#Like it genuinely left me with this massive horrible sense of dread

[thing-of-all-time]

”You can never go back! You can bite and scratch and beg but you can never go back!”

Heyy y’all should totally go watch VHS beyond,, specifically only the Stowaway segment (that’s what this is based on lol)

[frogtanii]

your palms were sweaty as you adjusted your slacks, making sure the pleats were where they should be with not a wrinkle in sight. you wanted to look professional and put together, at least on the outside, because you knew you were actually about .2 seconds away from falling apart.

your palms were sweaty as you adjusted your slacks, making sure the pleats were where they should be with not a wrinkle in sight. you wanted to look professional and put together, at least on the outside, because you knew you were actually about .2 seconds away from falling apart.

a quick glance to the boys at your sides notified you that they weren’t faring much better. atsumu kept fidgeting with his cufflinks, sakusa was so stiff you could knock him over with your pinky, kenma looked like he was about to pass out, bokuto was debating on squeezing under the table in front of you, kuroo was tapping a pattern on his pants (akeelah and the bee style), and akaashi kept reciting ominous poems under his breath.

the only people in the room who looked even remotely fine were osamu, oikawa, sugawara, daichi, and, surprisingly, yachi. osamu was munching on some peanuts that he pulled from... somewhere, while oikawa and sugawara were holding their own conversation by the window. daichi seemed to be minding his own business but you could never really get a proper read on him anyway.

well, you supposed yachi was okay because she knew what to expect. i mean, you were meeting her boss.

after you and kenma had posted your “exposing the hype(r) house” youtube video, an email had come to the both of you, inviting you to visit the “big boss” along with the rest of the crew.

you weren’t necessarily afraid of losing your job; the hype(r) house was already being dissolved and you were (finally!!!) getting to move in with makki and mattsun until you found your own place. you were genuinely excited to put the drama and literal hell behind you and begin to live your life again but...

that didn’t mean meeting the Man™ wasn’t terrifying. it was like being called into the principal’s office, complete with the existential dread and occasional bouts of gassiness.

the door opening made you flinch as you quickly moved out of the way to let the newcomers enter. while they walked past you, you couldn’t contain the shock that overtook your face, your jaw practically on the floor.

the man was massive.

built like a brick wall, the man who you assumed to be the “big boss,” had a chiseled jaw, broad shoulders, and massive fucking pecs, his white button up barely closing around them.

beside him stood a tall, lanky man who was dressed suspiciously un-office-like with a red buzz cut and wild eyes that seemed to cut into you as he took his place at the table.

the final man seemed a bit awkward in comparison to the other two, but he was trying to seem unaffected, his purple bowlcut, despite being rather juvenile, fitting perfectly with his slim but toned build and bright complexion.

yachi hurried to greet them, giving all three a blinding smile before motioning for everyone else to take a seat. you ended up between the redhead and atsumu, the former being way too entertained by just your general being. his eyes rarely, if ever, left your face sending shivers down your spine. the remaining members all hesitantly took their seats and “big boss” began.

“it is an honor to meet you all. i am ushijima wakatoshi but you can call me ushijima or wakatoshi or ushiwaka or toshijima or just ushi or just jima or just waka or just toshi.” for a moment you thought he was joking but his face never moved, not even with the awkward silence that followed. redhead seemed rather amused by the whole display and bowl cut looked like he was on the verge of spontaneously combusting.

it took an uncomfortably long moment for ushijima to proceed but he did as though nothing had happened. “these are my associates, satori—” redhead gave you a mischievous grin “—and tsutomu.”

“goshiki,” bowl cut interrupted, his voice wavering but his eyes gleaming with righteous indignation as though he was challenging wakatoshi to say something in defiance. instead, ushijima just gave him a nod and he visibly deflated back into his seat.

“goshiki is the social media manager for imla and satori is... satori,” big boss continued, not a hint of emotion on his face. the rest of the table perked up at his comment but atsumu was the only one who apparently had the balls to say anything.

“so yer the one who wrote that shitty among us tweet?” goshiki flushed horribly and sunk further into his plush leather chair, his body language showing he must’ve already gotten an earful about it. “thought it was a good idea,” he muttered while averting his eyes, completely ignoring satori’s cackle from across the wood.

ushijima put up a (massive???) hand to calm the both of them and it instantly worked. satori quieted down though he never lost the mirth in his expression and goshiki straightened up, a new wave of determination crossing his features.

you sat up as well, feeling the shift of energy in the room but you were startled to realize the boss had decided to focus his energy on you, his deep baritone voice calling your full name. “i am extremely sorry. we have failed you as a management team and as men. i have failed you.”

he sounded remarkably remorseful, his brown irises conveying heavy emotion and guilt. you had no idea what to say but he wasn’t done.

“although i do not have full control of the decisions that have been made here, i should have fought harder for what i believed was right and for that, i will forever be sorry.” you shifted uncomfortably under his weighty gaze, not that he noticed because his attention was swiftly taken by kenma at the opposite end of the room.

“who is in charge then? aren’t you like the ceo or whatever?” he asked. ushijima took a moment before nodding very slowly, his attention clearly on something in his head.

thankfully, satori rapidly took over the thread of conversation before the room could fall in tense silence yet again. “there’s a board of old, stuffy guys who basically kicked miracle boy wakatoshi to the curb and make all their decisions without him.”

...miracle boy? what did he have to do to earn that kind of nickname? you shook your head and tuned back in, just as the ceo spoke up once again.

“because i have not succeeded in doing my job properly, i have something to give to you,” ushijima deadpanned, sliding a thick envelope towards you. you carefully grabbed it and opened it up to reveal a thick, thick, wad of cash.

a gasp caught in your throat, words not coming to you as you thumbed through the money. there had to be at least $60k in there, your eyes filling with tears while you took in his generosity. “thank you,” you whispered, not trusting your voice to speak any louder.

wakatoshi nodded at you before addressing the rest of the table about something but you weren’t even listening.

you were so overwhelmed. for the longest time, you’d hated whoever management was for ignoring your pleas for help and trying to placate you with nice dresses and fancy dinners so meeting ushijima was quite the welcomed surprise.

despite everything that occurred, you could tell he felt horrible for letting things slide even though it was technically out of his hands and you couldn’t even articulate how much that meant to you.

the fact that he had gone out of his way to pay you extra, assumingly without the permission of the board, was heartwarming, confusing, shocking, and staggering all at once.

i mean, you could probably describe the past few months as exactly that. so much had happened, so much had changed, and while you could do without some of the life adjustments (the nightmares, spare trauma, and fear of public bathrooms to start), you felt blessed with new friends and the experiences that helped shape you to the person you were now.

the boys didn’t hate you anymore (well, not all of them at least and none were actively antagonizing you), you were seeing dr yamada again, you were getting to move in with your two best friends, you were just given enough money to expand your channel drastically, and you were finally feeling good. better than good.

meiko was behind you and though you missed the person she once was, you were so glad she was out of your life in a way where she couldn’t harm you or the boys any longer.

a grin spread across your face, your cheeks nearly burning from the intensity of it. things were definitely looking up.

a soft call of your name jolted you from your thoughts, your eyes landing on all the boys already standing as they got ready to leave the room. you could sense their worry and you shot them a genuine, reassuring smile before standing yourself.

you waved goodbye to the three men at the table, thanking ushijima profusely for his kindness but he shook you off, insisting that he had just been doing what he should’ve done a long time ago.

what a nice guy.

as you followed the boys out of the building, you took a moment to observe them together with fondness written all over your expression. they were laughing and joking around, the happiest and most carefree you had ever seen any of them. bokuto was begging yachi to get them ice cream, the rest of them piling on until she gave in with a playful roll of her eyes, giggling at the cheer that went up from the group.

atsumu seemed to notice you lagging behind, falling back to join you. “ya okay angel?” he asked, eyes focused on your feet as he slowed down to match your pace.

you didn’t answer for a while, instead focusing on the sun warming your cheeks, the cool breeze messing up your hair, and the sounds of pure joy swirling above you.

“i’m absolutely perfect.” you replied and you actually meant it. “race you to the van?” you sent him an impish grin before taking off, his yells of indignation making you laugh freely as the rest of the boys joined in, right on your heels.

this is it, you thought. no matter what, i’ll have this moment and i’ll be okay.

you’d been through hell and back and you’d survived. you’d been cursed at, choked out, hospitalized, and been beaten at mario kart more times than you could count and you had still made it through. you were resilient and strong and you’d never given up, despite how badly you’d wanted to, multiple times over.

things weren’t perfect, they rarely are, but you knew that if you could make it through all that, you could get through practically anything, especially with the boys by your side.

yeah. i’ll be just fine.

ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

bonus!!

“told you it sounded stupid as hell.”

“gah, stop talking about it!!”

“you sounded sooooo old ‘shiki, what are you, 92?”

“AAAAAAAAAA!!!”

“satori...”

“what’s up miracle boy?”

“...what is ‘sus’?”

℗ poker face

i’ll be just fine

series masterlist

(●’◡’●)ﾉ

an - AND THATS A WRAP FOLKS 🥳 wowowow did the ending give me trouble but that’s ok SISJSK the endings will be coming shortly but they might not be daily just cs they may take more time, who knows lmfao i’ll let y’all know :3 AAAA ANYWAYS ILY I HOPE U GUYS LIKED KITH KITH don’t forget to feed me <3

taglist - if your name is in bold, i cannot tag you

@boosyboo9206 • @geektastic84 • @elianetsantana • @trashy-simp • @infinitebells • @6mattsun9 • @suhkusa • @katsulovee • @kotarosbabygirl • @fucktheworlddude • @insomniacwreck • @calumsfringe • @saltylettuce • @chai-blu • @al3x1ss • @hawksyoongi • @jooleuuh • @loubells • @kissungjae • @liberhoe • @tetsurocore • @animeoverdosee • @duhsies • @saiKishaircLip • @afire24 • @premiyagi • @kit-kat428 • @doctorspencereid • @daphnxy • @kyomihann • @maer-333 • @sinoflust19 • @peteunderoos • @peachiikichu • @iidanotlida • @yongboxerrr • @kac-chowsballs • @tanakaslastbraincell • @memorableminds • @risjime • @starry-magicshop • @sugavwara • @smuttyanimeslut • @kiwibirbs-library • @haijkk • @airybnb • @crybabygumi • @iwaisa • @decaffinatedtealover • @notameera • @kawaii-angelanne • @rintarovibes • @urlocalsimp • @keiarma • @shrimpypenis

the rest of the tags will be in the replies!!

[creepereyes]

Seymour/Edna sickfic

Guys, I LOVE sickfics, specifically emeto fics, and this fandom is seriously lacking them so I’m here to fill that void. This is the first of two fics I’m writing for myself and @rolksart.

Summary: Seymour has a stomach bug and Edna takes care of him.

I’m going to say this once: Please don’t read this story if you don’t want to read emeto. Seymour pukes a lot here. If that is up your alley, fantastic! If not, feel free to ignore this completely.

Fic under the cut.

Lying had never been Seymour’s specialty, and when he unconvincingly told Edna he was fine, she saw straight through it. She sat on the edge of his desk and gave him a knowing look.

“Seymour, I love you but you’re a horrible liar. You are not fine.”

It was true. Fine, in the literal sense, wasn’t a word Edna could currently use to describe her boyfriend. Pale, sweaty, nauseated, yes. But fine? Ha!

“You’re right. I can’t lie to you, Edna. I feel awful. My stomach is more unsettled than mother at a swinger’s sex party, and I don’t know what’s causing it.” Seymour admitted.

Edna’s gaze softened. “Oh, Seymour. You didn’t eat the cafeteria fish sticks, did you?”

“No, I learned my lesson after the first time.”

The queasiness building inside him got a bit worse when he thought of the dreaded fish sticks that made him so sick several years back. Wether the ‘meat’ inside was actually fish or not was questionable at best, but anything tasted good deep fried. The students seemed to love them, but there was something about those crispy, overly greasy, probably-not-fish sticks that an adult’s stomach just couldn’t handle. A couple hours after eating them on that ill fated day, he’d gotten incredibly sick and started puking almost immediately after he got home. Today he didn’t think he’d last that long, it was barely past noon.

Seymour sighed and slumped backwards in his chair. “I’m sorry, Edna. Tonight was supposed to be our special night and I ruined it by getting sick.”

“We’ll reschedule. Don’t beat yourself up so much.” Edna scooted closer to Seymour and placed her hand on his forehead. It was alarmingly warm and his hair was damp with sweat. “You poor thing, you’re burning up.”

“I’m sweltering.” Seymour unbuttoned his blue blazer and shrugged it off. His tie felt like it was choking him, so he removed it as well.

Edna coyly rose a brow and ran one finger up and down his right arm. “Mmmm...are you going take all your clothes off?”

Seymour managed a small smile despite his increasing nausea. “When I feel better, I’ll let you undress me right here on my desk.”

“With my teeth?”

“Yes. I love it when you do that.” he placed his hand on top of hers.

He could be assertive when he needed to be, but when it came to sex, Edna was in charge and she made damn well sure he knew it. He liked it that way. He’d always had a thing for dominant women, and Edna Krabappel was all domme.

He leaned in to kiss her, but a massive nausea spike made him falter and he paled even further. Acid threatened to rise in his throat, but he choked it back.

“I need to lay down for a while.” he said. “Maybe you should-”

“No. I’m staying with you.” Edna cut him off.

“What about your students?”

“I put a movie on. They’ll be fine. But you aren’t.”

Seymour’s office had a red couch in it, though he rarely sat there. It was comfy enough, but it was mostly for decoration. He’d never admit it, but he’d given his office more flair to make himself feel less lame when superintendent Chalmers swung by for a visit. Chalmers’ previous comment about Seymour’s office looking like a low security prison cell had cut surprisingly deep.

Edna sat on the couch and patted the cushion next to her, signaling for Seymour to join her.

He shuffled over to the couch and damn near collapsed onto it. He sprawled across the cushions and laid his head in Edna’s lap. Another nausea wave crashed over him, bringing a stab of horrendous abdominal pain with it. He curled into himself.

“This is agony,” he moaned. “I don’t know what’s making me so sick.”

“Just relax. Close your eyes.” Edna instructed as she stroked his hair. “I’m here with you.”

Not only did Seymour feel extremely sick, he also felt like he was being stabbed in the gut with a rusty knife over and over again. It continued to worsen until it reached the point of no return. His stomach lurched and heat spread through his abdomen. He bolted straight up, ready to give in to his nausea. Fighting it wasn’t an option, he wanted to be rid of whatever was making him so sick.

“Give me a bucket, I’m going to throw up!” panic invaded Seymour’s voice. Time was rapidly running out, and thick, coppery saliva flooded his mouth.

“Oh! Uh, hang on!” Edna leapt up from the couch and looked for a receptacle.

“Please hurry,” Seymour gagged on the last syllable and firmly clamped his hand over his mouth.

Edna zoomed over to Seymour’s desk, grabbed the garbage can, dumped out its contents and strode back over to her boyfriend, but she was a second too late.

Seymour couldn’t hold it back. He pitched forwards and violently puked on the floor, and it splashed on his knees and shoes in the process. Some got on his shirt as well.

“Here!” Edna shoved the can under his mouth right as he vomited again.

Seymour gripped the can and retched noisily, his entire body convulsing as he puked more repugnant brown liquid. The acrid taste was revolting and he could feel the solids in it sliding over his tongue, which made him heave harder.

“That’s it, just get it out,” Edna soothed and rubbed his back. She could feel his shoulders hitch under her hand each time he heaved.

“Make it stop,” Seymour groaned. This was pure hell. His body was barely giving him time to breathe between retches, and he worried that he’d start choking on his own vomit if it didn’t stop. He was starting to think it wouldn’t end. There was only one thing that could make his situation worse, and someone or something must have had it out for him today, because it happened.

The door to his office flew open with great force.

“SKINNEEEER! Why in God’s name is Nelson Muntz hanging Martin Prince from the flagpole and-- Seymour, are you vomiting in a garbage can?” Superintendent Chalmers stood in the doorway, stunned at what he was seeing.

Seymour, pale, clad in a puke soaked shirt and looking half dead, glanced up. “Superintendent Chalmers,” he croaked out. “Hold on a minute.” he leaned over the can again and threw up a few more times until he was empty and left dry heaving. By now the garbage can was over a third full.

“Seymour is very sick,” Edna explained calmly. “I’m going to make sure he gets home alright.”

“Yes, you do that.” Chalmers cringed away from the scene and backed out the door. He paused with his hand on the knob and awkwardly added on, “And, uh, get well soon Seymour.”

With that, he turned and left.

Seymour wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and flopped down on the sofa. “That’s the shortest meeting with Chalmers I’ve ever had. Maybe I should puke in front of him more often.”

Edna laughed. “You’ve still got your witty sense of humor, I think you’ll be alright.” she massaged his shoulders.

“Will you get me some water, please?” Seymour asked.

“Of course.” Edna kissed his forehead and got up. She filled a cup at the water cooler and handed it over to him.

He took a small sip and waited. It was staying down for the time being.

“I think it’ll stay down.” he managed another micro sip before looking down at himself in disgust. “Ugh, look at me. I’m a mess.”

With great effort, he hoisted himself off the couch and made a feeble attempt at cleaning the vomit off his clothes with a handful of kleenex. “Well, I tried.”

“How are you feeling?” Edna asked.

“Not great, but a little better.”

“What do you say we go back to my place and get you cleaned up? I’ll get you in the shower and make you feel all better.” Edna said in a tone that was both motherly and seductive.

Seymour gave a genuine smile despite still feeling like crap. It was by far the best idea he’d heard all day. He placed his clean hand around his girlfriend’s shoulder and held her close.

“Edna, I’d love that.”

[doorsclosingslowly]

Your death is a number but I cannot count that high (11/16)

In which Death Watch enter the enemy ship, and Asajj gets her shot at freedom.

Zombie Savage AU | 2.5k | warning for body horror

For the first time in weeks, Asajj feels light. It’s almost offensive, how quickly she slipped from world-devouring grief and heartburn and eternal nightmares into mission planning and execution mode, but then again: she enjoys bounty hunting. Pursuit and infiltration are basically her comfort zone, and even the present company cannot spoil her thrill.

She finally has solid ground under her feet again. The swamp that broils and laps at her with every dream and with every wriggling fleshworm that fucking Savage Opress sends her way is receding, and soon enough, when she gets her chance, she’ll kill it off—kill him—for good.

Asajj’s sisters and Mother Talzin may have accidentally landed her in a malignant trap when they tried to help her fight Dooku, but Asajj will chew her way free.

