#still feeling exposed and uneasy so. no other tags necessary I think

[philhoffman]

Finishing this rewatch of The Hunger Games series with this week’s Monday Philm, Mockingjay - Part 2 (2015). My feelings about this movie change drastically, even from one hour to the next—just this morning I was thinking it might be too painful to watch, but tonight I was actually laughing my ass off at a particularly terrible attempt at CGI.

This is probably the weakest of the series but I still enjoy it 🤷‍♀️ If nothing else, it is entirely redeemed by the scene between Katniss, Snow, and Coin at the execution. Aside from our boy, of course, Donald Sutherland is the underrated MVP of the series. His look to Katniss, spitting out blood as he laughs incredulously, before being torn to shreds—what a fucking moment. Since I’m in a relatively upbeat mood, I can appreciate that scene while ignoring the horrendous hatchet job they did trying to insert Plutarch in the background. Like, stomach-churning on bad days but really laughable, too.

Always guessing what changed in the production after PSH’s death—was that scene between him and Katniss always supposed to be the opener? Was he really going to have a bigger role at Finnick and Annie’s wedding? His screen time is so brief but certain lines, moments, feel so right for him it makes me wonder. I’d kill for a copy of the original shooting script from either of the Mockingjays or even Catching Fire—I’ve been searching online to no avail.

The last scene between Plutarch and Katniss, which became Plutarch’s letter—the fact that it’s missing, and all that entails, is much too painful to even think about. I know it would’ve been beautiful and touching so I can’t let myself imagine it at all.

Plutarch Heavensbee you are the man of my dreams with your blue eyes and ink-smudged hands and pouty face and red eyebrows

As I said on letterboxd, I don’t want to talk about why this film has gotten harder to watch in recent years, months, even weeks and days—but I kinda have the impulse to talk about how I don’t want to talk about it. I’ve been feeling a little exposed lately and very sensitive to that, then add the inescapable THG resurgence. And aspects of this film really push those buttons—the editing, the stand-ins, the CGI—so I’ll at least try to write it out. In my heart, it’s incomplete, cobbled together, unsafe, nothing is true or false and it can’t be trusted, and it feels heavier each time. I guess I feel comfortable enough to say on this blog, with its very limited audience, that I’ve reached a certain point with Phil, where it’s getting hard to walk the line between “This Is A Movie :)” and “this is someone I love very much, going through a very difficult time.” Not with everything, of course, but this project in particular. I’ve learned a lot about certain things, even in just the last few weeks, and it’s worse than you might imagine, losing him. Whatever you understand to have happened, it’s worse, and his loss is even deeper. That’s been eating at me, and—fairly or not—I’ve kind of stuck that particular fear to this film.

I will always be so grateful to this series—for introducing me to Phil, and so many of my friends, and helping me fall in love with movies. Plutarch is a character I treasure, especially the way Phil brought him to life on screen (and the way Marie does so in her writing <333). But it’ll always be complicated, too. There will always be a certain pall over it—as there are with so many things, because Phil left so many ripples, touched so many parts of the world.

[perpetual-stories]

A List of Mental Illnesses: Part One

Hello, hello! I am back after a few days break. I have been busy working on some short stories that I have neglected to to write some tips for you guys!

Today's post will be a list about different types of mental illnesses (disorders)! Still learning in terms of terminology so please be kind and patient to this post.

Disclaimer: I am not a medical professional. If you feel that you are experiencing some symptoms that I have listed down below pertaining to a certain disorder or illness please seek medical help.

Potential Trigger Warning: I will be listing two types of mental disorders and provide information about them. I am giving a basic knowledge of them, and by no means necessary a professional about them. Please keep in mind that this post is meant to aid writers and help them know a bit about them. Please do not come at me with hate, I am still learning and willing to learn.

What is a mental disorder?

mental disorders (illnesses) are conditions that affect your thinking, feeling, mood, and behavior. They can be occasional or long-lasting (chronic). They can affect your ability to relate to others or function day-to-day.

What causes mental disorders?

There is no single cause to them, there can actually be a number of factors that cause them.

your genes and family history

your life experiences: childhood trauma, or stress or history of abuse.

chemical imbalances in the brain

a traumatic brain injury

a mother's exposure to certain viruses, or toxic chemicals when she was pregnant.

recreational drugs or alcohol.

having a serious medical condition i.e cancer

feeling lonely or isolated

1. Anxiety Disorder:

anxiety is often described as the feeling of fear, uneasiness, or dread.

anxiety disorder is a condition in which does not go away and may get worse overtime. the symptoms associated with anxiety may interfere with daily activities such as relationships, jobs, and schoolwork.

there are a few types of anxiety disorders:

generalized anxiety disorder (GAD): people with this anxiety disorder often worry about issues that may be considered ordinary to others: money, health, work and family; yet people with GAD worry excessively, almost everyday for six months.

panic disorders: people with this have panic attacks. panic attacks are known to be sudden over repeated periods of fear when there is no danger present. these attacks can happen anytime very quickly and can last for several minutes or longer.

phobias: people with phobias are known to have intense fears over things that possess little to no actual danger. some examples of phobias are spiders, clowns, heights, flying or social interactions (society anxiety).

the cause of anxiety is unknown, many believe it could be genetics, brain chemistry and biology, stress, or environmental.

symptoms of anxiety disorder are a combination of:

changes in behavior, such as avoiding every day activities.

physical symptoms: pounding and rapid heartbeats, unexplained aches and pains, and shortness of breath.

anxious thoughts or beliefs that are hard to control. these thoughts often make one feel restless and uneasy, and interfere with daily life. they do not go away and get worse overtime.

some treatments for anxiety disorder are:

cognitive behanxiousavioral therapy (CBT): is a type of psychotherapy. CBT is known to teach different methods of thinking and behaving. it can help the patient learn how to think differently in various situations and react differently as well. it may also focus on exposing the person to certain things and confront their fears, to allow them to confront what they were avoiding.

medicines: medicine include anti-anxiety and certain types of antidepressants. some medicines work best for specific types of disorders, not all medicines will help treat everything. work best if a health care provider to learn with medicine works best for you.

2. Depression

depression is very common and very serious mental illness. many people consider depression being 'sad' or being 'down.'

there are many factors that can cause depression such as genetics, biology, environmental factors and psychological factors.

many people believe that only teenagers get depression but it can occur to anyone at any age, but is most common in teenagers.

depression is known to be a bit more common on females, and can also get postpartum depression.

depression can also be part of bipolar disorder.

symptoms of depression are:

feeling sad or empty

losing interest in activities once found enjoyable

overeating or not wanting to eat

sleeping too much or not being able to sleep

a persistent feeling of hopelessness, irritability, anxiousness, and guilt

aches, pains, headaches, cramps, or digestive problems

thoughts of suicide and death

treatments for depression are:

antidepressants

brain stimulation therapies: this involves activating or inhibiting the brain directly with electricity. the electricity can be given directly by electrodes implanted in the brain or non-invasively through electrodes placed on the scalp.

psychotherapies (therapy talk): allows a person to identify and change troubling emotions, thoughts, and behaviors.

there ya have it! I know this is short, but I had to keep it in the 10 page limit of instagram, and typing out more will inhibit that! please reblog and share this post if you find it very useful! i'll work on a part two soon! if you want to repost this on instagram please tag me on perpetualstories.

if you would like to add more information to this file free to reblog! i am not a specialist and i hope i do not garner any hate from this!

Please make sure to follow me on Tumblr and Instagram for more writing and grammar tips!

[mrs-hatake]

here comes the bride: prologue

pairings: levi x female!reader + minor zeke x female!reader.

genre: alternate universe, illegal car racing, suggestive themes, arranged marriage, strangers to lovers, slow burn, falling in love, eventual smut, heavy make out sessions, hurt/comfort & fluff.

summary: “Fine.” She breathes out without bothering to hide her unhappiness. “I’ll get married.” She swallows the bile at the back of her throat. Her mother casts a radiant smile her way and weakly reaches out to take her hand in hers. 

“Thank you.” She says sincerely, bringing Y/N’s hand to her lips and kissing it with difficulty. “I’m sure you’ll come to love Levi, he will treat you right.”

a/n: helloooooo!I'm back with another aot fic :Dthe plot for this fic came to me randomly and i instantly fell in love that i HAD to write everything down. each chapter will contain trigger warnings if necessary and this chapter is tagged with tw for mentions of death and manipulation. lastly, I would like to thank my soulmate for helping with proof reading and selecting the appropriate characters for y/n. that's all that I have. happy readings! ❤️

this fic can also be found on ao3

The sound of the monitor is deafening. It’s consistent beeping is accompanied by the soft pitter patter of the rain outside as the weather slowly transitions from spring to summer, emitting an ominous atmosphere. The grey clouds and the wind howling outside, the large rectangular windows outside don’t help with the uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. People rush to seek shelter and cars zoom by despite the slippery streets, eager to reach their destination without delay.

A small family of three surround a luxurious hospital bed which fully showcased their financial status and class. The bed was covered in the finest linen, a soft cream color and the silkiest pillows that accommodate  absolute comfort.

An air purifier with the aroma of lavender and honey is found in almost every room of the hospital, masking away the horrible stench of disinfectant and death. However, it still lingers in the air, like a criminal imprisoned for life.

The woman on the bed is pale, no longer looks like the tanned Goddess that had been dubbed Miss Osaka at the Young Ladies of Japan debutant three years in a row. Her long and healthy locks have lost their sheen and are brittle and dry, split ends can be seen and her grey hair is on display, when she usually dyes them every two months. The healthy fat in her body has dissolved, leaving nothing but skin and bones. Despite all of this, her glimmer of ebullience still lives on.

“How are you feeling, mother?” A young woman in her early twenties is sitting on a wooden chair next to the hospital bed with a look of worry on her face. Her fingers are brushing through the knotted hair of the dying woman on the bed while her other hand tightly holds her mother’s boney and wrinkled hand.

The older woman offers a weak, gentle smile. “I’m fine. Don’t you worry your pretty little head.” She chuckles but is soon coughing heavily, eyes shutting tightly to fight off the pain in her lungs.

“Are you alright? Should I call the nurse?”

The older woman shakes her head, however, and instead motions for the pitcher of water and the empty glass on her bedside table. Understanding dawns on her daughter’s face and she hurriedly pours a glass of warm water and hands it to her mother and helps her sit up straight to drink the entire glass in one go, her mother gasping in relief once the glass is empty.

“Mamiko.” A man in his mid sixties rubs his hand over his face in distress. He had been wearing a mask of bravery for his wife and two daughters, but seeing his usually strong and stubborn wife look so frail and weak frightened him. Memories of them butting heads, teasing each other and fighting over the course of their marriage reminds him of just how fiery his wife was. Seeing her in such a state tears off the mask he’s wearing on his face and tosses it away, exposing his true emotions.

“I’m fine, Masamune.” The woman waves him off and motions for her daughter to press the remote to raise the head of her bed so that she can sit up straight. She gives a pointed look to her husband, as if to prove her point.

All that her husband can do is sigh.

Just then, a timid knock reaches their ears and a smiling nurse enters the room with an apologetic expression on her youthful face. “I’m sorry, but visiting hours are ending soon.” She reminds them gently.

Masamune tiredly nods his head and pushes himself away from the wall to cross the short distance to where his wife is resting on the bed and lovingly kisses the top of her head. “Come back to us soon.” He whispers before heading towards the door, awaiting his two daughters.

“Get well soon, mother.” The younger of Masamune and Mamiko’s daughters, Tsukiko, is a twenty year old woman in her third year of law school and is aiming to achieve her Intellectual Property Law Certificate to assist her family in the future. She bids her mother goodbye with gentle eyes and a strong squeeze to her hand.

Y/N is about to get up from her chair and mimic her father by kissing her mother goodbye, when the older woman interrupts her, “Y/N, stay. I need to discuss something with you.”

Glancing to where her father and sister were lingering by the door, she nods her head and remains in her seat. She has a feeling that her father and younger sister are aware of the topic her mother wishes to discuss with her.

When the door is softly shut behind the two, Mamiko turns to face her eldest daughter and the heir to their company. “Have I ever told you the story of the day you were born?”

Growing up, Y/N had heard the story of her birth countless times from her parents, her grandmother who had been living with them at the time, and the maids living in their mansion all told her about it. They coined it as the funniest situation they’ve ever experienced in their lives. She had heard the story so many times that she has it memorized. Still, she shakes her head no.

“It was my twenty-fifth birthday. Your aunt Chiaki insisted that we have a girls night to celebrate the big day.” Her mother chuckles at the memory of a young Chiaki who had recently gotten a pixie cut after a terrible break up with her boyfriend of three years and how she had practically dragged Mamiko out of their house.

“We did your typical girly traditions; going shopping, getting our nails done, the usual.” Her mother weakly waves her hand. “Little did I know, your father had gathered up everyone who could come to our home on short notice for a surprise birthday party. It was around three or four o’clock in the afternoon that Chiaki and I finally decided to return home. I opened the door and the lights flickered on and a discordant ‘Happy birthday!’ was yelled. I was so elated and touched by their surprise that I couldn’t stop laughing! I laughed and laughed for five minutes straight, literally, when I felt a warm and tingling sensation trickle down my legs. Though I should be embarrassed at the thought of wetting myself in front of our guests, we quickly realized that the speed and the amount of liquid rushing through was actually because my water broke.”

“Everyone screamed and squeaked at the arrival of the baby. Panicking, I was rushed into the car with your father hysterically, frantically gathering all of the necessities we need for your delivery and drove all the way to the hospital like a mad man. Now that I think about it, I’m surprised we didn’t get into some kind of accident.” Mamiko hummed at the thought and then turned to face her daughter with raw affection in those fatigued eyes of hers, and with a shaky hand, cupped her daughter’s cheek. “And two days later, our beautiful baby girl came into our world. Your father had complained that you were as stubborn as I am for taking two days to arrive but I knew that you were taking your time to get comfortable and face the world head on.”

Y/N offered her mother a small smile as she desperately tried to hold back the tears that threatened to spill and swallow the thick lump in her throat. “I love you.” She whispers with a hoarse voice.

“I love you too.” Her mother returns the sentiment with a small curl of her lips.

“And you were such a joy to raise, your sister, too? of course but you were our first. Our first child, our first daughter and our first experience as parents. There were difficult times, I can’t deny that, but seeing the woman that you are today, it was worth it.”

Y/N couldn’t stop the tears from filling her eyes and cascading down her cheeks. She licks the single tear that lingered on her tongue and turned her head to kiss her mother’s palm. “I’d trade the whole world for you to return home to us in good health.” Y/N’s voice is broken but her sincerity is firm.

“I know you would.” Her mother says as she retrieves her hand. “Which is why I hate myself for asking you for such a request... but I want you to know that I am doing this out of love and care for you.”

Y/N’s eyebrows draw together in confusion before realization dawns on her and she vehemently shakes her head in denial before her mother could voice her request. “No. No, I won’t do it.”

“Please, Y/N.” Mamiko holds her daughter's hand with hers using all of the strength she could muster. “Think of it as my dying wish.”

Y/N continues to shake her head but this time her shoulders are shaking as sobs rake her body. “Don’t say that!”

Neither of them say anything as Y/N continues to cry at the predicament they are in. Her mother; old, frail, and dying and is begging her to do the one thing that Y/N loathes more than anything. She had fought all her life with her parents to be emancipated from their backwards traditions, live her life how she sees fit and make her own decisions accordingly.

“I know your father and I weren’t the perfect example of a happy couple and that you have witnessed things little girls your age shouldn’t have witnessed but we tried to be decent and put together for your and Tsukiko’s sake.”

Suddenly, the memories of her parents screaming at the top of their lungs, insulting each other with words that Y/N knew she wasn’t meant to hear, and her father harshly grabbing her mother’s upper arm until it bruised, all came flooding in that moment. She had bare witness to their flawed marriage.

“I won’t force you into an arranged marriage, but I won’t die happy knowing that my first and eldest daughter isn’t married.” Mamiko knows that she is guilty of manipulating her daughter into a marriage, especially by using her nearing death as leverage, however, she is certain that her daughter will one day find it in her heart to forgive her. And that’s why she pushes on with her dying wish.

“Your father and I have already found a suitable man-”

“You found someone behind my back?” Y/N unintentionally snorts at her mother as though she does not care. She is hurting and is scared of being blackmailed into marriage.

Mamiko withholds the urge to heavily sigh at her daughter and patiently explains herself. “Your marital status has been haunting us for years, we can’t just ignore the fact that our daughter wishes to remain single for the rest of her life.”

“And you can’t just respect my wishes, can you?”

Mamiko’s eyes seem to glass over and get shiny, she hesitates, yet still won’t back down. She was doing this for her daughter. “Stop being stubborn for once and listen to your mother.”

Y/N rolls her eyes as she humorlessly chuckles at her mother. She had done everything for her mother’s sake, sacrificed so much to make her happy. And the one time Y/N asks for the same in return, she is strongly denied of it.

Her mother’s coughing fit snaps Y/N out of her stupor and she hastily refills the glass with water and gives it to her. Perhaps it could be the works of her mother’s illness or the inevitable truth of her mother’s demise that has Y/N letting out a noiseless exhale, her shoulders sagging as she slumps into her seat.

“Fine.” She breathes out without bothering to hide her unhappiness. “I’ll get married.” She swallows the bile at the back of her throat.

Her mother casts a radiant smile her way and weakly reaches out to take her hand in hers. “Thank you.” She says sincerely, bringing Y/N’s hand to her lips and kissing it with difficulty.

“I’m sure you’ll come to love Levi, he will treat you right.”

When she hears that name and recognizes who he is, it feels like cold water is being dumped all over her and she shivers at the thought of a future being married to an expressionless and strict man. In that instance, she felt like she wanted to bolt and run away with a new identity. But for her mother’s sake, she puts on a brave smile and nods her head.

[utterlyhopeful-fics]

Already Gone (SOA x Mayans Crossover)

A/N: Deep diving back into my roots. SOA will forever be near and dear to my angsty heart! This chapter primarily focuses on Y/N and Jax but following parts will include my Mayans. As always, feedback is GOLD!

SIDE NOTE: Huge shout out to @creativepromptsforwriting for motivating this story into fruition. Your blog is beyond inspirational!

If I keep tagging you and you’re not interested or you’d like to be tagged; please let me know!

MASTERLIST 

Jax Teller x Reader (then we’re in Mayans territory :D )

Word Count: 2375k

Warnings: language, mention of biker gangs, slight female degradation, angst, sprinkles of heartbreak. 

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

Daylight vanished drifting into another starless evening. Nightfall succumbed to a starless evening. Y/N wished to be anywhere else in the universe than where she currently found herself; the Sons clubhouse. In childish hopes, she stilled all movement adjusting her jacket nervously fidgeting with the hem. The door swung back under her touch; light reflected back harshly in the demurely lit bar. Smoke descended throughout the congested area; clouds of hazy fog engulfed her lungs. Here goes nothin.

The air wreaked of putrid obscenity and cheap tequila. First and foremost, Y/N met Chucky’s charismatic stare. She sent him an anxious grin impulsively pleading for uneasiness in her stomach to subdue. The one-handed man remained surrounded by countless liquor bottles engrossed in order after order shifting gears from her. 

Every man and member leeched on to the closest thing in a short skirt, tits overflowing from too small blouses, and topped off in four-inch platforms. Any girl within proximity of the Sons all had a similar motto; barely-there skirts and perky tits. There was no doubt sex was the main attraction tonight.

And to this very day, she played nice with them so long as they abided by one rule in particular; Jax was untouchable. She was their queen bee. Glancing down at her outfit; she preferred a more comfortable approach. She paired tonight’s look with her favorite pair of worn out high-waisted jeans styled with a Ramones crop top finalized with suede black booties. Her body was a sacred temple and only those granted permission were able to worship her. She made sure of that. Loud conversations vibrated from table to table, voices lost in the chaos increasing with every passing decibel.

Y/n scanned the room peering for one particular member; Jax fucking Teller. In childhood, Mr. President and Y/N friendship blossomed as close friends before ultimately admitting their feelings five years ago. The wildest five years of her entire life. Her thoughts quickly darkened, if only someone would’ve warned her those three years ago. If only Y/N hadn’t welcomed him with welcoming, open arms. But sometimes life’s a bitch, and the hardest way is merely the only route.

Her clandestine orbs voraciously whipped back and forth jumping from person to person. In her search, Opie sat alone at a corner table secluding himself willing her his direction. The pitiful look in his eyes was enough to make her stomach flip. Long ago, she grew weary with the amount of messes that befell on Opie. Their relationship bordered along best friend status, always seeking the other out. Ranging from moments of clarity to cruelty, Opie Winston never once betrayed the trust instilled upon him.

She already knew what bullshit lay ahead; it was his shitty way of apologizing for Jax’s past, present, and future fuck-ups. In the back of her mind, Y/N convinced herself she was different to him, that she was his one. But nowadays, doubt replaced confidence as Y/N drifted farther out of reach/touch. Her feet clumped heavy against the wood suddenly weighing her down. Making her way through the crowd, Y/N plopped herself closest to Op.

Her palms dampened in sweat wishing the fall beneath her to open up swallowing her whole. “So, this was the big meeting Jax was in a rush to get to?”

His eyes bounced from side to side searching for any way out of the conversation; “Shit Y/N...”

Y/N collapsed next to the burly man nuzzling deeper into the warmth of his neck, quietly leaning in closer so he could hear her clearly; “I know it’s not your fault, Op. I just wish he respected me enough to be honest with me. I can’t keep living like this anymore, he’s breaking me… I’m sure going to miss you, big bear.”

Y/N waited patiently for the wheels to turn in his brain. “You’re a smart man. Connect the clues, buddy.”

“You—You’re leaving?”

Her heart plummeted into uncharted territory; her head bobbled too quickly, too excitedly almost as if she’d been rifling for a way out of this life, out of their lives. She glanced sadly at him, really appreciating his handsome appearance while trying to memorize the man who’d kept her insanely calm since middle school. There was no hiding the bemudding frown etching her lips. His lengthy, luscious hair and accompanying brawny beard was enough to make any woman swoon.

