#(need to keep staring nightjars

[heylinfanclub]

Kind of figuring out the shapes,,,, back ribs,,,, but in the front they have a cross shaped girdle of some kind,,, that they kind of can tuck their arms into. Makes their arms feel more tucked in like their burrowing ancestry. Even though they live in bunches of places now. I’m tryin real hard to get a feel for how their body would’ve been shaped by environmental pressures. From densely armored herbivores, to generalist burrowing scavengers to sapient beings. Proud I could finally draw 1 casual gloreal kind of.

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 67: Soulmate (Take 2)

Okay- I don't usually do this but I'm writing two for this prompt. I think you guys were probably actually hoping for some soulmate au so that's why I wrote Soulmates (Take 1) but I feel like ficlets (or my ficlets, at least) can't really do that trope justice. So Take 2 is what I would have written based just on the prompt.

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

Draco trailed his fingers along the smooth, strong planes of Harry's body. He loved the time they spent together like this when it was just the two of them, their bodies in sync, it felt like even their heartbeats had lined up.

Harry hummed as Draco's thumb brushed over his nipple and he pressed a kiss against Draco's forehead. "This is nice," Harry whispered. "I always like getting to lay here with you."

"Sometimes I think you might be my soulmate," Draco murmured back, thinking it was funny that they'd been thinking the same thing.

"I don't believe in soulmates," Harry said and Draco's heart froze. "One person that you're destined to be with," he shrugged, "seems like nonsense."

"Right," Draco said as he pulled away. "Of course." He grabbed his hair tie off of the nightstand and pulled his hair up as he stood and moved to collect his things.

"Draco, what-"

"Nothing," he said. "You're right. We're just fucking, it was stupid of me to forget," he added as he pulled on his trousers.

"I didn't-"

"No, it's fine," he said, shrugging Potter off and grabbing his things. "I'll see you around, yeah?" he asked in the split second before he apparated out of Potter's flat and to his own home.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," he cursed himself. Falling for Potter was the dumbest thing he could have ever done. Of course the other man didn't see him as anything more than a warm body. How could he have let himself forget?

Clean break. That's what he needed and he resolved not to see Harry Potter again.

-----------

The trouble with that resolution was that he saw Harry Potter every single day at work.

(Read more below the cut)

But he did an admirable job avoiding talking about anything personal, if he did say so himself. By the end of the day he'd successfully deflected Potter so many times that he'd lost count.

He should have known that his luck wouldn't be able to last.

Just as the doors were sliding shut on the elevator, Potter slipped inside. "Draco-" he started.

"Don't," Draco said. "Please, just drop it."

"You misunderstood-"

"No," he replied, glancing at the other man, "No, I understood perfectly. And it's fine, Potter, honestly. You're right, we're just friends with benefits and I let myself get carried away. It's the dopamine."

"Are you done?" Potter asked, one unimpressed eyebrow raised as he stared at Draco.

"Done with what?"

"I just wanted to make sure that I could speak. You haven't let me string more than two words together, so I wanted to make sure you'd said what you needed to."

The doors to the elevator dinged and they opened onto the ground floor, "Perfect timing," Draco said as he started out.

"Draco," the other man growled, following him. "Can you please let me explain?"

He sighed because the truth was that he'd couldn't really deny the other man anything, "Over a drink." He turned to look at him, "Not here, in the entryway to our place of employment."

Nodding eagerly, he asked, "Now?"

"Meet me at Nightjar in an hour."

"Alright," he agreed.

Draco spun on his heel and apparated home to get changed.

--------

He walked through the door to the muggle bar, that he and Harry had come to several times in the past, about 45 minutes later and was surprised to see that Harry was already there, sitting at a booth in the corner.

Draco headed toward him and when Harry caught sight of him he rose quickly. He was wearing the tight jeans that Draco liked and the green cashmere sweater Draco had given him for Christmas. "Hey," he said breathlessly.

"Hi."

"I got you a Lupita because you liked it so well the last time," he added quickly, "but I can get you something else-"

"It's fine," Draco said, somehow Harry's nervousness eased his own nerves a bit. "Thank you," he added with a little smile.

Harry returned his smile and they slid into their seats.

They stared at each other for a long moment before Draco cleared his throat and said, "Right, so, I'll just reiterate what I said earlier. You don't need to apologize, I'd started t-"

"Draco," Harry said softly, reaching over and covering his hand. "I'm not apologizing for not believing in soulmates. I don't quite understand how I've hurt you but that is what I am sorry for."

"You don't need to be," he said again.

"Can I tell you what I meant?"

Draco nodded once and took a sip of his drink to keep himself from talking over Harry again.

"My whole life was dictated by prophecies and I often wondered if there were things that could have gone differently if there wasn't 'fate' involved," Harry said softly. "Not that I wouldn't have wanted to do my part and everything, just," he shook his head. "I'm done having things that make my choices for me."

"I don't understand," Draco confessed.

"Having a soulmate implies that there is one person that I am destined to be with."

"Right," Draco said, "You've got lots of options, I understand."

Harry's brow furrowed, "You're focusing on the wrong part of the sentence."

"Sorry?"

"You're focusing on the 'one person' but I am focusing on 'destined'."

He huffed, "Is this a riddle, Potter?"

"Let me say it this way: I want to be with you, Draco," he said earnestly. "I'm not saying I don't believe in soulmates because I want to keep my options open. I'm saying I don't believe in soulmates because I choose you. You aren't just some foregone conclusion that someone picked for me, I picked you for me and I hope that you'll pick me for yourself." His fingers threaded through Draco's.

"You want to be with me?"

Harry laughed, "Very much." He squeezed Draco's fingers, "I actually think I'm rather in love with you."

"What?"

He brought Draco's knuckles to his lips, "Yes. I was going to tell you last night."

He frowned, "No-"

"I was!" Harry protested. "I was literally going to say, 'I don't believe in soulmates, I don't believe that there's someone I'm destined for. But I do believe in love and I do love you.' But you didn't let me finish."

"You love me?"

He nodded, "Yes. Intentionally." Then he added, "Even when it's hard, I choose to love you."

"Well you're not always easy to love either," he huffed.

"No, I'm sure I'm not. I know that I am a pain in the arse, that I don't know my salad fork from my dessert fork, and I'm always diving head first into danger, and I-"

"I love you, too," Draco said, stemming the flow of words. "I choose you, too."

"Thank Merlin for that," Harry replied with a radiant smile. "Would you maybe like to make this relationship public knowledge?" he asked. "No pressure, I just thought it might be nice to go to dinner in our world, or hold hands at work, or-"

"Yes," Draco interrupted, leaning across the table to kiss Harry. "Yes, I would like that very much."

"Good," Harry said, with what seemed like a sigh of relief. "And would you maybe, someday down the road, consider choosing me for the rest of our lives?"

He blinked, "I'm sorry, that sounded an awful lot like a proposal."

Harry scratched his beard, "I'm not trying to get ahead of ourselves or anything. It's just," he trailed off, "I can't imagine ever loving anyone the way I love you and especially after last night, I want you to know that I am in this for the long haul. For as long as you'll have me."

"The rest of our lives doesn't seem like long enough, though, does it?" Draco asked.

"No it doesn't," Harry agreed with a radiant smile, "But I suppose we'll have to make do."

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

Day 66: Bond | Day 68: Rain

(Read Day 67: Soulmate (Take 1) Here )

[umbrahighpriestofgiratina]

