#now all they need to do is confirm that the rat he gave Shimmer in Act 1 of Season 1 became Twitch and that's three for three

[sir-adamus]

one thing i missed yesterday is the reveal that Singed is Corin Reveck (which is a change from the original lore, where they're two separate characters and Singed didn't have much motivation for his pursuit of immortality) - which confirms his daughter is Orianna Reveck, the future Lady of Clockwork (all this was speculated on in season 1 when we saw the distant shot of her picture in his locket, in the same scene as the start of the speculation that he was using Vander as the basis of Warwick, which was also correct)

[leechonspeeddial]

Midnight Shift: Party On Chuck E. Cheese   

word count: 1,757 Read on ao3

The sunset gave the – for lack of a better word – restaurant an ethereal glow. The sticky layer that covered the tables shimmered and the soda puddles on the tiles reflected the pissiest of yellows as the sun rays hit at the perfect angle. The quiet hum of the appliances and the sizzling of hot oil complimented the soft rock that played from the ancient speakers.

This was as peaceful a moment could get here.

I took out my iPhone and ignored the combined 37 messages from Bedward – it was worth noting, only two of them were from my mother. Instead, I took a picture of one of the puddles for my Insta-story and then scrolled through my contacts; there was a birthday boy that needed to accept my face time request. I waited patiently as the phone rang.

In the meanwhile, I dipped two of my French toast sticks into the sweet golden syrup and shoved them in my mouth. Chewing thoughtfully, I watched as Gay Kevin swept the floor and Straight Kevin wiped down the counters. Jeremiah had been gone all week; a friend of his had roped him into offering ice fishing lessons across town.

“Hey, Nessie,” the warmth in his voice made me smile, as did the tiny messy braids in his long dark hair.

“Happy birthday, Jake!” His eyes twinkled when he mirrored my smile. He looked older, which I knew logically was a thing that happened – people grew older as time passed, duh. I knew that, but I rarely knew anyone long enough to see any meaningful results from aging.

“Here I thought you had forgotten. Nice hair by the way – distressingly orange,” I scoffed but he had a point. It was excessively orange, almost violently so. When Alice saw it on me for the first time, she told me she wished she were physically capable of crying.

“Nah, I’m too pretty to forget anything. I was on my shift and couldn’t call earlier”

“Shift? Wait a second, is that…Burger King?” There was more than a hint of incredulousness in his tone.

“Yup. Dropped out and got a job here” he laughed so hard that both Kevins stopped their cleaning and stared at me. I waved them off. Straight Kevin went back to work, but I could tell Gay Kevin was trying to eavesdrop.

“You’re kidding. This is a prank”

“Nope. Dead serious,” I smirked and ate more of my French toast sticks.

“There is no way Edward ‘chronic boundary stomper’ Cullen would let that happen”

“Hey, Kevin?” When both responded, I amended, “Assistant Manager Kevin”

He approached my table and tried to appear aloof, but I could tell he was invested. Despite how hard he tried to project a strictly professional persona; the man was a still a journalism major living in a town with a population of about three thousand. He was starved for anything that could be interpreted as remotely interesting – nearly had an aneurism when he found out he missed the incest baby scandal.

“Could you confirm that I work at this Burger King?” Jake looked amused and I assumed he waited to see how this would play out.

“If by work you mean eat a ridiculous amount of our inventory and consistently insult our few customers, then yes. You work here,” it was blatantly obvious how much he wanted to figure out the story.

“And I’ll be glad to return to my duties once my break is done in 15 minutes”

“Ten, but nice try”

We waited in silence until Gay Kevin took the hint and walked away from my table. He was still within hearing range, which he knew that I knew, but it was the thought that counted. Living with mind reader – and owning a smartphone – meant acknowledging there was no such thing as privacy, simply the illusion of it.

“I can’t say I fully believe this,” I simply shrugged. “But the mental images of how your parasitic relatives are dealing with this, makes me not care about silly things like the truth”

I grimaced. The damn family meeting that was called because of this had been a fucking nightmare. There had been so much yelling, and I had to promise Alice I would let her throw a shitty ‘Congrats on the new job’ party in order to get her on my side. In the end, Esme was the deciding vote, and I was sure she voted in my favour only because she wanted to feed my new coworkers.

“Enough about the leeches. How are you?” I used my French toast to gesture vaguely at the braids “Is sweet Sarah around?”

“Just put her down for a nap, she was getting cranky,” I pouted. Not only was Sarah the cutest kid ever, she also said the most insane things – once she talked to me for over 45 minutes about how you shouldn’t feed rocks dry grass because it makes the moon princess very mad, and that’s bad because then the moon princess has to bury you in sugar dirt.

I still didn’t know if I should be worried about the sugar dirt.

“Tell her aunt Nessie says hi,” he rolled his eyes.

An idea suddenly hit me.

“Hey! Let me give you a tour of the place. You’ll love it,” Gay Kevin snorted a bit too loudly for someone pretending not to listen.

“You sure?” I nodded eagerly and shoved the remaining toast into my mouth, drinking up the syrup to wash it down. Definitely ignored the looks of disgust being thrown my way.

“Ok, so this is where our customers, if we had any, would sit. And that table over there –” I pointed to the table near the heater “– is where Jeremiah sets up camp. He’s not here today though,” I hoped he was ok, it had been a cold week for humans.  

Jake listened as I showed him all over the establishment, making sure not to miss the weirdest and grossest parts.

“Ok, but why do the stalls have no doors?” it was a common question.

“We were tired of teenagers hooking up in there –”

“In there!?!” I shrugged. While gross, it was far from the grossest or most unhygienic thing that happened in there. I could still remember how shell-shocked Straight Kevin looked while he recounted the tale of the Red Tuesday.

“So, we decided to take them down for a bit”

“How haven’t you gotten shut down”

“I’m pretty sure there is this whole conspiracy going on with health inspectors and the franchise owner”

Almost as if on cue, a giant fucking rat sped past me and into the kitchen.

“Holy F –” Straight Kevin’s screech cut me off, and the sounds of things being thrown could be heard.

“Jake, you just missed like the biggest rat I’ve ever seen”

“Seriously, how are you not shut down”

“Let me see if we can catch it. God, I wish I could livestream it right now”

The kitchen was a mess, Straight Kevin was scrambling on top of the counters and Gay Kevin was waving the broom in the general direction of the rat. I made sure to point my phone in a way so that Jake could see the chaos.

“Don’t just stand there!” Gay Kevin yelled, his voice a few octaves higher than usual.

“I’m still on a break though,” Gay Kevin spluttered while Straight Kevin threw whatever was available to him at the rat – in this case, it was napkins.

“Ugh fine, I’ll help with the little rat” I groaned and propped up my phone on the deep fryer ledge. No way I was going to deprive Jake of this.

I tried looking for something to catch the rat with and then spotted our big carry out bags, they looked like they could fit the fat rodent. I went to reach for one, but ended up knocking down a big tower of cups. Straight Kevin and I had made it while waiting for customers to arrive for the non-existent rush hour.

“Dude! That’s not a normal rat. It’s frigging huge,” Straight Kevin squeaked and continued his assault, now having moved on to cups.

“Calm down Kevin, stop wasting our resources!”

One Kevin glared a the other, and soon the Kevins got into an argument about what was the appropriate response for dealing with a rat of this size. I ignored them and grabbed a patty and threw it into a carry out bag, I approached the rat’s hiding place and presented my offering. I knelt down to wait and I could see its beady little eyes staring back at me.

“I don’t want to interrupt, but I think there is another rat by the back door”

All three of us Burger King employees turned to look at Jake. He tried to point to where he meant, and all three of us looked back.

Indeed, almost as if it knew we were watching, the rat stopped mid-step and stared back.

“Fuck! Me!” Gay Kevin moaned. As assistant manager, this was definitely a him problem. His outburst seemed to snap the rat out of its trance, and it scurried somewhere deeper into the kitchen.

“I want to go home!” Straight Kevin cried; he was not having a very punk rock time right now.

I looked back at phone!Jake and he looked deeply concerned.

Me? Well, I sort of wanted to take a picture of the rat and send it to the Cullen group chat. I could tell them I was bringing home a snack.

“Nessie, Watch out!” Jake’s voice made me aware of my surroundings again. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a blur and quickly snapped my head to the side. It was yet another rat – one that was jumping directly at my face. My eyes widened and I swatted at the rodent…maybe a little too hard because it went flying across the kitchen. It hit the fryer ledge with a crack and I gasped.

Thankfully, the rodent didn’t fall into the hot oil, though I don’t think it survived the trip. Un-thankfully, my phone did fall into the hot oil and I was certain it didn’t survive the swim.

Fucking Fuck. Now, I wasn’t having a good time.

And this is how None of Your Fucking Business Kevin found us; A 22-year-old crying on a counter and praying, an assistant manager desperately flipping through the phone book trying to find an exterminator, and a high school drop out fishing a phone from an industrial fryer.

[hanmajoerin]

Looking for some soft, post-canon InuKag? Look no further than chapter two of Lost Time which is promptly titled “With Me.”

The story is posted on Fanfiction.net and AO3 and is also available for your viewing pleasure below!

The fire popped three times, another confirmation about InuYasha’s claim.

Three years.

Kagome’s mind chewed on the idea like taffy. Even though InuYasha sat mere inches from her, she still carried the weight of his absence. The idea that they spent another two years apart sent Kagome’s hand flying to his. She gave it a sincere squeeze, relieved to find that she could touch him. That he was still real. “InuYasha... I’m so sorry.”

There was so much she wanted to tell him, but Kagome hesitated, wondering if she’d only be repeating herself. They hadn’t been able to talk about their first reunion and she didn’t know if she had been back for a few days, weeks, or months. Regardless, Kagome wanted to share with him what was in her heart right now; the difficulties she experienced with her first real heartbreak. Kagome bit her lip slightly. Would he want to relive this? Did she already tell him how she probably sealed the well? Could he forgive her? Did he know that he was on her mind every day? Did he know—did he know how much she needed him?

“Don’t apologize,” InuYasha was quick to say, nearly slamming his free hand onto the wooden floor beneath them. Kagome gasped slightly. He shook his head, silver hair whipping from side to side. “I could have jumped out of the well back then but I didn’t. I felt it pulling me back and I let it because I thought knowing you were safe was enough.”

InuYasha knew instantly what the high schooler meant. However many moments passed between them since then hadn’t dulled the determination in his amber eyes or the resolute conviction in his speech. She could feel a small smile forming. It didn’t take away the pain in full but it meant something. She wanted more. Emboldened, she asked, “Was it enough?”

A beat passed between them and Kagome took a sip of the medicinal tea InuYasha brewed to fill it, trying her best to keep focus as a vague static played like a song in her mind.

InuYasha sharply turned his eyes away from her, a grim expression haunting his features. “No.”

Kagome placed the clay cup onto the floor with more care than it deserved. The way she breathed, the way the glazed surface of her teacup shimmered from the fire’s light, the crude weight of her night robes against her chest, the way she was wearing them instead of her pajamas, InuYasha answering her questions... it all created an ethereal atmosphere that lingered like the warmth on her palms. Maybe she should be angry for losing her memories or scared, but those emotions felt impossible with InuYasha at her side. They would find a way to get her lost time back. For now, there was this reunion. It was one that she could share with the boy she never knew could become irreplaceable. It was sacred. 

Kagome leaned forward, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Given their positions, a healthy heap of space still rested between their lower halves but Kagome couldn’t have felt closer to the half-demon. His fire-rat robe felt like silk under her skin. It was familiar. Her cheek all but clicked into place against his shoulder. “I really missed you,” she murmured. 

InuYasha slid closer, returning the embrace and resting his cheek on top of her head. He sounded tired as he took in a deep breath. “There wasn’t a day I stopped thinking about you.”

“Me, too.”

A comfortable silence blanketed the couple. Kagome wondered in passing if she should wait for InuYasha to speak first or if he was captivated by the same film that drifted through her mind. As he continued holding her, she watched the part when he pulled her to his chest and apologized for taking so long to save her. When he pushed her back slightly, she saw the time when his wide, red eyes receded to white and amber upon an entirely different reunion. When he squeezed her shoulders in support, she closed her eyes and felt her backpack grazing against her thighs when he carried her home from school. When she opened her eyes again, she saw the moment she whispered her loyalty to him and the time he swore his life on protecting her. Theirs was a movie she never thought would end. It was beyond a relief–beyond her wildest dreams–to be creating the much anticipated sequel.

“Does your head feel better?” InuYasha asked eagerly, thumbs brushing against the light blue fabric of her night robe. They were warm but still felt as fragile as glass which helped Kagome stop herself from laughing at the abrupt topic change. I guess he’s had plenty of time to reminisce. 

“It still hurts but I probably have a concussion so it’s to be expected.”

“Maybe you should rest more,” InuYasha suggested, moving the tea away from her. Kagome reached out to pull it closer. 

“I don’t think you’re supposed to sleep after you get a concussion,” the high schooler countered, slipping in another sip as if to prove its continued usefulness. 

InuYasha glowered at her, arms crossing over his chest. Kagome’s eyes lingered, briefly wondering what it would be like to be caught between them. Encircled by sleeves that could blanket her entirely, grounded to reality as he held her against his chest, moved to glimmering tears at being precisely where she belonged.

“What does it matter? You’ve already been out since this afternoon.”

Kagome blinked a few times, her visions faltering. “This afternoon!? Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“It’s not like we didn’t try. You were out cold!”

Kagome stared at the purple kimono which was used as a makeshift blanket. It barely covered her shins, but the thought of having it pulled back into place along her shoulders had her clinging to her cup like it had the chance to prevent her companion from moving her a single centimeter. “I don’t know if I’m ready to go to sleep yet,” she admitted, a blush dusting her cheeks. Falling asleep and waking up to find her pink comforter instead of a deep and unmistakable red made the idea utterly unappealing. Although announcing the idea seemed embarrassing considering she was also unmistakably back in the Feudal Era. 

“Uh...” InuYasha stuttered, picking up on her blush. Kagome wasn’t sure why he hesitated, but all thoughts stopped as soon as he brushed his hand against her cheek. She inhaled the mingling smells of autumn leaves and safety. InuYasha cleared his throat, anchoring Kagome to the moment. “We should wait until you feel better to do...uh... that.”

The insinuation sent Kagome’s hands flying to her cheeks in abstract horror. She ended up slapping one of InuYasha’s hands in the process but, once it was in her grasp, she refused to let it go. “InuYasha, get your mind out of the gutter!” He laughed. “It’s not funny, InuYasha!”

