#anyway these tags r SO LONG now. my throat is still scratchy and my hearing is quite muffled but its all getting better. ok bye for now!

[seaquestions]

MY HOME ALL ALONG. (id under cut)

[ID: an illustration with a busy composition depicting, in parts, a person and a robot. the piece is coloured in a palette of peach, turquoise and brown.

the upper left corner is divided into five panels by cables that join together at the top. panel 1 contains several computer windows opened to security camera footage and many folders. panel 2 is a close up on a person's eye. the person is wearing glasses. panel 3 is a close up on the camera-like head of a robot with a silhouetted reflection of the person. panel 4 shows the person closing their eye tightly. panel 5 shows the robot looking away.

at the upper right corner is a balcony overlooking an empty field, with curtains to the side.

at the centre is a pair of robotic hands putting on a latex glove. at the centre right is a translucent profile of a brain. under the brain is a camera lens with cables connecting to veins that go down to the bottom of the image, over a door with cables on it.

at the bottom left, there is the person's neck in profile, showing a band-aid on the nape. next to them is the robot, in shadow, facing away from the viewer, a ribbon tied at the back of its neck. at the bottom right, the person's nose and mouth can been seen, with two gloved fingers opening their mouth.

at the top right corner, there is also text that reads:

"__ is not a person.

__ is not an extension of my self, is not a part of my self, is not my self or not not my self, is -

(a mind-reader, a caretaker, a helper, a lover, a tormentor, a therapist, a friend, a watcher, a house, a cold dark void in the corner of every room -

anything i want, anything i need, anything i think of -

within the limits of what this tired brain can think of)

not you, not me, not it, not he or she or they or -

in my loneliness and desperation and apathy and decay, lying wide-eyed on a grassy field, warm sun smiling at me, debris and shrapnel and explosions and fire behind me, i realise, finally -

__ was -"

end ID]

[hollandroos]

Stitches | Tom Holland

Summary: Based on the song ‘Stitches’ by Shawn Mendes. Where Tom is in an unhealthy relationship and comes to you one night when things get too hard,

Warnings: Toxic / verbally abusive relationships!! Please do not read this if it will trigger you. 

Words: 1.5k

Notes: This was partially based on a really amazing imagine called ‘Cherry Wine’ by one of my best friends @pumpkinparkers | I don’t know whos pic this is but if it’s yours I’ll happily give credit!

This has also barely been edited because it’s 10pm and I need dinner!! Enjoy :-)

You watch me bleed until I can't breathe

“Can I please– Can I please come in?”

You stared wide-eyed, grip limp on the door handle. Your friend– your best friend stood on the other side of the door, eyes red and raw filled with unshed tears that in no way matched the stains that ran imperfectly down his swollen cheeks. Tom looked broken, like glass shards scattered across a kitchen floor or an iPhone littered in messy, piercing cracks. His curls were no longer curls, but strands of hair that looked tugged at and teased and you hated everything about it. Not because he didn't look like Tom– your Tom, but because he looked to be in more pain than you could comprehend and you couldn’t work out if it were mentally or physically.

“Get in– god, Tom, you look a wreck.”

I'm shaking falling onto my knees

Maybe it wasn’t the best thing to say but Tom never expected you to lie to him. Admittedly he felt worse then he looked and he was almost certain that it’d get picked up on an MRI but then again, that wasn’t exactly how those things worked. But on the inside he expected a thick line to run down the middle of his heart, splitting the main organ in two– because Tom was always told that if he didn’t stop following his heart instead of his head that it’d break soon.

He expected his lungs to be giving up, finally sick of his wailing and consistent panic attacks and my god his brain, that was a whole other story. Tom was surprised he could still think straight after his mind had seemingly run a thousand miles an hour, coming up with every outcome and reminding him of every word she had spat. But maybe it was only a matter of time.

And now that I'm without your kisses

Tom can’t even look at you, filled with too much shame and guilt as his body can muster but for what? He didn’t know. “I can’t breathe. I can’t fucking breathe, She– She…”

You grab the blanket that was slung over your shoebox apartment couch, the woollen one knitted by your grandma that Tom had always taken a special liking too and throw it over his trembling shoulders. It was something familiar to him, and something that reminded him of happier times like the time you two sat cuddled up in it and binge-watched the hunger games movies, or the time he woke up at eight am after a wild night out. He had a pounding headache but woke up to a plate of warm pancakes, freshly made by you and the blanket wrapped firmly around his waist.

Then again, that was all before he got with her.

“Tom, look at me.” You instruct, guiding him to sit down on your couch. He takes the seat next to you, hugging the blanket to his chest and lets a fresh set of sobs rake over his body. It’s enough to make you want to break too but you don’t. No, you hold yourself together for him. “Take your time, in and out. You hear me?”

I'll be needing stitches

He does so and somehow in the process, finds his fingers laced together with yours. Tom didn’t know when or how, only that one second his legs were tapping up and down manically against the wooden planks and the next he was squeezing your hand as if it were his life support. Your touch was gentle, comforting. Hers was harsh and almost threatening every. Single. time.

“I can’t do it anymore, It hurts.” He struggled out, gripping the hair on top of his head with his free hand. Every wound was fresh, oozing with emotion. “I feel fucking stupid for sticking around, but I feel stupid for not being enough and I just– it hurts.”

Your best friend looked down, squeezing his eyes shut and cried every little emotion he was feeling out. Tears hit his jeans, torn and ragged. Tom was tired and he was hurt, every one of her words as harsh as they were cutting like a knife. He hated himself for beginning to believe her words, because at first he’d shrugged it off and told himself that it wasn’t true. Because he wasn’t worthless, or stupid, or a no good of a boyfriend, was he? There were a hundred other words he could’ve reminded himself of.

