#she willed herself to be taller than Blue ( she was always the shortest) and she fucking got it

[a-tale-of-legends]

In which R can never fully decide how tall these fuckers are ft an somewhat accurate depiction of how I see them in my head.

[jasontoddiefor]

Chapter 7 of As Lightning to the Children eased or as I like to call it: Dooku gets his shit together.

Dooku didn't know how, but Shmi Skywalker had known that something had happened to her child before the call of the Council had even reached them. She had looked up in the middle of her katas, paling rapidly. Dooku had heard of Masters sensing their Padawans' distress before, had experienced such with his own reckless students, but never with such intensity and days' travel in hyperspace away from his children. Still, Shmi continued with her tasks with the same dedication as before her foreboding and did not panic when they got the actual notification two weeks later, telling them that Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi, and Qui-Gon Jinn were already back on Coruscant, apparently all in a miserable condition.

Padawan Skywalker the elder's stance on the whole situation caused Dooku to reconsider his rude behavior during their first meeting. She had known that something was terribly wrong, had felt it deep in her bones when no one else had, and yet she had endured, done her Master proud, and fulfilled their mission first. When they arrived back at the temple, a place Dooku had been away from for too long as he had forgotten the warmth of its embrace, she dutifully made her report to the Council, under the many concerned eyes of the assembled Masters. And only when she had finished her statement, answered all questions, she excused herself and left to visit her son.

If anyone still doubted her place in their order after these actions, Dooku wouldn't hesitate to challenge them himself for her honor, though given her quick wit and skill with the blade, she'd hardly need anyone to fight her battles.

Shmi didn't ask him if he wanted to come with her, but she also didn't stop him when he fell into step with her. She smiled at him, kindly as if she were his Crèchemaster, ready to console him, and not a Padawan as they silently walked to the halls of healing.

Dooku hadn't been there when the Skywalkers had joined the temple, but he had heard of the impossible terror that was Shmi's child.

Yet, somehow, all those rumors couldn't compare to meeting him in person. He looked innocent and human enough, sleeping in his Master's arms, a small togruta child stretched across the both of them. Then, suddenly, he woke and within the blink of an eye, Dooku found himself pinned against a wall, electric blue eyes focused on him with previously unknown intensity.

"Anakin!" Obi-Wan was awake a second later, holding down his student's arm as if that could lessen the pressure on Dooku's chest. "Anakin, stop it, we're home, it's alright."

Disorientated, the child blinked at Dooku, curiosity and confusion entering his gaze as if he were seeing Dooku for the first time. Then whatever might have kept him in a chokehold, stopped and the boy fell back into his Master's arms.

"Obi-Wan?" Anakin sounded puzzled when he spoke up. His voice was rough as if he hadn't spoken in days.

"Hello, Anakin." Though Dooku knew that his grandpadawan was hardly older than twenty-five, the exhaustion wearing him down made him look decades older. "Are you��awake now?"

Anakin tilted his head. "Yeah, of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

A shadow passed over Obi-Wan's face. "No reason. Do you know who is visiting us?"

More hastily than before, Anakin's head whipped around and turned into the direction Shmi was standing in. "Mom!" he exclaimed and, after carefully pushing the third child off his lap, he jumped out of bed to rush to his mother. He hugged her tightly, burying his face in her robes. "Mom, I missed you."

Shmi Skywalker, showing no sign of fear, worry, confusion or anything such as that about her son's earlier actions, only embraced him just as tightly.

"I missed you too, Anakin," Shmi said and kissed the top of his head.

Anakin didn't let go of her, but his eyes drifted to the lightsaber clipped to her belt. Without another word, Shmi took it from the belt and handed Anakin the blade. Anakin examined it closely, ran his fingers across the metal hilt before handing it back to his mother. "Your crystals sound nice. I like them."

"I'm glad."

As mother and son continued talking, Dooku managed to get to his feet, still shaken by the assault the others pointedly ignored. He crossed the distance to the bed Obi-Wan and the now yawning youngling were lying on and sat down on it. He disliked showing such weakness, but he couldn't exclude the possibility that his legs might not hold him upright should he continue to stand.

"What was that?" he asked.

Obi-Wan sighed and the youngling whose presence Dooku could not quite explain sat up and gently patted his cheeks, making the young man smile.

"It's a reflex, mostly," Obi-Wan explained. "Anakin isn't quite over what happened yet and lashes out when he thinks we are threatened by something or someone he doesn't recognize."

Obi-Wan's elaboration failed to clear anything up and if the boy didn't look like he hadn't slept in a week, Dooku would claim he was purposefully misdirecting. "We are in the Jedi temple. What is there here that he fears?"

What had Dooku done that Anakin assumed his own lineage would attack him?

The look Obi-Wan was giving him was downright chilling, damning, before it slowly turned into incredulity. "I thought that was why Shmi— You don't sense it, do you?"

He sounded flabbergasted.

"No," Dooku said. "What is there to sense?"

Discomfort and wariness settled in the air, so heavy that Dooku was reminded of the invisible hands around his neck.

"The taint, the poison, the rot clinging to your light," Obi-Wan said slowly. "The darkness."

It sounded like judgement.

X

The first thing Qui-Gon recognized was noise.

It was loud around him, familiar voices speaking out. When he tried to open his eyes, he found the task impossibly challenging. He fought against the voice telling him to rest a little longer, that he didn't have to wake quite yet, but Qui-Gon had always been a stubborn one, unwilling to follow orders he deemed unnecessary.

"Master!"

When light began to fill his vision, Qui-Gon looked into the face of his worried Padawan, missing his braid and looking as distraught as Qui-Gon had seldom seen him before.

"Obi-Wan?" he tried to say, but his voice wasn't cooperating, so whatever left his mouth, it couldn't have been his apprentice's name.

"It's me, Master, yes." Obi-Wan understood him anyway, clever and wise as he was. Qui-Gon had given his Padawan a much too difficult time when he had still been his student and not a Knight of his own regard. He could hardly imagine being any prouder of Obi-Wan than he already was

"Master Qui-Gon!"

His vision became clearer and allowed for him to see Anakin and Ahsoka sitting just beside him on the bed, Shmi behind them and there, right next to her—

"Master."

"Save your strength, Qui-Gon," his Master urged him. If Obi-Wan had looked distressed, Dooku appeared downright hysterical. Qui-Gon was quite ready to believe this was all a hallucination now. As far as he knew, his Master had sworn off returning to the temple for at least another decade and even if he were here, he certainly wouldn't seek out Qui-Gon, no matter how injured.

"Rest some more," the imitation of his Master said. For just the shortest of moments, Qui-Gon was reminded of the time he had been a youngling just a few months older than Anakin and Dooku, not even quite Obi-Wan's age then, had panicked over his sickness. It had only been a mild cold, not the blinding hot pain chaining him to the bed now, but Dooku had told him to rest then with just the same cadence and care.

"Everything will be better after you've slept."

The illusion said the same words as his Master had then and just for that alone, Qui-Gon was inclined to believe him, even if he couldn't sense him, sense any of them properly.

Qui-Gon didn't know how much time passed between the intervals he was actually closer to consciousness and those he was inaccessible to the world. It felt like centuries passed within the blink of an eye. Regardless, whenever he woke, Dooku was there, dutifully sitting at his side as if Qui-Gon were still a child. It was reassuring anyhow.

The morning Qui-Gon woke and didn't feel like he needed to drop right back to sleep, he was greeted by the image of Dooku reading while the children were playing some board games on the bed next to his.