If only she’d chosen him to protect her heart but what ifs were a dangerous path to question. Add in his admirable qualities and he was the gleaming winner. The man Y/N should’ve pursued but she was a fool and fell for the Teller trick over and over again. Long ago, Opie came to the conclusion that Y/N would never leave his side, not even if the devil bribed her himself. Her departure was agitating, possibly selfish, but absolutely necessary. Jax breaks everything he touches…eventually.

“Some bitch is grinding against his junk and you expect me to be alright with it? Boy’s got another thing comin if he thinks I’ll always be waitin to greet him at the front door.”

Words jumbled on the tip of her palate; ‘I just wanted to talk to you first before shit goes down. I’m so thankful for you, always know that.”

Op stared down at his dirty boots unable to meet her dejected orbs.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. You deserve more than his half ass shit. Ya know, I was afraid Jax had sucked out all that rad awesomeness you possessed before you decided to get together. He’s my brother, don’t get me wrong. But, he’s kinda the biggest dick on the planet and not the good kind. I’m proud you found your backbone. Here I thought you’d softened up…”

“Haha, glad to see you think so highly of me still! Please take care of yourself.”

“I’m a phone call away if you need me. Any time, any day, I’ll be there.”

His arms draped around her exposed waist rubbing soothing circles on her lower back. Her chin rested atop of broad shoulder before she reluctantly pulled away from his embrace.

A few tables over Jax’s arms seductively draped his arm around the croweater’s exposed waist. Every few minutes the chick gyrated submissively against him cock arousal his member. Jax closed his eyes inhaling a puff of his cigarette thinking of the girl waiting at home for him. All he had to do was find the courage to get up and leave. But this was the life, his life and Y/N understood him better than anyone else. So, he accepted the Yaeger bomb from girl with the rose tattoo and smiled widely. Fuck ‘em. He leaned incredibly closer connecting his lips to her plump ones.

Her sultry tone echoed into his ear; “Mmm, you taste like sin…”

Jax chuckled in retort; Darling, you ain’t even taste the best part yet…”

Disgust and fury ran uncontrollable through her body radiating to an explosively dangerous level. She quietly whispered; “This fucking asshole…” as she compelled herself to clear the lump in her throat noisily.

Her annoyance was beginning to peak into seething eruption; “You’ve got some damn nerve, Jax. That I can give ya. Such a lady’s man.”

A shudder ran through his vertebrates forcing the hairs along his neck to stand painfully on the edge. Her words were impudently brash bouncing off her rosy plump lips.

“Can’t say I didn’t warn ya, doll.” His arched brow sprouted newfound madness as Y/N daydreamed of punching that shit grin off his idiotic face. But his eyes told another tale, his sapphire irises brimmed with tacit concern and uncertainty.

Her life with Jax was a never-ending roller coaster. Exhilaration awaited them at every corner until it didn’t. No matter how many wrongdoings Jax committed, Y/N dutifully stayed by his side never daring to question his authority. Gemma taught her of loyalty, of the importance of family eternally sticking together, and to never turn her back when the going gets rough because it was bound to cross a line if you survived long enough. The Sons checked their moral ambiguities when they patched in, sacrificing their soul for the benefit of the club.  

So, Y/N’s skin thickened as time meandered on, and as Jax shacked up with Wendy, and again every time she watched some slut leave his dorm every night. Honestly, she should thank Jax for her turned her into the dominantly powerful woman she became that awakened Jax’s feelings. But now, now he was the reason her heart was breaking.  

She cleared her throat attempting to draw his attention; “Wow, seems like you’ve got your hands full tonight. Didn’t realize I needed to make a reservation.” Her eyes penetrated his, he looked like a deer in blinding headlights at the recognizable voice in front of him.

The girl seating in Jax’s lap had the audacity to open her bright fuchsia painted lips; “He’s busy tonight. Shoo, buh-bye.” Motioning her hand in Y/N’s direction.

Y/N eyed the broad up judging her every spectacle of the way. She bit the corner of her lips in attempt to register what her mind couldn’t.

She clicked on tongue in vast disapproval at the idiot before her; “Listen here, bitch. I’m Y/N, his old lady and you’re going to get the fuck up and listen to the words leaving my mouth and find another lap to occupy, NOW.” She put on her fakest high pitched voice just to prove a point; “Got it? Good, now if you make me repeat myself, I’d love the opportunity to fuck up that plastic face of yours. Now, Shoo.”

The random girl gulped unwillingly to challenge the alpha female and meekly wagged her head in agreeance. Jax noticed the slight tremor as she removed herself from his grasp trudging in defeat. He sighed in extreme exasperation; “Congratulations, you’ve got my attention…now talk.”

“Ugh, I’m seriously starting to question what the hell I’ve been doing with an asshat like you for so long? Seriously Jax, what the shit?”

He remained irrationally irritated Y/N had chosen a party to air out their dirty laundry. She was undermining him in front of his brothers, nobody challenged him. This was yet another lesson he’d teach Y/N the difficult way.

“You’re makin a scene! Let’s talk this outside?” He seized her arm dragging Y/N behind him. Her heels dug into the surface fighting his weight with her own. Jax glanced back at her stubbornness on display and/snickered sinfully.

“No, I’m fine where I am.”

Jax invaded her space, his breath jostled against her peach fuzz. He hovered dangerously close to her, fury seeping from his freckled skin.

“Ah, the mighty heroine here to save herself. Classic, real good Y/N.”

Y/N huffed venting her building frustrations; “I can’t do this anymore, Jax.” Her voice wavered in confidence before erupted in sadness; I fucking won’t do this anymore.”

Jax Teller rolled his eyes before sighing annoyingly loud; “You always say this shit, Y/N. And you always keep comin back for more. This is a dance we memorized baby girl, our dance.”

Her fists ignited into internal rage; her breathing skyrocketed to unbridled anger. Typical biker to neglect the actual words leaving a woman’s mouth in this hell hole.  

“So, I guess that makes me the fool and you the asshole, hmm? Yes, I might be a fucking glutton for punishment but at least I have a heart, some decency of a moral compass to abide by. But you, Jax? You would burn the world simply because you were bored. And right now, this is me telling you I quit. Go fuck one of your many other mindless wannabes. I bet they’re beggin for Jax Teller’s cock as we speak.”

His cockiness was beginning to push her past the point of no return as he growled his words from his venomous mouth; “I don’t doubt that darling. The question of the hour is if you’re really sure you wanna throw in the towel?”

Y/N’s head whipped around fast; her eyes blazed in pure hatred; “The biggest mistake you ever made was letting love come into your life. You fuck up everything you touch. Have a nice life, Teller.”

Heavy footsteps clonked against the wooden slats swiftly rushing towards the front doors of the clubhouse. She approached the entrance grazing her knuckles along the worn material. In the upper right-hand corner, the smallest of carvings adorned the walk away years later; their initials carved for the world to bear witness. Digging through her purse, Y/N located her car keys and stood on her tiptoes scratching at the etchings now nothing but mere wood indentions. Fuck happy endings. No wait, fuck this ending.

Finally, anger breached its imminent tipping point as his temper imploded. His arms gripped hers excruciatingly firm slamming her against the wall aligned of mugshots. A frame or two randomly dropped closer by. Jax was the Kurt Cobain to her Courtney Love; both destined and simultaneously cursed. Glass pierced the ground piece by piece. Her eyes fully dilated as fear crept into her smug demeanor. Her breath came out in short, timid, huffs as quaked in anxiousness.

“You’re my girl, Y/N. Don’t do this shit. You know I love you.”

Confliction cowered in her bones. His ragged and pathetic tone drew her in wrapping itself snugly around her. She knew that if she would have heard these words any other day, she would have declared it the best day of her life and would have started to call everyone to let them know that he finally said the words! But today was not that day and all she wanted to do right now was putting her hands over her ears and stop listening.

She spewed her virulent words once and for all; “You’re not the person I thought you were.”

Her body went rigid in his arms as sorrow clung to her like forgotten hope. She was losing him, sacrificing a piece of her heart for her own freedom. She loathed the man Jax evolved into but somewhere under his façade lived the gentle poet who stole her soul. Jax snickered obnoxiously before a murderous grin took ahold; “No. I’m just not the person you wanted me to be.”

Tags: @twistnet @ifoundmyhappythought @angelreyesgirl89 @carlaangel86 @summertimesadnesswithadashofsass @imagineredwood @gemini0410 @mayans-mc @reaperwalking @prospectfandom @emmaveale123​ @peaky-marvel @kind-wolf​ @scorpio4dayzzz​ @starrynite7114​ @penny4yourthot​ @breanime​ @whyisgmora​ @thegirlwhowritesfics​ @star017​ @threeminutesoflife​ 

[schrijverr]

What’s up with that Sims guy?

After the Apocalypse Jon becomes an uni teacher, three students take in interest in what’s up with this weird new professor.

On AO3.

