same way she had ensnared him with her shadow-tendrils. She screamed as she was dragged to the ground, writhing and straining, her hold on Dorian falling away as he turned the hunger of the Wildermere on her, feeding it on her power, her darkness, weakening her. He rose to his feet, retrieved the dagger, and stepped closer, his face an implacable mask.

All at once, Damiana stopped struggling, and her features hardened into a mask of grim determination as she dug her will deep into the Wildermere. He felt the world around him respond to her in the same way it had to him, recognizing a being birthed from it, longing to re-merge with it.

She was strong. She was nightmarishly strong, and he wasn't certain if he could defeat her. If she took control of the Wildermere, he was finished. Dorian felt her will press back against his hold on the roots, and he shoved back with his own will, beads of sweat forming on his skin. He took another step forward, his lips peeling back in a snarl. The Wildermere roared in his head, its consciousness rushing through his body, chewing at his mind, trying to consume him. He held it at bay, forcing it to bend to his desires.

One step closer. Another step. Another.

He saw panic flash through her features as he loomed over her, and felt her double her efforts. Dorian dropped down into a crouch and raised the dagger.

She stared up at it in horror.

He plunged the dagger down.

She shouted a word and vanished within a swirl of darkness before the blade could touch her.

Dorian swore acerbically and spun, eyes sweeping the forest. The Wildermere surged within him like an incoming tide, bursting through his defenses. He would need to push it out of his mind soon or he would be lost.

The demon woman was gone. He could feel that clearly through his connection to the realm.

He sank to his knees, grimacing, and with a monumental effort of will purged the Wildermere from his mind. It poured out of him like a river emptying itself into the ocean, merging with the world around him once again. He let his human form flow into place once more so he appeared once again as a dark-haired, well-built man in his late thirties, with chiseled cheekbones, a dusting of beard growth on his jaw, and amber eyes.

He knelt there for a moment, panting, his many injuries throbbing jolts of pain through his whole body, too exhausted to consider moving.

A voice drifted on the wind. A woman's voice, moaning softly, the sound strained with terror-laced need. Dorian whipped his head around, on high alert. He retrieved the stone from his pocket and saw that it was still glowing, still humming. Whomever the stone had been guiding him towards was still here; it was likely that the demon had been tormenting the poor soul, and he had stumbled on her while searching for her victim.

He dragged himself to his feet and started in the direction of the moans.

He found her bound to a tree with her arms over her head. She wore a sheer white shift-- exactly like the one that Damiana had worn in her disguise-- that revealed the lovely, generous curves of her body. Her head was bowed as she whimpered, spilling a wealth of golden hair down over her front.

She jerked her head up as Dorian approached and stared at him with wide blue eyes set in a delicate face. Soft, mewling sounds left her lips as she tried to shrink away from him.

“Don't be afraid,” Dorian murmured. He moved closer, still wary. This woman was probably the real victim and not another illusion, but he needed to be sure.

Gently, he brushed a lock of hair away from her face, letting his fingers graze her cheekbone. Her skin was warm and soft and human, partially immaterial as most mortals are in the Wildermere. She gazed up at him with frightened eyes, but her jaw was set in a way that hinted at courage and defiance. In that moment, every fiber of his being awoke with the deeply-ingrained instinct to protect, to shield, to heal. Her fear and suffering tore at him like the claws of the creature he had just fought.

“What are you going to do to me?” Her voice broke on the question, but she kept her eyes locked with his. Whatever the demon woman had done to her, she had not been broken.

“I'm going to help you get home,” he said. “I'm not going to let anyone else hurt you. I promise.”

A sob tore from her throat, and she lowered her head. He passed a hand down her silken hair, pushing a soft, soothing energy through his palm. She trembled, but some of the tension left her body, and she leaned into his touch. “Help me,” she whispered. “Oh, God, please get me out of here.”

“I will.” He used the dagger to cut her bonds, and she sagged into his arms as if the ropes had been the only thing holding her upright. He held her for a moment, stroking her hair, then asked, “What's your name?”

She tilted her head back to look up at him, and a frown darkened her lovely features as she noticed the cuts on his face and his rapidly swelling wrist. “Angelica. You’re hurt.”

Gods, she was beautiful. She seemed lit from within like her namesake, sweet and untainted even by this nightmare. Again, he felt a surge of fierce protectiveness towards her, and a burning attraction that he refused to give quarter to. This was not the time or place. There may never be a time or place. She seemed to belong to an entirely different world than his own dark, violent home.

Still, though, it had been ages since he had been with somebody, sharing lives and intimacy with love and trust.

He shook his head, partly to clear his mind of that train of thought, and partly in reply to Angelica’s statement. “It’ll heal.”

“But I should--”

He shook his head, then gave her a reassuring smile and held out his good hand. “It’ll heal,” he said again. “Come with me, Angelica, and I'll take you home.”

She hesitated, worrying at her bottom lip with her teeth, then relented and took his hand. “What’s your name?”

“Better you don’t know.”

She stopped walking and glared at him. “Okay, mister tall, dark, and mysterious. I won’t press you for your name if you let me take a look at... all of this. I’m a medical student; I’m starting my ER residency next year.” She reached for his arm. “I... heard you fighting that creature. I don’t know how you beat her, but I’m grateful you did.”

Dorian let her take his arm. “Your gratitude is appreciated, and I promise to see a healer to make certain everything mended properly. I’m sure your medical knowledge is sufficient for the care of humans, but my physiology is different. My body heals itself very quickly.”

“Can’t hurt to look anyway.” Carefully, with hands that still shook a little, Angelica turned his arm this way and that, peering at the cuts, probing his broken wrist with expert fingers. Though his skin was still streaked with blood, the wounds themselves had already closed, leaving light scabs, and the bones in his wrist and his rib cage were slowly, nearly imperceptibly shifting back into place and fusing. He would need to sleep to heal fully, but he was in no danger now.

“See?” Dorian said softly. “I’ll be fine. Angelica, we need to move.”

“You should at least let me put that arm in a sling. It needs to be immobilized or it won’t heal properly.”

“That isn’t necessary.”

“Like hell it’s not!”

“Angelica,” he said, “will you please come with me before something else tries to take a turn at us?” In his present condition, he wasn’t sure if he could handle another attack, let alone protect the innocent woman accompanying him. They didn’t have time to wait around while she fussed over his injuries.

Her glare could melt a glacier, and even Dorian shifted uncomfortably under it. “Fine. Be an idiot.”

She fell into step beside him, marching with her chin up without so much as a glance his way, and he guided her through the forest, searching out the soft, moss-covered paths that would be gentle on her bare feet. A glimmer of insight ignited in Dorian’s mind as they walked-- Angelica had wanted to feel useful, to feel like she could contribute and take an active part in this situation, instead of being the damsel in distress that had to be rescued. She had felt powerless, tied to that tree, unable to defend herself from the demon’s torments, and wanted to reclaim her sense of power.

He reached out to touch her arm and said, “Keep watch as we walk, please? Medical professionals have an uncanny way of noticing tiny details that are out of place, and I might not notice these things since I’m searching for the portal.”

Her eyes widened a fraction as she looked at him, but then the determined, clinically detached expression returned to her face, and she nodded. “I’m on it.”

They walked side by side for a ways, Angelica scanning the forest for potential threats while Dorian split his attention between watching for signs of stalking predators and homing in on the way out. The portal burned bright on his senses as they drew near it, and he turned to look at her. “Go through. You'll wake up, and this will seem like only a bad dream. It would be better if you believed that.”

She looked at the drifting, twisting white tendril-lights of the portal, then back at him. “Was it a dream?”

He hesitated, conflicted. On the one hand, she would be safer if she didn’t delve too deeply in this world. But on the other hand, once a mortal crosses into this place, they always bring back a piece of it with them. And there are... things... in the Wildermere and beyond that might be attracted to that. “No.”

“I didn’t think so.”

“Stay out of this place, Angelica. Don't step through any more mirrors in your dreams. They always lead here.”

She chewed on her lip for a few seconds, then asked, "Will I see you again?”

He shook his head. “No. It's better that way. You don't want to be a part of my world.”

The flash of irritation returned to her eyes. “Don’t tell me what I do and don’t want.”

“You shouldn’t want it. My paths always lead here, in this place. It isn’t a good place.”

She nodded, lowering her eyes for a few seconds, then glanced back up at him, tremulous smile playing at her lips. “Thank you. For saving me.”

He gave her a faint smile in return. “Go. Don't look back. Don't hesitate; you might accidentally leave a part of yourself here.”

Angelica turned to face the portal, took a deep breath, and stepped through, leaving Dorian standing alone in the forest.

#whump #whumpy fic #hero whump #original characters #tw: violence #tw: injury #tw: kidnapping #tw: forced arousal #Darkness Bound #fic #not roleplay

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erintoknow · 5 years

Text

What’s the good in being good?

fallen hero fan fiction, short one this time, just 1.1k words. (4.6k/50k) [ao3]

–––

Things are spiraling out of control.

Don’t think about what you just did – last night? This night? This morning? You haven’t actually slept yet. Or, well, jumped into Jane’s body which is your usual divider between units of time these days.

You roll over on your bed, press a pillow over your face. The joy of soft fabric against too-warm skin. Whatever plans you had for the day can wait. Got home in the early AM. No sleep tonight, and for once it’s not because of nightmares or masquerading as Jane.

You-as-Jane agreed to work with Dr. Mortum… against your self? Is that how it works? Jane and the doctor haven’t talked since the auction fiasco. You’ve been putting that off for almost a week now. Can’t keep doing that. Need to arrange a meeting. You have Mortum’s teleportation gun. Maybe that will help mollify things? Except you also sort of technically stole it from her during the chaos.

Also, the gun spat out the goddamn Catastrofiend? Or some twisted fun-house mirror version. So. Now the Catastrofiend was loose somewhere in the city again, and even more fucked up than ever. How long had it been in that gun? What was it Mortum said? Things stored in the – the quantum bubble degraded over time? Would that make defeating Catastrofiend easier or harder?

