#team as BROKEN family

[autisticlancemcclain]

“Hello, paladins.”

“Kolivan,” Allura greets, nodding her head at him. “You sent word that you’ve found something of importance?”

Kolivan hesitates for a moment, which is something Keith’s never seen from him before. It makes something churn in his stomach.

“It would be more accurate to say they found us,” Kolivan says. “It’s easiest if I simply show you. May I?”

Shiro steps forward, next to Allura. He puts a hand on her shoulder. It’s a testament to both of their strength that Allura doesn’t immediately grimace and throw him off.

They’ve been fighting a lot, lately.

“Show us what?” Shiro asks.

“A video, from one of our Blades.”

Allura and Shiro look at each other, silently communicating for a moment. As not-funny as the situation is, Keith does find it funny that despite the fact that they have a screaming match at least once a day, they know each other seemingly better than anyone else on the team, to the point where verbal communication is beneath them, apparently.

“Show us,” Allura says. Kolivan nods, and moments later a file appears on the holoscreen. Shiro taps it, and shaky footage begins to play.

The first thing visible, once the camera settles, is the bridge of a Galran warship. Several high-ranking officials are present, although — are they bound?

“Give it up, Storax.” The voice is deep and distorted, out of frame. The largest Galran soldier — a general, based on his uniform — sneers at whomever is speaking.

“It is not over until you and all vermin like you are crushed under my heel,” the general snarls. He turns his head and spits. “Until your kind is submissive under my hand.”

Loud, stomping footsteps echo through the room as a figure steps forward. They’re not tall — at least not by Galran standards — and very willowy, although their shoulders are broad. They wear a black, skin-tight suit under flexible armour, and a large helmet with a tinted view-shield.

“Oh, I’m shaking in my baby-seal leather boots,” they mock, sticking up a boot in question.

“Hey, wait a second,” Hunk says from beside Keith. “That’s — that’s a reference! A human reference!”

“That’s from Megamind!” Pidge agrees.

Coran hushes them gently, and Keith turns his attention back to the screen. Clearly the general has noticed the strange words as well, because he blinks in confusion. Then a slow, evil smirk spreads across his face.

“Well, I’ll be,” he says, leaning back. “If it isn’t my desert lily.”

The figure stiffens immediately. Their fists clench.

“I’m not your fucking lily,” they snarl. Keith can’t see their expression through their helmet, but their tone alone gives Keith chills.

“I don’t know how I didn’t notice,” continues the general. He gives the figure a long, slow look, up and down. Leering. “I’d know that figure anywhere.”

The figure stands in tense silence. They stand so still they barely appear to be alive, were it not for the waves of silent fury Keith could feel even through the screen.

“I was not a cruel person,” they say. “Not before you, Storax. In fact —“ he unholsters one of the pistols at his belt, and before Keith can even blink, fires shot after shot to the Galran soldiers bound on either side of them. Each bullet leaves a neat hole in the centre of the soldiers’ foreheads before they slump over. The figure hadn’t even looked to aim.

“I was going to kill all of you quickly, before I blew up your ship. But you?”

For the first time since the figure spoke, the general looks at them in some kind of fear. He swallows roughly.

“I’ll look forward to seeing your eyes pop out of your head,” the figure spits. The stride over to the general and rip of his helmet, throwing it to the ground. They lift their leg and stomp on it, shattering the reinforced material.

“Please,” the general says quietly. He seems to finally realize that this is the end for him, and it will not end well.

“Rot,” the figure stays, venomous. Without moving their gaze from the general, they point directly at the video — or, rather, the person attached to the camera.

“Blade,” they say. The video shakes, as if the Blade had startled. “In three seconds, I am going to press a button that will deactivate your cuffs. You are then going to run to the east wing hangar, where you will find my ship. My ship has a bomb attached to it, set to go off in twelve doboshes. My quintessence is the only thing that will deactivate that bomb. If you leave without me, the ship will blow up with you in it. If you do not get on the ship, this warship will blow up with you on it, and you will not bring your intel back to the base. Make a decision wisely.”

A click sounds loud enough to be heard through the video. The camera moves again, as if the Blade shifted their arms.

“Go.”

The camera shakes heavily as the Blade sprints, presumably towards the east wing. The next time the camera has settled enough for the video to be visible, the interior of a small cargo ship becomes obvious, with a small, flashing contraption at the entrance.

“That looks like a human pipe bomb,” Keith notes aloud. Shiro turns just to give him a Look, like he always does when Keith brings up explosives of any kind.

Keith only shrugs. His thing for bombs and shit has only helped since they got into space. He’s sure as hell not apologizing.

Suddenly, a deafening boom rocks the ship. Seconds later, the figure from the bridge comes sprinting down the hallway visible from the ship, chunks from the ceiling collapsing all around them. They barely manage to throw themselves into the ship and slam the doors shut before the entire Galran warship explodes into flames, the tiny cargo ship making a speedy getaway with the figure in the pilot’s seat.

As they put more distance between their ship and the warship, they lean over, pressing their hand to the top of the flashing pipe bomb until it stops flashing.

“Thank you,” comes a quiet voice from behind the camera. The Blade.

The figure doesn’t respond.

“How did… how did you know I was a Blade?“

“Stop asking questions,” the figure says. “I’m dropping you off at your base with your intel, and then I’m getting the hell out of dodge. If you speak again I’ll drop you in front of the base’s thrusters.”

Wisely, the Blade shuts up.

