#i need to punch you off a building and gather you tens of thousands of blocks of granite

[solsearchingnights]

Rewatching qsmp slime vod of Brazil day and they're so excited to meet their new guys???? They're calling out to them, looking for their lost family!? And when they find each other it's MUSIC AND SHOUTING AND JOY AND DANCING AND REACHIN G OUT TO ONE ANOTHER!!!! It's CINEMATIC it's FULFILLING it's so fucking GENUINE in it's joy!!!! It's people choosing love and joy and acceptance without question far before being given a reason to. It's choosing goodness in others and the love within yourself and chosing to share all that you can in pursuit of greater community and connection.

[immersional]

eight - c!wilbur (dream smp)

genre: angst ):

word count: 1454

warnings: blood, character death, explosions, fighting, dream smp election arc & wilbur’s downfall

authors note: uHm so this is my first time ever posting my writing on tumblr… this is genuinely probably the worst thing you’ll ever read so that’s just a preface. also I didn’t know exactly what to put for like - the warnings - so if anyone could help me with those that’d be great! all that aside, i hope u enjoy ): i REALLY recommend listening to eight by sleeping at last whilst reading this! ALSO i didn’t proofread it so if it’s bad or has grammatical errors I am very sorry.

****

I remember the minute,

It was like a switch was flipped - 

“Tommy, I am a slow-burning fuse. I am a long, slow-burning fuse, but I’m telling you now, over the next couple of weeks, I’m gonna be a different man the one Schlatt crossed.” 

Sounds, sounds of joy and celebration, infiltrated my ears as we clambered to the top of the hill and stared down at the very inauguration that we were dismissed from. Although, some may say, less ‘dismissed’ and more ‘chased away by an entire city with fire arrows and netherite swords’. 

Tommy was speaking from his spot beside me, but the words failed to register as I observed the way Niki slid away from the function and began making the journey back to her bakery. The way she furiously wiped at her eyes as she cautiously checked behind her was a painful reminder that she could no longer feel safe in her own country. 

How did this happen? We won the war. We won our freedom. Now we had nothing. 

God that was so long ago, long ago, long ago…

I was little, I was weak and perfectly naive,

And I grew up too quick.

“I know you’re scared, Tommy, I understand you’re scared. And it’s scary! It’s scary Tommy, but you know what? In a time like this, when a man has nothing to lose, do you know what that means? It means we can do what we want.” The laugh that exited my chapped lips was dark; I could tell by the look on Tommy’s face that he was taken aback by my words. 

He stuttered. “Wilbur, I don’t know what you’re trying to say but-”

“Have you not noticed? Everyone who is claiming to be on our side, they’re lying to us! Tubbo?! He’s lying to you! He would drop us the second he realises we’re not in the lead anymore.” 

“No, no! STOP IT!”

It was a mixture of unexpected and expected, the fist that flew across my face. As I fell to the solid concrete floor of the ravine I realised that Tommy was still in denial. He still believed there was a route we could take ending with us regaining L’Manburg and going back to the way things were before Schlatt came into power. 

“You’re being reckless, Wilbur.” It took me a few minutes to focus on the hand reaching out to me, but in a few fleeting moments I was back on my feet with Tommy watching me with a hard stare. “You’re not the man that came in as president.” 

Another dark chuckle. “I told you, Tommy. What did I say to you the night we were exiled from L’Manburg? I said I was a slow-burning fuse, and right now I’m closer than ever to exploding.”

I’m all in, palms out, I’m at your mercy now and I’m ready to begin.

“Do you know what happens to traitors, Tubbo? Nothing good.” 

Tommy was visibly shaking. A crossbow, wielded by Technoblade, was pointed straight at Tubbo’s forehead. One shot, one life lost. 

The button.

Without another thought, my legs began carrying me from the top of the building and down to the mountains behind L’Manburg. Chaos was ensuing behind me, but that was fine. It could all be fixed by the button. The button connected to stacks upon stacks of TNT underneath the country I built from the ground up. 

My fingers clawed urgently at the dirt as sweat began to gather in beads on my forehead; grime and filth began to cover my body as I raked through the mountain in search of the room. Where was the button?

What seemed like hours, but was only minutes, passed by before my arms gave out and I collapsed against the mountainside. It hurt to breathe and the rain began pouring from the sky, battering down on me like a thousand punches. 

I laid there until I heard the distant cries of the citizens of L’Manburg. A L’Manburg that was no longer mine. My unfinished symphony.

And I’ll give all I have, I’ll give my blood, give my sweat - 

An ocean of tears will spill for what is broken. 

Blood coated the floor from where my knees were being cut open by the cobblestone. My breathing was uneven and my nails were leaving deep red indents on my palms. With every sound, sounds of joys and celebration, that filtered down through the walls, I came one step closer to pushing the button. 

Would it even work? Was the TNT even connected anymore? My battered hand hovered sadly over the wooden square. 

“The thing that I built this nation for doesn’t exist anymore. Th-The thing that I worked towards… doesn’t exist anymore. It’s over.”

A gust of wind swept through the room. “What are you doing?” 

I didn’t need to turn my head to know who was behind me. He’d come to persuade me to make the ‘right’ decision, the ‘better’ decision; just like Tommy had endeavoured towards many times before. 

“Do you know what this button is?” My voice was shaky, and it was then I realised my eyes were beginning to cloud and become blurry. “Have you heard the song? On the walls? Have you heard the song. I was just thinking that there was a special place where men could go, but it’s not there anymore. You know?

Footsteps. “It still is there. You just won it back, Wil!” 

“Phil.” I spun around to face him, and by the look in his eyes I saw that I was nothing but the shell of the boy he watched grow up. “I’m always so close to pressing this button, Phil. I’ve been here - like - seven or eight times now.” 

Fireworks began to go off outside, followed by terrified screams and the clanks of swords being unsheathed. They were fighting. Ten minutes ago, they were rejoicing in the face of a new government and now they were trying to kill each other? 

“You fought so hard to get this land back… you fought so hard.” He was pleading, begging at this point to get me to change my mind. Phil was trying so hard to coerce me to leave the room, remove the TNT and go back to the way things were.

Nothing would ever go back to the way things used to be. If nothing changed, then history would just continue to repeat itself. Although I could hear Phil speaking to me, it seemed like the button was speaking louder. Pleading, begging me to press it and end everyone’s suffering once and for all. End my suffering once and for all. 

“Phil…” I turned away from him for the last time. “There was a saying Phil. By a traitor. A traitor who used to be a part of L’Manburg - Eret?” With every word spoken, I felt my throat begin to close up.

 “He had a saying, Phil,” A sharp exhale. “It was never meant to be.”

There was a moment. A moment that I thought it hadn’t worked. Had Tommy or Dream removed the TNT? What if Schlatt had realised and gotten rid of it before he died? 

An incredible amount of thoughts ran across my mind, but they came to a halt when the first piece of TNT went off. As the city I created and once ruled began to detonate, as the bawls of the citizens of L’Manburg increased and became fiercer, I just threw my head back in euphoria. 

The ground shuddered and broke beneath my knees. Phil’s exclamations of horror were heard behind me as the button room was unveiled to the perplexed and panic-stricken faces of old acquaintances, friends and enemies. Tommy’s eyes were wide and full of tears as he gaped at the damage the explosion had done. Niki’s face held an expression of extreme despair whilst she fought to pull a distraught Tubbo away from the massacre. 

As the smoke began to drift up from the rubble, I quickly realised that my job was done. 

‘Phil, kill me. Kill me, Phil.” I pulled out the diamond sword I carried with me and slid it towards the man who’d raised me. “Stab me with this sword, murder me now, kill me. They all want you to, so do it.”

“I- You’re my SON!” 

“Look at how much work went into this.” Ignoring the searing pain from my bloody knees, I stood and gestured towards the broken country. “Look how much time and effort went into this and it’s gone. Do it. Do it.”

Wilbur Soot was slain by Philza

Now you won’t see all that I had to lose,

And all I’ve lost in the fight to protect it.

[yandere-wishes]

🐚Smooth Criminal //Yandere! Gangster! Floyd Leech X Reader//🐚

My first Gangster AU! This is most likely going to end up being a series for each of the different boys! SO please tell me what you thought!

🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚

So, Annie are you ok, are you ok Annie?

the bar bristled with the loud shouts of its patrons. Each table housing at least a dozen members from the same group, all glaring at those from rival gangs. Guns sat, leaned against their master's legs, like school backs at a highschool cafeteria. maybe it was the dim, cheap lights, or the distracted rivalry stares. But by some freak miracle, no one noticed you enter the Jackson. This wasn't a place for a dame such as yourself, a pretty girl who lacked status, a weapon, and even a comrade to have their back. Just a doll-like face and a very obvious briefcase.

Even you were conscious of the fact that you stuck out like a rose in the middle of a field filled with weeds. At any moment one of these goons could turn around and grab you, slam your head on one of the wooden tables till your brains spilled out than claim the loot for themselves, no consciences faced.

Naturally, you wouldn't be here had it not been for your dear uncle Crowley, who had very recently gambled away the equivalent of a small fortune in the underground casino of the infamous Mostro Lounge. Well technically the cousin was only partly owned by the Octavinelle gang, most of the games and funds went to their brother gang of Ignihyde. But for some reason it had been one of the Octavinelle members to come after your uncle, breaking down the door to his house and threatening him with punches and verbal insults. Your "poor" uncle had promised to get him the money, it took about two loans on his house, a few hundred borrowed from his close friends and a lot of support from your own father until he was able to gather the needed amount. But that had left one tiny problem, your sweet uncle had been so shaken up from his last encounter that he had all but begged his only niece to deliver the money for him.

"It's very simple, sweetheart, you just go to the Jackson and give this briefcase to the man with teal hair and anisocoria eyes. I would never make you do something difficult dear, I'm too kind"

Yeah right "too kind"  was an exaggeration, heck nice wasn't any better. Your uncle was a useless old fool. Then again where you any better? You'd just marched into the most mobster ridden bar in all of this godforsaken city. With nothing more than a white circular dress and a briefcase with your uncle's initials engraved in it. You took a shaky breath before scanning the room, trying to find the man your uncle had described. Teal hair and anisocoria eyes, wearing the signature black and purple of the  Octavinelle gang.

A glance around confirmed that there where members from each of the Twisted Seven here. The twisted seven where the infamous gangs of New NightRaven City. Each gang was started sometime before even their current leaders where born. The original leaders had gone down as the pioneers of turning New NightRaven City into a gangsters paradise. Somehow the leadership roles had trickled down to the current seven, mostly through heritage. The history of the Twisted Seven was thought in schools all over the city more vigorously than actual world history. Up to this day, you weren't quite sure how or why the first world war had started but you could name every leader for each group in chronological order.

In the far back of the bustling room, you noticed an abnormality. One guy was sitting by himself at a four-person booth. A half-empty coke rocks glaring back at him. Your eyes widened, that was him! It had to be! Turquoise locks peaked out from under his black hat. For a split second his head turned, his eyes looking about unseeingly. That's when you noticed his eyes. One was vibrant gold, while the other borders on an olive-like green, both orbs, however, seemed to shine with a sort of mischievous glow.

Swallowing down a sense of foreboding deep in your soul, you gradually strolled over to the man. He didn't seem to notice you until you had rearranged into the seat before him. When his eyes met yours, his lips maneuvered into an open-mouth grin showing heaps of razor-sharp teeth. "OoO~ Who might you be little shrimp-chan?" His voice didn't seem able to hold a steady tone, vocals switching between high and low better every word, making the man appear all the more deranged. You sucked in a nervous breath. Under the table you squeezed your knees together, focusing on how the kneecaps pressured each other.

"Um..I'm (y/n), my uncle owed the Octavinelle some money and..."

"Oh so your here to pay off his debt?" He leaned in closer, tongue flickering out to run across his lips. His mismatched eyes scanned you up and down, lingering just a little too long on your chest. Quickly you made slung your arm over your over breasts, trying to muster up a glare to shoot at the audacious male. 

"N-not like that" You pulled up the briefcase, pummeling it down on the table with a noisy "thud".  "He has the money, he owned you. All ten thousand dollars." 

Around the two of you, people became to stare, all pulling out their cells, no undoubtedly to inform their superiors about the transaction going down in plain view. The gangster in front of you, slowly trailed his gaze around the room, shooting challenged to meet his eyes. "Are you sure you aren't the payment? You're pretty, could round up a bunch of customers for the Lounge~ Oh maybe we could even loan you out to customers that way it would only take seven months to repay your uncle's debt--"

It was pure impulse on your part, rage had taken over your body. Your hand moved on its own, stretching out for the halve empty coke glass, carrying your body with itself. Your fingers wrapped sufficiently tight around the cup. Tugging it towards yourself, before tilting it and spilling its liquid contents in the face of the man in front of you. It took a moment for the events to fully process in either of your heads. Angry breaths left your mouth before you stood up and marched over to the door. Shouting one last cruse at the mobster before slamming the door behind you.

Back at the booth, Floyd had finally realized what had happened. His shoulders began to vibrate uncontrollably. A sadistic bloodthirsty laugh falling from his lips. His eyes lifted to where you had been moments priory a sort of childlike greed shining inside his orbs. "Shrimp-chan~" he cooed to the empty space.

🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚

Sam pulled the yellow tape over his head, contracting his back so he could duke under it. In front of the building, he noticed a man with a red trench coat surrounded by five other police officers. The man must have been in his late 40's maybe even mid 50's. Sam let out a haughty breathy laugh. This was his new partner? The younger man jogged up to the small group. "Detective Trein I presume?" Sam was met by a harsh glare from the older man. "you're the rookie?" disapproval clear in every word. Ouch.

"You bet I am sir," Sam made a gesture akin to tilting a top hat as he bowed slightly. "Sam, reporting for duty". "What no last name?" "No Sir, just my mother given name, a nice one too I might add." Sam kept his eyes lowered but he could practically feel the way his new partner rolled his grey eyes. "Fine than Sam, follow me I trust you shouldn't find this case too hard. It's a simple kidnapping case. Nothing too elaborate for your young mind." Man, this guy really was a prick.

For as far as Sam could see this really was just an everyday kidnapping. All signs pointed towards just that. "If you would direct your attention to the window." Sam jumped from his thoughts. He quickly jogged up to where Trein was standing by a broken window. "The invader came in from here, most likely he climbed up the fire escape. Where guessing he had a knife on him or some other sharp object." Sam smiled, how had the old man gotten all that from an open window?

The second you left the bar, you had run all the way back to your apartment. The second you had gotten home you locked the doors and made a quick call to your uncle. As usual, he was "busy" doing whatever it was he did. Leaving a fast paced voicemail explaining that you had given the mobster his money and that you were home now. Leaving out the section you had caused. It was over finally the whole nightmare was over. your eyes darted to the old clock on your wall 9:15 pm late enough for dinner. Making your way to the kitchen, you forgot to notice that you had in fact left the window closest to the fire escape wide open. 

"Bang!"

The noise reverberated across the cramped apartment. Causing you to jump out of your thoughts. Anxiously you snatched a kitchen blade as you gradually strolled again into the front room. Your brain continued replaying the occasions of that night. It must be the Octavinelle, they had sought you out! All things considered, you had embarrassed one of their members. When you finally made it to the living room, you were both surprised and relieved. There weren't a hundred armed goons flooding your apartment with guns ready to shoot you on sight. Instead, it had been the man from earlier, casually standing by the window, whistling some tune that was eerie familiar. 

It took a moment before the man noticed you. His whistling stopped and was instead replaced with a shark-like smile. "HI~ little shrimp! I forgot to introduce myself earlier~ Name's Floyd what's yours darling?" Nervously you stepped back, knife clenched tightly to your chest. 

"G-Get away from me!"

"How do you know the man was armed? Heck, how do you know he was a guy?" Sam asked. Trein let out an annoyed huff. "Seriously do you know nothing? Well, I guess you are rather new to this." The grey-haired man turned to his younger partner. Sam swear for a moment he caught a glimpse of what may have been considered a "father instinct" although never having had a father, he could have been completely wrong. "When you've been in this profession as long as I have, you pick up on. There are small differences that become obvious once you've cracked your first ten cases. Notice the blood on the carpet, and realize how 40 mm away there is a smaller bloodstain, only this one has been pressured into the carpet, due to its crescent-like scape we can confidently deduce that it was made by a heel. And look closely at the carpet starts, look at how they seem to be red from the roots and middle, not just the tips. All that point to our invader having stepped in the first blood pool than having made the second engraving with the heel of his shoe as he chased the victim." Sam's eyes widen, maybe the old man wasn't just a jerk, after all, maybe he knew a thing or two.

"Is that any way to treat a guest little shrimp?~" His eyes locked with yours, freezing you in your spot like a dear in headlights. Noticing your dumbfounded form he ran forward prying the knife from your weak grip. A scream filled the air, it took you a second to realize it had come from you. When your eyes went back to your offenders face you could see how his lips were pointed downwards a deathly glare coating his eyes. 

The next moment his fingers made contact with your cheek, you swore you could hear a crescendo, your body felt heavy your head started spinning, for some reason the ground was getting closer and closer until you felt your body crash into the carpet. Your left cheek stung, as well as feeling like it was on fire. as you laid on the floor you watched as something red slipped onto the carpet. Something thick and red. "Oh, shrimpy you look so pretty when you bleed." 

Trein made his way to the kitchen, flicking a switch the moment he passed the threshold. A single light overhead flickered to life. "Kinda cramped for a kitchen ain't it?" Sam asked as he peeked over Trein shoulder. The older man ignored his partner's comment, wordlessly he pointed to the table in at the far left-hand side. Sam's red eyes followed the man's finger, Dead center there was a large kitchen knife ended in the old-looking wooden table. "Usually women are more calculating when they performed a kidnapping. Men are the ones that go ramped like wild beasts." Sam nodded his head absentmindedly. The young investigator made a mental note to never be as obvious if he ever did decide to kidnap someone.

"Oh~ that's so pretty." You had only known "Floyd" for a little over an hour, that including your rather unpleasant meaning back at the Jackson. But already you could tell just how short the man's attention span was. Slowly you shimmed your body from the ground, the mobster didn't seem to have noticed. The second your legs passed the kitchen's threshold you flicked the light, engulfing the tiny cooking space in total darkness. You made a swift sprint for the table, crunching under it. Your breath refused to leave your mouth, heart pounded with such force you were certain it would break the bones of your rib cage. In the distance, his loud footsteps could be heard. Closer and closer and closer. You didn't dare open your eyes, but you kept your ears open, trying to pick up any lose noises he might make.

1 heartbeat 

2 heartbeats

3 heartbeats

Nothing. There was no more noise to be heard, slowly your eyes cracked open, a tiny fragile breath escaped your mouth, right before a sharp noise echoed above head. Floyd's twisted head came into view that damned smirk still on his lips. Another scream, this time you knew it was coming from you. The teal haired man reached to grab the collar of your shirt, pulling you forward. You kicked and thrashed about as the gangster such laughter. Really how sick was this man? Finally, with one last kick, you freed yourself, Floyd fell backward clutching his stomach mutter some profanity you'd never heard before. Quickly you made a dash for your room. Locking the door behind you.

"And this is the last destination of our tour," Trein said as he made a sweeping gesture with his hand. Sam was almost certain he heard a hint of humor in the old man's tone. "What happened here?" The rookie asked. "Why Sam! I thought you where a detective, can't you deduce this simple problem?" Definitely humor. Sam quickly scanned the room. 'Um, he dragged her into the room, locking the door behind them. Then broke the window preparing to escape. But then a third party broke the door down, trying to save the girl. Before the third party could intervene it's likely that the man pulled her through the window and killed her behind some ally." Trein only nodded, following along with the boy's story. "Well Sam you sure have an active imagination, but it's most likely that this is what happened..."

You could hear the pounding on your door, slowly you backed away heading for your nightstand, aimlessly you tried to locate your phone. Until you remembered that you had left it on the couch. "Dang it" Your eyes scanned the room nervously trying to find something helpful, anything!

BANG

pieces of wood flew around the room, you brought your hands up to shield your face, only to have them pulled downwards. Your eyes looked upwards, instantly locking with Floyd's "Found you~" he sang. In the midst of the chaos, Floyd smashed his lips yo yours, they were unpleasant, chapped, and salty. You tried pushing him away but to no avail.   Gradually he broke the kiss, pushing his forehead to yours. Before slinging you over his shoulder and ramming full force into the window in your room. Crashing the glass and escaping into the night with you. It was at that moment that you knew that this was your doom!

"That's the more likely explanation for what happened," Trein explained as he made is way back to the front door. "Well even if it isn't it's more then convincing for a field report and a good enough explanation to give the press". A confused look twisted over Sam's face "How do you know he didn't kill her?" The black-haired boy asked. Trein just laughed and waved a wrinkled hand dismissively. "Call it a hunch" He yelled behind his shoulder.

And what a hunch! Just as the old detective predicted you were very much alive. Just now awaking and opening your (e/c) eyes to gaze into the mismatched ones of Floyd Leech's.

You’ve been hit by a smooth criminal

[ladyfogg]

Cold is the Night - 1/20

Cold is the Night - 1/20

Fic Summary: You and Pat have known each other for years but this summer, everything will change. As the two of you start to grow close, your matching tempers threaten the foundation of your rocky friendship and prevent both of you from realizing your true feelings. Cold is the Night Masterpost. 

A/N: I was going to wait to post this next week but ended up finishing it early. So, enjoy! Hope you guys like it!

Fic Song:  Cold is the Night by The Oh Hellos

Pairing: Pat Murray/Female Reader

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: Language, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Multiple Chapters

Gif by @joe-mazzello

It was the hottest day of the summer and Pat Murray thought he might melt. Literally, melt.

The D-Backs weren’t even supposed to be on the field but Ty had insisted they needed the practice. No amount of whining or convincing could change his mind, not even from Maz.

Pat stood just outside the dugout in the bright sun, sweat dripping down his face, his uniform stuck to him unpleasantly. 

“Come on, Murray, hurry up and hit something so we can get out of here!”

“Shut the fuck up, Palacco!” Pat snapped. He was the last to practice and had been at the plate for far too many swings. The rage and anxiety had long since taken over, made ten times worse by the heat. He had stepped away for a moment, hoping that would help. But it hadn’t. 

He took a deep breath but the air was so thick it did nothing to help. He stepped back up to the plate, took a few practice swings, raised his bat…and missed again.

“That’s okay, that’s okay,” Ty assured him as Pat let out a string of swears. “Try again.”

“Ty, dude, why can’t the rest of us go?” Zapata asked. “We’ll die of heat if we have to wait for Murray.”

“Fuck you, Zapata!”

“Hey! No one’s going anywhere!” Ty snapped. “We start practice together and we end it together. Now shut it!” He gestured to Dells who looked just as exhausted as Pat felt. 

Dells sighed and wound up another pitch. Pat’s hands were so sweaty, the bat was sliding against his palms. He gripped it as tight as he could, readied his body for the throw…

“Vinnie, what the fuck? You said you’d be done an hour ago!”

At the sound of your voice, Pat swung wide, missing Dells pitch by a long shot. The bat flew out of his sweaty hands and soared through the air, hurtling straight toward you. “FUCK!”

You saw the bat just in time to jump out of the way. “Shit!”

“Ey, Murray, be careful! You almost hit my baby sister!” Vinnie exclaimed dramatically. He pulled you against his gross chest protectively. “You poor baby! Did the mean ginger hurt you?!”

“Vinnie, g'off!” You struggle against your older brother, punching him in the rib to get him to let go. “I’m not even that much younger than you!“ 

Pat was furious with himself and unloaded his rage into a colorful array of swears. “Fucking fuck shit balls, fuck! Fucking idiot!”

“Alright, we’re done,” Maz declared, getting off the bench and swinging his bag over his shoulder. 

“We’re not leaving yet!” Ty exclaimed.

Maz fixated him with a stern look. “Ty, we’re done,” he repeated. “It’s too hot, Murray is losing his shit, and we’re all going to get heatstroke if we don’t get inside soon.”

Ty could never argue with Maz. With a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumped in defeat as he nodded. “Yeah alright. Garvey, Dells, bring it in. Everyone’s dismissed.”

An eruption of cheers interrupted Pat’s continued tirade. Still fuming, he headed for the shade of the dugout, throwing his helmet against the chain-link fence.

“Aww, don’t worry, little buddy! Someday you’ll hit the ball!” Vinnie cooed. 

Pat felt bad enough as it was but to hear Vinnie tease him in front of you made the whole situation unbearable for reasons he couldn’t quite understand.

You elbowed your brother. “Stop being an ass. Come on, let’s go. I’m tired of waiting for you.”

“Ooo, yeah, about that…” Vinnie gave you a sweet smile. “I forgot to text you. I’m going with Ty to meet up with Nellie. Sorrrryyy!”

Pat’s own rage settled as he watched yours build. You rounded on Vinnie, eyes flaring. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?! I waited for no goddamn reason?!”

“Aww, don’t be upset!” Vinnie reached out to squish your cheeks, something he knew you absolutely hated. “Now give your big bro a biiiig smile!”

Without warning, you pounced on him, knocking him into the dirt. Vinnie tried to fight you off as the two of you wrestled in the dirt, a common occurrence to everyone who knew you. 

Pat gathered his things while the other guys laughed He just wanted to go home and forget about his miserable performance. He slipped away before anyone could notice.

He loved baseball with every fiber of his being and yet he couldn’t hit the ball even if his fucking life depended on it. There was nothing else he’d rather do. He just wished he had half as much talent as some of the other guys.

He didn’t usually drive to the field since his house was so close. But he would have if he had bothered to check the weather before he left. A thought that had suddenly occurred to him as he reached the parking lot.

“Great. Just fucking great." 

He was beyond exhausted and now had to walk home. He didn’t want to text his dad to come and get him, seeing as he was a fucking adult. Which left the one option. In theory, he could ask one of the guys but he couldn’t bear the thought of being alone with them, knowing they’d tease him, or worse, try to give him advice. 

Pat was just contemplating if he could make it without passing out when a voice sounded behind him.

"Hey, Pat. Need a ride?”

He turned around to find you standing behind him. Your jean shorts and tank top were caked with dirt and sand, both of which were smeared across your face and in your hair. 

Pat swallowed thickly, trying to ignore the hammering of his heart. “Nah, I’m fine. I’ll walk.”

“The hell you will! It’s hot as balls!” you said, pushing past him. “Come on, my car is right over here.”

A million protests came to mind, only a few having to do with the heat. He could only imagine the comments from the guys if they saw him and you getting into a car together. Vinnie would definitely have a few words.