The chuckles hardly lasted but his crooked smirk lingered and it wasn’t long before he spread it her way. “You said the same thing when you first got back,” he confessed. “Guess I’m still a little ahead of myself.”

A single fang gleamed and Kagome took a deep breath. Her blush was back and after a few horrendous seconds, she tactfully decided to ask another extremely unrelated question. “That reminds me, how long have I been back?”

“It’s been... about seven moons.”

“Oh,” was all Kagome could manage to say. She wanted to ask InuYasha about their relationship. What they had done and who they had become to each other, but her flustered heart fluttered against her ribs. She cleared her throat. She wasn’t like InuYasha when it came to “getting ahead of herself.” They were together once and they could be together again but she needed to process it all. “Hey, InuYasha,” she started to say, her fingers brushing against his as if she hoped it would give her the courage to continue. InuYasha quirked a brow in response. 

Kagome felt a whole new blush slam across her cheeks. She was beginning to think her body rivaled the temperature of the untended fire. “Do you remember our first new moon together?”

“Hard to forget that shit show,” InuYasha grumbled. 

Kagome coughed slightly; it was a physical restraint to keep from taking full offense of how he didn’t recognize that she was referring to their sleeping arrangements, not the spider heads. “After Myoga sucked the poison from your blood... you asked if you could lie in my lap.” 

“I did, didn’t I?” InuYasha asked, scratching at the back of his head with his free hand. It was almost as if he was scrambling to remember and Kagome’s smile instantly faltered. “D-don’t look at me like that! I try to forget all my nights spent as a human!”

Kagome dropped his hand and let out an audible groan. “How can you say that? You told me you liked my scent! It was...” Kagome cut herself off and rubbed her forehead. It just didn’t seem worthwhile to start an argument with InuYasha when all she wanted was to touch him and relish in their joint existence. “InuYasha?”

“What is it now?” He grunted, clearly losing his patience. 

Then, she plagiarized his words from that night. “Let me use your lap.”

“Okay,” InuYasha said and it shocked Kagome that he hadn’t sputtered or blushed. He was comfortable with being intimate although Kagome should have recognized that earlier. It didn’t take InuYasha long to be sitting properly behind her head and with great care, Kagome got herself situated. She closed her eyes and took in the scent of the forest in fall and a love that saved her over and over and over.

Even though her small fear lingered in the black behind her eyes, she was tempted to fall asleep. A tender silence filled the hut and Kagome felt a warmth building in her stomach despite her growing headache. 

“Kagome.” She hummed in response, too comfortable to offer any actual words. InuYasha continued, “When you came back, you said your exams were finished and you didn’t have any regrets. That’s gone now. I...” he paused as if he couldn’t quite string together the right words. Kagome turned her head just in time to see a light flush spreading across his features and it took her a minute to recall how actions and words came different to the half-demon. “I—I just hope that you’re okay with being here. Okay with being with me...”

“InuYasha, I’m exactly where I want to be,” she reassured him, the statement so strong that Kagome couldn’t stop crocodile tears from staining her cheeks. No matter the consequences–no matter the sacrifices–the high schooler couldn’t forget their journey. Coming home was a choice she didn’t need memories to stand by. 

Relief overtook every part of InuYasha as he gawked down at her. Kagome never loved him more. They sat still, amber and brown eyes talking in ways spoken language couldn’t hope to say. “Kagome, you...” InuYasha swallowed, this time bending his neck downwards. Kagome’s heartbeat echoed through her ear drums. After spending seven months together, this probably wasn’t their first kiss, but it was her first kiss. Cheeks stained red, Kagome squeezed her eyes closed and was rewarded with chapped lips brushing against hers. His lips were true to his character: rough around the edges even when he was trying to be gentle. His kiss was everything Kagome wanted and she lifted her hand to caress his cheek.

She blinked at the loss of his touch. His attention seemed to be taking away the pain in her head far better than Kaede’s tea. “We’ll visit Kaede in the morning but uh...” a small smirk touched at his features, eyes softening. “Welcome home.”

A dazzling smile and a few more tears crowded her face. Silver hair was like a curtain keeping her attention on InuYasha alone. “I’m home.”

II Chapter 1 II

[inarichi]

WIPs 1.1: Here is a continuation to my wip “Dead Roses” There may be two more parts after this, then that’s it. might be moving it over to forsaken files lol.  this is just sitting in my docs so, I’m posting for fun ^^ the endgame is kaisoo btw Prologue | Chapter 2

Dead Roses (Chapter 1)

1.1k w.

3 weeks earlier.

Days pass but time does not.

The burn of alcohol feels less like an inferno and more of a simmer. His eyes of glass glaze over until the time of night when they shimmer in the streets of Seoul. 

He likes the bustle of city life, of people. Though he doesn’t interact with anyone. 

Sometimes, just being around strangers makes him feel less lonely—but sometimes, it makes him feel even lonelier still. 

The flask in his palm feels almost too light, and from the way the tips of buildings sway, maybe he knows why. And as darkness brings forth quiet nights, the voices inside his head become much noisier:

Don’t do it! You can’t!

No one will ever like you. 

You aren’t worthy of love.

They say. 

But Kyungsoo doesn’t want to listen to such lies, so the flask becomes lighter and this time, he only sees blurs of colors as clouded eyes dim his focus and the terrain spins. Rings of black edge along his vision until he could no longer hold his consciousness within. 

⸻

“Why’d you have to get so fuckin’ wasted?” 

It’s deep into the night where barren streets, flickers of lights, and noiseless alleyways await them. 

Jongin’s arm falls over Chanyeol’s shoulder, “Because, we’re never going anywhere...”

“What are you talking about?” Chanyeol nearly stumbles with Jongin’s weight and the staggering of his steps, “God, you’re fuckin’ heavy.” He mumbles. 

“The band,” Jongin hiccups.

Chanyeol rolls his eyes, “Have a little faith, we just need to release the right song.”

“It’s been years, Yeol.” Jongin’s head falls, and the familiar sensation pulls into his ducts. Yet the wind is so cold, he could hardly feel the tears that roll down his cheeks. “Years…”

“I know,” Chanyeol’s voice is small, “But, we can’t give up now. The band is all we got.” 

No more words are said as the moonlight hovers above while they continue to walk towards Jongin’s apartment. 

Arriving at the familiar place makes acid turn in Jongin’s stomach. His once light footsteps began to feel heavy and a headache swells inside of his head. 

The reason for such emotions stands outside of the apartment door, with arms crossed and a grave expression. 

Jongin soundlessly removes his arm from around Chanyeol’s shoulders, bids him farewell before answering to the one person he really doesn’t want to see. 

“Where have you been?!” Rings loud into swollen eardrums and Jongin’s headaches spikes. Baekhyun’s waning impatience makes him asking again, “Where have you been!?”

Jongin quickly lifts both palms to cover his ears, “I just had a few drinks with the guys. Bring the volume down, will ya?”

He scoffs, “You’re always out with them. Did you forget that I’m in the band too?”

“Baekhyun, you don’t like them…”

“Cause they’re a bunch of fucking losers.” Half-dazed eyes glide over to emptiness. Jongin doesn’t like the way he looks at him, and walks past without another word. “Hey!” Baekhyun shouts, “I’m not done talking to you!”

His head is about to explode, “Then what do you want?!”

“I need money.” Baekhyun reaches into his pockets and Jongin flinches backward.

“I just gave you what I had earlier.” He sighs, “I don’t have anymore.”

“Cut the bullshit, I know you do. If you can go out and have drinks with those shitbags, then you have enough cash.” Baekhyun desperately closes the distance, fumbling his fingers into Jongin’s pocket. 

Jongin pushes him off, “Stop it! What the fuck Baekhyun, where did you spend it all?” His eyes roam the small space in search of anything and he finds exactly what he didn’t want to see. “You’re at it again?” It almost sounds like disappointment in his voice moreso than a question of confirmation. 

“Just give me the money...Come on, Jongin.”

“No, I’m not giving you money so you can buy more coke.”

Baekhyun hurries to shush him. “Hey keep your fuckin voice down, huh?”

“You’re getting out of control.” Jongin’s face curves in disgust. 

“Like you’re one to talk,” Baekhyun spits. “You sit here and whine all fuckin day about not getting enough gigs, and how the band isn’t doing too hot. All depressed and shit, expecting life to be easy and shit.” Baekhyun snatches the newports from the coffee table and lights one before continuing. “You’re just as broken. Don’t act all high and mighty when you used to do coke too.” His fingers twitch.

“That was a long time ago, Baek.”

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that.”

The acid in his stomach begins to boil. “I’m so sick of your shit!” He yells and Baekhyun has the nerve to chuckle. 

“If you’re so damn tired, then why do you continue to fuck me. Why do you even date me. You’re my boyfriend, or have you forgotten with all this band shit filling up your brain. I only decided to join because you needed a lead vocalist. That’s all. I could give a rats ass about your dumbass band.”

“Get out Baekhyun.” The cigarette tumbles from in between loose fingertips as Jongin grabs hold of his arm and yanks him toward the door.

“W-wait...p-please...” Baekhyun fights back against his strength, only to be met with a door slamming directly in front of his face. Harsh bangs swell into the air, echoing down the corridor and out into the distance—loud and piercing. “I’m sorry.” Two more bangs. “Jongin, please, I’m sorry.” Another bang. “Jongin...”

It’s silent. 

Baekhyun’s knees touches the hard ground and he sniffs, holding back a flight of tears ready to let go; ready to fall in the midst of such a cruel and windy night. 

“You’re all I have,” Baekhyun whispers, “And I’m all you have…”

Moments of silence whisk by, dancing on the tips of breezes. The wind grows stronger until it howls, drowning out the sounds of hushful wails right outside the door to his apartment. But Jongin hears him loud and clear—the sorrow, the guilt, the pain and anguish consuming the person he’s dated for three years. 

Baekhyun is all he’s known—he’s all Jongin will ever know. 

Because no one would be with someone like him—never someone like him. Someone whose past isn’t riddled with white innocence or flowery rainbows, but instead, is painted with shades of black emptiness and profound loneliness. 

The door creaks open. Baekhyun lifts his head and Jongin lowers his. Pitiful eyes fall into hopeful ones. Jongin reaches down to take Baekhyun into his arms with an embrace that isn’t filled with the warmth of love, but of the wavering shadows of remorse.

[jake-willow-writes]

Red Gold

A cold breeze swept into the coffee shop as an old lady pushed the glass doors open. The stale winter air mingled with the sweet fragrance that my hot macchiato gave off and crept up my nostrils, making them flare uncontrollably. I took a sip of the brown liquid, which flooded my mouth with rich flavors within seconds. Successful in containing my excitement, I let out a soft sigh of satisfaction.

It has been years since I have last visited this coffee shop but I still vividly remember the heavenly taste of their macchiato. Something that I loved as much as their coffee was their 'Thursday Surprise', which always comprised of a cup of espresso, a piece of plain toast and a small, slightly overbaked donut. I was sixteen when it came to my attention that the element of surprise in this weekday special really did say a lot about this small town of ours. Despite its mediocrity, my heart was still attached to this place. This, perhaps, was the reason why the confinement was such a big deal to me: I was torn away from my birth town.

"Geez, Nathan Herber, you know you weren't supposed to drink that!"

A muffled voice with a thick Australian accent exclaimed. Nearly choking on my coffee, I looked up and found Tyler behind the door, hollering. I was quick to put away the cup as he came up to me with an agitated look.

"No food or drink. You know the rules."

He was panting when he found himself a seat across the table. I knew I was in trouble, but he did not know that yet. It was his first day at work, which meant I could probably get away with breaking a few rules by laying down one or two meticulously crafted excuses. Flashing him an awkward smile, I handed my coffee over and offered,

"Try it. It's good."

Tyler, who was boiling with rage at the moment, rejected my gesture of kindness by pushing the cup to his side.

"See, I don't want to lose my job because of you. Do you know how hard it is to find a job nowadays?"

Protested Tyler as he gave me a menacing glare.

"You can't blame me for not knowing how messed up the economy is when I only get to come out two hours every month," I shrugged and continued, "and let's just say a tiny cup of coffee won't cost you your job. Alex lets it slide all the time."

Alex has been my bodyguard for two years by now. Suffering from a mild flu, he called in sick today lest he should pass the illness onto anyone else. As a replacement, Tyler was sent in to watch over me on my 'cheat day'. As a senior member of the shelter, Alex had the regulations engraved on his mind. He was excruciatingly strict about my diet for the first couple months but over the course of these two years, he has slowly come to realize that the shelter was being overprotective and sympathized with my situation. His compassion, albeit much appreciated, meant nothing in the face of the rules imposed by the shelter.

At the end of day, I was still prohibited from consuming anything while I was out on the streets. Now that Alex was on leave, I was able to regain control of my life for a day or two without having to worry about accidentally throwing him under the bus.

I could tell Tyler was unconvinced from the way he furrowed his brows. A weak grunt escaped his lips when I interrupted with a suggestion,

"I won't blame you for being worried. How about we just keep this a secret, one that's only between you and me?"

Carefully considering my offer, he leaned back with his arms crossed. His features contorted like a vortex as if the idea I was presenting was shaving bits and pieces off his sanity. The sound of his phone ringing was what released him from his misery. I could barely hear who was talking on the other end but somehow, I was certain that this caller was up to no good. After what seemed like ages, Tyler slipped the phone back into his pocket and slammed his fist against the wooden table,

"Dr. Jensen said there's an emergency and that you need to return to the shelter this instant. I told you this was a bad idea, I told you!"

During the walk back to the shelter, I could hardly breathe as though my lungs had been crushed by a giant boulder. Shivering at the thought of Dr. Jensen running all the possible tests on me, I gagged and grunted like a drunk man at the Oktoberfest. With all the equipment in the laboratory, they could easily tell there was caffeine coursing through my veins. Sometimes I wondered how the advancement of technology was a bliss to the world, but was an absolute hazard for me. Everything just seemed so unfair: how the government treated me, how I was always the lab rat, how I had to live under this curse.

My attempt to sneak back to my room was proven unsuccessful when the guards flagged me down at the hallway. Their helmets might have helped them mask the disdainful expression on their face, but it did little in muffling their scoffs. It appeared that the entire facility knew I did something that I should not have done and now the karma has come. Tyler must have called the securities when I stowed away at the coffee shop. He thought the department was on his side and would not inform the researchers – he thought wrong, for betrayal is common among these days.