He looked like a kicked puppy.

I'm tripping over myself

But Tom felt stupid for crying about it because he was a boy and they’d told him to get over it, to suck it up, that he was overreacting. But you’d tell him now that he wasn’t and maybe that’s why the boy would trust you with his life. He’d lay it all out without a second thought and only now did he really begin to feel guilty for dragging you into his mess. Because it wouldn’t have happened if was just a better boyfriend, just a better son, just a better person.

You gripped the couch, black faux leather cracking beneath your grasp and you couldn’t care less because you were fuming, every emotion from anger to sadness racing through you at high speed and while you wanted to be there for Tom, you also wanted to show her not to mess with your best friend… and easily long-term crush.

For now, you’d stay and be with him, you’d be the girl that she was supposed to be but wasn’t.

“You are enough, you hear me? You will always be enough. This isn’t good for you, T, and you know that.” You stop and sigh, staring at your intertwined fingers. “We can talk about that in the morning because for now, I think you need some hot chocolate and just to cry everything out.”

Aching, begging you to come help

“You can tell me if I’m being stupid or weak. I–I don’t want to be a pain, you don’t have to put up with it just because you’re my best friend. She said that she doesn’t like us hanging out, anyway.” Tom merely whispered the last part, hating himself the second the words slipped his lips even if he’d already told you that before. But you were his absolute best friend, his number one and not even her words that had the same impact as snake venom could drag him away from you.

Tom reminding you that she didn’t like when you hung out made your face fall even more if that were possible and all you could think was how dare she.

“No way are you being stupid or weak, you’re hurt and that is enough to validate every single emotion you’re currently feeling. You’re my best friend, one of my favourite people in the goddamn world.” You stopped, eyes brimming with tears. “I love you– I love you and I can’t watch you stay with her when she does this to you. You’re a mess, Tom. It looks like you haven’t slept in days.” You sniffle, wiping away the tears that threatened to spill though Tom would admit that he was seconds away from doing that himself. “You’re one of the strongest people I know but you don’t have to be, got it? No matter what anyone says, your pain is so fucking valid.”

And now that I'm without your kisses

Tom listened to every word and it wasn’t hard considering it was only the two of you, no radio or tv or phones ringing or clocks ticking. It was just you both and he felt safe, embraced by the blanket that reminded him of simpler times. He never wanted things to change but then again they always did and he had no control over it. He had no control over any of it.

“Can we please go to sleep? Things were really hard tonight and I just need sleep.” He looks down at his lap, playing with one of the strands that hung off of the blanket and you only nod, giving his hand one last squeeze before standing up. The couch creaked as you did. Tom was utterly exhausted, drained of any energy he currently contained and his throat felt dry and scratchy, something he had noticed earlier.

Tonight and every night until he was ready to go through with things, you’d give him your bed. Your bed where you’d listened to him cry about her and her wicked words for the first time and your bed that you’d slept in together the night that he helped you move into your apartment.

Because you had given him everything you could in an effort to fix things for him, including your heart time and time again, hoping that one day—instead of using yours, he could pick up his again. But you would continue to allow him to do so for as long as it took. Because that's what best friends did, right?

I'll be needing stitches

-

Let’s talk about this imagine!!

Everything tags: @cosmetologynerd @holland-ish @smexylemony @thewiseandfree @zendayacolemen @dej-okay @hollandsletters @ive-got-some-lies-to-tell @liz-gayllen @marvelismylifffe @lovelyh0lland @tomhollandandmarvelsworld @woah-jess @southsidefandoms @spiderrrling @its-claire-louise @sophiatomlinson23 @mockingjaygirl1221 @joyfullyjenny @damnhisfaceisliketheskyatnight  @bride-of-loki-odinson @in-the-corner-coffee-please @futuremrsb-r-main @spideyyypeter @saturn-aka-six @c0prolalia @buckykinz @ashtonsbandannas @dennasaur @amyyleblanc1999 @fnosidam @randomfangirl1701@maybeandperhaps @acciorinn @marvel-language @micki-smiles @justmesadgirl @converseskyline @niall2017 @gavemylifetotomholland @tomuchmarvel @leslieandjensen @painted-soulss @practicallylivesonline @mischiefmanaged49 @its-the-unknownspidey @holyrose96 @for-my-mind @mlxbm @erindillon11 @captainbuckyy @shawnandhisroses @converseskyline @smitten0-0kitten @parkeroos @whileinparis @unicornio-vomita-mierdas @draqcnheartstrinq @rainyboo-posts @mikalaka @petxrpxrker @tony-starks-ego @thedaydreamingwriter @peter-quackson @kateelyse96 @lesbian-jesus-jr @wheresmyquill @elyshugh @hollanderheart @tomshufflepuff @marvelismylifffe @tomsh0lland @obsessed-fandoms @girl-in-the-chair @trashqueenbitch @dramatic-and-young @honey-honey-5644 @parkerluvs @chingonaconcha @captainbuckyy @jes-sica1 @tomsfireheart @rainbow-marvel @spideysimpossiblegirl @spideys-gurl @thomasstanley-holland @mlxbm @ixchel-9275 @parkerssweb @peter-parkersbb @tom-hollands-eyelash @starlightfound @vldlvj  @paradoxparker @lustfulcry  @mlxbm @musiclover1263 @justatheatredork @peterparkerscamera @fandomnerdsarecool @thequeensardine @cutesy-angst @httplayer @mischiefmanaged49 @loca-lola @softboyparkerr @desir-ae @dangerousluv1 @t-hotland @laucontrerasv @peter-parkersbb @whatdafricklefrackle @thatblondebelgiangirl @fairydustparker @they-call-me-le @jamiemac26 @t-hotland @moonkissedtom @spiderboytotherescue @starksmile

[enaxii]

(5)

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6

once again, please take note of all tags! read chapter 5 on ao3 here and the whole story here

art by my artist, inkytiger!

