#easy process per se but it wasn’t as intense as it could have been and im very lucky

[iliveinprocrasti-nationn]

realised the reason my heart issues freak me out is partly because unlike any of my pain it’s harder to just deal with it or find ways around it and also it could be a lot more dangerous than most of my other day to day medical stuff and also it was one of my cancer symptoms

[wevegottogetaway]

I love you

First I love yous...do I need to say more? Anyway, please don’t hesitate to reach out for anything, whether that be comments, requests, feedback or just to have a chat! Happy reading xx

It’s been three days of utter pandemonium ripping through your brain in complete disarray. Three days of pent up stress storming through your mind as you ran like a headless chicken to try and find a handle on a situation that frankly, you didn’t give a rat’s ass about.

It all started when your boss had called you in his office, his signature tyrant-resting face on, solid frown drafting his features in a look of severity. Well, this can’t be good, you’d immediately thought once you took a hesitant seat across his desk. You’d hoped for a benign reason behind the sudden meeting, and that the scowl on his face was merely a residual of some other trouble that had absolutely nothing to do with you.

Your prayers had fallen on deaf ears however, as the summoning proved to be a twenty minutes angry diatribe about how one of your most recent client had expressed their wish to withdraw from their deal and de facto, the company. Though it hadn’t been your fault per se, your boss didn’t have any reservations about reminding you of your supposed responsibility to keep your clients sated and on the company’s leash. He’d given you three days to fix it after that. Three days to persuade the client not to pull out of the deal, or you risked some serious downgrading if not redundancy.  

You’d called Harry for support the minute you got home and spent the whole evening brainstorming the craziest ideas to him. He’d listened patiently, holding your hand on the table as you both indulged in the Thai take-out he’d picked up on his way over. That first night, you’d barely slept as you laid in his strong arms, back to his chest. Your reeling mind had still been trying to conjure up any sort of plan that would help you out of this chaos; but for each switch of the glowing red digits on your alarm clock, your hopes had dwindled some.

You hadn’t known then, but Harry couldn’t find rest either as he spooned you against him. You two hadn’t been dating long, several months at best, but already your distress was unbearable to him and every bone in his body ached to do something to help you. This feeling of powerlessness was crawling out of his skin and swimming around like a shark amidst his prevalent thoughts of support, admiration and love. Because, while he’d shown you the first and conveyed the second countless times in the past, the third had yet to tumble out of his lips, despite the confession burning their flesh a bit stronger every day.

What really had had his mind reeling though, was knowing that maybe, just maybe, he had the power to make this situation go away; and for each switch of the glowing red digits on your alarm clock, his hopes grew some.

Your earlier utterance of the client’s name had been ringing through his mind in faint recognition, an itch starting to fester at his fingertips. Dialing a phone number was all it could take. A couple choice words and if he played his cards right, the deal would be back on the table. He’d known interfering was arguably a bad idea, and truthfully he’d always made a point of honor not to use his connections to serve ulterior motives (his or anyone else’s), but how was he supposed to do nothing when the person that caused you trouble was in fact a friend of a friend that might reevaluate their stance if he pitched in with a bit of charm and compelling words? How was he supposed to stay idle, watch you dissolve in an anxious mess, if he wasn’t as powerless as he thought?

So he didn’t. 

He’d originally planned on keeping you in the loop, but you’d been gone by the time his forest green eyes had fluttered back to consciousness the next morning. After a quick shower, a large mug of the coffee you’d left for him before running back to work, and locking your apartment with the spare key you’d given him a couple weeks back, he’d pulled out his phone. Two minutes was all it took for his friend to pass him your client’s number and without hesitation, he’d launched the call and brought his phone to his ear.

It took a bit longer than a couple of minutes for that conversation to take effect, but eventually his words hit their target. After all, his lovely nature could pierce through the most robust walls and stubborn minds. He didn’t even have to put on the charm that much, instead drawing earnest sentiments about your impeccable skills and rambling about how there was no better person to keep their account safe in the business. He’d gnawed at his lips the whole time, desperate to pull through but still scared to fail you somehow. You’d already been let down by the client and your boss, you certainly didn’t need your boyfriend added to the list.

The call had ended with their promise to reassess and consider your undeniable abilities in the equation, yet the next day you were once again convoked to your boss’ office with a snarly bark of your name. Puzzlement washed over you as you speed-walked after him. Why was he still so resentful with you when you’d gotten the client to reenter the contract?

Another twenty minutes of intense scolding provided you with that answer. With a disdainful gaze puncturing your poise, your boss told you that while your job was no longer on the line, you’d been given a firm warning about using your boyfriend as negotiator for the company’s dealings.

How he knew when you yourself weren’t aware of the fact, you didn’t know. In retrospect, your talk with the client had been suspiciously easy for someone who’d made their will to ditch the company crystal clear. You’d merely laid out your arguments, expecting resistance and some pushing, but were only met with a squinted look and cautious acceptance. Now you know your case had already been pleaded once, by the man who was taking more and more space for himself inside the chambers of your heart.

You didn’t quite know how to feel about it; didn’t know if you should be mad or grateful. You were specifically stunned because you knew it was out of character for Harry. Your boyfriend was the most generous being you’d ever met, but humility was even more so a prevailing layer of his beautiful nature. You certainly didn’t expect it, didn’t wish for it to happen again because you were always adamant not to ever use anyone for their assets. Yet there was a tingling, a mixture of discomfort and gratefulness, sloshing in the pit of your stomach. 

This whole thing was a mind-fuckery of emotions you were too tired to process.

What you did feel though, was the pure frustration at your boss’ hypocrisy. You both knew he didn’t really care how you’d gotten the deal back, just that you did, but his intolerable disposition wouldn’t allow him to applaud your efforts and move on.

Wanting to put this all mess behind you, you bit back the retorts that you craved to force down his throat, simply nodded through his chastising charade, and leaped to your feet as soon as the dismissing words left his stupid trap.

Now that you’re making your way inside your home, your nose is hit by a waft of delicious aromas traveling from the kitchen. Your mind is still fuzzy with every trouble and startling revelation that transpired in the past three days, but as your eyes settle on your apron-clad boyfriend, you take a moment to appreciate the sight of his soft figure stirring the content of what must be a pan on the gas. His back is facing you, but you can hear the gentle humming under his breath, as he hasn’t registered your arrival yet.

After another minute of whistling, he finally twists around and his eyes almost pop out of their socket when they find your timid stance a couple feet away. "Jesus, pet, didn’t know you were home yet," he chuckles softly before taking in your somewhat moony features. Your expression is hard to pinpoint, your delicate traits blank of any emotions yet your eyes have the same sparkle that greets him every morning and every night when he pulls you for a deep kiss in his warm embrace. "Everythin’ okay, love?"

The query snaps you out of your semblance of trance, your head looking down to the floor to gather your wits before you level your gaze back to his. "Yeah it is. Umm, my boss called me in again today," your bite your lip, not knowing how to navigate the conversation. In all honesty, you just want to be done with the whole thing, would rather spend an evening full of cuddles and potentially mind-blowing sex, but you know this ought to be acknowledged.

"Oh," his brows pull together with the same confusion you’d experienced when your boss ushered you to his office. "Did he thank you for the big save?"

"Not exactly," you clear your throat bracing yourself and Harry’s face tenses at the realization about where this is going. "My job is safe and I’m still working on the account," hie loosens up in relief, but your next words have him stiffen right back up in alarm. "But I got a warning for a certain someone’s involvement in the company’s operations. Apparently, my boyfriend called the client on my behalf and forgot to clue me in…"

Your voice is calm and doesn’t carry any reproachful tone, but Harry’s pulse is suddenly speeding with dread regardless. The fact that he could have lost you your jobs is the only thing registering in his frenzied mind, as he sets the dish towel from his shoulder down on the counter and steps closer to you. His eyes are bouncing off yours in a frantic back and forth, as he gulps his remorse down. Before you can appease him with reassuring words, and show your lack of anger, he launches in an apologetic rant, enclosing both your hands between his palms.

"M’so sorry, love. I didn’t mean to put you in a bad position. Fuck I just- I kept thinkin’ I could help since your client was a friend of a friend. And, the more I thought about it, the more I kept thinking 'I can’t do nothin’. Cause I hate seein’ you in pain an’ I really want to be here fo’ you and I know this was probably the wrong way to go about it, but damn y/n, I couldn’t stand doin’ nothing, m’sorry-"

"I love you."

The words come fast but distinct, airy but firm, not an ounce of doubt laced through their utterance. An eerie silence permeate the small space surrounding them, as Harry tries to find his own words back. It took three of them to steal all of his, but in his defense they were the ones he’d been dying to hear and to deliver himself. His eyes are wide, blinking in total surprise. He’d expected irritation, disappointment perhaps, maybe even anger, but definitely not the sweetest words he’s been keeping at the forefront of his mind. "I- you do?"

You still have that wondrous look on your face, but this time a bright smile enlivens your features, "I really do." You take your hands out of his grip to hold onto his wrists and pull him closer to you. You have to look up since he towers over you but you’ve always liked that about your relationship; the way he always seems to dwarf you in his embraces, whether because of his height or his bear-paw hands. "I mean, don’t that again," you let out a soft laugh, "but I know why you did it, and I love you for it." 

Harry smiles rivals your own now, as your hands smooth up his arms to clasp at the nape of his neck, "plus, my boss is a jerk anyway so, who cares?" You pull him in a loving kiss then and his arms wrap themselves around your shoulders in a tight lock. His lips are as soft as ever between your own, and you detect the faintest taste of pepper and other exotic herbs lingering on their edge, from his cooking endeavors. He’s always been one to have a taste or two while he’s working, whether that be in the kitchen or other rooms…and regardless, you always like it when you get your share from his supple lips.

He feels slightly distracted against your mouth though, his technique not as ravishing as it usually is. and before you can wonder why, he’s pulling an inch away from your swollen lips, hurriedly whispering your tender confession back to you as though the words couldn’t be out of his mouth and into your heart fast enough, "I love you too, pet. So much." His hands are cajoling your face, thumbs drawing soothing circles across your cheeks, and his beaming smile is melting your heart in a goo of pleasure after all the strain it suffered in the past couple of days.

"Fuck, c’mere, don’t ever wanna stop kissing you," Harry mutters against your lips before diving in for a real mind-bending, soul-shaking, tantalizing kiss this time. Just like that, all your worries and sorrow evaporate into thin air, only to be replaced by an intoxicating pink loving brume. You two definitely spend the most perfect evening with lots of cuddles and endless mind-blowing lovemaking. Screw everything else.

➪ Masterlist

[stillunpainted]

Postmortem

cw for implied suicide.  1.8k fic under the cut baby.  Pretty much Neku dealing with the aftermath of the game and then having a conversation with Joshua.

    Neku couldn’t take sudden noises anymore.  It’d always been somewhat of a bother, and his music had helped him block out the little surprises that’d make him jump, the startle like a lightning bolt, but now it was agonizing.  It was as if at any time, he could be seized by the hand of death, freezing his blood like a blizzard.  Though he’d made a promise to himself to wear his headphones less, especially in public, it wasn’t easy.

    Shibuya was vibrant and busy, but it was also overwhelming.  There were times where after simply going to Mr. H’s cafe with Shiki or Beat and Rhyme would result in him having to go lay in bed for hours afterward, staring at the ceiling until he was able to think again.  His parents were worried.  They’d noticed that he was going out more, and generally seemed to be happier than before, but the exhaustion, the anxiety, those weren’t things he could hide.  He enjoyed spending time with his friends, but he wasn’t used to them.  He felt out of place, worried that he’d somehow mess up and they wouldn’t want to be with him anymore.

    He’d picked up an old acoustic guitar, and spent about thirty minutes trying to figure out how to tune it.  That was all he could bring himself to do for the day.  He checked his messages, and it was much of the same.  Shiki had sent an update on her most recent project with Eri, and was still trying to convince him to try it on.  He wasn’t adamantly against the idea, he just wasn’t sure if it was his thing.  He’d had to expand his fashion sense during the Game, and he wasn’t sure where to go with that now.  Was it something he wanted to pursue on his own, or did he want to be influenced by the people around him?

    Though Neku had avoided Udagawa like the plague, he still could see CAT’s art when he closed his eyes, peering over him as he stared up at the painted walls.  He wanted to see it again, as his mind could only replicate everything with a certain degree of accuracy, but the thought of going back made him feel sick, sick enough to rush to the bathroom and wait for it all to come up, but nothing was there.

    The Composer often lingered in his mind, interrupting his normal thought processes.  In this moment Neku was staring at the ceiling again, tapping his fingers to the beat of a song, when he suddenly remembered Joshua off-handedly mentioning that he liked it.  Neku took his headphones off.  He still hadn’t forgiven Joshua yet.  There was so much pain, so intense that even though those bullets left no scars now, he could still feel them.  He sat up, deciding that today he would face it.  He wasn’t sure why, but felt if he didn’t go to Udagawa now, these thoughts would never stop, haunting him like old ghosts over and over.

    On his way through Shibuya, he kept his headphones on around his neck, ready to put them on if necessary.  He walked past stores he’d come to know well, absentmindedly trying to spot the faces of the shopkeepers he’d spoken with over and over.  There were so many people.  Even though he couldn’t hear their thoughts anymore, it floored him how they all were living their own lives, their own narratives that he would never be privy to.  Their secret gardens.

    It was a conversation he thought back to at times.  He’d wondered if not being able to cross into someone’s garden was even a bad thing.  Was trying to understand someone enough, even if it wasn’t actually possible?  He felt he knew Shiki and Beat pretty well, and Rhyme and Eri to an extent.  His memories of Joshua though… Joshua at times felt completely alien yet familiar, almost like a trick mirror.

    Neku arrived at Udagawa, and saw that the art had changed significantly in his absence.  CAT’s work was still there, some of it new itself, but there were other artists who had added to the wall.  Nothing unusual, but the change made Neku’s chest feel heavy.  He was used to seeing everything shift gradually, not only see the end result.

    It was still beautiful, he decided, just different.  Still the same wall, marked by the same kinds of people.  He wondered if one day he would get some spray paint himself, though he had no idea what he could create.  It wasn’t a part of himself that he’d explored in a long time, not since… 

    Even now, he felt the empty space within his heart.  He still had the last message his friend had sent him on his phone. “See you there,” it’d read.  An interaction that had never been complete, a day that never happened.

    “Well, you’ve brought yourself back here, haven’t you?” A recognizably smug voice rose above the background noise of everyone else passing through.

    “Look at what the cat dragged outta the sewers,” Neku retorted dryly.  Joshua crossed his arms, but there was the tiniest hint of a smile on his face.  Neku was tense, but this relaxed him somewhat.  He figured Joshua hadn’t merely returned after what, months, simply to antagonize him.  Though he didn’t rule it out of the realm of possibility, “what brings you out here, anyway?” Joshua put a hand on his chin.

    “I was intrigued as to why you returned here.  It seems like a morbid place to go by yourself.  I thought that maybe you’d need supervision,” Joshua said.  Neku pulled at his hair, trying not to visibly give Joshua the satisfaction of annoying him.  Though he supposed that Joshua could read his mind, which agitated him further.

    “I don’t need- whatever, it’s just that I kept thinking about everything that happened.  I dunno if closure is exactly what I’m looking for, but it’s something like that, I think,” Neku shuffled his feet.  He was never especially good at reading people, but Joshua was always a special kind of enigma.

    “There’s nothing I can add to that.  You already know why I did what I did,” Joshua said, “neither of us can take that back.”

    “You can’t take that back.  All I did was survive,” Neku said.  He didn’t expect an apology, nor was he surprised by Joshua’s nonchalant attitude towards it all, but it still stung a little.

    “Oh come on Neku, we’ve both made mistakes,” Joshua said, wrapping a hand around his neck.  A flash of guilt washed over Neku, but he let it pass.  He’d talked about it a lot with Shiki after the game, though it was still something he’d never fully forgive himself over.  He’d found that he had a pattern of hurting people.  He’d finally stopped at his duel with Joshua, but still.  He wondered if that old self was buried within, ready to rise at any time.  I killed him- “Neku?  Locked up in that head of yours again?”

    “What would’ve happened if I’d shot you?” Joshua didn’t even flinch at the question.  But he wavered a little.

    “I would’ve been erased.  I would’ve lost that game, yknow.  That’s how the rules are,” he says.

    “I know, but-”

    “The UG would’ve been destroyed, but I can’t say I’d know what would happen after that,” Joshua says, “I can’t give you a real answer, even if I wanted to please you that way.”

    “So even you don’t know,” Neku said.

    “Yes Neku, you’re a fantastic listener,” Joshua replied.  His normal grin is back, though something about it seems off.

    “So why would you do that?  If you’d actually gone through with destroying Shibuya or whatever, it wouldn’t have mattered at all if I’d pulled the trigger or not.  Not much of a crossroad, really,” Neku put his hands on his headphones, contemplating putting them on.

    “It was all a game.  My bet with Megumi.  You were my proxy,” Joshua said, crossing his arms again.

    “What were you even trying to prove with me?  That I’m terrible and representative of Shibuya’s evils, or something?  I was just trying to live and help Beat get Rhyme back at that point.”

    “That’s spot on.”

    “Then did your proof involve me shooting you at the end?”

    “Yes.”

    “Then your plan would’ve killed you no matter what,” Neku said.

    “What do you mean?”

    “No UG means no Composer, right?”

    “Correct indeed.”

    “So you were planning on dying.” A silence settled over the two of them.

    “Well, I didn’t,” Joshua says.  Neku thought of how he initially saw the game as a dream that he dreaded the end of.  There was nothing he had to worry about other than missions, nobody to talk to but Shiki, nobody to nag him.  It was the closest he’d ever been to whatever his own ‘world view’ had been.

    “I can’t believe I’m saying this but,” Neku paused, wondering if it was even worth saying.  Joshua had killed him twice over, but still, “I’m glad you didn’t die.” Joshua narrowed his eyes.  The Composer wasn’t alive per se, but even he knew that wasn’t exactly what Neku had meant.

    “And that’s that,” Joshua said, turning away.

    “Don’t think I’m going to take that as an excuse.  You didn’t have to turn it into some big game with my life,” Neku said.

    “Well aren’t I alive because I did, based on your logic?” At this point, Neku wanted to tear out his hair.  Joshua was the same as always, so he didn’t know why he was expecting anything different.  But surely something had changed within the Composer, as he had preserved Shibuya and brought everyone back to life.

    “Dammit, do you even realize what all of that was like?  You killed me twice, and- and…” Neku trails off, shuddering.  Joshua’s hands ball up into fists and he stares at the ground for a moment, frowning.  He almost seems small, completely losing the aura of being something beyond the fifteen year old standing in the streets of Udagawa, the mural hanging over his head.  He straightens his posture and he’s the Composer again.

    “I do realize.  I’m not incapable of understanding pain,” Joshua says, “hmmm.  Maybe that worsens my case.” He turns to face Neku once again, who wants to back away, but doesn’t.

    “I guess it’s hard to keep going.  I’m not on my own anymore, at least.  Shibuya’s felt bigger than it ever has for me, and that’s exciting on one hand, but overwhelming.  There’s so many places I could go, but I also feel like something terrible is always on the horizon again,” Neku says.  He doesn’t know why he’s telling this to Joshua of all people.

    “Could I be the cause of that terrible something?  Is that what you fear?”

    “No.  I still don’t… I don’t know if I’ll ever fully forgive you really, but I trust that you won’t use me again.  I’d be lying if I said being around you doesn’t make me nervous, but I still trust you.  We were partners, right?” Neku says.  Joshua tilts his head.

    “Right, we were.”

[cobaltusami]

That's what Friends are for

Hello! This Is my first Danganronpa tickle story, It's very long I'm sorry! I got a little carried away eh heh heh... It sits at 3521 words, And that's AFTER trimming It down, For future fics I will try not to ramble on as much! Anyways hope you enjoy!

Main characters: Kazuichi, Gundham, Sonia

---

It had been unusually peaceful that day, Everyone seemed to be getting along well... Much to Usami’s delight.

But Hajime knew that wasn’t going to last much longer. Normally when something was going well, Something chaotic would happen and today was no different.

It was the middle of the day, And Usami had thought It to be a good Idea for everyone to hang out at the beach. The students decided to make It a party, And that’s when the chaos started.

A group of students had gone to the supermarket to get decorations and everything they would need for the party, While another group waited at the beach to decorate.

Mostly the boys had been lumped Into bringing the stuff back, Mahiru mentioned something about them being stronger. Once that had been done they were free to relax.

Hajime was sitting by the ocean waves next to Nagito In near silence, He tried to relax but he couldn’t shake the feeling of unease. He tried to distract himself by turning and looking at all his classmates having fun.

Nekomaru and Akane were “Play fighting” as they claimed, Though with how intense their spar could get, He wasn’t sure It counted as play fighting.

Kazuichi was rigging up some kind of Firework display per the request of literally all the girls.

Ibuki was setting up a sound system for music with the help of Chiaki.

Peko and Fuyuhiko were stringing up lights and Mahiru, Hiyoko and Mikan were making floral decorations and Lei’s.

Sonia was tying ribbons to the tables and placing other decorations along the beach.

And Gundham was well.. Being Gundham. He was In a spot further away from everyone else, and also further from the water. He seemed to have taken to playing In the sand, His hamsters gathered around the sand sculpture he was crafting.

Sonia decided to take a small break from decorating to approach the isolated student, Wanting to make sure he was included In the group rather than avoiding them.

“Gundham, What are you making?” Sonia asked as she sat down across from him.

The self proclaimed ‘Dark Prince’ glanced up at the Princess, Meeting her curious gaze. “I am recreating my Four Dark Devas of Destructions’ home, The Imperial Hell Palace!”

Sonia blinked as she processed what he said. “Oh, You are making a sand castle?” She smiled. “It looks wonderful so far, It will be a nice additional decoration for the party!”

“I-It Is not a mere decoration! It Is to serve as a nightmarish reminder of--”

He was cut off by a soft giggle, And stopped talking when he saw the Four dark devas of destruction crawling Into Sonia’s lap. She picked them up In her hands carefully and snuggled them affectionately. “They are so sweet and friendly! You have raised them well.” She smiled kindly at the Ultimate Breeder.

His face went red as he looked away, Pulling his scarf up to hide his blush. “You… You truly think so…?” He asked quietly. “Th-Thank you, Princess…”

“Hey hey hey, What the hell’s going on over there?!” Kazuichi asked suddenly, Startling Hajime.

“Uh, By the looks of It, I’m guessing Sonia complimented his hamsters again?” Hajime suggested, Recalling his reaction the first time she complimented them.

“He better not be making any moves on Miss Sonia! I called dibs!” He complained childishly.

“I don’t think you can call dibs on a Person, Kazuichi.” Nagito spoke up, Smiling in vexation.

“Yeah, Especially when that person doesn’t like you back.” Hiyoko chimed In, Snickering at the glare sent her way.

“If It bothers you so bad to be left out, Why don’t you just go join In?” Mahiru suggested. “Go build sandcastles with them.”

Kazuichi looked at her, Exasperated. “You aren’t possibly suggesting I go be friendly with my rival, Are you!?”

Mahiru shrugged. “Why not?”

“W-Why not!?”

“L-L-Look at I-It this way…” Mikan stammered. “I-If Sonia were t-to s-s-see you ge-getting along with him… Sh-Sh-She might like you m-m-more!”

“That’s a stupid Idea, Don’t listen to this pig barf!”

“Actually, It makes sense If you think about It.” Mahiru agreed with Mikan’s sentiment. “If you make an effort to be friends with Gundham, Sonia might be impressed.”

Hajime exchanged glances with Nagito, Who sighed quietly. Both silently saying the same thing; That’s not going to work.

“Y-You really think so?” Kazuichi asked warily, Glancing back over the two. Sonia was now helping Gundham make his ‘sand palace’. They seemed to be having fun, The Blonde giggling happily as she worked on making a mote.

“I’m sure of It.”

“Or, You could be a man and tell him to back off.” Hiyoko suggested. “If that doesn’t work, Maybe you could embarrass him and make him look like a total loser In front of her. You should know what those look like.”

“H-Hiyoko! Don’t give him any ideas!” Hajime cut In, But his words fell upon deaf ears.

“How do I even get her away from him so I can try to ‘befriend’ him?”

Mahiru hummed In thought for a moment. “I got It!” She walked back over to where the flowers were and picked up some of the decorations carefully In her hands. “Hey Sonia? I’ve got some of the decorations done!” She called out.

Sonia jumped a bit. “O-Oh my! I forgot entirely about the decorations!” She gasped out In surprise, Giving Gundham an apologetic look. “I am so sorry, I will be back!”

“It Is alright, Princess. Go tend to your Embellishing duties, The Imperial Hell Palace will be here once you return.” He played It cool and acted as though he wasn’t disappointed- Though he definitely was.

Sonia carefully put the hamsters down and stood up, Giving a small bow and stride gracefully over to Mahiru to discuss the decorations.

Kazuichi made his move, Casually walking over to the Ultimate Breeder, who seemed a bit more downcast than usual. “Hey Gundham, Whatcha making?” He asked while feigning interest, Crouching down next to the solemn student.

The Supreme Ice Overlord was taken aback at first, Why would he all of a sudden approach him? Kazuichi doesn’t seem too fond of him… Oh… Ohh. His face had initially seemed to perk up a bit at the prospect of someone joining In, But he immediately became annoyed once he connected the dots.

“Foolish mortal,” He grumbled. “Do you take me for a fool? I know what you are up to.” He narrowed his eyes at the Pinkette.

Kazuichi flinched. “W-What are you talking about man? I just wanted to see what you were doing.”

“You are merely over here to assert to me that you have claimed Sonia, Are you not?”

“N-No! Of course not! I thought It looked like you guys were having fun so I wanted to ask If i could join in.”

Gundham gave one more piercing glare before turning back to his sandcastle. “Why must you constantly chase after her, Fiend? You seem to have dedicated your existence to fawning over her.” He asked In annoyance, Unable to even look at him.

“I-I don’t!”

Gundham didn’t have many friends, In fact, Growing up he didn’t have any. Most people write him off as weird or scary and avoid him. Having someone try to pretend to be friendly with him, Was only reminding him of how few people actually care about him, thus making him irritable.

“Why?” He mumbled under his scarf. “Why must you try to chase her off? Is It really that intolerable to you for her to wish to speak to someone such as me?”

Kazuichi stammered, Taken aback by this unexpected response from the Dark Prince. He was actually starting to feel bad about his actions until…

“Foolish Mortal! I shall not let you take her away!” Gundham declared, Locking eyes with the Ultimate Mechanic.

Sonia was one of the only people not put off by the way he acts and speaks, And seemed to genuinely care about him as evident by trying to include him every chance she got. Of course, He didn’t have romantic feelings for her, Per se, He just longed for a sense of belonging.

He just wanted someone to call a friend.

Kazuichi’s face got red with anger. “I knew It! You really do like her!”

“Of course I do, Fiend! How can one not?” He shot back, Oblivious to what Soda actually meant by ‘like'.

“L-Listen here! You better stay away from her! She’s mine dammit!” He threw any attempts at getting along out the window and instead took Hiyoko’s advice.

Much to Hajime’s dismay. He watched on in silent horror.

“Fool! You cannot lay claim to someone who does not return your affections!” The Ultimate Breeder fired back. “You cannot control one such as her!”

“But I can control you… Stay away from her- Or else!”

“Fuahahaha!” Gundham burst out laughing bitterly at this threat. “That truly Is amusing, You think you can order me around!? You pathetic human! I am the great GUNDHAM TANAKA! What could you possibly do to stop me?”

That was the boiling point, Kazuichi lunged at Gundham and the two went rolling around on the beach. Soda had some decent muscle built up from all the work he does on machinery, So he expected to have an easy upper hand against Tanaka.

However, The Great Gundham Tanaka was also much stronger than he looked, Of course he’d have to be with the wide variety of animals he cares for.

Neither one of them were giving up without a fight, And both struggled to obtain the upper hand as they wrestled around.

The commotion they made had garnered the attention of the other beach goers, Most were taken aback, But someone was egging it on.

“God, Kazuichi! How are you struggling this much? Even I could win this fight.” Hyoko called out, Encouraging the Mechanic with her insults… Somehow.

“S-Soda! Tanaka! What the hell are you two doing?!” Nekomaru stammered, Shocked by the sudden fight amongst classmates.

“Should we intervene, Coach Nekomaru?” Akane asked, Both of them were unsure so they waited.

Gundham tried to pin him down to put an end to this ridiculous fight, But Kazuichi grabbed for his shirt to throw him off. In the process of doing said action, His fingers came into contact with Gundham’s sides, Drawing a sharp gasp from him as he went tumbling down beside Soda.

His arms instinctively wrapped around his midsection, Causing Kazuichi to pause. Tanaka slowly scooted away from him, Watching him cautiously as though he were a wild animal.

“What the…” Soda slowly sat up, Watching him with intense interest.

“F-Foolish mortal… Do not give me that look!” He tried to regain his previous composure.

A sharp, Toothy grin plastered Itself onto the Ultimate Mechanic’s face as he dangerously pursued the Dark Prince. “Whatsa matter? You look a little flustered there, Gundham~” His words were laced with Mischievous intent.

“Stay back!” He intended It to come out as a command, Or a threat, But It came out as panicked. Gundham could recognize the almost predatory look In Kazuichi’s eyes, And unlike with Animals, He had no way to diffuse the situation.

Before Tanaka could scramble to his feet and retreat like he intended, Soda grabbed his ankle and pulled him back towards him. “Ohhh no you don’t.” He grinned, settling himself on his hips. “It’s not like you to get scared… Could It be because you’re… Ticklish?”

Gundham, Who had previously been struggling, went eerily still. Almost as If hoping that If he didn’t move, Kazuichi wouldn’t do anything. For a moment Kazuichi could see the panic in his eyes.

Gundham glanced over to the rest of the beach, So many people were staring at them. Most likely trying to figure out If they should intervene and pull Kazuichi off or not.

All those eyes on him was making him even more uncomfortable, He had to do something to gain back a semblance of control.

He looked back up at Kazuichi, His coldness returning to him. “Mortal, If you do not get off of me In the next-- ACK!”

Or not.

Kazuichi grinned as he dug his fingers into his sides. “I’m sorry, What was that?”