I was greeted with a spray of antibacterial white fume when I stepped into the laboratory. A piercing tune composed of mechanical cacophonies and rackets could be heard when I advanced further into the place. Upon my entrance, Dr. Jensen turned to face me in his swivel chair, his face dark as the night sky. Meeting his gaze sent a wave of uneasiness through my body as if ants were crawling all over my pale skin. I ran my fingers through the bed of straw resting on my head in hopes of alleviating the itchiness on my scalp.

"This is not good. Not good at all..."

I muttered gingerly under my breath.

"You're correct, Mr. Herber. This isn't looking promising, for yourself and for the world."

Dr. Jensen suggested as he tapped his fingers on the arms of the chair. He was listening carefully to every word I was mumbling, that was how I knew I was in for some deep trouble. I bit back a hiss and backed away from the anger burning in his eyes. Leaning against the wall, I let out a nervous laughter,

"Hah, I thought you said the lab was renovating and wouldn't need me here for a while."

I looked around without moving my head like a toddler frozen in terror. The old furniture in the room was wrapped in white linen cloths and most of the experimental equipment was stored in cardboard boxes that stacked up neatly on the floor.

"I find it interesting how you can recall this place is under renovation, Mr. Herber. I thought you couldn't remember anything, including the rules imposed by the shelter."

Dr. Jensen could barely hold back the fury in his voice. Both his tone and his gaze were as sour as an unripe lemon. Pointing to the stool next to him, he signaled me to take a seat while he continued his lesson.

"You know how important your blood is. The entire world is counting on you. Why can't you just be a tiny bit more responsible?"

The bitterness in his voice took a sharp turn and became motherly with a hint of sweetness within. Caught off-guard by this sudden change of tone, I apologized like a kid who just stole candy from his mother's pocket,

"I'm sorry I let you down, doc. I really liked coffee though and you guys wouldn't let me have it here."

After hearing what I had for the day, Dr. Jensen shook his head in a disapproving manner and sighed regretfully. His eyes returned to the monitor sitting on the desk and let his fingers fly across the keyboard, recording what I have consumed.

"Do you not know caffeine is poison?" Dr. Jensen's frown stood out from his wrinkled complexion, "How could you allow that thing to enter your body?"

Now a needle was stuck in my arm, taking samples from my blood. The crimson liquid trailed along the tube connected to the machine that was responsible for analyzing the plasma. He stared at the screen, frowning at the glaring warning that my blood was tainted with the chemical C8H10N4O2. I was trying to explain myself when the doctor stopped me with a raised hand.

"No more excuses, mister."

He said bluntly as another laboratory staff, Dr. Marx came in through the door.

"Oh right. It's you again, Mr. Troublemaker. I can't believe that's what we get for trying to keep you safe."

Marx's intent stare was shimmering under the light, a bright contrast to his bad mood.

"Hello, Dr. Marx," I replied plainly, "You know, I'm very grateful that you guys saved me from the government, but it's just coffee. I don't understand what the fuss is all about. A cup of coffee's not going to hurt anyone."

He gave me a taut smile, which quickly faded as he started toward me,

"If you think it's not that big of a deal, how about we just send you back to Washington?"

The memory of me being held captive flooded my mind. All of a sudden, the walls around me shook and shifted, turning from white to deep gray. I knew this place like the back of my hand: this was my cell in the government facility. This place has always made me felt like I was behind bars, but only worse. A prison mate might get to experience the joy of having sunlight caress his or her skin every day, but all I ever got to come into contact with was the cold touch of artificial lighting as they took my blood for further research.

We cannot afford the chance of you developing skin cancer, that was what they said.

Every day they sampled my blood, trying to unravel the mystery behind the power of the liquid.

"It's like the fucking panacea! How is this even possible?"

The government scientists exclaimed in exhilaration after they have first examined what they have taken out of my body. Rounds and rounds of studies confirmed that the miracle was actually the results of a mutation.

I have once taken a peek of the researchers' journal and saw this written on the page labeled 'Mechanism and Discovery'.

The subject has undergone a mutation that causes its cells to produce a toxin lethal to all known bacteria and viruses. From what was observed, the toxin is capable of breaking down the cell membrane or the protein coat of the antigen and releasing an enzyme to digest the cell content of said antigen. It is unlikely that running more tests on the subject would reveal the exact mechanism of this immunology reaction, but we could try and replicate the toxin that the subject releases. The discovery of this substance could very possibly save lives that are threatened by viral or bacterial infections.

This short passage has haunted me for the remainder of the days spent in the facility. Knowing that they would not give up studying the secret behind my blood, I was almost certain that I would have to spend the rest of my life being studied. Every time that thought appeared in my mind, I would ram my head against the walls of the cell, hoping it would either make the desperate idea go away or it would kill me and I would be out of this misery. In response to my suicidal actions, cushions were pinned to the walls so I could still bang my head on the wall without bleeding to my death.

The first time I held a shimmer of hope in my heart was when I heard the facility was under the ambush of an organization called 'The Shelter'. Despite the loud gunshots that were echoing throughout the corridors, I was thrilled to bits. Hiding at the corner of my cell, I was imagining myself running through the streets of Irvine, heading back home and throwing myself into my family's arms. It was no more than half an hour before the staff from the shelter found me sitting on the floor, giggling like a maniac.

By the time they got me back on my feet, the raid was almost over. Without a second thought, I pointed out the location of the closest exit and headed out the facility through the back door. My heart was filled with joy as I fled this literal hell that has held me for way too long. The soldier escorted us as we ran across the parking lot hastily. With an excited leap, I got onto the shelter's rescue helicopter. I found it hard to settle down with my emotions on a roller coaster, but eventually I calmed myself down and told them my story. After hearing what I had to say, they promised to take me back to my hometown under the condition that I would not expose myself to the public as much as possible. They explained to me that the government would be watching us constantly and that they would do anything to capture me again. At first, I was rather reluctant to agree to their terms, but thinking of how I could possibly return to my family, I saw no better choice than saying yes.

And so, I joined the shelter.

Snapped back into reality by a stern warning, I heard Jensen and Marz restated for the millionth time that I was not supposed to consume any food products while I was away from the structure. Considering how they would probably put cuffs on me if l told them the truth that there would be a day when they would have to repeat that statement for the million and first time, I nodded dubiously and steered away from the black clouds on their head.

When I exited the laboratory, the same horrible, machine-composed symphony bade me farewell. Accompanied by two guards, I stalked back to my room and stayed in bed for the next few hours. Taking blood samples was exhausting, especially when you are the one being stung by the needle. After being examined for so many times, I would expect myself to get used to the pain, but I never did. Even just back then, the pain was still as fresh as the first time I made acquaintance with the sharp, silvery spike.

It was 7 PM when I woke up to a weird sense of stiffness in my neck. Dr. Marx had talked to me about my improper sleeping position, but I never paid any attention to him. As I craned my neck, the ache at the back of head intensified, which made me flinch a little. I remembered how my mother would massage my shoulders whenever this happened and started rubbing the aching spot with my wrist. I could not tell whether it was the idea of home or the massage that made my neck feel better, but it did the job anyway.

I had been through a lot of 'cheat days', but I never got the chance to go back home. The shelter said my parents had moved and they could not trace the location of their new home. I figured they could not manage the sudden disappearance of their son and so they decided to leave this place resided by nothing but empty memories. Staring into the picture of my family that was hung on the wall right in front of my bed, I reminded myself that I must stay hopeful and perhaps one day, I would get to see them again. I missed my mother's vegetable stew, which was made with broccoli, carrots and potatoes. To be very honest, it was not that exciting of a dish, but it was better than anything I could ask for in the shelter. I had a piece of cornbread and went back to sleep soon after.

A gentle knock sounded at my door the next morning: it was Alex. He told me that one of the new staff got fired and that he felt bad for the guy. All that came tumbling out my lips was a guilty "okay..."

"So what are you planning on doing today?"

He asked me with a smile that resembled the warmth of the sun. I shrugged and pursed my lips,

"Don't know. Haven't got anything on my mind. Don't you think it would be cool if I could get two cheat days every month? That would be the dream of my life."

He raised his eyebrow as if he had just heard something preposterous.

"I know, I know. It's not gonna happen, but I can dream, okay?"

I threw my hands up in the air and complained jokingly. He mirrored my actions and said defensively,

"Okay, sure. There's one thing you gotta know though, and that is I have a lot of work to catch up on today. If you've got nothing to do, I guess you could possibly help me out?"

I was always treated as a 'friend whose also serves as an experimental subject' (The postmodifier was the important part). This was the very first time anyone has ever assigned me to a mission ever since my arrival to the shelter. Stoked, I pushed aside the covers and jumped to my feet like a child on Christmas day and asked,

"What is it?"

Flashing me the famous 'Alex grin', he put his hand on both of my shoulders and said,

"I need you to fetch some paperwork for me. The security department is having skeleton staff at the moment. You know where to get the documents, right?"

I nodded at such a profuse intensity that my neck started hurting again. After I told him that I'll meet him at the security office once I have got everything done, I burst through the door and perambulated down the hallway and entered the printing room.

The interior of the room was a complete mess. Papers of different sizes were stacked all the way up to the ceiling. The only illumination to the place was provided by a tiny yellow lamp standing on the coffee table in the center of the room. Walking over to the corner where the printer quietly sat, I took a few A4-sized papers and shoved it into the machine. With a brisk click on the on the computer mouse, I selected the file of the document that Alex wanted and started the printing process. Despite the old age of the printer, it was working at a considerable speed, spewing out documents steady. I paced around the room as I waited impatiently for the papers to be ready.

The combination of dim lights and the sound of paper flying out of the printer was almost hypnotizing. Soon I was lost in my own thoughts, only brought back to the moment when a sharp pain traveled up my body. "Ouch!" I cried as I stubbed my toe against one of those paper towers. It swayed violently, threatening to fall over and smack me in the face as retribution for not watching where I was going. At last, the tower had mercy on me and stopped swinging. Now it was looking like the leaning tower of Pisa, with most of its weight shifted to the right.

Carefully, I moved under the roof made of documents and unused paper and attempted to give the pile a little push. With several meticulous nudges, the papers edging out slid back into place, which proceeded to reveal a research form with my name on it. I was not authorized to handle research archives but after all, this document was about me. I felt like Eve, that I was betraying mankind just to quench my curiosity.

"The apple was dangling right in front of me and it would be a shame not to take it"

The serpent inside my head whispered in my ear. They couldn't possibly know me better than I know myself, right? I thought to myself and extracted the document from the dangerous spire coyly.

I quickly lost interest after reading the first few pages. The paper was mostly about how my body functions and described the capability of my blood. It also featured a bunch of words that I did not know how to pronounce, which led me to think that scientists are all just show-offs disguised as professionals. When I was about to put down the paper, my peripheral vision caught sight of a small box of words printed on the last page.

The subject, Nathan Michael Herber, was rescued from the Washington captive facility on 6/3/2015. After spying on the subject's family, we are affirmative that the subject was actually sold to the government by Maria Wake (Mother) and Denise Herber (Father) for an unknown sum. More information may be added in future revisions.

The document slipped from my shaking hands and landed on the floor with a genteel sigh.

So is this what it is?

I stormed out the printing room, leaving the documents in the printer. I had a feeling that I might pass out if I did not clear out my mind, so I did exactly that as I sprinted through the corridor. I have known this place for years. I could draw the map of the structure in my head, yet at this particular moment, I seemed to have lost all directions. I did not know where the security office was. I did not know where my room was. I did not know where to go. The thought of returning home shot through my mind like a bullet, but I knew that was not an option, not anymore.

After a lot of mindless running and exploring, I had finally found my safe place. The darted toward the utility room, weeping as I went inside and locked myself in. Flashes of joyful memories penetrated my brain as I covered my sweaty face with my hands. I could see my father tossing his five-year-old son in the air and catching him again in his arms as the boy hollered. My mother was laughing in the background and recording those precious moments on her newly brought camera. She had said she wanted to make a montage out of all these clips she had filmed of me. I could remember the pleasant smile on her face when she said that. All I ever wanted was to go back to those days when the sun was always shining bright in the sky.

About an hour later, the rusty metal door opened up with a swift pull. It was Alex again. He shot me a worried glance as he helped me up,

"You okay, man?", concern clear in his voice.

Unable to stop my body from tremoring, I replied wryly,

"I don't know who to trust anymore..."

Upon hearing my words, Alex's troubled expression turned into one of surprised. He took a brief moment to process what I had just said and tilted his head down. Taking in a deep breath, he said,

"I'm sorry."

He pitied me, he always had. Out of all the staff members in the shelter, Alex was always the one who had the most sympathy in his heart. Maybe that was why we got along: we both had that tinge of human kindness in us.

"Did you know?"

My voice cracked from all the sobbing I have done for the last hour. His lips curved inward and became a thin line. Silently nodding his head, he confessed,

"Yes, I knew that from the day I've met you."

I could understand why Alex did not tell me the brutal truth, for I did not want to hear it either. Proactively unraveling the truth is like standing under a tree in a thunderstorm: you are asking to be struck. If anything, I wish I had not known that it was my parents to gave me away to the government, that the ones who I was so desperately trying to get back to were the people who sold me out in the first place. As Alex patted me on the back, he kept repeating the same phrase over and over again,

"I'm so sorry."

It, obviously, was not his fault, but I did feel better after hearing him apologize for something that he did not do. I guess I just wanted someone to console me, that was all.

After wheezing for another hour, I decided that I wanted to be left alone and just contemplate the reason of my existence. I returned to my room and requested Alex to stay out of it, because I did not want my best friend to see me at this mental state. The place was eerily quiet, which only accentuated the sound of my cries. My family photos were still clinging to the wall, but the eyes of my parents did not feel comforting anymore. Instead, they were condescending and vile. I swept them off to the floor, which was painted a pale brown to imitate oak wood. The glass on the photo frame shattered upon the impact and flew all across the slick surface of the room. I braced myself in the tight hold of my blankets, which felt like my parents' hug. I hated it, but I simply could not stop holding onto them.

A gentle knock on the door tore me away from my sleep the next morning. I felt much better after one night of restful slumber. I could tell from the sound of the muttering that it was Alex who was behind the door. Standing alongside two guards, he looked weirdly strict (and sad) today. He brought me out to the lobby, which was filled with a bunch of strangers. They were all wearing black, but one man, in particular, had a briefcase in his hand.

"Dr. Jensen!"