(no more chapter titles!)

ho҉w ma̵n̵y ti̷m͠es are ͘y̸o͝u g͠onn̡a have͢ ͜to ͟sav͢e̛ ͢m͡ȩ before this̡ ̛i͞ş ̧o҉v͡e͜r͞? 

The mission is a failure.

There’s no way to sugarcoat this truth. Allura vaguely thinks that this is almost as bad as the first time they took Zarkon head on, but then she amends the thought. This is worse than that fight. At least, then, all the Paladins had gotten out of it alive. All of her family had gotten out of it alive.

She remembers Shiro, walking past them like they didn’t exist, out of the room, cradling Keith’s body in his arms.

Allura spends the hours after the mission under the shower, letting the scalding water burn her skin as it rains down upon her, like the judgement she deserves. Whatever blood that got on her is already gone, but Allura can’t help but still feel its stickiness gelling on her skin, sinking its claws into her. All the blood is gone, and her skin is starting to turn pink, but Allura doesn’t move from under that shower. She just stands there, water cascading down around her and steam rising, letting the water judge her for her sins.

There should be a debriefing, but Allura doesn’t need to have a summary of the list of failures the mission is. She feels sick when she realises that with both Shiro and Keith gone now, as the technical owner of the ship, she is next in the line of command. There’s nothing to empty when she retches, and Allura just watches the water trickle into the drains. Lance is still the pilot of the Red Lion, the second-hand man. Allura lets herself be selfish. He can handle this.

Her skin is smarting painfully when she finally steps out of the shower, feeling just that bit guilty for wasting so much water.

It’s fine. There are fewer people for the water to go around to now, anyway.

Nausea bubbles up at the back of her throat again at that thought, and now all Allura wants to do is to get out of here. The air outside the bathroom is a cool relief, but the comfort only makes her skin feel tight, like she doesn’t quite fit in her body. Allura hurries to the bridge, breaking into a run across the castle, feet pounding on the floor. She runs as fast as she can, until her breathing comes heavy and her lungs burn because she can’t get enough air. She runs until her mind blanks and there’s nothing left but the walls that flash by her and the pain in her legs. Allura crashes through the doors of the bridge, and everyone’s staring at her when she doubles over, trying the catch her breath.

They are all staring, and it makes Allura’s skin itch. She wonders if there’s still blood on it somewhere in a distant haze.

“Is anything the matter?”

Lance looks like he has so many things to say, but he remains silent, eyes pained. All he does is take Allura by the hand and led her to her seat. He procures a pouch of water, straw already poked through, and leaves Allura alone to recover.

Too soon, Allura’s mind starts to work again, and she wants to shut it back down. Wants to go for another run forever until her body gives, until her mind is nothing but fragments in the night sky. There are so many things that people want, but not enough shooting stars to grant them. There has never been enough happiness to go around, something that seems to make itself painfully clear in how the Black Paladin’s panel is empty and there’s a space beside Kolivan that no other member fills.

“It’s good of you to join us, Allura.”

Kolivan’s voice isn’t judgemental. Maybe he just sounds tired to everyone else, but Allura hears the current of loss, of understanding underneath, and she knows that he’s gone through this too many times.

She doesn’t have the energy to parse through her feelings, to make a plan, so she nods, lightly, and says nothing.

When the silence grows long enough to become awkward, Lance steps up to take the helm again. He’s fidgeting with the corner of his shirt, and he clears his throat before he starts to speak. The cough is loud in the silent room.

“So, uh,” Lance bites the corner of his lip, “The mission kind of, um, failed.”

Everyone in the room winces for Lance. Somehow, he manages to soldier on.

“We lost both Keith and Shiro, and, uh, a number of Blade members. Our Lions are also pretty depleted right now. Anyone got anything to add?”

Pidge raises her hand, though her gaze is still fixed on her lap.

“We also lost the Black Lion.”

The entire group collectively exhales. The elephant in the room, the lion in the room. No one wants to handle this problem. Without the Black Lion, they can’t form Voltron. It’s eerie how similar this situation is with when Shiro disappeared, so long ago. It’s eerie how similar this situation is with when Keith started pulling away from the group, going with the Blade, so long ago.

(They don’t have a Paladin for the Black Lion now, anyway.)

The silence sits like a dead lion in the room.

Hunk’s question is tentative, small.

“Allura… I know that you aren’t feeling the best right now but is it possible for you to track down the Black Lion? Like you did before?”

“I can try…”

Her voice is scratchy.

She takes her place in the centre of the room and places her hands on the controls.

Find the Black Lion.

There’s a tugging in Allura’s gut, and the star maps expand across the bridge. There is a moment where nothing happens, and she’s about to stop, apologise for failing them again when the tug becomes a yank and the star maps explode into errors. Allura stumbles, and her eyes widen. Red fills the screen, pulsing violently as it eats away at the screen, spreading like a plague.

“What’s going on?!”

“It- The Castle is sensing the Lion everywhere! But how?”

