#the spork speaks in insults

[trio-of-chaos]

△

Evil spork?

dreams are weird man

one day I dreamed about a fork and a spoon fusing dbz style and they turned into a spork that would try to grab me to feed to their master, who is just a gigantic mouth

they became a recurring part of my dreams so from time to time I find myself running away from THE EVIL SPORK

[half-oz-eddie]

Wanna Watch?

Tommy is obnoxiously curious about Billy and Steve’s relationship, from their dynamic to their sex life. Eager to put the invasive questions to rest, Billy invites Tommy to watch him and Steve have sex.

E is for Exhibitionism (fetish for being naked and performing sexually in front of a person)

This is the 5th fic in my Harringrove Kinktober ABCs A series of 26 unrelated ficlets about Billy and Steve, each one written for a kink that starts with every letter of the alphabet.

@harringrovekinktober

“Aww, aren’t you two cute.” Tommy cooed, catching Billy and Steve sharing a kiss near Billy’s Camaro. 

The couple started dating, much to everyone’s surprise, over spring break and no one had the balls to approach them or question them about it.

The only one who would question them was Tommy—and his questions were more invasive and oddly specific. 

“So uh…who gets fucked and who does the fucking?” He curiously asked during lunch. 

Steve rolled his eyes and dropped his spork, mouthing an irate “oh my god.”

“Steve tops.” Billy replied flatly. 

Tommy laughed, loudly and obnoxiously, banging his fist on the table. “No way, there’s no way!”

“And why the hell not?” Billy wondered.

“Be-because—“ Tommy tried to speak through his laughter “It’s just…I dunno. Billy seems so much tougher than you, Steve. I can’t imagine you overpowering him.”

“It’s not about power, Hagan.” Steve began to explain.

“It’s about what works for us in the bedroom.” Billy added. “He doesn’t ‘overpower me.’ I let Steve do what he wants to me.”

“Yeah, dickhead, it’s all about consent, not power.”

“Oh, I’m so-rry.” Tommy responded facetiously. “Didn’t mean to insult the sanctity of your relationship.”

Billy chuckled. “You know, you’re awfully interested in what we’ve got goin’ on, Tommy. Something you wanna tell us?”

“W-whaddya mean? I’m just asking.” He shrugged. “I never met 2 queers before.”

“And you obviously have no idea how we fuck either. It’s like talking to a virgin.” 

“I’m not a virgin.” Tommy spat. 

“Yeah, yeah, screwing Carol since the 7th grade, yeah, yeah.” Billy dismissed, waving his spoon.

“Yeah, so…is it wrong for one sexually active young adult to ask his sexually active friends about their sex life?”

“No.” Steve said.

“It’s just…” 

“A little gay.” They both replied, laughing to each other.

“I’m not gay, okay? I’m not! Just…curious.”

“Curious about what? How we fuck? What it looks like?”

Tommy shrugged before nodding.

“Wanna watch?” Billy mischievously smirked.

Steve’s head snapped in Billy’s direction. He slapped his arm, whispering “what the fuck?” 

“What? It’ll stop him from asking all these annoying ass questions and making comments every time he see us kissing. ‘Sides, I’ve always wanted an audience.” He returned his attention to Tommy, an alluring smile on his face. “After school? Our place? Or you too chicken shit to see how real men fuck?”

Keep Reading on Ao3

[teaveetamer]

It's like. The tone of Raxie's sporking is completely different. He's often directly mocking characters or the author or the vague concept of edelcrits, rarely talking about writing or storytelling decisions. He's kinda just repeating what's in the text, but mockingly. Like BWIIDT starts her whole thing by talking about the framing used in a conversation, and the ways it shifts and changes topics to absolve YKB of blame. That guy just jumps, nearly contextless into a fic that most people are unfamiliar with (due to it being long, focused on a poly ship, and not recommended as required reading), and immediately starts shutting all over it. It's "this thing sucks" not "here's is why and how this thing sucks".

But behind all that, it's just super uncalled for? Like, where does Reyna come into this conversation? It's obviously in response to BWIIDT's sporking, but BWIIDT started hers because so many people were calling that fic integral to understanding YKB. I really don't see people saying that about Reyna's fic, and I certainly don't see her saying that about her own fic. She's writing it for her own personal satisfaction, and she's very plain about that. It's rude to go into someone's yard and shit in their sandbox

These are different anons but I am combining these. This is the last I want to say about this situation in particular.

To the second anon: yes this is actually very typical behavior for him. BWIIDT actually recommended a bunch of fics a while back and he went and left the authors extremely nasty, snide comments. Literally just because she recommended them. It does not surprise me at all that he would stalk the "villain Edelgard" tag looking for material. I mean that's what he does on Tumblr, I don't see why it woul dbe different on AO3.

I think it really speaks to the very warped mindset a lot of people who still engage in 3H discourse have.

Like they genuinely go into a 3H discussion thinking it's personal. When they're insulted by something it's deeply personal and they assume everyone else must be just as insulted by it. They cannot fathom that people out there do not take the anime chess game as seriously as they do. And they think that the only solution to their hurt is an eye for an eye, to make "the enemy" hurt as bad as they do.

And I think that's the thing this guy just doesn't get about why he keeps getting called out.

I don't continue to talk about what's going on with him because I want to participate in 3H discourse or because I'm mad about video game opinions or whatever he likes to claim whenever he gets called out. I don't care about his 3H opinions. I don't think I've ever even read any of them.

I only bring him up because he has demonstrated, repeatedly, that when he's left to his own devices he is destructive to himself, to the people he targets, and to the FE community as a whole. And, sadly, the only reason he has ever been relevant and the only reason he will ever be relevant is because he hurts others, and instead of reflecting on that he takes glee in it. He justifies it. He enjoys it. He, a 35 year old man, is proud that this is what he's known for. Because he'd rather be known for being a destructive, damaging person than never be known at all. And that says more about him than he wants to admit.

[saint-starflicker]

I started out with fanfiction in the Buffy the Vampire Slayer fandom twenty years ago. The "Big Name Fans" in transformative works were English teachers by profession and I think just so happened to want to combine their hobby with their vocation: They wrote essays about proper dialogue punctuation, characterization and relationship dynamics, how not to get confused by easily confused words (there, their, they're), and even—because the source material we were all writing fanfiction for had a lot of fight scenes—how to write a fight scene in prose.

That said, it was also emerging from a pan-fandom online culture of fanfiction criticism that...maybe had too much fun with being mean. The "Plot Protectors" and the "Fic Bitches" would trawl the hosting websites for whole fanfictions to re-post with "commentary" that is a line-by-line evisceration that was often brutally insulting to the author and a lot of us thought that was funny and educational. (One blog clique called it Sporking.) (The Plot Protectors had a whole parallel universe worldbuilding that was unfortunately very entertaining and fascinating in its own right.)

I think that a lot of young writers back then were very discouraged by that atmosphere and found it toxic.

I'm guessing that's partly how we got to where we are now, where I find a lot of outcry against complaining or criticizing anything written for free or for fun—which, well, fair points.

I think that's too far in the other extreme, though. I wouldn't want to be "heckled from the other side of the campfire" so to speak by just any self-righteous jerk on the internet—but I do also think that any text, especially any trends within a form or a genre, can be analyzed.

At the same time, I completely understand that a lot of inexperienced or hobbyist writers aren't here for getting heckled by self-righteous jerks who time-travelled from 2002 when it was really cool to be mean and to cover that up with "we're helping you to write better". There's always going to be people who offer inapplicable suggestions based on nothing but their personal biases, or who really think they're in the right when it's only their unresolved personal issues they're making somebody else's problem, and people who criticize the criticism (like the "Fanfiction University" that taught as I said mostly grammar and punctuation, would get nasty anonymous comments sent to its members that wrapped up with basically "you have the gall to tell other people how to write"). Even the compliment sandwich that was recommended back in the day as a format for feedback (e.g., "love the premise, characterization could have been less flat, this was my favorite line"), I remember that got some sarcastic comments from both readers who only wanted to get to be mean and writers whose egos could only bear to receive unconditional positivity. And there's going to be actually meaningful criticism. And no way to tell that last type from all the preceding types.

I don't really have a solution, then. I'm just happy that I was at the right place at the right moment to get what was helpful to my craft from that. Even though I benefitted from the content at the time, I wouldn't recommend a revival of Fanfiction Universities or Fanfiction Sporking Blogs, because I can predict problems arising from those too.

So right now I think of the fanficsphere like the quality/quantity pottery story, or comparable to why community theater is usually going to be bad but also nothing is more important to the art than to keep that space alive for people to be amateurs and unskilled and to try new things in.

After months of staying silent on literary discourse here on Tumblr, I finally have something to contribute.

Fanfiction is not the problem. Fanfic is a free, communal and valid form of writing which, although not always high quality, has yielded some genuinely great stories. The real problem, the reason for ‘booktok books’ and the flaws in modern literature, is fanfic being hijacked by corporations. The minute people try to make money off of it, the minute fanfic and fanfic-style stories lose their meaning. Fanfiction is written on the notes app at 3am for you and 5 friends who share your taste. It is self-indulgent, chaotic, often told through a queer and/or neurodivergent lens, and free from any pressure to be commercially palatable. The minute a few stereotypical fanfiction tropes and ideas are stolen by commercial publishers and twisted into patriarchal, heteronormative versions of themselves with no character depth beyond the romance (a problem that for obvious reasons doesn’t apply to fanfic), that is where the real problem begins.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk

[czigonas]

Time is a Thief (Gladness and Grief)

Summary:

When Jango opened his eyes, he was, at first, confused that he was alive at all.

He was laying on a fairly comfortable bed in a room he didn’t recognise, which was worrying enough, but he’d also been stripped of his armour. On the other hand, he didn’t appear to be poisoned anymore, which was nice. If suspicious.

All Hallows JangObi Week Day 1: Curses

Under the cut for length. Also on AO3. Mando'a is in-line translated here, hovertext enabled on AO3.

When Jango opened his eyes, he was, at first, confused that he was alive at all.

He was laying on a fairly comfortable bed in a room he didn’t recognise, which was worrying enough, but he’d also been stripped of his armour. On the other hand, he didn’t appear to be poisoned anymore, which was nice. If suspicious.

Then the door opened and a very pretty human or near walked in, bearing a tray of food. Unfortunately, they were also dressed kind of like a jedi. He doesn’t like it.

“Oh! You’re awake!”

Very adept at stating the obvious, this one. Jango decided they didn’t deserve an answer for it.

“How are you feeling?” They continued with a small smile, setting the tray over Jango’s lap, seemingly oblivious to his antagonistic mood. “You weren’t looking too well when you stumbled in a few days ago.”

“Where have you put my armour, chakaar [thief]?” Jango snarled instead of replying directly.

They frowned ever so slightly. A little hesitantly, probably wary of his anger, they gestured to the side. Jango narrowed his eyes but turned. Hanging neatly on a stand in the corner was his beskar’gam [armour]. His kute [bodysuit] had been cleaned and was folded on a table next to it. Well now he just felt bad.

Proving that he hadn’t entirely lost his manners while he’d been enslaved, Jango turned back to the stranger, inclined his head just enough to be polite, and bit out a gruff, “N’epar’it [Sorry].”

“Kih’parjai [No problem],” they smiled serenely, folding their hands into their draping sleeves.

Jango wondered what it would take to do more than barely ruffle them, then he registered what they said.

“You speak mando’a?”

They frowned again, looking faintly worried. “Yes? We’ve been speaking it this whole time.”

Jango must still be rattled from the fight with Tor and the subsequent recovery. He frowned back. “But you’re jedi. Who taught you?”

They sniffed a little, insulted maybe, but answered anyway. “What does it matter that I’m jedi? So is Baji’ur [Teacher] Vizsla. They taught me when we left Coruscant.”

Before Jango could do more than curl his lip at ‘Vizsla’, the jedi’s eyes grew hard. “What I want to know,” they returned, unyielding, “is how you got their sabre. Baji’ur [Teacher] never lets it out of their sight.”

That threw Jango for a loop. “What? What sabre?”

The jedi pursed their lips, staring him down before holding a hand out towards his armour. One of his belt pouches shivered, then opened. From its depths shot a very recognisable hilt, settling gently in the jedi’s grasp.

Oh. That sabre.

“I killed that hut’uun [coward] Tor and took it from his corpse.”

They paused, some of their irritation melting away into confusion. “Tor?”

Jango gave them an incredulous look. “Yes. Tor Vizsla. Descendant of Mand’alor [Sole Ruler] Tarre Vizsla? Leader of Death Watch and pretender to the title of Mand’alor [Sole Ruler]?”

“De… descendant?” They crumpled in on themself just a little, then straightened, eyes fever-bright. “What’s the year? Please.”

“958 as the Republic counts,” Jango told them, watching their reaction closely. If they were asking, though… “7935 by the Hosnian Reckoning.”

The jedi looked on the verge of collapse, freckles standing out starkly against dramatically pale skin, staring sightlessly at the hilt in their hand. “Seventy-nine… But…”

Before Jango could pry any further, they left in a flurry of robes. He looked back down at the forgotten tray of food in his lap. Shrugging to himself, he picked up the spork and started to eat. It probably wasn’t poisoned, if they’d gone to the trouble of saving him once, so he might as well not waste it. As he ate, he went over the conversation again, dissecting and cataloguing the jedi’s mannerisms and body language as much as his words. Something seized his attention in the way they had fled the room.

Beneath the swirling fabric, Jango thought he’d caught a glimpse of beskar.

The jedi hadn’t come back by the time Jango finished his food so he got up, listening for returning footsteps the whole while, and dressed in his armour, politely clipping his helmet to his belt instead of wearing it. He checked his weapons, a little surprised to find every single one in its proper place. In fact, they seemed to have merely undressed him for treatment, not daring to touch his beskar any more than necessary. That was strangely considerate, for an aruetii [outsider].

Since the only thing missing from his kit was the darksabre and he still didn’t really know where he was, Jango decided to explore. The bedroom he’d woken up in turned out to be one of a handful in what appeared to be a moderately large building. There were no windows and he hadn’t found an exterior door yet, but he was probably still on Corellia if he’d only been unconscious for a few days.

He found the jedi kneeling before something that looked kind of like an altar in a chamber near the back of the building. Jango paused in the door to take in the rather elaborate carvings, detailing what looked like a hunt through the jungle culminating in a light from the sky striking down the leader of one party, who was interred in a building that probably looked a lot like this one if he’d seen it from the outside.

Jango approached from an angle; it was never smart to walk up directly behind a warrior, especially if you couldn’t see their hands. It didn’t seem to matter though, because the jedi just knelt on the floor, hunched over what looked like a weird stone tablet that had been cracked into several pieces. They looked up when he got close, grief on their face.

“Well,” they laughed weakly. “I suppose I should thank you.”