I called out to him and he walked by, his face devoid of emotions. He turned around to look at me and shook his head slightly. He took the briefcase from the man and nodded toward Alex, who brought me up to the group of black-suited men and patted me on the back for one last time,

"I'm sorry you found out about this yesterday, but you know, the government really does pay plenty for you. We've gotta do it. I'm sorry."

So is that what it is?

[mlpdestinyverse]

Destinyverse Q&A

I asked my watchers on Deviantart to send me questions, related to me or Destinyverse, for me to compile and answer for a Q&A! Below the cut is the full Q&A and I hope it’ll be informative about me, my characters, or the Destinyverse universe! c:

Mysticalite:

1. Do any of your characters have any disabilities (I haven’t read all the bios so I might have missed something) if so, who and what do they have?

When it comes to physical, no! Though Destinyverse!Daring Do does have a permanent wing injury that gets in the way of taking off and flying normally (her wing can lock up and impair movement in the air). When it comes to mental (which I think mental illnesses count?); There's Eventide Twister with her general and social anxiety, and Skychaser has his bouts of depression. Then there's one other character who has dealt with clinical depression, and may still have its effects, but well...this isn't the right time to out them. ______________________________________________

2. Does the pony world in your universe have more relation with the human world? Like do more humans come over to the pony world and vice versa? With all video game stuff that involve Nova Spark, it made me wonder, do the humans share their technology with the ponies?

(Note that my answer is based off of Destinyverse headcanons!) There have been fun, silly stories passed around Canterlot City about magic and monsters and highschool students transforming into magical girl human-pony hybrids. But nowadays, people have waved off such stories as one huge school-wide prank or just exaggerated rumors to give Canterlot High and the city an interesting reputation. After graduating Canterlot High, and after magic disappeared (for the most part) from the human world, both Sunset Shimmer and Princess Twilight Sparkle agreed it'd be best to keep the existence of the magic portal on the down low. Not that normal humans who have never come in contact with equestrian magic or have never been pulled in at least once can cross it, but...better safe than sorry. A lot of back and forth communication and monitoring of the area around the portal is needed for Sunset or Astral to pass through unseen. Only those with Princess Twilight's permission are permitted to use the portal to cross back and forth.

As for technology! With all Sunset Shimmer has seen and gathered from the human world, the mare has used that knowledge over the years as inspiration to help advance Equestrian technology! Twilight puts her at the head of planning such projects, though they naturally need blueprints and research notes to be approved by Princess Celestia herself before they can start a project and have it produced for Equestria! ___________________________________________________

Craneswoop

3. What kind of technology is available to the ponies from the human world?

Similar to question 2, all advancements to technology in Equestria are human-inspired, but Equestrian-made! And I think it's safe to say magic has been added to the equation to create a unique magi-technology only Equestria would possess (think of how the helicopter blades on Tank's flight gear are run via an enchantment!)

One of the first things Sunset helped introduce were computers and monitors. Naturally an evolution in the gaming industry followed with the creation of consoles and computer games. We also have the creation of CDs and the development of portable music players, which improved the music industry.

There are some ideas still in the works for the topic of technology. For one, what about a development in animation and even TV shows? For some reason I feel like live TV wouldn't be a thing in present-day Equestria (whether because it's still being worked on or...Sunset wants to settle on live radio news broadcasts). Secondly, it'd be nice for there to be a communication device similar to a telephone, but not the complex cellphones/smartphones that humans have. That's an idea being smoothed out!

But one thing's for certain. The human's expansive "world wide web" does not exist in Equestria. Sure, computers - including desktop computers - exist. They're helpful with creating and storing documents and files, digital art, reading discs for computer games, etc. Buuut...Sunset has a new mantra, thanks to her past regrets. ”Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should”

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4. I'm sorry if this came up before, but if Dream's parents were both Earth ponies, where did her unicorn traits come from?

It hasn't! I believe one of Dreamaria's grandparents on her father's side is a unicorn! I have a feeling her father grew apart from his own parents for one reason or another, hence why the thought of going to them for unicorn-advice wasn't an option he considered. Dream has no connections to them.

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Jackii-in-the-Box

5. Your characters are beautifully made, but I wonder: Are your characters’ personality and background based on your life, people around you, or both? Or is it just to discover topics through fictional characters?

Thank you so much! And ah geez, this is going to be a long one, I apologize ahead of time. <xD There are a good chunk of characters in Destinyverse that I've handed aspects of my own experiences to. These characters would be Eventide Twister, Monochrome, Dreamaria Flow, Skychaser, and Summer Rush.

Dream, Sky, and Summer have the most subtle connections, don't worry! It ties into the aggressive behavior they've faced in their lives, but to keep it from getting too personal, I'll end that thought there. <:3

Monochrome only has one aspect in particular that I gave them because it's something I struggle with and needed to give form. The chapter "Gallery of Infamy" alone embodies it: a desire to share the things that are important to you with others, especially those that matter most. But when you can't, you're often left with a sense of loneliness. Being able to explore that feeling through Monochrome was pretty freeing. ;w;/

Then there's Eventide Twister, who in all honesty embodies the most aspects in her own way. Specifically, her struggle with anxiety and her plotline with Heather. That's something I don't mind sharing: My ex-friend wasn't Heather. In fact, I've shaped Heather in a way that's made her completely different from the friend I knew. But she was my best friend for many years, whose toxic behavior shaped my anxiety into what it still is today. The chapter "Honesty", while the event that forever damaged me and my friendship didn't play out quite like that, holds heavy references to that event and embodies the emotions I was left with that day. Emotions I had to struggle with for years. But I've gotten better with my anxiety and can function better than I could years ago. I continue to handle my anxiety the best that I can! And everything I've ever learned from my experience, I'm handing over to Eventide. Because even when you're left damaged, without a single bit of closure in sight, you can still heal. You can still overcome your hurdles and build yourself up again. That's what Eventide's character arc is about. And I look forward to sharing what I have planned for her. <X3

There's something almost therapeutic about expressing these internalized experiences and feelings through a medium like this. It gives those things form and provides a way of reaching out and communicating them to others! It's incredible how much reception Eventide's arc received, and seeing others be able to connect and relate to her and share their own personal stories is something I find so, so meaningful. I can only ever hope that being able to see these characters have similar experiences or struggles helps people feel heard or a little less alone...! _______________________________________________________

KannaYui

6. What ships in your NG are endgame?  Like, which ones are gonna be official?  Like Skychaser and Evergreen

While I can't give a direct answer to that, this question allows me to provide a bit of insight, since I'm sure others have wondered this too!

The reason EverSky is so openly canon is because 1. Skychaser, before he was fully developed, was originally created specifically to be Evergreen's boyfriend. xDD Not that he wasn't going to have more to him, but! That's what motivated me to make him! Now he's developed a solid story role! And 2. I drew tons of EverSky before I even started working on Destinyverse, sO, it's out there in the open. xD

For the other endgame ships? I want to avoid outright confirming certain ships for reasons, and then there are others who I'm just not 100% certain with yet (like the idea of Summer Rush and Jonagold!). Just know that while certain things may be perceived as either romantic or platonic (platonic physical affection after all!!), I'm also...not the most subtle when it comes to hinting or enjoying my own ships. <xDD That's your clue! But I have at least established that ChromeTwister isn't endgame, and I confirmed that because hellevenIenjoyit but I don't want people getting upset thinking that's being set up when it's actually not and Monochrome's crush is a thing of the past. ;w; Feel free to ship what you want though!! As long as it's harmless and everyone's respectful of one another's ships (as well as the canon ships), it's all good. <xD _______________________________________________________

Anthony158

7. When we will see Evergreen past arc?

AH, surprised someone's asking for Evergreen! He indeed has his own past arc, and well...I want to say he'll most likely be the last character to get his revealed, BUT it also completely depends on which arcs I feel like working on as time passes. <xD I already feel like I'm jumping around and unable to settle on one character. But admittedly some things still need to be sorted out for Ever's, so! We'll see! _______________________________________________________

Lack-Rat

8. I've got a question/story idea for you. Are enchanted comics that pull you into the story an established form of entertainment in your world or was that one spike got one of a kind?

I had to look back at the episode in question, but it turns out Spike got that comic from a shop called "The House of Enchanted Comics", so apparently there are multiple! I'm sure that it's somepony's unique talent, since I imagine that kind of spell would be a rather complex one for just any unicorn to perform (and it's a rather specific creative approach)! And because it's unique, I don't think it's a form of entertainment everywhere! Since Spike's comic disappeared at the very end of the episode, I almost think these enchanted comics only have a single copy that can be borrowed before they teleport back to its creator! So there's just one very specific shop in Canterlot that provides such magical comics. c: Hope that creator has their form of comic-enchantment trademarked. u m u

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9. On a related note, do you think Nova would ever invent a game console that magically sucks it's players in, either intentionally or accidentally? Given that he's Twilight's son I wouldn't be surprised if he could.

HAH, the thought never occurred to me, but hey! He probably could. uwu As a whole new generation of gaming~ Though it'd have to be intentional and consensual. xD And it'd be way down the line! His present goal is to just create immersive story-driven games. _______________________________________________________

MadnessOfTheMind

10. This may be considered a spoiler but I still gotta ask- Are Pinkie and Sugarsocks gonna have any kids in ur storyline or are they just a little side idea?

For some reason my mind tells me that those two don't feel a need to have any kiddos! >:0 They're just livin the best life with their business and parties~ Caramello from the Cake family is kind of the closest thing they have to a kiddo they can love and spoil. uwu

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11. Also are we gonna get more Everchaser/Skygreen (Evergreen and Skychaser) panic gay horse content in the future or no? Cuz lemme tell ya I do love my chaotic gay flirt horses lol

YOU HECKIN BET YOU WILL, THERE'S S O MUCH I STILL GOTTA DRAW xD I haven't even introduced their future daughter yet. I'll end up drawing stuff about her eventually. ;w; And I personally call their ship EverSky! Makes me think of a beautiful endless expanse of sky.

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12. Also, what was the first nextgen you came up with an idea for, or what triggered you to start developing a nextgen story on Deviantart? I'm curious owo

I was inspired by Lopoddity's next gen artwork!! I was particularly enamored by her royal next gens and basically went "I...want to design...a kiddo for Luna", AND BOOM, WE GOT PRINCE AMADEUS, my first next gen! Princess Lumina followed after. c: From there I already had Dream Flow and Eventide Twister as characters (Eve was an undeveloped OC at the time), my friend had her character Star Chime, and the existence of my royal next gens started forming a story! A cover (now taken down unfortunately) of the song "Ballad of the Crystal Empire" kick-started ideas for an arc of the present-day story. And as more characters joined the cast, my brain exploded with ideas from there. <xD The realization that I could present this story via illustrated stories and art dumps was the final push I needed to start working on it!

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13. I know abt PTX, but are any other characters inspired by celebs or media figures you like?

Nope! In reality I don't actually keep up with a lot of celebs and media figures. <xD Aside from youtubers maybe, but still.

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14. What do you, Mia, personally like music-wise? What are a few of your favorite bands?

I always have a hard time naming genres because I kind of just like whatever songs sound good to me. <xDD But I think a common pattern is that I really enjoy emotionally-charged songs. Probably why I tend to enjoy songs from musicals (Dear Evan Hansen is perfection, fight me)! I also like things with a good beat, piano, strings, and a combination of all those things is mMMMMgoodshit.

For some bands! And singers! I enjoy Halsey, Panic! At The Disco, PVRIS, Rachel Platten, Paramore, and Marianas Trench!

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UsaHunnyBunny

15. Were you nervous about sharing you Pony next gen stuff?

Nah! I was already posting art and stories for other fandoms in the past, so posting for a new fandom wasn't bad! But most of all, I had a powerful desire to get out of my own way and get my stories out there. I have a hard time communicating my thoughts and ideas with people - or finding a place where I can do that - and it was wearing me down, internalizing my own ideas and passions. SO, sharing my stories became my way of communicating these thoughts and feelings and connecting with others!

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16. Out of all your ships, which is your favorite? Parents of next gen/next gen or otherwise!

For canon characters; TwiTempest is my absolute jam. They're so freaking cute; perfectionistic and panicky princess and her cool-headed and secretly soft guard captain. HM. Runner up would be DaringDash. I never actually shipped them until after I paired them together to create Monochrome. Only then did I realize how cute of a couple they could make. Stubborn, blushy fools.

For my next gens: EverSky was my everything for the longest time, but then came another ship. I won't name the ship, partially because of my whole "no confirming" thing, but also because it's a ship that I don't think anyone will be able to fully appreciate or understand until you see it unfold for yourselves. ;w; It'll become obvious with time~

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17. What advice you'd give someone who wants to share their own fun pony stories/ideas themselves?

WELL! SCREW CRINGE CULTURE FOR ONE. As long as you're not copying or using harmful ideas, HAVE FUN AND BE INSPIRED!! Your ideas deserve to be out there! Not receiving much attention at first can admittedly be disheartening, but please don't give up! Keep believing in your passion, keep expressing it and having fun, and people in time will be able to see and appreciate those things! Also remember that it's okay to retcon if you end up finding ideas that work better. c: And one of the best things is that there's no pressure in posting stories 100% in order. You could jump around from character to character, from present day to the past to an event in the future, etc. In the end, just make sure you're having fun. ;w;/

Also, always have something with you to record new ideas! Your phone, a google doc, a notepad, whatever you need to jot ideas down new ideas as they come! From experience, you might think "oh this is an interesting idea, I can remember it for later". NO. DON'T TRUST THAT MY DUDE. YOU WILL LIKELY FORGET AND THEN HAVE REGRETS AS YOU TRY TO CALL FORTH THAT ONE SCENE CONCEPT OR THAT PERFECT LINE OF DIALOGUE but can't. So just be safe and jot down every idea you like, even if you end up tossing it out in the end. ;w;

ANYWAY! It all starts with you, so please, make that move and share your work~ Who knows who you'll end up reaching with your stories!

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18. Are you aware of how wonderfully talented and adorable you are?

*SQUINTS* I'm only including this cause you legit submitted it, but how dare Myansweristhanksbuthush _______________________________________________________

PurplePenumbra

19. Regarding Dream, has she ever met any other unicorn with the same kind of magic as her? Would she like to? And if so, would she be happy to meet them? 