Qui-Gon decided to observe them just a minute longer before he spoke up.

"Am I dreaming, Master?"

Dooku immediately dropped the datapad and the others stopped their game, Qui-Gon's voice breaking this strange atmosphere.

"Qui-Gon!" it came from all sides. "Are you alright?"

He felt half-blind as if he had lost a sense he had always taken for granted, but, staring into the guilt-ridden expression of Anakin, he realized that lying had never been easier. "Yes, of course. What did I miss?"

From the look his lineage was giving him, quite a lot.

X

Ahsoka was young, but she wasn't stupid.

"What happened?" she asked Obi-Wan. The real adults wouldn't tell her anything for sure, but Obi-Wan just might because he was Anakin's the same way she was Anakin's, and he was theirs, and that was all that mattered. "Anakin is different."

He was hurting, though he tried to hide it. His pain and his fear scared him, which in turn only upset Ahsoka. She wanted everyone to be happy and healthy, but the world had shifted when she hadn't been there and it hurt.

"I—" Obi-Wan hesitated, so Ahsoka crossed her arms in front of her chest like she had seen Shmi do when she wanted to know something and nobody was willing to tell her. It made Ahsoka feel taller and more grown-up. Obi-Wan would have to tell her the truth.

"I want to know," she repeated. "Now."

Obi-Wan studied her for a few moments longer, then he sighed. "Anakin did something very foolish and difficult and Qui-Gon did something just as stupid and now everything is a mess."

Ahsoka could tell that he was trying not to use big words with her, but it only felt like he was attempting to get away with saying less.

"What did they do?" Ahsoka asked. "I want to know."

The need was pulsating under her skin, edging her on, licking at her arms like hot flames, urging to demand and not stop until she had forced the truth from his mouth, the ugly thing that was closing his throat.

"Anakin saw something really, really bad and dark," Obi-Wan said. "So Qui-Gon helped him forget that."

"But isn't that good?"

Ahsoka thought it was. It should be. If Qui-Gon took away what had hurt Anakin, then Anakin was going to be better now. That was how helping others worked. The others always said so; Shmi did too. The more you helped, the more did the galaxy heal.

"Yes, technically speaking, but… You know how the Force gives us warnings?"

Yes, of course, she did. Everyone always said to listen to the Force for their knowledge, but the Force had never warned her before she had stubbed her toe, so she wasn't entirely sold on that yet.

"The memories Qui-Gon hid from Anakin were such a warning, so now we don't know what the Force was warning us from and since they are so well hidden to protect him, Anakin won't be able to recognize the danger again when he sees it."

Oh. That really did sound bad. "Did he anything do something stupid then to get back the memories?"

Obi-Wan shook his head. "No, Anakin decided to break the Force a little to keep Qui-Gon here longer."

Ahsoka wondered whether that was the reason Qui-Gon's wound was healing so slowly and no pain medication truly helped. He tried to hide it, but Ahsoka's nose and eyes were better than humans'. She saw him tense, could smell the sickness. Ahsoka bit her lip. "Is that why Qui-Gon's Force is all messed up?"

She didn't know how to describe it in a better way. It felt a little as if Qui-Gon was made up out of strings and someone had cut them and then tied the ropes back together clumsily in haste, leaving a net that could catch his soul, but was incredibly messy.

"A little. There's no telling what messing around with the Force like Anakin did."

(And they wouldn't know for a long while what it meant to force something to live. No matter how good the intentions at that moment, the residue of his actions left Maul awake, alive, alight in the dark side, and screaming.)

"Is he going to be okay again?" Ahsoka asked.

When Obi-Wan didn't reply immediately, she climbed back into his lap and let him wrap his arms around her. Jedi were the happiest when they weren't cold, and her family felt as if they needed a lot of warmth.

"I hope so," Obi-Wan replied. "I really do hope so."

X

For the first time since he had gotten his first gray hair, Qui-Gon actually felt old. He was tired all the time and his control over the Force was atrocious and depended on the time of day, what he had eaten for breakfast, the weather, and whether somewhere halfway across Coruscant somebody had totaled their Speeder, or so it felt to him at least. There was no rhyme or rhythm to whether he could use the Force at all and what his control over it was, not even as his body recovered.

His gut wound hadn't healed entirely yet, and he continued to be haunted by its phantom pains. He knew that it hurt Anakin, that he felt guilty, so Qui-Gon tried to avoid showing any of these weaknesses around the boy, but Anakin was an intelligent child and he noticed it anyway. Qui-Gon wondered if Anakin's sudden clinginess and paranoia resulted from his actions, actions he now had to justify himself for.

"Are you sure you wouldn't prefer to sit?" Plo asked.

Qui-Gon wanted to reply with words as sharp as the edge of a knife, but he shouldn't. Plo was asking him out of worry and because they were friends, not to belittle him or point out his discomfort to him.

"I'm quite sick of sitting and lying down," Qui-Gon confessed. It hurt to admit this weakness, was he fully his Master's Padawan in this aspect, and against what his heart was telling him, he forced himself to say it out loud. "But a chair would be appreciated."

They got a chair for him and so Qui-Gon sat in front of the assembled Council, laying his mind bare for them to see and judge.

"Obi-Wan's report states that Padawan Skywalker had a breakdown as you boarded the ship to Naboo again. Is this correct?"

"Yes."

"And following this breakdown, you put a heavy mind block on him. Is this true as well?"

"Yes," Qui-Go replied, or maybe it would be more correct to claim he apologized.

He didn't regret saving Anakin then. It had come at a high price, his own mind still bleeding where he had cut himself on the kyber crystals of Anakin's soul, but he regretted that it had come to this at all. Trifling with a mind like this was nothing that could be taken lightly, and had the Council not asked to see him, Qui-Gon would have accused them of negligence. "I saw no other choice."

"What did you saw in his mind that forced you to act like this?" Mace asked.

"I saw a reflection of his own state of being, I suppose." His words sounded stuporous, too carelessly chosen, but he didn't know how else to describe this feeling. The more he attempted to elaborate on what he had seen, the more he realized that their language lacked the terms he needed

"I don't think the Force was meant to be anything more than something that binds the world together," Qui-Gon declared. "But Anakin… His existence defies that. He is the Force incarnate and it hurts him, subconsciously. The Force is endless and in Anakin, they have to constrain themself to a body with mortal limits, a fact which unsettles him down to his core when he becomes aware of it. From my observations, which I fail to describe accurately here and I fear to share with the state of my own mind and control, merely having consciousness is unsuitable for a being such as Anakin. We have all heard the voice of the Force, its call and its will, but it doesn't want as we do, as mortals might."

"But Anakin does," Plo continued his thought. "So you have the Force turned sentient, which goes against everything they ever were before, and suddenly they have to deal with the fact that Anakin has wants and needs that go beyond that of his parent."

"Yes," Qui-Gon agreed. "I think – or at least the way Anakin perceived it – the Force is shackling themself with his existence, in his existence. He became aware of it through a factor I have not yet determined, and that resulted in his breakdown."

"And so you decided to cover up these shackles."

"I did."

It was the only way he could have stopped Anakin from self-destructing.

X

The Force had shifted for the third time in less than a decade after so many years of slowly eroding away.

It was strange. Where once it was clouded, twisted, and shadowed as his Master and his Master's Master had crafted it, there was a rift now, a clearing.

It was shedding light on objects that should not be seen.