After several moments of frankly uncomfortable silence, the figure speaks up.

“Voltron.”

The Blade waits for more of a sentence, but none is forthcoming.

“Yes…?” he says, prompting.

The figure clears their throat. “Tell me about them.”

“I appreciate everything you’ve done, but you have to know that information about Voltron is classified and highly sensitive.”

“I fucking know that,” the figure says, scowl evident in their voice. “I’m not asking for their damn secrets or locations or anything, Jesus. I just mean… are they okay?”

“…Okay?”

“Alive, dumbass. All the paladins. They’re good?”

“…oh. The blue one was killed, some time ago. The rest are alive, I believe. My last check-in was several quintants ago, however, so my intel may not be accurate.”

The figure’s shoulders droop, making Keith aware of how tense they were previously.

“The blue one is… dead?”

“From my understanding, yes.”

“How has Voltron worked, then?”

“I must confess I do not know.”

“…Alright, then.”

The rest of the video progresses in silence as the figure pilots smoothly to the base, dropping the Blade off as promised and then flying away. The video stops, then, and Kolivan turns back to look at the team.

“We’re not sure what to make of them,” he says. “The intel they collected and gave to the Blade included plans and pathways for the warships of several officers close to Haggar’s operation. The figure seems to speak like you humans, and asked about you specifically.”

“They’re awfully concerned about L — about him,” Allura murmurs, voice cracking on Lance’s name.

Keith swallows roughly.

“I’ve sent that intel to you,” Kolivan says gently — gently by his standards, anyway — after a moment. “We would appreciate any insight you may have.”

“We’ll look over it,” Shiro promises. “Thank you, Kolivan.”

Kolivan nods, and then the holoscreen goes dark.

[wistfulwatcher]

emily prentiss + leaving and coming back for her family

[aardvaark]

i was thinking about how i wished leverage had a birthday episode for some of the characters cause that would be sweet, but then i realised something and basically…. okay here’s my thoughts in quotes form, just for fun

hardison: so when’s your birthday? i could plan something for us and the team to do and-

parker: i dont know

hardison: you don’t know… your own birthday?

parker: no, how would i know? pshh, cmon, you’re telling me you remember EXACTLY when you were born? watch this - hey, eliot, do you know your exact birth date?

eliot, innocently passing by, who was canonically anonymously dropped off at a hospital as an infant: no, how would i know?

parker: that’s what i said!

hardison: excuse me?? what is going on right now

sophie, walking into the apartment: whats wrong?

hardison: parker and eliot- well, okay, when’s your birthday? i just have to prove something.

sophie: …….july 12th

hardison: why did you pause? wait, is that your birthday or sophie devereaux’s birthday?

sophie: ………… (guilty silence)

parker: see, no one knows their real birthday! haha you’re so weird sometimes, hardison

hardison:

hardison: what the fuck guys

[independent-fics]

Nathan Ford Being a Dad™ Parallels

Leverage (2008-2012):

04x16 The Gold Job

05x05 The Gimme a ‘K’ Street Job

05x08 The Broken Wing Job

[avnasace]

thinking about the fact that jace has probably never felt like he belonged anywhere, the nobles look down on him, but hes probably too insecure in his status to feel at ease around the smallfolk, and even around his own family hes different.

to his mother hes her perfect little son and her heir, she loves him dearly and she doesnt care hes a bastard and never brings it up. he has in common with her that theyre both heirs that arent traditional, but shes still a full blooded targaryen and a force of nature.

his bio father loved him but could only from a distance, his officially recognised father was also distant but that was more by choice, daemon we dont know but its obvious he isnt the warm type really, which is something he learns and has in common with baela at least.

his velaryon grandparents wanted nothing to do with rhaenyra or them for like 6 years and even then they focused only on luke because he was their heir and they were betrothed to baela and rhaena.

alicent poisoned the red keep and their cousins against them until they left for dragonstone and viserys was never parental to anyone that wasnt rhaenyra.

even most of his own siblings dont understand. joffrey too young, viserys and aegon are both silverhaired like their father. plus jace clearly spends a lot of time reassuring luke/joff and lets them lean on him not vice versa.

id imagine luke was the only one that could fully understand, both bastard heirs to two thrones that they never felt worthy of, and knew some would never accept them for it, but at least they had eachother.

and now lukes dead...

[meetinginsamarra]

Take My Broken Love

team as a family - chapter 13 is up on AO3

Standing on the airfield's tarmac and about to fly off to a suicide mission, Sherlock says what he had always wanted to say to John but never had. His words drastically changed the course of events.

Mycroft softly closed the door to his office room in the Diogenes Club behind himself and turned the key to lock it for good measure. He wanted to be alone and most of all, he needed to be undisturbed for one hour at least.

Mycroft allowed himself a quiet sigh and then he cocked his head to make the vertebrae snap back into their normal position. The relief he felt when the tension in his neck receeded was nearly exhilarating.

Maybe he was getting old.

He definitely felt old right now.

READ FULL CHAPTER 13 HERE

[sukoshininja]

Breather

Keith couldn't help but laugh in relief. He really didn't expect to survive that.

The blast had blown him off his feet and flung him yards before he slammed into a rock wall yards away. The impact had stunned him. If it weren't for his paladin armor encasing him, the force might have crushed him to death. Despite seeing stars, he took a moment to assess himself. It felt like he had been hit by a truck, but he would live. He wasn't so sure about his team though. 

"Anybody die?"