She hasn't! Then again, other than the few times Uncle Serein would take her out of town for an outing or for visits to her grandparents, Dream didn't get out of her town much. Not until she moved to Ponyville! Whether she'd like to meet a similar unicorn is a little MMM complicated. I think meeting another pony with her abilities would at least be a good opportunity to see if she understands the full extent and workings of her magic. >:0 _______________________________________________________

ANONS! 20. Since the last ask reminded me of your mystery dungeon kids: if Eventide, Skychaser, and Dream were a mystery dungeon team, which Pokemon would each of them be and what kind of roles would they take? (tank, ranged, etc)

Dream Flow would be a shiny Ralts (emotion-abilities and psychic-type after all!) She'd be a ranged battler and healer!

Skychaser would be a Dartrix (no reason other than flying type + the hairstyle, and the hood for Decidueye. Besides, grass type boi would work well with grass type - possibly Roserade - Evergreen Glade~) And Sky would be a mixed fighter! Also have...have you guys looked up birds in hoodies. Please do.

Evie would be an Eevee~ Not only cause name play, but! Eventide's a char of possibilities. Darling's gotta find herself. ;w; While a reluctant fighter, if it means aiding her friends, Eve will do her best to fulfil her role as a close-ranged fighter (with Skychaser staying close to help out when needed). She'd also carry a wing-shaped backpack for the team's items! Evolution-wise? Even with no flying type Eeveelution, I think the most perfect evolution for her would have to be Sylveon~ You can piece together why. <X3 _______________________________________________________

21. Which characters were fun to develop and had the toughest backstory to plan?

Fun to develop? Oh Nova Spark all the way. A character who was originally created for fun and to serve the role of Prince Amadeus's best friend has developed into such a major character and I love him. It's probably why he has the longest past arc out of anyone, and also why I'm really excited to work on it BUT WELL I'm worried about leaving everyone else on the backburner. <xD

Hardest backstory to plan? Dream Flow. I've been developing her for over four years now and I'm still trying to sort her out. Heck I was figuring certain things out for her AS I was writing "Impasse". BUT HEY, I think I've settled on a good amount of Dream's story now! I'm sure I'll be editing some things as I go, but I've got a basic idea for what I want! _______________________________________________________

22. You've shown off kids for a lot of the MLP main cast, and they're all great! But one I've never seen mentioned and it has me curious. Does Starlight Glimmer have any kids? Will they be showing up even as a cameo/background pony?

Thanks! So this answer applies to all next gens, but for me to make a next gen, I need either 1. A ship I'm genuinely interested in! or 2. A character concept I want to design, thus I'll figure out parents that could fit the concept best. Examples would be Nova Spark (TwiTempest) and Beat Mania (VinylOctavia) for #1, and Monochrome and Skychaser for #2.

While a Starlight kid sounds nice, I just don't have a Starlight ship that's won me over. <xD Nor do I have any interesting char concepts I could use for a Starlight kid idea; BUT, the thing about that is that I'm not actively trying to create new character concepts. You see, I seem to have a hard time creating background next gen ponies because my mind likes to go off with ideas for almost every character I create. And with the amount of characters I already have, I really don't think I can balance any more characters in the cast without feeling a need to have them play a role in a main plot or another character's plot. And things are complicated as they are. <xDD SO you won't be seeing any new next gen designs unless I find a new MLP ship I REALLY like, or I think up an idea I really want to pursue! ;w;/ _______________________________________________________

23. Do any of the Destinyverse characters have friends that aren't ponies? Some of them did go to the school of friendship after all. Will we ever see them or have them mentioned?

Yep~! But see, those who have attended Friendship Elementary/the School of Friendship (Nova Spark, Eventide Twister, Astral Dusk and Monochrome) ironically are also the characters who have problems with friendship. <xD So none of them have non-pony friends presently.

As for those who do! Evergreen Glade actually has a Kirin friend who is very important to him. You'll meet him in Evergreen's past arc!

Summer Rush is very personable and probably has made friends with both ponies and non-ponies. ;w; None of them have been planned past being minor background characters, though. Maybe they'll have brief mentions! We'll see!

Princess Lumina has made friends with tons of royals/chiefs from other species! Comes with visiting or receiving visits from representatives/leaders/heirs of the other kingdoms within or outside of Equestria!

And finally Terra Rosa....may or may not have a friend who's not 100% human. Without realizing it. _______________________________________________________

24. They all seem to be around the same age, but who's the oldest/youngest of the Destinyverse crew?/How old is everyone supposed to be in Destinyverse?

Keep in mind these are approximate ages, from oldest to youngest! Princess Lumina is the oldest at 27. Then comes (big bro) Skychaser at 26. Summer Rush, Astral Dusk, and Prince Amadeus are around 23. Monochrome (and maybe Evergreen Glade) is 22. Eventide Twister, Nova Spark, and Dream Flow are around 20. And finally, Venture Gale is the youngest at about 14! _______________________________________________________

25. Will we ever be seeing more of Lumina or Amadeus? Will they have a part in this story?

Certainly! The only reason we haven't seen much of them is because we haven't explored the right characters that are connected to them! c: Which would be Prince Nova Spark and Star Chime (again, a friend's character!)! _______________________________________________________

26. Does Venture Gale read his mom's books? How does he react to them if so? Excited, embarrassed, or something else?

Absolutely~! He's a HUGE fan of his own mom's books! He gets so engrossed reading them, getting to re-experience his adventures in such an awesome light. It's exciting seeing himself as a character! Though he does get embarrassed when his mom adds extra narrative commentary, such as writing that Valor Wind is a fast-thinker, intelligent mind, a brave and honest soul, etc. His embarrassment is also fed by people who are die-hard fans of his character (Not that anyone knows he's Valor Wind or that the stories are real. But anyway, he's also incredibly flattered~)). Surprisingly, unlike Rainbow Dash who gets a HUGE ego boost out of their fans, Ven is a rather humble kiddo. But that's to be expected from the boy who becomes a red-faced bean over the slightest compliment. _______________________________________________________

27. Without spoilers, which Destinyverse character would you say has the biggest regrets about their past? Either in a single event or a long time thing?

Astral Dusk. It never occured to me until I read this question, but regret is a leading theme in present-day Astral's character conflict. _______________________________________________________

28. Who is your least to most fav character to draw in Destinyverse? Why?

Favorite character to draw? Nova Spark I think! I love coloring his gradient hair. Much simpler than hair streaks, and it's very pretty <xDD From there, everyone else so far has been on pretty neutral ground.

Now when I say "least favorite", in this case I mean the char that gives me the hardest time. And that'd be Skychaser, only because of his dang hair. <xD Getting the right curls and shape is WEIRDLY hard, but hey that's the price to pay for luscious hair. _______________________________________________________

29. What's Nova and Monochrome's relationship like?

Hehe~ It's a healthy one, built on trust and a sense of understanding they don't really share with anyone else in their lives. They often find themselves on the same wavelength and constantly have one another's back. If I can choose one word that embodies their relationship, I would choose...loyalty.

[nova-kismet]

just finished the first chapter of a quick little fic i’m writing (based on a couple of characters from the d&d homebrew campaign i’m putting together). figured i’d drop it here on the offchance that anyone would like to read it. more below the cut.

~1~               

“It has come time to serve your family once more.”

Mother’s words still tugged at the corners of my subconscious as I hitched my horse by the Market District gates. With an exhausted sigh, I pulled my plain black cloak closer to my shoulders and made my way from the stables up the darkened flagstone streets. Even for near-midnight on a Sunday, the typically busy center of Starfeld commerce seemed strangely deserted. As nice as it was to be able to make my way up the main path without having to weave through a sea of people, I couldn’t stomach another moment of quiet. At this point I was desperate for anything to distract myself from the thoughts racing through my head.

Just a few feet ahead, a weather worn wooden sign marked my destination; The Crossroads Inn. My home away from home.

A tall, iron-framed wooden door stood before me, flanked by two thick stone columns. I could already hear the soft, lilting tune of a lyre coming from within as I approached, accompanied by clinking dinnerware and muffled voices. Sounds like I had dropped by in the middle of one of Hilda’s weekly performances.

As I stepped inside, the strong scent of heady wine and cooked meats filled my nose. The flames in the gilded lanterns lining the crimson-painted walls were low, bathing the few patrons seated underneath them in a subdued orange glow. The diminutive halfling form of the lyre-wielding bard, Hilda, stood front-and-center of the room, swaying languidly with the tempo of the music that flowed from her fingers. A large stained glass window set into the middle of the ceiling reflected shimmering, multi colored light in an intricate geometric pattern on the floor with the full moon just visible beyond its surface.

I made my way straight to the counter off to the right, which was being tended by a familiar Dragonborn man by the name of Alzax. His scaly brow raised as I approached and sat down on a stool. I could tell I was about to receive an enthusiastic welcome, as I normally did, so I raised a hand to him and smiled. Understanding my intentions, he nodded and grabbed a glass from under the counter. While I normally enjoyed his exuberance, I just wasn’t in the mood for it tonight.

“Evening, Zax.” I said as he began pouring a drink. At this point, I didn’t even have to tell him what I wanted.

“Ezra! I wasn’t expecting you here tonight. How’ve you been?” He placed the white wine in front of me and leaned on his elbows as he responded. I pulled a few gold pieces out of my coin purse and laid them down for him.

“Oh, just splendid,” I replied, almost musing to myself. “This past week has been an absolute shitshow.”

Realization dawned on the red-tinged lizardfolk’s face, and he nodded. “I just heard the news today. You’re gonna end up with some Laurelian princess, right?”

“Regrettably, yes.”

“Ah,” Alzax reached across the counter and gave me a hearty pat on the shoulder as I took a long sip of my drink. “Hang in there, big guy. Arranged marriages never last anyway. And besides, I hear Laurelians are big party people. At least there’s a chance she won’t be boring.”

It took an incredible amount of willpower to keep myself focused on the conversation, as the prospect of my future (or lack, thereof) being the topic is nothing short of exhausting. My so-called “Princely Duties” were precisely what I was trying to distract myself from in the first place.

I sighed and held my head up with the heel of my palm, my other hand focused on halfheartedly swirling the glass of pale alcohol in front of me. “As much as I enjoy the notion of living out the rest of my years in eternal party mode, I think I would prefer to do something that actually matters. I couldn’t care less about some King I’ve only ever met twice at political gatherings.”

“Such is the nature of ruling a nation, my friend. If you inherit the throne, dealing with people you don’t give a rat’s ass about is going to be part of the everyday minutiae.”

“I’d rather give that responsibility to my sister. She seems more patient than I am with these things.”

At that moment, Hilda’s final song finally tapered to an end, eliciting a wave of applause from the modest number of patrons across the room. She bowed, left her tip jar and lyre on the table beside her, and sidled up to the counter, taking purchase on a stool at the other end. Alzax regarded me briefly, then moved to attend to her.

With this newfound solitude, I turned to survey the people behind me, searching for any other familiar faces. They were all strangers this time around, but a group stationed in the corner briefly caught my eye-- there were six of them sitting around two tables they had pushed together, carrying on a lively conversation, each with large steins in their hands. As my gaze passed over them, I couldn’t help but notice one of them staring at me.    

I was met with ocean-blue eyes. The emerald-skinned man making careful eye contact with me had his studded leather boots propped up on the table, his feet crossed at the ankles. Covering his shoulders was a Sea Captain’s coat, open at the chest--inky black with silver and red trim. He appeared to be Triton, which was a rare sight in Fallreven, much less so far inland. His watchful eyes made me the slightest bit unnerved, but at this point in my life I was used to people gawking. I almost had to double-take when I saw a faint, wry smirk play across his lips. Shaking it off, I turned around and went back to emptily watching my drink swirl in its glass.

About an hour passed without major incident. I was beginning to feel restless, and the alcohol sitting in my stomach didn’t help. I bid Alzax farewell and exited the inn, not sure where I was headed next. As long as it wasn’t home.

Once back out on the city streets, I walked to the nearest fenced-in platform overlooking the Twine District below and leaned on it, trying to gather my thoughts.

I knew this arrangement would happen eventually, but now its inevitability hung over my head like a dark stormcloud. I couldn’t stand the thought of having to pretend to be in love with a perfect stranger, just so we received outside help for the war with Zhilthorn. I didn’t even want to broach the subject of having kids.

But, Laurelia has what we need to turn the tides. As much as the thought irks me, I would do almost anything to put an end to this ridiculous fighting.

A few minutes passed as I stared blankly at the sprawling residential district below, the cool Autumn breeze ruffling my hair and playing at the edges of my cloak. I couldn’t help but wonder what life as a working-class commoner was like--what it would be like to wake up each morning and not have three handmaidens fussing over me, dressing me up like a doll. Perhaps a simpler life would be more fulfilling.    

I was about to make my way back to my horse when a shout from a few feet away dragged me from my quiet contemplation.

“Oi! If you were trying to be sneaky, you’re not doing a very good job of it!”

I whipped around to face the source of the voice, then was immediately tackled and pinned down by a brawny, shadowed form--almost taller than myself. As I fell to the ground with it, the sound of quick, distant footsteps pounding across the flagstone towards us met my ears. I hardly had time to recover from the initial shock before the glint of a dagger poised above my throat demanded my immediate attention.

“Fuck!” I cursed as I attempted to free my pinned arms and wriggle out from under the masked man’s crushing weight. The knife came down and I threw my head to the side to dodge it, the sharp steel making hard contact with the stone beside me. Not enjoying being pinned against the cold, hard ground, I reared back and slammed my horns into the assailant’s forehead, eliciting an agonized yell. While he was still recovering from the headbutt, I leveraged my weight against his and threw him off, finally scrambling to my feet.

Before my hand could touch the hilt of the sword sheathed at my side, a lithe figure sped up behind the attacker and pierced a rapier through the back of his throat. The would-be assassin’s hands weakly reached up to the hole in his neck as blood began to trickle down, a wretched gurgle bubbling from his mouth. The blade was pulled from his skin and wiped off with a handkerchief as the man eventually quieted and slumped to the ground, a pool of blood gathering by his head.

I let out the breath I’d been holding in through the entire scuffle, and finally got a good look at my savior--it was the Triton man I had seen at the inn just a few moments ago.

“Shit...What a terrible assassin.” I breathed, mostly to myself. After affixing the thin blade back to a belt under his coat, the Triton let out a soft chuckle.

“I’m sure you had it all handled, I was just feeling generous.” He spoke with a pleasant Northern lilt. If honey was a sound, it would be his voice.

He then reached out and brushed some of the dirt off of my cloak with the same smirk he had given me the first time I saw him. “No way he could’ve taken out a battle-hardened Prince such as yourself, hm?” Before I could open my mouth to respond, he winked at me. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell.”