Heroes After All Chapter 8

Anyway I was able to motor it and produce Chapter 8! This one is BACKSTORY HO, plus some new peeps: Chapter 8: Stories It had been a few weeks since Polly was attacked. The other Aura Guardians had organized squads to find the perpetrator. There was no luck. Polly herself was fine. Fine. She'd dealt with worse. She was idly sipping some tea, Metagross and Dunsparce by her side, when Carol and Lovegood approached. ~Are you OK dear?~ said Carol. "Don't call me dear. And I'm fine." "~Well you've been kind of... sulking.~ "It's because our potential culprit to those murders was literally right in my face and we still haven't gotten any further than that!" ~Polly, calm down,~ said Metagross. Dunsparce hissed worriedly. "I'm fine," said Polly. ~No you're not,~ said Carol. ~Come on, hang out with the rest of us. It's staff luncheon day!~ Lovegood nodded. ~Socialization may help with aggravated mental states, depending on the person.~ "Hrm. Fine." said Polly. She got up, and she and her Pokemon followed Carol and Lovegood out. ------------ There was a party going on at least. With refreshments - double good. Even so Polly wasn't feeling particularly up to socializing with anyone other than the food. Regardless Carol approached her. ~How's it going?~ "Okay." ~That doesn't sound convincing.~ "It wasn't meant to be." Carol gave a telepathic sigh and sat down next to Polly. ~Look, I know you're frustrated about the lack of leads. But don't beat yourself up. We've been through worse. Way worse. Remember how I lost my voice?~ "...Yes. You were born to a noble house. A rival lord's Pangoro beat you. You survived, but lost your voice and much of your hearing and your family disowned you for it. You've had a hatred for the rich since." ~Well I hate them for a lot of reasons! That was just the catalyst. Point is, I've been through shit, you've been through shit... together some murder mystery is no big deal.~ "Alright, thanks." Polly sighed. "I... I miss Eliot. And Sir Donovan." ~We all do.~ "This is kind of getting depressing for party conversation." ~Agreed. Let's go find someone else.~ The two got up and started looking around the party - as well as sampling food - before they found Vince. ~Vince! Hey!~ said Carol. "How are you doing?" said Polly. "...What do you two want?" said Vince. "Someone better to talk to than each other." ~It's better in threes, you know.~ Carol winked. Vince winced. "No thanks." "What, are you too good for us?" said Polly. "N-No. I mean yes. I mean gah." Carol telepathically snickered. Vince sighed. "Honestly I wish I was too good for you guys. But I know I'm not." Polly raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?" "I've been put down all my life," said Vince. ~Is this about the "terrible wizard" thing?~ "No. Or at least. Your little nickname isn't the worst of it." "I think I know what you're getting at." said Polly. "Didn't your parents try to keep you away from the outside world because you were an Obscuric?" "Not even because that," said Vince. "Because I wasn't even a very good Obscuric. Even after I finally ran away and found the monastery it took years for me to get to where I am today. And in the meantime... everyone picked on me. Except you two. And... I still don't feel like I'm good enough." ~Ah, yes, I remember now...~ said Carol. "I feel sorry for that Aaron kid," said Vince. "He was in the same boat I was." "I've been keeping an eye on him," said Polly. "So has Metagross." "That's good." "Guys! Guys! Hey!" said another voice. "Not her," whispered Vince under his breath. A redheaded woman with a red, white and pink uniform approached the three. "Whatcha guys talking about?" ~Our lives, Hannah,~ said Carol. ~It involves lots of suffering. Join us.~ "Ooh, uh, well, I stubbed my toe earlier if you're talking about suffering!" Vince rolled his eyes. "You guys should probably cheer yourselves up!" said Hannah. "Have you seen any cute Pokemon around?" "My Dunsparce is probably hiding from you again," said Polly. "Aww, too bad! She's wonderful. I love Dunsparce - so buzzy and sweet!" Polly chuckled. "Take it easy on her." "I will!" "What are you all yammering about?" This time Nightjar approached the growing gaggle of gossiping Guardians. "Cute Pokemon!" said Hannah. "Our lives," said Vince. "Hmph," said Nightjar. "Sounds trivial." "Well, it's better than sucking up to Ryan constantly," said Vince. "Ooh, burn!" said Hannah. "Y-you take that back!" said Nightjar, eyes widening and taking an aggressive posture. "Ryan- he- you plebeians don't understand!" "Plebeians?"  said Polly. "You're the one who-" "Enough." Everyone stood at attention when Ryan showed up. "Er, Ryan, lovely to see you," said Nightjar. "I wasn't arguing on your behalf again I swea-" "I said enough, all of you." Everyone grew quiet. Ryan turned to Polly. "Polly. I need to talk to you about a few things." Polly raised an eyebrow. "Like what?" "I've gotten a bit of help for our case." Polly was now paying full attention. "Go on." --------------- Two Aura Guardians walked into a bar. Polly looked around as she and Ryan took their seats. "Are you sure he's here?" "He said that's where he'd meet us. Hard to overhear in this place." Polly looked around. There were various humans and Pokemon in the bar, in varying states of drunkenness. A man was passed out in his chair. A Gardevoir was drunkenly floating around hiccuping. A Spinda was actually walking straight for once. Then Polly saw a slim man and his white Florges approach. Polly noticed the man was wearing a white cloak and robes, and had green hair, purple eyes, and a pretty, cheerful-looking face. "Hello! You two must be the Aura Guardians I'm looking for." Polly immediately scanned the man's surface thoughts. She couldn't get much further than that but what she did pick up was friendly, warm, inviting. "...Yes. Yes we are." "Nice to meet you, Beo," said Ryan. "My pleasure!" said Beo. "Polly, Beo is the head of the Blue Wave Society. Another organization that protects those on the Auric Spectrum." He gestured to his Florges. "This is Madam Sprout." Polly stared a bit and nodded before telepathically addressing Ryan. ~...Why do we need more than one?~ ~The Aura Guardians have a wide reach, but are scattered and divided into separate factions. The Blue Wave Society is more concentrated, precise.~ ~Okay, but why do we need their help for a murder and a dissapearance?~ ~Beo will explain.~ "So, Beo," said Polly. "What do you know?" "The murders and disappearances you encountered were far from the only ones," said Beo, frowning. Madam Sprout hung her head. Polly's eyes widened. "There have been... more?" "Yes. Aurics found dead or, more often,  missing in very specific ways matching your description all over this region. And mentions of suspicious activity beforehand for each. This has included Aura users under the Blue Wave Society's care." "This... This is concerning," said Polly. "Which is why we're joining forces with the Blue Wave Society. They have valuable resources to help," said Ryan. "Very well then, Beo. What can you provide us?" "People! More eyes and ears to figure out who's doing this... Ooh, ooh, and we can share supplies too!" Madam Sprout chittered in response. "I ought to help," Beo said. "After all..." He held up one of his hands. A tiny pinprick of Fighting Aura light shone before disappearing. "I'm an Auric myself!" Polly thought. She didn't entirely like getting outside help but if this guy was one of them and could help then... "Alright!" said Polly. "Welcome aboard." "Yay! Drinks on me then!" He turned to the bartender. "One scotch on the rocks!" Polly and Ryan stared. Beo gave them a quizzical look. "What?" ------------ Two Aura Guardians walked into a completely different bar. "Why are we doing a different bar?" said Polly. "Easier to cover our tracks," said Ryan. The two sat again. This bar was much the same as the last, albeit with different people and Pokemon. The person that approached them, however, was new. A young man, around Polly's age it seemed like with dark blue and black clothes, icy blue hair and eyes, and glasses, and a Corviknight approached. "And you are...?" said Polly. The man stared at her and Ryan for a moment before nodding, as did his Corviknight. "Terrence Morendo, at your service. I'm here on a mission. This is one of my Pokemon partners, Zawisza" His Corviknight gave an affirmative "cor" and a squawk. "And that mission is..." "One of my friends and his Pokemon partner are missing. I've tracked whoever did it here, to the Genesis Mountain range, and now found you Aura Guardians. And I could use your help. In return I will lend you my services." Polly raised an eyebrow. She scanned Terrence's surface thoughts and found she was being suppressed, even harder than with Beo. She didn't like that. "...What kind of services?" "I don't have powers like you do. But my Pokemon and I are good fighters. And good at tracking down the kinds of people who'd do such a thing." Zawisza cawed and nodded. "Terrence contacted me about our current crisis,"  said Ryan. "Thought he could help. Thought he ought to help. We'd provide him with lodging at least." Polly gave Terrence a look. Beo she could tolerate, but this guy just waltzing right in with his mental reinforcements and making himself at home? ~Are you sure about this guy Ryan? I can't read him. That's bad.~ ~As far as I can tell he means no harm and is just as invested in this case as we are. Give him a chance.~ ~...Fine.~ "We will gladly accept your help, Terrence. Terrence nodded and bowed. "Thank you, Aura Guardians. I suppose we celebrate with a drink." He turned to the bartender. "Give me a mixed berry drink for me and my Corviknight please!" Polly and Ryan stared again. "What?" said Terrence. ------------------ It had been a month or two. Riolu had gotten used to life with his new companions. Even if said life was a bit... hectic. He and Shifty had just commandeered a pile of bananas (which were apparently different from Nanab Berries) and going to town on them. "Man, this is great!" said Shifty. He slumped back. "Reminds me of the old days..." "Old days?" said Riolu. "Uh, yeah! You don't think I just crawled out of the egg and ended up where I am now, did you?" "...Really?" "...Okay I kind of did. But then it got complicated I swear." Riolu raised an eyebrow. "How?" "Now, see I was born a street Rattata, like I am now, in a faraway land! But then, a band of pirates found me! We went on all sorts of pirate adventures! We even saw Kyogre!" "Wait, really?" said Riolu. "Yeah!" said Shifty. "...What are pirates?" "Thieves like us but on a boat!" "...A boat?" "It's... I'll explain later. Just know it was awesome." "Then how did you end up here?" Shifty frowned. "One of the pirate adventures went wrong. A bunch of nasty humans started cracking down on piracy. Our whole "steal from the rich" policy came back to bite us. I woke up in a cell in a bar with no memory of how I got there. My crew was gone. I eventually escaped and wound up with the others by chance." "Oh. I'm... I'm sorry I guess..." "Nah, not your fault. It was those asshole humans." Shifty pat Riolu on the head. "Heh... You kinda remind me of me back then. Nowhere to go until you found the right peoplemons." "...Heh. Were... were the others pirates too?" "Huh? Heck no. You know what, you should ask them. I'll save you some bananas." "...Sure." Riolu trotted off, leaving Shifty to idly munch on bananas. ----------- Riolu found Grog scrubbing himself with a towel. "Wha- Oh, hey Riolu! Was just giving myself the old wishy-washy!" "I thought you said Wishiwashi was a Pokemon." "It's both, silly!" Riolu sighed. "Anyway. Shifty said to ask you what you did before the Fighting Thieves?" "Oh, uh." Grog shifted worriedly, clacking his claws together. "I... I killed people." Riolu stared. "You mean, like, killed other Pokemon for food?" "No, I... Killed humans. I was an assassin. It was awful." Riolu's eyes widened. "You what? My dad said- my dad said the Vow forbade Pokemon killing humans!" "Apparently these humans didn't care! I had to do it or they'd kill me!" "That's... that's awful!" "The good news," said Grog, perking up. "Was that I wasn't very good at it. I was too polite. I would always yell "Sneak Attack!" before I struck my foe." "What happened after that?" "Eventually they got fed up with my poor performance and I got fed up with them and I escaped here! I've been much happier without them!" "Hm. I see." "...What's wrong?" "...Nothing. Do you know where Vallant is?" "Oh yeah! Over that way." "Thanks." Riolu headed off. Grog looked at him in confusion before scrubbing himself again. -------------- Rilou found Vallant cutting firewood with his arm scythes. "Vallant?" "What do you want, kid?" "What happened to you before you joined the Fighting Thieves?" Vallant sighed. "Okay, why do you want to know?" "I was curious." "...Fine. I was a knight." "...A knight?" "See there's this human that's arbitrarily in charge of all the other humans in a given area right? Sort of an... alpha female or alpha male, I haven't heard of humans having any alpha enbies except in like... Unova, long ago, and that was a Pokemon anyway. They call them a king or a queen. Knights work for the king or queen." "Oh. So you worked for the alpha human?" "Yeah! And it was glamorous. I got all the food and attention and, hehe, attractive boy mons I could ever hope for." "...But then something happened." "Yeah. This asshole human knight got jealous of me. Framed me for a crime I didn't commit. I was exiled. Now I'm stuck here, committing actual crimes to survive." "Oh... I'm sorry." "Meh. I never needed them." "...I'm going to find Nicolas now." Riolu trudged off. Vallant shook his head. "Weird kid." ----------- Riolu found Nicolas studying a tree stump. "...What are you doing?" said Riolu. "Science!" said Nicolas. "...What?" "It's how you learn how the world works!" Riolu raised an eyebrow. "...How do tree stumps tell you how the world works?" "Well, I'm trying to look at the rings on trees! See how they age!" "...That's how you tell?" "Yeah! Human scientists figured that out!" "They did? Neat..." "Yeah! I've been learning to be like them!" He frowned. "Humans probably won't let a Chimchar do science with them though..." "They won't?" "Yeah! What I hear is they only let other humans do it! At least in the Rotan and Kantonian courts..." "Really? That's no good..." Riolu looked around. "Where's your dad?" "Oh, he went that way," said Nicolas, pointing. Riolu headed off in that direction as Nicolas continued investigating the tree stump. --------- At last, Riolu found Koba sitting, meditating. Riolu moved to tap Koba on the shoulder when Koba spoke. "I know you're there." Riolu stopped. Then sat next to him. "Koba?" "Yes?" "Your whole deal is being a leader to the Fighting Thieves... Why?" Koba was silent for a moment. "They're all like me. Did you speak to the others before coming to me?" "Yes. Why?" "Did you notice a common thread in their stories?" ''...Humans?" "Yes. humans always let them down, disappointed them. I too, was like them when I was young." "How?" Another pause. "There was a human I loved very much, who I aimed to please, both out of the ancient laws of the Vow and out of sheer desire for friendship. But he did not love me back. He beat me, berate me, told me I wasn't strong enough. Eventually, heartbroken, I fled." "O-oh..." "You see, Riolu... Humans can very well make Pokemon stronger, smarter, greater. But the human always wants something out of the bargain. If you are to make a pact with one you must know the risks." "I... I see." "And even if it succeeds... the relationship is always one of master and servant. Nothing more, nothing less." Riolu paused. Then shambled off, leaving Koba to his meditation. Now Riolu too was lost in thought. ***

[impossible-rat-babies]

Hey friend! Thought I’d send you a prompt for DAdrunkwriting from your sensory prompts. #6 Walking through the woods :)

Dimitri & Daniel | 1276 words | Fluffy fluff fluff

for @dadrunkwriting!

--

“Papae!” Dimitri picked his way over a tree root, turning back not a moment later to take Daniel’s hand and help him over. The five year old scrambled up and over, coming up beside him quickly.

“Hush, Da’len...”

Dimitri soothed his son as he protested, holding a finger up to his lips for quiet, long loose hair hanging about in a curtain. Even in the warm darkness of the summer night with only a small wisp to light their way, Dimitri could see the way his son’s face curled in frustration and fear. Dimitri kneeled down next to him, the cool wet ground biting into the knees of thin cotton pants.

“I’m right here. There’s nothing around here that will get you that I won’t get first.” Dimitri smoothed his hand down Daniel’s cheek, stroking his thumb near the corner of his eye. Daniel pouted and Dimitri sighed out of his nose. “We’re almost there and you’re going to love this.” He added and Daniel whined, picking his lip with his finger.

“Carry me?” He asked softly and Dimitri resisted another sigh and he nodded, picking Daniel up resting him on a hip. He didn’t weigh that much...yet. He was almost getting too big to be carried, but Dimitri could still hold onto that ability a little longer. He wanted to hold onto that ability a little longer.