And now Lady Argent knows who you are. Not what you are, not entirely, but enough to hang you with. Can’t avoid her forever. Going by the lack of police breaking down your apartment or Rangers hounding your ever move, she’s keeping her word to keep it secret. But for how long. As long as you’re working on the regenerator you have leverage. If you get it working, get the life free of the orange brand that haunted you all these years, will you still even have a life to live?

What do you even want, Ariadne? What do you want out of life? For a while it seemed so clear, so obvious. Strike back. Strike down. Seize control of your own life again. Make the people that hurt you pay, make them regret not leaving you be. You’d seize the rotten secret of what the Directive does and you’d drag it into the disinfectant of the light. If the Directive was the law, and the law decided what was right and wrong, then you’d toss it aside. Toss all of them aside.

Tossing aside, it should be noted, didn’t mean sleep with with the ex-marshal.

Well– technically, you didn’t, except no yeah, you kind of did, but then again, you didn’t really do anything but then again, like– Undressed. Same bed. You touched her. She touched you.

She said she loved you – loves you? Everything still feels sharp in your mind. A precious rarity given how unreliable your memory can be at times. Couldn’t say it back. Not even really sure what it would mean to say it. Can’t say you really know what it is, what it means. But – if you loved her back, really, truly did so, then… you wouldn’t be lying to her, would you? What will you do if you have to face her again? Charge Vs. Adrestia?

You’ll have to tell her. Everything. It’s the only way to be fair. But – but not now. It won’t end well, you’re sure of it. And is it so wrong to want to be happy?

Is that what this whole thing is about, at the core of it? Why else try to take back control of your life, why else try to expose the evil the Directorate is enmeshed in? Dr. Finch keeps saying you deserve to be happy. Chelsea used to say that too. Julia, Anathema… Would any of them still say you deserve to be happy, if they knew the truth? Would Anathema still be alive, if you hadn’t insisted on inserting yourself into a situation you didn’t belong?

Your cellphone buzzes from the bottom of your purse at the base of your bed. With a groan you roll over, grope a hand down around the floor until you fish it up. Ortega. Of course, who else?

Sparkles: Did you get home okay?

You cover your mouth as you fight a smile. Of course that’s her first question. ‘yes, mom’ You type back, making a point to undo the default capitalization. Predictive typing can take your lowercase text from your cold dead fingers.

Three dots as she types a reply.

Sparkles: Don’t be like that!! I’m just checking in

Becker: just teasing

Becker: um

Becker: thanks for asking

Sparkles: Of course!!

Sparkles: Listen thanks for having dinner with me

Sparkles: Last night and for

Sparkles: You know

Becker: i

Sparkles: And

Sparkles: Trusting me

Becker: uh, haha

Becker: i feel like i should be thanking you

Becker: you really uh

Becker: haha uh geeze

Becker: i’m tearing up again sorry sorry

Sparkles: Oh no!!

Becker: no, no

Becker: it’s the like, good crying? like, you did it sparkles congrats

Sparkles: Congrats??

Becker: you unlocked the legendary second emotion, now in addition to sad crying i can happy cry too

Becker: uh

Becker: that was a joke

Becker: you can laugh at that

Sparkes: Ari…

Sparkles: I meant what I said last night you know that right?

Becker: you say a lot of things

Sparkles: Touché but

Sparkles: I’ll do whatever it takes to save you okay? I know you don’t want me getting involved and I have to respect that

Becker: am i still talking to julia ortega?

Sparkles: Oh har har you, hush

Sparkles: What I mean is

Sparkles: Whatever you want to tell me I’ll listen I promise you there’s nothing you could tell me that would make me think less of you

Becker: that’s

Becker: there you go with your wild promises again

Sparkles: Just I’m here for you okay?

Becker: i

Becker: okay

Becker: i’m

Becker: i’m here for you too? it’s uh it’s not right if this is some one-way deal

Sparkles: Ari…

Sparkles: Well in that case…

Becker: oh no

Sparkles: Relax!! The computer in my… other office is acting up lately, do you mind coming in and looking at it?

Becker: seriously? uh sure? what exactly’s up with it?

It takes another fifteen minutes of back and forth with Ortega to settle on a time and date. Well. Couldn’t avoid the Rangers HQ forever. Maybe you’ll luck out and Argent won’t be in when you visit.

Who are you kidding, you’ll probably walk right into her, knowing your luck. Another reason to start going over the Regenerator plans. Don’t want her getting antsy.

Can’t hide from the world forever.

You drop your phone to your side on the bed and shut your eyes. Breath in. Breath out. Can’t hide forever. And neither can Jane. Shouldn’t put this off any longer. Time to call a certain doctor. Maybe it’s time to arrange a proper meeting.

Try to salvage what good you can get.

#fallen hero #fallen hero fanfic #fanfiction #fhr #wlw fanfic #fhr/Ariadne #mc #ortega #texting

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davetheshady · 5 years

Text

how time travel works in the MCU

endgame spoilers!

SO i’ve been seeing a lot of people expressing confusion about wtf was going on in endgame, and since this is, like, my jam, allow me to illustrate the MCU’s apparent theory of time travel. (this isn’t officially confirmed or anything (ETA: it kind of is!) – just me elaborating on what other fans have said as well, which appears to be internally consistent in the movie.)

Avengers: Endgame uses a different mechanism than most time travel media (which Rhodey and Scott helpfully list for us, lol): it is impossible to change the past of your personal timeline in the MCU.

(fig. 1: a blurry and not-to-scale timeline for the MCU with data points for 1970, 2012, 2013, 2014, and Endgame)

their “time travel” is more like “time and dimension travel”: as soon as they use the quantum realm to go to an earlier date, it splits off* an identical parallel universe (or leg of the trousers of time). we simultaneously have canon and officially-licensed canon-divergence AUs. time travelers can never affect their own pasts; they can only change things in an AU for another version of themselves.

* or maybe this universe which was completely identical up to the point where they are visiting time travelers always existed and they just arrived, who knows ~wibbley wobbley~

(fig. 2: equally blurry and not-to-scale timelines plural: the MCU timeline and four AU timelines, splitting off from 1970, 2012, 2013, and 2014.)

note: i’m just guessing about the number of relevant AU timelines, because I’ve only seen the movie once. the avengers’ initial plan has teams going to NYC in 2012 during The Avengers, to Asgard in 2013 during Thor 2: Electric Boogaloo, and to the planets Morag and Vormir (sp?) in 2014 during Guardians of the Galaxy. Team 2012 messes up and tries again by going to New Jersey in 1970.

hence the Ancient One’s concern about Bruce taking the time stone: up to that point, things were on track to proceed exactly like the MCU timeline. now that’s off the table. if bruce doesn’t return the time stone, the events of doctor strange can’t happen and dormammu will destroy this 2012!AU timeline. the MCU timeline will be unaffected, but it still sucks for everyone in the 2012!AU. (i don’t think it’s necessary in each AU for events to go EXACTLY like the MCU timeline, but considering the MCU timeline consists of our heroes defeating challenges and saving the world/galaxy by the skin of their teeth, not changing too much is a good idea.)

however! there are definite changes keeping these AUs separate from the MCU timeline. 2012!AU Steve has been told by a suspicious double that Bucky is alive, and will probably get Hail HYDRA’d by Strike. it’s entirely possible that events in 2013!Asgard will happen completely differently due to Frigga’s knowledge of shit going down. And 2014!AU Thanos hops on over to the MCU timeline and attacks, ultimately resulting in the 2014!AU losing him, his followers, and Gamora.

essentially, we now know there are multiple copies of all the characters, but not clones or evil-bearded-mirror counterparts, because they share the same experiences... up to a certain point. 2014!AU Gamora is in the MCU timeline now, but she doesn’t have any of MCU Gamora’s experiences from the time of GotG to her death in Infinity War. However, she and MCU Nebula would still share their horrible childhood. If 2012!AU Loki pops up in the MCU timeline, he and MCU Thor would have had the same interactions all the way through The Avengers. (I personally find this delightful, because it’s a time travel crossover between canon-divergence AUs complete with character doubles and that’s like... all of my favorite things together.)

as for MCU Steve: he was hanging out in one of the AUs with Peggy (with whom he would have shared exactly the same version of the past in the 40s) for a whole bunch of decades. the movie vaguely implies that this really did happen in the MCU timeline by having him appear on a park bench instead of using their quantum realm tech, but this would require:

steve ‘civil war’ rogers just chilling for decades as Bucky runs around as the Winter Soldier and HYDRA infiltrates SHIELD, not to mention refraining from weighing in on countless other issues he cares deeply about

peggy ‘fight me’ carter, AN INTELLIGENCE OPERATIVE, not noticing her husband’s extreme lack of chill re 1. and cottoning on

us to forget literally the whole rest of the movie

so this, frankly, is nonsense. also, the obvious place to meet up with peggy was in his trip to 1970, but unless someone on her street had an old-ass car, they’re definitely dancing together in the 40s/50s; this means he didn’t just go back and stay, but went back to the 1970 AU, dropped off the tesseract and stole more of hank pym’s research, and then made yet another trip to the 40s/50s.

using this AU theory, MCU Steve was only present in the MCU timeline as a Capsicle between the 40s and the 2010s and you don’t have to worry about the canonicity of Agents of Carter. Endgame-era MCU Steve went to a 1940s AU, where he and Peggy almost certainly made beautiful Nazi punching as they cleared HYDRA out of SHIELD. stuff like that would make events unspool differently than Steve was familiar with from the MCU timeline, making his knowledge of his future less and less relevant, so he wouldn’t have too much of an advantage. (as a side note, I think there’s a practical aspect to him hanging around: it means he has plenty of time to observe the consequences of the MCU Avengers interfering and make sure there’s no, like, universal catastrophes. hell yeah longitudinal studies of scientific data.)

we already know from 2014!AU Thanos’ appearance in the MCU timeline that you don’t need to use the MCU portal to hop between timelines [ETA: whoops, i misremembered that part.] Steve knew where he was returning to, so between his MCU tech and everything he potentially could have stolen from hank pym over the years (or, you know, everything he was given by 1940!AU hank and janet van dyne, whom he could have just worked with) he had the ability to stroll back to the MCU timeline for the very end of endgame in a sufficiently dramatic fashion to troll everyone. or maybe he DID use that portal, but was the size of an ant just to be a dick. steve rogers: man out of time.