Darth Sidious pulled the shadows closer around himself and, throwing one last glance at his Master's dead body, decided to investigate.

He had need for an apprentice.

[punkinroses]

Alright! Round two of the next generation(s) for the Zutara au I eventually want to write. The last post detailed Zuko and Kataras kids and grandkids. So, I feel it fitting to address the next batch of them with the

Sukka Kids

Yue: The eldest daughter of Sokka and Suki, she has risen to become the current elected chief of the Southern Water Tribe. Charismatic, strong willed and kind, she lives up not only to the legacy of her parents, but also her namesake. She's someone who has been doing the best she can for her people and the growth of their Tribe and has been currently been in meetings to figure out which is the best route for her people, fully uniting with their Northern sister tribe or to gain full independence, or if their current compromise is beneficial to her people. The biggest shock of her parents life came when she showed to be a Waterbender, something that was much to the delight of her Aunt Katara. Yue has many of her aunts softer features, but has her fathers dark brown hair, blue eyes and darker skin. She keeps her long hair braided back in a thick plait and has it kept with a blue band with a Water Tribe charm attached to it.

Her husbands name is Kenai. He is the son of one of the council Elders who fell head over heels for Yue when they were just teenagers and was constantly trying to win her affections. She soon found herself falling for him and after a long, grueling grilling from Sokka, the two would be married. He's an equal partner and counselor to her over political matters and he also runs his own restaurant that serves traditional Southern Water Tribe cuisine, along with occasional specialties he's picked up from his Earth Kingdom and Fire Nation in laws. He's got long, dark brown hair, and greyish blue eyes and has been growing out his stubble as of late.

Their eldest child is their son Haku. He, like his mother, is very charismatic and strong willed, and he's also a social butterfly. He's focused on making strong connections with others as a show of leadership, and maybe flirting with the men and women of the Water Tribe he finds attractive. His parents are very determined to teach him leadership qualities while also letting him enjoy his youth while he can. He has dark brown hair done in a warriors wolf tail, much like his Grandpa Sokkas, bright blue eyes and he finds it quite funny that hes taller than his parents. He also has a tattoo on his upper left arm and wears Sokkas necklace.

Their middle child is their daughter, Eira. Eira was born deaf and uses sign language to speak, though she also knows how to read lips, and has also learned how to express herself through her waterbending. She actually wants to be a waterbending instructor for the younger generation, while also making art from her ice sculptors. She loves really stupid jokes and is a self proclaimed Penguin sledding champion. She also has recently gotten very into photography and is always taking pictures at family get togethers. Her hair actually hangs down freely and she has a couple strands done in her familys signature "hair loopies" and her eyes shine brightly and she loves the new dresses and jewelry her Aunt Kaguya brings her from her travels.

Their youngest children are the twins Kallik and Kari. The twins are quite frankly polar opposites. Kallik is very much a social butterfly like his brother and never knows a stranger. He wants to always run head first into adventure and be a great warrior and adventurer like his grandfather. Kari, on the other hand, likes to be kept to her own devices and is quite sarcastic, but she loves to read and invent. She wants her inventions to make a difference in the world, she just has to learn how to get them on a grander scale. Kalliks hair is always done up in a man bun, and Karis is done into pigtails with her bangs falling over one eye. They also have birthmarks on the opposite shoulder for each of them.

Aylin: The second born daughter, she has the heart of a true warrior. Aylin has trained hard to become not only just a Kyoshi Warrior, but one to lead her elite group and become a head guard to the President of Republic City, while also helping her younger sister run the training school. She's what she claims to be the most "sensible and logical" out of her sisters and believes there's reason behind everything and that anyone can rise up to be as strong and as capable as they put the effort into. She's also got every bit of her father's sarcastic personality. And with it all comes a strong sense of justice and a lot of influence from the story of Avatar Kyoshi. Like her parents, she's a nonbender but is heavily proficient in her fans, hand to hand combat and sword fighting, though she relies mostly on her fans. She has dark reddish brown hair kept in short, blue eyes and a slightly lighter complexion than Yue and is actually the shortest of her sisters.

Aylin has a girlfriend who is a metalbender named Ikue. Ikue, like her girlfriend, has a strong sense of justice and wanting to see a better world. She also uses that to her advantage when she wants to bring home stray animals by saying "It's the right thing to do to give them a home." Ikue works at a library in Republic City and believes knowledge is a great and essential tool in making a good world. She's also just waiting for the time to pop the question to Aylin or for her to do it, wanting to truly settle down.

Mahina: The third born daughter, she, like Aylin, followed their mothers footsteps into becoming a Kyoshi Warrior and is the head teacher at the dojo in Sukis home village on Kyoshi Island. She loves being a teacher more than anything, as she's able to guide the next generation of young women to being the best warriors they can be. And she loves telling horrible jokes to them to keep the smiles on their face and moral high when they feel like they're hitting a slump. She's a very playful and big hearted person, but can also prove to be just as deadly a warrior as Aylin and Suki. Her preferred weapon is the sword but she also was passed down her fathers beloved boomerang that she will frequently use. She's got a light olive complexion, a more muscular build, short brown hair and brown eyes, as well as her fathers cheekbones.

Mahina has only been married to her husband, Jian, for a year and they have recently announced they're expecting their first child. Jian is a hardworking soul and works as a merchant in their small town, selling not only custom jewelry, but very detailed and well made swords, knives and the works. They first met because of his work and for them it was love at first sight. He's very dedicated to his growing family and is very proud. He is a bit clumsy and socially awkward however.

Kaguya: The youngest daughter, Kaguya was always her fathers baby in a sense (though he loved all of the girls equally). She chose a different road than her sisters, and instead decided to follow her passion of poetry and music. Kaguya has become a famous singer and pipa player across the world and loves spreading her passion. She's very famous for her own spin on Don't Fall in Love with the Travelling Girl, Leaves From the Vine, and the revival of a shanty from Avatars Kyoshis time simply titled Work Shanty. She also has her own original works that have become very popular amongst the people. She's the most softspoken out of her sisters, and they argue she's the most spoiled, and she likes indulging in the life she's worked hard to gain. She dresses in the latest fashions and loves representing both her heritages with blues and greens. She's got long reddish brown hair, blue eyes and a slightly darker complexion than Mahina.

Kaguya claims she has no desire nor time for ever settling down with someone, and considers her nieces and nephews to be like her own children. She has actually discovered she is infertile after a particular couple of scares from flings but she is quite fine with that. It just means she can focus more on her real baby, music!

[incandescent-eden]

31 Days of Horror: Distort (1)

My story from yesterday for the first day of @witch-kid-writer ‘s 31 days of horror! (The prompts are really cool, I highly recommend checking them out!)

Total word count: 1653

TW / CW for: body horror, graphic descriptions of bodily horror sounds, moments of unreality, graphic descriptions of panic attacks, fatphobia mention

---

Imogen Gong was a quiet person. She had good grades, full AP classes and honors society in high school, got a partial scholarship to get into a decent college, practiced piano and violin and Chinese - the perfect image of what she was expected to be. Her parents were so pleased with how far their daughter had gotten.

For her part, Imogen wasn’t going to contradict them. Yes, I’m going to a great school, she told aunties who would cluck and congratulate her. Thank you, I’m really excited, I worked really hard. She would muster up the most emotion she can, tried to bend fatigue into pride, tried to twist empty, meaningless compliments into some amount of self-esteem.