Gundham tried not to react, But due to being touch starved and having no resistance to something like tickling, He was giggling within seconds. He pulled his scarf over his face to hide his reactions and muffle any embarrassing sounds he might make.

“Looks like you’re not so tough when you’re a giggling mess.” Soda teased, He noticed that his shirt rode up a bit during the last struggle and opted to dance his fingertips all across the exposed skin of his stomach.

This drew laughter from the normally stoic Ultimate, His laughter- What Soda could hear of it- Sounded different from his usual laughter. It was still deep but not quite as deep. It was also breathy and rich, The gasps between laughs he took indicated that Gundham wasn’t used to laughing.

"What’s the matter? Does the Great Gundham Tanaka really have nothing to say?” Yes, Kazuichi was quite enjoying himself right now. He liked how big bad Gundham Tanaka was reduced to a quivering pile of laughter by a simple touch. It was amusing. “Looks like I finally found your weakness.” He chuckled.

“St-Stohohop this at once!” He managed a feeble command between laughs.

What Is this feeling? He was utterly embarrassed being tickled In front of his entire class, but yet… It wasn’t unbearable. Even the feeling of his calloused fingertips slowly spidering up and down his sides right now, It tickled like hell but It still wasn’t… Unpleasant?

Gundham’s laughter shot up In volume once Kazuichi reached his ribs, He took advantage of this sensitive spot and honed in on it. “Aww, Does the Supreme overlord of... whatever, have ticklish ribs?” He cooed teasingly, Discovering that lighter touches seemed to be more effective.

The Ultimate Breeder found he was having more trouble breathing now with his scarf In his face, But he didn’t want people to see his face.

Kazuichi, Noticing how frequent the gasps for air had become, Slowed down significantly. “You might wanna move that scarf, You might suffocate yourself.” He laughed a little, But this was a genuine fear of his.

Gundham shook his head defiantly, Giggles still pouring past his lips. He’d rather suffocate than have everyone see him blushing and laughing like a fool.

The Mechanic reached with one hand for the offending article, But The black and gray haired student held on tightly to it. “Fine, I guess we’ll do this the hard way.”

He brought the hand that was still tickling him up, His fingers snaking their way into his underarm and began tickling him without mercy.

This drew a scream from the pale student, His back arching as if revolting against the sensations. He immediately brought his arm down In an attempt to protect the sensitive area.

This allowed Kazuichi to grab hold of the purple scarf and rip it away from the gasping and laughing ultimate beneath him. “Aha! Got It!” He gloated, Tossing the piece of clothing out of Gundham’s reach.

Now Kazuichi was free to tickle as much as he wanted without fear of Tanaka smothering himself.

Although now he needed to worry about making him pass out from laughing too hard. “What do you say, Gundham? Are you going to admit defeat?” He asked teasingly as he danced his fingers up and down his ribcage.

He shook his head defiantly, Bringing his hands up to cover his face. “N-NEVER FIEHEHEHEND! AHAHAHAHAHA!”

“Yeah, It’s just as I thought. You’re just having toooo much fun to give up.” He cooed as he slowed down to give Gundham a chance to breathe a little. “You’re lucky I don’t know how to undo your boots, You’d really be In for It!”

“When Ihihihihi get freehehehe you’re dehehehead!” He giggled hysterically behind his hands, His face reddening even more-- If that was even possible.

He knew that Kazuichi was just trying to fluster him with his words but… Huh. Was he having fun? Wh-- NO! Don’t be ridiculous! Why did that thought even cross his mind?! He’s GUNDHAM TANAKA, He doesn’t find joy In such childish things!

“Oh yeah? Well good luck.” Soda scoffed. “Because all I have to do to stop you Is tickle you… HERE!”

He suddenly shoved his wiggling fingers back under his arms, drawing another scream from Gundham. This one wasn’t muffled because he shot his arms down the instant he felt the ticklish sensation.

“NOO! AHAHAHAHAHAHAH!” Gundham threw his head back with loud laughter, His back arched as he kicked his legs In a feeble attempt to get free. He grabbed for Kazuichi’s wrists but he couldn’t muster enough strength to throw him off.

“You’re like, MEGA ticklish here!” Kazuichi laughed along with him, Finding his laughter to be somewhat contagious.

Sonia, Who hadn’t heard the previous commotion, Was startled by the sound of Gundham’s scream, She set down the floral arrangement she held in her hands and whipped around looking for the source of the sound. “G-Gundham?” Her eyes scanned the beach until… She saw It.

She gasped softly, Covering her mouth in surprise. “Oh my! Is he okay??” She was worriedly making her way over to the two but then she realized, He was… Laughing. Sonia took a closer look at them. “Is he… Tickling him?” She asked curiously.

“Yeah, Definitely looks that way.” Nagito sighed, Shaking his head. Though he couldn’t help but smile at the two’s antics.

Sonia giggled in delight. “That Is adorable! I never knew Gundham was ticklish.”

“I don’t think Kazuichi knew either.” Hajime whispered, Receiving an elbow to the ribs from Nagito. He recoiled quickly drawing an interested gaze from the Ultimate Lucky student.

“What? Don’t have any more threats for me?” The pink haired student grinned as he watched the pale man shake his head In response as loud laughter continued to flow freely from his mouth.

“Kazuichi, He needs to breathe!” The Mechanic quickly looked up to see Sonia approaching them. He withdrew his hands, Relenting his attack.

“M-Miss Sonia!” Soda stammered In surprise, Moving off of his winded classmate sheepishly.

Sonia knelt down next to Gundham and put her hands on his shoulders, Gently helping him sit up. Her blue eyes looked to Soda.

He was expecting her to be angry with him, But she looked amused. “It makes me happy to see you two getting along.” She beamed. “You guys looked like you were having so much fun.”

Kazuichi untensed as he realized she wasn’t angry. He and Gundham both exchanged glances. “Yeah, I guess we did have fun.” He laughed happily, Blushing and Folding his arms behind his head.

Gundham’s face flushed again as he looked away from both of them. “Hmph, Speak for yourself, Mortal! No part of that was--”

He was interrupted by Sonia lightly wiggling her fingers against his neck, Drawing a very uncharacteristic squeal from the Supreme overlord of ice. “P-Princess!” He gasped out, Quickly bringing his hands up to shoo hers away.

Sonia giggled as he fixed her with a look of betrayal. “Come on now, Gundham. Surely you cannot deny you were having fun.” She smiled.

“Yeah, You probably could’ve shoved me off If you really wanted to.” Kazuichi smirked.

“I-I did not enjoy any of that cursed activity.” He blushed, Looking down as he folded his arms stubbornly.

“Hey Sonia, Maybe we should tickle him until he admits It?”

For the second time today, He froze up. He quickly looked to the Ultimate Princess to gauge her reaction. Of course, She had a similar predatory glimmer to her eyes as Soda had earlier.

“Hmm.” She hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe~”

“W-Wait.”

“NAGITO STAHAHAP!” Hajime’s sudden laughter drew attention away from the panicking Gundham, Who took this opportunity to grab his scarf and sneak back over to the Sand castle to reclaim his four dark devas of destruction.

It was quite an amusing sight though to be fair, Nagito was currently wrecking Hajime with tickles much to everyone’s amusement.

Gundham hesitantly returned to the two, Though on high alert for any sudden movements. He felt better now that he had his scarf back on and his Devas with him.

He did have fun, Somehow, Of course he wasn’t about to admit this.

“Oh hey, Your sand castle fell apart.” Kazuichi pointed out.

“It Is alright. We’ll help him make a new one!” Sonia smiled.

“I crafted It once, I can craft It again. I do not need assistance.” Gundham’s attempt at pushing her away however, Didn’t work. Not for the reason he was half expecting though.

“Nonsense! If we help you, You’ll be done In time for the party to start.” Kazuichi intervened.

Sonia nodded with a delighted smile. “He Is right. After all, That Is what friends are for, Is it not?”

Friends…?

“Yeah, What she said.” Soda agreed.

Hmph.

“Friends?” Gundham closed his eyes and smirked a little. “That’s a nice line.”

[ryuichirou]

Could you share some of your erejean headcanons? 👀

Oh could I 👀 I’m glad you asked, anon! Because we do have some headcanons about EreJean…

 As I already mentioned, we have a headcanon that they used to fool around together when they were cadets. Chemistry + intense arguing + stress + horniness did their thing. Even if they intended to keep it masturbation-only at first, it quickly became something more.

Jean was very horny back then, and Eren was helping him out. Jean was the first one to come with this type of problem.  Jean really had no one else to turn to but Eren with this, he really needed him. He couldn’t ask Connie because Connie was an idiot and Jean was barely friends with anyone else. He maintained a rivals-friends relationship with Eren and it helped. It was just that one moment when Jean realised jerking off wasn’t enough and he wanted something else... That’s how it happened first. When Eren got horny, Jean would help him out too of course, that happened often too.

At some point they did it every time when they got an opportunity to be alone for like 5 minutes. If they were alone in a shower, it was the best case scenario.

Although there were a lot of situations when the rest of cadets would enter the showers at the worst possible moment. And the right thing to do would be to stop whatever they were doing, go to different corners of the room and make it seem like they were just showering before anyone noticed anything. But Eren got stubborn sometimes, so they had to continue having sex stealthily, which is almost impossible when the room is filled with loud guys. Reiner noticed that and helped them to avoid unnecessary attention at least once.

Technically Eren and Jean were just helping each other out, but still there are some feelings here. We have a headcanon that Jean has a crush on Eren, both in the canonverse and in the AUs where there are EreJean interactions.

After their cadet years they were too busy to continue their thing as often as they used to, but they still do it from time to time. Not enough for Jean’s taste, but he’d rather bite his own leg off than say that to Eren.

It also became more difficult for Jean to provoke Eren, this is why Jean complains so much about the fact that Eren is too moody now and always just mumbles something to himself while looking at his own hand. And this is why he was so shocked when Eren replied to his snarky comment back then before the Shiganshina Battle when they were having meat for dinner. He was extremely happy.

Their kisses were very awkward at first. They don’t kiss very often in general, but at first it was almost funny, because Eren was too aggressive and he basically attacked Jean’s mouth with his own. And Jean kind of wanted to take the process into more of a sensual territory, but he didn’t want to lose to Eren, and it ended up being just a straight-up fighting with tongues (and maybe bites). As a result, after about 15 minutes both of them were an exhausted drooling mess.

Jean tried to argue with Eren for the right to top at least once, but they both kind of knew that Jean didn’t really want that. Less than 3 minutes after Jean’s statement about the matter, he bottomed once again and his heart and body were satisfied.

Jean has conflicted feelings about him enjoying being pushed around by Eren as much as he does. He can act all offended and angry at Eren for treating him too aggressively or being rude to him, but it still makes him weak at the knees. The amount of times he moaned quietly when Eren said something mean to him during the process… a lot.

Jean also likes it when Eren is all mad and shouting, he provokes him a lot. Of course he’s sure that he just enjoys the fact that Eren is too emotional and is easy to provoke, it’s fun to poke a bear when the bear is this entertaining when mad. But there is a part of Jean that genuinely just likes it when Eren is grabbing him roughly after they had a fight in front of everyone.

This isn’t a headcanon per-se, it’s something that Isayama mention in the SnK Encyclopedia, but I still love this fact, so I’m gonna put it here anyway: Eren and Jean are very comfortable with each other physically.

Which makes me think that there is a lot of shoving, pushing, grabbing, slapping, headbutting and other stuff going on when these two are in the same room together. A lot of it happens unconsciously, Eren can just kick Jean’s leg out of nowhere while they’re sitting next to each other talking to someone. And Jean will likely kick him back.

I’ve been thinking about it since Anon mentioned it the other day, and I accept this headcanon with my whole heart: Jean grew out his hair because it feels good when Eren pulls it. Of course he wouldn’t admit it, even to himself.

Jean secretly thinks that Eren is very handsome and cool. He’d never compliment him of course, but he might comment on how freakishly big Eren’s eyes are. Eren, however, talks a lot about how stupidly tall Jean is and how stupidly long and heavy his legs are. It ends up with another bickering, but Jean gets very obviously shy anyway.

Jean’s stupidly long legs are always super shaky after sex, Eren scoffs at it and compares Jean to a newborn baby horse every time.

Jean blushes A LOT. His entire body turns red when he’s turned on, his ears are very red, his face is red. His eyes get teary and he sweats a lot. He also breathes heavily and moans a lot (of course he’s trying to hold back, but Eren is too intense for him)

Jean is very loud and he doesn’t notice that a lot of times, he thinks that Eren exaggerates when he complains about it.

For that reason, Eren loves putting his hand over Jean’s mouth sometimes. But a lot of times he’s doing it just because he likes that.

Jean loves being manhandled and having sort of a rough sex just in general.

If we’re talking about an AU where both Erejean and Ereri are a thing, Eren would definitely notice how loud, whimpery and sensitive Jean is compared to Levi. He might even comment on how slutty and obvious Jean is, which would only make Jean even hornier.

 Ghh I love EreJean very much and have a huge soft spot for Jean in general. Thanks for your question, Anon, it’s fun talking about them.

[readerficsbyhyaku]

Our hidden ways (DJSS x Reader SMUT)

summary

What is now considered a normal part of Vinyl City wasn't always there, and you were part of the generation that saw object heads come to life.

With every new thing comes the possibility of fear and rejection, and you were caught right into it.

You never had the guts to come out as an OH lover, complacently hiding under a facade, until he made a move. But still then... will you tell him ?

author’s note

Hi there ! There is dubious consent, slight OOC-ness for DJ (in my opinion), and a whole lot of feelings. Hope you enjoy ! Also double the smut because i'm a SIMP.

Art by me

Vinyl City wasn’t always the cosmopolitan metropolis of music you knew. When you were younger, there was a time where all the strange and stranger people you paid no mind to now were a novelty. And with difference came fear.

You were in high school when new faces started attending classes, and one of them struck you more than others. Well, because he didn’t have a face per se. A giant by human standards, he had wide shoulders, immense hands and a globe floating above his neck.

And that’s when you started noticing what was wrong with the world.

You were part of a group of friends, and the guy – nicknamed DJ – had no trouble making himself a place in it. He was passionate, quite a good talker and student, maybe a little “too much” sometimes but it wasn’t a big deal. What became a big deal was when your friends talked about it – what a lot of hormone-frenzied teenagers talk about – sex.

Pictures, videos… you’d seen a few here and there, and thought nothing special of them until then. See, the arrival of “OH” citizens, standing for “object head”, had led this particular market to span a new arm, leg, whatever you wanted to call it. Object heads were becoming a kink, something out of the norm, akin to interracial but on some bizarre, alien-esque level.

And when your friends started to talk about it in this very way, you realized maybe your attraction wasn’t as straightforward for everybody as you thought it would be, and thus it made it very difficult to admit it to anyone. In an effort to stick with the group, you laughed at your friends’ jokes and manifested interest in what they’d call “regular sex”.

Despite DJ being quite integrated in your little clique, it was when these conversations started that you felt him drift away, maybe isolating himself to not get hurt. And that’s also when it hurt the most to lie to your friends, the words and laughs tasting so bitter in your mouth you’d want to retch. Your heart was screaming to go for him, to tell your friends that you didn’t find OH weird, or repulsing, but then reason toned everything down with fear. Fear of rejection, of losing your friends, of being laughed at, of being different. It was a lonely road to walk, and you didn’t have the courage to take that path just yet.

As weeks and weeks went by, your conflicting feelings only grew in intensity as you kept them hidden. At last, it was the end of your last year and the start of something new, called adult life. Not that you or any of your friends knew what it really meant, and those concerns were pushed back for another day as they suggested you went to a karaoke to celebrate your graduation.

So you and your friends stuffed yourselves in the tiny karaoke room, ordering more drinks and food that could fit onto the table, and proceeded to sing until your voice cracked. At least, most of your friends did. You, on the other hand, drank your beer while chatting with the people next to you. And lucky you were, because DJ was right next to you, looking comically big in the small room.

You were starting to get a bit tipsy, not handling alcohol as well as you’d hoped… But then again, you were feeling more daring than usual. You had scooted over a bit more towards DJ, your knees touching and you almost didn’t care if your friends saw you getting all intimate with an OH.

You were lost into staring at his orb when you caught a glimpse of the conversation in front of you. Your friends were discussing the latest news – a music star that openly stated she went out with an OH – and that had caused quite a bit of ruckus. The guy didn’t have a face – that was the whole point of object heads – and had a big television screen instead. Couldn’t blame her for falling for his looks, right ?

“How can they even kiss ??? I wouldn’t consider dating someone I can’t kiss, y’know ?” you heard one of your friends slur from the other side of the table.

“Dude, what about going down on someone ? They’re missing out big time !” a girl continued, making some obscene gestures with her hands.

This made you more pissed off and bold you’d ever felt.

“Hey guys, watch me !” you shot at them.

As their gazes went towards you, you pushed DJ’s chest and made him fall onto the couch. You promptly climbed onto him, grabbed his face and kissed him.

You didn’t expect anything other than proving to your dumb friends how it could be done, but you were surprised to feel something.

A tingle on your lips, spreading from the contact point where they met the smooth sphere. A tugging feeling when you backed away, as if he didn’t want you to let go, yet. Things you didn’t get enough time to dwell on as you pulled away and looked at your friends quite triumphantly.

“See ? Easy peasy !”

“Girllll you’re crazy !!! Going and kissing DJ out of nowhere !!” they laughed, and started telling your adventure to the people who were singing and missed on the action.

You slipped a glance at DJ, who just sat back up and didn’t utter a thing, a big smooch mark visible on his orb and for some reason, this made need flare in your gut. Just play it cool, you’re drunk, a kiss is nothing – you kept saying that to yourself. And downed more beers to hide how embarrassed you were.

At the end of the night, the group disbanded and your drunk self was left to get back home alone. Until strong hands helped you walk straight, and as you raised your head you saw DJ next to you.

“What are you doinnng ?” you slurred, tongue feeling numb inside your mouth.

“You’re too drunk to walk all the way home” he simply stated.

“My home’s closer, I’ll bring you there for the night” he then said, maybe a little lower.

“Righhhht !” you said enthusiastically “Where is it ?”

“Cast Tech District” he muttered in a breath.

That was the same district as the karaoke bar you were, so it would indeed be a closer walk than your place. Not that you had enough brainpower to process that at the moment.

As you stumbled inside his place, he helped you sit on his couch and closed the door.

You slumped down and closed your eyes, trying to get the dizziness out of your system, but to no avail.

“…’re …..y ..n. …”

“What ?” you mumbled, unable to make out words from what he said, cracking your eyes open again as if it would help you hear better.

“You’re really drunk, aren’t you ?”

DJ was sitting next to you and as soon as the words were out in the air, he dived in and kissed you.

His large hands on your cheeks, keeping your face steady as his orb pressed onto your lips, sending the tingling sensation all over them. You couldn’t figure out what was happening, so you just sat there. He broke the embrace time and time again, the feeling like he was sucking at your lips, only to kiss you again an instant later. There was a fog in your mind that you couldn’t hope to get rid of anytime soon.

“Wha—” you started

“Is this why you kissed me ? To feel what an OH would be like ?”

There was no way you could answer that. This whole time you had been lying to everybody, maintaining a facade… And in front of the person you wanted to tell the most, you just couldn’t.

“Hehe, it actually feels pretty good y’know ??” you said with a laugh as DJ hoisted you from the couch and walked towards his room. He was so tall you almost had vertigo when you looked down from where he was holding you.

“An OH isn’t too bad— oof!” you were dropped onto his huge bed into the soft, deep purple covers.

You rested your head on the plush material, eyes wanting to close, until you felt hands grabbing at your waistband.

“Hey, what are you doin’ ?” you mumbled while sitting up as best you could.

DJ’s thick fingers were nimbly unbuttoning your pants, he yanked them down and tossed them away. Sleep was promptly pushed to the back of your mind as you scrambled to try and cover yourself, but to no avail. Your body wasn’t responding correctly, and all he had to do was swat your weak hands away.

“Let me show you how we object head do things”

This cut into your heart more than anything else you’d heard. There was so much bitterness in his tone, barely hidden.

And that’s when your panties went off.

DJ grabbed your butt with his hands and pulled you to the edge of the bed where he was kneeling, and boy had you dreamed of seeing him like this under you. He was still towering over you and that made your gut twist in expectation.

He slowly pried your clamped thighs open and you hid your face behind your arm, unable to look at him while your core was fully exposed to his view. Maybe you felt a breath, maybe you felt a slight tingle, but it could have all been your imagination, your expectation of him.

When he touched you, down there, you couldn’t repress the moan that slipped through your lips.

It was like nothing you’d ever experienced, like a soft buzzing and tingling coming from the contact point between his orb and your clit, and the sucking… Each stroke of his, or whatever it was called, dragged a cry out of you as you writhed on the bed. It was just too intense, too good, the fire in your belly reaching higher and higher.

DJ kept your hips still with a bruising grip as he ate you out, your back arching desperately into his touch. At some point, you felt one of his huge fingers spread your lips apart and dip slightly into you. The stretch was almost too much, but it felt so good.

How many times had you fantasized about him doing all of this to you ? You wished you could tell him, but only venom came out of your mouth.

“Wow, I guess I can see a perk to having an OH partner now, hah” you were breathless, but you couldn’t help trying to keep that wall up, to have the lie go on just a bit longer.

Pathetic. You were pathetic and you wanted to cry as your words assuredly carved even deeper gouges into DJ’s heart.

But he didn’t stop and soon enough you cried out as you came around his finger, hand fisting the sheets and body tensing as you rode out your orgasm, until the stimulation from his orb became too much.

“Fuck…” you breathed out as he dropped you down onto the mattress, unable to move a limb.

That had been absolutely intense and you felt thoroughly spent.

When you opened your eyes again, you saw DJ looming over you, his cock in one hand and spreading your legs apart with the other. His shadow covered your naked, sweaty body and the light coming from behind him gave him an ethereal aspect, rays making his slick-covered orb glint in the darkness.

“If you don’t tell me to stop, you’re about to get fucked by an OH”

And there was no way you could tell him to stop.

He pushed the head of his cock inside of you and it was so much bigger than what you expected. His finger already felt like an average dick, so what did you think his actual cock would be like ? He was stretching you open, inch by inch, as you laid beneath him.

It hurt like hell, but it was also everything you wanted and you couldn’t push him away. Tears were spilling out from your eyes, under your arm you covered your face with, as you hid the sobs and spasms wrecking your body. When he was finally fully sheathed inside of you, you heard him say

“Are you okay ?”

…

“You should’ve told me to stop…”

…

“Or maybe are you pitying me ?”

You couldn’t say a thing as he drew his conclusions for himself.

“I’ll start to move, alright ?” his tone was soft, fragile even. You hated it, you wanted to tell him you liked this, that you liked him, but you lacked the resolve.

And he did move, slowly, gently, his huge cock pulling out of you and pushing back in again in a rhythmic manner. While it did hurt at first, heat was now coiling in your gut at each of his movements and obscene sounds were coming from where you were joined.

You still couldn’t look at him, even though he was buried deep inside of you, warmth flaring from the unique contact point between your bodies.

He continued going slowly for you, even as you could feel his arms tremble from the self-restraint and his discrete, contained moans.

You wanted to tell him to go all out, that you were enjoying this, but how could you after lying your way there ? Once again, your words turned sour on your tongue.

“You can go harder you know, I’m not gonna break” you said with a dopey smile, hoping he could cast that upon your drunkenness.

He paused for a bit, and you could feel his cock twitching inside of you. You could almost come from that alone, along with his shortness of breath and the weight of his arms digging into the mattress all around you. He was so fucking huge after all, and that was what you liked. Call it a kink or whatever, but you had no problem with object heads and that’s what got you into that situation.

And you came right when he pulled back and slammed into you. Your body arched and tensed under him as he continued plowing inside of you, riding out your orgasm, crossing the threshold of sensitivity and getting you ready for yet another high.

You wanted to hold him, to call his name, but you couldn’t. So you pressed your arm against your eyes harder and grabbed the sheets until your knuckles turned white, and came again before he even did once.

As you tightened around him, you heard him strangle a grunt and felt something hot spill inside of you, through the condom. You almost wished he didn’t wear one, so he could mark you as his and maybe, maybe then you’d have the courage of admitting your feelings to him.

You were coming down from you third climax when he pulled out and removed the rubber, tying it in a knot to prevent its content from going everywhere.

How beautiful you looked, spread out on his bed and looking absolutely worn and sated, he thought, something akin to melancholy reflecting into his orb.

“Hey, are you alright ?” he started, but you feigned being asleep to avoid the conversation. You weren’t brave enough, after all.

So you laid still and awkward as he gently cleaned you up, muttering excuses as he was doing so. He dressed you up carefully with a shirt of his, shimmied you inside some boxers and tucked you in his own bed.

And while you were waiting for true sleep to come, DJ’s sniffling and sobbing coming from the couch went on for what felt like an eternity.

The next morning, you woke up and dressed at best you could, trying to ignore all that had happened the previous night. Your legs felt weak and there was a dull ache in your core that reminded you of what had transpired a few hours ago.

“Oh, hi, you’re up” a deep voice resounded in your back, making you jump.

“Oh, DJ !! Hi !! Didn’t see you there !” you forced out with a smile, a laugh, anything to mask the dread and awkwardness lurking inside of you.

He began to say something, but you cut him off with an excuse and bolted out the door, making up something about having an important lunch with your mom.

“But, about last night…” he persisted

“Last night ? What happened ?? I don’t remember a thing, sorry haha ! Must’ve been too drunk !” you replied probably too quickly for it to seem sincere, but panic was getting to you.

“I’ll call you when I get home, ok ?” you said as you were getting farther away from him, the ache in your chest growing stronger as all you wanted was to hold him close and tell him that everything was a lie. But you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

And when the evening came, you wanted to send him a message, to tell him you were sorry, that you wanted to spend time with him… That was when you realized how cruel you had been. How pained he must have been when you pretended you didn’t remember a thing. How he muttered that he meant last night under his breath as you were busy fleeing. How he stood there, struck and hurt, uttering an ultimate “I’m sorry” just loud enough for you to hear.

A few years later, progress had been made concerning the acceptance of object heads, and you were finally making your coming-out as an OH-lover. If that’s what going to an OH bar for the first time meant, at least.

You were facing the door, still pondering if it was a good idea, and you were about to go back home when the bar opened and someone dragged you inside.

“Hiii sweetheart, don’t be shy !” a robot with a weird hairdo said as he brought you up to the bar.

A tall man with a screen for a face and a fur-collared coat was cleaning a glass.

“What would you like to drink, ma’am ?”

“Uhh… I can’t really hold my liquor, so something soft” you responded, feeling uneasy.

“You know this is a bar, right ?” another robot chimed in, with a different accent color and hairstyle.

“Stop bothering her, TenTen” this time, it was a girl with orange skin and a big grin that sat next to you.

“So, why are you here for ?”

“Uhh, well, I…” why was it so hard to say, still ?

“You’re here for the OH ?” a green robot interrupted.

“For the object heads ?” a red one continued.

“For the weirdos like us ?” a white robot perpetuated.

“TenTen, stop it” the barman grumbled out, exasperation palpable in his voice.

The five robots saluted immediately and went to bother other patrons.

“Wait, didn’t you call the yellow one TenTen too ?” you asked the girl next to you, a bit puzzled.

“Oh yeah, they’re all TenTen” she grinned.

“They’re… all… TenTen ???” you repeated dumbly.

“Yup, you get one, you get the five of them. Like a group discount or something. Definitely not a match for everyone” she sighed.

This comforted you a bit. If a group of five male robots could look for a partner, maybe you wouldn’t look so out of place either.

“So ya didn’t tell me, what’re you looking for here ?”

You told this girl your story, as well as the ever silent barman that lent an ear to it whenever he wasn’t preparing drinks. At the end, she was almost crying and you had to stop her from hugging you in a bone-crushing embrace.

“And you didn’t tell him ??? That’s so saaaaaaaaad” she bawled as you sipped on your drink.

“Yeah… that’s… what happened…” you felt awkward, but it was so liberating to tell it to someone. Even though you definitely were the one at fault there.

“So you’re looking for a big guy, right ?” a voice on your other side asked, and as you turned around you saw a huge figure bent over the bar, its head hidden by the hood of a sweater.

“Oh, yeah, I guess…” you said hesitantly.

“How about I make you forget about that guy from your story tonight ?” the deep voice continued, sending shivers through you. Why did it felt like you knew this voice, this way of speaking ?

“Thank you but… I don’t think I’m ready for that yet. I still have feeling for that guy and—” tears started welling up so you stopped talking and wiped them away. Why did you always want to cry when talking about him ? It was already a few years ago, so why was the pain still ever present…

“Hmm ? I didn’t hear that quite right” the man next to you said, and as you turned to look at him, he took off his hood and revealed his head – a smooth orb holding a galaxy inside of it.

“Could you repeat it ?”

You could hear the grin in his voice and your breath caught in your throat because, by the stars, that was DJ. Looming over you from his impossible height and resting his head on one of his huge hands, he was staring at you as you had inadvertently confessed to him after all those years.

Your face flushed red and you babbled an excuse as you hid your face and turned away from him, but he caught you in his embrace and next thing you knew, the whole bar was cheering for you, the orange girl being the loudest.

What a coincidence it was that, after being a closeted OH-lover for so many years, you found your high school crush in a bar and that he would still harbor some feelings for you.

He now went by the name “DJ Subatomic Supernova”, and that night you also went back to his place a bit drunk, a bit giddy, something hot twirling in your heart and burning in your gut.

You couldn’t keep your hands off from each other as soon as you passed the threshold to his apartment. It was dark and you kept stumbling onto things, but he held you, grabbed you, pressed you onto his chest, closer.

Your lips met his orb and after a few heated kisses, he went down your neck, leaving what felt like hickeys as his hands stroked your sides gently, slowly. You grabbed his jacket and ushered him out of it as he slipped his hands under your top, dancing around your belly and leaving embers in his wake. The garment was discarded on the floor and so was your shirt, revealing yet another undergarment.

It was promptly added to the mess on the floor and then you felt DJ’s hands fondling your breasts, that felt so, so tiny in comparison to his fingers. He could probably wrap his hands around your torso and lift you up like a doll if he wanted, and the thought only sparked more want inside of you.