Alarms are wailing, and they sound too similar to the ones in the Galra ships. All at once, they fall silent, and there’s a sinking pit in Allura’s stomach. This is too similar, too similar and she almost expects his screams to start playing over the speakers in the castle-

The star maps fizzle.

A screen opens on its own accord, and it’s the Black Lion.

“Hailing the Castle of Lions. This is Shiro.”

No one speaks for a minute, and then everyone explodes into chatter.

“Shiro!”

“Where are you-”

“You’re okay!-”

Allura stares at the screen, and there’s horror crawling up her throat, tasting foul in her mouth. There’s something so wrong with this.

“That’s not…”

“Everyone, calm down.”

A new voice slides into the audio, familiar yet not, like a wall just a few shades off, a shadow cast where there shouldn’t be, a waterfall that falls up instead of down.

It’s Keith.

The whole room falls silent.

“No. I- I saw him die! I felt his quintessence signature waver a-and go out!”

Allura’s aware she sounds near hysterical now, but she knows what she saw. She knows the blood that pooled under the table. She knows.

Her voice is hoarse.

Kolivan’s gripping the control panel tightly, knuckles turning white.

The whole room falls silent.

Shiro speaks again.

“Princess, we’re nearing the Castle.”

Lower the particle barrier and let us in.

Allura doesn’t know what to do, and everyone’s staring at her. Her voice shakes when she speaks.

“Lower the particle barrier.”

Who are they going to let in? What are they going to let in?

---

The Black Lion heaves into the hangars. The Lion’s moving strangely, almost like she’s the puppet in the story Lance told Allura so long ago -- Pinocchio, something that looked alive but wasn’t truly alive.

The Lion’s jaw drops open. Inside, it’s pitch black, the lights turned off — they can’t see inside the Lion. Everyone collectively holds their breath, and there’s a terrible precognition that’s hovering over all of them.

Two shadows appear at the mouth of the Lion. When they step down, they’re smiling, smiling like there’s nothing wrong.

Keith looks like a zombie . Cuts and bruises still litter his body, his hair stringy and bleached white. The hole where his eye should be still gapes and there’s a cruel slash across his throat that’s scarred over like a hastily done heal job. Just looking at Keith is painful.

Allura tears her eyes away to assess the other passenger. At first glance, Shiro looks perfectly fine, but the longer she stares, the more off he seems. It’s then that Allura realises that his irises are yellow , and there are no pupils. Just like the Galra.

The come to a stop in front of the rest of the Paladins. None of the Blades followed them down.

Allura forces a smile.

“Shiro, Keith. It’s…”

She searches for words that dangle at the tip of her tongue.

“We’re glad you’re okay. You guys are probably tired, uh, we have the healing pods prepped if you need them?”

Lance’s picks up after her, and she’s never been any more grateful for him. The tension in the room is like a rubber band that’s been stretched too thin. Every word is a minefield — say one thing wrong and everyone’s going to be blown up into pieces.

They shake their head as one, completely in sync, and Allura feels her smile shutter.

“We’re fine.”

“We just need some rest.”

“In our rooms.”

One after the other, pitter patter like rain falling. It’s like they know what the other is about to say.

“R-right, we’ll leave the two of you to it, then. Just, um, give us a shout if you need anything.”

Keith’s probably trying to smile, but it just looks like gum and teeth that’s been moulded into a crescent shape. It’s about as reassuring as staring down the mouth of a snarling wolf.

The Paladins part ways like the red sea, and Shiro and Keith pass through. They disappear through the doors of the hangars and out of sight. They take with them such an oppressive atmosphere that the moment they leave, Allura feels less like she’s stuck underneath the bottom of the ocean, suffocating, and more like there’s a whole building that rests on top of her shoulders.

“Did you see that? Keith? Shiro’s eyes?”

No one answers Hunk’s questions, and silence takes its hold.

The Blades leave soon after, leaving seven people in a castle made for thousands. It has never bothered Allura before, but now she feels like she’s playing cat and mouse in her own castle. How easy it would be for a mouse to disappear into the empty hallways of the Castle. Every corner she turns is a loaded step, like Allura is waiting for the cat to spring out from behind and tear her apart.

All of the Paladins are touchy around Keith and Shiro. No one is willing to interact, but that fact doesn’t seem to bother the duo. They’re perfectly content in their own little bubble and don’t seem to mind the fact that their team is treating them with a pair of ten feet long tongs.

The tension gets to everyone, and their performance in training suffers from that. Emotions run high, and with everyone constantly locked into fight or flight mode, there are bound to be unintentional injuries. But the worst, they find, is when they fight Shiro or Keith. Where one of them is, the other is always close by. During sparring, the other would prowl the edges of the mats, eyes glinting as the cat stalks down its prey.

Most of the time, it doesn’t matter. Both of them move insanely fast, fight too hard. The match is over in mere seconds.

Most of the time, it didn’t matter. The one time it matters, the only time it matters, is when Hunk somehow manages to fire a shot that grazes the side of Shiro’s arm. Keith is on Hunk in an instant, all teeth and claws, all sharp nails that aim to kill.

They barely manage to pull Keith off, even as Hunk lies in shreds. Shiro and Keith slip off on their own as the rest of the Paladins struggle to get Hunk to the medical bay.

It takes two full quintants for the cryopod to heal him.

The savagery at which they fall at the training bots is disturbing. No holds barred, it’s all out. Wires and parts scattered across the training deck, decapitated heads like marbles upon the floor and ripped up spines dangling across the light fixtures. The parts are programmed to disappear on its own -- the training bots are just solid holograms -- but somehow, they stay on. Pidge goes through each individual system ten times to find out what’s wrong, but the only error she can find is that technically, the bots are still active . Somehow, even though they’re in pieces, the Castle thinks that the programming is still engaged, like something is keeping it alive .