Ships: JonMartin

Warnings: none, but tell me if I missed anything or if you want me to tag something!

~~~~~~~~

Time and space moves differently around the Fears, something that could be confusing and strange, but also pretty handy as Jon and Martin had discovered during the Apocalypse. It meant that when they’d turned the world back to normal, banishing the Fears far away, no one had even noticed it had happened.

With Elias, uhm Jonah, gone their ties to the Institute had lessened. However, Jon was still depended on statements, but Martin had decided that being away from it all would be better for him, so Jon was now working part time, while Martin kept an eye on the place.

Which is how Jon had ended up as a professor at a university. He was filling in, because the current professor had gotten pregnant and they hadn’t been able to find someone more suitable than Jon to replace her temporarily.

Jon knew he didn’t have the credentials necessary, but he Knew everything with the help of the Beholding, so he hoped that would be enough to get him through the year.

So here he was, standing in front of a big hall that was slowly filling up with students, who were eyeing him with a mix of curiosity, confusion and uneasiness.

Once everyone had settled down he took a deep breath and started: “Hello everyone, I’m Jonathan Sims and I’m replacing your previous professor until she returns from her maternity leave. I have an oversight of what you all need to know and do this semester, so lets get started with that right away.”

~

Jane looked down at their new professor and shifted in her seat uneasily. He was strange, or at least had a strange aura surrounding him. Jane wasn’t once for judging on appearances, but it was hard not to wonder what the Hell had let a man such at him to this.

He was short, sure, but he wasn’t small and he had a big presence to make up for it. His black hair was streaked with gray, but he had a youthful face that didn’t quite match up, although the tiredness that hung around him seemed old.

Beside that he was also littered with scars. It was hard not to notice the white circles that contrasted with his dark skin, it could be acne scars if they hadn’t been on his exposed forearms as well and so perfectly round. And those weren’t even his only scars, the entire palm on his right had was covered with a burn mark and the open buttons on the top of his shirt exposed a white thin scar across his throat.

So, yeah, strange.

He started to introduce himself and his voice was posh and low, but overall pleasant to listen to, she supposed. This didn’t stop her from exchanging a small look with Jesse, her best friend. Jesse raised her brows at her and the message was received, they were so going to talk about this later.

Later came as soon as they were out the door. Jesse leaned over and said: “Tell me I wasn’t the only one who got a weird vibe from that guy.”

Jane laughed and shook her head and answered: “You weren’t, I mean, this who building is filled with stuffy academics and suddenly this random dude walks in with the scars of a thug? That’s weird.”

Jesse nodded and asked: “What do you think happened to him?”

“I don’t know.” Jane shrugged, “But it seems pretty rude to just ask.”

Jesse sighed, then perked up with a realization: “We could plant a seed in Sams head.”

“No, you wouldn’t.” Jane said, mischief bubbling up inside her eyes. They had known Sam since their first year and were pretty close with the guy. Sam was also known for not being the most delicate or observant and unafraid to ask personal questions. If he was curious, he would ask.

“I would.” Jesse grinned back, she tugged her along through the crowd with an: “Come on!”

They found Sam easy enough and Jesse plopped down next to him and started: “Hey, Sam. What did you think of our new professor?”

Sam shrugged and scratched his forehead as he said: “Dressed like every other pretentious asshole in here, posh accent. But seemed to know his stuff. Normal teacher if you ask me. Why?”

Jesse inflated: “Come on. Don’t tell me you haven’t even noticed!”

“Noticed what?” Sam asked with a frown.

“The scars.” Jane said.

“Oh, were they scars.” Sam said, “I thought he had weird freckles.”

“Weird fr-” Jesse began before cutting herself off and asking: “Aren’t you curious why they’re there? I’ve never seen scars like that.”

“And the burnt hand and the scar on his neck.” Jane continued, “Those don’t appear randomly.”

Both looked at her now, heads to the side in confusion. Jane said: “Oh, didn’t see those?”

Jesse and Sam shook their heads. “Well,” Jane explained, “He has this burn on his hand like he gripped a hot burning coal or something and this line here,” she drew on her neck with her finger to signal where it was, “like someone tried to slit his throat. Makes me wonder what he did before this job.”

The three of them fell silent. Lost in thought to what could’ve happened to their new mysterious professor before all of this.

~

The next lesson didn’t clear anything up in the slightest. While they were discussing the 17th century literature circles Sam had raised his hand signaling he had a question. Jane and Jesse, who had decided to sit behind him tensed up. He got called on and asked: “Dr. Sims, what did you do before this?”

Dr. Sims frowned and pushed up his glasses, before saying: “You don’t have to call me doctor, it wouldn’t be deserved. Just Sims is fine, or Mr. Sims if that feels better. And I’m the A- an archivist.”

“Am?” Sam blurted out.

Sims laughed humorlessly and said: “Yeah, part time now.”

Then he went back to the lesson and didn’t acknowledge any more questions about his life. Jane didn’t know how he did it, but he seemed to just know which people had questions about the lesson and which about him.

She walked out the hall with Sam and Jesse, who said: “That wasn’t insightful at all.”

Jane agreed: “Yeah, in what danger would an archivist be that leaves that kind of scarring?”

Sam shrugged and pulled out his phone as he said: “I can Google it.” the he muttered more to himself: “What kind of danger experiences an archivist, cool yeah.”

Jesse strained her neck to look on his screen and asked: ‘Well, what does it say?”

“Nothing much actually. Just a bunch of online archives and stuff.” Sam said.

Jane had a bit of a light bulb moment and suggested: “What if you type in Jonathan Sims?”

“Jonathan?” Jesse asked.

Jane shrugged and said: “It’s how he introduced himself during the first lecture.”

Sam typed in the name and his eyebrows crept further up to his hairline as he read the results of his search. Jesse couldn’t take it anymore and ripped the phone out of his hand, quickly scanning the page and gasping. Jane was now also curious and asked: “Well, tell me.”

She showed her the screen and Jane read the headlines. ‘Explosion at the Wax Museum, two survivors.’ The small excerpt reads: Last night there was an explosion at the wax museum, cause is still unknown, but suspected attack. Two survivors were found on the scene. Basira Hussain and Jonathan Sims, the latter of which is in a coma…

Underneath that is another headline. ‘Attack at the Magnus Institute unearths body of former archivist Gertrude Robinson’ with a picture of a big fire brigade, some police and an ambulance under it, she can vaguely make out Sims getting loaded into the back of one of them.

And lastly a small report into the murder of Gertrude Robinson, listing Jonathan Sims as one of the suspects along with one about an older guy, who was apparently found dead in Sims office.

Jane leaned back and whispered: “What the actual fuck.”

After that the rumors spread over the campus and by the time the next lecture rolled around the whole room was buzzing with nervous energy. Sims took one look around the room and sighed: “You are probably not going to let this go in favor of learning something that will actually be useful. Correct?”

A murmur went through the crowd, they had realized that the rumors had most likely reached Sims, but they hadn’t realized he’d be so straightforward about it.

“Okay.” Sims said, “I am willing to sacrifice ten minutes of my lecture for inquiries, but I will not promise to answer.”

Then he waited. Sam was the first to raise his hand and when called upon he asked: “How did you get the scars?”

Sims thought about it, the class thought he was thinking about how to bring it delicately and thoughtful, but inside Jons mind he heard Martin laugh at him and tell him he was an idiot after Jon had told someone the round scars had come from tripping. In hindsight it hadn’t been a good excuse, so Jon decided that vague was probably the safest way to go and said: “A workplace incident.”

Without raising his hand this time Sam asked: “Did it happen during the attack on your workplace? Why would anyone even attack archives?”

“The Archives are a small place in a big organization.” Jon began to explain, ignoring the fact that the Archives had been the target, “And in the end it turned out to be an aggressive infestation, just an accident.”

“Why your institute then?” Sam asked.

“Depends on if you believe in the paranormal, but you have to excuse me, Mr. Jacobs. It seems you are not the only one with questions.” Sims replied, then he turned to the other side and said: “Yes, Ms. Hendrickson?”

“Did you murder anyone?” she asked, clapping her hand over her mouth afterwards in shame of the question that she had blurted out.

Sims didn’t react to the harsh and accusatory question, just said: “If I murdered anyone, I wouldn’t be here, but in prison, don’t you agree?” then he smiled, but somehow Jane didn’t feel comforted by it.

Jesse spoke up, causing Jane to duck into herself in the hope that she wouldn’t be noticed in her seat next to Jesse. She asked: “Then who murdered them?”

Sims huffed a breath, blowing a strand of hair out of his face in the process and answered: “That would’ve been my former boss, I have to say I’m happy to see him gone and his replacement is more than capable.” he looked at the clock and clapped his hands, making more than a few people flinch. Then he stated: “That’s enough questions, time’s up. Lets get back to the symbolism in poetry during the Renaissance.”

And so life continued with Sims as their professor. There was still something uneasy about him, like he was just a sliver off in a way you couldn’t pinpoint, but felt in your bones.

But he was actually quite nice. Which was weird in itself, since he could be pretty prickly and snappy if he found your reasoning or answer particularly stupid or ignorant and he was generally grumpy, but that changed completely if you actually had a problem and needed help. He would listen and then explain with the things you could understand, it was as if he could look at you and know what you needed to understand. That was also strange, but it was nice to have someone explain so correctly.

He was also a walking encyclopedia. He had fun fact about everything and when they said everything they meant everything. When he noticed Mary had died her hair he said: “I like your hair, did you know hair dye contains over 5.000 chemicals.”

Then when Jamie asked what kind of tea he was drinking he answered: “Lady Grey, it was created by Twinings in the early 1990s to appeal to the Nordic market, which found Earl Grey too strong.”

While discussing Oscar Wilde he commented: “Funny how important this guy is, since he has only published one novel in his life.”

When Kyra stumbled in late telling him the taxi had broken, he replied with: “Well cars have about 30.000 parts, so it isn’t far fetched that something broke.”

The funniest part about it was that it just happened to slip out it seemed. He was also just as surprised as them when something like that tumbled out of his mouth and he always covered it up with a small cough, before ignoring it had happened and moving on with his lesson.

It had become a bit of a game among students to make him say a fun fact. Sims had caught on to it, but he didn’t seem to mind all that much, his lips only tightening the littlest amount and his eyes tiring slightly.

So all in all, after two moths of lessons they felt like they knew the guy. He was nice in a grumpy way, could tear you apart verbally if he wanted to, had a lot of facts and worked part time as an archivist, which was apparently a pretty dangerous job.

Jane, Jesse and Sam had become pretty close to him, often staying after class to ask a few questions about the subject, help clean up, try to pry into his private life. The last thing never seemed to work, but it was fun to try and Sims had never let on that he minded it. He even seemed to enjoy their little chats.

Then one time after class, he suddenly looked up, frowned and stalked out of the hall. Quickly sharing glances the three followed after him, curious what had gotten his attention so suddenly.

They walked through a bunch of the main halls, then through a few quiet corridors until they were much further than hearing range, making them slightly uncomfortable. There was a kid, first year probably, barely an adult still very much baby faced, crying on the floor, knees drawn tight to his chest.

Cautiously Sims approached him and gently lowered himself to the ground. The kid looked up at him with a startled face, but Sims shushed him and gently asked: “What’s wrong?”

There was something off about the words, something compelling. The kid starts to speak, he had a slightly northern accent: “It’s all so different here with the big buildings and large crowds with loads of people everywhere, still I’m all by myself. No one want to talk to the dumbass from north, who has trouble with the tubes, you know.” he sniffled a sad chuckle, “And everything is just so overwhelming and I have no one to guide me or to talk to and I hate it. Then I saw everyone just talking about a party and I know it’s dumb, but I heard them say they were going to invite everyone and someone asked even me, but then they laughed and said of course not and I just couldn’t anymore, so I went here and I cried.”

It seemed he was finished and went back to small sniffles and silent tears. Sims gently put a hand on the kids knee and said: “Did that help?”

“Yeah,” the kid looked at him, “bit cathartic, honestly. Sorry for the trouble.”

“Oh, it’s no problem, Edward.” Sims said.

The kid didn’t seem to realize it, but the three silent watchers noticed the kid had never mentioned his name.

Sims went on: “If you like, you can come over to my lecture hall. There are a few older years there, nice people, who I’m sure will want to help you. And a cup of tea.”

Edward rubbed his eyes and said: “They wouldn’t want to talk to me, I’m a loser and I don’t want the to think I’m even more one by telling them what happened.”

“I’m sure you won’t have. They’ve been where you are.” Sims responded, there was a bit of an edge to his voice and they realized he knew they were there and he was right. Jesse had been too brash, Jane too shy and Sam too blunt, it’s what had made them flock together. It was much better now, but they all remembered those awful first weeks. Without saying a word they hurried back to Sims hall.

When he came back they were making tea and lounging around. Jesse greeted him: “Hey, Sims. Where were you suddenly off to?”

Jane pushed her slightly and said: “Don’t pry.” then she turned back, “Want a cuppa, we just put on the kettle?”

Sims smiled and said: “I’d like that, could you make one for my friend, Edward here, as well. I had forgotten I was going to meet him, he’s curious about the Minor course and I thought maybe you could tell him a bit about it. If it isn’t any trouble, of course.”

“Of course not.” Jane smiled, then gestured to a chair: “Here, come sit with us.”

Edward did and later left feeling much better with a few new friends.

Friends, who were beginning to be suspicious about their teacher. They had a lengthy discussion about his knowing stuff and his spooky vibe. But no certain conclusion could be made and they decided that the mission for this year was finding out at least one personal fact about their teacher to prove he was at least somewhat normal.

They didn’t have to wait long. Their classes had been thrown around due to an unfortunate miscommunication. So two classes were switched, causing Sims to teach on Wednesday instead of Thursday for just one week. He looked a bit pale that day, but nothing out of the ordinary. It was the season, so no one spared it a second thought. Until a larger man came through the door after a gentle knock.

He was tall, about 6ft2, and chubby with a crème sweater and jeans. His face was freckled and he wore a gentle smile like it was second nature. His hair was curly and looked very soft, he in his entirety looked soft, you know, like the kind of person you know gives good hugs the moment you see them.

Sims was the only one who didn’t seem startled by his knock, just looked at the man and frowned as he said: “Martin, what are you doing here?”

“Sorry, sorry, Jon.” the man, Martin, said apologetically, “I know you said not to come and such, but I saw you had forgotten your statement and I know how you can get without them, so I thought I’d bring them to you.”

“I was going to read it tomorrow.” Sims said, “It can wait for one day. It’s not like it used to be.”

“Yeah, I know that as well, but we agreed that a rhythm would be good for you and your body to get used to.” Martin replied, holding out a folder.

Sims grabbed the folder and sighed: “You’re probably right, annoying as that may be, but couldn’t it wait till after I was done?”

“No, I’m meeting Daisy to discuss the proper storage of a Hunt artifact and you know how Daisy can be.” he answered.

“Yeah, I know.” Sims chuckled, absentmindedly touching the scar on his neck.

“Besides, I wanted to see you.” Martin said, then he brushed a lock of hair, that had freed itself from Sims’ messy bun, behind Sims ear and pecked him on the cheek. Turning to leave immediately after calling out over his shoulder: “Read it, Jon! And don’t forget to pick up milk on the way back if you want any good tea.”

Martin opened the door and Sims smiled, like a real and soft and dopey smile, as he touched his cheek and yelled back: “I will, say hi to Daisy from me.”

Then Martin was gone and the silence that had fallen over the hall with Martins entrance was broken. Multiple people called out questions and it was a bit of a chaos. It took a few minutes to get everyone settled down again and Sims returned to his lecture as if nothing happened. Sam called out from the second row: “Really, Sims? Nothing?”

Sims shoulders sagged, he had clearly hoped he could get away with it and was sad that it hadn’t worked. He said: “Mr. Jacobs, although I appreciate your interest in my personal life, I hope that I don’t have to explain how normal it is for my husband to come bring me something I forgot at home.”

The hall exploded again, but Sims ignored it all again telling them there were more important things to talk about, for example the lecture, which will be on the exam.

For Jane, Jesse and Sam it was enough. Their teacher was weird and off, but he was nice enough and if someone as soft looking as the Martin figure was willing to marry him, then he was good enough in their opinion and not worth the detective work.

[peantbutter-honeycombs]

The Hollowing Series: Part II

Title: The Boy and His Companion

Word count: 3,339

Characters: The 11th Doctor, Amy Pond, ocs

Warnings: Platonic fic not romantic.

Notes: Originally the story was going to be completely told from the point of Sophia but after a few drafts I decided it should follow Oliver. My college friend who sometimes beta reads my work used to hate the boy but now she likes him. He used to be mean and dismissive toward Sophia but clearly I changed things. Even I quite like his character now.

Speacial Thanks to @underskaro for beta reading this chapter. I know your busy and this really meant a lot to me. So thank so much.

Figured I tag @mirkwoodshewolf because they kindly edited the first chapter and I want them to know I finally got around to the second.

———

The rain had ceased, leaving a heavy blanket of grey white on the hills. It hugged the rain-soaked ground, dancing around each of the kid’s heels. The late day fog controlled the landscape, making it blur in the same way as the opening credits of Mary Poppins.

The entire walk home, the two walked in silence. Oliver, in one hand, held the middle bar of the bright green trike. The metal was ice in his palm. He gripped the bar so tight his knuckles were turning a ghostly shade of white. He held Sophia’s hand in the other, though not nearly as tight. However, still tight enough to make the little girl uneasy.

Sophia would have “said” something if it wasn’t so woefully clear Oliver was cross. His soulful hickory eyes were hard as stone. Instead of their usual boyish spark, there lingered a disdainful flicker. She could swear he was muttering something bitter. Now and then she’d fear a foul word, he’d probably later scold himself for saying.

Whoooooooooo.

He stopped, eyes narrowing. He took a deep, rather stiff breath and sharply exhaled through his nostrils. Adrenaline surged through his system so fast he felt it burn a path through his veins. He spun around, pulling Sophia behind him. Oliver had a glacially callous glare on his face, eyes fixed on the horizon.

The wind tore at the collar of his slicker, and his damp mess of blonde curls. Their surroundings were clouded, hidden, shrouded by the thick veil of fog. Oliver stood silently, the only sound coming from the ferocious flapping of his jacket. He scanned the stretch with the careful eye of a concerned mother.

The fog is not the mist. The fog is not the mist.

The second they arrived home, Oliver condemned Sophia to the time-out chair. She quietly settled in on the stool, positioned in the far corner of the dead end down stairs corridor, without protest. It was an older item. The hand carved mahogany always felt stiff on her bum. But she thought it better not to whine.

Oliver, he sat alone in the living room. A damp, worn out mess of a human being. He tiredly sunk into the couch. He ignored the clammy feeling of his rain-soaked clothes. He completely collapsed across the cushions. Every muscle in his body just surrendered to gravity. He could feel the tiredness pressing on his chest, weighing him down, draining his energy, exhausting his patience.

Why would she think?… Especially now. He rolled off his side onto his back and focused his eyes on the ceiling. She can’t just… Ugh!

He brought a pillow to his face and screamed.

The seconds ticked away into minutes; in the isolation of the sitting room, Oliver let the world around him fade into silence. The minutes ticked into half an hour; Sophia absentmindedly twiddled her thumbs, humming a familiar song in the back of her head; Oliver had been awake for sixteen hours. His consciousness was grasping at straws.

One sniff and Oliver’s eyes are open. He rolled on to his side. Immediately his face fell into irritation. Oliver locked eyes with a familiar pair mere inches from his face.

“I’m not done with timeout. Go back.”

Sophia blinked, processing the instructions she’d just been given. Her eyes darted around, searching his face for any traces of sarcasm or falsehood. Nothing.

Sophia lightly pecks his cheek in the sloppy little kid way. It left a little wet mark, one he’d wipe away once she’d left the room. Oliver chuckles softly, carefully bumping his forehead against Sophia’s. The little ginge giggled, stumbling back, whilst raising a palm to where her temple had been nudged.

“Ten minutes?”

Sophia nods and politely shuffles off.

The landscape blurred, clouded, the fog lingered hovering above the cool streams and the crowned hills. The brilliant greens and vibrant patches of rich wildflower were poking through the fleeting fog. Soon the sun would begin its descent. Lowering, lowering until it was nothing more than a single sliver of gold vanishing on the horizon.

Eyes closed, arms folded over his chest, which rhythmically rose and fell with each dozy intake of breath, Oliver laid quietly on the couch. The father clock at the top of the stairs ticked, the pendulum swung from side to side. Quarter till four, it read.

Sophia sat in her timeout chair, continuing to hum her melodic tune. In these moments of boredom with no toys to play, no stuffy to “talk” to and no Ollie to cling to, all Sophia could do was wait. She sighed, blowing up a long strand of hair that kept dipping, falling between her eyes.

Oliver stuck his head through the white Tudor arch way that separated the sitting room and entryway corridor. Sophia, having somehow positioned herself upside down on the small stool, gave the boy a dopey smile.

Oliver rolled his eyes, pulling at the fabric of his shirt.

“Hey Soph a loaf,” Oliver softly sing-songed, sitting against the wall directly beside the timeout spot. Being upside down, her auburn hair fell in waves suspended centimetres above the rough and stained planks. She was holding her shirt down, preventing it from exposing her stomach.

“You… Wanna make a pillow fort?”

The quiet of the house is shattered by Sophia, letting out a blaring squeal. In moments she somersaults off the bench, landing clumsily on the floor. She’s up on her feet in a heartbeat, bouncing, squealing, stomping.

Oliver chuckles lightly. “Sophia, Sophia, Sophia.”

Sophia poked her head through the arch at the call of her name.

Sophia whined, tilting her head as if to ask ‘what?’

“Nothing. Just… love you Soph a loaf. Lots and lots.”

The pillow fort took longer than expected, given that they both took the construction of fort building oh so seriously. They rushed through putting on their pjs, then moved on to making dinner. No one could tell them not to eat under the bedclothes.

“You can’t put peanut butter on grilled cheese!”

Just as it did every day, the sun set. The shadows of the trees and the aging building stretched up the hills, as the golden ball of orangish yellow began its descent.

Beneath navy blue blankets, patterned with rocket ships and sea creature stickers, sat the two children. Oliver had built much of the fort; Borrowing cushions, towels and blankets from around the house. While Sophia had eagerly decorated their cloth kingdom; twinkle lights, stickers, and scribbled drawings decorated the walls and ceilings.

“So her dad was killed-- Ow. By the same agent trying to recruit her?"

Cuddled firmly against his side was Sophia, her body glued against his similar to Double Pops. Every time she moved, her knees or feet would buck, nailing Oliver in the ribs or hip. He had an arm wrapped around her neck, functioning as both a pillow for her head, and one support for the tablet he was holding.

“That’s quite coinc-- Ow! Sophia!”

Sophia bit the edge of her lip, trying to contain her giggles. Her giggle was a violin playing the open string G (Sol), alluring and dulcet. Considering she burst into a mini giggle fit with each jab, Oliver’s face crumpled like a discarded wad of paper.

He could feel Sophia wiggling against him. Her legs squirmed in a boyishly wild fashion. Her knees curved, beating him in the ribs.

“Ow!" Oliver sat up.

“Okay.” He inhaled sharply. His body was stiff from high levels of irritation. Sophia calmed herself, gently curling her toes. Her brown eyes followed Oliver’s movements, becoming larger, curious.

“Sophia, do you have to use the toilet?”

Sophia drew in her lip. She bent her knees, so she grabbed her toes. She stared, thinking hard. He watched as her face became still, eyes blinking frenziedly. Within fifteen seconds, she nodded.

“Let’s go then.” He stood, helping Sophia up.

He crawled out of the fort’s entry tunnel, it was barely big enough for him to squeeze through. They’d run low on pillows, while building some part of the structure had to be sacrificed.

He heard the soft scuffling of sock padded feet against the old wooden floor. “Sophia?” He looked back over his shoulder, realising Sophia was making more noise than necessary.

“No! Soph, you’re not bringing a blanket to the loo.”

“We lay my love and I…” Oliver sang.

Oliver sat on the third step of the stairs. Beating his hands against his thighs. He was a child. His rigid posture had been replaced by a chill slouch. Sophia had taken her time correcting the blanket as she shifted. She was just now clambering out of the blanket fort.

“Beneath the weeping willow…”

Sophia shuffled past him into the next room, across the corridor from the sitting room. As she passed, Oliver gently took hold of the back of her shirt. Sophia backtracked, then turned on her heels to face him. Oliver had a focused look, his eyes fixated on the ginger like a surgeon during brain surgery.

“Sophia. Where are you going?” He asked.

Sophia wrinkled her nose, pointing in every direction. Oliver simply rolled his eyes.

“Then go find your sweater.” He instructed. Sophia points to the room she was headed toward. “No. It’s not in the drawing room. You left it in my room. Upstairs.”

Sophia let out a pout huff, making Oliver chuckle. She looked past him at the stairs, eyes narrowing to a thin line. Nonetheless, she began her slow ascent upwards. A downside of wooden stairs. If you’re not wearing shoes, instead socks, it's easy to slip. Her sock covered feet slipped and slid, making her ascent up the stairs look clumsy.

“One foot in front of the other.” Oliver teased. Sophia, her face only inches from his ear, blew a spitty raspberry. With the satisfying feeling of retaliation, Sophia pressed on.