Step after step, he guided you inside his place until the back of your knees hit his bed and you fell onto it, staring at the giant above you. If the fall hadn’t already knocked most of the air out of your lungs, you would have been breathless because of how good DJ looked. His ceiling was covered in dim stars, casting a timid light upon him and accentuating his height, the changing colors of his orb, the details of his hands.

You stared at him for a bit as he stood there, also drinking your half-naked sight splayed out onto his bed, then scooted back on the mattress to give him some space. As he didn’t seem to come, you held out your arms towards him, enticing him towards you, and he did.

The bed dipped as he laid a knee on it, his huge arms on each side of your head as he grew closer to you, then sat back up as he removed his shirt. He wrapped his arms around his waist and tugged the tight garment up, up, putting on a delicious show for you to watch.

You had never seen him shirtless, and boy was that a thing to look at. His skin was deep and dark, purple like the night skies with only a few tinges of stars here and there, like adorable moles. The dim light suggested more than showed his firm pecs and broad shoulders, and you could feel heat pooling between your legs already.

You scrambled to your feet and unfastened his pants, yanking them down to reveal a big bulge inside of his boxers.

“You’re okay with that ?” he asked softly, seemingly hesitant.

“I’ve always wanted to do this”

And that was the truth. Ever since your first encounter, you had wanted to reciprocate the attention, the affection.

While you were palming him through his briefs, you felt his nimble fingers work your own pants out of the way. You sensed his hesitation though, when he went about the waistband of your panties, circling his thumb around your hipbone.

“Let me show you something” you said as you stood up on the bed, not even being taller than him on his knees.

You bent and slowly pulled your panties off, strings of slick connected to the garment, as you showed him how much you wanted him in the dim, dark light of his apartment. The soft glow of the stars reflected off your thighs as you stood there, fully naked, in front of DJ. You felt like some sort of goddess with him kneeling reverently in front of you, his member straining the fabric of his underwear.

But soon the fleeting moment was over as passion took the reins again.

DJ all but ripped away his boxers and grabbed your hips, making you straddle him. From there, you could see closely how big his cock was, hard and throbbing and leaking a bit. It rested heavily onto your belly and you craned your neck to look at DJ.

His fingers dug into your soft thighs as he rested his orb against your forehead.

“You think you can do without foreplay ? I don’t think I can hold on much longer” he said breathlessly, his deep voice echoing through his chest.

“Fuck, I’ve been wanting this too” you answered unceremoniously, all concerns out of the window as you lifted your hips to match his tip to your entrance.

He helped you position yourself, and as you were about to sink onto him, he held your hips still.

“Wait. Rubber.”

“Don’t care” you breathed out, grabbing his neck and pulling him in for a kiss as you finally, finally felt him push inside of you.

God he was big, even more so without any prep on your side, but feeling him slowly impale you on his cock was exhilarating. You lost yourself in his kisses as he pushed your body steadily down, down on him, until your hips met and you sucked in a much needed breath.

You rested for a bit, both panting and grabbing at each other like an anchor in the storm, craving more contact and friction than ever.

DJ wrapped his hands around you and began moving slowly, ever so slowly, turning your insides to hot mush with every stroke of his dick.

“DJ… DJ…” you moaned out, unable to form any coherent thought already.

“What is it, starshine ?” he rumbled out, still keeping at his torturing slow pace.

You could feel every detail of his shaft going through you, the way your walls grabbed onto him as he pulled out and gave in when he pushed back inside. How slick was pouring out of your stuffed hole and onto your thighs and his, how obscene sounds echoed in between pants and soft cries as your hips met again and again.

“Please, go harder” you begged.

The heat in your gut was unbearable, steadily rising but not enough for you. You would’ve loved to drag this out but you needed him, all of him, at once.

“How about you show me, then ?” he grinned as he laid down onto the bed, his hands resting on your thighs but his hips slowing down to a halt.

You repressed a whimper and started moving yourself, thighs trembling at each up and down, hands grabbing at the covers for purchase.

It wasn’t that fast at first, but soon you picked up speed as he helped lift you up from his cock. He hit you deep every time and your moans grew louder as the slap of skin on skin increased rhythmically. You could feel you were both getting close, your muscles tightening and trembling, his hands gripping you a bit harder, leaving dents in your flesh.

You were teetering on the edge, breath short and sweat making your bodies slick and sticky, when he grabbed you in a tight embrace, nuzzling his head into your neck and leaving a few kisses there.

“What—” you didn’t finish.

His hips rolled into yours and you felt him rock you on his cock, his pubes giving your engorged clit just the right amount of friction to send you over the edge. You tightened around him, nails raking down his back as he continued rocking through your climax, one time, two times, three times and it was his turn to spill.

He sucked on your neck harder, strangling a moan as you felt his hot cum pour inside of you, filling you up and dripping out of you. A shudder coursed through you as you saw the mess you were, white onto dark, fluids leaking all over and his girth still buried inside of you.

You felt him shift a bit after a while, still not separating your joint bodies.

“Again ?” you asked timidly, not sure how he would take it.

“The night is still young, I suppose I could do that” he said while slowly pushing your back into the mattress, spreading your numb thighs once more.

And while it was still dark out, you did it time and time again until the Milky Way was etched onto his purple bedsheets and your body was deliciously marked all over by DJ.

[writerman]

Psst. Write a hanahaki disease fic for Barduil where Thranduil has it. You gotta write it.

Hey, anon, remember when you requested this probably like a year ago? Yeah, me either...

Anyway, here is what you asked for. I wrote over 7000+ words in a day to finish this asap.

My thanks to @morticia-butler​ for all the help looking up Hanahaki disease headcanons and an iconic line I simply had to include.

This is a long one so some of it will be under a readmore BUT you can also read all my other Barduil prompts via this fancy schmancy LINK

On to the story!

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

8:30am. Thursday. September 17th. Just petals. 

The mirror reflected a pale and haunted image back at him while bright and vibrant yellow petals dusted the front of his pyjama t-shirt. 

Daffodils. 

His favourite. Thranduil, however, had come to detest the sight of them. The sunshine yellow flowers openly mocking him, their bobbing heads in the breeze seen as a gaggle of them laughing almost jovially at his situation. 

No point thinking on it in-depth, not when he could temporarily abate the problem. 

With such a thought in mind, Thranduil brushed the petals from his shirt into the sink and watched as they swirled in the water a moment before vanishing down the drain into the darkness. 

But there would be more. 

There was always more. 

A soft knock at the bathroom door stilled his hand as he reached for his toothbrush and he turned to see Tauriel watching him with concern. 

“I didn’t know you were visiting today, what are you doing here?” Thranduil’s voice was soft as he spoke, though, the lilting sound of surprise cracked his voice for a moment. “Had I known you planned to visit I’d have been ready by now. What are-” Thranduil watched as Tauriel leaned toward him, her hand brushed the fabric of his t-shirt as she plucked a petal still clinging to the fibres. 

“Dad, you said this had stopped!” The words rushed out and they were so loud as she held the petal up between them. While it hadn’t meant to come out so accusing, he could hear the dismay that coloured her words, it still felt harsh and Thranduil braced himself for a barrage of instructions to get himself to a doctor. 

“It was quelled for some time. The doctor gave me special inhalers that slow the spread but I’ve not had the time to contact the surgery for a refill.” He gestured to an empty inhaler laying innocently on its side by the sink. They had helped immeasurably and the majority of his family had believed the disease was done and gone. 

But Hanahaki was not that easy to be rid of, he knew and deep down his family knew that too. It was easier to think he had been cured than to do consider the alternative…

“I dropped by because I wanted to know if you felt like grabbing breakfast?” Tauriel turned from the bathroom door and wandered into her dad’s bedroom, his clothes were laid out already, she paced past the bed and back out into the hallway. “I’ll be downstairs, let’s go out still.” 

There was no time to respond and so Thranduil internally agreed to breakfast with his daughter. She and Legolas were the same in that they were strongwilled, always happy to make a decision and happy to make it for someone else too. 

They definitely had gotten that trait from him, even if he had mellowed somewhat with age. It was easy to recall his younger days with clarity, he walked tall never a curve to his back because he bowed to no one. 

He had been so headstrong and confident, even after his wife had died. People had come to him speaking softly with sincere condolences but Thranduil cast the sorrowful glances aside and carried on working. 

That felt like aeons ago now, Thranduil was more in touch with his emotional and mental health now, gave and took the time of others as freely as he should have when he was younger. Thranduil found value in the world where once he would have shunned it. 

Turning to look in the mirror, that pale and haunted face stared back but the eyes seemed less empty than they had earlier. Even with his disease there was still hope within him, it was choked and stuttering by the roots of the flowers in his chest and lungs but it was there. 

“I can’t give up, not yet.” He whispered to himself. 

They ended up heading to Tauriel’s favourite place for breakfast, it was a small family-run restaurant and the food was good. The cheery wait staff did not match the highly polished wood and marble of the place but it felt strangely homely all the same. 

It was while Thranduil perused the menu that Tauriel brought up the subject, or rather, the object of his disease to him. A public place so he would not make a scene, perhaps, or rather, she hadn’t thought of the setting and only wanted to relinquish her hold on the burning question she had within for months. 

“So, will you at least tell me who it is that did this to you?” Badly worded. No one had passed the disease onto him, that wasn’t how it worked and he knew Tauriel understood that. “Come on, dad. Do they know what they’ve done to you?” Of course, she was angry but why was she being angry with someone innocent in all of it? 

While the majority of the time Thranduil was able to ignore these unnecessary outbursts from his children, there were ofttimes when his frustration got the better of him and one of those times was now.

With hands loosely balled into fists resting on the tabletop, Thranduil pinned his daughter with an icy glare that quashed whatever words she had left inside to say on the matter.  

“I have told you time and time again, I will not tell you who it is. You know damned well that they are not to blame in this. You’ve seen the diagnosis, even though I’ve asked you to stay out of it, you’ve seen the words ‘ self-inflicted’ on the documents.” He voice was low but the chill in his words caused Tauriel to sit back in her seat and avert her gaze from his. 

“I’m sorry-” She stopped when the waitress came over and set down their coffee and a rack of toast. There was time enough between the waitress approaching and leaving for Tauriel to regain her composure. “I’ve read so much about this over the past few months, it might now be onesided that’s all.” She was right but the percentage was low.

Hanahaki disease was such an odd illness to contract, the phenomenon of flowers growing in a person’s chest and lungs due to unrequited or onesided love. The agitation of yearning and pining watered the blooms until the lungs were completely full and the chest cavity would split open with leaves and stems and petals spilling out and killing a person instantly if they hadn’t already died from suffocation. 

But that was only intense cases. There were ways to slow the spread and Thranduil was taking measures to ensure he could do such a thing. 

Regular therapy was one. His therapist was a wonderful woman who guided him through the process of coming to terms with his unrequited love. They spoke of how to be honest and open with the feelings he experienced and how to provide his own closure.

Though, they had many hurdles to jump. Thranduil didn’t believe in closure per se, to him revisiting something traumatic and uncomfortable merely reopened wounds. They’d spent many sessions focussing on the death of his wife and while it had helped immensely in allowing a belated grieving it ultimately had not helped with his predicament.

But he was not to call it a predicament his therapist had said. To remove the seriousness of the disease was to remove the value of his own life. There were many times she had asked him to look from the outside in and speak on the issues in his life as though they affected another person. It had helped and when things looked bleak or if Thranduil began to brush off the seriousness of his illness he would remind himself that he would not allow someone else to do that to themselves. 

The next most drastic step was surgery, but it was a temporary step and it slowed the spread of the disease. Researchers in the medical field studying Hanahaki always implied heavily that the physical manifestations of the disease were caused by the brain and thus Hanahaki was registered as a mental illness. 

It was why doctors pressed so hard for those that suffered to seek therapy. 

“I won’t be involving the person in this what so ever, Tauriel. Please, I ask again that you drop the subject.” How he had pleaded like this before and how it emotionally exhausted him to see the fear in her eyes every time she visited. 

It was all because he knew that one day she feared she’d find him lying dead, a bouquet of blood-stained flowers adorning his chest in a beautiful and grotesque display of the love that had plagued him. 

“I understand that you’re scared but I promise you I have no given up. I have an appointment with my therapist this afternoon and with my surgeon to discuss a date for surgery.” 

His words seemed enough to placate her for now and she instead busied herself with buttering some toast.

3:00pm Thursday. September 17th. Just petals.

“We spoke about your wife again last week, I noted that you requested we move on from the subject. Why do you feel you need to leave that subject alone?” The room was shaded from the bright Autumn sunshine streaming in from the window. 

Thranduil could see the glowing gold around the edges of the blinds and forgot where he was for a moment as he watched it flicker with the shadow of trees swaying the breeze. He couldn’t remember why he’d suggested they move on but it seemed the right course of action to him. 

“I just feel we aren’t focussing on the real problem.” When he spoke he made a point to look at her. Maintaining eye contact seemed important at that moment, he didn’t want her to think he was ruled by indecision. “My wife has been dead for years and we have already confirmed that, as much as I miss her, I have come to terms with her death and grieved appropriately.” Too business-like. As soon as the words had come out of his mouth he knew. 

The therapist merely ‘hmm’d’ in response and wrote something down. There was the internal battle to struggle with now, to explain himself to her or let her assume something of him that he would, personally, deem incorrect. 

“What is it you would like to speak about instead?” 

That was the problem, he didn’t really know. The only thing he wanted to ask was ‘How did you get over someone and quickly?’ but there wasn’t really much of an answer she would be able to give.

Magazines for years had offered ‘helpful tips to get over that person that doesn’t like you back!’ and Thranduil had put no stock in their, so called, wisdom. Now they didn’t publish these things, now they would ask you to seek help if you experienced any symptoms they listed on the page. 

Distraction techniques had been offered by his family in droves at the beginning when his diagnosis had been revealed. Nothing had actually helped because his mind would often wander to the object of his affection when he was practising a new hobby. 

“I think my need to rush these sessions is just because I’m scared of losing myself completely and if I do that, well, you know what happens.” Thranduil gave a half-hearted shrug, he barely lifted his shoulders but it was a shrug all the same and his therapist acknowledged it as so with a nod. 

“Everyone is scared of dying, Thranduil. Perfectly healthy people, people who have terminal diseases. Do you want to talk about your fear of dying?” 

He didn’t. 

They, instead, spoke of newer experimental ideas that Thranduil might have been interested in trying. She wrote out the prescription for the refill on his inhaler and made another appointment for a week later. 

It wasn’t often that Thranduil left the sessions more tightly wound than he had been when going in but he at least knew that he’d need something to talk about next week or they’d get back on the subject of his wife and he honestly didn’t think that was helpful. 

His next appointment was at the doctor's office, they wanted to schedule surgery but they had needed proof he was visiting his therapist before they would agree. It was a messy and an unfair condition but at least at the doctor's office he could get them to fill the prescription so it wasn’t too much of a wasted trip if they refused his surgery. 

1:00pm Friday. September 18th Foliage. 

The office was quiet now. 

Everyone but Thranduil had packed up for the day and headed out to start their weekends. It was a perk Thranduil had implemented years ago and it had been appreciated, even if it had been created to benefit him more so than his employees at the time. 

Nothing was waiting for him at home and there was plenty of paperwork to do so he poured himself a glass of water, took his inhaler and got comfortable at his desk reading through a brief for a new promotion. 

So engrossed was he in his work that he failed to notice someone entering the office and only when a takeout coffee cup was set before him did he move his gaze from the files he had been reading to intently. 

Looking up Thranduil ceased his movement almost instantly at the sight of his best friend Bard. The afternoon sunshine illuminated his handsome face with a soft golden glow, his brown eyes looked golden as he smiled down at him. His cheery countenance was always welcome and so was his gift of coffee but Thranduil could tell his friend was there with an agenda of sorts. 

“Haven’t seen you lately, Thran. You’re not holding yourself up in this office every night until late again, are you?” The concern, it left a shaking and aching hole inside Thranduil and that hole soon became clogged with stems and leaves, give the disease an inch and, well, that old adage. 

“No, I just had something to do here but it can wait. Did you need something?” To try and remain relaxed and carefree around Bard was increasingly difficult, more so when he had endeavoured to hide his disease from him as much as he could. 

“Hm, well, I just had the feeling that you’ve been avoiding me for a while if I’m to be completely honest.” Straight to the point, no beating around the bush for Bard and he had every right to be concerned because he was correct.

Perhaps it was more obvious lately that he had been trying to avoid Bard for a few weeks. Avoidance was never going to be the answer but this man was why he had the disease, or rather, what exacerbated it. There would never be a time he would place sole or even partial blame on Bard for what he was going through. 

“I’m sorry, I suppose I have been caught up in work recently. I’m absolutely not overworking myself before you ask. However, I’ve neglected my best friend and I think I owe you a drink, at least.”

“At least,” Bard repeated in agreement and he grinned, they didn’t move to get up. 

Thranduil busied himself with taking a sip of his coffee, it was a blond roast from Michael’s he could tell without even looking at the logo on the side of the cup. All the while he inwardly cursed the tightness in his chest and new shoots began to sprout and buds began to burst into bloom. 

There was no chance he could even begin to hazard a cough. It’d look like a cat had swallowed a canary. Or a man that had swallowed his feelings. 

For a short while, they chatted idly about what they’d done recently. Bard talked of hating the empty nest syndrome he was suffering now that Tilda had moved out, leaving the family home nothing but a ‘mausoleum of family memories that were visited by a spectre that had helped create them’. It was a dramatic sentence and Thranduil laughed aloud before offering something vaguely sympathetic to soothe his friend.  

“Can’t you clock out already, you own the business let’s get out while it’s still bright,” Bard complained as he rose from his seat and wandered toward the large window Thranduil sat with his back to. “The sun is still warm and we could probably walk to the pub instead of taking the car.”

“Walking to the pub suggests that you don’t wish to have a few drinks but one too many.” As much as he hoped he sounded wise, Thranduil knew Bard would have clearly taken it as a challenge. So they were absolutely going to get drunk that night and Thranduil couldn’t have been more terrified of that prospect.

“I haven’t seen you in ages, you’re my best friend and even if we both regret how bad we feel in the morning, age that does that to you, I want to get drunk with you, Thran!” Ah, old age hadn’t fully caught up with Bard yet, he was vibrant and energetic and hot. Gods above was that man gorgeous. 

That was where it all began though, Bard had blazed into his life when they were in their early 30’s. Thranduil had just lost his wife and was trying to juggle a career and two grieving kids. 

Bard and his wife Anya had helped him. They took the kids to school and picked them up and fed them so Thranduil could… do what? He couldn’t even remember now- he hadn’t grieved that was for sure!

With a 10 year and an 8-year-old broken over the loss of their mother and having no support from their emotionally unavailable father, Tauriel and Legolas had grown up to be quite well adjusted. Though, some of that might have been the therapy they’d gotten as suggested by their school. 

It had happened only 2 years later, Bard lost Anya and he was thrown into a situation similar to Thranduil’s and the roles were reversed. Sigrid and Tauriel grew up like sisters and were still close because of how often they saw one another. They bonded strongly over what had happened to their mothers and became each other’s strength when they needed it.

The same happened with Bard and Thranduil, they became close friends. They took the children on holiday together, camping or water parks and spent their weekends finding activities for the kids that they too could take part in. 

For a while, it had been just friendship, but then as the children grew up and wanted to spend less time with dad and more time with friends they found company in each other more often than not. 

Then Tauriel and Legolas moved out for university, Sigrid and Bain left Bard for the same reason, Tilda was always adventuring with her friends and so when the empty house became too much they would go out. 

Dinner, drinks, a walk in the park, catch a movie or two. 

Innocent stuff, but Thranduil allowed himself to get comfortable and in letting his guard down he let feelings in that he had tried to avoid from the moment he met Bard. 

The problem was when Anya died Bard told Thranduil he couldn’t ever see himself falling in love with another person again. 

This was proven time and time again over the years, dates would happen once or not at all with people that could have been his perfect match, and eventually, Bard learned to ignore anyone that tried to flirt with him. A suggestive smile or even a compliment was brushed off as nothing more than friendly and the more unattainable he became the more Thranduil realised he was in love with him. 

A terrible turn of events to be sure, and now he suffered daily for it with petals littering his pillows and flowers choking out his lungs. 

“Are we going out then?” Bard’s voice cut through the memories Thranduil was replaying in his mind for the hundredth time and how thankful he was when he did. The blooming of the flowers in his chest increased with the thoughts of Bard. 

To say no to the request would put a strain on their friendship. Bard had already noticed that he was being avoided and it would do them no good for Thranduil to continue that. So, with a nod, he got up from his seat and grabbed his jacket. 

“It is a nice day, let’s walk to the pub then.” Intoxication was the last thing he needed but to keep up the charade that all was fine he’d need to at least try and play along. To play the role of a man in perfect health, body and mind, didn’t seem easy but he had to try. 

He would try because he loved him. 

10:45am Wednesday. September 30th. Bursting Blooms.

It was classed as routine surgery but Thranduil couldn’t imagine how hard it would be to slice someone open and remove flowers stamen to stem to root. Temporary as it was, he was thankful they had managed to organise it so quickly, his outing with Bard and the subsequent dinner the night after meant that his condition rapidly grew worse as time went by in the company of his best friend. 

He’d woken to more petals on his pillow than he had ever seen before and his breathing laboured. Even coughing to free up space didn’t work and instead, he was gifted with near whole flower heads landing in his hands.

The kids were horrified as they watched this because of course, it would have happened while they visited. Which led to him having to listen to endless ‘You should go to the hospital right now.’ in a chorus from them both until he showed them the inhalers. 

They sat either side of him in the waiting room now. 

Legolas bounced his leg continuously looking around the waiting room for something to distract him. He’d taken time away from University to be there to help with recovery. 

Tauriel chewed her nails and checked the time on her phone every couple of minutes as if time flowed differently in a hospital waiting room. 

There was no cause for his anxiety to manifest when he was sat between two that were already doing all the work for him. Sadly, he had no words to calm them of their fears because he was just as afraid. 

“Have people died from this surgery, dad?” Legolas piped up out of the blue, he sounded so young in that moment and Thranduil felt guilt course through his veins like ice for putting his children through something like this again. 

When he didn’t answer Tauriel did for him and she shook her head even though Legolas was focussing more on a poster across the room than on anything else. 

“No, because the surgery, while invasive to a degree, only removes some of the plants. They don’t fully remove everything because they simply can’t. Dad is going to be ok, more ok after this than he is now.” Her confidence only shaking by the tremor in her voice and Thranduil hoped Legolas couldn’t hear it. 

“Hmm, ok.” Pensive now Legolas falls silent but his leg continuous to bounce but not as animatedly as before. He was not calmed but something in her words convinced him that the surgery would be fine. 

Though, he didn’t understand why she would lie to him like that. His son was perfectly capable of looking up the survival rate on his phone, it was low just as low as the rate of people that were cured by expressing their feelings to their heart's desire. 

They were approached by a nurse in scrubs. 

“Mr Oropherion, if you would like to come this way.” 

1:56pm Wednesday. September 30th. Roots. 

Someone was gently squeezing his arm.

“Thranduil, you’ve just come out of surgery. Can you hear me?” The same nurse that took him in was now waking him. “We need you to respond to know you’re ok.” 

Nothing felt real yet he managed to croak out something akin to an ‘I’m fine’ but that was it. The need for sleep and an excruciating pain rushed over him and he groaned hands gripping the sheets as he waited for it to subside. 

“Out of 10, 10 being very painful and 1 being not painful at all how do you feel?” The nurse was holding a clipboard and a pen, they looked down at Thranduil with an expectant look and merely blinked blankly when Thranduil didn’t respond right away.

He needed more time than this to consider everything, on the one hand, he could breathe on the other the pain of being sliced open and stitched back together was awful. 

“Ah… 8 maybe?” His whole body shook as he came out of the anaesthetic and all he wanted was to leave his body while it was in this state and return when he was at home comfortable in his own bed with a cup of tea. 

His time in the recovery room was short and he was wheeled into a private room where he was greeted with the grim face of his best friend. Bard looked awful, pale and he seemed to have aged 10 years all with concern etched deep into his face. 

“You were having important surgery and just elected not to tell me?” It was quiet, so quiet that Thranduil almost didn’t hear him speak. It wasn’t until they were fully alone after someone had administered strong painkillers, that Thranduil finally acknowledged what Bard had said to him. 

“I didn’t need more people worrying about me than was necessary. I’m sorry, Bard. I should have told you but I didn’t want you to ask what the surgery was.” If he was honest, he still didn’t want Bard to know and if he asked him then and there he would outright refuse to tell him. 

Even if keeping such secrets ended their friendship it would be safer then, the heartbreak of losing him as a friend was all the cure he needed and it would continue to protect Bard from the truth. 

“If you had just told me that I could have been here for you from the beginning! Instead, I get a call from Tauriel asking me to come by and sit with Legs because she had to go grab something from home. I had no idea what she was talking about so you can probably expect a gushing apology from her later.” Bard dragged a hand through his dark hair, now laced with silver, as he started to pace. 

It wasn’t fair. 

Life wasn’t fair but this was kicking a man while he was down! 

“I’m sorry, Thran. I didn’t mean to come in and just… yell at you. How are you feeling, are you ok?” Bard moved towards the bed and poured a glass of water out and handed it to Thran who took the offering gratefully and slowly sipped the cold water in trembling hands. 

“Why can’t you tell me what the surgery was?” Bard pulled up the visitor chair so he was sad right by Thranduil’s bedside. For a moment he seemed indecisive in his actions until he, apparently, had a moment of clarity and took Thranduil’s hand in his. “Is it… cancer?” The words were uttered almost reverently as though he was afraid to speak the words any louder than a whisper. 

Could he lie and say yes? 

Oh, how disrespectful he would be to cancer survivors and those who had lost their battle. No, he could not lie and so he shook his head feeling more forlorn with each passing minute. The desperate need to wrench his hand from Bard’s was unbearable, the heat of the man’s hand seared into his skin and he couldn’t think straight wondering how it would be to hold his hand and know he loved him back. 

Something inside him grew and already a new bloom began to sprout. 

This was too dangerous. 

Gods, he was dying and yet he still thought he had a chance with this man sat at his bedside holding his hand whispering words to him like a prayer. 

Eventually, he knew he’d had to put an end to all of this. 

How he wasn’t sure. 

8:36pm Saturday. October 10th. Stems. 

The children had just left, left with promises to be there again in the morning but Thranduil waved them away and told them it was not necessary to coddle him in such a way. The look on their faces told him he really had no say in the matter what so ever. 

The surgery results were more temporary than he’d have liked, petals had started appearing again after a mere 10 days. With the inhalers they were few and far between but only 10 days of respite. His scars not yet healed from the procedure! 

All in all, it seemed to have been a waste of time but at least he was still able to breathe with relative ease, though emotionally it seemed he was breathless. Legolas and Tauriel barely gave him a second alone and were hawks when it came to spotting petals.

At first, they’d been nigh hysterical but Thranduil had calmed them down and explained that these things happened and that he was still able to breathe well enough so there was nothing to worry about. 

They hadn’t believed him. Not even for a second but they were distracted enough to come down from the height they’d been at in their worry. 

The doorbell rang not even 5 minutes after the children had left and Thranduil assumed one of them must have left something behind, so when he opened the door to find Bard on the doorstep he was surprised but ushered him all the same. 

“It’s late, what are you doing here?” Thranduil shivered and pulled the long misshapen and baldy knitted cardigan tightly around himself. It had been a gift from Tauriel, she had knitted it and then proceeded to never try knitting again yet Thranduil adored the huge thing that near drowned him. “Aren’t you coming inside?” 

He noticed after a moment that Bard lingered a little too long at the door and seemed frozen by indecision. It wasn’t like him to be unsure of something so Thranduil prodded again. 

“Are you coming in?” But Bard wasn’t looking at him, he was staring at the cardigan and feeling self-conscious Thranduil wrapped his arms around it trying to cover the large holes, but Bard kept staring until Thranduil actually become protective of the garment and snapped at him. 

“What are you looking at?” Much like Tauriel had done before, Bard leaned forward and between his finger and thumb pulled a yellow petal away from Thranduil’s clothing, it seemed much brighter in the gloom of the autumn evening. 

It seemed enough for Bard to piece together the truth and he looked dismayed, his shoulders dropped and his head dropped for a moment before he forced himself to look up at his friend. 

“Is.. this why you had surgery?”

“Let’s not do this on the steps outside, come in and I promise I will answer all of your questions.” That seemed to put him in motion and with a short nod, Bard stepped into the warmth of the house and Thranduil shut the door. 

“How long have you had this?” 

Straight to the point, Thranduil had hoped he’d be given the chance to offer tea or something else before Bard started grilling him for answers. Honestly, though, he knew the question Bard wanted an answer to the most and Thranduil didn’t think he had it in him to tell him that, not yet at least. 

“Hmm, a year now, maybe?” It had been so long since he had been without the cursed disease and he hadn’t exactly been counting, seeing it was more a count down to his death if he truly tried to rack up the days. 

“Is there a cure, will you die from this?” The panic appeared from nowhere and Bard bit his lip as he tried to work out what he wanted to do next, he seemed to want to cross the room toward Thranduil and pace so to put a stop to either Thranduil made him sit down. 

“I will make tea and answer those questions when I come back.” One of them had to remain calm, while he would have loved to have thrown away his composure and screamed to the Heavens that life wasn’t fair he didn’t think it would help his situation in the slightest. 

When he returned with the tray Bard was stood again but this time by the fireplace looking at the family photos set out across the mantle. They were mostly of himself with the kids, one of is and Bard’s family all together on a camping trip and one of his wedding day. 

“Hanahaki, huh?” He must have googled it while Thranduil was in the kitchen, that was fine but he probably knew more than Thranduil would have liked now. “So the surgery you had was to remove some of the flowers… ah, I can’t pretend like I’m not going to ask. Who is it that did this to you, Thran, who is the one that can’t or won’t love you back?” The tone seemed one of incredulity, as though Bard couldn’t quite believe there was anyone in the world who couldn’t love Thranduil.

But there was. 

“Does it matter who and isn’t it better to see that I am trying to get better instead of giving up?” Deflect the question by asking a question, the only thing he could do as he poured tea and tried to stop his hands from trembling. “I am doing everything the doctors say I should.” 

“Which is?”