They silently picked their way through the undergrowth, Dimitri’s feet finding the half worn path through tree roots, grasses, and all manner of life sparkling about them. Above them, owls cooed, nightjars trilled, and fireflies danced, their specks like stars across the night sky of trees. The insects sung and played a chorus like a well trained opera, announcing themselves to the night and to everyone in it. This was their time and above that the full moon held her bright vigil, watching them along their winding path. Somewhere, a nightingale sang his song.

Dimitri hummed quietly, the wisp dancing about them as they continued, a field filled with moonlight rising from behind the trees.

“Is that where we’re going, Papae?” Daniel asked and Dimitri nodded, stepping through more of the brush, readjusting Daniel along the way.

“You have to be very quiet, or you’ll spook them.” He whispered and kissed Daniel’s temple, waiting on the edge of the tree line. Dimitri carefully looked around, the moonlight smothering the area in cool blue, droplets sparkling on the grass and fireflies dancing in their yellow glow. An old hollow and bleached tree still twisted towards the sky, a stranger in a field of familiarity; a trait the pair shared with the old fossil.

It didn’t take long before he spotted the smooth white hair and the twisting antlers of the halla quietly coming out of the trees and into the field. Dimitri idly tapped Daniel on the thigh, nudging his head in the direction of them. 

Daniel’s eyes grew wide and Dimitri smiled brightly, watching his son watch the halla. Many of them dipped their heads to the ground for the sweet grass, while others watched around the clearing, ears turning rapidly. A few cried into the night, some echoing back the mournful sound, others snorting.

“Can we get closer, Papae?” Daniel whispered and Dimitri gave a silent nod, carefully stepping out into the clearing from the trees. Many of them looked up at the pair, eyes staring directly at them, ears twitching and feet ready to run. Dimitri paused before he hummed quietly, pursing his lips to whistle a quiet song. One Daniel knew well as on he had sung to the halla that clan Lavellan had to soothe and calm them while he worked. It was a simple repeating loop of notes, but several of the halla turned curiously, ears perking curiously rather than in fear. 

It was an old song, one his own clan had taught him, sung to quiet the halla on the cold desert nights where they had only the wind on the sand for company.

The song looped over and over and quietly one halla took steps towards them, coming up just before them, eyes large and keen. Silently, Dimitri reached into a bag at his hip and pulled out slices of dried apple, carefully offering one to the halla. Her ears perked and she stepped closer, leaning her head in close to sniff. She eagerly took the apple from him and stepped closer as she chewed. Dimitri fished two slices from his pack, offering one to Daniel. He grinned brightly, gently holding the apple out. She reached for it, but another halla came up and took it from Daniel, crunching on the fruit. Daniel giggled softly, but the halla remained, only their ears turning at the sound. Another came up and bumped Dimitri in the side, sniffing and snorting at the pouch. Dimitri hushed her, offering her a piece of apple from his hand as he fished another out for Daniel. He smoothed his hand across the neck of the halla beside him, feeding her another apple slice and pulling his hand away.

Hopefully that would keep her occupied and prevent her from thinking his hair was a good snack.

Dimitri closed the pouch up tight, sliding his hand up to the halla’s face as Daniel handed her the apple. She didn't flinch, letting him scratch her ears and cheek, hand smoothing the white hair.

“You can pet her Daniel.” Dimitri whispered in his ear and he carefully nodded, reaching out for her face. She stepped closer, enough for Dimitri to be able to scratch her neck while Daniel looked over her nose and face. Dimitri smiled brightly, watching his son marvel at the beast. 

“She’s so pretty, Papae.” Daniel whispered and Dimitri kissed his temple, nodding.

“She is very pretty. I’m sure she knows it.” Dimitri grinned and scratched under her chin. She huffed and cried, tossing her head back and Daniel laughed brightly. He coaxed her face back to his small hands, searching her eyes as he stroked her muzzle.

There was something so soft, so undeniably pure about watching the two of them, absorbed in each other, like two vastly different and foreign worlds meeting. He supposed that was every day with Daniel, with each new thing he encountered. It wasn’t hard to forget how frightfully small Daniel was, how innocent, curious and wonderful he was. 

It wasn't hard to forget how much he wanted to protect Daniel--how much he needed to protect how small and precious his son was. He didn’t want a repeat when he knew there were no more second chances.

A sound somewhere far off all turned the herd to look, ears twitching in confusion. Daniel looked around as well, but Dimitri didn’t hear anything out of place. One of the other halla cried and turned to walk away, the rest following behind. 

“Say your goodbyes.” Dimitri told Daniel as the halla pulled away.

“Bye, bye!” He called, the herd swiftly moving back into the trees. The pair watched them until there was no more movement, only the sounds of the forest to keep them company now.

“Where are they going, Papae?” Daniel asked mournfully and Dimitri readjusted him, holding him close.

“Off to other pastures, I’m sure. I doubt they will forget you, da’len.” He kissed the top of his sons’s head, turning to head back their own way, picking through the grass, the wind tousling Dimitri’s long unbound hair that shined just like the moon.

“Will we see them again?” Daniel asked and Dimitri paused just under the cover of the trees, looking back once where they stood.

“I hope so, da’len.”

[gurguliare]

omg, huor/rian? -vardasvapors

It was sometimes difficult to know that his brother was angry. Happily, Huor put an end to all doubts by flinging himself on the hearthrug with a cry.

“Ha!” went the cry.

“Ha,” agreed Húrin. He set down his penknife, and after a little thought his pen. Huor was drawing moon-letters in the ashes. “I was right, you look better in blue. Did she make that for you?”—meaning the wreath around Huor’s neck.

“Yes, she was all posies today,” Huor said, slowly. He removed his hat, which had irises tucked in the chin-band, and set about abusing it. There were wildflowers clinging to his beard. “She could do nothing but pick flowers and plant them.”

“You’re not good for much.”

“If I’m not, I lay it at her door…” He caught Húrin’s eye and frowned, dogged by his own unfairness, and launched on a long explanation: her mother thought them young to wed; she wouldn’t say so, for respect of Húrin, but she thought it, and they were. And Rían said, yes, of course, and spent a day dismantling turf…

Húrin had heard as much before, though never, it was true, from Rían’s mother. Morwen behind the portiere had neither changed nor lost the limping rhythm of the loom; but she was listening, anyway, for he was listening.

He had married her the autumn after his father died, and he had been four years younger than Huor now, and lord of Dor-lómin. Neither he nor his young wife had parents to give warnings. “Why is Rían in haste?”

The tail of Huor’s braid lay coiled on his back from many heartsore shrugs. “I don’t know.”

So saying, he folded his hat in two and let it flop back to its proper shape. The brim stayed pinned beneath one palm, like a dog submitting to have its paw held. He had a tender way with hounds and birds, but Húrin thought this had made him rather proud; he could be impatient, not with the animals, but with beast-tamers less patient than he. At times he turned the same unkindness on himself: why can I not be gentle, and bring my blood to heel? And so on. Húrin understood better, now he was father to two children, one living. Still such stern sight had no place in his brother.

“Let us say that she loves you, and waiting’s a grief to her. I can just conceive of it. But you wait out of love for her which warns you to feign wisdom, like an old man. I see no harm in that. Shall I speak to Rían?”

“Showing me for a youth, unfit to court her?”

“Isn’t that the object?”

“Yes!” A glare. Huor looked afraid to laugh, as if it might do his lady dishonor; his lip did tremble. “She’s young,” he said to himself, “and it falls to me to practice wisdom, if she must be so brave.” Very soft, he said, “I think of them, and their ladies who made a game of the mountain’s face… from green to red, and sparkling with frost. For them it was never wrong to wait.”

“Never and never. I hope that in a hundred years, when we are dead, our enemy all crushed beneath our weight, they may descend and gaze around. A new untarnished land, with green things growing.” He smiled at Huor, saying to himself that the future wasn’t so far off: but their sunlight was less than this sunlight, and the white cities they might raise less gorgeous than this low-timbered hall. “Is that what you have in mind for Rían?”

“It sounds as if you’d have me marry.”

“Brother, I must thrust you from my house. All means else failing—”

“What would you do with me gone?” said Huor, seriously. Then: “I have her lute. I forgot it was still on my horse when I rode off, I’m afraid in a hurry.” If he heard Húrin’s hand strike his brow, he gave no sign of it, except to stiffen a little. “Will you bring it back to her? Tell Rían we have your blessing. It makes no matter, but maybe she’ll taste the bitter less.”

Through spread fingers, Húrin considered his poor inventory—more often abandoned than taken up—and the ink now drying on the reed.

*

Rían’s mother greeted him warmly and, after he spoke her fair, tasted her beer and let her exclaim over his handsome mule, directed him to the creek bottom that dipped between the homestead and the fields. If she had asked why he had come in place of a servant, he would have said, the men are dead of weariness from threshing-season, or if not from the harvest then the raids; I of all of them can best be spared. But she was circumspect in everything.

Rían sat in a ring of toppled cups, and she was writing something down. At the sight of her, stylus in hand, he felt a jolt of guilt, having thrown over his own clerk-work for a leisure-errand—although it was his business to pay calls to malcontents. With her back to a birch slenderer than her back—with knees drawn up, feet planted, and hair curling from its net—while her maid lay snoring on a bead-fringed sheepskin, she rather than he had the air of a lady holding court; but her head snapped up at his coming, and she stared straight ahead, and almost past him, so that he felt he headed a host. “At ease, cousin,” he tried. Then her eyes found his. She nodded and rose in a bow before he could prevent her, and smiled broadly when she left it, remembering her charm.

Pretty Rían, a child in long skirts; he could guess what his brother meant, that she had begun some work and not finished it yet.

“‘Mistress cousin,’” she quoted, and showed him where to set down the lute. “‘Lady sister.’ But name me sister, if we must choose degrees.”

“You’ve disowned Morwen?”

She was losing interest. “Why come tonight? Huor—”

“Huor is hale,” he said lightly, dismayed by her insistence. “I thought I had better return the thief’s spoils for him.”

“Ha! foes!” snapped the serving-girl, and rolled over; it was no serving-girl at all, but his kinswoman Aerin. She must have crept late from Indor’s house for a drinking party, although, as Húrin had cause to know, she was not much charmed by songs of old. She narrowed her eyes, shook the sandy hair from her face, tugged the veil from her hair, and thrust a plump finger at him: then lay back down, doubtless to gather strength. Not yet dusk, but in a sky like fallen clouds, the leaves on the bough had lost color, and patterned themselves after the fox’s gray beard; the gurgling from the creek should have drowned all frogs and nightjars, but that their singing carried, bounded higher on the stream. His daughter’s laughter never sounded louder than near water; but already he had forgotten the laws that made her life.

Because he had no better plan, he lay down beside Aerin, on his back. “But do I have a case to judge between you and sir thief?”

Rían knelt in the heather and said, “Please forgive me if I am churlish, which I must be, to have driven off everyone but Aerin.” (��Thank you!”) “I’ve had evil dreams.”

Húrin bit his tongue. “Of Huor?” he said after a time, trying to be grave, and to restrain the bitter feeling, so common since Lalaith, that all this was a waste; her terror like his cheer, poured out on stone, because neither of them knew what would come.

“Huor! No, god forbid! Of you.” She touched her brow, kneaded the skin, and bent her head. Had she been his sister in truth, he would have pinched her. And she was right that it was wearisome and hurt to hold off from things which were needful; he was glad at some hour or another every day, but it was hard, to go from his house to his friends’, his house to his brother’s, from Dor-lómin to the fortress of the elves, and back again to make friends with his son.