“Remember to use the toilet.” Oliver reminded, wiping the flecks of spit from the side of his face.

Oliver patted his thighs and then stood. Standing rather motionless, in his sharp black and orange KTM Factory pyjamas, he distinguished himself amongst the rustic clutter of the foyer. After a moment of stillness, he leapt from the third step, landing on the floor with a hard thud. He resets himself, brushing a hand through his mop top of dirty honey blonde hair.

He wanders around the corridor, gently running his fingers across the wall, over the knickknacks and along the edges of the chair rail.

"But now alone I lie..." he quietly sang, “...And weep beside the tree...”

The house was old. Ancient. It looked like it had been plucked from an autumn-aphile's Pinterest board. Time had been kind to the country home. While the creepers crept along the worn grey cobbles, the inside was a monument to times long gone by.

Thump, thump, thump.

Sophia. She was moving around upstairs.

His mother was a collector. Her husband called her a hoarder. She called herself a dreamer. She was a traveller. When she had been young, before the children, she'd seen the world collecting baubles and knickknacks that now cluttered the home.

Thump, thu, thu, thum.

"Your feet aren't drums!"

A single overhanging lamp dimly illuminated the foyer, mirroring the glow of candle light. Their neighbour had once asked why they didn’t store all their tchotchkes away in the shed. Stacks of completed books left careless about rough wood carvings from around, antique finds nestled beneath blankets of dust, dried flowers, and colourful drawings from Oliver’s younger days.

Thump, thu, thu, thum.

The house, so full of things. Some would shudder at the chaos of it all, others would be queasy because of claustrophobia, and rest would be quietly fascinated.

Oliver stood himself in front of Credenza, pushed up against the left wall. He eyed the reflection staring at him through the distressed mirror mounted about mahogany sideboard.

He’d forgotten a lot rather recently. Thirteen. He’s thirteen. His eyes are a weak shade of brown, not like Sophia’s, the colour of almond coffee. His dirty blonde hair softly curled and tucked, just barely overhanging his sunken eyes.

Thump, thu, thu, thum.

“Singing ‘Oh willow waly’…” he sang, “… by the tree that weeps with me.”

Oliver retreated, leaning against the sloping stair posts. He checked the clock hanging above the front door. Four minutes had passed since Sophia had gone upstairs. Standing there with nothing to do but listen to the creaky footsteps from above.

Thump, thump, thump, thump.

“Singing—”

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

His nerves abandon him quickly. His breathing becomes shallow and erratic. He couldn’t hear his rapid breathing, the chaotic beat of his heart dominated. His fingers curl into a fist, nails piercing the tender skin of his palm.

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

His eyes dart to the clock. 6:11.

It’s as if his hidden sixth or seventh sense activates. Every tick of the clock is a threat, every creak of a floorboard is a risk. His fingers twitched as he defensively moved toward the door. His body stiffens, trying to shut him down before he can reach the front door. He keeps moving.

His hands tremble and his skin becomes rough with goosebumps as he reaches towards the door handle grip.

No one knocks. No one could would.

He grips the handle tightly thumb pressed on the thumb-place, the metal would surely leave a mark on his palm. He finds it hard to swallow, lungs betraying him. Slowly he presses down on the thumb-place, pulling on the handle.

“Hello!”

Oliver’s blood ran cold. He tightened his jaw.

“You followed us?” Oliver murmured. His grip on the door handle tightened, to where he could feel the cool metal dig into his palm. Standing square, shoulders defensively strained back, he felt a knot forming in the back of his throat. Fear sat quietly, waiting like a vulture, ready to claim him.

“You followed us home?” His eyes darted to the Moors, where a small cloud of mist was slowly forming. He wasn’t quite scared. His eyes showed more of a wary concern. After all, he was all that stood between two mysterious strangers and his world.

“Yes. We did.” As he spoke, Oliver observed the Doctor with slight aversion. When he spoke, he’d move his hands about. A little unnerving. Still Oliver held his ground, preventing the Doctor, still a stranger, from entering his home. “We have some questions…”

“Questions?”

Thump, thump, thump.

That’s when Oliver jumps. A pump of adrenaline surged through his system almost triggering his flight or fight instinct. Without his support “system”, it would have been flight. Oliver shook his head, pushing down his panic.

Thump, thump, thump.

He was the barrier between his world and trespassers. A wave of boldness washed through him, demanding he be bold and shielding. However, a light gust of embarrassment from his jump made his cheeks glow.

“You-- you have questions?” he stammered.

The Doctor seemed to take this as an invitation. He moved to enter the cobblestone house. Oliver slammed a hand across to the other side of the door frame, so he couldn’t enter.

The Doctor’s brows pressed together, his shoulders slumped, and his mouth hung slightly open and loose. His expression gave way to his confusion. A hard stone glare carved into Oliver’s tired eyes. A warning. The doctor took heed and took a careful step back.

His lighthearted manner returned within seconds.

“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I’m the Doctor, this is my friend Amy. What’s your name?” He asked as he extended a hand out for Oliver.

Oliver shook his head, smiling a little, as he gently pushed the Doctor’s hand down and said.

“Can’t tell you that.”

“Why not?”

Just because someone introduces themselves, they aren’t any less of a stranger. Though most of what he observed of the Doctor seemed safe, suspicion and caution still governed his mind. He’d be more trusting in different circumstances. But there weren’t many people worth trusting, at least not anymore.

“You’re still a stranger.”

The Doctor nods, scratching at his chin. “Fair enough.” Something about the grown man’s cluelessness. The right corner of Oliver’s lip twitched, threatening to curve upward. He started gesticulating again, moving his hands about as he spoke. “Answer me this then where is everyone else?”

His brain stuttered for a moment, his face fell, and the blood drained from his face, leaving him as pale as a sheet. He recomposed himself, adopting a more stoic expression.

“Home,” his tone was cold, cold as ice.

“Home?”

The Doctor observes Oliver’s shift in manner with calculative eyes. He leans back, arching a brow. Oliver only nods in response. However, he could see it. The Doctor could see it, the fear trying to hide in the corners of the blonde child’s eyes.

He’d figure that out later, for now…

“Tell me, why should we be wary of the mist?”

Oliver scratched the back of his head. His eyes struggled to focus on one point. Again, they settled on the Moors. His stomach twisted and sunk with his nerves, as he gripped the fabric of his shirt tightly, wrapping it around his hand.

“Hard to see, you could get lost.”

The Doctor squatted, so that his eyes were level with Oliver’s. He carefully studied Oliver’s face as he lowered his mouth. He went to speak, but Amy, she spoke first.

“Have people gotten lost?”

Thud.

This time his muscles become tense. “I-- I better get inside,” he stammered, gesturing with a thumb over his shoulder. His unsettled eyes shift down to the ground, avoiding the watchful looks of the Doctor and his companion. Oliver cleared his throat and then croaked out.

“You should get back home, before it’s too late.”

Without another word, he shut the door, leaving the Doctor and Amy in the chill of dusk.

Oliver was silent as he fell back against the front door. The tick of the grandfather clock at the top of the stairs felt louder than before. As the full realisation of his conversation sank in, he ran his hands down his face. A loud groan of frustration flowed past his lips.

It’s foolish to trust, he reminded himself, for no one knows what the mist does hide.

A small whine snapped him out of his stupor. He immediately stood. Sophia stood one step from the top of the stairs. She wore a puzzled expression. Oliver rolled his eyes, his brows creased, and he put on a fake smile.

“It was no one,” he lied, dismissively waving a hand in the air. Sophia’s eyes narrowed. “It was no one Sophia, leave it alone.” He insisted, trying to laugh the matter off.

“Now, I have some work to finish.” He said as he moved toward the drawing room. As far as he was concerned, the matter of who was at the door was finished. His mouth twitched into a genuine smile, and his tone softened. “If you’d like, you can color at the desk while I work.”

Sophia shook her head, gesturing with an arm toward the entire upstairs. “No? Just going to play in the upstairs?” He asked. She nodded, making her ginger tresses bounce. “By yourself? Are you sure?” The way her one dimple crinkled, the shifting of her freckles, gave him his answer.

“Fine, have fun, bed in an hour.” Oliver brushed his fingers through his hair, strolling into the drawing room.

Sophia brought a hand to her mouth, then blew him a sloppy kiss. Hearing the noise of the peck from the other side of the archway, Oliver bent an arm back through the doorway to catch it. He cast his head back through the opening, a goofy grin plastered on his face.

“Love you too Soph a loaf. Lots and lots.” he gently laughed. “You be good,” he reminded moving into the drawing room.

“And Sophia,” His tone became serious, and resigned. “Let's stay out of the master room.”

[starfaring-princelotor]

-

First Scent

-

Summary: Emperor Lotor makes a full recovery.

-

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

★ Warnings: N/A

Touch Series: Part One___Part Two___Part Three___Part Four___Part Five

Taste Series: Part One___Part Two___Part Three___Part Four___Part Five

Sight Series: Part One___Part Two___Part Three___Part Four___Part Five

Scent Series: Part One

-

“We are all on the same side. It doesn’t have to change our future together.”

Kylan would never dare consider doubting Lotor, but he was also no fool to leave loose ends hanging, so to speak. He worked along with their leader and his intentions - his goal - was always about keeping Alteans and the invaluable culture of said race alive. Against all odds, all naysayers and doubters, he kept to it. And he succeeded. 

“You enslaved countless Alteans! How many innocent lives did you destroy?!”

Slaves? No. They were not slaves. They were not treated as such. If anything, they were flourishing and well on their way to becoming a better society than the one led by King Alfor. The progress was well on the way and the future looked bright. So, what happened? He needed to hear it, needed to have the physical evidence right in front of him. 

“Surely, you can see the greatness we’ve already accomplished -”

The audio distorted then, signifying Sincline was most likely damaged from an unsuspecting attack. 

“-llura, stop! You and I - zzt - Altean culture. We were meant - kkzzt -”

The black box was heavily damaged. Being exposed to the elements, especially quintessence, no doubt rendered it beyond repair. Except, Kylan knew how to save the proof and secure the device for future use. Plan B. Have a backup. Always have a back up. 

“You’re more like Zarkon than I could have imagined.”

He closed his eyes slowly, releasing a solemn and heavy sigh of disappointment. He wasn’t going to say he knew everything, even if the hidden picture was revealed right in front of him. No, what he has here ultimately didn’t matter in terms of putting Lotor back on the throne. 

“Who are you to question my tactics - “

But it was enough to clear his name. It was enough to show that Voltron started a whole new, deadly, and severely costly war by attacking the Emperor. 

*

They had suggested putting him in a pod to stabilize his quintessence levels. Lotor’s soul may have returned, but that doesn’t mean his body was in a relatively safe state. Logically, it made sense to use the technology at hand to quicken the process, but you convinced them to keep him on a bed instead. Convinced was putting it lightly. You wouldn’t move on your decision, even if it meant using logic as a tool to get what was best for Lotor.

“I will siphon it from him, as I do with the other patients,” you explained, “It’s safer this way.” 

It was your reasoning and also what you used to convince yourself, too. Your hand was loosely holding his as the steady flow of quintessence ebbed through the contact. When he had collapsed from exhaustion in your arms, you already knew that a confined space wouldn’t do well for his recovery. He needs to wake up naturally in a comforting environment, somewhere open, somewhere...safe. You promised him that at the very least. 

But the longer you stayed with him, the more you came to the haunting realization at exactly how bad it was for the Galra Emperor. His skin was shriveled, no doubt either from over exposure or the action of his soul literally being sucked out of his body. Maybe even both. But the inside is what worried you the most. Starvation. His organs were scarily dehydrated. Lotor’s system was off for so long, you weren’t sure he could even eat anything nourishing. 

And, oddly enough, there were times you couldn’t...see him as a patient. You saw him as something more, something beyond just Emperor. Allowing those buried thoughts to unfurl left your stomach stirring in uneasiness. 

Lotor wasn’t talkative. Recovery was slow and, sometimes, he barely woke up long enough to sip water or open his mouth for ice chips. You weren’t even sure if he was coherent enough to answer the typical questions for patients who experienced such acute delirium. Do you know who you are? Where you are? What happened?

No. No, overflowing with too much would stunt his progress. Plus, you often found yourself hesitating to even speak with him. Maybe it was wrong of you to take advantage of his illness to push your own discomfort away. If he didn't ask, you don’t need to answer. But there were urgent questions lingering between you two and you know they will come around to rear its ugly head eventually. You’ll have to face them, whether you like it or not. You’ll have to hear what he has to say. What you’ll say. What you’ll feel. 

But...

Lotor first. Your thumb ran over his knuckles softly, gaze longingly focused on your conjoined hands. Lotor first. That’s how it felt like when trapped in Sincline’s…

*

The Black Paladin has seen many haunting horrors in his life, but nothing will be more traumatic than seeing his own body as a corpse. No...his alternate self was alive, he just looked shriveled and sick and rotten. Sunken eye sockets, skin blemishes from what he knows as quintessence burn. The bite marks, oh, there were so many torn in his suit. Different sizes, different states of decay. 

But he was safe and, more importantly, alive. Now, the matter of what state his mind will be in is something not even he can help with. 

“I will pass the message on to the doctor once Emperor Lotor is in stable condition,” Kylan accepted the letter handed to him by the Black Paladin then carefully slid it into his coat pocket, “Thank you, again. You have done us a great honor. Saved us all, actually.”

Yet, as much as he would like to accept such gratefulness, he couldn't help but keep his lips set in a firm line. Saved them? Or condemned them? This war in his reality wasn’t theirs to deal with, but wouldn’t it be just as neglectful and dispassionate to allow the hoktril to be exposed to other realities? A double edged sword. Damned if he does, damned if he doesn't. 

“I only hope that his return was not too late. Unfortunately, time does not appear to be on our side as of late.”

Kylan nodded in agreement, “You have your duties, we have ours. And yours must be urgent if you need to leave so soon.”

Nebulous orbs slowly closed, easily remembering the scribble he quickly jotted down for your eyes only. A message, a dire one, explaining why his leave of absence was absolutely necessary, but not for the reason anyone would assume. The Black Paladin had received a distress call, one he had not heard from in a very, very long time, and he had every intention to answer it. Sven’s voice rang in his ears clearly, as if he was standing right behind him. His hushed whispers panicked from hiding. He knows the tone well.

“I implore you to use the communication stone with utmost discretion. However, as soon as matters have settled here,” Paladin Lotor gave a wave, a vague gesture at all of this, “Let me know when your forces are ready to fight.”

He gave a noble, respectful bow. He shouldn’t have regrets, but perhaps he had one nagging the back of his head. Chewing on his tongue, he wonders if it was his cowardice that told him it was better to leave without telling you face to face. 

*

If there was one thing Emperor Lotor despised about hospitals, it was the smell. The acute, sanitized scent of alcohol and sterilization never brought him comfort when awake. Even now, during every odd moment he would rouse from a deep comatose-like state, he found it absolutely much worse. The air was cold, chilling his nostrils, yet there was a warm blanket covering most of his body, all the way up to his shoulders. Warmth...something he cherishes now that he had the cold touch of death’s finger beckon his soul from his body. 

It took days for him to realize he was alive, longer to know that the doctor had dutifully tended to his recovery. It wasn’t easy, regaining his senses and awareness. His thoughts were slow, as if relearning everything that which went dormant in his mind. Words, thoughts, actions, feelings. Feelings...like your hand gently clutched in his. Not at all unlike that memory of falling in a pit of darkness, tethered by the mere simple contact of entwined fingers. 

And damn, to remember that utopia-esque simulation. Was it a simulation? It all felt too real. Too perfect, too...happy, one he thinks he will never really get to experience ever again. That love, that peaceful life, that completion. At the time, he didn't question it. Who would? But now, now as you read the holographic screen and scanned the details about his vitals in silence, he has so many to ask you.

Was it a hedonistic crime to still feel that inkling of love as he stared fondly at you? 

Or maybe...that was just a lingering side-effect. A sort of after-high from being forced into an addictive drug-induced state of mind from a mere memory. 

You knew he was awake. Lotor made it clear with his silent shifting, a gentle squeeze of his hand in yours, and a slight, almost quiet, groan of discontent when he felt his body ache in the worst possible ways. Part of him would've chuckled at the thought that maybe you were avoiding him, or rather, avoiding looking at him. Then another part would caution that it was wise of you to do so, for both yours and his sake. 

Maybe, just like him, neither of you were ready to ask questions about the intimate life you shared. Maybe if he kept his mouth shut, both of you can pretend it didn’t happen. It was a trick. A ruse, a test. One conjured deep from within the heart’s desires and brought to the surface without warning or care. 

The light above was dimmed in a cool blue hue, offering him a sense of peace and tranquility, but what really helped calm his nerves was the smell of a warm cup of hot chocolate wafting through the air. A promised treat, giving him the freedom to choose if he wanted to drink or simply hold it in his hands. And yet, he didn't reach for it.

Lotor reached for your hand. You gave it willingly, almost instinctively, and he was quite aware of how his heart beat just a little louder at the gesture. Lotor wasn’t sure he liked that or not. Well, he did, but he shouldn't. He really shouldn't because it was wrong to harbor such feelings for you considering the circumstances. But the heart wants. The heart yearns. 

Lotor can control it. He swears he can. 

So many unspoken words between you two, yet silence was clearly winning here. Then again, he can’t complain too much. Or at all, really. Your thumb slowly roving over his knuckles was nearly entrancing. The simple touch made his body compliant, whether because it was you or because the action itself was an unconscious act on its own, he would never find out. 

You stopped suddenly then gave him a light squeeze, “How are you feeling?”

“I’ll be…” he paused, recalling how he felt when falling out of that cockpit, the panic, the pain, the cold, so, so cold, “fine.”

And while normally, those few words would be firm confirmation that you’ve done your job flawlessly well, you can’t help but let your heart seed doubt in your mind.

“And you, good doctor?” 

Was he asking about your health or how you felt coming out of that life-like experience?

You twisted your wrist, closing the holographic screen before giving him your full attention, “Coming back to life is not what I expected, but neither was dying. It was different than-”

A twinge in your shoulder pulsed, reminding you of the last time you danced with death so romantically. 

“I recovered faster than you. Kylan informed me i was gone for a mere few minutes. Clearly not long enough for all the heat to leave my body, but long enough to give him a fright.”

Lotor had a certain look behind his eyes, a certain longing for the truth. You turned away.

*

It’s been a week. The metaphorical wall was back up. But it wasn't just you that decided avoidance was the best course of action for now. He, too, opted to shove those unanswered questions in the back of his mind as far as he could. Lotor only wondered exactly how long he can let it fester. How long you could let it fester. Maybe the two of you were more alike than you want to admit. 

When the deepest, most intimate, most raw secrets and desires surface, that exposed vulnerability suddenly becomes a dangerously choking weak point. Becomes something to fear. Becomes tangible and no longer yours to hide. But to acknowledge such a thing now? What? Were you two going to sit and talk about it? Have a coffee date and reminisce of those fake nights of feeling safe in each other’s arms?

No. It was much easier, much smarter, to stay focused on the goal. It was more important. 

Was it awkward? Not at all. You dressed him in silence with careful fingers, wary that the lightest of touch could bruise his still-healing body, and he watched the concentration consume your task. Such a simple thing spoke volumes to the careful observer. Lotor was the patient. You were the doctor. Play the roles well and everything will be fine. 

But just to be sure…

“We are not going to talk about this, are we?” he asked his one question, voice just a tad lower than normal, meant only for you to hear. 

Slipping the new bracelet around his wrist, you waited a few moments until the indicator glowed green, “No. Not now.”

Lotor’s hands went slack at his side, a sign of obedient understanding. He offered his hand to you, not as a gesture of intimacy. It was for his health, of course. His quintessence levels were still a little high. He was sick, still out of sorts, and a full recovery only worked if kept to schedule. 

For his health, you told yourself as the two of you walked out of the room hand in hand. 

*

“Dear Esteemed Doctor,

By the time you receive this letter, I will no longer be in your reality. I have been called back with urgent news and must return post haste. Please accept my humblest apologies for the sudden leave. If I had the time, I would have stayed to offer you my aid at any cost. With your Emperor under your care, I have no doubt that the next step with our alliance will be needing as much resources and command as possible. Rallying the forces as soon as possible will be difficult, though if there is any advice I may impart with, it is this: 

Galra are survivors, through and through. 

When civil wars raged upon our brothers and sisters, history has repeatedly shown that it is not the toughest fighter who wins. Rather, it is the one who fights to protect the one at their side. 

I look forward to seeing you once more in the near future. Please, stay safe.

Sincerely,

Lotor”

His handwriting was eloquent, not a curve or line extending awkwardly in the entire paragraph. At first glance, anyone would take in the script as romantic at face value, but the prose itself was completely opposite. He wasn’t here anymore and, as the Black Lion Paladin, of course the he had to tend to his duties. With Voltron, no doubt a shining beacon of hope for those suffering in his reality, he couldn't risk squandering his time. 

You folded the letter then pocketed it in your coat, waiting for orders from Emperor Lotor, who was sitting at the helm of the ship and staring deeply off into space. Kylan had updated him about the current situation. Colonies displaced, warlords razing worlds for their own, Haggar’s search for him. That last one put him on edge. Yes, he’s well aware you worked for her, but he is also aware of your need for self-perseverance.

Or perhaps, it was for a completely different reason? If Sincline utilizes memories from souls, then he should’ve seen his mother’s memories mixed in yours, as well. Assuming, of course, you were brainwashed like his previous... 

Lotor isn't such a naive fool to believe you would never lie in the face of certain death. He caught on faster than expected, knowing full well that sometimes telling people what they want to hear is for your own benefit, not theirs. Manipulation was often a tactic swept under the rug and reserved for those who were labeled as cowardice rats. Weak. Not strong enough. Not smart enough. 

No. Not you, though. In the short time he’s known you, words were your choice of weapon in a fight. And apparently, his mother was desperate enough to fall for your schemes. One day, he’d compliment you on such a ruse. One day, he’ll tell you that she was actually the one who gave birth to him. How would you take it, he wonders? Anger at leaving the minor details out? Distrust? Betrayal? 

“-of Marmora have gone underground. There has been news of Voltron recently en route to Earth months ago in response to Sendak’s battalion overthrowing the planet. Olkarion has been devastated by unknown forces and survivors have been scattered. Currently, no one has claimed the throne at the main headquarters and the next crowning ceremony will begin in but a few short weeks. Many separated factions are - “

Lotor had options. Many paths he could take to begin repairing the split and broken empire. He could free planets that were overtaken by warlords, spreading hope and securing rogue armies. No, that was what Voltron did and they failed to protect those they promised. Perhaps return to headquarters then declare his status as alive? He will certainly have more resources at his hand then. But no, Haggar and her spies would discreetly sabotage his throne.

Recruit the scattered Alteans? No, he doesn’t have the forces necessary to defend them all right now. They were safer with their captains, fortified with the necessary firepower and supplies. What of the Blades of Marmora? Should he spend valuable time searching for them? Their espionage skills will be most beneficial, especially with their network of spies spread out all over the universe. Then again, what about Voltron? 

What about Voltron, indeed. 

In truth, Voltron had more use as a gun than anything else. Perhaps there were still people faithful that it was their savior, their answer to all this despair and death in the galaxy. Yes, he could save them. That fight when he was piloting Sincline showed him where Voltron’s strength truly lies: as a false ray of hope. It was weak, in more ways than one. 

However, the problem with saving Voltron would confuse many people. If he were to align with them again, that would leave many to doubt his role as a leader and the Emperor of the Galra Empire. He would lose support in the time of need and Voltron itself wasn't good enough to go around. He needed numbers and he would take a loyal military over a disillusioned vigilante any day.

A conundrum, indeed. 

“Doctor, Kylan. A moment of your time, please.”

The Emperor ordered the rest of the crew around to give you three some much needed privacy. You stood at his left, Kylan at his right, both in silence. It was no surprise that just like Lotor, you were already calculating what the best course of action would be. Or at least, the best without risking potential deaths and destruction.

 “Sir, rallying the Blades would greatly help connect our network with those still loyal to the throne. Although it may take some valuable time to search for their leader and the rest of their members,” Kylan took a deep breath before continuing, “We simply do not have the power alone to protect the Colony and the entirety of the universe, let alone the upcoming war with the other reality.”

Lotor glanced at you from the corner of his eye, awaiting your input. While Kylan’s plan was sound, he couldn't afford to make a hasty decision so soon. 

“Sendak has taken over Earth, where Voltron currently resides. I don’t know the lore following the mech, whether the pilots need to be dead before the lions accept a new paladin, but leaving a nuclear cannon that can rip holes into other realities is not something we should leave to a power-hungry warlord. Find out if the paladins are alive. If they are, fight Sendak with both Voltron and Sincline on your side.”

