#i thought i finally had a not doomed ship to gush about

[yummysake-saucegay]

Jayvik ramblings

There was once a livejournal where you could compile shipping manifestos, and I wrote one about Zoro/Sanji that had 6000+ words lol. Ngl, Jayvik makes me want to do the same these days, but for now I just need to compile a few thoughts, feel free to gush with me or add to that or correct me.

In every timeline & possibility Viktor chose to save Jayce ("only you can show me this"), even when it meant that they would create hextech and doom the world. And only Jayce can ultimately save Viktor from himself. In the timeline Ekko was sent to where hextech doesn't exist Jayce and Viktor are very possibly dead (suicide / disease), since Jayce was already on the verge of killing himself in the base timeline when his dream was shattered, even without a teenager that died in his lab, and Viktor (who wouldn't have sought out Jayce without his speech about creating magic) would later be dying and wouldn't have shimmer/the hexcore.

There are multiple scenes where Viktor gives Jayce the rune, like when he stops him from killing himself he picks up his bracelet, and he also hands him the crystal when they're trying to stabilize hextech for the first time (just found the imagery symbolic). In their final scene, Jayce gives it back to him (and it looks so gentle for once how he can just remove the rune and carefully hand it to him)

Jayce was always adamant about seeing Viktor as an equal partner from the very beginning ("your hextech dream" "OUR hextech dream" Mel: "you're the dean's assistant" "no, he is my new partner")

In the "this isn't my bedroom" scene Viktor looks displeased when Jayce looks taken by Mel (only noticed that recently!)

Viktor either never noticed or ignored Sky's affections and even after he got to know them after her death, he did not reciprocate and still calls her Ms Young in the astral plane. She can even tell it's not true when he says he will miss their talks. I just saw a clip where Christian Linke even claims that that wasn't actually Sky, but the hexcore pretending to be Sky (which is so dark and twisted IMO). Apparently, Amanda Overton also stated that Sky on the astral plane was a stand-in for Jayce to Viktor. Although I haven't seen the clip myself where she says it.

The constant juxtaposition between Viktor and Mel, starting by their design (Viktor getting progressively more sick and pale, Mel always glowing and golden) and just base characters (Viktor the poor, disabled Zaun rat who has nothing to his name, lives for science and hates being in the lamplight; Mel the influential and cunning politician who makes them her investments). Jayce even hallucinating first Mel and then Viktor in the flames. The Jayce Mel sex scene while Viktor is almost dying and Jayce returning to Viktor after. Also, him deciding to give up on his council seat and his whole career to return to the lab with Viktor where he feels he belongs after Viktor almost died in the beginning of S2.

Jayce ousting his former mentor to save Viktor's life

Viktor convinced that Jayce would understand after Singed tells him everyone will hate and despise him (and Jayce did!)

The scene on the bridge when Jayce has to pick Viktor up in S1 (after he went to Singed) and the POV changes! Where the angles are first neutral, representing them being equal, but then the camera looks down on Viktor as soon as Jayce talks badly about the Undercity.

Jayce's pure terror when he thinks Viktor is dying after the explosion, just being by Viktor's side, sleeping in the lab etc and them handing him that blanket that Viktor keeps forever. Also, Jayce not even hesitating or judging for a second when he sees Viktor's augmented leg etc. He even recorded everything when he continued and used his notes lol.

allll their quotes "it was affection that kept us together" "I thought you were done with Hextech. And with me", being partners again yadda yadda

Even in the midst of everything and his all out war with Viktor, Jayce speaks for himself and Viktor when he quarrels with Mel ("because you used me, and Viktor, for hextech!") and his anger at her not saving Viktor and the others

And I don't think I even have to elaborate on their ending haha, the beauty in Viktor's imperfections, the promise, the wanting his partner back and finishing it together...

And they were celestial roommates <3

[sabo-has-my-heart]

Ladies Man

A dedication to @sanjisprincesswifey, you’re so amazing, you let me blow up your inbox with requests, you’re an amazing writer, I love you so much. I hope you like. 

Everyone knew Sanji was the biggest ladies man on the Grand Line, constantly fawning over nearly every woman he saw. That being said, the moment he saw you changed everything. Everything about you was positively stunning and he just knew that he had to get to know you. He’d never wanted anything more than to at least know your name, if nothing else, he had to know your name. Once he’d approached you, kneeling down and offering you a rose, begging for your name in the most romantic way he could think of, he’d doomed himself. The small laugh that left your lips, the sparkle in your eyes as you looked at him, the smile that seemed to shine down on him, no greater blessing existed. Feeling your soft skin on his as you took the rose, he thought he might faint, his heart pounding in his chest. This wasn’t like with other women, when his nose would start to gush, he’d flatter and fawn over them, declaring them to be angels, princesses, unrivaled beauties. His heart didn’t feel like it was pounding out of his chest around them, his hands didn’t tremble, nor did his stomach start doing flips. For a single moment, he forgot all about his crew, cooking, his dream, all that mattered was you. He’d never been so happy that the log pose would take a couple of days to reset. He could get to know you this way, spend time with you, and truly understand this feeling in his chest. It was obvious to everyone, even Luffy, that he’d fallen for you, that he was so absolutely in love with you. 

Sanji stared down at the dish he was making, hoping that his shaking hands wouldn’t fuck up the meal. Luffy had invited you onto the ship to try some of his cooking, an invitation that you’d eagerly accepted. More than any other meal he’d ever made, this one had to be perfect. For a goddess like you, nothing less than perfect would ever be enough. He briefly wondered what it would be like if you joined the Straw Hat crew, to cook for you everyday, to see your brilliant smile at every opportunity. Could his heart even take that? Or would it simply burst? The look on your face when you took a bite made all of the work he’d put into the meal worth it, even as Luffy devoured everything in sight without a thought, without realizing how much work had gone into it, it was still worth it. 

You and Sanji now stood outside aboard the Sunny, staring up at the stars, simply enjoying each other’s presence.

“Sanji?” you muttered nervously, looking down at your hands that rested on the railing. Sanji gave a small hum, turning towards you, trying to ignore the feeling of his legs turning into jelly.

“I… I’ve really enjoyed these past few days with you. I… I wish you could stay longer. If it weren’t for your dream, I’d ask you to stay.” you said, a sad smile playing on your lips. He’d stay, if the crew didn’t need him, he’d stay. But they were his nakama, he couldn’t and wouldn’t leave them, but that made the thought of leaving you so much harder, “I… do… do you think if I asked Luffy, do you think he’d let me join the crew?” you asked. It was official, Sanji couldn’t take it anymore, his stomach was fluttering so bad he almost felt sick. The blond chef took your hand, pulling you into a kiss before you could even react. You wanted to join the crew, you wanted to be with them, perhaps even be with him in particular. He poured everything that he’d been feeling for you into the kiss, one hand still holding yours, the other wrapped tightly around your waist. When he finally felt the need for air, when he was finally forced to pull back, he was met with your flushed face, panting as you tried to catch your breath.

“S-Sanji?” you asked nervously, your hand holding his tighter as he gave another hum, “Even if Luffy doesn’t let me join… if I have to stay here… will you… I mean… Do you think we could… work?” you inquired. 

“I’d make it work. I’d do anything and everything to make it work. I’d cross the Grand Line in nothing more than a rowboat, fight through the four emperors and slay the mightiest monsters to make it, to make us, work.” Sanji said softly, still holding you, his forehead pressed gently against yours. A light, familiar laugh drew your attention, seeing Sanji’s rubbery captain standing there.

“No need, I wanted to ask you to join our crew. I was just looking for you because the log pose reset and I needed to tell you that you’re coming with us.” Luffy said with a big grin. For once in his life, Sanji wanted to hug the man, he could have picked Luffy up, spun him around and held the boy tightly just for those words. Thankfully you did it for him, pulling the boy into a tight embrace, thanking him profusely. As soon as you were done thanking him, you’d turned back to Sanji, throwing your arms around him and holding him. He knew, everyone aboard the ship knew, that Sanji the ladies man was likely gone, because you were the only lady that he’d ever have eyes for again.

[princessofgayskull]

our secret moments in your crowded room // pt. 2

a catradora drabble (companion piece to this) featuring Melog

summary: Catra doesn’t want to go back to sleeping alone, and her new room in the Bright Moon Castle is too big not to be lonely

The first night Catra sleeps alone, she doesn’t sleep at all.

She doesn’t understand how anyone expects her to, either. The night that followed Horde Prime’s defeat, the first time the moons rise on a planet that finally peace, is total and complete chaos. It’s the feel of magic settling in the air, it’s clones who don’t know who they are or what to do expect stand around everywhere, it’s the victory cry of Etherians echoing across the horizon, Catra’s voice joining them for the first time. 

It was also too unfeasible to go all the way back to Bright Moon and make it there in time for anyone to get any actual sleep. Not that anyone gets much rest back at camp either, but at least those shelters were already made. The night was equal parts celebration and retribution. For the first time in years, Catra falls asleep on Adora’s shoulder with Melog sprawled over both their laps. For the first time in years, Catra wakes to find Adora still there with.

But going to Bright Moon is unavoidable. It’s unavoidable because it’s Etheria’s center, it’s where the diplomacy flows out and into the rest of the system, it’s where the new beginning actually begins and Glimmer has this idea in her head that Catra should be there and should be a part of it. What, like she’s gonna go back to the Fright Zone? There was nothing left for her there. 

Everything important in Catra’s life is heading towards Bright Moon for the next phase, and they want Catra to come with them. Adora wants Catra to come with them. And when Adora tells her that when they’re breaking down camp, her hands on Catra’s shoulders and that soft look in her eyes, that instinctual urge to run away disintegrates into nothing.

She just doesn’t expect her first night in Bright Moon to be spent staring up at a ceiling so far up in a room enveloped in the night’s darkness and the paralyzing sound of her own loneliness. Melog sleeps across her chest, a white noise machine of warmth, keeping her grounded in this reality of this room that has its own gravity. Catra can’t find it in her to close her eyes as she lays across what’s more of a pillow plush than an actual bed.

The only reason Catra’s in here is because Glimmer gifted her the room out of legitimate kindness. As it turns out, Adora got one of her own when she left Catra- sorry, defected from the Horde- because people here were actually treated like people and regardless of what Catra had done in the past, she fell into that category now. She was one of them now. It didn’t make her a princess or queen by the longest shot, but around here that counted for something.

“Pretty sweet accommodations, huh?” Glimmer had thrown her words from Horde’s Prime back at her, holding back no amusement when she had shown Catra around the room, teleporting in a craze from one piece of fancy furniture to the next.

All of the moments that Catra had spent overwhelmed and so, so out of her depth since walking into Glimmer’s palace were coming crashing down on her now and she could barely breathe under the weight of it all. Figuring all her snarky commentary about the way Royals lived was enough, Catra didn’t bother voicing her discomfort. Deep down, she hoped that the way Melog wrapped themselves between her legs and curled their tail up her thigh clued Adora- or anyone really- into how much she wanted to be whisked away from this.  

Why hadn’t Adora just asked Catra to stay in her room? Catra would’ve been more than okay with that. 

Running her claws down her face, Catra groaned. It had been stupid to think that those sleepovers Glimmer gushed about when it was just the two of them on Horde Prime’s ship would last forever now that she was a part of the gang. Not as stupid as thinking Adora would be up for some sort of cohabitating, shared sleeping arrangements with her when they’d been sworn enemies less than a month ago.

“I need to give Adora space. She’s her own person, she can make her own decisions.” Catra tells herself, trying to take a deep breath like Perfuma had taught her. “And I’ll fall asleep eventually. I don’t need her around to do that.”

This statement prompts Melog to lift their head, ethereal blue eyes wide and shining with packed judgement.

“Don’t look at me like that!” Catra hisses at her animal/alien companion. The dissonant purr of Melog’s reply fills the empty space around them.

“You didn’t ask Adora if she wanted to sleep alone. You can ask her if she wants to sleep together, and if she says she wants space, then you know,” Melog’s purr ends and Catra rolls her eyes before throwing her head back on her pillow.

“How does that help me now? Adora’s probably asleep already. Last thing I wanna do is wake her up and get punched in the nose. Again.”

Melog, keeping their eyes on Catra, withholds their reply. Not backing down form the staring contest the alien cat has incited, she glares at her companion. Which is useless knowing how she’s practically see through to this creature- wait, she stops herself, blinking. See through.

Catra has the beginnings of an idea. A creepy idea, so she doesn’t bother trying to think it through, rather pushes Melog of her legs and trips off the giant pink pillow puff that’s her bed so she can act before she uses her bravery. 

A purr makes Catra’s ear perk up, “Really? Are you sure this is a good idea?

“Hey!” Catra sent a flat look in Melog’s direction. They’re shielding her legs and making her think twice. “Laying next to that cot Adora has cloaked isn’t great but it’s better than being in here alone!” Alone with the images that haunt her, the images she’s sees when she lets her eyes close: Shadow Weaver taking her mask off before ceasing to exist, the violent green waters of Prime’s baptismal font, Adora unconscious in her arms as the world ends around them. With shaking hands she asks, “Are you gonna help me or not?”

Melog runs through her legs, rubbing her calf with their phasing mane. Catra’s companion heads for the door.

 _

Sneaking past the Queen’s Guard is child’s play. Melog has her back, keeping the both of them cloaked, as Catra sneaks around in her Horde issued bra and sleeping shorts. Maybe one day she and Adora will get around to finding clothing that can withstand the strain of battle that doesn’t carry the Horde’s symbol, but Catra doubts a shopping list is high on anyone’s priority list right now.

It’s not like any of the guards that stand at fourteen feet intervals- Catra notices- are on high alert, or would rat her out for being out past curfew. Because there’s no curfew here and that’s not their job. But Catra breathes a little easier knowing she can’t be seen. Maybe it’s because they can’t ask questions if they can’t see her, can’t make her rethink her strange stalker like actions. Maybe it’s because wearing their clothes, Catra hasn’t exactly shaken off the rust of growing up in the Fright Zone.

Melog keeps her out of sight as they walk past Bow’s room, sending her a look when they hear his snores seeping out from under the door frame. Catra shrugs. 

With no guards around, Melog starts up again, “Why did they put Adora’s room so far from yours?” which Catra knows is probably code for, “how much longer do I have to keep this up?”

“You big baby,” Catra runs her hand over Melog’s tail, “And I dunno, how I am supposed to know the inner workings of Sparkles’ mind? I’m like, the first person new here that hasn’t been a prisoner.”

Her claws trail the wall and she keeps up with Melog’s steps. 

The fact that the room Glimmer put her in was where they’d been “keeping” Scorpia didn’t go over Catra’s head. Yeah, she and Scorpia are on better terms these days, but remembering how Scorpia left her for the Rebellion still brings a sting to Catra’s throat. Remembering that it was her own fault is like the punch in the gut she didn’t ask for, but probably deserv- WHACK!

“Ow!” Beyond the pain resonating in Catra’s forehead, she can hear Adora cry out. 

“Adora?!” Melog’s cloaking falls and Catra is standing in front of her, well, sort of girlfriend, wincing and holding her forehead there in her gray tank top and shorts.

“Catra?!” Adora yells with the same tone when she realizes what the invisible force she butted heads with actually is. “What are you doing out of bed?” 

“I could ask you the same thing.” replies Catra.

Adora takes a guarded stance and Melog looks between the two of them before her shoulders fall, “I- I couldn’t sleep. I thought, um, that I could come see you? I mean, I did think you were going to be asleep and I thought I could just stay there with you-” as she speaks, a sort of softness overcomes Catra. How had she managed to survive on the other edge of Adora’s sword? No wonder her destiny as a Force Captain was doomed from the start, that her anger sputtered and left her burned out. Catra had so much love for this woman. It was always going to win out at the end of the day. “-is that creepy? I know, it’s creepy but I just really wanted to see you-”

Catra grabs Adora’s hand and looks her in the eye. “Do you wanna come lay down? With- with me?” 

“Mmhmm,” nods Adora. She intertwines their fingers together, and when Catra starts to pull her back up the hallway, she follows without hesitation.

Since they’re going back the way they came, past Bow and Glimmer’s rooms, Catra’s hand finds Melog’s forehead and the cloaking flows through their bodies. Catra and Adora don’t make any noise, don’t make any stops, beyond the looks Catra throws her over her shoulder. Right before they reach the door to Catra’s room, Adora squeezes Catra’s hand. 

“Hey,” her voice is barely above a whisper, “why were you out of bed?”

“No reason.” Catra turn her face away, hoping that the cover of the dark will hide her growing blush. She curls her tail around her waist and keeps it there to keep it from betraying her.

“Oh my gosh, Catra- were you coming to see me?” Adora throws her hands onto Catra’s shoulders, a playful instinct that Catra can’t fight the subconscious need to return.

Melog’s cloaking falls.

Grabbing Adora’s fingers, Catra pulls her sort of girlfriend to her front before grabbing her wrists and pinning her to the wall. Their noses touching, Catra lets herself smile, “Okay, maybe I was. You’re not the only person who doesn’t want to sleep alone.”

“Is it also cause you like me?” teases Adora. 

Even in the dark Adora’s the most beautiful thing Catra’s ever seen; blonde hair unrestrained and kissing her defined shoulder, standing up against the wall in her pajamas, she’s all Catra’s ever wanted.  

“You idiot,” Catra kisses her lips, “it’s actually because I love you.”

_

Catra wakes to a warmth against her back. A chest rising and falling, a hand lain across the crook of her elbow. Opening her eyes, she sees that it’s not only light out, but that the dawn has come and gone, turned in midmorning without their permission. There’s no way she and Adora haven’t slept in way past the time the promised to be up and ready to take on the challenges that awaited them in peacetime.

“Adora,” she mutters, rolling over and buries her face in the space between Adora’s shoulder and head, “you’re hogging the blanket.”

Adora doesn’t open her eyes as her grip on Catra’s waist tightens, “‘S’not fair. You have Melog.”

Running her hand down the side of her animal companion, Catra lets out of a breath. She’s sandwiched in between Melog and Adora’s warmth, the little spoon wrapped in Adora’s calm embrace. There’s nothing Catra would change about this. This is the way she’d keep things forever if it were up to her.

“We have to get up soon,” Catra tries, yawning and stretching her arms out.

Her girlfriend’s hands come down over hers, “Don’t want to.”