Jango tilted his head in question and they waved a hand at the reliefs lining the room.

“It appears I’ve been sleeping here for over a thousand years. I was cursed,” they gestured at the carving he’d noticed earlier, with the light, and then at the slab in front of them. “And you broke it.”

“How?”

“I don’t remember being cursed - though I have my theories as to who would have done it and how - but the tablet is pretty specific on the conditions required to break it and since you were the only one here when I woke up, you must have met them.”

Jango leaned forward to have a look at the so-called conditions. “Bunch of Force shit?”

The jedi hummed, not seeming offended at all. “No, though it’s cryptic enough to be.”

Jango leaned further into their space when he saw just what was on the tablet. “Is that written in mando’a?”

“Yes,” they sighed, standing, letting him catch another glimpse of the armour they wore beneath their robes. “Let’s move this discussion somewhere more comfortable and,” they shot a wry smile over their shoulder as they headed for the door, “perhaps we can finally get around to introductions.”

They settled at the table in a small kitchen near the bedrooms. It was well stocked, especially for having sat unused for a millennium. Maybe the whole place had been in stasis. The jedi folded their hands neatly on the table and gave an annoyingly serene smile. Jango tried not to scowl back.

“I am Obi-wan, Clan Kenobi, House Vizsla,” they began. “I was one of Baji’ur [Teacher] Vizsla’s students, and left the Temple of Coruscant to follow them back to Manda’yaim [Mandalore]. The last I recall, it was 6911CRC, and we had received word of an increase in Sith activity in the Grumani Sector. Any memory I had of our original mission is gone. I don’t know for sure how I came to be here, only that I awoke on that altar with you collapsed at its base, heavily poisoned.”

Jango took a minute to process that, pulling his gloves off and placing them and his buy’ce [helmet] on the table to stall for a little time. He bit down on the urge to withhold information from a potential ally; no matter their House affiliation, they couldn’t possibly be a member of Death Watch themself.

“I am Jango, Clan Fett, House Mereel,” he finally sighed, ignoring both their surprise at his clan and their confusion over what must surely be an unfamiliar house. “I came to Corellia to kill Tor Vizsla as revenge for their killing my buire [parents] and ori’vod [older sibling]. I succeeded, but they poisoned me in the process and I must have dragged myself in here as the closest available shelter.”

Obi-wan nodded, processing that for a moment, then spoke again. “Who is Mand’alor [Sole Ruler]?”

Jango carefully kept his reaction under control, eyes straying to the darksabre’s hilt resting on the table between them, and didn’t answer.

“You said that Baji’ur [Teacher] Vizsla’s descendant was only a pretender to the title, so who else has claim?” Obi-wan waited only a beat, then pressed further. “I swore the Resol’nare [Six Actions] and even a millennium out of time I will honour my vows.”

They stared each other down for a long minute, until finally Jango sighed. “It’s complicated.”

Obi-wan gave him an unimpressed glare and crossed their arms. “Try to explain. I doubt it’s really all that complicated.”

“It is,” he snarled back. “Manda’yaim [Mandalore] was nearly destroyed by the jedi on Republic orders three hundred years after you were stuck in here. Ever since, the clans that survived the Dral’han [Excision] have been in disarray. No single Mand’alor [Sole Ruler] emerged to lead, though several tried.

“Our best hope was killed a decade ago by that shabuir [motherfucker] Vizsla when their own second betrayed them.” Obi-wan looked stricken, but Jango found that once he’d started talking he couldn’t stop. “Montross was exiled, I was elected in Jaster’s place and I tried, but I’m not-- I was fourteen. I couldn’t protect them.”

He was standing now, pacing, too worked up to stay still. “Vizsla kept trying to kill me - kill anyone who followed Jaster’s Codex - because they wanted to go back to conquering instead of rebuilding our home, but they were also a coward. They refused to face Jaster in single combat, and they refused to face me. Instead, they tricked the jedi into slaughtering us without cause. Three hundred forty-seven of the best of our commandos, cut down by those bastards. Then they sold me into fucking slavery and I couldn’t protect them!”

Jango was jolted out of his rant by a half choked off cry. When he turned back to the table, it was to see Obi-wan watching him with wide, wet eyes, tears streaking down pale cheeks and a tremulous hand clasped over their mouth. He tried to hold onto his rage, to lash out further at them as an embodiment of an order that had brought him so much pain, but he couldn’t. They held no fault in what had happened.

“So yeah, it’s complicated.” He sagged back into his seat with a shattered sigh. “Technically, I have the best claim now that Vizsla’s dead and I have the sabre, but no one would answer my call. They probably think I’m dead and good riddance.”

There was a long, loaded silence as Jango stared at the ceiling, feeling wrung out and empty of anger for the first time in years. He heard Obi-wan stand, the sound of them making shig breaking the uneasy quiet. A mug was set on the table in front of him, and Jango finally looked down again. The jedi looked just as hollow as Jango felt, drawn out and tired, though they’d cleaned their face.

Jango looked away again, sipping his drink but tasting nothing as the silence drew out between them. Stars, he was exhausted. Obi-wan sighed softly, as if in agreement.

“I would swear to you, if you would accept.”

Jango nearly choked, setting his mug back down with a clatter.

“Why?”

“Several reasons,” Obi-wan answered, smiling with soft, bittersweet affection. “But the most important is that you remind me of Baji’ur [Teacher] Vizsla - of Mand’alor te Nau’jorir [Mand'alor the Lightbearer].”

Jango swallowed down his instinctive denials. He hadn’t even been able to live up to Jaster’s legacy, how could someone say he reminded them of such a legendary leader?

“It’s in the way you feel,” Obi-wan tried to explain, reading Jango’s bewildered confusion in the set of his shoulders. “Your convictions burn with starfire. Even now, when you think yourself too broken, I can see the shape of the Mandalore you would create and protect. I want to be there as it comes true. I want to help you make it happen.”

“There aren’t--” Jango broke off with a grimace. “The Haat’ade [True Children] are dead.”

“All of them?” Obi-wan seemed more concerned than disbelieving. “Even so, they cannot kill our people’s spirit. Mando’ade atiniir [Mandalorians endure], we will always rebuild.”

They would, too, with or without him. Mandalore survived, in their people and their ideals, spread across the galaxy. They’d been nearly destroyed so many times over the long centuries; a cyclical rise and fall like Manda’yaim’s [Mandalore's] ancient ocean under the thrall of their moons. Even now, burned away under the heat of the Dral’han [Excision], the deserts moved with familiar tides, scarred but unbroken.

Thinking about Obi-wan’s soft question, Jango acknowledged that, while he had brought an entire company to Galidraan, that had not been nearly the full strength of the Haat Mando’ade [True Mandalorians]. He still didn’t feel worthy of them but - he slanted a considering glance across the table at the jedi who had offered him the first hope he’d held in years - maybe he could get there again, with the right help.

Jango stood and reached for the darksabre.

Obi-wan smiled and knelt.

Together, Mandalore rose.

[yetanothergreyjedi]

What We Might've Been: Part 3

Part 1 Part 1.5 Part 2

Part 4

Inspired by @liminalhollow 's spork AU

For @dargeon-lissa @dp-marvel94 @aethtalon

Also if you like this story, you might like Warped Mirror by @ectoentity

(Comments and questions are appreciated)

...

The next conversation was painful. Not literally, but that was only because they hadn't let Mr. Uses-the-word-'ghost'-as-an-insult get his hands on anything that could cause pain. (Tucker was trying to think of a time when Danny would've said something like that. It would've had to have been pretty early after he got his powers, but there really wasn't a big window between 'Oh, ghosts are real' and "I'm a ghost?' so Tucker didn't think there was any point when he would've. It wasn't even that creative.) Actually, that wasn't the only thing that didn't quite line up about this guy. Like the hazmat suit, it was like his before the accident only... armored? Slightly? It was different and something Tucker would've absolutely remembered. Then there was fact that he hadn't seen him use any ghost powers... Yeah, they were going to bring all this up when they got to Clockwork.

Anyway, the conversation when about as well as could be expected when the person with most of the information didn't want to talk, thought one of you was a ghost that had stolen his life, and became more mistrustful when they tried to defend him. Honestly, whatever ghosthunter had decided to publish the 'Ghosts are highly manipulative' line, Tucker hoped they became a ghost when they died.

But, yeah, words had gotten them nowhere, didn't seem to be getting any closer to anywhere, so Sam knocked the guy out. They'd dragged him into the Specter Speeder, and were now on the way to Long Now. Hopefully he wouldn't wake up until they got there.

Right.

Maybe he should just give up the word 'hopefully' because 'hopefully I can relax this weekend' had turned into time travel shenanigans and now the guy was already shifting back there. (shifting as in movement, not shifting as in dying/going ghost, Tucker smiled at his little joke. He'd have to figure out how to use that later.)

"Guys, I don't want to freak him out again." Danny whispered as he faded out of visibility, like that was going to do anything? Well, maybe jumpsuit guy would just assume they had the air conditioning up to high and the other off-putting vibes were just the ghost zone... yeah, guy was gonna freak out no matter what. At least Tucker was driving, then if he got violent Sam could knock him out again.

Jumpsuit guy... No. Dan. Time-traveled other Danny's get called Dan, for efficiency. Dan made some waking up sounds and after a minute asked "Where am I?"

Great, he's still freaked out... that's fair, they did kidnap him, but like its just so inconvenient.

"In the specter speeder." Sam answered.

"The what?"

"The specter speeder, did your parents not build that yet?"

"Uh... no? What is it...?"

"A... Vehicle"

"Sam, don't bother dancing around the point, all he has to do is look out the window."

"Tucker! I was trying to break that slowly!"

Tucker could tell that Dan had looked out the window by the frantic founds of seatbelt unbuckling. Yeah, that probably wasn't his brightest move. "Sorry..."

"What is wrong with you guys?! Don't you know how dangerous-"

"We're in here at least once a month will you calm down!"

I'm-to-flustered-to-make-words-work sounds, (that sounded a little like ghost speak which was oddly comforting if Tucker was being honest...) "That's not- Safe!"

(Oh! It was similar to Danny's acting-on-my-obsession noises, just without the static and overlaid creepy. Right! Past-Danny...) Tucker cut off whatever Sam was saying, "We did lots of tests before we came in here originally and we know how to be safe in here."

"But the Ghosts!"

"Typically mind their own business unless you do something."

"but in Amity-"

"Amity is like a magnet for the ones who want to cause trouble. And I don't think we should be explaining everything because of the timeline." There was a pause, good, he was using his brain.

"Wait, you guys actually think this is time travel?"

"Yeah, what do you think it is?"

"The clock ghost is helping the other one pretend to be me, for some reason... I don't know what they're planning, but-"

"Danny, stop." Sam's voice was clear and gentle reason. "Some of the things you have said today, I know you never would've said, even when this all started. Some of this still doesn't add up, but the idea that you went on some sort of time adventure makes some sort of sense with how you are now and the Danny I remember. Just trust us, okay? Even if you don't trust your other self?"

"Ok..."

"I'm gonna turn visible now,"

"He's been here the whole time!?!?!"

[magicstar16]

Invader zim Sitcom au (Part 2)

Okay so this is gonna go over all the other famlies. For characters who’s last names I don’t know I just gave them random last names.

The membranes: AKA The next door neighbors who get a spinoff later or something 

Professor Membrane: Doesn’t change much besides from being actually supportive this time. He’s like how he was in ETF. He’s still a successful scientist, but the “Smartest man in the world” thing is only just a title now. He let’s Gaz and Dib help him during some of his experiments as a fun, family bonding activity. (This does not mean they’re all safe, they can still be pretty chaotic, such as that one time where the house got overrun by gerbils). He still has robotic limbs from the shark incident, the incident actually left him deathly afraid of sharks (Yaaaaayyy PTSD)

Dib Membrane: Still a feral little paranormal investigator, he Zim go on crazy paranormal-hunting adventures together (YAAAYY Zadf), which Gaz joins sometimes. Sometimes it just ends up like a scooby-doo mystery where it turns out nothing supernatural was actually going on, sometimes they actually find some sort of paranormal thing. A lot of they’re hangouts are paranormal investigations. Dib’s still feral but he’s still calmer and more rational than Zim, while ZIm is much more rash and impulsive. Though Dib’s still more of a logical thinker, while Zim is a much more outside-the-box thinker, so they work well together. Sometimes they’ll butt heads and their competitiveness flares up again, but it’s more of a friendly, chaotic rivalry.

Gazlene “Gaz” Membrane: Gaz is a lot like how she was in the comics, still a jerk, but she still cares about her brother. Her care commonly shows in anger born of worry, she’s pretty much 80% of his impulse control.

Clembrane and Foodio 3000: Clembrane was a clone made by membrane so that membrane could get more stuff done, but the cloning didn’t go so well, which is why Clembrane is the way he is. Clembrane just ends up doing housework, and has an odd fixation on pudding. (Professor doesn’t know why, he thinks it might be because that was one of the first thing they taught him to cook that came out edible). Foodio’s pretty much the same, but was instead created as a robo-butler to clean the house and do chores when membrane was to busy.

Skoodge Brians: Zim’s best friend besides Dib, he’s gullible, but he’s got a good heart and he means well. He’s also a strong boy, physically and emotionally. He, Zim, Dib, and Gaz make up a ragtag bunch of misfits and stand up for eachother togther, and go on their own misadventures. Skoodge takes the bullying he receives in stride because he tells himself (Or at least tries to) that they’re just empty insults. He’s usually the shoulder to cry on for the group. He’s the type of friend to just let himself into the house if he’s close enough with whoever lives there (I.e, The Membrane sibs and Zim).

Tak Vessel:  (I wanted her surname to be a reference to her ship in the show. Vessel is an actual surname, albeit rare, and is a synonym for ship). Tak is a transfer student from the UK (Hence her accent) causing occasional culture shock for her (”IT’S NOT CALELD SOCCER! IT’S CALLED FUTBOL!!!” “Tak please it’s just a game). She’s kind of a bully who usually targets Zim, but mostly because he keeps ticking her off. She does have her soft spots for the Membrane siblings and her little sister Mimi. She holds some begrudging respect for Skoodge for putting up with everyone’s BS, her included, she can’t even imagine having that kind of patience. She mellows down if you get on her good side and can be a good friend when she wants to, She’s not much of a bully as she is just able to go from 0 to 100 real easily. 

Minerva “Mimi” Vessel: Tak’s “creepy” little sister around Gir’s age. Tak is really close to her,  which comes as a surprise to most people since Tak is seen as the kind of person who’d bully their little sibling. Mimi is a creepy little Satan child, at least at surface level. She checks all the boxes on the creepy little kid list. She doesn’t talk, she has big ole eyes that stares into your soul, she usually plays or sits alone, and is into some dark things, like she’s the kid who’d read the original tale after watching a disney movie, and would prefer the original. But deep down she’s just shy. She opens up to Gir later in the series, and usually lets him talk for her (Either by whispering in his ear and having him repeat what she just said, or communicating in sign language and having him translate, Gir’s translations are the same quality as google translate, not entirely accurate but you can get what she’s trying to say if you connect the dots). Mimi only speaks when she deems it necessary, since she has a stutter and a bit of a lisp when she speaks, which she’s really insecure about.