[ETA: as per this post: bruce DID detect him in the portal, so he definitely quantum leaped back instead of taking the slow path.]

[ETA: as per the Russos themselves: “If Cap were to go back into the past and live there, he would create a branched reality. The question then becomes, how is he back in this reality to give the shield away?” source )

anyway, unlike other kinds of time travel, AU theory lacks issues like erasing your own personal history or stepping on bugs and causing fascism. but i think it DOES have some serious consequences:

- if you visit/create an AU, the people from the AU can now come and dick around in YOUR timeline (c.f. 2014!AU Thanos and the entire end of the movie). they got rid of 2014!AU Thanos, but that leaves at least three other Thanoi who they HAVEN’T defeated, plus multiple versions of every other baddie they’ve ever fought.

- having so many similar-but-not-identical timelines clustered together might have bad long-term consequences on reality, like events bleeding through

- HOW are these AUs created and/or maintained? if there’s a finite amount of energy for them, connecting to too many might cause some to collapse

- headaches

it’s possible we will see some negative consequences in future MCU movies, if only to eliminate “time travel through the quantum realm” as a solution to every single one of their problems.

(@autumn-drifts also pointed out that the MCU Avengers are doing all their time travel shenanigans after the MCU infinity stones have been destroyed, so potentially the time stone (and maybe others) play a role in PREVENTING time travel, which is why we haven’t seen it before.)

(ETA: the energy from the infinity stones Thanos destroyed had to go SOMEWHERE; maybe that’s what creates the AUs?)

speaking of the time stone: this maaaaaay have a completely different set of rules. it’s possible that using it also spawns a whole bunch of AUs, which is why the Ancient One chewed out Dr Strange about playing with it. (do you want 20 different AUs whose only difference is Dr Strange’s fucked-up apple in the magic library? because this is how you get 20 different AUs whose only difference is Dr Strange’s fucked-up apple in the magic library.)

but it’s also possible the time stone is the only thing that have an effect on your personal timeline. i don’t think we ever see it used to jump directly from one point of time to another, so who knows if it CAN. but it can definitely rewind (MCU Thanos undoing Wanda’s decision to kill Vision and stealing the mind stone in Infinity War) and/or create time loops (the end of Doctor Strange).

(fig. 3: blurry timeline of the MCU showing a whole bunch of loops in Doctor Strange from his trap, labelled “Dormammu, I’ve come to bargain”, and a single loop in Infinity War labelled “Wanda kills Vision” and “Thanos unkills Vision”)

i’ve drawn them as loops because those events definitely happen, so they’re part of a timeline that everyone(?) experiences, but they all circle back to one particular point from whence only one line of events continues. you don’t have a million different versions of Dr Strange getting creatively killed by Dormammu, you have one Dr Strange getting creatively killed by Dormammu a million times; both he and Dormammu remember all of them.

one final observation: we still haven’t seen proper time travel forward through time. we know from Infinity War that the time stone can let you look at all the potential futures and use that knowledge to aim in your chosen direction, but it can’t show you “the” future. (and as to whether that’s looking at events playing forward then rewinding back to the save point, or just scoping out all the relevant AUs, I have no idea.) Scott technically skips five years forward from the snappening to Endgame, but he was pulled there by a rat activating the tech during Endgame, as opposed to him selecting a point five years in the future and choosing to go there. (we also don’t know when Steve left his 1940!AU timeline, but he was returning to the point in the MCU immediately after he left, not going farther forward than he had already been.) so it will be interesting to see how/if time travel into THE FUTURE! happens and what delightful problems it can cause.

in conclusion:

#endgame spoilers #the avengers: endgame #time travel #wibbley wobbley timey wimey #mcu #the avengers: infinity war #doctor strange #guardians of the galaxy #long post

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hystericalcherries · 5 years

Text

aeon (4/6)

Pairing: Keith/Lance Words: 12k Rating: M Warnings: mild violence Tags: Post-Season/Series 07, quantum abyss, Flashbacks, Flashforwards, Prophetic Visions, Visions in dreams, Mind Control, Dimension Travel, Boys Being Boys, Falling In Love, Mutual Pining, Gay Keith (Voltron), Bisexual Lance (Voltron) when the going gets tough... the tough write fix-it fics, Allura (Voltron) Lives, because fuck you jds and lm

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Summary:

Keith does not leave the quantum abyss untouched.

“Home can be anything, you know,” Lance says in lieu of a conversation starter.

Slivers of moonlight filter through the blinds above their heads, casting lines of truth across the sheets. Lance tilts his head forward and a band slides over his eyes, catching the ocean in them and drawing Keith into their rolling tides. And as distracted as he is, he doesn't put up a fight when a hand clasps his own, reeling them heartward.

“Home is just something you can come back to.” His knuckles brush against the soft fabric of a nightshirt, the v-neckline falling loose to reveal a sharp collarbone, and Keith feels his breath hitching. “Something that keeps you grounded.”

READ IT ON AO3

The astral plane is a cosmic burn against his skin. Fragile and composed, it breathes a cloud of thought and intent, shining from point to celestial point. Pulsating like something living, it beckons.

In time with the universe, he wakes. A breath, stolen from his concaved chest, shudders at the thrill of slipping past a cage of muscle and bone. Stagnant freedom, watched from eyes already opened and barely aware. A trickle of feeling, counting down the notches of his spine with aching precision until he remembers that the body is his to control.

Then, without prompting, he moves. His hand rises, pressing flat to the mirror of his own existence, trying to find himself. Time cracks and splits and he sees beyond what is linear. Cause and effect, a wave upon space itself, asking who are you? Years regress and years progress, eternal, and he, only a footnote in this bigger story, is unsure of which direction to go. For there are a million paths and a million more endings, a finite choice within infinite possibilities.

At the end of the universe, he stands, wondering. Wondering of what he left behind and if maybe — just maybe, he could go back.

But something stops him from turning. A force, omniscient, slipping past his guard and suspending him upon a cross weaved from thorns. It pushes and a third eye opens, tattooed with the glowing marks of a dead culture, waiting to claim what doesn’t belong. Powerless to the touch that drags over him, he cries out; from navel to heart, it cuts, tearing him wide open and letting the fears crawl out. From his body, a chasm forms, and it slithers in, sinking claws into his consciousness with a raspy croon.

Submit, it demands. Submit to me.

A silent cry strikes the barrier of thought as the force presses upon him, a shattering presence. Broken glass punctures, sinking into his flesh; it liquifies and percolates, filling his veins until they burst. All his scars bleed golden, oozing in kindle for the fire that consumes him, burning until he tastes his own ashes. Lightning travels up his legs, straightening his spine with pure electricity that revives the burnt crisp of flesh and mind he has become. His head snaps back, eyes wide and sightless in the feeling, and he lets loose a noise somewhere between a whine and a yell.

He is fire and magma splattered across a dark canvas, specks of gold and white flaring like a string of city lights around his neck. A firestorm, wild and explosive. Embers pop and sizzle, arching high in the swing of a blade, landing with the intent to consume. Distorted and warped, the Red Lion stares from underneath his skin, hot thunder for blood and suns for pupils.

Anger, once dormant in his chest, wakes.

His reality cracks like radio static, getting louder and louder until it consumes. A canon, booming, sounds off at the end of a funeral march, leaving only the sizzling ruins of self, corrupted by dark magic and an unforgivable science. He is less than what he was, hollow and despondent and mindless, following the strings that bind him. Transparent and tight, the strings go taut. He flexes.

A sword held in his grasp sings, deadly and craving action.

Something cold touches him and he hisses in surprise. Forced to pull back or suffer frostbite, he stares down the silhouette that shines bright in his split vision, outlined hand still hovering between them. The sight has the strings pulling tighter.

Kill, the voice inside his head says and he feels the desire burn in his chest. Feels it stain his hands a bloody red with intent, wrapped around the throat of mercy and squeezing until it is no more. The violent thought drives away his sense, making him something wild; a wolf, foaming at the mouth, with slits for eyes and fangs bared. A monster, through and through.

The silhouette stumbles away, dodging the swing of his sword with a cry of distress.

But he doesn’t stop— can’t stop, prowling forward and leaving scorched earth in his wake. Another swing, arc wider and accompanied by his own yell, barely missing its mark when his opponent ducks to the left. Step, swipe and stab. It is the mantra of his existence, the only thing worth knowing, fury condensed along the edge of his sword and the blood rushing through his veins. Carnage in the making.

Schwing.

—the blade in his hand is parried.

A sword, accented red, glinting in the cosmic light. It is a threat previously unseen, held in the grip of someone who knows how to use it. Longer than his own blade, its tip skims the ground as its wielder straightens into a fighting stance. A challenge.

Sparks erupt when they clash, metallic tongues hissing, only to quiet again when they separate; choreographed by the notes of war, they dance to its solemn tune. Every step is calculated, careful and precise. One wrong move and the curtain will fall, hefty in the sound of thunderous applause, draped ostentatiously over shut coffins. Falling into each other and in range, they pivot and deflect, graceful only as dancers are, light-footed and sure.

Their swords bisect, sliding until cross-guards meet.

This close he can see his own reflection in the other’s eyes— dark hair curling around a snarling face, a shadow of self shrinking within in a dilating pupil. The sight strums at the strings that guide him, letting out a confusing twang, reminiscent of a time before. It’s not a good feeling, churning uncomfortably at the bottom of his stomach; he wants it gone.

A twist of his wrist and it has the other’s sword flying.

He kicks out, watching as his opponent’s body falls and rolls across the ground with the force of it. And that should be the last of it, submission given to the victor, but it’s not. For armored arms go to lift themselves up, head rising so clear eyes can look up at him through sweaty bangs, jaw clenched with a stubbornness that has the fire inside him flaring up.

Angry, he stalks forward and stabs the point of his sword into the jut between breastplate and shoulder pad. It draws out a scream of pain, gutted and raw, and he pushes it deeper. Deeper until blood trickles over shining armor and onto the ground, causing red to ripple across its once pristine surface. Deeper still when those eyes look to his, clouded with pain, unbudging as he looms and goes for a chokehold.