But with a cloudless sky and temperatures pushing mid-90s, he couldn’t bring himself to refuse. “You sure?" 

"Yeah. Since my shitty brother made me come over here, I might as well give someone a lift." 

Pat looked up at the sun and then back to your retreating frame. "Thanks,” he muttered, falling into step with you.

Your car was already running and when Pat climbed in, he was met with a blast of cold air. “Shit that’s nice.”

You laughed as you climbed into the driver’s seat. “Right? Okay. Where to?”

Pat gave you his address and sat back as you pulled out of the parking space. He scanned the direction of the field, praying no one had seen the two of you together. The guys were just cresting the hill, Maz in the lead. They seemed too preoccupied talking to each other to notice him in your car.

As you drove in silence, Pat realized it was the first time the two of you had ever been alone. You had known of each other for a long time, had met on several occasions, but that was the extent of your relationship. He realized he knew very little about you. 

Stealing a glance, he studied your profile, eyes taking in the features he had admired from afar. Maybe not admired, but definitely noticed. You focused on the road, singing along with whatever song was on the radio. He didn’t recognize it.

“Tough practice?” you asked.

Pat scowled and remained silent, his anger at himself flaring back up and forcing him to look away. 

“That bad huh?” You drummed your hands on the steering wheel as you pulled up to a red light. “I forgive you then. You know, for almost killing me with a bat.”

“Oh shit! I’m sorry!” Pat exclaimed. He had completely forgotten about that and now he felt a thousand times worse. “God, I’m such a fucking idiot!”

“Relax, I was teasing,” you said, stepping on the gas. “It was my fault for standing outside the dugout. I’ve been around you assholes long enough to know shit goes flying.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose. It’s so goddamn hot, the bat slipped.”

“Isn’t that why you’re supposed to wear gloves?”

“I forgot them.”

“Probably don’t do that next time.”

“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Tension filled the tiny space between you two as Pat sat stewing in his own anger. Sometimes it felt like he couldn’t do anything right.

“You’re brooding.”

Pat glared at you. “I’m pissed off. I’m allowed to brood.”

“Well don’t, you’ll get wrinkles.”

“Don’t you start with me too. I’ve had a shitty day.”

“Well, let’s talk about it. You’ll feel better if you let it out.”

Pat looked at you in surprise. His angry outbursts were well known to anyone who had seen him play. Most of the time he was told to calm down, not keep going.

“Fucking fuck!” he exclaimed, yanking his hat off and throwing it against the dashboard. “I’m such a fucking loser! God, no matter what I do I can’t ever get a fucking hit! Most of the time I can’t even get close!”

“Hey you got close to hitting me, that’s something!”

Pat glared at you and you gave him the same shit-eating grin your brother was famous for. “It’s not the fucking same. If almost hitting people with bats counted I’d have been drafted years ago.”

You laughed. “In all honesty though, I know you can do it.”

“How? You barely know me.”

“I’ve been to plenty of games over the years, I’ve seen you play more times than I can count. You hit when you’re not psyching yourself up. You just have to stop overthinking it.”

There it was, exactly what he didn’t want to deal with. Unsolicited advice. “Thanks for telling me the same thing I’ve heard over a thousand times before. Really helps.”

“Fuck you, I was just trying to make you feel better.”

“Well, it didn’t work.”

The rest of the drive was done in silence. When you pulled into Pat’s driveway he sighed with relief. All he could do was think about taking a long shower and passing out for a few hours.

“Thanks for the ride,” he muttered, grabbing his bag.

“Yeah, sure.”

As he opened the car door and climbed out, the heat blasted him in the face, making him grimace. The stark change reminded him how lucky he was he didn’t have to walk home. 

She really didn’t have to drive me and then I go snapping at her. Well fucking done, Murray.

Pat paused on his way to the front door before he turned around to go apologize. But you had already driven away. Cursing under his breath, he headed into the house.

[misstinfoilhat]

Whumptober 2019 #15: Trembling/Adrenaline- Bungou Stray Dogs

I am seriously out of ideas. As I start to write this, I still have no idea what is going to be written on this page once I'm done.

(And now that it's done, I'm still not sure what this is. This was just me writing without any purpose, having no idea where it would go. I think you can see a pretty clear shift in the story- yay Hypomania!)  If anybody has any requests, something they want to see, just a small scenario somewhere in some story, please don't hesitate to leave it in a comment/message (depending on where you read this). I really need something to work off of, because I'm empty. Something angsty, fluffy, funny, gory- whatever. I would like to keep writing Dazai-centric things for this, though. Today's prompt was supposed to be 'scars'. I am going to write that- but I'm not able to right now. I'm going to pick it up later. Instead, it's this mix between a prompt from the past and the future! (Even though they’re both technically from the past since I’m behind af.) 

Whumpvember! -----

Some days, Dazai was able to take all he had lost with stride. It was in the past, a finished chapter that didn't need revisiting. There was nothing to do with it- what was written, was written.

Other days, days like today... that just wasn't an option.

Because these days, he felt haunted. As if the many ghosts from his past suddenly came up beside him and sucker-punched him in the gut, leaving him on the floor, heaving for air and trying to stagger back to his feet on his own.

Currently sitting on top of the tallest skyscraper in Yokohama, he let his feet dangle over the edge as he watched the city down there, moving on with their life without him. 

They couldn't see him- didn't even know he existed up here. And he, he had no idea who they were.

Like ants, he imagined that he crushed them with the soles of his shoes, dipping them playfully in the air far above everyone, squishing them one by one- none ever the wiser.

He didn't care about these people. They didn't care about him. He hadn't even known that they existed until a few minutes ago. And they, wouldn't know that he ever existed at all before he plunged down, smashing onto the sidewalk in front of them like a watermelon.

Well, if he did. He wasn't sure anymore.

Sneaking up here, that had been the plan. But now, he wasn't sure if it would be the painless suicide that didn't inconvenience anyone that he wanted.

He had seen enough skulls crush to know that it was quite difficult to digest the first couple of times.

Filling his lungs with air and breathing it out slowly, he closed his eyes and tried to imagine a world where he wasn't used to seeing heads explode, while simultaneously realizing that he didn't want to be the reason another child woke up in panic, reliving the moment a stranger's body pulverized on the pavement in front of them for the rest of their life.

So, no. He wasn't going to jump. Not right now, at least. Maybe tomorrow, during school hours. There would be less children around to witness it then.

Except, the ADA had a mission tomorrow.

...phew, good thing he didn't die today, or else, his death would really be an inconvenience for everybody.

Especially Atsushi. It was the first mission where he had been given the lead- they were going to execute the tiger boy's game plan.

Dazai hummed humorously, thinking about the worry knitted between the kid's eyebrows, and the small drop of sweat trailing down his face when they got the mission and he was appointed to take the lead.

His strategy was... fine. It was no 'Shame and toad', or 'Footsteps of heat and haze', but it was... fine... totally fine.

...as long as he was there to do some patch-work, of course.

Dazai laid back, resting his head on his arms while looking up at the night sky. The clear, dark blue nothingness, filled with the small, pretty twinkling balls of luminous gas with nuclear fusion reactions in their cores.

...Also called stars.

Ten thousand year old lights shone above him, radiating from orbs that could live up to a billion years... and here, he was lying on the roof of a tall building, wanting to end his life after only twenty-two.

...mourning the life of people who were unable to live past much more than that. People who hadn't been ready to die. Good people. People he wished he could bring back.

He huffed out a bitter scoff, shifting and dragging his hands across his face wearily.

It was late, the wind was picking up and it was getting cold. His mind was going places it wasn't supposed to, so he should probably get back to the dorms.

Listlessly, he hosed himself up to a sitting position, retracting his feet from the edge and started to get up.

As he placed his weight on his heels, his left foot slipped on the ledge.

In a moment of confusion, he tilted slightly to the side, instinctively grabbing urgently for something to hold onto. The slight tilt of the roof didn't help at all. His inside contorted into a tight knot as he felt his back glide off the edge.

The world was moving in slow motion. He knew his only way to save himself from this all too ironic death would be if he somehow was able to grab onto the small edges of the rooftop.

What happened next only lasted for a couple of seconds, all though it felt like much longer.

Twisting his body slightly, he was able to grab onto the edge with his right arm, but the suddenly added burden of his body weight immediately jerked his shoulder out of its socket. A blinding, shooting pain traveled to the tips of his fingers that threatened to give out.

Dazai grit his teeth in agony and shut his eyes closed, forcing the hurt back with pure willpower, determined to get back up.

He kinda wished he had informed Atsushi about some of the holes in his plan- just... in case.

With the very last of his strength, he pushed his feet against the wall, using the momentum to fling his left arm up with no other option than having blind faith in his ability to catch a hold of anything.

A small sigh of relief forced its way through his body as he felt his hand touch the cool steel of the roof tiles. Scrambling his legs, trying his best not to slip, he was able to climb, painstakingly slowly, back up.

His heart was racing and he panted heavily, crawling a safe distance away from the slippery side, settling on his back while gripping his injured shoulder tightly.

His whole body was trembling from the rush of adrenaline, and he knew he had to get down from there and (reluctantly admitting to himself that he also had to) visit Yosano to help him set the shoulder back. Usually when he tried to do it himself, he would screw up so many times that he eventually ended up passing out- Mori had dislocated his shoulder and made him try to set it back so many times (it was a good way of breaking out of hand cuffs or tight ropes), that he was almost used to it by now.

He knew he would be able to do it eventually, but just the thought made him gravitate towards the edge again...

Carefully, he coerced himself up to a seated position, a bit impressed with the arm that was now hanging limply by its side, and that it had been able to hold his weight at all after the initial injury. Right now, he had no contact with it, which was usually how it went.

He had heard about things like this, when your body would go above and beyond to survive in near-death situations... Oh, how his body must have had betrayed him for all these years...

Before he could slip back to old habits, he turned and headed for the fire escape he had come up.

Climbing the caged ladder with only one arm was difficult, but manageable. For a while.

About half-way (why had he picked the tallest building in all of Yokohama?), the adrenaline was starting to wear off, and his shoulder began to throb violently. His left arm and legs were getting tired. But, he wasn't stopping. That would only result in his limbs stiffening, and that would only make it harder.

So, he kept descending the ladder at a steady pace, until finally, he stepped on the last step.

It was a 2,5 meters drop from the ladder to the ground. Dazai moaned in exasperation, and (finally) let himself fall.

He hit the pavement bellow with a small thud. Such an anti-climactic ending to his venture on the skyscraper- but at least there weren't any traumatized children around.

Scowling up at the ladder, he rubbed his back wearily and gathered himself at his feet, limping his way back towards the Agency.

--------

“What in the world...?” Yosano uttered dumbfounded, as Dazai dragged himself into the Agency, only a little late. Her words caused a chain reaction. A mixture of perfectly groomed, or disheveled bed-haired heads peeked towards the entry, where Dazai stood, leaning heavily to the wall.

Honestly, Dazai had no idea that it was going to take that long to get back- or that it had been so late in the first place. He hadn't been able to get home for a shower or a change of clothes, before he had to be at work.

His coat was dirty, the knees of his pants ripped and his hair a mess. He looked suspiciously pale, and his breathing was labored like he was in great discomfort.

“Morning...” he mumbled hoarsely, grimacing at how small his voice sounded. It obviously didn't help with the seven pairs of eyes (eight pairs, if you counted Kunikida's glasses) that looked concerned at him.

Before he was able to try and explain himself, Yosano had a tight grip around his healthy arm, which admittedly was sore and stiff after the long climb, and dragged him off towards the infirmary.

------

An hour later, Dazai reappeared at the office with his arm in a sling. Yosano had taken a look at him as he got up from her table of horrors with a small giggle, telling him it was almost nice to see him back in his signature look. 

High as a kite on pain killers, he decided that she was mean and didn't deserve an answer except for a tongue, childishly sticking out and blowing raspberries towards her.

“How are you doing, Dazai-san?” Atsushi asked worriedly. The group were all leaning over the same table, probably going over today's mission a final time.

Dazai set up a wide grin and strode over with featherlike steps, except for the occasional hobble as his backside made reminded him that asphalt didn’t cushion your fall very well.

“I'm great,” he beamed and shook the orange pill bottle he had received from the doctor. “Yosano-sensei is being generous with the funny-pills today.”

“...Right,” Kunikida answered with a frown, while Dazai wormed his way under Ranpo's arm, jiggling the bottle in front of his face and murmuring tauntingly, “And you can't have any of my candy either,” -to which Ranpo pushed him gently away.

“So, what mess did you get yourself into this time?” Kunikida asked gravely, choosing to ignore his partner's foolishness.

The bandaged idiot jerked his head up quickly, watching the bespectacled man intently.

“Oh, I was just going to kill myself, but then, I almost died!” he exclaimed wide-eyed.

Stupified expressions glared at him for a long moment. Atsushi blinked repeatedly until Kunikida cleared his throat to get everyone's attention back to their work.

“So... We'll enter through exit C at the back- where Tanizaki will be waiting to let us in...”

Dazai made his way over to the blonde man and grabbed his shirt tightly, wide orbs glaring deeply into his eyes with a seriousness rarely seen in the slender man.

“Didn't you hear me? I was going to jump, and then I didn't, but then I slipped, and, and...”

Kunikida sighed deeply, calmly placing his hand on Dazai's tight grip, firmly prying his fingers open.

“Yes, we all heard you. You were going to kill yourself, and you almost made it. Now, you should go back to the dorms and sleep this... buzz off, so we can get ready...”

“What? No! I'm coming with you. And I wasn't going to kill myself- I mean, I was, but I wasn't, because I was coming here!” Dazai smiled, nodding vigorously, looking around the room for support.

Atsushi immediately averted his gaze, unable to look into the wide doe-eyes as the light in them eventually would go out, when he realized that they had reworked the whole plan around him not being included.

Apparently, Dazai couldn't find any support from any of the others either. His voice had quieted down considerably when he asked, one final time with just a small glimpse of hope still left in it, “Right?”

“I'm sorry, Dazai-san,” Atsushi said, reluctantly peeking back up at him, as he stood dejectedly in front of Kunikida.

“B-but, no! I was... I was gonna jump, I would have jumped... But I wanted to see my little orphan's debut as team leader!”

“Your little...?” Atsushi uttered, dumbfounded.

“Yeah, like... like Oda said,” Dazai trailed off, lowering his gaze to the floor and shook his head lightly in his haze.

The spectators exchanged bewildered looks.

With a weary rise and fall of his shoulders, Atsushi breathed out tiredly and walked over to Dazai, who was mumbling something about 'footsteps of heat and haze', and placed a light arm across his elder's back and started to walk him towards the exit.

“Come, we should get you home,” he explained and tried for a smile to tell him that it was all okay and nothing to worry about.

“B-but, the mission-” Dazai tried to argue feebly, but kept walking in the direction Atsushi was taking him anyway, trying to look back at the lowered gazes, refusing to look at him.

“Don't worry about it, we'll be fine for a couple of hours-”

“But-”

“-I can make you some food, we can play a game if you're up for it-”

“...What?” Dazai suddenly halted to a stop.

Atsushi stopped too, looking up at his mentor and smiling reassuringly.

“We're going to have to send Yosano if you can't go, and someone needs to look after you... My ability isn't necessary for this, it's fine.”

“No...” Dazai proclaimed, lightly shocked. “No, this... this isn't how it's supposed to be. It's your big day, and... and I'm supposed to look after you, and instead, you're looking after me and it’s all upside down!”

Atsushi chuckled nervously, patting Dazai's uninjured shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting manner. “It's okay.”

“No, it's not. I- I didn't jump last night because I wanted to be there with you on this mission. It's a big day, and... I ruined it... I messed everything up for you by being stupid and broken and...”

He shook his head bitterly, finally looking at the boy. “...and I don't deserve it. You're so pure and...good, and... I'm... not. I'm horrible.”

Dazai's guilt-ridden and genuinely distraught look made the white-haired boy's heart twist painfully in his chest. He had no idea this meant so much to him. Had no idea he did. 

Dazai was just this silly, carefree person at the Agency (albeit with a burning death-wish), who could come up with flawless tactics in the blink of an eye and was supposed to be unbreakable.

Somehow, he wondered if this was how normal children felt when they first realized that there was no Santa Claus.

“Stop that,” Atsushi said finally. “Y-you... You already look after me. I wouldn't be alive if it wasn't for you. I would have starved, or the mafia would've sold me on the black market!”

He was getting some stealth to his voice now, and it looked like Dazai was listening, so he continued.

“You gave me a place to stay, a job. Literally the shirt on my back! You gave me a reason to live... A reason to fight... Sitting out one measly mission isn't going to cancel that out... You can't nullify everything,” he closed with a small smirk.

Dazai chuckled a little too, taking in a deep breath and straightened his back, finding some encouragement in those words- that Atsushi wasn't mad at him, but it didn't mean that he hadn't screwed up royalty.

“Fine,” he sighed, letting Atsushi steady him lightly across the parking lot towards the dorms. He threw his working arm lazily over the younger's shoulder and ruffled his hair vigorously.

Atsushi easily leaned into the light-hearted show of affection, feeling a fuzzy warm feeling melting away the heavy ice that had overwhelmed his heart moments before.

Dazai kept his arm around Atsushi as they crossed the large space. It wasn't until they finally passed the small gate that gave them access to the dormitories, that he spoke again.

“So... death by black market, huh?”

[hollandsmoose]

ruin my life

A/N: Based on “Ruin My Life” by Zara Larsson. I don’t know what I think of this, to be honest, but you’re getting it anyway. So here you go, sweeties, here’s 2.7k of kinda angsty post-breakup stuff with some fluff in the end (because I’m not a monster lmao)!

—————–

It had been your idea to break up. Shawn had protested, but you had persisted. There just wasn’t space for you in his life, and there wasn’t space for his life in yours. He wasn’t able to stay in Toronto all the time, and you weren’t able to fly around the world all the time either.

It sucks, though. It really fucking sucks. You can’t turn on the radio without hearing his voice, you can’t go on YouTube without being recommended 50 different videos of him, and you can’t spend a day without thinking about him.

You miss him now, especially. Now when you’re here on the couch on a Saturday night, wrapped up in a blanket, watching Friends on Netflix. Shawn should be here too, nestled into your side or with his head on your lap. He should be here to complain about what a prick Ross really is. He should be here to laugh at the same jokes he’s already laughed at a thousand times before. He should be here.

Your apartment is littered with memories of Shawn. Some are just the memories of what he’s done here. Standing in the shower reminds you of all the times you’ve heard him sing in it, always belting out some 90’s jam. Cooking in the kitchen reminds you of when you got into a dishwater fight with each other, eventually having to stop because you were laughing too much to breathe. Sleeping in your bed reminds you of the first time you slept together, making love all sweet and gentle.

There are the more tangible, physical memories of him as well. The blanket you’re under now is the same one he used to wear around the apartment like a cape on cold days. The photo frame with the picture of the two of you, which is currently facing downwards on the windowsill, is one he bought for you. The baby pink hoodie you’re wearing is one of his too.

Maybe it’s wrong to wallow in the sadness. It only enforces it, really. It’s just hard not to. You sigh to yourself while you watch Monica and Richard break up on the screen. They had incompatible lives, you think, and so did Shawn and I.

You tear away your eyes from the television screen to look at another screen - your phone. It buzzes, and it catches your attention. Your heart drops when you see what the buzz is about. A message.

Shawn: Are you home?

You put down your phone, then you pick it up. You do this about four times before you gather the strength to answer.

You: Yes.

A short reply to what you hope is going to be a short conversation.

Shawn: Can I come over?

You gulp. This is not going to be a short conversation.

You: Why?

Shawn: We need to talk.

You: It’s getting late, Shawn. You can come by tomorrow.

Shawn: What if I told you I’m already outside?

Shit.

You: What are you doing?! It’s too cold to be outside!

Shawn: Then let me in.

You know you shouldn’t. You know that you really, really shouldn’t. It’s still what you do, though.

You: Fine.

You buzz him in, and then it’s just a matter of waiting. It’ll take Shawn a few minutes to reach your floor, having to take the stairs because this old building has no elevator. You use the minutes to tidy up a bit, clearing the coffee table and putting the blanket back in place.

It’s only when the doorbell rings that you consider tidying up yourself. It’s not that you look appalling, but you are wearing one of his hoodies. Maybe it’s not exactly the best outfit for this situation.

You walk over to the door, and your hand lingers on the handle for a second. You feel a bit like a cartoon character with an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other. The angel is the voice of reason, telling you to open the door and tell him to go back home. The devil is the voice of emotion, telling you to open the door and let him in. Is there really any question about which one you side with?

“Hi,” is all you greet Shawn with, trying to act a little cold, even though your insides are ablaze at the sight of him. “Come in,” He just stands there - almost like he’s awestruck. “Shawn?”

“I’m sorry,” he answers, breathing shakily. “It’s just seeing you again… it’s, uh…” He doesn’t finish that sentence. “Thank you.” He steps over the threshold with red cheeks, and you’re aware they’re not just from the cold outside.

Watching Shawn hang up his coat and kick off his boots is almost a smidge nostalgic. You can’t count how many times you’ve seen that before. It takes a couple of moments before you realize that you’ve not yet closed the door again, and then your cheeks flush red too, having been too mesmerized by him to notice. You finally do it, and you turn to face him.

You clear your throat. “You want anything? Tea, coffee?”

Shawn shakes his head. “I'm good,”

You stand there for a while not knowing what to do. None of you say a word, just awkwardly staring at each other. Ultimately, you go to sit on the couch and tell him to join you. Shawn sits down - but at a respectable distance from you. He smiles at the TV, paused on a frame of Phoebe.

“Friends, huh?”

“Yeah,”

“Which episode?”

“Uh, it’s the first episode of season 3. The one with Princess Leia and the fantasy, you know?”

“Oh, of course,”

Then another silence fills the room. It’s almost laughable, to be honest. He’s the one showing up at your door at 10pm, wanting to talk, and here he is, not saying a damn thing. It takes a few more moments before he speaks.

“I’ve missed you,” Shawn says, and he might as well have stabbed you in the fucking heart because it hurts just the same. Not that you’ve ever been stabbed in the heart, but you imagine it must feel like this. “I’ve missed this place. Missed you the most, though.” You don’t know how to respond, so you resort to your wit.

“I would hope so,” you add drily, kicking gently at the leg of the coffee table. Shawn has always enjoyed your humour, but now he is not very amused, so you budge. “I’ve missed you too,” His eyes light up, and you just pray it’s not with hope. Because he shouldn’t hope. It’s over. You were very clear about that. “It’s not quite the same without you.”

But who are you kidding? When Shawn smiles at you, scooting closer, and he takes your hand in his, then you know it’s not really over. How could it ever be?

Shawn squeezes your hand. “Nothing’s the same without you, baby,”

Regardless of your feelings, you persist, withdrawing your hand. “Shawn, don’t do this,”

“Do what?”

“This! Don’t say stuff like that!”

“Stuff like what?” Shawn asks. “Like that I miss you? That I can’t live without you? That I’m still hopelessly in love with you?” You can’t bear to look at him, so you get up from the couch and look out the window instead. “Because it’s the truth, Y/N. And you know what? I think you still love me too.” Busted, you say to yourself.

“It’s not about that!” you retort, the volume of your voice having increased. When you turn around again, he’s staring at you intently. “You know it’s not about that. It’s never been,” You sigh heavily, frustrated. “It’s not about whether or not I love you because of course I fucking do. It’s about us. Our lives are incompatible, Shawn.”

Now he gets up as well and goes to you, grabbing both your hands. “How? How are they incompatible? Because they used to work together pretty well,”

“We don’t have time for each other!”

“Then we’ll make time!”

“Oh, Shawn, it’s not that simple! We can’t just do that,”

“I’ll make time for you, then,” Shawn counters, his eyes large and pleading. “I’ll take a break. I’ve got a month left of tour, and then I’m off,” You can’t help but be a little taken aback. Shawn has never been one to consider taking breaks, always needing to be doing something. “I’ll take a year off, maybe two. I can just chill and write and be with you.”

It’s tempting to throw yourself into his arms upon hearing those words. It’s a strong temptation, but you still have your angel of reason on your shoulder.

“That’s not realistic,” you say, shaking your head. “I’m sorry, Shawn, but I know you. You’ll get bored after two weeks, and then you’ll plan a tour or some shit like that.”

Shawn lets go of your hands, cupping your cheeks instead. “Yes, I’ll get bored, but I need to learn how to be bored again. I’ve been on the road for so long that I’ve forgotten how,”

You want to give in, yet you still struggle. “You’re just saying this in the heat of the moment! Come morning, you won’t feel the same,”

“That’s not true! It’s always been my plan to take a break after this tour,”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

“You never let me! You just ran at the first sign of trouble,”

“Hey! That’s not true either,” you protest. It most definitely wasn’t the first sign of trouble. “You were about to go on tour for ten months, and I barely would’ve been able to visit you,” You reach up and push off his hands from your face. “How could we have made that work?”

“It would’ve been hard, but we could have made it work!” Shawn says, his tone desperate. “God, Y/N, don’t you see? I would do anything for you,” He swallows. “I was even going to propose!”

It’s like a punch to the gut. It’s not what you expect him to say at all. You had never thought such a thing was even on his mind. Sure, Shawn and you had talked about marriage, but it had always been this distant thing that would happen someday in the faraway future. You’d only been together for a little more than a year and a half when you broke up, and you had never suspected a proposal to come that early.

“You were?” you croak out, feeling the tears starting to press.

He gives a careful nod. “I’d even bought the ring and everything. I still have it,”

You bite your bottom lip which is starting to quiver. “I, uh, I didn’t know that,”

“Well, it was gonna be a surprise,”

It’s at this point that you start to cry - like really bawl your eyes out. You can’t really tell why you cry. It’s like a mixture of happiness and sadness, frustration and relief, and it’s just... overwhelming.

Shawn instantly notices, wrapping you up in his arms, and when your knees threaten to buckle under you, he’s quick to sweep you off your feet and carry you back to the couch. He sits down, leaving you to sit in his lap, your face buried in the soft fabric of his sweater. You’re getting it wet, yet he doesn’t seem to mind, comfortingly stroking your back.

It feels so natural to be back in his arms. You can’t help but wonder why you ever left them. Of course, you know the reason, but it occurs to you now that it might not have been enough of one.

You hadn’t run at the first sign of trouble as he had claimed because there had been many troubles over your time together, and you had always resolved them. However, you had run the moment the going got a little too tough; the moment you got scared. You hadn’t let Shawn try to make you stay; you hadn’t let him fight for you. You had just left.