“Adora-”

“I want to stay with you, Catra,” her sleepy voice reverberates over Catra’s ears and they flatten under her chin. Tail winding around Adora’s waist, she pulls her closer and sighs.

“What if Rainbow and Sparkles come looking for us?” 

Adora, eyes still closed, lets out a happy sigh. “Let them.”

It goes without saying that Catra never has to sleep alone again.

reblogs > likes!

[zabrak-show]

Blood of the Sith

Chapter 7 Betrayal

Final chapter, woot! 

No real warnings, just mushy love stuff and heartache. and like actual blood.

Read chapters 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

Like almost everything in the Sith temple, the training room was dark, cavernous, and dry. Everything on Mustafar was covered in dried layers of ash, and the Sith temple was no exception. Kudra and Maul were doing their near daily practice of Teras Kasi, a hand to hand combat sport. Kudra had surprised herself with how well she took to the sport and how well she could sense her opponent’s moves. Of course, she wasn’t perfect and more often than not the fight would end with her on her back and Maul looming over her as the victor. She didn’t let it get her spirits down though. Considering how new she was to this all, she felt proud of herself. She could feel herself getting stronger and was able to last longer after just a short while training. It all felt very promising and she felt her life had purpose and meaning again.

She could feel herself falling deeper and deeper in love with Maul. She wanted to stop herself, but it was too late. She was already careening out of a flying ship, the parachute was malfunctioning, and so she might as well enjoy the fleeting rush of excitement before her insides were on her outsides and the world as she knew it was over. She planted the impending sense of doom from it all inside herself and watered it daily. Every shared cup of tea, every bath taken together, every kiss, every stolen glance, she used these all to water the plant of doom in her soul and it quietly grew bigger and bigger inside of her.

As much as she loved Maul, she hated his master more and more. She fantasized about killing Sidious every day. She only ever caught a holo recording of him once and it was enough to obsess over his death at her own hands. She hated him more than she had hated anyone in her entire life. She felt and saw the torture he inflicted on Maul every time she touched one of his scars. Maul seemed to still respect him as his Master. She no more respected him than a bug on a wall you swat with a sandal and gag as its guts ooze out between the surface you killed it on and the bottom of your sandal. He was a pestilent little old man with nothing better to do than torment the lives of those who were younger and more vibrant than him.

At the root of it all though, Sidious was what prevented them from truly being together. She had to go into hiding if he ever was around. Maul dare not ever leave Mustafar, unless on order by Sidious. They were trapped in that wretched planet because of Sidious. She could sense in Maul that he wanted him to die as well. She knew they were not ready for such a serious undertaking, Sidious was far too strong in the force. She wasn’t even a true Sith yet anyway. It didn’t not stop her from obsessing over it and letting that hate fuel her strength in the force.

She laid in her bed one evening looking at the two holocrons she’d been given from Krass before she left on this journey.

How did Krass end up with these? What kind of trouble had he gotten himself into?

She studied the holocrons and wondered what their secret was to opening them. The first holocron she opened had seemed so easy in retrospect. She didn’t even fully understand what she was doing and unlocked it. There must be some other kind of trick to these ones. She still hid them from Maul because she was terrified he’d take them from her and realize he had no actual use for her anymore. It didn’t make a whole lot of sense, but it was also the only thing she still had left of her past life. She was pretty sure Maul was who she was supposed to meet to give them to, who else would want Sith holocrons? That made her want to hide them from him even more. Her purpose here really would be through once she gave them to him. She dropped them back into their pouch and secured it to her waist again.

Maul knocked on her door and came in with wine. She perked up and he sat on the floor in front of her pouring the wine as she massaged his back.

“Master Sidious will be here again in a couple days.” he said as he handed her back a glass of wine.

“Oh.” she stopped her massage and sat further back on her bed, closing herself off from Maul, as she clutched her glass of wine.

“Tonight, though, we should celebrate your achievements in training so far. You’ve come a long way and are growing stronger every day. I can feel it in you. Your strength gives me strength.” he raised his glass for a toast and she reluctantly raised hers to clink his glass.

“My master’s presence troubles you.” he said after a long silence.

“I feel weird hiding, I guess. I don’t want to get you in trouble and whenever he’s here I feel like a burden.” she said half telling the truth.

“It is not a burden. You are easy to hide. He’s never here for long anyway. What could I do to make you happier with the arrangement?”

Kill him. She thought, but responded with an “It’s fine” instead. They moved on and talked about future training plans, and future plans with each other. The wine eventually dulled Kudra’s heartache and she passed out in Maul’s arms fully content.

Kudra woke alone and walked to the meditation room. It wasn’t really called that, but Kudra always went there for that purpose. It wasn’t much different from any other room in the temple, but it’s lights flickered in different rhythms that Kudra enjoyed using to meditate.  The ominous voices began whispering to her, sending shivers through her whole body. She quietly walked out of the room and followed the voices until she heard Maul speaking. She stayed in the hall listening and realized he was talking to Master Sidious on a holo call.

“You’ve done well my apprentice.” she overheard the staticy old man sneer.

“The girl is your key to the secret holocrons. The key to everything you’ve worked towards.” The words slithered out of him like a cancerous serpent, drooling with venom.

“The time to kill her is now. Spill her blood and unlock the holocrons!” Sidious finished with wicked delight. Kudra froze in horror and Maul responded,

“Consider it done, Master.”

She could feel her heart shatter into a million pieces, and those pieces shatter into a million more. She didn’t know if she was going to throw up, scream, attack Maul, or just lay down and die in a puddle of her own blood. Maul ended the transmission and walked out of the opposite side of the room from where Kudra stood in anguished horror. Maul smiled to himself as his Master had no idea the blood to be spilled was his, by Maul and Kudra’s hands together. Then they would be free to rule the galaxy together. The rule of two upheld between them for as long as they both lived.

Kudra ran to the landing bay to grab what supplies she could in what little time she had. She found what parts she needed and started to run for it, when something in the corner of the room caught her eye. A speeder bike, specifically Maul’s Bloodfin. She hopped on and sped out of the temple as fast as she could.

It took hours, even on the bike to get back to the abandoned mining colony. She drove as fast as she could weaving in and out of lava eruptions and crumbling rocks. It didn’t matter if she crashed, if she couldn’t get there fast enough she was dead either way. She was overcome with raw emotions, so much hurt she felt like she was going to erupt like the lava around her. In a way it was tempting, to just lay down and let the lava encompass her. Her will to survive was no match for depression, though.

Maul was busy with his own training regimen to even realize Kudra was gone, at first. The temple was huge; they could lose each other for days at a time in there if they really wanted. Though, they rarely ever did. Kudra would disappear often, to meditate, soak in the salt baths, or to ‘just be left alone,’ she’d tell Maul. Still, it didn’t take him long to sense something was not right. He focused on her energy and felt the panic and torment she was emanating.

She overheard Master Sidious’ plan.

He ran to get Bloodfin, and of course it was gone. He’d have to take the Scimitar. Without a second thought he boarded the ship and took off to chase after Kudra.

Kudra boarded the YT-1000 in the abandoned mining colony and set to work on fixing where they had left off weeks ago. She was too panicked to let the sadness make her completely useless at this moment, but she was teetering on the brink of sanity. This wasn’t the first time she’d been betrayed, but it always hurt so differently each time. He had been using her all along and she felt like a stupid child for believing otherwise. He told her several times flat out not to trust him.

She understood, now, the secret to the holocrons. There had to be a Sith’s blood spilled onto them to unlock it. He had to train her to be Sith for this all to work. That’s why he didn’t kill her straight away. It was the answer to everything. And it hurt like icy hot claws ripping away her bones to reveal her soft inner parts to all who would dare look at the embarrassment that she truly was. She thought she had found a new way of life for herself. A new purpose and meaning. It was all an elaborate set up to kill her. Maul would never be capable of loving her and it was foolish to have even entertained the idea for as long as she did.

The holocrons weighed heavy on her belt. She wished she had the power to obliterate them. Kudra readied the ship for take off and ran outside to open the landing bay doors. As she reached up to press the switch, she cut her wrist open on a piece of protruding metal on the wall. Blood gushed out of her wrist, but there was no time to tend wounds and feel pain. The old corroded metal of the landing bay doors began to open, letting out an awful screeching sound as it slowly revealed the red hot sky of Mustafar.

Finally, I can leave this wretched place.  

She ran up the boarding ramp, and stopped herself a quarter of the way up. She ripped the bag of holocrons from her waist, held them for a moment, and finally threw them, watching them land on the seat of Bloodfin.

Maul knew she was gone the moment he approached the abandoned mine and saw the landing bay doors still open. He landed the Scimitar inside anyway to collect Bloodfin. On the seat of the speeder bike, was a small black bag tied shut. He slowly opened the bag to find the two holocrons, soaked in blood.

yo, thanks for reading it means the world to me. I hope to continue on with more stories with this OC, Darth Maul and more. Much love to you all

[nomadicism]

Now that She Ra is over, what are your thoughts on it? What about that Catradora kiss?

Hi Anon! Thank you for the Ask!

ヽ(*⌒∇⌒*)ﾉ Where to start?

I have so many thoughts on the show, and I’ve had so many thoughts since season 1. I’ve not written much of anything about She-Ra because I keep coming back to this problem of ‘where to start,’ or how to structure my thoughts beyond a +1000 item list. I can’t even pick one or two thoughts to dive into, because they all end up connecting to everything else —> honestly, that’s the mark of a tight narrative, even the big pieces that can fully stand on their own are still leading through to another piece. I fail at every attempt to write something brief.

Section I: Short answer first.

I have a very short and subjective list of media where I not only love (for different reasons) nearly every character (main, secondary, background), but where I also feel that their individual places or moments or arcs concluded in a way that felt right from start to finish. It’s a short list of media where connections and conflict between characters never felt forced, out-of-place, out-of-context, or done for shock value. She-Ra and the Princesses of Power makes that very short and subjective list.

It’s not often that a story hits all the right notes with me, and it’s much more often that a story starts off strong like that, and then turns me off ½-⅔ of the way through. I’ve quit video games during the final boss fight because the story lost me in the lead-up and I wasn’t going to waste 10-20 minutes of my time for something that turned out to be ‘meh’. It ain’t got to be deep, or anything either.

I really loved the voice acting. Everyone is great. A post for another time.

I love the aesthetics, which I wasn’t sure of at first teasers, but won me over in less than 3 minutes of the first episode (season 1) because I love bright pastels, the character designs are fun (can I still gush over variety of body types? YES), so many opportunities to explore stylish takes on the characters, and those Moebius-inspired scenery/background designs are a special interest delight. Season 5 delivered a visual ‘end game’ for the aesthetics in many ways, Section III further down will get into that a bit.

Section II: “What about that Catradora kiss?”

I gotta preface this with, shipping is not my go-to for how I enjoy creative works. It’s not a hobby for me. Sure there’s a few I dig more than others, but I’m otherwise agnostic about ships, unless there is a really bad story-fit (and that’s usually a subjective thing), or involves tropes that are a deal-breaker for me (and those typically relate a lot to the story fit).

With that said, I’m really happy to see Catradora be pulled off so brilliantly, and I think the kiss is a bold and beautiful big deal in a way that might not be obvious when considered in a vacuum. I see it as passionate and heart-felt, but also, it’s achieving(?) a relatable outcome (for me at least) that’s hard to describe. It’s an outcome yielded by a story in which two women—a hero and a villain—are divided and fight bitterly and then reconcile through love, while fighting a purity cult whose founder-prophet-god-king forces subservience through a conversion designed to strip someone of their identity (e.g. names they’ve chosen for themselves), memories-and-motivations, and love for others.

Despite these conversions, love still remains, it can’t just be baptized or therapy-ed away. Controlling puritans and authoritarians wielding religion or peace-panaceas as a weapon have been the villains in the lives of countless women and LGBTQIA people for a very long time. So yeah, I’ve got some feels about that. The last time I felt anything similarly relatable, or as strongly, was the Utena and Anthy relationship in Revolutionary Girl Utena (and really, their kiss during the surreal sequence at the end of the film adaptation).

Section III: Thoughts on Cult Aesthetics and Clones (the rough cut)

(1) In the future scenes at the end, Adora’s white dress with gold tiara and accents have this kind of goddess-like or Pallas Athena feel to it, which is a great mirror of the design choices for the god-like Horde Prime, his Purity Space Cult, mechanics/ship, and flagship interior scenery. Not saying that was the intention, but that’s how it came across to me.

Of course, those colors would be used because She-Ra already wears white and gold with a bit of red accent, which complement how the princesses are bright and colorful (pastels and jewel tones). The bold and bright colors helps signify that Etheria is full of life. Etheria is verdant and magical, and that sets up a contrast to the Fright Zone and the darker colors found in Horde characters (Hordak, Shadow Weaver, Scorpia, Catra, Entrapta, etc).

So the first kind of contrast was with the Fright Zone standing out as a poisoned/toxic against the bright, lively colors of Etheria and the princesses. Season 5 introduces another take on that contrast as Horde Prime is the opposite, or antithesis of Etheria’s colorful life. He’s like anti-life with his shades of light-and-dark grays on white, and only glow-green as an accent. In some cultures and religious traditions, white is associated with purity, and in others it is associated with death.

When Horde Prime ‘purifies’ Hordak for the sins of individuality and emotion (emotion for others, for his own sake), Hordak is drained of the colors he chose for himself during exile. In addition to being a contrast to Horde Prime (and informed by the 80s cartoon design), Hordak’s dark blue (or blue-black) and red color palette reflects the traditional use of red as a color for evil (especially vampirism) from back when diabolism was a stand-in for ‘the Devil’ in many forms of visual media (comics, live-action, animation, etc). In place of diabolic red, Horde Prime has toxic glow-green.

I absolutely love the use of the glow-green accents. Color trends for villains and significations of evil come and go, and I’m glad to see the color green be used again, and used so well. The last time I saw that shade of glow-green used so well was in Sleeping Beauty (re: Maleficent’s magic and the orb on her staff) and as the Loc-Nar in Heavy Metal. In both films, there are connotations of evil as a poisonous and corrupting influence. Green, in the context of evil, almost always signifies poison (and sometimes envy). I also like that the glow-green color is used in ways that aren’t immediately saying ‘this is evil’, such as the green baptismal waters and flames from the purification scene, or the green amniotic protein fluid. The language of piety and trappings of the sacred can cloak a sinister purpose.

I don’t know if any of that was intentional, but Horde Prime feels like the perfect synergy of purity and death (which has additional connotations, but that’s a very personal interpretation).

(2) Horde Prime immediately gave me subtle cult vibes in his first cameo (Season 3), and the follow-through on that was perfect and exactly what I was hoping to see. The background music throughout the scenes aboard the flagship fits well (love the soundtrack), and has the quality of Ecstatic Experience without pulling directly from any specific religion. Horde Prime’s dialogue is a delightful bit of narcissism veiled with the language of piety.

A purity cult comprised of clone-brother-worshippers of the cult’s founder-prophet-god-king reinforces that narcissism and has all the fun-dark feels of shiny-techno-future-dystopias. It is also an interesting use of clones, especially in a story format that usually never has the time to really dive into the complexities of cloning. This is the sort of thing that you’d be more likely to see in a one-off episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation, rather than the basis for a greater scope villain, or multi-season nemesis. (and yes, Star Trek: TNG had an interesting clone episode)

Clones in science-fiction tend to fall into just a few tropes, and I generally dislike seeing clones show up in a story because the execution nearly always feels sloppy (in small ways or big ways). I did not get that feeling from She-Ra, where, the clones occupy the “cog in the machine” trope, but it is not their existence as clones that make them that way, it is the Will of Horde Prime that does. They are simultaneously expendable and sacred in their unity. It’s a nice flip on “stronger by working together” that Adora and the others have to learn (and struggle) to do.

It seems like, despite their religious programming, the clones have a little bit of their own personalities until Horde Prime ‘inhabits’ them to exert his Will. I’m trying not to read too much into it, b/c what comes across as ‘inhabits’ to me (especially with the religious/cult context), was probably meant more literal like described in the dialogue as a hive-mind control kind of thing. The first time it happens—to post-wipe/death Hordak—felt to me like a possession scene from The Exorcist, but without the kind of horror visuals that would scare both adults and children. The quick-and-subtle amount of body contortion and sound is still gross and creepy (because it should be), but it also reminds me of Ecstatic Experience in the form of speaking in tongues, or snake handling, or being a medium for a spirit. Again, I’m not saying any of that is intentional, but that’s how I see it.

(3) Finally, there is Entrapta, Hordak, and Wrong Hordak. Clones rarely get to be ‘humanized’ through friendship or romance arcs. I can think of a dozen or more robots that get to be humanized in that way, but can’t recall any clones that have (excluding doomed clones whose friendship/romance only existed for the sake of selling the tragedy of their death). Hordak gets death, renewal, and romance in a way that worked really well, and the totality of it is unique. I was a bit surprised that they could work in another clone—and I love Wrong Hordak—who pulls triple-duty as (1) comedy; (2) relevant to moving various pieces of the story along; and (3) more humanizing of the clones, which, again rarely happens as most stories take the easy low road when it comes to clones.

For Entrapta’s part, she’s never put in the position of giving up who she is (‘weird’ by many standards) for a romance. Her passion for technology is both an amusing double entendre at times, and integral to who she is. A romance for Entrapta does not replace her passion for technology, she can have both. Dating myself but, I came up in a time where most media (for children or adults) would rob a woman of her agency or passions during the resolution of a romance arc. Maybe times have changed, but it’s still nice to see none of that nonsense happening here.

[sinsbymanka]

Thank you @enigmalea for letting me write your amaaaazing Varric/Josephine prompt (also for playing into my loves during commission time. I APPRECIATE YOU.) 

Do you want your own fluffy and/or smutty drabble? I’m still accepting donations through Ko-fi for RAINN! I met my goal BUT you can still donate there and hit me up anywhere to let me know what you’d like! You can also donate and receive your drabble anonymously. I will not post your name or tag you in the post.

Title: An Accidental Courtship Pairing: Josephine Montilyet x Varric Tethras Rating: Teen Content Warnings: Post DA Trespasser DLC, Flirting, Courtship, Intrigue, Misunderstandings, Happy Ending

There were precious few things about Antiva worth the blighted voyage Varric suffered.