He was met with a chorus of groans.

"Role call," he announced. "Kogane, broken ribs, possible internal bleeding, definite bruising."

"McClain, three broken fingers, broken ankle, dislocated shoulder," Lance recounted, his voice tight and a lot closer than Keith expected. About three yards away the Red Paladin lay face-down. Must have fallen from his vantage point. 

"Holt, fractured wrist, broken nose, facial abrasions, possible concussion," they were laid out flat on their back, holding their wrist to their chest. 

"Garret, pain in the ass."

"Pfft," Lance failed to suppress a laugh.

"What? I fell on my butt?"

"That's it!?" Pidge shrieked, lifting their face full of broken glass to shoot him a glare.  

"That's long-range weapons for you," Hunk bragged. 

"Focus team. Shiro?"

"Shirogane, I died years ago."

Well, if he was joking he was probably fine. Probably.

Bombs were going off in the distance. The fighting was still going on. But they had blasted a hole in the main gate. With the freedom fighters and the Blades of Marmora storming the entrance, the battle was as good as won. They'd done enough.

Good thing too. The last thing Keith wanted to do was move. "Let's take five, yeah?"

Everyone voiced their agreement.

It had been close. They would need patching up. But they would live. His family would live. And that meant they got to stay together. Because at this point, death was the only thing that could separate them. 

my whumptober masterlist

[rhaenin-time]

I know it's tempting to think that if Game of Thrones was released today that HBO would encourage the same "choose your favourite war criminal" discourse by gutting the characterization for the "misunderstood" Lannisters and disregarding the actual themes of the source material in favour of trying to twist GRRM's critiques of the great man view of history and the underlying anti-war sentiment into a full on (but not fleshed out) theme about how "everyone is in the wrong."

But they wouldn't. And you know exactly why they wouldn't.

[lullaebies]

Hi! I’m not sure if you’ve already done this, but do you have any headcannons about the way that Aegon and Helaena act as parents? I’ve always wondered what their dynamic would be with the kids, especially when Helaena had just given birth to the twins 🫶🫶🫶

I don't believe I have done this yet, no - and that means it was due time for me to do so!! love my babies and their babies. 🫶

Helaegon as Parents Headcanons

◈ To begin with, given with the fact Helaena was very young when she gave birth to the twins and Aegon himself was no more than a year (or two according to the show) older, it would be a pretty rough adjustment. One kid would've had those two shook, the fact they are immediately hit with two kids is like holy smokes. Helaena often stays very close with the babies, partly because of the ongoing speech about them ("not all was well with these Targaryen princelings), partly because she finds herself very in tune and comfortable with them, and they're one of the aspects in her life she can very much decide for what is going on. For Aegon it's rougher - I genuinely think the birth would likely to be more traumatizing for the two of them and in combo of the talks about the kids he has a really hard time that nothing that is his is never good enough. He'll be pretty distant at the beginning because of it.

◈ That being said, that is not to say Aegon hates his kids. He would look down to them at some nights when they are already deep in sleep, he would be a bit awkward trying to assimilate fatherly aspect but every not and again one of the twins will reach for his arms and he just can't say no. They'll fall asleep in his arms and he wouldn't know how to put them down, either - he doesn't want to ruin the moment but he kind of believes he is the moment ruiner, you know? They'll probably stay in his arms until Helaena untangles him in rescue. When they are very calm in his arms, he lets go but hesitantly. It's one scenery he couldn't ruin, and he would'nt have minded for it to stay longer.

◈ Helaena is very hands on mama for a royal, she picks the stories and toys with her interests woven into them (dragonfly dolls!) and the advise of the maids who care for them, she sometimes brushes their hair instead of the maids, she generally always a few steps away in case they need her. Aegon acts more subtly in their matters, around but invisible, leaving them gifts like dolls or games to play with. He will always come with something on him to them because he feels better when they are very happy about the gifts. At times he doesn't have something on him (specifically in private times when he is alone with them), he funnily tries to copy Helaena or Alicent - he'd pick up a book they have tossed around to read to them.

◈ Maelor comes around in better circumstances with no defects or talk and that's where Aegon assimilates a bit better to fatherhood. This is also where he starts being more comfortable and his children start to be more of menaces because they certainly try to play with dad. Jaehaerys and Jaehaera had long been hair pullers as babies, but it all comes back when Maelor becomes The Clingiest Child of the year. Jaehaerys gains his "twerp" nickname and Maelor his "brat" nickname, but that's because he becomes a lot more comfortable with them. (Jaehaera's a lady, she comforts dad after her brothers bite his ankles. She's just Aegon's Haera.)

◈ Now, they are helaegon kids through and through; these kids crave love and understanding as much as their parents. Jaehaerys really does look for his dad and probably snuck to his chambers to find him dead drunk and snoring. He might be his alarm clock at mornings. Jaehaera practices with Helaena and Alicent her letters and her reading because the septas are quick to pass judgement, determined to read everything right so they would be proud of her. Maelor is clingy af because he got used to it and can and WILL stall both Helaena and Aegon, for no reason finding their rings very interesting to play with; but he's a baby - he's far more interested in his parent's home.

◈ The theme of “do you love me?" is very persistent in this family. From Aegon it's very obvious, the kids want him to love them, but even with Helaena when she struggles at being a mother, the babies always feel when a day is rough on her. They're a difficult family with difficult lives and if the kids ask Helaena or Aegon if they love them, it would be heartbreaking for either, it would resound with them on different measures, but the answer of course will always be yes. "You are my dearest loves," from Helaena, who truly sees them as the light in her life or a "of course, you twats," from Aegon who would pick them up to a hug so they won't see he's shaken. And shit will continue to be rough as this family is nothing but bumpy roads, but there's still is love.