“That’s strange,” he began. “Though I were the fondest of brothers, I couldn’t begrudge him to you. I wish you every happiness. When your mother consents, we will set a day in spring, when the trees vie with the flowers of the earth, and there are showers enough to dress the thatch with jewels. If it should snow, we’ll hold the dancing indoors, and burn the great hall down.”

Rían nodded. As he talked on she grew thoughtful: she tapped her stylus to the tablet, and said, “In my dream, you sit in a great chair.”

“There. I am presiding at the feast. Sador is carving me the very chair. If I seem grave, he has left me a long splinter.”

“I’ll marry Rían,” Aerin announced. “All the unwedded maids of Dor-lómin; I’ll marry them and keep them, when you ride off to war.” She spoke almost without moving her lips, her chest rising and falling in starts, her cold fair face impassive. “What do you say?”

Rían whispered something in her ear; Aerin convulsed in laughter. Húrin pretended to avert his eyes and said, “Now, tell me. Is there something my brother should know?”

“That I beg his pardon,” said Rían; “I am sorry for him. Every year he must fight, facing what I know nothing of, though he has you and God, my lord, bespeaking him. I think of him often—I hope he’s not too afraid. I don’t remember a moment of my journey here, from Ladros. So maybe it’s the same for him, that he goes to fight and doesn’t remember. I wish he were younger! Then indeed I could wait happily, while we would play at being children.” She bit her knuckle.

If he could only see all, from sea to sea, and rule over a land that answered him: he thought he would have ordered it better. That would have been best, to know that wherever his kin went, he could follow them in mind, and understand their passing. Here she was before him, and he strove to follow her. Did she think she wasn’t a child, or that the girl had died in the wastes, driven forth from her home? She sounded, it was true, older than her years, not like a woman grown but like a daughter of elves, clear-spoken before the milky eyes could see.

“He pities you as well,” Húrin said. He got up in a crouch, for the dew was creeping down his back, and he wished too to take her hands.

Rían gave him a glad mistrustful look: face red in the cheeks from talk of Huor, and teeth bared by her drawn-up lip. She put her hands on his, saying, “Feel how cold. I have drunk too much, even with Aerin here to warn me. If I sleep early, will I still have a headache tomorrow? Will you tell Huor not to expect me before noon? My turn to visit, but alas—”

“I’ll tell him.” He might have said, grandly: Don’t punish him too much for loving your mother, but she had nothing of the kind in view. Without knowing it she took a step back and another. She was drunk, and proud enough after her fashion, and had grown used to the new wealth of time, now that Huor was home; that she feared Huor’s death in war had little to do with how they spent their days together. She picked up the lute and put together a bare chord; she played just well enough to scaffold her towering voice. If he had had the sense to bring his harp, they might have made music together, although his mount would have been overburdened, and his knees ached from bending in the cold.

“You may as well escort me home,” Aerin said, standing more steadily, by leaning on his back. “If you have what you came for, lord?”

“Maybe,” he said. “Anyway I’m the better for having come; for it’s not every day I hear a song from Rían, bard of Dor-lómin.”

[tarantula-hawk-wasp]

Bat Paladin Chapter 4

voltron / batfam /dc comics crossover.

Chapter 1 link Chapter 2 chapter 3 link  Shiro is Bruce Wayne’s adopted son and part of the batfam AU  created by me (I was the anon) and @tchailla

word count : 6.2k (its a big boi)

A/N

Well it has been a Long Ass Time folks. All i can say is that pretty much every excuse in the book applies, a busy senior year of high school, writers block, doubts, changing fandoms, busy summer, busy college, etc. But, starting in Nov. I've been going to a 4 day a week writing group and that's really helping me dedicate time to this so I really think the next chapter will be only in a month or smth. That's about as much as I can promise. I will never let it go this long again.

The hand they gave him was so intimate a weapon.  

A sword, though a close-quarters weapon that made him watch the light fade from his opponents’ eyes and left him splattered with blood, was at least impersonal.  It was a detachable item that had transferred only vibrations up his arm and across his shoulder. He could at least physically cast off that brutal role of warrior at the end of every fight.

The arm was personal.  Cutting through flesh, even with the hand alit, had a horrible sensation.  There was a microsecond of resistance, before, like crushing a grape, the flesh gave and was sheared like paper.  He could smell meat charring, feel the pulse of body systems, taste the rancid breath of last exhales.  

The arm felt like an extension of himself in so many ways, but it was impossible to forget it was artificial.  The Galra technology was extremely advanced, it had a smoother and greater range of motion than the joints on a real hand would, but the sensations were subtly different.  It had temperature and pressure and texture sensors that were more than adequate. But flesh has a give to it.  Even the most taut musculature has squishy skin over it and feels organic.  The arm was solid and hard metal, there was no molding slightly to a surface, it either touched or it didn’t.  Texture was another jarring change.  Instead of the grooves of a fingerprint and the pad of a finger feeling out a surface, it was a staccato vibration of metal finger clipping a surface.  

The reality of what the Galra had done to him settled in again with each fight.  And with it came the reality of the life he was living.

Sometimes he considered just letting himself die.  It would be absurdly easy to let himself lose a fight.  Battling to a win was strenuous and unpleasant. If he so wished, he could just pick an opponent and weapon trajectory that would kill him so swiftly after he thudded to the sandy floor that he would not even have to hear the roar of the crowd.  

But each time faced with that choice he did not pursue it.   Each time he clung with desperate claws to life.

During a fight, his flesh arm had been cut - a messy snag of talons shearing out a groove of bicep.  The pain was a dangerous distraction and Shiro had danced backwards, staggering away to gain distance and a moment’s respite.  

He needed space and time to think.  

Shiro sprinted across the sand and leaned against a pillar with his back to the focus of the action. Judging by the crowd and the grunts and wet slurps combined with suddens rips, the alien was occupied goring a fallen gladiator, another red tally in Shiro’s ledger of failure.  

And he was at a crossroads. This wound could kill him. The bleeding was heavy and not slowing, and this fight was far from over.  It was not the worst injury he had sustained, but usually the bloodiest gashes came in the desperate close attacks that ended a match and returned him to the callous care of the medical facilities.  He needed something immediate to survive the rest of this fight.  

A horrid idea struck him and he stared at his foreign, bloodstained palm.  

He used the hand to shoddily cauterize the injury, the pain enough that the addition of searing and the stench of charred flesh did not outweigh the benefit of stopped blood flow.  Using the Galra hand to save his life left a foul taste in his mouth.

But he did it regardless.

He told himself he was living for Earth, to warn them.   For Solaan, whose eyes softened the few chances they had to meet gazes and would send reassuring nods in his direction.  For the weaker prisoners, the untested, untried who had never held a weapon before and were sent into the arena to be slaughtered as blood fodder to rile up the crowd before the real fights.  

He was not living for himself.

****

Despite being in a family and lifestyle of vigilantes, Shiro did not have a consistent codename. He’d tried out Nightjar, and had stuck with Starling for years, but none had truly clicked.  His siblings ended up calling him variations of spaceman and space themed jokes.  Nothing had become a second identity the way Batman was for Bruce or Oracle was for Barbara.  

Until now. The whispers of “Champion” had spread after those early fights, echoing from cells in the corridors and jeered by opponents, and now it was notorious.  

He had always understood the theoreticals behind creating a separate persona for vigilantism, but never before had he truly understood the inherent power in a dual identity.  It was equal parts blessing and curse.

It helped in the arena, because it was not space cadet Shiro fighting, it was not brother or son Shiro fighting, it was not pilot Shiro,  it was The Champion.  And as The Champion he could be brutal, he could spill blood, he could growl in pain and rage and then slink back to his cell and weep as Shiro.  

However there were times when he felt the liberation of his role as The Champion could be too consuming.  It made it easier to use tactics with the intent to kill.

His technique had changed as he rose in the ranks, his opponents more and more often other vicious victors and now rarely helpless blood-fodder.  And so he was employing lessons taught to him less by Bruce or Diana or Dinah, but more by Solaan.  

His crash-course in alien anatomy had been shallow because of the sheer variety he might face.   Solaan had instead drilled into him the strategy of going for the neck.  They had explained that nearly all species have some form of head or brain encasement and targeting its attachment to the body is a safe bet for conquering any unknown alien.  

Shiro had received this advice early in his days as a gladiator, but had not the stomach to implement it for many weeks.  

And now, with his Galra hand that split keratin plates like butter, he could attack with deadly force.  

He couldn’t help but keep up a count of the outcomes of his fights.  Both the deaths he did not prevent, and the ones he caused.  And as the blood spilled and numbers grew he could little help but notice that he was far beyond the realm of most criminals.  

There were people serving life sentences who had snuffed far fewer flames than he, - cells in Arkham filled by those who had never used their own hand to end a life, - mug-shots of faces who had never felt the spray of blood from a torn jugular.  He was on par with the monsters.

************

Shiro sat up from the microscope he had been looking into.  Bruce had asked him to compare the weave and wear of two pieces of cloth from crime scenes and he needed to sit back and think about it.  

Shiro could hear grunts from the out-of-site training floor where Cass and Jason were sparring and the rattle of Dick’s gymnastic equipment.  

Tim and Steph were monopolizing an empty table with a sprawl of homework.

It was a good day in the cave.  Shiro smiled as the thought came accompanied with new inspiration for examining fiber fraying and hunched back over, adjusting a lense.

“Hey English Question.  Need an example of extended allusion or metaphor in something I read this semester.”  Stephanie broke the silence.  Shiro felt satisfied pride that she was comfortable to ask.  When she had first switched to Gotham Academy on a Wayne Scholarship, she had pushed herself, determined not to let Bruce down and certain that meant independency.  Actually, Bruce encouraged teamwork and consultation in the family.  

A perk of most of them going through the same school, one with tenure and established curriculum meant that the chances of someone having previously done an assignment was high.  

Shiro looked up from his microscope again.  

“ Old Man and the Sea .  Santiago is Jesus.  He gets hand injuries,  he makes ‘a noise similar to that of a man having nails driven through his hands’.  At the end, he collapses on his bed and he’s lying with his hands out like a cross.”  Shiro remembered doing that same outline.  

“Thanks Captain Kirk” Steph called.  Shiro groaned, anticipating the oncoming chorus.

“Actually, since he’s a pilot isn’t he more Sulu?”  Dick commented helpfully, dropping down from his set of parallel bars and walking over, wiping sweat from his brow onto his faded Gotham Knights shirt.

Tim snorted.  “He strikes me as more Travis Mayweather.”  

Shiro smiled around the cave fondly.  His eyes catching with Stephanie’s gaze.  She was grinning at him, smile shining beneath a plain domino mask. Batman was the only one in the cave in full regalia -  the rest just wore dominoes.  Bruce didn’t want to risk a bare-face showing up in the background of a video call.

Stephanie faltered and in her place was Haggar, a feral smirk stretching her features.  She was there just long enough for Shiro to register and then it was back to Steph, rolling her eyes and shoving Tim with her shoulder.  

Shiro slowly pushed his chair back from the table, the screech of the base on the floor ringing louder than the rest of the sounds of the cave.  He felt something cold and heavy settle in his core.  He stood up, the banter continuing with Jason and Cass entering the main area, hair equally mussed and matching towels over their necks.  

Shiro walked over to Haggar-Stephanie.  She was flickering more frequently now.  He looked around again. No one else seemed to be noticing this.  

“Is Scarecrow in Arkham?” He asked cautiously.  For once he prayed this was fear toxin.  He needed to know now though, before he took action.

He only had experienced the effects once, in his youth, when the Batmobile had rolled into the cave where he was waiting, after watching an intense and dramatic showdown between Scarecrow and Batman and Robin and Nightwing that had culminated unsatisfactorily in Scarecrow’s escape.  