“Haven’t you just checked the internet for all of this?”

“Well, yeah, but I want to hear you say it, that’s all.” The conversation was going nowhere because Bard clearly couldn’t stand not knowing who this person was that had captured Thranduil’s heart and refused to return it. 

“I have therapy every week, I have inhalers to slow the spread of the blooms and recently I had surgery to remove the majority of the blockage but the roots are deep.” Such a drastic admission and so unfair to reveal his imminent death so casually. 

Taking a sip of tea, Thranduil watched Bard’s face cycle through several emotions before settling on… nothing. Instead of responding Bard merely added some sugar to his tea before lifting it to his lips to drink. 

“So, you were just planning on dying without telling me?” The words came out flat as though the conversation was casual yet boring. He had hurt his friend that much he was sure of but there wasn’t really much of anything he could say to soothe him now. Bard had been right, and what Thranduil had thought was caring and helpful turned out to be more selfish than anything else. 

“No, I would never do that to you, Bard. I don’t want to keep these things from you but please see this from my perspective. This isn’t something I want to scream from the rooftops- ‘LOOK AT ME EVERYONE I AM DYING BECAUSE THE PERSON I LOVE DOESN’T LOVE ME BACK AND I AM NOT EMOTIONALLY STABLE ENOUGH TO ACCEPT THAT!’ why would I want to reveal my weakness to someone? If Legolas and Tauriel hadn’t found out I would not have told them either!” He didn’t like being weak like this, not after a life of being seen as an unshakable strength a rock that you could rely on. Everything was beginning to crumble why would he want to bare his soul now? 

“Fine but don’t think I can just forgive you for hiding this from me. After everything we’ve been through together you just fail to tell me that, 1) you’re in love with someone, and 2) You’re dying because of it.” Bard set down his cup a little too hard and pushed himself to his feet and headed for the door. “I… I have to go, Thran. I’m sorry.” 

He was on his feet in seconds following Bard to the door but the man was already in his car by the time he got out onto the steps to call him back. 

“You don’t understand…” Thranduil whispered as he tugged at the cardigan pulling it tight around him against the chill. “I didn’t tell you to save you from the guilt that I know you’d feel.” Of course, the words merely dissipated into the cold night air and the vapours trailing each word rose into the sky before vanishing completely. 

At least the universe heard his admission of the truth. 

4:00pm Friday, December 11th. Nothing but a memory. 

They had given him a clean bill of health. 

No roots, stems, stamens, petals, not even a leaf remained. The flowers had wilted and withered to nothing and Thranduil took an easy deep breath as he left the doctor’s office. It was a chilly December evening and he was adjusting his scarf when Legolas nearly bowled him over running into him his arms thrown around his neck in a tight embrace. 

“I heard the news! You’re better now for good?!” The excitement in his son’s voice brought genuine tears to Thranduil’s eyes and he buried his face in Legolas’ golden hair for a long month savouring the warmth his son gave. 

When they broke apart Tauriel was stood by her car, the engine still running. They must have just arrived as he was leaving. She gave him a cheery wave before climbing into the car to shut off the engine. 

Thranduil hadn’t confessed his feelings to Bard and Bard had not confessed his to him. Instead, he had worked hard to understand that sometimes your feelings just were not reciprocated and that was ok. 

Platonic love was just as good as romantic love, sadly, he hadn’t been able to speak to Bard since he’d walked out on him all those weeks ago. While he would always love Bard he understood that what he had done was hurtful and if he’d been given the chance he wished he could apologise. 

It had never been his intention to hurt his best friend but he had been so caught up in his own pain he had forgotten to consider those nearest and dearest to him. How had it been fair to hide such a horrible problem from those he held dear? 

“Have you heard from… him?” Tauriel knew everything now, she’d gotten it out of him not long ago, he was at his lowest and needed someone who might understand. It was not his proudest moment, leaning on his daughter emotionally for support, but she had been steadfast in her support of him that it seemed so easy to tell her everything. 

Thankfully, Tauriel didn’t hold the reaction Bard had against him. 

“I had been angry just like him too, remember?” 

Oh, she had, she had screamed murder in his home, right in the centre of the living room, when she had realised and didn’t speak to Thranduil for days. It was the longest she had ever gone without talking to him before, a whole 6 days until she came around and they talked about what it meant for the family. 

But now they were fine, life could resume. Thranduil could live with seeing them without the soft concerned glances Tauriel and Legolas would exchange when his chest grew tight and he wheezed as he tried to grasp a full breath. 

If only he could repair his relationship with Bard. There weren’t many he shared his life with and losing someone was extremely noticeable when that someone was fully apart of his daily life.

Even visiting his usual haunts proved useless. There didn’t seem to be a trace of him anywhere and Thranduil was much too much of a coward to walk right up to his door and demand to be let in. 

Yet, none of his calls were returned or his texts answered. When Tauriel asked Sigrid if her dad was ok she just shrugged and said he wasn’t doing anything unusual of late, but he had been grabbing a drink with workmates more often. 

That wasn’t a cause for concern as Bard had always been the friendly and sociable type. 

Whatever was going through his friend's mind he sincerely hoped he would take the time to consider contacting him so they could talk. There were only so many text messages he could send without looking incredibly desperate. 

5:30am Tuesday, December 24th. Easy breathing. 

A shrieking doorbell and the sound of continuous banging on the door jolted Thranduil awake and he swore loudly as he tumbled out of bed and shuffled wearily down the stairs. Whoever it was had better have a fantastic reason as to why they had to get him up at stupid o'clock in the morning!! 

When he pulled the door open to see a rather dishevelled Bard using the door frame to hold himself up the air in Thranduil’s lungs seemed to vanish. He stood motionless for a good 30 seconds before helping Bard inside. 

“You absolutely reek of alcohol. What are you doing here?” 

There was silence proceeding his question and, at first, Thranduil thought the man had fallen asleep on the sofa where he had collapsed but it appeared he was just thinking of the best response. 

“I had to see you.” Surprisingly he didn’t sound drunk and Thranduil considered that the cold must have sobered him up. For his own mental health, he decided against asking him what he meant about having to see him. 

“I don’t know about you but the larks aren’t even up yet and I am tired. Let me make some coffee for the both of us and we can see if I can’t get some sense out of you.” As he turned to move Bard’s hand shot out and his fingers curled around Thranduil’s wrist tugging him backwards with ease. 

“No, let me speak to you, hasn’t it been long enough already?” A sleep-deprived gravelled tone did not suit Bard and Thranduil could see dark circles around his eyes. Whatever had been on Bard’s mind of late must have had him up around the clock. 

“You were the one that decided you’d had enough of me, remember?” 

Those words caused the man before him to relinquish his grip on Thranduil’s wrist and he just gave a nod but when Thranduil didn’t move he took a deep breath and began to speak. 

“I’m sorry that I made it about me. There wasn’t even a second where I considered how scared you must have been to know that any day could have been your last.” 

“Yes, well, thankfully those days are behind me now.” 

Like a shock of electricity had gone through him Bard jumped to his feet looking this way and that before having the decency to look genuinely apologetic. 

“Did I interrupt your sleep with them?” In the light of the living room, Thranduil got a better look at him and something inside him clicked into place and he had to withhold a groan when he realised he had definitely, once again, fallen in love with his best friend. 

“There is no one, the person I was in love with, I’m not in love with them now. It took a long time to come to terms with the fact they did not care for me the way I wanted but I am better because I started to love me more.” Oh, what a liar he was. Yes, he did care for himself a lot more but he was falling right back into the rut he had been not 8 weeks ago. 

The second he started spitting petals he was going to wring Bard’s neck. There was no way he was going through all that again!

“There’s no one, ah, good. That means I have a sliver of a chance to ask you out on a date then.” 

No, no he wasn’t doing any of this without coffee. As much as he wanted to address every single word the man had just uttered he wasn’t doing this without caffeine and maybe some toast. 

Without a word he walked off into the kitchen and, like a lost puppy, Bard obediently trotted in behind him trying to get his attention. No, no, no, he was going to fill the machine with coffee beans and put bread in the toaster then he was going to get the toaster and throw it at Bard’s head! 

Whipping round to face him, Thranduil grabs a fistful of Bard’s shirt and pulls him close enough that they are nearly nose to nose. 

“You’re telling me that you have developed feelings for me in the past 3 months I have been in recovery?” 

Fear was the only emotion in Bard’s eyes and they were wide to the point the whites almost exceeded the iris. It would have been funny if Thranduil hadn’t wanted to throttle the man where he stood. 

“Well, I wanted to tell you I loved you as soon as you opened the door but you’re so scary when you’ve just woken up. You’re scary now, please don’t kill me. I love you!” 

That was it. 

“You LOVE me? Is that so Mr I Will Never Love Again? IS that so?!” There was a mixed bag of emotions stirring up inside him but mostly the murderous intent was winning out. Killing Bard wasn’t really on the cards but he wasn’t going to let the man get away with nearly killing him for over a year even if he had no idea it was his fault. 

“You are very, very, very lucky that I just so happen to love you, too.” The iron grip on Bard’s shirt relaxed and he tried his best to smooth the deep wrinkles but it was not to be. Regardless, he had Bard looking at him with a sappy grin plastered over his pale face like he’d been told he’d won the lottery and not the affections of a highly problematic male. 

“R-really?” 

“As much as it now pains me to say this, yes, I do love you so very much. So much so that my heart could burst if I tried to contain it any longer.” The thumping of his heart was so hard in his chest that he was sure Bard could have heard it if he’d tried. Somehow things were falling into place now with such little effort. 

There had been a chance Thranduil would have found himself bitter about the whole thing and shunned Bard’s advances. Revenge should have been high on his list with the grinning idiot before him but he couldn’t bring himself to do anything other than lean in and press a kiss to his Bard’s lips. 

“Really, really.” 

[toast-the-unknowing]

any tips for writing dialogue? i struggle so bad to make it sound authentic and as a result always turn to descriptive imagery instead. (which is fine if im writing something angsty, but not cute and fluffy ya feel?) any tips would be greatly appreciated! ty

The other day in my D&D party, our hedgewitch (who learns his magic through intense study of books and nature) asked our sorcerer (who has innate magic powers and also sometimes just blows shit up on accident) if she could teach him how she cast fireball. Our sorcerer said "you, uh, you know -- " and she waved her hands around " -- you do. The spell."

I am kind of feeling like our sorcerer right now, because dialogue more than anything else about writing is the part that just sorta happens for me, and when I try to articulate how I do it, it is hard to say anything other than "the voices say stuff and I write it down real fast before I can forget."

I will say, because dialogue is often the first thing I am writing in a new scene or a new story, it gets written out in long chunks with very few other words popping up. I might note the emotions a character is having or the way a piece of dialogue is delivered, or jot down what the character is thinking that isn't getting said so I have it for frame of reference later, and I will write down an action that's essential to my understanding of what is happening in the scene, but it's really mostly just the dialogue. I'm not even doing tags or punctuation at this point. Without knowing your process, writing dialogue JUST as dialogue may help you find a flow, which generally results in more natural sounding lines. It's a theory I have, anyway.

The absolute hardest bits of dialogue for me are when I have a chunk of dialogue from the beginning of a scene, and a chunk of dialogue from later in that scene, and I have to connect them, because oh man it's so hard to force dialogue down a specific pathway. The dialogue wants to run rampant! It wants to be free! It doesn't WANT to go over there where the plot needs it to! Generally there's a way that I could stitch up the hole in these scenes in two lines that would take us LOGICALLY from point a to point b, but that just...doesn't sound good, and doesn't feel natural.

Sometimes I just literally can't get there from here, and either the earlier dialogue or the later dialogue needs to go, but usually what works is to just follow the last line I have with, "okay what's something that the character might say in response to that. What's something the other character might say in response to that. Is that line something that would evoke an emotional reaction from this character? Is it something that would make them think of another topic of conversation?" And just keep writing and seeing where the conversation goes until I find a more natural bridge to the later dialogue.

This may be helpful even if you aren't looking for a connection per se, but are just trying to make dialogue happen, or if you know the general beats your scene needs to be hitting but don't have anything laid out. We often know what we want a scene to ACCOMPLISH, in terms of the plot or the character arc or the relationship, and that can sometimes put pressure on the dialogue to address that. Asking yourself when you get stuck "how would he feel about that" or "what would she have to say about that" or "what mood or agenda or thought process is this person having that their conversation partner doesn't know about" can get you unstuck and ground the dialogue in what's natural for your characters.

Maybe the way the conversation goes when you do that is not where you thought it would or where you need it to. That's awesome! I love letting a conversation wander and just see where it goes. I used to watch one of those shows with a giant ensemble and a dozen story lines every week, and I noticed after a while that there would be scenes where a character would walk into a room, say all of the things that were important to the plot, and then leave, without anyone reacting. Obviously that's a pacing problem, they just had too much story to tell and not enough time, but it was SO WEIRD. And it was boring. The little moments in a conversation where the characters are talking about something "unimportant" are the best moments, I love those! So if you're worried your dialogue is getting off point, maybe follow it, it might lead you to a really authentic moment.

Obviously, don't just have your characters talk for five minutes about, like, the latest Marvel movie, just for the sake of saying something off topic. But this is a really good way of incorporating other elements from your story. Is there something that's thematically relevant to the story even if it doesn't have anything to do with the plot? Is there a side character who's not in this scene that your characters might be worried about, or annoyed with, or making fun of? Is there something that exists in the space because you created it with your descriptive imagery, and now that it exists the characters might comment on it or be affected by it? Is there something that happened earlier in the story that has been dealt with on a plot level but that your characters might still be having some residual emotions about?

I do realize that this tip for writing dialogue basically turned into "write more dialogue," but maybe in and of itself that would help! Practice makes perfect?

I will say, keep each character’s turn with the talking stick SHORT. Speeches rarely sound authentic. You want back and forth. Short lines are good. Short sentences within lines are good, too, although I fully admit to having a weakness for stupidly long sentences. But dialogue lets you bend the rules, go ahead and break out the sentence fragments.

Dialogue also sounds better if it has a chance to breathe; this is something I do actively work at, because it's the part of dialogue that isn't dialogue. If one character says something kind of heavy, or something unexpected, or something that puts a pin on the current topic of conversation, there's probably going to be a beat before anyone else says anything. Sometimes the character needs to take a beat FOR THEMSELVES before they continue with the thing they were saying! Screenwriters have it so fucking easy here, man, because they just get to write (beat) and then the directors get some close ups of actors' faces and the editor cuts that moment to breathe in for them. Prose writers gotta do it for themselves.

For a little beat, sometimes just placing your dialogue tag where you need it to be -- e.g. "he says" before the dialogue instead of after -- can do it. Sometimes you gotta get creative. This is where you can get cliched things like characters constantly raising their eyebrows or shrugging or smirking, which, cliches become cliches for a reason, they work, but you don't want to overdo it. Sometimes it helps to draw on the surroundings and the set up. Put your characters in a setting where things are happening around them, then you can take a beat while you describe one of those things that’s happening. Give the characters an activity to do, and intersperse that action through the dialogue. For the "this is a place that hurts" conversation in it all will fall, fall right into place, I knew I was going to want to have LOTS of beats in that conversation, so I made them go get lunch, and every time Adam wasn't able to say something one of them would eat some pizza or pick up a napkin. I am not a very visual thinker and I write all my dialogue first, so I have to find ways to fill these beats after the fact, and sometimes I struggle with it. This might be something that you can do a great job with, if descriptions and imagery are happening in your head anyway! Put them to work!

The flip side of "keep it short" and "let the dialogue breathe" is don't write superfluous lines. Look for places that you can condense. If you have a conversation where one character isn't really saying anything of substance, but is just kind of interjecting questions like a sidekick asking the late night host "no, I don't know, who was it?" that's probably a place you can crunch your back-and-forth down into one (not too long) line delivery.

Also, seriously, if descriptive imagery is what's easy for you, lean into it! You can totally write fluff that is more narration-heavy than dialogue-heavy, for one thing. But beyond that, is there a reason that descriptions are easier for you to write? Are there tools you use in that writing that you can apply to dialogue? If you're a visual thinker, can you use that to visualize where the characters are to help get in their heads? If you like finding fun little turns of phrase for your description, oh man, puts some fun turns of phrase in that dialogue. I think dialogue can seem like a completely different thing from narration, but at the end of the day, they're both writing. If you can do the one I absolutely have faith you can find a way to do the other. Good luck!

[seizasa-a]

(   PROMPT   )

@daybreakrising​​ WROTE :

five times kissed [Kiba & Hina? if you want!]

(   under read more bc Long   )

—— —   ONE   .

The first time was an ACCIDENT   ,   she swore on her life   .      It was meant to be on the cheek   —— —   a completely &&. acceptably friendly thing to do when one’s teammate presented the home-made meals his mother had so kindly prepared for all four of them   (   Kurenai Sensei included   )   that day   .      She hadn’t announced her intention   ,   of course   ;   the thought hadn’t even crossed her mind   ,   so when she leaned in to deliver her thanks   ,   Kiba’s head turned unexpectedly   .

It was kind of painful   ,   actually   .      A little like getting SMACKED IN THE FACE with someone else’s face   .      They had both staggered backward in surprise   ,   Hinata’s hands rising to cover her mouth as a deep blush rose to her cheeks   .      She stuttered out a squeaky apology through her fingers   ,   which meant that she could barely be heard beyond incoherent mumbling   ,   &&. it didn’t help matters when she turned around to face away from him   ,   hiding her face in embarrassment   .      It was all a good joke to the others   ,   but it took her quite a long time to recover from that fumble   .

—— —   TWO   .

The second time   . . .   was not an accident   ,   per se   ,   but it wasn’t intentional   ,   either   .      Kiba had come to her with an excitedly rushed explanation of this RIDICULOUS GAME he claimed to have learned from Naruto   .      She couldn’t possibly remember what he had rambled off so quickly now   ,   but she did remember how he had stuck the end of a pocky stick between her lips while she was still LOST IN CONFUSION   ,   gently bit onto the other end with a wild grin on his face   ,   &&. asked her if she were ready   .

No   ,   as it turned out   ,   she wasn’t   .      Nothing could have prepared her for when he began rapidly chomping down on the pocky   ,   moving closer &&. closer while Hinata was frozen in place   .      That is   ,   until he got a little too close &&. she panicked in her rising embarrassment   ,   attempting to shuffle backward in all her GRACELESS CLUMSINESS   .      He was already leaning in for that last piece stuck between her lips that   ,   for whatever reason   ,   she didn’t think to simply drop or swallow then &&. there   .

One thing led to another &&. suddenly she was lying on the ground   ,   eyes squeezed shut   ,   &&. a weight on top of her   .      Not only that   ,   but the distinct pressure against her lips had not gone unnoticed either   .      She was too afraid to open her eyes   ,   her face felt much   ,   much too hot   ,   &&. quite honestly she was still reeling from the fall   .      Before she’d completely processed everything that had happened   ,   though   ,   Kiba peeled himself off of her with a chuckle   ,   hovering above her with his hands braced on the ground on either side of her   .      She finally cracked open her eyes just enough to see that grin still in place on his face   ,   albeit this time with a VICTORIOUS EDGE   .

❝      I win   .      ❞

—— —   THREE   .

The third time was undeniably on purpose   ,   though perhaps not entirely a conscious decision   .      Or a good one   ,   for that matter   .      It wasn’t long after she had been   ❛   relieved   ❜   of her status as heiress to the Hyuga Clan   .      It hadn’t yet hit her what no longer having that responsibility on her shoulders would mean &&. she was still very much in the throes of depression &&. self - hatred for being unable to live up to her father’s expectations   .

She had failed   .      It was decided   .      She was worthless   .

As fate was prone to do when she had her solitary episodes of despondency that had always seemed to happen far too often   ,   she was discovered by someone despite her best attempts at hiding   .      She wished people would stop looking for her when she disappeared   .      She wished they would just ignore her   .      It was so easy for everyone to do when she was actually around   ,   so why was it different when she wanted to be alone   ?

It didn’t help that it was Kiba   .      If it were Shino   ,   she might have had an easier time being seen like this   .      Shino was quiet &&. never said much unless prompted   .      Hinata could almost pretend he wasn’t there when he stumbled upon her in these situations &&. had effectively convinced herself of it after the fact on occasion just for her own PEACE OF MIND   .

Kiba   ,   on the other hand   ,   was impossible to ignore   .      His presence was always so noticeable   ,   so significant   .      Not that that was a bad thing   ,   but it made it infinitely more difficult to tell herself that his memory of seeing her like this would be as FORGETTABLE as she was   .

Nonetheless he tried to comfort her   .      It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate it   —— —   truly   ,   she did   —— —   but she hated feeling like this &&. being a burden on others because of it   .      Somehow these thoughts had managed to slip past her lips unbidden &&. that certainly got his attention   .      He had grabbed her chin   ,   the other hand on her shoulder   ,   &&. forced her to look at him so that he could tell her directly to her face that she was &&. never would be a burden for simply having emotions   .

Something about the way he said it gave her pause   .      It wasn’t that nobody had ever told her that before   (   in fact   ,   she was pretty sure someone always gave her some similar reassurance at least once during these talks she hated so much   )   but it was the look in his eyes   ,   the way they seemed to catch the light at just the right angle   ,   &&. the firm hold he had on her as if he had put all the conviction in the world into those words   .

It was an impulse   .      He reminded her of someone else   .      She was hurting &&. she knew that didn’t excuse it   ,   but that was the reality in that moment   .      She was the one who leaned forward this time   ,   tearful eyes closed   ,   heart racing   ,   aching   .      &&. this time   ,   he was the one who gently pushed her away   .

Before she could let that sink in &&. devolve into even more of a mess than she already was   ,   he pulled her into a hug instead   .      Kiba always gave the best hugs   .      Somehow   ,   it was better this way   ,   &&. even though she cried harder   ,   like every other time   ,   she couldn’t resist that warm safety she felt in his arms   .

—— —   FOUR   .

The fourth time felt like a dream   .      Hinata was in that awkward   ,   in - between stage while she grew out her hair on a whim   .      Kiba must have picked up on how self - conscious she’d been lately   (   much of which had nothing to do with her hair &&. a lot to do with why she still wore long sleeves   )   because he had made the decision that the two of them needed a fun night out   .

The concept of   ❛   FUN   ❜   was still so strange to her   .      She hadn’t been allowed many freedoms as a child &&. her own mental health hadn’t exactly been very conducive to boldness &&. spontaneity   .      She was gradually becoming more comfortable with spending time with her teammates   ,   though   .      That was fun   .

It occurred to her then   ,   though   ,   that she had never spent time with Kiba alone   .      Outside of the occasional MENTAL BREAKDOWN   ,   that is   .      She found herself inexplicably nervous   ,   chalking it up to a fear that he might get bored if it were just her without someone else to be more entertaining   .      She thought Shino was more entertaining than she was   .      He knew a lot of facts &&. could always find something to talk about   .      Hinata was   . . .   plain   .      Uninteresting   .

&&. Kiba   . . .      Kiba was wild &&. full of excitement &&. energy   .      Hinata was sure she would have been LEFT IN THE DUST as they went to this place &&. that all around the village if not for the fact that he held her hand the entire time   .      They played games they came across   ,   checked out a few different shops   ,   enjoyed a nice meal in a restaurant   ,   &&. then found a nice   ,   high vantage point with a clear view of the sky as dusk settled   .

He pointed out how the clouds on the horizon made silly shapes   ,   then did the same when the sky grew darker &&. the stars emerged   .      She had to correct him once when he pointed at an actual constellation   .      Then he asked her the names of different groups of stars   ,   if they had one   ,   &&. promptly came up with one on the spot if they didn’t   .      Hinata was surprised to find herself laughing &&. smiling so much   .      She certainly felt lighter in that moment than she had in a very long time   .

She had glanced over at him &&. found his bright eyes trained on the stars   .      She was a bit mesmerized with how they SPARKLED in his gaze   ,   taking it upon herself to count each one   .      Her staring didn’t go unnoticed for very long   ,   though   ,   &&. when he caught her from his peripheral   ,   she astonishingly didn’t look away   .      He looked at her fully &&. for what felt like a long time they simply gazed at each other in silence   .

She wasn’t sure who moved first   ,   but she thought maybe they both did   .      It was slow   ,   as if it weren’t happening in real time   ,   &&. she felt a bit ticklish   ,   for lack of a better word   ,   like a light   ,   feathery feeling that kept drawing her in   .      &&. soon enough   ,   her lips met the source of that feeling   ,   a barely - there brush of skin before they committed to it   .

It was electrifying &&. so different from all the other times   .      This one was DELIBERATE   .      This one happened because they both wanted it to happen   .      It was also a bit scary   ,   in a way   ,   considering their shared history with this sort of thing   ,   but   . . .   it was good   .      It was better than good   .      It felt as if they stayed that way for hours &&. they very well may have   .      It was hard to keep track of time like that   ,   but she knew that the longer they kissed   ,   the less she wanted it to stop   .

—— —   FIVE   .

The fifth time was   . . .   awkward   .      Well   ,   in fairness   ,   it didn’t start awkwardly   ,   but that quickly changed when what had begun as little more than a WARM WELCOME to her new apartment took a turn for something a bit more   ,   ah   ,   heated than she had been expecting   .

She didn’t mind how intense &&. hands - on he could be sometimes   .      In fact   ,   she enjoyed it   .      It made her feel wanted   ,   like he was actually happy being with her   .      It was just that this time felt a little   . . .   seductive   .

The fear settled in quickly   ,   but she kept quiet about it   .      In fact   ,   she didn’t do or say anything to discourage him   .      She simply let it happen because she knew that was what he wanted &&. she was so   ,   so terrified of giving him a single reason to be unhappy with her   .      She was afraid of being the one to drive this wedge between them   ,   so she endured   .

Afterward   ,   she slipped into the shower to cry   .      It wasn’t because of what had just happened   .      It was because it reminded her all over again how BROKEN she was   .      She would never understand the desire   ,   the urge   ,   &&. she knew that one day he would notice that &&. take offense to it &&. she wouldn’t be able to explain herself because she had no explanation   .

She wanted nothing more than to make him happy   .      She would be whatever he needed her to be   .      She would do whatever needed to be done to make sure that he never suspected anything was amiss   .

It was necessary   ,   it was right   ,   it was what she was supposed to do   .

[lafeae]

KaiJou Week #1: Long-distance Date-Night

When Jounouchi tapped accept for the incoming video call, he was greeted with, “Do I really need to look up your nose for a second straight night?” before he could even say hello.

“The view seemed to astonish ya last night,” he replied, falling back onto the couch.

Kaiba simmered between a hum and growl, and Jounouchi couldn’t help but notice how the camera perfectly framed him. “You still haven’t taken care of the hair up there, either,” Kaiba said, and leaned in scrupulously.

Huffing, Jounouchi pushed the tablet over. “Enjoy the ceilin’ then.”

“Real mature.”

“Ya brought it on yourself. Leave me an’ my nose hair alone.”

A featherlight chuckle floated through the speakers. It was all Jounouchi needed to climb down from his proverbial mountain of irritation, because at the end the day, he knew he was lucky to be able to hear Kaiba’s voice at all. Let alone see him.

He propped the tablet back up. “I think I see the sun over there. Jus’ a little bit. Ya been up a while?”

“No.”

“Sure ya don’t want a few more winks?”

“I’m fine. Load the game now. I only have an hour or so,” Kaiba said, with a faint pang of disappointment.

Jounouchi said nothing. He didn’t want to egg on the thought that either of them were unhappy with their situation, because they had already gotten into the argument when Kaiba told Jounouchi he’d be in New York for an unknown amount of time, though he had guessed six months. Instead, he opted to make the best of a bad situation. Which was texting and calling, plus the addition of their normal date-night.

Kaiba was skeptical. Their dates were always rather mobile. Dinner, movies, quiet nights on the town. Nothing ostentatious.

“So what are we eatin’ today?” Jounouchi asked.

Kaiba raised a plain bagel. “And you?”

“Popcorn and M and M’s.”

“That’s revolting.”

“Uh-huh. More delicious than all that borin’ ass bread,” Jounouchi said, and shoved his mouth full of popcorn, and announced, “In the server,” while his mouth was full. He pretended not to see Kaiba roll his eyes.

It wasn’t exactly a dinner date, per se. Thirteen hours apart didn’t make planning anything easy, but they promised to be eating something—dinner food or not.

“It can’t taste good.”

“It’s sweet an’ salty,” Jounouchi said. “Kinda like you. Tough shell an’ all.”

“I guess you’re like a bagel, then,” Kaiba said.

“An’ why’s that?” Jounouchi squeezed his eyes closed, already feeling the ridiculous analogy crawling up his skin.

“It’s chewy and has white stuff all over it.”

Jounouchi snorted. “Chewy? The hell does that even mean?”

“I’ll leave it up to interpretation,” Kaiba replied. His avatar, an elven creature, spawned next to Jounouchi’s at the inn save point in the game they had been picking away at for the last few date-nights. “We still need to collect the Iced-Blood Heart.”

“...only if ya tell me the hell ya mean by chewy first,” Jounouchi bargained. “Farming the Heart’s gonna take forever. One of the forums said its got, like a 2 percent drop rate.”

“We need it to continue. And chewy is chewy. If you’re offended by it, clearly it means something to you.”

A half-second of staring at Kaiba’s focused face, and Jounouchi gave up. He was into the game, as he always was, and there was no getting him out of game mode for anything. Reluctantly, he followed Kaiba’s elf character towards the mountains, mulling over what he thought chewy meant.

“I mean, first thing that came to mind was chew toy,” Jounouchi mentioned.

“That’s a stretch.”

“I wouldn’t put it past ya. Sly insults an’ all.”

The focused expression, with scrunched brows and slightly squished mouth, made Kaiba weirdly innocent in tone. Intense, but innocent. As if nothing else in the world mattered. Jounouchi had been wary of playing video games together, only because Kaiba laser-focus was intimidating, but he hadn’t imagined playing co-op, either. Any time he thought of games and Kaiba together, he thought of competition. And Kaiba wasn’t good at playing co-op; he liked to lead, and seemed upset if Jounouchi garnered more XP or levelled before him, but they had managed fairly smooth play sessions.

“You’re looking into it too deeply. You glossed right over the other part,” Kaiba replied.