“And if they are not?” the Emperor asked, partly curious about how you would react to your friends dying and partly curious as to why Earth, the one place you didn't want to return to, was even an option you’d consider. 

“If not, then…” you trailed off, “If not, steal one of the lions. Voltron cannot be formed without all 5 pieces together. At the very least, it will prevent Sendak from using it to its full potential, regardless if he has located new paladins.”

“Stealing requires stealth. Something the Blades can provide,” Kylan interjected. 

“A distraction works just as well. Drawing Sendak’s eyes off of Earth, even for a short time, will give us a small chance to enact our plan,” you countered, then placed a finger on your lips in thought, “If Sincline can attack his battalion, that’s more than enough attention to keep Sendak on a trail.”

Lotor found both plans sound, but there was a small problem, “Sendak will not take the bait. He fights with the ferocity of a thousand suns, but he views a proper battle for the throne as an honor. To taunt him to fight me, use my status as alive in order to claim rights over the empire is not how he views righteous combat.”

“You are the Emperor. If strength is not what determines loyalty, then perhaps it is better to show him with fealty and duty.”

You knew little to nothing about Galra culture, but that letter folded in our pocket did tell you one thing: Galra are not savages. Their history goes beyond blood and guts and gore. It’s a mystery you hope to read about one day, discover how wise veterans compare to the current warriors of the Empire. If what Lotor says is true, then maybe one of the strongest warlords in the galaxy will yield to the rightful emperor. 

“Very well. Here is my thought: Kylan and I will send for a search party to locate the Blades of Marmora. They will need this ship and I will not risk the Alteans on board near Sendak’s sights. While we are carrying out our side of the plan, doctor, you will go to Earth and infiltrate the military base as a slave. Give us the details of where the lions are and generally pass on the intel about what is going on. Because you are human, I would imagine it would be quite a simple task for you to blend in,” Lotor bit the inside of his cheek, “Blend in carefully. You are going into the mouth of the beast, after all. From there, we go either two ways: take a lion or confront Sendak. I will leave that judgement up to you, doctor.”

“It’s risky. I don’t suppose you know how long it would take for you two to find the Blades?” you questioned, though already knowing the answer.

Kylan pinched the bridge of his nose, “No. We are not even sure if the Blades still exist. If that be the case, then we should have a back up plan.”

“Regardless of how this turns out, doctor, we will need updates about Voltron and Sendak. Can you handle this on your own?” came Lotor’s final question, but there was a hint of...concern visible in his tone. 

Earth, the place you were born in. Earth, the place you left behind for good. Earth, the place soon to be used as a slavery planet for Sendak’s militaristic needs. You’re not heartless. You don’t like the idea of death and destruction on any planet. And that’s what Earth was to you, after spending so many years away, it was just another planet. The attachments you had all died with your father. 

For what reason did you have to keep any ties with the land? This was for the safety of the universe and much more.

“Yes. yes, I can. Just don’t leave me behind if things take a turn for the worst.”

Again.

*

 There was a knock at your door, drawing you to pause from packing what little belongings you had into a rucksack. 

“Come in.”

And so he did, all of his tall glory stepping into your meager room. Bland, plain, empty and void of sentimentality. Lotor wonders faintly if you lived your entire life like this, with little color and even littler personality. It looked remarkably like the room back on the Castle of Lions. The door behind him closed slowly, but he had no intention of leaving soon anyways. 

“Was there something important I missed?” 

Lotor stayed silent, watching you and trying to think of how to exactly say his thoughts. He was a man of action when the time was right and right now? Part of him was choking at the very thought of you being alone on a planet ruled by Sendak. His heart screamed at him when he suggested the plan, calling him a fool, an idiot, a bastard that keeps risking those he loves -

No. No, it wasn't love. He had to remind himself that. It was NOT love. 

If it wasn't, then why did you come here? 

Wordlessly, he bent over to unclasp his boots and pile them neatly by your door. Next came his gloves, followed by his waist cape, and then the rest of his armor until he was standing before you in nothing but his skin-tight body suit. The entire time, you watched in silence with only the beating of your heart getting louder and faster in your chest. 

The heart wants. The heart yearns. 

“May I stay here tonight?” he asked, but surely he already knew you would say yes. Surely he did. Surely you would. 

With a soundless nod, you slipped off your coat then hung it up, just for tonight. Not a doctor, not a soldier, not fighting, not running. Just...being. Existing. Like when trapped inside Sincline’s simulation, except this will be real. Was it okay to do that one more time? 

Lotor slipped under the sheets with you, trapping you between the wall and his solid frame. He was never one to call himself a man who hesitates, but he did exactly that when he cautiously slid an arm over your waist to pull you closer. Closer still, until his chest was flushed with your back and his nose nuzzled the top of your head. This let him take in your scent, as if trying to burn it in his memories. 

That’s when it clicked. As much as part of you wanted this, you needed it. You both did, after cheating death together. The way he held you tight. The way you leaned into him. He was … scared, just like you. There was no certainty you would not be killed, nor him surviving the trek to find the Blades. You two just found each other again and, while your partnership before wasn't deemed as together, as someone to fight alongside the other, the idea of being separated so soon started to leave an uneasy tension in the air. 

There were other ways. More safer, less isolating. He could come with you. Or you can stay with him. Strength in numbers, right? 

Oh, where did the confidence go?

Gentle fingertips touched over his knuckles, asking permission to hold, to thread together and seal an unspoken vow between you two. A promise that you can do this, that he will find the Blades, that everything so far is only the beginning and it will work out in the end. It was two simple words. Just two.

Trust me. 

[bluebird722]

Eggs, Swimming, and Towels

Pairing: Damian Wayne/Robin + Raven

Rating: T+

Once again, for @tigerdude94, @rachelalghul, @chromium7sky, @lunastar92, @damnshipper, @dcgzilla, @quothxthexravenx, @dcdweeb, @grassfour, @xxitzmikoxx, @andthendk, @unk-vi, @ravenfan1242, @raventrigonsdaughter, and everyone else who cares for these two. 

Damian didn’t realize until he woke up that he was alone in bed. Well, after his brain fully woke, he realized that it was not his bed. The sheets were a plum silk, contrasting his black silk. He must have fallen asleep in her bed again. 

It didn’t surprise him, though. Ever since they rebuilt the tower, they have slept together, usually on the couch or in his room. It pained him to be away from her after convincing himself that all the other Titans had died. After Superman took her to Damian and she fell in his arms, he was unwilling to let go of her or be away from her. He felt that he could have saved Nightwing from death had he not been at a farther distance, and he didn’t want anything to happen to the one teammate he had left.

He closed his eyes but let his arm stay wrapped around where she had slept beside him until the door opened. She walked in, a robe over her negligee, with two teacups. 

“Morning,” she greeted him softly. Ever since their victorious battle, her face had regained its fullness and was no longer gaunt or dark. She offered him a cup, which he initially refused; he sat up, leaned forward, and kissed her. She responded back for about ten seconds and then pulled away to drink from her cup. He took the other and sipped in silence. She finished hers, put the cup on the nightstand, and leaned against his shoulder. His arm wrapped around her abdomen and he finished his tea, and she took the empty cup from him and placed it beside hers. 

“Did you sleep well?” she whispered. 

“As always, when you’re in my arms,” he replied. He looked down at her face, returned her smile, and lowered his head with puckered lips. She kissed him back and snaked her arm around his neck to pull him closer. When he pushed her toward him, she pulled her leg over his lap and sat on his crotch. As they kissed, he smoothed down her back, rear, thighs, and calves to touch her bare ankles, and moved his hand back up to her waist. 

She felt a bulge in his crotch and kissed down his jaw to hide her smirk. He nearly cried out, and he seized the back of her nightgown with an urge to rip it off of her. She rubbed his cheek against his shoulder. “Your back is so smooth,” she whispered into his skin. 

Damian didn’t respond but instead pushed her hair from her neck and kissed down the back of her neck. She took pleasure in it and arched her back and neck for more until his stomach growled. His lips moving to her shoulder made her giggle. “Let’s stop and eat first,” she insisted. “We’ll come back to this.”

“All right.” He stood up and supported her under her thighs until her legs crossed behind his back. They kissed out of her room to the kitchen, where he leaned her against the wall for better access and then opened the refrigerator. 

As the world was still rebuilding and resources such as food were scarce, Damian and Raven agreed to be careful and use strict rations, so breakfast was usually one egg each unless they created some omelet to split. 

Cooking made Damian reminisce when Nightwing and Starfire tried to teach the Titans basic cooking skills, such as eggs for themselves. Those lessons always ended in disaster: Garfield always burned his, and Jaime’s scarab would react for no reason. Donna had eggshell bits in hers every time and struggled to get them out. Damian wasn’t used to making his own food, and Raven didn’t have any culinary skills when it came to the stove. It was Superman who taught them; while the tower was under construction and they stayed with him and Lois, the former farmboy taught them how to fry eggs until they perfected it. 

Raven watched Damian with a heavy heart. She knew that the fall of the Titans hit him as hard as it hit her, but she wasn’t used to seeing him so clingy to her. He only parted ways with her for bathroom breaks, and every time he or she was done, he had his arm around her or held her wrist. It seemed like the cold-blooded assassin that he was destined to become, that his mother and grandfather tried to wire into him, had faded into a young man allowed to feel.

They fed each other from the pan in silence. Damian put the pan back on the stove and pushed his nose into the crook of her neck. “Remember when we went to that carnival, and you called me ‘insufferable’?”

 She gave him an amused smile. “I what?”

He kissed both her ears. “You said that I was insufferable but had a kind and generous soul.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder. “This was, what, how many years ago–?”

“When I first joined the team,” he said, “but I’ve been going over it in my mind almost every day since.”

He swayed her around while she kept her feet on either side of his. “I can’t believe it–I don’t remember saying it,” she chuckled. 

“You did,” he said with a kiss to her neck. “I’ve been thinking about it every day.”

She shook her head but stroked his bare arms. They let ten minutes pass by and decided to go outside for combat training, which they hadn’t done in a long time. It was a beautiful day to go outside and practice everything that Kori and Dick taught them, and for Damian to teach her everything the League of Assassins had ingrained into him and themselves. 

In a way, training made her sad. Every time she looked at the grass, she remembered the playful banter between Dick and Kori, how they defeated each other and made silly jokes. She thought about Donna mastering almost everything but flight at first, and even when she did fly better, she lost ground in combat. Jaime and Garfield pairing off usually resulted in weird games of tag in the air. Raven tried not to think about that but instead on Damian positioning her fists and feet into a proper fighting stance. 

Ever since their reunion, whenever they did spar together, their sparring lessons have become more intense, much harder. When they didn’t use weapons, he was much fiercer, and when she didn’t learn something quickly enough and fell, he panicked and rushed to make sure that she was all right. In the few instances where she did beat him, he actually smiled, but she couldn’t tell if he was just considering himself a good teacher or was overprotective of her and was glad that she knew another method to stay safe. 

They stopped after two hours but were high on adrenaline. Raven stared at the sun’s reflection in the tiny waves, took a deep breath, and dove into the ocean to cool off. Damian studied the white foam and hesitated before diving in as well. They emerged out together and pushed back each other’s hair. He wiped the saltwater from her lips to kiss her. 

The deeper his hand smoothed up her back, the deeper she arched her back and pressed her body against his. Her breasts ached against his chest, but it only made their kissing more fervent. His fingertips pressed into her lower back. Neither cared if they would be caught or if it started raining. 

Raven didn’t know how long they kissed in the water until he pulled away and whispered that they should go inside. She opened a portal that took them to the bathroom, where she stepped away but held his hands. Damian didn’t understand the look in her eyes until magic ran down her arms and left her nude. 

He felt dizzy. He had never seen a naked woman before except in movies and pornographic magazines, and to see one in person was much different, particularly when it was someone with whom he had lived with for over two years. Her face should have been the focus, but his eyes couldn’t look away from her breasts, as pale and ashy as her face and arms. He had never seen female nipples in person, and they appeared different from what media depicted them to look. Her curves were sharper than how her uniform made them look. Without her boots and gray stockings, her legs looked longer. She didn’t have a nest of hair between her legs, which he figured was due to her demonic bloodline. 

Damian didn’t know how long he stared, but it came to him that staring was rude. First, he peeled off his mask and took his time removing his uniform while maintaining eye contact with her. For a moment, he began to regret exposing himself to her. His mother and grandfather had not taught him about intimacy (his father had educated him on that subject), but they told him that nudity was sometimes necessary to seduce or dominate power over a female. Even more, he was uneasy showing her the scars that he had collected over the years from his training. He didn’t want to explain their stories or the weapons or his age. 

Once he was completely unclothed, nervous but bold, she took his hands. “Come take a shower with me,” she whispered. She walked him into the bathtub without breaking away from his eyes and used her magic to turn on warm water. He closed his eyes when water poured over his head but reopened them back to her sweet smile. 

In that space of a second, he wished that Nightwing were alive for advice on how showering together was supposed to work. 

The two came back together and kissed under the water. They kissed for two minutes and took their time washing each other’s hair. Seeing him with foam in his hair made him look youthful. He kissed down her neck at the same time that his fingers rinsed the suds from her hair. She felt him rise against her leg but didn’t comment on it. 

For the time being, they washed themselves. He admitted that while he wanted to, he didn’t feel ready yet. She didn’t have a problem with that. In fact, she didn’t feel ready yet, either; this was just to test if this was what they really wanted before they decided to progress. 

Still, as they dried themselves, he touched her face and gently kissed her. She wrapped her legs around his waist and felt for any wetness on his back. She kissed all over his neck and shoulders, and didn’t notice that her towel fell from her chest. Damian noticed by accident and hurried to cover her, but she grabbed his hand to stop him. 

Taking a deep breath, she guided his hand to her breast. His fingertips were gentle against the smooth skin. He took his time rubbing the gland, rolling it around her chest. His thumb fondled her nipple and gently batted at her breast, smiling when it jiggled. He wondered what it would feel like to have her breast in his mouth, but she pulled on his hair and turned his head to meet her eyes. They went back to kissing. He hooked her breasts between his thumbs and fingers to lift against his chest. One hand left her breast for the back of her neck, rubbing it as she rubbed his. 

“I could do this all day,” she admitted. 

Damian purred; it stirred in the pit of her abdomen. “Me too,” he whispered against her lips. He smacked kisses down her throat but stopped at her chest. “Is it all right if I…go lower?” he asked. 

Raven swallowed. “Not yet,” she whispered. 

He kissed back up her chest and the side of her neck to her earlobe, which he gently nibbled at. Her hips rolled against his and she fidgeted until his towel fell from his hips. 

She moved her head and chuckled. He had really nicely shaped buttocks and thighs–pure muscle and tone to caress all day. Eventually, he pulled away and rolled his head. “May we relocate?” he asked. “My neck hurts.”

Again, Raven didn’t expect the grandson of the demon’s head to complain about body aches, but it may have been because it was her. She agreed; her feet were feeling numb. Her set her onto her feet and picked up his towel, taking his time so he could watch her stretch. It made her look taller and leaner, and her breasts pointier. 

Once they were both back in their towels, she walked with him to his room and watched him dress himself into a turtleneck and slacks. She went back to her skirt, jacket, and bustier. He picked up the towels and kissed her once more, his fingers raking through her hair. “What’s for lunch?” he smirked. 

Raven giggled. “Can’t give it to you, but you can help me make it.”

Seeing his face light up was pure gold. She took his hand and led him into the kitchen. 

Author’s Note: As mentioned before in my previous fic “Bath, Earl Grey, and Sensuality”, I’m not entirely shipping Damirae yet, in part because I don’t want to get my hopes up in case something happens to one or both of them in Justice League Dark: Apokolips War, which has happened quite a few times to me, but I really like the idea of Raven exploring romance and sexuality, which I think she is usually deprived of in the comics; if she’s not, it’s usually in a negative way, so I think this is my way of giving her a healthy sexual relationship, even in progress, that she deserves.

[not-john-watsons-blog]

So We Shall Be Nine (2)

So I realized I apparently never put tags on this, so now I can't even find it when I look back on my blog. We're gonna try this again to make it more easily accessible! Thanks to @whovianayesha for pointing this out :)

You were currently in your quarters, packing what would be necessary for for your journey.  You were still wondering why Galadriel had chosen you when Haldir knocked on your door.

      "Come in," you called softly as he opened the door and slipped in.

      "Lady Galadriel wishes for you to leave tonight. The Fellowship will be leaving tomorrow morning, and she wants you to scout ahead.  Are you sure you want to do this, Y/N?"

      His question caught you off guard.  After a moment you nodded, turning oround to face him.

      "I must do this. Lady Galadriel has asked me, and I cannot refuse her request.  You would do the same."

      "You are right, I would. Aragorn is my friend, Y/N," Haldir said, looking at you reassuringly.  "You can trust him. I promise you."

      You smiled weakly, fighting to keep your emotions in check as the full weight of your task sunk in.  Closing your bag, you slung your bow and arrow over your back and stood up.

      "Well, brother, this is goodbye," you said tightly, giving him a warm gesture of farewell.  He stood also, smiling down at you.

      "Be careful, Y/N. May the Valar protect you."

      With that, you walked out of your room and began making your way out of Lady Galadriel's realm.  You could hear your kin singing a lament for Gandalf, which saddened you deeply as you sang with them under your breath.  After passing by the courtyard where the Fellowship was staying, you met Galadriel in the hallway.

      "My lady," you bowed low. 

      Galadriel handed you a small phial full of liquid that you recognized as being water from the Fangorn river.  It was used by your kin as a strengthening drink, but you had never needed to use it yourself. You took it from her, storing it in your tunic, and bowed again.

      "I am honored to be fulfilling your request. I will do everything that I can to keep the Ring and its bearer safe."

      "You will serve them well," she replied serenely, smiling at you fondly. "You care about them, I can tell. And they will come to care for you also. Especially one," she trailed off, lost in thought, and continued past you, leaving you very confused. You quickly shrugged it off and continued on your way.

      ----

     The Fellowship had left Lothlórien two days ago, and there had still been no sign of Y/N.

      "She did leave Lothlórien, didn't she?" Legolas heard Pippin and Merry whispering in their boat and couldn't help but wonder the same thing.  Although Aragorn seemed to trust Y/N, Legolas was less sure- he did not believe that she would purposely lead them astray, but he wasn't entirely convinced that she was capable of the task at hand.  Though she was stealthy, she was very small for an elf and not particularly powerful-looking.

      "She left last night," Aragorn stated, silencing the mutters that had been circulating through the group.  After that came a very strained silence  that lasted until they rowed to shore to set up camp for the night.

      Their supper passed without any signs of Y/N, and Legolas found himself starting to worry about the elleth. She had such a gentle air about her, and he knew he would never forgive himself if something happened to her on his account.  Though he had always had that feeling about others, it was particularly strong when he thought of Y/N risking her life for the Fellowship.

      As the others went to sleep, Frodo volunteered to keep the first watch.  Legolas sat against a nearby tree, staying alert as well. He fiddled with the feathers on one of his arrows and fell into deep thought that was only broken when he spotted a dark shape creeping up behind Frodo, who had dozed off. He tensed, pulling out his bow and nocking an arrow within seconds. The figure was cloaked in shadow, but would soon be exposed by the dim light of their dying campfire.

      The figure stopped just short of the light, hesitating a moment before pushing back its hood and stepping into their campsite.  Y/N.  Legolas lowered his bow and stood up, striding over to her quietly so as not to wake the others.

      "What lies ahead?" He asked her in Elvish.  After a brief description of their path, she stopped, turning slowly towards the river bank. A faint splashing reached the two elves' ears and Legolas made to ready his bow again.

      Y/N held up her hand. "Do not shoot.  He has been following you ever since you left Lothlórien, and I have a feeling that he was doing so before you arrived. I must go now, and keep an eye on the creature. Tell Aragorn of my return, and that I will find you again in two days' time."

      Legolas nodded and watched Y/N's retreating figure disappear among the trees again.  When Aragorn awoke for his watch, Legolas relayed the information to him and went back to his spot under the tree, returning to his thoughts.

      ----

      You had left the Fellowship's campsite hours ago and the sun was now beginning to rise.  You had a very uneasy feeling about this creature that was following them, and so every few hours you would make your way to the riverbank to make sure that you could still see the others in their boats far downstream. 

      This cycle of scouting and reporting repeated itself several more times until you reached the place called Amon Hen. The place made you very uncomfortable, as you had spotted some orcs only a few leagues away.  However, Aragorn decided still to stop there, because the entire Fellowship needed rest and so you didn't argue.  You had done what you could.

      As the Fellowship rested, you continued on ahead.  You had been wandering around for several hours now, with no sign of disturbance.  You were about to head towards the riverbank to see if you were still being followed when you felt a cold, sharp blade against the back of your neck.

      You froze, sensing that there was more than one being behind you, and closed your eyes in desperation.  There was an entire orc pack behind you- you could tell by the foul stench radiating off the thing that had its knife pressed into your neck.  Preparing yourself for the worst, you spun around, drawing your daggers out of their sheaths in one smooth motion. The orc drew back in surprise, but quickly recovered as it yelled something in Black Speech at the rest, causing them to continue towards Amon Hen.

      Amon Hen. You had to alert the others.  You tried think of some way to slip away, but were quickly jolted back to reality as a poorly aimed arrow grazed your shoulder.  You drew in a sharp breath but pushed the pain aside as you tried to focus.  You had to make it through this. For the Fellowship. For Legolas. You thought of him, using your will to keep him safe as your motivation to fight.  To your utter surprise, it worked.  You fought as you never had before, dodging the orc's clumsy blows easily and finishing him off within a few minutes. 

      However, the fight had left you winded, and you were slightly dizzy from your shoulder wound, which was shallow but bleeding profusely.  Looking down, you saw the wound turning an ugly blackish color- the arrow had been poisoned.  You staggered back towards the campsite, forcing yourself to run even though you were growing weaker with every step.  As you were drawing near, you heard the sound of a horn blowing.  Boromir.  You made yourself speed up, arriving in a clearing just in time to see Boromir take an arrow to the chest, followed soon by two more.  You started towards him, but stopped when you heard two small voices calling you.

      Turning around, your vision spinning from loss of blood, you saw Merry and Pippin being picked up and carried off by the orc pack.  They were looking at you, panicked, calling out for your attention.  You hesitated, looking back towards Boromir, who had fallen to the ground and was losing his strength.  He nodded at you, signaling for you to look after the hobbits.  You nodded and took off as fast as you could after them.

      After a moment, though, your legs gave out and you fell to the ground, your vision slowly going black.  Suddenly you remembered the phial that Galadriel had given you the night you left Lothlórien.  Your clammy hands felt at the pockets of your tunic, finally finding the tiny bottle.  You shakily removed  the stopper and downed the bottle.

      Your vision began to clear immediately, and your strength slowly returned until you felt well enough to stand.  Knowing that there was no time to waste, you started following the path that the orcs had trampled once more, gaining speed until you were running again.

      ----

      Legolas stood back in shock as he watched Boromir breathe his last.  So much death. In only the past few days, he had lost two people that he cared for.  And something else was bothering him- Y/N had allowed the orc pack to attack them with no warning.  Legolas had grown close to her over her visits, and knew now that she would give everything to keep the Fellowship safe. Given that, the fact that an orc pack had attacked without any sign of Y/N made him think that something must have happened to her.

      Aragorn stood up, slowly turning around and joining Legolas and Gimli.  The three stood in silence for a moment, before they collected Boromir's body and his weapons, placing him in one of the boats and setting him afloat down the river.

      "Frodo and Sam are gone," Aragorn informed Legolas and Gimli. "The fate of the Ring is no longer in our hands."

      "Did Boromir say anything of Y/N?" Legolas asked softly as he helped Aragorn pack the rest of their belongings.