That’s why she volunteered to be ground troop today. She needs to rescue herself. She needs to cut off this bond, cut off the mate, cut off the drowning boulder. She’d been prepared to argue and fight for the opportunity, since it’s not like anybody trusts her here, but it was surprisingly easy. Not even a doubtful look—no, the only response she’d received was appreciation for her fearlessness in the face of certain death. Well, maybe it is. Maul keeps insisting that Savage’s torture is a trap laid by Sidious, his past shadowy Sith Master, and that setting a foot on Entralla means getting fried and disappeared and tortured. He himself is going down still, obviously—by now it doesn’t even appear to be bravado or tending to his image before his following but genuine mushy affection for that dumb creature, and if Asajj wasn’t busy she might almost be curious—Maul is coming down with her, as are Kast and Saxon and three dozen other supercommandos. That’s what they’d settled on, once their advance droid surveillance footage yesterday had revealed their target to be a small spaceship surrounded by a hundred medium-sized tents.

Maul, Kast and Saxon at once, who as far as she’s observed are the three highest-ranking members of Death Watch, and on what all of them believe is a suicide mission—Asajj would call them brain-dead, but actually, she doesn’t care. Either Maul is every inch the scared wretch of a cast-off Sith plaything he appears and is making mountains out of skrant-hills, or she’ll, most likely, be dead too. Looks like that gamorrean sow Kast likes to suck face with will soon inherit the whole sorry rest of their terrorist crew.

Most of Death Watch, though, is inside three hundred small Kom’rk-class fighters or the two stolen Separatist dreadnaughts, standing by to intercept any fleeing ship with gravity wells or sheer violence. Well. That’s one of the reasons. Every ground Mando is in periodic radio contact with one of their motherships, and should they go silent when Sidious gets them… if the mission goes sour, dead man’s switch. Asajj doesn’t know about the exact logistics of how many have to miss check-in before the omnicidal aerial bombardment begins… but she’s starting to understand Maul’s paranoia regarding this ‘Sidious’ well enough to know they’re going to risk killing their Mand’alor sooner rather than later. It’s reassuring, almost. They’ll kill Sidious no matter what.

Well. And her, too.

But Asajj knew when she allowed that Mando to think she’d captured her that this wasn’t going to be easy. Up until know she’s always found a way to make it out alive. She’ll manage. And Sidious killed her sisters. Killed Talzin. Killed Dathomir.

Sidious will die, and so will Opress. Anything else is secondary.

She’s wearing a set of scavenged armor over her clothes and a jetpack and a gas mask, nothing more. Most of the ground team have massive tanks mounted on their back, too, full of some quick heavyweight airborne soporific Death Watch managed to procure on short notice.

(“If it’s taking this long to cook something up, we could just use poison,” Asajj had suggested, entirely not for selfless reasons. “We’re using the weedkiller tanks you Mandos use for farming, after all. We could just keep the weedkiller.”

“This is still a rescue mission,” Kast had replied severely. Unfortunately, despite being a fanatic terrorist and obeying Maul of all people and a habit of throwing tantrums about the horrible plight of Savage Opress, she wasn’t entirely braindead. “Damage is acceptable, but we won’t kill our brother.”

Maul had looked on, silent.)

Maul and Asajj are going to enter the ship first. That makes sense—both of them are assassins more than soldiers, they’re better than the Mandos at keeping quiet—and even if Maul will be a hindrance when they find Savage, she can use him as a distraction before that.

It feels weird, somehow, touching ground in front of the enemy’s ship. The unconscious guards on the ground are wearing clone trooper armor, which means that—yes, it means Death Watch got the drop on them and it means the soporific gas is effective, which is great, but Asajj didn’t expect this mission against Sidious to include a Grand Army of the Republic protection detail, and neither did Maul, though he appears far less perturbed by this information than Asajj is. Nothing before has linked Sidious to the Republic. She trusts the magicks she used to find this location, though. This is where the bondmate is being held.

Maul opens a control panel next to the ship’s door and plays around with a couple of screwdrivers, while Mando supercommandos direct their sedative gas into the ship’s pried-open air vents.

And… they’re in.

Too easy.

This was far too easy for a secret prison of the illusive Sith Lord, and Maul, apparently, thinks so too. He keeps glancing sideways at her while the supercommandos tie up the sedated soldiers outside and while they enter the ship’s galley, and he insists they shouldn’t split up.

“This location does not appear my Master’s—my former Master’s style,” he whispers in his clipped accent. “It’s neither desolate, nor are there plush red carpets. It’s not a torture dungeon.” Maul looks at Asajj, and his eyes gleam with suspicion. “If you have lied to me, you are dead. If this hurts my brother, you’ll wish you were.”

“This is the place. My sisters’ magicks are never wrong,” Asajj replies haughtily. It won’t do any good if both of them admit to their unease.

(Maul’s been vibrating faintly ever since Asajj broke into his brain to find Opress. It’s probably fear and anticipation, and most of all the superfluous awareness of him that she’s gained ever since exploiting both their bonds. Maybe he was always this high-strung.

“Someone’s attacking him,” he’d whispered to her just minutes before they reached Entralla, as if by joining their minds she had proven she cared. His eyes had been dark, agonized. In a movement that appeared entirely involuntary, he’d gripped at his neck as if looking for a pendant, and then he’d hugged himself, holding onto his torso and stomach as if his slippery entrails were ready to leak out.

Asajj had looked down and realized she was mirroring him.

When she slid her eyes half-shut, she could see the shadows of undulating metal cables.)

The ship, on the inside, just appears a standard Republic cruiser. It has a single long hallway that Asajj is pulled down by the worms in her gut, and Maul, frowning and broadcasting dread, follows.

They pass unconscious Republic clones at uneven intervals.

It’s so—ordinary. Asajj knows these ships. And there are no traps at all, just that pulsing connection drawing her forwards, shading and twisting, the memory of desolation and grief and that orange boy getting chocked (Kast’s eyes were so hard when she said, “He tried to give me his lightsaber, too, so I would have an easy time of killing him, if—when, he said, when he was used again to hurt his little brother,” that Asajj almost felt guilty) and everyone on Dathomir is dead and—

There.

She stops, and Maul comes to a halt behind her, ‘saber raised.

An open doorway, half-blocked by an armored redhead that seems vaguely familiar, and the beckoning hand of her sisters, and if Sidious doesn’t have the heart to provide a distraction for Maul then Asajj will just improvise.

“Back there, I think,” Asajj whispers, pointing at a random closed door to her left. “I can feel your brother in there.”

Maul’s eyes are wide. “I do not feel—are you sure?” he whispers, and he looks so young and hopeful bathed in the green glow he doesn’t understand and never had a right to wear that Asajj almost dares to believe her plan will work.

“I know these magicks,” Asajj drawls. “I don’t mind double-checking, but I thought you wanted him as alive as possible. He’s not doing well. Might get deep-fried at any moment, that’s not healthy for such a weak brain.”

It works. Maul bites back whatever kind of response he might have had, and he starts frantically working on slicing the door that was—her sisters are smiling upon Asajj—thankfully locked.

Asajj, meanwhile, tiptoes hurriedly forward and past the redhead—almost a decent glimpse of his head, why does she feel she knows him and—and inside the room she looks at a monster. The scene is arranged as if to mock her, a single bare cot in the middle of the room approximating a stone slab and the dimmed red electric lights a stand-in for the fire on the day she was tied to the boulder that tries to drown her. On the cot, as he was supine on the slab back then, lies unconscious Savage Opress.

Well. The used dog toy formerly known as Opress.

He’s always made her uncomfortable, even when they met. First, it was his silent bruised obsequiousness and the glances he’d shoot her after that arena fight, like he expected her to ravish him then and there just because she’d beaten him up. The sense that she’d stumbled into a world she didn’t understand drawn in silent rules and violence and sex—and Asajj has never liked that anxiety born of ignorance though she can and will tough it out and persevere, and only with the bond strangling her did she realize her stupid mistake—the sense that there was something hiding below her feet ready to devour her. He only got more obsequious and annoying after the ritual that tied Asajj to him, with his empty brainless eyes that somehow simultaneously said do whatever you want with me and I’ll kill you. She was happy to use him, if it got her traitorous ex-Master Dooku off her back, but she was at least as happy that the plan included Opress staying at Dooku’s side, not hers. Well, in the end, he was as useless as he was stupid and creepy, and Asajj had to fight Dooku on her own while Opress escaped his leash and used the power gifted to him by Talzin to harass innocent villagers and Obi-Wan Kenobi.

He doesn’t have the body that Mother Talzin gave him anymore. Not that he ever deserved it.

Savage Opress, who is bound by ancient magicks to Asajj, looks like someone took his corpse and stuffed it full of a crashed spaceship debris in a desperately poor attempt at covering up an accident. The body Mother Talzin’s Dathomiri magicks gave him was stout, forceful, architected and executed with a keen eye and deep control, while whoever did this was a careless butcher. Asajj has seen carnage and pain, she’s fought and killed and maimed, and yet she has never seen anything as bestial as the body before her.

Savage Opress, who is making her share his torture through a telepathic bond, looks like a gutted carcass. This is what became of one of the three last survivors of Dathomir: worms writhe in and out of him, the things she’s been feeling like phantom maggots burrowing into her heart made real and she can see them feasting and seaming up his raw mottled shoulders and lap at the empty spots where someone tore out his hearts. He’s still conscious, though, just asleep. She can feel him feeling the worms. She can see him breathing, though he doesn’t need to, not without an intact torso. Not without hearts. She feels sick. So this is what has been calling out to her. What has been sliding into her mind, unstoppable and unwanted. This has violated her dreams.

Savage Opress, the bondmate Asajj came here to covertly murder, looks like death would be a mercy.

“Ventress, what are you playing at? The room was empty and Kenobi is here,” Maul hisses from somewhere behind her. “I told you. You’ll die for your betrayal—Savage…”

Asajj turns, expecting a fight, but Maul looks like the air was punched out of him, and he’s rooted to the doorway. The air around him tastes of abhorrence and dawning dread. He could have reached Savage before her, in her stupor—he could have jammed his ‘saber into her back—but now she’s jolted loose and ready to take her one chance at freedom.

To take mercy on Savage, for once in her life.

She drives her lightsaber into his right eye socket.

Maul’s scream behind her is vile, deeply inhuman and guttural and echoing over and over and over in the small room. It’s so loud her eye starts to hurt. His howl is the storm and the cave and the first drink in a lifetime. It’s green. It’s gentleness and sympathy he thought his Master had long driven out of the apprentice, but in teaching Savage he can’t help but refrain from using the techniques he once had endured himself. He doesn’t understand the reason—he is Sith and if he does not teach his apprentice to draw power from pain, he will have failed him. He doesn’t understand, but he feels something quake when he is called brother and when he notices he turned his back to Savage and never even expected to get hurt—he doesn’t understand, but somehow, he does. He loves Savage. Savage loves him. Maul was never meant for love, was made a weapon to be used and abused and discarded by a Master wielding power he’ll never attain, but somehow, Maul found this one person who loves him. Maul lost the person who loves him. Maul just lost him again. Maul won’t lose the person who loves him. He won’t. He can’t. He refuses. He loves—

And desperate love paints the room acid green. Greedy love tears the cot to tiny metal shreds. Unconditional love presses hot and painful into Asajj’s right eye, and she’s taking tiny measured steps toward Savage, in rhythmic unison with Maul and unstoppable no matter how hard she tries to take back her body.

Love, no matter what it takes, and both their green-bathed hands touch Savage.

All goes black.

[katerinawinters]

The Witcher: No Turning Back Chapter 1

A/N: This is a Geralt/Ciri romance. I imagine them NOT having a father daughter relationship as the game/book/show will depict and I imagine her older. Sooo… that means if you do not agree please hit the back button and return to the wholesome side of the internet and away from my sinful imaginings.

  "Where will you go, witcher?" The old man, Yurga asked as he tore and dipped the shredded piece of bread into the bowl of thick brown stew. "You know the roads to Lidine are full of dangerous ghouls and wolves…" The old man began to prattle on, seemingly forgetting he asked a question.

 Ciri did her best not stare at the large man sitting at her side. She had dreamt of him, and though despite how vivid her dreams felt she was never able to recall his face with any clarity during her waking hours. But somehow that morning she just knew this man--this witcher. Against her grandmother's orders her nanny used to secretly tell her she rightfully belonged to the man whose name was whispered in either reverence or fear wherever he went. That morning everything inside of Ciri tugged her to the forest, a cacophony of whispers sounded in her head pulling her to run to him to find Geralt of Rivia. He was near she knew it, sitting and waiting was not an option. It felt like there were hundreds of fire beetles under her skin--she had to go to him she could not wait.

 When her eyes fell on him, her heart finally slowed and her lungs which seemed tight and constricted from the moment she left Cintra finally allowed her to exhale fully. The comforting embrace was over long before she would have wished it, she was quickly ushered back inside the house by his heavy hand at her back. Once inside, Goldencheeks welcomed her husband with a genuine affection that made Ciri want to turn away in jealousy. It had been weeks since she felt that same love from someone. Weeks since she lost her home and everyone she knew and loved were killed by the dark army. Looking down at her plate, Ciri made a show of eating the last of her soup and ignored how the woman stared joyously at her husband as he rattled on or even worse how the relief shown in the boy, Sulik's eyes towards his father. They were all reunited again and Ciri couldn't help but realize a small horrible part of her hated them for it.

 Silence suddenly passed over the table and Ciri quickly looked up from her wooden bowl to see the pale haired witcher staring at her. Naturally everyone else's followed the man's gaze, looking at her before jumping back to him.

 "Eat up, girl," he spoke deeply. "We leave at first light." Amber eyes stared at her, piercing into her hidden thoughts until she quickly complied, taking a huge spoonful of the thick soup anything to get away from that sharp stare.

 Looking calmly back to Yurga, who had finally stopped talking, Geralt replied to the man's first question. "We will travel towards Rivia."

Seeing that the white haired warrior was not going to say anything else Yurga happily picked up where he left off, filling his family in on his travels and how he came across Geralt.

 Later that night while Yurga and Geralt went to care for their horses and check the house's perimeter, Ciri joined Goldencheeks in the family's small but adequate bathing room. Sitting on a tiny wooden stool, Ciri sat very still as Goldencheeks brushed out her pale wet hair. Raking slowly from her scalp down to the ends of her wet hair that trailed her back, the teeth of the wooden comb scraped gently along its path causing Ciri to shudder.

 "I've always wanted a daughter, you know?" The woman spoke gently behind her, lifting the comb for another pass down from her scalp. "But the heavens decided to bless me with two boys instead, and rightly I cannot complain. I know I have more than most, but having you around for these past few days reminded me of that old prayer of mine," the woman laughed.

 Setting the comb down she gently turned Ciri's shoulders until they were sitting face to face. Both naked beneath the wet muslin cloth, the room around them was steamy and smelt like eucalyptus.

 Giving her a serious look, Goldencheeks grasped Ciri's shoulders. "I know you will be safe with the witcher but if you ever need a place to go if you ever find yourself lost please try and make your way back to me, ok? You will always have a place here."

 Tears stung at her eyes as the pain of guilt ripped through her chest. Pressing her lips firmly together, Ciri nodded emphatically at the kind words, unable to utter a sound as her tears rolled down her cheeks. Hugging the girl, Goldencheeks wiped away her own tears before silently urging her to stand so that they could both quickly dress.

 Wearing a fresh nightgown, Ciri sat at the edge of the narrow bed and stared at the empty bed pressed against the wall on the opposite side of the room. When Ciri first arrived she was told Goldencheeks had two boys, Nadbor, who was currently apprenticing in a nearby village and Sulik. She had slept next to Goldencheeks while it was just the three of them, but now that Yurga was back and Geralt was also here Ciri wondered how they would all sleep. Surely, from the look on Yurga's face towards his wife, he was eager to sleep back in his own bed. Not sure what to do, Ciri began folding the few clothes she was given and began stuffing them into her sack.

 "I'll be glad when your gone."

 Whipping around in her seat, Ciri gave a wary frown to Sulik's scowl who was standing in the open doorway.

 "Once you and that witcher are gone, I can have my family back," he made sure to emphasize the word "my" before continuing. "You should have never been…"

 "Leave, boy." The deep baritone voice behind him fell like a hammer in the room. Looking up over the shocked teen's head, Ciri watched as Geralt's massive form darkened the small doorway.

 "…th…this is my room," Sulik argued weakly.

 "Not for tonight it isn't, now leave," Geralt walked forward forcing Sulik to quickly move out the way or get ran down. Surveying the other narrow bed sitting on the other side of the small room, Geralt let out a low grumbling grunt that Ciri couldn't quite tell meant his approval or disapproval. Looking at Sulik who was still standing by the door with a sullen expression Geralt gave him a cruel smirk. "I believe your mother made you cot by the dogs."

 Stunned, the boy whipped around on his heel finally leaving both Ciri and Geralt alone. Sitting on the narrow bed Geralt ignored the dubious creak the wood let out and began rifling through his own bag. After a few moments of awkward silence on her part as she tried not to stare at the big man, the rustling noises finally stopped. Looking up she caught his amber gaze and stilled under its silent scrutiny. Passing slowly from her head down to her toes, she felt a lot like a mare being considered at the market.

 "I am not sure what to do with you," he finally said.

 And though the words made perfect sense, Ciri could not stop the hot lancing feeling of pain through her chest at that.

 "But it does not matter," he lifted one great shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. "You are mine, and I finally have you and that is what matters."

 The hot pain twisted into a sudden momentary ache of dread, a panic only the vulnerable would feel. Biting the inside of her bottom lip Ciri tried to hush her sudden chaotic thoughts of doubt.

 His eyes sharpened towards her as if sensing the sudden panic within her before softening. "Do not worry, you are safe with me. Have you heard of me or been told by anyone who…"

 "My nanny," she blurted. "Years ago when I still had a nanny, she told me in secret about you and the Law of Surprise," Ciri paused as she remembered the kind woman's words. "She said you were strong and not quite human," she whispered, risking a glance at the large pale man but the hurtful words had the same effect like a small breeze against a mountain side. Encouraged by his silent patience she continued. "But she also said you were honorable. Even Mousesack said…so…" Her words faded away as she thought of the last time she saw her beloved friend.

 "Yes, Mousesack," Geralt mumbled deeply, he too taken with brief memories of the man.

 Shoving the last of his items back into his sack, he sat the cloth bag near the dual swords that were propped along side the wall near the bed. "Get some rest, Ciri."

 Laying down she watched as he snuffed out the candles and listened to the bed creak beneath him as he too laid down. For reasons she could not explain, the simple sound of her name from this man's mouth comforted her. Maybe it was because she hadn't heard her name spoken by another in so long or maybe it was the fact that this man was promised to protect her, to be her family and friend when she suddenly found herself with none. Whatever it was, the sound gave her comfort, for the first time in weeks she felt safe.

[cuz-tony-stark]

So... a theory about Endgame.

Okay, so, I have a theory that probably ISN’T true. But when I thought of it, it was such a brutal and interesting twist in my head ntm it’s been bouncing around in there for days now that I have to share it with you guys.  Is it a little stevetony influenced? Maybe. Am I probably going to write something like this in the future if it’s not canon? Yeaaaaah. But here goes...

Steve is the man out of time in the most literal fashion. He has already lived through the snap. He’s known about it since that very last scene in The First Avenger, and has been reliving the years up to the apocalypse... but with one major difference between timelines. 