“I got that. Sexy,” Jounouchi deadpanned before laughing. “But, I dunno...I feel like ya wouldn’t say it if ya didn’t mean something by it.”

“Go up to the left, there’s more over there.” Kaiba autopiloted to the fight, and the methodical tapping of his keyboard made Jounouchi smile. “I didn’t mean anything. If I did, I already forgot. It’s insignificant.”

“So it ain’t an insult?”

“Do you want it to be?”

Jounouchi sucked in a breath. Did he? “I dunno. Guess it’s weird still, not hearin’ it be an insult. Like an insult insult. Not bein’ silly.”

“We’re halfway across the world, playing a video game—crit damn you!—because we still want to still have a date,” Kaiba stated, bland, silently congratulating himself for defeating the monster.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Then why do you expect an insult?”

Jounouchi stuck his tongue out. “Because.”

“Because isn’t an answer.” The drop screen displayed, and Kaiba sighed before nudging them towards another monster spawn to attack. “If you want me to insult you that badly, I can come up with something.”

Lowering his head, Jounouchi hitched a weak smile, wondering what he expected. Or what had changed all of sudden. It thudded in his chest, wanting an answer to a question he didn’t have to begin with. “I jus’ feel funny sometimes,” he replied.

“Meaning...?”

“I ain’t used to this yet.” Jounouchi mashed the button to heal Kaiba before moving on. “That’s stupid, I know, but I guess I just thought about how long it’s been since we hooked up. I think the argument when ya took off made me think about it. We hadn’t done that in a while, an’ I noticed an’ wondered where the time had went. What had changed. That stuff.”

Visibly, Kaiba’s shoulders dropped. “It has been some time. Couples change that way, or so I’ve read.”

“Read where?”

“Places,” Kaiba replied. He sat back, the screen filling with item drops and sighing when the Iced-Blood Heart didn’t show.

“So you’re readin’ on relationships?” Jounouchi said.

Kaiba neither accepted or denied, instead pointing them towards another spawn point. They played for a short while, letting time tick by. Jounouchi watched the clock, expecting Kaiba to leave at the start of the next hour. He also warmed to the thought that Kaiba had been looking up anything on relationships. He didn’t know what. He didn’t have to. Whether it was advice or information, it was Kaiba’s way of keeping things together, maybe making sure they were running smoothly, or even right.

“S’alright if ya are. I don’t know what I’m doin’ neither. Clearly.”

“Clearly,” Kaiba repeated.

Furiously, Jounouchi pounded at the keys, flipping between healing and fighting. “Ya know what I do know? I miss ya. That counts for somethin’.”

“It does.”

“Do ya miss me?”

A soft, almost missable, “Yes,” passed Kaiba’s lips as they finished off the last monster and were awarded with the Iced-Blood Heart. “Yes, Katsuya. Now, we only have a few minutes. We should be able to beat Chromate in that time.”

Processing the yes took more than few seconds. Enough that Kaiba asked if he’d heard, to which Jounouchi dumbly nodded. The casualness caught him by surprise. Practiced ease. As if Kaiba had prepared for the question, thinking about it over and over. An over exaggeration, maybe, but then Kaiba had also admitted to reading up on relationships.

“Well, if we don’t, we always got tomorrow. More I see ya, the better,” Jounouchi said when he’d found his tongue.

Kaiba nodded. “We’ll call it a date.”

[breathe-smiles]

pt iii. points of improvement

i’ve been having some trouble figuring out how exactly to go about this next chapter of growth in my life. i’m attempting to let loose a little more, take things as they come and take them constructively, but easy. there’s definitely advantages in formulaically guiding your growth, knowing specifically what you want and trying to create a way to get it. this is what i’m used to; this is what i know how to do. but somehow, i feel intuitively that i’m currently in for growth that’s spontaneous.

i’m 18 now and it’s 2020. i’m starting my second semester of college. i didn’t expect to be where i am, mentally, physically, emotionally, or spiritually. i love being in control, but i am oddly finding comfort at the moment in letting go of that control and floating. i want to be shown realms i’ve never seen before and meet people i didn’t know could exist. i want to be challenged to think outside of what i know and grow in ways i don’t expect to. it’s really important to me to know what i want. but instead of solidifying my goals and paving my path right in this moment, i want this period to uncover to me what i really want. i don’t have a tangible outline of my future, but i’m excited for the journey of creating one. and i know through it, i’ll learn things i never even thought i needed to know.

everyday, i continue finding my truth. i constantly question the things i think, say, and do, in order to grasp a deeper understanding of why i am the way i am. i have trouble compromising absolute authenticity; i always need to be true to me. sometimes, i have to think twice and revise impulsive comments or thoughts, or make changes to my behavior, because i don’t feel like i’m upholding myself genuinely. it matters a lot to me that i am honest, real, and sincere. those are the things i value the most.

and so, despite being excited to free-spiritedly discover, roam, live, and grow, i have to keep in mind that there are things i have learned and noticed in the past couple of months that do still matter and do hold true to me. living with my head in the clouds, running around my new universe that’s doubled in size, and letting myself go instead of holding on tightly, i realized that i can get caught up in a multitude of convoluted things that don’t necessarily represent me and aren’t necessarily important to me. the theme of my life right now is to be free and feel okay being free, discovering and uncovering things instead of looking for them. but remembering to bring myself back down to earth is the only way not to lose myself in the process, or become somebody i’m not. i have to stay grounded and committed to who i am, because that is so important to me (and because i know i can). i am capable of simply evolving into a more refined version of my core self, even if, at the same time, i flip my world upside down, change how i live and interact with society, and reorient my aspirations and dreams.

that being said, i haven’t been completely myself in the past couple of months. and i didn’t hold myself to my usual standards of being myself because it had been first semester freshman year of college. this was a transition period that i needed to give myself. but needless to say, i could’ve done better. maybe i didn’t do as much mental preparation as i should’ve, because it was a fucking rollercoaster. i fluctuated from having some of my highest highs to lows that i forgot could exist and back. and for the first time in a long while, i didn’t feel in control, like i had no grasp at all on my mental instability. one minute i’d feel on top of the world and the next i’d be falling apart. i was so unsure of what was good for me and what was bad. i just took things as they came and let them hit me like a truck.

my hopes for winter break were to truly process and regain my ability to be in control. my time at home was meant to be therapeutic, to remember who i was before i left and all the things that i ran away from. now that i feel like i’ve done that, it’s clear that lots of things have to change for me to do better. these are parts of me that are points of improvement, crucial pieces that make me up that i’ve let loose these past couple of months. this is me regaining me.

i. self

personality reform is hard. most of the time, you know who you are and you’re sure about it. so, when you try to revert to staying true to you, it feels like mere readjusting. other times, you hope you haven’t already lost bits of yourself in flux.

i’ve been primarily working on my patience and teamwork abilities in the past year, as well as how i deal with setbacks and results that i don’t expect to receive. these things have only gotten better and better, which i am happy about. i’ve been able to continuously push my threshold for tolerance and navigate the dynamics of the different teams i’ve become a part of.

the main thing i’ve noticed first semester is that i’ve lost a little bit of my down to earth-ness - and it’s weird to say that because being down to earth is something i value so much. the person i project to others, especially to people that don’t already know me like the back of their hands, is more intimidating and intense than ever before. maybe this is a product of my found confidence, or maybe a continuation of my ability to have a conversation. i’m no longer shy and that’s apparent now. i stopped being hyper self-conscious and stopped caring so much about what people thought of me. on one hand, i’d categorize that as a strength of mine. on the other, it’s led to more oversharing than i’d like, a lot less consciousness of what i appear to be like.

social media is also once again playing a role in this. being in la has definitely made me more aware of who i am materially (which i’ve come to appreciate as a good thing, even though it’s simply a lifestyle i don’t really understand). aside from trying to create a pretty instagram feed, i’ve also gotten into the habit of oversharing on my finstas. not that i mind keeping those close to me updated. i just find difficulty constructively solving my own problems when i externalize them instead of internalize them - and that’s something i have to keep in mind.

i guess what i’m saying is that i need to relearn how to project the person i want to project. people only need to see so much. and that much for me, is not a lot.

ii. professional life + extracurriculars

academically, i’m impressed by how well i managed to do. i got a 3.9 gpa, which entails straight As and one A-. i didn’t even know you couldn’t get A+s. the point of improvement, however, is that i didn’t throw myself 100% into my work. i wasn’t doing the most i could do. i hadn’t paid attention every time i should’ve. even though it doesn’t seem to matter much grade-report-wise, it matters to me that i wasn’t giving it my all.

the other thing is my health. my physical and mental health are tied, and i seemed to let that slide. fencing practice hurt so badly, but i knew how rewarding it’d be. creating reasons to skip practice made me feel unworthy of taking on the sport in the first place. in addition, i went to the gym maybe once in the very beginning of the semester. my body doesn’t look all that different per se, but it definitely doesn’t feel good perpetuating the inactivity. now that i’m back on my game, i remember just how much a little activity could do to clear my head.

the last thing is that i need to do more things that help me grapple with my future career paths. how do i integrate my interests to ultimately do something that i truly love? i guess i’m still seeking out extracurriculars that help me find this meaning; i guess i’m still learning.

iii. society

i have never felt as introverted as i have in college (and you’d really expect the opposite). what i’ve learned is you really can’t escape people on campus. you’re living with other college students, constantly surrounded by other college students, and inclined to interact with other college students. having complete alone time is almost impossible, unless you make the effort to leave campus.

in all honesty, i quite like the social aspect of college. this environment is an aspect of college i was really looking forward to. but i’ve also had to reevaluate how much time to myself i really need, what i say to invitations to excursions, and if i’m recharged enough to engage in interpersonal interaction. this has been a challenge, and i hope to get better at it this semester. i need to remember it’s a balance between my need for me-time and healthy portions of social interaction.

another part of this is who do i want to surround myself with. my intuition and my ability to read people give me good advantages in filtering the population, but it’s also proven to me that making friends that i really do vibe with is pretty difficult. it’s strange because even though you’re surrounded by people 24/7, finding the ones you’re really in tune with is still incredibly hard. i know it’s a matter of being patient, though. i forget that it took me a few years to meet some of my greatest friends from high school. i suppose it is fate.

@ second sem : hit me w the best u got. i am ready 4 u. 💥

[milkshakedoe]

autobiographical drivel

i think one of the early draws to both left social justice as well as lewis mumford / green anarchist / etc style rhetoric for me was how the old man drilled into me this insistence that in order for my life and my work to be worth anything i have to be able to reinvent the wheel in everything i do. i was always paralyzed in learning new things by this notion that i had to tackle them from the ground up without any help except for his poor teaching, and it was always me who was to blame for any hesitation. if i wanted to study programming and game development, for instance, he would make fun of me for relying on tools that anyone else used. the only way i was allowed to learn any form of software development was to code it completely from scratch in java or C-languages. i wasn’t to be allowed to learn 3D modeling software, i had to be able to code my own rendering engine first. and at the same time the goals to which i aspired had to be impossible. when he discovered that i was trying to find work in food service while struggling in college, he screamed and tried to terrorize me for not spending any time i had to search for jobs (between my mental health and the work he forced me to do at home) applying to some IT sector internship with my non-existent skills.

few people completely supported me against him at the time, and even my mother’s solidarity with me as a fellow victim had always been tempered by her inability to resist being guilted into rationalizing why he must be right and she in the wrong. so i came to see everyone around me as potentially suspect. i foundered in that environment with an intense fear of being poisoned by learning nearly anything that didn’t already mostly fit in with the framework of what i already thought. in part it was in spite of him, honing my stubbornness so that i would never succumb to the terror he would try to visit on me with decreasing success in the later years of my life at the old house, even as that unflinching closedness to outside ideas could be traced in part also to the terror itself.

as i began to slowly absorb political material outside of city newspaper columns and forum arguments, insular tendencies and easy moralizations attracted me, not only because of parental violence itself but because of the horrible company i’d fallen in with during those times. and the only way i had ever learned to hash out differences in views was either through violent argument and the threat of disavowal, or total submission and prostration to the other party, with no in-between or outside to that dichotomy. non-absolute commitments are fake, after all! and when disavowal was carried out, disavowal had to be total. there could be no room for error in letting the enemy’s influence win me over again through some fluke; and without any real causal understanding of why and how things that hurt me were hurting me, and lacking any real method for examining my circumstances critically, absolutely everything had to be accounted for, even the most superficial or superstitious details. conversely, fixing any mistakes or shortcomings on my part had to be committed to in total, exacting, superficial detail, which of course led to my exhaustion and emphasis on superficial details to the detriment of real critique or understanding.

i think these are general problems among left SJ types, which eventually drew me toward them, and the general left thinking that insists that you’re either all in it or you’re not a good leftist at all, and all of the idiotic tendency fights. and also, imo, the worse anarchist / green tendencies out there. what particularly resonated with younger me when i read The Myth of the Machine in college was how Mumford’s arguments hinged on imagery and symbolism rather than empirical data; look at this pitiful astronaut, strapped into his capsule, his life dependent on tubes and support; it’s a metaphor for how megatechnics makes us dependents of the megamachine, how the Machine robs the Human of autonomy, and the metaphor is reality, the symbols are reality. growing up, the only craft i had ever been able to hone without interference was my private artwork; almost everything science-related that couldn’t be understood without math and reference to empirical study felt poisoned by the old man who held up his knowledge over my head constantly to tell me that the only thing i was good for was getting him coffee and breaking bricks in the backyard.

i think prison abolition is an opposite tendency to that kind of thing, contrary to what some might argue. i think imprisonment and punishment ultimately serve to perpetuate these sorts of attitudes, the notion that great suffering can be alleviated by (and ultimately only by) destroying its symbolic representatives, often destroying yourself in the exhaustive quest to eliminate all those symbolic representatives in yourself, filling us with a general suspicion (or divine fear) of all our peers and their ideas and to constantly reinvent the wheel - insisting on new words and total re-thinkings to replace ones tainted by symbolic association with bad things, etc, although this is not to suggest that new words and calls for reinvention are inherently bad, this is a specific problem. i think graeber’s concept of morality as debt is relevant here, even if it might be flawed / ‘ahistorical’ in some part (i look forward to finishing pashukanis’ general theory of law and marxism which seems relevant on the subject) whereby punishment takes the form of a collection of debts in a framework where the upkeep of morality in general takes the form of transactions of ‘surplus dignity’ - flattening specific moral relations into fungible tokens, where addressing the fallout of and repair from abuse becomes a process of simply ‘paying’ the victim by subtracting things of equal value from the abuser.

obviously, there are some concerns raised by critics that are worth addressing. how do you ensure that people are able to heal rather than being guilted or otherwise obligated into toxic / abusive behavior, for instance. how do approaches to prison abolition fulfill this without reconstructing prisons? admittedly i think a lot of online prison abolitionist-friendly anarchist stuff i’ve seen so far tends to gloss over this somewhat, figuring that a society of autonomous individuals in free association (whatever that exactly means) will simply hash it out in a way that works as long as we are speaking of a 'truly’, purely anarchist society. truthfully, my own thoughts on the matter remain underdeveloped, but i liked emmy cannibality’s (a leninist) musings . i also really like porp’s words on the matter, even if she has less to say about institutional approaches or even prison abolition as a specific subject per se - but i think the way she speaks of how toxicity needs to be regarded as “a medical issue, as a natural reaction to growing up under capitalism, and neither glorified nor demonized” as well as “a recurring symptom of a national sickness” helps to frame the discussion far more effectively than appeals to the necessity of punishing evil (for prison advocates) or to the individual per se (for many prison abolitionists).

[skeletonscribbles]

Wishes - Chapter 6

we’re back and better than ever with a Ben chapter!!!

Rating: T (some people are having sex, but they’re not physically present in the chapter) Summary: “We’re good.” Bev shook her head, smiling softly. “You don’t have to ask my permission to be kind to people, Ben. And I really do appreciate you being kind.”

“Most people are kind,” Ben shrugged, cutting into his chicken in an attempt to alleviate his embarrassment.

“No,” Bev said. She reached across the table and touched his hand meaningfully. “They’re not.”

Warnings: Ben’s eating is pretty disordered, Richie’s got some mental stuff going on

Read on Ao3! Taglist:  @roobarrtrashmouth @jem-carstairs-is-perfection @tozier-club @aizeninlefox @stanheartsbill@latinxrichie@softeds@pretzelstoday@melancholypurple@wheezygreens @ayyyymichele @loser-marsh

Ben Hanscom had never considered himself a lucky person, per-se.

Sure, he had a pretty fabulous job, all things considered. Most people would consider that lucky. Ben knew better. He’d trained to be an Imagineer pretty much all his life, or at least since he got his hands on Han Solo at Stars’ End as a kid and lost himself to dreams of space and fantasy. He devoted his life first to model spaceships and Lego sets, and then to drafting classes in high school, and eventually to his architecture major at Notre Dame, where he’d put together an impressive series of whimsical, artistic building designs as a final portfolio. His professors hadn’t been incredibly enthusiastic about it, but Disney had been, and he was offered a job pretty immediately. Hard work paid off some of the time, as it turned out.

Socially, he’d actually been incredibly unlucky. He’d never had much time for friends or relationships in the face of his work, and it showed - when he was put into social situations, he really had no idea how to make good conversation. He went through intense periods of fixation (his Star Wars obsession never died, but he’d cycled through Miyazaki, Lord of the Rings, and many other things on the side), and so it followed that he had a difficult time talking about anything but his current passion, which left most people out to dry when they tried to speak with him. The most luck he’d had with friends, until recently, was with his roommate Mike Hanlon, who tolerated his fixations and occasionally played along.

That was what brought upon his desire to lose weight, if he was being honest with himself. It wasn’t health or fitness motivated; it was really just an attempt to make himself into someone that other people would be excited to be friends with.

All of this being the case, he’d never really had a date before, let alone one with someone as incredible as Beverly Marsh, so it was maybe safe to say his luck was turning (or that his weight-loss was paying off, one of the two).

Well, no. It was really too soon to tell about the luck turning. He’d reassess after the date had actually transpired.

It was going well so far, as far as he could tell. He’d picked her up at her place, and she’d been dressed in a breathtaking green shimmery shirt and dress pants that he hadn’t been able to keep himself from staring at. She’d caught him, which had freaked him out a little, but she’d immediately assuaged his nerves by laughing it off - apparently she thought it was cute. He had a feeling she was lying, but they proceeded anyway. By the time they’d gotten to the Polynesian she’d laughed at six out of seven of his jokes, which he felt was a pretty good average, statistically speaking. Not that he meant to be counting, of course, but he was so freaking nervous he couldn’t help but catalogue everything. Even now, after having spent the last five minutes standing in the Tambu lounge with her joking about the pineapple glasses they were sipping out of, he was hyper-conscious of every movement she made, every calorie he consumed, every syllable that came out of his mouth. Anything could screw this up. He had to be vigilant.

“I don’t think I’ve ever eaten here for dinner before,” she was saying, looking around the lobby with interest. “I’m not even sure I’ve been here since they renovated. Didn’t they have a waterfall downstairs before?”

“Yeah, I kind of liked that, to be honest,” Ben replied, following her gaze over to the gift shop across the way. “This wasn’t my project.”

“If it were, it’d look a lot cooler than this, I bet.” Bev turned back to face him, meeting his eyes and smiling sweetly. He clutched his pineapple drink a little tighter. He’d barely had any of it, and it sloshed around dangerously in his hand, but he couldn’t help himself. She was smiling at him…

“I’m not super talented or anything, I promise,” he managed, smiling back shyly, “but I’d have at least kept the waterfall.”

The buzzer in his pocket began to go off, flashing red and vibrating crazily. Bev looked down at where it was lighting up in his pants and put her hand over her mouth, obviously stifling a laugh.

“Either our food’s ready to go or you’re happier to be on this date than I ever imagined,” she chortled, standing up and offering him a hand, presumably to pull him to his feet.

Ben allowed himself a moment of embarrassment, and then took the hand she was offering. She pulled much harder than he was anticipating, and he tumbled to his feet, spilling his drink a little bit in the process. Nothing got on either of them, but he was still mortified as he flagged down cast members to help clean up. That was surely points against him - maybe enough to be the beginning of the end for this date.

But somehow, Beverly still wasn’t upset. In fact, she was looking at him more warmly now than she had been a few minutes ago. He really had absolutely no read on her at all.

They entered the restaurant in easy silence, following their over-enthusiastic CP host A’mya (pronounced Ah-Maya, as she explained to them three separate times) to a table in the back corner of the main room, by the window. That much, at least, was perfect - he’d timed dinner to align with the Halloween Party exclusive fireworks show, Hallowishes, and this table would allow them to both participate in the fun main dining room activities and have a perfect view of the show when the time came. Being detail-oriented was hopefully going to work in his favor this time.

A’mya dropped off a loaf of Hawaiian pineapple bread, and then they were alone again. Both of them stared at the bread hesitantly. Ben wondered if Bev was also nervous about overindulging and looking like a pig. He figured she probably wasn’t; food paranoia had kind of become a personal issue for him, and it was becoming clearer by the second that he needed to get the hell over immediately or else the rest of this date was going to go to shit before it even really started.

He reached for the loaf of bread and tore off a piece, and watched her eyes light up green.

His taking the piece of bread had opened up the conversation like a dam breaking. Suddenly, everything was funny and nothing was awkward. He was telling stories about going through guest survey data without feeling like he was being boring, and she was telling stories about having a collection of name tags with weird names (lost name tags were always returned to costuming) that he was totally and completely engaged in. The waiter brought out vegetables and noodles and everything under the sun, and Ben was okay with it. He’d almost forgotten how nice it felt to eat like a normal person.

The luau lady that led small children and drunk adults around the main room in dances and games had appeared in the time between the potstickers and the main meat course, and Bev was well on her way to falling in that ‘drunk adult’ category (she was almost finished with her second pineapple drink at that point), so after she finished telling the story about the nametags, she grabbed Ben’s hand and gestured with her chin towards the lady. Ben wasn’t usually a ‘draw attention to himself’ guy, but she made him feel a little fearless. He scooted backwards in his chair and stood up, ready to lead them over.

He was so focused on heading down to join the parade of hulaing kids that he almost missed the person catapulting towards them through said parade. It took an angry exclamation from a parent to make Ben look towards the end of the train of children, but when he did, he immediately sat back down in surprise. Bev stayed standing. She picked up her drink again and took a long swallow, obviously bracing herself.

“What are you doing here, Richie?” she asked as soon as he was within earshot.

Richie looked more out of sorts than Ben had ever seen him, which was really saying something, because Richie was always kind of out of sorts. He was carrying most of his Wall-E outerwear, which left him in a white t-shirt that was soaked through with sweat and a pair of brown dance pants that were basically leggings. He still had his costume boots and gloves on. The tourist families around them couldn’t keep their eyes off of him. One mother with a particularly conservative haircut had turned her daughter’s chair away.

“I have a problem,” Richie said, voice wavering in a dangerously teary way.

“Yeah, I bet.” Bev offered her chair. “Sit.”

Richie moved over and sat in the chair robotically, as if someone had turned off his brain. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“What happened to you?” Ben asked, taking stock of the slight redness of Richie’s eyes and the remnants of lip gloss near the corners of his mouth. Bev had described her makeup plans for the rest of the crew to Ben on their ride over, and Ben couldn’t for the life of him remember who she’d decided to put lip gloss on, except that he knew it wasn’t Richie. Her plan for Richie had just been to smear bronzer and black pencil all over his face and call it a day. Most of that had either been wiped or sweat off, but the lipgloss remained, somehow.

“I fucked up,” Richie said flatly, staring down at Bev’s half-eaten vegetables.

“We got that,” Bev said, probably harsher than she meant to. She hovered over his chair, obviously concerned but not really knowing how to show it. “How? Where’s Eddie?”

Richie inhaled slowly and picked up Bev’s fork, moving her vegetables around on her plate. “Yeah, that’s the problem.”

Ben watched him push the food around, and suddenly felt the weight of what he had eaten like bricks in his stomach. “Start from the beginning, okay?”

Richie nodded numbly. “We got to the party, and I took Eds to meet my Skip friends. He was kind of into it, but not really, and I should have just...the dance competition started right away once we got there, though, and I really love that shit, you know?”

Ben had absolutely no idea what he was talking about, but Bev was nodding understandingly, so he just copied her, figuring it would be easier to pretend.

“And I won this year!” This was the first thing that seemed to knock Richie out of his haze. He smiled a small smile, obviously proud of his victory. Bev patted him softly on the back. “Eds didn’t want to compete, but Mike did, and Mike’s awesome at dancing.”

“He sure is,” Ben confirmed, smiling at the memory of Mike busting out his best Michael Jackson on one of the first days they’d spent together in the apartment. They’d been decorating the walls, and Mike had felt like he needed to pay particular homage to his Captain EO poster. Ben was a terrible dancer himself, so he’d laughed and let Mike do all the work on that front.

“So after we win, I’m jazzed, right?” Richie’s voice had fallen again. He was back to the concerning monotone. “Totally fueled on adrenaline. I see Mike go over to Stan and Bill, who are the most ridiculous, horniest fuckers on this whole property, by the way, and behind them I see this tiny kid in white, right? And from behind, hopped up on endorphins, my idiot brain is like, ‘it’s Eds, he went to go stand with people he knew while I was dancing’.”

Ben’s heart sank. He had a feeling he knew where this was going.

“So I went over to this guy,” Richie continued, volume rapidly decreasing, “and Eds and I haven’t kissed or done anything yet because we’re both nervous wrecks, but I figure why not, right, returning champion. So I spin this guy around and kiss him right on the mouth.”

“It wasn’t Eddie, was it?” asked Ben, trying to soften the blow of actually having to say the transgression out loud for Richie.

“It was not,” Richie confirmed, dropping Bev’s fork and sliding forward to rest his head in his hands. His elbow almost landed in the potsticker dish, but Bev was quick, and slid the dish away before too much damage could be done. “His name was Isaiah, according to Stan. Entertainment cast, friends with Peter Pan. He was dressed as a Stormtrooper, which is basically the same freaking costume that Eddie had on. I couldn’t catch a fucking break if I tried.”

“So Eddie’s mad at you,” Bev postulated, frowning.

“He won’t even talk to me,” Richie confirmed, still not raising his head. “He saw me do it, and ran out pretty much immediately. No conversation, no phone communication, no nothing.”

“All right.” Bev nodded slowly, clearly taking inventory of the situation. “So, first of all...why are you here?”

Richie shifted his head a little bit so that he could peek up at Ben from under his glasses.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he said softly. “Bill, Stan, and Mike were long gone by the time I’d come back from chasing after Eddie, and I couldn’t...my Jungle friends aren’t…”

Ben understood what he was trying to say. Work friends were all right, but there was something more meaningful about connections made with people that were able to consciously choose to befriend you. The people you knew at work were people you were somewhat forced to interact with.

“I know what you mean,” Ben said, trying to project warmth into his tone. He reached across the table and tenuously put his hand on Richie’s, hoping that he wasn’t overstepping his boundaries. To his great relief, Richie seemed more than okay with the contact. He grabbed Ben’s hand quickly and immediately after initial contact was made and held tight.

Their waiter, Kevin, had snuck back around Bev and had apparently been waiting for a good time to come through with a skewer of shrimp. Given that this crisis had so far offered no good shrimp break opportunities, Kevin was forced to choose this moment to return to offer out food.

“Excuse me,” he said to Bev, who jumped a little when she realized he was behind her. “This is your seat, right? Who is this other gentleman?”

“I’m Richie,” Richie introduced himself, apparently unable to keep himself from speaking. “I’ll be out of everyone’s hair in a sec. In the meantime, load ‘er up for Bev here.” He offered up Bev’s plate, and Kevin began to slide shrimp off of the skewer and into the space next to Bev’s vegetables.

“And you, sir?” Kevin asked Ben after Richie had decided that Bev had enough shrimp. (There were at least 10 shrimp on Bev’s plate. Richie was a true agent of chaos.)

“I’ll take two, please,” Ben said meekly, and with a relieved smile, Kevin delivered the shrimp and scurried off.

Bev stared down at her plate. “Richie, I don’t eat seafood.”

Richie shrugged. “I’ll take one for the team, then.”

“Rich--” she began to protest, but he was already digging into the first shrimp. Bev shared an exasperated look with Ben, but they seemed to be in agreeance not to stop him. He’d had a rough night.

“So how can we help you with this?” Ben asked, poking at his own shrimp with a fork.

“Do either of you have Eddie’s number?” Richie asked through a mouthful of shrimp. “He won’t talk to me, but he might talk to one of you.”

“I do,” Bev volunteered, pulling out her phone. “He gave it to me so that I could send him advice and articles on skin-care. Apparently, Florida water doesn’t agree with his delicate complexion, or whatever his mother told him that he had.”

“He has great skin,” Richie protested. “Tell him he doesn’t need any products.”

Bev shot him an unenthused look. “Not a priority right now, Richie. I’m gonna text him that Bill wants to meet him at DAK* tomorrow morning. He said yesterday that his weekend starts tomorrow, right?”

“I think?” Richie looked up from his shrimp, trying to sort things out in his head. “But why does Bill want to meet him at DAK? Bill complains about DAK all the time. Too hot, kinda boring, too many guests in Pandora…”

“Bill doesn’t want to meet him at DAK,” Bev said, staring at Richie’s forehead as if willing Richie to get the message. “You’re gonna meet him at DAK. It’s his favorite park. He told me that once while he was looking at the Jungle rack in MK costuming.”

“Oh.” Bev’s plan was coming together in Ben’s mind. It was simple, but honestly pretty genius. “Eddie will agree to go with Bill because he trusts Bill, right? He probably wants to vent about what happened tonight.”

“Right,” Bev agreed, “but when Eddie actually shows up, Richie’ll be there, and they’ll be forced to talk.”

“That’s kinda mean,” Ben pointed out. “What if he genuinely needs space?”

“It’s healthier for the two of them to talk it out while it’s still fresh, I think,” Bev looked thoughtful. “I get what you’re saying, but this doesn’t seem like the kind of situation that will be made better by space, you know?”

Richie had been watching the two of them go back and forth like he was a spectator at a tennis match, but he wasn’t good at staying quiet for long, and so jumped back in with aplomb. “I’m still here, you know. You don’t have to talk around me.”

“Sorry,” Bev said, “but do you disagree?”