“I’m sorry,” you sob into the blue knitted sweater, now complete with a dark patch of moisture. “I’m sorry.”

He shushes you, still rubbing your back. “It’s okay,” You know he’s only trying to make it better, but it only makes it worse. Instead of calming down, you let out a loud wail, clinging onto him even tighter than before. Shawn attempts shushing you again, but this time you draw back and look at his face,

“It’s not okay,” you spit out, although your voice is raspy and strangled. “It’s not fucking okay, Shawn. Don’t say that,” His hazel eyes are wide, obviously surprised at the change of tone. You just hope he doesn’t mistake your anger at yourself for anger at him. “I broke your heart! For no reason!” You lip quivers again, and another onset of sobbing strikes you.

Shawn doesn’t speak. He just sticks to holding you close, letting you cry on his shoulder. It feels a bit ridiculous that you’re the one weeping, considering that you were the one who did this to yourself and that he’s the one who had his heart broken.

It’s only when you finally start to relax that Shawn lets go of you, leaning back to get a look at you. His eyes linger on your probably very puffy and tear-stained face before they travel downwards.

“You’re wearing my hoodie,” he whispers so quietly that you’re not sure at first if you were supposed to hear. “How didn’t I notice that before?” You snort at his inobservance, not being able to hold it in, and he grins at you. “You still wear my hoodie.”

“Yes,”

“Why?”

Shawn reaches up, tucking some of your hair, a bit unkempt, behind your ear. It’s such a tender gesture, and it has you reeling, incapable of finding words to tell him. Speechless, you reach for him too, using the back of your hand to caress his cheek. However much you want to kiss him right now, you refrain from it. It doesn’t feel right.

“Because it reminds me of you,” you say, voice still a little uncertain and wrecked from all the weeping. “Because I miss you too. Because I can’t live without you either,” His grin becomes impossibly wider, his eyes lighting up, and your heart might just actually skip an actual beat at the sight. “Because I’m still hopelessly in love with you too.”

This is all that matters, you think to yourself when Shawn leans into your touch, nothing else. You have a man who loves you, who supports you and who wants to marry you. Whatever life throws at you, you can handle it. Yes, it's going to be a hell of a lot of work, but it's worth it.

Shawn leans forward and places his lips on yours, something you have not experienced in far too long. Eagerly, you return his kiss, moving closer so that your bodies are pressed together. You melt into Shawn, wrapping your arms around his neck. His hands grab your hips, though his right one quickly strays to the small of your back.

When you pull away for air, his eyes are still closed, and you watch as a content smile forms on his mouth, his eyes slowly opening. Shawn studies you for a moment, biting his lip, and then he speaks.

“Marry me,” Shawn says in a breath, grinning again. “I’m not gonna get mad if you say no, but please, please marry me,” Your heart is pounding so hard you’re afraid it might burst out of your chest, and you can’t hide your joy, smiling so much that it almost hurts. “I don’t have the ring on me, but I-”

“Shawn, shut up,” you say, laughing before you press a short kiss to his lips. “Of course, I’ll fucking marry you, you idiot!” He giggles then, not caring how it sounds, and he starts kissing your face all over. “Shawn!” You can’t stop the giggles either.

He sits back and chuckles. “You know, I always thought I’d do the perfect proposal and everything. I’m sorry if this is a letdown, baby,”

You shake your head, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. “This is perfect, Shawn. More than perfect,”

—————–

@sauveteen @flickershawn @peachnpomegranate @yellowitsmendes @me-a-hopeless-romantic @couple100miles @rishlo @wdwisperfect @shawn-mendes-thirst @fallininyou @bluerroses @nervousroses @carlaimberlain

[mnemememory]

better to scream

yasha is too tired for this shit. 

critical role pacific rim fusion au (part 1 of 2)

.

Over the years, Yasha has heard of ghost drifting.

Of course she has. In this profession, rumours are almost always more reliable than whatever new strange thing the scientists have cooked up to try. With such experimental technology, it was a safe bet to trust the instincts of those who had gone before rather than simply hoping for the best.

Beau complains about it all the time. How she always has Jester’s voice in her head telling her about her latest prank, or how cute Fjord looks. Fjord always rolls his eyes. Jester just laughs because “of course I have their voices in my head, where else would I keep them?”

When Molly dies, there is nothing but silence.

.

The man is a stranger.

It’s fitting, almost. Yasha tells herself that she wasn’t expecting anything different when she walked off that helicopter, but she’s always been a bad liar. It’s probably for the best. She doesn’t know if a familiar face would have broken her or not.

“Good evening,” the man says with a placid smile. He is taller than her, which is unusual enough to warrant attention, with pastel pink hair and cow-soft eyes. “My name is Caduceus Clay. My sister is the one in charge of fixing Necrotic Shroud.”

Yasha clenches her jaw and says nothing.

Caduceus Clay doesn’t seem too put off by her standoffish presence. He simply gives her another vacant look and gestures her towards the door.

It’s raining. Yasha walks over wet asphalt, boots heavy in the puddles. It hadn’t been so obvious from above, but from ground level everything has a distinctly rough edge to it. Yasha may not have been here for the first building blocks, but the whole building complex had been new and in good condition upon her abrupt departure. A lot appears to have happened in two years.

They wait a good ten minutes for the elevator which never comes, so Caduceus Clay ushers her towards the fire escape just a few feet down the hall. Their footsteps echo in the hollow metal chamber, the light casting a sepia tone over the surroundings. Caduceus Clay’s skin is painted in orange heughs, his eyes gleaming yellow.

Yasha looks away.

They eventually make it down to the correct level – number seven, Yasha notices with detachment – and step out of the stiflingly warm confines of the staircase to something far colder – and familiar. Yasha feels an unpleasant chill run across her skin as she walks out into the hanger room. There are ghosts here, in Yasha’s head, but they’re not the right ones.

“This way,” Caduceus Clay says. Yasha doesn’t move.

The first time she ever came to the Shutterdome, the sky was bleached white-blue and the ocean sparkled green. Molly was next to her, talking. He was always talking. Yasha followed him through the throngs of people who were gathering around the stairwell. They were all looking up at the overhanging railing with clear expectation.

“This place is amazing,” Molly said.

Yasha shrugged. It was certainly big.

“There are so many people here,” he said. “This is so much bigger than the circus. There are – what, a thousand people? Two thousand? I can’t imagine what it would be like to perform for so many people.”

That cracked a smile across Yasha’s face. “You weren’t a performer,” she said.

Molly’s grin was sly as he flared out his uniform-noncompliant multi-coloured cloak. A few people dodged out of the way of the flowing fabric.

“They don’t know that.”

“Miss Yasha?” Caduceus Clay says. He patiently waits for Yasha to blink her way out of the memory before urging her to the side so as to not disrupt the trickling flow of traffic.

A thousand people? Two thousand?

Try twenty.

Yasha eyes the skeleton staff with no little wariness. They all look a shade short of exhausted, with hair pulled up and bruises around their eyes. As she watches, one of the engineers stumbles off to the side and collapses against the wall, the palms of his hands pressed tight to his temples. Another engineer breaks off to check on him, but quickly gets back to work when he waves her off.

Caduceus Clay follows her eyes. “We’re a bit short-staffed at the moment,” he says easily. “But Clarabelle’s people are good people. They’ll get things up and running in time.”

“Clarabelle,” Yasha says. “Your sister.”

“I’ll introduce you two later,” Caduceus Clay says. “She probably won’t thank us for interrupting. I’ll show you where you can put your things and then we can get something to eat.”

Yasha gives the hanger one last casual glance before turning around and looking at what she’s been avoiding ever since she entered.

Necrotic Shroud is a tomb of a thing, black and grey and matte. It towers above the other Jaegers lined up. Yasha’s eyes run over the armour plating, the deceptively delicate lines of its hydraulic musculature, the thickened gauntlets. Her lady is in mourning; the paint no longer bares Molly’s distinctive paintwork. He would sit on Necrotic Shroud’s shoulders for hours at a time and drive the engineers to tears with the paint fumes.

Seeing her like this, naked, is a punch to the gut.

“Hey, beautiful,” she whispers. Her voice manages to come out steady, which is a pleasant surprise. Everything else about Yasha is shaking.

“She’s the last Mark II in existence,” Caduceus Clay says. “She’s one of a kind.”

Yasha thinks of Molly’s paintings, the way feathers and vines flowed their way messily along Necrotic Shroud’s ribcage and spiralled out from the shoulders. She always was, she wants to say, but she’s so tired.

“Who else is here?”

Even with the Jaegers filling up the open space, there’s something hollow about the Shatterdome. Maybe it’s because this place was built for so many more. Yasha can see empty bays that have been repurposed into scrapheaps, where busy engineers scavenged and discarded pieces.

Caduceus starts walking. After a few seconds of hesitation, Yasha decides to follow him.

“Here, we have Converging Fury,” he says, waving to the Jaeger set up in the bay next to Necrotic Shroud. It is compactly built – a Mark IV, if Yasha can read the specs right – with a massive metal staff with a circular knob at one end secured alongside it.  The sleekness of the design makes Yasha absurdly uncomfortable – compared to Necrotic Shroud, the plating looks flimsy and useless, sacrificing armour for manoeuvrability.

How many hits will this take before crumbling? Yasha wonders. It’s a design strategy, she knows, and yet. And yet.

“She’s piloted by Keg and Nila, who should be around here somewhere,” Caduceus Clay says. “Well, Nila should be here somewhere. Keg is very good at showing up in unexpected places.”

Yasha nods.

“They’re from around Shadycreek Run way,” he says. “Northeast of Zadash. Twelve drops, twelve kills. Nine of those were solo. They’re a good team.”

“Sounds like it,” Yasha says.

Caduceus Clay moves on.

“This is Dragon Slayer,” he says, gesturing to a frankly haphazard Jaeger. Half of its torso is covered in uniform black scaled armour, while the rest of a patchwork of whatever had been made available at the time. Yasha can see the corpses of at least three Jaeger’s that she’s served with stitched into its skeleton, and her stomach squirms uncomfortably.

Caduceus Clay glances at her, reading the hesitation in her body.

“We had to get creative when things started to get decommissioned,” he says. “Some of these are spare parts, but some were ripped wholesale off whatever we could save. Well” – here, he ducks his head – “I say we. My sister is the engineer in the family. I’m just an administrator.”

Some administrator, Yasha thinks, eyeing the whipcord muscles underneath his skinny frame.

“In any case, this beautiful creature is piloted by Twiggy and Calianna. They were originally stationed out by Nicodranis, but they moved basically anywhere they were needed. Towards the end, that was basically everywhere. Now they’re here.”

Yasha can read between the lines. They’re needed here, because this is it. We’re being shut down. It’s now or never.

“And here, we have –”

“YASHA!’

Yasha braces herself just in time. She stills rocks a little on her feet as Jester’s body rams into hers, arms flung around Yasha’s torso.

“Jester,” Yasha says, looking down at the smaller woman with a smile. She still looks so young.

“Yasha! I can’t believe you’re back – I mean, I absolutely can believe it, but also I didn’t think you were going to come? It’s been a very long two years. Caleb didn’t think you were going to come, but I told him that you would.”

“It is very nice to see you, Jester,” Yasha says, giving her an awkward squeeze. Jester just beams harder, snuggling into Yasha’s soaked hoodie.

“You’re back.”

It almost hurts worse than seeing Necrotic Shroud, the way Beau’s voice comes out so flat. Yasha stiffens before she means to, head jerking up and heart in her throat.

She looks the same. Well, the same, but more tired. Thinner. The softness has been filed away. Beau’s cheekbones stand out like knives across her face, hair pulled up in an exhausted mess. She’s half-in and half-out of her black under-armour, the shirt peeled back and tied around her waist. Yasha’s eyes linger a touch too long on her bare arms, the dusty contours of her muscles.

“Beau,” Yasha says, cautious.

“About time,” Beau says, and walks away.

.

Yasha can’t sleep.

That in itself isn’t unusual. Yasha has never been very good at beating off the darkness of the night, now more so than ever. The spacious quarters are a painful reminder of just how cramped it would have been with another person present. Yasha’s eyes keep lingering on the bare walls, on the empty bedside table, on the unmade upper bunk.

It’s cruel to put her here. It isn’t the same room as the one she had previously shared with Molly, but it’s close enough to itch.

The third time that Yasha looks over to see that barely ten minutes has passed, she gives up. Rolling out of bed, she shoves her bare feet into her sneakers and pulls on a sweatshirt over her leggings. Phone stuffed into her bra, she slips out of the room and into the silent hallway.

There aren’t many people in this area of the Shatterdome. Caduceus Clay had been kind enough to complete the tour by informing her of their greatly reduced numbers, and – consequently – the gradual spread of living space. Yasha’s area is running on rechargeable batteries. They aren’t connected to the main power grid anymore.

Her breath mists in front of her as she moves deeper downwards. If she closes her eyes, she could trace out her path by route. Forward, left, forward, forward –

The kitchens open up in front of her. At this time of night – well, morning – there aren’t many people around, save for those unlucky enough to have been rostered on for preparing breakfast. There’s a pot of something foul-looking but decent-smelling bubbling away on the stove, but Yasha bypasses it completely for the refrigerator.

As she inches the door open, one of the people cooking turns to glare at her. “Excuse me,” she says, hands planted firmly on his hips. “I’m afraid that you can’t –”

“It’s okay, Adeline,” a familiar voice says. “She’s with me.”

Adelina falters. “Mister Fjord –”

Fjord steps out of the shadows like the creepy overdramatic bastard that he is. Yasha glares at him and then goes back to rummaging around the refrigerator for anything unopened. Fjord can explain, if he wants to stand up for her. Yasha is too tired to deal with anyone today.

Adelina eventually leaves to go and check on something on the other side of the kitchen, though she doesn’t look especially happy about it. Fjord sidles over to where Yasha has gathered some cheese and a few leftover eggs. She’s already mixing them together when he comes to sit next to her.

“Long time no see,” he says.

Yasha ignores him.

“Mind if I had a taste of that when you’re done?” he says. “I was feeling a little bit peckish myself, which is why I came down here.”

“This feels like an ambush,” Yasha says, looking around for a microwave. Fjord handily points it out to her.

“Not an ambush,” Fjord says. “I don’t like eating in the cafeteria either. Getting it straight from here is – safer.”

Yasha grimaces, stabbing at the buttons with more force than it probably warranted.

“How was the Wall?”

“Cold,” Yasha says. “And wet.”

“So no different from here, then.”

“It was a little different,” Yasha says, and then hesitates. “How have things been here?”

“Cold,” Fjord says with a smile. “And wet.”

“Fjord.”

“It varies from day to do,” he says with a shrug. “We’re all working to get things done. Did you see the massive clock in the hanger? They’re counting down the days between each attack.”

“Fourteen,” Yasha says.

“Our brainiacs in the science department don’t think it’ll be much longer,” Fjord says. “Have you met them? Caleb and Nott.”

“Nott?”

“Don’t ask, she doesn’t like talking about it,” Fjord says. “But yes, that’s her name.”

The microwave beeps. Yasha opens it up to look inside, and then scrambles the goopy mixture up with her fork and puts it in for another forty seconds.

“How much longer, then?”

“A week,” Fjord says. “If we’re lucky. Three days if we’re not. That’s why everyone’s on high alert at the moment.”

“I noticed.”

Fjord flashes a bright, tired grin her way. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“I’m not sure if I’m back,” Yasha says. “I don’t have anyone to Drift with.”

“There are a lot of good kids training here,” Fjord says. “Not as many as in our classes, but a decent selection. You’ll find someone.”

“I might not,” Yasha says. Three seconds before the timer runs out, Yasha stops the microwave and tests the eggs. She’s managed to overcook them, so they’re a little rubbery, but edible compared to what she’s used to eating these days. “I might not want to.”

Fjord regards her steadily from where he’s sitting at the table. “If you didn’t want to, you wouldn’t be here.”

Yasha shakes her head and deposits the plastic bowl on the table in front of Fjord, offering him her spoon. “This place is dying,” she says. “The Wall won’t work.”

“The Marshall has a plan,” Fjord says. “We need all the Jaegers we can get. That includes Necrotic Shroud. Beau and Jester and I, we can only do so much.”

“And those other pilots,” Yasha says, stealing the fork back and taking a bite.

“They’re good,” Fjord says. “But we haven’t been on a run with any of them. I know you. I trust you.”

Yasha’s fingers clench around the cool metal of the fork. “You shouldn’t.”

Fjord sighs. “Is this about what happened? Because Jester and I –”

“It’s not only about that,” Yasha says. She isn’t hungry anymore. She hands the fork back to Fjord. “Not fully. Molly had to pilot the Shroud for almost an hour before anyone came to help. I was useless.”

“That wasn’t your fault,” Fjord says.

“It doesn’t matter,” Yasha says. She doesn’t say, but it is, because that would be counterproductive. “It’s going to affect anything I do in the Drift. My new partner might not even be able to connect.”

“Molly –”

“Molly was a blank slate,” Yasha says. “He was silence in the storm. I’m never going to get anything like that ever again.”

Fjord closes his eyes and takes a bite of overcooked eggs. “I can’t imagine it,” he finally says. “If I lost Jester or Beau.”

“That won’t happen,” Yasha says.

“Big words,” Fjord says. “You gonna back those up?”

No. Yes. Maybe. “I guess we’ll see tomorrow, won’t we?”

.

Caduceus Clay says, “I was opposed to reinstating you as a Ranger.”

“That’s fair,” Yasha says. She’s just been given an empty room with no internal heating. The blankets that are folded on the end of the mattress look worn but serviceable.

“I don’t mean to be personal,” Caduceus Clay says. A brief look of discomfort flashes across his serene face, but it’s gone too quickly for Yasha to be sure. “But I advised that you were too unpredictable to be brought back into a combat situation. Considering what happened last time – and how you reacted to it –”

Yasha bares her teeth into a smile. “I understand,” she says. “I wouldn’t have reinstated me either.”

.

“One, four.”

Yasha rolls to her feet and offers her opponent a hand up. She’s sweaty, but not sweaty in the right sort of way – this sweat is from the monotonous repetition of tasks, rather than an actual workout. There’s no challenge to this. Block, deflect, attack.

Yasha can feel her moves going stale with every blow she doesn’t bother to dodge. The flashy man in front of her smacks his staff against the ground in what appears to be an intimidation tactic, but Yasha just gives a small sigh.

“Begin!”

The man moves, and Yasha waits for him. What else can she do? There are only so many matches she can follow through with before things start to get old. When the man reaches the limits of her patience, she puts him on the ground. Rinse, repeat.

On the other side of the room, at the door of the Combat Room, Caduceus Clay stands with a clipboard in hand next to Marshall Shakaste, the Duchess an ever-present distraction at his side. After a few more matches, Yasha can’t hold back her frustration and rounds on them.

“Alright, what is it?” she says.

“What is what?” Shakaste says, but it’s Caduceus that she’s looking at.

“You,” Yasha says. “Every time I beat someone, you have this look” – she tries to imitate it, but probably only ends up looking constipated – “like I’m doing something wrong.”

Caduceus blinks slowly. “Well, you are doing something wrong.”

Yasha’s voice is flat. “Really.”

“You took hits you shouldn’t have,” Caduceus says. “It’s obvious that you could have finished the fight quite a bit more easily than you managed. You’re not taking this seriously. Since my sister was the one who spent most of the past year of her life fixing the machine that you’re going to be piloting, I’d prefer if you didn’t screw that up.”

Yasha bares her teeth. “You think you could do better?”

“Probably,” Caduceus says. “It’s not like you’re trying very hard.”

Shakaste lets out a low chuckle and takes the clipboard away from Caduceus. Yasha obligingly steps back onto the mats and sweeps her staff low and inviting.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to give me a few minutes to warm up,” Caduceus says. “I wasn’t exactly expecting to be fighting today.”

“You’re certainly dressed for it,” Yasha says. Caduceus’ clothing is tastefully green and loose, the shade going well with his hair.

Caduceus just smiles. Yasha is really starting to hate that look on his face.

There are too many people in the Combat Room for Yasha to really feel comfortable. She’s better at fighting behind closed doors, where no one can see how ugly it can get. Jester is in the corner, next to Fjord. Yasha can’t see Beau anywhere, but she’s got to be here somewhere. No matter how much has changed over the past few years, there are few things that Beau likes more than a good fight. And regardless of what Caduceus thinks, Yasha is very good at fighting.

“Okay, I’m ready,” Caduceus says after a few stretches. He’s remarkably bendy for someone who looks like he should snap in half at the first stiff breeze. Yasha tightens her grip on her staff.

“Okay,” she says, and attacks.

.

The first time Yasha crossed staves with Molly, they were already exhausted from playing second fiddle to thirty or so of their classmates.

Yasha was very good at knocking people down. Molly was very good at making a fool out of people. Neither of these things made them very popular.

“I don’t think I’ve sparred with you before,” Molly says.

Yasha shrugs.

“Well, in any case, it’s been a pleasure,” Molly says, giving her a mocking kind of salute. Yasha responds more automatically than she would have liked, but there were certain courtesies beaten into trainees before they were even allowed to set foot into the Combat Room, and respect was one of them.

Molly’s blows come in short, sharp bursts; he’s never where Yasha expects him to be. If they were going for points, he would be the winner, because he was getting more.

From the way they kept on fighting, though, Yasha knew that this wasn’t going to end until one of them was on the ground.

Half an hour later, most of the class had already packed up and were trying to leave. Yasha weathered the blows without faltering. There were going to be bruises all along her arms and across her shins for weeks to come, but she barely felt the pain. Molly was slowing down rather significantly. Whereas his initial attacks had come in rapid succession, he was being more cautious about them now, more incredulous.

“How the hell are you still standing,” he says.

Yasha shrugs, and then sends him sprawling with a single blow to the ribs.

.

Someone told Yasha, once, “You fight angry.”

(A lot of people have told Yasha that).

It’s an easy statement to make. Yasha fights like she’s going to die. Molly laughed at her for it.

Caduceus just waits.

Yasha can’t quite get the timing right. Every time she goes in for a strike, there’s something about Caduceus’ stance that makes her hesitate. She stops an inch from his throat and jumps back, fingers clenching hard around the practice staff.

“I’m not really trained for this sort of thing,” Caduceus says. He hasn’t stopped smiling.

Yasha’s staff dips. “You’re not so bad,” she says. “You just need more practice.”

Caduceus blocks her next strike. There’s an opening, but Yasha doesn’t take it. She backs off and starts circling.

“There’s not much of a chance for that around here,” Caduceus says. He’s not even sweating. Yasha’s drenched, though that could be because of her earlier bouts. It’s a little unnerving facing down someone who doesn’t waste energy on excess movement – Caduceus stands still and waits for her.

Yasha attacks. Caduceus parries but doesn’t go in for a blow to the neck, despite Yasha telegraphing the opening for a good five seconds. She narrows her eyes.

“You’re messing with me,” she decides.

“I told you I’m not very good at this,” Caduceus says. “Now you’re taking me seriously.”

Then he starts fighting back.

.

“You,” Yasha says.

Caduceus is on the ground in front of her, arms spread wide with a contented expression settling over his face. His staff is on the opposite side of the room. Yasha’s ribs ache from laughing so hard.

“Me what?”

“You’re my partner. I won’t Drift with anyone else.”

Reading the smug lines of Caduceus’ mouth, Yasha can already tell he had planned this.

.

The cafeteria food looks as unappetising as ever.

Yasha takes the offered plate automatically and then looks around for a table to sit at. Jester is very obviously bouncing up and down in the far-right corner, waving her arm enthusiastically in the air, but Yasha takes her time before ambling over there.

As per usual, Fjord is settled alongside Jester. Beau is sitting opposite to them, moodily chewing on something that might resemble lettuce if it wasn’t so – stringy. Her expression darkens when she sees Yasha coming towards them, and she hurriedly begins to scarf down what remains of her food. She’s almost made it by the time Yasha reaches them, which is impressive, considering how disgusting it looks.

“Yasha!” Jester says. She ushers Yasha to sit down next to Beau, who pointedly scoots further down the bench. “It is good to see you. Again.”

She won’t stop smiling. Yasha smiles back.

“How have you been?”

“Fine,” Beau snaps, and then goes back to picking at her food.

Fjord clears his throat. “Ignore Miss Grumpy over there. We’ve been doing as well as can be expected, really. We were just transferred out from over Nicodranis with Dragon Slayer. Have you met Twiggy and Calianna yet?”

“Not yet,” Yasha says. She scrapes some mashed potatoes around disinterestedly across her plate. “Are they nice?”

“They’re so cool,” Jester says, waving her fork around in the air. “Twiggy is always giving me her chocolate, which is awesome, and Calianna writes the best poetry –”

Fjord smiles. “I think you’ll like them.”

Yasha pushes her tray away from her. “And the other team?”

Beau bares her teeth in a smile. “Reliable.”

“Ouch,” Yasha says.

“Beau,” Jester says in a tone of profound disappointment. “We talked about this.”

“No, you talked about this,” Beau says, crossing her arms across her chest. She looks tired. They all look tired. “You’ve been gone for a long time, Yasha. We didn’t think you were going to come back.”

“Beau…”

Beau shakes her head and gets to her feet. Yasha tilts her head to one side and considers following her, but a quick glance at Fjord tells her that probably isn’t the best idea. She watches Beau leave through the door towards the hanger bay.

There’s a long, awkward silence.

“Don’t take it personally,” Jester says. Her fork is back alongside her still-untouched plate of food, and she’s twisting her fingers into anxious knots. “She was so sad when you left. She thought you were going to come back – a long time ago. Before this.”

Yasha sighs. “I couldn’t.”

“I know,” Jester nods. “If something happened to Fjord or Beau – I don’t know what I would do. Molly –”

“I don’t think this is the place for that kind of talk,” Fjord says. “We’re very. Out in the open, if you know what I mean.”

Yasha glances up. Caduceus is walking over, gait unhurried, a heaped tray of food in his hand.

“It doesn’t matter,” she says. “He’ll know everything soon enough.”

“Soon doesn’t have to be now,” Fjord says firmly.

Yasha shrugs. Caduceus sits in the empty seat next to her, beaming across the table. Jester smiles back with the same kind of open reassurance, though Fjord seems largely immune.

“Heard you’re going to be a Jaeger pilot,” he says.

“That’s the rumour,” Caduceus says, shovelling something that didn’t look especially edible into his mouth. Yasha looks over her plate, and then dumps it onto Caduceus’ tray. He gives her a nod of thanks and keeps eating.