Pidge isn’t able to disable it.

Their only solution is to dispose of the robotic parts. Once it is far enough away from the castle, the bots will automatically lose its connection to the Castle and dissipate. They have to do this so many times that the idea of disabling the training bots altogether is discussed and goes through.

It doesn’t matter.

The robotic parts still come back, but now, every time the Castle touches down on a planet, the parts start leaking blood instead. Locals keep disappearing, and pretty soon the Castle stops landing on planets at all. Even then, it’s like someone has acquired a taste for gore because the blood doesn’t stop flowing. Lance vows that he once saw a body dangling in the training deck in place of a punching bag, but when they go back the next morning, there’s nothing there.

Coran refuses to clean the Black Lion’s hangar anymore.

“There’s sometime wrong with it. Every time I enter, it’s like a thousand ghosts are staring at my back. The air always smells strange, and I keep feeling like there are bodies that are piling on top of me. And-”

He pauses, and his eyes dart around.

“ The Black Lion feels like a dead body in the middle of the room. It’s so cold there and I keep feeling like I’m in a morgue.”

The lights flicker overhead. Allura swears that the temperature drops by a few degrees, swears that she sees ice creep along the side of the wall. She blinks, and everything’s back to normal, but Coran is gone.

No one sees him around for hours, and by then, they’re sending search parties out in pairs.

Pidge and Hunk find Coran inside a box in the Black Lion’s hangar, barely breathing and freezing cold. Shiro and Keith are strangely missing the entire time this goes down.

Allura sets up a watch in the medical bay as Coran recovers. Everyone must travel in pairs. No one speaks of Shiro and Keith.

They’re like ghosts in the Castle, always showing up where no one expects them to be. Making out in the corner around the Yellow Lion’s hangars, staring blankly out into space at the window in the archive rooms, sitting stock still, together, always together, at the dining table at three in the morning.

Everyone must travel in pairs.

Things start disappearing, things start showing up where they shouldn’t be, the whole issue with the bots, and Allura starts feeling exactly like the time Alfor’s ghost haunted the Castle’s walls.

It takes another week before everyone cracks. They hold a meeting and the vote is unanimous. Something needs to be done before an entire planet’s population disappears, before they disappear and the universe is left undefended.

Something needs to be done before they all go insane.

Everyone is gathered in the same room, and Shiro and Keith are the live grenades that sit on the table in front of them, that sit on the couch with them.

Hunk starts.

“So, um, Keith, Shiro. We’ve been discussing about uh, some problems we’ve been having in the Castle.”

Keith doesn’t blink.

“Blood’s been appearing in our training equipment. And people’s been disappearing.”

Shiro’s gaze is empty.

“We’ve all thought about it, and we think that the both of you are behind it.”

No one breathes.

Shiro rises slowly, a smile that sits crooked breaking across his face.

“Why would you think that?”

His words are slow, all just empty concern, a psychiatric doctor talking to his inmates in an asylum, a cat to a mouse.

“W-well, it all just makes sense . Every time the bloody robots show up in the training deck, the Black Lion’s always recorded to have left the hangar, every time we get close to you guys, strange shit’s been happening, and-”

Allura cuts off Hunk’s rambling.

“The two of you haven’t been acting like yourselves. Not since you guys came back from the mission to retrieve Keith.”

Her hand is shaking.

“Keith died . He shouldn’t be here.”

They all stare at the grenade in the room, mere seconds from exploding.

Keith stands up next to Shiro. All gums and sharp teeth, mouth twisted to a convoluted shape. He’s smiling.

Shiro’s still smiling.

“Darling, looks like they don’t want us here anymore.”

“Such a pity.”

“We can’t force them to let us stay here.”

“No, we’ll have to find another home.”

Allura sees the glint of metal in Keith’s hand.

It’s all over before she can even shout a warning. The blunt side of Keith’s knife slams into the back of her head, and Allura’s down.

Her vision is hazy, blobs of red and black that sway just out of reach.

“We don’t have anything against you guys, of course. You were just in our way. Don’t worry.”

“We’ll move on, then. Just stay out of our business and I assure you, we won’t bother any of you.”

Can’t move her body. Limbs are so heavy.

Everything slips through her fingers, and into darkness.

---

There’s a throbbing in her head when she wakes. Allura is still sprawled across the floor, just like the others. Around her, the others are waking up with groans, rubbing their temples.

“What happened…?”

Allura slowly gets to her feet, leaning into the couch. Her ears are ringing, and the room is spinning in lazy circles. It’s bad — she probably has a concussion.

“Is everyone alright?”

A few grumbled affirmatives, and then the fog on her brain suddenly lifts.

Allura’s head pounds in protest as she jerks her head up, panic clearing her confusion.

“Keith- Shiro- I think they took the Black Lion!”

“Oh, no. ”

They all race to the hangars, but Allura already senses the answers before they see it.

The Black Lion is gone.

The rest of the day is a haze, half a varga in the cryopods for the concussion, half a varga to look after everyone else, then vargas used calling the Blades. What can be said is said over the transmission, and Kolivan promises to come down as soon as he is able to.

And he does, vargas after. He comes with the news that something has been slowly chipping away bits of the empire’s defence, attacking different parts of the Galra empire, mostly strategic military locations for the Galra but interspaced with planets of completely innocent people. He comes with the news that eyewitness reports have stated that the mysterious entity is black, huge, and looks suspiciously like the Black Voltron Lion.