[autisticlancemcclain]

prologue part one

–––

“You know, there can’t be that many humans in space.”

There are several simultaneous sighs in response over the comms. Keith doesn’t need to have the video feed open to guess the faces his team are making; the annoyance, the tired irritation and flat dismissiveness. He’s used to it.

He doesn’t care. If anything it’s amusing, actually.

“I’m only speculating,” Keith continues, casual. He ignores Red’s sharp pangs of warning in the back of his mind. “The movie references, the bomb, the attitude –”

“Do you ever shut the fuck up,” Pidge says icily, and Keith has no issue ignoring her, either.

“I mean, how many times would the Galra have come to the Milky Way?”

Pidge is no longer the only one telling him to stop. He counts two more voices but doesn’t let himself recognise whose, pretending it’s just background noise, because he’s damn right and he knows he is.

“We know four confirmed humans to have gone missing in space. Who’s to say it’s not –”

“Can it, Kogane!” Hunk shouts, and he’s much harder to ignore, if only because Keith wouldn’t put it past him to ram his lion right into Keith’s.

He shrugs and picks at a loose thread on his undersuit. He said what he needed to say, anyway. So. It doesn’t really matter.

Hunk’s breathing is heavy and carefully controlled, static over the comms, building up a tension that Keith can’t help but delight in, a little. He knows Hunk’s waiting for a response, maybe even an apology, so Keith takes his time in answering, poking idly at his dashboard.

(Keith has sat through Matt and Coran’s grief counselling just like everyone else. He knows how he’s supposed to handle this, how he’s been asked and trained to handle inner-team conflict. He has been presented with mindfulness worksheets and team building exercises. He knows the stakes. He knows that they are supposed to preserve the caricature of Voltron that they have left, continue animating the skeleton of the Coalition. 

But then again, he sits in grief counselling in silence, because he has nothing to grieve yet.)

“Not my fault you gave up,” Keith says, faux-casual.

Many voices erupt at once, because it is the wrong thing to say. He knew it and said it anyway and watches the aftermath with a deliberate and defiant brand of ennui.

“You just don’t fucking get it, do you.”

No, Keith doesn’t understand. He will never understand the ease in which everyone has simply accepted what seems to be. He doesn’t understand how quickly everyone else gave up. He doesn’t understand why they are moving forward, why they are bothering, when Lance has not been returned safely to them, when they haven’t even found a fucking body, if that’s the route they choose to pursue. He will never understand why everyone has given up on Lance as if it’s the right thing to do and he will never forgive anyone for it, either.

So he says nothing.

But Hunk is used to him starting things and backing away, now, so he continues.

“Lance was my fucking brother, Keith. I don’t have a single memory in my life without him in it. I fucking –” Hunk’s voice shakes, and Keith can’t tell if it’s rage or pain. When he speaks again he sounds reedy, drawn out. “I won’t turn his memory into one of your conspiracy theories. I know it’s hard for you, I know you loved him –”

Keith shuts that line of thought down fast, bouldering over Hunk loudly. “So help me look for him.” 

Keith’s words have no conviction. They have had this argument before and they will have it again, although every time they do, the patience for Keith wears thinner and thinner. 

(Keith knows they are getting tired of him. He knows they are losing their affection for him the fastest and he know he is making it worse for himself but he can’t fucking stop because if he stops then that means he’s given up and he can’t give up not on Lance. Not on Lance he promised. They have never found a body. There was the tape of course there was the tape but Keith knows down to the very soul of him that if the roles were reversed Lance would never ever stop looking and who would Keith be if he stopped. He knows his family just wants to grieve and he is standing in their way but he cannot choose between Lance and his family he can’t.)

“...Alright, Keith,” Hunk sighs, exhausted. Keith squirms until he forces himself still. “Alright.”

They ride in silence for the rest of the flight. Keith remembers a time when flights this long almost guaranteed a game of some sort, or playful argument that lasted half an hour, then immediately wishes he didn’t. He busies himself with the mission bulletpoints from the pre-mission briefing to keep from falling down that trap.

The intel Kolivan passed onto them included a very convoluted amalgamation of Haggar and her operations. Maybe even all of them. Keith’s not sure, it’s mostly been Pidge and Shiro and Allura looking at it, decoding and puzzling it out. What Keith does know is that the mission they’re on now is one of confirmation, a tentative testing of the waters, to add credibility to the intel. The massive file has informed them that the base they are approaching has been abandoned for months; planet totally ravaged of its resources and left behind when the Empire could no longer had use for it like the goddamn parasite it is. If the intel is correct, then the base should be empty of everything except a few patrolling sentries, easy to take out, and rife with bridges for Pidge to build to more information rich systems. 

And if the intel is correct about this base, then it is likely correct about others; others like the giant citadel in the Qelrn nursery star where Druids are supposedly born, others like the factories in twelve different galaxies where all Empire sentries are assembled, others like the almost immeasurably massive fortress built inside the most powerful star in the known universe. Places that, when hit, would not only cripple the Empire, but destroy it.

But of course they have to kick around this stupid abandoned shell of a base, first.

“Cloaking on,” Shiro announces as the base starts to blip on their radars. 