Sea-faring, at the best of times, was not his mug of ale. No matter what Rivaini said, there were few advantages to a glorified wash basin bobbing along for days with absolutely nothing but miles of nothing to look at. 

At the worst of times? His rickety ship found itself tossed between waves the size of blighted dragons, lost in storms, drowning in rain, and every meal tasted like salt water that leaked into the termite infested pile of driftwood. Sure, it was probably better than swimming from Kirkwall, but not by much. 

Just to get to Antiva and deal with the human equivalent of the blighted Merchant’s Guild, the Antivan Merchant Princes. All the fun backstabbing politics of dwarves with the added flair, drama, and egos of Antivans. 

It was enough to make him wish his ship had sunk to the bottom of the Waking Sea. 

There was really only one bright spot to the whole trip, and she was the only reason he hadn’t abandoned the whole treaty on the spot. Kirkwall, and it’s Viscount, owed a debt of gratitude to the Lady Montilyet. He didn’t know what he’d have done without her.

That thought brought a complicated pang of grief with it. One that made him look up from the semi-final version of his treaty to take in the woman seated across from him. She’d grown lovelier in the years since the Inquisition, which seemed quite unfair when he seemed to just get older. Her dark hair spilled loose over her shoulders like ink, copper skin shimmering in the sunlight from the windows. She tapped her quill thoughtfully against her lips as she read. 

Varric harbored thoughts about those lips. Roguish thoughts not fit for his dear lady to hear, although if he’d been a younger man, he may have risked it. He risked much more for much less, after all. 

His eyes flicked to the crossbow in the corner ruefully, then back down to the papers he held. 

In truth, there’d be things to be missed in Antiva. The docks lacked that week-old fish odor so common in Kirkwall. The food tended to be far more flavorful. There were less people he knew here, always a plus when he knew such boring people. 

And, most importantly, Josephine. 

Varric dared another glance above his papers just in time to see Josephine’s forehead wrinkle in a matter that could best be described as adorable. Charming, in fact. She was certainly a sight for sore eyes, draped in a delicate silver dress accented with hundreds of dangling, shimmering bits. 

Ripe for the picking by any clever thief. And, Viscount or no, he was still a remarkably clever thief. 

“Ruffles, you look like I need a drink.” 

Josephine’s lips quirked up in an immediate smile the second he opened his mouth. She looked at him through the sweep of her dark lashes. 

“It is tiring, isn’t it?” 

“Tiring is one word for it.” A far more polite word than he would have used. Varric tossed his own stack down, smirking. “What do you want to do for dinner today?” 

He’d taken her out on the town almost every evening since he’d sailed into Antiva City. The first night had been a chance to catch up, talking about old times, gossiping about old friends. 

The second night had been all business. He needed her help to figure out how to cut through the bullshit he’d landed himself in, and who else could he trust?

Every subsequent night got a little less about business and more about hearing Josephine’s delightful observations. He’d always known she was clever and just the right amount of ruthless, but he’d never gotten the opportunity to bask in her glow so completely. The frantic years of the Inquisition’s existence was too full of holes in the skies and demons to appreciate the finer things.

Like beautiful, intelligent women that harbored no secret, doomed angst. 

“A distraction sounds most welcome.” Josephine settled her own papers down, leaning forward. The dress she wore dipped in the front and Varric couldn’t help but look. He felt vaguely disappointed that the neckline was still far too modest. 

“Anywhere you wanna go, beautiful?” The endearment slipped out, but if Josephine found it improper, she didn’t say.  Instead, her eyes sparkled and she dipped her chin, the picture of a demure noblewoman. 

“Perhaps an evening stroll on the docks? It is a lovely night.” 

“And you’re certainly dressed to impress. Maybe we can find you a handsome young bachelor to introduce yourself to.” 

Josephine lifted her dark eyes, the gleam in them almost predatory. “Why would I bother impressing any other bachelors but the one courting me?” 

Varric returned her small smile with one of his own before his mind caught up. He froze, but Josephine had already stood in a flurry of fine silk. 

“There is a cafe that makes this drink, it’s the same one Bull used to favor, with a dollop of fresh cream on top and the prettiest cakes. I’ve been longing to try it.” 

He couldn’t have heard her right. His hearing was finally going. “Sounds very romantic, Ruffles.” 

“I knew it would be perfect for us.” Josephine gushed. “I appreciate your… gentlemanly manner. But I was hoping the atmosphere would inspire you. Yvette swears it works wonders on her suitors.” 

Suitors. 

Well, Maker take him. He was courting Josephine Monitiliyet, who apparently had only one complaint about the whole situation. 

“Your family doesn’t mind you out and about with the most disreputable scoundrel ever elected Viscount?” He asked, just to be sure. He was too old for forbidden romances and cloak and dagger assignations. He certainly wasn’t dragging poor sweet Ruffles along for the ride just cause he was harboring some dangerous fantasies about the way she moved like a dancer waiting for a partner to whirl her away. 

“What objection could they have?” Josephine asked. “You are respectable, my lord.” 

She was teasing him. He’d never been so thrilled in his life. He stood from his seat, offering his arm to Josephine. 

“One last thing, beautiful.” 

“Yes?” 

Varric threw one arm around the soft curve of her waist and pulled her to him, tipping his chin up. 

“How about I claim that kiss now?”

[brooklynislandgirl]

five times kissed {in boots or not}

Sweeter than Wine || Not Accepting

I. The darkness breathes around them and there are no moons to shine down in the vaulted space between their sleeping mats and the impossible ceiling above their heads. There is not really silence either with the breath of twenty younglings scattered about as she creeps her way on hand and knee, dragging pillow and blanket along behind her. She cannot see where she is going and relies on a rudimentary grasp on the Force to offer her a compass point. The fits and starts of his breath help. The distress is palpable. It feels like a burning stone in the middle of her chest. Feels like the way the sky looks just before a sudden squall.

It takes an eternity for her to finally get to where she intends to go, and it is there she hesitates. She knows instinctively were someone to touch her in the dark when she can’t see what is coming, she would lash out in fear and terror. And while the Masters say that one must control one’s fear because it is not a good thing. Bad things should be eli...elem...should be done away with. She doesn’t want to do away with the boy with sun coloured hear and lakes for eyes. Her boy.

She curls up around him. Forming a cocoon of flesh and blood, sharing warmth as she settles her pillow beside his and draws her thin, scratchy blanket across them both. Like her fathers would do, she rubs small circles against his back and leans in close to kiss his cheek. In a voice that is more Force than whisper, she says, “A long time ago, in a galaxy far away there was a beautiful world. And on this world there was a boy and a girl and an enormous garden...” ~*~

II. Her lungs burn. Her muscles threaten to seize. She doubles over. Hands on her knees, gulping in breath after breath, wincing at the sudden stitch in her side. Sweat pours down her back. She doesn’t have half the length of his legs and it’s so unfair! Only a standard cycle ago she’d been taller than him, faster. But now he’s out matched her, even if he’s paid for that growth in pain from bones, from muscle, stretching to new heights. He can now take the stairs two at a time, sometimes three when he’s daring, and all she can do is to try and catch up at a far slower pace. To add insult to injury, he doubles back. Cloak flapping behind him and robes threatening to wrap around his boots. He’ll need a new pair soon. She can tell, being so close to them in the moment, trying her best to not look like some mottled green, sweat coated disaster of a near-human. She is about as successful at that as she has been in keeping up with him.

“You almost had me until the stairs.” Oh yes, he’s just so helpful, isn’t he?  “I know.”

“You’re mad.” Thank you, Captain Obvious. “I know.”

“There’s something you don’t know,” he says, and there’s an edge to his voice. She’s hurt his feelings, unable to keep her internal comments to herself. She risks straightening, determined to meet his gaze when she apologises. That doesn’t happen because as soon as she can meet him eye to eye, she catches the thoughtful look on his face. Eyes too bright, pink in his cheeks, lower lip caught between his teeth. And the next thing that happens is he steals a quick but unmistakable kiss to her forehead. “You just-” “I know.” And with that he’s gone again, only the echo of his laugh teasing her to catch up. ~*~ III. Even apart there’s always something extra, something indefinable that others take note of even if it’s only at the edges of their animal brain, the senses enhanced by their training in the Force. A feeling like neither one is entirely in the physical space they occupy. It is like gravitational pull, perhaps. Something that extends out into space in all directions, for an infinite distance.

On Naboo, Anakin walks in a garden, the grass bending softly beneath his boots, the sun dappling his face as he turns it upwards toward the sky, eyes closed in something very similar to meditation were he not so aware of his surroundings. On Coruscant, Melakeni runs her fingers over a work bench, feeling the cold metal along the edges of her arm as she turns her gaze downward at half-sketched designs. Pod racers, strange ships, a new hand. A moment later, she picks up a neatly folded shirt and holds it up to her face.

She breathes the scent of him in. He feels the breeze waft across throat.  They reach for each other across the vast distance because they both know what it is like to be surrounded by people and be very alone. Some time later, he arrives in the common room and is greeted by the familiar faces that have always been there like stonework or stars ~hazy but really indistinct. They all have names, he even remembers a few of them. It isn’t long after that she arrives. A thousand new suns are born in the clash of blue and green, even if not a single word is spoken, if the only thing that happens is that look.

One person whispers, “Wasn’t he sitting by the window?” Another nods. “Wasn’t she reaching for a book on the shelf?”

And so it goes until the others filter out to get something to eat, called to another part of the Temple, or simply to not be HERE right now.  He gestures and her page turns. She hands him a new stylus.

Only a hand-span separates them.

Lips do not have to touch for a kiss to be so profound. ~*~

IV. She lies motionless in his arms as he carries her solemnly to her resting place. A single petal drifts down from her hair to land at his feet and he will mourn that just as much as the any other part of that except that at least the petal he can keep secreted in a pocket, where fluttering and twitching fingers can close around it, careful not to crush it. It will leave its scent on his skin no matter how often he washes that hand, because it will always and only be the one made of flesh, never the other.

It is both boon and bane that she still looks alive. 

He lays her gently amongst the pillows. With the utmost exquisite care, he strokes her hair. Her still warm cheek. Brushes the pad of his thumb along the curve of her lip. There is no political statement to be made now. No other thought but that in her demise she looks tranquil. As death, tender in its enactment, should be...or so she’d said once. His chest is tight and it’s so hard to breath when hers neither rises nor falls. Pressure builds behind his eyes as he tries to stand still, gazing down at her. His throat dry. Because he’s done this, hasn’t he? It’s all his fault. One moment she was laughing, and the next...

Her eye cracks open.

“Only way this works is if...you know... you can come down here for my dramatic turn to undeath and I savagely tear your throat out in a gush of hot, pulsing blood.”

This Impending Doom comes too close to the real thing for a moment before what she says actually registers somewhere between the layers that he so often exists between.

“And how am I supposed to be horrified at the punishment for my crimes if you keep talking. You’re supposed to be dead at least until I’ve eu-logised you.”  The word is not one he normally uses, and there’s a catch in his pronunciation of it that sets butterflies adrift in her belly, and suddenly their game...isn’t one. Before she realises it, she’s scrambled up to her knees on the impossibly thin mattress. Her hands become steel fists in the seams of his under-tunic. The tip of her nose caresses the underside of his jaw as her lips press into his throat. The desire is there to sink into his flesh. To drink down his freely given essence. But she doesn’t. Even when she can feel him pressing even closer into the kiss. Can savour the shudder that passes through him both in body and in Presence, more radiant than anything she’s seen, all heat and light when her lips part and she traces lines around cartilage there. Can feel the weight of one arm that wraps instinctively around her waist, the other becoming lost in her hair. Every single ounce of her writes into his skin; I love you, I love you, IloveyouIloveonlyyou.

~*~

V. He bolts upright. Sweat sticks to him like a second, clammy skin. His heartbeat sounds like thousands of troops marching at a pace that can never be achieved or sustained even by the most extraordinary means. The breathes he takes are far too quick and far too shallow for her liking. This has happened to Anakin throughout his life, from the first time he slept into the Temple, to now, in the aftermath of all that has happened. They would tell him that it was only nightmare. They would tell him to control himself better, that the dreams have no power over him that he does not give.

And she knows just what a load of bantha dung that is.

It’s been a while since he’s had a nightmare that powerful, that has ruined and will continue to ruin his sleep for days. She keeps a hypo in the drawer on her nightstand, but she’s not wont to use it, hasn’t before. Forcing him to sleep is just as horrific, if not more so than telling him it’s all in his head and to simply let it go. She shifts under the covers that he’s thrown off, and doesn’t take offence when his body stiffens at her touch. She waits for him to become acclimatised to the feel of her. Because nothing is as important in moments like this than for Anakin to feel safe, that he has the power to consent or decline as he wishes, even when all he might want to do is give himself over to her so he doesn’t have to make himself think. So that he can just be, which is often taxing enough without adding anything else to it. When she feels him relax even slightly, she curls an arm around his waist. Leans into his back and presses small, soothing kisses against his shoulder, against his back. With them comes a kind of clarity, not exactly of mind, but of body. She lets go only long enough to allow him to rise. At times like these he has a biological imperative to move. To stop him is to hurt him in an unforgivable way. He chooses pacing and that’s fine.  “Do you want to talk about it, Za’lali?”

“No.” He sounds so young and yet so terribly old. Eventually, he walks himself into exhaustion and comes back to bed, where she’s waited patiently. His head cushioned in her lap as he curls up as tight and small as his body will allow. She never really knows what it is he sees in his dreams. What they show him, what they warn of, but one thing she’s learned, is that they must be listened to. And he will tell her in his own time. In bits and pieces as he’s able to, and she will stitch them together into whole cloth.

She contorts at an odd angle to brush another kiss, this time to his hair. “A long time ago...”

[deiacontraria]

i wasn’t planning on discussing books i read in here since i mostly just reblog stuff but now that my side-blog is basically pointless, i suppose i might as well

okay so anyway poppy wars was great and i’m now unreasonably hyped for the third one?

i’ve literally never done reviews/opinions before like this, so i’m just gonna put it under the line because spoilers in case anyone sees this, although admittedly I’m mostly gonna comment on characters

like, i’m pretty sure this isn’t even a review, just me gushing over how i liked the books and then ranting about colonialism (yeah, I can’t seem to avoid that)

oh yeah trigger warning: colonialism, drugs (this is the poppy wars)

Rin was, at times, a bit annoying, especially since she seemed to have tunnel-vision about who she thought was in the right. I guess the whole militarization of the students (and later the shamans) is the whole point of that line, but I was glad to see her finally grow out of it.

Altan was so angry and yeah he was a victim but even Rin herself admits it was such a terrible idea to get hung up over him. Not to mention freeing Feylen turned out to be such a hilariously terrible idea.

Speaking of Feylen, he isn’t even a central character but arguably one of my favorites because a) I really want to know if all shamans are still “in there”, maybe to the degree they could potentially be killed or freed, and b) because I thought of this quote while reading one of the scenes and laughed way too much.

Though the wind blows, the mountain does not move.

This quote is completely unrelated and I’m actually not sure where it’s from (if anyone knows the complete/cited one, please let me know because I can’t find it :c), but the point is, Feylen is basically possessed by an evil Wind God and not once but twice he gets taken out by literal mountains. In the backstory he was immured after he lost control and now a mountain gets thrown on top of him. I mean, I feel super bad for the guy, but lol. This isn’t even that funny but I laughed way too much at the thought.

Venka’s storyline was just tragic and I hope she gets to kill a lot of idiots.

Kitay was uh, surprisingly better in Book 2? He went from being super book-focused to still being super book-focused but also being more willing to take risks. Aside from Chaghan tricking him into thinking actual horse pee was part of that ritual and he actually drunk it and oh god that scene hurt even if Chaghan admitting he’d lied was hilarious. The fact that he originally didn’t even want to be related to war and now he’s even willing to bear the pain of Rin’s Phoenix powers really sealed it for me. Anyway RIP Niang

Changhan was awesome in general and please tell me I’m not the only one who thinks he had a thing for Altan.

Not saying Chaghan had a thing for Altan but hey guys I think Chaghan had a thing for Altan.

What’s happened to literally every character sucks, yeah, so in theory all their growth has been out of necessity, but they didn’t give up and after book 2 I really REALLY hope they get the resolution they deserve in the end. War sucks and so does colonialism (but more on that later)

Nezha was uh, a surprise but not really? Since Enki(?) had already accused him of being a shaman back in book 1. He seems adamant that he isn’t a shaman and he actually seems to have the cannot-be-killed factor that lost shamans like Feylen also have so, uh? He has the power of a god (actually a dragon ._.) but it does seem to work a bit differently. Also yeah Rin, he’s a coward. Don’t get me wrong, I did ship Rin+Nezha throughout the book, but THE AUDACITY. Kitay did say he had been acting weird since when he saved Rin (and Rin basically drugged him til he passed out), so I kinda hope he was just losing control to his god as opposed to just being an ***, especially since he lets them go in the end.

Also lol at Rin accusing Nezha of being a shaman after she’s captured and the inquisitors (yes I’m going to call them that) being like ????? because Nezha’s father is hiding it. I do agree with Rin though, his father would have 100% intentionally left Nezha at the mercy of the dragon just for the sake of having power.

Anyway! War! Sudden southern rebellion! I really hope they win. Against the colonizers. I honestly can’t even read some of those scenes. There’s really firm church parallel in there. They worship the Maker and hate Chaos. Uh, sound familiar? Yeah. Except shamans are Chaos and it’s perfectly justified to torture/kill them! (/s, for the record) .Yeah... the Hesparians (honestly not even sure if I spelled that right because, as I said, I could barely read those scenes) are objectively terrible manipulators and I really really dislike them, to not use harsher words. Like. Seriously. The Poppy Wars. *sigh* OF COURSE it was going to turn out to be colonialism. This hurt.

In any case, if there’s anything I hope, it’s that they eventually figure out how to actually get rid of the immortal god vessels. We don’t see the others that lost control but seeing Feylen, who’s clearly still conscious and occasionally trying to struggle, basically doomed to eternity of being stuck because their god is too dangerous but also incapable of dying. Just eeeee somebody save these people. Or at least find a way to kill them.

TL;DR Poppy Wars was awesome but colonialism makes me sad (obviously not the story’s fault lol) and for some reason I’m apparently obsessed with Feylen

[omnivorousshipper]

Shobbs: Pearl in the Rough-Chap 3

Summary: When Captain Luke Hobbs is mutinied and left on a small island, he's not expecting to ever to be rescued or get any kind of company.