He had been overwrought and ran to the returned trio, and embraced them in turn, clinging and unknowingly inhaling residual Fear Toxin.  

Everyone had been exhausted and Shiro already upset enough that the preliminary signs went unnoted and he, and everyone else, had gone to bed.  

They were woken later by him screaming, eyes open but unseeing, awake in a nightmare.  Bruce had administered the antidote and stayed with him for the rest of the night.  

That raw, unbridled terror at things that had seemed real was not something he wanted to re-experience, nor did he want to act on unfounded and strange visions.  If this was a hallucination he did not want to hurt his family.  

“He is.  And his rehabilitation reports are showing progress.”  Bruce answered from the Batcomputer.  He was still facing Oracle.  Good.  Shiro didn’t want him watching.  

Haggar was there long enough to let out a laugh and then it was back to Stephanie, smiling up at him. She looked trusting. He lit his arm up.

Shiro put his glowing Galra appendage through his little sister’s heart and it hurt in a way no weapon could.  

Stephanie burst into a puff of mist with a brightness that momentarily disoriented Shiro from his stricken state.  

The others were continuing with their conversation, ignoring the absence of Stephanie.  

Now Dick was the one flickering to a shorter, white haired frame and then back to himself.  Shiro strode towards him on steadier legs than he thought he ought to have.  

“Do you want a sweaty hug, sweat-ie?”  Dick said, laughing with arms spread, showing the mottled dark patches on his shirt.  It flashed to Haggar with spread robes.  

“Please no. Don’t do this.”  Shiro muttered,  and chopped Dick in half.  He too burst out of existence.  

Shiro swiveled around, watching each of the rest of the family,  dreading any of the options of who could be next.  

Jason sputtered-his eyes glowing yellow.  He had a shit-eating grin.  “Actually I think you're more Wesley.”  

He was still laughing when Shiro dispersed him.  It was perhaps worse that they did not react, merely acting as if everything was normal until they disappeared.  Shiro was the only one shaking, the only one wracked with guilty choked sobs.  

Shiro was in the middle of the triangle of Tim, Cass, and Bruce.  A bolt of gratitude struck him that Alfred wasn’t present in this hellscape.

Cass, with her typical understated delivery, placed a hand on his chest.  

“R2-D2.” She said decisively.  He smiled.  Even as another sister turned to Haggar and the hand resting on his pectoral gained sharp nails and dug into his flesh painfully.  

After he did away with Cass, Tim was next.  Shiro went through the motions quickly and with as little thought as possible.  It pained him how practiced this was already becoming.  

And then Bruce.  Destroying even an image of Bruce would only drive home more solidly how far he had deviated from the principles his adoptive father had instilled in him.

Bruce was smiling at him - the little curve of his closed lips that could slip past the seriousness of the batcave and the cowl.

Shiro stared at his own eyes reflected in the lenses of the mask and hated himself.  The face looking back could not be his own now, because the rip across his nose was missing and those eyes did not burn with the haunted exhaustion he ached with.  

Shiro searched Bruce’s visage for an apology he did not deserve and with the destruction of Batman, the Batcave melted into darkness.  

****

There was a heavy anticipation of pain and gore, a speculation of whether this would be a fight uphill against a savage opponent or a fight of restraint against some helpless victim.  

He often forced himself to push past his lack of desire to watch the match before his - the inability to help a weak competitor despite being only meters away was intensely disheartening - but frequently he knew he was to fight the victor of a match and that strategically he must bring himself witness whatever bloodbath played out.  

He was focusing on the hissing, bipedal bird-esque alien that was had an iridescent covering that was intermediary scales and feathers that ended in wickedly sharp points.  It had used a serrated beak to rip the still-twitching circulatory system from the screaming form of its last opponent.  Shiro hoped it would be defeated by whatever poor creature faced it before him, getting close enough to put his hand through the feather-scales would be difficult and he was not sure how thick they were, -If he would have to hack away to create an opening to even injure.  The likelihood of him ending a fight of that kind anything close to unscathed was scant.

The figure that was shoved out onto the sand next was not some defenseless waif, nor was it some brawler.  It was the six limbed hulking form of Solaan.  

Shiro watched, wide-eyed, his parched eyes drinking in the sight of the friend he had been treated to only infrequent glimpses of in months.  They looked little changed, fur perhaps a hint duller and thinner and something in their face held a deep weariness.

They rolled both sets of shoulders, limbering up their joints and sending ripples rustling through their purplish fur.  

They stepped into the central area of the arena and evaluated the bird-like opponent with a calm resignation.  Shiro knew Solaan’s methodology in trying to create an initial strategy.  

With a sudden burst of motion the bird-alien darted and jabbed for Solaan’s thigh,  Solaan pivoted, planting their lower arms and used their body as a lever to deliver a bucking kick that sent the alien staggering feet away.

The attack and dodge continued. Solaan was the bulkier and slower of the two, and they relied on their endurance and powerful blows to retaliate against the vicious speed.  The bird was in constant motion, dodging and leaping like a ricocheting shuttlecock in a volley.

The fight came to a head with a graphic collision between the beak of the bird-alien and the broad palm of Solaan’s upper right hand.  

Shiro’s gasp was matched by the crowd and the wet puncturing sound of the action.  Everything froze for part of a moment and then Solaan flexed and raised the injured arm, heaving their opponent up, the beak still driven completely through their flesh.  

The alien thrashed as its feet left the ground, and with its spindly taloned legs flashing and goring deep gouges across Solaan’s chest and thighs.  

Shiro flinched with each strike.  He was pressed as close to the force field as he dared, watching desperately.  

Solaan stayed stoic and clamped a hand around one leg, the other foot’s talons scored first that wrist, and then they ripped into the other arm that came to seize the free leg.  Solaan gripped the legs and with their remaining unoccupied hand, reached for the neck of the bird.  

The beady eye of the alien widened and then its neck oscillated with a writhing yank, it pulled free its beak and drove it pointedly into one of Solaan’s eyes.

They bellowed, this injury finally snapping their control.  Solaan’s limbs jerked spasmodically and with a lurch, their arms jolted in opposite directions and tore the legs off the bird-like alien.  

Solaan, brownish coat now patchy with blood, had managed to end the fight in better condition than their hemorrhaging opponent.

The wave of relief that Shiro felt at their survival was quickly followed by a tsunami of dread.  

He was to fight the victor of the match he had just witnessed.  He was going to have to face Solaan.

He was churning with scenarios.  Would Solaan and he fake some sham of a fight that ended with a mutual loss?  Or would he sacrifice himself for Solaan or the other way around?  He doubted that Solaan would engage him in true combat like a bonafide opponent.  Could Solaan even survive long enough to put on a show satisfactory to the merciless voyeurs?

His gate was opened and his feet felt so heavy in the sand.  The matching dull thuds of his heart and his steps carried him across the floor.  The stadium was roaring with the fervor his appearance always provoked, but that was all a negligible rush in Shiro’s ears.  The only sound he heard was the rasp of Solaan’s labored breaths.  

Solaan tried to plant their arms and heave themself up to standing, but their limbs trembled with strain and nearly gave out with the attempt.  So they stayed kneeling.  

Shiro stood before Solaan, feeling odd and awful being the taller one.  He reached out a gentle hand and trailed his fingertips tenderly over the soaking of blood.  Solaan’s blood was morbidly beautiful.  It disgusted and pained Shiro for what it was -  the life of his friend pulsing out over his fingers - but it was fascinatingly different from most hemoglobin-based bloods.  Solaan’s blood was a teal blue and shimmered with a golden metallic sheen.  And it was painted over both of them.  

Solaan shifted their weight and freed a hand from holding themself up and covered Shiro’s.  Somehow, through the likely-crippling pain of their bleeding eye, through the damage to their body, through their fear, they managed to soften their gaze and smile at Shiro.  

It was Shiro whose breath shuddered in a sob as if he were the one nearly gutted.  Solaan slid Shiro’s prosthetic hand down to cup their chin and throat, and Shiro felt the rumble of their speech resonate up it.  

“It is good to see you.  And to see that you have not lost yourself to let the fight become easier.”

Shiro was momentarily taken aback, he expected an immediate addressal of the matter of the fight at hand.

“I… No, of course not.” He paused.  There were so many things he suddenly needed to say.  They were not living a situation with allowances for regrets or ignoring opportunities.  “I didn’t want to let you down.”  

Solaan met his honesty with equal gravity.  “You could not have let me down.”  

“I’ve tried to do as you said, to save people by getting them sent off and to only kill the-” His rush of words was interrupted.  

“I know.  I know and you have done well.”  Solaan’s smile, still battling against the tightness of a grimace of pain, grew a little.  Now they were interrupted.  

The crowd had not been content to sit idle as they caught up.  The baying for blood grew in fervor and suddenly Shiro noticed a Galra with a handheld control panel standing at one of the arena’s entrances and staring at him.  The second Shiro made eye-contact with him, the Galra’s countenance turned smug and he manipulated something.  

Shiro staggered, a shout leaving him, as his body was wracked with electric pain.  It was not a lengthy sensation, he was left gasping after only a moment and a cold and clear voice ordered him to “Fight!”.  

He tried to muster himself, staring at Solaan, but found he could only refuse.  

He was shocked again, this time leaving him crouched in the sand with a hand planted to support himself.  Now it was Solaan giving orders.

“Shiro, you have to do something.  They’ll do that until you pass out or die and then I’ll face whomever comes after you.”  

“What would you have me do?”  Shiro didn’t like either option.  

“You have to kill me.”

“NO!” That got Shiro up off the sand and back to his previous position before Solaan.  

“I will not survive these wounds much longer.  If not you, then the next competitor will kill me.  And I would rather it was you than something brutal.”  Solaan was so serious. Shiro was running his options through his mind and did not like any of them.  He had no desire to see Solaan torn apart by someone else, but to kill them himself was a nightmarish prospect.  

He placed his prosthetic hand to their throat, and they met his gaze with a composed readiness.  Shiro lit his hand and found himself frozen in incapacity.  

This was the scenario he was tortured with, this was his terror, putting his hand through a loved one.  He had performed this act countless times in hallucinations to dozens of people, but he knew this was real.  This was not Haggar pulling the strings this was his own volition.  

The glow of his hand turned off and he dropped it limply.  

“I can’t.  Solaan I’m sorry but I can’t.”  His voice sounded breathy and whiny to his own ears.  

“I understand.  I should not have asked.” Solaan did not sound accusative.  Shiro felt even lower with that.  Solaan had trusted him to do one basic thing he had done so many times before, he had killed so many except the one person who had actually wanted him to do it.  

Inspiration struck him, because he could not just abandon Solaan to the blade of another.  He had a third option.

He stood tall and stared around the crowd, garnering their attention and his own voice declaring an ultimatum with his own alit hand held to his throat.  Either Solaan was taken to a work colony or he, the titular Champion, would never fight again.  

It took a staredown of conviction and sheer stubbornness cultivated out of the Wayne household, but it apparently worked.  

Solaan was removed from the arena with breath still in their chest.  And Shiro was left with nothing of them but hopes and doubts.

For all he knew, all his supposed leverage of popularity was a sham and worthless and he was merely condemning Solaan to a future death behind shut doors.  There was no guarantee, he had no rights and no real say on what they did.  

But he had been an incapable coward when faced with the surer solution.

Were these benevolent acts of violence against people he loved his curse?  How many times must he use the sharp side of a sword to save?  And was it really more merciful than death?  His knowledge of the work colonies was limited and fragmentary, combinations of hopeful imaginings, Galra propaganda, and threats from guards.  