      "As a matter of fact, he did," Aragorn replied after a moment's silence.  "He said that she turned up just as he was shot, and then went after Merry and Pippin.  He said she..." he trailed off.

      "What? What did he say?" Legolas prodded.

      "He said she was injured.  He didn't say how badly, only that she had taken an arrow."

      Legolas' heart sank.  "We must find her," he said urgently, jumping up and starting towards the forest.

      "Wait," Aragorn stopped him. "Our focus must be to find Merry and Pippin. They have no means to protect themselves, and if we follow the orcs we will most likely find Y/N too."

      *a few days later*

      "Legolas, what do your elf eyes see?"

      Legolas looked out into the field, spotting the orc pack after a moment. He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped as he saw a tiny figure moving some way behind the orcs.  Could it be? He wasn't sure.  After a moment of watching, he saw an arrow sprout out of the person's leg, and they stumbled and fell.  Legolas' eyes widened as he prepared to take off again.  If that was Y/N, they needed to get to her quickly.

      "They're taking the hobbits to Isengard!"

[goodnightkisseu]

Time To Heal - Chapter 4

→ pairing: sehun x reader

→ genre: fluff, angst, struggling musician sehun x rich reader

→ word count: 3,025

→ warnings: none

→ summary: you had your life planned out for you ever since you were a little girl. However, when your friend, Baekhyun, takes you with him to his old hangout, you meet someone, someone you were willing to risk your parents’ criticism to be with. His name was Oh Sehun. But, in the end, what you really should have asked yourself, was if Sehun was ready to face your parents…

→ masterlist // exo masterlist // time to heal masterlist

→ [prologue] [ch.1] [ch.2] [ch.3] [ch.4] [ch.5] [ch.6] [ch.7]

→ updates taglist~: @chanyeolol @meryljill-111192 @sehunscutiepie @hi-cupid

note: after a small break last week, we are right back into time to heal this week! I won’t say much about this chapter, and instead will just let you all enjoy it! 

Also, please let me know if you would like to be tagged in this story~

- ash <3

In the weeks following the hellish encounter with your parents, it was difficult to get in contact with Sehun. You had tried to message him on multiple occasions but to no avail. Sehun had read your messages, you knew that much, but he never answered. You even tried to call him, but each attempt routed you straight to voicemail. Part of you understood why he was so upset. If you had been treated like that, you would be just as angry and not willing to compromise. However, part of you also thought he was taking this a bit far. A couple of days would have been okay, but you were weeks past that encounter. You knew you had to give him time and space, but at the same time, you missed him. His absence was felt, and every fiber of your being just wanted to see him.

Your inner turmoil was apparent to Baekhyun. He noticed the way you picked up your phone, wondering if you should send Sehun another message. Yet, with a light sigh, you would always put your phone back down, deciding against it. He saw the frown that became a fixed expression on your ordinarily cheerful face. He saw every ounce of defeat course through your system when you didn't see a message back from Sehun. It hurt him to see you like this.

Strangely enough, Baekhyun also hadn't heard from Sehun. The two were long-time friends, but apparently, he did not feel comfortable confiding in Baekhyun this time. Granted, that only made the situation more complicated. Eventually, Baekhyun suggested that you go and see Sehun in person. He knew it wasn't the best solution, but in his eyes, it was the only way you were going to get a real answer from his friend.

You, of course, were hesitant to do so. You didn't want to seem needy or desperate, and above all else, you wanted Sehun to come to you when he was ready. Truthfully, what you wanted to avoid was either of you getting too emotional over it if the wounds were still too fresh. Still, though your logical brain told you to give him space, your heart was having a hard time doing so. It became difficult to work when your heart ached and pined for someone that wasn't willing to answer you.

So, against your better judgment, to ease your pain, you gave in to Baekhyun's advice.  You were going to see Sehun in person.

Your only predicament was where you would meet him. He wasn't answering his messages, so you couldn't suggest a location to meet. You thought about showing up at his place of work, but you didn't want to cause a commotion there either. That wouldn't put you in the best light and if Sehun was still mad, showing up like that could cause him to resent you. After much thought, you decided on a more social place, a place. It was a place that you knew he would be at on a Friday night. You were going to see him at the club the boys went to, the club where you had met.

That night, you left work on the dot, something that you didn't normally do. You headed home to change into something more comfortable before you got back into your car, heading down the familiar roads that took you out from your typical nightlife. It took you further out, to an area with far more people, individuals leaving their cars in lots so that they could shuffle along the streets within the busy crowds. You did much the same walking with the group, your feet carrying you down the bustling streets by pure muscle memory.

You entered the small club when you arrived, the doorman recognizing you immediately. As you reached the end of the dimly lit hall, you were quickly drowned in the familiar music, driven that heavy bass that you had grown accustomed to. You meandered your way through the individuals, all with drinks in hand or dancing against one another, making your way across the dancefloor with that same level of expertise as Baekhyun did the first time he took you here. Yet, even though you were moving with intent at first, as you drew closer to the table, your steps became tentative. A feeling bubbled up in the pit of your stomach, that anxiety that told you that this was a bad idea. But you were already too far along. There was nowhere to go but to the table, even if your arrival was unexpected.

To your luck, the boys were at their usual table, evident by the fact that their rowdiness was heard as you approached. They were laughing and having a good time, and probably would have continued to do so if Jongdae didn't notice you. At first, his gaze had passed right by you, but the moment it darted back, his eyes were full of... surprise. He seemed so shocked to see you that he stopped mid-thought. Of course, his sudden silence didn't go unnoticed by the other boys. They gave him a bit of a look before they followed Jongdae's gaze to the object of his attention. As their eyes fell on you, you could see the confusion behind their eyes. Was it that strange that you were here? Why did it look like they had all seen a ghost? Why were they fidgeting like that?

Becoming well-aware of just how awkward the air had gotten, Chanyeol was the first to speak up.

"H-hey, it's been a while! We thought that you and Baekhyun had been too busy to come and see us lately! But since you're here, why don't you join us?" Chanyeol suggested, making an effort to get Kyungsoo to scoot in so that the boys could make room for you. Kyungsoo, his facial expression ever hard to read, gave Chanyeol a bit of a look.

You motioned for Kyungsoo to stay where he was. "I really didn't mean to interrupt your evening, so including me isn't necessary. Um... I'm actually just here to speak with Sehun. Would you happen to have a minute?" you asked cautiously. You eyes slowly wandered towards Sehun, though he didn't look at you directly. Instead, he let out a heavy sigh in response. He seemed disinterested in your presence, almost as if it were a burden to him, an annoyance. In the past, even when he was upset, he never treated you like this. This was... a strange reaction from him.

"Fine," Sehun said, his words curt as he stood up from his seat. "Let's go talk outside."

His overall demeanor was so different. His voice was devoid of the usual emotion that you had grown used to. Gone were the sweet words, his airy and lighthearted tone. This was something far colder, reminiscent of the way parents spoke when they scolded their children. So, instead of arguing, you followed Sehun out of the club like a little lost puppy. Each step made you feel uneasy, and it wasn't until you felt the cold night air, brushing over your exposed skin, that you felt like you could breathe again.

"So, you came all the way out of your comfort zone to see me. What could you possibly want to talk about?" he asked. The loud music that had, moments ago, echoed through your body was not replaced by the voices of the people passing by. The sudden change distracted you slightly, and it took you a moment to regain your bearings.

"Y-you haven't been returning my calls or messages. I know it's a bit unlike me to show up like this, but I just... I wanted to make sure that you were okay," you explained gently, any bit of confidence you had in your actions was long gone. After seeing the reaction from his friends, you knew how this looked. You knew that they probably thought of you what Sehun had. There was no way that he hadn't told them about that night. But you had already gotten this far, so you had to give it a shot.

Your words frustrated Sehun, and another heavy sigh left his lips. He thought he had made himself clear that night. He knew you were smart, and he knew that you understood him far better than anyone else had. You should have been able to read the signs, but maybe that wasn't enough, and he had to be explicit about it. He still cared for you, but he had to make this obvious... even if it hurt you.

"Look, you came all the way here, so I'm going to make this as clear as I can. I'll be honest. I'm not answering answer you because I don't want to talk to you. I don't want to have anything to do with you rich and entitled people. I know rejection is hard for people of your status to understand, but this should make you realize exactly what's happening," he stated. His words didn't falter, and as they registered with you, he could see you flinch at his words. They were harsh, but he didn't feel bad for saying them. When he thought of that dinner, all of his anger just came surging back. He was still upset over it, no longer enchanted by your sweet words. This was it, and he needed you to realize that.

You had people in your past that spoke to you like this. Though to be fair, though they had rejected you, either professionally or romantically with similar crass words, they never held as much disdain as Sehun's words did. And the fact that these words were coming from Sehun hurt even more. You had let him into your life, you had allowed him to form a place in your heart, and now he was tearing it to shreds.

"Sehun, I know that my parents' words were upsetting, but do we have to let it end like this? If you give me a chance, I think we can work it out. I think we can show them that their ideology is incorrect..."

"Show them?" he repeated your words, a scoff uncharacteristically leaving his lips. "Are you really that naïve? You know for a fact that they won't change just because you try to force it on them. You know exactly what they think of a struggling musician. Even if I make it, if I earn a modicum of success, it'll never be enough. I'll never be what they want for you. You deny the inevitable if you think we could just 'work it out.'"

Sehun ran a hand through his hair, his frustrations bubbling back to the surface. He was trying to control himself. He was trying to not lose his temper again, but it was hard. Talking of your parents... just always brought out the worst. "Also, to be entirely fair to you, the reason I haven't answered you is–"

His admission was interrupted by the appearance of a female. She happily came over to the two of you. She looked up at him through thick lashes and heavy makeup, her clothes tight and accentuating her every curve as she pushed her body against Sehun's arm. She didn't seem much older than you, and as soon as you saw the way her eyes seemed to glitter as she looked at Sehun, you realized that you had met her before. She worked as a bartender at a small venue where the boys would often play their gigs. Having an interest in them, she also helped them to find other gigs as well, though some weren't necessarily in legal venues. Even so, why was she here now, and acting like–

"Sehunnie! I finally found you! I saw the guys inside, but when I noticed that you weren't there, I went looking for you. What are you even doing out here?" she asked, a pout forming on her lips as her hand interlaced with his. Their closeness confused you at first, and you were sure that some form of shock was written on your features. As if your presence was finally known to her, she turned and gave you a pointed look.

"I'm sorry, Seohyun. I really didn't mean to keep you waiting. I just have to sort this out first," Sehun said softly, a warmth to his voice that you hadn't heard during his entire interaction with you. He used to be like that to you. He used to be kind and sweet like that, but as that thought crossed your mind, the grip on your heart tightened.

Hearing them coo and speak to each other in such a manner made you painfully aware of what was happening. This felt like an out of body experience, like you were watching this from the sidelines. But it all made sense. The way she clung to him. The way he stroked her hair away from her eyes. That small smile that used to only be reserved for you. Sehun had cut you off, not because he was upset.

He did it because he had moved on.

"Oh, and who are you?" she asked, her tone harsh but just enough to pull you right back into the moment. Seohyun's expression was strong, and she looked ready to tell you off. "What business do you have with Sehun, anyway?"

With everything that was running through your mind, you struggled with figuring out what the proper reaction was. Your upbringing told you that you needed to conceal your true feelings, to hide that pain and not show weakness. But the more emotional part of you didn't want to do that. No, it wanted to scream. It demanded to be angry. Your emotions wanted to dramatic, to yell about how you had felt betrayed. But these two things worked so hard against each other that you couldn't even come up with a proper response. All you could manage was a simple and meek, "N-no one…"

Sehun could tell in the way that you responded, in your body language that you realized what was going on. He would be the first to admit that this wasn't the best way to handle this type of situation, but he supposed that it got his point across. Gently, he whispered to Seohyun to head back inside, and that he would join her and the guys shortly. She opened her mouth as if she were going to protest the idea but hesitantly closed it, giving Sehun a small nod instead before disappearing back into the club.

The two of you, standing there alone, did nothing to still your raging emotions. Your entire being was being bombarded by wave after wave of pain. The reason Sehun wasn't answering you these past few weeks had nothing to do with being busy. It had nothing to do with needing time. It was an indication that it was all over for the two of you, that you no longer meant anything to him.

Sehun watched you, watched the way that your eyes stayed trained to the ground. He noticed the droplets of tears hitting the pavement, and he could only let out a small breath in response. Before, he hated seeing you in pain. He hated how you would always try to hide behind that smile of yours. When you were together, he wanted to give you a place to go to, give you an outlet. Though, now that he was the cause of that pain... he felt nothing. He knew that staying here any longer would do you know good. All Sehun offered was a soft, "Sorry," before he turned his back and walked away, going in to see his new girlfriend and his band members.

Your numbness was soon replaced by a dull pain as you stood outside of that club on your own. Knowing that you shouldn't loiter, you brought yourself to start moving as your brain went over everything that had happened earlier. It made sense to you why the guys were so surprised to see you there. If you had gotten Sehun's hints beforehand, there was no reason for you to show up and ask for Sehun if the relationship was really over. It also explained why Sehun had been so distant from Baekhyun too.

And you personally felt like an idiot. Your mind had been so clouded by worry and desperation that you couldn't see what was clearly in front of you. Sehun was no longer your boyfriend, he had made that decision for you.

Once you were in your car, you slumped in your seat, not having the will to move immediately. Maybe... maybe this was a necessary experience to have. It showed you that you loved Sehun too much that you were willing to overlook some things just because you cared about him deeply. But even though you cared for him on such a level, it didn't mean that he felt the same. The way he stormed off after meeting your parents, it wasn't a reasonable level of anger. That was him calling it quits on something that you had both been trying to build for nine months.

You concluded that Sehun would... he would be happier with someone that understood him better. It should be someone that shared his values, that understood everything he had gone through. It shouldn't have been someone that tried so desperately to have everything, that she couldn't have anything at all. Seohyun seemed like a good fit for him all around. He wouldn't have the same worries that he had with you.

With a gentle sigh, you started your car and headed back towards your apartment. Being without you, it would make Sehun's life better. He could be his true self, realize his dream. And though your heart still belonged to him, you knew that you had to forget about him, forget about being together. Because, even if you weren't ready, your heart needed to heal. It needed to cope with the fact that there was no longer a place next to him, for you…

[san-bika]

Tension: Matt Makes a Mistake

Rating: General Pairings: None Length: 3241 words Tags: S3 Continuation, world-building, hurt-comfort, Langst, team dynamics

Tracks: Interstellar - Coward, Message from Home, and No Time For Caution by Hans Zimmer

Notes: This is not the same universe as Discovery: Matt Meets a Paladin. It’s not a linear sequel. I just like writing Matt and Lance together in fic. 

Lance had a bit of an ego but his gift of insight wasn’t something he overestimated. Despite Keith’s best attempts at comforting him, and his slightly off-kilter attempt at a joke (his  math was pretty decent, all things considered), Lance hadn’t been wrong. There was a lion problem and when they had run into Matt and the REAL Shiro, not this unfortunate clone, Black had responded to her true paladin.

And things became really awkward.

Keith had been trapped inside fighting Lotor one-on-one and couldn’t get to Black. All the other lions had been engaged with Galra ships as they waited to warp with the castle. And with one loud roar Black had raced back to Shiro at the castle and he had saved Keith and the day in one swoop. Pretty fitting for a hero.

There had been some uneasy discussion. Some hints at needing to know this meant for the team. Keith and Shiro were supposedly fine with Keith remaining the leader. But not everyone was. Pidge trusted Shiro more, now that he was back, and said as much. Hunk didn’t want to step on toes but felt pretty much the same. Even Keith looked oddly guilty when it was brought up - as though he felt inferior to Shiro - and truth be told, Lanc would bet he still did, despite everything.

In the end, Keith hadn’t forgotten their math discussion and had volunteered to stay back with Coran, as he had before, and Lance, weak as he was, didn’t have enough pride to do the same. He knew that despite his best intentions, Keith stayed behind because it was the honorable thing to do and not because it was best for the team. If Lance were better, smarter, stronger he might have done the same, knowing that his skills were still needed and that he’d never be told different.

But Lance didn’t question his friend, didn’t bring it up even when he saw Pidge and and Shiro and Allura’s eyes shift towards him and then away, guilty. He knew the line that everyone was thinking but refused to articulate. They were waiting for him to step down. And that was something he couldn’t do.

They could still form Voltron.

But there was tension and unspoken words coursing through them.

They were unsteady and the battle had been too dangerous.

They won but Lance wondered what would happen in the next battle and the next.

How long would they last with that simmering uncertainty coiled in the back of everyone’s minds?

If he stepped down, he’d be admitting to the team, and to himself, that he wasn’t the right paladin for the job. Red was great with him, she thrived off of his energy and the thrill he got from flying wildly in freaking space, especially when he remembered that he was protecting his home in doing so. But it was never the same as with Keith - they had never reached the same heights or speeds, were never in sync. Lance hadn’t unlocked any unique or new powers. And he knew he never would.

Lance was a waystation on the journey and his time was up. There was a better team waiting to be formed. But he didn’t have the heart to say it and no one would would force him to. And he wasn’t humble enough to stick around to see it happen naturally.

So here he was, neatly towing his things in an Altean version of a suitcase. It hovered behind him, connected to his belt by an energy tether, rattling slightly when he took corners too fast. He wasn’t wearing his armor but had nicked one that looked similar to Allura’s original battle suit, pink and all. His armor and the red bayard were neatly stacked on his bed. He hadn’t left a note - he respected his team too much to patronize them.

They’d figure it out.

Lance couldn’t stop shivering even though he wasn’t cold. Facing his feelings about bringing the team down wasn’t easy and he was pretty sure he was a moment away from a full-on breakdown. He hustled quickly and quietly to the end of the living corridors and knocked on the last door.

A light silhouetted Matt as he scratched his head, trying to look as though he’d been sleeping and failing badly. His hazel eyes were too alert and the computer behind him was in the middle of running lines of code. He pursed his lips awkwardly, slightly annoyed and clearly confused. They hadn’t talked much since their rescue as he and Pidge had been so focused on locating their dad.

“Lance, everything ok? It’s pretty late…”

He offered a tight smile, “I know, I don’t mean to wake you but remember when I helped rescue you from the Galra attack on your freedom fighters?”

Matt arched an eyebrow. Yeah, that did sound kind of arrogant in hindsight but he plowed on.

“Well I helped! And I’m calling in a favor and it’s a no-questions-asked, I-was-never-here kind of deal. But please come with me, I’m sure it’ll take you just a few dobashes.”

The older man paused, frowning as he scanned the hallway for any sign of coercion. Satisfied that it was just one of the paladin’s whims, he nodded and slipped on some shoes, light glinting off his metal toes. For some reason Lance couldn’t look away, wondering if he’d ever lose a body part in this war. He pulled himself together and started walking toward the pod hangar, far from the lions.

Matt kept his pace easily, stride close to the same size as Lance's, and peered thoughtfully out of his new glasses.

“Can I ask what you need from me? Because if this affects Voltron, I can’t really make any promises of eternal secrecy.”

Lance chuckled. The Holt siblings were so alike in their need to know every damn detail and their dramatic nerdiness.

“I promise it won’t affect Voltron. I just need you to soup up a pod for me. Add cloaking. And maybe disable location tracking if that won’t take too long.”

Matt paused as they reached the first usable pod and forcibly turned Lance to face him. But the teen couldn’t hold his gaze, couldn’t handle the pity in it. So he pulled up the tablet in his hands and scanned the ship with it, checking that all of it was in working order and ready to go for a long trip.

Matt didn’t take his hand away and spoke firmly, falling into that Garrison tone “Lance, why are you running away? Where are you planning on going?”

Lance felt a bubble of defiance in him and took a few quick steps forward, pretending to look at a buffed out dent. Despite the hot emotion, he couldn’t help the waver in his voice as he spoke over his shoulder.

“I’m not running! I’m just…. doing what needs to be done. This really is for the best. Things will be better this way. Think about it. I’m not wrong.”

Matt didn’t say anything but turned to pull up a diagnostic screen on his computer and began inputting some numbers.

Lance had to hold onto the side of the ship, feeling weak with vindication and hurt all at once. His heart was pounding in his chest and he felt the chills return.

The thought that his team wasn’t in on his secret exhilarated him. And shook him to his core. Maybe it was his imagination but he felt like Red was antsy in the back of his mind. And it hurt to think of the team.

Hunk would be snoring in his pajamas with the mice hidden away in the little beds he’d made for them in his room. Pidge was most likely wide awake at her desk, still searching for her dad. Shiro was usually speaking with Allura in the common room at this hour. And Keith was training or passed out after training, without even showering like the filthy heathen he was. Coran usually looked at the star maps for another hour or two, taking notes and trying to update their databases with available info.

If the launch prep went on too long, he’d have to think of a quick explanation to avoid his plans being exposed in case someone came down.

Turning to Matt, he could see the other sneaking a glance before jumping when they met each other’s eyes.

The bespectacled man chewed his lip a bit and spoke up, “The cloaking is on, I guess Katie has been experimenting with these ships because it’s already functional. Taking the tracking off isn’t really necessary,” and here he held up a finger to quiet Lance’s protest, “These pods need to be within a certain amount of distance from the castle ship to be located. They aren’t meant to be fighters but emergency pods. They’re durable and can fight but they're disposable.”

And the word ‘disposable’ hit him right in the chest for whatever reason. Lance just nodded and focused on keeping his jitters to himself.

“I’d say if you fly past the second closest planet and then use your top speed, the chances of tracking the pod are reduced by about 90% percent. Being that far away, the ship won’t register your warp and going that fast and far will make it like finding a needle in a haystack. Possible but not easily and not quickly. The trail will be cold by the time anyone knows you’re gone.”

Lance ducked his head again and didn’t even bother trying to smile, laser focused on his tablet.

“Good. And can you confirm my specs, here? It looks operational and ready for a trip of at least ten quintants from my end.”

Matt walked over and reviewed the tablet before nodding slowly.

“Coran has tuned these up nicely. And Katie’s upgrades have been fully integrated and safety tested. You shouldn’t have any problems. But Lance, really, what’s going on here? Are you seriously abandoning your team? Is this some kind of secret mission no one knows about but you? Because if I’ve learned anything from this whole crazy misadventure, you should never leave your family or your team. It’s a recipe for failure. You know what Shiro says-”

This time, Lance cut him off.

“We’re always stronger together. I know. But the thing is… he didn’t really specify who the ‘we’ is in that statement.”

Matt furrowed his brows clearly trying to get through and failing.

“Listen, I appreciate the concern but honestly, think about what’s going on right now. I know Pidge has told you. And I’m not saying anymore. I would never abandon the team. Don’t put that on me. But I am giving them an opportunity they’re refusing to take.”

He turned to meet the hazel gaze head on until it dropped to the computer screen. Matt was a space explorer, a genius, a survivor of the Galra empire, and a freedom fighter. He knew better than anyone what Lance was talking about.

And he knew that Lance was right.

They went about preparing the ship for flight, checking operation levels, safety features, and the like. Lance focused on the ship’s biosupport, rations, and first aid, silently wondering how soon he’d need to rely on it. He dropped his bag on the ground, stolen blaster clattering, hoping no one would notice the small things he’d taken from them all. Pidge would want her headphones back but he’d make it up to her someday.

When they were done, Matt smiled sadly. He looked conflicted but pressed a small device into his hands.

“It’s NOT a tracker, but if you want to talk to us, that’ll send out a signal that we can pick up. It’s a two-way radio that no one knows about but me, so don’t lose it.”