Chapter 2

Luke glanced over to the merman when he heard the soft scrapping of driftwood through sand stop. All of the driftwood that had been laying on top of the merman now laid in a pile, acting like a barrier. Even though the driftwood obscure some of it, Luke could see the mystical being laying still, laying on its side and head pillowed under one of its arms. Its eyes were closed and chest moving steadily up and down, if a bit shallowly. 

As quietly as he could, Luke slowly got his feet under him, keeping a watchful eye on the merman, just in case he opened his eyes. Luckily for Luke, he stayed asleep, not reacting to Luke meticulously making his way over. When he was only about a foot or two away from the merman, Luke crouched down taking the creature in. 

“Amazing…” Luke breathed out, his arms stretched out towards the merman, nearly touching. 

Like any sailor, Luke had of course heard stories about mermaids, even been warned never to trust them if he ever met one. He had been spun tales of whole crews being pulled under the waves by the enchanting songs of mermaids. How their beauty was unmatched and they could ensnare the stubbornest sailor to ever sail. Once a mermaid got their song stuck into your head and heart, your fate was sealed and you would meet your end at the bottom of the sea’s floor, the mermaid’s talons the last thing you see as they pluck your eyes out. 

Now, as Luke stared down at the merman, he had to wonder if those stories were true. The talon part most likely was, as Luke stared at the merman’s hands. They were slightly webbed between the fingers and had sharp claws at the end of those fingers. And the creature looked strong enough with his muscular arms to be able to pull an enthralled sailor to his doom. 

But, Luke highly doubted the merman would be able to do anything to him, not while he was completely beached. 

“Why didn’t you go back into the water? Are you hurt?” Luke gently whispered, but received no response from the slumbering merman. Sending a small prayer to anyone that would listen, Luke moved closer to look over the merman, hoping that he wouldn’t be on the receiving end of those wicked looking claws. 

The first thing Luke noticed was that the creature’s pale skin was very quickly turning pink. Its skin was extremely dry, no sweat forming to cool him down, and making the webbing between its fingers and the delicate fin on its back look tried out. Glancing down at the merman’s scales, that began at its waist and bled into his tail, Luke could tell that too was dry. Overall, it reminded him of the fish parts that would be left on deck by the cooks, shriveled up and eventually thrown back into the sea. 

Focusing on the tail, Luke couldn’t help the sense of awe raising up in his chest again. Even with the scales looking dried out and a bit frail, the merman’s tail looked magnificent. The scales were every color of blue Luke could even fathom. The scales glinted beautifully in the sunlight, nearly changing shade right before Luke’s eyes. 

If Luke had to guess, he would say, from head to the very tip of his tail, that the creature’s tail took up two thirds of the body, no doubt making the whole creature seven or eight feet in length. 

And honestly, if Luke had seen this utterly beautiful creature singing to him, he had a feeling that he would jump from his ship into its awaiting arms and claws. 

But he wasn’t on a ship being serenaded, instead, he was on a small island, watching as the merman’s breathing sounded like wheezing and once again reminding him of the fish the ship’s cooks would catch for dinner. How they would flop around at the cooks’ feet, gasping on air when water should have been flowing through their gills. 

And the comparison didn’t stop there as Luke’s eyes wondered even further down the merman’s tail. Luke could feel his stomach roll as he took in the large, jagged piece of wood that speared through the merman’s tailfin, blood slowly gushing from the wound and seeping into the sand. 

“Oh god,” Luke hissed. His hands immediately started to move closer to the wound, instinctually wanting to stem the bleeding. With all the horrific battles he has been in, it was a natural thing for his body to reach out and help his fellow man. Well, in this case, merman. 

But. Something stopped him.

“Stay away, landbreeder!”

Those words had been hissed at him, layered with hatred and a deep seated fear. It was obvious the merman didn’t trust humans, and would no doubt want to gut Luke as soon as the human set a hand on him. 

If I want him to trust me, I’ll have to show him that he can, Luke thought to himself and nodded to himself in determination. 

Standing up, Luke quickly made his way to the center of the small island, luckily finding his little camp barely affected by the previous day’s storm. There were several coconuts cut in half, their pieces wrapped up in Luke’s naval jacket, while the two spears Luke had carved stood tall from where they were partially buried in the sand next to a small pit that used to contain fire. Several large palm leaves were scattered on the ground, having been pulled off the trees by the strong winds. 

Looking over what he had, Luke quickly scooped up his jacket, one of the spears, and some of the palm leaves. These should work for a small shelter.

Heading back to the merman, Luke looked him over again, noticing his skin was turning more red than pink now, slowly burning in the harsh sun. A new wave of determination washed over Luke as he quickly and efficiently started to cut strips off of his jacket, eyes glancing over to the merman after every tear, expecting the creature to jump up and attack him. 

The only thing the merman did in response was let out shallow breaths, completely lost to the world and anything Luke did. 

Once Luke had a good amount of strips of cloth laid out, he broke the spear in half, using it as a structure to tie the palm leaves around. While rope would have worked much better to tie the leaves to the spear halves, the cloth worked well enough. Trying to make it as sturdy as he could, soon enough, Luke had a small and very crude lean to. Picking the small structure up, Luke carefully planted it right above the merman, nearly covering the human parts of the creature and finally allowing him reprieve from the sun’s rays.

Luke watched the merman for a moment, hoping the shade would wake him up, but to no luck. But at least Luke’s efforts made the merman’s face to smooth out, the grimace that had been on his sleeping face disappearing. 

A small smile of victory crossed on Luke’s face, before it dimmed. There must be something else he could do. 

He’s part fish. What do fish need?

Water.

Once again, Luke went back to his small camp and this time collected all the empty coconut shells, and brought them to the shore. One by one, Luke filled each shell with sea water and brought them to where the merman laid. When every single one was filled to the brim, Luke fell to his knees next to the merman, a hand hovering over one of the shells. 

“Please don’t kill me,” he mumbled. 

Carefully picking up the shell, Luke poured the seawater over the merman’s torso, nearly jumping when he heard the startled gasp below him, and the merman’s entire body squirm. Quickly glancing at the creature’s face, Luke saw a look of pure relief etched on the somehow still sleeping figure. Encouraged, Luke picked up another shell and poured.

With each shell, the merman seemed to breathe easier, body losing the tension that had wracked him. Luke could feel his own worry lessening as he listened to much steadier breathing. 

Picking up a few of the now empty shells, Luke made to stand, but was stopped when a webbed hand shot out and harshly grabbed at his wrist, talons almost digging into skin and drawing blood.

Luke stayed frozen in a half crouch over the merman, who was staring up at him with bright hazel eyes. 

[starfaring-princelotor]

Fourth Sight

Summary: Sincline returns to your reality, but something is...wrong.

★ Disclaimer: I do not ship Lotura and I respectfully ask that this story to not be tagged as Lotura. This is a Lotor x Reader/Self-Insert OC story which is in no way related to Allura at all. Please be respectful of my chosen pairing. ★

Warnings: Blood, starvation, vague mention of suicide.

Touch Series: Part One___Part Two___Part Three___Part Four___Part Five

Taste Series: Part One___Part Two___Part Three___Part Four___Part Five

Sight Series: Part One___Part Two___Part Three___Part Four

“Day one in the Rift. The Paladins of Voltron have left me to rot in the quintessence field. Sincline’s internal engine has overheated from their final blow. And yet, somehow I still live. No matter, I must get out of here. I know not how much time has passed or how long I have been unconscious, but Sincline is unresponsive to any of my commands.”

Lotor stabilized his breathing, knowing that oxygen would be a valuable resource which he could not squander right now. His suit could only last for so long and if he wasn’t able to get Sincline back up and running, then he would suffocate to death. Time was limited. His body ached something fierce, yet he couldn’t quite be sure if it was because of the fight or due to being in the Rift for...minutes? Hours? Days?

He slipped on his helmet then leaned back into the seat. He can do this. He has to.

“Day five in the Rift. The structural integrity of Sincline has held, which is a good thing. The main generator seems to have taken minimal damage from the blast. On the downside, it is still unresponsive. I can only assume that most, if not all, of the internal wires have burnt out.”

The Emperor was floating in the never ending whiteness, hands prying open the back panel of the immobilized mech with familiarity. Just as he thought. His deft fingers held the frayed wires in front of his face, eyes scrutinizing it to see if there was any chance of salvaging them. No such luck. He wasn’t able to start up Sincline without the right amount of quintessence.

Wait. That was it. Quintessence.

“I have a plan. The Rift is full of quintessence. If I can find a way to transfer it to the core power, then maybe…”

“Come on...Sincline, come on!” Lotor gritted his teeth together, trying his damn best to get any sort of reaction out of the machine.

Yet, no matter what he did, whether changing the mechanics of the interior engine or rewiring only the necessities, nothing worked. Lotor doesn’t understand. He and Allura made the robot from the same comet as Voltron. It should have been equipped with an automatic energy regenerating sequence in case of emergencies. He slammed his fist against the window in frustration, only to regret it instantly.

He shouldn't be using his energy like this.

“Day 12. Sincline is unable to absorb the quintessence in the field. The mechanism is...it is broken. I just need a small spark, just a little bit to get it working again. From there, it should charge on its own. Oxygen levels are decreasing. I am on the last of the nutrient supplies. If I get out of here, remind me to thank the doctor for having the foresight to pack food.”

If? No, when. When he gets out of here. He IS going to get out of here or he’ll die trying.

Hunger pains were the worst. He hated them, out of everything he had to do to survive, feeling your own stomach eat itself was a horrendous experience. Lotor has been through it before, but even then, he could eat dirt and survive with the consequential sickness that follows. Yet, there was nothing here. He did not have the ability to eat metal. His rations have run out. All he had left was half a bottle of water.

“Day...23. I am unsure if it is the quintessence or if I am losing my mind. I saw something out there. The Rift creatures have sensed me. I can only hope my sword is enough to defend myself.”

But he doubts it. Lotor curled over his stomach, gripping it as it rumbled in starvation. Again, he squeezes the handle. Sincline still did not respond.

He wasn’t desperate. Yet.

Not even with the gaping wound throbbing at his side. It gushed blood from the vicious bite that lovely Rift creature bestowed upon him, but the upside? Raw quintessence was healing it very slowly. It did nothing to rejuvenate his energy, though. Lotor was breathing heavily from the fight, limbs shaking from overexertion and...from fear.

That creature was tenacious in a way only savage animals crave when hungry. Not for blood, rather for their next meal ticket, and if Lotor wasn’t careful, he would find himself being eaten alive soon. He was weak, prime for picking if he couldn't figure out how to get Sincline back online. His suit no longer had any oxygen left to support him. He was stuck inside this mech. He would die in this mech.

The bracelet around his wrist radiated a faint red glow, the indicator telling him what he already knew. Lotor felt sick staying in the Rift for so long. No food, no air, and soon, no way of escape from those ravenous Rift creatures who would devour him piece by piece. He was lucky the last one was small, a scavenger no doubt, but how long until bigger ones find him?

Lotor bit his bottom lip and closed his eyes. He couldn’t die, not yet. Not like this. He worked too hard, came too far, for it all to end in naught. The Alteans, the Galra, every planet that suffered under Zarkon, they’re relying on him, on his return to restore balance to the universe. To return it to a time of peace, to soothe the scars left behind by his father’s tyrannical rule.

He faced that bastard, fought against all odds, survived this long to right the wrongs. His goals were so close, so damn close, yet like everything else in his life, they slipped right through his fingers and stabbed him in the back. Lotor had to keep going. He had to try something, anything, that would return him to the wounded universe he was born in.

A thousand scenarios were already flitting through his mind of all the work he left unfinished. The old Empire he never wanted, now fractured, free to conquer and kill without control. The Alteans he carefully preserved, soon to be completely eradicated now that they were exposed to an unsafe war zone. Everyone was going to suffer because of one little mistake. Because he trusted the wrong people. Lotor trusted Voltron when he shouldn’t have even bothered to accept their help in the first place.

Things were going to be worse now than ever before. And all of this? Fell on his shoulders.

His voice was rough, strained, exhausted beyond belief. “Day 48 in the Rift. No food. No water. What little oxygen Sincline has will only last me one or two more days.”

Lotor gritted his teeth in mounting frustration, his chest aching with sickening trepidation of what the future will hold, whether he was there or not.

“I don’t want to die.”

“Day...50.”

Lotor was tired. Restless. The cockpit of Sincline felt stifling and cramped. He had a pounding headache from lack of water. Lack of...everything, in fact. Sleep would not claim him whenever he closed his eyes. He was too weak to do more than sit up from his seat. And, dare he say, he even thought about eating his own clothes if it meant he would have something in his stomach.

No energy to move, but just enough for him to think about everything that led up to this moment. It was a dangerous path to start and even more dangerous to go down, yet he couldn’t stop himself. His mind would tumble down that pit, he knows this. Yet, after 10,000 years of suffering, of growth, of rebuilding himself over and over again, he knew that he was his own miserable company. Lotor had no one but himself.

It was better that way.

No mother. No father. No Ven’tar. No friends. All of them, gone by his doing. He hated thinking like this, dwelling on the past and what he could’ve done different. It led him to sympathize with himself. You tried your best, Lotor. But did he really try? You did everything you could, Lotor. But did he really do everything? You were a great leader, Lotor.

But...was he really?

His Empire ostracized him, shunned him for being part Altean. And those Alteans he saved? Could they really trust him for being part Galra? Or rather, for being Zarkon’s disgraceful spit of a son? Lotor tried so damn hard to prove to himself that he wasn’t like his evil father. He didn’t murder or kill without remorse. Yet, it didn't matter what he thought of himself.

There will always be people who can’t separate his bloodline and his race. There will always be people who will judge his actions based on his father’s bloody history. He couldn’t escape it. He could endure the abuse, he always has, but fuck, at what cost? How much longer until his will finally gives out?

Those he trusted left him behind. Maybe Allura was right. And maybe, this was a fitting death for him in the end.

“Was there really any hope for me?”

The Rift creatures completely swarmed Sincline, liquid sharp teeth gnawing and biting at the glass separating him from certain death. Lotor gulped and gripped the handles tighter, his knuckles straining against his gloves as he could feel the quintessence begin to overexert his body. The clock was ticking. Eyes were darting around for a way out of his inevitable doom, but he was trapped inside this machine with no where else to go.

“Come out! Come out!”

Lotor was losing his damn mind. Another shrieking growl from the creatures had him shaking his head in hopes to snap out of it. Did they just...talk? Or was he hearing things? One of the creatures raised an amorphous limb and slammed it on the hull, denting it and his chances of survival.

“You smell so good! Let us eat!”

His heart was pounding too fast in his chest, he thinks he might have cardiac arrest before the beasts broke through. The star crack in the shield began leaking in the monster’s formless body, squirming and wriggling closer to reach him. Lotor knew this was it. Now or never. He had to take that chance, regardless if it worked. He may not be able to escape his fate, but his final act of desperation was his only shot left.

“My creator…”

That voice...sounded different. Not like the Rift creatures. Lotor closed his eyes and concentrated on his flickering quintessence. The hunger pains were long gone. The wound at his side? Nothing but a faint scar remained. And his thoughts of anger, of betrayal? They were...soothed. His rage, quelled. His sadness, non-existent. He should've wondered where all his feelings went, why he was actually losing all sensation in his body.

“Sleep, now.”

Lotor helped make this mech. He knows the lions are sentient to an extent. If he can just get Sincline booted with a jolt of his quintessence, then maybe, just maybe, it can escape the Rift. With him alive or not. He can’t let the Rift creatures use Sincline, either for sustenance or for...a weapon. He can't let that happen. Sincline was built to help the universe, not destroy it. Never to destroy it.

Perhaps that was why Voltron defeated him. Sincline wasn’t a superweapon. That was never his goal for this machine.

“I will keep you safe, my creator.”

Lotor’s body chilled. Hi soul pulled from his mortal vessel. Sharp claws dug into his flesh with a sickening squelch, but he felt no pain, for his consciousness was already gone from this reality. And, when the quintessence was gone, the creatures realized their meal was stolen right out of their very hungry mouths.

“Day 51. Emperor Lotor is now under my protection.”

Sincline’s eyes began radiating with life, its sight glowing a threatening hue of purple in the infinite white of the Rift.

“Sir, are you sure it’s wise to leave an inter-dimensional communication stone in this reality?”

The Black Paladin averted his attention from the main screen, looking off to the side as Acxa’s face came into view. The lions were in the quintessence field and, as expected, the locator Kylan created with the blood sample you stored was working perfectly. However, now that she brought it up, he felt that explaining himself would build some confidence with his teammates.

“Yes. The technology here is not as advanced as ours. That may be because the planets have not yet unionized together under one banner,” he paused briefly, “It is...a shame. But we are helping them and, in turn, I have no doubt we will have stronger allies on our side after we find the Emperor. What Kylan showed me about the war here tells me that the Galra Empire needs their leader back first and foremost.”

“Yeah, uh, you aren’t just saying that because of the doctor, are you?” Ezor piped in with a teasing lilt in her voice, “This IS a different reality. We could be helping the wrong people here.”

Their leader smiled at the playful prodding, the ring on his finger suddenly filling his mind with trickles of joyful thoughts.

“Never was a fighter, that one,” he mused with a chuckle, “It is not a coincidence that we met again.”

Zethrid scoffed, “What? So, you think it’s fate that we just happened to pop out at the exact right spot with the exact right people to take us in?”

“Not fate. Perhaps just blind, dumb luck.”

Then, all at once, his Paladins muttered a single word.

“Soulmates.”

“A little unorthodox, but the existence of other realities has still not been fully researched yet,” he shrugged, accepting that the evidence before them was circumstantial at best, “We would have never known it was possible if it were not for Sven.”

An ominous silence fell upon the group, all of them thinking about the human who joined the Guns of Gamora. Who was, unfortunately, captured by Hira and her forces. His location remained unknown and no one knew what happened to Slav. They could only assume the Empress has them under her control now.

“Paladins, let us find this Emperor and bring him back,” Lotor ordered with brave confidence suited for the Black Paladin, “Time is of the essence here, but stay on your toes. The Rift creatures are relentless. If you spot one, do not engage alone. We are not in friendly territory.”