Fingers scramble for purchase, weakening as the moments drag on and he exerts more pressure, twitching in time to the wheeze of air stolen from lungs.

A leg wraps around him and they roll over, a tangle of limbs. The ground is hard against their backs as they fight for the upper hand, his sword and helmet discarded somewhere along the way, leaving him with nothing but the dirt underneath his nails and the taste of rust in his mouth. They are evenly matched like this, stripped of their names and drenched in their own desperation. It’s a struggle that’s been a long time coming, though he does not know how he knows that, but it sits heavy at the base of his chest.

Clear gems dislodged from the ground follow them in their struggle, cutting into skin left unprotected. One must get underneath them and dig into the other’s wounded shoulder because he shudders violently, losing his grip and surrendering the leverage he held. Victory taken and victory given.

Kill, the voice in his head repeats when he’s got the other pinned down, breathing hard and once again looking at his own image splattered across the canvas of a pupil. His blade is back in his hand, poised at the ready. Kill him.

His world flickers as gloved fingers brush against his ear, making him recoil instinctively, thinking it another attack. Still, it persists, moving until it curls at the back of his neck. Gentler than any of its predecessors, it vibrates with the heavy pound of his heartbeat, taming the monster into a lull of compliance. Small pricks of pressure guide his head down, down, down, until foreheads meet. Then, softly, words he cannot hear are whispered into the sliver of space between them just as a muzzle of a gun is pressed into his stomach.

Seams splitting, he falls apart, the world folding in on itself. It pulls, bends—

To the end of the universe and back.

—and breaks.

Transparent daggers rake against the sheet of ultramarine that makes up this plane, ripping claws of red across a celestial sky. It coerces the fear in his chest to slip out, dripping toxic black through the gap of his ribs. Feeling returns in the form of bruises spanning the entirety of his body and more than one gash peeking out from behind cut cloth and discarded armor. Blood, which had been rushing through his veins with the kick of adrenaline only moments ago, is weeping from wounds sustained, sluggish and steady.

Underneath him, a body shivers, going limp with exhaustion.

It comes to him then, what he’s done— what he nearly did— and a different kind of pain develops. The shock has him dropping his bayard, watching the heat of his fingerprints fade from the hilt as it clatters to the ground, soundless. Something loosens inside him and, suddenly, everything is too much. The air is too thick, time too slow, his suit too tight and the universe too vast; he is a speck, insignificant and powerless, and it is just too much.

He flings himself back, away from the corpse that almost was and the murderer he almost became, and starts shaking his head. It doesn’t help and he is left there, fists clenched and mind battered, suffocating in silence. For there is something stuck in his chest, a tumbleweed whose thorns pierce and shred and destroy. Like the brittle wood of a dead tree, he snaps and breaks under the pressure, knees failing and leaving him a heap of kindle on the floor. He takes a labored breath and it attempts to spark a dead fire.

“Keith.”

But there is nothing left to burn. Only smoke and ash.

“Keith, look at me.” A touch to the back of his hand and he flinches. “Keith, please.”

A shudder and charred woods crumbles. He follows the line of ash as it scatters in the wind, dark gaze meeting that of blue.

Lance is nearly transparent, a mirror of water that glistens. Shooting stars fly through his veins, pulsing with every heartbeat; they die just as quickly as they are born, dreaming of adventure even as they fall. A look down and he can see beads of constellations knit around his ankles, twinkling like chimes.

A smile, honest and hesitant. “Hey, buddy.”

He makes to move away.

“Wait, no. Don’t do— come back.” Weak willed and feeling numb, Keith lets himself be pulled in. His body falls into the curve of the other boy’s arms; he doesn’t phase through like he imagines he would, but stays firm, properly cradled. His temple is pressed against the cool material of a breastplate and his hand trails down to fall, limp, in his lap. “You’re okay. It’s over now and you’re okay.”

Listeless, he speaks, “I… I almost…”

“Hey, no, no, no. That’s not— you stopped, okay?” Lance shifts awkwardly, shoulder slumped at an odd angle, and then there’s an arm wrapped around him and a hand taking his, soothing the burning touch of corruption. Planet rings circle thin wrists like bangles, matter vibrating when they divided and merged back into one another lazily. “I’m fine, see? Fine and still breathing, all because of you.”

“I didn’t mean to…”

Their faces are close enough that Keith can see the exact moment Lance cracks; the slight tremble of a lower lip, translating in the wobble of his next words. “I know you didn’t. I know you would never— not now, not after everything. We’re a team, remember? And I’m still here— always gonna be here.”

The words are from a long, lost dream and Keith jolts at the memory of them. It causes him to lift his head and stare up at the boy who holds him, to take in everything all at once: the gash that cuts through his left eyebrow, the pinpricks of tears at the corner of his eyes, the way his lips part when he breathes. It is a mural of a future passing him by, honest like the flashes promised.

“Oh,” he breathes out in understanding. Relief rushes through him, almost immediately followed by frustration. “Allura was right. I should’ve just let them come.”

The abrupt change in mood startles Lance, tears chased away before they can properly settle. “What?”

“Nothing. I…” To think, that he would have foreseen all this if he had just taken the time to properly dissect his flashes rather than throw them aside out of misguided cynicism. So focused on the future he didn’t believe he deserved, he had forgotten about the present that might become it. “I’m just so dumb. Dumb to think I could…” He sits up and runs a hand through his hair, putting it into disarray. “God, it’s all a mess and I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Not everyone has the answers.”

“Well, I’m—”

“Yeah, you’re not everyone. I know. I’m sure everyone and their mom knows who you are. Keith Kogane. Flying protégée, golden boy of the Garrison and pilot of the Black Lion.” Words go unspoken, an echo of a past they share; two boys, one with a head in the clouds and another with his heart on his sleeve. They lie dormant between the lines, waiting to be heard. “But just because you’ve got all that under your belt doesn’t mean you’re immune to life, and sometimes life is confusing. Sometimes you don’t know what to do or where you fit. It happens, okay? All this just makes you…” Lance pauses. “Makes you human.”

Something new and unfamiliar coils in his chest.

“And that’s fine. You’re allowed to not know,” Lance continues, taking a deep breath. His eyes are clear now, staring intently at Keith. “It sucks— trust me, I know, but life’s like that sometimes. We just gotta push through and hope we find what we’re looking for.”

Keith blinks. “That was— wow, um, pretty wise.”

Lance looks away and down, readjusting the bend of his knees. “Yeah, well, I had a lot of time to think about this. Life’s kinda slow when you’re stuck in space.”

“Well, thanks… It’s nice to hear, that I’m not alone in all this.”

“No problem, man.”

He frowns at the response. It’s hard to place, but the words, though casual in delivery, seem almost dismissive in nature. As if what Keith said is merely obligation and not fact. “Seriously,” he says, willing him to understand. “I wouldn’t know what I’d do without you. I’d probably be rotting in some alien jail cell halfway across the galaxy if it wasn’t for you.” “I’m sure you would’ve gotten yourself out eventually.”

“Maybe, but I wouldn’t need to with you there. I wouldn’t even be in that situation in the first place. You keep me in check when I get out of hand. I have never been… the most logical of people, especially when I get stuck in my head, but you always bring me back to what’s important. So, thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that. That’s just what friends do.” Lance smiles. “And we’re friends.”

Keith smiles back. “Yeah, we are.”

Their surroundings have finally settled into something more tranquil, receding from the violent reds and disturbed yellows into a more manageable spectrum. It soothes the nerves that had been previously fried, realigning synapses and extending sheaths, making every sensation new and goosebump inducing. He tilts his head back, watching the distant skyline sink under the surface of this plane. Up above, two adjacent stars stare back.

His hands fall to his sides and curl into the seam of his undersuit, feeling the patterns of the stockinette. Slowly, he breathes out.

Next to him, Lance does the same and says, “This place is crazy, right?”

Keith turns just in time to see his fellow paladin wiggle his fingers in front of his face, eternally fascinated at the way the gesture slows down and leaves a stop-motion shadow trailing after it. Further intrigued, he reaches out to touch Keith; the boy holds himself stone still, lips parting in a sun flare of surprise. Sparks erupt from the place where the pads of his fingers brushed along the crest of a cheek, a blotch of violet.

“Yeah, it’s… it’s something else. Different than when we project from the lions.” Keith inhales sharply. “I wonder what brought us here.”

“Well, if I had to guess, I’d guess that.”

Keith angles himself to where he points, jerking in surprising when he spots a ball of… something floating in the air a few feet away from them. It’s pitch black, fuzzy at the edges, with tendrils of violet lightning striking the air around it every few seconds. It makes no noise, silent as it bobs between this universe and the next in everlasting limbo, but the way it quivers makes Keith think it’s holding in a scream.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know.” Lance shifts close enough that their shoulders brush when he shrugs. “It just— came out of you. One minute you were all crazy and attacking me, and the next, this thing popped right out of your chest and you were fine. I’m kinda afraid to touch it. Like, what if it infects me or whatever? I’d rather not fight you again. That was a bit too intense for my tastes.”

Only remembering certain snippets of feelings, albeit in gruesome detail, Keith nods.

Lance continues, talking through his thoughts. “Maybe this has something to do with the colony and why they’re apples and bananas for Honerva. It could be that they’re brainwashed, like you were. Though if that’s the case, then we should bring it back to the Atlas as a sample. Allura would want to analyze it, to see if it could be reversed.” The boy hums, looking behind and at the great expanse of nothing around them, tapping his fingers against his knee. “We’d have to get out of this place first. Usually, the lions would just bring us back, but I don’t think this place is where we usually go when we connect in Voltron. Maybe it’s a copy that Haggar made.”

“Maybe,” Keith agrees, unconsciously picking at his lip as he thinks it over. “But it won’t be safe on the Atlas, not with it traveling across the universe. Earth won’t be good either, not after the war. Kolivan might have a place for it— an old base possibly, or even one of Lotor’s abandoned labs. I can take it with me when I go.”

A pause, long and stagnant. Then—

“What.” Lance’s voice is flat.

Keith looks up, confused. “What?”

“You’re… leaving?”