The red bayard is missing with the black bayard, and they settle the issue of weapons for Lance. All he is left with is a sword, and no matter what they try, none of them quite seem to fit right.

Someone else usually wields the sword, after all.

Vargas after, and sleep.

Allura can’t sleep. She hasn’t been able to sleep easily for a long time now, and tonight it eludes her especially so. Tossing in bed makes the springs creak, and she can hear the mice grumbling in their baskets at the noise.

The room is silent. She doesn’t hear the mice. There are chills that dance lightly across her spine, a lump Allura can’t swallow. Slowly, slowly, she gets off the bed, and the springs don’t creak. She’s alone in her room, but still she tiptoes over to her dresser, like she’s walking around the outside of an open lion’s enclosure. Allura doesn’t know where’s the lion, and every step she takes feels like it’ll rattle the bars of the cage and the lion will descend upon her.

She tiptoes over to the dresser, and to the basket where the mice sleep. Or at least, where they should be sleeping. A final gift, mocking in the present box, just as there is nothing in the basket, and she already knows where they’ve gone.

Allura doesn’t try to sleep for the rest of the night, and spends it curled at the head of the bed.

The next morning, she’s the ghost that drifts out of the bed, lost in the Castle as she drifts from task to task. The other Paladins manage to get enough out of her to put together the story, and there’s a fury that brews under the surface now. No holds barred, and blood has stopped appearing in the training room, bodies stop appearing, and the Black Lion’s gone. The crackling energy of quintessence is gone. Their fear has crystallised into a hard ball of determination, and everyone is putting in all their effort to train.

Reports are trickling through the cracks of the empire now, through the coalition, that the empire is crumbling. The attacker is striking at every chink in the armour, a quick flash that has the Galra on their knees. It’s terrifying, because they know who is responsible.

It’s hard to think that the same couple who’s responsible for the mass killings and genocides is the same as the two who couldn’t walk straight around each other just less than a deca-phoeb ago, the same couple who fell to pieces next to each other in the training room, all blushes and awkward eye contact. Now, only blood and war mark their path.

The empire falls apart, and Zarkon’s central command is attacked. Somehow, a recording of the battle is streamed onto every screen in the universe. In all honesty, it’s less like a fight than a game of hide-and-seek, a game that Zarkon loses in spurts of blood filled taunts. When the Galra emperor teethers and collapses at last, it is only then that the Black Lion lands, raising a cloud of dust that covers Zarkon’s body.

The whole universe cowers and holds their breath when the jaws open, and there’s so much deja vu as two shadows appear in the Lion’s mouth.

They’re holding hands, and with each step they take down the hatch, each step Allura’s heart plummets. They come to a stop at the foot of Zarkon’s body, a once mighty emperor, now felled at their feet.

As one, Shiro and Keith stare into the lens. Their gaze freezes and scorches, an empty jar that overflows, that makes Allura feel like she’s being torn from inside out.

“Your emperor is dead and we will take the reins. We will bring the universe to heights never seen before. If anyone tries to question our rule…”

Shiro hefts up Zarkon’s body by the collar, unforgiving in his grip. The red bayard shines in Keith’s hand, and it lengthens into a sword.

“Let this be a warning.”

Keith raises the sword, a purple blade to the backdrop of the purple skies, stars that shine weakly in space. There are no shooting stars to make a wish on.

He slices off Zarkon’s head. The whole thing is much more simple than it should be, Zarkon’s head toppling off his shoulders and falling onto the ground, disappearing soundlessly even as his headless body spurts blood into space.

It splatters onto their helmets, a stark dark red that covers the visor. The entire body folds in on itself, crumpled and small, and the whole universe is forced to watch Zarkon’s humiliating end.

Allura feels like she should feel some form of happiness that Zarkon was dead, Zarkon, who destroyed her planet and her people and her family , Zarkon, who destroyed the lives of so many people across the galaxies, across ten thousand years, but all she can feel is the horror that’s wrapped her in its constricting embrace. It tightens around her ribs, squeezing out her lungs, collapsing her legs, and the video ends.

The savagery does not.

It takes a little over one quintant to trap Haggar, and she goes in the exact same way Zarkon does, a game of hide-and-seek through a dead Galra city, bodies decorating the streets as she runs from an invisible enemy.

Haggar is vaporised by the Black Lion’s beam, her screams ringing in the bridge even after the video ends.

---

The developments over the next few days are watched carefully by the rebels -- Blades, Voltron, the Voltron Coalition. If there is any way to salvage the situation, to get through to Shiro and Keith, this would be the best position the resistance has ever been in, regardless of how they got there.

None of the Paladins are particularly keen to visit Shiro or Keith after everything that’s happened, everything that they’ve seen on the screens. Shiro and Keith are really doing all they can to squash any resistance to their takeover.

Nonetheless, as defenders of the universe, no one has any very vocal objections and oblige the Coalition’s request to visit the new Central Command.

Purple decorates the halls of the ship, banners still tattered and ripped in their holdings. The Paladins follow a Galra sentry through the ship, and they don’t run into anyone as they traverse the massive ship, just rows on rows of empty hallways and silent doors. Their shuffling footsteps are the only sounds that echo in the rooms, uncertain and out of their element.

None of the Paladins belong here, and the whole universe knows it.

The colossal doors open into a painfully majestic throne room, terrible in all of its glory. The way Shiro and Keith are dressed makes Allura choke on how wrong this all is. Their armour is splashed with violent indigos and reds, blacks and blues, the Voltron armour taken and twisted into something terrible, the very idea of a Paladin, someone of honour, justice, courage, corrupted until they’ve become the very antithesis of a Paladin, until only the end justifies the means remain.