And that was one of their major concerns. While yes, they were searching for Sincline, he was wary of the mech’s self-sustaining capabilities. Moreso, the consciousness of the robot. It was not new information that the lions are sentient. Even he could correlate that Sincline would be just as alive as Voltron.

But now the question remained: would Sincline attack Voltron on sight?

It was the sound of chittering, followed by a meow, that alerted the group of the small, black dot in the distance.

“Good job, Kova,” Lotor tapped a few more keys on the screen, the locator pointing northeast from their current position, “Narti, everyone, proceed with caution.”

The closer the group drifted, the tighter they flew in formation, just in case Voltron was needed. It was a spectacle to behold. Another mech made from the same comet as the robotic lions they were piloting now. Another mech that can pierce the Rift between time and space itself. And its eyes were glowing purple.

“Sir...I have a bad feeling about this,” Zethrid warned, nearly growling by instinct.

“Stand down for now. He is aware of our presence,” Lotor commanded, “Ezor, send him a transmission that we are here to help. If he makes the first move, do not fight him. We do not know what he is capable of.”

Acxa’s thumb was on the trigger, ready to react at the first order to fire. Yet, it didn't come. She heard Lotor hum in thought as seconds ticked by, but nothing was happening. The Black Paladin had thousand of scenarios flashing through his mind. Maybe the Emperor was dead? Or was Sincline watching their every move? Perhaps the quintessence has filled his body? No, if that were the case, then the Rift creatures would have torn the ship apart to shreds by now.

Then...then the Emperor’s quintessence was no longer in his body. That leaves only two options: he is dead or Sincline has captured his soul.

Loud warning signals began flashing across each of the Paladin’s screen, setting all of them on high alert. Even Kova’s hackles were raised, teeth bared as he hissed at the unknown foes in the distance. A dark, inky hoard of Rift creatures were dashing straight at them, sensing their quintessence from miles away. Immediately, Lotor knew they could not handle them all, not even if they formed Voltron.

“Orders, sir!” Zethrid repeated, now understanding that the plans have changed with the new enemies on the horizon.

“It’d be a good idea to run, don’t ya think?” Ezor offered her opinion, “Preferably before they reach us.”

“Zethrid, Ezor, grab Sincline. Acxa and Narti, with me. If those creatures get close, we must protect the Emperor,” Lotor maneuvered his lion ahead of Sincline as Red and Green flanked the rear, “We are getting out of here now!”

Both the Blue and the Yellow lion each latched themselves under Sincline’s arms, making sure to keep their jets ready if the mech decided to attack. No such thing happened, thankfully, and the group quickly followed Lotor as he guided them down the path. The gate was too far and they could not risk a chance of having the Rift creatures find out about it. Or worse, potentially breaking through and swarming the unprepared reality.

The Black Paladin focused his energy through his body, mixing it with the lion’s, then took a deep breath. She responded to his call. She always did. His hands glowed that ethereal Altean magic, transferring his power to her vessel. She opened her mouth and fired a bright violet beam straight ahead, the force creating a swirling wormhole right before the Paladin’s very eyes.

“Ezor and Zethrid, when you go through, head for the gate. We will be close behind you.”

Deft fingers knocked the door lightly, catching the attention of you and the bedridden patient. The medical wing on Kylan’s ship was still useful for helping those relocated from the second colony and, inwardly, you were glad he decided to keep a close eye on them. Except now, without those pods, manual practices must take place. You were a doctor, so of course you kept to your role.

You flicked your finger across the holographic screen projecting from the device on your wrist, occasionally nodding while skimming over the report. “Your quintessence levels have significantly gone down back to normal. Good, very good. Still, I’d like you to get a few more days of rest while your body stabilizes,” you explained while the screen minimized out of sight for now.

“Thank you, doctor.” She was an old patient, very sensitive to quintessence and, therefore, the treatment as well, “Would you kindly tell Lotor I give my thanks, too?”

Your eyes hardened for a few seconds before you gave a firm nod. Everyone from the colonies knew about Lotor’s disappearance, but this patient? She had a failing memory. It felt...wrong to tell her the bad news over and over again, especially if she were to forget it within the next day. That was the quintessence to blame, sadly. Regardless, her health was the first priority here.

This is what you learned about the colony, what Kylan explained was happening there. These generations of Alteans have evolved to the point where their bodies produce too much quintessence. Just as there were those who stayed underground for so long that their skin could not be exposed to the sun without the light burning them. 

Evolution did its job on their species.

But this wasn't just any quintessence. This was pure quintessence, the deadliest form of them all. Letting it fester within their bodies would kill them. You read the reports. You know all the research that Lotor and his crew discovered. And, strangely enough, the process to remove quintessence was quite similar to a procedure you remember from Earth.

Lotor wasn’t draining Alteans. He was using dialysis to keep them alive. Their body was just no longer able to naturally process the slow-build up of quintessence over time. There were still many questions left unanswered, though. Why did Alteans evolve out this ability? What is the purpose of their bodies harnessing so much quintessence in the first place? And, more importantly, did this issue solely reside in their species and only their species?

You had no time to figure it out. Not when the fractured Empire was at your heels.

“I will let him know. Now, excuse me,” you gave the old lady’s hand a gentle squeeze before heading out the door, right where Kylan was waiting.

Clearly, he was out of breath from rushing. That told you he had something of utmost importance to share with you. It didn’t take a single word from him for you to hear the message loud and clear. You read it on his face. The way hope filled his eyes, the small smile, his relaxed albeit disheveled posture. The nod of confirmation when your own questioning gaze widened in disbelief.

“They’ve returned with Sincline.”

You did not even respond back as the two of you quickly jogged to the ship’s hangar. They succeeded. Against all odds, the Paladins actually succeeded. When the doors slide open, there, lying flat on the steel floor, was Sincline in all its glory. Surrounding the mech were the lions and their respective Paladins. You halted besides the group, filled with both stunned silence and doubtful hope.

Yes, that was the mech.

But why wasn't the Emperor coming out of…

“Doctor. Kylan.” The Black Paladin called for your attention, taking it away from the threatening glowing eyes of Sincline, “There has been...a complication.”

“Tell me.”

“Sincline is operational. However,” Lotor folded his arms across his chest and sighed heavily, “It is hostile.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, “Hostile? What do you mean hostile?”

“What he means is,” Ezor rubbed her neck a bit nervously, “Sincline has chosen to close itself off. No one can get him out of there. The robot is refusing to open.”

“It is a safety precaution. I have seen this before,” Lotor explained as clearly as he could. “The same way only the lions get to choose their Paladins. Sincline chooses who will be worthy to pilot it.”

Now, it made sense. Sincline was denying entry to anyone who got close to it. No one here was worthy in its eyes. Not you, not Kylan, and not even this alternate reality version of Lotor. You needed to know whether the Emperor was alive or not. For the Empire, yes, but with that sickening clench gripping your chest, you needed to know...for yourself, too.

“Emperor Lotor...he is trapped in there,” the Black Paladin bowed his head to the floor, “I can not force Sincline to accept me. I am not its pilot. There is nothing else I can do to help.”

“Sincline is sentient,” you pointed out, “If that’s so...it is watching us. It can hear us.”

Kylan jutted his chin up a bit at your claim, “Yes. If Sincline was made from the same material as Voltron, then it is entirely possible to communicate with it.”

“Isn’t it obvious what needs to be done?”

Now, all pairs of eyes looked at you in question, waiting for your answer. You did this before and it worked. It was time to test that theory again, especially for Emperor Lotor’s sake. For the Empire’s sake. For the universe’s sake. The lions were living beings. There was no reason to believe Sincline would be any different.

“We have to convince it.” Unconsciously, your hand came up to rub at your shoulder, phantom pains reminding you of that fateful day you were shot, “We have to convince Sincline that we are here to help Lotor.”

“Even if Sincline allows it, we do not know what sort of risks lie with this new type of mech,” Kylan countered while holding his chin in thought, “It could be a trap. Animals have been known to lead prey, even those with the most innocent intentions, to their doom.”

“But what if it was someone Lotor recognizes? You worked alongside with him while building the colonies. He trusts you. He knows you. Perhaps the familiarity will lead Sincline to trust you, too.”

Silence. The group all turned to gaze up at the still mech, feeling its eyes warily watch them. Judge them. Listen to them. Sincline was thinking, planning. Learning. It could peer into each and every one of those mortal’s souls. Their past, their present, and even their future. Two of them were truly Lotor’s allies, but only one of them was vastly more important than the other.

“If what you say is true, and we go through with this, you realize what must be done, doctor,” Kylan closed his eyes and took a deep breath, “I can not take that risk considering my responsibility with the colony, with Lotor’s work.”

It was like Kylan said long ago. He would help you find the Emperor, but his aid ended when the potential danger outweighed the cost of him staying alive.

“...I know,” came your answer, unwavering in the face of uncertain grounds, “I will do it, Kylan.”

You trusted Lotor. He had to be in there. You would go into the mind of Sincline, where no soul has ever delved into before, where the unknown most certainly tipped between life and death, where your Emperor laid waiting. Just like Lotor, you had to plan this carefully. Cautiously. For even you knew that it only took one mistake to ruin everything you worked so hard to achieve.

Up to this point, you had nothing to lose. If you died, then your problems would be done and over with. Now, though. Now, you survived this long. You were this close to saving Lotor. Just one more step, you told yourself. The work of a doctor is never done. There will always be lives to rescue, so why was this any different? Why was his any different?

Because you believed in him. You saw first hand what he is capable of. His story is not over. He was the key to saving the universe. Not Voltron. Not through brute force, but the raw determination to build a better future, regardless of what happened in the past. Lotor’s will to bring peace to the galaxy was real.

And you knew as any other did that, although hope is a strong motivator, it takes action to truly accomplish impossible goals.

You knew what had to be done and you would do it for the future the both of you believed in. 

[mz-hide]

Trick of Might - Chaper 7

Aka: a Dragon Ball Z slash fic.

Chapter 7

The calm before the storm.

Summary: An ancient enemy makes a sudden comeback into Goku’s life. Long-suppressed memories surface again and it’s no longer possible for the young saiyan to ignore them. Warnings: Dubious Consent, (because of drug use) Ships & Pairings: Bulma/Vegeta, Goku/Vegeta, Goku/Turles, Goku/Turles/Vegeta, Turles/Vegeta, Raditz/Turles, Nappa/Turles, Nappa/Raditz/Turles, Daiz/Turles Contains: Threesome - M/M/M, Group Sex, Polyamory, Aphrodisiacs, Secret Crush, Confessions, Enemies to Lovers, Love Triangles, Oral Sex, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, Gay Sex, Biting, Scratching, Boners All Around, Feral Behavior, (just a tiny bit), Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Content

You can find the rest on my AO3 page (username: originalmonkeyhydes)

The Tree of Might was an enchanting enigma, one its ever consuming, demanding nature made it all the harder for him to study. No matter how long he’d been spreading its seeds across the galaxies, watching it feed on entire planets and then absorb their energy himself, through its fruits, it seemed as if its potential was bottomless. Its existence was an endless mystery, perpetually enfolding.   Ever since he’d found it on his path, Turles had lived just to prod its most hidden essence, in awe of its many secrets. After all the time he’d spend feeding of its power, stumbling upon something new like that was truly surprising. He had tried eating its sap before, but somehow it had never crossed his mind to do when it was in bloom. Had he regretted not having thought about it before, surrounded by its sweet scent and warmth, flared nostrils and delight filling his lungs with every greedy breath. He’d almost risked not making it out the experiment alive, so long he’d lingered on the doomed dwarf planet, delaying his departure as much as possible to indulge the pleasure of his latest discovery. He had to repeat the experiment as soon as luck allowed it. It wouldn’t have helped with his primary research but “for the hell of it” was a good enough excuse for his newly ticked interests. Luckily finding a planet that mediocre in size was an easier feat than finding one apt for the tree’s final stages. It didn’t take him long to figure out how to recreate the perfect conditions for the magic to happen and once he did, he would seek out all the perfect planetary candidates, order his crew to wait for him at the other side of the planet and retreat on his Tree to celebrate in solitude. There was nothing sweeter than reaping what he’d so lovingly sowed. It didn’t take him long before the idea of sharing his new discovery started to tickle his fancy. He’d just started wondering who to share it with when the answer come to him. Specifically, it came in the form of one of his crew members, following him to the Tree, too curious too see what their leader was up to to obey his orders. He’d waited to reach the thickest part of the Tree’s crown before acknowledging the observer’s presence. “Disobeying my direct orders, Daiz?”, he’d called out. The man behind him audibly flinched. “I know you’re there. Come out. Now.” His minion was wise enough to recognize a command when he heard one. “How-?” “You forget I’m a saiyan”, the pirate said, not deigning to turn to the intruder just yet, “I might not have a scouter on but I can still smell you.” “C-captain, I-“ “You were following me, were you not?” “It’s just that… For some time now you’ve been choosing odd planets to plant the Tree. This planet is not a good candidate for it to bear fruits. It’s highly likely that it won’t resist much longer before crumbling apart. And you come here alone, without armor and without a scouter and I-” “You were curious to see what I’ve been doing up here all this time. Correct?” “Well…” “Answer me. I asked you a question. Am I correct?” “Yes, Captain.” Turles took a long, dramatic breath, inhaling the scents around him and a dangerous smirk bent his lips. It was time. His eyes caught sight of a dark, wound-up bud. He reached out to grasp it. Thick, juicy petals unfolded in his grasp, releasing a gush of rich, crimson sap trickling down his elbow. He brought his arm to his face and licked the liquid off. His nostrils twitched in delight as a familiar heat started spreading through him. He could feel the other’s tension as he watched him, taste the apprehension that took hold of him, ignoring what was about to happen. And it was delightful. What luck indeed that it had been Daiz the one to follow him up there. He was going to make the best out of that situation and he knew just how to. “Curiosity kills, Daiz. Isn’t that how the saying goes?” “I didn’t mean to-“ “Hush. No need for apologies. After all it’s just normal that you would follow your gut. After all, I should know. I’ve followed mine across the universe in pursuit of answers. We’re not that different, you and I.” He let another pause of silence fall between them as he intently sucked his fingers clean, feeling his suit grow tighter around him.  Only then did he turn his head to look at him. The sight of deep, blue eyes blown wide with apprehension was a welcome one. The other’s mouth was pulled into a tense, thin line, his body stiff and alert. Turles studied his underling carefully. There was no doubt he had gotten wind of the heavy fragrance stagnating in the air, he wouldn’t have needed a saiyan’s keen sense of smell to detect that. To his disappointment, however, it didn’t seem to have any particular or significant effect on him other than elicit curiosity. But there was an anticipation to him that spoke of something other than fear and wariness, something Turles had his fun willfully ignoring so far, watching it increase over time as if nurtured by his neglect. Daiz had always struck him as an ideal servant, needy for praise, eager to obey, qualities a saiyan like him would have normally found demanding. Turles found it an enjoyable sensitivity to frustrate and tease. He’d had his fun in delaying and denying the satisfaction of his attention, of his praise, knowing it would only make his man’s needs grow keener. His indifference had kindled a desperate, voracious devotion. He could see it clearly bubble to the surface now, plain and evident, ripe for the plucking.   The dark saiyan’s lips pursed into a knowing smirk, pleased by the way the smaller alien was looking at him. The Tree might not have affected him, but something else clearly was. “Tell me, Daiz…”, he finally spoke again, obsidian eyes growing dangerously intense, an airy flutter in his voice, “Our races look quite similar, don’t you think? The rest of my crew is fine and mighty, that’s for sure, but aesthetically speaking they’re an oddly assorted bunch. You and I, on the other hand… we always had a special connection.” He licked his lips and saw the other warrior shudder slightly, following the movement of his tongue. No doubt he’d caught a glimpse of his fangs. Daiz always seemed to enjoy the likes of them and Turles was far from oblivious to it. Just as he was far from oblivious to the alien’s subtle charm. Daiz was smaller than him, weaker, supple in interesting places and slender in others. The hue of his hair and irises, the asymmetrical pupils, the crisp, almost mineral scent of him… everything about him was entirely alien to Turles. And yet, entirely alluring in a lot of wrong, right ways. “Between you and me, I’ve always felt like the both of us would fit better together… if you catch my meaning…” “I think I do”, the other replied fervently. “I do know what you mean.” The captain found the way the youth was looking at him very much to his liking. “Very well, then, I guess you won’t mind me asking this of you”, Turles carried on, turning and standing in front of his crew member, the front edge of his pants tugged down and one hand shamelessly groping the base of his engorged sex. “How would I go about sticking this inside you?” The blue haired alien’s eyes blazed with eagerness, as he slowly crawled up to him and meekly got to his knees. “I would start from here”, Daiz murmured, disclosing his jaws. An elongated blue tongue stretched out of his mouth, sheepishly. Turles smirked. He put a hand on the back of his soldier’s head and took the advice, sliding home. He too found that was a damn good place to start.