Richie shook his head. Half of his curls were still plastered down with sweat, but the rest of them swayed side to side with the rest of him. “No, I think it’s worth a shot.”

“Good, because I already sent the text. Also, Kevin’s coming back. Switch with me.” She yanked Richie up and out of the chair, and reclaimed her spot. Kevin kept his visit brief, looking at Richie with clear unease in his eyes while he slid chicken down skewers and then darting away again, presumably to get more meat.

“Did he respond?” Richie asked immediately once Kevin was gone.

Bev pulled her phone out again. “He wants to know why Bill doesn’t ask him himself.”

“Type ‘because he’s having sex’,” Richie told her, peering down over her shoulder.

“Speaking of Bill,” Ben cut in, thinking of ways to get back to his regularly scheduled date now that Richie’s situation was almost taken care of, “don’t you need a ride? Can you afford an Uber from here?”

“I didn’t bring money,” Richie admitted. “I didn’t think I’d have to.”

Ben considered their options. “Well, we could call Stan and see if he’s available.”

Richie bit down on one of his knuckles to stifle a laugh. “Yeah, okay, Benny Boy. You go ahead and do that.” He tore his eyes from Bev’s cellphone for a moment and looked at Ben with glee in his eyes. Ben was relieved to see a little bit of laughter back in his friend’s expression. Richie wasn’t a person that was well suited to melancholy.

Ben steeled himself, and then picked up his own phone and dialed his roommate. He put the phone on speaker, and as soon as it started ringing, Richie’s attention was glued to it, as if it were a bad car accident waiting to happen. Ben made a mental note to never get in the car with Richie if this was how he was going to be about little distractions.

The phone rang for long enough that Ben began to think Mike wouldn’t pick up, but he did - on the last ring.

“This better be important.” Mike’s voice was low and rough, and his breathing was heavy. Ben looked up at Richie, who was shaking with suppressed laughter, and then back down to the phone.

“Uh. Richie’s here.” Ben began, looking from Bev to Richie in an attempt to try and figure out how he wanted to word his request.

“On your date?” Mike asked. In the background, Stan and Bill’s protests were audible - Stan’s moreso than Bill’s. “Dude, I didn’t think you were into that kind of thing.”

“Ben here’s a real swinger.” Richie couldn’t help but chime in. “No, but I’m trying to make a grand exit here, so, uh, could you put Stan my man on the phone, Mikey?”

There was the distinct sound of Mike fumbling with the phone, and a loud “Fuck no” from Stan.

“Yeah, he’ll be right on,” Mike said after a moment. “Make it QUICK, though, Tozier.”

“Eddie says he’ll meet you,” Bev said, still engrossed in her own text conversation. “But you have to buy him a cream cheese pretzel.”

“Those things are like $4.99,” Richie protested.

Ben waved a hand in front of his face. “Focus, Rich. I wouldn’t put it past Stan to know how to kill you over the phone.”

“If not, I’ll certainly kill him when I see him next.” Stan was on the line, and it sounded like his teeth were gritted. Whatever mood the three of them had struck up was almost certainly dead now. “Richie, did you hear that? You’re dead.”

“Great,” Richie said agreeably, “but in the meantime, I need a ride.”

Stan’s responding sigh was so deep and long it made a crackling noise through the phone. “I thought you and Eddie would go with your Jungle friends.”

“Yeah, about me and Eddie…” Richie was obviously more nervous to tell Stan about his goof than he had been in telling Ben and Bev. Ben wondered offhandedly what that meant about Richie’s relationship with Stan.

“I saw what happened,” Stan said simply. “It wasn’t your fault, okay? Don’t get in your head about that.”

Richie grabbed the phone, as if being closer to it would make his point clearer to Stan. “But--”

“No but. It was an accident that hurt his feelings. You don’t freak out when you have accidents that hurt my feelings, so you can chill out about this.”

“This is important, Stan,” Richie said quietly, mouth just about pressed to the phone.

“I don’t know why you’re prioritizing this all of a sudden.” Stan was picking up speed. Apparently, he wasn’t finished being angry with Richie after all. “I like that he makes you happy, Richie, but you can’t expect any one thing to bring you out of whatever mental funk you’re in. Dating Eddie Kaspbrak isn’t going to save your life. Why don’t you try auditioning for stuff maybe, like you moved down here to do - or applying for trainer or coordinator? It doesn’t all have to be about--”

“Can you pick me up?” Richie interrupted. Stan’s little monologue had zapped him back into robot mode. “Or do you know anyone that can? I feel bad about intruding on Benverly for as long as I have.”

“I’ll come.” A new voice was on the phone, now - Bill had taken over from Stan. “Meet you by check-in in 20 minutes, okay Rich?”

“Roger,” Richie said neutrally. “Thanks, Billiam.”

“You’ll pay me for it in tours,” Bill said, apparently nonplussed. Apparently, they’d all had enough time to cool off regarding their sexual exploits. “Bev, you okay?”

Ben’s chest seized as he looked over to gauge her reaction, but he had nothing to worry about. She was smiling. “I’m great, honey. Thanks for askin’.”

“Love you,” he said. The sound of shuffling was apparent on the other end of the phone; he was putting clothes on. “Richie, 20 minutes.”

“Thanks,” Richie said dully, and the connection beeped out. Bill had hung up.

There was a moment of silence after that. Richie handed Ben his phone back, and Ben took it wordlessly, biting back the avalanche of questions that he had after hearing Stan on the phone.

Bev was bolder than him. “This isn’t just about Eddie, is it?”

“It’s a lot about Eddie,” Richie said, picking at his fingernails.

“You genuinely like him, right?” Bev asked, holding out her phone for emphasis. “I don’t want to be a part of this if you’re just stringing him along for the sake of your self-esteem.”

“He’s the best thing in my life right now,” Richie responded honestly, looking at her in a way that made Ben momentarily jealous - not of anything romantic, but of the understanding that seemed to transpire between them.

“It’s gonna be okay, Richie,” Ben found himself saying. He had no idea what compelled those words to fall out of his mouth, but he was committed enough to finishing his sentence that he pushed on. “Whatever you need, we’re here, okay?”

Richie looked between the two of them contemplatively. For once, he wasn’t trying to contort his face in a way that would mask what he was really feeling; no, his expression was just open, and...tired.

“I’m sorry that I got in the way of your date,” he said again. “I’m not sorry for eating your shrimp, though, Bev.”

Bev shrugged. “I’m always down to offer a shrimp to a friend in need.”

At that, Richie looked over the rest of the table with mild interest. “How about a potsticker?”

“Goodbye, Richie,” Bev said quickly, pulling the rest of the potstickers in towards her.

“You gonna be okay?” Ben asked before Richie could turn to leave. Richie caught his eye briefly and smiled - a genuine smile, as far as Ben could tell.

“I just can’t get out of my own way,” he said, “but Bill’s got me now. Carry on, Ben Handsome.”

“Godspeed, Richie Tozier,” Ben called, waving fondly as Richie pushed back through the restaurant, drawing stares and whispers from the guests that had just been seated.

“Ten o’clock tomorrow!” Bev yelled. “Don’t be late!” Richie shot her a quick thumbs up, but didn’t turn around. They watched him until he’d left the restaurant, presumably to loiter in one of the gift shops until Bill showed up.

As soon as he was gone, Ben felt a coldness settle in his stomach. How was he supposed to bring the date back from this?

“That was really cool of you,” Bev said quietly, before he could lose himself in anxious thoughts. “Not many guys would have been okay with helping someone else like that in the middle of a date.”

“I’m really sorry,” Ben tried, “I should have asked you--”

“We’re good.” Bev shook her head, smiling softly. “You don’t have to ask my permission to be kind to people, Ben. And I really do appreciate you being kind.”

“Most people are kind,” Ben shrugged, cutting into his chicken in an attempt to alleviate his embarrassment.

“No,” Bev said. She reached across the table and touched his hand meaningfully. “They’re not.”

“Dessert’s here,” called Kevin from a couple of tables away. He was headed over with a delicious looking bread pudding, some caramel banana sauce, and two spoons. Ben was a little surprised (and sad) that they were at the dessert stage of things already, but when he checked his phone, he saw that it was indeed nine o’clock.

The music began to play before he was able to register fully what nine o’clock meant.

“Serpents, spiders...tail of a rat…” Madame Leota’s voice boomed through the hotel speakers. Bev turned towards the window in wonder and delight.

“Will we be able to see…?!” she asked breathlessly, and immediately had her question answered by the first firework lighting its way up and over Cinderella’s Castle in the distance. Kevin set down the pudding, and Ben smiled into his plate.

Luck was pretty relative, and less important or applicable than compassion and hard work, but even in spite of all of the shit that had gotten in the way tonight, Ben Hanscom could pretty safely say that his luck was turning around.

When Beverly reached across to grab his hands during the Ursula section of the fireworks, he upgraded his thought. His luck was definitely better now than it had ever been before.

He hoped with all his heart that said luck would spread itself over the rest of his friends, too.

Notes:

*DAK = Disney's Animal Kingdom. Just a little employee shorthand :)

[justgotham]

Jerome Valeska has been one of the wildest and most unpredictable characters on Gotham to date, so much so that many fans still can't help but believe that he's the Joker. Jerome has gone through a lot of changes over the years, including death, coming back, having his face cut off, and then stapling it back on. Due to all the changes in Jerome's appearance, actor Cameron Monaghan has to wear some pretty intense makeup to play the character. Monaghan spoke with CinemaBlend's own Nick Venable about Gotham. He teased a new look coming for Jerome and had this to say about the Jerome makeup we've come to expect:

It's fun. I think that there's something really amazing about being able to physically transform and become somewhat horrifying to look at with this character. It can add freedom within the performance to embrace and be more broad in voice and behavior and all these things that, I think, would be more difficult if he was a guy who looked exactly like me, and I wasn't wearing any sort of crazy outfit, or if I didn't have any makeup on.

The crazy makeup for Jerome evidently helps Cameron Monaghan get into character for Gotham. Jerome obviously looks about as bonkers as anybody in Arkham, and he's never exactly dressed in conventional clothing. Monaghan can go over-the-top to play this character in a way that he really can't for other roles, and his look as Jerome makes the whole process more fun. Throw in the insane laugh that Monaghan has mastered, and it's easy to see why Gotham fans compare him to the Joker. Jerome is easily one of the most iconic Gotham villains so far.

Despite the fact that Jerome in Season 4 has the accumulated injuries and scars of the earlier years of the show, Cameron Monaghan revealed that the makeup in Season 3 was actually a lot more difficult. Jerome stapling his face back on posed some challenges. His face stapled on looked complicated enough; when it began bleeding and peeling off and sliding as we might expect of a stapled face, the makeup job got even more complex. He described the change for Season 4:

Now he's all sealed up in the fourth season. So we have one consistent look, and that look is still complex, and it still takes a couple of hours every morning to apply, and then 35 minutes or whatever to take it off at the end of every day. So it's not easy, per se, but I like having something like that for a character as unique and broad as this guy, to kind of help me access the character.

Judging by Cameron Monaghan's comments, it sounds like the Jerome we know and love won't go through a lot of facial changes during his arc in Season 4. His time in Arkham seems to have given him the time to heal as much as one can with a stapled-on face, and not even Jerome is crazy enough to necessarily damage his own face for no particular reason. Besides, Jerome is bonkers enough without a face falling off. It still takes a while for the makeup to be applied and then removed, but Monaghan doesn't come across as bothered.

All of this said, Cameron Monaghan also seems to hint that he could play a second role in addition to Jerome in Season 4, which was recently teased by actress Morena Baccarin. Whether or not we'll see Monaghan as another character in addition to Jerome, we will apparently see Jerome looking different. Monaghan described what's to come without delving into spoilers:

We also have a new makeup look on the show, that I won't say exactly what it is. But that's gonna be exciting in its own sense. That's really, really cool. It allowed me a new freedom in my own way, and it's completely evolved. And I can't wait for people to see what that looks like, and say, 'Man, that's freakin' cool.'

[terresdebrumestories]

With what we have

✗ TECHNICAL DETAILS

FANDOM: Voltron: Legendary defenders RATING: Teen & Up WORDCOUNT: 14 823 words PAIRING(S): - CHARACTER(S): Takashi Shirogane, Keith Kogane, Lance McClain, Hunk Garett, Pidge Gunderson/Katie Holt, Allura, Coran, Ulaz. GENRE: Character exploration. TRIGGER WARNING(S): Canon level discussions of genocide, war and violence. Shiro comes close to a panic attack at one point, but the rest is more hinted at than outright described. SUMMARY: In which Ulaz doesn’t die, and some conversations happen sooner than they would have as a result. NOTE: I This fic takes place right after the end of Shiro’s escape. Everything up to that point happened the same as in canon, except for the bit where the Blade of Marmora uses code names because really, it’s basic spy stuff.

“He’s...gone.”

The words ring hollow in Shiro’s chest, purple void tugging at his ribs a little harder with every heartbeat, and it takes effort to stay upright even as the reality of the loss strikes him at the knees. Doc wasn’t much: he didn’t have all the answers or a ready-made solution for the team’s troubles, but he was something. If nothing else, he was a spark of hope, and that alone is hard to lose.

Behind him, Shiro hears Keith’s jacket creak as he shuffles from one foot to the other, and the wish to turn around and reassure the kid burns like fire against his spine. Shiro wants to smile and say he’ll be fine, to go back to his team and be the leader they need. He wants to tell them all he trusts Coran and Allura’s judgment and mean it.

Then again, he also wants his right arm back and his hair black and his face scar free.

“I’m sorry we doubted him,” Keith manages at last, the catch in his voice almost unbearable in its vulnerability, “he saved all our lives.”

The hole in the xanthorium cluster is still here. It floats by at a lazy pace, tearing into Shiro’s hopes like a knife in paper and bringing the red and purple light of Galra ships into the edge of his vision. Even the Galra hand hangs at his side, limp, heavy and useless. There are shards of glass in his throat when he swallows.

“I still have so many questions….”

Galra machinery is too precise to click as the fingers curl into a fist. He pretends he can hear it anyway, the sound easier to deal with than a pained yelp, a gasp, and the hiss of terror in his own voice as he tries to get one last word in, fingers digging into his shoulders—

“Do you think Zarkon is really tracking us?”

Shiro blinks the world back into focus just as the translator on his left ear beeps to announce one of the Alteans is about to speak.

“We cannot know for sure,” Allura says as she walks up to her spot at the helm of the ship, “only ‘Doc’ knew our whereabouts.”

Shiro turns too fast to remember moving. His left palm hurts.

“You don’t really think he gave us up? After he sacrificed himself?”

“Yeah,” Keith adds, “Maybe Zarkon found this place on his own. He’s probably been searching for the Blade of Marmora.”

Shiro glances at the set of Keith’s shoulders, the rigidity of his stance where he planted himself between him and Allura, and he wishes he could feel grateful for it. Instead of that, he’s almost swept off his feet by the urge to leave, lock himself in his room and forget everyone exists for a moment...just the one. Just a minute where there are no Lions of Voltron, no Paladins, no friends of his going through who knows what kind of horrors in the darkest recesses of the universe.

That would help, maybe, and he’s on the verge of giving up on this argument and call it quits when Allura steps into her pod, face set, and says:

“It’s clear the loss of this ‘Doc’ has caused you great concern but—”

“He’s still alive!” Pidge’s voice bursts through the emergency speakers.

Somewhere, very far in the back of his mind, Shiro thinks he hears Coran protest against tinkering with the emergency communication lines. There’s an air of shocked surprise around him, too, but he’s in the corridors before he can process it in full, helmet slipping in place with the ease of practice.

“I’m on my way to the Black Lion,” he announces, echoes of his voice bouncing back at him through the empty halls, “send me what you’ve got.”

“You got it,” Pidge says with a familiar shiver in her tone, “he must have found a way to delay the space pocket and evacuated his ship—his readings are really weak, Shiro.”

“Just make sure there’s a recovery tank and a stretcher ready when I come back, I’ll take care of the rest.”

Getting Doc back in the castle takes a thousand years and no time at all. One second Shiro’s in the elevator to get Black, the next he’s watching the recovery tank close over Doc’s prone form and trying not to remember the sound of a body folding metal.

After that, there’s nothing left to do but wait.

***

For three days, Shiro moves from one place to the other with no memory of walking. He must keep up with his chores, somehow, because no one complains about late laundry and there’s no trace of settling dust over the Black Lion, but there’s no memory to it, no real sensation of having done any of it. Chores vanish into thin air with a faint smell of detergent and meals pass by in the blink of an eye, leaving a vague aftertaste of goo and not much else.

The rest of it leaves his memory without a trace, the same way his year in the Galra empire left him with nothing but phantom pains in his right arm and a purple haze to light the shapeless terrors of his nights. There are flashes, sometimes. Pidge, sitting next to him, talking...about her family, maybe. Coran fretting over the tank, Hunk with a plate of food. Keith, quiet and worried somewhere nearby. Lance, as far as Shiro can retain the memory, stays silent.

Allura remains in Command and the associated level.

Shiro, he’s fairly sure, doesn’t look for her.

***

Shiro’s translator beeps off and back on again with grating regularity, struggling to keep up with Pidge and Coran’s rapid-fire debate over the recovery tank, like the two of them are so in sync they don’t even need to rely on actual language anymore. It’s probably a good thing, in itself, because the translators may have done a wonderful job of picking up English in the past few months but there are still times when they’re not quite up to par with actually learning a language.

There are times when Shiro’s fizzles out entirely, stumbling over a word no one’s used in English yet, and he has to ask for clarifications until he can make an educated guess on the missing item. Those are the easy gaps. Other times, it’s a problem in concept: an object or an unspoken space rule science-fiction didn’t prepare the Terrans for, and then they have to sit around the table and talk around if for hours on end before they can decide which English words to mash together and wrestle into something entirely new.

(Shiro suspects Coran and Allura have the same difficulties, sometimes, but at least there’s only two of them. The debates are probably less heated in their linguistic corner.)

And of course, there’s no preventing those moments when both party hear the same words but don’t quite give them the same meaning. It’s not an exclusive feature of Altean-Terran communication, really, the difficulties they’ve all had in getting used to one another’s habits is proof enough of that, but the difference in language doesn’t help any of it, and they’ve had more than one close call where Shiro found himself smoothing down far more feathers than he’d ever have anticipated.

All of that in a group explicitly made of friend and allies. What’s it going to be like once Doc walks among them? It’s not like Shiro will be in much of a state to help anyone wind down, after all, and at least one member of Team Voltron is pretty dead set in hating the man no matter what. If he can’t find a way to keep things down somehow….

“You know it’s gonna be fine, right?”

Shiro doesn’t jump at Hunk’s words, but it’s a close call. For someone his size, the kid can certainly move unnoticed which, really, should teach Shiro a lesson about his expectations of fat people and their physical abilities. Right now though, he tries to focus on Hunk’s sympathetic smile over the sound of Coran’s clicking Altean and the occasional burst of Pidge’s colorful Italian vocabulary.

“I know,” he tells Hunk, even though it’s more of a hope than a certitude, “but I’d like to try and avoid the bumps in the road, and I don’t know if that’s going to be possible.”

Hunk taps at his translator with a definite air of commiseration, and Shiro swallows around the worried grimace he wishes he could share with someone. He doesn’t have a problem with the team per se. They’re all driven, well-meaning, and disciplined enough to rally together when the time calls for it...it’s just that, with Coran’s exception, they’re also all teenagers, with Allura’s nineteen years making her the oldest one.

Sometimes it’s hard not to miss the company of Terran adults, especially when the ones Shiro needs to see the most are currently painfully unavailable.

“If it makes anything better,” Hunk offers with a contrite expression, “you know you’ve got at least three of us on your side.”

“Three?”

Pidge and Keith will definitely try and welcome Doc into the ranks, Shiro has no doubt of that. He’s their best lead to Matt and Samuel’s whereabouts, and Keith has already said he regretted doubting the man. Shiro isn’t nearly modest enough to pretend it has nothing to do with Keith’s intense brand of loyalty, but it still means he’ll make effort and that, in itself, is a relief.

Hunk’s support, while appreciated, is more of a surprise.

“Allura hates his guts,” Hunk elaborates with an uncomfortable shrug, “I get why but I’m not sure it’ll help making the cohabitation easier. I’m not promising to be like, buddy-buddies with him, but I’ll be polite, at least. I just hope the translators have enough vocabulary to understand things that aren’t mostly war-related.”

“Oh, don’t you worry your little mind, Number Four!” Coran pipes up as the healing tank beeps to announce the end of a cycle, “if it comes down to it, words won’t be necessary to get informations out of him.”

“Hey, are you talking about sticking him in a pod to steal his memories?” Lance asks from where he’s sitting nearby. “‘Cause the last time we tried that I almost got vented out the airlock!”

“An inconvenient development,” Coran concedes with a nod, “but Number Five and I have since rearranged the pods in a closed circuits, we’ll just have to scan for viruses and—”

“No one is getting in a memory pod,” Shiro interrupts through the roar of blood in his ears and the rushing of his heart, “Doc cooperated with us up until now. If there’s a misunderstanding we’ll solve it.”

They should never have done it in the first place. There are many things to say about tearing information directly out of somebody’s brain and none of them are pretty. Matt, if he’d been here, would have had a lot of Italian for them when they suggested the idea, and Matt’s Italian generally doesn’t come out for nice things.

Plus, if Shiro never sees anyone sent out to a slow, suffocating death because he was too weak not to freak out again, it’ll be too soon. No pod is most definitely a better idea.

“Alright,” Coran agrees, surprising the rest of them with his easy shrug.

He’s about to say something else, Shiro thinks, when the healing tank finally swishes open. The Galra hand’s fingertips click against its palm when they move too fast and, to Shiro’s right, a quiet shuffle of boots signals Allura’s presence with more impact than a shout would.

He doesn’t feel guilty enough about feeding the distance in their rank not to put himself between her and a slowly blinking Galra, just in case.

Doc’s confused frown doesn’t even last a second, if that, but it’s more than enough for Shiro’s heart rate to pick up and a sheen of sweat break out all over his body. Shiro steels his spine against the urge to flee and makes himself look the man in the eyes, greet him with as even a voice as he can possibly manage.

“I must confess,” Doc breathes out as he takes his tank-appropriate garments in, “I did not actually expect to wake up.”

The silk soft tones of Galra drift through the air and into Shiro’s ear, weaving themselves in the more familiar mechanics of the translator’s artificial words. It brushes against his soul like spider net in the middle of the woods, catches him by surprise and makes Shiro wish he could just stuff his ears and be done with it, but he can’t.

He and Pidge are the only ones who actively want Doc in the ranks, and it wouldn’t do for a leader to leave at that delicate a time anyway. Besides, as bad as it may sound, he doesn’t really trust Coran to herd a group of teenagers on the right path...meaning he’s stuck here, making conversation.

Oh well. It’s hardly the first time he does something he’d rather not be doing.

He waits until Doc accepts a spare translator from Pidge and fits it over his left ear with a dubious expression before he says:

“In all honesty, we weren’t sure you’d wake up either, but Pidge and Coran can work miracles with the tanks.”

“Well, I’d give my life for our cause any day, but I can’t say I am disappointed to live longer.”

Behind him, Shiro feels Allura tense at the words, and he thanks the princess’ diplomatic training for her silence even as he hurries to steer Doc toward the room their prepared for him.

It’s under surveillance, it’s true. Allura insisted on it and Coran, as usual, took her side without question. Aside from that, though, it’s mostly the same as the Paladins’: a bed and a wardrobe to the left, a desk and a wide bookshelf to the right. Shiro has no idea who got the three parchment rolls out of the library, but he’s glad for it. At least someone made a bit of an effort.

“My room’s next door,” he tells Doc once the man’s had time to take the space in, “in case you need anything. Or you can ask the others, of course, we’re all—”

“Not to sound ungrateful,” Doc interrupts with a small smirk, “but it seems to me like ‘all’ isn’t quite the right word here.”

Shiro’s lips pinch together out of reflex more than anything else, but Doc doesn’t seem to mind too much. It’s a good thing, too, because Shiro may disapprove of Allura’s attitude but she’s his teammate and his leader. If he’s forced to chose between her and Doc, he know where his loyalties lie.

There’s a short pause, and then Doc asks:

“Does my voice bother you?”

Shiro blinks, flinches in a way that doesn’t have enough to do with surprise for his taste, and stands there without quite knowing what to say.

“It seems to me like it does.”

It takes effort not to step back when Doc steps forward with an appraising gaze, the Galra hand twitching into a defensive posture before Shiro realizes what’s going on. To the left, his own arm seems mostly lifeless, and there are razor blade in his throat when he manages:

“It’s not you, it’s—the words.”

They glide out of Doc’s mouth like water, trickling down Shiro’s spine no matter how hard he tries not to hear them. They’re softer than any language he knows, full of vowels and wind-like whispers, and they settle over his heart like poison, always a beat ahead of the translators’ droning tones.

Of all the things he’s forgotten in the past year-and-some, this is is the part he dreads the most.

“Of course,” Doc replies, lowering his voice like it’s going to help with Shiro’s problem, “I assumed your crew had removed it, but I suppose they don’t know enough about your anatomy to operate safely.”

Somehow, Shiro manages to blink through the ice in his veins.

“What do you mean? What’s there to remove?”

Doc frowns again, the movement enough to make the Galra hand twitch, but it’s gone just as soon and he doesn’t sound disturbed at all when he says:

“Zarkon’s empire cares little for those who do not speak Daibazeel, and new slaves are generally fitted with neuronal implants that allows them to bypass the learning phase. You had no difficulty using the language when we first met.”

There must be some kind of airlock in Shiro’s lungs, a trap of some kind that’s stuck open because between one second and the next it’s like he can’t get enough oxygen inside, blood withdrawing from his fingers until they tingle, and it takes Doc’s hand between his shoulder blades for him to realize he’s bent over and seconds away from feeling sick.

“Deep breathing,” Doc reminds him, “it’ll come back, just keep breathing.”

There’s nothing to do but comply here, and at least the early attention makes it easier for Shiro to get back into a normal breathing, but the attack still leaves him as worn out as an intense marathon session, with far more questions floating in his head than before. Zarkon’s doctors took his arm and tinkered with his brain, what else did they do? It’s not like ethics stop them—what if Shiro lost even more of himself than he thought? What if he’s condemned to spend the rest of his life finding new things to miss, new reasons to mourn and—

“Shiro, you are panicking again,” Doc warns.

Shiro squeezes his eyes shut, and tries to remember the breathing exercises he learned from Sam. ‘Just because you don’t see the problem about flying in a sardine box doesn’t mean they can’t be useful to you one day’ he said when he first suggested sharing his knowledge. Ha. If they’d only known.

“I’m fine,” he says once he’s done and back in control of his own body. Then, because Doc doesn’t seem convinced: “I’m functional. Sorry about that.”

“Don’t worry about it. I wasn’t too happy about the implant either, and the Blade had warned me about it.”

“Wait,” Shiro starts, latching on the new topic like his life depends on it, “you mean you were in contact with the Blade of Marmora before you joined Zarkon’s army?”

“Of course. Nothing else could have gotten me to work for that man otherwise.”

A moment passes where Shiro tries to reconcile what he just learned with his image of Galras...it’s not an easy feat. Allura is more open and aggressive about her issues than he is, but he’s still aware enough to realize he’s not very fond of Galras in general. Heaven knows the sight of purple fur is enough to get his heart racing, and if he’s really honest with himself he can admit that, up until now, he’s mostly pictured the Galras as unanimously falling in line with their leader until a small minority of them realized the error of their ways and started fighting back.

It’s stupid, really, to think this way when faced with a ten thousand years old empire that spans about ninety-five percent of the known universe, but then it’s not like human brains are incapable of irrationality.

“Sorry,” Shiro says when it becomes clear Doc guessed where his surprised came from, “I—”

“Oh, you’re hardly the only one,” Doc replies with a shrug, “and you do a very acceptable job of moving past that...but perhaps this is a conversation best postponed until we can calibrate your translators to accommodate my birth language and spare you the sounds of Daibazeel.”

***

“What am I looking for again?” Pidge asks, fingers flying over the keyboard with incredible speed.

Between the glasses and the haircut, she looks almost exactly like Matt, although knowing him he’d probably make a point of highlighting their height difference. Still, if it weren’t for the voice, Shiro could almost confuse them, and the sight of Pidge in that state of intense concentration hollows something in his chest...or reveals it, rather. Like a manhole you forget and fail to notice until the beam of your flashlight brushes over it and suddenly the void is all you can think about.

Shiro looks away before Matt’s voice can crawl back into his ears.

“A translator calibration form,” Doc repeats from a few feet away, just far enough to let Hunk see he’s not trying to spy, “I’m not sure what shape it’ll take, given how ancient the technology around here is—”

“Hey, that castle got us out of more than one scrap with Zarkon!” Hunk protests, a protective hand resting on the wall next to him, “Don’t trash-talk it!”

“I was not trying to ‘trash talk’,” Doc says, hesitating on the English words, “this castle is as old as Zarkon’s empire. It is a miracle you haven’t been defeated yet.”

“Let’s not fight about that,” Shiro intervenes when it looks like Hunk is going to try and keep defending the castle’s honor, “we’re trying to accomplish something here.”

“Right,” Doc agrees while Hunk flushes crimson and mumbles apologies, “if the forms look like what we use on Naquod, they should be interactive files with text in High Daibazeel and support audio recordings.”

Shiro watches Pidge squint at the screen and mutter indistinct words of Italian under her breath as she searches for something that’d match Doc’s description. If she’s anything like her brother, it’s probably just as well they can’t translate what she’s saying. It’d make Hunk’s look of surprise even worse, and Shiro would probably end up laughing in the poor guy’s face.

“Do you do that often?” Hunk asks after a moment, his own project set aside as he looks Doc up and down in open curiosity, “Calibrating translators, I mean?”

“Not recently, but I used to work with refugees before the Blade of Marmora assigned me to my post in Zarkon’s fleet. I mostly gave out signs-to-words devices, but the principles are the same.”

“Guys, I think I’ve got something,” Pidge says as she pulls a file onto her screen.

It’s Galra alphabet alright. Shiro hasn’t seen much of it since he woke up on Earth, but he must have gotten more than familiar enough with it during his captivity because the mere sight of it is enough to clamp his stomach tight. Doc looks the document over and nods in approval, prompting Pidge to ask:

“What happens now?”