Tennessee “Tenn” Michaels: (I know literally nothing about Tenn please forgive me) A lively girl who’s kind of a ditz, but always tries her best and is quick to know when she’s made a mistake. She’s a friend of Skoodge’s so she knows the main squad just by proximity. She’s much more of a girly girl then Tak and Gaz, but they humor her because it makes her happy. Her parents run a daycare which she helps with sometimes, although “Help” usually means “Be offered as a sacrifice to a bunch of insane toddlers” in her eyes (Kinda like being sent tons of defective sir units in the show, except she’s only stuck with them until they’re parents pick them up). Sometimes she joins the main squad with they’re paranormal investigations or general shenanigans, but usually she can’t because she’s busy helping her parents at the daycare. She’s pretty much the only main character who’s not unpopular and has more then 4 or 5 friends.

Floog Gregor: Floog is a shy boy who’s also friends with Skoodge. He’s timid but he tries to be a good leader, and he’s even vice president of the student council at Skool. He looks up to his Dad, Theen, who’s a commander serving in the navy seals. Floog doesn’t get to see his dad very often, at least not in person (They do things like phone calls and video chat, but it’s not the same) Floog knows that his dad’s very busy, and that he has to sacrifice family time for his job. But since Theen’s a navy seal (I’ll keep it vague where Theen is serving specifically because I don’t want to offend anyone) Floog feels selfish for wanting his dad to come home, because of this, Floog has a tendacy to put others before himself. Like Tenn, Floog sometimes joins the main gang in their misadventures, but he’s usually too scared. When he does join them, he’s the most hesitant to do anything, and pretty much takes orders from the others. He’s pretty much the Shaggy of the group.

Minimoose: The Invaedirs pet cat. (I made him a cat because cats go “Nyah!” like Minimoose) He’s a chubby lil good boi who waddles and causes trouble and cutes his way out of it. Zim found him in a dumpster and named him “Minimoose” because according to Zim, he looks like a miniature moose. Red and purple thought the name was stupid, Gir liked it, Miyuki thought it was hillarious, Spork didn’t really care, so Minimoose got his name via majority vote. Zim’s the closest with him, and Zim even talks to Minimoose sometimes. (”MINIMOOSE! Red pushed me again, how can I get him to stop pushing me?! “Nyah” “Good Idea Minimoose! Putting Red down means I WOULD get pushed less!” “Nyah” “Yes Minimoose, I love you too.”)

[lady-plantagenet]

What hasn’t already been said: The Spanish Princess 2

Episode 1: CamelNOT

[Lively Music Plays]

I shit you not... that’s what it said in the CCs.

Tower of London (?)

*Catherine looks at the array of crowns like a museum curator and the proceeds to strut down the halls*

Wolsey: *gives her this strange look which is a mixture between damn girl and the eagle is my spirit animal.

Then Catherine gets fake detained and taken to Henry in what must be a strange variation of the whole Robin Hood/Maid Marian roleplay they historically engaged in.

... did she just call his erhm manhood his kingship? Well that’s original, I’ll give them that. Also funny how Bessie Blount initially looks on in fright... don’t worry girl that will be you soon.

———————————————————————

*the four ladies have a brunch friendship moment together*

I see Blount is among them... I see they are setting her up as Catherine’s friend in order to play up the whole betrayal.

Alright. Jokes aside, I realised how much I’ve played myself. I was inspired by @melusineloriginale ‘s sporks (which if all this TSP episode posts got you in the mood for PG show mockery I urge you to check out here - you’ll thank me later). In truth, Henry VIII’s early reign is a bit too late from my main area of focus for me to make intelligent jokes.

I’ll content myself with just bullet-pointing random thoughts that came into my head, and if some intelligent thought gets through, well that would be the pinnacle. In any case I’ll aim to not parrot some of the stuff that’s already been said, repetition can get annoying.

This image embodies this post, but maybe not the show. I’ve noticed those Starz productions get better by the end.

First Scenes:

- The recap just reminded me how much I will miss Margaret Beaufort in the coming episodes. I know her portrayal was innacurate but Harriet Walter just made everything better.

- They are making such a big deal out of this whole ‘we were crowned together, we rule together’ thing in this episode - it makes no sense. Catherine was an influential Queen but she was definitely no more than a consort and never saw herself as more.

- Ruairi’s new haircut is pleasing to my eyes.

- When she says ‘Abuelo’ it’s super adorable awww

The Ferdinand and Charles V scene:

- Bessie Blount looks so much like Ursula Pole lmao. Also they totally got the Pole children’s birth order wrong and UGH WHERE IS GEOFFREY POLE???

- I like Mary Tudor’s actress and her facial expressions. However, this whole polyglot image they are representing is innacurate. I am fairly certain she knew no spanish and I recall reading a contemporary account which said that she was not very learned.

- I’m pretty sure it would be considered bad luck to prematurely crown your son ‘Henry IX’ while you’re still alive.

- I actually like the whole Grape motif in this episode. It’s probably the smartest thing they’ve come up with so far for this episode. I know a lot of you will be all like ‘there’s no record of Ferdinand being abusive’ but this choice sort of makes sense when you recall Joanna’s treatment. Also I appreciate them for not being tacky and showing flashbacks of more overt abuse eg physical. The sugared grape is also fairly symbolic (the sugar is like a gilding, the grape easily crushable)

- OMG the guy from Garrow’s law is playing Thomas More!

- AND PLEASE PLEASE TELL ME IM NOT SEEING THINGS? Margaret Pole x Thomas More is happening?? Please god that is a historical crackship I am getting behind. Yes. This is what I’m most invested about.

Margaret Tudor and Scotland Scene:

- The whole ironic cutaway to Margaret being all depressed after Charles Brandon’s statement about her charming Scottish king is such a cliché movie technique.

- If this were a more artsy film I would think the whole setup resembling a stereotypical middle-class family breakfast was done on purpose for humorous effects or to create a link with the past. But here I don’t have as much trust in the producers. I think they just failed to capture the time period accurately.

- The modernisms continue: ‘Negassi please stop playing’ idk, there just something so modern about this for some reason ahaha

- Also again, I’m getting tired of all this ‘Catherine is basically queen herself’, ‘Catherine is a political genius’, ‘Catherine Catherine Catherine’ ugh. I don’t think the producers understand that Henry VIII was a very autocratic and traditional ruler. He didn’t make any show of joint-rulership (correct me if I’m wrong).

- The teeth thing is funny, smart and I liked it.

Back to Westminster:

- I like Ferdinand’s actor!

- Also Catherine’s response to ‘who are you loyal to?’ was not that smart. I feel like the producers wanted us to be impressed. What if Spain and England’s interests conflict, ey??

The Joust:

- I care too much for the whole Margaret Pole plotline. I’m so invested.

- I could watch a series of More and Pole just exchanging lines. I love the actors too and this is my hope for this series. The whole frustrated parents is SO CUTE.

- I didn’t know More tutored Reggie, I would be curious to know more.

- The way compton says groom to queen’s stool is freaking hilarious. He looks like a pervert.

- Henry Pole is a darling and must be protected at all costs.

- Oh Christ oh Christ that eyeball shot was just... good job on the special effects guys. Don’t know what the point of that choice was.

- I found the whole armour mentions after interesting, it looked so set up as a PR campaign because Stafford speaking about the armour just sounded like a statement agreed on beforehand ‘should have worn the same’ and the Catherine with ‘steel in the bones’ and Ferdinand’s impressed face (it was him playing them?)

- Am I giving this show too much credit?

- Also whats up with “God save the Queen?”

War Counsel:

- Henry VIII’s actor is quite charismatic in this scene. It’s almost as if Catherine is the hothead and Henry the wise one that speaks less but more significantly. It almost feels like they gender-swapped them.

The Bedchamber:

- Did Catherine breastfeed the baby? I thought it was Anne Boleyn. Doubtful... I’m tired of the trope of ‘you’re a good woman if you insist on breastfeeding the child yourself despite social conventions’. For a feminist show, the writers seem very attached to some 1950s perceptions of motherhood.

- I feel like the age difference between Catherine and Henry is well conveyed.

Scotland Again:

- ‘All the sheep were pregnant’ 👀 oh touché Margaret. oh my. Did she just?

- I know they are playing out this disenfranchised Margaret arc to reinforce how great Catherine and Henry are (cheap technique) and to build up to her involvement in Flodden (innacurate historically but I know what the show will do). But I will say this: the humour is pretty good in the Scottish scenes! But I know it’s unintentionally so... (I highly doubt they wanted us to laugh at Margaret hitting James or calling Alexander a pig).

Westminster and the baby chamber:

- What’s are those red splotches on the babies face??

- Oh that shot of Margaret and silent Reginald :((( it makes me sad.

- And now the Poles are at church! I just love the look of them.

- That scene of Maggie and Catherine was needed, as we didn’t get the best friends vibe much in this episode. The whole thing looked a bit pagan though, but it was nice :)

The whole Ferdinand’s betrayal segment:

- The grape motif again was fitting, him snapping the fruit right before she gets to it even despite her knowing what he’s like and what he’ll do, was a good parrallel.

- I’m tired of hearing of this ‘Camelot’. Even in the novel, Camelot was Catherine and Arthur’s dream and... can we just live it up with Arthur?

- Ursula Pole’s, Bessie Blount’s and Mary Boleyn’s actresses look way too similar.

- I fail to see why Catherine thinks she’s turning into her father... she doesn’t strike me as much of a game-player or subtle two-facer.

- I’m intrigued what will happen with Oviedo and Lina... I feel like they won’t stay in England long.

- He was made knight bannaret... nice... but why does he thank Catherine publicly for this? It was in Henry’s gift that he was made a commoner Knight.. if this transpired irl Henry would have been gravely insulter.

Catherine’s Dead Baby and thereafter:

- Guys. In all seriousness, I don’t think the TV series is trying to imply that Catherine killed the baby with her negligence. I mean, they are so bent on us liking her they wouldn’t do that. It would be a bit too ballsy anyway. Remember the red splotches I mentioned earlier? Could those have been a sign that he was already ill but no one noticed/was in denial?

- The pebbles in hands would have had more emotional payoff if it had been established earlier if you know what I mean. Basically, this episode is too fast and entire arcs begin and end within it which extinguished any build-up.

- Oh man Henry is so sweet in this, how will they build him up as the tyrant he was historically if they keep this up?

Scotland Again:

- I must admit, I don’t like all those nicknames they keep using. But somehow James calling Margaret ‘Meg’ is nice and seems fitting.

- What’s a hermana sister?

England Last Mourning Scenes:

- YOU DID NOT BUILD CAMELOT ughhh

- Why is Catherine giving the speech and not Henry?? It turns out Catherine was more emotional historically then the whole perception of ‘perfect queen of stone’ to which some people hold her. However, I doubt it would have been proper of her to give a speech in such a emotional manner.

Conclusion:

6.5/10

Some of the dialogue was stilted, the costumes are confused as to which era they’re supposed to be (aesthetically distracting) and many other characterisation issues.

I don’t have high hopes for this series in terms of cinematography or art but I sure as hell expect it will be entertaining. So far, everything is just getting set up and I find some aspects promising. As you can tell I am truly excited over how the Margaret Pole plotline. I am also interested in how Henry will be portrayed, with Catherine being so OTT and pushy this episode Im starting to Stan him more. In this show he appears sensitive and serene and kinda... adorable. Kind of like a little brother hanging onto his sister’s skirts.

But in a way that is a disservice to the real historical figure which would not tolerate such a representation. I am very irritated by this whole ‘joint-rulers’ thing which is just sooo innacurate. These STARZ shows have an obsession with showing women turn into men for the purposes of feminism - I see.

Catherine overpowers Henry too often and it sometimes feels like he’s HER consort. Of course, the feminism in this show is schizophrenic as we get the overemphasis of Catherine as a 1950s motherly ideal with the whole breastfeeding angle (“you’re better than other noble woman who would find this beneath them”, “they’re not as motherly as you”).

So the relationship dynamic between Henry and Catherine is a bit off at the moment, but oh well.

Mary Tudor is a bit distracting with her dark hair but I find the actress extremely endearing and promising. I know there will be emphasis on her storyline too and I hope they’ll not be clichéd with it.

[volturialice]

Spork Haven chapter 21: pea fucking green

welcome to spork haven, where I spork the EL James fic you’ve never heard of

previous chapter | next chapter | contents

previously on Spork Haven:

actor!Edward and cello playing murder witness hotel maid!Bella had sex a bunch and it was boring! finite resources were wasted! one of the finite resources was my time!

what’s the opposite of a content warning? I feel I should probably warn you about this chapter's lack of content.

things this chapter doesn’t contain:

a mafia murder attempt

anything else of note

things this chapter does contain:

????

yeah, this chapter should not exist. nothing happens in it. I will endeavor to summarize it anyway but I will be tapping my foot the whole time because WHERE is my mafia murder attempt ERIKA

Edward wakes up next to Bella. he goes outside in the hallway and says good morning to Jasper, who he notes is

you know, lest we forget this is an el james fic, in which every character is contractually obligated to be jealous of the protagonists and I am not allowed to have a single moment’s peace.

Edward thinks about how Jasper has been basically living with Bella for the last six months and the idea “fucks [Edward] off big time.” who’s pea-fucking-green now, bitch

then Edward heads to work, stopping on the way to take pictures and sign autographs with the “rabid teens” in his hotel lobby, who surprise him by being polite and respectful after he has (internally) insulted them for a paragraph. then he calls Emmett.

how is Emmett answering his phone the single hottest thing that has happened in this entire 70,000-word work of erotica? probably because it’s the only hot thing that has happened in this entire 70,000-word work of erotica.

mmm, that’s right. answer that phone you giant sexy laconic sasquatch

anyway, Edward asks Emmett to coordinate Bella’s security with his security for the awards show that evening, and puts Emmett in touch with his people. then he calls Taylor to tell him to coordinate with Emmett. Taylor isn’t happy that Ed is taking Bella to the show, so Edward yells at him to “make it happen.”

there’s a knock at Edward’s trailer door and it’s Eric (hi Eric!) and Bella. Bella is 100% fooled by the fake bruise the makeup department has painted on Edward’s cheek, and rushes to his aid in a flurry of concern. has Little Orphan Dumbass never seen a movie? I’d call Edward a morosexual but he is, by his own admission last chapter, a “fucking moron” himself, too. I guess it’s erika who’s morosexual.

much like in canon, Edward doesn’t like that Bella seems to be getting along with Eric.

remember guys, if your gf is nice to another man it means she’s cheating with him. all women are skanks, especially when they are dating you.

it doesn’t help that Bella is dressed extremely provocatively:

so fuckable. where are your khakis you wh*re

Edward asks Bella where Emmett and Jasper are

no!! I thought we decided they were the Chuckle Brothers!!!