Bulma had been so dumbfounded by Vegeta’s sudden interference she hadn’t recovered her wits in time to put some distance between herself and the ship. When the rockets went off, she was sent staggering backwards and lost her balance. She’d lowered the hand she’d shielded her eyes with and looked heavenwards, watching the fire trail scorching the terse, midnight sky. One last glimmer, probably occurred at the edge of Earth’s atmosphere, and the ship was out of sights. That unbelievable tool! She directed a ferocious glare at the sky that went sadly ignored. Not that it would have had any effect even if Vegeta had been able to see it. So, she directed her scowl towards the Namekian. The green alien had no trouble enduring the strong gusts of air from the ship’s departure, obviously. He also hadn’t moved a muscle to prevent her from falling backwards, butt down on her parent’s lawn. He stood tall and still, holding his precious, unconscious pupil in his arms, his disapproving gaze directed upwards where the ship had disappeared from view. Bulma let out an exasperated sigh and pushed herself back on her feet. She should have known better than to expect Piccolo to put her safety before Gohan’s. Her friend’s son was the only thing that could make the Namekian seem human. That devotion was almost moving. Too bad that, in any other department, he was just as infuriating as Goku and Vegeta. “Brutes and ingrates, all the men in my life”, the scientist mumbled, swatting grass off her clothes. “Mind explaining to me what was that all about?!” Piccolo didn’t budge, as if he hadn’t heard her at all. If the height difference hadn’t been so dramatic, she would have gladly yanked the Namekian by those long, green ears of his. “What did you do to Gohan?” That seemed to get through to him. The alien lowered his gaze on hers. He appeared tense. “I only knocked him unconscious.” “You say that like it isn’t a big deal!”, the woman exhaled, exasperated, bending down to examine the boy’s head. “If I hadn’t done it, he would have run after Vegeta and I couldn't have stopped him.” “I still fail to see how that would have been worse than letting Vegeta run after Goku on his own”, she huffed, “You could have least followed him. You seem to trust him as little as I do, after all.” “He insinuated that it would have been better not to follow along. Apparently, it’s saiyan business.” He grimaced as he said that. “Honestly…”, Bulma sighed, letting her eyes fall on the unconscious boy’s face. “Well… Vegeta’s gone and the only person who could go after him now is missing too. There’s only so much we can do at a time like this. We should take care of Gohan now. I can get a bed ready for him and get an ice pack or something-“ “Bulma, sweetie! What was that noise just now?” Her mother had stuck her head out of a window calling for her. “Nothing, Mom. Just Vegeta being Vegeta again. He took the ship for a spin. Got back to sleep!” “I would, but the noise woke the baby and he’s crying like a little demon!” “Just what I needed…”, Bulma groaned, running a hand across her face. “It took me a whole hour to put him to sleep earlier too…” “You seem to have your work cut out for you. I’ll take care of Gohan”, the Namekian declared, holding the youth against his ample chest. I wish Vegeta were half as considerate of his own son… “Chi Chi should be grateful you’re around”, she told him as he turned to leave. “You should remind her if she gives you trouble. She’s not going to be happy to find out her husband’s gone again and you knocked her precious boy out.” She could swear the alien had stiffened at those words. She had no time to confirm her sensation, however. In the blink on eye, the green-skinned warrior had flown off. Bulma was left alone with a crying infant and her own moping ruminations. “Here he goes again, blasting off into space without a “goodbye” or “thank you”… sometimes I wonder if he forgets I’m the mother of his own son”, she was mumbling, begrudgingly, as she rocked little baby Trunks back and forth to calm his crying down. “Your daddy is the universe’s biggest idiot”, she confessed her son, almost apologetically, as she offered him her breast to suckle on. “Sometimes I wonder what I ever saw in him…” If only she’d opened her eyes sooner, she could have tied the knot with Goku instead. Maybe she would have found herself cradling a sweet, dark-haired baby instead of a blue-haired one… The scientist shook her head. The late hour was starting to push silly thoughts on her. Goku had grown into a handsome man, there was no denying that, just as it was pointless denying she’d found herself fantasizing about her friend in that way multiple times. The thought was like a delicious, whimsical “what if” she entertained her fancy with from time to time, fully knowing it wasn’t anything she truly regretted. Goku was a total hunk, that was true, but he was also a clueless, careless boy she’d grown to cherish as a friend. And a good friend he had been. As a husband, on the other hand… she was certain Chi Chi would have had quite a lot to say on the matter. Not that I’m in any position to judge either of them, after all... Trunks finally fell asleep again. She carefully laid him down in his crib once more, turned the lights low and left the baby monitor on before leaving the nursery. She dragged herself back to her own room and let herself fall face down on the bed, wincing slightly once the smell of sex left on her sheets filled her nostrils. Ah, yes… that was the other reason she kept putting up with Vegeta’s nonsense. She grimaced. I’m such a weak woman… if I had a little more backbone I would just kick him out for good. But he’s a fine man, more than easy on the eye. And in bed… A sigh. She could feel air hitting her rear, cooling the wet smear of moisture she hadn’t had time to clean off her before having to get out and save the day. …in bed, he’s a treat I deserve to enjoy to my heart’s content. These idiots wouldn’t know what to do without me. I have all the right to indulge in something nice, for once. Vegeta is not all that bad, after all… Sure, he came to Earth to steal our Dragon Balls and is he the reason most of the gang died back then… But he’s come a long way since. If he would only stop running off after Goku all the time he could almost be reasonably likable. Saying that was wishful thinking on her part was extremely reductive. Vegeta getting over his obsession -because obsession it clearly was- for Goku was unlikely to happen. The other saiyan was the only true reason Vegeta had decided to stick around on Earth in the first place. In a way, she owed her lover to her friend, but at times it felt like Vegeta thought she owed him her friend, instead. She couldn’t clearly tell what the dynamic between those two was truly about. She always felt there was something more than rivalry, some sort of tacit undercurrent she wasn’t sure the two warriors understood either. She tiredly slipped the shoes from her feet and climbed into bed properly. I ought to give myself some credit too, she thought to herself with the slightest hint of self-satisfaction, as sleep crept up on her. I did my hardest to keep Vegeta falling into my bed all this time and it has always worked. That’s all my doing and it paid off big time. She fell asleep, listening to the dull throbbing of her well-used sex fading away into a remote corner of her consciousness.

“What a vulgar woman…” The Prince had found himself uttering those words more and more often during his time at Capsule Corp. It had started as a scoff, a reflex caused by the scientist’s shameless way of flirting with him, but it had eventually grown into a secret expression of endearment. It couldn’t have been otherwise, when the blue-haired woman gave him that hungry yet knowing look. That was the look that had him follow her into her bedroom for the first time. “Yes. And you love it”, her half-lidded eyes seemed to say as she pushed him backwards towards her bedroom. Vegeta let himself be swayed. The press of her warm body against his promised something very unambiguous. He could feel she was wearing nothing beneath her clothes. She had a red dress on with buttons all the way down to the hem. The first handful had already been strategically unbuttoned. The Prince easily imagined himself ripping them all open in one yank, sending them flying across the room. It would probably have infuriated her, if he had, and it was something he wasn’t willing to risk right there and then. The two of them did not always go along. They would get on each other’s nerves more often than not. She didn’t fully understand him, nor did he her. But they soon learned they could rub each other in the right way as much as they would in the wrong way. For such a weak creature, Bulma was ridiculously assertive. She was a frail human. He was  saiyan elite. He could have easily blown her away along with her entire planet. And yet he turned meek as a sheep at her every wish and whim. It hadn’t taken long for the woman to seduce him. Despite his initial reluctance, the Prince had turned out to be an all-too-willing victim. He let her push him down on her bed, her mouth raining hot kisses across his own, his jawline, neck and chest her her hands nimbly hooked at the edge of  his trousers, pulling them down his hips. Vegeta’s own hands went to the taunting, plunging neckline, unbuttoning further down, just enough for the woman’s generous chest to spill free from its cotton cage. As expected, she hadn’t worn anything underneath. Bulma gave him a sly grin as she slid down his body to kneel between his legs, glancing appreciatively downwards at his rapidly swelling erection. “Oh my, is this for me?”, she mused, cupping one of her cheeks with a pale hand with mock-bashfulness. “Depends. Are you gonna do anything about it?” “Depends. Am I going to get something in return?” “Why don’t you go ahead and find out?” Bulma lowered herself against his crotch, her bosom morbidly encasing his sex as her hands ran along his well-toned thighs. “Why don’t you ask nicely first?” Not chiefly to her surprising attractiveness, but rather to her confidence he attributed his downfall. He had always responded well to that. It was in his blood, after all. The woman might not have been a saiyan, but Vegeta could very easily imagine her as one. With his entire species wiped out from the face of the universe, she was the next best thing to an ideal mate. For the sake of his pride, however, he couldn’t fully show just how much he was willing to comply. He wasn’t sure he liked any of the possible implications his immediate compliance would have entailed. Nonetheless, he found it tough to appear annoyed when faced with that sort of display. “Are you trying to domesticate me like I’m some sort of pet?”, he growled, grimacing ever so slightly. “Only if you’d like me to”, she replied, coquettishly, “You’re fun to play with.” Then, he found his window. He leaned back on the mattress, on arm holding his torso up and the other draped across it. He knew his chest would have stood out that way and. By the look in the scientist’s eyes as she followed his movements, it had worked. “Then, by all means”, he encouraged, his voice sultry yet demanding, gazing at her from below half-lidded eyes, “play with me.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. He could tell she was disappointed for not having reduced him to ask for it the way she wanted him to. He could also tell the unexpected twist didn’t completely disagree with her. In fact, if her lips initially pursed into a pout, they disclosed for him soon enough. And not for rebuking. To his satisfaction, her hands were on him and her tongue soon followed, expertly coaxing him and moistening him up for what was to follow. The saiyan let his head fall backwards once she took him in her mouth. It didn’t take long before his breath started hitching. He sucked air in through his teeth, hissing, long-drawn out sighs hollowing his lungs as sweet suction enveloped him to the root. Her hands had been diligently repurposed, touching and teasing at his base and at his sack until he could feel his toes curl. If he hadn’t known any better, he could have sworn the woman had a cock of her own. She knew her way around one way better than she had any business knowing. His free hand instinctively went to reach for her but was swatted away before it could fist handfuls of blue locks like it wished. “No pulling”, she warned him, sternly, the shadow of a pleased grin bending her lips. “Hands where I can see them, buddy.” He settled for gripping the sheets instead, feeling his body tense up, fighting the urge to buck into that wonderful mouth. The interruption hadn’t thrown her off. She picked up her rhythm almost immediately, ripping guttural groans from her lover’s throat. The only thing that kept him for throwing his bead backwards was the mesmerizing sight she offered, flushed cheeks stuffed full with him and watery eyes gazing upwards to look for his. Whether it was watching him or knowing she was watched in turn what she liked, he hadn’t found out yet. It hadn’t taken him too long to find out that for him watching her was half the pleasure. And did she give him pleasure! But pride demanded his due too. Holding himself back was grueling. He could feel sweat started to bead on his skin. Waves of heat coursed through him in shivers. He felt like he was steaming from every pore. The velvety glide of her tongue along the underside of him, the tight hollowing of her cheeks and her accommodating throat… the bobbing of her head was far from from being relentless, but it was steady and committed. She knew exactly what she was doing; driving him insane. His sex throbbed eagerly. His fists clenched the sheets underneath him until he couldn’t hold back anymore. Only a fervent grunt warned her of his imminent release. The woman let him go just in time to avoid having her mouth filled with his seed. Spurts of warm spent hit her across the lips and underneath the chin, dripping sloppily on her voluptuous chest. For a moment, they stared at each other, wordlessly, both flushed and heaving. Bulma wiped her lip with her thumb, triumphantly, glancing down at his softening length. Vegeta, on his part, looked thoroughly appeased, glancing at the mess they’d made with approval written all over his face. “It’s nice to play nice, isn’t it?”, he taunted, smirking smugly down at her. He made a move to get on his feet and pull his pants back up but he was stopped in his tracks by her hand gently pressing him down to the bed. Vegeta frowned slightly watching the woman climb up his body like he was a tree. “What now?” “You’re not going anywhere yet, mister. We’re not done here.” “Oh?”, he quirked a brow, watching the scientist urgently settle over him, knees on either side of his face. She hitched her dress up. The scent of her arousal hit him, making his nostrils twitch. She wasn’t wearing anything under either. “Dig in, Princey”, she requested, imperiously, letting an eager grin bend her lips. “You make my lunch breaks worthwhile but I haven’t got all day.” “And here I thought you were just trying to be selfless there”, the saiyan commented, appearing unimpressed. “I was, wasn’t I?”, she retorted, bringing her hand down, spreading herself for him. “Be good now and maybe you can have seconds later. Nice to play nice, remember?” He gave her a sardonic smile. She shivered in anticipation. His hands went to her waist and pulled her down towards his grinning mouth. It wasn’t long before she was reduced to a disheveled, whimpering mess. She was fun to play with too.

There was a mighty pulse rippling through the air that made the world shake, powerful enough to reach him even in the depth of sleep. Somehow, he felt like it was raining down on him. Goku found himself floating somewhere at edge of consciousness. The air around him felt heavy and muggy, sickeningly sweet balm filling his lungs. His body was encased in humid warmth, beading on his skin and hair. Unshakable lethargy clung to him mercilessly, making it his eyelids weight like boulders over his eyes when he tried to open them and see. Around him, just dense shade and the dim throbbing pulse of eerie, crimson fluorescence, ever present at the corners of his vision. Where once had been the heat of touch, the haunting brushing of skin against skin, now there was only the ghost of contact slowly cooling. Turles wasn’t there anymore. He was alone. And everything was still. But he could have sworn he’d felt something. Something familiar. He could feel it in his gut. He couldn’t tell how long he spent waiting, keeping himself from falling back into slumber, chasing the nagging suspicion he’d just felt something he should have known well as the beating of his own heart. Then, he felt it again. This time he felt the ground below shake with him and the air above shiver. It was an aura, one he knew well. Vegeta. He could sense him now. He could feel him. There was no mistaking this time around. His rival was near… Then, as quickly as it had flared up, the aura disappeared, leaving him alone with the doubt he’d been chasing an elusive dream of his clouded mind. Even so, he clung to the wake of his straining conscience. He tried relying on his ears next, but even those felt plugged by honey. It took him a whole to hear beyond the slow, rolling wave of his own breath. He heard a heavy rustling sound, like the sea crashing on a sandy shore when the wind had started to rise. He heard the faint sound of something dripping slowly, pooling on the ground around him, like humidity falling down in the mouth of a cave. Then, over the soft symphony, he caught a sound, like a distant echo. Voices, distant like they’d been speaking to him through the ground itself, but real nonetheless. Unmistakably so. Raising and falling at times, peaking somewhere between pleasure and rage. The warrior closed his eyes again, his ears straining to listen to those distant, mysterious sounds until he could recognize the familiar timber. Vegeta! The sound was faint enough to be the whisper of a dream but he found himself responding to it as if it had been flesh and bones, insinuating in his ears, dancing on his eardrums, sinking into him all the way to his core. And there is stayed, spinning his nerves like threads of silk. Vegeta… If it were a dream, it was all too indulgent, catering to his heart’s whims in that way. Even if it were a dream, this was one he was willing to indulge in. The warrior closed is eyes once more, letting darkness behind his eyelids conjure up images to match what his ears were hearing. His hands ran down his chest and stomach, reaching down where heat and blood had pooled. The dull, pulsing yearning of his loins was tickled and stirred, until his head swam. The air around him seemed to grow heavier, the fragrance stronger and sharper. Every touch, every pull washed through him like a warm, honeyed wave of delight. A swelling tide rose within him until he couldn’t take it anymore. Pleasure burst through him, flooding his senses. The tension in his spine and limbs dissipated as ecstasy washed over him, leaving a dim, enjoyable numbness in its wake. He didn’t have time to think about what had just occurred. He was too blissed out to, breath slowing down and delightful tingles in his gut. The heaviness of sleep was upon him, weighing down in his eyelids, his mind clouded with joyful contentment. Around him, sound softened and his mind too. His consciousness slipped all too easily back into slumber, like a baby falling asleep, sated and content, with a belly full of milk.

For a failed experiment, Daiz had been anything but a disappointment. Turles had to admit, even though finding that Ambrosia had no effect on the other alien had been a let down, the results had been extremely pleasant nonetheless. He had no idea Daiz could produce such sounds, like low, throaty hisses and wails. It sounded like Turles was forcefully knocking the breath out of his lungs with his every motion. Calling it gratifying would have been an understatement. The sight the smaller, paler body, bent in pleading offering before him, quaking and quivering with every one of his harsh, unforgiving thrusts was absolutely, maddeningly satisfying.   “C-captain… more…!”, the blue-haired alien was whining, hips shamelessly bucking backwards into his. “More- Ah!” He was cut off by a sharp blow on his rear, so hard it made his legs buckle. “I am your Captain” A dark hand fisted his hair harshly, yanking his head back against a snarling mouth. “You don’t give orders around here. I do. If you want something, beg for it.” Daiz appeared to have lost his ability to speak for an instant before he finally cried out eagerly, “More… please, Captain! Harder, please…!” A chuckle rumbled in Turles’ chest. “You’re a wanton slut, aren’t you?” Daiz’s head was pushed down and pinned to the ground, a large hand wound tightly in his hair, making his flexible back arch to its limits. His hands were shaking, curling and uncurling as he tried to hold on to something, anything. The dark saiyan was towering over him now, trapping him with his weight. Daiz wouldn’t have been able to get away from him even if he’d wanted to. And it was very clear the thought of leaving hadn’t even crossed his mind. The alien was glancing over his shoulder at him, his pupils blown wide open and glazed over with lust. His mouth was open, heaving and moaning like no tomorrow, drool trickling down his chin. He was completely out of it and loving every second. His wails grew higher and higher as he started moving again, slamming against him hard enough to properly pound him into the ground. Turles sucked air in through gritted teeth. It was a tight fit, made even tighter by other’s flesh clenching and throbbing about him. He was having the time of his life. “Daiz, you absolute freak…”, he hissed between thrusts, “You were wishing for this, weren’t you? You have been dreaming to have me inside you all this time!” “Yes… yes, Captain! Yes!”, the alien cried out louder and louder. One of his hands moved to reach in between his legs. The renegade caught sight of it and let go of his scalp to grin his wrists, lifting him up by his arms. “Don’t get distracted. This is what you wanted”, he growled, delivering a hard, emphatic thrust, “Now take it!” The alien’s whines were soon replaced by cries of encouragement once his Captain picked up his punishing pace once more. “Yes… YES!” He mounted him furiously, violently and Daiz came undone, just like that, without touching himself. And Turles was all too happy to turn him around and making him scream out for him again. He’d always had the feeling Daiz was a sucker for being kicked around. If only he’d known before just much of a sucker he was for being bent over and pounded like that he would have gotten him on his knees sooner. It was too bad Ambrosia had no effect on him. Since he was absolutely loosing his mind just from having Turles inside him, however, the dark saiyan couldn’t complain. Finding out his underling couldn’t wait to get underneath him was a sweet enough consolation price. He doubled him over, folded and twisted him in every possible position his sex-crazed brain could come up with. Any angle his mind would design for him, the other’s body would bend in. Maybe his enthusiasm got the best of him, maybe he did get too carried away, after all. Daiz burned out before he had the chance to fully sate his appetite. Turles felt the other’s body go suddenly lax and realized he’d passed out. “Is that all you got?”, he’d asked as he’d pulled away but got no answer. Daiz was sprawled before him, leaking his seed from both his thoroughly used holes. A welcome enough sight, as he took his own sex in the hand and painted his stomach white. I should have known. A lesser race couldn’t keep up with a saiyan, Turles considered, as he checked on the unconscious alien. He makes for a good toy. He should keep me well entertained while I go look for someone who could benefit from Ambrosia as much as me… He could feel an interesting idea tickling the back of his brain.