Keith listens without argument. He’s pushed enough today. 

He’s bored on the mission, as he expected to be. He takes the lead in the beginning, but it takes him all of fifteen minutes to wipe out the sentries scattered throughout the base and then his part of the mission is basically done. He’s not trusted to go digging around in files, not anymore. (Not after the tape. Not after taking down the Empire stopped being anywhere close to his first priority. Not after he became a Liability.) So he stands off to the side as everyone else crowds around the control centre of the bridge, swinging and slashing his sword around with no real purpose. He wonders if anyone would notice if he just got in Red and fucked off.

Probably. 

Sighing to himself, he sits heavily on the floor, not bothering to soften the impact and knowing the hard clang of his armour will leave a bruise. It’s a dangerous path to go down and he knows it, but he allows himself to think about what it would be like if Lance was here, on this mission and alive. Lance would be with him, probably. Neither of them have ever been able to maintain interest in hacking and computers and coding and everything. If Lance were here Keith would be allowed to explore the ship, since they'd be a pair. They wouldn’t find anything interesting but Lance has a way of making mundane things interesting. Keith wonders if they would have fun or if they’d spend the whole time arguing.

He smiles slightly. Both, probably. 

He hates their new normal. He hates it so much. He knows that they don’t have the resources to look for someone who’s very likely dead. He knows Pidge was never allowed to just up and leave and look for her family in the beginning, and it’s no different now. He knows that tactically, the smartest thing the Empire could do with Lance would be to kill him. He knows that and he’s not stupid enough to think Haggar and Zarkon and whoever the fuck else would mess that up, keep Lance alive, allow him the possibility to escape and reform Voltron.

It had been Lance to point that out, actually. Quietly and on the observation deck, one night when Keith couldn’t stand the sound of his muffled sobs through the thin wall connecting their rooms any longer and dragged him there to help mellow him out. The conversation had rolled around to the time Allura was taken, somehow, and Lance had confided in Keith that he was so angry in Keith’s and Allura’s insistence that she be left behind because he knew that they would kill her. 

“It’s the fastest way,” he’d explained, chin hooked over his knees and halfway haunted look in his dark eyes. “Voltron is a team or nothing kind of deal. There is no four paladin Voltron, there is no wormholing without the Altean heir to run it. Yeah, they could torture us for information, but why bother? Why expend that energy? You kill just one of us and we’re fucked forever. You could take Voltron out with one lucky shot.” He’d shuddered. Keith feels bile rise at the back of his throat even now, at the memory, at the surety in Lance’s voice when he said it, like he knew one of them was going to die and it was only a matter of time. It freaked Keith out then and makes him nauseous now. He doesn’t like the idea that Lance knew, that he prepared for it.

The train of thought makes him want to crawl out of his skin. He hates that his mind always goes here. He scrambles to his feet and stumbles out of the bridge, like he can outrun the memories, leave behind the fear in Lance’s face. He’s down a random hallway and swiping cobwebs and dust from his hair before he realises what he’s doing. He stops, smack in front of a giant window in some forgotten hallway, pressing the heel of his hands to his eyes hard enough to see stars.

“I can’t keep doing this,” he says. He breathes deeply through his mouth for several moments. He still feels hugely twitchy, like sparks are just under his skin. He looks out the window and finds a random star, staring at it until he’s cross-eyed, until it blurs and blinks around the edges.

There is too much he doesn’t know. There is too much that has been left up to speculation and it kills him.  Keith has always been hellbent on figuring things out -- his heritage, the Garrison secrets, the mystery of the Blue Lion. He has always busied himself with finding the truth and damned the consequences. And there have been consequences. There always have been and they have always been painful. He has always had to choose between truth and comfort. 

He takes one final, deep breath, imagining the air flowing into his lungs and sinking into his bloodstream, and steels himself. He pulls out his comm and messages Kolivan. (Even now, even after Keith has long since left the Blades and will likely never return, Kolivan has a soft spot for him. Maybe it’s the way he had the answers Keith needed and Keith trusted him. Maybe Kolivan just needed a reason to be soft after so many years. But Keith is grateful for it nonetheless.)

He opens the file Kolivan sends him, no questions asked, no hesitation. The intel that he has not been expressly kept away from but that has not been openly provided to him, either. He watches the video, with the mysterious figure who speaks like Lance and walks like Lance and squares his shoulders the same way Lance always has, and Keith starts his search.

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #1162

The team parent has a ‘frequent flyer’ punch-card for every medical visit they have to do with a teammate. They’re all as equally accident prone as they are avoidant of medical, therefore someone must be in attendance, much to the chagrin of the team parent who always takes them. (Secretly because they want to make sure the teammate is okay, but that’s not important ;) )

It started out as a joke, the nurses giving him a hand-made slip of paper with ‘frequent flyer, free check-up for every ten visits’. And they tick it off everytime he walks through the doors dragging an injured teammate with them.

But when the second card is filled up, they make it a permanent thing; made with proper cardstock and glitter.

The parent halfway to their fourth free checkup when The Incident happens.

Like clockwork after missions, the nurses will wait by the door to treat sprains and cuts and breaks, their stances casual but their minds focussed on the whereabouts of crashcarts and gauze. They all jump when the doors slam open, a gurney being rushed through followed by the entire team and then some. The field medics are barking orders as someone writhes in pain on the gurney.

It’s the parent.

“Long time no see.” The lead doctor jokes, shining their torch in the eyes of the parent to check for head injuries.