Something about his face made it difficult to focus and find the right words. I instead found myself blushing under his gaze. “Th...Thanks.” was all I managed to get out. Clearly amused by my floundering, he clicked his tongue as he looked down to the corpse at our feet. “The guards’ll take care of him, right?” he quipped, an ironically light tone to his voice.       

“I should hope so.” I replied as I knelt down by the body and peeled his cape away from his chest. My suspicions were confirmed when I spotted a scroll poking out from a pocket on his hip--an illustration of a boar’s head in profile, surrounded by a wreath of thorny vines marked the heading of the parchment. The crest of one of Zhilthorn’s wealthiest families. The letter contained information for a hit and bounty on my head. Not surprising, but not really enjoyable to read with my own eyes, regardless. I sighed and pocketed the note. “I always knew the Vargharods hated me.” I muttered to myself as I straightened back up to my full height. The still unnamed man watched with a curious glint in his eye. Before he could ask any questions, I stepped closer and put a hand on his shoulder.  

“I know we were both just in there, but I believe I owe you a drink…Uh,” I trailed off, just then realizing I didn’t know what to call him.

“Arin. And don’t worry about that, friend. We--or you in particular, should probably stay sober if there could be another hitman on the loose.” he said. My hand dropped back to my side and I nodded, the shock finally wearing off, then the reality of the situation starting to set in.

“I suppose you’re right.”

“If you’re so insistent on repaying me, you could give me a ride up to the palace.” Arin continued. I looked at him for a brief moment, bewildered by his request. 

Seeing this, he pulled a folded note from his own pocket. It bore my family’s seal and the Queen’s own handwriting. “Your ma wanted to see me.” he explained, flashing the note at me.

I suppose I did remember Mother mentioning that she planned on receiving a guest sometime this week. I just nodded and started back on the road toward the Northern Gate. “This way, then.” He followed behind me without a word.     

[winterysomnium]

Collision Course; Voltron Legendary Defender AU: Dads of Marmora; gen; 5,300+ words; PG-13; mentions of violence, tiny hints of Ulaz/Thace, but so little you have to squint with a telescope or something

Credit for this AU goes to @drisrt and this amazing picture that inspired this story. Also some lines of the dialogue are taken from the Blades of Marmora episode of Voltron.

Posted on AO3, too.

Summary:

Keith gets adopted by the Galra empire rebellion, basically.

Keith has barely three years of life on his cells, has barely grown up to his Father’s knees and into his Mother’s laugh when he’s thrown into the first sense of flying, of fleeing, of his Father solemnly reading through the coordinates Keith doesn’t understand, that Keith thinks are just a pretty game of lights, lights that remind him of his Mom’s knife.

He’s holding it, holding onto it, tries to find the connection between the numbers and the faintest of glows, illuminating the insides of his fingers, misses how his Dad flinches when he asks: “When will Mom catch up to us?” already sleepy, already curling up beneath the safety straps of his seat.

Gently, his Father’s jacket is tucked around him and the scent is the lullaby that sings him into dazed, motionless dreams, the remnants of home, the flickers of the unknown.

(He sleeps through the harsh descent, the crib of his Father’s arms, the hushed ambush, the quietest of heists.)

He sleeps through it all.

---

“Who has told you about this place?” Kolivan asks; his group watches all of their angles, tensely, and Keith hides against the unyielding, firm tower of his Father’s leg and he’s scared to look, he’s scared to look away, his shoulder is anchored by his Father’s palm.

“His Mother has sent us here. She gave us the coordinates,” Keith’s Father says, spots the scarce movement, the shiver of talk. “Is someone named Ulaz here? She told us to find him.”

“The boy seems to have one of our blades,” Kolivan points out, instead, and Keith’s Father stands against his gaze, unafraid.

“It belonged to his Mother.”

“Where is she?” a second voice asks, approaches them the closest, of them all, his words dipped in melodies that ache inside of Keith’s bones, and he clutches the blade, like it’s his heart, his lungs, his whole being, metallic and sharp.

Ulaz turns off the mechanism concealing his face, sweeps his gaze across the both of them, and Keith’s Father replies, with something that battles itself between fear and anger and desperate helplessness, something that melts into an emotion beyond any, beyond them all.

“She’s still on Earth,” he says, like it hurts his throat, ignites the air within and Keith looks up at him, the fingers on his shoulder not a harbor anymore but a weight that drowns, that aches, that kills. “She said our son would be safe here. That he’d be safe here only.” He doesn’t feel Keith strain against the pressure of his wrist, doesn’t feel him carefully, bravely watch every minute movement, every blurring glow.

“You both have to leave,” Kolivan says, shaking his head in rejection, in cool stubbornness, set into his teeth. “This is no place for outsiders, especially not children. We are no babysitters. His Mother knew that.”

“She also considered you her family! Aren’t you her brother?” Keith’s Father retorts, faces Ulaz, who crouches down, to look closely between Keith’s fists.

(Keith braces himself, crushing the hilt of the blade to his ribs, his knuckles, his shirt.)

“Could I borrow your blade, little one?”Ulaz asks, his fingers reaching out, to touch, to take, but Keith shakes his head fervently, cradles the blade.

“It’s Mommy’s. She told me to protect it for her.”

“Perhaps we could just have a look at it then? We won’t try take it away,” offers Thace, unmasked, too, standing between Ulaz and the formations of the others, a sincere, kind honesty warming his face, the curl of his mouth.

Slowly, doubtfully, Keith opens his arms, unlocks his elbows and lets them study the purple glow of the symbol, the promise inside of it, the familiar curves, the unfamiliar wrappings to ease the push, the drag.

“It is hers,” Ulaz confirms; stands up against the heaviness of grief.

“Thank you.” Thace smiles into Keith’s trembling silhoulette, but it doesn’t lighten the gravity Keith feels in his belly, as he hides the blade, once more.

“They still can’t stay.”

“Leader --”  

“I’m not planning to stay,” Keith’s Father interrupts, firmly, as if no other reality could be possible, as if nothing else could solve this conflict of missing; the crowd around them starts. “I’m going back to Earth. I’m going to find her,” he states.

“Dad?” Keith feels his panic slowly numb his feet, his shaken shoulders, as he hopelessly stares up his Father’s immovable self, his blurring smile.

“He can’t stay either,” Kolivan says, but Keith’s Father kneels in front of Keith, with undiluted affection, touches his forehead to his sons’.

“You have to be brave for me now, Keith. You have to be the bravest of them all. Can you do that?” he asks of him and the tears dip under Keith’s chin, soak up his shirt, a memory of the sea, of a cloudy, humid day at the beach, and Keith nods against his Dad’s shoulder, leaving an imprint, a little of his own earth, on his Dad’s clothes.  

“We didn’t settle this, earthling,” Kolivan informs his Father, but Thace kindly offers his hand to Keith, who’s wiping his nose into his sleeve, scrubbing at his tears, uncertainly dividing his gaze between the stranger, talking about a warm soup and a quiet, soothing bed, and his Dad, staring intently at the leader of the Blades.

Ulaz moves so he stands behind Keith, a gesture, of opposing opinions, of the simple need to care, to support, to be there, when no one else can.  

“He is her son,” he says, borrows Keith’s shoulders, closes his arms around the borders of them, shields his entire being, tiredly lost, hungry and small.

“This discussion isn’t over,” Kolivan reminds them, as Ulaz and Thace form wings at each side of Keith, leading him away, and in this unraveled, raw movement, Keith sees his Father leave, too, walking the opposite way.

It’s the last time he ever sees his Dad.

(He wishes he’d remember it more.)

---

“You are supposed to be asleep, little one,” Kolivan says as he spots him in his sneak by, the fuzzy, soft fabric of his sleep clothes ratting out his hiding pillar, in the tiniest noises and Keith can’t be here, in the control room, the pilot room -- and Keith knows this, but he hoped to find Kolivan, hoped he’d want to be found, too.

“I was asleep. But the nightmare bug is under my bed again.” Keith steps out into the glowing shimmer of the lights, fights with the fidget rising in his knees, the base of his wrist.

“Is that so.” Kolivan’s face softens, and he’s fought this vulnerable fondness, this conflicting affection for two years, but it’s been a war, futile, since the first months. (Antok never misses to point this out, as he scrubs Keith’s hair dry, carefully untangling the stubborn knots, pining Keith’s hair out of his face, laughing when Keith’s eyes follow the curl.

“Everything about this boy is stubborn,” he points out, too, but he’s the one to volunteer his time, the most, he’s the one that speaks with Keith, every night, when Ulaz and Thace are gone.)

Kolivan offers his hand. “Want me to scare it away, little blade?”

Keith nods, but hesitates as if there’s a wound, holding back his fingers, and he knots them together, instead.

“I’m supposed to be brave,” he says, eyebrows a tangle of worries, of promises, unfulfilled.

Kolivan scoops him up, wordlessly nodding to one of the guards, to guide the control room, for as long as it takes, and slowly gathers Keith’s slump, the drowsy, disappointed pout.

“Admitting ones fears is the bravest thing you can do,” he tells him, soothingly, carries him through the dim halls.

“Like when Uncle Thace told me he’s scared of the cluster of Weblum worms?” Keith asks and Kolivan laughs, a short, surprising sound.

“Yes. Kind of like that,” he answers.

(Together, they shoo the nightmare bug away.)

---

Keith is younger, when he first notices, when it stands out, staying with him for hours, until he’d forget, but it’s not until he’s five that he asks, sat on the pilot’s seat in front of Thace, pretending he’s flying, leading the adjustment maneuver, Thace’s hands under his own, a sense of home gasping through the shaken stars, the scattered galaxies.

He asks because -- Keith’s clothes are different. His blade is the smallest one and he doesn’t look similar to anyone he’s ever seen, not in any of the files he isn’t supposed to look at when they are being screened, rebels and prisoners and the conquered ones, not within the face of any other blade, within their build or eyes or skin.

“Why am I the only little one here?” he asks, as if he’s tiptoeing around his teeth, careful not to startle Thace’s presence, careful not to startle the answer out of him; he’d hate to scare it away, to let it slip past his reach.

Thace’s surprise colours it anyway, his fingers tense. “Because we chose it so. It’s too dangerous of a place for children,” he says, a memory resonates through his words. “Only order members are allowed to be here.”

“But I’m here.” Keith turns, strains his neck in angles that have to hurt, have to pull at muscles, unused, and Thace’s smile is a soothing, kind warmth.

“You are.”

“Was there nowhere else for me to go?” Keith asks, quietly, as the universe surrounds them like early summer mist and it’s the loneliest Thace has felt for this boy, the loneliest he’s felt for the shipwrecked history of his own home.

Ulaz approaches their backs, Thace feels it the second his footsteps land, and Ulaz places a palm on Keith’s shoulder, a gesture he remembers, he looks for, when he’s feeling the weight of the world.

“Your parents entrusted you to us. We promised to protect you,” Ulaz answers, and Thace finds comfort in it, too, finds comfort in having someone to protect, right at his fingertips, at the places, times, where he needs to be strong.

“Will they come back for me?” Keith asks, as if he’s scared of the answer, and Thace and Ulaz find themselves sharing a moment of consideration, a moment of unspoken talk.

“I don’t know, Keith,” Ulaz tells him, tells his slumping shoulders, his stubborn pout. “I don’t know.”

“If they won’t, I will,” Keith looks up at them, and it grows into a promise, blooms into a threat.

“If they won’t come back, I’ll find them, instead” he repeats.

(If they won’t find him, he’ll search for them, instead.)

((If they don’t find him, he’ll be their hope.))

---

His training starts when he’s seven, when he’s grown enough to reach up to the simulation panel and sneak into the training pod on early mornings, Antok bringing him to the infirmary after he (unsuccessfully) hides a bloody nose and it’s better for them to correct his stance, to show him the quirks of his smaller blade, to teach him how to be a fighter, self sufficient, in charge.

He sways his routine into synchronization, until he wakes up when the Blades do, eats with them, holding onto the heavy tray, gulping down the syrupy water, following them through their guard routes, napping in between the study sessions, teaching himself to win against Kolivan in his favourite board game.

He keeps hoping to find someone that would resemble him, keeps hoping the answers will be written away in a confidential code, keeps rearranging the image of home he has, keeps smudging the purple into his dreams.

He is home, he has a family, but something in him yearns, wants, unfocused and antsy, something that pushes him into the borders of this place, this solar system, this star.

(He thinks it’s the unknown.)

((He thinks it’s the war.))

---

The Blades leave every week, they won’t return for months, or ever, but it’s not until Keith is thirteen and awkwardly, intensely trying to say his goodbye to Ulaz, that he feels the war touch his world.

It’s like a wound he’d never had to tend to, never had to live through, but now it’s digging its way through his insides, to his bones, bare, brittle, exposed.

“Be careful out there,” he hears himself say and Ulaz reassures him, silently, for one more moment, before he disappears.

Keith looks out until he’s gone, at the heels of the empire, and he wants to follow him, wants to go, too, doesn’t want to be left abandoned, again.

It becomes the night he steals his first battleship, behind the shoulders of a changing guard shift and he just wants to be out there, wants to prove he can be, that he’s the danger, not the black holes and the burning out suns, not the Galra that have been at everyone’s throats; he just wants this panic of being stagnant inside of him to dissipate, to be gone.

Antok waits for him when he lands, hours later, and the only satisfaction Keith gets is that he lands perfectly, without a trace of any unsteady nervousness, any miscoordination, and he wishes he could force his smug smirk to last, farther than the first steps off the plane.

“The Leader wants to see you,” Antok tells him, tersely, leading him ahead, and Keith didn’t think he wouldn’t be in trouble, but his defiance made it so easy to forget to be afraid, to forget how strict and immovable the Blades can be in their loving, in the effort of raising him safely, raising him for peace.

“Were you trying to prove something by going out there?” Kolivan asks him, unusually cold, as stoic as he tends to be but it only allows a stubborn sting to solidify in Keith’s fists, trapping his muscles against each other, trapping them in a fight.

“What if I was?” he retorts, guards his ribs, crosses his arms.

“Was it to prove your complete lack of discipline and respect towards all of us?”

“I -- no.” He frowns, conscious of the anger, watches a distant glow of lights, outside. “It was to prove that you should allow me out of the base, too.”

“It proves nothing but the exact opposite to me.”