“I mean, yeah. Not now, but someday. Soon, maybe— I don’t know.” It’s been the topic of a few late night talks with his mother, vague as most things dealing with the future are, gaining shape as more time passes. Faster even, when the flashes had intensified and he hadn’t wanted to be taunted by them any longer. “When this war is finally over, someone is going to have to help put the universe back together. And with no leader, the galra are going to need someone to take charge and get them on the right track. A new planet and a new ruling system.”

“And what? That’s gonna be you?”

“No, of course not. I’m just gonna help them get back on their feet. They have to change if they want to be part of Coalition and, well, I was talking with Acxa and—”

“Acxa? You’re gonna run off with Acxa? The girl who tried to kill you— all of us, on more than one occasion? A girl you and Hunk found in some space worm’s stomach? Your ditching us for her? You don’t even know her!”

“I know her enough,” he bites back. “And she’s helped me— us, out. She’s changed. And I’m not ditching you guys for her, okay? I just think that I’ll be more useful out there. It’s not like you guys are gonna need me on Earth once everything is finished. There’s nothing left for me there.”

“Useful? Nothing left? What are you even talking about?”

Not wanting to continue the conversation, Keith makes to get up and stalk away, hissing quietly when his injuries cry out. Lance ignores the implications of the action and follows after him.

“You’re just gonna leave it. Just like that? But Earth… it’s our home— your home.”

He scoffs. “Earth has never been my home. Not like it is to you.”

“So… so you’re running away?”

That has him turning back. “I— that’s not— I’m not running away.”

“Yes, you are. You’re running. Just like you always do. Were you even gonna say goodbye when you left? Or were you just going to leave and maybe see us in a few years?” Keith opens his mouth in rebuttal, but Lance doesn’t let him. The words come pouring out of his mouth, saturating the air between them with wild honesty. “You’re always pulling away, like you’re afraid— and don’t say you aren’t, because you are! And that’s fine, you know? Cause everyone gets scared. But, man, you’ve got to stop letting it decide everything for you.”

A bitter taste enters his mouth, thick enough to lodge his throat when he swallows. Bitter because Keith has never been one to allow fear to rule him. Even from a young age he had learned that the world doesn’t care about boys who are afraid of the dark, for night still falls regardless on whether he wants it to or not, and that if he wanted to get anywhere in life then was going to have to learn to sleep with one eye open.

Lance plants an uninjured hand on his shoulder, trailing high to palm the slope of his neck, and it’s a contradicting action; his fingers are transparent, made up of the stars that surround them, but they feel solid and real, staining his existence a deep purple when he moves the other to hover hesitantly under a padded elbow. “You can try all you want, okay? Put an ocean between us— an universe even— but it won’t work. Won’t work because no matter what you do or think, we’ll be here. Earth… it doesn’t have to mean anything to you, but we— me and the team, we should. Home is what you make it.” Thin brows furrow as blue eyes flicker away, hesitation clear in the way his lower lip is sucked under his front teeth. “You can have your place with us, but I can’t make you want it.”

You can’t give up on yourself, whispers a memory, bruised but hopeful.

“A—And I can’t force you to stay, but I can say that I’d be sad if you don’t. I would miss you.” The fingers at his throat twitch. “We all would.”

Something gets stuck in his throat. “I would miss you too.”

“Then don’t go. Stay, please. Promise you’ll come back home.”

He’s run all his life. It started when he stepped away from the graveyard where his father lies six feet under and he had never stopped. For he makes loneliness into something that can be achieved rather than forced. A self-inflicted exile.

But lions are meant to be in prides.

The thought has tears springing to his eyes. Unheralded, they come, slipping past the slope of his cheek until they bead together at the point of his chin, dripping when his emotions become too heavy. He sniffles and the sudden sound has Lance’s gaze snapping back to his face, eyes going wide with surprise as he takes in Keith’s blotchy skin and scrunched up nose.

It’s been years since the last time he had let himself cry. Not even when Shiro had first gone missing had Keith wept, merely going hollow when Adam had been presented with the notice by an impartial field officer, crumbling the envelope in misguided anger when he had read the words assumed dead and sorry for your loss. Stone-like, he had become, chipped where the Garrison had stabbed a knife into his back. For there was no kindness spared for little boys who cried or the men they grew up to be.

Lance’s own chin wobbles. “Keith, no, don’t… don’t cry. You never cry… and, and if you cry then I’m gonna cry. I didn’t mean to make you— and oh god, there I go.” He blinks rapidly and takes some deep, erratic breaths. “It’s okay. We’re good. We’re fine. Just— just let it out.”

So Keith does. He cries for his father, his mother, his brother, and his friends. Cries for himself— both the nine-year old sitting outside of child services as his first foster parents rage about broken windows and the sixteen-year old stumbling through a desert after being kicked out the one place he thought he belonged— for what was and what could have been. Cries for today and the tomorrow he wants after.

The feeling bursts from his chest like a monsoon in a jar, glass cracked and glass shattered. He stands in the middle of it, letting the high winds take him to the distant cliffside with its crumbling rock and rogue waves, looking to the lighthouse that sits atop its crest. A shining beacon, guiding just as a hand curls around his own, tugging to a place just beyond due north.

Eventually, his tears slow down and he shifts out of his bowed posture, blinking away the salt and noticing that his nose is pressed against the sharp turn of a jaw. Brown hair tickles the bridge of his nose, moving away when Lance does, and suddenly he’s looking straight into red-rimmed eyes. A thought, fleeting and inexplicable, crosses his mind, profound in how such a soft oh can have his heart missing a beat. It’s weird and Keith clears his throat awkwardly, knowing that the moment has branded him— them, different than what they were.

Lance blows a raspberry. “Wow, that was intense.”

Keith wipes the fresh tears from his eyes, chuckling weakly. “Yeah… It kinda was.”

“It fine, right? We just had a lot of feelings to let out. Nothing wrong with two dudes crying over some feelings. Totally natural.”

“It’s— yeah, we’re fine. Better than fine, thanks to you.”

This time Lance doesn’t shrug off the praise. Merely nods and watches as Keith attempts to compose himself, shameless of the tear stains that track his own face. It’s an open expression, devoid of the boy’s usual carefully sculpted mask of confidence and revealing the things that lie underneath— a quiet conviction and compassion that melts even the coldest of hearts, alluring in the light of sincerity. Even now as he purses his lips, looking for all he is someone trying to decode a puzzle, face just shy of impassive even as blood drips sluggishly from the cut above his eye.

“You’re hurt,” Keith says stupidly, watching the blood smear when his companion absently goes to wipe it away and blinks in surprise when it comes back stained red. It’s nothing compared to the mess that his shoulder has become, hunched over itself and twitching with every muscle spasm. “You must’ve gotten that when we were…”

“One of the rocks must have nicked it,” Lance finishes, studiously ignoring how that was most definitely not what Keith was going to say. “It’s fine, though. Doesn’t even hurt.”

He bites his lip. “Looks like it’ll scar.”

Lance gives a small shrug with his uninjured shoulder, as if he doesn’t go to great lengths to keep his skin absolutely flawless with his many moisturizers and exfoliators. As if the new scar and how he got it is inconsequential. As if him and the team don’t notice the way he tenses whenever the gaze of someone snags too long onto the discolored skin of his back. As if it is really all fine, cast aside with a lopsided smile and the words, “I don’t mind. Plus, now we match.”

Keith starts and then settles. He side eyes the other boy, hand automatically coming up to brush against the puckered skin that cuts across his right cheek. “Yeah, I guess we do.”

And then the blue paladin is moving on, doing what he does best— talk. “But you know Hunk is gonna have a field day over this. Encountering a druid and getting trapped in some knock-off astral plane was so not part of the plan— he’s gonna take one look at us and then the next thing you know, we’ll be drowning in I told you so’s. Gosh, it almost makes me not wanna go back."

“I’m not even sure we can go back,” he murmurs truthfully.

“Yeah, if our usual mumbo jumbo with the lions was gonna work, we’d be out of here already.” He combs through the hair at the back of his head. “We might have to wait for the rest of the team. I hope they’re alright. Who know what they’re going through right now, who they’re up against. At least Hunk and Pidge have each other, but Allura went off by herself.”

Just as the words leave his mouth, there’s a mighty tremble that goes through the ground beneath them. It shakes Keith to his core, separating soul from body for a frightening second, and it’s only because the two are already holding each other that they don’t fall over. He looks up, trying to pinpoint the danger, and feels the breath leave his lungs.

Above them are celestial hands, reaching out.

They part the clouds like some second coming, ripping the heavens apart with divine rule and showering judgement upon that which lies in the face of its power. It is a saving grace, worshipped just as is feared, and Keith likens the image to those seen in stained glass and carved marble, untouchable in every sense.

“Allura,” Lance whispers and there is a reverence in the name.

But the hands stop just shy of them, hanging as if they’ve reached the end of their string and can go no further. A bridge of space lies between them and salvation, ominous in how it grows dark and empty, stark against the bright sheen of altean magic. A pulse ripples across cosmic skin and then fingers are curling, pushing against the force that keeps them at bay. But there should be nothing capable of such a feat, the plane empty save for the two paladins and—

“The orb,” Keith declares once it connects, already halfway to turning around and forcing Lance to do the same. “It’s stopping her. We’ve gotta get rid of it.”

True to his suspicions, the dark orb has gotten closer during their time of inattentiveness. Shaking like a diseased animal, it floats mere feet away from them, hiding in a nest of dark matter. Desperate, it swallows itself whole, birthing anew from the remains only to fall prey to its own hunger again in an endless cycle of greed.

Almost immediately, he draws his bayard.

“Wait,” Lance says before he can even begin to think about starting an assault, the pressure at his elbow keeping him in place long enough to catch the look in the boy’s eye. Clear and determined. “Together.”

Another stolen heart beat and Keith is nodding.

Lance moves in closer until their breast plates scrape against one another, sliding his hand over Keith’s on the grip of the weapon. Almost immediately, it glows. Glows as its shape changes, molding around their intertwined hands and shifting into something that makes them both draw in a deep breath. A gun, accented black and larger than anything Keith has ever wielded before, activated with a simple touch. Lance’s touch.

It means something, he knows it does.

“Ready?” Lance asks.