And, as she should have prepared for, but didn’t expect, she crashed hard. Sure, her grades were still average, but the compliments dried out, and her sleep schedule became less of a schedule and more of a metronome bouncing back and forth between never sleeping and sleeping through classes, with panic attacks set as the notes. Quarter note equals sixty-six, repeat five times a day, her old piano teacher’s voice echoed in her head when her chest was tight and her muscles clenched involuntarily, and air was scarce.

If only she could play her panicked breathing as an instrument and her heart as a drum, and play a one person symphony orchestra, so she could become famous and rich and drop out entirely.

As it stood, she dropped her theory of computation class her third year of college and, in an effort to avoid having any eight am classes, re-enrolled the second semester that year in Professor Tenner’s class.

Professor Leonard Tenner was a curious man, in the way that he was absolutely, bizarrely average. He wore rectangle glasses and an ill-fitting suit every day he taught, and boyish white cheeks and balding brown hair. He spoke with a mild voice, with an accent that was painfully American, but just standard enough that his dialect gave no indication as to where in the United States he was actually from.

Imogen sat slumped in the second row.

“So suppose, I have this graph. The shortest path, then…” Professor Tenner would say with a small smile, as he drew the graph in faded whiteboard markers on a grayed out whiteboard, filling in circular nodes.

Professor Tenner looked up from the board for a second, his light eyes boring into Imogen. “Is everyone following along alright?” he asked with a mild smile.

The words that crawled from his mouth twitched and writhed, as though laughing, curling into themselves and over and into the students’ ears.

“I hope you’re all getting this information,” Professor Tenner continued. He traced the edges between the graph nodes, added number weights full of circular two’s and eight’s.

Each graph had different colors, pallid red and green and purple and blue graphs full of crossed, curving lines. The flat, gray whiteboard was stretched and distorted with the graphs scrambling over every inch.

“The shortest path, then…” said Professor Tenner, again and again and again, pacing from one end of the classroom to the other.

“The shortest path, then…” All the while, the graphs continued to twist.

Imogen’s pencil shook. He was going too fast; she couldn’t possibly write down the question that quickly.

“This will be on the exam, so make sure you know it,” said Professor Tenner. Imogen’s intestines twisted, as cross as the garish graphs that stared mockingly back at her with their incomprehensible paths of varying lengths. She hadn’t realized exams were coming on so soon.

The shortest path. The shortest path was...

“Oh, would you look at the time?” Professor Tenner said, at last. “I’ll see you all in class next week. Remember, the homework is due on Tuesday, and my office hours are Thursday from three to five!” His voice could barely be heard over the rush of students packing up to leave.

Imogen silently packed her things and went back to her room.

“Everything alright?” Cathy, her roommate, asked, when Imogen entered. Cathy was already seated at her desk, her psychology textbook cracked open, glasses smudged.

“Just tired,” Imogen replied, collapsing on her bed. The mattress was stiff. Her stuffed rabbit, Floppy, teetered precariously on the edge of the unlofted bed, moments away from falling to the cold tile floor covered in shed hair.

“I feel that,” Cathy said, highlighting a passage of her notes. “I’ve been studying my ass off for this exam.”

“I’m sure you’ll do great,” Imogen said, crawling under her blankets. The twisting in her torso would not go away. “I’m going to take a nap. Stayed up til four last night trying to do Tenner’s homework.”

“God,” muttered Cathy piteously.

Imogen made a noncommittal sound in agreement, curled into a ball to try and stop the cramping.

When she awoke, it was dark, and Cathy was gone. Probably at dinner or in the library. She checked her phone: notifications from Twitter, an email from her stats professor reminding everyone to bring a pen to class, and a grading notification from Tenner’s class. With a frown, Imogen checked the grade notification. The soft blue glow of the screen was cold, despite the thick blankets in which Imogen wrapped herself.

Her skin prickled with heat and ice simultaneously, staring at the impossibly curved score that danced on the screen as her hand shook.

Taking a small breath, Imogen locked her phone, throwing herself back into darkness. The twisting in her intestines worsened.

She was vaguely aware of Floppy lying on the dirty floor, but Imogen was too numb to poke her hand out of the blankets that swallowed her and rescue the stuffed rabbit. The world was spinning.

Imogen closed her eyes. Willed the spiraling graphs to disappear. Begged the curved, bloated, distorted score from her last homework to have been wrong, to stop glaring at her from behind shut eyelids.

Her breathing started to get faster. Quarter note equals forty, then fifty, then sixty six. In out, in out, in out, gasping and gasping and gasping, and suddenly it’s not her piano teacher’s voice she hears, but Professor Tenner’s.

“The shortest path, then…”

Imogen flipped on her light, shaking as she stumbled out of bed. The world itself wasn’t moving, not logically, but the straight path to the bathroom turned into a twisted maze, spinning around her with every wobbly step.

The bright fluorescent lights of the bathroom washed everything out as Imogen leaned on the counter, hovering over the sink. In, out, in out, the breaths came, faster and faster, but then - finally! - slowing down. Her skin was a pale green in the bathroom mirror, the same green as Professor Tenner’s markers.

Faded, weak, a shadow of the bright green the marker once must have been. And used to draw twisting graphs, twisting and twisting like Imogen’s intestines.

Imogen watched her eyes in the mirror, watched as the dark brown shifted from hopeless to glaring. If she could just stop cramping, she could start to do something.

To her surprise, her organs complied. The pain went away immediately.

Imogen blinked. Pinched herself.

Watched with glee as the skin gave way, stretched and curled around her fingers as she twisted. Laughed, even.

This had to be a joke. She tugged at her fingers, her thumbs, her palms.

Pop.

Pop.

Pop.

She had always struggled to play tenths on the piano, but no more.

Gazing in the mirror incredulously, Imogen pulled at her cheeks, watched as her lips curled into a smile.

She could get taller, she realized, stretching herself by several inches. Crack, crack, pop, went her spine. Her face slid into a wider smile even as her cheeks flattened. Mom had always wanted her to be taller, thinner. Now she could be.

For a second, her smile lingered, until the homework score flashed in front of her eyes once more.

The twisting in her intestines returned.

Will as she might, Imogen could not erase the pain this time. She grabbed her abdomen. Hugged it tight. Watched as her skin turned from sickly to pink from the blood rushing, twisting with her own hands this time. Twisting and twisting and twisting until the pain went away.

She kept twisting, desperately trying to erase the smooth curves of the number that flashed in her mind. Stretched her limbs outward at sharp angles, as far away from smooth curves as she could get. Pinched and pulled, faster and faster, copying the graphs Professor Tenner had scribbled on the board. Twisted her joints until they were the half-filled curlicues of her professor’s handwriting, and pinched her skin until it was the faint purple and green and red and blue of the markers.

Ignored the sounds of popping and crunching and squelching.

Imogen smiled to herself. There was no one else to smile to - she couldn’t even see where her mouth was in the mirror.

The shortest path was clear in her mind, now, an obvious path from elbow to lung to pelvis. Imogen kept shifting, rearranging, distorting herself until she had created each graph configuration of Tenner’s questions and several more.

Shortest path, longest path, minimum spanning tree, and so on. All of them were clear now.

A new number flashed before her eyes, the score she would get on this exam if the answers came as easily as they did now.

She could challenge herself more, get harder and harder questions right. Add more paths, more nodes, more edges, more cycles. Her breathing picked up again, this time from excitement - quarter note equals fifty five.