Bella tells Edward she has to confess something to him. he, being a decent, confident, self-assured man who is secure in their relationship, reacts in a totally chill, normal manner.

ugh, tell me about it Edward. I can’t tell you how many times a day the same thing happens to me. we should start a support group. stay strong. ✊😔💭🤠

but all Bella confesses is that she hasn’t seen any of Edward’s movies. this is a huge turn-on for Edward, because as he likes to remind us 15,000 times per chapter, he hates his fans.

he shows her around the set and they go see Laurent, the wardrobe guy, who in this fic is Camp Gay. he and Bella have a conversation in first-semester high school French which Edward immediately shuts down because not even gay men are allowed to speak to Bella. 

then he orders Laurent to find something for Bella to wear to the awards show.

um. do I need to point out that “obtain perfectly fitting designer dress for lead actor’s rando gf mere hours before an awards ceremony” is absolutely not in the job description of a given film’s wardrobe department? I’ll go ahead and point that out just in case. Edward also needs a tuxedo, something he has not informed Laurent of until this very minute

then Edward is called back to do more filming, and excuses himself in an extremely naturalistic and well-constructed sentence

by the time Edward is done filming, Bella has gotten her hair and makeup done and he waxes poetic about how hot she is or whatever but I’m literally too tired to tell you about it.

then they eat lunch with Emmett, Jasper, and Eric. Edward notes that Bella is very quiet and doesn’t voice any opinions, and she tells him she has had zero say in where she goes or what she does for the last six months while in witness protection. as a rich and famous actor, Edward can totally relate.

Edward asks Bella how she managed to take him on their picnic date to the lake a few weeks ago (oh so NOW we’re acknowledging that they’ve already been on a date? oKaY) and Bella tells him that actually Jasper was there the whole time, watching them.

I’m suddenly understanding why Bella didn’t want to have outdoor sex on that date.

Edward asks Bella why she’s bothering to testify when it’s put her in so much danger. um. she witnessed a murder, buddy. she was already in danger.

Bella tells him she’s the perfect witness because she’s insignificant, has no family, and no one will miss her if the mafia decide to off her. ah yes. totally normal things to say. luckily, she has a kind, gentle, supportive bf there to help her through these self-esteem issues with grace and eloquence

Bella points out that if she hadn’t been in hiding, they never would have met. Eric interrupts to tell them it’s time to get ready for the awards show, and as he changes, Edward reflects on his mistakes:

oh, come on! girls love flowers and shit! I thought we learned that lesson back in chapter 5!

anyway they get ready, Edward has ten thousand orgasms at the sight of Bella in formalwear, blah blah et cetera. the chapter ends with Bella smiling at Edward until he feels it “all the way to the end of his favourite organ.” then they walk toward their ride and that’s it, that’s the entire chapter.

...

.....what an absolutely DISGRACEFUL waste of space

best “fucks”

“fucking breakfast”

“girly fucking grin”

“pillar to fucking post”

“a large Edward fucking Cullen shaped space”

“fucking voyeur” (jasper)

“grinning like fuck” (edward)

“all fucking officious” (emmett)

“so fucking matter of fact” (bella)

“fucking depressed” (bella)

“feminine as fuck” (a skirt)

“a fucking sulky teenager” (edward)

next chapter: outlandish fucking statue

[justheretobreakthings]

Remember Me - Chapter 20

(First Chapter) (Previous Chapter)

Word Count: 4,204 (Total Word Count: 79,660) Read on AO3

Story Summary:

It was strange enough for the paladins of Voltron to have found another human this far from home, locked in a Galra prison. But it was stranger still when this human insisted that he knew them, and even that he was the former red paladin of Voltron.

That couldn’t possibly be true, could it? After all, if this Keith was actually a part of the Voltron team, then why does nobody remember him?

Chapter Preview:

“You are mad at me, aren’t you?” said Lance. “What gives?”

Keith crossed his arms and said nothing.

“Oh boy. Look, is it because I called you a drunken idiot this morning? Because, dude, that wasn’t an insult, I was just stating a fact. And I would have called any of the other paladins the same if they had guzzled down as much as you had. Or maybe it would have taken more for the others, your alcohol tolerance is frankly just sad.”

“It has nothing to do with this morning,” Keith growled.

“Then what is it?”

“It’s - it’s last night.”

"...Ah. Right.”

“Well, Keith,” Allura said, setting her breakfast plate down onto the table in front of her as she primly took a seat. “I hope that you’ve learned a valuable lesson about overindulging yourself at parties.”

Keith growled softly as he shot her a glare from under the cold pack he held to his head.

Lance had been the last to show up at breakfast this morning, arriving just in time to hear this scolding and witness a tableau that he was experienced with from his Garrison days: that of a group of people the morning after a party. The Alteans, Allura at the table and Coran busy with something in the sink, were the only ones at their usual wakefulness this morning. Hunk was blinking sluggishly, still half-asleep; Pidge had an annoyed scowl on her face, one of those Pidge-specialty don’t-talk-to-me-or-I’ll-bite-you scowls that indicated she was in need of a nap; Shiro had two empty coffee mugs - rabaga-bean juice mugs, Lance mentally corrected himself - in front of him and was starting on a third.

Out of all of them, though, Keith looked the worst for wear. Last night Lance had finally managed to leave him to sleep, half-draped under his blanket, after he had cleaned up the sick on the carpet and kept up his own end of the conversation for Keith’s sleep-talk babbling. He had hoped that by the time he’d left, Keith had gotten through the worst of his drunkenness. He had all but forgotten about the hangover that was sure to come the morning after.

Keith was looking haggard and exhausted, a tint of green in his cheeks, all of his weight leaning into the deep-blue icepack flopped across half of his head. He was still in his undersuit, not having bothered to get dressed this morning, nor, it seemed, had he so much as run a brush through his hair.

The chair legs squeaked harshly against the ground as Lance took his own seat, and Keith grimaced against the sound and turned his glare onto him. “Must you?” he snarled.

“Must I sit? Yeah, I must,” Lance answered. “How is our favorite drunken idiot on this fine, bright morning?”

Keith grunted and closed his eyes. In the seat to Lance’s right, Pidge let her scowl soften as she let out an amused snort. “Shiro stumbled across him this morning,” she said. “Apparently he had crawled into the communal bathroom and puked up his own weight in nunvil.” She picked her spork lightly into the eggs on her plate. “Nearly wrecked my appetite just hearing about it.”

“What wrecked your appetite,” Shiro said, “Was the fact that you ate enough snacks last night to feed a small country for a month.” He reached his human arm out to Keith in the seat beside him to start rubbing circles on his back.

“Doesn’t mean it wasn’t gross,” Pidge said with a shrug. “In any case, guess we all got to learn a new fun fact about Keith: he is the lightest of all lightweights.”

“Yeah…” Shiro said slowly. “We may need to institute a new rule about Keith not being allowed near alcohol without supervision…”

“You guys were all a lot more sympathetic last time I had a headache,” Keith pouted.

“Last time was our fault,” Pidge pointed out. “This one’s all on you.”

“Here you are, lad,” Coran said as he turned around from the counter, a pitcher in his hand. “Drink up all of this, and your hangover will have all but vanished within the hour!”

“All of it?” Keith groaned. He lifted his head to look at the contents, then recoiled, nose wrinkling. Curious, Lance leaned over to take a look for himself. The pitcher was filled nearly to the brim with a sludgy, green-brown substance that even now was slowly bubbling. One large bubble sluggishly popped and emitted a pungent, fish-like smell.

“What the fuck is that?” Lance asked.

“Home remedy,” Coran replied. “My grandpappy swore by it, and it always made me feel better after a long night of painting the town with Alfor as well. Thought Keith here could benefit from it.” He gave Keith a hearty thump on the shoulder. “It looks worse than it tastes. Try to chug it down in one gulp, it works better that way.”

Keith frowned suspiciously at the concoction before raising the pitcher to his lips and taking a small sip. Instantly his eyes blew wide open, and the tinge of green that colored his cheeks deepened as he slapped his hand over his mouth. He slammed the pitcher back down and jumped up from the table, knocking his chair backward onto the floor, and raced to the sink, where he promptly began retching into the basin.

“Well, there goes the remains of my appetite,” Pidge muttered at the sound of Keith’s dry heaves, shoving her plate away and crossing her arms.

“You can’t, uh, go back to the bathroom to do that?” Hunk asked. He was beginning to look rather nauseated himself.

Keith shook his head and managed to gasp out, “Too… far…” before starting to retch again.

“All right, so you don’t like it,” Coran said, picking up the pitcher. “There’s no need to be so dramatic about it.”

“If you don’t like Coran’s remedy,” Allura said, “You’ll have to find some other way to deal with your… state. I still expect you to be present and actively participating in training this afternoon and at the teleconference we have scheduled for this evening.”

Keith grumbled something unintelligible in response, and Allura let out a huff. “You wanted the privilege of being involved in the team. We gave it to you. You need to hold up your end in return.”

“... Yeah,” Keith said after a pause. “I know. Sorry.” With that, he stuck his head back under the sink and turned on the faucet, soaking his head in the water before shaking off and returning to the table. He was still pale and off-balance, but at least the retching had tapered off. For now.

He remained silent through the rest of breakfast, although the rest of the team was less chatty than their usual too. Lance wasn’t sure when exactly the others had returned to the castle, but it had still just been him and Keith around when he had gone to bed, and they had risen before he had - his body knew how much he needed his beauty rest and always did its best to oblige - so at the very least the others were all running on less sleep than him.

Training today was going to be a blast.

The paladins filtered out of the kitchen as they finished their breakfasts, and Lance, the last to start his meal, also ended up the last still eating. Besides himself, the last remaining was Keith, who eventually took his still mostly-full plate to the sink after finally giving up on nibbling his way through it and trying to keep it down.

“In, uh, in all seriousness,” Lance said, breaking the silence in the kitchen as Keith started emptying his plate into the garbage disposal. “You doing all right, man? I know last night was, ah, kinda rough for you.”

Keith paused in the process of scraping off his food before grunting, “I’m fine.”

“Okay. Okay, good, because, I mean, you were seriously drunk off your ass, and after the way you were talking - ”

“Lance,” Keith cut him off. “Could you not right now? My head hurts.”

“Oh, right, yeah.” Lance took a bite out of his breakfast before continuing, “You know, I think orange juice is supposed to be really helpful for hangovers. I know we don’t have that here, but we do have some fruits around that are kinda citrus-y, so maybe you should eat one of those?”

Keith side as he dropped his plate into the sink. “No offense, Lance,” he said, “But I am really not in the mood to hear any advice from you this morning, okay?”

Lance froze with the fork halfway to his mouth for another bite and stared as Keith turned to leave. “Huh? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

But Keith was already stomping out of the kitchen without giving him an answer.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

It wasn’t until after training that Lance was able to try to pick up his conversation with Keith. After breakfast Keith had holed himself up in his room, and Lance wasn’t quite concerned enough with Keith’s current attitude toward him to pursue him there. Keith showed up in the middle of lunch, when all the paladins were already assembled, and didn’t participate in the meal proper, instead just grabbed a couple of energy bars and retreated again, not speaking to anyone.

At first Lance wondered if this meant he was being a grump toward the whole team, not just him, but training that afternoon suggested otherwise. None of the paladins were at peak performance today, Keith especially, but they were all still engaged in the exercises. So there was no reason that Keith should have been avoiding eye contact with Lance at all costs, and he seemed to be in an unusual hurry to pair up with anyone besides him to run partner drills.

It was lucky that Lance had even managed to corner Keith after training, and he bet that he probably had the lingering hangover to thank for the fact that Keith had taken so long to rehydrate himself with water pouches, making him to leave the deck. And Lance was waiting for him.

“What is your deal?” he asked, cutting right to the chase the moment Keith set foot in the hall.

Keith blinked tiredly at him. “My deal?” he repeated. “I don’t have a deal.”

“Yeah, you do,” Lance said. “You’ve been being weird toward me all day. You mad at me or something?”

Keith’s face hardened into a glare. “Lance, I need to go take my shower.”

“Unh-uh,” Lance said, sticking his arm out to block Keith’s path as he made to go around him. “You are mad at me, aren’t you? What gives?”

Keith crossed his arms and said nothing.

“Oh boy. Look, is it because I called you a drunken idiot this morning? Because, dude, that wasn’t an insult, I was just stating a fact. And I would have called any of the other paladins the same if they had guzzled down as much as you had. Or maybe it would have taken more for the others, your alcohol tolerance is frankly just sad.”

“It has nothing to do with this morning,” Keith growled.

“Then what is it?”

“It’s - it’s last night.”

Lance took a breath. “Ah. Right.” He tilted his head at Keith, who was suddenly making it a point to keep his gaze toward his feet. “Listen, you, uh, you don’t need to worry about me blabbing about all your - all that, um - ” He waved his hand uncertainly. “All the stuff you were saying last night. I know you’re, uh, not really the sharing type, and - and people tend to let their guards down when they’re drunk. So, if you were worried I was going to tease you for crying on me or something, well, don’t worry. I’m a bigger person than that, you know? And, um, and I guess it’s understandable for you to be stressing about those things…”

He cleared his throat. “But, I mean, that’s no reason to be getting mad at me, right? Like, I hadn’t even done anything, so if you just assumed that I was gonna give you a hard time for it, that’s really more on you. And besides, you were the one who started pouring his heart out in the first place, it’s not like I coerced you or anything. It’s not worth getting mad at, you know?”

“That’s not what I’m mad about,” Keith said.

“Okay, well, then what else could you possibly - ?”

Keith finally looked back up, staring Lance dead in the eye with a sudden cold intensity. “Why did you lie to me?”

Lance frowned. “What do you - ?”

“You told me my team was coming back,” Keith growled. “Why the fuck would you say that?”

“... Shit,” Lance said, reaching up a hand to scratch at the back of his neck under the gorget of his armor. “You, uh, you remember that too?”

“Yeah,” Keith grunted.

“I hadn’t, uh, hadn’t thought that - that you would - I mean, you were totally wasted, man, and you were kinda off in your own little world there. I really didn’t think anything I said was gonna stick.”

“Well, apparently I’m better at remembering things than the rest of you,” Keith said. “Think that should be a given, after everything.”

Lance was about to fire back with his usual retort, a reminder that, no, it had nothing to do with the rest of the team not ‘remembering’ things that hadn’t happened, but for once he held his tongue. Now wasn’t the time, and Keith was already pissed at him. No need to fan the flames. “Okay, look, I hadn’t meant to upset you or anything, but in my defense - ”

“No, no, no ‘in my defense’. I’m really not in the mood for excuses right now, Lance.”