“Ready,” Keith answers.

Together they lift the weapon, aiming its wide barrel at the ball of energy. As if sensing their intent and it’s impending doom, the thing starts pulsating. Crackles of black lightning claw at the air, growing berserk even as plasma builds up and light begins to illuminating their profiles. Keith almost shuts his eyes when their fingers squeeze over the trigger and the shot is made, powerful enough that it has their bones vibrating.

But they stand their ground as the shot makes it mark. Dark matter screams as its engulfed, ripped apart piece by piece, until it is no more.

Then Keith knows no more.

Ready?

Eyes meeting across a room, catching, tugging until there is no space between them. Golden lanterns burn, casting a spell that turns porcelain into shining bronze. It embellishes just as it emboldens, issuing a challenge that new hearts seldom refuse; nerves spark when his hand braces at the dip of a spine, giving it weight with a languid roll. A siren’s song, quiet and alluring, grazes the shell of his ear.

Ready.

When consciousness returns to him, it is a fleeting affliction.

Cold air pricks his skin; dry, crisp, and filtered enough that it leaves his sinuses stinging. For a wild moment he thinks he’s back on the castleship, with its high ceilings and sloping archways, swathed in brocades and regal paintings, but stumbles back into reality when a delicate hand pushes his hair back and away from his face. He blinks rapidly, mind foggy and lagging, unable to determine his exact whereabouts; his body rebels, heart rate skyrocketing and muscles seizing in a panic just as blind as his eyes. There’s a quiet murmur from somewhere to his right and then the lights piercing his retinas dim, allowing room for his senses to readjust and notice the touch of strong hands to his biceps. The buzz in his head clears incrementally and he blinks Shiro into sight.

Relief settles in the curl of his smile when he sees Keith is awake. “Hey there, bud. You feeling okay?”

“Head hurts,” he answers automatically, mouth numb and slurring the words.

“Yeah, getting mind controlled by a space witch will do that to you.”

For a moment, Keith doesn’t understand; blissfully ignorant, he squints at his friend, until, finally, it comes to him. Time catches up and fills in the space left empty from exhaustion and morphine, dragging him into the present by the chains of the past. The feel of falling, glowing eyes set in a shadowed face, blood dripping down steel and, finally, a mouth forming his own name.

Alarmed, he sits up straight. “Lance. Where is he?” he demands, voice rising enough to have a nurse pop her head in the doorway. But he refuses to acknowledge the stranger, mind focusing on one fact and one fact only. “We were stuck in the astral plane together, and— we have to go back for him. He’s hurt— I hurt him and… and I need to know that— he, he is… Where is he?”

“Relax,” Shiro soothes, shooing away the nurse with a wave of his robotic arm. “He’s safe— you both are. See for yourself.”

Keith follows the direction of the finger pointing toward his right and feels his body exhale in relief. There, slumped in the seat closest to his bedside, is Lance. Dressed in a standard hospital robe and looking a little worse for wear, the boy is sound asleep, head settled in the crook of one elbow and just barely grazing the edge of Keith’s pillow. Bandages peek out from the collar of his rumpled shirt, disappearing over one shoulder and spotted a faint pink. Three stitches break the streak of his left eyebrow, a permanent reminder.

Movement by his legs catch his attention and Keith looks down only to see Pidge curling tighter against his hip atop of the blankets. Her glasses are skewed and there’s drool clinging to the corner of her mouth, giving her kittenish snores a nasal quality. One of her legs hangs off the edge of the bed where he can just see the back of Hunk’s head, lolled and dead to the world.

Shiro follows his line of sight, sighing out in exasperation and fondness. “Those two been here since you were allowed visitors five days ago. Lance has been off bed rest since yesterday, but he joined the camp out almost immediately. They’ve been driving the staff nuts— Allura too.” He nods to the chairs lining the wall where Allura and Romelle lean against each other, sharing a thin blanket as they sleep. “Still, no one’s willing to say no to the defenders of the universe. Not after they saved all of existence.”

His gaze snaps back to his mentor. Breathless, he asks, “We did it?”

Shiro smiles and it’s like the olden days, carefree and hopeful. “Yeah, we did.”

An exhilarated laugh leaves his lips and he flops back down, careful not to disrupt Pidge as he sinks into the cool comfort of the pillow. He looks at the unassuming ceiling, gray and tiled, and lets himself feel. Feel the relief and the fortune and the euphoria, because, wow, they did it. They really did it. It’s all over, the war is won and they’re still here, alive and together.

The sun sets today, only to rise again tomorrow.

“Get some rest,” Shiro orders in that brotherly tone of his, chuckling when Romelle lets out a loud snore and Hunk grumbles something incoherent when Pidge accidentally kicks him in her sleep. He pulls the blanket higher over his chest, tucking him in just like his dad used to do. “We’ll all be here when you wake up. I promise.”

Keith believes him. Trusts him so fully that he lets his head tilt to the side and his eyelids slip shut without hesitation. Trusts in the thought of after so much that he lets his fingers uncurl and smooth over the sheets, finding a home under Lance’s slack hand.

He dips back to sleep to the sound of Shiro’s thoughtful hum and the deep breathing of his teammates.

It takes the IGF-Atlas two months to make it back to Earth and Keith spends a majority of the time bedridden. He’s prodded and poked by the medical staff, psychoanalyzed by more than one on-call therapist until any remnant of Honerva’s dark touch is brought to light. It’s a necessity that Keith wholly supports, not wanting to lose the control he had fought so hard to reclaim, but as the days turn into weeks and Keith, now coherent and able to stand on his own without getting dizzy, is still prohibited to leave his room in the hospital ward despite no lingering effects being found, it becomes considerably less tolerable.

Left to only his thoughts and the obscure flashes that come and go when they please, things come to a head when Keith decides he can’t take it anymore and just rips out the IVs connecting him to the machines around him. More than one alarm goes off as he stumbles into some scrubs, getting only as far as the hallway before nurses and doctors alike rush him, fussing over his person like he is something fragile and on the verge of collapse. It only serves to frustrate him more. Overly helpful hands try to steer him back to the bed-turned-prison and he fights them the whole way, causing such a scene that it summons Lance from his own room. The boy huffs like a mother hen and Keith huffs right back, their bickering only ending when his legs suddenly give out and he has to be carried back to bed.

His saving grace is his team, who take it upon themselves to ensure that Keith is almost never left alone. Pidge lugs her laptop over and they laugh over the dumb Voltron show, arguing loudly over whose character is more inaccurate. Hunk sneaks in home-cooked food whenever he visits, looking overly suspicious when he dramatically checks the room for bugs before unearthing the tubberware from underneath his shirt. Lance brings sketchbooks and colored pencils, shoving Keith playfully as they play tic-tac-toe and compete in who can draw the other the ugliest. Allura comes bearing news of the ship’s going-ons, braiding his hair in styles he’s assured are peak altean fashion but mostly just look like something a third-graded might do. Shiro comes around with a book or two, teasing him about how easily he melts over the romance subplots. And someone must comm his mother because a few days after he wakes, she’s also there, arms wrapping protectively around him as Kosmo knocks things over in his eagerness to get up on the bed.

It’s then that Keith hears secondhand what happened while he and Lance were trapped in the astral plane.

Pidge and Hunk tell the story, complete with exaggerated gestures and loud gun noises, of how Team Punk shut down all of Oriande; how the two had found themselves on the temple-ship’s lower deck with a battalion of altean soldiers guarding a crystal-based powerhouse, Hunk keeping them at bay while Pidge snuck by and hacked into the tempe-ship’s mainframe. There’s more to what they tell him, but it includes technological jargon that would only have Keith’s brain splitting open, so he’s happy enough to let them playfully argue over things like, “neuro-headsets” and “Lorenz attractor.”

Then comes Allura’s part.

Legs crossed and hands clasped in her lap, the princess speaks of encountering Honerva at the ship’s nav deck. Her words are tentative when recounting the scene she had stumbled upon: the bodies of misguided alteans sprawled across the floor, drained of life at the expense of the witch’s endeavours, and Honerva herself, crazed and weakened from mind-controlling Keith, standing at the helm as if the dead were wilting flowers in a garden. She tries her best to describe the moment the older altean had split open the world and transported them to the point of existence, struggling to find words when talking about how Honerva had carelessly destroyed universe after universe.

“It was awful,” she tells him. “I could feel them all— so many lives, lost.”

“What happened then?” he asks. “Did you…?”

“No.” She looks off to the side. “She did not die from my hand.”

“Then, how?”

Finally, a smile. “I had help. My father and the paladins of old, trapped within Honerva’s mind but freed once we were beyond the limits of our universe. We attempted to reason with her and we nearly succeeded, but she was so overcome with grief that she would not listen. Not until…” She swallows and the smile is more brittle, but still very much real. “It wasn’t until Lotor, called from Oriande’s core, showed up that she stopped. He convinced her destroying all of existence wouldn’t take away the pain— and that they had not lost each other, not entirely, and could start again.”

Allura absently brushes her lips and Keith can only wonder on what else Lotor had said.

She shakes herself from whatever memory had brought on the wistful moment, reaching out to adjust Lance’s homemade Get Well card and the vase of flowers sitting on his bedside table. A present from Coleen Holt, they look to be a cross between sunflowers and tulips, glittering a fiery orange when the light hits them just so. “None of them could return with me to this universe and I could not ascend with them in good faith, not when I have so much to do here. I had promised to bring peace to this universe and I intend to see it through. My father understood, so we restored what we could and said our goodbyes.”

Sensing there was more left unsaid, Keith sets his hand atop hers. “You’ll see them again.”

Her eyes water a bit as she takes a deep breath and gives him a thankful smile, exhaling a soft, “I will, and I’ll have so much to tell them when I do.”

In the days following Allura makes good on her promise. For as soon as she is able, she takes the restoration effort into her capable hands, spearheading the movement with steely-eyed determination and the hulking figure of Voltron at her back; it is slow progress, carried on the backs of the survivors, but eventually the Coalition expands into a living, breathing network of change. Dignitaries come together, treaties are signed and planets restored. By the time Keith is finally discharged from the hospital ward the gears are already set in motion and he’s left to bask in awe of what she’s done.