“Well, all the languages we want to use are words-based so the process is rather straightforward,” Doc explains, Hunk leaning over his work to try and catch a glimpse of the form. “The form is a list of the most used words in High Daibazeel. I’ll read them out loud individually, then translate a number of prompted sentences and let the software work out the grammar rules from there. After that it’ll only be a matter of waiting for everything to load in the processors. We’re lucky these things still have a free slot or two. I doubt I would have been able to erase a language from their system.”

To Shiro’s surprise, it’s Hunk that asks about the slots rather than Pidge. Doc is in the process of explaining the ear translators ‘of old’ only had room for about half a dozen of languages each when Shiro’s endurance gives out and he barely bothers trying to look calm when he flees the room.

He almost runs into Keith when he reaches the corridor, heart skipping a beat at the unexpected encounter. It’s far too intense a reaction for something that happens a million times in a life, he knows. Then again, with the week he’s had, he feels like he’s kind of entitled to a little bit of a freak out, thank you very much.

“Are you all right?” Keith asks, concern carved into a line between his eyebrows.

Shiro hasn’t been anything even approaching all right for well over a year now. He was taken from one side of the universe to the other, enslaved, forced to harm one of his closest friends, amputated, shoved at the head of a team of teenagers with as much cohesion as a pile of dry sand, and told to save the universe because no one else was there to do it. And that’s putting it nicely. At this point, ‘all right’ is so far beyond his grasp he’s starting to question whether he’ll ever even be okay again.

He could, possibly, tell Keith all of that. It’s not like the kid ever asked for a sugar coated version of the story, after all, quicker to look at a problem and try to figure out a solution than offer reassurance...but the thing is, he’s just a kid. Yes, okay, he’s an eighteen year old soldier-in-training with more stubbornness in his little toe than the average human possesses in their entire body and yes, he would most definitely figure out a way to grab the moon if he felt it was required.

He still looks at Shiro like a little boy, though. Wide eyes and deep frown, and the shine of something pleading at the corner of his eyes, because he needs to know there’s at least one person in this solar system he can lean on. It’s fading lately, the budding team spirit of their group rubbing away at it in steady bits but it’s still there.

Keith wants the truth and so do Lance, Hunk, Pidge and Allura, but all still need Shiro to be okay, too. They need to know their commanding officer, or the closest approximation of it they could find, will be the good man in a storm and hold his stuff together long enough for them to get over their own terror and get back on track.

Shiro would do his best to meet those needs even if it weren’t the only thing holding him vaguely upright these days.

“I’m tired,” he admits anyway. There’s no hiding that much, not this close to dinner time, and it’ll make the next sentence more believable: “I’ll be okay though. Don’t worry.”

“Are you sure?” Keith insists with a twitch of his right arm and a hint of doubt at the crease of his mouth, “with Allura….”

“She’ll come around,” Shiro tells him with a little more conviction than he actually feels, “don’t worry too much about it.”

“She’ll have to,” Keith says, more of a promise than a statement, “you were right about him. She has to see that.”

Shiro allows himself to give Keith a grateful smile before he makes his way down to the training room.

***

Dinner is a tense, if not entirely stiff affair. Shiro has to divide his time and attention between Doc and Allura, occasionally getting sympathetic-slash-apologetic glance from Coran. It’s not even a surprise, it’s been clear from the beginning that Coran is here for the the princess more than the kids, and he’s been on Allura’s side more than theirs from day one. Given Allura’s current position, it’s a good thing that she has that kind of unwavering support.

It’s just that in situations like these, it’d be great for Shiro if he could have a little help in trying to make her see things from a different angle.

Fortunately, the most notable effects of that frankly unsuccessful dinner are that everyone goes back to their own thing instead of hanging out together like Shiro’s tried to get them to do about once a week, and it takes Pidge three times to catch his attention when he rounds the corridor.

She looks worried when he finally turns back to her, her gaze searching his face a little longer than he’s comfortable with before she looks at the ground and fiddles with her glasses.

“Doc kind of let slip why he wanted to calibrate the translators for Naquodi,” she says, one foot scratching at the ground, “and I just—I’m sorry I didn’t realize. What Daibazeel did to you, I mean. If I’d known I—”

“You’d have politely asked Zarkon to keep his minions quiet?”

The Galra arm hides behind the rest of him when Shiro gives Pidge a reassuring smile. Okay, so maybe it’s a little bit of an embarrassed smile because Matt’s comfort techniques aren’t the ones he’s naturally comfortable with. Time to get back to the things he actually know how to do.

“I’m sorry,” he says, reaching out to bump Pidge’s shoulder with his hand, “that was ridiculous. My point stands though. You couldn’t have done anything about it on your own. Not before you learned to read Coran and Allura’s alphabet, anyway.”

Besides, how could Pidge even have thought of that? Shiro’s year in Zarkon’s custody is still a complete mystery. Who would have guessed he’d come out of it with issues about a language he couldn’t remember? He certainly didn’t.

Pidge looks small, though, smaller than she normally does, and much too young. She’s blinking an awful lot, too, so Shiro catches both her shoulders and waits until she’s looking at him before he promises he’ll be okay.

“Besides, this thing with the translators will help. More than you know. See? You’re already doing everything you can. There’s nothing to feel guilty about.”

Pidge nods, trying to mask a sniffle by scratching her sneakers together, and Shiro sort of wants to scream. She’s just fifteen, for heaven’s sake, fifteen! She’s practically a child, still, what was the Garrison thinking? What was Allura thinking for that matter?

Well, alright, Allura was mainly thinking about an intergalactic war she had no one to fight with and a giant enemy ship en route to annihilating planet Aurus and the seven of them along the way. It’s not like Allura herself is much older than the rest of Shiro’s teammates anyway, and unless there’s a much wider cultural gap between Altean royals and Earth, she probably did the best she could with a truly dismal situation.

That doesn’t make anything any less terrible though and, not for the first time, Shiro promises himself that if there is a God somewhere, he’s definitely getting punched at one point or another.

“Sorry,” Pidge mutters again before rubbing at her eyes, “it’s just—sometimes I forget there’s a war out there. There’s all this cool tech and all these things to learn and Lance always talks like it’s a movie and I just—I forget, okay? But then someone gets hurt or we’re attacked or I think about my family and I—”

She cuts herself off with a hoarse, frustrated shout, and Shiro’s heart breaks when he realizes she’s already beyond saving. It’s not even a surprise, really, but it doesn’t hurt any less, because Pidge’s childhood is over.

It’d be too dramatic to say Katie Holt is dead, especially when it’s so easy to find her behind that strange Matt costume she built for herself, but she’ll never be the same again. Even if everything stopped now, if they could go back to Earth and forget Zarkon, forget Voltron, forget space altogether and never look at the sky again, the war would follow her home.

There’s nothing Shiro can do about that but try and do some damage control where he can.

“I’m fine,” Pidge protests when Shiro tries to pull her into a hug, “I mean, obviously I’m not, but I can handle it on my own.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” Shiro promises with utmost sincerity, “but the good part about being on a team is that you don’t have to.”

He’s relieved when Pidge accepts a hug the second time around, and not just because he needed one too.

***

“I’m not the only one who thinks it’s kind of sad,” Lance whispers, almost too low to be heard over the quiet swish of a closing door, “right?”

Shiro doesn’t quite get it, at first, but then he takes a look around the room and finally spots Allura on the opposite corner of the recreation room, with ridiculously large headphones and a thick tome of Altean literature in her hands. She’s curled up into a tight ball, every line of her body tense and displaying a very clear ‘don’t talk to me’ vibe, and the sight of it shakes something loose in Shiro’s stomach.

“Pidge said the translators won’t be reading until lunch, at best,” Lance continues, still trying to pretend he’s not staring at Allura out of the corner of his eyes, “I don’t know what I’ll do if she keeps looking like a clam all day. It’s getting ridiculous.”

Ridiculous isn’t exactly the word Shiro would use. They’re roughly halfway through the first half of the day cycle, which means they’d usually be gathered in the rec room to talk about their mornings and the things they’ve been up to until now. Occasionally, Pidge gets a cat nap in those moments, but they’re generally a time filled with innocent conversations and too many voices trying to talk at the same time.

With the translators gone, however….

“D’you think it’ll still be that awkward when the translators come back?”

Shiro blushes a little when Lance catches him staring, but honestly he’s too surprised to care. Out of all the words he’d use to describe Lance, perceptive isn’t exactly at the top of the list. Probably wouldn’t even make it to the top ten, actually. He wouldn’t have thought Lance capable of thinking that far ahead, or at the very least not willing to.

Apparently he was wrong with that. Worse, judging by his lack of reaction, Lance expected him to be.

“I know I’m stupid,” he says with a stiff little shrug, “but even I can tell this is probably not about the book.”

“Probably not,” Shiro agrees.

They used to speak Russian between themselves in the beginning. Mastering the language is a requirement to enter the Garrison, a tradition that dates back to the very first days of humankind in space, and there are things that are easier to say in Russian, or at least more of a reflex, for some...not to mention that, in space, Keith wouldn’t have been allowed to use English at all. It’s easy enough for them to switch from one language to the other between one sentence and the next, and they didn’t think anything of it until the Lions told them they were messing with the translator software.

Now, they can either speak English or leave Coran and Allura in the dust, the only two speakers of their language left in the universe. No one else understands the rise and fall of Altean, the clicking sound of its consonants that sound like a fight in Shiro’s ears, or the shortness of its vowels that might as well not be there. Lance is right: this is probably not about the book.

Which goes to prove….

“You’re not stupid, though,” he tells Lance. Then, before the kid can protest: “You have terrible timing, and you need to sort through your priorities, alright? But someone stupid wouldn’t have noticed that.”

“I—don’t think Pidge would agree with you on that,” Lance manages at last, face red and eyes carefully kept away from Shiro’s.

Well, that one, at least, will be easy to deal with.

“Pidge’s brother was selected for a history-making mission at the tender age of twenty two and she called him an idiot all the time.”

It was all siblings’ teasing, and Shiro really hopes Lance will know better than to try and discuss that with Pidge right now, but he’s still heard Matt complain about it enough to last him for a lifetime, thank you very much. Besides, it’s not good for anyone to use the Holt family as a base for how smart they should be. It’s really just setting oneself up for disappointment.

“Was he?” Lance asks, “Before he—I mean—”

“Yes,” Shiro replies, even though the word hurts a little, stings at his throat and eyes in a way he has yet to get used to, “he is. It’s completely possible to be an idiot and a genius at the same time.”

Lance’s grin is the kind that announces a bad joke in the very near future, but the proverbial bell comes to Shiro’s rescue in the form of Coran, who all but dances into the room and over to Allura, barely waiting until she looks at him before he presents her a translator like it’s a royal crown. He’s babbling about something or another and looking disturbingly serious about it when Lance decides to repeat the words he just said.

Coran and Allura stare at him like he’s just grown a second head for a second, before Coran asks a question with a suspicious raise of his eyebrow. Lance parrots that, too,throwing an imitation of Coran’s stance into the mix, and grinning harder when it only prompts Coran to look even more flustered. By the third time this happens, Coran is about ready to pop a vein, and Shiro would tell Lance to stop if Allura weren’t trying to hide her giggle into her hand.

Pleasantly surprised at the turn of events, Shiro makes a note to praise Lance for it later on, and to pay more attention to the boy’s talents. It’s easy to feel inadequate compared to people like Hunk and Pidge who really know their stuff, and it won’t do to have one or their team members develop an inferiority complex. Besides, apparently Shiro himself could stand to learn not to judge people on one single criteria.

***

“It’s a good thing you finished calibrating the translator this fast, Pidge,” Allura comments while the teams settles down at the lunch table, “we never know what’s going to happen, and being unable to communicate for too long is strategically unsound.”

“Yeah, it’s a good thing Doc knows his way around these things,” Pidge agrees, “it’d have been a lot longer otherwise.”

Shiro, separated from Allura by Coran’s silhouette on his right, can’t clearly see her features, but the pinched silence that follows Pidge’s statement can hardly be interpreted as anything positive. Shiro bites on a sigh and, when the door opens to let the last guest in, he gestures for Doc to sit on the opposite side of the table, one seat removed from Pidge so he won’t take Hunk’s chair. It’s not that he wants to emulate old fashioned ideas about who sits where, precisely. No one realized that’s what was happening until Coran marveled that they’d finally learned to take their proper places at the table.

With the present situation, though, taking that kind of detail into consideration can’t hurt.

“Honestly,” Lance says when it’s clear no one else is going to break the awkward silence, “I think we should do that more often. Coran and I had a super interesting conversation in Altean earlier—”

“You are learning Altean?”

“Oh, yeah,” Lance replies, only glancing at Doc before he turns back to the Alteans of the team: “isn’t that right? It’s like Coran says: ‘Stop being so obnoxious!’”

Shiro’s translator beeps off, the electronic voice an odd addition to Lance’s words, and for a moment everyone looks kind of at a loss for words. Ironically enough, the joke worked much better without the translators, which is a first...Shiro is kind of considering where to go from there, when Pidge says:

“I’m impressed you pronounced that well enough for the machine to get it.”

“And I only heard it once, too,” Lance replies with a noticeable puff of his chest, “I guess I’m a language genius or something.”

“Probably,” Pidge agrees with a little too much enthusiasm to be sincere, “can you say ‘sono un ragazzo infantile’?”

Shiro, who has enough experience with Matt’s use of Italian to dread the worst, half expects Lance to trap himself by trying to keep the joke going. Instead, the kid’s face goes from boastful to offended as he yells:

“¡Hey! ¡No soy infantil!”

“Ma sei un ragazzo?” Pidge replies with the cheekiest grin Shiro has ever seen on anyone.

“Do you understand that?” Coran fake-whispers.

Shiro shakes his head while Pidge and Lance continue their slightly-stilted argument.

“I didn’t know Lance spoke Italian.”

“It’s not Italian, it’s Spanish!” Both Lance and Pidge protest in accidental but somewhat amusing unison.

Hunk comes comes bearing food before anything more can be said, but at least when Shiro glances toward Allura, he finds her a little less tense than before, which he’s willing to take as progress. He goes as far as giving Lance a discreet thumb up, guilt blossoming in his chest when the kid all but glows in response.

The peace, fragile as it may be, lasts until Hunk is done serving everyone and Doc winces as soon as his spoon enters his mouth, all put spitting the thing back into his plate.

“Is the food that bad?” Hunk asks with a puzzled look down at the serving dish, “No one’s complained about the taste so far….”

“Not at all,” Doc explains after a long drag of water, face scrunched up in distaste as he gestures at his spoon: “metal tastes extremely unpleasant to my species, but I assume you do not face the same problem.”

“No, we don’t,” Keith answers with a frown, knuckles oddly white around his own cutlery, “what do you generally use, then?”

“At home, I eat with my fingers, like everyone else. Zarkon uses stone cutlery.”

“Well we’re sorry we don’t have Zarkon’s silverware.”

Allura keeps her voice low enough that Shiro almost misses the words, and by the time he turns to try and catch her gaze she’s already flushing and looking down at the table, Coran’s eyebrows drawn together while he looks at her. It’s a relief to realize neither Doc nor the rest of the Paladins seem to have heard any of that.

It’s still enough to make the Galra arm twitch with the urge to punch the table and tell everyone to start behaving like reasonable adults, thank you very much.

“For a second there I thought I’d poisoned you,” Hunk’s saying by the time Shiro goes back to the conversation, but it makes Doc chuckle:

“Not at all. I’ve always been fond of Altean cuisine.”

“How would you know Altean cuisine?”

This time Allura doesn’t disguise her voice and. Well.

She has plenty of reasons to act the way she does. She’s young, stuck in a terrible situation with little to no adequate support system. She’s lost her family, her planet and any chance at what she’d probably consider a normal life in what felt like the blink of an eye, and she’s been at war with Zarkon’s empire ever since.

She’s seen Zarkon’s soldiers hurt countless of people, kidnap her, injure Lance and Shiro to the point where their survival was not a guarantee. And then, between all of this, she’s also had to listen to countless stories of the Galra army’s cruelty. It’s no wonder she has a hard time moving on...heck, for that matter, so does Shiro!

Really, it’s almost over the top when you look at it: he’s never going to be able to look at anything purple the same way again, his opinions on facial hair have drastically evolved since he was last on earth, and even the language makes him want to run out of the room and crawl into bed...and that’s before you even get to the piece of Galra tech he never wanted but probably wouldn’t have survived without. If there’s anyone on this team other than Coran and Allura who knows what the Galra can do, it’s definitely Shiro.

He’s trying to move past it though! It’s tiring and grueling and sometimes it leaves him shaky and on the edge of collapse but he keeps going because that’s what must be done! And yes, okay, maybe it’ selfish to want others to do the same. Maybe he should just do his job quietly without expecting literal kids to reason like the trained adult he is. He’s probably being unbearably entitled just for thinking this.

He still sort of wants to grab Allura by the shoulders and shake her until she stops thinking with her wounds.

“I was born on Naquod,” Doc explains with a stiff shrug, one claw tapping at the edge of his plate, “it’s hasn’t been economically significant for a long time now, but it is quite close to both Daibazaal and Altea’s former positions. When those two planets were destroyed, the Naquol welcomed Galra and Altean refugees alike.”

It makes sense, really. Whenever there’s a huge displacement of population, there’s always at least one party willing to provide a place to stay, but knowing that doesn’t leave Shiro any less surprised.

Judging by her face, Allura wasn’t expecting that, either.

“You mean we—there are other Alteans alive?”

“I...don’t think it would be fair of me to say yes, Princess,” Doc replies, picking his words with undisguised caution, “it has been several thousands of years since the Migration, and things have had quite the time to change. There are Naquodi of Altean heritage, but your people as you know it is well and truly lost.”

“Why would Naquod take refugees from both planets?” Lance asks with a frown, “Wouldn’t it put them at risk of a civil war?”

The rest of the table stares at him.

“What? I’m Cuban! You think we don’t learn what civil wars are like in school?”

Shiro mostly thinks the lot of them need to stop underestimating Lance, but that’s neither here nor there.

“I don’t think that would have been the refugees’ first idea,” he points out, “no matter what destroyed Daibazaal, the Galra who landed on Naquod would have just lost their planet, their roots, their homes—”

“There was that,” Doc agrees, “all the histories I’ve heard say the mourning ceremonies lasted for at least ten years...and besides, the Naquol hid the Alteans. Our two people didn’t make unsupervised contact until about three thousand years ago, when the Altean Naquodi started venturing to the surface more often.”

“You mean the Naquol kept these people hidden for seven thousand years? Why?”

“Zarkon, of course,” Doc shrugs. “My knowledge of other planets’ is widely informed by his school and therefore untrustworthy, but there are numerous accounts of Daibazeel assaults on Naquodi settlements, especially in the early centuries. They were looking for Alteans.”

“What for?” Hunk asks, but it kind of looks like he’s already figured the answer out.

“Extermination. I don’t know why the Alteans didn’t fight back—”

“There were outnumbered,” Allura scoffs, fists so tight Shiro can almost pretend he sees the blood recede from her fingertips, “Zarkon had just destroyed their planet.”

“Yes, our histories agree with you there. They do also state that an Altean fleet destroyed Daibazaal first, though.”

“That was different!”

The silence that follows presses against Shiro’s ears until they start whistling, heavy and harsh against his ribs. Across the table, Pidge, Hunk and Lance stare between Coran and Allura with identical gaping mouth, and Keith’s fingers cling to Shiro’s wrist tight enough to hurt.

None of that holds a candle to the burning shine of Allura’s eyes as she glares daggers at Doc, half raised out of her chair as if to jump at the Galra’s throat. She’s shivering too, and Shiro can see her shoulders rise and fall with each of her heavy breaths, but before he can make a move to try and deescalate the situation, Coran says:

“From your father’s perspective, maybe. I am not sure the Galras would have been quite so ready to agree.”

Allura, when she falls back into her seat, looks like a distressed rag doll. The room has fallen silent enough that Shiro wouldn’t even be surprised to hear a pin drop, and even Doc looks kind of uncomfortable with the sudden shift of events.

To Shiro’s right, Coran stares straight though Lance at something long gone. There are lines around his mouth Shiro never noticed before, and when he blinks back to the present and tilts his head forward, the usual extravagance of his demeanor vanishes under the weight of age.

“I believe it is time we had a conversation about this war and how it started,” Coran says. He follows it with a sigh and concludes: “We should have talked about this a long time ago, but I was not ready to face that particular disaster, and I used your inexperience as an excuse to indulge my sensitivity and pride...for that, I am sorry.”

Shiro kicks Keith in the ankle before he can voice what looks like a rather annoyed recrimination. They can argue about the past later, if they ever have that kind of time and energy to waste. Right now, though, Shiro agrees with Coran. It’s high time they learned how this mess started.

Before he can start talking, though, Allura turns to Doc and tells him:

“I think we would rather have this conversation in private.”

“No.”

Coran pauses to make sure no one moves but honestly, it’s entirely superfluous. He’s discussed some of Allura’s orders in the past, yes, but he’s never disobeyed them, let alone encourage someone to do the same. It’s more than enough to keep the Paladins riveted to their seats and their mouths shut.

“Doc trusted us with the existence of Altean survivors which, considering Zarkon’s genocidal intentions, would put them and any who allies with them in great danger. It seems natural to trust him with this...Zarkon knows what happened then better than I do, anyway.”

Allura’s wide, wide eyes turn to Shiro as if to ask for help understanding what’s going on, and he can’t do anything but offer a helpless shrug. He’d love to help here, yes, but he’s not responsible for Coran’s abrupt change in attitude, and he does want to know what’s going on. Besides, if Zarkon was at the heart of it from the beginning, there really is no reason to keep any of what they know a secret from a spy who’s been working against him for longer than he’s been in his army.

“Zarkon was the first Black Paladin of Voltron,” Coran tells Doc with a somber air.

The Galra takes the news with more stoicism than Shiro and the rest of the team first displayed, but then again he did spend who knows how long surrounded by faithful followers of Zarkon. He’s got some practice in controlling his face.

“He was already king of Daibazaal when Prince Alfor visited him as an envoy for his mother, Queen Aleen. I hadn’t entered royal service yet, and King Alfor never shared the details of their acquaintance with me, but I do know that it did not take long before their relationship progressed beyond professional necessity. Together, they forged solid bonds of diplomatic collaboration between Daibazaal and Altea before they moved on to negotiating treaties with other neighboring planets...three rulers in particular proved to be most cooperative, and rapidly became King Alfor and Zarkon’s friends.”

“Who were these people?”

Pidge’s leaning forward on the table, eyebrows drawn together like she’s afraid Coran will stop talking if they stop paying sufficient attention. That would be disastrous, both from a strategical standpoint and with regard to their still-tenuous team spirit, but Shiro almost wishes he would. After all, they already know the end of the story.

They know nothing good is coming.

“Gyrgan, Grand Councilman of Rygnirath,” Coran recites, eyes closing as he speaks, “Elected Princess Trigel of the Dalterion Belt, and—”

“Blaytz the Giant.”

Doc flinches a little when they all turn to look at him, but Shiro suspects him of doing that on purpose, to put them at ease.

“He’s a prominent part of our pantheon,” he explains with the slightest shrug. “According to our founding myth, the Galras were stolen from the mother planet by a fleet of creatures dressed in white. Blaytz saw this and gathered them all in sea foam. He brought them to Nalquod, plucked asteroids from the sky to make them habitable lands, and told them they were were free to stay on the planet until it adopted them. That’s what Naquodi means: the adopted people.”

“Well, ‘giant’ isn’t exactly the word I’d use to describe Blaytz, although he was rather tall even for a Naquol,” Coran says with a nostalgic chuckle, “but Naquol ships relied on magic more than achievable science to make their way through space, and one of their more remarkable features was the spherical, transparent force fields that made them look like giant bubbles. And of course, knowing him, he would have enjoyed the idea of being mistaken for a trickster god immensely.”

Coran, Shiro’s sure, doesn’t mean for them to see the wistful smile that settles on his face at the memory, but it’s impossible to miss nonetheless. It’s a sharp reminder that they know almost nothing about him, except that he is deeply devoted to Allura.

The rest of his life up until the Paladins eventually woke him up in the Castle of Lions is a complete mystery.

“Did you know him well?” Hunk asks, then blinks when Coran chuckles.

“I did, yes. I dare say I knew him better than I ever had time to know King Alfor. Blaytz got me a post in the palace, but I didn’t enter the King’s personal service for several years after that. Ah, the things that can happen when the right people think you’re funny.”

Coran’s face in that moment kind of reminds Shiro of his older instructors at the Garrison, the ones who’ve been doing this job long enough that they’ve lost all reserve about sharing their most outrageous pranks with the cadets. There’s always a certain sense of nostalgia hovering somewhere around their lips when they do.

Generally speaking, it does to them the same thing it’s currently doing for Coran: it makes them look more human. Or, well. More like a real person.

“Anyway, enough about me.”

“Yeah, let’s get talking about Voltron!” Lance exclaims, and grunts when Pidge knocks him in the ribs.

“It didn’t start with Voltron,” Coran corrects, “it started with a comet. It crashed on Daibazaal a couple of years before Princess Allura’s birth. No one had ever seen the metal that composed it, so when Zarkon declared his scientists too busy trying to save an already dying Daibazaal to study this new phenomenon, King Alfor reacted in true alchemist fashion and more or less begged Zarkon to let him dispatch a team to Daibazaal.”

“My father didn’t beg,” Allura protests—softly, yes, but with no less feeling for it.

“These are the words your father used when he told shared this story with me, Princess,” Coran tells her in a gentle voice, “‘A metal no one’s ever seen before and a dimensional disruption in one place!’ he said, ‘of course I begged Zarkon to let me study it’.”

“Alright, let’s pause,” Lance interrupts with furrowed eyebrows, “what’s a dimensional disruption?”

“I must admit an explanation would be useful to me, too,” Doc adds.

Truthfully, Shiro could use one as well. He’s fairly sure Matt’s explained something like that before, but it’s been a while and a lot of things happened since then. A little refreshing can’t hurt.

“We have a similar theory on Earth,” Pidge says before Coran can reply, “though we haven’t managed to confirm it for ourselves yet. Anyway, the idea is that the reality we live in isn’t the only one; that there is an infinity of realities coexisting next to one another without ever meeting.”

“What, you mean like parallel universes?”

“Yes, Lance, exactly like that.”

Sometimes, when Pidge starts explaining science to the others, she sounds so much like her brother Shiro wonders how anyone at the Garrison could possibly miss the relation. Evidently, Earth needs to strengthen its defenses if it wants to stand a chance against aliens.

“Isn’t the keyword in this theory ‘parallel’ though?” Keith asks from his spot next to Shiro. “How does a comet crashing punch a hole between two of them? Because if all we gotta do is dig, the universe had better start worrying.”

“Things aren’t quite that simple,” Allura says, rubbing at her temples with the tip of her fingers, “from what Pidge told me, your earth scientists discount magic in their research, right?”

“Discount magic?” Doc says with an air of deep puzzlement, “How does anyone discount magic?”

For the first time since they met the Galra, Coran and Allura seem to share a certain feeling of commiseration with him. Shiro isn’t sure how he should take the fact that they’re bonding over what seems to be a sizable amount of disappointment with Earth’s techniques.

“It is a rather foolish endeavor,” Coran agrees, “but most civilizations go through that phase in their primitive stages. To be fair,” he adds when he realizes the Terrans in the room aren’t too pleased with his assessment of their planet, “magic couldn’t fully explain what the comet was or how exactly it created the Rift. It did, however, allow King Alfor’s lead scientist, Honerva, to come up with a new source of fuel which King Alfor later used to power the vessels he’d built with the comet’s metal.”

“The Lions.”

“Yes, Hunk,” Coran confirms, “the Lions were, indeed, built with the metal found in that comet, and powered with the quintessence Head Researcher Honerva found in the Rift.”

Allura, when Shiro looks at her, looks small and wide-eyed, like a child in a crisis too big for them to grasp. She knew that Zarkon was Black’s first Paladin, she made that clear enough, but if her reaction is anything to go by, she wasn’t privy to all the details until now.

Shiro, selfishly enough, is kind of glad he isn’t in her shoes.

“Alright, so there was a big dimensional hole in the middle of Daibazaal, and Alfor made a bunch of kinda magic robots,” Hunk sums up with slightly more efficiency than eloquence, “I still don’t see how that equals conquering the entire universe and trying to wipe an entire planet’s worth of species out of existence.”

“You heard Coran,” Pidge says with a displeased twist to her mouth, “Daibazaal was already dying before the comet crashed there. The impact itself won’t have helped the planet’s structural integrity—”

“But the gravity variations surrounding a dimensional distortions would only have accelerated the process,” Hunk realizes with a gasp of horror.

“So, wait,” Shiro asks, “is this what caused Daibazaal’s destruction? The Rift compromised the integrity of that planet so much it couldn’t hold it?”

“But then it wouldn’t make sense for Zarkon to go to war over it,” Lance points out. “The planet was already dying, anyway. And even if the Rift made it faster, he couldn’t blame Alfor for the comet falling there, right?”

“But that reasoning is only valid if the Rift really was the reason Daibazaal exploded,” Doc remarks. “Altean Naquodi tell stories about a great Abyss poised to engulf the galaxy, and a fleet of heroes setting out to close it.”

“You know Altean legends?” Allura asks, visibly too exhausted to put much energy into the question, “How?”

“My great grandfather was one of them.”

The room erupts in a cacophony of protests, ranging from from ‘your species were from different planets’ to ‘do you really expect us to believe that’, and for a second there Shiro has to resist the urge to just get up and leave the room. He doesn’t of course, that would be completely irresponsible, but he does think about it, and wishes Matt were here to share a Look with him over all of this.

In the end, the responsible thing to do wins out, and he ends up getting to his feet to shout at everyone to stop.

“We all need to know what went down, and we need to hear it now, not in three weeks,” he reminds the crew with the sternest voice he can muster, “so everyone sit on your debates and let Coran finish.”