Lance scowled. “It’s not an excuse, it’s a reason! You were having a whole breakdown over missing ‘your’ team.” He held up his fingers in air quote marks. “And you were all upset and weepy and, well, I didn’t know how to console you! You’re not exactly the easiest person to figure out, feelings-wise. So, yeah, I lied, but only because it was the only way I could think of to make you feel better. And it worked, by the way. It got you to calm down and go to sleep.”

“It doesn’t matter what sort of state I was in. You had no right to mess with me like that.”

“I wasn’t messing with you, I was helping you!”

“I don’t want that sort of ‘help’,” Keith snarled. “And it didn’t help. All you did was make waking up again in this hell that much worse by letting me think even for a single, stupid moment that I was out of it.”

“Um, excuse me?” Lance said after a brief, stunned pause. “Since when is living with us and being a part of Voltron ‘hell’?”

Keith winced. “That’s not the part that - ”

“Because if I recall correctly, you wanted to stay here with us, and you wanted to be part of the team, and you wanted to spend time with us, and you wanted us to help you. And we’re doing our best for you, okay? We’re going out of the way to accommodate you and your whole fucked-up situation, and we’re trying to help. I’m trying to help, too! That’s why I actually, you know, stuck around and tried to comfort you and calm you down while you were drunk off your ass - which, by the way, was your own doing. So, okay, fine, maybe I didn’t make the right call, but I was still trying. What the hell else do you want from me?”

Keith said nothing for a moment, just stood with his jaw set stiffly and his eyes sharp and embittered. Finally he growled, “I want you to get out of my way so I can shower.”

With a huff, Lance relented and stepped aside. Keith marched past him, and Lance turned to call after him, “Just so you know, it wouldn’t kill you to be nice. I cleaned up your vomit!” Keith didn’t even turn his head, just stuck his middle finger up before he rounded the corner and vanished from Lance’s sight.

----------------------------------------------------------------

As was to be expected, the meeting that the paladins had to sit through that evening was dull, dry, and seemingly endless. About two dozen planet and organization leaders had videoed in to the conference room to report on their status and current coalition projects, each followed by a discussion on how other allies could benefit from their efforts and assist in future ones.

It was all numbers and logistics, and Lance had initially tried to pass the time by counting dots on the ceiling until Allura elbowed him enough times to finally bring his gaze back to the screens. He didn’t like looking in that direction; he could always see Keith in the periphery of his vision, scowling stiffly and turning away any time Lance tried to make eye contact.

Even after the conference finally wrapped up and people began signing off, they weren’t dismissed to leave. Kolivan had been present at this particular conference, putting in one of the Blade’s rare appearances to the Coalition’s administrative side, and Allura had insisted he stay on the line after the meeting. So even after the conference was over, the paladins had to stick around too for this mini follow-up meeting with the Blade leader.

“All right, Kolivan,” Allura said, nodding toward his screen when it was the only one remaining. “Have you any updates on the quintessence sample we asked you to look into? Olkarian was able to give us information over a movement ago.”

Kolivan let out a little grunt. “We examined the sample. It is different in structure and composition from the quintessence we’ve managed to intercept from Lotor.”

Allura’s shoulders slumped minutely. “Oh… are you certain? It seems likely that - ”

“I would not pass along information to an ally if I was not certain of it,” Kolivan cut her off. “Do you doubt the scientists in my organization?”

“Wha - no, I do not, nor did I mean to suggest anything of the sort,” Allura said, stiffening as she straightened to full height and lifted her chin toward Kolivan. “I was merely confirming. After all, it shouldn’t have taken the Blade of Marmora this long to simply confirm whether or not two quintessence samples were a match.”

It might have been Lance’s imagination the Kolivan’s omnipresent glower deepened - after all, Kolivan had a tendency to look more or less the same regardless of emotion - but he otherwise took Allura’s tone in stride. “Recall, Princess that we have our own tasks and ongoing projects to deal with, in addition to being spread thinner than ever. You cannot expect Voltron and yourself to be our top priority at all times.”

Allura refused to be cowed. “You could have at least communicated to us that you anticipated a delay,” she said. “I did tell our carriers to request you get in touch with any information you obtained from the sample as soon as possible, and Coran has attempted to contact your base multiple times since last we spoke. It is vital for the Voltron Coalition that lines of communication are kept open for us amongst all our allies if we hope to continue working effectively and efficiently.”

“Again, Princess, our priority is not - ”

“One should not limit their organizations’ efforts only to those matters officially deemed ‘top priority’. Not only do you leave no room for nuance, but you also disregard the fact that you and the Blade are not the ones in charge of deciding what is best for the Voltron Coalition. If you cannot be relied upon to take the coalition’s needs into consideration - ”

“I will be more than willing to do so when the coalition’s needs do not put the security of the Blade in jeopardy,” Kolivan said. “As it stands, I will not risk our security in order to make contact with Voltron or any other members of the coalition unless it is absolutely essential.”

That gave Allura pause. She hesitated before saying, “I beg your pardon? Our communications with you have never created any security problems before.”

“This is true,” Kolivan said. “But the Galra army has been cracking down in measures against the Blade of Marmora as of late.” He took a slow breath. “It is… concerning. We have always, of course, been considered enemies of the Galra, but practically since our organization’s inception, any action they took against us, or attempted to take, has been retaliatory in nature. They fight back against us and try to stop our efforts in progress, but they never spent the resources to preemptively seek us out this way. Part of that, I believe, is no doubt due to the defensive measures we’ve put in place to ensure the secrecy of the Blade and its members. Make it difficult and tedious enough for the Galra to try to dismantle us on our own ground, and they won’t deem us worth the trouble, not while we remain small. The Empire, though ostentatious, is capable of being economical.

“But within the last few phoebs, it seems that the Blade has become a more important target to them. The Empire is coming at us in greater numbers, and despite our own efforts to evade detection, there have been instances of them successfully catching us off guard even when Blade operatives were taking no direct action against them. And this includes them making more active efforts to interrupt our communications and transportation lines. I don’t know whether you are aware, but the courier that you sent our way to deliver your quintessence sample was very nearly gunned down just outside the orbit of Sochorix - a location we had previously thought perfectly secret to Empire forces.”

“That… that is troubling,” Allura said. “I hadn’t been aware that the Blade was running into this difficulty. If you had let us know before now - ”

“You would have attempted to bring in other Coalition members to intervene and offer aid,” Kolivan said. “Provided you were even able to convince them to grant aid to an organization run by Galra, this also would have increased our visibility. We did not need that.”

Allura kept her expression steady. “No,” she said. “We would have offered the services of Voltron to take over missions for which you would have wanted to keep the Blade’s presence unknown. We are capable of more than grandiose displays, Kolivan, as my paladins have demonstrated before, and I know better than to try to overrule your methods on the occasions when we work directly alongside the Blade. We have made great efforts on our end to place trust in your organization and its capabilities; Voltron deserves the same from you.”

There was a lengthy, tense pause, and for a moment Lance was sure he was about to hear Kolivan completely chew Allura out. It was a surprise, then, when Kolivan took a deep breath and said, “You are right. My apologies. With our recent efforts to increase security for the Blade, we are on high alert toward all who are not members of the organization, and even among those who are. But it is true that this is no fault of yours.”

“I - I see,” Allura said, and although she hid it well, Lance could see that her eyes were wider than usual, no doubt in surprise that Kolivan had let himself be lectured by her.

“Speaking of your security uptick,” Shiro spoke up. “Has that coincided with this recent crackdown against the Blade by the Empire’s army? Is that why you started putting this measures in place?”

“Not exactly, no,” Kolivan said. “The attacks on the bases that led to me revamping our security measures were surprising, but confined to stationary locations and not indicative of new patterns of offense against us. The increase in raids and the off-site ambushes were more recent.”

“How much more?”

“As best we can pinpoint, the matter began to escalate shortly before my last video contact with Voltron. At the time I hadn’t brought it to your attention, as we of course could not have known yet that the spike of incidents were not anomalous. Now, though…”

“So,” Allura said slowly, “The Galra army started cracking down on the Blade at around the same time as those prison raids we had helped with?” Around the room, eyes flicked toward Keith.

“Yes,” Kolivan said. “And although we’ve no sign as of yet that the correlation is anything but coincidental…”

“I can’t imagine how it could be anything else,” Shiro said.

“Mm.” Kolivan angled his gaze toward Keith. “I notice your guest has joined us for our conference. I take it you no longer feel the need to exercise discretion about your and your allies’ activity around him?”

Allura hesitated as she glanced toward Keith. “We… have been given reason to trust him.”

“Regardless of whether our prison raids are related to any attacks on the Blade,” Shiro said, “I can assure you that Keith is uninvolved.”

“I see.” Kolivan paused, eyes narrowing slightly, before continuing, “I suppose I did promise to trust Voltron’s decisions. If that must extend to your guest, so be it.” He turned back to Allura. “I will keep your offer of assistance in mind. I or one of my officers will be in contact should we be in need of Voltron’s services.”

“Of course,” Allura said with a nod. “We’re happy to help however you need.”

Kolivan nodded back. “Princess. Paladins,” he said by way of a sign-off.

His screen went dark, and finally, they were able to call it a day.

[phantomphangphucker]

A King For Tonight’s Fentertainment - Chap. 3: The Fright To Defend His Might

Summary:  Danny's just done with all of this shit, seeing as Knights, apparently, don't understand secrets

Quite a few people glare, mostly looking pissed off at the agent. That is until the shot gets batted away by a sword as the Fright Knight lands his steed, Nightmare. Agent G falls to the ground as Nightmare bucks and neighs loudly, Fright Knight bellowing, “YOU DARE TO LAY ARMS AGAINST HIS MAJESTY WHILE GIVEN REFUGE WITHIN HIS LANDS. YOUR KIND HARDLY HAVE PLACE AMONGST HIS DEATHLY SUBJECTS AND ARE BEHOLDEN TO EVEN LESS RIGHTS TO REST WITHIN HIS CLOSER DOMINION. I COMMAND YOU, IN NAME OF THE HIGH GHOST KING, TO REMAIN ROOTED AS YOU ARE, UNTIL SUCH A TIME THAT HIS GRACIOUSNESS RETURNS YOU TO YOUR KEEP”.

Nearly everyone gapes at the large ghosts sudden appearance and booming voice. Those who actually took in what he said are confused and only grow more confused as Danny smiles loosely and straight-up punches the ghost in the arm like he’s some old friend.

“Pfft, ones like them don’t have keeps, you stupid old school knight. Would it kill ya to say “home” or “house” or even just “town”?”, Danny pats imaginary dust off his pants before putting a hand on his hip, pointing at the Fright Knight, “and ‘beholden’? are you even using that right? I mean I guess, sorta. Whatever. Anyway, don’t stab him. Traumatising the bastard ain’t gonna do much. Their nightmare fuel faces and nightmare inducingly incapable ghost hunting abilities will not improve by giving them literal nightmares. I think all this already counts as a frightfully bad time anyway. Add in fearsome in shining armour...wait”, Danny snorts and falls on his ass laughing, “oh my Ancients! You literally just played my knight in shining armour! My prince on his steed! Oh man, that is frighteningly cliche!”.

Danny has a feeling the Fright Knight’s face looks equal parts disgusted and judgemental, with twinklings of amusement, “I do not serve you like that, my highness”. That only serves to make Danny lay on his back laughing, while everyone else watches on utterly slack-jawed, “and here I thought I was granted your servitude to its fullest extent”. The Fright Knight lowers his sword and turns sideways to glance at Danny, “my liege, I’m beginning to be of the mind that you ought grant your kin access to your mind”.

Danny springs up from the ground and makes a show of mock offence, hands on his hips, “ouch, now that was a low blow Frightmare. Very ghostly, I approve”.  While the Fright Knight grumbles about how his highness never calls anyone by their actual names, Agent L goes to shoot at him but gets kicked in the face by Nightmare. Which seems to be enough to shake the crowd out of their stupor.

Maddie goes up and yanks on Danny’s sleeve, trying to pull him away from the ghosts, “young man what are you doing? That is a ghost”. Maddie puts herself between Danny and the Fright Knight, glaring at the Fright Knight, “and how dare you address my son, ghost!”.

Danny groans, at this point he might as well just say fuck it. Sighing, “yeah fuck it”. Danny forms a ghost portal behind himself, the shock of it opening up is enough for Maddie to loosen her grip; easily allowing for Danny to slip inside it. Popping out a second portal right behind the two GIW agents. Danny punches the bent over agent L in the face, smirking devilishly all the while, “heeeeeere’s Danny!”, before twisting to punch agent G in the face; knocking both fully to the ground, again. Danny flips to land in front of them and bends down, perching on his toes, to look down at the two groaning men, “now see, the point of that was to point out that Amity’s getting its ghostly lair of an ass back to the Human Realm via one motherfucking big portal. Like Ancients, this fucker’s gonna be massive. Oh, and getting to punch you white suit scum”.

“The only scum is ectoentities!”.

“Daniel James Fenton!”.

“What the fuck Danny...”.

“Oh my god, Fenturd has ghost powers!”.

“That’s likely the only option, your excellency”.

Danny chuckles as he straightens up, “indeed, this excellencies idea is most excellent”, then rolling his eyes at everyone else, “it’s just manipulation of the Ghost Zones free-floating ectoplasm, don’t get your knickers in a knot. Anyone with my positio-”. Danny gets cut off by Red, wearing her visor again, shouting and pointing aggressively at the air above his head, “GHOST KING!!!”.

Danny sighs as Red comes stomping over to him, though chuckles as she blatantly intentionally steps on one of the downed agents. Danny rubs his neck, “uh yeah, Mr. Unliving Knightmare over here has pointed that out, like, five times”.

“Six, now seven, my Lord”.

The two agents struggle to get up and scoot away from Danny, while Red comes to stand in his face a bit, “WHAT THE HELL! HOW COULD YOU BE A GHOST KING! YOU'RE NOT EVEN DEAD!”. Danny has to bite his tongue to keep from muttering about being halfway there; the chances of Red overhearing him are too great.

Dash crosses his arms and sneers, “Fentoad couldn’t be a king anyway, he’s too scrawny and pathetic”, earning glares from most of the crowd, no one else even willing to entertain the idea that someone who walks up to guns without a care, was pathetic.

The Fright Knight goes to speak but Danny raises a hand to quiet him, “you don’t need to speak, or more likely bellow, for me. Especially at some Highschool bully who’s bark and bite is closer to puppies than to a Rottweiler”, turning to Dash while Red sputters about him commanding a ghost. Danny sticks out his tongue and pulls down one lower eyelid, “you’ve got too small a brain to lead half a pencil stick, lack the courage to take charge of my dad’s fudge supplies, and have the political capabilities of a squirrel that’s been half-drowned in knock-off cheese whiz”, smirking, “you’re hardly the judge of kings. And you’ve hardly got the place to judge one”.