They might be simply worked to death, a slow and painful dragged out process.  Or they could be kept alive and tortured in worse ways in colonies far from any regulatory supervision of the mainstream Empire.  

The injuries he inflicted may just be the first in an endless onslaught of suffering.  

*********

Shiro had little chance to see other prisoners outside of gladiator matches or passing by others surrounded by an equal number of sentry robots in the corridors.  He was kept in a solitary cell, he was fed in that cell, and after his fights he was now often the only survivor being healed in the medical facilities.  Or he was being taken to Haggar’s chamber of horrors or some other lab for experimentation.  There was little socialization, and with Solaan gone, there was no one to seek out if he had been allowed in a crowd.  

But anomalies in any surety could crop up, and Shiro was being escorted after an exhausting match, bruised and stumbling and desperate for the horizontal surface in his cell that was at least mostly safe to collapse on, when the screeching blare of an alarm went filled the corridor.  Shiro had pieced together an observation of the severity scale of various Galra alarms and this one was blaring with importance.  He had little else to do with his downtime.  When he was too exhausted to exercise he could only listen to the ambient noise - the hydraulics of doors, the ringing clip of sentry steps, the occasional scream.  

His escorts this time were a mix of flesh and metal.  The two Galra guards exchanged glances over his head, looking through him as a ragged prisoner, a non-entity, and both shrugged and frowned.  Rapidly, they growled orders to the two robots and those sprinted down the corridor, presumably towards the commotion.  

Suddenly Shiro was grabbed around the bicep and hauled bodily around a corner and stopped in front of a closed cell door. It was a larger cell, like the one he had shared with Solaan and others in those early weeks.  

The guard not holding him partially off the floor slapped her hand against the door control and as soon as it opened he was rudely tossed in.  He stumbled as the door shut behind him and heard a muttered “That counts as temporarily securing any in-transit prisoners right?” between the guards.  

His eyes adjusted to the darkened light and he was met with five sets of eyes.  Three were species he had seen or fought before, two were tall vermiform beings that swayed hypnotically and twined around each other in an embrace. It would have been almost cute but for the fear in their eyes.  

In fact, all of the beings in the room were ones he would have immediately decided to try to get sent to the labor colony if he faced them on the sand.  

He turned to the most calm looking person in the room, a slender but humanoid being with brightly colored segments of color, and raised his hands in a peaceful, beseeching gesture.  He was desperate to assure his harmlessness to all present as swiftly as possible.  

He had little chance.  

There was a movement behind him - he had not attentively tracked the motion of every person in the room and let one get behind him.  He fought down his combat instincts, determined to show his friendly intent, to show that he was just another helpless prisoner trapped in this situation and thus akin to them, and was wholly unprepared for the sudden punching pain to the back of his lower left rib cage.  

He gasped and dropped to his knees, breathing suddenly laborious, and groped behind himself, the motion of his shoulders pulling and twisting the painful flesh.   He felt a rough edged piece of hard material, plastic or bone, it was difficult to say, that was wrapped in a layered strip of frayed and greasy fabric.  

He left the weapon in his flesh, it was keeping at least some of the blood on this inside and he did not feel like contorting and cauterizing himself when he knew there was at least some chance the guards would return and take him to a proper facility with a far less painful repair tactic.  

The other inhabitants of the cell, even the bold one who had stabbed him, were keeping their distance now, huddled against the walls.  He little blamed them.  They likely thought him some wounded animal, burning to lash out at anything that dared come close.  

And he felt little better than that.  

It was an agonizing wait after that.  Shiro lying on the ground in a twisted pose that relieved the most pain from his injury and focusing on breathing.  In the back of his mind there was a countdown going, there was only so long he dared wait for guards to return before he lost too much blood.  Before that threshold he would have to take matters into his own hands and close the wound.  But until then he would wait.  

The guards, only the female the same as before, returned before he had to take measures of self preservation and collected him off the floor with a scoff of disgust. He was healed by the apathetic infirmary and with little ceremony returned to his cell for his usual solitary rumination.

He had been shanked.  In prison.  The absurdity of this being the prison cliche he got to experience, despite being in deep space, was not lost on him.  He tried to focus on that near-amusement, trying to think about how much Jason would laugh at that, at the face Dick would have made, at how Keith would have scoffed.  His brain kept slipping down the alternative train of thought.  

This was painful evidence that he was no hero.  He was seen as something to be feared and put down by a makeshift weapon by a prisoner his instinct was to save.  He was not viewed as a savior or a Champion of these common folk.  He was seen as the enemy, - the one to be struck down, - to be feared.  

It rankled and rotted in his heart.  Was this how superheroes whose populace disliked them felt?  Or worse, was this how villians saw themselves?  A hero working against the actual wishes of the people for some grander scheme that he thought he understood?  

He had been shanked and it felt like a betrayal to all of the efforts he thought he had been making on behalf of the weaker.  

********

The arena was becoming a preferable destination.  This was not an opinion Shiro had ever anticipated harboring, but as his escort of uncaring Galra robot drones turned more and more often to the right instead of the left at the crossroads of the main corridor and led him away from the arena and towards either a scientist or Haggar’s workroom, he found himself wishing for the crowds and sand.

At least when he was fighting he had some facsimile of control.  He may not be there by choice and his opponents were never of his own selection, but he picked which moment to lunge, where to strike, how to move and feel.  It was the only time he felt truly alive and present in the moment.

Time in his lilac-lit cell droned in the monotony of echoed robotic footsteps clanking past in a clockwork rhythm broken only by the delivery of food.  But in the arena it was a series of heartbeats pulsing fast and roaring with his blood and the crowd.  

And there he picked which blows to give and take. And the pain, for there was often pain, was natural - in that it came from injury and was localized at a source rather than from some inflicted cruelty.  

When he was strapped to a table, or forced into a tank of fluid, or scanned or prodded, he had no control.  When they alit every nerve in his body at once, or worked through them systematically, the pain was the kind that writhed under his skin and churned his gut.  A seemingly endless discomfort made worse by the callous interest of the scientists.  

Time with Haggar was foul beyond that.  When she was not using her powers to wrack his body with agony, she invaded his mind with distorted visions of his loved ones that grew more disturbing and detailed with each session.  

Sometimes they were memories, nights in the Batcave with his siblings, or gatherings with the Justice League, or cadets he had grown up with in the Garrison, other times they were new creations.  Being pitted against Solaan, or Bruce, or Dick, or Jason, or Keith or someone, in the arena and forced to fight desperately to the death.  

The fights against Bruce were the worst.  

Haggar’s Batman grew more and more lifelike and now vocalized scorn and disappointment just as often as it did gruff affection.  

Lingering doubts about his actions were dragged into the light in the most painful way.  

It was one thing to think on the darkest of nights about the way he was betraying nearly every doctrine his adoptive father had ever instilled a belief in. - But to hear him say it.  To look into Bruce’s eyes, for now Batman was just as often a maskless Bruce Wayne in training clothes, and see disapproval, to see the disappointment, to see the resignation to failure, cut Shiro to the quick.  

For Shiro was not breaking the “no killing” rule in some questionable accident. Irregardless of the utter lack of pleasure he took in killing, he deliberately went for lethal blows and no circumstantial justification he offered in pleading gasps from beseeching lips could undo the intent behind each bloody victory.  

*******

It was not that escape had never occurred to Shiro, but rather that it had been a pipedream of impracticality.  Even if he made it out of his cell or out of his bonds, he would still have to make it through a maze of patrolled corridors, and even if he made it that far, he was in space, which created an even greater complication of transportation.

But he was a scion of Batman, so despite his misgivings he was prepared to leap at any opportunity. And Ulaz was offering a chance that accounted for many of the potential problems Shiro had been most daunted by.  He had mapped every corridor he had had the privilege of being forced down, and kept a mental count of steps and shift changes. He could handle navigating the corridors and there was a spacecraft waiting at the end.  

The plan as soon as he was out of Galra range was to contact the Green Lantern Corps and through them one of the Earth Lanterns and the Justice League and his father.  He was mentally prepared for complications in this, without Galra translation technology he was likely going to be reduced to pointing at something green and at a ring or his finger and hoping the Corps had widespread awareness in that area.  

Instead, to his shock, he was met with familiar constellations and passing by planets he was intimately familiar with.  He was in the Solar System.  The Galra were in the Solar System.  Relief was warring with panic in him.  On the one hand, he could directly land on Earth, but on the other the Galra would see one of their own hijacked ships landing there.  

He would have to hope he created enough of a warning for the Watchtower and other interplanetary defenses to prepare.  

Some part of him was even hopeful that he would be hailed by the Watchtower or met halfway by J’onn or Superman.  

Instead, he was greeted with nothing.  He had little capacity to dwell on that rather concerning fact.  His descent and landing were dangerous and difficult enough that it took much of his piloting expertise to make it survivable.  He had spent a lot of time in simulators learning how to crash ships in ways that kept the cabin intact, but this was an unfamiliar ship and simulations could never quite capture the desperation of how badly he wanted to live.

He was rather proud of himself for landing not only on the same continent as the Garrison, but in the same desert as the headquarters.  It would be hard for either the League or military to miss the smoke and flames of a crashing spaceship, he knew he would not be left waiting long.  He smiled at the sandstone filling the viewport and gave into the unconsciousness his throbbing temple begged for.

**************

A/N So that's the end of Shiro's imprisonment. Ik this is a lot of build up without actual Batfam interaction, but the way I want to tell this story is going through how Shiro's outlook on the canon story would be different with a Batfam background. SO we've got next chapter which is like Bruce and Batfam hearing about shit on earth, then a chapter of Shiro with the Voltron squad and honestly like the actual Shiro and DC characters present interactions will happen in a few chapters but the like pacing of this fic is more rushed at the start because I want the exposition to build up to the like last 5 chapters which will be slower paced.

Honestly I had about 4 different voltron fic ideas, and bc i know myself and that I would only have the dedication to do one long fic, I combined them so like Solaan was created for a different story and I really liked them and they fill in some plot holes so.

ALso! Duke Thomas! introduced next chapter!