“And how’s your sister taking that?”

“She wouldn’t stop laughing for twenty minutes straight,” Caduceus says. “Says I deserved everything that happens to me.”

“That certainly sounds like Clarabelle,” Fjord says.

Yasha glances between them. “When am I going to meet your sister?”

“You’ll see her eventually,” Caduceus says. “She’s around here somewhere.”

There’s a low buzzing sound. Fjord glances down, and then takes his phone out of his pocket. He reads the message, closes his eyes, and then glares at both Yasha and Caduceus.

“That was Beau,” he says. “Shakaste wants you two in the hanger ten minutes ago for a trial Drift.”

.

Yasha has so many scars from her uniform – there are clamps and drills and hooks that dig into her skin and down to her bone. The biggest scar she has is along her spinal column, where the suit connects directly into her nervous system.

It had required surgery. Molly had been there when she closed her eyes, holding tight onto her hand in a way that was both reassuring and terrifying. Yasha remembers breathing in and out, in and out, and waiting for everything to go dark.

Her skin aches as she puts back on the suit. Her shoulders pinch along the scars, the metal digging into her throat and along her collarbones. Yasha breathes in and out, in and out, and doesn’t jolt when they connect her spine.

Walking into the cockpit of Necrotic Shroud is a nightmare of reality. There are exposed bundles of wiring that have been taped down, cracked glass screens that are just good enough to justify their continued presence. No longer does a sleek, minimalistic aesthetic dominate the area – that has all been thrown out in favour of cheap practicality. Here’s how to save the world, a dollar at a time.

Yasha hooks herself into the harness. The tech’s try to help, but she’s done this hundreds of times before, and she’s done before they can really make much of a difference.

Molly is next to her, grinning.

No.

Caduceus is next to her, looking almost ridiculous in his dive suit. Yasha blinks away the memory of Molly’s sharp grin and tries to smile back.

Shakaste’s voice echoes through the cockpit: “Prepare for neural handshake.”

Yasha’s smile turns bloodless.

“My head isn’t a very nice place to be,” she says. “I’m either very unlucky, or cursed. And I don’t believe in luck.”

“Let me be the judge of that,” Caduceus says.

Four.

Yasha closes her eyes. Molly is there, just out of reach.

Three.

“Don’t latch onto anything,” she says. “The Drift is silent.”

Two.

“See you on the other side.”

One.

.

“Hey, sleepy,” Zuala says.

Yasha shakes her head and presses further back into the pillow. It’s still dark out, but she can see the faint light coming in through the window from the streetlamp outside. She’s been meaning to install curtains above it, but it never really seems to come up.

“G’way,” Yasha says, burrowing down.

Zuala laughs. Zuala has the most wonderful laugh in the world.

“Hey, sleepy,” she says. “Get –”

“ – up. Yasha, get up.”

There’s an alarm. Yasha’s eyes snap open and she scrambles around for some kind of purchase. Everything hurts. The buildings around them are in ruins, blown apart to dust and rubble, and a storm is whipping wind and hail and dust around them.

Yasha is on her knees. Zuala is in front of her, and she’s on the ground, and she’s not getting up. Her hands scrabble weakly at Yasha’s. In the distance, as a kind of horrific background noise, a siren wails in futile warning. There’s a monster out there in the mist, somewhere, but Yasha can’t think.

“You need to go,” Zuala says. She’s shaking Yasha frantically. Yasha clambers slowly to her knees and shakes her head like a wounded dog, trying to think. The rain isn’t letting up. “Yasha, get up, you need to –”

“ – go, go, go!” Molly laughs, pushing Yasha forward. “C’mon, wake up, we’ve got a monster to kill!”

Yasha shakes her head and stifles a yawn. Even the minor pain of getting into the dive suit doesn’t wake her up as it usually would. She cracks her neck and gets into the harness, tightening the straps automatically.

“Initiating neural handshake.”

“You ready for this?”

Yasha dredges up a smile from somewhere. “Always.”

Four.

“– wake up – wake up –”

Three.

“ – wrong – Jester and Fjord –”

Two.

“– Lorenzo –”

One.

.

[rosemaidenvixen]

A Secret’s Worth

Chapter 1: Claire

Ao3

The building itself was utterly unremarkable, a boxy structure of beige bricks and plexiglass windows. But to Claire this building was a huge first step.

Claire walked up to the front door and pushed her way inside, other students milled around in the large corridor, occasionally opening or shutting the blue lockers that lined every side of it. Claire headed in, navigating her way through the crowd while taking in more of her surroundings. The walls and lockers had a slightly worn look and the air smelled faintly of sweat and rubber. Despite that Claire couldn’t help but smile, feeling lighter with every step.

High school, not the snooty prep school her mom kept pushing her to consider; real actual high school.

Claire broke free of the crowded hallway and into an outdoor area full of concrete picnic tables. She glanced around until she spotted the table Mary and Darci were at and jogged over to meet them.

Mary noticed her approaching and waved “Claire-Bear! Over here!”

Claire slowed to a stop and slid into her seat “It’s great to see you guys, you have no idea how excited I am now that we’re starting high school together,”

“I know!” Darci gushed “I can’t wait to try out for the cheerleading squad,”

Claire snorted “I still think you’re nuts for not going for theatre club,”

“What can I say? The pom poms are calling me,”

“Both of you are missing the big picture,” Mary paused for dramatic effect “All the boys that will fall at our feet!”

Claire and Darci groaned in unison. Not this again.

Mary smirked at her friends “Trust me on this,” she brandished her phone in their direction “I have over a thousand followers already, so it’s only a matter of time before I’m the queen bee of this place,” she let out a dreamy sigh “And then admirers will follow,”

Claire didn’t know why she was surprised, the schools and grades they were in might change, but some things never did “Don’t get ahead of yourself Mare, this is just our first day, it doesn’t matter how many followers you have, boys are hardly going to be lining up to--”

“Give it back!”

“Come on, you always make tons of extra,”

“Yeah but that doesn’t mean--”

All three girls turned in the direction of the new voices.

Two boys were heading towards them, a red headed one holding a paper bag, and one in a blue jacket making a grab for the bag that redhead was holding.

They froze upon noticing the girls eyes on them, before quickly jerking into semi-normal postures.

“Uh...Hi?” blue jacket boy said with a nervous smile.

Darci raised an eyebrow at them “Hi?”

Claire turned in her seat to take in the newcomers; redhead was somebody new, but she could have sworn she had seen blue jacket before.

Mary narrowed her eyes in suspicion “Can we help you with something?”

Redhead perked up “Actually yes,” he fended off one more attempt from blue jacket to take the bag and held it out towards Claire “My friend here was baking last night and accidentally made too many, would you mind taking them off our hands?”

Curious and just the slightest bit sceptical, Claire accepted the bag. Mary and Darci leaned over to get a better look as Claire reached inside.

“Are these…”

“Macarons!” Darci squealed.

Mary plucked one of the cookies out of Claire’s hand and held it up for examination “Hang on, you  made  these?”

Blue jacket forced out an awkward chuckle “Yep...sure did,”

That’s when it clicked. Last February. Her mom’s fundraiser at the hospital. What was his name, John? Jake?

“I don’t think we got your names,”

“Oh! I’m Jim,” he gestured to the red head by his side “This is Toby,”

Toby winked at them “The one and only,”

Claire smiled back “Nice to meet you, I’m Claire,”

“I’m Darci,”

“I’m Mary,”

The conversation fell flat as none of them could figure out what to say next.

Claire fiddled with her thumbs “Are you guys freshmen to?”

“Yep,” Toby said with a confident smirk “We’ll probably have a lot of classes together,”

“Having students in the same grade share classes would make a lot of sense,” Darci said with just a hint of sarcasm, although judging by the grin on her face she was more amused than anything else

“Well, it was nice meeting you guys, but Toby and I have to...get to our lockers, so...I guess I’ll see you later,”

Claire brushed a few loose strands of hair out of her face “I would like that,”

Toby took it in stride but Jim was blushing so hard he looked like a tomato. He stuttered out his own goodbye before making a hasty retreat with Toby in tow.

Claire turned back around in her seat only to come face to face with a very smug looking Mary.

“What?”

Mary gave her a knowing grin that would have been more fitting on a feline “Didn’t someone just say something about not getting ahead of ourselves?”

A blush burned to life across Claire’s cheeks “It’s not like that! They just seemed nice,”

Mary waved a cookie under Claire’s nose “And the macarons?”

“You heard what he said, Jim just made extra and they were sharing them,”

Darci popped one of the aforementioned macarons into her mouth “So that’s why you were giving him goo goo eyes the whole time,” she mumbled through a mouthful of crumbs “Just the cookies?”

Claire fixed Darci with a level stare as she finished chewing the cookie, an oh-so-innocent look on her face, Mary snickered from across the table. All Claire wanted was to talk to people in her new school,

Preferably dark haired boys that baked macarons and got punch for their moms at parties,

Without her friends reading too much into it. Was that so much to ask?

“Et tu Darci?”

*

Lockers and brick walls surrounded her on three sides, another dead end. Claire groaned before turning around and heading back the way she came. Seriously, why did this place have to be so huge? This was the third time this week Claire had gotten turned around on her way to the choir room.

The back of someone’s shirt looming just inches in front of her face pulled Claire out of her grousing. She stopped in her tracks to avoid a collision. A loose crowd of sorts had gathered, growing thicker as the hallway continued on, a low buzz of whispering and hushed conversation rippled through them.

Mary and Darci were standing off to the side, Mary was on her tiptoes trying to see through the mass of bodies while Darci just looked anxious. Hoping her friends had some idea of what was happening, Claire walked over to them.

“You guys know what’s going on?”

Darci turned upon hearing her voice “Jim Lake started crying in the middle of the hall,”

Hearing that name caused Claire to freeze in her tracks.

Jim Lake, from the fundraiser, macaron boy.

“He was crying? Why?”

“No one knows, one minute he was fine, the next he was sobbing on the floor,”

Mary spoke up for the first time, startling both of them “Which is why we’re going to figure out what happened,”

Before she could ask Mary exactly what she meant by that, Señor Uhl’s voice started booming from the other side of the crowd; in response, the gathered students started to walk away, a few straight up ran.

Claire was right about to join them, if there was one teacher who’s bad side you did  not want to be on it was Señor Uhl, when Mary grabbed her and Darci’s wrists, pulling them down the hall after her as she dashed away.

After numerous twists and turns Mary finally let them go and peeked around the corner of the corridor they were in. Claire glanced around, the halls were clear now, class must have started. She gave her jacket zipper a nervous tug, if she got caught ditching classes in her first week of school her mom would be pissed.

Whatever Mary’s scheme was Darci was having none of it “Mare, what are you--”

“Shh!” Mary hissed and made frantic shushing motions at them before jerking back and pressing herself against the lockers.

Curious, Claire risked a peek around the corner and saw Toby jogging up from the opposite end of the hall. Gone was the over confident boy they had met on Monday, this Toby looked ashen and postively stricken. He slowed to a stop and went through a door on the wall perpendicular to her, disappearing from her sight.

Less than a second after the door shut behind him Mary ran ahead, Claire and Darci following on her heels. In one fluid motion Mary slid to her knees and pressed her ear against the door. Dacri hung back, restlessly glancing back and forth down either side of the hall. Claire recognized this room, this was the front office, she’d been in here a bunch of times while she was getting registered.

It was only then that she noticed the sound of voices coming from inside.

“Do you have any idea why James-- Jim, was so out of sorts?”

That was Mr. Strickler, their history teacher. He was talking about Jim. The desire to snoop overriding every ounce of common sense in her body, Claire moved next to Mary and pressed her own ear against the door. Darci muttered something about how her dad was going to ground her until she was thirty before joining them.

“I know you’re worried about Jim, but if he needs help, any information you can give would be greatly appreciated, and I promise, nothing you say will leave this room,”

Claire’s hands were trembling against the wood of the door, her pulse pounded in her ears like a drum. She shouldn’t be listening to this. She should not be listening right now.

Toby’s voice rang out next, sending Claire’s heart straight up into her throat “It’s just that...today’s his birthday…which was also the day his dad walked out...ten years ago,”

Claire had to cover her mouth to keep from gasping.

She had a feeling that she just learned something she had  no  business knowing.

Strickler was saying something else now but Claire didn’t hear.

No wonder Jim had started crying.

Claire was yanked back to reality by Mary and Darci pulling her away from the door. It was just in time to, no sooner did they sprint back around the corner than Toby came out and started heading in their direction.

The girls froze and pressed their backs against the lockers as hard as they could. Claire held her breath as Toby stepped around the corner and walked right past her. Mercifully, Toby didn’t look up, keeping his head slumped down, staring at his shoes as he walked by. Immediately after Toby was far enough past them, they raced into the nearest bathroom for cover.

They stood in silence for a few seconds, the only sound their frantic breathing echoing off the stall doors, while they waited for someone to burst through the door and bust them for eavesdropping. After a few minutes passed, it slowly became apparent that they had gotten away with it.

For better or worse.

Darci spoke up first “That was...wow,”

Claire eyed Mary uncertainly, she knew her friend was a huge fan of gossip, but this... “You won’t share this on your blog, right?”

Mary leaned back against the wall and sank to the ground “No,” she mumbled “I just thought he didn’t get on the football team or something, not...this,”

Claire turned and leaned heavily against the bathroom counter, porcelain cold against her palms. She wasn’t naive, she knew that just because she had a mom and a dad didn’t mean everyone else did. Some kids had just one, or an uncle, or a grandma, even two moms or dads.

And sometimes...moms or dads weren’t good people.

Claire lifted her head to face her reflection. It might not have been her idea to eavesdrop, but she could have stopped Mary, instead she’d gone right along with it. And now they all knew a big fat personal secret that none of them had any right to know.

Needing something to do with her hands, Claire turned on the sink and splashed her face with water. She might have just met Jim, but he seemed really nice, nicer than most of the other boys their age. And now he was going to have to deal with being the kid that started crying in front of everyone.

Claire wanted to do something, anything, to make him feel better. About his dad and for what just happened. But if she tried to reach out and cheer him up he’d probably just think it was out of pity.

Not to mention that she could  never  let it slip that they knew about his dad.

Her hands went limp under the streaming faucet. How could she reach out without seeming insincere?

[letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked]

Oneshot: Just Do It

Sam Wilson x Reader

A/N: This is for @spectacular-spiderboy 600 follower challenge! Congratulations, love!

Prompt: “I just fought off ten armed men, and you expect me to – what? Jump off a thousand foot building?”

Word Count: 3,900ish (oops lol)

Warnings: Falling, fighting, shooting, death, many ‘F bombs’, annoyingly cheesy fluffy goodness, etc.

Main Masterlist

 “Y/n, you’ve got incoming hostiles.” You heard Steve grunt over the comms, as you willed the computer to download the files faster. “Natasha, what’s your status?”

“I’m a little busy, here.” She huffed with an annoyed tone, “Sam, where the hell are you?”

“Where the hell do you think I am?” He snapped, the sounds of shooting coming from his line. “I’m not flying to Canada!”

“Come on, come on, come on.” You glared at the little green progress bar, which was only at 95% and moving as slow as a damn slug. You heard the clanging of HYDRA agents climbing the stairs, and panic surged through your chest – your heart jackhammering against your ribs, and fingers starting to tremble. You ran over to the door, jamming the handle with a chair and propping a desk parallel to the door – so they couldn’t shoot you through the crack, and buying you a little more time. “What happened to this being an easy mission?”

“Are they ever really easy?” Natasha snarked, grunting in pain as she fought off more attackers. “How the hell did they know we were coming?”

“What’s the status on the download?” Steve asked, his line beginning to grow quieter in the background. “You need to erase all the files, too.”

“I know how to do my job.” You muttered, rolling your eyes and glaring at the screen. “It’s going agonizingly slow at 99%. I didn’t realize we were working with friggin’ dial-up, over here” You took a deep breath in, before huffing out loudly – trying to calm your impatience, as the agents began banging on the door to break it down. “When it’s done, all I have to do is put my drive in the computer, hit enter, and it will clear all the – IT’S DONE! Oh, thank fuck.”

“Cap doesn’t like that kind of language.” Sam joked, making you giggle as you inserted your pre-programmed drive into the slot.

The banging on the door intensified, and you quickly hit ‘enter’ to wipe all their files – watching as all the screens began to turn blank. “Alright I’m-” You were cut off as the door blew in with a loud bang, and you whipped around – watching the men and women pile into the room, counting how many agents there were, while quickly reaching for your gun. “Shit.”

“Y/n?” Sam called through the comms, panic laced in his voice. “What’s going on down there?”

You didn’t reply, immediately shooting the heads of three agents, trying to keep track of the other seven while dodging gunfire – diving behind the computer desks, and shoving the jump drive into your suit pocket. The gunfire was deafening, making your ears slightly ring as you shot another agent in the back and glanced towards the open door to the stairs.

How can you take down six agents, make it to the door, and not get shot in the process?

You jumped out, grabbing a small folding chair that had been used at the closest desk, and hit the closest agent as hard as you could in the back of the head – hearing a sickening crack as the metal made contact and broke something. With a small shudder, you used the chair as a makeshift shield – before throwing it in the direction of two agents and shooting another in the chest, above their Kevlar.

Okay, four left.

Making good use of the time you had from distracting the two agents with the chair, you threw yourself at the closest agent, dodging the first punch – but taking a swift kick to the tibia – and bashing your knuckles against the man’s nose. When his head snapped backwards, you used your other fist to punch the hard tube of his trachea – sending the male agent to the floor, choking on his breath.

The agents that had been distracted from the flying chair were back up faster than you anticipated, ganging up on you before you had a chance to gather your bearings. Each one grabbed an arm, pinning each limb to their chests and locking them into place – limiting your movements.

The last agent, that had been attempting to remove your jump drive and fix what you’d broke, stomped over to you, “Where’s the drive?!”

“Go to hell.” You spat, throwing your momentum back and kicking out your legs as hard as you could – hitting the large agent’s chest and knocking the man and woman behind you backwards. You expected them to hold their stances, since they’d been pretty well balanced, but the little shits fell back.

You hit the floor with a groan, rolling your eyes and ignoring the pain. “Fucking really?”

With a loud grunt, you pushed yourself up, nabbing the gun that was in the woman’s holster and shooting each of the little fuckfaces in the head – looking away before you could watch the blood pool and mix on the dirty floor.

Whipping around just in time to dodge a blow to the head via keyboard, you ducked and dove – wrapping your arms around the agent’s legs and pulling the man to the floor. He coughed, back hitting the floor roughly and knocking the air from his lungs, before kicking his legs out – catching you in the shoulder.

Crying out, you felt a something snap in your shoulder, pain radiating from the area and down your arm. Your entire arm tingled and ached in pain, but you utilized the other arm by thrashing out and catching the man in the jaw. When his head snapped back, you grabbed the keyboard from the floor and bashed it against his head – breaking the plastic. He moaned, hand going up to his face, which gave you the opportunity to strike against his groin.

You scooted back, kicking against the spot between his legs as hard as your weight would allow.

When his breath was caught in his throat, you grabbed the metal folding chair you’d used earlier – which was spotted with the blood of fuckface one and two – and bashed it into his neck. You heard the gurgle of a damaged trachea, watching the man turn over with his hands against his neck, before bringing the side of the chair back down against his spine.

The sickening snap was something that you hated hearing, preferring to ignore it as much as possible, but it was necessary. You’d done this many times in your days as a hitwoman. You were better with guns, yes, but – sometimes – it was necessary to get your hands a little dirty.

Or, in this case, chair.

It was much easier, killing people with a gun. It wasn’t as intimate. You could be yards away, so you didn’t have to watch the life leave their eyes. It was easier to remain stoic, and to push aside all feelings, when you were further away from your target.

It was easier to pretend that you weren’t the monster that HYDRA made you to be.

“Y/n! Report!” Steve yelled through the comms, voice laced with panic and frustration – the noise beginning to quiet down on his end. “Y/n!”

“I’m good!” You panted, adrenaline coursing through your veins and heart pounding against your ribs. “I’m coming down to you.”

“Negative. There’s too many of them. You need to head to the roof.” Steve commanded, as you grabbed a stray gun off the floor and checked it for ammo. “You’re only three floors down.”

“Crap. I hate stairs.” You grumbled, walking towards the door to the stairwell, pausing to take care of the moaning agent on the floor that you’d left choking on his breath from your throat punch. Once he was taken care of, you jogged into the echoing stairwell, glancing up and down for any incoming agents.

When you’d glanced down, you made eye contact with an agent who was ascending the flight below you.

“Shit!” You hissed, taking the stairs two at a time, attempting to outrun the agent – who had called for backup. You could hear the pounding of more and more agents entering, footfalls echoing against the cement walls. “Guys, they’re following me to the roof. There’s too many to handle on my own.”

“Just keep going.” Natasha replied, voice shaking slightly as if she was running. “Get to the roof.”

“Is extraction here?” You asked, a sheen of sweat forming on your brow from the exertion. No response. “Guys? Extraction?”

With a grunt, you shouldered open the door to the roof, before slamming it closed and glancing around at your surroundings. The roof was completely open, which was bad for you if the agents made it up to the roof before you were extracted. There was nowhere for you to dodge gunfire, and – though you were confident in your hand to hand combat skills – there were too many agents ascending the never-ending flights of stairs.

“Guys, I’m on the roof? Where the hell is extraction?” You leaned against the door, trying to catch your breath and not panic at your current predicament. “I’m out in the fucking open! Extraction was supposed to be waiting!”

“Jump!” Sam called through comms.

“Are you fucking crazy?!” You shrieked, entire body freezing at the thought of jumping from this height without a parachute. “I just fought off ten armed men, and you expect me to – what? Jump off a thousand foot building?”

“I’ll catch you.” He yelled, voice slightly muffled by the sound of rushing wind. “Trust me.”

“I- I- I-” You stuttered out, eyes wide in terror as you glanced at the edge of the stupid building. The breeze was whipping against your exposed skin, which was slightly damp with a layer of sweat, causing a small shiver to run down your spine. It had rained recently, darkening the exposed cement – a potential threat to someone who was prone to slipping and falling. “Is it too late to say I’m a little wary of heights?”

“Jump!”

With a groan, you pushed off from the door, using your momentum to pick up your speed. Your legs moved as quick as their height would allow, and you pumped your arms – sprinting towards the impending doom that was the edge of the fucking skyscraper.

You hated New York, sometimes.

Stupid buildings.

The loud groan and clang of the metal door hitting the cement prompted you to hustle, while the agents spilled onto the roof behind you – guns at the ready. The quick popping of gunfire was all you heard, before you launched yourself up and over the edge of the building, praying that Sam was quick enough to catch you before you hit the ground.

SON OF A BITCH!

Oh, no… Did you just get hit?

A small shriek escaped your lips – stomach clenching and pain radiating from your side – as you began the rapid descent towards the ground. Not that you could see anything, though. The second that your body had registered the pain of the gunshot, your eyes had screwed shut in pain – which was almost worse than falling to your potential death with your eyes open… because you didn’t know when you’d hit the ground.

You better not hit the ground, or you’d haunt Sam Wilson to the end of his goddamn days.

Your hands were tucked into your side, trying to stem the bleeding with your palms. Oh shit. Even with the icy cold air whipping against your entire, descending body… you could feel the hot blood oozing though your fingertips and dripping into the air.

Suddenly, your body was whipped in a different direction, pain blossoming even further into your body as your hands were ripped away from the wound and the wind was knocked from your lungs in a choking gasp. A pair of warm arms were wrapped around you, gripping you tightly against the chest of one Sam Wilson. His arm was wrapped around your bleeding wound, squeezing to the point of a pained cry bubbling from your lips – before you felt the dizzying shift in direction.

“Shit. Guys, I think Y/n’s been hit.” Sam’s panicked voice was close to your ear, echoing between his real voice and the comms unit in your ear. “How far out is extraction?”

You didn’t hear the reply, but you didn’t give a shit. You were concentrating on your breaths – trying to keep a steady pace of inhales and exhales – so you could breathe through the pain. Your first time being shot in the stomach, and it just had to be Sam that was there for it.

Great! You were never going to on another mission, again, without an argument from your stupidly overprotective boyfriend…

You must have blacked out for a few seconds, because the next thing you knew, you were on the hard cement of another roof, being shook back awake by a completely panicked Sam. He was breathing hard, wings folded back in, as he knelt next to your reclined form – keeping one hand over the front of your wound. His normally shining, humorous eyes were completely wild with fear and anxiety. His lips – which you preferred when they were grinning from a joke, exposing his cutely gapped teeth, or pressed against your own – were trembling with every word.

“-up! You have to stay awake!” He demanded, pressing harder against the seeping hole in your side. “Come on, sweetheart. Stay awake. Med Evac is almost here.”

“Shit…” You groaned, fisting your hands tight enough to leave crescent shaped gashes in your palms, trying to pretend you weren’t in as much pain as you were actually in. “You made me… jump off the roof… asshole.”

“We’ll talk about that later.” His shoulders sagged slightly, though his hands were still tightly pressed against you. You watched his adam’s apple bob with a hard swallow, before he continued, “Now stay awake. I’m going to be really pissed if you die, okay?”

“I’m not going to fucking die.” You snapped, face scrunching up with a small hiss as your sharp words made your stomach muscles slightly clench. “Mother fucking fuck.”

“You know Steve’s still on the line.” He snorted, brushing his free hand against your forehead and caressing your face with his bloody hand. “That’s a lot of F-bombs you’re dropping, sweetheart.”

“Shut the fuck up, I’ve been shot.” You didn’t realize how cold you were, already, until the winds of the landing quinjet whipped around and bit into your chilled skin. Were you in some sort of shock? How the fuck haven’t you passed completely out, yet? It had to be the adrenaline. “S-Sam… I’m… I’m fucking cold.”

“They’re here, just hold on.” He soothed, eyes flicking back and forth between you and the opening door of the quinjet. “Steve and Natasha are almost here.”

You hummed, feeling your eyes start to grow heavy with exhaustion. Oh god, don’t pass out, yet. “Iloveyou…” You slurred, eyes twitching to stay open, beginning to feel you were looking into a strobe light. “Shi…t….”

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

Ugh. What the hell.

Why was it that any time you woke up in a hospital, the beeping of the stupid heart monitor was the first thing you heard? Didn’t they have ways of turning that down, so it wasn’t so annoying? Honestly, the annoying beeping of a heart monitor could wake someone from a coma, just from how irritating the sound was.