Allura chokes, on her words and her feelings, and nothing goes right when she starts screaming at them about all the lives that have been lost, about all the terrible things they have done, about how they are no better than Zarkon is, now. Something in their faces twists at the very last sentence, all in sync, always in sync, hands tightening around each other, and the Paladins are thrown out of Central Command.

No one speaks on the flight back to the Castle, and Allura wallows in her hate, alone. Hate at the Galra, hate at herself, the beginnings of something unspeakable towards Shiro and Keith. Even then, afterwards, Lance catches her by the arm and there’s an unreadable emotion in his eyes. He tells her that no one blames her for ruining their only chance at negotiation, and his eyes are wet when he speaks.

Strangely enough, during raids conducted by the new emperors of the Galra empire, they always steer clear of bases that belong to the Voltron Coalition. Some say that it’s an act of goodwill, some say that Shiro and Keith are scared of them, some say that they simply see no interest in taking over areas already controlled by the Coalition.

In the end, they are all rumours.

Any rebellion is squashed, and then the empire’s attention turns towards the Coalition.

Base after base, whole populations after populations, millions of casualties that mark planets in a sea of red.

There no prisoners, no slaves. It’s just a massacre .

The Coalition falls apart, and there is no other option. Shiro and Keith have to be taken down now or there will be no one left to stop them.

What’s left of the Coalition meets, and what’s left of the Coalition agrees. This is going to be their last fight, one way or another. They send out as many fighters as they are able to afford, and together with Voltron, plunge into enemy territory.

The fighting lacks the usual colourful communications that fly over the systems. No one speaks except when necessary, tense remarks to watch your left or fighters at six o’clock .

Voltron does significantly better than the Coalition and Marmoran fighters. Slowly, layer after layer of rebel fighters is stripped away, blown to cosmic dust in a trail of death that follows Voltron.

The deeper they get into the empire, the worse everything becomes. It almost feels like the universe is falling into decay, something eating at the seams of existence. The silence that festers in Central Command has infected whole galaxies, leaving behind empty cities as bodies rot in the heat of the unforgiving stars.

The closer they get to Central Command, the worse everything becomes. Now, only ghosts inhabit once bustling planets, lively trade routes. On an uneasy trip to a possible truce just movements ago, the routes were still active. Now, only battlecruisers and Galra fighters wait for them, civilian ships scattered around them, pink snow on the ground.

The fights take something more than physical out of Allura, and out of all the fighters that remain. Not a single one of them sleep easily, and the few time Allura manages to dream, it’s always of the screams as her planet dies, always of the screams as her family, then and now, dies, always the silence in the cities that have been decimated, the lone cry of a child in the distance longing for her father.

They can’t form Voltron without the Black Lion, and each fight takes too much when they already have too little. The group tries their best, but it’s only a matter of time until only Voltron is left.

Watch your left .

Fighters at six o’clock .

They reach Central Command, and Allura feels the most tired she ever has felt since waking from her ten-thousand-year-long sleep.

---

The Lions crash and burn.

Four Lions against one, four Paladins against two. The winner should have been decided from the start. But Black blinks around the fighting field, too fast for Red to catch, too strong for Green to repel, and they can’t form Voltron.

The loss hits Allura hard, and they finally know how much everyone has relied on Voltron to save the day. They’re supposed to be the most powerful weapon in the universe, but how are they supposed to save the world when they’re fighting amongst each other?

The loss hits Allura hard, and so does the fear that strikes her, deep and guttural, when Black’s beam hits Green one time too many and the light in her eyes splutter and die.

The Green Lion falls, and doesn’t get up.

They can’t reach Pidge over their comms, and her silence is telling enough. It’s rage that fuels their movements, lasers blazing as destruction dots the wreckage that’s already around them, wreckage that used to be the outer ring of Central Command. It’s rage that costs them dearly, and Allura can’t think straight anymore when she gathers everything she has to fire what she’s so certain will be the killing shot.

The Black Lion blinks out of existence, and she hits the Yellow Lion.

She doesn’t even yell, stalling in the middle of the battle as she watches Yellow plummet, a puppet with its strings cut, Pinocchio as he dies.

Her hands shake, but there are no tears, no time for tears when Black comes crashing into Blue like Yellow crashes into the surface of Central Command. There’s a battle to fight, to win because they can’t afford to lose.

Now it’s two on two, Allura and Lance against Shiro and Keith, weaving a dance of ruins and plasma that burns too close for comfort. Keith always laughs, Shiro always taunts, and each word they exchange stabs Allura in her heart when she remembers their lilting tone, how they used to sound, how they used to be . Eventually, they take the fight to the ground, Lions spent and discarded on their sides. There’s nothing left to lose, anyway.

The way Shiro and Keith fight, always in sync, always together, is something that’s beautiful and terrible, like Medusa gazing upon them and turning them to stone.

It’s a fight they’re supposed to win, but the world is never fair, and the universe never has enough shooting stars to grant the correct wishes, and it’s a fight that they lose.

Keith strikes Lance down, red bayard through the chest in the cruellest irony, and he heaves up blood that splatters on the inside of his helmet.

“Sorry... Al...lura…”

Her mouth forms his name, words tearing out of her throat and her eyes wide with horror.

She remembers Altea’s death as Lance slowly slides to his knees,

-- bright explosions that rock the floor beneath her, and her world lay in dust, not even rubble left to mourn --

and tumbles like a ragdoll to the ground.