[umbrahighpriestofgiratina]

Heroes After All Chapter 6

And here's Chapter 6! Sorry this got delayed so much - by life, finishing up Rude Awakening, and starting up a special secret project. Anyway, this chapter is an experiment in multiple things, particularly in dealing with two bits of feedback I've gotten: showing off and expanding on the side cast and making Aaron a more active and intresting character. There are also some characters and scenes I've been really been looking forward to introduce for a while, so here we go:

Chapter 6: Strength

Aaron was staring down the dummy. It seemed to stare back. Desperate, he sized it up, looking for a weak point. The dummy did not yield. Finally Aaron's fist charged with Aura, and he yelled, barreled toward the dummy. The dummy broke... But the recoil sent Aaron flat on his back. "Really trying to show off, huh?" said a voice. Aaron looked up to see Lewis and Rook approaching. "You don't get it!" said Aaron, sitting up. "I have to do this!" "Why?" "Dangerous stuff is happening! If I don't get stronger people will get hurt!" "You talking the weird stuff you saw the other day? The stuff the senior Aura Guardians were all worried about?" "...Y-yeah." Rook clicked his scythes together awkwardly. "I hate to say it but you don't stand a chance," said Lewis. "Whatever killed that guy's not to be messed with by kids like us. So don't be stupid and leave it to the adults." "But I'm the one who found the dead guy! It's on me! And I'm tired of being weak!" "Listen. You're just gonna get yourself killed. Give up like I did." "...Like you did?" "...You heard nothing. Absolutely nothing. Stop making things up." "But you just said-" "Yadayada I can't hear you! I'm out of here." Lewis stormed off. Rook turned to Aaron and uttered a "Scyther scythe..." in an attempt to tell Aaron something, then chittered sadly and loped off after his human companion. "I gotta find someone else to help..." said Aaron. ---------- Aaron was looking around the monastery, trying to find someone who could help him in his quest. Those he did find, however, either did not acknowledge him or said "sorry"or the like before moving on. Finally, however, he found Callie and Munchkin. "You guys! I need your help!" "What with?" said Callie, her perpetually slurred voice distinct as ever. Munchkin gave a curious hiss. "I need to find a way to get stronger!" "Stronger huh?" said Callie, scratching her chin. "Stronger how?" "Uh, I don't know, however." "I have just the thing!" said Callie. She grabbed Aaron's arm and started pulling him along, Aaron looked on worriedly as Munchkin snickered. They eventually reached a dark, musty room of the monastery that smelled like... wait, what was that smell? "Now where is it..." said Callie, rummaging around. "Where's what?" Callie eventually pulled out a bottle of swirling black liquid. "It's my special Necrozma tonic! Made it myself." "...This will help me get stronger?" "Yep! Improves the cons... cons... Constitution!" "Okay..." Aaron opened the bottle, tasted it... and immediately gagged. "What's in this thing?" "Oh, ground up Beedrill thorax, Goodra slime, essence of Oddish leaf, eye of Sobble... you know, the works!" said Callie, grinning and displaying her unusually pointy teeth. "...Why?" "For Necrozma!" "I uh, think I might need to find some other way," Aaron said, heading off. "Okay, take care!" said Callie! Munchkin simply snickered again. --------------- Aaron looked further around the monastery, trying to find someone who at least looked helpful. In the process he did not notice two shapes sneaking behind him, until  it was too late. A roar echoed out as the two shapes lunged toward Aaron, one tackling him as he screamed. After a second, realizing he wasn't dead, he looked up to see Atta snarling and breathing in his face, as Stabby waved his arms around nearby. "Uh, hi?" said Aaron. Atta just snarled more. Stabby continued waving his arms about. "Is there a... reason for this?" "Practice." "For what?" "Hunting. Getting... stronger." Stabby gave some clicks and an "ard!" of affirmation. Aaron's eyes lit up. "Really? Maybe you could help me!" "With what?" "Getting stronger!" "No. You're too weak." "I can change that!" Atta raised an eyebrow. Stabby chuckled. "The laws of the wild are cruel little one." It was Aaron's turn to raise an eyebrow. "You... know those kinds of words?" "Sometimes." "...What happened to you anyway?" "Not your business. Don't ask." "Okay. But will you teach me the whole getting stronger thing?" "No." "...Okay." Aaron got up and left, glancing worriedly at Atta and Stabby the whole while. ------- Aaron was glancing around one of the courtyards of the monastery when he noticed Eve and Iuroidea. Perking up, he approached them, and tapped Eve on the shoulder. "Eve? Do you know any advice for getting stronger?" ~...How so?~ "Like... Just... Stronger." Iuroidea faceclawed. ~That's awfully vague..." said Eve. "You need a more coherent goal than that. Like how I don't want my powers to-~ She stopped. "To what?" "Never mind." Aaron blinked. Why wasn't she using telepathy anymore? "Anyway..." said Eve. "You could probably start by standing up for yourself?" "Standing up for myself?" "Yeah. Like... Showing people who's boss." "Ryan's the boss though." "Not literally. Just... Be more assertive." "Insertive?" "No. Like... If someone gives you a hard time, don't just take it. Give them a hard time back and make them back off." "I can do that?" said Aaron, his eyes lighting up. "Well yeah but it takes some practice..." "Practice... I can do that! I know just the thing!" He rushed off. "...He's doomed," said Eve. Iuroidea nodded sternly. --------------- Gabriel was content. He was resting on a mat he'd stolen from the monastery, Patricia curled up beside him. And then the pebble hit him. He wasn't even hurt. He almost didn't react. But the words that came immediately after made his eyes snap open. "Hey loser!" Gabriel stood up, glowering, then turned to the source of the voice. There, standing proudly, was Aaron. With a pile of pebbles. "You... You smell! You're the smelliest! Yeah!" Gabriel gave a mirthless chuckle. "Pathetic." He snapped his fingers twice. The first caused a blast that sent the pebble pile flying, some striking Aaron and leaving gashes. The second sent Aaron himself sprawling. Aaron groaned, before Gabriel stomped on his chest. "Let's face it. I know why I'm top of the food chain. I know why you're not. Know your place." "Why... though?" said Aaron. Gabriel gave an uncharacteristic frown. "That's my buisness. Not yours." "You're not... Like the bullies that used to bug me." said Aaron. "You don't... do it out of fear. You seem to do it... for some other reason... Why?" "Shut up before I Psyshock you again." By now Patricia was looking over them with concern. "Come on Pat. The weakling's learned his lesson. We're done here." He headed off. Patricia, on the other hand, seemed to slither off in a completely diffrent direction. Aaron just lay where he was, trying to ignore the pain of the gashes. Then Patricia returned, and this time she was accompanied by the mysterious child Aaron saw before. "Thanks Pat!" said the child. "I'll take it from here." Patricia nodded, and slithered off after Gabriel. The child started looking Aaron over, and from there Aaron could get a better look at his appearance. He looked about fourteen, with very fine clothing, all in various shades of pink. Long pink hair framed blue eyes and a yourhful face. And... was that a tail? It looked illusory, like it wasn't even there. "Hey! Need help there?" "Well... duh," said Aaron. "Okay, gimmie a second..." Before his eyes Aaron watched the boy transform into a large, blue shrimp-like Pokemon that blasted a pulse of pink energy at his wounds. Within an instant, they healed, and the boy reverted to normal. "Wow! That was incredible!" said Aaron, sitting up. "You gotta teach me how to do that!" "Uh, I'm not sure Transform is a move you Auric humans can cover." "Aw really? Thanks though." "No problem! In return... You got any toys?" "Uh... Not really no. Never had any of my own." "What? Ah geez. You Aura Guardian kids usually have some good stuff." Aaron raised an eyebrow. "Really?" "Yeah! Though not as good as the Rotan kids. Those guys are loaded! Like my Rotan noble getup by the way? They're suckers for it." The boy started for a second. "Oh, by the way? Name's Mithos." "Why do you collect toys, Mithos?" "Where I live? I get bored. Real bored. Human toys are my go-to for fixing that." "Oh, neat!" said Aaron. He looked over at where Gabriel went. "Why is he like that?" "Some people... are just... Jerks? Damn kid keeps getting away with being the way he is, even with more powerful Psychics around he's good at playing innocent and getting people not to talk." "No it's not that! I saw his Aura when I was sneaking up on him! It was different from my old bullies but not like that!" "...Huh. Kid, you're smarter than you look." "Than- Hey!" Mithos snickered. ~You.~ said a voice. Aaron and Mithos turned to see Metagross leering at the latter. "Well well well!" said Mithos. "If it isn't Mr. No Fun Allowed!" ~Get away from the kid.~ "I was helping him! This bully roughed him up, see, and I healed him! Simple as that." ~I shouldn't have to ask twice.~ "I shouldn't have to ask twice!" Mithos repeated mockingly. "Fine, fine." He turned to Aaron. "You owe me one toy." And with that, he turned back to Metagross, stuck out his tounge at him, and teleported away. "Why'd you yell at him like that?" said Aaron. ~He is not to be trusted, Aaron.~ said Metagross. ~Stay away from him.~ "But-" Too late. Metagross was trudging off. Aaron hmphed, sighed, and headed back to his room. The quest to get stronger would have to wait another day. ------- Polly was looking around the monastery carefully when a pink-haired Aura Guardian with a Musharna companion approached her. "Oh! Hello Nightjar, LazyBones," said Polly. "Have you seen Metagross?" "We have not," said Nightjar, "but that's not what we're here for." ~It's a message from Ryan,~ said LazyBones, floating idly as mist drifted from his head. "...What kind of message?" "Regarding the murders and disappearances. In addition to our efforts we will also be seeking... outside help." "What? We're doing perfectly fine on our own." "And you have how much new evidence of the culprit?" "Ha ha.We'll get there." "This is a serious matter, Polly." "Well you and Ryan aren't taking me seriously! We can handle this." "Don't be so stubborn. This will be beneficial to all of us." ~You're getting awfully defensive,~ said LazyBones. "...Fine. But we'll get it done, without this outside help or not." She stormed off, only then running into Metagross. "There you are! Where were you?" ~Dealing with... a nuisance,~ said Metagross. Polly sighed. "Same." -------------- Riolu wandered through the forest, lost, seeking a place to stay. The trees and rocks seemed to stretch on forever, but he knew he had to keep going. It was then he heard a noise. His head turned to see a very familiar Charizard stomping through the bush. he didn't notice Riolu at first, but Riolu was frozen in fear, and soon their eyes locked. There was a long moment of silence before the Charizard spoke. "...You'll do." The Charizard lunged. Riolu bolted and ran. He zigzagged through the underbrush, the Charizard charging behind him all the way. He ran past trees and boulders and then straight into a pair of Furret. "Hey! What's the rush?" said one Furret. The other Furret pointed and screamed, and the two and Riolu darted out of the way as the Charizard charged. Riolu kept going, not caring how sore his legs got, fear of his impending demise keeping him going. Then he came across a ravine. He paused, quickly judging if he could make it over the gap. Then, knowing he'd be doomed anyway  if he didn't, he leapt, sailing far and far and - just barely grabbing the ledge and hoisting himself up. He almost paused to congratulate himself but heard stomping behind him and remembered Charizard could fly. So he kept running, running that intensified as he heard wingbeats behind him, until he came across a cave barely visible in the undergrowth and darted inside. Riolu darted along the corridors and stalactites, eventually hiding behind one of the former to catch his breath. He heard the Charizard enter behind him. "Heh, you've been giving me good exercise kid. But you're going down." More stomps. "You see, I'm not just doing this for a meal. Mons like you are competition. And I want to be absolute alpha of my territory." The stomps grew closer. Riolu could see the light of the Charizard's tail, hear his breathing. "And if it means killing every last one of you here than so be i-" A massive shape lunged out of the depths of the cavern, past Riolu and right at the Charizard. Riolu could just make out the form of the Charizard being clutched in the massive jaws of a huge creature, before the Charizard was dragged screaming into the darkness, its tail light winking out. Riolu stood completely still as the mincing of flesh and the crunching of bone grew quieter and quieter until it faded to silence. He stayed completely still even after that until a booming, feminine voice echoed throughout the cavern. "Relax, child... I do not wish to harm you. That Charizard was intruding on my domain for a while now... You are not." A metallic, serpentine creature slithered out from within the depths of the cave. Riolu stood still for just a bit longer before speaking. "Your... Domain?" "Call me the Mountain Keeper. I have been hearing about this Charizard that has been intruding on my lands and being a bully to the populace via the Zubat that roost in this cave. About time I did him in." "Th-thank you?" "Doesn't seem the sort of thing I should say "you're welcome" to but I appreciate the sentiment," said the Mountain Keeper. "Now... What's a Riolu like you doing away from your pack? You'd be safer with them." Riolu paused, then hung his head. "I don't belong in my pack," he said. "Especially... Not anymore." "Hmm, I see... Are you looking for a new pack then?" "...Yes. Yes I am." "There is a human settlement down the mountain to the east filled with many different humans and Pokemon. Perhaps you can find a new pack there." "...You can do that?" "Of course. I sense you are strong, young Riolu. Your strength will find you friends in time." Riolu nodded, then moved to go. "Oh, though," said the Mountain Keeper. "I do have a favor to ask of you." "What is it?" "I have a daughter that lives with the humans... Do try to find her for me." "I will. I promise." Riolu then headed out. -------- Riolu headed through the trees and rocks, following the sun to try and stick to the Mountain Keeper's directions. Eventually, the trees thinned, and Riolu was met by a sight unlike any he'd ever seen before. Strange nests stretched out before him, made of stone, clay, and plants. Moving between these nests were Pokemon the likes of which Riolu had never seen before and - ...What were those? They were so strange, were so lanky - save the few that were chunkier or bulkier - had so little hair, had such flat faces. Were these really the humans his father held in such reverence? The creatures that held such a special bond with Pokemon? Only one way to find out, he thought. And he headed in. *** Before I go, a few  commissions: Ryan by CidFox: https://i.imgur.com/KNN9Lg2.png Carol by @edlinklover: https://i.imgur.com/PoZx3yD.png Vince by @prayforelves: https://i.imgur.com/zsHhc6F.png Nightjar by @goldieclawsarts: https://i.imgur.com/W0d6N5e.png Mithos by CidFox: https://i.imgur.com/NTxnFaS.png Nightjar and Lazybones based off of Maggie and SleepyHead by @corvusatrox