Tony survived the battle of New York this time.

Further explanation below the cut:

So, all of the marvel fans who have seen the various leaks can reasonably theorize by now that the Avengers are going to use quantum tech to go time traveling. Whether this is to collect the Infinity Stones or to stop the snap before it happens isn’t certain yet. But we all have seen from this clip

that they’re gonna go pick a fight with Thanos sometime in the beginning of the film.

But what if that’s a flashback?

What if that’s what Steve and the remaining avengers did in another timeline, and lost? What if Steve was the last one left standing against Thanos and — instead of the power stone — he used the time stone against him? Pushed him back through time?

Maybe he just aimed to reduce Steve back to his skinny self to humiliate him.  But... that’s not really in character for Thanos, is it?

“Dread it... Run from it... Destiny still arrives.”

We never heard that line in Infinity War. 

Yes, maybe Thanos just aimed to reduce Steve back to his skinny self.  Or maybe Thanos threw him back on purpose, to hammer home the point of inevitable defeat and ultimate destiny. 

What if that line is from Endgame?

If it is, all of the MCU movies have been from this second attempt. This second timeline that Steve has been living through. Because when you rewatch the movies in this context?? A lot of Chris Evans’s acting choices make SO MUCH MORE SENSE??  I nean, let’s start from the beginning.  Picture going through Steve’s whole ordeal, living nearly a decade of your life in the future, pursuing Thanos again, facing a horrific battle with him where you see all your friends die, unable to fix the snap... then Thanos flashes you with a green stone and a line about inevitability and your brain turns to jelly and you pass out...

And wake up at the very beginning.

In that context, watch this clip:

There isn’t a vast amount of curiosity or confusion in this portrayal.  There is fear and a massive fight or flight response, and when you’re waking up for a second time in a world you don’t belong in, with full knowledge of where you are and what happened and what’s going to happen... just trying to get the truth out of people that you’ve already met, hoping like its some kind of practical joke or hell, maybe even a fever dream.  This is a nightmare scene for Steve because he’s already lived it.  And nobody else -- not even Fury -- seems to realize what’s happened.  You’ll notice that he never asks who Fury is.  Because he knows.  But he’s asking the questions he already knows the answers to because god, this can’t be happening...

But then look at that face journey at 2:38.  That’s not confusion.  That’s realization and sorrow and resignation.  Resigning himself to the fact that Thanos threw him back in time, deciding that he has a second chance here and trying not to see it as a punishment, but still grieving over the reality of the situation.

Then... the line.  “Yeah.  I just... I had a date.”

That’s the moment.  That’s the moment when he decided that he couldn’t tell anyone what he’s been through.  Because telling them would cause despair and panic when that kind of reaction wouldn’t be productive in any way.

In that context, let’s move onto the Avengers and the Captain America trilogy.

You’ll notice that throughout these films, Steve doesn’t react viscerally to anything.  He doesn’t even look surprised when Tony tells him that SHIELD is making weapons.  He doesn’t skip a beat.  He obviously doesn’t know the exact context of a few things because he was in a different place the first time around, but any questions he asks are remarkably flat, like he’s asking them just to go through the motions.

Moving onto Tony however, this is where the timelines start to diverge.

^^ Watch this video with this theory in mind.  It’s got some gems. ^^

So, Avengers 1.  Steve’s going through the motions.  You’ll notice that he doesn’t really react to anything majorly -- not even Coulson’s death -- until Tony taunts him on the helicarrier, and then one more time after Tony wakes up.  I theorize that in his reality, a lot of that taunting was the same, but in Steve’s first run through on this, Tony actually died beyond the portal.  Steve uses that irritation and grief to channel that argument, thinking that most likely it was what spurred Tony to make the necessary sacrifice in his 1st go.  In his first timeline, Nat closed the gate and the battle of New York ended with Tony dying out in space.

Then, in the second timeline, Tony comes hurtling down through the sky.  Steve is actually relieved to see a difference from the first run around!  He’s happy!    But then Tony reaches the ground and seems to be dead.  Steve is disappointed after thinking that there’s some kind of difference here, but again, he doesn’t seem to be surprised or horrible heartbroken about the death of a comrade.  After all, Tony made the necessary sacrifice.  This is how it played out the first time...

Then Tony wakes up and this is Steve’s face.

:O  “w8 he’s alive???”

The first major change in his perspective on the timeline.

Moving on to The Winter Soldier.

This movie is unique to the 2nd timeline aka the MCU that we know because if Tony hadn’t survived the battle of New York, it wouldn’t exist.  Fury says here that the mini-helicarriers for Project Insight were made possible by repulsor technology.  If Tony wasn’t around to contribute to it, Project Insight wouldn’t have existed and Hydra never would have brought the Winter Soldier out of hibernation.

Therefore, giving birth to the other moment that took Steve genuinely by surprise.  Bucky’s reveal.

If Tony had died at the battle of New York, by extension the events of The Winter Soldier never would have happened.

Also, there’s this scene in the Winter Soldier.

Look at Steve’s face.  He is not confused.  He is not sad.  He is angry.  He is angry that Bucky has been alive all these years and he never knew.  Even through Thanos and the snap, he never knew Bucky was alive.  He’s gonna burn the world down before he lets Bucky suffer through whatever horrible fate he had in the 1st timeline because Steve wasn’t there for him.  

Steve’s most genuine reactions in this entire trilogy are when he’s fighting his best friend and Hydra; a situation that he never saw coming.

Moving onto Avengers 2!  Age of Ultron!!

This whole movie was Tony’s responsibility and ergo, it was another massive event that Steve didn’t see coming because -- again -- if he had died in the battle of New York, Ultron and therefore Vision never would’ve existed.  

But the most notable scene concerning this theory is this one:

LOOK  AT  STEVE’S  FACE.

HE KNOWS THEY’LL LOSE!  LOOK AT HIS FACE!!  HE’S SEEN IT!!  HE’S SEEN THEM LOSE!!  But he also knows that Tony is the only one that’s been able to change the timeline so far.  He lived through the battle of New York.  He helped cause the events of The Winter Soldier.  He directly caused the events of Age of Ultron.

And that’s why Civil War cut him so deep.

Imagine.  Going through almost another decade of your life, dealing with new and old threats.  Realizing that this one dark-eyed genius is probably the best chance at beating what’s to come, because not only was Tony taking precautions, Tony is effecting the timeline.  

But... he can’t let Bucky suffer.  Not again.  Not when Steve wasn’t there for him on the first go-around.  

Steve makes a choice in Civil War, and it is a pure, heart-ripping, emotional choice.  He sacrifices one friend in order not to betray another, even if it wasn’t the smart thing to do.  Even if it put the past 5-6 years and the future in jeopardy.  It tore him apart, but he made a choice, and he sent Tony the burner phone.

“If you ever need me, I’ll be there.”

Steve knew that the best chance they had to defeat Thanos was together.

But Tony never called.

He disappeared.

The Avengers aren’t together when Thanos comes.  And they lose.  Again.

Just.................... 

Look at his face...

This is fury.  This is anger.  This is denial.  This is the culmination of everything he’s worked for, everything he’s done to prove Thanos wrong.  And...

“Oh god.”  Not like this.  Not again.

That is why, in Avengers Endgame, instead of rushing after Thanos, Steve tells the Avengers his story.  The full story.  His first timeline and Tony’s death and the death of all the Avengers against the mad prophet.  He turns to the genius billionaire playboy philanthropist, Iron Man, Earth’s Best Defender, and tells him that he’s sorry.  That he made a choice in Civil War.  That Bucky died and maybe it was all for nothing but he refuses to believe that.  He refuses to give up.  Thanos will not win.

So they wait.  They train.  They look into quantum technology.  They stand as one.  And when the time comes, they will undo what Thanos has done... and they’ll do it right this time.

Because other people might move on.

“But not us.”

...

So... would I shit my pants in the theater if this was canon? Probably.

Am I excited for Endgame?  

Hell yeah.

[for-the-dales]

The Path Forward  Chapter 1: Leliana

           The first time Leliana met Ellana Lavellan there was something about the elven woman intrigued her. She felt a little itch in the back of her mind that she couldn’t seem to scratch. She was familiar somehow, though Leliana was sure she had never met her.

        It was her appearance that struck the spymaster first, even while the woman was unconscious. Where almost all the Dalish Leliana had ever met had their vallaslin only on their face, this woman had them covering all the skin Leliana could see. The intricate and winding lines took the form of a tree on her face with what looked like roots stretching down her neck and dark branches almost disappearing into the dark hair on the woman’s head. The markings on her fingers evoked the impression of leaves. The woman stood out to Leliana before she even opened her eyes and when she finally did the strange feeling only intensified.

           Cassandra however, as per usual, declined to take a subtle route, “Everyone at the conclave is dead. Except for you.”

           Cassandra was already all but accusing the woman. The woman’s face froze for a moment, then here eyes flitted down and she blinked several times. Leliana saw a slight twitch in her left hand. When she answered Cassandra, she spoke carefully with a thickness in her throat, “How? Everyone? Are you sure?”

           “Of course we’re sure!”

           The woman bowed her head in the face of Cassandra’s anger, but her body posture was almost as relaxed as it had been when she was unconscious and the spymaster had the feeling Cassandra had been unsuccessful at intimidating the prisoner. Leliana could hear soft elvish coming from the woman’s mouth as she recited what sounded like a prayer. Either she was completely genuine or a very good liar. Leliana’s suspicion died.

           “Do you expect us to believe you had nothing to do with it?” Cassandra bellowed at the woman.

           The woman did not even flinch. She stared up at Cassandra confused, “Why would I want to hurt all those people?”

           “Then explain this!”

           Cassandra jerked one of the woman’s folded hands up and a sudden flash of green exploded from it. The woman gasped and tried to reel away from her own hand. She blinked a few more times before gathering herself and turning back to Cassandra, “I … am afraid that I cannot, Seeker.”

           Cassandra threw the woman’s hand down before stomping back towards the door. Leliana stepped up and asked the woman, “You remember nothing then? Nothing at all?”

           The elf looked past the two women and focused on the wall behind them. Her eyebrows creased slightly, but eventually she shook her head and said, “No Sister Nightingale, I’m afraid I don’t. I wish that I could help you.”

           Leliana no longer believed the Dalish woman in front of her was responsible for the explosion, however she did pay her a second glance. How would she know enough about human politics in Orlais to know Leliana’s moniker in the court? This woman sounded like she was from the Free Marches and the Dalish were isolationist, it made no sense.

        Still, discovering this woman’s motives was only one of many problems Leliana needed to be dealing with right now. Cassandra could handle this for now. Tucking away her suspicion for later, Leliana left to go to the forward camp to coordinate a semblance of a defense. The last thing she heard was Cassandra saying, “Maybe there is a way you can help.”

           The valley was worse than any nightmare Leliana had ever had. The spymaster pushed herself past the stricken soldiers who looked like little more than children in her eyes.

           All the real soldiers were dead.

           Past the haunted and hollow eyes of the soldiers Leliana snuck along the ridges to ghost past the demons below. Leliana hopped down into what looked like the ruins of a tower. She held her breath as she checked around the corners for any errant demons that might be lurking. She took a step back felt something crack and break underneath her heel.

        Leliana’s body froze and she turned her head and slowly looked down.

        It was a hand.

        A very small ashen hand.

        The finger had dissolved under her boot. Inches away was a larger body frozen with its arms outstretched towards the smaller body. Leliana couldn’t see the face of the small body, but the larger body’s face was frozen in terror and anguish. Leliana didn’t believe the figure had been terrified for itself.

          One breath, then two more.  

        Three more, four more.

        She wrenched herself away from the scene and forced herself around the figures very carefully, so as to not disturb them. The only thing that existed for Leliana the rest of the way to the forward camp was survival. If she stopped then she might have to process the smell of the ash, blood, and burning bodies. She might have to be honest with herself about what the silence meant. When she finally saw the still standing tower that led to the forward camp she sprinted the rest of the way.

           “Open the gate!” Leliana yelled when she got close.

           Two young soldiers at the top of the tower rushed to get the door open while Leliana skidded to a stop in front of the large wooden doors. She could hear the doors begin to creak open when she felt an awful shock down her spine. She turned her head and looked up to see the beginnings of small green sparks coming from a small point in the air above her. Quietly, as if from far away, Leliana could hear haunting howls. As the door slowly creaked open, the howls got closer. As soon as the door was wide enough for her to get through, Leliana darted through and ordered, “Close it now!”

           The soldiers did as she said and the last thing Leliana saw through a crack in the door was an explosion of green. In that green light Leliana saw a vision of the dirt tunnels of the Deep Roads. The dank air that tasted like death. Leliana saw herself ten years younger in the back of the group, listening for potential threats to her and her friends from behind. Alistair followed closely behind Surana and the strange dwarf Oghren shuffled a little behind them. She had been pretending to be brave, but it had been so many days since she’d seen the sun. It was hard to feel Andraste’s love down here in the dirt. She was in the middle of a quiet prayer when that horrible voice cut through.

           “First day, they come and catch everyone.”

           “My lady, are you injured?”

           Leliana jerked herself back to the present and turned to look at the young soldier at her side. The young woman was about the same age Leliana had been when she went into the Deep Roads. The terror from the good old days stuck like ice in her veins, but the spymaster repressed it. People were depending on her. Justinia would expect more of her.

“What’s our status?”

           The soldier stood at attention and began her recitations of reports. Leliana threw herself into planning their next attempt to close the Breach. If she stopped she heard the dreadful voice. If she closed her eyes she saw the bodies. An hour or so later Leliana’s attention was grabbed by a commotion at the gate. The demons had been making attempts at the gate for a while now, but no serious threats. But the screams grew louder and fighting could be heard outside. All of the soldiers in the camp went silent. Leliana didn’t breathe. Finally there was what sounded like an explosion and the massive gates shuddered from the force. It felt like time had frozen. The young woman Leliana had been speaking to earlier shouted from the top of the tower, “Open the gates! She did it! The rift is gone!”

           The gates opened and standing front and center was the small Dalish prisoner. She now had a staff that she walked with, though she didn’t put any weight on it. Her large and reflective green eyes took in the scene casually. It was as if she hadn’t recently fought her way through one of the worst outbreaks of demons that Thedas had seen in ages. The woman strolled up to Leliana flanked by Cassandra, Varric, and the strange elven apostate Solas.

           “Nightingale, I don’t believe we were properly introduced before.” The hand not holding her staff extended out, “I’m Ellana Lavellan.”

           Leliana took the offered hand, “Leliana. Welcome to the forward camp.”

           “What is she doing here?” Chancellor Roderick’s voice erupted behind Leliana.

           Leliana rolled her eyes as she turned, annoyed at the Chancellor’s interruption. Cassandra strode past both Leliana and Ellana to tower over Roderick.

           “She is here to help.”

           “I am in charge here and-“

           “You are a glorified bureaucrat.” Cassandra turned to look at Leliana but didn’t move an inch away from Roderick, “Leliana, what is our position?”

           Roderick sputtered, as Leliana reported, “Not good. We only have two viable options. We could either charge the valley with what is left of our forces, or take the old mountain pass. That has its own problems, however. We sent scouts up to secure the area, but we haven’t heard back from them. Neither option is ideal.”

           Leliana had walked over to the map at the center of the camp to show the company the terrain and Cassandra walked over to join her. Cassandra huffed and shook her head, “The pass would take too long, and it’s time we can’t afford. We should charge.”

           Leliana lowered her voice so they would not be overheard by the soldiers milling around, “We may not be successful in our charge. Our numbers have been steadily decreasing simply holding this position. All those who remain are young and inexperienced. We may not survive long enough to get to the Breach.”

           Cassandra was silent for a long moment while staring at the map. She finally sighed and glanced up at Ellana, who had been silently watching the two humans speak.

           “What do you think we should do?”

           Roderick began sputtering again but Cassandra lifted a hand and he begrudgingly quieted. Ellana raised her eyebrows, “You’re asking me?”

           “I am.” Cassandra affirmed, “You are the one who can close the rifts, and we cannot reach a decision on our own.”

           Ellana nodded her head and leaned against her staff while contemplating the map. She finally turned to look at the mountain before solemnly nodding.

           “We should take the pass.”

           Cassandra pushed herself off the table and said, “So be it, let us not waste any more time.”

           Leliana stayed behind and watched the group leave, she heard Roderick mumble, “On your head be the consequences Seeker.”

           Leliana didn’t see Cassandra react, though she knew that comment had hit. Cassandra was barking orders as she walked away, organizing the assault. After the majority of the soldiers had left, Leliana sent out orders for any scouts left in the field that could be reached to return. Leliana, for the first time on this very long day, had a moment to just breathe by herself. She didn’t let herself cry, not yet. But she really wanted to.

           After what happened in the Deep Roads, Leliana had slipped into an alley and tried to hold back sobs. Surana had found her and held her and gave her permission to cry at the horror of what they had witnessed. Leliana hadn’t cried that much ever in her life and had not since. Surana had told her that the hurt, the feelings, they were what made us strong. It was okay to feel all of it, as long as we let it pass through us and let it go. Leliana didn’t know how long she sat in that alley with her best friend.

           “I could really use you now.” Leliana muttered.

           Leliana thought about Ellana Lavellan. The Dalish mage certainly hadn’t had the day she expected either. She woke up imprisoned and was immediately expected to fix one of the worst disasters in Thedas’s history. Leliana felt some pity for the woman. But then she reconsidered that pity. She thought about the woman. She had seen the woman’s calm confidence, her compassion, even her shock, but there was one thing she hadn’t seen.

           Fear.

           An interesting question if they all survived this.

Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19231375/chapters/45727903

Chapter 2: https://for-the-dales.tumblr.com/post/186552525784/chapter-2-josephine 

[rookie-dm-disasters]

Chapter 13.5

Thorfreyer watched his friends run out of the arena on their mission into the forest. He thrust himself into the thralls of battle with his flaming axe. These creatures were foreign to him. He never knew of a thing that could be made of pure darkness, but he reveled in the opportunity to conquer a new foe. With each swing of his axe, more creatures dissipated into pure black mist that coiled away from the village and back to the dense forest. Few of the warriors surrounding him seemed all too concerned. They had been fighting these creatures their whole lives, and they were being dealt with relative ease. As the air filled with more of the black mist, the sounds of battle quieted as few of the creatures remained. Then there was a sharp pain in Thorfeyer’s arm. He looked down and saw that a dagger had stuck him in his shoulder. He looked around to see where it came from, and his eyes locked on a single individual who was waving at him lazily. Thorfreyer stood confused, until he remembered the guard on the top of the wall, he had antagonized the day prior. Thorfreyer yelled, “I know we said we would fight, but is now really the time!?” The guard laughed and said, “What’s wrong? You haven’t finished cleaning up your weaklings? Not ready to duel anyone at any moment? Pathetic!” He spat. Thorfreyer gripped his axe and made a move towards the guard, but Jade stepped in front of him. “Not now.” She said. “The battle here is nearly over.” She nodded her head towards the gates. “We need to go help Faelyn and your friends.” Thorfreyer eyed down the guard who was mocking him. He put his axe back in its holster and snorted with such heat that steam shot from his nostrils. “Fine. Lead the way.” Jade nodded and began running from the arena and led Thorfreyer out of the town. They bolted through a short field and reached the threshold of the forest. They peered into the dark gloom of the forest before them. It was as if looking into another world that sunlight could not penetrate, whether that was from the foliage alone or some magical force, they didn’t know. They took their first steps into the forest, and the silence was palpable. Outside the forest they could feel the wind, hear it brush past the grass and leaves. The air here did not feel so alive as the wind. Everything was still and lifeless, as if walking into a painting. All they could hear was their own breath, and the crunch beneath their feet. Thorfreyer thought he started to hear things. Was his heartbeat always this loud? The dead stillness and silence of the forest rang through his head. “What is wrong with this place? I see trees and grass, but nothing about this forest feels natural.” Thorfreyer’s eyes were constantly darting around, on a constant lookout for danger. “I don’t know.” Said Jade. “But those creatures make this forest their home, so it can’t be good.” “Have you been in this forest before?” “Never. It was forbidden.” They saw a purple light up ahead. As they approached their feeling of dread increased. They heard a rustle and saw a shadow creature coming towards them. But it was different from the ones they fought before. The others were only about as tall as the average goblin, but this one was the size of a large human, and wielded two blades, black as obsidian. One of the blades was dripping some kind of liquid, but it was too dark to make out what it was. It darted towards them. Thorfreyer and Jade drew their weapons, preparing for the assault. They ran towards the creature to meet it head on in combat. Jade took the first jab, thrusting her spear at it. A hole opened where she stabbed and closed around the wooden shaft. No matter how she struggled, she could not wrench it free. The creature attempted to swing its swords at her, but she released the spear to back away and gain some distance. After the failed attempt to slice Jade, the creature was blindsided by two brutal swings of Thorfreyer’s axe. The first swing came straight down and dug into the dark form of this creature. The second swing, he aimed for the tip of the spear going through its body. Upon impact, the spear launched out of its body as it took a crumpling blow to the back. The spears launched straight for Jade, who caught it with a single hand, pivoted her body and spun around, the spear not losing any momentum. She launched it straight at the creature's head. After taking two blows, it was unable to concentrate enough to change its form. The spear struck its head with such force that it went straight through and stuck to a nearby tree, the creature exploding into mist. Thorfreyer put his weapon away and pulled Jade’s spear from the tree. “Nice throw.” He said handing it back to her. “Thanks.” “That one was different from the normal ones, yeah?” Jade nodded. “Definitely different. I haven’t seen one like that before. This needs to stop before they get more powerful.” They continued walking to the purple light, which created almost a dome of sorts that was surrounding a large amethyst in the ground and covered by vines. Within the dome of light, they could see what looked like a body lying on the floor, and sitting cross legged by it was another shadow creature. It sat behind the body and was staring at the crystal with intent. Thorfreyer slowly approached with his axe in hand. He wasn’t sure if this one was hostile, but it didn’t notice him yet. As he approached, he heard the shadow muttering something to itself, though he could not quite make out what it was saying. Was it speaking to the person on the ground? In the dim light he couldn’t make out who it was, but as he got closer, he realized the body was resting in a pool of blood. His eyes widened and his step quickened. He could finally make out what the creature was saying. “They left me. They left me.” It kept repeating to itself. Thorfreyer gasped in horror as he realized who it was on the ground. Faelyn lay limp and lifeless. A stab wound appeared to pierce straight through his chest. Thorfreyer made a move to attack the shadow but hesitated when he recognized the familiarity in the shadows voice. It was only slightly different, but it sounded like Faelyn’s voice, nonetheless. It continued muttering to itself, “They left me.” The outline of the shadow could not be mistaken. Even down to the clothes it appeared to wear. It looked like Faelyn cloaked in darkness. Its eyes a deep purple. Thorfreyer waved Jade over, unsure how to proceed. She saw Faelyn laying on the ground and tears began to sting her eyes. “What do we do?” asked Thorfreyer. “This shadow looks like him. If we destroy it, will it bring him back?” “I don’t know.” Said jade through a choked sob. “It could be his soul. Corrupted by the darkness. If we destroy it, it could destroy him forever.” She wiped the tears from her eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t know much of how magic works.” Thorfreyer sighed. “Nor I. Last time I meddled with magic, I was transformed into what you see before you now.” He walked to the edge of a clearing and punched a tree. The force causing several sticks to fall from above. “Damnit!” He yelled. “This is the exact thing we would ask Faelyn about. We need someone who knows magic.” He racked his brain. He needed someone versed in magic. The only person he knew that he could think of was Argibold. But he was several hours back in Waterdeep. He needed a plan, and he needed it fast. He saw the sticks that fell from the tree and recalled the party had a genie that owed them a favor. All he needed to do was start a fire, say his name, and request a wish. The words of Argibold rang through his head. I wouldn’t recommend using that wish. Ever. Even if the genie owed him a favor, he was still a genie who didn’t like owing favors in the first place. He didn’t have many other options at the time and started to collect a bundle of sticks for a fire. Jade sat by Faelyn’s body and watched the shadow of her childhood friend, looking into the purple light of its eyes and trying to find anything resembling her old friend. All that appeared to be left of him was the form. Beyond that, nothing about the being in front of her reminded her of Faelyn. After building up the courage, she finally said. “Faelyn? What happened?” The head of the creature shifted so that it was now looking directly at her. It said once more, “They left me.” and then it was silent. She tried to understand what it was talking about. Could it have been the party? She didn’t see any sign of them nearby, and they didn’t run into them on their way here. Was it possible that they abandoned him to fight that thing alone? She pushed the thought away. She couldn’t believe they would do that. She had only known them a day, but she could see the genuine desire to help Faelyn, especially in the little one. Something serious must have happened to them. Jade said in response to the creature. “Who left you?” “Those who I thought were my friends. I became useless. And they left me behind.” His voice was hollow. Pained in some way that Jade could not quite understand. After a brief silence, it spoke again. “Will you leave me too?” “No!” Said Jade. “I’ll never leave you. You’re my friend.” The creature said nothing and went back to staring at the amethyst. Jade stood up and approached Thorfreyer who had just finished collecting enough sticks. “I can’t get through to it. What are you doing?” She asked. “Cashing in a favor.” He held his flaming ax in his hands and lit the sticks on fire. A sudden sense of fear surged through him. He already had an experience with making wishes, and that went horribly wrong. He wasn’t convinced he could do this without screwing it up. He knew he had to be smart about how he worded the wish. He would only get one chance and the consequences were dire here. He looked into the flame, took a deep breath and called the name of the genie. “Alibaba!” The flame grew and shot up 20 feet. Emerging from the fire was a massive red skinned genie. He sported a mustache of fire. Everything about him radiated power. His physique was on another level, and even the energy he gave off was oppressive. He looked down and saw Thorfreyer. “Ah!” His voice boomed. “The minotaur. Fantastic to see you. Have you decided on a whish?” Thorfreyer nodded and did his best to not show he was intimidated. “Possibly. But I have a few questions first.” “Ask away, friend.” “Is the wish able to take the form of some other spell?” Alibaba rubbed his chin. “Certainly. A wish can take any form you wish it.” Thorfreyer felt good about that, but he still did not trust the genie entirely. “I believe I know my wish. However, I ask that it be performed with no trickery involved.” Alibaba smiled at that as Thorfreyer continued. “In exchange for you completing the wish as I fully intend, I offer the services of myself and my friends to aide you in any one favor.” “Easily done.” Said Alibaba. Thorfreyer recalled a conversation about cleric spells and abilities. He knew that clerics had magic that could heal people, but more powerful clerics had the ability to raise the dead through various spells. He could only remember one off the top of his head. “With those conditions met, I wish for you to cast the true resurrection spell on my friend Faelyn, who lay dead on the ground over there.”   Alibaba nodded. He swung his arm in a circle, quickly stopping to flex his biceps. He then crossed his arms against his chest. “It is done.” And he vanished in a plume of flame. Thorfreyer ran next to Faelyn and kneeled beside him, Jade joining him. The wound in Faelyn’s chest slowly started to close until no sign of a wound was there at all. Not leaving so much as a scar. His chest began to rise and fall slowly, and his eyes fluttered open slowly. He did not speak, and it was unclear if he was altogether conscious. Once he started showing signs of life, the shadow lifted its staff and attempted to swing it down on Faelyn with all its force. Thorfreyer’s reflexes kicked in and he caught the staff as it swung through the air. He grabbed the shadow at the back of the neck and held it in the air. It had practically no weight to it. Even being suspended in the air, it still flung wildly, still attempting to attack Faelyn with any means necessary. Jade quickly picked up Faelyn to get them separated from each other. When she saw the shadow that she cast from the purple light of the amethyst, it looked as if her shadow was carrying nothing. She yelled to Thorfreyer, “That thing is his shadow!” “I kinda figured that! What do I do?” “I don’t know! Kill it?” Thorfreyer hesitated. He didn’t know if killing it would return this shadow to Faelyn or destroy it forever. Before he had the chance to decide. He saw a flash of blue light and heard a voice in the distance say, “Thorfreyer?” Thorfreyer looked to where the light had come from and walking towards them was what looked like a man wearing blue robes. He was wearing a hood, but brown hair could still be seen just above his eyebrows. His eyes were shockingly blue, and he had a white tattoo going down the right side of his face. “Who are you?” Asked Thorfreyer, attempting to keep his grip on the wriggling shadow.   “My name is Jace. Your friends sent me.” Jace took a moment to register the shadow creature and Jade carrying Faelyn. He gestured to the shadow. “Something I can help with?” Thorfreyer had seen a bit too much today to deal with how casually this person, scrawny as he was, offered assistance as if nothing was a big deal about this situation. “Depends.” He said. “Do you know what this thing is?” Jace’s whole eyes flashed with a blue light for just a second and said. “It’s a shadow, specifically a shadow of a deceased. Some shadows have more power than others, and when the more powerful ones kill a person, they turn the deceased shadow into a shadow of its own. If the deceased comes back, it will relentlessly attempt to kill them.” “Okay!?” Said Thorfreyer, somewhat perplexed. “Is it safe to kill?” “If the deceased is resurrected and the shadow is destroyed, the shadow simply returns to them, no harm done.” “Good.” Said Thorfreyer as he grabbed his axe and swung, severing the head from the body of this shadow monster. It burst into black mist and shot straight to where Faelyn’s shadow should have been cast and took form once more. Thorfreyer sighed. “With that done, I’ll ask again, who are you?” Jace rolled his eyes. “I’ll tell you again. My name is Jace, your friends sent me to retrieve you. Though I’m beginning to question why. But that is neither here nor there.” Thorfreyer decided now was not the best time to fight back on the remark. “Where are they?” “That will be mildly difficult to explain. Are you familiar with the multiverse?” “The what now?” “I’ll attempt to explain as succinctly as possible. This world in which you know is not the only one. And I do not mean specifically planets. I mean realities.” “You’ve lost me.” Jace scratched his head trying to think of an example that would be understood. He snapped his finger and walked over to a tree and gestured to a leaf. “Let’s say this tree represents the multiverse. This leaf is your world, but it is but one of many, and it is connected to all the others via the multiverse, the tree.” Thorfreyer nodded, still not completely understanding. “I understand. So, my friends are on another leaf?” “Yes. Now, I can’t take you there myself, I can’t planeswalk anything living other than myself, but this amethyst seems to be a leyline. I’ll flood it with my mana, make it pinpoint Ravnica, and you’ll soon be reunited with your friends.” Thorfreyer looked to Jade. “Take Faelyn back to your village, make sure he gets rested up. I’m going with Jace to make sure everyone is okay.” Jade nodded and ran into the forest with Faelyn in her arms. Thorfreyer looked at Jace and said, “Let’s do this.” Jace walked over to the amethyst and placed his hand on it. It started to glow bluer than purple. Thorfreyer looked at the shift and images started to flash in the gem of a world made of one giant city, where there was nothing left to explore, no wild areas to adventure. It was all city and nothing else. But also, citizens of all kinds able to live in harmony together. He could have sworn he saw a werewolf talking to a gnome over coffee for a moment. Everything was bizarre here. And it seemed as if everything there was made from metal as opposed to the wood and stone he was used to. “Touch the gem.” Said Jace. Thorfreyer placed his hand on the gem and the last thing he saw was blinding blue light.

[doubleshuck]

1.

I’d been having the dream on and off again since I was a small child. It was always the same, and while I could have it multiple times a week I would only ever have it once a night. It could happen no matter the time of the year.

The dream would begin as I was walking up some wooden steps. They joined on to the small porch area of an incredibly nice house. The house was empty; I always got the impression that the previous occupants had recently moved. Someone would show me inside, though I would never see who it was. I would go into the entrance hall and ahead of me would be the hallway leading to the kitchen. To my left, the living room, and to my right, the stairs. It was a lovely house, open and airy and warm.

Here the dream would skip, and again I would become aware that I was climbing the last of a flight of wooden stairs. This time I would be on the upstairs landing. Now the atmosphere had changed; I felt tense, uneasy. It was colder. Without my permission my feet would carry me to the right, along the hallway. I would pass two doors; the first on my left (a bedroom), and the second just ahead of it on my right (a bathroom). I would stop at the end of the hallway, in front of the final door. It would open on its own.

Seated in front of me, on a single chair in an otherwise empty room, would be an elderly man. He was incredibly old, probably in his nineties. He was visibly sick, and I remember being able to see the veins in his papery hands.

“Close the door,” he said. “You don’t want to see this.”

Something would grab my arm from behind, and I would wake up.

2.

My wife and I moved into the house from my dream when we were in our late twenties. I hadn’t told her about my reoccurring nightmares as a child, because I truly never thought it would come up; as a result, she had no reason not to love the house, and I couldn’t blame her. It had always been a lovely house.

I realised it was the house from my dream as we climbed up the wooden steps to the porch. It was exactly how I remembered it. The realtor was all smiles, opening the door for us and showing us inside. She gushed about the house in a way that was genuine; I thought that as well as hoping to make a sale, she really did love the place.

“It’s got plenty of space,” she told us, as she showed us into the massive living room with its large windows. “Perfect for raising a family, which,” she said, pausing to share a knowing smile with my obviously pregnant wife, “I’m sure is very important for the two of you.”

I knew my wife loved it, and I couldn’t bear to disappoint her. I knew I was being ridiculous; while I was certainly not closed off to the idea of the paranormal, I also understood the concepts of déjà vu and coincidence. I decided to put an end to it before I got in too deep, and, excusing myself, I left the women to talk about the upcoming arrival of the new baby and headed for the stairs.

To my immense relief, and admittedly, slight confusion, nothing untoward occurred. Yes, it was the exact same house from my dream, but no dread seized me, and no cold air crept under my clothing, and no sickly old man told me to close the bedroom door.

3.

The house was selling for a very low price. Of course we asked, and the realtor gave us all the details. Nothing to worry about, she said. It had belonged to quite a large family back in the day and they had all grown up and left the nest. After the parents died, it was left to the eldest son, who was already settled with a family. His siblings were caught up with their own lives and none of them particularly felt like moving all the way back to their boring hometown. Now elderly himself, the son wanted to sell. Said he would rather the money to enjoy than a house sitting needlessly empty. He had made a decent amount of money over his life and had no problem with its upkeep over the years, but old age had made him sentimental and he hated to think of his childhood home going empty.

I could see no reason to turn down the opportunity. The house was beautiful, the dream had been just a dream, and my wife was in love with the place. We bought the house.

4.

Nothing strange happened for years. By the time everything came together, my daughter was three and her brother a newborn. We had arrived back home after visiting my wife’s parents, and reached the house in the mid-afternoon. My wife went inside with our son to get him settled, and I took the bags to the hallway, my daughter “helping”, in the way small children do. As I locked up the car and came back towards the house, I felt it again – there, right as I climbed the top steps, the horrible vertigo that comes with déjà vu. This time, somehow, I knew it was more than that.

I came into the house, and I could hear my wife cooing to our son in the kitchen. Our daughter was nowhere to be found; out of nowhere I felt an inexplicable fear, an innate knowledge that I had to find her, that she couldn’t be on her own right now. I made for the stairs, taking them two at a time, and when I reached the upper landing the atmosphere changed, the hallway becoming colder, and the dread gripped me as though it had suddenly gained physical form. I stepped out from the stairs and turned to the right, and when I saw my daughter standing in front of the bedroom at the end of the hall, I swear my heart stopped.

“Josephine,” I called sweetly. “You know you’re not allowed into mummy and daddy’s bedroom on your own.”

Strangely, she did not respond. My daughter was a daddy’s girl and a joker; ordinarily she would have at least giggled, even if she remained where she was to try and push her luck. This time she remained still, standing so close to the door her nose practically touched it. I could not shake the feeling that my child was in mortal danger.

As I approached, the door began to creak open.

5.

I caught up with her just as the door had opened fully, and to this day it is difficult to make sense of what happened. The facts are that I reached her and pulled her back, gently but firmly, by her arm. With my other hand I reached out and closed the door, vaguely aware of my daughter twisting in my grip and trying to peer around my body. As I pulled the door closed there was an outbreak of noise from inside the bedroom, and something threw itself at the door with all its strength, slamming it shut. I let go of the handle and immediately picked up my daughter. As I did so, there was an unmistakeable gunshot from inside the bedroom.

I turned around quickly and carried my oddly calm daughter to the stairs. We hurried down and met my wife and son in the hallway. Before my wife could ask what was going on, I motioned for her to get out. We left the house and hurried to the car, my wife and children in the back and myself driving. We drove into the nearby town and to the police station, where I explained what had happened.

After many hours and much fear and frustration, we were allowed to return to the scene to gather some things. There, we were informed of what had happened. A man had apparently escaped from police custody the evening before, having been brought in for attacking his wife. The wife had been injured and taken to the hospital, and just as well – once he had escaped, the husband had returned to the house intending to finish the job. When he couldn’t find her, he was enraged, and left the house in search of her along with one of his hunting weapons. As he searched, he realised the police were combing the area, and knowing it was too risky to continue he broke into our house through a back window. He chose our house, apparently, because it was close to his wife’s, and from our bedroom he had a view of the road she would have to take home. The police believed he was waiting there until she returned, and then he was going to murder her.

Fortunately, my family and I arrived home, foiling his plans. The police assume that once he realised he was caught, he panicked and killed himself. Alternatively he had come down from his murderous state and, out of frustration and a desire not to go to prison, had killed himself rather than face the music. Either way, the man was dead, his wife was safe, and nobody else was hurt; aside from the unpleasant matter of this occurring in our home, we didn’t have much to complain about.

My wife and I gathered some things and decided to return to her parents’ house while the police conducted their investigation.

6.

Of course, it doesn’t end there. The final piece of the puzzle slipped into place as I was putting my daughter to bed that night. Half asleep, she suddenly appeared to rouse herself, and as I went to turn out the light, she asked me a question in a very serious tone of voice.