“Just- couldn’t stay- away.” The parent gasps in pain, jolting when someone presses too hard on their broken ribs.

“And here’s me thinking you were sick of this place.” The doctor tries to keep them talking: to keep them alert despite their grievous wounds.

“You can- can- p-punch my card.” Wheezes the parent with a bloodstained smile.

[blackseafoam]

Cleanse Your Worry

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Arturo is still struggling, Elleh is worried, Nicco deals with the consequences of playing dodgeball with a deranged half-orc. WC: 1129

whumptober 2024. day 13. team as a family l familial curse l multiple shumpees l "death will do us part"

The Red Lantern Inn glowed with soft warm light. The only patrons were a small group of traveling monks, and a pair whose look made their dubious line of work quite apparent. The staff were down to two tonight, and they had no fresh meat, so they prepped a simple vegetable stew to serve. 

“Arturo, you need to go to bed.” The gnome scolded as she stood on her stool at the kitchen hearth, carefully stirring the stew in a huge iron pot suspended over the flame. 

“‘M fine.” Arturo braced himself on the counter nearby, riding out a sickening wave of dizziness, waiting for the inevitable headache to set in. “Almost done.” He spoke through gritted teeth. Squinting down at the half chopped zucchini before him. 

“Nicco’s gonna be back any second, I don’t need your help.” She raised the pot on its chain to simmer, wincing a bit as the scar tissue in her arm pulled. “Come on.” She tutted at him as she pulled at his apron. “Dude, you look like garbage, go upstairs right now.” Tough love was going to be the only thing that was going to work in this scenario.

“Okay…” The dizziness lessened and Arturo straightened, fatigue setting in. Elleh escorted him to his bedroom. He leaned on the wall the entire way. 

The hunter sat down on his bed unsteadily. “I only just woke up like three hours ago.” He complained, wiping a palm over his face. Elleh poured him a mug of water from the pitcher and handed it to him, hopping up on the bed next to him with a sigh. 

“Well somebody used your head as a church bell, it’s going to take time to heal. You’re not doing yourself any favors by overdoing it.” She patted his elbow as he took a drink. “Remember how frustrating it was for us when Nicco would refuse to rest after his accident? Please don’t make me go through that again... I can’t take it.” She sniffed. 

Arturo glanced down at her, lowering the mug. Elleh wiped a tear away from her cheek. “I’m sorry.” His hand found her shoulder. 

“Please, help us by being patient with yourself. Please.” She swiped at another tear like it was a bothersome gnat, then leaned into Arturo’s side with another sigh. “These past few months sure have sucked.” She flexed her wrist, the scar tissue creaking in her skin. 

“Hasn’t been all bad.” Turo hummed. A savory aroma had wafted up the stairs, down the hallway, and into the room.

“I guess so.” Elleh straightened. “I better go serve that stew. I’ll bring you a bowl.” 

Arturo laid down gingerly, pinching at his forehead, as Elleh trotted out the door.  “El?”

“Yeah?”

“Just, leave the door open please.”

“Sure.”

Arturo breathed through his throbbing headache, the humming voices echoing up from the common area distracted him enough to finally fall asleep.

Nicco entered the inn as Elleh doled out wooden bowls to the patrons. He calmly greeted his guests, then caught the gnome’s gaze and nodded toward the kitchen. 

Elleh rushed behind the bar. “Did you find anything?” She wasted no time with pleasantries. 

“I did. Um…” Nicco had to gather his thoughts. “There’s a�� woman living in the ravine. She’s very hungry, and very aggressive.” He unpinned his cloak and rolled his shoulder, wincing. “Beaned me with a rock pretty good."

Elleh made a face, she gestured to the chair that had become Nicco’s sit-down prep station. The half-elf obeyed and sat down, pulling down the shoulder of his deel. 

“So do you think she’s like, a substance user or something?” Elleh pulled the fabric down and looked at Nicco’s shoulder. 

Nicco shook his head. “No, she… she just seemed scared. I don't know how much longer she's going to last down there.

“Where did she come from? How have we never seen her before?”

“Maybe we leave some food down there tomorrow. But we should all stay away from that area for the time being. Even in her state, she’s strong as hell, you should’ve seen the way she threw those rocks.” He winced and looked at his shoulder. He could already tell that it was going to be a nasty bruise. “It’s fine, I can move my arm, it just hurts like a bitch.” 

“Well, you probably shouldn’t move it then.”

“Thank you Dr. Harfvestii.” 

“You’re welcome.” She tilted her head in mock haughtiness. “I’m serious though. Actually I’m so serious that I’m going to make you wear this.”

She went to the table linens and pulled out a woven runner, tying it over Nicco’s uninjured shoulder as a makeshift sling. “Since I know you’re not going to rest yet, you’re going to wear that. That’s our compromise.” 

“Doesn’t compromise usually mean the other party gets a say in it?”

“Not when the compromiser already knows what the compromisee is thinking.” Elleh asserted. 

Nicco emerged from the kitchen to see one of the monks sitting at the bar, an odd sight. He was a young human, no more than 17 years old, with a shaved head and blue woolen robes. “Need something?” Nicco quickly settled into his customer service persona.

“I sense something’s wrong, is everything alright?” He glanced at the innkeeper’s immobilized arm.

The mercenaries nearby cast a glance over, but kept their hushed conversation going. 

Nicco let out an amused huff. “You must be the perceptive one.” He crossed his arms.  “My staff and I have had a rough go of it lately.”