“I can help!” Keith steps forwards, opening his opposition, his honesty, to Kolivan’s stare. “I can protect others! I can do cargo travels and guard duties and --”

“You are not an equal to any of us, Keith. You haven’t awakened your blade. You know that.”

“I can still fight with it.”

“You are not a part of the order. Those are the rules. You’d just endanger us all,” Kolivan finishes, turning away from Keith’s stormy walk, his frustrated complaint.

Antok steps up to his side, a question in the tilt of his head but Kolivan stops him, with a sigh.

“He had to be told,” he says, firmly.

(Antok hopes he’s right.)

---

“I feel like I’ve tried everything. Everything. It just won’t awaken.”

“Kolivan would not allow you to go with me, even if you had awoken your blade. Nor would I, for that matter,” Thace says, his promotion slipping between them, a separation, that will divide them, same as the light years will, from tomorrow on, and Keith has never felt more useless, has never felt more like a child, like he’s not who they all thought he was, all at once.

“But I could do something at least!”

“You will. You just haven’t grown into your role yet.”

“What if I never do?”

“Of course you will. You’re Antok’s assistant already.”

“Just on every even weekend. And I just file stuff! I just -- I don’t want to be left alone here,” Keith admits, voice a soft melody of a hollow worry, a bruising echo of his thoughts.

Thace covers his fingers laid on the blade, a reassurance, and it’s one of the nights Keith remembers most vividly, Thace hugging his shoulders, placing a kiss onto his forehead, which he hasn’t done since Keith stopped being tucked in before sleep, leaving to be another part of Keith that gets swallowed by Zarkon’s empire, by its unending military needs, Thace a connection, a hope, a way to accelerate its descent.

It isn’t until years later, sat on a seat in the control room, sifting through the data Ulaz and Thace have been sending every month, that Keith starts believing what Thace has told him, starts to believe there is a place for him in all of this, something only he can do.

(Something strange and exhilarating flutters inside of him, all through his lungs, at the tips of his toes.)

There is a person -- a prisoner, a gladiator -- and he looks -- he looks like Keith. His ears, his skin, the build of his spine and the numbers of his fingers and toes, the movement of his hands, the shape of his teeth. They’re not identical but they look so similar, so threateningly familiar -- Keith memorizes all of the lines.

ID: Prisoner 117-9875 retrieved from S/2011 134340 1 with two other prisoners of the same species

Status: severe injury recovery; alive

Gladiator rank: The champion

Keith memorizes all of it.

(Keith needs to know more.)

---

An explosion hits the heels of his pursuers, the unknown hinges of the guards’ uniform digging into his joints but the distraction is what they needed, there is no need to cloak his presence anymore as he leads them away, lures them into the depths of their own ship, wrecked with bitten into holes and chunks of their own guns, battling against them, and Keith’s afraid but he’s thrilled too, he’s at the center of it all, even if their main mission is to retrieve the Lion, a Lion of Voltron, something Zarkon’s been looking for, and when it was found they’re here, stealing it from under his nose, keeping it the safest it could be, and Keith can’t wait to see it, to stand in front of it, a feeling of kinship spreading through him, of them both being stolen away, from their planets, their homes, taken in by the Blades of Marmora, taken in to be, to be hidden from Zarkon, the war.

Keith kicks in one of the robot’s wire throats, places an explosive to the wall of the turn and it caves in behind him, a fabric of debris; he’s given a signal under his suit.

He has to weave his way back and his heart beats at the possibility of the Champion being here as well, so close, being freed because Keith knows the prisoners were being rescued, too, sent to their outpost, and even though it’s merely a wish, a need to confirm The Champion is real, that he exists, it motivates him through the breathlessness, through the dizzying oxygen increase.

The Blades wait for him at the docking area, as the ship around them collapses and shifts, as he throws away the Galra helmet, left to roll against the wreck, and he’d run to the pilot cabin, any other time, fascinated with the flight, but there’s another corridor that calls for him now, a particle barrier sculpting a sphere in their storage, symmetrical, royal, beautiful.

The Lion doesn’t move, the barrier vibrates faintly through his fingertips, and Keith has never felt more reverent, more in awe, of anything, besides his blade.

“Incredible,” he murmurs, palm flat against the particles, the geometry on his skin crossing the seams, a shiver stuck at the base of his neck.

He signs up for the Lion guard duty, every third day, every third night, restlessly watches the Lion not communicate with any of them; the Lion won’t fly or active or shine but it’s the most beautiful creature he’s even seen, and he talks to her, about her Paladin, about the Blades, about his blade, asleep in its potential, about the stories he’s heard of Voltron, about the Champion, the trace of humanity he has found, about the doubt.

“We won’t let anyone treat you with disrespect,” Keith tells Red, weeks into her rescue, he promises, placing his fingers to the curve of the barrier, like he does every time when he comes in and when he leaves, turning away at the end of his shift, wishing her goodnight, but halfway through, halfway on his route out of the dome, the Lion roars, from behind of him, the barrier gone, the Lion on its feet. Keith tenses when Red’s mouth closes around him, the Lion lunging for his form, but the inside is lit up, shining in words, in thoughts the Lion presses into his skull, and he calms the patrol that has ran to the ramp, to the opening dock.

“It’s me, I’m -- Red let me in,” he laughs into the comms, trying to grasp how unbelievably this feels, as Kolivan tells him to report, to stop for consideration but stopping is the last thing Keith wants to do, the last thing he intends to do, the Lion spreading its power through his bones.

Keith flies Red, with incredible speed, incredible agility, with loops and surges of power but then -- he loses control, at the tips of the sun’s orbit, a portal opens, right in front of Red’s paws.

Kolivan’s worryingly distant questions are swept aside and Keith knows, recognizes what is happening.

The Lion is trying to teleport.

Red is trying to teleport away.

“No, no, stop, Red, please!” He pulls at the controls, tries to slow Red’s flight, to turn her trajectory and with a frustrated reluctance, the Lion slows, a demand rising through Keith’s head.

Go through the Portal.

“Where does it go?” he asks; Red strains against his palms.

Voltron.

“Vol -- Voltron? Are the other Lions there?”

Voltron. Red repeats.

“I -- I --,” Keith freezes, helplessness seeping through, trapping his fingers, inside of his mind. “We can’t just leave like this, Red. Whatever you’re feeling, it might be Zarkon’s doing. We’d be trapped. I’d endanger my family. I -- I can’t do that.” Keith’s grip slips, loose and beaten, from the handles; he’s washed into the impossibility of control. “I’m sorry,” he says and he thinks he’s going to get abandoned, left at the borders of the black holes’ reach, but Red hums, around him, the Portal closes, everything stills.

“You’ll wait with me?” Keith asks, reverently, and Red flips her tail.

Wait.

They’ll wait.

---

“Leader, there is a vessel approaching the base. It seems to be of Altean origin,” Antok announces, most of them on standby immediately, Keith running in from his study room, as Kolivan regards the visual calmly, emotionlessly nodding at Antok’s unspoken queries, his resolute role.

“Identify yourself,” a mechanical voice asks, a copy of what the Altean ship receives, seconds later, and there’s a message incoming, before Keith’s pulse manages to drop.

“We are the Paladins of Voltron, sent here by Ulaz,” is the response, firm and confident, and Keith desperately searches for any sign of Ulaz himself, within the sounds.

“Two may enter. Come unarmed.”

Keith grabs Kolivan’s arm, as Antok sends in their recommended fly route, a tricky, dangerous slope. “I’m going with you.”

“This isn’t the time, little blade.”

“This is exactly the time. That was the Champion’s voice,” Keith insists, fierce, until Kolivan surrenders, slowly, gives in to his quiet, unending relentless demand.

“Very well. Just remember: we cannot trust them yet. Not until they prove us wrong,” Kolivan warns him, and Keith knows this, too.

(But he trusts them, already, all the same.)

---

It isn’t easy to stay as composed, as neutral and stern as Kolivan and Antok are, greeting the two Paladins -- black and blue -- at the divide between their base and the disguise of it, a Blue Lion looming behind the Paladins’ backs and in front of The Blades, and through the slight blur of the helmet he sees the Blue Paladin, his face and neck -- he’s human, too.

He follows at the heels of the group, a guard for any retreat, any secret weapons, drinking in the similarities in movement, the size of their feet and hips and chests, the crafted uniforms, a balance of utility and grace.

He waits to ask his questions, impatiently, until they stop, stepping in front of them, at the same entry room his Father has brought him to, waits until Kolivan has his first words.

“I am Kolivan, leader of the Blades of Marmora,” he starts, with unsettling peace, with unyielding calm.

“I am Shiro and this is Lance. We’re the Paladins of Voltron,” Shiro -- the Champion -- replies, a mimicry of the Blades, polite, brief. “We’ve been led here by a signal we received from Voltron’s missing Lion. We would like to retrieve it, as soon as we can.”

“The Lion has led you here?”

“Yes.”

“What about Ulaz? You’ve said he told you about this place. Is he on your ship?” Keith steps in, cannot hold onto all of his curiosity, all of his need to know. The Paladins look at him, and Shiro shakes his head, like it’s heavy, with regret, with shame.

“Ulaz isn’t with us. We fought one of Zarkon’s beasts at the outpost he was stationed at and Ulaz has saved us. We do not know if he’s alive,” Shiro answers, and Antok’s hand drags Keith backwards -- he’s ordered not to speak anymore.

“We know of the Paladins of Voltron. And we can confirm we have one of the Lions at our base. A Lion very similar to your beast,” Kolivan answers, a sharp presence, like the snap of a blade.

“So you’ll give it to us?” Lance asks, an uneasiness stubbornly showing through his words, his voice. He seems reluctant, to trust them, to follow them any deeper into their home.

It’s smart.

(It would be futile, in any case.)

“We will let the Lion decide,” Kolivan answers, letting a door at their right open, the uncovered corridor narrow, easy to defend, easy to trap enemies within.

(They are smart, as well.)

“Do you pilot the Blue Lion?” Keith asks Shiro, after a moment of leading them through, but it’s the second Paladin that rushes ahead, with answers on his teeth.

“Excuse me? I’m the one wearing blue armor! Clearly I pilot Blue!”    

“Why would the colour of your armor be important? It’s just an uniform,” Keith retorts, an implication of confusion, of finding the concept funny, something unknown.

(It annoys Lance, even more.)

“Uh, duh, it’s called being colour-coded? And what’s up with your uniform anyway? It’s different from everybody else’s.”

“It’s different for a reason.”

“Oh yeah, what’s that? Is it because you have a mullet?”

“I don’t -- I don’t have a mullet! And why should I tell you!”

“Because I asked!”

“I still don’t have to --”

“Keith, no more,” Kolivan warns, with a frown hidden underneath his mask, heard enough through his tone, so Keith walks on in silence, a frown of his own spilled across his face, aware of the look exchanged between the Paladins at his name, aware of his own tense shoulders, his anxious mood.

Yet there’s a smile growing on his lips when he spots Red, barrier lowering upon his touch, as he greets her warmly, intimately, with all of his affection, curled into his words.

“Keith, you are the only one so far able to communicate with the Lion.” Kolivan holds a spot beside him, within a distance of respect, of trust, close to the Lion, closer to Keith.

(Keith offers him a nod.)

“Tell us if the Lion agrees to come with the Paladins or not.”

“What do you say, Red? Is it safe?” Keith asks and the Lion roars, deep inside of his mind.

Voltron. We go.

Red’s mouth lowers, opens, Keith touches her snout. “Good kitty.”

“Wait, you can -- you can talk to the Lion?” Shiro interrupts, a mixture of awe and surprise; Lance just as wide eyed, just as off guard.

“Yes. I am able to pilot the Lion, as well,” Keith answers, withholding the details of their talks, the guard duties spoken through until Keith’s throat turned hoarse and dry, the hours off duty spent sat across from Red, either way, withholds how much he resonates with Red, with her story, her loneliest days.

(The Paladins share another glance, another moment of surprise.)

“Does this mean what I think it means?” Lance tries out, the question slanted, something he’s not sure he wants to hear the confirmation of, but Shiro smiles, a soft, worn out laugh on his mouth.

“Looks like we found the Paladin along with the Lion,” he says and there’s a rush, a swipe of movement, Kolivan a shield of Keith’s, Keith’s own insides feeling like they’ve melted, are melting, electricity coursing through, a storm; Antok grasps his blade.

“You will have to find another. Take the Lion and go,” Kolivan orders, forcefully, and Keith doesn’t fully understand, doesn’t fully comprehend why he’s protecting him, against this revelation, this duty he has to face.

(Why is he being stopped, once again?)

“There isn’t anyone else. The Lion chooses its Paladin. One Paladin. Without Keith, we cannot form Voltron. We need your help,” Shiro urges, searches out Keith as he steps away from Kolivan, from the rejection on his face.

“Kolivan, I have to do this,” Keith says, finding his way through to the Lion, one footstep at a time, one heartbeat after the other; all of the Blades have been raised, at once. “You have to let me do this!”

“You haven’t gone through the Trials. You cannot leave here.”

“Then I’ll do them now! Right now!” He unsheats his blade, as known to his body as his fingers, as his own blood, as all of the sensations of aching and warmth and freezing for hours, as known to him as his own name, on every one of their mouths.

“No. You cannot.”

“Why not?”

“This is not how the Trials are done. You are not ready.”

“I am ready! Knowledge or death!”

“Little one--”

“Antok,” Kolivan stops him, narrows his eyes.

“You are not a member of The Blades of Marmora, Keith. Not until you have awoken your blade. If you truly wish to leave, you have to choose. You leave with the Lion, or you stay with the Blade.” Those are the rules. Keith hears, as a distant promise, a never ending threat.

“Are you saying I can’t take my blade with me?”Keith asks, a treacherous, suffocation tremble taking apart his tongue, the echo against his teeth, the grip on his fears. “That I have to choose between you -- between my family -- and Red?” He looks into the glowing silhoulettes of Kolivan’s eyes, into Antok’s strangely stiff, cold response to his glance.

“Yes. That is the decision you have to face,” Kolivan confirms and the world could collapse around Keith, gravity could crush him into iron and brittle bones, but he thinks he wouldn’t notice, wouldn’t care, wouldn’t try to run, because nothing feels as numbing as being abandoned, again, being left to give up, give away something he already loves as his own, something he believed, hoped he’d get to keep, something he wouldn’t have to cut away.

He swallows it all.

(He offers his blade to Kolivan, he gives up his hopes.)