Danny easily hears someone mutter about how Dash is the most dangerous kid at school, not a freaking Chihuahua. Now Danny’s firmly captured everyone’s attention, based on the disbelieving stares he's getting. Though Danny’s pretty sure the Fright Knight is over the moon over Danny’s little verbal display; a full blood red All Hallows’ eve moon but still.

The Fright Knight nods strongly as he pats Nightmare’s flaming mane, “indeed, I agree with his highnesses judge of character”, the Fright Knight turns to Red, “and you, skilled huntress. Of course, I follow my lieges desires, such is the place of any Dread Knight; and infallibly that of the High Dread Knight. Further, I said The High Ghost King, and while his grand eminence may take preference to referring to himself as simply The Ghost King; “High” is part of the title. To show rank beyond all others, the King of Kings”.

Danny sighs, “add there you go, laying it on thick”, Danny walks back over and leans against the Fright Night, who’s crossed his arms and stands stiff. Danny speaks to Red calmly, “regardless, Mr. Walking suit of armour and a creepy level of insight into everyone’s darkest fears, is right. “a” and “the” have two very different meanings”, glancing up at the Fright Knight, “and “High” is just embellishment. Fucking fanciful, unnecessary, extravagant, arguably pretentious; yada yada”.

Maddie shakes herself off and storms up, yanking Danny away from the Fright Knight yet again, “Daniel! What are you doing! You don’t even have on protective gear and-”.

Danny’s loud groan cuts her off and he can tell the Fright Knight is restraining an exasperated sigh, “mom, holy guacamole, dear gods, sweet Ancients. I’m fine, this is fine, everybody here is fine...well except those two idiot agents”, glaring at the agents, who’ve got their guns out again and stand on shaky legs, “who are about thirteen seconds away from me just straight up jacking their guns. And they will certainly not be getting them back without Jack Fenton’s face on them”. Both men cringe and instantly drop their guns, while Danny turns back to Maddie. Sighing at her, “I’m doing something to deal with the twats who caused this bullshit. And-”.

Danny gets cut off by Mr. Lancer, who’s more interested in the art of words than teenage and family bickering, “you keep mentioning ‘Ancients’, you've said it plenty over the years. Where’d that come from? And king, Daniel? I would expect a king to be far more bold and with vaster knowledge...though you’ve shown to be more bold than previously thought”.

The Fright Knight can’t restrain a scoff, one part annoyed, one part amused, and one part impressed, at how little these humans understood his king; which was largely due to his majesty’s skilful secretiveness. Danny smiles fondly, “dear Ancients, sweet Ancients, oh my Ancients, Ancient blessed, etcetera. They’re Ghost Zone terms, similar to ‘oh my god’ and ‘dear god’”. The Fright Knight nods, “quite so. I, however, am not one for such colloquialisms myself. Though many also make such terms of his most high royalties title and name. For, after all, Realms blessed be those under The High Ghost Kings joyous resplendency”.

“Oh come on! Who did Fentoast pay to pull this crap?!?”, Dash cries out and gestures at Danny.

The Fright Knight speaks at Danny, “I’m starting to see where and how you acquired your eccentric naming of everyone by names not of their own”. Danny coughs and gapes, “okay, that is a genuine insult, I’m nothing like that bleach brain fried twat. I’d get more outta eating sporks and footballs than talking to that”.

Dash doesn’t even get a chance to snap back as Red beats him to it, “first off, ew. Second, there’s no way you’re any kind of ghost royalty. I mean Danny, you’re well, you. You’re Danny. Danny Fenton. Ghost hunter protege”.

Maddie nods, grabbing Danny’s shoulder, “yeah sweetie, Fenton’s hunt ghosts. Not lead, that makes no sense”.

“Oh for the love of- goddamnit”, Danny shakes his head, slightly annoyed, “Hunt? No. Fight? Sure. Insult? Definitely. Lead? Yes. Guide? Yup. Aid? Okay. You get the point, maybe”. Danny tilts his head up at the sky, muttering to himself, “how is any of this solving our green goo sky...”.

Maddie puts her hands on her hips, “you being friendly, none the less aiding, a ghost is more of an issue. We’re protected by the shield so it-”. Danny butts in, “my shield”. Maddie nods, “yes sweetie, which while thanks, it is hard to get. But if it takes longer to get home, to Earth, because we’re sorting out this, then so be it”.

Danny chuckles, science and family did always come before safety with his parents. But there was no problem to be sorted out, and she was still too anti-ghost to really accepted this. However, Danny flicks his gaze between his mom and the Fright Knight, muttering, “though if she’s tolerating my second in command, I guess that’s something”.

Maddie and Red both blink at him, Maddie opening her mouth to speak while glaring at the Fright Knight but gets cut off by agent L. “Ok that’s enough of this crap. You’re either playing some strange joke, kid. Or you’re a damn ghost that looks human”.

Danny facepalms, “oh for fucks sake, Ancients give me strength, Realms power cometh, Zone grant deathly lease. Neither”, Danny smirks and digs into his pocket. Pulling out an 'I can’t believe it’s not a ghost' meme sticker and slaps it on his forehead, “you literally said I can’t be a ghost. Literally impossible. Ghosts need to be in the Ghost Zone. I live in Amity, in the Human Realm. Ghosties can’t do that. And also, fuck y’all”. Danny does a dramatic finger snap, allowing his cape, ring, and crown to blink into visibility.

Unsurprisingly the only human who doesn’t jump is Star, who’s wearing the visor. Star blinks, “why’d everyone jump or whatever?”.

Danny chuckles, “take off the visor”.

“Oh”.

[sp4c3-0ddity]

Dueling Hearts - 5

Chapter Summary:

Pidge forgets the court of public opinion, Allura frets, and Lance loses his shoe.

Chapters:  5/7 Word Count:  5112 (30 189 total)

Read Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four

A/N:

those first two scenes did not exist in my original outline...

also thank you to everyone who’s been reading/reblogging this!!

Read Below (or read it on ao3):

Pidge doesn’t bother getting out of bed the following morning. No pressing business awaits her, no task begging her attention, no mystery to solve through action and thought. The entertainment console - whether media or games - holds no appeal to her, the tile ceiling more interesting in her exhausted fugue.

She slept fitfully after King Thurar’s visit, a part of her fearing he’d barge into the room unannounced as soon as she slipped into unconsciousness, greeting her with a blood-stained sword and bragging about Lance’s death. Her imagination kept her busy, and when she finally fell into a doze the walls surrounding her closed in, something in the corner creeping towards her but never straying from her periphery.

It incited a need within her to flee, but terror paralyzed her.

But she forces herself upright and pushes her glasses - will she ever see her family again? Will the king even think to invite his future in-laws to his wedding? - onto her face. Her eyelashes stick together when she blinks, and she’s sure she looks awful, especially after skipping a shower the night before.

(She almost took her shirt off in front of King Thurar so like quiznak she was going to undress entirely with that mortifying event so fresh.)

Perhaps if she makes herself as physically unappealing as possible the king will—

A sharp chime sounds from the door, the guard outside announcing over the comm, “Minister Lirnem is here to see you.”

A prickle of foreboding washes over Pidge when she recalls running into the minster on her mad dash back to her rooms, but she climbs out of bed and tells the guard to admit her.

Minister Lirnem doesn’t enter alone. Three Barsinian women follow, one pushing a cart laden with two covered trays, another with a data pad in hand and what looks like a fancy camera fit for National Geographic hanging carelessly from her shoulder, and the third with a briefcase and a long fabric bag draped over her shoulder.

“Uh…hi,” Pidge says, unsure what else to say while so conscious of her oily face and bed-mussed hair. “W-what do you want?”

She winces when the question slips out ruder than she means - and, well, why shouldn’t she be rude? Isn’t Minister Lirnem, who promised to do something for her, complicit? - but before she can apologize or ask another in followup, Minister Lirnem wonders, “Why are your eyes red? Is that a…feature of your race that you usually cover up?”

Pidge’s lips part in surprise as she rubs her exhausted eyes. “I’m just…tired,” she says, and it’s not a total lie.

(Minister Lirnem needn’t know she cried herself into a stupor last night.)

“Well, if you need to bathe, then bathe. You have a dress fitting and a photo shoot, and you and I can speak over brunch after.”

Pidge’s eyes widen, limbs stiffening in shock. “A dress fitting? For what? For the duel? I wasn’t even fit for that bizarre dress I wore to the ball.”

(She really hopes Minister Lirnem won’t wonder where that dress is now…)

“For the duel you can wear whatever you like,” she replies, primly clasping her webbed hands together. “So long as it is nice and befitting a lady of the court.”

“But I’m not—”

“If His Majesty wins, you will be,” Minister Lirnem reminds her almost impassively. But her thin lips press together, and Pidge wonders if she’s also unhappy with this situation. “This fitting, however, is for your wedding dress.”

If Pidge held something, she would’ve snapped it clean in half while her heart skips a stunned beat. “W-what? But I’m not—he hasn’t—Lance can still—”

“Attend to your morning needs,” Minister Lirnem advises her. “We will begin when you are ready.”

But Pidge will never be ready to be the bride of a man that literally holds her hostage; her feet aren’t cold so much as frozen at absolute zero.

She forces air into her lungs and takes a stiff step towards the bathroom, and another, and the next, until a door separates her from the heralds of her fate. Tiles cool her bare feet, and her shell-shocked reflection stares back at her from over a marble basin.

Pidge grabs a towel, buries her face in its soft cotton-like fabric, and screams.

A part of her wants to escape again, never mind the witnesses that stand between her and the balcony, but she can’t, not with a threat hanging over her head - over Lance’s head.

It’s bad enough she’ll have to marry King Thurar, but if she has to watch him kill Lance too?

Her grip on the towel tightens, her whole body trembling and a sob bursting out of her. But she suppresses the next, taking deep breaths in an effort to keep her emotions in check.

It’s the only control that remains to her.

The shower gives her the opportunity to compose herself, and when she emerges with pruny fingers in a cloud of steam, her heartbeat isn’t too uneven and it doesn’t hurt so much to breathe.

She even manages a small smile for Minister Lirnem, who bids her to stand on a stool before the floor-length mirror in the corner. The tailor - or seamstress? - that she brought drapes a pale green gown over her, its hem covering the stool and a long train trailing behind her.

Pidge finds it ironic that a wedding dress is far simpler - and more elegant - than the gaudy ball gown now dangling from the balcony railing. Not a single thread of wire embroiders this gown, the sleeves made of a lacy material that falls past the tips of her fingers and tapers to a point. The collar is high and edged with the same lace as the sleeves - irritating her neck - and the skirt flares at her waist.

If she didn’t worry she’d trip over it - or if anxiety didn’t churn in her stomach - Pidge would be tempted to spin and watch the hem lift around her.

“You are…shorter than I expected, Green Paladin,” the seamstress observes as she marks where she needs to hem the dress.

“I’m guessing you didn’t design the dress I wore to the ball,” Pidge says.

The seamstress smiles thinly and admits, “My apprentice designed that. It was a project meant to test his mastery.”

“Did he pass?”

“He…did,” she says, “but only because His Majesty liked it.”

Pidge snorts, amused despite herself, and holds as still as she can while the seamstress pins the dress in places it hangs loosely.

She wears something more basic for the photo shoot but, naturally, embroidered with wires in a floral pattern that glows green. She complies with the photographers requests - except for one.

“Please smile,” she says, offering one of her own.

Pidge presses her lips together, partly because she has no reason to quirk them and partly out of defiance. Her fingers grip her skirt tightly, watching the photographer glance beseechingly at Minister Lirnem.

The minister sighs and says, “Carry on. The photographs are more important than her smiling.”

Pidge’s lips twitch out of triumph, but she keeps a straight face for the rest of the photo shoot.

The seamstress and the photographer leave after the shoot, and Pidge changes into her own clothes from among what Hunk brought her from her bedroom aboard the Castle of Lions. Minister Lirnem’s last escort sets up their meal at the small table, and Pidge sits across from her.

She picks at the tableware, the knot of dread in her stomach depriving her of any appetite the sight of Barsinian food hasn’t.

“Why the photo shoot?” Pidge asks when the silence as Minister Lirnem eats grows too stifling.

“The images are for a press release,” Minister Lirnem tells her. “The people of Barsina will have to know something of their future queen should His Majesty win the duel.”

Pidge’s stomach flips, her eyes widening; public relations was always Allura’s - and sometimes Shiro’s or Hunk’s - thing, so she never really stopped to consider what implications King Thurar’s challenge would have on his subjects.

Perhaps she’d been too self-centered not to even wonder how Barsina itself would view her.

“I’d make an awful queen,” she confesses. She prods the black-dotted gelatin in her bowl with a spork.

“I told His Majesty as much,” Minister Lirnem says with a frankness that startles Pidge. She jerks her head back and stares at her, unsure if she should feel insulted or not, but the minister continues, “Your reputation as the Green Paladin preceded you, and it tells of a woman too devoted to her own research and family to lead a people, let alone a population and culture alien to her.”

“I…”

“Barsina needs an alliance with Voltron far more than it needs an alien queen,” Minister Lirnem explains. She sips her burgundy tea, the ceramic cup clattering on the saucer as she sets it down. “His Majesty did not care to hear that. It is his youth and inexperience, I am sure.”

Pidge’s grip on her spork tightens. “W-what did he tell you?” she asks, a part of her fearing the answer.

“He promised you will be able to research to your heart’s content.”

“How…kind of him,” Pidge says through gritted teeth, the spork’s handle bending slightly.

“His Majesty wishes he could devote more time to his own research and inventions,” Minister Lirnem adds, “so he desires a queen that can lead his scientific endeavors while he rules. His mother and predecessor ruled while his father, her consort, was an engineer, so I suppose he longs for the same partnership with his consort.”

Pidge sets her spork down and flexes her stiff fingers. Her heartbeat fills her ears as she chooses her next words carefully, “Why are you telling me this? So I’ll understand him?”

She can’t keep the bitterness from her voice nor the scowl from her face; why should she understand a man that kidnapped her?

“In part,” Minister Lirnem concedes. She frowns at her half-empty tray - perhaps she has no appetite either - and says, “He was a child when his mother passed away, so I ruled as his regent until he came of age. I took us into hiding and restricted our travel in space to avoid too much attention from the Galra, but His Majesty wishes to set up alliances with other planets, and I cannot fault him for that.”

“Well, he’s doing it all wrong.” Pidge crosses her arms and glares at the woman sitting across from her.

“His method, while unconventional, can work,” Minister Lirnem says. “Voltron will not fight Barsina when it can cost them future allies.”