Lance felt his lower lip tremble and bit it so he wouldn’t totally fall apart in front of his friend.

“Thanks man. Consider us even.”

He went in for a fist bump but was pulled into a hug. He’d forgotten how strong Matt was.

“I don’t know what will make things okay for you, Lance, but I really don’t think you’ll find it out there by yourself. Yeah, it’s harder to stay and deal with this but better in the long run. Maybe you’ll feel okay after flying around for a bit? Just come back and no one will know. I won’t say a word.”

Lance made a soft assent but that cold pit in his stomach didn’t fade with the comfort. He wouldn’t come back. He wouldn’t stay here and let himself hold the team back.

He couldn’t stay here and watch himself slowly fade into the background either.

Matt walked away to release the airlock for this pod’s containment unit. He smiled and made a thumbs up. He believed his friend would come back. Lance waved and offered a thumbs up in return, feeling guilty.

He maneuvered the pod outside of the castle and put it on a speedy autopilot while he thought. He’d decided to head to the same sector as the Balmera, thinking that since Shay hadn’t contacted them it was still safe and he could make connections and longer plans there.

And it wouldn’t take too long to get there, three quintants at the pace he needed to disappear from the castle’s radar. He was just settling and trying to ward off the anxiety and uncertainty bubbling up only to have a minor freakout when a metal hand came gently down onto the arm of his pilot’s chair.

“Sh-shiro!” He gasped out to turn to see his hero only to be stunned into silence.

Not Shiro. Kuron.

“Wh-what are you doing here?” Lance managed to whisper. Of all the people to discover his hack attempt to be noble, the awkward clone of the black paladin was not one he had considered.

Sure he was friendly with Kuron and tried to talk but that guy was going through something, dealing with memories and an identity that wasn’t his own. They’d helped to free him from Galra control but he had been keeping to himself, not sure how to help and not wanting to hurt the team. Even if he wasn’t Shiro, he had the same considerate nature.

Kuron offered him a sober smile before slipping into the co-pilot’s chair and strapping himself in.

“Aren’t you going to stop me? Make me go back?”

The words slipped out before Lance stop himself.

Kuron looked out into space for a moment before glancing back at him.

“I know why you’re doing this. I don’t know if this is the best plan but then… I don’t know much of anything these days. I need to fight the Galra. But… I’m not sure how I can do it or if I’m needed here. I want to come with you, to help you.”

Lance had to swallow and blink hard to stop himself from crying, too brittle from the harshness of his thoughts. Kuron was trying to say he agreed with him. That Lance wasn’t needed here anymore.

Or he could be saying that he sees where you’re coming from, understands your position. What if he’s just coming because he’s worried you’re going to get yourself killed? Can you put him in danger-

He shook his head, like that could stop that little voice when nothing else could. He drummed his fingers and pulled up a screen of the castle ship behind them and pointed at it, staring right at the clone.

“Look, you have to know I’m not going back there. If I stay, I’m messing up the team. If I go back, then I can’t live with myself knowing that I was too much of a coward to do the right thing. I’m leaving and fighting the Galra any way I can. I don’t know what that’ll mean for me, but you should know this is most likely a one-way ticket.”

The older man, so similar to Shiro and somehow… not quite the same, looked disturbed for a moment. Like Lance had said something wrong but he didn’t want to correct him. He held Lance’s gaze, however, until he smiled softly.

“I’m okay with that. Where are we headed, Commander?”

Hearing that word, addressed to him from the clone of a man he’d looked up to for years was not easy. He didn’t know whether Kuron was saying that because he hadn’t truly earned the rank Shiro had or as a sign that he trusted Lance but he felt a surge of pride he’d been waiting a very long time for.

Lance pulled himself together and finished entering the coordinates. He grinned over at his Co-Pilot.

“We’re headed toward Shay and the Balmerans. They’ll give us some intel and we can start our own response plan to the SOS calls we receive on our way. I want to stay under the radar of Voltron and the Galra. My goals are to assist civilians quickly and effectively and get out as soon as possible. What do you think, Kuron?”

It occurred to Lance as he word-vomited a bunch of thoughts that been on his mind these past few days how grateful he was to have a friend here. If he’d been flying this alone, he’d probably be in the middle of a panic attack. And looking at Kuron’s surprised face, he realized that he hadn’t addressed Kuron or even asked him how he felt since… well, since Shiro had come back.

“That sounds like a great plan. I’m happy to act as your number two. I’ll monitor the ship and log any SOS or other communications for you. It sounds like you’ve got a pretty good handle on things.”

Lance felt a little ashamed that he hadn’t thought to talk to him at all. Even if he was a Galra experiment, he was still sentient, he still had thoughts and feelings.

“By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask what you’d like to be called… I mean, it’s a little weird to say Shiro and then your Galra name means Clone so…”

The other man smiled broadly, “Thanks, Lance, you know, Shiro and I talked about that for a bit. I like the name Kuro for a few different reasons, so just call me that.”

Lance pursed his lips, “Kuro, huh? Well, it’s just the two of us and our beautiful pod ship. I haven’t thought of a name yet, but we can pick one later. And I’m… really glad to have you on board with me.”

Kuro reached out with his metal hand and they shook.

Looking out the window, he noticed that they were halfway past the second orbiting planet in that system. Pretty soon the only way that Allura and the others would hear from them was if he chose to use the communication device.

A wave of fear overcame him for a second and he focused on the castle in the screen he’d pointed to earlier.

Things would be better this way.

Voltron would be stronger with him gone.

This war was bigger than him and his feelings.

He was ready to go.

“All right, Kuro. I’m putting us into our top speed. Ready when you are.”

Kuro nodded, regaining his serious demeanor. Lance put the pod’s thrusters into position and closed the screen of the castle.

And then they were gone.

[bluepunkmon]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: My Unit | Reflet | Robin, Frederick (Fire Emblem) Additional Tags: dragon au nobody asked for Summary:

Frederick is rightly suspicious of the Shepherds' new tactician.

story also below the break

It would have been best if Frederick, Chrom, and Lissa, had just moved on when they first met Robin and never spoke to them at all, never mind inviting them to join the Shepherds (Frederick suspected Chrom was trying to make him go grey before his time.) That the stranger gave memory loss as an excuse for why they wouldn’t divulge anything about themselves, or that the ease with which they adapted to their role as tactician belied some kind of combat experience, would be enough to make the situation a catastrophe waiting to happen. What pushed the current arrangement past a potential disaster into a farce was that in addition everything, their new Shepard and tactician was a dragon.

Or, Frederick assumed they were. Robin did not resembled any dragon he’d ever seen or heard of before, or manakete for that matter. Robin claimed not to know what they were either; another unnecessarily elusive answer to what should be a straightforward question. Their horns were too small and shaped differently than the designs on reliefs in the palace and temples of Ylisstol, and they were leagues smaller, but they still bore a worrying resemblance to the Fell Dragon, an association that could only precede some ill fate.

Frederick never let Robin far from his sight, and even in battle kept tabs on their whereabouts, both to ensure they made no foul move against the prince or princess or other shepherds, and in hopes of finding a weakness. But in skirmishes against brigands and risen alike their hide demonstrated an imperviousness to iron or steel, and tomes of fire and lightning didn’t even make them flinch. More than once they used their body to block Shepherds from attack before turning on the enemy with fangs and fire like a beast from hell. The stench of burnt flesh, both fresh and rancid, was becoming a common backdrop to their victories.

Outside of battle, they were irritatingly complaisant, hunting for extra food when rations ran unexpectedly low, carrying supplies for a fortnight when one of the horses was injured and couldn’t carry the extra weight, and essentially volunteering for everything they could do without hands, though they had the presence of mind not to volunteer for any night watches of the camp. Attempts at socialization were less successful, as apart from the royal siblings and a few others, forays at conversation often led to deadends of monosyllabic answers and uneasy silences. Not much changed between encountering them, returning to the capital, and going right back out again to Regna Ferox.

Frederick kept an eye on the slate grey clouds as he scouted a path through the forest of looming pine and spruce trees. Barely into the neighboring country and the temperature was already plummeting, and a heaviness in the air signaled that snow could be on the horizon.

A familiar gait was crashing through the willowy shrubs and grasses behind Frederick, its owner not bothering to hide their presence. He stopped, turning to face one of their newest Shepherds. “Is something amiss, Robin?” He asked. Robin stopped short in front of him, barely out of breath despite likely running all the way from the main body of the army. Frederick pushed down petty frustration at having to look up at the tactician to speak to them, a rarity for him. “Nothing’s wrong,” They answered in a deep unsettling rumble somewhere between human language and an animal croak. The motion of speech drew Frederick’s attention to their sharp off-yellow teeth, always visible even when their mouth was shut. “Chrom wanted to know if you found a good place to stop soon.” Robin shivered, ruffling the black feathers on their wings, neck and back until they all stood on end. “I hope it doesn’t get much colder than this. I don’t think I’ve ever been this far north before. Have you?”

“Was there anything else you had to tell me?”

Three sets of eyes blinked slowly, synchronously at him, and some of their feathers drooped somewhat. “That was it.”

“I remember an area ahead we should still be able to use. It won’t take more than an hour to reach it.” And none to soon, either – flakes of snow were starting to fall now, only just visible against dark tree bark and Robin’s scales and feathers. A cold wind stirred the needled branches above them, and they shivered again, their sickle-like claws gouging furrows in the frozen earth. They nodded, shrugged their shoulders stiffly, and left to return to the rest of the Shepherds.

True to his estimate, they reached the site before long. Frederick wanted to patrol the potential campsite before settling in, but after an arduous march over rough terrain in the cold, trying to keep everyone out while he inspected the entire clearing might have sparked an insurrection. He examined the camp as he helped set it up. Apart from the thickets of forest that had infringed on the clearing since he’d last been, it appeared fine.

He passed Chrom’s tent on the way to check the weapons’ conditions. The prince was outside it, alongside their new tactician. Robin was explaining something to him in a low voice and scratching diagrams into the earth with a curved claw they’d used to disembowel more than one person in battle before. Frederick ignored the feeling he was being watched as he passed them by.

The weapons were unaffected by the weather. Frederick saw to the rest of his routine, trying his best to ignore the plummeting temperature. He took care of his horse, mended the tears in his clothes, and attempted to eat some stringy rations before giving up after a few bites and turning in to sleep for a few hours, before he had to take over the night watch after Stahl.

A layer of fresh snow muffled the sounds of his boots when he stepped out into the night, and a light waning layer of snow was still falling as he started to patrol through camp. A new moon cast an almost impenetrable dark, even to his eyes, seasoned at night watches, and his lantern barely made a dent in it.

The tents, both for sleeping and for storage, were undisturbed. Robin’s tarp, set up a ways away from the other tents, looked in order for the most part. He’d nearly finished a first circuit around the outside of the camp when he stopped dead in his tracks.

Frederick only saw the thing because of the negative space it created against the snow, like a fragment of the starless night sky had torn away and gained sentience. The scant details he could see, a long neck and sharp, light-colored teeth, were more than enough to identify it. Robin’s body was crouched low to the ground, gliding towards camp, feathered tail weaving side to side like a snake. Frederick could barely hear the crunch of snow under their feet as they moved to the outermost Shepard���s tents. The tension in their back and shoulders was of a kind Frederick knew well enough from feral cats and wild animals to interpret it – They were hunting.

His free hand moved to his shortsword's grip as he kept his lantern as still as possible. Robin’s attention was fixed on something in the distance, and by all appearances, even with Frederick’s lit lantern, they hadn’t seen him yet. Their path would cross Frederick's soon, however, so that would not be the case for long. He could still do damage without his horse and lance if he moved fast enough and caught them by surprise, struck them in one or more of their eyes and called for reinforcement. His armor would shield against their teeth to an extent, but not the flames.

But was it a necessary risk? If he were wrong, he could partially blind their new tactician when they might need them the most. And if he did not act and Robin was planning to kidnap or murder, the results could be far more disastrous.

For every second he wasted in thought, they stepped closer to camp.

Frederick’s hand loosened, and Robin sprang forward not a second later, sending plumes of snow flying as they sped past Frederick’s line of sight, into the maze of tents and out of sight. A snap like a dead tree breaking and a human scream shattered the midnight silence.

He ran after the dragon, sword drawn and heart in his throat, even before his forgotten lantern hit the ground. He ran to the screams, and into an unexpected light – Stahl was hurrying to the spot as well, lantern in hand, urgency and fear plain in his body and face even in the shifting uneven shadows cast by the light he held.

The first thing he saw when Stahl brought the light closer was red - deep red stains on the violently disturbed snow and exposed earth, red welling around Robin’s teeth, buried in the leg of a struggling, still screaming stranger, his fingers scrambling at the dragon’s unmovable jaws and becoming weaker by the second, and Robin’s bright, bright red eyes, six burning points that dilated harshly with the new light before refocusing. They let go of the man and pinned him to ground with their front leg.

Robin shook the blood from their maw, further marring the snow, and answered the question plainly on his and Stahl’s faces. “He woke me up when he snuck out of the woods past me.”

The assailant in question had gone still, just as something ran through the snow towards them from the dark. All three tensed, then relaxed as the approaching figure resolved itself into Lissa, stave in one hand and lamp in the other, a thick cloak thrown over her sleeping clothes. The new light illuminated a forgotten weapon in the snow, close to the unconscious man, garbed in the cloak and bracers of an assassin. Frederick carefully picked it up by the handle. It was a long dagger, of Plegian make and starting to rust, but still sharp. Fresh blood coated the edge.

Robin explained the circumstances again to Lissa as she stabilized the stranger and Stahl held him steady. After they were finished, Frederick asked Robin, “Why didn’t you call for help?”

They wilted “By the time I saw him he was already close to camp. I didn’t want to risk anyone getting hurt by starling him.”

“You risked yourself.”

“There was a lower chance he could have seriously hurt me.”

Lissa managed to patch up the attacker’s leg. It wouldn’t bleed out now, though it was doubtful he’d ever fully use it again. Frederick told Stahl to take him back to his own tent for questioning. Stahl nodded and half-dragged, half carried the unconscious assassin away. She almost followed him, but hesitated and pointed to the side of Robin’s head, where a cut close to their eye was sluggishly oozing blood . Frederick was vaguely surprised to see it was red.

“Did he hurt you?” She asked.

Robin pawed at the wound. “Oh. I hadn’t noticed. I think it’ll heal on its own.”

Lissa swung her stave close to Robin’s face, nearly hitting them in the eye. “Hold still.”

They angled their head away. “No, it’s fine,” they insisted. “Save it for someone else.”

“I can heal it, its not a big deal!”

“Better to treat it now before gets infected,” Frederick agreed.  

After a few more half-hearted protests, they acquiesced and let Lissa heal the cut. Frederick would have to send Shepherds out into the surrounding forest to make sure there wasn’t anyone else waiting for them, though the sound of their compatriot screaming their throat raw might have dissuaded anyone from any further attack. “I’ll need someone to patrol the camp for me while I see to the prisoner. Could you do it, Robin?”

Robin gaped at Frederick for a moment before their jaw closed with an audible clip. “Of course.” They blinked, and something about their narrowed eyes reminded him inexplicably, not of anger or distrust, but of the kind of smile so eager and genuine that reached someone’s eyes.

The three went their separate ways, Lissa back to her tent and sleep, Frederick to see to the prisoner and wake some Shepherds to patrol the woods, and Robin to patrol the camp, their tactician leaving in the opposite direction as Frederick, their steps quick and silent.

It was past time he let them do patrols of camp. They were certainly enthusiastic enough, and had a work ethic Frederick admired despite everything. It would be a waste not to put their energy to good use.

[rickysnotyourvalentine]

You’re to Blame || Rick, Victoria & Garrett

Tagging: Rick, Victoria, & Garrett

Date: 7/7/17

Location: RIAP - Healing Center

Notes: Because Garrett opens a door to find refuge in the Healing Center, the consequences are dire and even deadly for some. 

Garrett ran to the healing center, and tried to get in, the back door was a safe bet, but when he was about to walk in, a hunter found, and ended up hurting his arm, he cursed on his head, but he knew that he would have to do something to defend himself, he just didn't know what, since he didn't have his element, and now that he hurt Garrett, not even mana magic he has, he had taken away that from him, so he would only be able to escape that if someone came to the rescue.

Victoria knew they were going to need more medical supplies. Recruiting Rick to help her -- since there was only so much she could carry with one arm -- they went to the back to get the supplies they needed. After instructing Rick on what to grab, as well as grabbing what she could, they were about to head back when she heard another door open, followed by a gunshot and someone crying in pain. She looked over at the back door, seeing Gary, or whatever the hell his name was. "What the fuck are you --" She stopped at the sight of a hunter coming up behind him. "Shit. We have to close the door before more of them come in!" she told Rick as she rushed towards the door.

Volunteering at the healing center and Rick’s sole purpose of helping to heal the healers at the healing center has him here at this hour but he didn't mind as he followed Victoria to get supplies. He'd follow her anywhere because she was a sight to behold. His own thoughts were interrupted as he heard the commotion. He sat the supplies down, following Victoria towards it when he saw the super up beat student, Garth or something, shot the door open and a hunter after him. The hunter wasn't after him or Victoria so he looked to her, "Vic, be careful I suppose I'll save Garth and be right there." He actually debated just following Victoria instead, but sighed and channeled one of the plants in the room closest to them, vines creeping out as he wrapped him up. Thorns dug deep in to man's exposed flesh and face once the vines reached and wrapped around his head. Rick showed hunters no mercy. Each was like a personal revenge act. He looked past Greg toward Victoria running to catch up. "If one got in I wonder how many more are in here!"

Garrett "There's a shit ton of hunters out there, we need to close this door, and find a way to not let them, I feel like just closing with a key won't do it, but maybe a spell will, spells doesn't work with hunters, but maybe in the door it will, and will stop them from coming in" he took off his coat, and used it to pressure the wound, so it would stop bleeding, the bullet was still inside his arm, maybe he could help with spells, but he wasn't sure, because he was weak, and he could barely keep himself up, he felt like he was about to pass out any time soon. "I am not sure if I can help with the spell, but I can try if you guys need a third person to cast'?" He was in a lot of pain, but Garrett usually hide how he truly felt, especially in a situation like that, where he thought that him complaining, wouldn't really help much.

 With Rick incapacitating the hunter, Victoria was able to get to the door. "I swear to God if you don't shut up I'm going to throw you back outside," Victoria snapped at Garrett. "You're useless, you have no magic now so keep your mouth shut and let us handle it." She was about to close the door when a bullet hit it, caused her to jump back. Now a group of them were coming, as well as some randoms that didn't look like they belonged with the hunters. Victoria had no time to wonder what was going on before one of them held a hand up and next thing she knew she was flying back into the hallway. "Shit," she grunted in pain as she hit the floor. They had witches this time?! "Forget it, there's too many of them!" She sat up and looked at Rick. "Grab him and let's go!"

Rick sighed when the student was telling them about the need to close the door. “Dude, I have half a mind to throw you out there as a distraction. She’s problem sworn an oath to protect, I have not.” Rick hated the hunters but he also hated that this kid basically let them loose in this damn healing center. When Victoria was pushed, Rick’s brow creased in a frown, wondering just what the hell was happening. Witches were working with them. Plot twist of the fucking century, and one that made him uneasy. Rick offered a helping hand to Victoria before going over to the student then. He pulled him to his feet. “C’mon, dude. We’ve got to move. If you pass out, I might just leave you here.” He tried not to look behind him as he let Victoria lead the way. He didn’t want chance a glance back at how close these assholes and their witch minions would be.

Garrett rolled his eyes, not answering him, not really wanting to have a fight in that moment, especially becausw he was too tired to say anything, fighting was jist a wast a of energy, not sure why exactly the other was so pissed off at him when they actually had a noce conversation before, but go figure, what was he supposed to do? He either stayed out and died or he got in, he didn't have a choice, you can't tell him that other people wouldn't do the same. "Whatever man" he wonder if he actually thought that would work. "But it just would be one more minion witch for them, that would just make them strong, they wouldn't kill me" so it wasn't exactly a smart idea to throw him out there as a 'distraction'. He started to run with them, but since he was weaker, he was somewhat behind, but not enough for them to be able catch him.

Victoria took Rick's hand just because she knew she didn't have time to be proud and try to get up herself. "Don't think so highly of yourself, if they're collecting people, they sure aren't look at you," she growled. "Hold your arm up above your heart. It'll slow the bleeding." She lead them into the healing center, the sound of heavy boots behind them echoing through the hallways. When she saw other healers, she waved her arm. "Hunters are here! Get behind something!" she yelled. It wasn't long before there were sounds of gunshots. She opened a door to an empty room. Turning to Garrett, she gestured to a chair. "Sit. And stay away from any damn doors." She looked up at Rick. "I need to patch him up --" she forced herself to say that, because all her mind was telling her was to leave Garrett to bleed out but she had to reminder herself of her oath. "-- we need to... shit!" A fireball flew through the hallway. Great, fire witches on top of that. "We need to try and hold them off as much as we can. Something tells me the Paladins are a little preoccupied at the front entrance." As she spoke, another injured student who was shot in the leg was limping in their direction to try and get to safety.

Rick sighed. Of course, they had to help the kid even though he only cared about two people in the room currently. That was himself and Victoria. He even wondered if the other hot healer was okay, but the kid in the room? Not so much. This was where his selfish tendencies really began to shine. He kept a look out, and when he saw the fire ball, he said, “This shit is crazy. I’ll make sure they don’t do too much damage, and they don’t get in here.” He sighed again but left the room so that he could deal with the bitch with fire, but there were two of them. “I guess we gotta do this the hard way.” He pulled plants from different rooms, the fire burned the vines, but he kept them coming. She was a worthy opponent for a moment, until her air friend joined in the fight, pushing Rick back into a cart for a moment, but that made him angry, thus the vines that came next had some large angry thorns along with it, cutting their arms and bare legs of one. Wrapping them up, and even covering their mouths so that they couldn’t scream. The vines squeezed until they were unconscious. He went back to check on Vic and the kid for a moment. “Everything okay in here?” he asked, stepping back out to momentarily set up a blockade of leaves and vines to keep anyone from getting past. He knew it wouldn’t hold them long.

Garrett felt bad because he was just sitting there without doing nothing when outside the room, they seemed to need help, but he also knew that going out there and trying to fight them wouldn't help anything, especially because now he was really without any sort of magic at all, if even with magic he couldn't take one hunter, imagine without any sort of magic, he was completely useless, he couldn't help, he had to just sit there and do nothing, and if there was one thing that he really hated more than innocent people getting hurt, was when he couldn't do anything to help, so he just had to stay there and watch, watching the hunters attack. "Do you think I can wait until the Paladins sort it all out? Because they really seem to need you out there... " he looked down, he felt selfish, he knew that maybe it was necessary to do it in that exact minute, otherwise he could end up getting worser, but if she thought he could handle, he would want her to go out there and help them, he could wait until it all finished.

Victoria noted the other injured student who was limping her way. She gestured him inside. "Hurry up," she commanded, fully acknowledging the poor kid was limping as fast as he could. When he got to her, she pointed to a chair for him to sit in. She grabbed some bandages and started working on Garrett first. At his question, she gave him a look like it was the stupidest question she'd ever heard. "You understand you're the cause of all this, right? Must be nice to cause all this chaos and then go back and say 'oh jeez they really need you out there maybe you should help out'," she hissed. "I would love to leave you to bleed to death but dying would be an easier way out at this point." She kept working on patching him up anyway, so she could finish him up and work on the other student. She taped the bandage to his arm and turned to the other student. "Everything's peachy," she told Rick, not looking back at him as she was working on the student.