But the biggest shock hadn’t come until he turned down one of the ship’s many hallways and had run straight into the princess’s new entourage.

Allura had talked of the colony quite extensively, disclosing her relief when the survivors had stumbled out of Oriande following the fight, shaken from their Honerva-induced haze, and had come to her seeking answers. Answers that led them to follow her aboard the IGF-Atlas, meek-like as they circulate around the very people they had once tried to destroy. course set to the newly reborn planet of Altea, of which was waiting for its lost children and princess to return. A dead civilization, resurrected by magic and shaped by the memories of those who once knew it.

It is for that fact that Coran becomes so important in the time after the fight. He is the last of his kind, a remnant of an old age, and those from the colony hang him among the stars because of it. A treasure cove of knowledge, they flock to him, eager to hear every word, song and anecdote— immortalized with each captivated listener. Never before had Keith seen the older altean so happy, so hopeful.

Even Romelle, once ostracized, becomes an integral part of the species’ rehabilitation. The universe is different than what it was when the colony first went into hiding hundreds of years ago and she makes it her mission to better accumulate the colony to the changes. She gives them a tour of the ship, starting with a stop at the catrine to try one of Hunk’s many culinary delights; introduces them to the crew, to Acxa and the MFE pilots; sits them down and discloses the fate of planet Olkarion; talks of her adventures with team Voltron and nearly being crushed by a rampaging yalmor; laments about her lost family and gushes about what’s planned for New Altea. Slowly but surely, they find their place.

The alteans recovery brings into glaring detail Keith’s own miscalculation. For in all the time spent thinking about after and how much he wants it, not once had he considered his actual part in it.

(Late at night he lays in bed, listening to the quiet hum of the ship and his own steady heartbeat, lost in half-formed thoughts of tomorrow. The clock reads late but his mind will not rest, unaccustomed to the stillness of peace and unsure what will become of things if it lasts.

“What do I do now?” he asks the world at large, expecting no answer but frustrated all the same when it doesn’t come.)

The next chapter of his life is coming and coming fast, and so far Keith is stuck looking at a blank page. It’s a problem that his friends don’t seem to have, falling into niches the world has made specifically for them. The alteans have a culture to revive and Shiro has an entire crew to lead, while Hunk, Pidge and Lance have families waiting for them. It makes Keith nervous watching them move on from Voltron so effortlessly, mostly because they had been brought together by a war and had forged something real in the wake of trauma shared, but now that that variable is taken away— what’s to keep them from drifting apart?

It’s that alarming thought that has him relishing the time spent aboard the Atlas those final weeks, knowing that their time together might come to a close soon and greedily taking all they can give in the time left. Days are spent glued to his friends’ sides, absorbing everything their company can offer, micro-expressions and quirks and all. He commits to memory Pidge’s high-pitched cackle and Hunk’s dubious side-eye, Allura’s luscious hair and Lance’s obnoxious smirk. His friends don’t seem to mind, more than happy to stick around when he asks; Lance in particular seems to enjoy the extended hang outs, smiling whenever he sees him and always with an idea of how to spend the day, like racing their lions to the nearest gas giant of whatever galaxy they reside in or setting up in one of the many observation decks to stargaze.

He must not be as subtle as he thinks he is because the day before they’re scheduled to reach Earth he returns to the compound he shares with his mother and Shiro, and finds them waiting for him.

“Keith,” Shiro greets and he knows that tone. It’s the we need to talk tone. “Come sit down with us.”

He sits and immediately his mother is leaning over and combing through his hair, clawed hands light in how they detangle and smooth over black strands, pushing it out of his face. It’s one of the few things concerning physical contact that Krolia indulges in, making up for all the years she lost, and Keith lets himself enjoy the gesture.

The two don’t say anything, waiting for Keith to start. He knows it’s pointless to try and deny anything, so he doesn’t. Just gets straight to and ventures a gruff, “You know I love you, right?”

The sentiment is easily returned, no hesitation in breathing love back into his cold body. Simple as shifting to press himself into the crook of his mother’s arm, a shape that is distinctively Keith in nature, and feeling Shiro’s calloused hand rubbing soothing circles over the hunch of his back. It’s a needed reminder of the fact that no matter where he goes, to the farthest corners of the universe and back a million times over, he will always have a place here, with them. Always.

It's this understanding that brings his thoughts back to the place he had just spent the last few hours trying to expel from his mind. It makes him frown into the folds of his mother's jacket. “I…” he starts, his voice a notch above a whisper, “don’t know what to do.”

They keep quiet, letting him piece together his thoughts, and for that, he’s grateful.

“I’ve never actually thought of what would happen after the war was over. Just kinda assumed that I would move on to the next fight— ‘cause it’s what I’m good at, you know? I mean, I’ve been trying to get as far away from here since I was a kid, looking for answers…” He bites his lip. “Never thought I’d want to stay.”

“Oh, Keith.” Krolia sighs and it doesn't erase the ache of his invisible scars, but it soothes their phantom touch into something more bearable. If there’s anyone who would understand, it was her. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to remain close to those you love. I would’ve given anything to stay with you and your father all those years ago.”

Shiro’s touches the back of his arm. “No one’s forcing you to leave either. And of course all of us want to remain as close as possible, and we will. We can travel halfway across the galaxy and still come back to each other.”

He inhales deeply, shoving his face further in his mother’s warm embrace. “Lance said something like that too.”

“Lance is a smart guy.”

“Yeah… he is.”

Something touches his ankle and he peers down to see Kosmo shuffling closer, back legs dragging on the ground as he pushes his snout under the buckle of his boots insistently; when the wolf sees Keith looking, he whines and wags his tail. The boy can’t help but smile at his furry friend. A quick pat and the animal is jumping into his lap, shoving his big head under Keith’s chin and forcing both Krolia and Shiro to lean away with a chuckle. And just like that, his stormy disposition is cleared and he’s left to enjoy the sunshine.

The cushions shift as Krolia asks, “What’s got you worrying over this? Did someone say something to you?”

Knowing how overprotective the two can be and to what lengths they would go to keep him happy, Keith hurries to clarify, “No one said anything. It’s me. I’m the one that’s being weird. Please don’t try and strong-arm some poor corporal.”

While Shiro opens his mouth to probably say how he would never do a thing like that, Krolia just shrugs and scratches Kosmo under his chin. The wolf enjoys the attention and closes his eyes in pleasure.

“I’m not sure what exactly happened, but it just hit me— everyone will be going their separate ways. Hunk’s been talking about opening an intergalactic culinary school alongside the coalition, and already has a line of people ready to sign up. The Holts are literally on their way in creating the next generation of defenders. And Lance, Lance could do anything he wanted— the alteans love him and want him as Earth’s ambassador, the Garrison’s practically begging him to teach the new batch of recruits, the Olkari offered him one of their ships to help search for a new planet— whatever he wants.” He takes a breath. “And I know I want to go with the Blades, to help fix what the empire broke. But now… it’s not the only thing I want.”

They lapse into silence again, processing what he said and what he’s left unsaid.

“I know what I want, but I don’t know… how do I get it?” His heart beats fast and if there was any confusion on what exactly they’re talking about before, it’s dispelled by what he says next, “And what if he doesn’t want it too?”

Neither of them seem surprised at his words regardless of the fact he’s never mentioned anything on the topic before. They take it in stride, blinking in unison as he sinks deeper into the couch and tries to hide his face in fluff of Kosmo’s mane.

Eventually, Shiro clears his throat. “Have you tried telling him what you want?”

“No,” he mumbles.

“Well, that might be the first step. You’ll never know if it’s… mutual, not if you don’t try.”

He sighs and clings to blue fur. “It might make things weird.”

“Maybe,” Shiro acquiesce. “Or maybe it’ll make it better.”

“Keith, if this is something you really want, then you should seek it out.” His mother’s gaze is unwavering, intense as it usually is concerning him. “You deserve love as much as anyone else and I know there is a limit to what I can provide for you, but this boy… he would be lucky to have someone as amazing as you as a partner.”

None of them have spoken his name and Keith’s not sure what that means, or if he’s ready to say it into existence yet. All he knows is that it’s real and his.

“There is nothing to fear in this,” Krolia continues to assure, Shiro nodding along, and there’s no reason not to believe them. Because he knows their history, has seen it— the throes of love, breathtaking and dangerous, whittling to a tragic end before it has even begun— how it took and took and took, and still they survived. “It is a new chapter. One that our time in the abyss foretold and that is something to be celebrated.”

He can see Shiro’s brows furrow in puzzlement and quickly stutters out a, “N-no, no, mom. I don’t think— don’t think that’s it.”

Thankfully, his mother decides not to elaborate and Keith is spared the act of having to explain anything more; he’s already contemplated the flashes and their connection to this new development on more than one occasion, and he’s not about to hash it out now with an audience. One heart-to-heart is enough and they don’t need a round two on this emotional rollercoaster.

“Thanks for listening though.” He snuggles closer to Kosmo, enduring the wet lick to his jaw. “I appreciate you— both of you.”

Shiro and Krolia smile. “We’ll always be here for you. Whenever you need, whatever you need.”

And Keith knows it’s true.

That night, while he sleeps, a flash hits him.

Bedded in an hourglass cradle, time sifts through his fingers and on the wind; it’s the veil of transparent impression following the fall of a blink, infinite as he lets the feeling of it overtake him. Deeper and deeper it takes him, sinking into the unconscious, to a place where he keeps all he holds dear, unlocked and open for the taking.

There, a light. He follows it and walks through the door to a room he doesn’t yet recognize, lit up by the warm glow of a table lamp. Boots lay at the foot of a bed, hidden under the lazy sweep of a shirt hastily thrown, and a flashing tablet sits precariously on the edge of the queen bed. But he ignores it, for something more compelling is spread over gray sheets.

Two bodies, entangled in a private moment. One of which he recognizes.

It's Keith and it isn’t Keith.

This version of himself doesn't balk at the contact, but, rather, shifts closer. His hands smooth over a naked chest and broad shoulders, one curling at the nape of his partner’s neck while the other flutters down to reposition a tan arm more securely around his waist. Space between them dwindles into nothing as their lips connect, igniting a fire so bright that Keith feels as if he is embracing the sun.