“How so?”

“Well, it started during the High Plains race, and just went downhill from there.” Nicco continued on for a while, sharing way more than his character usually allowed. Something about this young man put him at ease. He covered his heatstroke, the fight with the Dragonborn (while leaving out any mention of a magical well), and all the way up to Arturo’s episode

“Bad things will pass. Good things will pass. What’s important is that these things are behind you, and you have each other.” 

Nicco nodded, huffing in agreement while looking at the floor. 

“Bad luck is one thing, but the worst thing you can do in this situation is let the anxiety ferment. You must cleanse your worry as often as you can. If you don’t, it will become a curse.”

Nicco nodded in agreement, but with a slightly confused look behind his eyes. 

The group of monks got up to retire to their rooms, and the young monk got up and followed them without another word.

Cleanse my worry? What does that even mean? Nicco shook his head and went back to the kitchen to help Elleh clean. 

[zincbot]

(insert another nothing post abt how good in stars and time is)

[riverofashcoll]

[actress4him]

Querencia 12.5 - First Healing

You guys voted, and amazingly enough, I have delivered! This chapter was already floating around in my head, though it’s not technically the “next” chapter of the series like the poll said. This falls right after Shopping Trip and before Just a Cold and the Mind Control trilogy, and is a moment I realized was missing from the story.

Taglist: @darthsutrich , @inky-whump , @painful-pooch , @pigeonwhumps , @bookworm2107

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Contains: lady whump, dude whump, broken ribs, self-deprecating thoughts, references to past homelessness, hidden injuries

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Liliana is alone in the warehouse, and it’s…a bit creepy, if she were to be honest. The place is huge, and her footsteps echo everywhere she walks. She’s tempted to hide in her room until the team returns. Then again, something about being shut in a room with no idea what’s going on in the rest of the building is even more disconcerting than being out here in the emptiness.

She should be ready for when they get back, anyway. This is the first time they’ve gotten called out on superhero duties since she’s been staying here, which means that they could very well get hurt and need her to heal them when they get back. Nari has assured her that it doesn’t happen very often. Still, that’s the only reason she’s here, right? If one of them does come back hurt, she should be ready to help right away, not locked away in her room.

So she makes her way to the infirmary, instead. It’s a small room, mainly comprised of a cot in the center, a counter with cabinets above it on one wall, and some shelves on another. They keep it stocked with first aid items, some a bit beyond what’s typical like crutches and slings and forceps.

They don’t really like to go to the hospital, Jamil had explained. None of them have ever had personal encounters with people who hate Nons…Supers…but they’ve heard the tales. They can’t risk being at the mercy of doctors and nurses whose political leanings they don’t know.

Liliana understands that perfectly.

They won’t need all the paraphernalia anymore, though, not with her around. She’s happy that she can take that burden off of them, take away the worry of what if someday we get hurt too badly to treat here. They’ve done so much for the city, after all, and now for her. They deserve to be taken care of.

At the same time, the longer she sits there, kicking her feet and staring at the blank walls, the more nervous she gets. She hasn’t healed that many people. There were a few accidental healings when she was young, but other than the arthritis those were all scrapes and bruises and one common cold. Then came the years at the facility, when she wasn’t allowed to even think about using her power.

While she was on the streets, she’d healed twice - both times with an enormous amount of fear that someone was going to leap out into the open and drag her back to the facility for doing so. The first time was the worst thing she’d ever healed. A lady had gotten mugged in an alleyway, and Liliana had healed where the mugger had hit her over the head with the butt of his gun. The only reason she’d stepped in and shoved her fear aside then was because she was afraid the woman might die otherwise. The headache she’d gotten from that was horrendous and lasted for a few days straight. Not something that she was looking to repeat anytime soon.

The second time she did with slightly less trepidation, since there hadn’t been consequences for the first. That was the man with the broken glass, the time when she’d met Nari and Quinn. The pain from that wasn’t all that bad, just a few stinging cuts. She still has the little white scars on her stomach.

And the only other time she’s healed was Jamil’s broken nose, which had been nerve-racking, too, but she was the one who’d broken it so she had to offer to heal it. That had hurt for days, too, and she kept feeling like she couldn’t breathe.

Today could be her first official healing, though. Her first time really performing her new job.

When she’d agreed to join their team, it had been a spur of the moment decision. A decision she’s second guessed many times, for reasons ranging from I shouldn’t have moved in with a bunch of strangers to they need someone better than me, someone with less problems than me.

Now, in this moment, she’s second guessing her ability to handle the kinds of injuries a team of superheroes might come in with. They could have broken bones. They could get shot, stabbed, burned, impaled, electrocuted…the villains they fight against have all varieties of powers that can do a ton of damage. Can she really heal any and all of that? More importantly, can she do it without letting on that it hurts, for however long it may take for those things to heal?

She doesn’t have a choice. They let her in so that she could heal them. If she can’t do it, then she’ll get kicked out, and she’s not sure she can handle going back to the streets, losing all of this comfort and care that she’s finally starting to get used to. And she can’t let them know that it hurts her, they’ll think she’s too weak and the result would be exactly the same.

It isn’t that they’re mean. They’re the nicest people she’s ever met. But they need someone who can do this job. She has to make sure that’s her, so she won’t lose even more people and yet another place to live.

The wait is excruciating, but eventually she hears the beeping and opening of the front door from just down the hall. Jumping to her feet, she moves to the doorway, wringing her gloved hands as she peers out. One, two, three, four…they’re all on their feet. It doesn’t mean no one is injured at all, but it’s certainly not as bad as it could be.