“Daddy, did you see the old man too?”

Barely disguising my surprise, I looked at her.

“I didn’t see anybody in the room, Josie.”

“But you closed the door, right when he said so.”

“He said so, did he?”

“Mmhmm,” she said, and yawned. “He was sitting on a chair. He said, ‘close the door. You don’t want to see this’.”

I sat beside her bed long after she had fallen asleep, realising that perhaps the person in my dreams all those years ago hadn’t been me after all.

[hiddendreamer67]

ch. 2- Jacksepticeye and the beanstalk

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11

“Hey.” One woman nudged her husband the next day. “Do you see that?” Everyone in town was talking about the giant beanstalk that could be seen in the distance. “Is it real?” Her husband muttered. “Yes it’s real!” Jack interrupted. “I climbed it myself yesterday.” “You climbed that thing?!” The woman gasped in surprise. Jack’s pride swelled as a crowd gathered to listen. “Yep!” Jack boasted. “I’m not scared of nothin’. It went way into the clouds, and when I got up there it was land again! A land of giants. Horrible, terrifying beasts who could eat you in one bite. A dog the size of a house nearly got me, but I fought it back with my BOSS moves.” “Yeah right.” One man muttered, and the others dispersed as well. “Villiage idiot.” A person scoffed at him. “What?” Jack was indignant. “It’s true! Well, mostly true. How come no one believes me?” He sighed to himself. “Man- I have the biggest adventure of my life and no one will even listen.” “Maybe if you had proof.” “Who said that?!” Jack whirled around, only to find the old man again. “Hey- it’s you! You’re the guy who assaulted me with a bag of beans.” “Magic beans.” The man corrected. “And you didn’t believe me. But was I right?” “Yeah, they grew into that frickin’ GIGANTIC beanstalk.” Jack pointed at it in the distance. “Exactly!” The old man was excited. “You believed in the magic once there was proof. If you had proof, everyone would believe you.” “That’s brilliant!” Jack said, dashing on home. But along the way, he began to wonder how to get such proof. The idea of re-climbing the beanstalk made him shudder, but he would do it to keep people from thinking he’s a liar. “Alright.” He started talking sternly to the beanstalk. “We’re gonna do this again, and I don’t want no funny buisness. I’ve got my eye on you!” One deep breath later, he was climbing again. “I hate this I hate this I hate this I hate this-” Oh God, the climb was much worse a second time. To keep his mind occupied, he wondered what he could possibly use as proof. It’s not like anything giant-sized would be easy to carry back. A bug could work, but there was no chance in hell Jack was climbing backwards down a several hundred foot beanstalk with creepy crawlies on his back. “I guess I’ll just know what to bring when I find it.” Jack shrugged to himself once he reached the top. Man, all this climbing was killing his arms. “Hello?” Jack called out, cautiously walking forward through the grass again in case the dog came back. “Any proof out here?” This time, with no dog to distract him, Jack gasped at the view. An enormous castle stood beyond the grass field, making Jack feel very small. “How did I miss THAT?!” Jack exclaimed, dashing across the field to the entrance steps. The steps were just taller than he was, making it so that he had to jump and pull himself up each one. Even just the three steps tired him out. Jack stopped for a breather on the top one before craning his neck to look at the massive door in front of him. “Well.” Jack said after a moment. “There’s no way I’m opening that on my own.” He considered knocking for a moment before he realized that was stupid. Instead, Jack turned his attention to the slight space between the door and the floor. “Aww, screw it.” Jack crawled on his stomach. It was a very tight squeeze, but after a few agonizing moments Jack emerged on the inside of the castle. “YES!” He shouted. “I’M THE BEST!” Suddenly he realized the room was eerily quiet and he should be keeping his voice down. What if a Giant found him? Pairs of shoes larger than he was were on the floor to his left, proving someone HUGE lived here. Oh god, what if it was the giant he saw yesterday? What if the dog lived here? Jack bit his lip nervously, sneaking around the room. So far no one seemed to have heard his yells, but he couldn’t be so loud. There was a set of gigantic stairs leading to what looked like a second level, but there was no way Jack was going to climb more stairs. Nope, not today. Jack was tired already. Suddenly Jack froze. The ground was trembling like yesterday, but this time with more of a rhythm. Hearing a thumping approaching from outside, Jack bolted as fast as his legs would carry him through the doorway on the right. Looking for a hiding place, Jack dove into the first cover he found. “Aw, shite.” He muttered to himself, realizing he had unfortunately chosen a fireplace. But Jack had no time to change hiding spots. The thumping grew louder and louder as Jack trembled, praying the Giant didn’t come inside to light a fire. Lucky for jackaboy, it was a hot summer day and the fireplace was not needed. A loud sigh was heard, followed by a creaking noise. Then a munching sound began that made Jack’s skin crawl. After a few moments, Jack felt confident enough to peer out of his hiding spot. It was indeed the same Giant as yesterday, resting in a chair near his hiding place but, luckily, facing away. He was eating something far above Jack. Jack groaned. How was he supposed to explore the castle and find proof with a terrifyingly huge Giant 20 feet from his hiding spot? “Oops.” A thundering, deep voice reached Jack’s ears, and a moment later a soft thud rang out as an object landed right in front of Jack’s face. He couldn’t believe his eyes! It was shaped just like a bean, but it was unnaturally green and smelled far too sweet. It was also bigger than his head. Jack made a heat of the moment decision and grabbed the treat. It was smooth and slightly grainy. Here was his proof. Now Ma and everyone else had to believe Jack! In his excitement, Jack almost forgot about the Giant. A loud rustling was heard, and Jack realized with dread that the Giant was kneeling down on the ground. “Where did it go?” The Giant muttered, shuffling around. Jack groaned. He didn’t think the Giant would miss one tiny (to him) treat! And unfortunately, he was getting dangerously close to the fireplace in his search. Jack decided the best course of action was to make a break for it. As quietly as possible, he got ready to run. If Jack timed it right, maybe the Giant wouldn’t spot him. As a hand larger than Jack entered the space of the fireplace, Jack jumped out of the fireplace and dashed back the way he came. “What the heck?!” Crap. The booming voice hurt his ears, and Jack tried desperately to cover his ears and sprint at the same time. Tremors shook the ground as the Giant stood, making Jack nearly lose his balance. Suddenly, faster thumps seemed to be coming from the room behind him. Oh god, not the dog too! “Chica, no!” Darn that voice again. Jack let the adrenaline pull him along. He thanked his lucky stars when he saw the front door was still slightly open- the Giant hadn’t shut it on his way indoors. “SPEED IS KEY!” Jack shouted, putting extra effort into this last sprint. He was genuinely surprised he hadn’t been caught, but a brief look over the shoulder showed that the Giant was holding the dog back. Jack didn’t have time to ponder this as he ran out the door and leapt down the stairs, nearly injuring himself. Pausing only long enough to take a breath, Jack began jogging back across the field. Jack stopped for a breather at the edge of the grass where the beanstalk grew. Why hadn’t the Giant unleashed the dog on him? Jack probably looked like some sort of unwanted pest. Wouldn’t it make sense to let the dog deal with it? Jack shuddered at his own thoughts. A loud thud made Jack whirl around, seeing the Giant emerge outside alone. The way he was bending over and walking slowly, it looked like the Giant was searching for Jack. But Jack wasn’t about to stick around long enough to find out. Re-adjusting his grip on the treat, Jack descended the beanstalk once more.

[naughtylokiconfessionstories]

Loki's Apology II: The Press Conference

By:  jotun-philosopher

A/N: I figured that in an in-universe context, Loki making an apology (like the one in my last fic) would create a massive media storm, and that things would get… interesting… pretty quickly, ‘cause, y'know, Loki + reporters XD I guess I’ve settled on the ’S.H.I.E.L.D.-backed’ idea for the apology, ‘cos this ficlet wouldn’t make much sense otherwise… Caution: possible minor spoilers for Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (esp. S4) (Bonus: spot the random Discworld reference!) (Disclaimer: I have no idea how this sort of press conference would actually work, so I’ve pretty much pulled the proceedings out of my arse XD)

SCENE XX.X

EXTERIOR: OUTDOOR PRESS CONFERENCE SETUP, DAY

[DIRECTOR MACE is near the podium, twiddling with last-minute details. LOKI, in his black suit, stands slightly behind him and to his left, looking uncomfortable and fiddling with his left palm, while THOR stands on his left, holding Loki’s arm and looking slightly grim. Arrayed behind them are Daisy, Coulson (carrying Bambino – the Destroyer gun), and other agents. A crowd of various REPORTERS and members of the public are in attendance, variously chattering, shifting warily and eyeing Loki with varying levels of hostility. MACE steps up to the podium.]

MACE

Good morning, everyone, and thank you for attending. I am Jeffrey Mace, Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. We are here today so that you can put to Loki [gestures towards him; Loki gives a tense, unsmiling nod] any questions you might have for him after his recent apology for the events in New York in 2012. I—

REPORTER #1

[interrupting] Director Mace, are we safe here? What is there to stop this maniac [points at Loki, who looks annoyed] from simply attacking us again?

MACE

[diplomatic and reassuring] Ma'am, there is no cause for alarm. Loki has been thoroughly psychologically vetted by the best professionals S.H.I.E.L.D. has available, who have deemed him safe to attend this event in person. [REPORTER #1 looks sceptical, while Loki rolls his eyes snarkily] Furthermore, Thor himself offered to supervise his brother today [Thor waves and waggles Mjollnir while smiling slightly] and S.H.I.E.L.D.’s most formidable agents also volunteered to keep Loki in check—

[Daisy waves to the crowd and makes a 'behave or I’ll Quake your ass’ gesture to Loki, while Coulson brandishes Bambino with an 'I know what this does now’ raised eyebrow; both manage to look simultaneously badass and adorkable. Loki just looks annoyed.]

—so I can assure you that you need have no concerns for your safety. And now, without further ado, here is Loki to answer your questions.

[Mace steps down from the podium, to much flashing of cameras. Loki moves towards it, ducking a couple of thrown missiles along the way, but is briefly paused by Thor giving him a quick, encouraging 'you can do this’ squeeze on the shoulder. Loki accepts it and the two share a brief, complicated brotherly look before he gives a quick nod and continues to the podium]

LOKI

So, umm… first question?

REPORTER #1

Why did it take you so long to make this apology? It’s been over five years since the Battle of New York.

LOKI

[slowly, with a certain flatness]

From a psychological perspective, I was not capable of making the apology before now, because I was so deeply in denial about my role in the events, as well as being consumed with anger about certain things that happened prior to my encountering the Chitauri. [a bit of brittle chirpiness creeps into his tone and he starts speaking slightly more quickly] In practical terms, of course, I was unable to apologise owing to being locked in the palace dungeons up to the time of the Convergence and, afterwards, due to an… interesting concatenation of circumstances stemming from the Dark Elves’ attack on Asgard [crowd murmurs in surprise], I was carrying out extremely important and highly classified political duties for the Asgardian government, so… [gives a slightly manic not-quite-a-smile; in the background, Thor’s expression tightens briefly]

REPORTER #2

What prompted you to finally make your apology?

LOKI

A few things – psychologically recovering to the point where I was able to speak the words and mean them, thinking about what my m… certain people whose opinion I have always valued would want, and S.H.I.E.L.D.’s joint heads of Science & Technology introducing me to Undertale. [flurry of disbelieving noise from the crowd; Loki holds up a hand and continues cheerfully] I’m quite serious! They recommended the game to me during a physical assessment, as having some very cogent moral commentary that happens to be extremely relevant to my own actions. And so it proved. All I’ll say is: flowers should not be that blooming disturbing!

[appreciative chuckles from the crowd]

REPORTER #3

Why did you include that bit at the end about 'do not less your losses make you hateful’? It seemed a little out of step with the rest of the speech.

LOKI

[serious, with strength and emotion]

I’m aware of a great deal of anti-Inhuman xenophobia in current discourse, which some of its proponents support by citing the Chitauri attack. Quite apart from the fact that that’s total bollocks, ehehe – the Chitauri have nothing whatsoever to do with any aspect of the existence of Inhumans – I know from bitter personal experience that lashing out at others in rage or grief, causing them pain, whether these others are connected to the source of one’s hurt or not, achieves nothing positive – only further pain – and has a mentally corrosive effect on the one lashing out. Furthermore, I can identify with the Inhuman side of the equation in some ways, so this issue is something of an emotional flashpoint for me. If preventing even one person from having to experience that kind of hurt will help to atone for the damage I caused, then I’ll do what I can.

[a beat, awkward silence – it’s pretty clear that none of the crowd expected THAT answer. After a moment of miscellaneous shuffling and staring-at-feet, REPORTER #4 coughs politely]

REPORTER #4

You alluded to having stabbed or killed an Agent Coulson at some point during the incident, but that very same agent has been noticeably active in recent times – how’s that possible?

LOKI, MACE AND COULSON

[cheerfully, in sync]

That’s classified!

REPORTER #1

You alluded to a 'complicated context’ for your actions. [Loki nods] Can you clarify that?

LOKI

[grimly]

Not without dissolving into a screaming wreck while being beset with horrible flashbacks, I’m afraid – I’ve not recovered *that* far. [humourless half-smile]

REPORTER #1

Are you a Frost Giant [Loki flinches as though struck with a half-brick in a sock] – what’s the word? – [with a hard J/G sound] Jo- Jot-

LOKI

[annoyed]

[correct pronunciation] Jotun? That’s not something I wish to disclose either way.

REPORTER #1

Is it relevant to your 'context’ and the condition you mentioned being in when you arrived on Earth?

LOKI

Relevant? [bitter laugh] To my having been afflicted with heat exhaustion? [shakes his head while making incoherent laugh/distress noises and sagging slightly against the podium. Thor rushes up, glares briefly at Reporter #1 and puts a supporting arm around Loki’s shoulders]

THOR

[sotto voce]

Are you all right, brother? Do you need to step away?

LOKI

[sotto voce]

I’ll be fine, just… [draws a shaky breath] Just give me a couple of seconds…

[Thor nods. Loki draws a few, slightly steadier, breaths and seems to collect himself. Thor gives him a quick side-hug and backs off a bit, but stays close by, looking wary]

LOKI

[slightly forced, 'pay no attention to my little breakdown’ cheerfulness]

Any less… invasive… questions?

REPORTER #5

What’s your opinion on the views that’ve been making the rounds recently, that you should have been allowed to conquer the planet in 2012, or that you should be allowed to rule the world, or at least the US, now?

LOKI

[genuinely cheerful]

Well, given the state of my mind in 2012, having me take over anything would have been a pretty dreadful idea! Now, though, if people really want my rule, and there’s a vacancy… [makes a shrug-ish gesture like the one in this picture – I don’t know how to describe it in words, sorry XD] …lead me to it! Ehehehe [grins]

[rumble of amusement from the crowd. A woman wearing a 'Yuri!!! On Ice’ T-shirt pipes up, looking mischievous]

BYSTANDER

Did you really have sex with a horse?

[the S.H.I.E.L.D. contingent get varying expressions of 'WTF?’ and 'Uh oh’, while Thor facepalms slightly – he knows this story – and Loki looks positively gleeful]

LOKI

[massive grin]

Nope! I made that one up to mess with a bard who was acting like the skaldic equivalent of a tabloid journalist. [nervous chuckles from the reporters] No, Sleipnir was a random mutation produced in the way horses normally come about – no shapeshifting involved. [chuckles to himself and looks even more mischievous] If you want amusing anecdotes about me and hoofed mammals, there’s always the Goat Incident— [Thor gets an 'OH CRAP’ expression and braces to leap] —which was reported in the Prose Edda, although Sturlusson took it waaay out of cont-mmppphhhhhhh! [Thor leaps on him, claps a hand over his mouth, wraps his other arm around Loki’s upper torso and forcibly drags him from the podium]

THOR

We do not speak of the Goat Incident!

[beat]

MACE

[approaches the podium]

End of conference… I guess?

[mileean]

Yo, chapter 4 is now up for >>Promise Me We’ll See the Stars<<

You can read it from the beginning here: >>Chapter 1<<

Chapter 4

Lance woke up with a crick in his neck, a dreadfully sore back, and the headache of a century pounding in his skull. He groaned, and then whimpered as he shifted from his back to his side. He was almost afraid to look at his skin underneath the paladin suit, because he knew there would be several massive and nasty bruises along his torso. And this, this was not how he was used to waking up. Where was he again?

He very slowly opened his eyes. And then immediately clenched them shut. His head seared with pain, and he doubled over on the cot. There was a repetitious metallic clang from outside, over and over and over again. It echoed inside his skull, and Lance prayed they would stop with that incessant noise like now.

“Man,” he moaned into his pillow. “What did I do to deserve this?” he placed a hand over his eyes to block out the light and then, bit by bit, peeked out from between his fingers. His eyes adjusted painfully slow but the headache wasn’t as bad when he took things gradually. Concussions sucked.

He had his helmet on when he fell, but it also flew off after the impact. Though without it, he was pretty sure he’d be dead by now instead of just sporting a horrible headache and wicked nausea. He wondered if the effects of the weird truth spell vanished overnight. He wasn’t sure he could have another repeat performance of last night, not with the way Keith turned and disappeared like it had all been too much for him.

Oh god. Keith.

Memories flooded back to him in a sudden and overwhelming rush. Pidge had said he felt the same way, but Lance wasn't so sure. Besides it was Keith they were talking about. He stared at the ceiling of the makeshift hut they had given him, and recalled his very last conversation with the red paladin in excruciating detail. Then he pushed his hands against his face and moaned.

The sound apparently concerned someone, because Lance heard them enter through the small flap. He didn’t pull his hands down.

“What was that? Are you dying? Because if you’re dying I'd appreciate if you did it when I'm off watch duty. In case anyone blames me.”

“Pidge,” Lance whined into his hands. “Pidge, kill me now.”

He heard a small huff to the side of his cot and then heard footsteps approach him. Pidge dragged another cot across the floor and jumped up onto it with a soft squeak.

“Again, that’s far too much work on my end. And I'd have to explain why we’re suddenly short a paladin. Besides, you can’t die. You still owe me a week’s worth of chores for making you that crystal charger for your phone.” Pidge paused, and then their voice softened. “Plus, it would be boring without you around.”

Lance lowered his hands and looked over at Pidge with furrowed brows. “Chores and entertainment? That's the only reason you want me around? I knew it!”

He had only been teasing, but Pidge looked genuinely surprised, so maybe he had gone too far.

“I'm just kidding. Obviously you keep me around for my witty banter and great looks.” Lance sat up slowly.

Pidge rolled their eyes and Lance wondered if Keith’s habits had contaminated the entire Castle-Ship. “How is it possible that you’re older than me? Seriously. Anyway, are you sure you’re not dying? Because my specialty is computers, but you hit yourself pretty bad and you probably need some time in the healing pod.”