The sprawling, spiraling skin and the cracking and clacking of bones as they connected to form a new graph were barely even noticeable now. Imogen solved the shortest path from her knee to her skull, faster than before.

The shortest path, then… echoed Professor Tenner’s voice in Imogen’s mind, again and again.

[curufins-smile]

Speed Dating For Scientists

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.

Or, Curvo needs a baby mama and he needs one now.

(Pure crack - this is my attempt to reconcile my aroace curvo hcs with him having a wife and son)

-

Tyelkormo can’t believe his ears at first.

“I’m sorry, you want to what?” he blurts to an unfazed Curufinwë.

“I said, I want to have a baby,” Curufinwë repeats, “so that I can be Atar’s favourite son.”

“No, you’re going to have to elaborate on that,” states Tyelkormo, “because I still have no clue what you mean.”

Curufinwë sighs impatiently. “I want to be Atar’s favourite-“

“And you’re telling this to me, your direct competition?” Tyelkormo says, slightly incredulous. “Besides, you know Atar doesn’t play favourites.” Really, he shouldn’t be surprised. Curufinwë has always been competitive. Especially about their father.

Curufinwë raises an eyebrow. “Yes, Atar gives us all equal love, but I have a plan to get the most.”

“Again, aren’t I competition?” Tyelkormo asks, feeling slightly insulted.

“Well, are you?” Curufinwë replies.

“Not really, but still it’d be nice to be considered as much!”

“There, there, Turco,” his awful little brother says, “you’re such a threat I hadn’t even thought of a plot to surpass you.”

“That’s better,” Tyelkormo says. He lets Curufinwë get away with too much, probably, but it’s too late to do anything about it. “So, why would having a baby help that?”

Curufinwë sighs, “Honestly, can’t you guess?” Tyelkormo levels an unimpressed stare at him, and Curufinwë continues, “Fine! What does Atar love? Children! What does Atar want more than anything but won’t say for fear of putting undue pressure on us? Grandchildren! Therefore, I shall present him with the long awaited First Grandchild and thus be the favourite forever.”

It’s a typical Curufinwë scheme, grand goal, excellent reasoning but with a big hole that sinks the whole thing.

“You need another person for that,” says Tyelkormo, “unless your genius has far surpassed Atar’s and you have found a way to reproduce without the aid of another.”

Curufinwë waves him off. “Not to worry, I have a plan.”

-

“This is the worst plan,” says Tyelkormo. Next to him, Irissë is not even bothering to hide her guffaws of laughter.

“S-so,” she says, attempting to compose herself, “you’re just going to ask a woman if you can,” she pauses, struggling to control her giggles, “use her uterus?” She loses the battle and collapses into laughter once more.

“Yes,” says Curufinwë. “Why, is there something wrong with that?”

“Is there something right with that?” Tyelkormo murmurs under his breath, setting Irissë off in a fresh fit of giggles.

“Why wouldn’t she want to participate in making a baby? I’ll compensate her,” Curufinwë says.

“That’s even worse!” Tyelkormo cries.

“How is that worse?” Curufinwë says, and Tyelkormo honestly cannot believe he’s this dim about relationships.

Tyelkormo sighs. It’s not even worth the battle. “So, that aside, what are you even looking for in a wife? What sort of personality, what sort of appearance is your type?” He knows Curufinwë well enough to know that his brother will have at least some thoughts on this to help the painful process that this is guaranteed to be.

Curufinwë reaches into his pocket and pulls out an honest to Eru list and Tyelkormo really hasn’t had enough to drink to deal with this. He takes the list from Curufinwë and stares at his brother’s scrawled handwriting.

“I hope you aren’t planning on wooing her with sweet letters,” Tyelkormo remarks. “Your handwriting is awful as always.”

Irissë peers over his arm at the list and grins. “Wow, I had no idea Curvo had such bad handwriting,” she says. “You wouldn’t think your father would let him get away with it.”

“Sadly, Atar allowed Curvo to get away with far too much as a kid, and now he’s got awful handwriting, terrible sleep habits and won’t eat most things.”

They both look up at Curufinwë, who is impervious to shame. “Yes, and?” he says. “Anyway, my handwriting isn’t important. What’s important is on the list.”

Years of practice means that Tyelkormo is pretty good at decoding Curufinwë’s handwriting. “Let’s see... Noldo, preferably taller than you- really?”

“Well, I would like for our child to outgrow me,” says Curufinwë, the shortest of the Finwëans by some margin.

“Well, at least that’s not a difficult demand to fulfil,” says Tyelkormo in amusement. “Hmmm... pleasing facial symmetry?”

“I want our child to be beautiful, is that so wrong?” Curufinwë replies, without a single trace of embarrassment.

“No, but people don’t usually say it so... bluntly,” Tyelkormo says. Irissë is laughing again, and has sunk down onto a bench, clutching her stomach.

“How on earth do they make their wishes known?” Curufinwë asks, guilelessly. Too guilelessly.

“Is this a joke?” Tyelkormo asks suspiciously.

“No, but I’m not that stupid,” Curufinwë says. “I wasn’t going to show her _this_ list.”

Tyelkormo breathes a sigh of relief, then starts as he realises what Curufinwë said. “What do you mean, this list.”

“Well, of course I have an indepth list of questions in order to determine her suitability as the mother of my child,” says Curufinwë. “I need to make sure that she has the intellect in order to ensure that our baby is an intelligent and creative child, as deserving of Atar’s first grandchild.”

Irissë is just gasping now, completely in hysterics. Tyelkormo half wants to laugh, half wants to cry. It’s just all so peak Curufinwë.

“Anyway,” continues Curufinwë, “I came here to ask Irissë if she knows anyone suitable.”

Tyelkormo glances down at Irissë who is beginning to compose herself. “Do you know anyone?”

Irissë sits up, wiping tears from her eyes. “I don’t really, but Elenwë might.”

Curufinwë stiffens almost unnoticeably, and Tyelkormo grins. “Oh, but she might tell Turukáno, no?” he says, deliberately glancing at Curufinwë.

“It’s a sacrifice I am willing to make,” says Curufinwë through gritted teeth.

-

Elenwë comes through with a friend of a friend who might be interested in meeting Curufinwë, and who might be acceptable to Curufinwë’s exacting criteria.

They meet for the first time in one of Tirion’s leafy parks. Tyelkormo is, of course, lurking in a tree to watch. This is guaranteed to be amusing no matter what happens. Carnistir is next to him on a sturdy branch.

“Why have you brought your knitting?” Tyelkormo hisses.

“I don’t know how long this will take,” Carnistir whispers, calmly finishing a row, “and I want to make something for the baby. Poor kid is already going to be Curvo’s, it may as well have a cosy blanket.”

“There is no baby yet!” Tyelkormo whispers back.

“It doesn’t hurt to prepare,” Carnistir replies, unconcerned. “Anyway, she’s here.”

The lady is much more striking than she is beautiful, with hawkish blue eyes and hair tied back into a severe plait to keep it out of her face. She also has about a head on Curufinwë in terms of height.

“So,” she says, and Tyelkormo and Carnistir do not need to strain to hear her clear, enunciated words, “you are the one who wants to use my uterus.”

Tyelkormo nearly falls out of the tree and has to grab onto a similarly stricken Carnistir.

“My name is Costamë,” she continues, “and yes, ‘Quarreller’ is an accurate description of me. Now, shall we discuss the details of our planned association?”