Wellp, that happened.

You got shot on your – supposedly ‘easy’ – mission.

You were never going to live this down…

“No.” Sam?

“Why the hell not?” You heard someone – Bucky? – reply, exasperated. “You’ve been a chickenshit ever since you’ve realized you wanted to do it. Just fucking ask her, already!”

Ask you what?

What the heck are these idiots even talking about?

“I’m literally still covered in her blood, man.” Sam growled, and you could almost picture that scrunched look he got when him and Bucky argued about something. “Not right now.”

“I think you’re being a fucking pus-”

“If you say ‘pussy’…” You groaned, voice hoarse from lack of use, as you opened your eyes – squinting against the harsh light of the med bay’s hospital room. “I’m gunna’ punch you. Shot, or not.”

They both jumped, heads turning in your direction. Sam’s eyes were wide in surprise, while Bucky’s face was twisted in guilt.

“Sorry.” Bucky muttered, patting your foot before heading to the door. “Anyways, I’m outta’ here. I’ll let the doctor know you’re up.”

“You do that.” You snorted, rolling your eyes at his retreating form. When you turned to Sam, you felt your demeanor soften a bit. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself, beautiful.”

“Don’t try to schmooze me. I was just shot.” You glanced down, lifting the blanket slightly to see the wound – forgetting for a moment that you were in a hospital gown. Lowering it, you tested your movements slightly, a dull ache in your side the only pain you felt. “I feel pretty good, for someone who was spouting blood all over you.”

“You weren’t bleeding that badly.” His lips lifted in a small smirk as he leaned forward in his chair, grabbing your hand and pressing a small, warm kiss to your knuckles. “Anyways, you’re pretty doped up on painkillers.”

“Why are you still in your suit pants? They’re covered in blood.” You frowned, rubbing your thumb over his roughly scabbed knuckles and taking in the state of his attire. “You could’ve changed while I was sleeping, you know.”

“I was too worried to leave.”

“You have to stop being a worry wart. It’ll raise your blood pressure.” You teased, shifting into a more comfortable position on the bed before the drugs wore off. “Anyways, what were you going to ask me?”

His eyes widened into saucers, almost comically, as his mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water – fighting to find the right words to say in his embarrassment… or alarm? “You… uhhh… you heard that?”

“Now I’m really intrigued.” You laughed, wincing slightly at the contraction of your stomach muscles pulling at your wound. “Why do you look so terrified? It’s not like you were going to ask me to marry you, right?”

He gulped at your laughing form, jaw snapping shut as he glanced away from you, fingers beginning to tremble slightly in yours. As your laughter died down quickly, you could hear the tapping of his foot against the hard floors, which was slightly more annoying than the heart monitor beeping in your ear. His eyebrows were slightly pushed together, creating a small line in the middle and giving you the urge to smooth it out with your thumb.

What the heck was his problem?

“Sam,” You narrowed your eyes at him, raising an eyebrow at his odd behavior. “You… weren’t going to ask me to marry you… were you?”

“Well, with that tone, probably not…” He mumbled, shoulders sagging as his hand slowly slid out from yours. He looked down at the floor, crossing his arms over his chest and slightly chewing on his lip.

Oh… shit.

Oh, shit!

HE THINKS YOU’D SAY NO, YOU FUCKING IDIOT!

“Oh… Uhhh… Well, I would’ve said yes, you know.” You felt a lump form in your chest, feeling awful about laughing at him when he was really going to ask you. You’ve wanted nothing more than for that man to ask you. You’d been dating for almost four years… the next step in your relationship was something you’d been looking forward to for a really long time. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

He sighed, leaning his head back for a moment, as if to gather courage, before standing. After a small exhale, he slid onto the side of your bed, which slightly dipped under his weight, and leaned forward to gather your hands in his – being mindful of your IV. “You would? You’d say yes?”

Glancing up at his dark, russet eyes – watching his pupils dilate – you felt the dull ache of tears behind your eyes, a lump forming in your throat as the thought of a long life with the man in front of you became a strong possibility. Your lips lifted, focus blurring as the tears tried to escape. “In a heartbeat.”

His face lit up, lips pulling over his gleaming, white teeth in a large grin. The russet of his eyes were shining, as his eyes misted slightly, and he tried to hold himself together. His hands moved up to your face, lightly cupping your cheeks and leaning in to press his forehead against your own. “Will you marry me?”

“Nope.” You giggled, bringing your hands up to cup his jaw and pull him in, joining your lips in a long kiss.

The tears you’d tried to hold back spilled over as your eyes slid closed, mixing with the taste of Sam’s warm mouth as your lips melded together. Though one hand continued to cup his stubbled jaw, the other gently slid to the back of his neck, pulling him as close as you could get. Your heart was jackhammering in your chest, synchronized with the annoyingly rapid beeps of the stupid monitor, which echoed in the silent room – your breaths the only other sound.

Though this was not your first kiss, by far, your head was buzzing with the feelings that each kiss brought: love, security, warmth… God, you loved this man.

As you pulled slightly back, slowly brushing your lips against his lower lip, you breathed him in – the intoxicating smell of his body wash masking the scent of gunpowder from your mission. His warm breath washed over your face, before he pulled back to press a small peck on your nose.

“I think the answer you meant to say was yes.” He murmured, moving back to his previous position of touching his forehead to yours as the tips of your noses brushed against each other. His voice was an octave lower, sending a small shiver down your spine, giving you goosebumps.

You slowly opened your eyes – meeting his dark, hooded ones – and bit your lip for a moment, running your fingers across the back of his neck. “Was it?”

He snorted, shaking his head before pressing another chaste kiss against your lips, “I think it was.”

“You might be right.” You whispered, sliding your hands down to his chest, feeling the deep rise and fall of his chest. The palm of your hand was resting over his heart, and you could feel the quickened pace of his heartbeat against the skin. Leaning down, you rested your head against his collarbone, ear pressed against the thin cotton of his suit’s undershirt. Your arms looped around his shoulders, and you ignored the tugging against the stitches in your side – relying on the strength of the painkillers to make this position bearable. “Of course, I’ll marry you, fool.”

He huffed out a small laugh, turning his face to press a small kiss to your forehead, resting his arms gently around your middle – being mindful of your injury, unlike yourself. “I’ll take it.”

“FINALLY!”

You jumped, wincing as the tensing of your muscles pulled against the tender wound, before pulling back from Sam and glaring at the metal-armed buffoon screaming in the damn doorway. He was accompanied by Steve, Natasha, and several doctors – all of which looked guilty, like they’d been standing there for far too long. “Really, dude?”

“I’ve been waiting for this wimp to ask you for months!” Bucky grinned, crossing his arms over his chest in triumph. “Let me have my fun, Mrs. Wilson.”

“Mrs. Wilson.” You grinned, looking back up at Sam – who was staring down at you with the shining look of adoration. “It has a nice ring to it.”

“I like it, too, Mrs. Wilson.”

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

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[goldstonegolem64]

Book1 Hope returns Chapter 23 Info grab By goldstonegolem64

New altea. two years after the defeat of hagger. allura and Coran we talking in a hospital room

“ So Coran what did I miss this past two years  ?”

“Well beside Matt and Eve’s wedding. The paladin, Prince lotor, his generals, the blade and the coalition have finally brought peace to the know universe. there are this still some pockets of the old empire and some Altean piloted robeats that are still loyal to Hagger are still running around. But they haven't been causing that much trouble as of late . Do to Matt,Jay, beau And Shiro working day and night to find and root them out before they could hurt anyone. an since Planet Daibazaal” was restored Lotor ,the generals , Krolia and Kolivan are trying to help the Galra to be better as a races  with some mixed success here and there do to some Generals still being stuck in the old way but there they are trying. Hunk and shay Now are the owner of the most famous restaurant as well as being engaged. Keith is now the leader of the blade and turn it in to a humanitarian group, Pidge,lance and adam  are training  the new generation of legendry defenders But when there not doing those thing they all have been trying to get you back. Also Honerva is also back “ Coran said 

“Wait honerva How is she back ?” She asked confused

“when you came back she was holding onto you and anytime we  tried to pull you away from her she would make a shield around the both of you and started yelling about Eyes that were always watching .” Coran said 

Allura had a few memories of being in the astral plane  but they all were just of her floating in the astral plane or when she would get a rare visit from her parents and the older paladin or she got the even rarer glimpse of the others live their lives. But there were no Eyes just ” Coran”

“Yes princess”  Coran said 

“Do the other Know I'm awake ?” Allura asked 

“ We do now Allura .” Lance said while he was standing in the door way smiling  

Allura turned her head and saw them all standing there. Her heart soared when she saw them.

“ Hey princess how are you doing “ Keith said 

“ It’s good to see you again princess” Adam said

“ Hi boss long time no see” Jay said

“ Hi princess  “ Hunk said

“ It’ s good to have you back princess” Shiro said

Pidge slammed into Allura Crying “ It’s good to have you back Allura we’ve missed you ”

“ It’s nice to see you again old friend “ Beau said 

Allura was so happy She was back with her family again. this was the perfect end to her adventure and she couldn't’ wait to spend the rest of her life in peace But that happiness was short lived As her alarm went off  

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ecdYeRJYdzE

Queen Allura awoke back in her room on the Cronos. The same dream a different night but never the less it hurts her to think about her past. So She just laid on her bed just listing to the alarm .but it didn’t stop the pain. So first time in years she cried For the loss of her Family.She didn’t know how long she was crying for or what time it was. But she didn't care it felt good to let it all out after so many years of holding it all in. Then her door opened to reveal her son  

“ Mother are you alright?” the young prince asked worried about his mother

.” I’m fine Alfor” She said wiping away the tears

“ Alright I just came by to tell you breakfast is ready” Alfor said

“ I will be there soon just give my a moment” Allura said giver herself a moment to regain her composure  

“ ok” alfor replied leaving the room 

Allura sat up right in her bed thinking about the mission how she had to change the past to save the future or save this worlds future? She didn’t quite understand the whole multiply verse theory. She would have to ask Leon and Adin later about this seeing as they were the one to figure it out their mothers blue print for the Cronos but that would have to wait. She had breakfast and her kids wait for her  

In the bridge of the castles of lions. with Princess allura and  the paladins gather and watched pidge search through Sendak’ s memoirs 

“I don’t think your father would approve of you looking through your enemy memories” Coran said

“ Why not. We can learn something from these and once we learn all of zarkon weaknesses. we can go to Zarkon’s  front door and challenge him win get the universe “ Lance said smirking.

“ it’s not that easy lance we need to find it first “ Shiro said 

“ How hard can that be after ten thousand years of conquering I could fire my Bayard in a random point in space an hit a galra ship” Lance said

“ Yes but we need to start  small by free each planet one by one. Because attack Zarkon at his home base with six inexperience pilot  an a support ship  it would not end well for us if we attacked him head on” Shiro said

“Ok I see you point But one Fuck you i’m a great pilot , Two the castle of lions is not just a support ship. three freeing ever planet will take us ten thousand years.four your right if we take the fight to zarkon’s front door with what we have now we are doomed to fail” Jay said frowning 

“ Hey Pidge did you find anything yet?” Keith ask

“ Yes I have it’s a transport hub but It could be a galactic Hud” pidge said

“or a Space Base “ lance said  smiling  

“ Ha I get it “ jay said 

“ I don’t know which one it’s Because I’m translating from galra to atlea then to English so something could be loss in translation. But I did find it’s location” She continued 

“ Alright let’s get going then” Shiro said

An Hour later the castle arrived to the locations of the transport hub which was in-between two planets. the hub itself was build in to an asteroid with a war ship docked. 

“ It looks like the station is using the planets gravitational field to hide from Deep space  scanners” Coran said 

“but if it’s just a giant airport  why are they hiding it?” pidge asked

“ it’s a transport hub for foul or supplies .  hiding it from their enemy makes scents . “ Jay replied  

“To bad we now where it is.” lance said looking a 3d layout of the station’ s outer layer trying to find away in side with shiro

“ How do we get in ?” Keith asked 

“ the control tower  has an airlock near it and If we get in there we could have pidge hack into the system and find out  what this place is for” Lance said 

“that is a great plan Lance. Alright paladins let’s suit up “ Shiro said 

“I'm coming with you” Allura said

“ princess I would rather have you stay here” Coran said

“ Coran I’m a part of this fight against Zarkon as much as anyone. So I'm going dose anyone have a problem with that?” She asked Everyone just stood there a Not saying a word “Alright then Everyone suit up She said

Back on the Prometheus

Jay was in his room. Getting his armor on only stopping when he heard a knock on the door.

“Who is it?” He asked

“ it’s Fitz can I come in?” the boy asked

“Yes” He replied

The door opened and the balmeran boy walked in still wear his old tatter clothes

“  We really need to get you new clothes dude . So what can I do for you to day bud” Jay asked while putting on his boosts

“  Your going on a mission right?” Fitz asked

“yes Why do you ask” Jay raised his eye brow 

“ Is it dangerous”  Fitz asked with worry in his voice 

“ Yes But all missions I go on are dangerous. But  I have Shiro and the other watching my back. So you don’t have to worry about me” He replied.

“ I know but I already lost one person I care about and I don’ t want to lost another. Fitz said rubbing his arm

“Fitz I'm going to be fine I got Shiro and the other watching my back. So you don’t have to worry. 

“ Alright but can you at lets try to stay safe out there please” Fitz said has he hugged jay 

“I will try but no promises little buddy” Jay hugging Fitz back” now I have to go meet up with the others alright”

“Ok” Fitz replied 

 Moments later Jay had made his way to the green lion’s where Allura and the others are waiting 

“what took you so long man ?” Hunk asked

“ I was showing Fitz somethings  “ Jay replied 

“Ok now that everyone’s here. lets get on the green lion“ Shiro said

“Wait where everyone else”? Jay asked

“they will be training today.now get in the lion please”  Allura said

Moments later in the control tower the only Galra guard stood watch over the two sentries that were doing the last bit of the docking sequins for the ship.  “ Hey” a voice whisper behind him so he turn to see a group of color full people standing in front of him. Before he could raise his weapon. the man in black armor punched him in the face sending him flying and knocking him out. Has the body hit the floor the two sentries turned to see the paladins all standing there .the sentries raised there blaster only to be shoot down by the blue, silver and yellow paladins. Moments later a Galra appeared on a screen.

“ is everything alright in there we saw flashing lights what's going on”  the galra soldier asked.

Hunk picked up one of the sentry's and gave a thumb up. Soldier on the screen starred at the offline sentry. Everyone held their breath hoping the soldier fell for hunks ruse. the soldier starred a little longer Before shrgging his shoulder and ended the message.

“ nice job dude” Lance said as he went for a high five 

“Thanks man” Hunk said giving lance a high five with the sentry’s hand

a few minutes later pidge had set up her computer and hacked into the system

“So have you found anything pidge?” Allura asked

“No it’s all just the schedule of ships coming in and out”  pidge said

“do you know where that ship is going then ?” allura asked

“ it will be here for about half hour then it’s going to central commanded”  pidge said

“alright I'm going in” Allura said

“  How are you going to do that?” Lance asked

“ like this” Allura said as she take out her helmet. Then she started to grow taller and her skin turn purple

“  How the heck did you do?” Hunk said

“ The altean are a chameleon like people who can blend in with the local populations it’s ability that made us great explores and diplomats and i’m going to need a change of costume. Luckily he’s the right size” Allura said looking at the knock out galra

“alright you should take Shiro or jay do to their arms being made out of galra tech “ pidge said while shaking shiro’s arm around 

“ Sorry I’m still repair my galra tech arm So I'm stuck watch you guys” jay said waving his normal prostatic arm.

“ alright Jay keep this four out of trouble  us up dated” Shiro said

“ Yes sir” jay gave a two finger salute to shiro”

 Shiro and allura left the room. leaving the five paladins to just wait for their leader to return and to mess with the sentry

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8buJ2-oD02E music playing in jay’s  

 Jay  watched the loading dock. nothing was happening then. it was boring so he started to listen to music on his helmet . as he watched he noticed two massive tanks full of yellow liquid ? energy?” 

”Hey guys come see this”  Jay said waving to the others 

Lance ,hunk and Keith made their way to him the all looked over to where jay was looking and so the same thing

“  what are those thing full of?” lance asked

“I think it’s sporks”  hunk said

Everyone turned to look at him

“what their clearly an advanced race and saw that have both spoon and forks is foolish  when one tool can do the job”  Hunk said

“ As a member of an advanced race we see spocks as useless.” Jay said

“ Maybe this guy will tell us. what is coming in and out of this station ?” pidge ask the sentry she had plugged her laptop into

“integration detected Activating lock down” the sentry said

Keith and jay had made there way down to get a better view of the loading bay and saw a purpled rode figured appeared. he watched has the rode figured moved toward a door way” I'm going to follow him” Keith said to jay. as he jumped for the  closing door. 

“ No Keith don’t. “ Jay said as Keith jumped. Jay knew that Keith would do something stupid if no one watched him. So he followed Keith narrowly missing the closing door.

After Keith and Jay left lance and pidge tried talking about what happened during the Ai insulted. While hunk was messing with the sentry by making it hit itself

“So are we ever going to talk about what happened ?”  pidge asked 

“Yes we are but not here “ lance said

“ then where and when. It’s been a week” Pidge said  

“I don’t know . look one minute I'm about to die by flying into a imploding star next you and Keith confessed to me, So now I'm just trying to figure out what to do next,” lance said as he watched the loading dock making sure no one was going to entered the room Jay and Keith when into 

Pidge sighed and walked back  to her computer

“ Hey you going to be alright pidge?” Hunk asked 

“ Yeah I just need to give him sometime to make up his mind” she replied while she set up a connection to the castle of lions so coran could see what they saw  

in the galra ship Allura was standing guard has Shiro was using his arm to get the location of the command center and to gather any info about what the transport hub had. Allura watched both ends of the hallway and saw a galra soldier walking toward her 

“What are you doing here “the soldier asked

I’m just standing Guard ” Allura replied 

The soldier looked at her and saw a light on in the room. “Who is in there?” The soldier asked

“ my commanding officer say hello plyrocks” Allura said nervously

“It’s plytoxs” Shiro replied in a deeper commanding  voice 

“ oh Sorry sir” Allura said

the soldier stiffened and saluted  “ Vrepit sa sir “ then the soldier left 

“That was a close one” Shiro whispered

In the room Keith and Jay were making their way through a dark hallway. into a dimly light multi leveled room full of those yellow.

“So what's your plan Keith?” Jay asked

“ to do this” Keith said as he activated his wrist camera and pointed it toward the room ”  you guys see this”  he asked 

on the other end Pidge lance and hunk saw the room

“ What is that?” pidge asked

“ the material is Quintessence. the subtends that this the life blood of the universe. Raw quintessence is brought here to be refined into standard galra fuel.” the sentry said 

“ did you get all that coran?” Lance asked

“yes I did. But it doesn't make scents get that much raw quintessence is impossible”  Coran said 

“well it’s possible now,” lance said 

 “So what do we do now Keith?” Jay asked

“ were going to take one of those tanks. so we can study it” Keith said 

“that is a bad plan. but I have no place to speak do to all my bad plans”  Jay said

Back in the room with Shiro and Allura. Shiro was searching through the data base until an alarm was set off

“fugitive  prisoner 117- 9675 detected please stay where you are”  the computers said

“ looks like the jig is up” Shiro said

 The soldier look at the door and raised his blaster. only to be meet by the door being slammed into him  by Allura. Allura pulled the blaster from the knocked out  soldier. Shiro looked at her surprised by her sudden burst of strength.

“what?” she said

As the two stood there a horde of sentries ran towards them from one end of the hall way and two appeared and the other end. But they were quickly cut down by shiro

“We need to go now” 

Keith and Jay were just about to steal a tank just as the alarm when off. the robed  figured appeared and saw them.

“looks like the jig is up” jay said

the robed figured fired a arc of lighting toward the two paladins. So the two paladins dodged the bolt that hit the tank causing a massive explosions erupted where they once stood . the two jumped around the room. dodging arc after arc Jay pulled out his Bayard and fire at the robed figure trying to distracted the robed figure as Keith tried to charge the figure with his blade .But the figure dodged ever shot by teleporting way only to appeared in front of Keith and fired a bolt straight into him. luckily Keith blocked the bolt with his Bayard but the blast sent him flying in to a tank on the second level.

Jay stood and watch in horror as his friend was blasted into a tank of the yellow fluid and collapsed  “Keith!!!” he yelled. then he realized he had stood out in open and saw the robed figured fire a arc toward him (HA Ha I'm in danger) he thought to himself as arc of electricity slammed into him sending him fly back into the wall. the red hew appeared when he got to his feet 

Keith felt pain shooting up his back and his right hand. So he look at his hand and saw a burn. Keith got to his feet using the tank to hold himself up, he felt something wet ran over his hand and the pain went away. Keith turned to see the tank he had slammed into was leaking. the he hear a popping sound from behind him. he didn’t need to turn around to know what was behind. so he slashed the tank in front him causing the tank to burst letting all the fluid spurt out . He side step so not to be swept away by Quintessence. sadly the robed figured was him by the full force sending them falling into the ground knocking him out. Keith used his thruster pack to jumped to the floor just to make sure the figure won’t be a problem anymore. then he looked for jay.

“Jay are you alive?’ Keith asked worried

 “Yes” Jay said in a deeper voice then usual has he walked out for behind a tank half transformed 

“Are you alright” Keith asked

“Yeah just let me calm down “ Jay said has started to turned back to normal

“We need to get back to the others” Keith said 

Jay used his thruster pack to come down from the shelf he was on”yeah we should”

Lance,hunk and pidge were still hiding in the tower as the alarms went off

“We need to go now “ lance said 

“But what about the others?” Hunk asked worried 

“ They can handle themselves. now lets get to the green lion before we get caught” lance said as both Keith and jay climbed into the room from the window 

“ Thanks for the vote of confiding But I think we need to leave now “Keith said

Back on the galra ship. Shiro and Allura were running to an escape pod  at the end of the hall as the horde of sentries following close behind them. The two made they way into the shuttle bay. then Shiro hit a button to close the door.

“Allura hold the door I'm going welled the door shut” Shiro said as he active his arm

She followed his orders but then she saw the door was closing.” it’s taking off get in the pod” She yelled

“No I'm not leaving without you” Shiro said still trying to welled the door shut

“You have too” Allura grabbed Shiro by the back of the collar and through him  into the pod”

Shiro got back on his feet an ran to the closed door and tried to open it. then he saw Allura standing there  with a sad smile on her face and heard her say “keep them safe Shiro. Keep our family Safe Shiro “

Shiro slammed his fists into the door over and over yelling at her as the pod launched he watched as Allura started to shrink as he got further way and further away. 

in the green lion everyone looked for Shiro and Allura

“Look an escape pod” hunk said

moments later Shiro walked in to the cockpit alone

“Where's Allura?’ Pidge asked 

“she sacrificed herself to save me”  Shiro said

“So She still on that Ship” lance said

“The ship that going to Zarkon’s central command” hunk said

“ the one place that is protected by a huge fleet of warships” Lance said 

“the one place in the universe that has enough fire power to wipe out a solar system “ Jay said scared 

“The most dangerous place that were not supposed to go” Keith said

“yes to all of those thing but we have go there to save her Shiro said  

[idreamofhazeleyes]

Ties in Blood -- Chapter 20

Notes: It’s a short chapter, I know, but the next one picks up with part 2 of “All Hell Breaks Loose”.

@mrswhozeewhatsis @percussiongirl2017 @winchestergirl-13 @impala-dreamer @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @squirrelnotsam @optimisticpeacecollector5

Chapter 20

Time seemed to have stopped.

Bobby’s voice sounded like he was yelling from the other end of the building.

Aaliyah stared at the light in front of her with her mouth agape. There was something about the light that she couldn’t explain; not that she could find the right words for it. She could stand there in the light without a care. A voice called out broke into her reverie. Aaliyah bent down for her cell and duffel before darting from the room, the light completely forgotten. She listened to the voices in the attempt to figure out how many she had to avoid in her dash to freedom. Three for sure, four maybe. A beam of light shot down the hall and she hunched down into a room to avoid being seen. A voice spoke up about seeing something. Another countered with the first seeing something; nothing was down the hall.  

Their footsteps retreated. Aaliyah dared to poke her head out of the room and edged out into the hallway. She worked her footsteps soft as she could after them. No point on finishing the case if she got caught. It was one of those areas that needed to be worked on. Not like the cops would believe she just sent a ghost to the great beyond. Staying in the shadows and dark corners on the main floor, Aaliyah watched the flashing lights on the walls flick off and waited a good ten minutes before she dared moving to a broken window to climb out. The cop cars were gone, but Aaliyah was sure there had to be one or two nearby keeping watch on the place in the off chance they catch someone.

Once in her car, Aaliyah managed to get onto the four lane road that provided the southern border of the decrypted asylum city without being caught by any cops. She headed west for a short while before turning around in one of those island turn arounds to head back to the motel. There was something about the area outside Detroit Aaliyah never really figured out.

Aaliyah’s cell started ringing just as she closed the motel door behind her. She dumped her duffel on a bed as she pulled the phone out of her pocket to see Bobby’s name on the display.

“What in the hell do you got for brains, girl?” Bobby shouted before Aaliyah could greet him. “Why didn’t you call me when you got out?”

Her shoulders drooped as Bobby yelled. Yeah, Aaliyah shoulda called him when she was on the way back to the motel, but the need to be out of the area had been the first thing on her mind. “Sorry, Bobby,” Aaliyah apologized, her voice low. “I just … I’ve made it this far without getting caught by the cops. Consider it low on my Hunter’s Bucket List.”

“Whatever,” Bobby dismissed. “You okay? From what I heard during that verse, it wasn’t good.”

“I don’t know what it was, Bobby.” Aaliyah started pacing the room. “Imagine the ringing in your ear but like a million times louder. I think there was something else there besides the ghost.” She swore to herself it wasn’t a demon, but it wasn’t any ghost or spirit she could remember from the lore she poured into her head. “What lore do you have on angels?”

“Angels? You’d have more luck finding Bigfoot than getting a few pages on them,” Bobby countered. “Listen, there’s some serious shit going down. Think you’d be able to meet up and help?”

“Sure, Bobby.” Aaliyah started gathering her things half scattered through the room, pinching the cell between her head and shoulder. “Go ahead and give me the coordinates and I’ll be on my way.” She pulled the phone away and hung up before shoving it into a pocket. Maybe this trip would be the last one for Michigan. There was always something that pulled her back.