Rick was relieved to know that everything was okay in the room, he’d even watched out as the student limped into the room. His barricade was working for a moment, and then another fucking earth witch appeared undoing what he’d done and sending two hunters through. Rick was was trying to hold them off, but one got by as he did so and the other headed straight for the room. “Guys, headed your way!” he said as he out magicked the witch and bound her. He felt sick as he heard the gun go off, not sure who had gotten shot in the room, until he’d seen the student that had just gotten in the room shot again. Before the hunter could set his sights on anyone else, vines overcrowded him, thorns growing rapidly out of the vines around the hunter’s neck, looking more like spikes. It was safe to say that he was not going to be hurting anyone else. “Tell me that kid is going to be okay,” he said.

Garrett "Seriously? You blaming me? Yeah, right, because it's my fucking fault, you do realize that they would come in one or another, right? Whether I came here or not, the door was open, the hunters would here and walk inside, it was not my fault" he didn't understand how that was his fault, after all, they would be able to get inside anyway, they would find the back door, they would open it, they would get inside. "So say what the fuck you want, but it's not my fault if the door was open, I don't have the key, how the heck do you think I got in? I just destroyed the door? No, I walked in because it was open"

Victoria "Oh really? So it's just pure coincidence that when you're involved the door's just magically open? Where were the hunters the first two times then? Give me a fucking break," she snapped. She was seconds away from grabbing a syringe to stab him with before she was shocked into silence when the student she was tending to was shot in the face. A few inches down and that would've been her. The dead student sat limp in the chair, face no longer recognizable with a hole in it. She slowly stood up, eyes glued to the dead student. "A bullet to the face isn't something I can fix," she told Rick coolly. Icy eyes glared at Garrett before she turned around and walked toward the hunter Rick had trapped. Before she did anything, another hunter appeared behind him. She quickly used Rick's vine to tie him up, then had the vines wrap around the hunter's neck and suffocate him slowly. While handling that with her mind, she turned to look at Garrett and pointed at the dead student. "Tell him to what's left of his face that it's not your fault. Go on. Start with him and when this is over you can tell every single person in this center that it wasn't your fault."

Garrett "It was not my fucking fault, are you really that naive that you don't think that they would come here? Just so you fucking know, there was one fucking hunter coming after me, the other ones? Were already heading this way, I saw them before I walked in, they were coming from the other side, and guess what? Even if that damn door was locked, and I stayed outside, and they had killed me, or take me, because they will probably take everyone they can, even someone not powerful like me, they would still have found a way to come in, if I didn't have come here, they would still have gotten in, they always check everywhere, they aren't dumb, so I am sorry to burst your bubble, but this would have happened either way" he looked angrily at her, he was honestly done, he was already under in too much stress, he didn't really need someone else to make him feel worst, but he knew, he knew that if he didn't have come in, it would happen anyway, the hunters always checked everywhere. He wouldn't let her make him feel guilty about this, he usually cared what other people said, but this time, he knew the words he was saying was true, that he was not the one to blame. "I get that you're under a lot of stress, but it's not faid to put the blame on me, when it's not my fault"

Rick normally didn’t get so angry to the point that he was literally seeing red but right now, he was done. The hunters made him angry already, and here this asswipe was complaining when someone had died right in front of his eyes and had that shot been a little bit closer someone he was friends with, would have died too. Rick rushed forward then. He grabbed Garrett by the shirt, lifting him and slamming him against the wall. “Do you ever fucking listen to yourself speak? You opened the door you did that. Because you did that hunters came into this fucking building. Not just a few, a fucking swarm because the door was open. He pulled him away from the wall and slammed him back against it again. “You unleashed hell on this center, the one place everyone comes and retreats to. You’ve just sentenced so many people to death and you don’t even realize it. That kid right there, died because of your fucking decision. The hunters don’t want to take you. They’ve got witches. They want to kill your dumb ass. They’ve got the information that they need. Now they’re applying it, to you.” He made a stronger barrier this time, pulling from the earth beneath the foundation of the room. He’d even help fix it later, but needed to blockade them in for now. “You sit the fuck over there in that corner and you don’t speak to Vic again, and you don’t speak to me or I will take this gun I’m carrying and pistol whip your ass before I have target practice do you fucking understand me?” He paused a moment. “Don’t speak. Just nod.”

Victoria: Victoria showed more restraint than Rick had, but she couldn't say she wasn't amused when he lost his cool. It helped her calm down herself, since she was ready to do a lot worse to Garrett. "Couldn't have said it better myself," she remarked. Leaving Garrett to Rick, she walked back over to the dead student to examine the body.

Garrett was caught by surprise when he slammed him against the wall, the image of the nice guy that he had before when they last talked just disappeared, the school should really start to pay more attention to who they hire, because two professionals that blamed a student on a time like that, were wrong, and one that literally slammed a hurt student in the wall, and literally threatened him, were even more wrong. He just looked at him, he didn't nod, he didn't say anything, but there was no sign that he actually started to believe it was his fault, because it really wasn't, doesn't matter what they say, he knew what he saw. Hunters coming from the opposite direction, going on the center's direction, he knew even if he didn't have gotten in, that they would get in, but of course that those two wouldn't believe him, would just keep blaming him, but he knew the true, he knew that no matter what he did, they would have hurt the people there, killed the boy, he wasn't feeling guilty about it, he would have been if he didn't see the other hunters, he did feel bad for the boy, he didn't deserve that faith, but there was nothing he could, and he knew that, of course he was frustrated about that, he wanted to help so much, but he knew there was nothing he could.

[solivagantis]

tagged by: @theholylight, ur gonna kill me with these memes istg tagging: available for stealing

instructions: fill out the questions about your muse, repost, and tag as many people you want.

send help this is too much

1. what does your muse smell like? He doesn’t really have a distinct smell of his own; he picks up the smell of whatever he’s been doing. So at different times of day he may smell like food, like sweat, like his workplace, or like strays.

There is also the fact that he likes scented candles. And not just the ones that have pleasant smells. He tries everything; he sees a candle with an interesting name, he buys the thing. So at times he can smell plain weird.

All that being said, he does pay attention to his smell. He used cologne in his teens, but as he grew older he started to find it to be too sharp and irritating on the nose. As an alternative he switched to essential oils, mostly mitti attar because he’s a snob and also just really likes the smell of rain

2. how often does your muse bathe/shower? any habits? Once every morning and once every evening. He also showers every time he comes back to wherever he’s currently staying, to wash out the aforementioned smell. No particular habits, but he does prefer showers to baths. It’s faster and easier, he doesn’t like to linger more than necessary

3. does your muse have any tattoos or piercings? Pierced his left ear after the events of the main game, but other than that, nothing. He contemplated tattooing over some of his scars to deal with his self-consciousness about them, but ultimately decided against it.

Tattoos aren’t exactly approved of in Japan, and sometimes people with tattoos are refused services. Besides, he’d look much more suspicious to people if he had tattoos, and draw the wrong kind of attention to himself. Never mind the fact that he does it anyway by always carrying a sword smh

4. any body movement quirks ( ex.knee shakes )? He’s not very expressive by nature, and it shows in his body language. He rarely, if at all, gestures, and even when he does, his gestures are always half-assed. He doesn’t have any tics, and all the tells he had, he worked hard to suppress.

I suppose his ability to stay still for hours can be considered a quirk? He also subconsciously tries to take up as much space as possible when he sits, so he has a tendency to kind of drape himself over the seat to the dismay of those who have to sit close to him.

5. what do they sleep in? Always pajamas. He feels really vulnerable in his sleep, and having his skin covered helps alleviate the uneasiness somewhat.

6. what’s their favorite piece of clothing? He doesn’t own a lot of clothes due to his nomadic lifestyle, and to those he does own he doesn’t bear any real attachment. But there is a pair of half palm gloves he quite likes. The feeling’s related to him being self-conscious of his hands more than anything, though.

He seldom wears gloves, because he likes touching stuff, and touching stuff with gloves on blunts the sensitivity. Half palm gloves seemed to be a suitable compromise, at least leaving some of the hand exposed, but he still doesn’t wear them as much as he’d like to.

7. what do they do when they wake up? He gets up at the crack of dawn without fail, whether he likes it or not, so he has a lot of time in the mornings. The usual rituals apply: brushing teeth, shaving, showering, washing his hair.

In addition to that, he takes a while to preen himself, especially during his stay in Inaba. Depending on how he looks that particular morning, the make-up kit may be brought out. Because of his need to constantly appear perfect, he goes to great lengths to hide or at least mitigate any signs of exhaustion and other things he doesn’t like about his appearance.

When he deems himself to be ready to face the public, he goes on about making breakfast. More often than not he didn’t get enough sleep, so there are copious amounts of coffee. He takes his black despite disliking the taste; he says the nastiness helps to wake up

8. how do they sleep? position? Terrible. Terrible sleeping patterns, terrible sleep schedule. Everything’s completely out of whack. In Inaba it wasn’t uncommon for him to get barely 3 hours of sleep at times. He has problems with both falling asleep and waking up.

He’s definitely not a morning person, but his messed up internal clock makes him get up early anyway, so he spends most of the morning in a half-asleep state. He’s also a heavy sleeper, and it’s really hard to awaken him if his body doesn’t think it’s the time. This actually bothers him a lot, and he feels defenseless when sleeping.

During his stay in Inaba, he had a lot of weird dreams, about his Social Links and about Izanami. But when everything was over, all dreams stopped completely. He actually liked sleeping before everything went down, the dreams were interesting to him. But after they disappeared, he started feeling apprehensive about it. Sleeping without dreaming reminds him of Apathy Syndrome, and he worries that he might relapse in his sleep one day.

As for position, the only constant thing about it is him hiding his face. In the pillow, in the blankets, in his arms, it doesn’t matter. As a result he often ends up in unusual positions, curled in on himself or buried in the bedding. If he sleeps next to someone, there’s a good chance he’ll snuggle into them somehow despite not being a cuddler under normal circumstances. And woe on that person if they manage to wake up before him, because he isn’t letting go.

9. what do their hands feel like? His hands are another thing he’s grown to be self-conscious about with time. Before Inaba, his hands were nothing special. He had the writers callus, but nothing notable. When he got to Inaba, however, this began to change.

Having to learn to fight from scratch, to work multiple jobs, to sustain damage from Shadows started to take a toll of sorts on his hands. There appeared new, different calluses, scars from his training in the real world that he couldn’t heal up, signs of working at the pub, at the hospital, folding envelopes and cranes.

It got worse after he left his parents. He had to take up more work, often manual labor, at that time to secure his financial situation. He works part-time even when he becomes a full-acting Shadow Operative, because even the most exciting jobs can become uneventful, and it’s hard for him to slow down.

As a result, he’s got worker’s hands, rough and scarred. Besides that his pale skin makes the veins more visible, and he has some bulging ones from working out. He does what he can to take care of his hands, but nothing he tries ever works to the extent he wants it to.

Overall, he just really doesn’t like the way his hands look and feel, and often just shoves them in his pockets. Or wears gloves, as said above.

10. if you kissed them, what would they usually taste like?

Okay, he loves kissing. Loves it. It’s one of his favorite activities that actually involve other people. So he’s very attentive when it comes to oral hygiene.He definitely had some partners who weren’t, so he knows how bad it can get

He tries to avoid foods with pronounced smells and always carries cinnamon-flavored gum. It used to be mints, but he found some people thought the taste of mint to be too much, and switched to cinnamon. So if you were to kiss him, you’d probably taste cinnamon or something vaguely fruity.

[gwynbleiddyn]

14 for James Bond song prompts?

“We know when to kiss / and we know when to kill”

Sometimes it’s Shepard who’s shaking, his lips warm with the taste of alcohol, and Scott becomes a safe harbor in a storm that he knows nothing of. He only knows how to hold, hands finding warm skin, guiding, trying to steer Shepard somewhere safer than his own mind. Those nights, Scott makes quick work of him, learning every line and quiver, every shudder and whisper. Shepard sleeps better, and Scott simply watches, somewhere between sleep of his own and a dream. Those are the nights that Scott wants to keep, and he clutches onto burnished dog-tags like a lifeline, counting down the days he has left with him.

Shepard talks in his sleep. It’s the same words, the same dream, and Scott wonders where he is for a fleeting moment. He wonders if he’s there too. Shepard’s hands twist in the sheets under his pillow, body curling in, and he flinches. Scott frowns, feeling uneasy that this dream might be more of a nightmare. The dogtags fall out of his grip as he moves closer, sheets pooling at his own hips, exposing his back to the cool night air. There’s a chill hanging over them, biting into his skin, but Scott ignores it. He reaches under the pillow to where Shepard’s hands are balled into fists, straining, and gently coaxes his fingers away from the sheets. When Shepard flinches again, Scott freezes, not wanting Shepard to wake suddenly in a panic. Shepard stills once more, and Scott gently runs his hand along Shepard’s arm, following every line and shape, right up until he meets the familiar dip at his shoulder. A muffled noise comes from Shepard, still in the throes of his dream, and Scott drags his fingers lazily over Shepard’s shoulderblade, down over his ribs with feather-light touches. “Scott?” the word is barely coherent, half-mumbled, half-spoken, heady with sleep. It belongs to Shepard’s voice, though, and Scott carries on his mindless exploration, hand running along the hard edges of his stomach as Shepard rolls over with a groan, body aching with exhaustion.“You were dreaming.” Scott says simply, his hand finally coming to rest over Shepard’s heart, and he can feel it pounding. Scott frowns, glancing up at Shepard, who’s been watching in tired reverence. A lazy smile appears on the older man’s face, but it doesn’t answer Scott’s worry.“Nothing you need to worry about–” Shepard murmurs, a yawn catching up with him as his sentence trails off. Scott huffs, scooting back, feeling a little silly for even trying to wake him in the first place. “Hey,” Shepard’s voice follows him, the bed dipping as he shifts over, strong arms slipping around him easily, “Thank you.” Scott regards him for a moment as they lie there, face-to-face, legs already tangled in comfortable familiarity. He wants to ask, wants to know where that same dream keeps taking Shepard, but something tells him it’s a topic best left alone until Shepard breaches it. Scott sighs heavily, sleep catching up with him now that he has Shepard’s warmth back instead of the cold in the room.“Y’welcome.” Scott mumbles, still sheepish, but Shepard only smiles golden as he always does. It’s enough.It always is.

Sometimes it’s Scott who’s shaking, his mouth caught in a grim line where doubt speaks instead of hope, and Shepard becomes a reminder of the hurricane he’s always been. The bodies in the streets don’t hurt Shepard, but Scott makes the mistake of looking at their faces and he feels sick. Those nights, Shepard sits with him, gentle hands and gentler words spilling over Scott’s shoulders. Those are the nights that Shepard will remember, the way his world sits in an orbit that Scott’s own world doesn’t, and he sits there with a heavy heart, head resting on Scott’s back as he holds him from behind.

“Scott.” Shepard presses a kiss to the ridge of his shoulderblade, but Scott just shakes his head, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes until he sees kaleidoscope colours. Shepard sighs, his breath hot against Scott’s cold skin, and lifts his head to speak better, a hand moving to rub gentle circles at the small of Scott’s back.

“I can’t. I keep seeing those faces.” Scott’s reply is strangled, mixed up with fear and disgust. Shepard just listens, waits until he finally spits up every choked word and heaves out another breath, trying his best to calm down.

Shepard is fully aware of the merc jobs Scott’s been picking up on Omega. He’d thought nothing of it at first, knowing Scott was more than capable of handling himself, but… Shepard hadn’t expected this. Scott has a moral compass far more black and white than Shepard’s own, and Shepard has no doubt that it’s a shitty byproduct of a dishonest man, which Alec Ryder is. Shepard knows the name, knows the legend, he’s shaken hands with him, and he knows that ‘N7′ comes with its own shade of morality that doesn’t belong anywhere else.

“Scott, listen,” Shepard soothes, but when Scott doesn’t reply, Shepard moves from behind him and off the bed to kneel in front of him instead, “Listen.”

Gently, Shepard pries Scott’s hands away from his eyes, holds them both in one of his own, and his free hand curls around Scott’s neck, thumb brushing his cheek as he coaxes him to look, properly. From here, Shepard has a much better view of those eyes of Scott’s, and he almost wishes he didn’t. Red-rimmed and dull, a dead giveaway. Shepard swallows, uncertain. This was new territory for the both of them.

“Scott, you didn’t hurt those people.” Shepard tries the obvious route: brute force and realization. Scott’s a soldier at heart, Shepard knows that. Sugarcoating things won’t help, and especially not coming from him. God knows he’s done far worse.

“Doesn’t matter, they’re still dead.” Scott sniffs, resisting the urge to close his eyes and ignore the way Shepard is looking right into him, trying to piece together every fraying tear. If anyone could, it would be him.

Shepard hesitates on his chosen route, noticing how Scott dodges it so blatantly. His brow furrows as he thinks, trying to claw some sense from somewhere.

“Look, you could say that about a lot of people. Regret doesn’t bring anyone back, and it’s not about to start now. Hey– look at me, please?” Shepard tries to coax Scott’s wandering gaze back to him, to give him a focus, a starting point. He can’t go anywhere without one. Scott obliges, blue meeting gold in gentle gaze.

“There is absolutely nothing wrong with surviving. This galaxy is all kinds of fucked up, and you and I both know it. Pulling the trigger just means you wanted to live. That changes nothing about who you are.”

Shepard is brutally honest in himself, but Scott has always liked that about him. He knows where he stands, knows where he can go, and that fills him with a confidence that he struggles to find elsewhere.

It didn’t stop the faces, not entirely, but he could bear them now. He could understand it, and that was far better than believing in the worst of yourself.

“Thank you.” Scott manages to reply, after a moment of silence. Shepard smiles up at him, quiet and tentative, unsure of his footing, but Scott returns it, despite the watery eyes and sniffling.

“I’m here for you, Scott. Whenever, however you need me. I want you to know that.” Shepard admits candidly as Scott’s hands fall from his grip, easily cradling Shepard’s face instead as he presses their foreheads together with an exhausted sigh. He doesn’t need to speak anymore, he just needs… this.

And Shepard would give him all the time he had.

Every kill is necessary, every casualty measured and drawn up with a bullet in their chest. Shepard is precise, leaves no room for mistakes he can’t afford. Kill the one to save the many has become doctrine, has become his own warped prayer, falling from lips better suited to kindness that he can’t spare.

Every kiss is desperate, fueled by a fear neither can describe. Scott isn’t shy, he knows how to get what he wants out of Shepard, and Shepard always allows it with a wicked smile. They both know it isn’t quite the fear of losing each other as it is the fear of finally having to set their compass and sail, eyes fixed on a horizon that has never belonged to both of them.

[nurturingflame]

Dinner, Dancing & Delectation - 48

April tucked a stray hair behind her ear, smiling with quiet amusement as the tip of Donatello's pink tongue made it's trademark appearance as concentrated on his laptop, typing away with a sped that seemed unlikely given his large digits.

"And that... should... do it!" he declared, hitting the return key with a final decisive strike and wearing that happy smug look he got when he completed a technical task.  April didn't bother to hold back her amused laugh.

"Really D, was it necessary to write over a hundred lines of code just to play a few songs off YouTube?"

"April." He sounded both offended and smug at the same time as he placed a hand over his heart, in a wounded gesture. "Just because we're below ground doesn't mean that we shouldn't put on a top notch show." He patted the recently cobbled together system of lights, fog machine and laser pointers like a proud father. "I dare you find a better set-up in a Tokyo host club."

April rolled her eyes, she really wished that Donnie stop watching Crunchyroll, who knows what other ideas he was getting from those animes. Next thing she knew he'd be building his own Gundam in the garage. As she shook her head at the mental imagery she happened to look around the room and found it still less occupied than it should have been. "Where is everyone? Gwyn should have been back by now."

"hwmm?" Donnie asked, looked up from making a few final tweeks of the equipment, handle of a screwdriver held between his teeth.

April smiled and waved him to put away his tools. "Knock it off, it's good enough Donnie. Let's get started with Casey. I'm tried of him and Aries arguing over who has a thicker skull." No matter what the hockey player claimed, she was pretty sure that even a metal plate in the head was no match for a mutant ram if things came to a head, literally. "I'll go round everyone up." April cupped her hands and yelled across the room. "Jones. You're up!"

"Metal!" Casey pumped his fist in the air and left Raph and Aries to make his way to the DJ table. April tossed him the mic before turning towards the exit. "Hey! Aren't ya gonna stick around Red?"

"Be right back Casey. Besides, as loud as you are, I'm pretty sure I'd hear you even if I was in Central Park." The comment earned her a wide gapped smile before a heavy metal guitar rif poured out of the speakers and Casey was bobbing his head to the beat, waiting for his cue to start singing.

April looped towards the entrance of the dojo and flew down the stairs, pausing only to check to see where everyone might be. There was a slight tingling of her awareness in the direction of the lab, something that she was becoming more aware of with Master Splinter's guidance. The sense she was picking up on was overwhelmingly happy and it put a spring in her own step as she made for the open door, only to be confronted with a very odd scene.

Leo, Master Splinter and Gwyn, (who had a rat on her shoulder?) were gathered around The Phoenix and Mrs. VonHertz as the healer laid her hands on the mutant's exposed furry belly. Everyone seemed to be leaning in slightly, very attentive but completely silent. Then the women squeaked simultaneously, huge smiles on their faces as everyone else jumped, April included, in response to the outburst.

"Ha!! It's still very slight, but yes they are moving aren't they!" Phoenix beamed. It didn't take anything more for April to piece together what was going on and she found herself bouncing on her toes with excitement. It took all her willpower not to rush in and feel the babies herself. Even though she could feel how happy the room was, the air practically buzzed, she could also sense something else that made her slightly uneasy.

There was a tingle on the very edge of her perception that made her suddenly want everyone to be back together. To have the safety of the group, yet somehow feeling that they might still be outnumbered. It was ridiculous and she tried to shake it off, the manic music and enthusiastic yelling coming from the dojo reminded her why she had come looking for them in the first place, so she decided to follow her gut. "Come on!" She called without preamble, "We've started up the karaoke. You guys are going to miss all the fun!"

Gwyn immediately latched onto Leo and started to drag him behind her. "Let's go Leo! It'll be our turn soon!!" she held the laughing turtle's hand as they pushed past April. The girl's little passenger squeaked in protest but clung tighter to her shoulder. April looked the spotted rat questioningly as the trio went by, she was going to have to get the story behind that one in the morning. 

Looking back the teen saw Mrs. VonHertz rise with the assistance of the Phoenix, only to have Splinter join them to offer an escorting arm to both woman. April hid a giggle behind her hand when they both took him up on the gesture. Who knew the ninja master was so smooth with the ladies? A flash of all three of them dressed to the nines, ready to hit the streets for a night on town flashed through her head, and she almost snorted at ridiculousness of it. #ActualPimpDaddySplinter. She would have to share the scene with Mikey later. She looked again and saw how happy the three of them seemed to be in each other's company, sharing a moment of peace in their otherwise crazy existence. April smiled tenderly as she followed behind them, maybe she would just keep this to herself after all.

Finally everyone was gathered back together and the celebration was back in full swing. Casey was throwing himself into his head banging, accompanied by Raph, Mikey and surprisingly Aries with some impromptu air instruments and moshing for good measure. Mikey went next, hip hop of course, followed by Mrs. VonHertz. The ferret mutant started out slightly shaky but blew everyone away before the end, and was rewarded with a standing ovation. True to his word, Leo sang with Gwynevere and it was so sweet that the turtle's leader was blushing and practically hiding in his shell with awes' and applause they received as a reward. While Gwyn seemed to bask and blossom with confidence at the attention.

The night continued with everyone taking a turn on the mic. Medusa skipped the actual singing but killed it in the lip-sync battle, her and Acros beating April and Donnie handily in a tag team showdown. The night was epic, before slowly degenerating into even more ridiculous musical challenges and dares. After some rather intense prodding from Mikey even Master Splinter and Mr. Murikami got up and sang a duet. It was a Japanese love ballad, soft and calming, but April could sense a depth of emotion and meaning behind it for both men. By the end there was more than one turtle lounging sleepily in the pillow corner and Gwyn was snoring softly, her new pet curled up by the girl's head.

Sensing the relaxed atmosphere Master Splinter did not the relinquish the mic but motioned Donatello to allow him to continue. "Thank you all for coming, but I think we shall call it a night my friends." Master Splinter declared, and there were no objections to be heard. Everyone said quiet goodbyes and those already asleep had blankets draped over them. In April’s opinion it was the perfect end to a perfect night.