Next to Tyelkormo, Carnistir swears. “Somehow Curvo has managed to find the female version of himself.”

Tyelkormo nods in agreement, slightly dazed.

Beneath them, a strange contract is being hashed out. “We will have intercourse only until the child is conceived,” Curufinwë says.

“Agreed,” replies Costamë, “and I will carry the child to term, as long as I am allowed to write all details of my pregnancy down for a treatise which I plan on authoring.”

“Most acceptable,” says Curufinwë happily. “I will fund any research you wish for until our child reaches fifty years of age as long as you do not interfere in its raising after your initial duties such as feeding are over.”

“Until it reaches a hundred years,” Costamë replies, “and I will see it once a week after it is weaned. After the child is old enough, this will be raised to twice a week so that I may teach it mathematics and biology, my fields of particular speciality.”

“Very much agreed.” Curufinwë says. “Excellent, I had hoped that you would understand, but scarcely had I hoped for such a fellow scientist and researcher.”

“And I you,” replies Costamë. “I have been wishing to study the effects of pregnancy on a body firsthand, and track a child’s growth, but mothers can be so tiresome about privacy and my efforts to find someone to help me do it myself have thus far been fruitless.” She pauses and Tyelkormo takes the time to try and right his world from where it has apparently tilted.

“I cannot believe Curvo has found his mind-twin or something,” Carnistir marvels. Beneath them, Costamë and Curufinwë are agreeing on the meeting time for their “intercourse”.

“Yeah, really,” Tyelkormo replies. Costamë is leaving now, apparently too busy to spend time with her husband-to-be now that the important things are finished with.

Curufinwë looks up. “I know you’re there,” he says. “I don’t mind. It’s good to have witnesses to my success.”

-

Curufinwë Tyelperinquar is born healthy and wailing in late spring. He is promptly presented to his adoring grandfather and great grandfather, who are ecstatic to have another baby to coo over.

Curufinwë beams at Tyelkormo. “Told you I’d do it.”

“I’m sorry for doubting you,” Tyelkormo replies. “Now, let me hold my nephew.”

-

I got Costamë’s name from a site tumblr won’t let me link but if you google realelvish name lists it’ll probably take you there

Costamë ends up loving Tyelpë, but she’s just too busy and not really the huggy, mothering type so she leaves most of that to Curvo who’s really happy with the whole arrangement.

[chocmarss]

constant state of the damned

Summary: The dark attire he wore was a contrast in the room he was in, a stranger among the midst, Galra among Altea. Shiro wondered how he felt about that.

It was then Shiro saw the way his fingers flexed before the Galra spoke, “How long do you plan to stand there?”

voltron. BOM!keith. shiro character study. T. (ao3)

Who knew that amongst the Galra Empire there would be an organisation of their own kind to disagree with Zarkon's power?

Who knew that someone internal was willing to help Voltron take down the empire once and for all, where the reign of power would collapse upon itself inside out, and then they would attack with their allies with every power they possess?

Finally, finally, there was hope to end this monstrosity. They would dare hope to take down the tyrant once and for all, a chance for the residents of various galaxies to live in peace once more without fear crowding in their hearts, without having their rights snatched away from them ever again.

Shiro knew they were capable of doing this, of putting this long time war to an end.

The Blade of Marmora, while reluctant in the beginning, dove into their plan without wasting anymore time once they were given trust from the paladins, explaining every single detail of what they had accomplished the whole time they were having their rebellion fest right under Zarkon's nose. Blueprints to the commanding ship, solutions to every possible problem that might come up if something were to fail.

The amount of intel they collected was enough. They knew how the ship worked inside and out, and they knew the best ways to take it down once everything would start falling into place.

It was sufficient, they would succeed if they tried harder than before. Shiro knew this.

Be as that may, Allura was still hard to convince.

For the greater good of the universe, she listened, she agreed with their plans, but she was brusque when she responded, her answers sharp and held no ounce of softness for the Galrans that stood in front of them as Kolivan tried to hold some sort of camaraderie between them. Shiro knew she was trying to let the plan convince herself to trust them, but he supposed that after getting her planet destroyed by the same species who were currently standing in her castle, she wasn't any near succeeding.

There were three members of the Blade who came aboard with Kolivan; one was named Antok, a large brute who stood easily ten feet tall by Kolivan’s right, while the other two lingered near him, their blades strapped behind their backs while they insisted the masks and cowl they wore remained where they were.

Shiro didn't know their names, and he made no effort to ask for them when they didn't bother to introduce themselves.

Allura was even more tensed at the declaration at the same time her glower didn't dissipate.

“The red lion doesn't have a pilot,” Kolivan pointed out, Zarkon's holographic commanding ship floating ominously on top of the round table as he swept his white gaze over them. “This plan would cease to work if Voltron doesn't make an appearance, and all that we worked on will be a waste.”

“I am its temporary pilot,” Allura said, staring back at the Galra in front of her with an even look. “The red lion answers to me until we find someone else who will be deemed worthy enough for it to choose as its partner, where they would be bonded together permanently for Voltron to form.”

“It’s common knowledge that the red lion has always been picky in choosing its paladin,” Antok rumbled out, the mask he wore facing her alone. “How was it possible that you were able to pilot it if that was so?”

Allura's expression hardened. “I am worthy.”

It was true that it took some coaxing and near death experiences for the red lion to finally accept Allura as its pilot, where desperation had gotten her to form Voltron with the rest of the paladins as they fought monsters Zarkon had sent towards their way.

“This is only temporary,” she had announced to them all after their second battle, helmet perched on her hip as she silently challenged them to protest. “I've made my choice. I'm only doing this until the red lion finds someone else.”

“But, why?” Pidge asked, brows furrowed. “Princess, we've seen you fight with the red lion, we know you're capable of piloting her and forming Voltron with us.”

“Yeah,” Lance had added, shifting his weight to one foot. “It's not like Red rejected you by launching you into space. Then, that would have been really bad.”

She offered them a half smile. “My place remains in the Castle of Lions, where my presence is required to make sure the castle would be fully operational without any problems. Besides, I can't let Coran handle the castle alone, especially when it’s been ten thousand years the last time mantainence had been done."

Shiro had nodded his understanding then. “Alright, princess, if that's what you think is best.”

She gave him a relieved smile. “Thank you.”

“The red lion wouldn't have as much as a strong bond with you as it would with its real pilot,” Antok continued, his tail curling lazily behind him. “Voltron wouldn't be as strong. Zarkon would be able to defeat us with only a lift of his hand if we don't do anything about it at once.”

“And I suppose you're capable of piloting the red lion?” She retorted.

Antok gave a low chuckle. “The things I've done will not do justice.”

“Then, why do you doubt me?”

“As much as you doubt our organisation?”

“Antok,” Kolivan growled, narrowing his eyes at his commander in warning. “Enough.”

“No other choice were given for us to make if we wanted to survive every attack Zarkon gave us,” Allura continued harshly. “where the beasts he sends would have killed us long ago if I didn't make a decision. This happened to be the only option. I'm more than happy if there was anyone who would be willing to take my place as its pilot.”

Shiro saw the wide looks she received from the other paladins, and his gaze flickered towards the other members of the Blade from where they stood near the round table as well.

The taller one of the two had his attention focused on the argument that occurred in front of them, but the other pointedly stared at the holographic ship with a slight tilt of his head. Kolivan and the members of the Blade stood at one side of the table while the paladins at the other, and Shiro had a clear view of them from where he remained where he was with Allura by his side, and currently, the shortest Galra was directly in front of him.