***

Aaliyah spotted the Impala on the side of the road and groaned. She wasn’t planning on dealing with Dean, especially after what happened a week or two ago. Still, she agreed to help. Pulling off the road behind the Impala, Aaliyah turned her car off and climbed out. She caught the glare from Dean as she came up alongside Bobby.

“Don’t you have a case to work?” Dean shot at her.

“Yeah, I do,” Aaliyah shot back. “The one that I got called here for.” She dared a glance down at the map that had no marks on it whatsoever. “Demonic activity?”

“And omens from the past month,” Bobby said.

Aaliyah leaned over the map as her head tilted slightly. “There’s nothing.”

“That’s what I said,” Dean said.

Aaliyah picked up on the anger that lingered in his voice. So he was mature enough to put aside what he was feeling to focus on the case in front of them. “There’s gotta be something, even low level stuff.”

“That’s I was telling Dean,” Bobby said. “It’s completely quiet.”

“So how do we look for Sam?” Dean countered. “Close our eyes and point?”

“Oh, come on,” Aaliyah straightened up as she rolled her eyes. “Can’t keep Sam around for a week without him wandering off.”

“You know what…” Dean pushed past Bobby and managed to pin Aaliyah up against the Impala. “I’ve had enough of you. You’ve been a pain in the ass since you’ve…”

“Since I what, Dean?” Aaliyah cut in. She worked her arms in and managed to push him off her before peeling herself off the car and straightening her shirt and jacket. “Since I’ve started hunting with you guys? Since you called me to help find your dad? Since I called you to find mine? Since I took out that werewolf? Since when, Dean? Tell me.”

Dean glanced down at the ground while his hands found their way into the pockets of the leather jacket. He muttered something, causing Aaliyah to lean in.

“Sorry, what?” she asked.

“Since…You know what, never mind.” Dean waved it off as his cell rang. “Ash, what you got? … Oh, come on, man. We’re looking at a three thousand mile haystack here. … Well, what? … Come on, I don’t have time for this.” There was a brief pause before he hung up. “Looks like we’re going to the roadhouse,” he told Bobby. “You, can go find another case to work,” he told Aaliyah.

“No.” Aaliyah stared Dean down with a glare. “Like I told John, I’m involved now. And I’ve seen and been through too much to walk away now.”

“And Sam’s my brother,” Dean countered. “Your left with no note or message.”

“Story of my life,” Aaliyah snapped. “Your father didn’t abandon you for another family.” She wasn’t sure what happened. One second she had been staring down Dean, the second she was slumped in a pile on the ground with the feeling of something wet on her upper lip. Dean was blocked by Bobby a few feet away from her. Aaliyah pulled herself up to her feet with the Impala to stabilize herself. “Step aside, Bobby.”

“You think I’m gonna let you two idjits beat each other up?” he shot over a shoulder.

“Sure, why not?” Aaliyah asked with a half shrug. “I was the punching bag for one Winchester – demon or not – I’m not gonna be it for the other. Maybe it’s time I stood up to them. Obviously going solo on cases isn’t enough to show I can do it.”

“You’ve gone to a whole new level of stupid, Aaliyah,” Bobby tried to talk some sense into her.

“What makes you think that? I’m tired of the crap from everyone thinking I can’t hunt.” Aaliyah’s defensive posture dropped.

“Oh, geez,” Dean grumbled. “Come off it, Aaliyah.”

“And you’re the worse one,” Aaliyah told him. “I got a call for help, and I’m helping. Now, come on.” She turned back for her car. “Someone’s gotta lead the way to the roadhouse.”

***

Aaliyah eased out of the car as she took in the sight of the roadhouse; ashes still smoking. Something told her that whatever this Ash person knew, it got him and anyone in the roadhouse killed and the building burned down. She half ignored Dean when he doubled over holding his head. For all that’s happened, Aaliyah wouldn’t put it past him to have a hangover.

“I swear I saw something,” Dean told Bobby.

“Like what Sam gets?” Aaliyah called over, keeping her eyes on where she was stepping. The feeling of Dean glaring at her back slipped through her mind. “I’m just sayin’.”

“You know I’m not psychic,” he replied. Dean doubled over again in pain.

Aaliyah dashed over to him and Bobby, leaping over some of the debris. “Dean?” She caught his eyes flick up to match her gaze. She wasn’t sure what to expect other than anger from him. But there was barely contained panic in those green eyes Aaliyah swore changed hue.

“I saw him,” Dean said. “I saw Sam.”

“It was a vision,” Bobby said.

“Yeah, I don’t know.” Dean straightened enough to brace himself on the Impala. “Whew. It was about as much fun as getting kicked in the jewels.”

“What’d you see?” Aaliyah prompted.

“Uh … there was a bell.”

“A bell?” Aaliyah’s face contorted a little in confusion. “What kinda bell?”

“A big one; with an engraving.”

“Yeah, that narrows it down,” Aaliyah snarked.

“Was it a tree?” Bobby asked while shooting her a look. “Like an oak tree?”

“Yeah, exactly.”

“I know where Sam is. Come on.” Bobby moved to get into the Impala, leaving Aaliyah and Dean to share a look.

Aaliyah shrugged before she moved for her own car. She wasn’t sure how long they raced along the highway. At some point Aaliyah had put music on; one of the few tapes that Dean was willing to part with. Finally the Impala pulled off the road. Part of Aaliyah was relieved, she could finally empty out her bladder.

“Rest of the way’s on foot,” Bobby called back to her. “Get your weapons.”

“Two minutes,” she called back.

“What for?” Dean called back.

“I’ve been ignoring nature for the past three hours,” Aaliyah responded even as she darted into the tree line. “I’m not gonna go in fighting with a full bladder.”

Part of her was worried at being so exposed with the two guys mere feet away, but she managed to finish up and return to the cars. Bobby and Dean were already armed and their patience near worn thin waiting on her. Aaliyah rushed to grab a knife, placing it in a boot, and a shotgun with a handful of shells. She kept pace with the other two in a jog down the road. Something didn’t seem right. Aaliyah pushed harder and managed to take the lead. Behind her Bobby shouted at her to wait up. Up ahead she spotted a couple figures, one held some sort of weapon. Two feet closer and Aaliyah recognized the weaponless one as Sam. Dean pushed past her just as the one with the weapon attacked Sam.

Aaliyah didn’t think when she rushed past Dean with Sam in his arms to chase after the attacker. It was instinct, nothing more. Unfortunately the attacker had a head start and she lost him after a few minutes. Slowing to a stop, Aaliyah stood there and caught her breath. She worked her way back to where the guys where. Her feet picked up speed when she noticed Sam’s body was limp in Dean’s arms. A foot slipped as she neared, bringing her down into the mud.

“Dean?” Aaliyah dared. She caught a hand shift and swore she saw blood covered it. Her body sunk down to her knees even as she dared to ease a hand on Dean’s arm. “We should get going from here.”

He nodded and shifted his hold on Sam’s body. Aaliyah pushed herself back to her feet and walked along with Dean. She had slipped into a protective mode in the walk back to the cars. In the silence of her own car, Aaliyah sat in the driver’s seat and tried to process what had happened. Her mind went on auto pilot when the Impala started up and drove off; starting her own car and followed along.

[marcoacesabo]

Where Do Babies come from? Part II

The day started out like any other. For once the weather was in their favor, staying calm and clear, allowing the large boat to gently rock on the waves without much trouble.

The siblings had woken to the wonderful smells of bacon breakfast, the nurses had started nagging Pops for his drinking habits and Marco was peacefully watching from above enjoying the sounds of his family go about their lives.

His eyes gently roomed the top deck, smirking at the group of men who were sweet talking the nurses into a dance- the idiots always looking for a reason to party. 

“Peaceful isn’t it” Strong arms warped around him, causing the blond’s smirk to melt into a gentle smile. Ace’s naturally warm body heat was one of his favorite things in this world. 

He’s glad that’s it’s his privilege to enjoy it whenever he likes.

“Yes yoi.”  He leans back just to allow Ace to rest against his side. The raven hair man fits perfectly under his chin, due to his shorter hight- something he would never admit out loud to Ace. Marco liked being alive- and it’s so great to just exist with the other like this.

Watch duty during the day wasn’t as eventful as the night one since no one dared to attack the strongest man in the world and so they could enjoy hours of just them in the crow nest overlooking the family. At the same time, the horizon from where they stand looks like the sea is opening her arms to them, inviting them for an adventure and freedom.

It’s like a separate world, a little part to call their own.

With the man, he loves in his arms.

The thought makes Marco want to kiss Ace, but he knows his boyfriend is mesmerized by the view which means he wouldn’t be up to making up right now. Instead, he presses a kiss to Ace’s temple, earning him an honest to Sea Maiden giggle.

Marco stores that away in a part of his mind labeled “Adorable and cute”. He isn’t surprised that most of it is build around Ace.

“Thatch said there was going to be a party with guests soon? Some kind of tradition, apparently. Mind telling me about that?.” Ace whispers half hiding his warm cheeks and shy little smile into Marco’s chest. It’s a poor attempt to distract the older man from his ahem manly chuckle, but the older man is willing to play along.

“Yes. It’s something Pops started when one of his sons had a child. We basically pick an island and everyone allied with Pops meets there to celebrate being a family. Crewmember’s spouses and children show up too. ” Marco smiles softly thinking of the thousands and thousands of nieces and nephews eagerly waiting on the shore side.  “It’s actually really cute yoi.”

“Wow.” Ace breathes in a voice Marco hates. It the voice he uses when hears of basic interactions of a family that love each other. It’s almost as worse as the one he uses when Marco tells him I love you “That sounds amazing, to think-”

“Hi, misters! Where’s my daddy?.” 

Both males jump at the toddler that was suddenly standing right in front of them. A little blond boy whose bangs were pinned back with two bunny hairpins, wearing blue goggles over his eyes and smiling with a thousand watts up at them.

His bunny hairpins matched the one on his white t-shirt, though it looked odd under the black child tailcoat. His shorts were a nice light shade of blue. 

He was clutching the straps of his black bag while rocking on his heels, the railing groaning under the movement and that was dangerously close to the edge of a twenty-five-foot drop!

“Holy shit, get down from-” Ace started a big brother knee reflex to worry. He was already moving to grab onto the baby when the kid perked up at his words.

If possible the child’s smile got wider, cutting him off the frantic man with a cheerful “Holy shit!” 

He tilted backward when he spread his arms out with his shout. Marco saw his life flash before his eyes as he started to fall-

Moving so fast he may have shifted, the fireman snatched the baby out of the air, spinning around to carry the giggling child into his arms and away from certain death.

“Holy shit!” The strange little one says, kicking his feet “Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit!”

“No.” Marco groans, shakingly falling onto his ass- he just lost ten years of his life-, watching as horror blossoms on Ace’s face. If there is one thing his boyfriend hates doing, it’s cussing in front of children. “No, don’t say that. That’s not what good little boys say”

The blond head tilts to the side, lips forming a pout. Its the only warning he gets before the kid bursts into tears. He starts screaming at the top of his lungs, reaching a pitch that a tiny body like his should not be able to reach- it makes both men ears ring “Wahhhh! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!”

The Whitebeard commanders are not in their element. 

“Do something!” Ace screams over the toddler. He tries rocking the kid like a baby but it only works in making the little one more upset.He kicked his feet more franticly while waving his arms around, struggling in Ace’s hold. Tears and snot were rolling down his chubby face now, and it was turning an alarming shade of red. 

“What can I do yoi!?” 

“I don’t know! Just- make him stop!”

“How!?”

“DADDY!” 

Boom

The explosion shook the whole ship. The kid jerks to a stop, obviously scared and the two men are relieved to hear the silence before he picks up right where he started. This time sounded louder.

Marco jumps to his feet looking as another explosion rocks the ship, his family screaming. He jumps off the crew nest shifting into his Phoneix form just as the wind carries up the words they are shouting.

“There’s an intruder!”

“Someone stop him!” 

“Get a commander-watch out!” 

“Gah!”

“Tiger! Where are you!?” On the deck, a man Marco has never seen before screams, jumping over a sword, dodging a bullet and punching Ichigo in the face all the while desperately looking around.  “Tiger!”

Marco seeing everything he needs to see, he takes a dive rapidly approaching the blond with one of his talons. Just as he about to make contact the blond man spins around, parrying his strick with a Haki induced pipe.  

Livid blue eyes meet his own as the man sneers “Where the hell is Tiger!? What did you do to him!?”

The first commander’s response is to twist his waist and aim a kick to his unguarded side. He nails the intruder on the side of the head lunching the younger man into the main mass.

It’s only a few seconds later that he remembers Ace and the toddler are still up there. A loud wet shout of “DADDY!” echoes from above.

The blond man is on his feet in seconds, stands ready for battle but he looks pale and he keeps glancing up. Marco looks at him really looks at him taking in his blond hair, his black trench coat and oh. Okay, he sees what’s happening here now.

“Ace!” Marco calls weary eyes on the blond man.  “Come down- bring the kid”

The blond’s whole poster stiffens before he launches forward, swinging his pipe in a blind rage with a war cry “Give me back my son!”

Marco matches him blow for blow, he’s very impressed with the attacker. It’s no wondering the family was having a hard time with him. He’s on par with a commander easy and certainly doesn’t lack combat experience. 

If he was up against Ace, they would evenly match but the Phoniex is his opponent, and Marco had been a pirate for a good twenty years now. He is no wet behind the ears rookie commander like his boyfriend.  

No he’s the one that created the commander role.

A few attacks, a few close calls, and a few bruises later he has the other pin. He managed to slam his feet into the stranger’s knees, and had both arms in a tight grip behind his back, stopping all of his movement just as Ace landed.

 The toddler hiccuping loudly in his arms. “D-hic-addy!”

“Tiger!”  The man under Marco’s foot shouts. “ Don’t hurt him! He’s just a baby! Please!”

“We aren’t going to hurt him yoi” The blond commander says indifferently as more crewmembers start to gather around. They had cleared an area for the blonds earlier watching from the sidelines in case Marco needed saving. “Just calm down and stand down.”

Blue eyes flickered to him with a rebellious glare, causing him to wonder if the attacker would try to break out of his hold again. The toddler, which he thinks is named Tiger sobbed “Daddy! Sc-scare! Daddy!” causing the man to stiffen before slumping down in place admitting defeat.

Nobody moved for a moment before Marco nodded his head at Ace. The raven hair man gently puts the kid down, and the little one imminently rushed forwards. His chubby arms stretched out and he was gasping for air- poor kid must have been crying the whole time.

The blond lets the man go just as the little one gets close, picking up the pipe so the intruder doesn’t have a weapon anymore. The other doesn’t seem to care beacuse he scrambles to desperately hug the toddler to his chest, whispering reassurance to the distressed child.

Thier father walks over, as both blonds- one old and one- start crying into each other holds. The baby hiding his head in the older man’s shoulder.

“Well, when Dragon said you were a hand full I didn’t think he meant this,” Pops says smiling in satisfaction when the stranger jerks his son to the side, shielding him from the emperor.  “Now Sabo is it? I gave you permission to come aboard my ship as a favor to an old friend. I would hate to have to take back the invitation due to you attacking my children.”

“Don’t touch my child and we’re good...sir” the blond says slowly adding the sir as if though it pained him to do so.

Oh Marco likes this one. Fiesty. Kinda of like Ace when he first arrived, not to mention knows how to through a punch.

Pops grin “We understand each other then. Now, you asked to come here seeking one of my children but refused to explain any further. What could the Revolutionary Army’s Cheif of Staff Sabo-”

Next to Marco Ace made a strange choking sound

“-possibly want from my son?”

By now the sobbing of the little one had reduced to sniffs, his head tilted in a way that would indicate he was staring up at Whitebeard. The man hesitates to answer, glancing around the many curious eyes.  “Can we discuss this somewhere more priv-”

“Whatever you have to say you can say it in front of my children,” Pops says evenly causing the blond man’s lips to purse. The kid goes back to hiding his face.

Ace takes a shaky step towards the pair catching Marco’s attention. He looks away from his father and the stranger, to gently rest a hand on one tan shoulder. It shakes under his hold. “Ace, are you okay yoi?”

The other man doesn’t respond, wide eyes locked on the blond. 

Sabo looks like he’s counting to ten before he coos at the toddler until Tiger raises his head, then gently removes his goggles. They reveal a pair of silver eyes Marco has seen only one other person, though they are a little red and puffy it’s no denying the cany likeness. 

Since the goggles were so big on the child, they covered most of his cheeks but now the freckles he bore were standing out against his milk coffee toned skin a bright beacon grabbing attention.

Marco thinks back to when they first meet Tiger, and the large smile he sported. Now that he really stops to exam it, that smile holds a very family cure of the lips and a fine sense of mischevious glee he is very familiar with edged into the corners.

It’s almost like...

Holy shit.

“Okay fine..this may sound weird but...I need DNA from Portgas D Ace so our lab grown son can stay alive and I would really appreciate it if he like gave me some of his blood or something ” Sabo blurts out holding the little one to his chest. “Also this is Tiger...your grandson?” 

The deck is stone cold silent.

Thump

That’s why when Ace fainted, the sound of his body hitting the wood echoes across the waves. 

[queenangst]

Lifeline

Time loop AU. When Keith wakes up after crashing his ship to stop Naxzela from exploding, he thinks it's a dream. And then it happens again.

Some days he dies like this, closing his eyes to a light that burns him to the core. Other days, Keith dies with a knife between his ribs, or in the hull of a ship, or with the others as Naxzela renders the sky to pieces. Over and over and over. Again and again.

read on ao3 / ffnet / a lil thank u to @kcgane for making these tracks because. they’re good.

chapter one

Keith’s eyes shoot open.

He can feel his heart hammering in his chest, going so fast that it feels like his chest might split open.

His hands are clenched into fists at his side, not meant to throw a punch, but instead mimicking his grip on the controls of a Galra ship. There’s sweat on his forehead, and his shirt is clinging to his skin.

“A dream,” Keith says, sitting up and drawing his knees up to his chest. “A nightmare.”

It has to be. Has to be.

Because the last thing he remembers… the last thing he remembers—

A clipped wing. The distant voices of his teammates through the comms. Matt and Lance and Hunk and—Shiro’s voice, of course, sounding strained, and…

…he leans forward as the ship picks up speed. There’s no time to think, but Keith has never bothered much with thinking, anyway.

This is the only option. The rebel ships can do nothing. Voltron is too far. Keith is the only one who can make a difference; if he doesn’t act, then everything he’s been fighting for will fall.

The ship shudders a little, but Keith pushes it, faster, further, gunning for the barrier.

Keith squeezes his eyes shut and counts down from ten. There’s a blanket over his legs and a knife under his pillow and this, this is real, and dying is not.

His breathing evens out after a bit. There’s things to live for, after all.

Keith strips his shirt off, making a face at the resistance it gives. It doesn’t take long for him to get dressed in the thin black suit and then the armor that follows.

There’s the echoing of footsteps from down the hall. It sounds awfully familiar, but Keith ignores it in favor of studying himself in the mirror on the wall.

A moment later, Kolivan is standing at the door.

“Keith.”

He fits on the last of his armor but keeps his hood down. There’s no need for it.

“You need me?”

Kolivan inclines his head. “I am about to speak to Team Voltron. I think you should join me.”

Keith nods. “Got it.”

They make their way to the bridge. It’s not unlike the Castle’s, but it is smaller, with only standing positions at the controls. Keith crosses to the front, and Kolivan pulls up the comms channel.

They patch through to Voltron.

Compared to the Blade’s ship, the Castle is brighter, and past them, Keith catches a glimpse of orange sky. Shiro and Allura, as expected, as standing in the front. Between them is a map of the system, one that Keith has long since had memorized.

“Entire Galra fleets have been mobilized,” Kolivan says. “Zarkon seems to be out looking for Lotor.”

Keith grits his teeth at the mention of Lotor, but he keeps quiet.

“It’s only a matter of time before he gets the Empire back in order,” Shiro says. His face is grim and determined. Keith likes the look; it means he has a plan. “We need to take advantage of this moment.”

Allura’s mouth is set in a frown.

“What are you getting at, Shiro?”

A dream—memory—flashes through Keith’s mind.

“The coalition,” he says without thinking. “Naxzela.”

Shiro meets his gaze, approving. “Keith’s right. We need to assemble the coalition we’ve been building. With intelligence gathered by the Blades-” Here, Shiro inclines his head toward Kolivan in a show of thanks. “-and coalition observers, combined with the power of Pidge’s Galra tracking software, we’ve put together a detailed map of the Galra Empire.”

It spins into view, purple and blue planets dancing in the air.

Keith bites the inside of his cheek. He’s been here before, has seen this map before. It’s like there’s something he’s missing, a piece of a puzzle dangling just out of reach. Like he knows a passcode but not the last number, but he needs to unlock this—whatever it is.

Shiro’s gone through the first part of the plan already, but it doesn’t matter. Keith has a feeling he already knows it.

Dream, dream, he chants in his mind. Dream, dream, dream. Not real.

“If this works… the Voltron Coalition will have taken back a third of the Galra Empire’s territory. It would be a huge victory.”

“And inspire a new wave of rebellions.”

Shiro crosses his arms. “There’s no time to waste.”

The fight would be crucial—a critical blow against Zarkon. Keith scours his mind, trying to see if he can fit enough pieces together to find an outcome.

There’s nothing. Cold settles in his stomach. Nothing after that burning light brighter than the sun and quiet and jolting awake in his quarters, sweat on his skin and a scream on his tongue. He doesn’t know if it will work or not, but… he does know he could trust Shiro.

That has to be enough.

On the other end of the channel, Shiro turns to face the team.

“Suit up,” he orders.

Kolivan turns and begins barking orders of his own. Anju’s already set course for their coordinates. Keith spots Inek weaving through the Blades, her shorter stature and barbed tail making her easy to identify.

Keith already knows his role.         He’ll be with Kolivan and a few others to infiltrate the cannon. He’s needed there.

“Are you prepared?”

Keith blinks. Kolivan looms over him, a figure intimidating to most.

“You seem distracted,” Kolivan offers when Keith doesn’t respond. “The mission we are about to undertake is an important one. You need to focus.”

This—this conversation he doesn’t remember. Keith sucks in a long breath and tries to clear his mind.

It doesn’t matter if he’s done this before or if he’s dreamed the way the day would go or, hell, if he’s woken up in a different reality. In every situation, he needs to be on top of his game.

Focus, Keith thinks. Patience yields focus.

It’s enough. Keith nods. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve got this.”

“Worry,” Kolivan says, like he doesn’t know the word. He’s already turned away. “Keep the comms channel open.”

On Voltron’s side, the others are getting ready. Shiro is ready in less than a minute; when he catches Keith looking, the corners of his lips lift up. He lifts his hand like he wants to touch Keith’s shoulder but settles with a wave.

Keith swallows and waves back. He can’t get the sound of Shiro’s voice in his mind, can’t escape the feeling that they’re walking into a trap.

He opens his mouth to say something and then shuts it again. He can’t run on feelings alone, not right now, and—well, Shiro might not listen to him, anyway.

Behind him, Lance and Allura are talking quietly together. There’s a smile on Lance’s face that Keith hasn’t seen in a while. He glances over, and his grin grows wider before he turns back to Allura.

Pidge, Matt, and Hunk are gathered around a laptop. Probably discussing the Galra-tracking tech. As he watches, Shiro crosses over, putting a hand on Hunk’s shoulder casually as he leans in and speaks to them. Pidge adjusts her glasses and nods, and Shiro uses his other hand to ruffle her hair.

Keith is suddenly hit with a pang of loneliness.

The scene is a familiar one. He’s seen it before, has lived it before. Keith glances down at his Blade suit, and his mouth turns sour with the memory that he no longer belongs there, with them.

“It’s time to gather the coalition,” Shiro says, straightening and crossing back to the map. “We need our friends and allies from across the universe now more than ever. With their help, we finally have a chance to turn the tides of this war.”

This is it, Keith thinks.

“We’ve been waiting for this moment, and now we are more prepared than we’ve ever been.”

Allura’s eyes blaze with the light of a thousand suns. “Let’s do this.”

Keith falls in step behind Kolivan as the screen blinks out. It’s replaced with a map, and the Blades begin to speak in low voices together about strategies and their own roles in the upcoming fight.

Keith follows Kolivan and a few other Blades to their mission ship. They’re about three times larger than the pods in the Castle, better suited for missions but still small enough to escape notice if they’re careful.

“The broadcast will be starting soon,” Anju reports, already at the controls. “Setting coordinates now.”

“Power to the thrusters,” someone says.

“Ready to fly.”

“Go,” Kolivan says, and they take off without fanfare. Keith stands shoulder-to-shoulder with another Blade, the two of them gripping a bar as they stand in line. They’ll be dropped not too far from the cannon’s base before they cut through the brush to ambush it.

“Broadcast is live.”

Kolivan nods. “Play it.”

Allura appears on the screen. It strikes Keith then, how much her presence resonates. He feels like she’s in front of him, staring at them. Her eyes are sharp, her chin lifted in pride. Regal, commanding, and the face of a revolution.

“Fellow members of the Voltron Coalition,” she says, and he feels the words in his chest. “If you are hearing me now, it is because you have pledged to stand together with Voltron in the fight against Zarkon and his enslavement of the free peoples of the universe.

“But that enslavement is about to be dealt a crushing blow. The time for a full-scale attack on the Galra Empire is now. Far in the future, when they speak of this day, they will speak of our sacrifice, but they will also remember this as the day that freedom began to overtake tyranny.

“You all have your missions.”

Keith lets his mask cover his face.

“We’re approaching,” Inek says.

“You know what to do.” Allura’s gaze bores into him. “Good luck. We’ll see you on the other side.”

The other side, Keith mouths to himself, pouring over the words, but then the doors open. Wind ripples into the ship, buffeting at their suits.

One by one, they drop into the open sky. Far below them, grasses and trees wave like they’re waiting for him.

The Blade next to him leaps. Keith blinks, and then there’s only four Blades left on the ship—Anju and Inek to pilot, Kolivan, and him. He can feel Kolivan’s gaze on him even through the mask.

Then he lets go of the bar and falls.

It’s kind of exhilarating, the fall. There’s a split second where he feels weightless, the blood in his veins singing. And then Keith curls in on himself, the ground racing up towards him.

He rolls when he hits the ground, carrying his momentum into a run. Shadowy figures dart through the trees, one moment there, the next gone. This is the way of the Blade—never seen, never heard, deadly and efficient in their every move.