Lance dropped his eyes and tensed. “I’m fine,” he didn’t buy his own lie and he knew Pidge didn’t either. But there was no argument. “Just, I want to sort some stuff out okay? I’ll take care of myself after. How much longer until we can get the Eluzian ship up and running?”

“Hunk is working on the valve regulators right now, and I'm re-calibrating the ship’s OS. So at least another quintant?” Pidge shrugged. “Keith is investigating the abandoned Galra base, in case we can collect any intel from it.”

Lance felt his face grow hot again, and his chest tightened as he thought about Keith.

“Ah, uh, that’s a good idea. Totally. I mean, they might have left something behind we can use. Maybe I'll just stay here and help the Eluzians where I can, y’know maybe grab some firewood or help cook breakfast or…”

Pidge very calmly reached over the cot, and squished his face between their hands. “No.”

Lance blinked. Pidge had a small gleam of irritation in their eyes. “You go off and you talk to him, or I will force you both into a room and I swear I will seal the doors on you until you learn to communicate. Also,” Pidge hesitated, and then dropped their hands. “With… without Shiro, we need you and Keith to work together more than ever. Besides, you were the one that suggested a team bonding exercise in the first place. So act like a team.”

“Pidge…” Lance felt a warm bloom of affection in his chest that calmed the wave of cold, nauseating dread. He reached over and ruffled their hair in the way he always did with Alicia. Except his little sister never slapped his hand away or glared at him in return.

“Lance! I'm not a child—" Pidge tried to push their hair back into place, nose creased in agitation.

“Couldn't help it,” Lance grinned. He didn’t often get to bond with Pidge. Sure, they had some time together at the Garrison, but before he knew about their past, Pidge had distanced themselves from him and Hunk.

“Do that one more time, and I will tell Keith about the photos you take of him when he's not looking.” Pidge pulled their hands away and glanced over at Lance.

“W-wait…” Lance froze. “That was one time—okay maybe a couple times? I mean, I had to make sure my camera was working, and he was totally busy on the gladiator at the time so it’s not like he even noticed it was just…” he trailed off.

Pidge hadn’t even been there at the time. He had just checked the training deck to look for Keith since Shiro had called them all to the command room. But Keith was so wrapped up in his training that he didn't even hear the door open, or Lance call his name. Keith wasn't paying attention, so he wouldn't notice one little picture.

Pidge had just crafted him a charging station, and he hadn't tested the camera function in a while. Keith was just slightly more interesting than the interior of the ship. It definitely wasn't because he looked incredibly fierce and attractive at the time. And maybe it had been more than one photo. He meant to delete the other ones later. Really.

The second time had been right after a diplomatic meeting with the Aesphestians, a group of really hot elf-like people with a love for festivals, music, and really good food. Hunk was a big ball of energy and insisted on helping prepare the food to learn more about their style of cuisine. Keith had gone off and away from the festivities like usual.

Lance found him sitting over the edge of a massive marble bridge that elegantly curved over a cascading green waterfall. The sound of the rushing water drowned out the music and laughter in the distance. The only light came from the planet’s two moons that hung large and imposing in the sky above them. Keith looked so peaceful with the gentle glow of moonlight against his skin, dark hair pulled back, and gaze unfocused as the spray of the waterfall created a fine, misty aura around him. That was one of Lance's favorite pictures honestly. But he would die if Keith knew he had taken them.

“Ha! So you do have pictures,” Pidge reared back in triumph. Lance realized a moment too late this had been a trap. “This may come in handy. Interesting,” Pidge stretched the word as if testing it on their tongue. They tapped a finger against their lips and grinned at him.

“I can’t believe I fell for that!” Irritation swelled inside of him, but the sense of self preservation was stronger and he tried to scramble out of the cot as quickly as possible before Pidge could take advantage of the situation, and the effects of the magic that apparently would not leave him alone.

Lance was halfway to the hut’s exit when his ribs gave a sharp protest and he doubled over in momentary pain. Pidge was not sympathetic.

“How many pictures of Keith do you have on your phone?” Pidge asked. Lance wanted more than anything to turn away and head outside. That stupid warm, bubbly sensation hit him again and the words spilled out without his consent.

“I-I don’t know, it’s not like I counted!” Lance hissed.

Pidge smirked, and then slowly stood up from the cot and adjusted it, quietly letting the anticipation build. Again, Lance tried to stand straight up, but his body screamed at him for moving too quickly. But he would not use the crutch again. He could do this.

“More than one, then. Two? Three?” Lance glared at Pidge. “Let’s guess. If you need to count them, maybe a dozen? We should share them with Keith—”

“Okay, okay. I get it! Yes, I mean, there are a lot of… photos… don’t you dare say a thing, Pidge. I won’t touch your hair again, alright?” He managed to stand upright through sheer force of pride, and turned to leave just to distance himself from the torment he knew Pidge could dish out.

“Just so we’re clear,” Pidge grinned. “Now, go find Keith.”

Lance grumbled as the flap closed behind him and he made his way through the throng of Eluzians to the blue lion, where a small circle of Eluzian children stood. At least he assumed they were children, from their height. They were about as tall as Pidge, some shorter. They were gathered around, and looked up at the lion with wide, uncertain eyes.

“She’s not gonna bite,” Lance slipped a hand over his hip and grinned at the group of kids as they jumped and turned around in surprise.

“These creatures, are they alive or machine?” One of the children asked. He was taller with a blue tinge to his skin and bangles up and down his arms. All three of his eyes were wide with curiosity.

“Honestly?” Lance shrugged. “We don’t know a lot about the lions. Only that they're definitely able to think and act on their own, and they're crazy powerful in a fight. Blue can freeze things in an instant, or swim as gracefully as a mermaid, or shoot lasers strong enough to cut through Galran warships," Lance waved his good arm while he talked. He used sound effects to emphasize his points as he mimicked his lion’s powerful abilities.  

“Did you fight against Zarkon?” The Eluzian with the bangles asked. His eyes were almost spherical, and the other children made noises of glee or awe as they approached the lion. Lance could feel Blue's mild amusement.

Lance grinned, “Oh yeah. We’re the Paladins of Voltron, defenders of the known universe. When the five of us come together to form Voltron, there’s nothing that can stand in our way. We sent Zarkon packing with his tail between his legs, if he’s even alive.”

There had been no time to search for Zarkon’s body to make absolutely certain, but how could anyone survive a direct hit like that? His armor had been completely destroyed. At least, that was what Lance wanted to think. But things just didn’t feel… completed. Sometimes he still had a horrible nagging sensation that it had been too easy.

“Five paladins? But there are only four of you here,” another Eluzian with a soft, lilting voice chimed in. She had tiger stripes along her arms, and darker coloring around her eyes.

Lance’s smile fell as if he had been electrocuted. Ice-cold dread twisted the pit of his stomach, but he tried to fix his expression before any of the Eluzians noticed.

“We’re… Shiro, he’s…” Lance's chest felt too tight, and a tingling sensation creeped along his arms, and down his spine. He shuddered, and tried his hardest to keep his voice from cracking.

Gone. Missing. Maybe…maybe…

Lance didn’t want to think the word. The finality of it slammed into him like a head-on collision. His head spun, his stomach dropped, and the world suddenly felt too small and constricted, and at the same time insanely vast and intimidating.

Shiro. Dead.

The word echoed inside of his head. Over and over, incessant and cruel. Each time he felt some of his self control start to slip, and the prickle of tears threatened to spill over if he so much as blinked.

The image of Shiro, their leader, their friend, as transient as footprints washed away by the gentle tide of the ocean. They would never hear his voice again. Or see his calm and collected façade slip to argue, or partake in their stupid pranks, or alien snowball fights in space. He would never burn anything in the ship’s kitchen in an attempt to help cook. No more calculated strategies crafted between the five of them over the comm. Shiro had always been there to correct them if they made a mistake in battle. He was always there to save them. But they hadn't been able to save him.

Lance couldn’t breathe. The sharp sensation of being thrown off balance and yanked forward despite being completely still made him nauseous. His chest was too tight—he was drowning. Shiro couldn't be dead.

He felt a large and gentle hand grip his shoulder. It squeezed until he realized that someone stood next to him. Lance tensed, but looked over at the tall Eluzian. He had a multitude of scars along his body, the clear definition of muscle along his long arms and exposed chest. But he smiled at Lance with surprising warmth. Despite the lack of pupils or eyebrows, Lance could sense an expression of sympathy.

“Lance, was it? You are very good with the fledglings. I see they greatly admire your vessel. The legend of Voltron once was a common tale in every family, and although it has since passed into legend, I do believe you and your friends are doing an excellent job preserving the integrity and responsibility of the title. My name is Uubrek,” the Eluzian had a way of rounding the vowels that was almost musical. He nodded towards an area a little farther from the curious fledglings that still watched, and guided Lance away so they could speak.

Lance quickly rubbed at his eyes before the threat of tears could betray him. He knew as soon as it started he would not be able to hide them anymore.

“Uh,” he wasn’t sure what to say. He had a feeling Uubrek was trying to comfort him. But to be honest Lance didn't even feel like he deserved that kind of praise. Sure, they had defeated Zarkon and stopped his empire for the time being, but they had done it as a team. And they had done it with Shiro at the helm.

“Our planet was destroyed by the Galra Empire and Zarkon. Eluzia was a beautiful place, and we were a peaceful people. We dealt mostly in the trade of Andentite, a crystal with a high concentration of quintessence. They were used mainly to heal, they served no purpose offensively. But Zarkon’s greed knows no bounds. The Galra enslaved my people, and they mine our resources. We escaped with the hope that one day we may meet someone that will come to our aid.”

A dark look passed over Uubrek’s face. Lance was reminded of the horrible damage that had been done to the Balmera, and the treatment of the Olkari, and he wondered just how many planets suffered a similar fate.

“I am sorry, I simply cannot forgive him or what he has done. It is refreshing to see a resistance, to learn that Voltron is our one, true light in this darkness.” Uubrek gazed over at their damaged ship in the distance. Hunk and Pidge were discussing something as they pointed to one of the engines.

“I have seen the Galra use unrestrained force, and showcase such devastating cruelty. They treat my people like livestock. We suffer beatings, and torture, all for the cruel amusement of the officers. Zarkon is vile,” Uubrek snarled. “If you have lost a friend to him, I understand your suffering. I beg of you not to give up hope, and to continue the fight.”

Lance swallowed thickly. He looked from Uubrek to the ground and spoke to his boots instead. “Shiro might still be alive. He has to be. We’re going to find him and bring him back. And I promise,” he took a breath and raised his eyes to look at the Eluzian. “We will free your planet. We took out Zarkon, we can destroy the Galra Empire. I promise.” Lance tried his best to keep his voice from cracking.

Uubrek smiled. “I believe you, Paladin. Although things may become difficult for you in the fight ahead. So, I will tell you a secret. Tell me about your world; tell me the color of your sky. What did it look like?”

Lance wasn’t immediately sure what to say. “The sky? It was blue. Well, not always just blue. Sunrise and sunset painted the horizon in dark reds and vivid oranges, sometimes with tinges of soft pastel pink,” he felt some of his anxiety begin to ebb as he focused on the sky he had not seen in months. He struggled to recall the exact shades of the colors.

“At twilight, it was more of a dark sapphire blue, with shades of rich violet, and sometimes warm contrasting reds. Twilight was… quiet. In between night and day it was peaceful, I guess. You could see the first stars in the darkest part of the sky, right before true dusk. I dunno why but it was always my favorite time of day. The colors weren't as beautiful as they were at sunset, but the dark violet, and inky black filled with stars… there was something calming about it.”

Lance took a breath before he continued. “When it would storm, the sky could turn black as obsidian. The clouds would grow heavy with moisture, and span the entire horizon. Bigger than my house, sometimes I couldn’t even see where they ended. Blinding flashes of white-hot lightning would split the sky and race across the clouds in a blink of an eye, brighter than the sun. The rumble that would follow was so loud sometimes you felt it reverberate down to your very core. It was awesome though, when we would get bad storms sometimes I would lay sprawled on my bed and look out the window as the flashes of lightning illuminated the entire sky above the ocean in long, branching  patterns. The louder the crash of thunder, the better. It was beautiful, in a terrifying sort of way.”

He took another breath, deeper this time. Uubrek still smiled, so Lance continued. “The sky here is different. Each planet is different. The clouds are all wrong, the colors don’t look right. And the rain, I miss the rain so much… sometimes I would just stand outside and let it soak me down to my skin, warm and gentle.” A bittersweet wave of nostalgia settled over him like a thick, encompassing blanket.

“Whenever you feel overwhelmed," Uubrek said, "Go back in your mind and recall the details of the sky you love so dearly. Remember the feel of rain against your skin, the smells that meant home. These things will ground you, I promise.” Uubrek placed his large hands on either side of Lance. “This is also how I remember my home planet. It has worked for me for many years, and I hope it will offer you the same comfort. And I do hope you find your lost Paladin. Now, you had business with your friends, I am sure.” Uubrek bowed and raised his arms up and behind him in a strange gesture that Lance wondered was an Eluzian bow.

“Oh, um, yeah I should find Keith,” Lance attempted to replicate the movement albeit not as well. Uubrek seemed pleased nonetheless. “But thanks. Really.” He grinned, and when he stood straight again he felt better.

He raced to Blue, and his body feelt lighter than usual. Even though he still felt a dull ache in his ribs that protested the movement he ignored it. He placed his hands over the controls and opened his mind to his lion, before he sent a silent greeting. Blue stood up and raised her head, much to the delight of the Eluzian children that still watched from a safe distance. Lance nudged Blue and his lion roared. The children shouted in delight, and moved out of the way as they laughed. And Lance was reminded of why he kept at this day in and day out. They took off and headed above the canopy.

As soon as they were airborne, Blue inquired about his state with a small nudge of her mind. Lance grinned and shook his head.

“I’m doin’ better. Hey, girl? That magic that we were hit with, did it affect you at all? I mean, you shut down for a bit.”

Lance winced as he tried to bend his wrist to shift the controls, the splint too bulky and stiff to allow movement. He waited for a response from his partner, and wondered if maybe she was thinking. Eventually he felt the equivalent of a no, a gentle shake of the head.

Lance frowned and looked down at his hands. He wasn't even sure time in the healing pod would heal something like this. It wasn't a physical injury, it was a magical one. He was extremely exhausted in a way he didn't even know was possible, like stitches being pulled too tight.

“Blue…” Lance eyed the landscape around them as he sought out the abandoned buildings that signaled Galran camp. His fingers tightened around the controls as he took a breath.

“Do you know… why we can’t get the black lion to turn on? I mean, Keith is supposed to lead the team, but he can’t really lead Voltron without Black. And—and if he does end up as leader, I guess he’d be the Black Paladin?” Lance huffed. He couldn't deny the slow ache he felt in his chest every time he realized that Shiro had chosen Keith as their leader. How Shiro must trust him more, believe in him more.

Keith was skilled as a pilot and a combatant, even if he could be hot-headed and impulsive at times. He charged into any situation without fear or hesitation. Sure, he didn’t always consider the team before himself, but it usually worked in the end. He made it work. He always made everything look so easy.

Keith had garnered Shiro’s respect in a way Lance knew he never could. Shiro didn't look at him the same way, because he wasn't on the same level. He wasn't even in the same building. That was just something he had accepted over time, something he had gotten used to.

Blue was strangely quiet in a way that made Lance worry. He fidgeted, back going ramrod straight.

“You… either don’t know, or you can’t tell me,” Lance kept his gaze determinedly on the horizon as he scanned for any break in the trees. “I mean, Keith will be a good leader. Maybe Allura will pilot Red? Allura will be an awesome pilot. The team will be unstoppable with her. Until we find Shiro, right? And then… then we can go back to our normal team.”

He faltered as a sudden thought crossed his mind. “It will be good to have another pilot in case something happens. Actually, the five of them would make an awesome team. I mean, Shiro is our respected and level-headed leader with a keen eye for observation and tactics. Allura is probably the most amazing person I've ever met. She’s our strength and foundation. She’s confident and knows how to keep us in line—even Shiro. Pidge is a genius. I've never seen anything they can’t do. Pidge is our innovator when things get sticky. And Hunk is super strong. He always thinks of others first, and he’s the voice of reason when the team gets too heated. And Keith? He’s never afraid to run headfirst into a fight no matter the enemy. He’s an ace pilot, a fierce combatant, and his connection with Red Lion is unshakable.

“I don’t know what the paladins were like before us, but that’s sort of the dream team. Allura would be a great paladin, Blue. Would you let her partner with you if Shiro came back?” Lance nudged his lion gently with his mind when he didn’t get a response. He heard a low, deep sound from her, and he wasn’t sure what it meant.

“Sorry,” his smile faded a bit. “I'm not leaving or anything. It was just an observation. I think I'd really like to see everyone grow stronger as a team. You’ve been good to me, Blue. And I’m not bad in a fight, I guess. I just… I can’t unlock your powers like everyone else. Maybe I'm just not your true paladin.”

His voice faltered and he kept his eyes on the horizon as he spotted the base he had been looking for. They started to descend, a small peak of a black tower visible from the canopy of the trees.

He felt a nudge, a little harder than before, and a sensation of warm affection numbed him. He knew Blue was trying to reassure him. He loved Blue, really. But maybe they just weren’t compatible. Their bond wasn’t as strong as Shiro’s with Black Lion, or Keith’s with Red Lion, no matter how much he tried to unlock her abilities.

They landed on the ground gently, despite the thick overgrowth in the area that made the descent difficult. Lance took a long moment to compose himself in the pilot’s chair before he sighed and stood up. This wasn't exactly the spaceship he had imagined as a kid. And no matter how hard he tried, maybe he didn’t have the skills to be the pilot. Even if he would never give up on his team. Maybe he just had to get stronger.

Lance let his hand gently brush against Blue as he exited and made his way to the ground. He rubbed his chest as a small bloom of pain throbbed. He had definitely bruised some ribs, and a lot of other things. He saw the red lion beside a massive door with a large Galran emblem emblazoned on the front.

He had always been awed at the bond that Keith had with his lion. It was so strong that Red had repeatedly gone off to find and save him, despite long distances or enemy cover. Lance wondered how Red would feel with Keith as the Black Paladin? He glanced up at the lion with unsure, open eyes as he walked past.

Somehow he felt like he was being judged, though he couldn't imagine why. His eyes moved back towards Blue in the distance and he wondered if the other lions talked to each other. What did Red think about his relationship with Blue?

Keith had obviously left the lion because it was definitely immobile. Lance’s eyes moved towards the large door. It was sealed shut, but there was a small hole in the side of the wall where a person could squeeze through. He ducked down, and slid through the narrow space with a grunt.

It was dark inside. There were no lights, obviously, and the only light he had came from the hole in the wall that led outside. Lance squinted and then attempted to open his eyes as wide as he could to adjust.

“Oh right,” his hand slipped to his belt and he pulled out a small utility tool Coran had given them all some time back. It was a lot like a human Swiss Army knife, only this one had all sorts of cool Altean tools. The small flashlight that flipped out used crystals to emit a pale blue glow.