Shiro wondered if those who were in the Blade of Marmora were first born inside the commanding ship to be trained under the name of Galra. After years of success, they were free enough to be sent to their supposed respective posts, where it would take some ways for them to stray from their group before they fled towards the base, throwing away every agenda the hierarchy tried to embed inside their system.

Or were they born inside the base itself? Starting a new civilisation of their own between the two black holes that hid the Blade of Marmora from hands that served Zarkon, fending for themselves as they collect and reassess what they have for the past ten thousand years.

As if feeling his stare, the Galra faced him head-on. Shiro didn't look away as they held a staring contest of their own, where he studied what little emotion the bleak mask offered him.

If the mask was off, the Galra would have probably blinked to get rid of the haze between them when he inclined his head shallowly, as if acknowledging Shiro's presence.

Shiro felt the urge to speak.

“Our common goal is what keeping us together,” he began, talking over the argument that was still going on as he looked at their way. “We can't let anything deter that when we're already so close to ending this once and for all. This is our chance, we have to make sure we're doing this right.”

“Shiro is right, of course,” Kolivan said. “But first, we must find a substitute as the Red Paladin if we need Princess Allura in the castle, since she has a vital part in this plan as much as the rest of us do, and it doesn't include her piloting the beast.”

“And how are we going to do that?” Hunk questioned. “We can't just jump from one planet to another and asking Red if she can feel anyone she thinks is worthy enough.”

“Time is pretty tight at this point,” Lance agreed, folding his arms across his chest. “We'll have to think of something else if we can't find anyone that can be the Red Paladin.”

“We'll discuss this now, then,” Allura said, fingers already swiping through the hologram of a ship, zooming onto the engine rooms. “And be well prepared if anything were to happen sooner than we thought.”

Shiro found him standing at the large windows.

Spine rigid, the Galra faced the vastness of space with his hands clasped behind his back, the lights dimmed into a considerable amount so that they were able to see the streaks of light the two black holes made, glowing teal and blue as it reflected against the Castle of Lions.

The dark attire he wore was a contrast in the room he was in, a stranger among the midst, Galra among Altea. Shiro wondered how he felt about that.

It was then Shiro saw the way his fingers flexed before the Galra spoke, “How long do you plan to stand there?”

The mask played a part in making sure the owner's real voice wouldn't be revealed, but Shiro still detected the youth it carried through the gruttal undertone when the Galra glanced over his shoulder; even if the words were said too blandly and full of disinterest. “Shiro,” he continued as a greeting. There was a professional lit in it, one that said his presence had been taken into account. “An honour.”

Shiro shook off the hesitation that was beginning to settle on his shoulders, and made his way towards him with ease. “As to you,” he replied, standing beside him. “It's good to know that the Blade of Marmora is helping us take down Zarkon. We weren't able to do it on our own with so little resources and such short amount of time.”

“It's about time we even started taking action,” the Galra responded mildly, shifting his gaze towards the base again. “Ten thousand years might be a bit overdue.”

“Perhaps,” the dry humour slipped, and the Galra glanced at Shiro with what he assumed was a flicker of amusement. “I never knew your name.”

The pause was brief, but long enough for Shiro to notice it all the same. “Keith,” the Galra finally answered.

Surprised, Shiro faced his way fully, to which Keith ignored as possibilities rolled in his mind. “A human name?” He tentatively asked, not wanting to get his hopes up.

“Is that what it is?” the Galra huffed out, a mockery of a laugh. “That name caused enough trouble for the Galran tongue as it is, where our bold names made mine appear too soft for most of them to pronounce,” he shrugged. “It's still my name, one that was given by my mother.”

“Is your mother human?” Because what are the chances of Galra landing on Earth without anyone of them knowing?

“Galra.” Keith answered shortly, effectively cutting the conversation off.

A Galra naming her child with a human name? It's almost too coincidental. Maybe she had been to Earth before and liked the name? Maybe Keith had a human father?

To dig into his history was tempting, but Keith made it clear he didn't want to talk anything about himself. As it was, he probably thought he was revealing too much to a member of Voltron with just his name, one who he just met earlier that day when Shiro and Hunk landed on their base to call for an alliance.

“What's Terra like?” Shiro recognised the question as a sign of apology when Keith shifted his stance until half of his body faced Shiro’s way, his arms dropping to the sides. “I've heard of it, seen it from afar, but I've never actually landed on it to know how it works.”

To say the least, after everything that had happened to him when Shiro was kept captive as a gladiator for a year, memories of Earth slipped away as well. He managed to grab the opportunity to spend less than twenty-four hours on Earth before he was brought back into space. In that short amount of time, he was able to feel the sunrise for the first time in a year, to hear the crunch of the ground again under his boots while the fresh morning breeze whispered against his skin.

He knew that Earth had rain and wind; to explain how it actually was would be rather difficult when his brain can only give him facts and not the whole picture.

But, he would try. It would be like exercising his mind to remember his homeland more after being confined in metal walls for a while.

“Well,” Shiro began. “Some parts of the world have four seasons, some have heavy rain and hot sun. Different languages are spoken at different places, and different places have their own cultures.”

Shiro told him what he knew, and Keith listened quietly the whole while, almost as if he was preventing himself from interrupting Shiro. There was a way in letting himself talk about Earth, where Shiro would have realisations about a specific event -small things, trinkets of memories he didn't know that mattered so much- and would tell Keith about it before he would forget again.

Time passed, and one meeting bled into another.

It had been a couple of days since their first encounter alone together, and Shiro had been wandering in the castle after fruitless attempts at trying to get some sleep, only to find Keith standing at the control room with his arms crossed tightly to himself. Shiro reflected the tension on his shoulders, and the way he seemed so deep in thought that he didn't notice his presence until Shiro called out, “Couldn't sleep?”

Keith froze, before he inclined his head to meet Shiro's look with the mask and cowl still in place. “My head won't let me rest.”

“That makes the two of us, then,” Shiro said, standing on his right. “It's understandable, of course, since we're going to start the plan soon. But, I still think we should try to get some sleep in order to be fresh tomorrow.”

“Even if the thought of anything bad might occur and catch us off guard?”

Shiro shot him a wry smile. “I try to be optimistic for my team's sake.”

For his own sanity, he added silently, where he tried to make sure he wouldn't collapse under the weight of his own nightmares that came to him the moment he closed his eyes. He would try to swallow down the screams that threatened to burst out, composing himself before he lost control again and lash out at the threatening ghosts. His weak self-composure was difficult to hide, but so far, he succeeded enough to make the others not ask him about it.

It was an unhealthy way to handle his situation, but it was the only thing he got if he didn't want it to distract him.

Keith might have seen something in his eyes, because he was quick to change the subject. “We still haven't found anyone to pilot the red lion.”

“We might have to use the second alternative to make the plan work, then,” Shiro agreed. “It's not as effective as the first one, but it'll be enough.”

Keith sighed, shoulders slumping tiredly. “I was hoping it wouldn't come to that.”

Shiro shrugged. “Improvisation is a power of its own.”

Humming thoughtfully, Keith turned towards the window again. “Can we see the red lion again?”

Shiro blinked at him in surprise, before straightening himself up. The last time they saw the red lion was after they planned everything on the first day they arrived. “It’s not illegal, you know.”

“From the way Princess Allura looked at me, I'd say it is.” Keith answered airily as they began walking out of the room together. “I understand why she’s being cautious, but she has to understand that she can trust us. She can trust the Blade of Marmora.”