[nautilusopus]

Serious non-troll: What if you like the cop-outs and the scrambled bullshit plots and the nonsense towers of half-constructed ideas? I agree that for example Nomura is a goddamn crazy person but I find his convulsions fascinating and want to see more of them.

i mean, you’re entirely within your rights to do that. it’s just frustrating that there’s visibly no effort put into any of it, and he’s just writing for the sake of what makes the trailer look good, and that’s been 100% to the detriment of the story ever since he’s started doing it

i’m not even inherently opposed to ridiculous convoluted bullshit. i’m one of those pretentious fuckheads that unironically likes End of Evangelion and thinks it made perfect sense, obviously, duh, with all its absolute nonsense of adam and lilith and rei being a god-analogue from absorbing both the white and black seeds and allowing shinji to dictate the ultimate outcome of third impact in the culmination of a couple of really fucking long and extremely obtuse character arcs. i mean, hell, i’m 38 chapters into a fic that is running off nothing but weird high-concept ideas of how reality and parallel universes work and abstract metaphor andsleep deprivation. in any other circumstances, i’m fine with convoluted batshit nonsense.

i think the best way to explain the heart of the issue is to look at what happened to the matrix trilogy. or actually wait this is tumblr, everyone’s in high school and would’ve been foetuses or something when Revolutions came out. homestuck, then. we’ll look at homestuck. 

okay so homestuck. remember when that was as big as it was? initially, the big stumbling block was the slow pace of act 1 where john just kind of fucks around throwing glass at clown dolls for a while and if you weren’t into that kind of humour that was where the comic immediately lost you, but what ultimately got the ball rolling was [S] WV: Ascend. the general metric back then was if you weren’t hooked by that one, you wouldn’t like homestuck at all, and for many people that was the point of no return. the reason WV: Ascend was as big of a deal as it was is that we’ve been seeing a bunch of disconnected nonsense happening all over the place, and this is the first time we see our first major time loop actually closed, with the promise of a few more being set up. all that supposed joke nonsense we’d been watching the whole time? it actually mattered, surprise! from there, the narrative spends a lot of time introducing a lot of new concepts – we have captchaloguing and paradox slime, and time travel, and doomed timelines, and exiles and future versions of planets from a parallel universe the metanarrative being perpetuated by the author being diagetic and fuck knows what other things i’m forgetting about. and then, to throw you for a loop twelve whole other characters show up on top of that. so then the narrative needs to spend time establishing who these people are and what their relevance to the story is – which it does, by having them be active participants in the first arc as things go on. this ultimately culminates in [S] Cascade, where we see all these different concepts eventually tie into one another because they were deliberately set up to, and it’s at that point that you figure, well shit we’ve hit a point where all the time travel stuff has finally come to a head. and with it, you’d expect it to also bring all the character stuff to a head too, but instead hussie has an entire extra act to go so we can’t have that resolve yet. 

so in the meantime, here are 20-ish whole other characters doing some other things. but we don’t have time to establish what’s effectively the silmarillion by now, so we have to speed past it, meaning we aren’t given a chance to care about these new people. but we can’t have a chance to care about them either, because we still have to tie all this into 5 whole previous acts that are meant to feed into this. at this point, homestuck is visibly collapsing under its own weight. character arcs are forced to fart around in circles because the status quo can’t change because we still need to make it to endgame with these character dynamics more or less intact. but that’s boring to read so we’ll do this entire “what if” thing and then retcon it all out of existence, and then have the fact that you can retcon things suddenly become vital to the resolution of the coming in place of anything we’ve already established previously – not the time travel, not the parallel universe with the trolls, not even the whole thing with the Scratch leading to the alpha kids being here in the first place – when the mechanic was only introduced in the first place to sloppily patch a story together that had long since devolved into infodumps that served to paint hussie further and further into a corner as he was forced to define his lore to get the plot to keep moving forward despite the fact that the narrative wasn’t focusing properly on the people that could make that happen anymore because the story had since switched focus from those people almost entirely. 

and in the meantime the damn thing got eaten up by filler, and suddenly characters from that filler are showing up like they were totally relevant to the main story the whole time even though literally nothing they did in their own subplot had any direct bearing on the story at large, unlike the initial 12 trolls. why yes, Alternate Universe Calliope was a completely necessary addition to the story! didn’t you see our important sidestory thing where they do Stuff, and then her showing up in the climax to resolve some other things that are sorta disconnected from the main plot anyway?

not to mention the shipping. nothing ruins a story faster than throwing in a love triangle or eight, and then immediately invalidating all the character growth that happened on top of that anyway by having it literally never happen. not that it would’ve mattered anyway, because remember, we never actually got to have any of this really developed to begin with. 

by the time we hit end of act 6, there’s been so many new concepts haphazardly stapled onto the story and so many threads brought up and discarded entirely when we already established back with [S] Cascade that the story works best when they actually do this and it is doable, that it stops being merely complicated and off the wall, and starts being spread too thin, incomprehensible, and ultimately no longer part of a whole narrative deliberately comprised of interlocking storylines. shit’s just kinda happening at you, and rather than getting to see parts of a text interacting as a result of them coming from somewhere for the express purpose of then going to somewhere, you’re just being asked to accept that, yup, that’s a thing that’s going on right now. neato. sure is some stuff happening and whatnot. and in the end, for all that posturing, it didn’t even do anything. in pre-cascade homestuck that wouldn’t have even been a full flash. a bunch of nonsense happens, and then They Fightan Good, and then it’s over and there’s not a single time paradox or meta-interaction to be found. none of the stuff they built up to over all these years mattered, and neither did any of the stuff they just threw in, either. 

i’m sure you see what i’m getting at with this. 

(also he treats the women in his stories like shit and quite frankly i’m sick of it and even more sick that people keep giving him a pass for it because it’s practically reached parody levels at this point , so there’s that)

i have no problem with convoluted twisty bullshit in and of itself. but it has to accomplish something aside from just existing, and nomura doesn’t do that. by his own admission, kingdom hearts wasn’t planned, and it shows really badly. characters and entire story mechanics and plot lines are introduced solely for the sake of introducing them. they don’t go anywhere or build to anything, because they can’t, because fuck we have to stall for kh3 shhhh just keep adding more soras and hopefully no one will notice. i think the last time any of this actually mattered was kh2, and even that had a lot of the issues i’ve mentioned here. as a result of all of this, the character arcs suffer a lot, and you’re left with nothing but a big ball of plot twists that goes nowhere, and a bunch of characters that only somewhat have anything to do with any of it. 

i don’t feel like it’s overly nitpicky to find this kinda gross and seriously insulting of the audience’s intelligence. it’s just lazy time-stalling. i get that people sometimes really don’t care about stuff like narrative and character development and are just here to see riku punching mike wazowski in the teeth or whatever, but i think it’s disingenuous to pretend that these aren’t nonetheless important parts of a game’s construction – especially a studio that used to openly pride itself on selling games with a focus on story. 

and the genuinely frustrating part is, no one cares. people are gushing all over everything square puts out because it’s square, so they know they don’t have to put effort into their stories. i’m well aware i’m in the minority for saying that these games are bad. but i also thought we were done with treating, “it’s just a video game, bro! why do you care so much about the story having quality as a narrative? this isn’t an english class!” as a valid rebuttal. 

maybe i should’ve used the matrix trilogy instead. most people hate movies 2 and 3 for the weird “YOU’VE ALREADY MADE THE CHOICE/EVERYTHING THAT HAS A BEGINNING HAS AN END NEO” shit and the bonkers christ-allegory ending. i hate it because neo is about as interesting as the rock that cracked goofy’s skull open.

[haggendazs-dispersion]

Soulmates (LAMP)

Ship: LoganxPattonxRomanxVirgil (LAMP)

AU: Human AU, Soulmates AU

Warnings: Bullying

Requested By: No One

Plot: Virgil, Patton, Roman, and Logan aren't sure what to make of the three names on their wrist, but fate couldn't have been kinder.

~♧◇♡♤~♧◇♡♤~♧◇♡♤~

Virgil had no clue what to do with the names on his wrist. That's right, names. Not one, but three names, the names of his soulmates. No one knew he had three soulmates, god knows how well that would end. He didn't even understand how this happened, or how it worked.

Did they all have each other's names? Did they all have different names and he was doomed to be alone forever? Did they have each other's names and not his?

He had no clue.

No matter how confused he was, however, those names brightened his day. Being as anxious and socially awkward as he was, he was alone, but the names gave him hope of a brighter future.

He tried to imagine what they were like based off their names, imagined how they would meet, what their wedding would be like, anything to keep his mind off the real world around him. He spent every day thinking about Logan, Patton, and Roman, his soulmates.

~♧◇♡♤~

Patton loved having three names on his wrist, all the more people to hug and kiss and cuddle and just love. He didn't care that it was strange to have three soulmates, that it made no sense to the rest of the world. He was content to one day find and love the faces behind the names.

It made him even happier that all three names were on his wrist, and hopefully on theirs as well, because the world wouldn't be allowed to deny their love. It was legally binding that if their name is on your wrist and yours is on theirs, no one could separate you; they were not allowed to, you could not be denied anything based on who your soulmate is. Therefore, no one could deny them anything, including legally sanctified marriage.

He didn't spend much time imagining his soulmates. He was content with waiting to find out, rather than build up an image in his mind and be disappointed when they weren't like he imagined. He would love his soulmates unconditionally, that was why they were his soulmates. But he could never get their names out of his mind, Logan, Roman, and Virgil, his soulmates.

~♧◇♡♤~

Logan was confused. From what he originally understood at a young age was that everyone had a soulmate, a meaning singular. How did he end up with three? This surely meant all three had his name along with the other two, but how did this happen?

The older he got, the more he researched the topic. He found that it was not completely impossible to have multiple soulmates. It was just rare, even rarer to have three. The thought of being a statistic anomaly made him happy, it meant he was special, and so were his soulmates, even if they would always be special in his eyes.

He had an idea on what his soulmates would be like, but he wasn't sure. After extensive research on each of their names, he had an idea of their personality type, but he could be wrong. Part of him hoped he was right, part of hoped he was wrong, and all of him had no clue which part he agreed with more. But he did know their names, and something told him he would know them when he saw them. Patton, Roman, and Virgil, his soulmates.

~♧◇♡♤~

Roman was already in love with all three of his soulmates. He was already planning dates he could take them on, dates for all four of them, individual dates he could take each of them on. He was pretty sure he knew who his soulmates were. There were three boys in his classes with the same names on his wrist, and he was already in love with them all.

Logan was in his government class and his English class. He couldn't figure out why he was taking such basic classes, he was smart enough to take the honors classes the school offered, but he was thankful nonetheless.

Patton was in his art class, and damn was he talented. The teacher was constantly showing off his art to the rest of the class, and Roman loved every work he created.

Virgil was in his creative writing and gym class. He wasn't very athletic, he used every excuse he could to get out of actually doing activities, but he was an amazing writer. The teacher had read several of his writings out loud to the class, and while they may have been darker topics, but they were beautifully written.

He used his artistic talents to draw them to the best of his ability, he used his time in writing to create elaborate dates for them, he couldn't wait for the chance to introduce himself to them, to finally meet the loves of his life.

~♧◇♡♤~

Virgil's day started off horribly. He woke up way too early after a nightmare after staying up most of the night. Then when he arrived at school his bullies cornered him against his locker, shoving him into it, the lock digging into his spine, punching him, kicking him, spitting on him.

Roman saw this from down the hall, and he couldn't stand for it. He had no idea this was happening, but he wouldn't let it happen any longer. Roman rushed down the hall and tackled who looked like the main bully and punched him hard on the nose. The others scrambled away, running in all directions, and when he stood up, the boy he punched ran away as well. Roman turned to Virgil, who had collapsed to the floor and began to hyperventilate, a panic attack setting in. Roman had no clue what to do but tried anything he could to stop it, but nothing seemed to work.

Logan, who was walking by, felt drawn in by the two on the floor and immediately recognized that Virgil was having a panic attack. He crouched down and began to coach him through it, showing him how to breathe, reassuring him that he was fine when he failed, and smiling proudly when he was finally able to follow the breathing pattern, telling him how good he was doing.

Roman watched in amazement, falling even more in love at that moment, completely sure that he was right in assuming these two were two of the faces behind the names. Once Virgil could breathe normally and talk, Roman stood up to help him up off the floor and bring him to the nurse's office but instead ran into Patton, who was also walking by. Roman turned to apologize but froze when he saw who it was, his words caught in his throat.

Patton smiled kindly, before seeing Logan crouched in front of Virgil, whose cheeks were still stained with tears. "Is he okay?" He asked, worry creasing his face.

"He, uh, he should be, we were just going to take him to the nurse." Roman stuttered out in response. After a second he held out his hand, "Roman." He knew all three of them were staring at him, his name on their wrists.

Patton slowly took his hand and shook it, "Patton." His eyes never left Roman, as Logan and Virgil stared at them both. Logan stood himself up, then helped up Virgil, making sure he was able to stand properly on his own.

Once Roman and Patton finally looked away from each other, their hands dropping back to their sides, Logan spoke up. "I, uh, I'm Logan by the way." Roman just smiled wider as Virgil and Patton looked to Logan in surprise.

Suddenly, they all looked to Virgil expectantly. For a moment, he couldn't get a word out, these people he just met were his soulmates, and they were more amazing than he could ever imagine. Finally, he whispered out "Virgil." Roman continued to smile, already having known for months, but he let the other three take it in, process it.

"We should start toward the nurse. We can talk on the way there, and once we get there." Roman suggested. They slowly nodded and the four of them headed down the hall to the nurse.

"You're really calm about this." Logan pointed out after a moment, looking to Roman for an explanation. Patton and Virgil turned to look at him as well, realizing that Logan was right, Roman was abnormally calm.

Roman turned red and reached a hand up to scratch the back of his head. "I, uh, may or may not have already known. I had a hunch, more or less. You guys were in some of my classes, and I knew your names, and it made sense, and yeah."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Patton asked.

Roman laughed slightly, "that would go over well. 'Hi, my name is Roman, I've been stalking you for months because I think you're one of my soulmates.'" They all laughed at that, even Virgil. He wasn't sure why he laughed, because he never does, but something about these three made him so happy, he couldn't help himself. "Anyway, I saw you guys in my classes, and I just... knew, I guess. I saw you and something in me just told me and then I found out your names and it just sealed the deal. I fell in love at first sight. I started planning dates, I tried to sketch you all in my notebooks any chance I got."

"Awww, that's sweet." Patton gushed, causing Roman to turn red all over again.

They continued to talk as they walked, getting to know each other, falling in love. They went on all the dates Roman had planned, and even more that he had yet to come up with. They got married, and it was beautiful and all of their friends and family showed up. They adopted two little boys and raised them as their own, and life was beautiful.

~♧◇♡♤~♧◇♡♤~♧◇♡♤~

[matrixaffiliate]

A Twist of Fate

Co-written with @hufflepuffmarlenemckinnon

FFN and AO3

Chapter 8

"Booooooooored," Sirius sang in the most grating way that he could muster.

"Well, I'm terribly sorry that none of the rest of us feels like celebrating our imminent doom…" Marlene rolled her eyes at him as she examined her cloak.

"If we really knew we were doomed then what would be the purpose of being miserable?" He argued. "I'd much prefer celebrating. I'd much prefer anything to this, really."

Watching other people cry and be ill upon a boat was worse than boring. It was outright unpleasant. Sirius liked to think he saw the pleasantness in all situations whenever he could, but this whole thing was just a dearth of pleasing sights.

Marlene heaved a sigh, "I'm sure we'd all much prefer anybody to you, but here we are."

Except one. Marlene, daughter of Fate was an endlessly pleasing sight. He could have looked at her like one does a clear night sky. There was never a moment where you decided 'well I've seen this sky, that's quite enough.' Marlene only got more profoundly beautiful every time he looked at her.

He hated it and felt almost as sick as the poor idiot retching violently off the deck.

Marlene glared at him before standing and walking to the said retching young man. She placed a hand on his back and whispered in his ear. Much to Sirius' surprise, the man stood and looked like he hadn't just spent the last several hours vomiting over the side of the ship. But it struck Sirius that the lad also looked quite frightened of Marlene. That didn't make any sense.

Marlene walked back with a touch of sadness in her eyes.

"So you aren't so dreadful after all." Sirius taunted as she returned to sitting next to him and running her fingers over her cloak. "What'll the captain have to call you now?"

"I'd prefer he just refrain from calling upon me at all." Marlene pressed her palm to her forehead. "That poor boy was miserable, and it was in my power to help. So I did. Anyone would."

She was even worse when she went and said things like that. Sirius felt short of breath. He was dangerously close to actually admiring her. That would not do… not even a little bit. He could not let himself consider the content of her heart or her mind. It was hard enough to contend with the undeniable attraction to her more surface qualities.

Why couldn't she have been Hephaestion's daughter? Demigoddess of ugliness and also big hulking tools that could be used as weapons against the thing they were supposed to subdue. That would have been very helpful. How were they meant to do that anyway? She couldn't exactly kill a great horrible death-beast by being excessively beautiful.

"You're staring at me," she didn't even look over at him as she said it, and Sirius quickly looked away.

She might kill him in exactly that manner… Sirius felt like he would probably die. It was so unbelievably embarrassing. He didn't want to look at her. He didn't like her. He had no idea what good she was doing him on this whole quest and it was entirely possible she'd work against him rather than with him. It was more than a little inconvenient that he felt his stomach flip over upon itself every time she looked him in the eye. Her blue eyes could pin him against a wall if she'd wanted to.

He didn't know what to do. He never did. He'd almost certainly inherited his father's ineptitude in the way of planning.

All he could think to do was to antagonize her. It was weak, but it was his only shield against the flutters in his chest. If she hated him it would be easier to get a hold on this horribly ill-advised infatuation. Unfortunately, all his unpleasantness seemed to only make her bored with him.

Perhaps he could try something else. The first idea in his head was the first out of his mouth. That was usually the way of it, for Sirius.

"So your betrothed… you must miss him as much as I miss fun by now."

Marlene gave him a quizzical look. "I'm not yet well enough acquainted with him."