The cannon is perched on the edge of a cliff. From far away, Keith spots guard after guard standing in protection.

The comms crackle.

“Blades!” Captain Olia cries. “We’re in trouble! What’s the status of your cannon? Blades!”

Keith darts through the trees, lungs burning.

“Copy, Olia,” he says, voice muffled by the mask. “We’re en route. Hold on for just a little longer.”

Up ahead, the Blades are breaking through the trees. Keith leaps over a gnarled root and finds himself out in the open again, the cannon looming over their heads.

It’s massive, as big as one of the Blade’s main ships, and Keith knows from sight that it can take out a fleet in minutes.

They scale the cliff easily. Keith is one of the last to reach it; he grits his teeth and throws himself upward, the claws in his suit extending and gripping onto the cliffside easily.

A rock crumbles under his hand. Keith keeps quiet like he’s been taught and finds another hold, sweat already making itself known on the back of his neck.

There’s a hand in front of his face—Keith looks up and sees one of the Blades waiting.

“Thanks,” he says softly, gripping it. The Blade only nods as he’s pulled up, and then they split up, surrounding the base.

The sentries guarding the base are fast. Keith is faster.

He pulls his knife from its sheath and cuts clean through a sentry before it can react. Keith tosses his knife and then catches it to drive home in the other sentry’s back.

He’s first up the steps leading to the cannon. Footsteps follow his as they keep going.

Short blasts of gunfire ring in the air, and then there’s silence. Keith grins to himself.

Inside, there’s a captain surrounded by guards, his voice bellowing orders. He’s not even done when Keith rams into a guard.

He trusts the others to get the job done and guns for the controls, vaulting over a sentry’s head as a blade takes it out. There’s the sound of falling metal as he reaches the controls, gripping it tight.

Keith drops his mask, mouth curling into a victorious smile. “Now let’s see how this thing works.”

“The Zenfama Saiforge cannon is ours!” Coran announces. “Naxzela attack is underway.”

Keith wastes no time. Kolivan sets in a target, and he lines up his shot, watching numbers and figures dance across the screen. He can’t fully understand Galran yet, but he knows enough.

“Olia, come in,” Kolivan says. There’s no response. “Captain Olia.”

“We can’t take this fire for long!” Olia yells. “Blades, we need your help.”

“We got your back,” Keith reports. He reads as much as he understands, makes the necessary calculations, and then takes a deep breath in through his nose.

“Patience,” he murmurs. “Patience yields focus.”

There’s snatches of panicked conversation over the comms. Now is the time to attack.

“Fire.”

“This one’s for you, Lance,” he mutters, and then he fires.

The beam tears through the sky, bright purple as it rips past clouds and into space like a backwards-comet. Keith’s heart is racing in his chest as he watches it disappear.

“Shields down, Captain!”

“Alright, let’s get control of that cannon!”

“Get ready,” Kolivan warns.

“I am,” Keith says.

“Zaiforge Cannon Base is ours!”

“Ready to provide the Taujeerans with cover,” Keith says, gearing up for his next shot.

“Cannon acquired. Ready to provide backup.”

“Copy that. Coalition, you’re clear to begin.”

He’s not there with the fight, but Keith doesn’t need to be. It’s in him, fire through his veins and water in his lungs.

Aim. Lock. Fire.

Aim. Lock. Fire.

Ships fall under the force of the cannons, torn apart by their strength.

“We’re doing it,” someone reports.

Aim. Lock. Fire.

Aim. Lock. Fire.

“We’ve almost taken the entire area!”

“Communication is back online,” a voice warns. Coran repeats the words a moment later, but it’s Shiro who replies.

“Doesn’t matter. We’ve just about taken Naxzela.”

The planet’s name sends a chill down Keith’s spine. He has a feeling it’s not as easy as it seems to be. There’s something else at play here, and Keith knows it, but he can’t remember what.

“It appears at all of the planets we’ve engaged have been pacified, if not totally liberated.”

“Good,” Kolivan says sharply.

“Wait. There’s another Galra battle cruiser approaching Naxzela.”

He can see it.

He can see it in his mind’s eye, the shape of it, the cannons, every detail down to the shield that surrounds its hull.

Keith’s eyes widen.

The shield.

—heading for the barrier, his ship painted with reddish-purple light that washes over him—

“Sector Zar Niomfor is clear. Let me see if I can get a line on that battle cruiser.”

Keith’s already let go of the controls, turning towards the exit. There’s no time to explain.

“It’s not gonna work,” he says breathlessly, pushing past his fellow Blades. “Matt, it’s not going to—”

Matt cries out over the comms, a noise of surprise that makes Keith stumble.

“Zaiforge cannon Senfama, are you still operational?”

Keith tears out of the base as the entire cannon powers down, the lights going out. An alarm begins to sound.

“Negative.” The word falls from his mouth.

“That incoming battle cruiser must have shut them down remotely!”

And then, after this—

“Shiro,” he calls. “Shiro, do you copy?”

“No artillery support?”

“Yeah,” he says. “But—”

Matt cuts in. “What should we do about that cruiser?”

“The cruiser doesn’t matter. It’s going to be too late. We’ve almost secured Naxzela.”

Keith’s feet have guided him to a Galra ship. He leaps in and takes off without thinking, tearing through the sky. Orders be damned, the Blades be damned—he needs to get to Shiro.

“Shiro,” he gasps. “Listen to me.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Get off Naxzela!”

“We can’t. We just need to take out the last of the heavy artillery, and it’s ours… Keith, where is this coming from?”

“Please, Shiro,” Keith says. “Naxzela’s a trap. You have to get off.”

“Oh, quit being paranoid,” Pidge snaps.

“I’m not—”

He bites his tongue. They’re not listening to him. They’re not listening to him.

Keith pushes the ship harder, burning through the atmosphere as he wheels around to face Naxzela.

Something is about to happen.

He can’t stop it.

The feeling of foreboding grows stronger as the team continues. Pillars, he thinks, or generators, something like that rising up on the planet’s surface.

“I say we get outta here,” Lance says, his voice carrying over the comms. “Pidge, plot a course for our escape.”

“I agree with Lance,” Keith chimes in. “For once. You have to get off Naxzela.”

“Hey, look at that. Keith agrees. Let’s go.”

“Hold on.”

And then there’s a collective cry from the team. Purple light inches across the planet, covering it. No.

He has to take out the cruiser. If he can take it out, none of his dream will play out like he remembers.

Except, a dark part of him whispers, curling at the edge of his mind. Except you will die.

“No, I won’t,” Keith says. “Not this time.”

And he sets course for the cruiser and flies.

“Captain Olia, Matt, Rolo, do you copy?”

“We hear you. What’s up?”

“I need backup,” Keith says. “We have to take out that battle cruiser somehow. It’s messing with Naxzela.”

“Team Voltron, you there?”

“Their comms are down. Keith, what’s your plan?”

“Uh, don’t have one. You think you can get the cannon back online somehow?”

“Probably,” Matt says, and Keith feels hope blossom in his chest. “But it’ll take too long. If I had Pidge here, it’d be faster, but working by myself, I can only get so far.”

“Dammit. Coran!”

“Here, Keith.”

“You think you could give us a hand with this shield?”

“I’m afraid I can’t, Number Four. I’m on the other side of the galaxy, and I don’t have enough of Allura’s energy left to work the teleduv. And—oh, that Galra fleet heading towards Naxzela stopped.”

“Stopped?”

“Quite a distance away, too.”

“Perhaps the Galra decided it’s too well-fortified to attack.”

“No.” The word comes out harsher than he intends. “Victory or death. The Galra accept nothing else. I need your help. The only thing left to do is attack the fleet.”

A beat. Keith held his breath. “We’re with you.”

“Stay where you are, Coran. We might need you there.”

The role of leader—of Black Paladin—comes back to Keith easily. He streaks towards the cruiser, rebel ships falling in formation behind him.

“Ready,” he says in a low voice. “Follow my lead. We’ll need to fire at once—hopefully it’ll be enough to break through.”

“Copy that.”

“All other members of the coalition should get out,” Keith orders. “They’re not safe. Coran, if you can help—”

“I’m on it, Keith.”

“Keith, can you hear me?”

His heart leaps in his throat. “Shiro!”

“We need to stop Haggar.”

“Way ahead of you,” Keith says as they line up together in front of the barrier. “We could really use your help if you can get here. Hey—you guys ready?”

“Just say the word.”

Keith powers up his ship’s blasters as strong as it’ll go. “Fire!”

Ten beams slam into the cruisers’ shield at once, but Keith already knows it’s not enough. “Keep it up!”

Allura’s voice is weaving in and out of his ears, commanding but frantic.

“Keith, it’s not working,” Matt growls.

“I know. I know.” I know.

“We’re not going to make it,” Hunk yells.

Enemy fire clips his ship’s left wing, and he dips.

Keith knows what has to happen next. Knows, because there’s no other option left; knows, because he’s seen this; knows, because the surety of it is rooted in his very bones.

This time, he says, “It’s been an honor flying with you guys.”

“Keith?” The rebel ships disappear out of sight as he dives. “Keith, what the hell are you doing?”

It’s like this again.

Keith feels like he’s trapped in a dream, a bit like he’s floating in between realities.

Red light falls over his ship. Keith leans forward, forcing his ship to go faster, further, gunning for his target. The ship shudders, like it knows, too, and Keith thinks, this is how it ends.

He closes his eyes, and the light swallows him whole.

[braincoins]

Title: Ragged Diagonal Fandom: “Voltron: Legendary Defender” Summary: No one wants Allura to marry Lotor, but she may have to out of a duty to her people and her bloodline. Ships: Shallura Warnings: Barely-edited, language Author’s Notes: "The line of life is a ragged diagonal between duty and desire." -William R. Alger

For the MAS server and especially our Overlord, @smolsarcasticraspberry ! Shiro's not technically Altean here, but the Magical part sure applies! Also, thanks to @materassassino for the beta! <3 (6102 Words - Also on AO3)

           Allura studied herself in the full-length mirror and tried not to cry. Everything about this felt wrong, but she was convinced it was right. It was the only thing she could do. It was what she must do. As the last princess of Altea, this was what was necessary. Her father’s voice rang in her ears, speaking to her of the necessity of sacrifice for a greater good. She bit her lip and bade her reflection not to cry. She would do what her people required of her, always.

           She smoothed her hands over herself in her mother’s wedding gown, the color of sunlit juniberries. Elegant, a touch old-fashioned (perhaps more than a touch after ten thousand years), but classically lovely. It felt like a sacrilege to wear it for this, but she had nothing else. She could remember the pictures Mother had shown her of her wedding day to then-Prince Alfor. She’d been radiant, clearly and obviously in love with her handsome groom, who was obviously doting upon her, smiling widely.

           Allura had foolishly assumed her own wedding day would be as happy as theirs had been.

           Don’t cry.

 7 Quintants Ago

           “What?” All the warmth in the room had been blasted away as she stared in disbelief at Coran. “You aren’t serious.”

           He cleared his throat and put his hands – and the missive in them – behind his back, standing straight and proper. She’d watched him do this a thousand times; he was hiding behind his role as Royal Advisor. Well, he wouldn’t have characterized it that way, but it was how she thought of it. “I am, unfortunately, quite serious, Princess.”

           “But… Lotor?” Lance made an ‘ew’ face from the seat at his station. “He’s so…”

           “Slimy,” Hunk finished for him.

           “And he’s Zarkon’s son!” Pidge reminded them all. Allura would’ve called the reminder unnecessary but clearly Coran was getting forgetful in his old age. “We can’t trust him!”

           “And what about Sh-…?”

           “Keith,” Shiro interrupted before the Red Paladin could finish the question. Allura couldn’t bring herself to look to the leader of Team Voltron. Even unfinished, Keith’s question had cut her the deepest.

           There was an attraction building to Shiro that she was getting hard-pressed to push aside. When she felt on the verge of collapse, he shored her up. When he laughed, she felt her heart soar. When it seemed like their task was impossible, he rekindled her hope. It was getting foolish to deny how much she cared for him.

           Which made Lotor’s offer of marriage all the more ludicrous. “Why would I even consider marrying the son of our most hated enemy? You don’t really believe his nonsense, do you?”

           “I don’t believe him when he says he’s ‘overcome with love for you’, but I can think of any number of reasons,” Coran replied. “Purely from a strategic view, if he’s willing to bring you inside the Galra Empire and give you access to their systems, it’d be a huge help.”

           “Ohhhh, so she agrees to marry him just to get in there, get info, maybe do some sabotage, and get out?” Hunk said, a smile starting on his face.

           Allura was about to say that was an excellent plan when Coran shook his head. “Information, yes, but the rest of that, no. There are also non-strategic reasons to consider this a viable actual match.” He was looking dead at her as if she ought to know them.

           She opened her mouth to inform him that he’d clearly gone utterly frumtash in his dotage, but then it occurred to her. “Oh.”

           “Oh? What ‘oh’?” Lance pursued.

           Allura looked down at the floor, hoping Coran would explain it. And, of course, like a good advisor, he did. “Allura is the last Sacred Altean. In the entire universe, she’s the only one who can operate the teludav. She’s the only one who can safely and respectfully obtain crystals from a Balmera. She is the last of the Royal Line.”

           She looked up again in time to see him raise the missive from Lotor. “Included with his offer of marriage are Lotor’s blood and DNA scans. It proves that he has Sacred Altean blood – probably courtesy of Haggar.”

           “Oh, there’s a mental image I didn’t need,” Hunk muttered, sounding like he might throw up.

           Coran looked back to her. His eyes were sorrowful. “I’m sorry, Princess. The decision is yours, of course, but…”

           “I have a responsibility to my people,” she finished for him, nodding.

           “You’ve gotta be kidding me.” That was Keith, who sounded almost insulted.

           “Please, Paladins,” she said. “I need some time to think.”

           “Lotor wants a reply within 40 vargas,” Coran put in.

           “He shall have it. For now, the bridge is yours, Coran. Excuse me.” She turned and walked away, trying to keep herself at a properly regal speed until she was away from them all. Only then did she run the rest of the way to her quarters to throw herself onto her bed and sob.

             She looked up when her door chimed at her some vargas later. She hurried to hide the signs of her tears before she called out, “Come in!”

           The door admitted Shiro, carrying a tray. “Hunk wanted you to have these,” he said, nodding down at the cookies. “He promises they don’t have any scaultrite in them this time.”

           She smiled. “That was thoughtful of him, thank you. You can just set them over there, please?” She gestured towards the vanity.

           He nodded and took them over. “And… I do need to talk with you. I know you must have a lot on your mind right now, but I thought I could help.”

           “Help? I don’t see how, Shiro, but I’m willing to listen.” Please, she pleaded with him silently, find me a way out of this mess. He was a strategist, an excellent leader. Her heart began to lift at the thought that her… no, the Black Paladin of Voltron had figured out how to save her.

           He cleared his throat and kept his eyes on the tray of cookies. “I know you’ve felt it, too, Allura.”

           Oh, Ancients, I love it when you say my name. “Felt… it?” she asked aloud.

           He still wouldn’t look at her. “The… the attraction between us.”

           Her heart started thudding. A way out and a love confession at the same time? The cookies – though surely tasty if Hunk had made them – were hardly necessary when Shiro was giving her so much at once. She wished he’d turn around so she could see those dark and lovely eyes of his.

           “I have,” she admitted, hoping to encourage him.

           “I thought I could just put this conversation off. I felt it could be safely put on the back burner, set aside for more important considerations like saving the universe. But I see now how wrong I was.”

           Just say it. Turn around and say it and then hold me, Shiro. I badly need to be held. I need to be cared for. Even if you don’t have a way out of this, just tell me you love me and wrap me up in your arms and we can figure this out together after that, please.

           He lifted his head and turned to her. She finally got to see those lovely dark eyes of his, but they were hard and cold as stone.

           “I need you to understand that it’s nothing, Allura.”

           She blinked at him. “What?”

           “If any part of you is holding back from this arrangement with Lotor because of me, stop. Because there’s nothing. I’m not…” He looked away from her. “I’m not interested in you that way, Allura. And Coran’s right: you could feed us information from the inside, in addition to saving your bloodline.”

           Her blood went cold for the second time that day. She stared at him.

           He was still speaking. “This is a good idea, not just for your people but for our mission. Play the doting and dutiful wife, cater to his ego. Once he’s convinced that you’re completely obedient and enthralled with him, you can get us…”

           “Get out.”

           He turned to look at her in confusion. “What was that?”

           “Leave. My. Quarters,” she ordered him icily.

           He nodded. “As you wish, Princess.”

           When the door shut behind him, she crumpled to the floor and sobbed.

             Shiro could hear her crying, and it made him want to turn around, to charge back in there and gather her up into his arms to hug her and soothe her and confess that he’d lied. It had felt like he was stabbing himself to do it, but he knew he had to.

           Because as soon as she’d left the bridge, every pair of eyes had been on him. He could read them all. Three pairs – Lance, Hunk, and Pidge – had wanted to know what he was going to do. One pair – Keith’s – had insisted he tell her the truth. And Coran’s had, of course, simply insisted that he convince her.

           Shiro couldn’t put his own desires ahead of a nearly extinct magical bloodline. He couldn’t prioritize his feelings over the good of the entire universe, no matter how badly he wanted to. He’d asked Hunk to bake a fresh batch of cookies and used the time to practice the hardest lie he’d ever told in his life.

           I wish I could tell you the truth.

           He wanted to scream. He wanted to punch Lotor in his smug snake face for even daring to suggest such a thing. He wanted to pull Allura into his arms and apologize for lying before letting the true depths of his feelings for her emerge – in words, in hugs, in kisses, in any and every way she’d let him express how very much he cared for her.

           He hadn’t really realized until this. He knew she was gorgeous, she was brave, inspiring, amazing, steadfast, determined. Still, it hadn’t really hit him how much he loved her until he was tasked with convincing her he wasn’t.

           But he knew he had to do this. Because he had to cut her free, for her sake. For the sake of everyone, of the countless people and planets and systems relying on them.

           “Defender of the universe,” rang hollow in his heart.

              “YOU IDIOT.”

           “Keep your voice down.”

           Keith wanted to tear his hair out. “You were supposed to tell her the truth,” he hissed.

           “I was supposed to do no such thing,” Shiro replied, taking another sip of nunvill. “I was supposed to do exactly what I did do, which is to make things easier for her.”

           “She should drop-kick Lotor into the next galaxy,” Keith insisted. “She should be with you! C’mon, Shiro, even I can tell that.”

           Shiro snorted once but didn’t laugh. Keith fell into a seat next to him and waited.

           Eventually, Shiro commented, “As much as I’d love to see her kick his ass, that can’t happen. There are few enough Alteans as there is. Lotor’s at least ½ Altean, and he has the correct bloodline.”

           “So he claims,” Keith muttered.

           Shiro shook his head. “I had Pidge check the message he sent over. It has actual scannable samples included. The Castle verified it: he’s Sacred.”

           “He’s a douchebag.”

           “Keith.”

           “He is!”

           “That’s not helping.” Keith watched him slug back some more nunvill. “I’ll get over her, Keith. And, because of what I did, she’ll get over me even faster. That’s what needs to happen.”

           “You’re going to send her to the Galra and who knows what they’ll do to her?”

           “Lotor will protect her. She’s a trophy for him. Let him think that’s all she is, that he’s won. She’ll prove the Galra Empire’s undoing while he’s busy preening like the peacock he is, and she’ll preserve her race’s most valuable bloodline while she’s at it.”

           “By sleeping with him.”

           “Don’t remind me.”

           “She has to have sex with him.”

           “KEITH.”

           “She’ll…”

           “DON’T. Say it,” Shiro all but growled at him. “It’s not helping.”

           “If it’s getting you angry, it is! You know she doesn’t want him! She wants you!”

           “Keith, you can’t say that. No one can say that but her.”

           “She would be saying it if you hadn’t just lied to her face!”

           “I am swearing you to secrecy, Keith.”

           “The hell you are.”

           “I Am. You and I took an oath.” Shiro looked up at him, dead in the eye, and Keith sighed.

           “I know, I know,” he groaned. “But this…”

           “Is a secret I’ll take to the grave with me. And so will you. Because we promised each other.”

           “Fine.” Keith sulked, but Shiro had tied his hands with the reminder of the oath they’d sworn back at the Garrison: to always tell each other the truth, to always have each other’s backs, and to always keep each other’s secrets. He couldn’t let his mentor and best friend down now. But it ate at him, to watch Shiro be miserable while the woman he clearly loved was going to head off to marry a man she didn’t love for the sake of “duty.”

Keith hated that word. He hated the way it was used, almost always by those who had power and authority and thought that that alone meant you were obligated to obey them. It was used to get respect for those who had done nothing to deserve it. Duty was a shield for fools and cowards and a sword for bullies and tyrants. Duty was a paper-thin purpose for those who had none of their own.

“Duty” was about to ruin the lives of two people Keith cared for. And he couldn’t do anything about it.

  Shiro’s hand cut through another training drone, and it dissolved into pixels before disappearing. He ducked and rolled to avoid a blast and came up to slice through the gun the next drone held. He feinted with his glowing hand and kicked back at the one coming up behind him, knocking it back as he took out two more with a swiping slash.

It was like meditation for him. It let him give vent to his feelings while also letting him step away from them. He just flowed through one motion into the next, like a particularly lethal form of dancing.

It’s better this way, he told himself for easily the thousandth time. She shouldn’t be with me anyway. She’s a princess. I’m little better than a weapon.

Slice, dice, hack, slash.

Feint, punch, kick, dodge.

Glints of purple at the edges of his vision as he swung his hand.

He tried not to think of Allura’s face when she’d boarded the pod to go over to Lotor’s ship.

He tried to push the smarmy snake’s voice from his mind as he’d magnanimously invited them all to the ceremony – under guard, of course. No weapons allowed.

Then I shouldn’t go at all. Under the right circumstances, I would be your end, Lotor.

Because of his arm. Because of this thing where his right arm should be. Haggar’s voice in his mind. “You could have been our greatest weapon!”

Why?

Why him? Not in the oh-boo-hoo-why-me sort of way, but what was it about him that had the witch convinced he had such powerful potential?

He cried out as he was struck from behind and hit the floor. He’d gotten lost in his own thoughts, fallen out of the flow. “End training sequence.”

The drones stopped, then fizzled out of existence. Shiro got up and arched his back, wincing at the spot where the blow had landed. Three vargas until the wedding. He didn’t want to be there, but he hoped for a chance to get Lotor alone, to warn him what would happen if he mistreated the princess even once…

He shook his head and headed for the infirmary. Strictly speaking, he didn’t need it for the bruising he’d gotten, but his last round in the pod had awakened new memories for him. And Haggar’s words were eating at him more than usual lately. He’d use the aches and pains of sparring as an excuse and hope his subconscious would be useful for a change.

              It was a voice unlike any he’d ever heard.

           It was his mother’s voice.

           It was Allura’s.

           It was strange and familiar all at once, unidentifiable to his conscious mind yet it sang through his bloodstream like an old friend, comforting in a way he’d never known.

           The voice was, and it was in him, around him, it both was and wasn’t him, it just WAS, it existed as it always had and always would and it said his name so beautifully he wanted to laugh and weep at the same time.

           And the voice spoke of destiny.

           The future is malleable, but some things are inevitable. All stars collapse, all stars are born. The manner and the methods may vary, may change, may alter and shift, but there are points in time and space which will come to pass, no matter what.

           The voice told him he had passed one such point already.

           The voice promised him another. And another.

           Destiny was not done with him yet.

           And when the pod released him, it wasn’t just his hand glowing, but his entire arm lighting up purple. The purple worked its way up into his body, and he tried to fight it, tried to push it down, but it filled his head, made his eyes glow but not yellow like the visions and nightmares that kept him from sleeping but purple...

           No. NO. NO!

           He shut his eyes against the corruption, but it made him feel sick, like taking too many G’s.

Open your eyes.

And he did. He opened his eyes and the purple blasted out of them, ejected and rejected by his body. His eyes still glowed, but they were blue-tinged white now, and it settled over his body, pushing out the evil of the Druids’ magic. It pulsed down his arm, where the Galra energy lived and was strongest.

           It hurt, ached like an old injury flaring, but he focused.

           The white energy flared and crackled as it pushed the dark magic of the Druids out. The darkness within his arm hissed and popped in response, tried to fight back, but eventually his entire arm glowed white, bright and unsullied.

           He came to on the floor of the infirmary, Coran and the paladins around him chattering concern.

           He pushed himself to his feet, and activated his hand.

           Everyone quieted instantly.

           Shiro looked at them. “We’ve got work to do.”

             “Are you sure that drone didn’t hit your head?” Hunk asked him.

           “Explain this,” he challenged, lighting his hand again. It was the same hand it had always been until he activated it. It glowed white, and Pidge was running some analysis on it as they talked on the bridge.

           “It just can’t be,” Coran repeated.

           Keith pressed, “You’re saying some random chick told you you could do this?”

           “Was she hot?” Lance wanted to know.

           “I never saw Her. And I don’t think She’s just ‘some chick,’” he chided Keith lightly. He looked to Coran, who was still shaking his head.

           “Just impossible,” the advisor was muttering to himself.

           “Here’s the preliminary analysis,” Pidge declared, bringing it up on the main screen for them all to see.

           “Okay, and…?” Keith wanted to know.

           “Hey, hey, that looks familiar,” Hunk chimed in. “Kind of like…”

           “This?” Pidge finished for him, and brought up a similar energy signature on the screen right below the one from Shiro’s arm.

           “Yeah!”

           “What is that?” Lance asked her.

           Rather than answer right away, she pulled up two more energy signatures and split the screen into four parts to display them all. They weren’t identical, but all four were strikingly similar. “Well, obviously the first signature is Shiro’s arm. The other three are all key Castle systems: bridge control, crystal energy transference matrix, and, of course, the teludav.”

           Shiro looked up at Coran, but he didn’t seem surprised. He was still muttering to himself.

           “So… all the systems that Allura controls,” Hunk summed up.

           “But you’re human,” Coran protested. “You’re from Earth, not Altea!”

           “I’m part Galra,” Keith reminded him. “And I don’t look it, do I?”

           “Yeah, I’ve looked,” Hunk said, “no purple on him anywhere I can see.”

           Coran was still in denial. “This just shouldn’t be possible.”

           “What shouldn’t be possible?” Pidge verbally prodded him.

           “If this is right,” the advisor gestured at the signatures on the screen, “then Shiro’s… Sacred.”

They were all quiet for a moment until Keith declared, “I’m going to go get Allura back.”