“Her trust was severed by the Galra after what they've done to her planet,” Shiro explained calmly. “I can't say anything on her behalf, but from my view, she's trying to trust you, but it's difficult after everything that's been done.”

“Can she talk to us without trying to bite our heads off, though?”

If Shiro didn't know better, he would say Keith was sulking. “Give her time,” he said. “You can't force someone to trust anyone, after all.”

The rest of their journey was silent, but it was comfortable enough that Shiro felt himself relax slightly from the memories of his nightmares, letting the sound of their footsteps bounce off the walls of the sleeping castle as they made their way towards the red lion.

The main lights of the hangar lit up the moment they stepped foot into it, and the red lion itself towered powerfully over the both of them.

Shiro had a distinctive feeling that it was judging them for coming there when they should have slept.

They made their way towards it, with Shiro slowing his steps as he let Keith take the front, and the Galra seemed fascinated with the lion as he crossed the empty distance between them.

It wasn't until Keith abruptly stopped that Shiro did too, where the Galra turned to face his way almost too quickly, some sort of urgency leaking in his movements. “Did you hear that?”

Shiro raised an eyebrow at him, flickering his eyes from the lion above them to Keith himself. “Hear what?”

“It was- never mind,” Keith shook his head, turning back towards the lion. “I thought I heard something.”

Cautiously this time, Keith continued his walk to the lion again until he was right under its head, as if whatever he heard made him chose his steps carefully. Reluctantly, he reached out and brushed a hand onto its paw.

The sound of its engine rumbling to life made Keith scrambled back, hand already reaching for his sword as the red lion threw its head up towards the high ceiling to let out a loud roar, where the sound echoed through the whole castle.

Shiro felt his hope escalated as he watched the way the red lion lowered itself for Keith, head settling just in front of him as its maw opened to grant him access.

Sword gripped tightly in his hand, Keith stared back, and even though Shiro was only able to see the back of his head, he had a feeling Keith was experiencing the same type of disbelief as he was.

“Congratulations, Keith,” Shiro laughed, unable to contain the breathlessness that came with it. “It chose you as the Red Paladin.”

There was no answer from the Galra as he remained rooted on the spot. But then, his hand reached up to press something near his neck, and Shiro was able to hear the sound of the mask disintegrating under his command.

He held his breath when Keith pulled down his cowl, and what greeted Shiro when he turned around was bright indigo eyes.

Human.

All this time Keith had been human.

Shiro could only stare back at him in shock, before they heard the sound of footsteps thundering against the floor, and the doors slid open for the others to come in, weapons ready.

“What's going on here?” Allura demanded as she stalked her way in, and flinched when she saw the red lion’s position.

“I think the red lion found its paladin,” Pidge breathed out, staring at the lion before dragging her gaze towards Keith. She blinked in surprise. “Uh, who's that?”

“Keith,” Kolivan called out, putting away his weapon as the others slowly followed suit. “It chose you as the Red Paladin?”

Keith, as if finally noticing they were there, tensed considerably at the sound of his leader’s voice, turning around to face them with a blank look on his face. “Yes, leader.”

Shiro could particularly hear the other paladins froze at the sight of him. Raven hair falling into his eyes while pale skin remained instead of Galra's signature purple ones, his mouth set into a straight line as he pointedly ignored their gaping reaction, only focusing his attention onto Kolivan while his brows pulled into a frown, uncomfortable with the attention he was getting.

Shiro couldn't help but notice how fierce his eyes were.

“Wait, he's human?” Lance burst out, gesturing towards Keith frantically. “You're human?”

The corner of Keith's mouth twisted into a scowl. “Half human.”

Hunk let out a low whistle. “This keeps getting weirder and weirder.”

There was almost resignation in his stance when Kolivan scrutinised Keith, and the younger man -Galra?- only stared back evenly, silently communicating between themselves that only they would understand. Shiro glanced at Kolivan in some curiosity when he sighed softly. “So it shall be. We can't stop what the red lion chose, and we will continue our plan as it should be.”

“I still can't believe Red chose a Galra.” Pidge commented.

“Zarkon was the original Black Paladin,” Allura said quietly, eyes remained on Keith. He dragged the same expression he wore towards her way. “Choosing another wouldn't be a problem if the red lion believes he is suitable for this.”

Shiro knew she was having a dilemma in controlling her reaction about this info, on whether or not she still wanted to fully trust them when she looked away from Keith, and instead honed her attention onto the red lion. “You would want to forge a bond with her immediately,” she continued, clearly addressing Keith alone. “My connection with her still exists, I would need some time with her in order for it to disappear so that you would be able to do it on your own.”

“Will we have time for this?” Antok questioned. “Zarkon won't wait to attack us.”

“It must be done,” she replied firmly, snapping her look towards him. “If he doesn't form a bond with the red lion, then it would be difficult for him to connect with the others as well.”

“He would,” Shiro spoke up. “Keith would do it with us first thing in the morning. Right now,” he glanced at Keith, but he didn't meet his look as his eyes remained on the princess. “We still need our rest.”

Antok gave one lash of his tail before he stalked out, and Kolivan nodded to Shiro in thanks before he left with the other Galra following after him as well.

Shiro turned towards his teammates. "Get some sleep while you can, we'll be starting training soon.”

“Oh, man,” Hunk groaned, running his fingers through his hair as he began walking out of the hangar with Lance and Pidge. “The castle is going to shoot us again.”

Lance shook his head. “You said it, buddy.”

Coran looked back towards Allura when she didn't follow them. “Princess? Are you coming?”

She gave him a small smile. “I will, Coran,” she assured him. “I just need another minute.”

Coran pursed his lips in worry, before pointing his gaze towards the remaining men. “Alright,” he answered, but he was looking at Shiro as he quietly asked him for help. Shiro gave a small nod. “Just don't stay up too long.”

When the doors closed behind him, Allura walked towards the red lion, brushing a hand onto the side of its jaw. She sighed, resting her forehead against it.

“You have a new master,” she murmured. “So, you would know how this works.”

Then, she pushed herself away, her soft look stuttering into a close as she faced Keith. “She would be a part of you,” she said simply. “If you're in danger, she would come. Call for her, and she would answer. That is why forging a bond is important; the connection between paladin and lion is what makes Voltron stronger.”

Keith only stood his ground when she stood in front of him, offering him her hand. “Prevent the Empire from succeeding.”

The guarded look remained in Keith's eyes for a while, before Shiro watched the way he reached out and clasped her arm with his hand, the hold firm as he stared into her eyes. “I will.”

She released his hold and made her way towards the door, glancing at Shiro once. “I'm fine,” she muttered under her breath when she brushed past his shoulder. “What Coran told you was unnecessary.”

“Rest all the same, princess.” He told her, watching her leave. She waved her hand dismissively at him before the door closed.

When he turned back towards Keith, he was already making his way inside the red lion. “You want to do this now?”

“Yes,” Keith poked his head out, cocking an eyebrow at him. “Are you coming with me?”

“We're supposed to be resting.” Shiro pointed out, but felt the way his lips curled up in amusement.

“And I'm supposed to bond with the red lion as soon as possible,” Keith shot back. “Is that a yes or a no?”

The smile widened more, and Shiro made his way towards Keith, who smirked in victory before ducking in again.

Flying with Keith was one of the most exhilarating moments Shiro experienced in his life.