For a moment there, he’s afraid people are just going to keep staring at him and forget the important thing again. Fortunately, Coran is quick to recover once Shiro sits down, and he ventures:

“There’s… actually not much left to tell? The Naquodi stories, while they obviously took on some legendary qualities as time went on, align with what King Alfor told me. According to him, something did come out of the Rift, but Zarkon and Honerva refused to close it, even when the planet’s integrity was compromised beyond repair. Even after the creatures came back, Zarkon tried to trick the other Paladins into keeping the Rift open. In the end, he and Honerva fell in and perished. King Alfor ordered an emergency evacuation of Daibazaal, which the population was neither prepared for nor warned about. According to Princess Trigel, some of them had to be dragged out of their home by force.”

“Well that certainly explains why Doc’s people think the Galra were stolen from their planet,” Keith mutters, “what was Zarkon thinking?”

“Evidently, nothing good,” Allura states, steadier than she’s been so far but harder, too.

It’s not necessarily a reassuring sight, but Shiro can’t exactly find it in himself to disagree, not when Doc himself doesn’t have anything to say against it. It’s hard to form a definite judgment, of course: Coran’s story isn’t nearly complete or exhaustive enough to allow for that, but it does give the beginning of an explanation as to why the Galras agreed to follow Zarkon’s quest for Altean blood.

Earth, after all, has seen genocides that started for reasons far smaller than the seemingly-arbitrary destruction of a planet.

“As for his death, as you can imagine, it was only faked. My father and the other Paladins organized official funerals for Zarkon and Honerva, but when Councilman Gyrgan’s retinue went to retrieve their bodies, they were gone.”

“And yet,” Coran says in a subdued tone, the fingers of his left hand twirling at his mustache, “your father personally confirmed their deaths, and with magic to boot. If they faked their demise, they used magic techniques I’d never heard of before...if anything, if that was all part of their plans to go on and destroy Altea, they missed a great opportunity by leaving before their funerals.”

“Oooh, yeah!” Lance exclaims with a hearty chuckle, “can you imagine that? Suddenly, the king’s back from the dead! He could have just pretended to be a god or something and wham, people would have just flocked to his side to do his bidding.”

“This is no laughing matter, Lance!” Allura protests, “Zarkon attacked Altea three days after his supposed death—our people barely had time to flee! Do you have any idea how horrified we all were?”

Lance blanches, then flushes, and he stammers around apologies he doesn’t quite seem to know how to form. He didn’t mean anything by it, Shiro is sure, but he does need to learn how to think before he speaks. He can’t just go around putting his foot in his mouth like that all the time.

“Okay, Lance is a dunce,” Keith sighs in a familiar ‘duh’ tone, “but he’s got a point. Pretending to come back to life during his funerals would have been a great way to get people to do what he said and believe in him.”

“You are not seriously suggesting we assume he was genuinely killed then resurrected?” Doc asks, medical indignation written in all the lines of his body, “not even magic can do that. There has to be a rational explanation.”

“Well,” Shiro says, shrugging to soften the blow, “we do have a thing on Earth called Lazarus syndrome. I don’t remember the medical reasons behind it, but the main thing about it is that the victims of it appear dead even after extended testing, and then they ‘come back’ after a while. Zarkon and Honerva could have gone through the Galra equivalent of that.”

“Besides,” Pidge points out with a pained-looking cringe, “Zarkon has apparently managed to survive for ten thousands of Altean years. Unless you tell me that’s a normal life cycle for a Galra, it makes resurrection a lot more plausible than it normally would.”

For once, Shiro doesn’t have any reservation about joining in the collective groan of despair. As if their situation wasn’t bad enough! First they were a ragtag team faced with an army powerful enough to get the universe on lock down, then it turned out the enemy was the former Black Paladin, and now the guy is immortal as well as eternal? What the heck is wrong with their collective luck, seriously?

Really, though, having hope until now was hard enough as it was. It’s been an uphill battle for the start for Shiro. Yeah, okay, the kids have been doing pretty good, all things considered, but they’re just that: kids. They may not all have had the easiest life, but while losing family members hurts like nothing else, it’s still not adequate preparation for war, let alone in these conditions!

The weight of realization sinks into Shiro’s shoulders faster than he thought possible, drags him down toward the table, and the only thing preventing him from face planting right into the metal is the Galra hand that slots itself under his forehead, the metal surprisingly cool against his skin.

Around him, the room falls silent. He glances at the other side of the table under the fingers. At Pidge and the subtle shiver of her lips. At Hunk and the way he sways from one side to the other. At Lance, and the open mouthed gap of shock on his face.

Right, no. He can’t collapse. Not here, not now. If he needs to sit down and have a good cry, he’s going to have to wait until he’s alone for that because right now, his team is counting on its commanding officer to lead the way, and he’s not about to drag them down to the ground with him.

“Well, this is wasn’t nearly as encouraging as I’d hoped,” he says, knowing better than to try and pretend he’s alright after that poorly thought-out display of weakness, “and I really hope we get better news next time, but at least now we’re better prepared.”

“Really?” Hunk squeaks, “Because from where I’m standing all of this just sounded like one terrible piece of news after another.”

“We know how the war started. We know Zarkon was obsessed with the Dimensional Rift, and that it’s where he got the formula for his fuel from.” Shiro releases a breath for a while, relieved to realize exactly how useful Coran’s story might prove to be in the long run, “We know the Lions have only been in effective use for, what, nineteen, twenty years?”

“Twenty-one,” Coran supplies, his relief and hopefulness mirrored on the others’ faces.

“Twenty one years,” Shiro repeats. “It’s nothing. Completely insignificant compared to how long they’ve existed, and they’re magical semi-sentient robots. They may have evolved in all that time. Even if they haven’t, they may well have powers Zarkon isn’t aware of.”

“And if he doesn’t know about them, he won’t know how to counter them!” Keith grins beside him.

“Which means we’ll have an advantage over him!” Lance continues.

“We also know Honerva might still be alive,” Pidge adds with a wide grin, “maybe she can help us—”

“Honerva was Zarkon’s wife,” Coran cautions, “If she’s still alive, she might very well still be helping him.”

“If that’s the case, we know we can cripple Zarkon’s machine by taking her out,” Shiro counters, “that’s not something to be forgotten about.”

“We might also have the beginning of an explanation for Zarkon’s lifespan.”

Shiro, like the others, turns to stare at Doc like he’s grown a second head, but he barely even has to run a hand over his mostly-shaved skull before he takes it all in stride. If Shiro’s being honest, he’s more than a little envious about that.

“I told you earlier that I had Altean blood,” Doc explains with a little frown, “I understand your instinctive denial. It makes little sense for species coming from different planet to be reproductively compatible, especially when Altean Naquodi have adapted to their life underwater, but it is no less a reality, and more and more of our children have mixed ancestry with every cycle that passes. In fact, in my experience, Galras can reproduce with just about anything.”

“What do you mean, anything?” Shiro asks, trying to give himself time to process the news more than anything else, “How broad a range of species does that encompass?”

“Any species whose babies could conceivably fit inside a Galra’s body. So long as the mother is Galra, everything takes...and by everything I mean I once helped a Galra soldier give birth to a green octopus.”

“I’d never heard Galras were capable of that,” Coran remarks.

Judging by her expression, neither had Allura, but then that might just be a consequence of Alteans’ approach to sex and reproduction. It’s not like Shiro knows about these things, after all.

“Well that’s the thing,” Doc replies, one claw tapping at the edge of his plate, “I do not believe it to be a normal evolutionary quality. As you pointed out, it makes no scientific sense for a species to be somehow able to produce offspring with any and all occupant of the universe, let alone for said offspring to be just as capable of reproduction….”

“So you think it’s magic,” Hunk deduces, far calmer than Shiro would have expected him to be, “right?”

“Yes. I’m not a druid,” Doc continues with a tight pinch to his lips, “which is why I could never fully confirm this theory on my own, but if what Coran said about Daibazaal’s Rift is exact, and if it is indeed the source of Zarkon’s life span, then it is possible that its presence on the planet may have affected the Galras in deeper ways than anyone realized.”

“Okay but no one’s got proof for that, do they?” Lance points out, “I mean, isn’t proof supposed to be the basis of science or something?”

“Yeah but you gotta have a theory first, before you can prove it,” Hunk replies with a shrug, “so now we think that’s what might have happened, we can try and look for proof.”

“Where?” Allura cuts in with a sharp tone, “None of this sounds...entirely implausible...but we can’t exactly ask Zarkon about it can we?”

“But Zarkon isn’t the only Galra in the universe,” Shiro mutters, more to himself than anything else, “Coran, do you know where the rest of Daibazaal’s refugees were taken? Maybe they’ll have some kind of record we could get our hands on, see if they reveal anything interesting.”

Keith stiffens on Shiro’s left, a palpable aura of tension shrouding him in a way that makes Shiro’s hair stand up at the back of his neck. He makes a note to ask Keith about this at some point, see if he can understand where this sudden sensitivity to the Galras came from, but for now he pretends he hasn’t noticed. They’ve all got their hang ups, but they can’t afford to let them interfere with their mission, not matter what.

No matter how much it may cost them.

“As far as I know the refugees were taken in by the Paladins at first,” Coran states, vivacity coming back to him and making him look like the slightly bizarre man Shiro’s grown used to. “I have no doubt there will still be a number of Galra colonies in the Deltarion Belt... Rygnirath, on the other hand, may have sought to dispatch their charges to other systems, and there’s no telling what would happen to them or their records after that.”

“At least now we know to look for them,” Pidge says with a strained smile, “on top of all the other things we need to do and look for.”

Shiro, fully aware that she’s most likely thinking about Matt right now, sends her a sympathetic look. She doesn’t look like she buys it, exactly, but how could Shiro blame her? Just because he has to put his personal quests aside to make sure the team’s needs are still met doesn’t mean she’s forced to do the same.

It’s not like Shiro himself doesn’t wish he could just drop everything and go looking for Sam and Matt, after all.

“It’ll be slow work,” Coran tells them after a beat, “we don’t want to clue Zarkon in on our intentions, and if the Blade of Marmora is as efficient as Doc seems to believe we’ll have to rely on them to take any sort of of decisive action...but I do believe we may have the beginning of a plan to defeat him and dismantle his empire.”

“And we all know what that means, right?” Lance exclaims with a wide grin and something that comes pretty close to a clap, “right?”

“Lance—”

“IT’S PARTY TIME!” Lance yells before Hunk can finish his sentence, grabbing at the other kid’s arm and tugging him to his feet, “Come on, we’ve only got ‘til dinner to get it all ready, get a’cooking man!”

“You’ve still got chores to do!” Keith protests, but Coran’s laughter cuts him off before he can really get launched on his tirade.

“Let them be, Number Four, we may have figured out how to take Zarkon’s empire down. It is a cause for celebration.”

“But we still don’t know how to get rid of Zarkon himself!”

“We’ll have to do both anyway, won’t we?”

Pidge’s eyes are on the table when Shiro looks at her, but she doesn’t sound scared so much as weary in advance, and he finds himself echoing the sentiment with surprising intensity. They’re going to try and dismantle an empire that spans the entire known universe with eight people and more bravado than anything else...who wouldn’t be tired just thinking of it?

“I’ve felt it coming for a while,” Pidge continues, “I mean...it makes sense, right? It’s not like Galra soldiers are going to drop down on the spot when we kill Zarkon.”

“Pidge is right,” Doc agrees with a look at Coran, “you encourage them to celebrate, but they do not seem to realize the enormity of the task they have ahead of them. They react like children, and you do not discipline them for it.”

“That,” Coran says with a tired, sad smile, “would be because they are children. Puzzling things in any species, I agree, but there is something to be said about letting them act their age once in a while.”

“...The fate of the entire universe rests on the shoulders of a bunch of untrained children?”

Well. To Doc’s credit, he’s taking it with a lot more composure than Shiro would be able to muster in his position.

“We’re not children,” Keith tells the Galra, but there’s no heat behind it, “and we’ll learn. Unless you’ve got someone better to suggest as Paladins….”

No one takes him up on the challenge, but Shiro doesn’t miss the way Coran seems to jolt a little at the words, or Doc’s sharp glance at Allura. He’s pretty sure what that glance means, too. He’s been wondering about the selection process for Paladins ever since Allura assigned him to the Black Lion, and finding out about Zarkon’s history with the giant bot didn’t exactly help either.

There’s nothing to do about that right now though. If they meet someone who’s clearly better suited than them as a Paladin, they’ll do what they have to do. In the meantime, asking too many questions can be just as bad as asking too few, and Shiro has no desire to get on that path.

“In any case,” Coran concludes, a little too low to be sure he meant for Shiro and the others to hear, “none of them will be children by the time all of this is finished.”

He visibly shakes himself before declaring it time for a break, and Shiro has to agree. The past week has been even more exhausting than usual anyway, and today’s conversation may have been long overdue but that didn’t make it any less of a grueling process, intellectually and emotionally. Even Coran wasn’t left unaffected: he sits up straight, still, but his face is drawn and his shoulders sag, like he’s forgotten how to lift them up somehow.

Shiro himself would kill for a nap right about now but, barring that, he does need the war talk to stop for a while. It’s not like they can go hop around Galra colonies before they figure out how Zarkon tracked them to Doc’s base anyway, and even then it’s certainly not going to be a one day trip. Might as well rest get some rest while it’s still possible.

The others must have reached the same, independent conclusion, because Doc rises to his feet with a sigh and asks for directions to the library.

“The scrolls on thermoreactive Nidhesti camouflage were interesting,” he says with a slight smirk, “but I’m curious to see if the Altean texts will yield anything about medicine.”

He leaves the room at a sedate pace and, after a few seconds and some noise about wanting to use the training room, Keith follows him out of the door. For a moment there, Pidge looks like she’s going to stick around and try to continue the discussion, but her mouth falls shut with a little click, and she sighs.

“Well, there’s nothing much we can do just now,” she says with the tone of someone who’s trying to convince herself more than others, “I think I’m gonna go fiddle with the computers.”

It’s probably code for going over what little they have on Matt’s whereabouts once again, and Shiro wishes she could find something else to busy her mind with, but he doesn’t dissuade her. Anything’s better than aimless brooding, after all.

Coran is the next one to get up, back ramrod straight despite the clear signs of fatigue in his expression. Shiro expects him to just go do whatever it is he does in this free time, but instead the man gives him a solemn look, clicks his heels in front of Shiro, and bows deep enough to show off the top of his head.

“Please accept my renewed apologies for failing to discuss this matter with you any sooner,” Coran tells Shiro with stiff resignation. “We have no way to measure the time my neglect cost us, but—”

“Coran, please,” Allura cuts in, more anguish on her face than Shiro remembers seeing before, “stop. You kept quiet on my orders.”

A look of deep unease passes over Coran’s features, something sad weighed at the corner of his eyes, but he doesn’t protest. He turns to Allura instead, letting her know he’ll be in command central running a couple of routine maintenance protocols before he leaves without any of his usual flourishes.

Shiro resists the urge to ask for all of a few seconds before he caves in.

“You told him to keep all of that from us?”

“I was hoping to protect you from this mess,” Allura says, the tone of her voice indicating she’s fully aware she’s already used that argument. “How naive of me, wasn't it? I’ll send children to war but I won’t tell them friendships can break. What a magnificent leader I make.”

“It’s okay, Allura, you—”

“How can you tell me it’s okay?” Allura protests, pushing away from the table in a painful scrape of chair against the floor. “I’m the one who chose you! I threw you at the Lions, I pushed you all through entirely inappropriate training exercises…I’ve asked you all to put your lives on the line again and again without consideration for your ages, your lack of experience, or your legitimate wishes to get back to your planet and your families! Again and again, I ask you to sacrifice everything for a cause that wasn’t even yours—”

“Zarkon conquered most of the known universe,” Shiro points out, using Allura’s words from that fateful first day right back at her, “sooner or later he’d have stumbled on Earth and we’d have been involved in all this whether you were with us or not. Fighting with Voltron is hardly a walk in the park, but I assure you we’re far safer here than we would be if Galra forces suddenly invaded our homes.”

“Even so,” Allura counters, clearly unconvinced, “if not for me, you would all be with your families.”

“Not me,” Shiro point out, getting to his feet so he can stand in front of Allura and get his point across more easily, “If it hadn’t been for the Blue Lion and your help I’d be back on a Galra ship right now. I don’t remember a lot from my first time there but it’s enough to know I’m better off here. Pidge would be no closer to finding Matt and Sam.”

Shiro has to bite on a sigh when Allura looks up at him like she’s five and hurt and hoping for a magic band-aid. She may be worried about the children she sent to war, but she’s not that much older herself, and it’s not like she’s spared her own efforts.

“Look, I’m not going to pretend the situation isn’t terrible,” Shiro tells her with the serious, honest tone he’s found works best when he’s trying to comfort someone, “and it’s true you messed up in the beginning, but that happens to everybody. You had no resources, no support, no way of knowing what was going to happen and not only did you get all the Lions back, you got us out of there alive and with enough team spirit to form Voltron. You did great.”

“They’re too young to fight a war,” Allura sighs after a beat of silence.

Shiro smiles and squeezes her shoulder, relieved to see it eases something in her expression. She’s not settled by any stretch of the imagination, not yet at least, but she’s definitely calmer than she was a minute ago. At this point, Shiro is literally ready to accept any kind of progress.

“You’re too young to be a commander in a war,” he tells the princess, “none of this is fair for anyone, least of all you, but you’re still doing great.”

“I’m just doing my best,” Allura mutters, cheeks darkening with a flush.

Shiro’s laughter catches him by surprise, but he’s certainly not about to complain about it.

“If it makes you feel better, this is exactly what I’m doing. We’re all doing the best we can with what we have.”

Allura’s eyes close and hear breathing hitches a little, but then her shoulder unwinds under Shiro’s fingers, and the smile she gives him is wobbly but sincere.

“Thank you for your support.”

“It’s only normal,” Shiro replies with a little shrug, “what kind of captain would I be if my team couldn’t rely on me?”

“You’re right,” Allura agrees, though the beat that passes before she speaks leaves Shiro a little perplexed, “but I wasn’t only talking about just now. I know you disapprove of my attitude toward the Galra spy.”

She gives a bitter smile while Shiro tries to figure out what to do with his face. On the one hand he doesn’t want to use the same blank face he’s served to the handful of truly insufferable officers in the Garrison. On the other, he’s not sure he wants to let his feelings on the matter be too obvious just now.

“I know you want us to get along,” Allura adds, sitting back down with a sigh, “but I fear you may never have your wish. His people destroyed my planet.”

“His ancestors did that.”

“Where’s the difference?” Allura asks, without heat this time.

In fact, she mostly just sounds as tired as Shiro feels, and he’s not as graceful as he could be when he sits down in the chair next to her and asks:

“Did you have countries on Altea?”

“Countries?” Allura repeats, the English word a little clipped in her mouth, “the translator isn’t working.”

“They’re like...a surface of land with a certain name where people live. Sometimes they’ve got different languages and flags. Sometimes they go to war with one another.”

“Oh—yes. Yes, we had those. Why do you ask?”

“A little over three centuries ago, Keith’s country and mine were at war. Keith’s country sent bombs to mine—the most powerful weapon the Earth had ever seen. It scared people so much, no one’s used it again since. They killed many of my ancestors that day. At the same time, Keith’s country also rounded up some of its citizens and kept them in prisoners camps because they or their families had once come from my country. Do you think I should blame Keith for that?”

“I—why would anyone do that?” Allura asks, obviously disturbed by the very idea, but Shiro doesn’t allow himself to fall for the change of topic.

“Do you think I should blame Keith for what his ancestors did?”

Allura lowers her eyes. There’s no doubt she knows exactly what Shiro is getting at, but anger and fear and resentment are hard things to let go of, especially when one’s used them as reasons to keep going for a while now. Shiro doesn’t want to presume too much of Allura’s motives, but then he does notice she doesn’t answer his question.

“Around the same time period,” he adds, softening his voice to show he’s trying to educate rather than blame, “my country invaded several of its neighbors. People were massacred, kept under my ancestors’ domination, and mistreated for any sign of dissent. Do you think I should be blamed for that?”

He nearly misses it when Allura shakes her head, but what matters is the gesture, not its scope.

Honestly, Shiro doesn’t even blame her. Maybe he’s just biased, but he can’t bring himself to resent someone who was most likely trying to make sense of the world in a way that allowed her to move forward… and things always seem to make more sense when they’re clear cut.

Besides, it’s not even like Shiro doesn’t wish things truly were that simple, sometimes. His life would certainly give him less migraines if he could just know to shoot every Galra he comes across and know he’d made the right choice, at any rate. It’s never been how life worked, though, and trying to pretend it is only leads to people getting hurt for no good reason.

“I get it,” he tells Allura, because there’s really no denying that, “I really do. But people are complicated, and unpredictable. If we start assuming we know them based on what species they are, we’re no better than Zarkon. So you and I, we need to learn to look a Galra in the eye and see who they are beyond the shadow of those who hurt us.”

Allura sighs and runs her hands over her face before he manages a shaky:

“You’re right. If I’m going to advocate for unity and freedom, I cannot turn around and point fingers at an entire species...or at the very least, I cannot do that and refuse to be judged by the same token.”

“What do you mean?”

“Honerva.”

Ah. Yes, that makes sense. They have no indication that she’s still alive, let alone where she is if that’s the case, but she did marry Zarkon and appear to follow him in the beginning of his crusade. If she’s still by his side, that makes her complicit not only in the attempted eradication of the Altean species, but also in the oppression of a solid nine tenths of the known universe, the destruction of at least one planet, and mass incarceration and slave trade on a scale too vast for the human brain to process. Should Allura be judged on that basis, she wouldn’t last five minute in any corner of space.

“Well, the good news is, if she’s helping Zarkon, you definitely have the moral high ground.”

Allura’s giggle is out of the ordinary, but it is no less welcome for the way it devolves into nervous, perhaps slightly hysterical laughter. Their position still isn’t ideal by any stretch of the imagination, but it’s mostly okay.

They’ll just have to do their best.

[junker-town]

50 miles by foot: The training diary of long-distance runner

Behind every big goal is a series of smaller steps. How one runner plans to exceed his limitations and reach his potential.

I run a lot. When I’m not running I’m usually planning my next run, or thinking about ways to maximize recovery. My strength and stretching routines are tailored around running, and so is my nutrition and sleep pattern. I’m fortunate that my boss affords me a considerable amount of flexibility to get my workouts in, which I don’t take for granted. When he suggested I publish a training diary I was ecstatic — what better thing to write about than that which you love the most?

I was also a little apprehensive because running has always been a solitary pursuit for me. I don’t post my runs on Strava, I rarely run with other people, and my idea of a perfect running day is four hours of splendid isolation deep in the woods. I’ve kept a training diary for years, but it was never intended to be read by anyone else. Offering up my passion for public consumption is like inviting you all to peek inside my brain.

Still, I couldn’t let this opportunity pass. My aim with this diary is to share a bit of the knowledge I’ve accumulated over the years, and provide some inspiration whether you care about running or not. This exercise will also hold me accountable as I pursue a number of ambitious goals. My plan is to run my first 50-miler this fall, along with a pair of 50Ks in April and June.

Obviously, I want to be at my best on race days, but my real training goal for 2020 is to reach my physical peak and come to terms with my mid-40s body. I don’t know what that will look like in the mirror or how it will manifest itself in terms of race performance, but I’m not after vanity or validation. I’m not even sure what reaching my physical peak even means at age 45, but I figure I’ll find out when I get there provided I train with a purposeful focus.

After I stopped running competitively in high school, one of my greatest regrets was wasting my prime running years. From the time I got out of college to my late 30s I rarely had any kind of goals or aspirations regarding fitness, other than the thought that I should get myself back into shape from time to time.

I had a number of breakthroughs when I resumed training in 2013, but I was never able to run a sub 3-hour marathon or qualify for Boston. Maybe I could have broken 18 minutes in a 5K like I did in high school or run a half marathon in the 80s. I believe I had that potential and I’m absolutely certain that I squandered it.

I made tenuous peace with that regret when I started trail running in the fall of 2017. If road running is all about pacing and splits, trail running requires patience, technical skill, and consistent effort rather than raw speed. An 11-minute mile over rocky terrain is completely different than a 6-minute mile on flat asphalt. (Not better, mind you, just different.)

With three 50Ks, a mountain marathon and a couple of halfs in my ultra signup profile, I now have a baseline for trail running performance. I’m competitive in my races, but I’m learning to let go of time and place. My true competition is only with myself and I know of no harsher critic. I want to be able to look in the mirror at the end of this racing season and honestly say that I gave my best effort. That’s the goal.

That’s easier said than done because one of the most essential lessons of training into your 40s is accepting your body as it is, not what it was. I’m a little bit slower than I used to be, things hurt just a little bit more than they used to, and for longer. Accepting yourself and letting go of your ego in that manner is liberating. It’s also terrifying.

After I returned from the NBA Finals last June, I was confronted with a few harsh realities. I put on more weight than usual during the playoffs and it wasn’t as easy to lose as it had been in the past. The more I pushed to get back into shape, the more I put my body at risk.

Aches and pains are a way of life for runners, but the stress was threatening to overload my system. I experienced knee soreness, lower back stiffness, and a weird ache in my left shoulder that I haven’t been able to resolve. All of that was extremely frustrating, but it forced me to reevaluate my approach to training.

For starters, I needed to give myself a break. I tried to take rest days without guilt and emphasized quality runs over quantity by cutting out anything that could be considered a junk run. In addition, I made a renewed effort to dial in my nutrition and get proper sleep. In September, I experienced a breakthrough 50K performance that gave me confidence in this kinder, gentler approach.

Once that race was over I thought hard about the future. Over the years I’ve followed big highs with debilitating lows. Whenever I resumed training it felt like I was starting over from scratch. What I needed was a longer term focus. That process began with an honest accounting of my body.

Like most runners I have weak hips, glutes, quads, and back muscles. In the fall I turned my attention to strengthening my core with body-weight exercises and long bouts of power hiking. My mileage dropped, but my overall health and fitness improved. When the calendar turned to January, I was ready to return to structured training.

The word “structure” is a bit loose because I’m not following a set plan, per se. Rather, I’m taking bits and pieces from past training experiences to form an outline that rolls short-term goals into mid-range benchmarks in pursuit of a larger ideal. I’m going to roll with the punches, retain flexibility, and above all, make a concerted effort to listen to my body.

My primary sources are the Hal Higdon training manuals that were essential to me as a beginning runner and Krissy Moehl’s Running Your First Ultra. Backstopping that is Build Your Running Body, a comprehensive manual that cuts through a lot of noise and strives for clarity over gimmicks.

At the outset, my training pattern will consist of two hard weeks with a recovery week in between. By March I’d like to build up to three weeks before getting to a recovery week. All things in due time.

My goal for January was to re-establish a consistent rhythm of five running days a week anchored by a long run on Sunday. Some people prefer to run six days, but I’ve found that an extra day to focus on strength training and flexibility has been invaluable.

On that note, there is no one training method because — duh — everyone is different. Look around the Internet and you will find everything from the proper balance of speed work to endurance training to the effectiveness of stretching. We haven’t even begun to discuss hydration or nutrition yet and let me tell you, there are opinions!

For the record on stretching, I employ a short dynamic flexibility routine to get my body flowing before runs. I don’t consider my workout complete until I get in a 15-minute cooldown stretch utilizing elements of foam rolling, vinyasa yoga and active isolated stretching techniques.

Many people would disagree with this approach and that’s their prerogative. I know my body, or think I do. Everyone is encouraged to take that journey for themselves. I don’t presume to offer advice or guidance. This is a quest for knowledge and experience.

Ok, the numbers for January. (I’ll do this every month.)

Distance: 160 Miles over 20 runs

Some will see that number and think it’s a lot. There are endurance runners who consider 160 miles a good week. It’s all relative. That’s a solid number for me as I build my base level of fitness. It averages out to a little more than five miles a day, which I consider an initial benchmark for serious training.

In January I topped out with a 45-mile week. In February, I’d like to break into the 50s consistently, which I’ve only done during a peak training week here or there. That said, I try not to get too wrapped up in raw mileage because the body knows stress not miles.

For years, runners followed the 10 percent rule; as in limit your mileage increase to roughly 10 percent of the previous week’s total. That’s been widely debunked, but I still find 10 percent to be an effective range for mileage buildup. I’ll use it as a guideline and make adjustments as needed.

Vertical gain and loss: 21,600 feet

Again this is relative. Serious mountain runners knock that out in a couple of climbs. I live at sea level with nary a mountain in sight. My serious climbing opportunities may be fewer, but they are extremely technical with roots and rocks and all kinds of trippables that will mess you up if you take a wrong step.

Because the trails around here are so gnarly, it’s a matter of wanting to get that vertical. I’ve made an effort to take on the toughest routes during my runs. My amount of weekly vert topped out at 6,200 feet. Like the mileage, I’ll continue building from that base in February while increasing the intensity of my dedicated hill workouts.

Also, the downhills are just as important as the uphills in trail running, especially for the races I’m doing. Getting comfortable with moving efficiently on steep technical terrain is one of my biggest priorities.

Pace: ???

My first race in April is on an unmarked course with a considerable amount of technical climbing. That’s more about survival than speed. My later races have even more vertical gain, but are way more runnable. I’ll mix in some speed work here and there this winter, but I’ll focus on pace this spring and summer.

I’m more concerned with maintaining a consistent effort over long periods of time, so I measure my long runs by duration rather than distance. My longest long run was 16 miles over 3 hours and 45 minutes with 2,700 feet of climbing. I’ll aim to build up to five hours and 4,000 feet by March.

Consistency: 20 runs out of 23 scheduled workouts.

I skipped a pair of easy runs for what I’ll call life maintenance (parenting, job, illness) and took an extra rest day during a recovery week. The weather mostly held up, but I ran through snow, ice, and extreme cold. One of my mantras is bad-weather training is excellent training. Builds character.

Strength Training: Consistent effort, not too much

I love strength training, sometimes it doesn’t love me back. My issue is balance. Too much strength training can overload my system and lead to breakdowns, especially as miles begin to build during heavy running weeks. Finding balance is an ongoing theme for me this year and I think I found an appropriate level in January. I’ll get into the weeds on strength training later.

Overall I feel positive about resuming my training. I had no major injuries and only minimal issues with motivation, usually from a lack of proper sleep. I’m going to continue prioritizing sleep as the training gets harder along with adequate nutrition. If you’re going to run a lot, it’s important to eat enough calories.

There’s plenty of time for all of that. Right now I’m going to slip into some compression tights and plan tomorrow’s run.