“If that’s what I have to do, then there really isn’t a choice, at all.” He raises the blade, lowers his voice. “I have to help. I have to try defeat Zarkon. So just take the knife,” he yields, an aching pressure pulling into the cradle of his ribs, into the center of his palm, the soles of his feet.

There’s a gasp and the blade glows, illuminates the structure of his fingers, solidifies under his knuckles, stretches, grows, from the tips of his fingers to the top of his knee; the light fades.

“You’ve awoken the blade,” Antok says, a proud, quiet sound, so different from Red’s, from her alien, fiery, reverberating melody, from her roar.

Voltron. We go. she orders.

(Keith thinks he might just laugh.)

Keith thinks: will his uniform be red?  

[read-mida]

Chapter 8 / An Eye For A Leg

It was early morning, with the sun still hours away. Though despite the time, Ade was awake. It had been a rough night- just after getting Desta settled in at the dojo, Sydney's students had arrived. They had been out all night looking for them, but it only took minutes for them to return to their rooms and fall straight to sleep. Though, as the children slept, Ade took Desta aside, and told her what she had found out. Neither had a specific opinion or an idea of what to do, and rather, were stuck in limbo between leaving the island or killing La Croix. Now they sat in silent darkness, both thinking off into space, until Desta broke their trance.

“Isn't it a poison lake?” She asked.

“Yeah… but Clem told me it was more of a sleeping thing. It puts you to sleep and then drags you under.”

“Oh…”

Silence again, but only briefly.

“Hey how come you didn't fall asleep?”

“I don't know. Maybe I just have a resistance to it?”

“I guess so… but, La Croix is a witch, and it's a sleeping potion… if it's magic, wouldn't you have to perform your own magic to counter it? Or something?”

Ade thought for a moment, “Yeah, you're right… but, the only magic I know is how to see things. I didn't do anything to resist it. I don't know how or why, but I am, and I guess that's all we really need to know.”

There was silence again. Desta was cozied up in her blankets, while Ade was sitting on a stool beside the bed. The dark room was comfortable and warm around them.

Just then, footsteps could be heard echoing from down the hall. Ade turned towards the door while Desta started intently. They slowly became closer and closer, until their bedroom door opened slowly. From behind it, Jude peered inside.

He sighed, “Oh, hey, you're awake.”

“Yeah.” Ade replied

He spotted Desta staring back at him, “Oh, hello. Glad to see you awake, too.”

Desta smiled and chuckled from beneath the covers.

“But, um,” Jude was nervous and shifting around anxiously, “I um, need to tell you something…”

“What is it?”

“Okay, um, don't freak out… but, I can't find Deity anywhere. I checked around and in her room ‘n stuff but I can't find her? I don't know if she's outside or if she went back to fight on her own, but I'm kinda scared, y’know, and I wanna make sure she’s okay… I’m worried.”

* * *

In the lake, Jude was right, as Deity was balancing along the stubby posts that stood from the water. The tide had changed them; now the poles barely crept above the water line. Though Deity could actually balance on them quite well, jumping from post to post, hopping across the lake. Her intentions were pure, to rescue Sydney and perhaps even defeat La Croix, but she knew it would be difficult, especially because she didn’t even know what the other side of the lake looked like.

She slipped up a bit, and her heel dipped down into the water. She stopped and balanced stiffly; the ripples she made were the only ones in the entire lake, and to any onlooker, were like blaring horns on such a silent night. Deity scanned the horizon looking for enemies, when her eyes locked up with another pair on the beach. Shimmering, yellow eyes that glowed through the night stared into her soul as the little woman’s body slinked into the water. Deity couldn’t see it, but the girl was morphing and curdling beneath the water, her flesh turning into scales and her hands becoming unkempt, mutated claws.

Deity was hopping across the posts, faster now, almost frantically but trying desperately to keep her posture. She quickly established a rhythm as she bounced across the water and kept her eyes on the suspiciously unmoving horizon. There was an eerie silence, as though the whole world was soundless, no birds and no stream to be heard of for what felt like an eternity. A minute of nothing, when from the lake, sprouted a head. Then an arm, then a body. It flung itself from the water, an enormous, elongated beast, scaled and gnarl toothed and out for blood. It forced Deity down into the murky depths of the water, entangling her in the brush while all the while the crocodile creature pressed and heaved against her. Deity was pushing, breaking through the sticks, but the weeds and brush were too overwhelming. They consumed her as she struggled, and Deity slowly became more and more lethargic. Her fighting weakened; she couldn’t keep her eyes open beneath the surface. Deity’s air was running thin, she was terrified, but her body wouldn’t cooperate. The animal had disappeared, and Deity found herself drifting off into nothing.

* * *

A large room, considerably empty, save for a small station off to the side where a bookshelf, desk and chair were tucked away. There was something lined up on the walls. Across every edge; statues? Coats? No, she looked closer. These were people. Young? Or just short? It didn’t matter, there was an army of them. Pushed back against the walls, unmoving, unspeaking. Their faces hidden in the dark, their black clothes almost camouflaging them, but they were, indeed, there, and watching her. At the back of the room was some sort of staircase. From it, a figure descended from the steps to appear in the doorframe. Their face was no face at all; it was a mask, a skull. Only black gaping holes to stare back at her. It walked towards her with ease. Deity slid back, and realized she really was sliding. She was… wet? Drenched in something oily, something sticky. It wasn’t water, whatever it was.

“I know who you are. Do you know who I am?” It spoke.

Deity swallowed, “You’re La Croix.”

La Croix was different, here. Much different than with Desta and Ade. The mood was different, their aura was heavier and more unforgiving.

“I’m… tired,” He sighed, “Tired of you. And her. I can’t do this anymore. So I’ve decided. I’m going to turn you into a familiar. Teach her a lesson, get you off my back… hopefully end things.”

“What? What is that? Are… are you gonna kill me?”

“Um. Sort of? The first step is to turn you to ashes, and from that I can morph you into whatever I want. So I guess… yeah, sort of killing you? But not really, because I’m going to revive you right after.”

La Croix split apart their hands and each one formed a small spark within them, eventually growing into small flames they held steadily in each palm. Deity screamed, and tried to scramble away, but something was holding her in place. Her arms were tied behind her, chained to something in the ground, preventing her from moving. She thrashed about, kicking her legs, wiggling her body and trying with all her might to confuse or at least distract La Croix. She contorted herself in all sorts of unsightly positions, but her captor was keen to her tricks, and simply lit one of her legs before retreating to the darkness. Deity screamed, her right foot aflame, as she threw herself against the earth in pain. Through her agony, she realized something; her wrists were slicked by the flammable substance that engrossed her. Deity used her other foot to propel her forwards, leaning away from the restraints, and instantaneously her hands flew through them and she was free.

She slid through the room, limping and uneven through the door, and hobbled into the lake- though it was done with such speed that La Croix nor the familiars had time to act. Deity threw herself into the water, dousing the flame, but she was unable to move. Not out of pain- there was no pain- but out of shock. She sat in the water for a long moment before crawling onto the shore. She was careful only to use her knees, so that she wouldn’t yet have to face the fact that her foot was now mangled. But sitting in the sand, back against a tree, she couldn’t avoid it. Her leg, from mid calf and below, was gone. Disintegrated, and turned to ash. What enveloped her was something of magical proportions, that would instantly turn her to dust when lit aflame, so this casualty had left her in stable condition. There was no blood, no gore. Her leg was sealed and fine, just missing a few parts. Nevertheless, her foot was gone. Deity had been mutilated by this stranger, and the fear of the encounter still shook her to the core.

Trembling and unkept, Deity held in her shaky breaths- something was tearing through the bushes behind her. It was walking with a purpose, and made no effort to stop. Deity found a branch, small but sturdy, and held it against her like a knife. She was preparing herself for the upcoming fight, and decided to stand up. Leaning against the tree like a crutch, she turned the corner. But there in front of her was no monster. It was Ade, who looked at her with scared, sad eyes. They both yelled, but after realizing who it was, Ade grabbed her in close for a hug. Deity held her in return, throwing away the stick and softly crying into her shoulder.

“D… Did you see my-”

The eye on her forehead disappeared, “Yes, yes. I know.”

They embraced for a moment, Ade’s strong arms confirming that she was safe, before Clem appeared from behind them.

“Deity! Your leg!”

“I… yeah.”

Clem removed his top and gave it to her, which Deity gladly wrapped around herself. He put an arm around her to help her walk as Ade escorted them back inside La Croix’s home. Now there was a loud ruckus going on inside; Ade opened the door to reveal that Desta, Jude and Eli had already arrived and were taking on La Croix’s corrupted familiars. There were animals of all sorts- bears, birds, snakes, even a human-sized rat-  scuttling around the room, knocking objects over, making a mess of the house and all in an attempt to smite the students. But combined they put up a stable fight, punching the animals and knocking them away with bars or wood or whatever they found around the house. Chaos filled the floor as a multitude of battles all took place simultaneously.

Above them on the second floor, La Croix was in their private quarters. But they were accompanied by someone. Sydney, chained to the wall and incredibly weak. She was beaten down, and probably bleeding somewhere. She did not speak, but La Croix did,

“Your friends are here, ruining my work,” They said, “I’m going to leave tomorrow. This is too much. I can’t…” they sighed, “I can’t do this anymore. Okay? You win.”

La Croix came over to Sydney, a key in hand, “I’m going to let you go, Sydney. Go home. Take your friends and leave, and I’ll do the same.” They unclasped Sydney’s right hand, then her left. She was dizzy, and fell back into the wall as she stood upright, holding her wrists.

“No,” Sydney croaked, her throat dry and her voice tired, “I haven’t won.”

“What do you mean? You’re alive. I’m leaving. Isn’t that what you want?”

“No…” She said, wobbling across the room, looking at all the wonderful, encrusted objects hung on the wall. Sydney was eyeing a metallic knife that hung in a jeweled sheath beside the door.

“…I want… your eye!” She screamed, tearing the knife from its cover and swinging it directly at La Croix.

His familiars were distracted, and couldn’t come to their aid as the struggle ensued. Sydney flipped the dagger around to the hilt, and bashed it against the skull that protected La Croix’s face. They screamed in horror, trying to push Sydney away, but Sydney threw back the knife to leave gashes in La Croix’s hands and arms. She threw La Croix to the ground, sitting on their chest and continuing to shatter the skull. It broke into shards that chipped away and fell to the floor, revealing La Croix’s true flesh. All that could be seen were pieces of deep red hair and a single, terrified, glowing eye. Sydney swung the knife around, blade aimed down, and against the pleas and cries of La Croix, began the dissection of their face. Sydney worked through the tears that fell from her own eyes, caused by the ugly remorse she felt for her actions. She didn’t want this; the cries of her victim filled her ears and Sydney could barely stand it. Her hands trembled but she continued anyways, and eventually, through the blood, sweat, tears and commotion, lifted up her hand to see a glowing orb resting betwixt her fingers; La Croix’s eye.

She stood up and turned away from La Croix’s writhing, crying mess. Sydney wiped away at her face, but the tears fell faster than she could catch them. Through her sniffling, Sydney stuttered, though slowly grew into a yell,

“Go… get out of here!” She screamed, “Leave! Get out!”

La Croix, still sobbing, still bleeding, slid away. They melted themselves into the ground, disappeared into the floor, and transmitted away from here never to return.

She took a few minutes to compose herself, repeatedly wiping away at her face, before walking down the stairs to view the commotion. Her students were still scuffling with the familiars. Sydney walked a bit into the room, before being noticed.

“Sydney!” They yelled.

They approached her, but Ade stood somewhat behind them. She saw what she held. Sydney showed off the eye; it was somewhat stained with blood, but it had hardened into a crystal ball complete with a slitted pupil that stared back endlessly. By now the group noticed that the familiars had stopped moving. They were no longer animals, as well. They had all reverted to their humane forms and had pushed themselves back against the wall, every single one with eyes on Sydney. She noticed this, and slowly approached them. They cowered in fear at her hand, each one rushing away from her, trying to distance themselves, and yet, not attacking. They were afraid. Sydney eventually caught one by their coat, and they screamed, but all that came out of their mouth were squawks and caws, as the girl tried to escape. On a hunch, Sydney touched the eye against the familiar, and instantly their body twisted, morphed and formed into a chicken. A regular, simple minded chicken. And, unlike before, it didn’t try to attack anyone. It walked along, pecking the ground and acted, well, normal.

Sydney understood now, as did the rest of her class. Soon everyone was rounding up the girls, and Sydney would run by, tapping each one with the eye. Their bodies disappeared and they reverted back to their regular animal selves. They hushed out every bat, cat, horse and spider into the woods, shooing them out with brooms or their voices, until the entire house was empty… besides the chicken.

* * *

Across the ocean, miles upon miles away, there was a secluded island. It was only large enough to support a single building, which stretched five floors high. It was old, and the paint along the sides were crumbling away. The oak window sills were weak and moldy. A wooden sign was nailed above the main entrance, which read, “GRISANDOLE”.

On the top floor, someone was working. Their back was turned to the window, as they were enveloped in whatever was on the desk in front of them. The woman did not sit in a chair of any sort- she hovered above the floor, crystals floating in front of her, piled around the room, and it was her job to organize them. Her chest was peculiar, as it wasn’t there; a gaping hole took up most of her torso, and within it, hovering gently, was a single crystal that hummed softly in the room.

But there was a break in the silence, as something appeared from the ground. Behind her, a body transmuted from the planks, and let out a gut-wrenching scream. It was La Croix, clutching their eye, yelling and moaning.

“Pomona…” They groaned, “Pomona, help me. Help…”

The woman flew from the desk, “La Croix!” She breathed, ripping the gem from her chest. Pomona was immediately thrown to the ground as she quickly searched the shelves for the correct crystal. She threw it into her body and was then allowed to fly again. But with this particular one, her hands formed a glowing coating over them, like a set of translucent gloves. She kneeled next to La Croix, and softly hushed them as she ran her hands across their mutilated face. Slowly it began to mend itself, but La Croix still gasped and winced at the process. Around their neck hung a green diamond, which Pomona ripped from its leather strap. She put it down where their eye used to be, and mended the skin around it. The room became still once more, warm and dark like on a hot summer day, and La Croix was finally able to calm down.

“I’m… sorry, Pomona.”

“Sorry?” she said, “You’re bleeding, your eye is gone… why are you sorry?”

“I… don’t know. Because I lost the shipment?”

Pomona sighed, “La Croix… just. Don’t worry about that right now. It’s more important that you’re alive.”

“I- Yeah. I guess you’re right...”

And with that, they remained silent.