[umbrahighpriestofgiratina]

Heroes After All Chapter 5

And here's Chapter 5! Do note this chapter is... kind of dark, and deals with subjects like vomiting, eye mutilation, and general blood and death. Chapter 5: Don't Fear The Reaper

Aaron waited for the ball. And waited, and waited. The other kids and their Pokemon seemed intent to keep it away from him, the "freak" kids, and their Pokemon, but he certainly tried to get it. Finally, it sailed his way, and he reached, stretched, grabbed - And it sailed down the mountain, bouncing down a gentle slope until it was out of sight amid the trees. Aaron started. Then looked at the other kids, who were staring at him. One piped up. "You go get it!" Aaron looked to the other "freak" kids and their Pokemon, who shrugged or did the Pokemon equivalent. Aaron groaned and started making his way down. The bushes and shrubs seemed to claw at his face. He heard wild bird Pokemon squawk and fly away at his approach. Finally he found the ball and reached down for it. It was then he noticed the ball had landed next to the disfigured corpses of an Aura Guardian and his Sawsbuck. The corpses had suffered various forms of abuse - fire, crushing, acid - and seemed relatively fresh. A Murkrow was in the process of plucking an eye from the Aura Guardian's skull and promptly swallowed it before eyeing Aaron warily. Aaron stared in horror before vomiting the contents of his lunch earlier that day, forming a puddle next to the bodies, and after regaining his bearings slightly grabbing the ball and racing back to the monastery. As soon as he got back he haphazardly tossed the ball back to the other children - much to their confusion- before going to find Polly. Polly was reading on a bench in the monastery when Aaron found her. "Kid, what's up?" she said. "Why are you out of breath?" "Dead Aura Guardian... In the woods... His Pokemon too..." Polly's look grew grave. "Show me." Aaron took Polly out to the woods, down the slope and through the trees, until they reached the dead bodies. Polly looked at them in shock. "Dale... No..." She looked around. "No sign of Melissa but we'd have to search... Kid? You're going back to the monastery." Aaron nodded and headed back once again, but the image of Dale and his Sawsbuck's dead bodies were thoroughly burnt into his mind. --------------- Polly now had two other Aura Guardians gathered with her around the corpses with their Pokemon: Vince, a Dark Obscuric, with his Honchkrow Henry, and Ryan, leader of the Genesis Mountain Aura Guardians, with his Swampert. Polly's Metagross was there too, analytically scanning the bodies. Henry tried to peck at Dale's Sawsbuck's remains when Vince gave him a stern look and he backed off with a disappointed coo. "Did Aaron see any sign of who did this?" said Ryan. "Not at all," said Polly. "Kid just stumbled upon them playing ball." "Can you track them, Ryan, Metagross?" said Vince. "I would," said Ryan, "But someone's been good about covering their tracks." ~It's likely they teleported out somehow,~ said Metagross. "And Melissa and her Luxray are missing too..." said Polly. ~No sign of them either,~ said Metagross. Ryan's Swampert shifted uneasily. "Shit," said Vince. "This isn't good. At all. Someone's after us and we don't know who." "We need to fortify our defenses in case whoever did this strikes again," said Ryan. And we're going to have to investigate this event as much as we can." He turned to Polly and Vince. "We three will head the investigation team. I will ask Nightjar for help as well." "I'll ask Carol and Hannah then," said Polly. Vince groaned. "Hannah? Really?" Polly frowned. "She's perfectly qualified for this," said Polly. "Plus she's our friend." "You and Carol's friend, maybe," said Vince. "She's too bubbly and picks on me and gets on my nerves." "Be mature, Vince," said Ryan. "I trust Polly's judgement and so should you." "Alright, fine," said Vince. Henry snickered. So did Ryan's Swampert. Even Metagross joined in. Vince gave them all harsh looks. It was then, however, that Metagross turned to the others. ~There is one thing I sensed I should note.~ "What is it?" said Polly. ~One of the murderers had powers like your own.~ --------- Aaron had spent all day thinking about the bodies and being pestered by the other about the interruption of the ball game and subsequent involvement of Polly and further subsequent security lockdown of the monastery for several hours. He wanted to sleep. He ignored the noises made by his bunkmates as he climbed into bed. Was he gonna be okay? His mother said Dialga would always protect him, and he believed that with all his heart. But his father had believed the same thing and... and... He tried to push the memories out of his mind and as always they came back stronger and stronger until exhaustion claimed him. --------- Aaron woke up in a place that was definitely not his room. He looked around to find himself in a red cavern of sorts, with black veins crisscrossing it. He immediately froze when he saw what was perched at the end of the cavern. There before him, with massive wings, crooked talons, and sharp beak, was her. The dread Yveltal, death and destruction goddess of Kalos. ~Well,~ she said. ~Isn't this a wonderful first meeting?~ She can talk like Metagross does? thought Aaron. Probably because she's a goddess... ~You are correct,~ said Yveltal. Aaron gulped. "I-I guess you can hear me no matter what..." ~Also correct!~ "What are you here for?" ~To warn you my dear...~ She leaned in close - uncomfortably close - and gave a beaky grin. ~You know full well your first encounter with death wasn't with the corpses in the woods. And those will be far from your last encounters either.~ "I... I..." ~You have a long road ahead of you, Aaron. Just remember - Death is inescapable. Even if it doesn't find you... You'll just find it.~ She suddenly lunged, talons bared. Aaron screamed and tried to shield himself with his arms. ----- He woke up in a cold sweat, not bolting upright but panting, feeling paralyzed. Eventually the numbness wore off and he sat up, staring off into space, before collapsing again and waiting for dawn to come. ----------- The next morning, Aaron was sitting by himself, exhausted, despite the insistence rom the other members of his group to join them. "Are you sure you don't wanna have breakfast?" said Callie. "We know you like grits," said Eve. "I'm... Fine," said Aaron. "Whatever then," said Louis. "Let's just go," said Atta. The four left, their Pokemon looking back and chittering amongst themselves with concern. Aaron just kind of stared after until he heard a telepathic voice in his head. ~You okay kid?~ Aaron jumped before realizing that the voice was not Yveltal's but that of Polly's Metagross next to him. ~Polly wanted me to check up on you after yesterday and, well, I always feel sorry for you humans easily.~ "Er yes, I'm totally, absolutely... Not okay. I had a nightmare last night." ~After seeing what you did I don't blame you. That said you probably should eat. Not eating's hell on the anxiety, I should know after knowing Polly all her life.~ He paused. ~Don't tell her I said that.~ Despite himself Aaron managed a snicker. "I won't!" ~Good. Now come on, let's go eat with your friends. I can definitely convince them to give you food if they say you're late.~ Aaron smiled. "Thanks." He followed Metagross out. --------- The small purple creature watched the small biped and large quadruped head off from their hiding place. It couldn't understand the words of the creatures of this dimension, though was starting to pick up a few. What they did know was that the place the two were going had food. Stealthily, the purple creature floated after them. It floated through a gap in a window and looked around a small room. Suddenly, a noise. The purple creature hid as a biped entered the room, looked around, picked something up, and left. In its wake the creature noticed it had dislodged a small, green and red sphere from a nearby box. They inspected it, then tasted it. It was edible, success. The purple creature nibbled happily on their newfound prize. --------------- A number of Lucario were gathered around Ginji. "What's the plan, birdbrain?" said one. "We're going to corner the thing in its den," said Ginji, "and I'll be at the center holding it off while we all take it down." "What if it goes after us?" said another Lucario. "With those fire attacks we're toast! Literally!" "My job is to make sure that doesn't happen," said Ginji. "Now come on." The group stalked off into the forest, Ginji keeping his sharp eyes peeled while the Lucario had their Aura feelers flared. Eventually, the group reached what appeared to be a den. They stood stock still and silent while Ginji scanned it. "Okay," he said, whispering. "We're going to quietly go in there and-" "Look out!" shouted a Lucario. Ginji looked over just in time to see the Charizard ram into him from the side rather than from the entrance to the den. The Charizard attempted to bite down on Ginji with a Crunch and managed to injure his shoulder, but not before Ginji could sock him in the jaw with an Aura-infused punch. The Charizard was further annoyed by being pelted with Aura Spheres from the assorted Lucario, before flying upward and launching a Heat Wave, which caused the Lucario to quickly fall back. Ginji wasn't so phased and hurled a rock at the Charizard, hitting him badly and causing him to swoop out of view. "Yeah, that's right, run away, you overgrown reptil- urk!" A wicked sharp blade of air left a massive, bleeding gash across Ginji's chest. As he fell over, bleeding out, the Charizard lunged at the Lucario group, as they attempted to dart out of the way. One took advantage of the chaos to hurl another rock at the Charizard's wing with a sickening crack, causing him to roar in pain and trample off for real this time. The Lucario then turned to the badly bleeding Ginji. "Oh no... What the hell do we do?" "Do we just... Leave him?" "Father Alpha would be furious... We bring him back. See if he can be saved..." They picked up the still-bleeding Ginji and hauled him, dripping with blood the whole way, back to the pack. Riolu and his mother noticed their return and gasped in horror. "G-Ginji!" "Dad!" They rushed over to his side, Ginji looking at them weakly. "Honey... Son... it'll be alright..." Tears fell down Lucario's mother's face. "Ginji, no..." "D-Dad?" said Riolu. "Are you..." Ginji placed a talon on Riolu's paw. "Son... You're gonna do big things beyond this pack... I just know it.... Do... Me... Proud..." "D-dad..." Ginji said no more. He fell limp. ---------------- It had been a few days since Ginji's death. Riolu's mother was sitting away from the pack, staring off into space. Eventually she felt an Aura behind her, felt a forepaw touch hers. She looked to see it was her son. "Mom?" he said. "Yes, sweetie?" "Now... Now that dad's gone I worry I don't belong in the pack anymore. That I'm not safe..." "What? No, of course you're-" The words got caught in her throat. "I... I want to find someplace else. Anyplace else. And I want you to come with me." "I... I can't." "Why not?" "Grandfather Alpha... I can't leave him..." "The pack doesn't love me. You do." "I do. And... I think if you want to do this you are strong enough to go on your own." "But... I can't leave you..." Riolu's mother nodded. "I'll be OK. The pack will re-accept me before long. Your father was right. You can do better." "I..." There was a pause. Then Riolu embraced his mother, careful to avoid her chest spike. She embraced him back. "Take care... It's a dangerous world out there, but you're smart, and brave, and I know you'll find safe haven eventually." "I know you're right Mom." Riolu stared at her a while longer. Then turned and broke off into a run. ***