“Thaaaat’s better,” Lance grinned as he stepped through the long, black hallway. It was vast-a building with thirteen-foot ceilings, and massive metal doors. Militaristic and sterile. His boots echoed against the floor, the sound bounced off the cold, empty walls. He felt a chill run down his spine as he approached an insanely long corridor lined with rows upon rows of doors. Some were closed, and some were partially opened but pitch black inside. He couldn’t see past the scope of his flashlight, and the darkness enveloped him from all sides. His imagination was killing him.

He felt goosebumps under his paladin suit, and bit his lip as he cautiously peeked around the doorway of an open room, the inky blackness inside far too dark for his eyes to adjust to. He swallowed and wrapped his hands around the frame before he peered fully around the corner. His heart raced in his chest as his eyes struggled to see. The flashlight couldn’t fully illuminate the room inside.

“Okay, Lance don’t be a chicken. This is stupid, you're awesome. You're brave, you're a freaking paladin of Voltron, you're, uh… definitely not going to run into another one of those ghost aliens, or a lone Galra or—”

He had just managed to head around the corner when he felt a hand grip his shoulder. His flashlight fell to the floor and he shrieked. As he pulled away and twisted he lost his balance, and landed hard on the floor in the pitch-black room.

The flashlight landed away from him, the beam pointed the wrong direction. All he could see was a slight outline of a figure. His hand went to his side to retrieve his Bayard but before he could pull it out he felt a hand grip his wrist.

“Lance! What the hell are you doing out here?” That was definitely Keith’s voice.

Lance exhaled and tried to calm the frantic beating in his chest. “Oh, y’know… just taking a stroll. And looking for you.” He shrugged in an attempt to look nonchalant despite his scream a few seconds earlier. It wasn’t like Keith could see him, or the deep red color on his cheeks.

“How did you know it was me?” Lance blinked, but he still couldn’t make out Keith’s features. Where was his flashlight?

“I could hear you from a mile away,” Keith deadpanned. “You walk too loudly. And you talk to yourself.”

“It’s pitch black!” Lance shouted and his voice echoed off the walls of the room they were in. “How can you even see?”

Keith dropped his hand and stepped back. Lance absently brushed his fingers across his wrist where his touch had been a moment before. Too bad his gloves prevented skin on skin contact.  

“I can see pretty well in the dark, I guess. Always have been able to,” Keith muttered.

Lance grumbled and moved to grab his flashlight. He didn't care what Keith said, it was too dark to see anything. He paused as his fingers wrapped around the flashlight.

“You can… hear pretty well too,” Lance commented. “I don’t walk that loudly.” He slowly picked up the flashlight and brought it back so he could see Keith’s face. Keith looked pained. Immediately Lance pushed himself up and moved to stand closer to him.

“Keith, are you okay? You look…” he trailed off, his hand moved on instinct to reach out but he hesitated and let it drop awkwardly back to his side.

“It’s nothing. Just-I'm fine.” Keith actually moved away from him. Lance rested a hand over his hip and frowned.

“Yeah, you don’t look fine. If this is about what—what I said last night,” Lance trailed off. “You can just forget it ever happened, just uh, maybe we can go back to being whatever we were before. I hit my head, and things just started coming out and… just treat it like a bad dream or something, alright?”

Keith looked like he had been slapped. Lance took a breath. He could feel the familiar creep of anxiety begin to root.

“No!”  Keith shouted, his voice echoed against the walls even louder than lance’s had. He recoiled a bit, but didn’t unclench his fists. “It’s not that,” he said quickly “I mean, it’s sort of that. But it’s not what you think.” he made a frustrated noise and turned his head away.

“You’ve… just got a lot on your mind?” Lance supplied. He remembered Keith’s words form last night. He wasn't sure he was relieved to hear that he wasn't Keith's only source of anxiety or not.

“Lance,” Keith crossed his arms tightly over his chest. Lance lowered the flashlight slightly and looked down. They were in some sort of command room; there were pieces of old equipment everywhere. Wires and glass littered the floor. Lance could hear it crunch underneath his boots as he shifted his weight.

“Do you mean what you just said just now?” Keith's question caught him off guard. Lance stopped and his eyes widened.

He really hoped Keith couldn't see as well as he said he could, because his face was an open book at the moment.

Yes. Tell him yes.

Just one freaking word, to patch up everything—the entire mess he had made last night. He needed to keep the team together, he needed to keep everyone in line and strong and focused and put his own needs second. He had to make them smile and laugh and distract them when things got serious. He had to bring back the Hunk he knew, and rescue Pidge from their self-imposed isolation, and take away all their insecurities and doubts. He just had to say yes.

Lance bit his tongue until he felt a sharp tingle spread through him like pins and needles. He scrunched his nose, looked down, and focused on that one word over and over again until he felt the sting of tears at his eyes. It went from uncomfortable to painful in a matter of a minute.

“No,” he choked. The word was ripped from him and his hands trembled at his sides. He couldn’t look up at Keith. “No, I don’t. I don’t want you to forget. I-I meant what I said.”

But Lance heard a soft sigh, and he thought he could hear a smile in Keith’s voice. “Good. Uh, you know it’s not your fault. The way I’m feeling. I mean, it was a lot to take in because I didn’t think you felt that way. But, I’m not weirded out, I’m actually…” Keith trailed off as he looked away and struggled to find his words.  

Lance raised his head, the smallest bit of hope inside of him. He saw Keith grip one arm with his hand as he looked at the ground. “I could, answer some questions if you want. To… even the score?” Keith shrugged with one shoulder. “I’ll answer honestly.”

Lance furrowed his brows and swallowed, “What you mean if I ask you stuff?” Keith nodded. Lance chewed on his bottom lip as he thought about the offer.

He took a breath. He had a million questions, and he didn’t know where to start. He didn’t even know if Keith would answer them honestly. But he had a feeling that he could trust him.  

“What are you doing out here all by yourself anyway?” Lance glanced over and tested the waters. He started with a slow, easy question.

Keith looked uncertain for a moment despite the easy question, and his shoulders went taut. For a second Lance didn't think he would even answer.

Eventually, Keith sighed. He turned around, and moved his hand until his fingers brushed against the control panel behind him. Almost immediately, the room illuminated with a faint purple glow as screens all around them came to life one by one. They were cracked, the words indecipherable, but Lance could see now that they were in a large control room filled with massive machines, computers, and discarded pieces of metal and wire.

Lance slowly spun around, and took in everything around them. When he landed on Keith, the dark-haired paladin was watching him with wary eyes. He still had a hand on the controls and his eyebrows were furrowed in a way that made him look vaguely apprehensive.

For a moment, the two of them only stared. Lance could feel all of the implications, all of the unsaid words hang heavy between them. It wasn't the first time he had seen Keith do this. He had done it before, back before he knew why he was able to do it at all. But now, with the full weight of what it meant on his shoulders, it felt different.

“I-I was looking for answers, I guess," Keith started. "A clue as to where my mom might be, who she might be. Why I… why I was never given any information. Just left with this,” he pulled out the blade from its sheath, the one he had when they first met. The one he always carried with him as a second weapon. Lance had always wondered why, when they had their Bayards and their lions. Now he knew.

Keith turned it over in his hand almost reverently. Lance swallowed and took a step towards him.

“Is that… does that mean your mom is Galra?” Lance eyed the symbol engraved on the hilt of the blade. Keith nodded once, tersely. “Did you get that from her?” Again, another nod.

Lance’s fingers twitched at his sides and he took another tentative step forward. “Do you remember her?”

Keith shook his head this time. “No, not really. I was too young, I guess. My dad died when I was real little. I never knew my mom, so I wound up in foster care. Until I met Shiro.”

Lance stopped. He felt his heart skip in his chest, and he was almost afraid to ask. But Keith kept talking.

“Shiro was a… stabilizing figure for me. He would visit me all the time as some sort of volunteer service thing for his school. Even after his hours were met, he came back to see me. He would take me out and talk about the program he was applying to. He was in an advanced course that studied astroexploration and aerospace engineering. He told me about the Galaxy Garrison where he wanted to apply, and I really wanted to see it. So one day I snuck off and into the facility. Only I was caught by some kid that happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Lance bristled. “Hey! I was there first!” but Keith had a soft smile on his face, so Lance cut himself off.

“After that day I got in huge trouble. But Shiro intervened. He wasn’t that much older than me, but he was so mature and so amazing I just… I think I'd do whatever he told me to. He had a talk with me, and told me to behave myself, and that when I was old enough he could get me into the Garrison program. I never really knew my family, but he was the closest thing I've ever had.”

Lance felt a flood of affection wash over him as he stared at Keith. He took in the small smile on his face and the soft glint in his eyes. So he was in foster care back then, and Shiro had been like an older brother for him.

“When I found out I was Galra, I was sure that he would hate me,” Keith’s voice wavered. “I thought you all would. I was the enemy; I was what we were fighting against. And I felt like I was lying to you all, this whole time. I had these dreams, these nightmares, I would look in the mirror and I wasn’t myself. I wouldn’t even recognize what I saw and it terrified me.”

Keith’s voice shook as he spoke. Lance took a final step forward to close the distance between them, and placed his hand over Keith’s on the control panel. The other paladin went rigid, but didn’t move away.

“Keith,” Lance looked over at their hands and took a breath. “You know the first thing I thought when I found out? It wasn’t fear or revulsion or anything. Was I surprised? Um, yeah. You didn’t look like a Galra. But actually, I was hurt. You didn’t tell anyone on the team, not even Shiro. I felt like you didn’t trust us enough. Sometimes when you make decisions or go off on your own, I feel like you can’t depend on us to help. You take the whole world on your shoulders, and you don’t have to.”

Keith made a frustrated noise and yanked his hand away, but the screens remained illuminated. He turned on Lance. “I have to fight for myself! That’s all I’ve ever known, okay? You wouldn’t be so… so accepting if one day I just didn’t look human anymore! Allura hated me, she still doesn’t see me the same way she did before.”

Lance shook his head. “Allura lost everything she ever knew to the Galra Empire, Keith! It’s going to take some time for her to fully come around. I think… she was probably hurt, too.” Lance faltered, his eyes sought Keith’s. “If you turned purple—which you’re not going to—it’s not going to affect the fact that you’re still Keith. You’re still our kickass red paladin, our teammate, our… friend.”

Lance stumbled over the word. Friends, they were definitely friends. Even if sometimes he wanted them to be so much closer than that, so much more. The word just wasn’t enough to fit the intensity of what he felt.

Keith’s eyes widened, but the scowl still remained painted on his face. “You don’t know what might happen to me. For all you know, I might wake up tomorrow looking…” he gestured wildly with one hand. “Besides, it’s not just physical appearance. I can see in the dark, I can hear things at night from several rooms away. I—sometimes I get really angry, I feel this overwhelming urge to lash out. And more than once I’ve wanted to really, really hurt someone. I should be terrified, but I’m not. That’s not normal, Lance! If I wake up one day, and I don’t even recognize the me staring back, I—I don’t know what I’d do.”

Keith’s voice cracked, and his face fell. He looked lost and vulnerable in a way Lance had never seen him before. Even in the dim light from the monitors, Lance could see the gleam of tears in his eyes, and it broke him. He inhaled sharply and reached out before he could stop himself.

Lance’s fingers tentatively brushed Keith’s face, until his hands cupped his cheeks. Keith was warm under his touch, the hair that brushed the pads of his fingers where they curled was softer than it looked. He gazed into Keith’s eyes and bent his neck until their foreheads touched. Keith’s breath hitched, the air hot against Lance’s face. This close, he could see the different shades of violet in the other paladin’s wide eyes.

“Your eyes are like twilight,” Lance smiled softly. They calmed him in the same way. He knew that was another little fact he had meant to keep to himself locked away forever, but it was worth it for the effect it had. Keith’s face warmed up under his hands as his cheeks turned bright red.

“No matter what happens,” Lance breathed, “I’ll always be here. Even if one day you wake up and you look more Galra than human, even if you lose yourself to anger or instinct, I’ll be here to pull you back. I—” he closed his eyes tightly, and willed his heart to slow down.

Even if he wanted to stop himself, even if the magic didn’t force him to spill everything until there was nothing left of him to give, he couldn’t stop. “I’ll always be here. Until you… until you don’t want me anymore.”

He heard Keith suck in a breath and he wished he was brave enough to open his eyes. He had meant to offer comfort; he had wanted to wrap his arms around the other paladin until all thoughts of being discarded or hated disappeared. He wasn’t sure how much comfort he offered, he could only give himself. He wasn’t the strongest or the smartest of the team, he wasn’t Shiro, but he would do everything in his power to save Keith from hating himself.

And then he felt warm hands cover his own, and he opened his eyes in shock. Keith smiled. Oh god, Lance had never seen him look like that before. His eyes still held the promise of tears, but his expression was soft in a way that made Lance sure his heart would burst.

He stared, even as Keith lowered their hands and tightened his own around them. He was warm, his fingers calloused and firm. Lance wondered how they would fit together if he laced their fingers.

“You… might be here for a long time then.” Keith still had a dusting of red across his face and he dropped his eyes. Lance took a long moment to process his words. And then process them again to make sure he hadn’t imagined them.

He was dreaming. He had to be dreaming. There was no way Keith would ever have said that to him.

But it might be totally platonic. In a friendship sort of way. Friends said that sort of stuff about each other, probably. Even if he never would have said something like this to Pidge or Hunk in a million years.

“D-does that mean you’re not freaked out by my, um,” Lance felt his own face get warm as he stuttered. “By the fact that I l-like you? Not in a let’s be bros kind of way, but in a ‘I really want to kiss you and may have thought about how your lips would feel against mine more than once’ sort of way?”

Oh crap. Abort mission. Abort. Mission. He panicked as words started to spill out again.

Keith’s eyes widened again and he made a sort of coughing noise. “You what?”  

“Uh, well,” Lance reeled. “I said I liked you, and I might have thought about you and me a lot. As in, together. You’re really hot, and an amazing pilot, and I may have had a crush on you for a while that I sort of covered up with banal insults when you forgot me to hide how much I still liked you. B-but I get it if you just forget I ever said that. You meant that in a completely platonic way, let’s be pals, amigos, bud—”

Keith actually growled. He moved his hands to grip the collar of Lance’s paladin suit and he pushed him back onto the control panel. It wasn’t done with much force, but Lance stumbled and found himself pinned beneath Keith anyway. Keith moved his hands to either side to cage him.

“Lance,” Keith breathed. And his eyes were dark underneath the fringe of lashes. “Read the mood.” Without another word, he leaned forward.

Lance’s breath caught in his throat as his gaze fell to Keith’s lips. They were so close Lance could feel the dark-haired boy’s warm breath against his mouth. He angled his head, and reached up to close the distance between them. His eyes fluttered shut just as he felt the soft press of lips against his own. He pressed harder in return, his own lips parted in invitation.

Lance moaned into the kiss, unable to stop himself. Fantasy did not compare to reality at all. He reached his hand up to thread his fingers though Keith’s hair. He tugged lightly and Keith made a noise in his throat before he kissed back hard enough to bruise. Despite the heat between their open mouths, Lance shivered.

Keith kissed to dominate, and Lance couldn’t help but push back. His eyes opened, he pulled back a fraction, and gently teased Keith’s lower lip with his teeth eliciting a moan from the other that shot straight through him. He slowly, lovingly touched his lips to the corner of Keith’s mouth, along his jaw line, and against his pulse point. He varied the pressure and intensity of each kiss, depending on the noises the other made. He reveled in the growl of frustration when the pace was too slow. Keith moved one hand and curled his fingers tightly against Lance’s waist. Their hips brushed and Lance let out a breathy noise of appreciation at the added friction.

“Hng… K-Keith,” Lance pulled back and craned his neck, overheated and dizzy in the best way possible. His good hand moved to grip Keith’s back, fingers digging into the fabric beneath the armor. Their paladin suits were not conducive to this sort of activity and he hated them at this moment.

“Hmm,” Keith’s voice was low and breathy. He brushed his lips over Lance’s exposed neck in a mimicry of what had been done to him moments earlier. Keith’s mouth was hot and wet against the bare skin, and he sucked hard enough to leave a mark. The sensation made Lance shudder. He knew it was going to be too high up for his collar to cover. That thought didn’t annoy him as much as it should have, despite the fact Keith probably did it on purpose.

Lance’s breath caught in his throat as Keith pulled back. He gripped Keith’s back harder and shifted so their hips slotted together again. He pushed upwards in retaliation, and Keith made a satisfying groan as his body tensed in response.

“Lance—” When Keith growled at him, Lance couldn’t help but smirk. Keith’s pupils were blown wide with arousal, despite his furrowed brow.

“Hmm?” Lance leaned forward, his lips just a hair’s breadth away. He looked up through lidded eyes, lips pulled up at one corner in a teasing smile.

Keith opened his mouth to say something, when the sound of static startled them both. Lance’s eyes fell to the floor, where Keith’s discarded helmet lay. He hadn’t even noticed it until now. The static sounded again, and Allura’s voice filled the room.

Suddenly, it felt very awkward to be situated like this. Keith moved away first and Lance followed quickly. He rubbed his neck where the hickey was definitely going to form, and blushed as he wondered if Allura had heard any of that through the comm. But the mic was probably off. He hoped.

“Paladins, can you hear me? You have company fast approaching from the west. A Galra ship is entering Kestia’s atmosphere. I can take out the ion cannons on the main ship, but we can’t handle all of the fighters. Please, get to your lions!”

Keith moved immediately. He turned and reached for his helmet, switched the mic on his helmet and slipped it on.

“We’re here, Allura. Lance’s helmet is still broken, but he’s here with me. We’re on it.”

Lance ran a hand through his hair, the confusion and disappointment slowly being replaced with the adrenaline of imminent battle. He hadn’t even thought of his helmet until now. It meant that he wouldn’t have a line of communication with the others.

“Lance,” Keith turned to look at him. “You’re still injured, and you don’t have your helmet. Stay out of sight, and try to keep a low profile. Take out any fighters you can lure away, but don’t put yourself onto the front lines. We still only have four of us, we have to be cautious.”

Lance didn’t like the plan. But he also couldn’t disagree with it. “Yeah, alright.”

Keith was already running for the exit. Stupid Galra that could see in the dark. Lance moved to grab his flashlight from where it had fallen and he quickly followed suit down the hallway. He squeezed through the hole near the door and stumbled outside. Despite the heat, it was almost a relief to be outside in fresh air again. He ran for Blue, just as Keith activated Red.

His ribs protested as he ran, but he ignored them. They had to fight off the Galra before any of the Eluzians were harmed. But what the hell were they doing here anyway? There was no way for them to track the black lion, and this base looked like it had been abandoned for years. And who was leading them?

Lance pulled himself back into the cockpit and his hands reached out for the controls as soon as he strapped himself in place. It was strange being cut off from the others, but he used the trees as a line of cover as he scanned his radar for a good target. He heard explosions behind him and the sound of metal crunching.