Quinn’s face brightens when he sees her. “Liliana, hey.” His eyes dart toward the room behind her. “Everything alright?”

She nods, still glancing up and down at what she can see of all of them. “I’m just, just waiting. For, um…for you guys to get back. Just in case.”

“Oh, that’s perfect. We’re mostly in one piece, but Alex did break a rib or two.” He gestures back toward the redhead, who she can see now is pressing one hand to his side.

“Ehh, I think they’re just cracked.” He waves his free hand casually. “Nothing new for me, honestly. I get beat up a lot.” He laughs at his own joke, then winces in clear regret.

Liliana’s eyes widen. Cracked ribs. She can handle that, right? She’s never had injured ribs before, but if Alex can treat it so nonchalantly then maybe she can, too. She definitely doesn’t want him to keep being in pain, it makes her stomach churn watching him react.

“I can, I can help. That’s what, um, what I’m here for, r-right?”

He grins at her and enters the infirmary as she steps back to make room. “I’d really appreciate it, if you think you’re up for it.” Gingerly, he settles on the cot facing her. “I’m used to having to deal with these things for weeks. If you can really make it disappear in an instant…”

“Mhm.” She nods again, still toying with her fingers. She’s just standing there, and he’s sitting, watching her…waiting on her, she realizes. Everyone is waiting on her. The other three are crowded into the room behind her, ready to watch her perform her task.

Right. She can do this. Gloves have to come off…well, maybe just one. One glove off, then she has to…oh, shoot, she has to ask him to…

“Um. I, um…I n-need…” Her face is growing hot. “I-I have to, to…to touch…like, um…s-skin…”

His eyebrows go up in realization. “Oh! Yeah, no problem.” He lifts the bottom hem of his shirt, revealing a cluster of bruises on his right side. “And don’t worry about hurting me, I’m tough.”

Her cheeks are still burning. “It, um, it shouldn’t hurt.”

“It doesn’t!” Jamil pipes in from the doorway. “At least it didn’t for me. Barely felt a thing.”

“Oh right! I forgot you’ve done this before.” Alex leans over slightly to see him. “Is it cool?”

“Definitely. Though I didn’t get to actually, you know…see it. I’m looking forward to it this time.”

The others are agreeing, and Liliana wants to curl up in a hole somewhere and disappear. They’re all acting like this is some huge special thing that she can do, and it’s just…her power. The power that got her kicked out of her family and locked up for three years. Yes, if she has to have a power she’s glad that it’s one that helps people, but it’s not special. It’s not that big of a deal.

“Okay, I’m, I’m gonna…” She motions toward his ribs and steps forward, sliding the glove from her fingers. Her hand is shaking a little.

Ever so gently, she places her fingertips against the bruised skin. Blue light immediately spreads across the area, soaking up the black and purple, seeping down until it reaches the cracked bones and beginning to mend them.

Don’t make a face, don’t make a face, don’t make a face.

The pain of her ribs “cracking” is sharp and immediately invades every breath. Liliana bites down on the inside of her lip to keep from gasping or making any noise.

Cállate, cállate, no hagas ruido, no pueden averiguar.

She glances up at Alex’s face, but his head is tilted down to watch the healing. Good. If she did slip and make any kind of expression, no one would have seen.

The light fades away as the last of the pain transfers, and she lets her hand drop, quickly moving to put her glove back on. “How’s, um…how’s it feel?”

His gaze comes up, and his eyes are wide with amazement. “Wow.” He stretches his arms over his head, bends his torso back and forth. She knows for a fact that those movements would have been very painful a minute ago.

“It feels great! It’s…totally gone, like, not even a trace left.” Looking down and pulling his shirt up again, he runs his fingers over the now unblemished skin. “That’s crazy.”

The others crowd around, Jamil poking at Alex and Nari making teasing comments about how he just can’t keep himself from getting hurt, and Liliana shrinks backwards, out of the way. Sharp pain shoots through her ribs with any little twist of her body. She’s going to have to learn how she can and can’t move, but try her best not to look stiff in the meantime.

A few weeks, he said, right? She can do this. It’ll be fine.

Alex stands and pushes his way past the others, not a difficult feat considering how much space his height and muscles take up. “Seriously, Lil, you’re fantastic.” He chuckles to himself. “Get it? Lil? ‘Cause you’re so…lil? I’m calling you Lil from now on. Anyway, I’d hug you, but you probably don’t want me to and that’s fine, so…fist bump? Can we fist bump it?”

She definitely does not want a hug right now, not with cracked ribs, but…she can handle a fist bump, she thinks. Tentatively, she raises her fist, and Alex gently knocks his knuckles into hers.

“Welcome officially to the team, kid. It’s great to have you here.”

Everyone spills out of the room exclaiming similar messages, making a huge deal out of what she just did and her presence with them. Liliana follows along silently, cheeks flushed again, trying not to let the praise get to her.

She still wishes they wouldn’t make such a big deal out of it. But if her power can make them this happy, then she’s very glad she can share it with them. Even if it ends up hurting much worse in the future.

[pocketramblr]

The more raw translations say the Himura's have been around for a long time, what are the odds of AFO and Yoichi being related to them?

I know I specialize in family trees and not statistics, but think about what else was learned of the Himuras that maybe I don't want AfO and Yoichi specifically to be related to them in this instance