Pidge’s jaw sets stubbornly, but she can’t argue, not when she knows she’s right.

(They’d just help her escape some other way…wouldn’t they?)

“However, I do wonder…with such a start to your partnership—”

“Some partnership,” Pidge scoffs.

“—will you ever be so content to have been forced away from your friends and family and someone His Majesty suspects is your lover?”

“He’s not my—” she blurts on reflex, cutting herself off when she realizes even a truthful denial may do her no favors.

But her face warms at the way Minister Lirnem designates Lance, a heat in her chest because by quiznak does she wish it’s true.

(He almost kissed her…didn’t he?)

“Do you love him?” Minister Lirnem wonders. “Do you love the Red Paladin?”

Pidge bites her lip - she’s never said it aloud and doesn’t wish to start now before a near-stranger that’s as good as an enemy to her - but irritably mumbles, “Yes, but…apparently it doesn’t matter.”

Minister Lirnem stands without replying and walks to the door. “A servant will come for the trays,” she says. “You should eat something. Winters in this part of Barsina are cold, and Tolemac Castle, for its beauty, is poorly insulated; you will need a little more fat on your bones to keep you warm.”

“Uh…” Pidge scrambles to follow, stunned. “Wait, Minister, I have a question.”

Minister Lirnem turns to face her, hands hidden in her long sleeves. “Yes?”

Her heart pounds as she asks, “If I…marry the king and, assuming I follow the laws of Barsina and fulfill whatever duties he expects of me, will I be able to see my family again?”

“If you marry the king,” she tells her, “he will be your family.”

Pidge’s chest tightens, and it takes more than a little effort to breathe. “Oh…then I’d better not marry him,” she says, sounding numb and painfully resigned to her own ears.

“No, I suppose you had better not,” Minister Lirnem agrees. “If there is nothing else—”

“Actually, can you ask one of my teammates to bring me something?” Pidge wonders. She knows her request is silly, especially with her future hanging in the balance, but she wants to be frivolous for once.

“So long as it is not forbidden you.”

“You said I can wear whatever I want to the duel?” Pidge smiles when she nods. “Can you ask them to bring me my dress? They’ll know which one…”

***

Lance woke up that morning telling himself that today would be the day - or quintant? - he would finally summon his Altean broadsword. Between Keith swinging at him - Lance suspected he enjoyed himself a little too much - and the drones on the training deck and his own determination, he hoped it would come true.

Instead, when Allura comes by the training deck to check on him, his bayard still fluctuates between his rifle and its base form and even when he deliberately allows the drones to close in on him, too near to aim a gun, he can’t.

He chucks his bayard across the room.

A frustrated growl escapes him when it collides with the far wall, his fingers curling into fists. Anger - at the situation and at himself - floods him; Pidge depends on him, and he can’t even summon his bayard in the proper form?

“Lance?” Allura’s footsteps echo through the room, and her hand rests on his shoulder. “Did your bayard…do something to you?”

“That’s the problem!” Lance exclaims, spinning around and flailing his arms. “It’s not doing what I need it to! I’ve tried everything we can think of - I even let the drones get close enough to me to shoot me”—his shoulder stings as he’s not training with armor since he’s not allowed any for the actual duel—”but nothing is working!”

Allura smiles, but he can tell it’s strained. “Have you tried—”

“Everything,” Lance insists.

Her shoulders sag, a sigh escaping her. “You can’t go to the duel unarmed, Lance.”

“Can’t I?” He shrugs and holds up his fists. “I have two guns right here.” And oh, would a punch flying across King Thurar’s smug face be satisfying…

But Allura doesn’t smile - of course not, not when it’s barely a joke. “Perhaps you should ask Hunk to help you set up an alternative.”

“Maybe…” he concedes.

It’s not the first they’ve spoken of it, building a hurried and makeshift weapon for him to cart to the duel, but he stubbornly holds onto the wild hope that he can summon the broadsword from his bayard at will.

He needs to; it’s his best bet, a weapon perfectly suited for him even if he hasn’t mastered it. And with Keith’s help over two quintants, he at least grasped the basics.

They won’t do him any good if he doesn’t have a quiznaking sword.

“Then do that,” Allura says. She frowns pensively and sighs. “I’m going to Tolemac Castle to visit Pidge. There are a few important things I need to discuss with her.”

Lance raises an eyebrow. “What things?”

“It’s between me and her,” Allura says.

He crosses his arms, irritation flickering in him. “No, it’s not,” he protests. “I’m the one fighting this duel, not you, so—” He cuts himself off, his stomach flipping with fresh fear, but anger quickly replaces it. “You’re preparing her for if I lose, aren’t you?”

“I—”

“What does happen if I lose?” Lance wonders. His heart sinks with something akin to despair, but he forces it away. “We won’t…abandon her, will we?”

Allura’s eyes widen, and she reassures him, “No, of course not! I will not abandon her to a fate she doesn’t want, no more than you would.”

“And if we do, her family would probably kill us.”

Allura chuckles. “That they would, and we would deserve it.”

Lance runs his fingers through his sweaty hair, some of the tension bleeding from his shoulders. “It won’t come to that,” he promises with more confidence than he feels. His eyes slide past Allura, to his bayard lying on the floor.

“I hope not,” Allura says. “And…is there anything you wish for me to tell Pidge?”

Lance can think of a million and one things he wants to tell Pidge: that he misses her and her laughter and her teasing so desperately his chest aches, that he’ll win the duel and free her, that he’ll lose the duel and smuggle her away from a royal wedding if he has to, that he loves her and her smile and her big brain and how she always has the answers to the questions both out of his mouth and from his heart.

And he wants to know why she didn’t even talk to him when she escaped to the training pitch…and why he hasn’t seen her since.

Fear grips him, squeezing his heart, and he wonders if she was caught.

But to Allura’s question, he simply replies, “No.”

Everything he wants to tell Pidge he wants and needs to tell her himself…so why doesn’t he?

Allura’s eyes narrow, in suspicion or skepticism, but she says, “All right. I will be on my way then.”

Lance mumbles a goodbye, barely paying attention to her departure in favor of the idea gripping him. If Pidge can’t see him…what’s stopping him from seeing her?

(Besides the duel’s stupid rules, at least.)

Lance collects his bayard and runs to his room for a shower - Pidge deserves better than to greet him at his smelliest. He clips on the cuff from his armor, the map to Tolemac Castle’s grounds downloaded onto it, and attaches a personal cloaking device - built by Pidge; they owe her so much - to his jacket.

(He just hopes Tolemac Castle doesn’t have any thermal cameras or sonar installed to survey its grounds.)

Excitement thrums through his blood, and it’s almost enough to drown out the worry that she won’t want to see him.

Almost.

***

Pidge doodles on a data pad with a stylus, mind buzzing with what information she learned from Minister Lirnem. Her palms sweat - the stylus nearly slipped from her fingers barely a dobosh ago - and her heart stutters with anxiety, and she seeks to distract herself from her fate.

But scribbling designs for the robots she wants to build isn’t helping.

She pinches the Rover pendant of her necklace in her teeth, sliding the chain along it. Rover himself takes shape on the data pad, a black pyramid and a green circle on the screen.

The reminder of something else she loved that she lost makes her chest tighten.

It’s a relief when the door chimes, and a grin pushes at her lips when the guard announces, “Princess Allura here to see you.”

Pidge fidgets with the stylus in the time it takes for the locks to click open and Allura herself to walk through the door.

She smiles, and Pidge doesn’t hesitate to embrace her.

“Pidge,” she says when they pull apart, her hands on her shoulders like a proud parent’s - or like Matt’s. Her smile falters. “I am so sorry this happened to you; this is my fault.”

“What?” The apology shocks Pidge’s system, her jaw dropping. “No, it’s not!”

“It is.” Allura sighs, avoiding her eyes in favor of taking in the lavish room. “I encouraged you to charm the king. Perhaps if I instead—”

“No!” Pidge, unsure what to say or do to alleviate her concerns, shakes her head so fast she almost makes herself dizzy. “It’s not your fault at all! W-why would it be? It’s not like you locked me in a tower and threatened Lance!”

“Maybe not, but I as good as—threatened Lance?” Allura’s eyebrows shoot up her forehead. “What do you mean? The duel is only to first blood.”

Pidge immediately regrets letting that slip, because if Allura takes that information back the Castle of Lions with her, Lance will find out. And if he finds out…he’ll be that much more likely to do something more stupid. So she raises her hands and forces a smile on her face before backtracking, “Th-that’s what I meant! Even a paper cut’s threatening if you get it from a sword.”

(She winces, the contradiction in the statement almost painful when she doesn’t correct it.)

“If that’s it—”

“It is,” Pidge insists.

“All right,” Allura says, tone resigned. She sits heavily at the table, arm resting atop it. “Lance has been doing all he can to win the duel.”

Pidge swallows as she drops into the chair opposite, mind drifting to the one training session she observed. Her stomach flips, but she agrees, “I know.”

“But…Pidge, Barsina’s not so valuable to the Coalition that we’re not willing to just walk away from an alliance.”

She stiffens and stares at her fingers wringing the hem of her shirt. “I’m guessing if I escape and leave we’d get worse than lose a potential ally.”

“You hit the head on the nail,” Allura admits.

“Nail on the head,” Pidge corrects automatically.

“Nail what on the head?”

“Never mind,” she mumbles. She clears her throat, skin crawling with sudden self-consciousness, and attempts to joke, “I guess we can’t all throw a royal suitor across a room to teach them a lesson.”

Allura grins and concedes, “I suppose not, although I would gladly throw His Majesty across his own grand ballroom on your behalf if I thought it would help.”

Pidge smiles, her chest warming with something like reassurance, and some of the tension oozes out of her shoulders. “And I would appreciate that. I’ll just have to settle for Lance poking him with a sword instead.”

And he will, Pidge tries to convince herself. He has to.

“I hope that will be the outcome of the duel,” Allura says, “but no matter what happens, Pidge, I want you to know that you will not have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“I know I don’t,” Pidge says, her hands clenching into fists and jaw setting.

But the knot of dread in her stomach tugs tighter. What if King Thurar wins the duel and she refuses to marry him anyway?

He’s already held Lance against her just for her one and only escape…

Allura’s visit stays brief, her updates on their team limited. She confesses to avoiding speaking to the Coalition - especially Earth, and especially Pidge’s family - and adds that, despite the looming duel, Coran still works to find a legal loophole for them to exploit.

And Lance…well, he sent no message with her, and Pidge’s heart sinks in disappointment.

He vows to fight for her but doesn’t wish to say anything?

Pidge’s chest hurts when she thinks of Lance and the last time she saw him too hard, and as her fingernails dig into the palms of her hands, she wonders what she would say to him if they faced each other.

For one, she’d demand what the quiznak he—

A thud from the balcony makes Pidge jump out of her chair. Her heart pounds as she creeps towards the door, remembering the rope she left tied to the railing. She pushes aside the curtains and opens the door and finds a shoe and—

“Lance?”

Pidge’s breath catches as a familiar yelp rises from the balcony railing near the castle’s wall. She sprints across the balcony when Lance himself appears, the timer on a cloaking device running to zero while his body dangles from the railing.

She grabs his arms and heaves with a grunt of effort, muscles straining as his feet find purchase on the wall. She tugs him over the railing, stumbling backwards and panting when she lets him go and he falls.

Lance pushes himself upright, groaning and clutching his shoulder, her hasty lifeline in a pile beside him. “Th-thanks for the—”

Pidge launches herself at him, her arms winding around his neck as she presses her forehead to his collarbone. A lump sticks in her throat when she swallows, her eyes burning even as relief washes over her.

Lance hugs her tightly around the waist, his body trembling against hers and his heart pounding a rapid but steady beat. “P-Pidge, are you—”

A sob escapes her as she shakes her head. “N-no…w-what’re you doing here?” she demands. “You could’ve hurt yourself b-before the stupid d-duel…” She pulls away to look at him, to drink in his face, struck by a sudden gut-wrenching fear:

King Thurar never mentioned what would happen if Lance is caught here.

“W-we can talk inside,” Pidge says. She reluctantly extracts herself from his arms and stands, offering him a hand.

His wraps around hers, and even once they’re ensconced inside, away from the balcony where their voices can drift down to the busy gardens, he doesn’t let go.

“Pidge…” Lance cups her face with his free hand, and she leans into it, her eyes slipping shut. His thumb skirts across her cheek, and she sighs. “I-I’m here because I miss you.” His lips brush her forehead, and he runs his fingers through her hair.

Pidge sniffs, her hand gripping his like it’s a lifeline even as she says, “Y-you shouldn’t be here.”

“Why not?” Lance wonders, his eyes narrowing when she opens hers to meet them. “I-I saw you yesterday when I was training, but you didn’t come to—”

“I-it was risky,” she says, tearing her gaze away from his. “I could’ve been caught”—she was caught—”and I didn’t want to distract you.”

“If that’s all, then why aren’t you looking at me?”

Pidge bites her lip and forces her gaze back up. “Better?”

Lance frowns, but he reassures her, “Don’t worry, Pidge. I’ve got it, okay?” His hands warm her face, his forehead resting against hers while her fingers wrap around his wrists. “I’ll kick that king’s quiznak tomorrow, and we can go home.”

And Pidge, for all her anxiety and fear, believes him.

***

Lance’s heart pounds with him standing so close to Pidge, heat flooding his body to the tips of his toes and fingers even while regret that she’s upset - actually scared - fills him.

This is his fault, after all, so if he can inspire some confidence in her - even if he doesn’t have much himself - then he will.

He just hopes any she has in him won’t be misplaced.

He holds her close, arms wrapping around her and pulling her against him, and every shuddering breath she takes wracks his body, the necklace he gave her trapped between them. He’d happily spend the night like this - why should he return to the Castle anyway when he’ll be right back here in the morning? - but he came on a mission, and it begins with telling Pidge—

“Why did you never tell me about your bayard upgrade?”

Lance stiffens, surprised by her question and when she pulls back to meet his gaze, an eyebrow raised expectantly. “I don’t know,” he admits. “It…never seemed important since I never got it again.”

“Really?” Pidge frowns skeptically, her arms falling away from him to cross. “It’s a notable development seeing as how my and Hunk’s bayards have changed even if you haven’t been able to repeat it yet.”

Lance misses her warmth and tries to reach for her, but she takes a step back. “It was—”

“And why did you accept the king’s challenge anyway?” Pidge demands.

She’s angry with him, he realizes with a gut-wrenching certainty, and with how dismal his progress at learning how to use a sword - which he doesn’t even have for the duel - he deserves it.

Maybe that’s why he irritably quips, “I guess you didn’t appreciate the romance in my gesture.”

He knows it’s the worst thing to say as soon as the words leave his lips even without Pidge’s face darkening and her lips twisting into a scowl. He knows it, because it doesn’t even come close to hinting at the depths of his feelings for her, for how thinking of her with someone else hurts.