Sirius stared at her, "You mean you don't actually know the man you're supposed to marry?"

"Well, of course, I know him," Marlene rolled her eyes. "I've met him once, a week or so ago."

Sirius could not process what he had just heard. This was not what he intended to learn. No… this was bad and he immediately wished he hadn't asked. He'd expected to hear her gush on about some mortal she was in love with and for that to serve as some sort of reminder to him to stop staring at her like a hopeless puppy. He was a full grown dog dammit! Not a puppy. He had some dignity. Maybe.

Or not. He couldn't help but poke his cold wet nose at the metaphorical snake.

"Do you even know anything about what he's like, really?" He was genuinely perplexed as to why a woman like this would be so certain that she wanted to marry a man she'd met once. That in and of itself was strange but there was also the fact she was going to give up a part of who she was for this man? Why? Perhaps, either through her own powers or through her mother's telling, she knew this match was fated. That would explain it better than anything else Sirius could think of.

"He's handsome," she shrugged, "and he's kind. If memory serves me he makes and sells pottery."

"You sound in the throes of passion," Sirius drawled with a sort of sarcasm that he thought must have been proof of his mortal heritage. The god of revelry was unable to produce such bitter notes with his eerily melodic voice.

He smirked at the look of annoyance that crossed Marlene's face. He could comfort himself in the knowledge that his mother had never in her life been known to smirk. She didn't smile at all, really, at least not in Sirius's memory. This part of him was all Father.

"Have you become demigod of interrogations now?"

"No I don't actually care or anything it's just that we're on this dreadful boring boat and I was trying to… you know… make conversation? Or is that beneath you what with all your foresight and all…"

Making petty low blows to her character was childish. But she'd already indicated that she thought he was childish and perhaps maximizing on that quality would be the thing to get under her skin. He had to create distance. Distance was the only way out of this. If he didn't get out of this he'd likely get eaten by a horrible beast thing because he would be busy staring moonstruck at the daughter of Fate.

"I'm not above conversation; I just don't appreciate having to prove to you my desire to marry." She glared at him.

Sirius felt some measure of pride that he was winning. "I'm not asking you to prove anything. I was just asking the normal questions one asks about another's betrothed. You know, normal things couples know about each other."

"Forgive me; I didn't realize that my attempt at some semblance of a happy life was any of your concern." She looked away from him and out over the water, but she didn't leave.

Sirius's eyes followed her annoyingly perfect face as she turned. She looked troubled. Not angry, but sad and worried. He didn't know how to deal with those sorts of feelings. His usual strategy was to avoid them altogether, but he found himself unable to walk away from Marlene.

He cursed that fact and considered apologizing for his rudeness. Even though it had been entirely intentional, it hadn't been designed to make her sad. He couldn't bring himself to say the words though. They stalled inside his mouth and he swallowed them back down. Perhaps she really would hate him now. He sincerely hoped that he hadn't been the cause for lasting sadness in the Dreadfully Beautiful Daughter of Fate.

He was no better with silences than he was with sadness. It was so unnatural for a son of Dionysus. He asked himself what his father would say in this instance to lighten the mood and then let the words fall out of his mouth.

"Did you know that Apollo can turn into a dolphin?"

She sighed, "...no, I did not."

"Well, it's just that we're on a boat and it reminded me of the tale my Father told me about Apollo being in dolphin form and saving a ship from a terrible storm by leaping aboard and guiding the ship to shore."

"That sounds very... heroic…I suppose." She finally turned to look at him wearily.

"Rightly so," Sirius smirked, "but I have to wonder why he did the whole thing as a dolphin."

He saw the corners of her mouth turn up just a hair, and then watched the smile grow into a real sigh of laughter. Even her teeth were perfect. Her smile was as blindingly bright as the very sun that Helios chauffeured around. Sirius was sure he would get burned.

[eljackinton]

Jack's End of Year Video Game Rundown

It's the start of a brand new year, that means it's time again for me to waffle a bit about the games I played and what I thought of them.

Assassin's Creed: Black Flag/Rogue

I've been out of the loop with Assassin's Creed for years, but since I was having computer problems last year I spent some time catching up on older XBOX 360 games.

Black Flag and Rogue are both two very intriguing games in very different ways, and its interesting to see the franchise stuck at a bit of a crossroads at that point. Black Flag is one of the best of the series, but it's also the one least concerned with Assassinations. Rogue presents a completely different perspective on the plot, calling into question the validity of the games as power fantasies.

I guess I'll catch up with the rest of the series another 5 years down the line or something and see where it goes from there.

Night in the Woods

An excellent game that hits upon some real struggles my generation faces in finding their place in the world. While it does have it's missteps, and some behind the scenes bullshit has tempered my enthusiasm over time, I still highly recommend it to anyone looking for depth in their video game storytelling.

Heat Signature

A random galaxy of random ships where anything can go wrong. I've sunk hours into the game but still haven't really finished it because it's more suited to short bursts. Still really good though.

Tyranny

When Obsidian released Pillars of Eternity, I found myself surprised that I didn't get that Baldur's Gate feeling despite it being a slavishly faithful spiritual successor. It's only after playing Tyranny that I realised that it was the feeling of 'new' that I was looking for.

While Pillar's was a great game, I kind of felt it was compromised by being too much, too fast. Tyranny, by contrast, is a tightly plotted tale that focuses purely on your character creating their own villainous legacy. It doesn't outstay it's welcome, but it really left me wanting more.

Halo: Anniversary/Halo 3/Halo: Reach/ODST/Halo 4

I've had a mixed relationship with Halo over the years, but I felt like a bit of a revisit/catch up. First up, while the original Halo still stands up as a classic, the updated graphics and soundtrack of the Anniversary rob it of it's charm.

Reach is probably the second best of the series, mainly because it's almost nothing like any of the other Halo games tone wise.

ODST is a weird outlier that has some interesting ideas but never really sticks the landing on any of them.

Halo 3 stands up better than I remembered.

Halo 4 does not. Way worse than I remember.

Warhammer: Vermintide 2

I've already gushed about the game enough. Everything that the first game was good at, better in every way.

Battletech

A teeth clenshingly tense turn based strategy game. Handling different damage types and stability really give it range and tactics that make you really use your noggin instead of poring over percentages. I loved it and I can't wait to check out the DLC.

Valley

A short, fun, Portal-esque puzzler with some great visuals. Feels a bit of a dry run for a better game down the line though. Would love to see the concept revisited.

Takoma

Take the well worn video game trope of exploring a post disaster environment, remove all combat and threat, focus everything else on a deep storytelling experience. That's Takoma. I loved the game, and I love it's take on a System Shock-type story but doing it purely from an investigative standpoint.

Another World

A classic that came highly recommended, and yet, I still haven't finished it. I just find it way too hard and my reaction times don't sit well with it. May get another review if I can force my way past the point I'm stuck at.

Life is Strange: Before the Storm/Life is Strange/The Adventures of Captain Spirit

I steered away from BTS because I wrote it off as an unnecessary prequel. Boy was I wrong. BTS stands on it's own as a story even better than the original LIS. I'd even go so far to suggest people play that game first.

So I enjoyed it so much I wanted to do a replay of LIS, still holds up despite some of it's problems.

Finally I checked out the free Captain Spirit. Really great and emotional narrative game that's just as long as it needs to be. Can't wait for a full playthrough of LIS2.

Fossil Hunters

A whimsical puzzle game that is surprisingly addictive. Played the whole thing from start to finish.

Hellblade: Seuna's Sacrafice

One of the best video game stories I've ever played, and the intense combat is no slouch either. Hellblade feels as though it wants to explore new places that video games can do really well but rarely touch.

Getting Over it With Bennet Foddy

Probably the best game ever made, or, at the very least, the one most focused on what it wants to be about. If you can face the frustration it's probably the greatest piece of art ever made exploring that emotion.

Wolfenstien: The Old Blood/The New Order/The New Colossus

I slept on the new era Wolf games and that was a mistake. While The Old Blood was a fun nostalgic romp that has some surprising depth, it's The New Order that is the main event. A story that really wants to hammer home the evils of fascism, all through a hyper-violent grindhouse revenge story. Near perfect from start to finish.

It's such a shame then that The New Colossus feels like a step down. Maybe it's that TNO was so good that a return feels like it's outstaying it's welcome, but it suffers mainly from wanting to tell a bigger, bolder, deeper story, and finding the confines of a traditional FPS a bad fit for it.

DOOM

RIP AND TEAR

Icewind Dale: Enhanced Edition

The Icewind Dale demo was the first RPG I ever played and my introduction to the world of Dungeons and Dragons. Getting to play and actually finish the game feels like it's laying some ghosts to rest. Now if only someone could find the source code to IWD2 and give it to Beamdog and I can do the same from there.

As for the game? It's okay, the expansion Heart of Winter is a big improvement and its what makes the experience worthwhile really.

And that's it! I'll be speaking my mind on Prey this time next year since I haven't finished Mooncrash yet, but all in all it was a pretty good year for interesting games. Cheers for joining me.

[thedistrictsleepsalonetonight]

How to fall in love the wrong way

Chapter 8: She’s the kind of girl who’s in my thoughts all night

My dearest Cheryl,

I don’t usually do this sort of thing. I am pretty sure that if Sweet Pea and Fogarty ever find out about this, I am doomed. They will tease me to my grave, and their laughter would haunt me forever. And that is why this will probably never see the light of day. I am going to write this letter, and then stuff it into a locked box, and throw it under my bed where it will hopefully never be found by my uncle.

Anyways, I have dithered about long enough. Let’s get down to business. I have never written a love letter before, (or so I’ve mentioned in the previous paragraph), so I am not sure of the logistics, but I assume it includes a flattering description of your love’s physical features, mental faculties, and how it all makes you feel. So let’s start somewhere there.

So, I could write sonnets about your beauty and novels about your face, but thing is, you don’t need to be told that. You know exactly how beautiful you are. I mean, sure your face is perfect, and your nose is the cutest thing I have ever seen, and your eyes are the stars guiding me home and blah, but what’s the need? You could describe your face way better than I ever can. Just know that you are the prettiest person in the world to me. I feel like that’s enough.

But your beauty, while divine, is not all that attracted me to you. There is just something about you, Cheryl. How strong you are, how fiercely independent, how brave. I know you don’t believe it yourself, but there’s a lot of good in you. You try not to show it to people, but you’re amazing. You’re smart, and you’re funny, and I wish other people could see that in you too.

Cheryl Blossom, you’re absolutely sensational.

I suppose that brings us to an end of this section. Now, there is something else I’d like to add. I’d like to add my resume here, to sell myself, so there’s a chance of you choosing me, even If you are way out of my league.

I am a serpent. That ought to say that I am pretty badass. No matter how many stories Fangs tells you of me standing on one chair for an entire day because there was supposedly a rat in the room.

I can play the ukulele. And while my voice is horrible, I suppose it’s a nice thing to have a girlfriend who will serenade you all the time. Because seriously, I will.

I know you. I know about your embarrassing childhood spill-ups and your marks, and that one goth phase in middle school that lasted a month. I know all of these. And I would love to know more.

I am tiny, but I will love you and protect you all the time. That is a promise.

Anyway, I have rambled on long enough. Thank you for bearing with me throughout all this.

                                                                                                                                                                                                         Yours, eternally

                                                                                                                                                                                                           Toni

“It’s okay, you can come out now,” Cheryl tells her.

She hears it as if from very far away, which she supposes makes sense because her head is buried under two cushions, and her girlfriend’s arm. She slowly takes them off, and, still grimacing from embarrassment, chances a look at Cheryl’s face. Which isn’t so bad. The girl is absolutely glowing; her cheeks are bright red, and she’s wearing the widest smile ever. She slowly shifts onto Cheryl’s lap.

“Okay, now that the torture is over, can I have this back?”

“Absolutely not!” Cheryl tells her, sternly “I’m keeping this till the end of eternity. Which, coincidentally, is the amount of time you’ll be mine. Just saying.”

Toni groans.

“Did you like it, though?” she asks, then.

Cheryl’s expression softens from mirth to something tenderer “I loved it. I love you. Thank you for writing this. It’s amazing.”

Toni ducks her head in an ‘Aw Shucks’, kind of way and waves it away “Eh, it’s……whatever. No big deal.”

“When did you write this, though? There’s no date on it.”

She thinks for a while “Uh, I think it was the first time I serenaded you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, yeah. This one, I definitely wrote right after that.”

Cheryl kisses her cheek, and then frowns at her “Wait, did you say this one?”

Uh oh.

“Toni, are there more!?”

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

The night of the serenade is a funny story.

Mostly because it also is The night of a Fangs and Sweet Pea and Toni adventure and The night of the human pyramid and The night of Archie doing something stupid and Veronica somehow enabling it even more and Jughead trying to be all brooding and unaffected as always and Betty making everything ten times worse and funnier. Either way, you know, it’s a fun night.

It starts with the jukebox.

Which is ironical, since the jukebox doesn’t start.

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

“Baby, no.”

“But, Cheryl.”

“No means no, buddy,” Fangs cuts in “We’ve told you multiple times it’s a terrible joke.”

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

So, the jukebox isn’t starting at the Whyte Wyrm, and they’ve all taken turns smashing on the metal cover but the sound fizzles out after a while, and that’s when Archie has the bright idea of entertaining the patrons by singing some songs.

Veronica joins in and they end up doing a terrible duet of the High School Musical song which only the drunk biker dudes from out of town appreciate. Jughead spends the entire evening roasting them. Finally, Veronica has had enough, and challenges him to sing. Which, obviously, Betty takes over. Then she, does a terrible version of Teenage Dream, and another terrible three way group song with Archie and Veronica. In the end, it’s just Toni and Fangs and Sweet Pea and Jughead staring at each other in despair.

Talk somehow shifts to the topic of music, does a jump to the subject of romantic music, and before she knows it, Toni has, in a weird game of Truth and Dare, somehow agreed to serenade Cheryl Blossom.

Veronica voices the only concern that exists “Isn’t her mom, like legit insane? How the fuck are we supposed to make a ruckus in her house?”

And Cheryl feels relieved for a moment, right until Fogarty opens his big fat mouth “Her mom’s out of town, dude,” he says “Got this thing.”

“How do you know?”

He just looks at Toni and everyone nods in understanding.

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

“I hope you know that this is ridiculous,” she tells the entire group, half an hour later as she’s sitting on Sweets’ lap, who is stuffed in the middle of Jughead and Veronica. Archie’s driving, and Betty is drifting off to sleep on the passenger’s seat beside him. Fangs is crouched in the back of the van.

“What’s so ridiculous about joining two souls in eternal union?” Veronica asks her.

“Oh my God, is that what it is? Are you……shipping us?” Toni asks her, in utter disbelief, and there are three simultaneous snort, one from Jughead, Sweets and Fangs.

“Everybody in the school ships you, dude,” Fangs tells her.

“It’s true,” Archie chips in “Ever since you’ve started hanging out with her, Cheryl’s mellowed. Like, a lot.”

“And you guys would be so cute together,” Veronica gushes “Like, if this was a TV show, you’d deserve to be the couple in focus, no questions asked. Every scene would be you. Every song would be you. Every duet would be you. Every….”

“We get it, Veronica,” Jughead pipes up, quiet yet amused “They are your babies.”

Veronica agrees, and Toni closes her eyes, wishes for this nightmare to be over.

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

Of course it isn’t.

Veronica and Archie are still singing their terrible duet, as they cross the garden. Jughead is half-supporting, half-carrying Betty, who’s mostly asleep. Sweet Pea is still nursing his bottle, and they are all so, terribly, terribly drunk. Oh, and Fangs somehow manages to ruin the rose plants growing at the edge of the fence as they are breaking it, but falling on them. Then, he squeals like a little girl who has just discovered that Ken is gay.

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

“I did not squeal.”

“The thorns are on my butt, guys, help me,” Sweet Pea mimics a high-pitched voice, and all of them laugh.

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

“Juliet, Juliet, wherefore art thou?” Archie and Veronica shout up at the window, trying to hit it with tiny pebbles (Only one of them hits the mark) “Your Romeo is here to drop a verse.”

There is a sound, then Cheryl is out on the balcony, looking the most confused anyone has ever seen her “Andrews? What the hell?”

(And Toni knows this is totally not the time, that she has to do something potentially very embarrassing and stupid, but Cheryl looks adorable, hair all mussed up, and eyes squinting, wearing a green nightgown that has mice on it)

(Toni has never been more in love)

“My babies!” Veronica sighs, and that’s when Cheryl notices the rest of them.

“What are you people doing here in the middle of the night? Toni?”

She stares at Cheryl for a minute, deciding how to scream her explanation. The, deciding against it, she recruits Fangs (who is still whining about his butt) and Sweet Pea to bend so she can climb up on them. It takes fifteen minutes, one broken wine bottle, and three rounds of exasperated sighs from the rest of the audience before she can finally get up on the balcony.

“Surprise?” she says, feebly.

“Why are you here? What’s going on? Why does Veronica keep staring at us like we’re her long-lost daughters? Why do you have that ukulele with you?”

“Um, truth or dare. A stupid dare. Because she ships us. And” Toni says, concentrating “I have to sing you a song?”

“Um.”

“It’s a dare,” she explains, blushing.

Cheryl keeps staring at her in silence, so she carefully wears the ukulele, and starts playing the opening chords of “Can’t help falling in love with you”. She tries not to look at Cheryl’s face, during, too embarrassed, instead concentrating on the chords and how not to let her voice fade away. Finally ending it, she chances a look up at the other girl.

Cheryl’s mouth is pursed, but Toni can clearly see that it’s an attempt to mask her smile. She looks a little red around the cheeks, and though her arms are crossed, she isn’t angry at all.

“So…..that was it,” Toni breaks the silence that has fallen over them.

“That was it,” Cheryl replies, a slight smile on her lips.

“You’re not, angry?”

The smile widens, and before Toni has time to think, Cheryl is right in front of her. She leans around, and gently kisses Toni on the cheek. There is a loud ‘Whoop’ from down below, and Toni knows they’re being complete idiots right now, but it doesn’t matter, because she is also being a complete idiot right now.

“No, Toni,” Cheryl says “I’m not angry.”

Then she walks back into her own room.

Chapter title from Forever by The Explorer's club

Song mentioned in the chapter: Can't help falling in love with you by Elvis Presley covered by Twenty One Pilots