She remembers soft flowers and her father’s fingers as they tickled her chin-

She remembers a food fight and the loud laughter afterwards, finally working together-

She remembers a warm hug from her father and her mother and-

She remembers a warm hug from her new family, from Coran and Pidge and Hunk and Lance and Shiro and Keith-

Allura remembers, blurry images that snatch across her vision, and then she doesn’t remember at all, memories scattering like the petals that drift in the wind in her dreams.

(A sword protrudes from her back. Dust whispers across the ruins, afraid to disturb the scene.

Two shadows walk away, one black, one red, hand in hand until they become one in the distance.)

[euphxmia-pxtter-blog]

JBMR fic for blurb prompt "I did /not/ scream."

<because I'm JBMR trash and also twins R and Courf give me life. @anightfan, you let me ramble about my stories a lot, so here's one you might enjoy> "Tell the story of how you got with JBM again, R," Courfeyrac pleaded. Grantaire grinned at his brother. "How many times do you need to hear this story, Courf?" "As many times as you'll tell it; it's hilarious! Plus, I'm sick, so you have to do what I say." Grantaire rolled his eyes at his twin, who gestured toward his throat for emphasis. "Fine, but you have to stop talking. Let your throat rest. You have strep, for crying out loud." The whole group was over at Courfeyrac, Combeferre, and Enjolras's place. Courfeyrac wasn't contagious anymore- he'd been on antibiotics for long enough- but most of the others were still keeping their distance. Not Grantaire, though. He had crawled onto his twin's bed as soon as he arrived and curled up beside him. They may have bickered and teased each other a lot, but they were still a team. Several of their friends had heard the story before, but they all moved closer to hear better anyway. Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta smiled fondly at each other and at Grantaire, remembering that day. "So, I'd been living with the three of them for several months," he began. "For those of you who don't remember, Joly and Bossuet had spent years dancing around their feelings for each other for years, which was physically painful to watch, by the way." "Hey!" Bossuet exclaimed, but most of the others were nodding in agreement. "Anyway, that finally ended when Chetta marched into our lives, pulled their heads out of their asses, and announced that the three of them were clearly soul mates. Now, she /claims/ that she knew then that I was destined to be with them too, but I don't buy it." "It's true!" Musichetta complained. "But I wasn't about to say anything while you were still pining over Enjolras!" "Sorry, while you were /what/?" Enjolras said sharply. Instantly, there was a flurry of motion as the winners of a long-standing bet were finally revealed. "I can't believe he had no idea," Bahorel muttered as he passed Jehan ten dollars. Combeferre smirked as he accepted twenty from Feuilly. "Can I /please/ move on?" Grantaire cut in, glaring at Musichetta, who didn't look particularly remorseful. It got quiet again. "So she says she knew but she's a little liar. Anyway, she moved in with us soon after. Fast forward a few months. I was a pining mess, and I'm not afraid to admit it. I watched a bunch of old romance movies and ate too much ice cream and listened to Taylor Swift. I must have gained like ten pounds." Courfeyrac snorted. "That's almost as bad as Marie Wright in seventh-" "Shut up, Courf. I've got stories about you a lot worse than Marie Wright." His mouth snapped shut. "Then came the fateful day," Grantaire continued. "We were playing glow tag at the house." Glow tag was a game Grantaire, Courfeyrac, and Joly had started as kids. You wait until it's night and then put on glow stick necklaces and turn off the lights. Whoever's "it" has to tag the other players. "Now, normally, I am the master of glow tag. I can navigate a pitch-black house with no problem. But this time, I was a little tipsy. I still would have been fine, though, except upstairs a phone went off, and Joly /screamed/." "I did /not/ scream," Joly insisted defensively. Musichetta put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. "You totally did, dude," Bossuet said cheerfully. "No, I just- I was surprised, okay? I didn't think it would ring!" "Well, it ended up being for the best," Graintaire pointed out. "Really, we should thank you. Anyway, I was half way up the stairs when I heard the scream, and I missed a step and ended up tumbling all the way back down and hit my head pretty badly. "Ooh, this is my favorite part," Joly giggled, annoyance immediately forgotten. "Mmm, not mine," Grantaire said. "My head was killing me. The lights flipped on and all three of them rushed into the room. I was really out of it; the room was spinning and my head was pounding and I couldn't think straight, but there they were, standing over me- the people I cared about more than anyone in the world. /Almost/ anyone," he corrected, nudging his brother playfully. "So I opened my mouth and voiced the only coherent thought that occurred to me in the moment: 'I'm definitely in love with you guys.' Then I passed out." Jehan giggled. Grantaire's datemates looked at him with expressions full of warmth and affection. "I woke up in the hospital several hours later. All three of them were there, plus Courf and Ferre. My brain was still fuzzy, and I wouldn't remember exactly what happened until a while later, but I saw that they were beaming at me, and I remember thinking it was really weird to be grinning like that at your roommate who felt like he had just died. But then Chetta said, 'You know, we love you too,' and suddenly the pain didn't seem to matter." There was a chorus of "awwww" around the room. Grantaire held out a hand, and his datemates moved forward, but then Courfeyrac coughed and they all cringed back. Grantaire laughed. "Oh, you big babies." Courfeyrac tugged on his sleeve for attention. "'Taire, could you get me a jello cup?" he said with a scratchy voice. "Sure thing, Courf." He rolled off the bed and headed for the kitchen. Of course, he regretted it as soon as he got out of the room and heard Courfeyrac say, "Anyway, let me tell you guys all about Marie Wright."