He watches himself sigh, eyelashes fluttering and softening the once sharp angles of his face, jaw and neck; a stretch and a flower blooms in an ode of love, pale fingers climbing the vine of a muscled back and pressing the blunt of his nails there to keep from falling from that shakespearean balcony.

Hips arch and bow in an impossibly slow rhythm, rolling to a melody Keith has never danced to before— has only seen on tv or in dark hallways, hidden away from his flushed gaze. But this is different, different than anything he’s ever known. Different because he can feel it, the pressure to his pelvis and mattress against his heels. Different because it’s his body and his moans and his desire painted on the landscape of sheets before him.

It’s different and he’s mesmerized, stepping closer and watching how hands— his hands, gloveless and callused and purposeful— reach down to cup his future lover’s backside, spreading wide to squeeze as much as possible through tight denim and bearing down just as hips twist. A flash of yellow sclera, pupils dilated in primordial arousal, and a bite to brown flesh.

“Keith,” he hears, causing a shiver to slip down his spine. No one has ever said his name like that. “Keith.” Never like that. “Keith.”

The body above his moves, coiling in such a way that tells of a soldier’s dedication and a lover’s experience, muscles twitching as the grinding becomes more profound. A grunt and the rustling of fabric, loud in the wake of a tanned hand sneaking down his front, exploring, searching and— oh.

Heat travels up his spine, flooding his veins and curling his toes. It collects at his chest and rises up, crawling the tendons of his neck and finding a place at the tip of his ears and apples of his cheeks. Bubbles of magma fill the cage of his ribs and he squirms, trying to pop them. They burst and he burns anew.

His earlier dream-memories had all been nondescript, vague scenes of a movie he doesn’t recall watching, viewed through a smudged screen in slow motion. They leave room for the mind to wander, filling in the blanks as he sees fit, and so far Keith has had no problem in leaving it well enough alone.

Because love had always been something of a fantasy for Keith, a boy who grew up running in the hopes someone might catch him, but still too afraid to slow down. It had been his father’s coat, slung over his tiny shoulders just hours before a kitchen fire burnt it to crisps. It had been his mother’s knife, bandaged to hide the truth about his own abandonment. It had been in the eyes of a fellow foster boy, olive green shining emerald when he waved Keith goodbye as he left with his new family. It had been the light laugh of his mentor turned brother, fading away as he joined the stars. It had been a dream better left forgotten.

But not anymore.

For he recognizes the face belonging to the body pressed flush against his. It’s a face that skims the surface of a great many memories. Past, present, and future. It’s pudgy cheeks slimming to sharp edges, glinting in the sun after a hard battle won and a ridiculous challenge issued. It’s the face of a friend.

The confirmation comes in the form of his own mouth parting open, red-kissed and curved in passion, uttering a single word. A single name.

A voice spears through the air and he looks up into dark eyes centered in an angular face; they are dark blue and clash with Keith’s almost immediately, tacking onto him with such vigor that it makes his skin itch.

“Uh, the name’s Lance,” the boy says when questioned, head tilted and eyebrow arched high.

Finally, his heart says, cradled in the hands of another.

“Hey man,” Lance greets when he opens the door at around one in the morning, casual where Keith is tense. The moment is preceded only by an impromptu text sent fifteen minutes prior when he had had enough of the silence of his empty room, thrown one of Adam’s hand-me-down jackets over his shoulders and had made the journey to the blue paladin’s living quarters. “What’s up?”

“Can I come in?”

A silent nod and he’s stepping through the threshold. The compound is similar to the one he shares with his mother and Shiro, but not. There are personal touches that he does not recognize, jars and potted plants from a place he has never been. There’s a bow window that takes up the entirety of a single wall to his right, framing the sight of infinite space and twin moons, a nest of cushions that looks recently sat upon settled on the ledge there. A couch and two armchairs take up the majority of the main room, worn and angled to face the television sat atop a stand stuffed full with DVDs and books, some with english covers and others with alien ones. Two doors cut into the remaining walls, one leading into a dimly lit hallway and the other into what he believes to be a kitchen. A table already cluttered with paper and odd knick-knacks stands to their far left, chairs pushed out from its undercage; photos span the bulletin board above it, overlapping and showcasing smiling faces in their polarized frames. His own closed-mouth smile peers back at him, framed by his team and the lions in a worn picture pinned right next to a family portrait.

Even this space, so newly made, has the sense of coziness. It reminds him of the glimpses of the house he sees in his flashes and the thought makes his skin buzz because people call this place home and mean it. It’s a reflection of what he has always wanted, authentic and steadfast, a place to belong. To want and be wanted in return.

“Keith,” Lance says at the prolonged silence, gaze steady and clear where the world is not. “Is something going on?”

“No” he says immediately. The lie is bitter and Keith grimaces at the taste of it, feeling foolish for even thinking that this was a good idea. The feeling twists unpleasantly in his stomach and he, in an effort to remedy this, immediately turns to shoulder his way back outside, to leave before being sent away.

“Hey now.” Lance’s voice is soft, contradicting to the solid grip that catches his wrist, effectively stopping his departure; it brings to mind the feeling of a sea breeze, uplifting the spread of a bird’s wingspan as it takes flight. It suits the boy, ever earnest and agreeable. “Let’s not— you obviously didn’t just wake me in the middle of the night to say hi. If something is bothering you—”

“I just,” he interrupts, frustrated over what is and what could be, and how he doesn’t know how to ask for it, “wanted to tell you that I think— that you— that we make a good team.”

The boy blinks, visibly caught off guard. “You came here… to say that you think… we make a good team?”

His heart beats fast. “Yeah.”

“Oh, um.” And for the first time in a long time, Lance doesn’t seem to know what to do. He wets his lips, gaze flickering to the side and then back to Keith’s face, confused but determined. “Okay, well, I think we make a good team too.”

“You do?”

“Uh, yeah, I, uh, I do.”

Hearing those words makes something inside him burst, undoubtedly shining through in the look he gives the boy. Lance blinks again before offering a bashful smile and Keth would be foolish not to return it.

They stare at each other and Keith can feel strips of reality peeling away, leaving behind something entirely too raw. It is personal and frighteningly intimate, new like the uncharted belt of galaxies yet to be discovered. It is a trust fall, a dive into the deep abyss of suppressed feeling and incomprehensible thoughts.

But Keith has always been a bit adventurous, boldly stepping forward where others would balk. It has always given him this edge on others, constantly pushing forward with the simple intent of experiencing life and then rolling with the punches that were swung his way when the world rebelled against his aspirations. Like a rubber band, he snaps back after every impossible twist and bend, ready to stand at the very edge and dare the world to take him on.

Maybe that's why he doesn't hesitate to take this plunge.

“Can I stay here tonight… with you?”

“Okay,” Lance says, no hesitation.

Then a hand, palm heavenward and fingers curled, is offered. And Keith, hanging between misguided trepidation and desperate longing, grabs onto it like a sinner to a cross; redemption comes in the form of skin on skin, solemn and genuine, like only things in the AM can be.

Lance takes a step back and Keith follows. Past the photographs and discarded shoes and closed doors. The heavy footsteps of his combat boots are displaced in the quiet, clumsy and rigid, nothing like Lance’s barefooted grace; it’s almost like a flash, the subdued ambiance of the moment vast enough to sink into, but rather than being pulled into its depths, he willingly dives into it. The hallway ends and they reach a door, half open, and Lance guides him through it.

There are no words as they enter Lance’s room or when he’s pushed to sit atop a bed with rumpled sheets. No words, just the lull of night filling the space between them as the blue paladin tugs off his jacket and kneels to relieve him of his shoes; it’s unnervingly intimate, socked feet wiggling against the chilled surface of the tiled floor, privy to this alcove away from the world. A cuban flag clings to the wall, surrounded by maps of the world and constellations he grew up with peeling at the corners. A gaming console collects dust next to a small tv, cartridge of some obscure video game still inserted and waiting to be resumed. The small desk pushed to the corner is crammed with figurines and unfinished books and paper airplanes alike, an organized mess that remains in an odd shrine of Lance-ness.

The boy who calls it his is crawling over the bedspread, tugging at Keith’s shirt until he follows his lead and tucks himself under the covers. They lay on their sides, facing each other, staring— waiting.

“What did you mean,” Keith asks, voice just below a whisper as he indulges in a stray thought, “when you said a home is what you make it?”

Just as the words leave his mouth, a waking flash hits. Transparent hands frame his face in the stillness of night, growing more real as the moments pass. Sleep is a missing lover but these hands try their best to fill the void, thumb brushing over the discolored skin on his cheek, careful, like he is a constellation newly discovered. Like he is something to be cherished, invaluable despite the scars that mark him.

(Like someone worthy of being loved.)

“Home can be anything, you know,” Lance says in lieu of a conversation starter.

A symphony erupts from his breastbone, piano notes curling around their bodies in an ode to the feeling. It surrounds him— blue, blue, blue.

“A place.”

It could be an empty shack in the middle of the desert or a grand castle floating amidst the stars. It could even be the mystery home in his dreams, with its creaky floorboards and happy atmosphere.

“A moment.”

It could be now, their voices mere whispers in the silent night.

“An object.”

It could be the braided thread wrapped around Lance’s left ankle, beads of white and silver making indents in skin where it presses against Keith's lower calf. It could be the borrowed shirt he's wearing, the sleeves just a smidge too big and smelling of detergent.

“A person.”

It could be the body next to him, familiar and lean and warm. It could be the sound of a heart beating in tandem with his own, a beacon to the life they live even in the suffocating silence of the dead of night. It could be the words that pulls answers from him, voice light just as it can be sharp. It could be the arm thrown over his shoulder during movies or the playful scuffle of feet under the dinner table. It could be the back pressed to his in the heat of battle or the relieved smile that greets him as he stumbles out of a healing pod.

“Home is whatever you make it to be.”

It could be him.

#voltron #dreamworks #vld #Voltron legendary defender #vld lance #vld keith #voltron lance #voltron keith #keith kogane #keith mcclain #klance #laith #aeon #chomp chomp goes the raptor #writing

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