“Hey, is that…” Lance peered closely at the radar. The dot on screen was larger than the fighters but not as large as the main ship. A prisoner ship, he realized. He thought of Shiro, and while he didn’t think they’d be that lucky he had to try. There might be some sort of information on what happened to him on there, and if not he could at least rescue some prisoners.

Lance cursed as he realized he had no way to alert the others. Blue turned and twisted through the trees, and he bit his lip as he considered his options. Prisoner ships usually weren’t as equipped for battle as the other types of Galran spacecrafts. He could break in, rescue the captives, and get out. Pidge’s cloaking device would be best here, but maybe if he could disrupt their radar long enough to get Blue close…

Lance checked his screens. All three of them were under heavy fire. He couldn’t distract them even for a moment without risking their safety. And Allura? He looked at her screen. Coran was still gone it seemed, and she focused everything onto maintaining the particle barrier.

“Okay,” he breathed out. He pictured the warm, vivid colors of the sky, and then he pushed Blue towards the Galra ship.

[930club]

9:30 INTERVIEW: PHOX

The announcement of a (potential) final tour is always bittersweet, especially when it comes from a band as magical as PHOX. With just one full-length album out, PHOX has won the hearts of musical tastemakers across the globe, including musician and producer Bon Iver, NPR’s Bob Boilen, and the curators of Newport Folk Festival. As the band prepares to grace the 9:30 stage for what may be the last time, Monica Martin, the lead vocalist and songwriter, was kind enough to answer a few questions about future plans, combating stage-fright, and social justice.

Helen Hennessey [9:30 Club]: In your “farewell for now” Facebook post, you mention wanting to get out of Baraboo, but I also get the sense that you all have a massive amount of hometown pride. How would you describe your relationship with the city? 

Monica Martin [PHOX]: First things first, the name Helen Hennessey is so f**king slick. Good on your parents.

Yeah! So our break isn’t really due to that, as we’ve been living in different spots for a while now, but to answer the latter half of the question: for some members of PHOX, Baraboo is nostalgic and their families are there! For others, the rural midwest’s more narrow-minded undercurrent can be suffocating. So it's bittersweet.

Matteo, you and Zach did the music for The Dam Keeper, a short Pixar film. How was that experience? Is it a field any of you want to explore more during your indefinite hiatus?

Matteo Roberts [PHOX]: Working on The Dam Keeper was a total creative dream. Not unlike our experience with PHOX, the whole project kind of landed in our somewhat unproven and inexperienced laps basically because we had amazing and daring friends that really liked what they heard and wanted to see what was possible. What began as a humble little personal project grew into a project requiring a studio, dozens of animators, and editors. Our little Garageband score ended up at Fantasy Studios, recorded with the Magik Magik Orchestra. It was an incredible experience peering into the animation world and the Pixar folks, who were very inspiring and genuine. We were very lucky to work with such young, aspiring professionals who set an awfully high bar for that crazy balance of productivity, objectivity, and kindness in a collaboration. 

The directors of that film actually left Pixar immediately after The Dam Keeper, and now have their own indie animation studio, Tonko House. In fact, immediately after this tour, Zach and I are going into production with Tonko House on a special Hulu Japan tv series loosely based on The Dam Keeper. So, not only would I give anything to score film again, it somehow is already happening again!

Besides the musical projects most of you are working on during the hiatus, are there any non-musical plans you want to share?

Monica: Matteo and his partner Adrianna bought a house outside of Chicago, and there are tentative plans to build a studio together! I think Davey is still flexing on his producing chops! But I suppose those both are still in the world of music. Ha! It seems clear there will be an element of music in everything we’re doing respectively moving forward. OH! I am hoping Matt puts out a graphic novel, his first outline is due on Valentine's Day. 

Justin Vernon (aka Bon Iver) produced your premier, self-titled album. How did you guys connect? What was it like working with him?

Monica: Actually, Sweet Brian Fredrick Joseph who worked within April Base studios produced our record. It was so nice to have a voice outside of the band to help us with melodic and sonic decision making. When I was in the vocal booth I realized I should also pay him a fee for being my therapist, I unpacked so much about the songs while we recorded. It was very meaningful bond made for all of us.

The PHOX social media pages feature many calls to political action. Do you feel a sense of responsibility, being in a popular band, to spread those messages?

Monica: Yeah, I have no interest in lying to people about what I think is important regarding the social and political climate of the US. I wish I could float through days without thinking about it, but many times daily it’s made clear to me that there’s imbalance, fantasy hierarchy, and the complete disregard of the realities of the “other.” If I was born into the majority, I’d maybe peacefully and in ignorance be able to focus on gardening or something, but I happen to be at the intersection of several different minorities so I can’t currently live unscathed by America. I can only speak up and share my perspective and hope I encourage more people to consider life outside their own, and participate in dialogue that will at least get folks to shake up the rosily-skewed version of the US that’s been taught to them, that rids them of the capacity to take seriously the voice of someone outside their identity.  

I had a friend in the music industry tell me recently they don’t want to talk about political things on social media, because it might affect who cares about her music. This really hurt to hear, while at the same time I understand that people choose to do what best protects their livelihood. On the other hand, I don’t give a f**k if I fail to pander to homophobes or bigots any longer, and have a hard time respecting that logic… I mean, then are they really your fans? I have no interest in appealing to everyone and becoming no one, and I do believe it's the responsibility of artists, within their abilities without draining all emotional spirit, to find ways to open hearts of people who just haven’t had a different, more socially open, train of thought exposed to them. 

The last time you played 9:30, part of the show was dedicated to more intimate, stripped-down versions of some of your songs. Do you plan on doing that again at your upcoming Club show? What made you want to do that in the first place?

Monica: I do think we are! It was a cool feeling to play songs in bigger clubs like we did when they were being written with acoustic instruments in the house we all shared. It just gives another facet to the show -- I’ve always loved hearing stripped down versions at shows! 

Monica, you’ve mentioned having stage fright at a few of your shows. What have you done to get passed that, and do you have any advice for others dealing with that same fear?

Monica: I’m still struggling with severe anxiety, but with the help of a doctor and therapist, I’ve finally found myself on a more focused track to finding a sustainable way to soothe my spirit. PHOX’s 2 1/2 year run of near constant touring started with us hopping on a plane to Norway on the day of my dad’s funeral. I spent the entirety of that tour not processing that, which in ways I am only now better understanding put me on edge, had me self medicating/ drinking more to feel less, and amplified all of my depression.

My advice for people who have general stage fright is to remember that you could literally sh*t yourself on stage and you’d still wake up the next morning. And people would forget shortly thereafter. And life would go on. I can sometimes talk myself out of very dreadful thoughts by imagining myself sh*tting myself, and how little it would matter in the long run. And I laugh and carry on — unless I’m being dragged into the panic void, and that leads me to advice for people with horrible racing thoughts, heart palpitations, and tunnel vision panic attacks: if you can afford it, or have insurance, see someone. Find a support group, if not in your town, find them online. Do everything you can to calm your atmosphere. Drink holy basil tea, drink kava root tea. Breathe deep and give yourself all the space you need. This was really hard for me for layered reasons I won't get into here, try and shelf your cynicism and do yoga. I know. I know. And if you still feel sh*tty, and natural approaches don't aid you, really try and process how you feel about potentially going on medication, outside of the stigmas you've been taught about mental illness. Talk to someone. You can feel better. xoxo.

You all knew each other for a long time before forming PHOX. Do you think your familiarity made it harder or easier to work together?

Monica: We had varying levels of closeness when we all moved into that house five years ago, so I think it was more-so the fact that we all had a "hands on deck" attitude, and from that bred great synergy. 

During your time so far as a band, you guys have done things like play Newport Folk Festival, have a Tiny Desk Concert, and open for some pretty high-profile acts. What was it like getting those calls? Is there a specific moment that stands out to you?  

Monica: Every time you get asked to participate in such things, I think there’s always a minute where you short-circuit when the news hits your ear, and then you jump for joy, then the fear creeps in, then you undulate between the joy and the fear, and then it smoothes out to a nice even-keeled bliss. HA! At least for me. I feel like Tiny Desk Concert was huge heartswell for us, iTunes Festival, Conan, traveling overseas 5+ times, I mean, everything! I would have never thought. It all feels so important, forgive the cliche, but the fact that anyone was moved by something we made together is an incredible thing. 

-Helen Hennessey 

Send PHOX off at 9:30 Club on January 25.

[heroesoftherepublic-blog]

Dawn

The reluctant darkness returned the hills of Rome to the light, the first conquest of the daily struggle. Clients at the doors of their patrons, families gathered around their shops and ateliers, turning the sitting in something more welcoming for the Fortune-favored at the top. Two palms above the rest of the crowd, Lidia navigated it with calm confidence, head humbled low and a joyful smile, letting herself be cradled by the routine and simplicity of her morning duties: fill the enormous bronze vessel under her arm, not much heavier than her conscience.

Her grin widened as she found herself beneath the shadow of the magnificent stone structure whose massive raised arches invaded Rome. The legacy of the spoils seized from Pyrrhic’s ambitions that turned the dream of destruction into life-giving elixir.

Through way of human ingenuity the Anio valley was persuaded to abdicate its precious water, singing across new paths, gurgling about freedom and harmony.

Lidia allowed her mind to wander, resigning herself to wait; dozens of women, children and slaves waited for an opportunity to approach the fountain. It was arduous and ungrateful work, whoever, one essential to the industry and survival of Rome.

Hugging her vase, Lidia waited patiently, appreciating the lazy beams cast by Apollo Sol as they caressed her face. A shadow befell upon her and interrupted this moment of casual leisure, her eyes opening wide as she recognized that quickly replaced contemplation with horror. The metallic clamor of bronze hitting the stone slabs communicated the end of the placid hour, spreading murmurs and pointed fingers as all attention turned to the top of Aqua Anio.

A young woman, her arms covered in bruises and a vitreous gaze climbed the aqueduct; her limbs shook and trembled due to the effort, only finding strength in her despair. Finally reaching the top, she turned and looked back to the city that slowly woke hill to hill, a city that had no place for her. She discarded her sandals and approached the edge, where stone and water wielded to the domain of air. Behind her, only tragic oblivion.

Forwards, the only opening for liberty.

At her side, a speeding scarlet streak.

“I swear to the Manes, I will throw myself if you get one step closer!” She shouted, threatening that which soon took the shape of a tall woman covered by a scarlet hood. “I really mean it! I need this more than life itself!”

wind dances across the rushing water of the aqueduct, marking with ripples the silence between the two women.

“I understand.” Aeneid declared after calm observation. “It makes sense that you wish to end your life. Your life sucks.”

The suicidal woman stopped, mouth gaping wide. Lidia shrugged and crossed arms.

“Am I wrong’ Is it only apathy that brings you here, without a driving despair that seeks a solution of such finality?”

“N-no.” The youth muttered, not without hesitating for an instant, the slightest hint of incredulity in her own words. “It is true, my life is horrible. I am well within my rights to see it over.”

“Who knows, maybe you will complete it this time.”

“How do you...”

“I was the one that saved you the last three times” Aeneid extended her hand, palm open towards the sky. “Despise my striking looks, I can be discreet when I wish to. The majority of folks do not need more than a few nights of reflection after a close encounter with Dis Pater to find other alternatives; so many only need a nudge in the right direction. Someone must be in deep trouble to force me to reveal myself.”

“I do not understand what is going on.” Genuinely confused, the youth wondered what had brought Aeneid to the top of the aqueduct. “Are you here to persuade me to live?”

“Let me put this in no uncertain terms: if you throw yourself down, I will catch you. If you try to drown in the Tiberis, I will drag you to safety. If you leave home at night and wander the alleys of Rome in search of a violent end, I will follow you and assure that you will not find any ruffian until the new dawn shines again.

“What did I do to deserve such cruelty?” The eyes of the youth brimmed with tears. “Do you want to me to blackmail me into living this life? This is ridiculous. What do you care about it or what I do with it? Are there no tyrants to kick or fires to put off?”

Aeneid closed in despise the previous warning, pulling her hood back just enough to present the youth with a most radiant smile.

“If you finish this, you will be the first person to make such attempt for the fourth time after I tried to save them. I think that once you do that, your situation becomes extremely important to me.”

The youth unleashed a cynical laugh.

“I should have expect something of the sort. I insulted your heroic pride.”

Steady in her strong and inspiring smile, Aeneid did not say another word; if it helped the youth to believe that pride motivated her, let her continue to believe that is the truth. Despise her deceptively casual tone, Lidia’s mind was galloping furiously, trying to cover all the dark paths that could have led the woman to this mire. If she was definitively determined to end her life, she would have killed herself in secret at her house, where Aeneid or others would have problem intervening. Such public suicide attempts were a cry for help, a tragedy in the making all too easy to avoid with just a pinch of empathy. If the youth really believed that there was nothing worth to live for, the first step had to be validating her opinion, confirm her fears and finally extend a reassuring hand after having established themselves as someone that comprehended your problems. Having achieved this grounding gesture, Lidia finally could focus efforts in improving the fate of the other woman.

“What is your name, girl?”

“Novia.” She replied, bored. “Can we go down? I have other things to do if I am going to see the end of today.”

Aeneid leaned her head.

“Curious words. The dead people with which I usually deal do not have that many plans for the rest of their lives.”

“My husband is expected to return back from his voyages during the next days. I want to have the house well-tended and a new tunic waiting for him.”

Hymen Clementis. Husband? The girl was not much more than a child, Lidia uncertain if she had had her first period. And there she was, married and with a household under her care.

“They sound to be like happier plans than those that brought you all the way up here.” Aneied approach and put her left hand over Novia’s shoulder. “Houses and tunics are only things. How much would your husband suffering, arriving to a home in mourning?”

“Relief, most likely and little else. He would finally get rid of me.” Novia bit into her lower lip. “I am dead weight imposed upon him by our parents, a way to transfer proprieties in Pompey as dowry and to establish a new branch that could directly manage such houses. We are both mere pawns for the ambitious of our elders, cold tools without any bonds between them. He is nothing to me, a stranger without care and whose gestures fail to touch me.”

The youth winced, Lidia immediately reading the implications hovering over them, unsaid. Intimacy and love would only open new fears and dangers to someone that young.

“Why did you not just sell the proprieties?” Aeneid inquired.

“We would be left at the mercy of the decisions of the State and Municipium, as my father does not have full citizenship.” Novia explained the best she could, doing rather well for her limited comprehension behind her matrimonial situation. “This assuming that the family of my husband would have in the first place the means to pay a fair price; who has that amount of money in coins and metal? Talks dragged on and eventually my father was convinced that this union would be an opportunity to assure that the houses will bring prosperity to the family. After all, eventually he would have to set aside a dowry for me anyway.

Sad chuckle.

“They probably thought this would be the simplest and most obvious solution.

Aineid released her and turned her back to the youth.

“Maybe it was such for them. But here are the two of you, forced into a marriage without friendship, without common purpose or dreams.”

“Not even a common life, Triumphant. As miserable as that would be.” Novia followed Lidia and pulled the corners of her cloak. “You do not know how lonely my existence is. He spends weeks between our proprieties in Pompey, collecting rents, sending money to our parents and following suit with outrageous plan after outrageous plan. What do I have? An old house in the Urbe that I try to maintain by myself. Rome scares me and I do not know or trust anyone, leaving me alone between four walls and with all too much idle time.”

Fertile ground for living nightmares and transforming anyone into a mere prisoner of dread and terror.

“Married life is arduous.” Said the technically single woman without stable relationships or a marriage in sight. “It is made of high and lows; this period is one of the most painful, however, the situation can only improve. Rome can become your home, comprehension will bloom once you have time to know each other, good Fortune can germinate between the two. “

Novia turned her head away, passive way to communicate how much she disagreed with Aeneid.

“Ah. Of course, we are talking about it atop the aqueduct, is it not so?” Lidia was quick to correct herself. “Obviously you do not believe this can improve. This is all that your life can amount to.”

The youth faced her again, eyes shining with a hope she dared to feel again; someone that could understand her, would such thing be possible?

“Shortly after our wedding, myself and my husband traveled to the land of the ancestors of his family, so that I could present myself to her Sabine relatives and be accepted as the new heirs of their legacy, honoring it without with our union. I was beyond happy.” A soft smile crossed her lips. “I felt in love with the region and found everything charming and exciting. It was when we reached the necropolis that a dark cloud descended upon me and never dispersed. I read epigraph after epigraph, finding myself surrounded by the testimony of generations of young brides and mothers, not much older than me. Their story terminated before it even started.

Lidia started to choke; Noiva took her hands against her chest.

“There, between those epigraphs, lies my destiny; that is where this tormented path leads and there is no escape for me. I belong to the Underworld, I will never meet the person that I can become, or whom my sons and daughters will be. This idea took root, making a final solution tempting; my life is miserable and will end in a bloody bed. Why should I postpone the inevitable? Why should I not spare everyone the suffering that I cause me and the others by sustaining the illusion that I might survive?

Aeneid was struggling against tears, reminding herself over and over again that she was supposed to be the inspiring torch standing against despair. Bowing before Novia, making sure that her hood covered wet eyes, offered the woman the biggest smile of her life, to much torture of her gums and cheeks.

“Such thoughts do not belong in the mind of a brilliant girl with her life ahead of her.”

There it was, that shine in her eyes.

But what was Lidia offering?

What she could do to save Novia’s life?

Which words could drive off the specter of the history of horrors that she had faced in the necropolis? How could cheering words compete against those that the youth had read?

Wait. Read? Novia was literate.

Tears refused to be restrained any longer; Aeneid released warm and comforting laughter in an attempt to distract from them.

“Is it not obvious what do you need, Novia? A divorce!”

The youth opened her mouth wide, horrified.

“Our families will never accept such thing! I am lonely enough as it is, I cannot become a pariah in the eyes of my own, I have already enough problems.”

“Trust me, Novia. I am sure that your family will eventually validate your choices as soon as they see how much it benefits all parts.” The smile remained firm, immune to all the negativity.”

With the divorce the proprieties shared as dowry do not revert to your father, but to you, assuring its financial autonomy. Your husband returns to Rome, you return to Pompey; everyone where they belong. The houses will be administered by an entrepreneurial girl that knows more about the family business than they give her credit for. Your in-laws will become investors, and once both of you are mature enough, you can renew your vows.

Lips closing towards Novia’s ear, she added.

“Years will go by and Novia will grow, not only as a woman but as a citizen. Who knows the friendships she will cultivate in the meanwhile. Who knows if broken vows can be reforged. One thing is certain, the Novia that we still have not met will have a family the sort the one in front of me cannot even imagine.”

“I have no legal representation.” Novia replied, stepping away from Lidia. “None of our patrons will help me in what they will see as an act against my husband and his family.”

“Do you think I am the sort to make empty promises? The biggest threat for the freedom of a people is the difficulty the poor and oppressed have in obtaining just and fitting legal representation. I have in my team one of the best legal minds of this generation and he will be glad to defend your case.”

Crying of happiness, Novia hugged Aeneid’s waist. Caressing the girl’s head, Aeneid took the opportunity to cry together.