Pidge snaps, “There’s no romance in this because no one - not you and not that jerk - asked what I want!”

“But I—”

“Is this what it takes for you to finally notice me?” Pidge wonders. She flails her arms, and something like hurt tinges her voice. “For you to think you’re going to lose me to a quiznaking king like you thought you lost Allura?”

He reaches for her with growing panic, tries to grasp her hand, but she wrenches it away. “Pidge—”

Her voice breaks, driving a stake deeper into his heart, as she says, “Y-you don’t have to w-win me, Lance.” She sniffs and wipes at her nose with her sleeve. “You a-already h-have me if only I h-have you too.”

An absurd heat rushes to his face, and her words stun him speechless even while his heart hammers in an effort to burst from his chest. His lips part uselessly as he seeks the words to reassure and comfort her and tell her that of course she has him!

He hesitates too long.

“F-fine.” Pidge, her face a burning and embarrassed red, unclasps her necklace and flings it at him.

Lance, startled, fumbles to catch the delicate gold chain and pendant as she shoves him towards the balcony. “Wait, Pidge—”

“Y-you’d better leave before the guards hear you and d-drag you away to be locked in a dungeon,” she tells him.

Lance trips over the threshold and tries to return the necklace to her, but she shakes her head. “This is yours,” he insists.

“I-I don’t want it,” she says, scowling despite the tears swimming in her eyes.

His chest tightens. “Katie, listen to me—”

Pidge turns her back to him, shoulders trembling, and says, “B-be careful on your way down. A-and…you’ll do great a-at the duel.” She flashes him a tight smile that makes his heart ache with the familiar pain of rejection right before she closes the door.

Continue to Chapter Six

[kyidyl]

Europe

Since I'm chilling at home today with a migraine hangover, let me write some stuff about vacation. Last week I got back from a 19 day vacation to Europe. While I was there I went to London, Paris, Venice, Rome, and Edinburgh (apropos of nothing, but I can't spell it anymore cause we say it edinburg and they say it edinbraugh and now I don't know where the letters go anymore HALP, lol.). It was pretty great but like here's some random observations or stuff that was most different, or that I wasn't expecting despite extensive reading before I went. 1. The money. Here in the us we can pay for basically everything, even like a pack of gum, with a card. Cash is outdated and largely unnecessary. Literally the only time I ever have any is when I go to ren faire. And, remember, our debit cards function as credit cards, so you don't need a credit card for this to be the case. Most people don't carry large sums of, or any, cash on them. There's literally no point unless you like to have cash or live someplace that for whatever reason is surrounded by stores that haven't joint the rest of us in this century. There, this isn't the case. Everyone has cash because, idk, they like inconveniencing themselves? Maybe the fees are higher for vendors to take cards? Idk but I have about $15 us in pounds and euros left over and it's not worth exchanging and I can't really do anything with it. And to the point, WHY THE FUCK WITH THE COINS DO YOU JUST HATE PEOPLE?? 2. American architecture is really, really conservative. Even, say, that capital building - which has a fancy dome and paintings and stuff is comparatively staid. Europeans were like "fuck that, more is more, pile another Curley-q on that. Needs moar gold leaf. Why have wallpaper when you can have damask and frescos?" It's kinda great, really, but it makes me realize how visually boring the us is. 3. European soda is better period full stop I miss it. I will never drink orange Fanta again. Plus the bottles are smaller, which is nice because I never finish a bottle here anyway. I did miss lemonade tho. 4. Attempting to be courteous to Parisians is exhausting and also why don't they clean up their dog shit??? Plus I got tired of getting dirty looks when they spotted my (sunset colored) hair. Got lots of compliments on it in London tho. 5. There are far fewer differences between London and the us than I thought. Really did not experience a lot of culture shock. Same for Edinburgh. Although being the one who has an accent is weird. You just can't pretend you're anything other than a tourist and you only blend in till you open your mouth. 6. Not speaking the language is isolating, and eventually I stopped talking much. When I got back to the U.K. At the end it took my brain a hot second to process English again and remember "oh, right, we can communicate now. Let's do that." 7. In Italy and France, the goddamned people trying to sell you shit in the street. They're rude, pushy, and shady AF. I've been to cities enough and I'm from ny, so I know how to avoid them mostly, but Matt and the girls did not. One of them in Venice handed syd - an 8 year old - a rose and wouldn't take it back and wouldn't leave us alone until Matt gave him money. Another one of them came up to me on a bench in Rome when I was essentially isolated from anyone nearby and would NOT leave. I flat-out told him no three times before yelling at him that I wanted to be alone so he needed to go. He scared the crap out of me because I'd straight up told him no and he still wouldn't leave me alone. Here in the us these guys don't really exist because you can't sell stuff without a license/permit and they can't get one. 8. Tipping is different, but no one really gets upset about the American style of tipping cause we're generous tippers and everyone likes extra money. So...sometimes we did and sometimes we didn't depending one where we were. This is especially true in Italy. 9. Italy has the kind of service economy America wishes it had. U.S. service is about squeezing as much kindness into as small of a window of time as humanly possible. Italians take their time with each customer. To the extent that most of the time they don't like customers handling the merchandise they have on display. There's not a lot of self serve going on, and they get kinda insulted if you don't let them show you how awesome their wares are. 10. Ticking off the locals is unavoidable, no matter how much you try not too. You can't enculturate yourself over the Internet, so even if you do a lot of "how to not be a douche" research you're gonna miss something. Like the time I closed a shop's door behind me because, y'know, I wasn't raised in a barn and the owner got annoyed at me because to her closed door = closed shop. And I couldn't tell her I was sorry or why I'd done it because I don't speak Italian. 11. I didn't think I noticed any difference in service people until I got back and I was like "why is everyone being so nice to me?" I felt like less of a weird person for saying please and thank you so much. Idk it didn't really bug me either way. 12. Awhile ago there was a thread where some idiot said that NY's particular brand of politeness was maladaptive, but I found that the opposite was true. I knew how to behave myself in a city, and my traveling companions did not. Every time Matt stopped in the middle of a sidewalk to check the directions or engaged someone who was selling something because he hadn't mastered ignoring them or the subtle "don't even try it" head shake I wanted to stab him with a spork. 13. If NY wasn't home, Rome would have overtaken it as my favorite city. I loved it, and if I could speak Italian I'd try to emigrate. It was different, but Italian immigrants to NY shaped the culture of NY so much that Rome felt a bit familiar. Plus it's beautiful, and there was so much history there, and the food was spectacular. Ok...I guess that's enough, lol. Anyway it was awesome 10/10 do recommend and also I have barely even made a dent in post processing the pics I took...

[atlaswriting]

The image of Mr. Rose’s hand curled around Abram’s neck is burnt into my mind. I don’t know why I didn’t say anything, didn’t offer to walk him back to his room. I don’t know why I allowed Jason to wrap his arms around him and press his lips into my cheek—what I do know is that I pulled away, followed behind as best I could. I waited, watched, and hoped for the elder Rose to leave his son’s room soon. I tried to ignore the muffled struggle I heard just behind the door but the bile rose up my throat—for once, not from my own doing.

I stay hidden until the door opens and only one person walks out. I consider knocking on the door, going in, but my phone goes off, louder than I thought it would and I press my hand over it, moving back to my hiding place.

Abram’s texts come like a waterfall. Message after message I feel the string around my heart become a little tauter, become a little more broken.

My feet bring me back to his door, always leading me back to him. I raise my hand, curled into a fist and glance at it. That boy’s had enough fists. I flatten my hand and prepare to hit it against the door when my phone vibrates in my hand.

Kai: There’s no one else I can talk to about this.

Kai: You’re it.

Kai: Syl, I don’t think I can make it here, with my family and this school.

I decide against it, choosing to lean my back against the wall next to his door instead. I hang my head, buckle my shoulders—the weight of my lies becoming almost unbearable.

Atlas has nothing on me.

I’m so sorry.

I’ll be awake all night.

I half consider giving him a call, walking away and talking him through it all, but I can’t muster up the strength. I’m afraid my voice will shake and give me away.

I choose to melt further into the wall, sliding down until I was sitting on the ground, legs bent and head touching my knees. The only time I move is when my phone buzzes in my hand.

♡ ♡ ♡

I settle in my seat just as attendance is being taken, eyes fluttering toward Abram who hangs his head low. I notice the discoloration at the back of his neck, covered only slightly by his uniform collar. Despite the person beside him talking, he doesn’t bother acknowledging them. Jason walks past, slapping a hard hand on his back. To anybody else it looked like a friendly gesture—a way of saying let bygones be bygones. But Jason knew his father and knew, better than anyone, what his hands were capable of. It was a line drawn in the sand.

My fingers coil into a fist.

Mrs. Pierce rattles off pairings for a project. I can feel Jason’s eyes on me, ready to jump and switch partners with whomever was called after my name, “Miss Allaire,” she says, looking around the room, “and Mr. Rose—you’ll find your assignment on page three hundred and ninety four.”

“Mrs. Pierce, may I switch with Sophie?” I ask. The girl is just about to sit beside Abram when I find my voice. Sophie’s cheeks turn a soft shade of pink, giving me a curt shake of her head, “It’s just he and I work better together—and Jason…” my words trail off into nothing, my eyes following them toward Jason whose anger flashes over his face like a lightning bolt, “I work better with Abram.”

Mrs. Pierce sighs, considering it for a moment. She parts her lips to speak and I can feel my heart become a hummingbird in my chest, fluttering against the confines of my ribs. “If I have a choice here,” Abram cuts her off, “I would rather not. I’m fine working with Sophie. I don’t need a distraction.”

The teacher lifts her shoulders in an apologetic shrug, “There you have it. The boy has spoken.”

As I move toward Jason, I try to catch Abram’s eye but he doesn’t bother looking up from his text book—wasn’t I supposed to be the one mad at him?

Rejection sits like a comet. It hurdles toward my body at brutal speed and despite hardening myself, the blow still stings.

♡ ♡ ♡

Are you doing okay today?

Kai: As good as I can, I guess. I’d be better if you were here.

Kai…

Kai: I’m just being honest.

Kai: You get your ribs kicked in hard enough, it makes you realize how short life is. We should spend it with the ones we want. And I want you.

I want you too—but…I told you. I can’t. We can’t. It just won’t work right now.

We’re friends though, right?

Kai: Friends don’t feel this way for each other.

I stare at the words on my screen and run my hands through my hair, pulling at the root.

♡ ♡ ♡

“Earth to Elise,” Jason waves his hand in front of my face and I blink myself back into the present, “Where’d you go?” he asks, leaning his cheek on my shoulder. I stare back at him, almost disgusted. What had started as a way to make Abram jealous snowballed into something I can’t explain. Jason looks at me like a puppy dog and there isn’t anything I wanted more than to snap a flea collar on him and put him down.

I try to form the words so they make sense, “I’m sorry, I was thinking about an assignment I thought I had due. What were we talking about?”

“Abram was just saying he prefers his girls with a little more meat on the bones, weren’t you Abe?” I cringe at Sophie’s nickname for him. Glancing down at my untouched lunch tray, I weigh the options to shut her up: an apple, a spork and an unopened yogurt. “I have to say, I agree with him,” she adds, leaning into him with a giggle.

“You do?” I ask, apprehensively, “Since when, Sophie?” I lean my head to the side, “Was it a week ago you called his girlfriend a cow or today when you realize you may have a chance in his pants?”

She doesn’t break eye contact, brilliant blue eyes glare back at me, the tiniest hint of a smirk pulling at the corner of her lips—game on—she teases silently, “I had an epiphany, I guess. Women come in all shapes and sizes, even round, why shouldn’t they get love to?” She pouts, looking at Abram, waiting for a pat on the back or his mouth on her—

“It’s true,” he shrugs, though the disinterest in his voice is ever present. There’s a glazed over look in his eyes and I want to reach out, run my fingers through his hair and take him away from all the awful things.

I realize: I’m one of those awful things.

My teeth clench and unclench, I tap the top of the yogurt, “Well I guess it’s a good thing girls don’t care what men prefer,” I bite out, adding with a shrug, “unless your Sophie, I guess.”

“I don’t know about you guys,” Jason butts in with a laugh, “but I like my girls’ skinny. You can bend them anyway you want. And seeing the ribs in their bathing suit.” He pulls me in toward his laughing body, pressing his lips against my cheek, fingers digging into my side with what I could only imagine is some awkward kind of tickle.

It takes all the self control I have in my body to not vomit.

♡ ♡ ♡

Kai: Don’t you love me?

Kai: Say you don’t and I’ll stop trying, I swear, Sylvia. I’ll stop.

Kai: But if you do. I’m going to fight like Hell. I’ll give you your space, give you what you need, but I’ll still fight like hell.

Of course I love you

My finger shake as I send the text and my mouth feels dry from the dirty truth—both that Sylvia and I love him.

♡ ♡ ♡

“Elise, mon cher, do you really need four bags for a week in New York?”

“What are you talking about? I packed light. I didn’t bring nearly as many outfits as I should have. Why are you so nervous?” I stare at Cerise who wrings her hands together the entire time we’re driving toward the airport. She’s been quiet—only one or two insults spat in my direction.

She sighs, “There was something I should have probably told you before you came.”

Panic sets into my chest. I realize we pass the airport and are driving toward the person, chartered planes. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, but coupled with her anxiety I can’t help but wonder if she’s finally snapped and is going to kill me. A man opens my door of the car. I can’t tell who he is until I step into the sunlight and when I do it’s every nightmare coming back to haunt me.

“Mr. Rose?”  I look back at my mother, anger goes off in my chest like a flare, “what a... coincidence.” He takes my hand and kisses the top. My mother steps out of the car, Louboutin first.

“It isn’t a coincidence, cher,” my mother chastises, but with a smile, “We’re staying with Malachi here while you all are on break for the holiday.”

I feel my eyebrows knit together, you all, implies more than just me. I follow my mother and Malachi toward the plane, walking up the steps carefully. I peak in and my eyes fall on a set of Rose children and then Abram. I turn back around, turning directly into Malachi’s chest. “Mother?”

“Sit down, Elise,” she hisses. I do as she says.

“Cerise and I,” Malachi starts, “thought it would be best if we introduced our families on Holiday—nothing brings a family closer than Thanksgiving.”

I stare at my mother, “Nous ne célébrons même pas Thanksgiving,” I whisper.

“English, Elise,” she says, glancing back at the patriarch, “not everyone here can speak French.” She caresses my cheek softly and I recoil. The only thing the soft of her hand led to was a hard smack. But this time it didn’t. This time, she settled in a seat beside me, urging me closer to her, “Toi et le garçon avez fini, oui?”

I steal a look at Abram—surprised to find him looking back at me, horror mixed with something more—something dark and sinister, something that resembled his father, “Oui.”