           “Hold on, Keith,” Shiro said. “You can’t just go charging in there.”

           “Watch me.”

           “No. Coran’s not through explaining. Because in all of this with Allura and Lotor and the bloodline and all that, you’ve never explained what a ‘Sacred Altean’ actually is.”

           Coran sighed harshly and folded his arms. “Yes, well, you lot never seem interested in my explanations.”

           “We are this time!” Lance hooted. “Spill!”

           Coran cleared his throat. “Well, you have to understand the ‘sacred’ designation is more traditional than anything else. It hearkens back to a time when it was believed that the royal bloodline and a few others were directly blessed by the Goddess of the Universe, She who was responsible for creating all life. She’s the source of quintessence, according to legend, and Her cult on Altea used to be the most widespread and powerful. It had dwindled in the last days, no longer quite as ascendant as it used to be, but it was still going, of course. We had many different religions and belief-systems.”

           “Was Haggar part of the Goddess Cult?” Shiro asked.

           Coran walked over to his station and pulled up a screen. Altean words scrolled past until one set flashed. “She was a priestess, it looks like. Not the High Priestess though. In fact,” he pulled up some more data in Altean, “this shows that she was passed over several times for higher-ranking positions.”

           “Did she start her own cult then?” Lance wondered.

           “Maybe. Or maybe she went over to the Dark Side,” Pidge mused. She pulled up another screen at her station and sent it to the front. “This is the energy signature my computer pulled when it was hooked up to Shiro’s arm before.” She pulled up the current one and overlapped them: they looked like the backbone of a double helix. “This can’t be coincidence.”

           “So, the Galra are the Sith and the Alteans are the Jedi?” Hunk asked.

           “More like the Druids and the Sacred Alteans specifically, but basically, yeah,” Pidge confirmed. “That’s my current hypothesis anyway.”

           “Dude, does that mean Shiro just got blessed by an actual GODDESS?” Lance wondered aloud.

           “Those are just legends,” Coran repeated.

           “Whatever,” Keith shrugged. “Shiro’s arm’s energy signature matches the Castle systems. Isn’t that good enough for him to marry Allura?”

           “Keith,” Shiro practically growled.

           “What?”

           “That’s just his arm,” Coran pointed out. “No offense, Shiro, but it’s a false arm attached to you. It’s not you. Look, everyone, I don’t want her to marry Lotor anymore than you do, but it’s necessary.”

           “Necessary for what?” Pidge countered. “Coran, a lot of evolution can happen in 10,000 years! Humans are proof of that, after all. If Alteans had been allowed to survive all this time, who knows what they’d look like or be like?”

           “I’m not talking about the hideous ears you all have,” Coran reminded her. “I’m talking about the Sacred part of the bloodline here.”

           “Test his blood,” Keith declared. “Test his blood the same way we tested Lotor’s.”

           “That’ll take time,” Pidge said. “And the wedding’s in a little over a varga.”

           They all looked to him.

           Shiro thought of the voice. Of what it had said of destiny. Of what he felt now – about his arm, which glowed white in response, and also about Allura.

           He looked around at his team. “Take what you need to start the scan, then get dressed for the wedding. Stall for time as much as you can, but do not say anything to the princess. We don’t want her thinking there’s a way out if it turns out there isn’t.”

           “On it.”

           Shiro looked up at Coran. “And if it turns out I’m… ?”

           Coran smiled. “She’s like a daughter to me. It’s only my position as Royal Advisor that’s ever had me advocating for her to be with a slimy luirass like Lotor. I’d much rather she be happy – and away from him.”

           Shiro smiled back. “Thank you, Coran.”

 Present

           She probably should have scolded Keith, but she honestly couldn’t blame him for his behavior. She couldn’t blame any of them. In a way, she was glad that Keith had triple-checked security (and nearly picked a fight with the guards); that Hunk had sent half the food back to be redone (and accidentally eaten most of the other half); that Pidge and Lance had given her soon-to-be husband an earful or three about the proper ways to treat a princess. She knew they’d all done it to put off the inevitable, and she had lived vicariously through their stalling tactics.

           The rational part of her said the sooner this was gotten over with, the better. But the part of her that wanted to kick and scream and fuss was happy to have the distractions and delays. So she hadn’t scolded any of them.

           She was a little surprised Shiro wasn’t there though. She figured something was holding him up, and that’s why the team were pulling their shenanigans. When she tried to ask Coran about it – and about what had held him up as well – she’d gotten some evasive answers that made her think that maybe, just maybe, Shiro cared more than he’d led her to believe. That it hurt him to watch her be married off to…

           Wishful thinking. And what point to thinking this now?

           She wouldn’t cry. She would hold her head high and show Lotor – and all of the Galra – what a princess of Altea was truly like. No sniveling child but a proud leader, willing to sacrifice for her people. She turned from the full-length mirror and headed for the door of her dressing room.

           She was going to be married.

           Whether she liked it or not.

             The Paladins lined the aisle as if they could protect her from the Galra soldiers filling the pews. She ignored the audience and focused on the giant “window” – likely a viewscreen – projecting an image of an aetherite window straight out of every Altean worship temple she’d ever been in. It was a rainbow of colors, as if the sun were rising just beyond it, as if they weren’t on a Galra ship out in the interminable darkness of space. She appreciated that far more than she did the fake juniberries in the bouquet she was carrying (another “gift” from her groom).

           “You look radiant,” Lotor said as he joined her, just as she walked past Keith and Lance.

           She took his arm as tradition required. “Thank you.”

           “I am surprised though. Only four Paladins?”

           She arched an eyebrow. Coran’s evasions were all pointless; she hadn’t bought one of them when he’d peddled them to her, so she doubted Lotor would be more gullible. She came up with her own. “Disappointed in not having all five paladins of Voltron aboard your ship and away from their lions?” she asked him mildly. She probably shouldn’t be accusing her future husband of such things.

           He sighed. “You’ll learn to trust me in time, Allura. I am defying my father out of my love for you.”

           She eyed the not-insignificant harem that filled the first few rows of seats. “Love does make people do strange things, I suppose.”

           “I will prove it to you every chance I get,” he promised, but it rang in her ears like a threat.

           I am not looking forward to tonight.

           Their officiant was to be a sentry drone, it appeared. She supposed that was fitting, and wondered idly if this meant she wouldn’t be required to show any more emotion than the robot.

           As they took their places in front of everyone, the doors to the “temple” slammed shut. She whipped her head towards the sound and then narrowed her eyes at Lotor, but he just smiled at her. “My dear, it’s just so everyone knows the ceremony is beginning and that late arrivals or early departures would be disruptive.”

           She didn’t like it, and everything in her screamed. She exhaled and looked to the officiant. “Very well.”

           The officiant began to drone, “Soldiers of the Galra Empire, Paladins of Voltron, we are here today to celebrate the joining of Prince Lotor of the Galra and Princess Allura of Altea in sacred matrimony. Here, in the sight of all you good people…”

           Allura looked over the crowd. Lotor’s harem, the soldiers, the Paladins still standing at attention along the aisle, unwilling to take their seats, and the remaining pews filled with sentries. If we wanted to attack, this would be an ideal time. He’s got most of his command staff here… But who was there to charge in? Shiro and the Black Lion?

           It was a nice daydream, that he’d come swooping in to save her from a life of misery and duty, but he’d made his feelings clear enough. Still, he wasn’t here, and she hadn’t been given a satisfactory answer as to why.

           But it didn’t matter. For whatever reason, Shiro wasn’t coming for her. She had made her choice, as a princess had to. It wasn’t about what she wanted. It was about what was best for her people and the universe.

           But then an alarm started. “What’s going on?” Lotor demanded of the officiant.

           It stopped reciting its programmed vows but before it could report, the door to the room had a new opening blasted into it. Allura brought up her arm to protect her head, but when she looked back, it was the Black Paladin himself striding into the room. He wasn’t in dress uniform the way the other Paladins were, but in his battle gear, and his hand was just starting to dim from its… white?!

           “What the...?” Lotor snarled.

           “Shiro?” she asked, feeling adrenaline and hope start to surge.

           “You don’t have to marry him, Princess.”

           “She’s chosen to,” Lotor declared smugly. “For the good of her people. As a proper leader should do.”

           “Then it’s not really a choice, is it?” Shiro shot back. “But she has one now.”

           “What? YOU?” Lotor laughed heartily.

           “The blood results?” Pidge piped up.

           Allura was very confused. “Blood results? What are you talking about?”

           “Uploaded to the Castle systems,” he confirmed. “As Princess of Altea and commander of the Castleship, she should have access to all of its information.”

           She arched an eyebrow, but lifted her hand. She was still wearing her command bracelets, wedding or no. The gold flashed and brought up a screen for her, and she gasped at what she saw.

           “Impossible,” Lotor snarled, seeing the backside of the screen.

           “Shiro,” she breathed. “You’re…”

           “Blessed by the Goddess,” Keith finished for her. “You don’t have to marry this slimy piece of shit, Allura.”

           But she looked to Shiro.

           “I lied,” he said, eyes locked on hers. And they weren’t hard or cold any longer. They were the same deep, dark eyes she’d dreamed of losing herself in, even with the visor of his helmet in the way. “I wanted to make it easy on you. I thought it would hurt you more to do this if I told you the truth, and I thought you had to do it.”

           “The Druids chose him to experiment on because he had the potential for this,” Pidge put in.

           “And that potential’s been realized now,” Keith said.

           Before she could say anything, Lotor bellowed, “ATTACK!” and the temple descended into chaos. The Paladins had somehow smuggled in their helmets and bayards, so even mostly unarmored, they were proving to be hard foes for the sentries and soldiers surrounding them.

           Lotor lunged for her, but she ducked and swept his legs out from under him. “Think again, luirass.”

           He was back on his feet in no time. “You’re going to belong to me one way or another, Princess. You and the power you possess will be mine.”

           “Well, at least you’re being honest now,” she replied as he attacked her again. He was fast, but she could easily keep up. “You know, that’s the foundation of all good relationships.”

           “You lost your chance at a ‘good relationship’. I would’ve made things so sweet for you before all of this; it would’ve been like a fairy tale.”

           “I never did like fairy tales much.” She summoned up all her strength to knock him back, and was gratified to see him hit the far wall. “This princess rescues herself, thanks.”

           And then Shiro was at her side. “We don’t have time to argue!” He pulled his helmet off.

           “What?”

           He jammed it onto her head. “Hold on!” He grabbed hold of her arms and spun them, putting his armored back to the aetherite window just before it exploded.

           The viewscreen – as suspected – flew into shards and Allura realized suddenly what Shiro’s plan was. “NO!” But it was too late.

The vacuum of space sucked them out of the ship; icy darkness surrounded them as glittering shards of viewscreen and the petals of fake juniberries from her dropped bouquet danced around their bodies. Shiro went limp in her arms from the sudden shock to his system and she pulled him close to her.

“SHIRO!”

Before she could say anything else, they were swallowed up by… The Black Lion! Thank the Goddess.

           She carried Shiro to the cockpit, tucking him against one of the consoles before hopping into the seat. “Please, I know I’m not Shiro, but we have to get him out of here.”

           There was a brief pause and then the seat brought her forward to the controls. She wrapped her hands over them.

           “Thank you. Let’s go home.”

             She paced outside the pod Shiro was in. Coran had used more of her stored residual energy to wormhole them away once all they were all back in the Castle. It had taken quite a bit of reassurance (and some hectoring from Coran) to get the Paladins to let her be alone in the infirmary. She stopped pacing to look up at him as the pod set him right.

           We must’ve looked quite the sight: me walking out of the Black Lion, carrying you in my arms, your helmet no doubt a very strange accessory to my mother’s wedding dress. She looked down at it; it was a bit tattered at the hems now, and she offered up an apology to her late mother for the state of it.

The pod opened, and she whirled towards it to steady Shiro as he emerged. She yelped a little in surprise when he pulled her in for a hug, then laughed in relief and hugged him back. “You brash fool,” she teased, not meaning it in the slightest.

           “I’m so glad you’re back,” he breathed.

           “I’m glad you’re okay,” she replied. “And don’t you ever pull such a stunt again.”

           “I won’t, so long as you don’t try to marry evil dirtbags anymore.”

           “Never again,” she promised. “Though I’ll point out that I didn’t think I had much of a choice.”

           “You did. You do.”

           “Do I?” she asked, pulling away a little so she could look at his face. “Tell me the truth now, Shiro, and I’ll forgive you for lying before.”

           His gaze was warm, and she felt like she might melt from his smile. “I love you, Allura.”

           “There, see? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” She beamed and hugged him again. “And that’s more important to me than all the Goddess blessings in the universe. Though that part was an unexpected stroke of good luck. Because you know Coran’s not wrong about my duty to my bloodline.”

           “Well, I’m not a sacred Altean,” he pointed out. “Just a sacred human, I guess.”

           “You’re Shiro. That’s all I need.” She leaned back. “Because I love you, too.”

           He leaned back in towards her and she met him halfway. He threaded his fingers into her hair as they kissed, and there was an energy between them that was beyond science’s electrical or chemical impulses. It was magic.

[mechagalaxy]

John T Mainer 28840: Chronicles of the Black Company - Book of the Lady

Chronicles of the Black Company

Book of the Lady

This is the Chronicle of the Black Company, last of the Free Companies of Khatovar. In those days the Company was in service with the Bouncing Blue Brigade. The year was 3354, and the rise of Evil Santa and his hordes had caused the warrior clans to gather together and form great Factions to oppose him. The Berserkers found his lair and prepared to hunt him down and end the threat to humanity. Abominable tracked them, and took one of their scouting lances, and the data they captured for themselves. Winter had spies in Abominable, soon three great Factions were headed to Evil Santa’s craftworld, and to get their captured pilots back, the Berserkers had to cut a deal with the Unicorns to rescue their pilots. The cost? The location of the craftworld and Evil Santa’s storehouse for galactic conquest.

What should have been a nearly bloodless campaign to crush a madman before he could build his army would turn into Faction War, where the great and small clans alike bound themselves into huge Factions, where ancient ships of war, long sidelined in small clan conflicts, again crowd the sky as dropships spawn many hundreds of mecha to fall like so many blood soaked angels from the pristine heavens to the icy hellscape, where acidic snow and radioactive springs howl their cheery songs of twisted death in harmonies the sane cannot grasp, and the mad know too well.

The Brigade had landed first near the division 2 markers, the secondary cache sites and feeder complexes. Before the work could even begin on digging it out, Pandemic Legion fell on us like so many plague spores and ate away at our formations like some dread flesh eating disease. We withdrew in poor order, the Black Company used every trick in its thousand year history to delay and get our technicians free to rearm and rebuild.

We lacked the supplies to fight, so we did what armies have done since the first rock got strapped to a stick, we robbed those who had what we needed because we could. Sacrificial Lambs had landed in good order, and were setting about building their camp, but their inexperience made them slow. Too slow. They had begun to send out patrols when Ferbie Doodle and The Yow worked themselves inside the patrol line and closed behind them. Mark Spiznet and Igor Takeda pounced on the patrols, and with Ferbie and The Yow jamming their communications, the Lambs never got word they were in trouble until it was too late. Bolverk Borson with axe in hand lead the charge, Tony Hays, Driss1066, and my own Black Company, the Ten Who Were Taken. We got our supplies, and time to rebuild.

Scouts failed to report just after nightfall, we did not openly respond, Jerry Moon followed the patrol route to see what jumped them, and Brian Wilson took the Double Rainbow Gate to Candyland gulch (never let Evil Santa name your terrain features, or you will be ashamed to die there). Jerry found what ate our patrols, when Jim Buck did the same for him, but the battle for information was won. AFF, it was the skull sucking Faction War Brethren.

Brian Wilson punched Raucox at the double rainbow and got us solid intel on the deployment of the AFF. My own Black Company took the Single Rainbow gate with the ease that comes from surprise and utter ruthlessness, but surprise did not last long and the march columns dissolved into fighting formations as the AFF performed a fighting withdrawal rather than play out full front shock assault without surprise on their side.

We made red war upon the white snow, and the green/gold radiation that wreathed every laser shot made the night sky dance like a Yuletide light display, the crackling of burning ceramite as plasma weapons ignited armour and transuranic sabot cored delicate engine systems leaving sprays of molten metal that froze like so many poisoned snowflakes to twinkle in the night sky. Missiles tore through the fog in twisted red and white noble gas flares like so many candy-canes falling from the sky to decorate mecha in festive flame and death.

We crushed the 1200 ton, the rainbows, but their 40 tonners and 70 tonners held those passes to allow the battered AFF to withdraw before any of our killing pockets could close decisively. Victory remained at the edge of our fingertips, like safety to a climber clawing at the last icy projection on a cliff face.

Like that climber, I watched our grip on victory claw ever and always just short, the slow erosion of the lead, the crumbling of the ledge promising a swift and terrible fall, and predictable fate. I would not go gently into that good night.

I fell upon Brian D Wise, but it was not an ambush as I thought, he turned it back on me with fury as hif forces fired in a full volley as we closed, Lifetaker’s Boreas and Nightcrawler’s Humbaba were dead before getting off a shot. Croaker’s Fext and my Regis (The Lady) slaughtered the next two ranks, but his third returned the favour and his fifth could not be broken, two Fext warding a Notas that burned my machines like so many moths in a flame, with a Humbaba scuttling behind sowing confusion and scatterable mines.

Skywise took advantage to storm out and attack us while we were wounded, and got his kill, but I got his measure. Joe Smith fell upon my Black Company thinking us beaten, but my company, built from my old Ten Who Were Taken, and the rebels that brought us down had been broken so many times in the past by foes whose skulls now sit atop our standards that it only makes us fight stronger, and smarter.

It took three ranks to stop my first, and he never recovered. Tom Tom’s Pike fired like a metronome, and Scorn forked ice from his Boreas to lash them with hatred that froze souls and machines alike. Soulcather laughed in a dozen voices as her Reaper lived up to its name, avenging my own destruction a dozen times over even though it would kill her to admit she cares.

I got our machines turned around for what was coming next, one good push could break our lines and open us to the slaughter. There is much fighting and little dying at the line of engagement, the slaughter happens in the retreat and pursuit. You have to break us first, and we don’t break.

Skywise hit again, leaving his 70 ton glacier fortress to strike with his unlimited. This time we were ready. Croaker’s Fext impales Cutter II’s Notas with a blood dripping Flavian Spear that spilled plasma from shattered conduits through the hull like lighting a paper lantern. I laughed while it burned, Tobo called down fire with his Notas on the coal black Antithesis, purple Critical Kill shields flared around it to block the rightful critical kill, but Tobo howled his rage and redoubled his Okha’s fire, blasting not only the Antithesis but the Torrent beside as well, heating the Antithesis until he burned like a wicker-man, pilot ejecting wreathed in flames as the Torrent crashed to the ground shut down but not killed. Lifetaker killed it, the Apatotron that charged forth to stand over the helpless Torrent fell to a Blue Dragon from my own chest batteries as the Lady fed on the unwary.

Victory had been taken from us, but white they sought to hold it in their hands, still we cut at their fingers, bone, sinew and blood falling to paint the snow as they held on through the night until the cold brutality of dawn left us no choice but to accept, it was theirs.

We withdrew in good order to the cache we had stolen from Sacrificial Lambs, and let the silver cache go to Faction War Brethren. Had we an answer to their 70 ton specialists we might have won, of course if we hadn’t owned the rainbow gates we might have been slaughtered to a man.

We squatted on our cache and set our technicians to work. Prizes inside might be all that stood between us and defeat. Evil Santa was going to use these supplies to permit his army to sweep over all the empires in a made yuletide whirl of laughing madness. Now that madness was descending on us.

At least I knew the FW Brethren could hold their flank strongly, and we all understood we stood or fell together at the last. We would not let their flank be turned, nor let the Sacrificial Lambs or Pandemic be overwhelmed either. If Evil Santa wanted to crush the Factions, he would have to earn it, the same way we did. Force on force, head to head, and may the ravens pick the bones of the lesser.

I don’t know how ravens survive in this hellscape, but they gather, two sit on each mecha at the shoulders, waiting for the feed that comes. The red feast of war. Merry Mechmass, and to all, for this is the last fight.

John T Mainer 28840

[relicworlds-blog]

Lancaster James and the Hunt for the Uther Maris - Part 1

Lancaster felt every knuckle land against his cheek like a rough-hewn brick wall.  His face was going numb, and his eyes were beginning to glaze over.  He could barely see now, and it was for the best.  Lancaster wasn’t about to give these thugs the information they wanted, and the sooner he could sink into the comforting embrace of unconsciousness, the better.

Though Lancaster hadn’t gotten a good look at them, he could tell that the men giving him the beating were large enough that they could do a lot more damage. And they were taking breaks between poundings.  This wasn’t just so they could ask questions.  They were trying to keep him from going under.  And there was a small pool of water nearby clearly intended to be used if he did.

The tiny ripples on the surface of the water, mixed with a distant, low hum, confirmed a suspicion of Lancaster’s; they were on a ship of some kind.  What type and how big it was, he didnot know. But it was larger than a flying home… perhaps a cargo vessel, judging by the metallic interior and lack of décor. Lancaster’s body was chained to a metal chair; something not made for comfort but for work purposes.

All Lancaster knew for certain was that the ship they were inside of belonged to a crime syndicate that wanted the two pieces of an artifact he had been seeking; something called the Uther Maris.  The two names each stood for one half of the relic.  When put together, the joined pieces would create a powerful gravitational weapon; one that could disintegrate matter in a given area, causing everything around it to get sucked into the vacuum and crushed.  Such a particle disruptor could tear objects and people apart for a very long distance.

The gangsters had one of the two pieces for this weapon, the Maris.  They had gotten it off of Lancaster when they captured him.  Now they needed the second half, and they knew that Lancaster could find it.  They were going to beat that location out of him.

“Come on, chum.  This can’t be worth it to you,” one of the thugs said after landing one of his harder punches.  “You’re not getting this piece back, so you might just as jondo give up the other one and we’ll let you go.”

Lancaster could see the second thug chuckle at the last sentence; confirmation that they were never going to let him go.  Once he provided the location of the Uther, they would throw him out an airlock, waiting only until they had confirmed the location if they were smart; and these two didn’t come across as particularly brilliant.

“He’s not heading on telling us,” the second thug said, resigned.  “We might as well kill him.”

They weren’t covering their faces.  They definitely planned to end his life sooner or later.  Lancaster’s best hope was to make it later, and hope for an opportunity to escape sooner.  He made the attempt with a snarky remark.  “If you loosen these chains a little, I can lean over and you can kiss my…”

Another fist slammed across his face, then another, and another.  It wasn’t pleasant, but Lancaster hoped it gave them enough satisfaction that they would put off throwing him into deep space.  He also hoped that each swing would knock him out. They didn’t.  But the panting coming from the man beating him implied it was wearing him out.

Lancaster spat out some saliva, and noticed some blood mixed in with the bile. It was getting bad; but he thought of how many people the syndicate would kill if they put the two pieces of the Uther Maris together.

The second thug saw that the first was needing a break, so he told him to stand aside, and he came at Lancaster with another relic they had had stored on a shelf; one that fit well in his hand and had sharp corners.  He brought it down on Lancaster’s head, ‘causing a loud whack and spinning Lancaster’s head.  A ringing overtook Lancaster’s ears, and he began to see flashes of light dance before his eyes.  He was unable to focus before another heavy blow came down on his head, knocking it the other direction; then a third blow knocked it back again.

Lancaster felt like a rag doll at this point, and he was barely able to pull up his head.  Sticky fluid was now drooping from one side of his mouth, and he could feel his skin swelling by one of his eyes.  He was able to open it enough to see the item the gangster was holding.  Like the Uther Maris, this was ancient Sigueran; an artifact in its own right.

Breathing heavily, the second thug said between labored breaths, “So, Mr. archaeologist; you will tell us where the second piece is that we’re looking for. You will tell us now.”

One side of Lancaster’s mouth raised in a slight smirk.  They didn’t even know the name of what they were search for.  Then he nodded at the artifact his assailant was holding and said, “Careful with that.  It’s valuable.”

His face turning red, the thug beat him again with the relic, then again the other direction.  Lancaster had hoped he would.  Sweet unconscious was drawing nearer with each blow, and he hoped it would be strong enough that he wouldn’t wake up easily, even with inducements.

But a calm, familiar voice interrupted his plan; one Lancaster had not heard in almost a year, and it made his heart sink, as well as his skin crawl.  It was Nikos Kazakis, Lancaster’s old rival, and he said, “He’s an anthropologist, Caros, not an archaeologist.  A big ticket distinction.”  Nikos’ voice was accompanied by steps landing on a metallic staircase as he descended into the room.  A light from above captured his faded second class suit worn with a first class gait. His body stood perfectly erect like a statue with one hand held behind his back, as though holding up his spine. Something about his clothing revealed the mileage Nikos had been through while on the run and in hiding from some of the more powerful corporations.  But he wouldn’t let it hurt his pride, nor his posture.  “An archaeologist would comprend the value of something.  An anthropologist only credits life; as though it holds any value at all.”  He stopped on the last line, his head dropping below the line of the ceiling. His typically clean cut face was covered in mossy, uneven hair.  He had shaved recently, but not in the last couple days.  Darkness under his eyes said he had slept about as much as he had shaved.

“Hi Nikos,” Lancaster said, trying to sound informal.

The second thug raised the artifact, ready to strike Lancaster again, but Nikos interrupted him while he continued down the steps.  “Put that thing away, you’re going to break it.  Mr. James over here registers that it belongs in a museum, like so many of the rest of the trinkets we dig up.  He doesn’t understand their true value.”

The first thug placed a chair before Lancaster and Nikos stepped up and sat in it, placing the hand that had been behind him into his pocket.  Lancaster noticed he had obtained a bit of a limp. From which enemy Nikos had received it, Lancaster didnot know, but he figured it was probably a good story.

Nikos looked deep into Lancaster’s eyes.  He probably surmised what Lancaster was thinking, especially from the sly smirk on his face.  But he ignored it and continued his thought.  “If he did, he’d know that where these items truly belong are not sitting uselessly under some glass case.  Nor do they belong in the hands of some gangsters to hurt people.  No, they belong in the hands of wealthy corporate interests who magically turn them into money.  People like us find these toys buried in some ancient ruin.Then we show them to some CEO or acquisitions executive and, poof.  The item disappears from our hands, and tens of thousands of electros appear in our bank accounts.”

“You’re selling your soul for tens of thousands now?” Lancaster asked.  “It used to cost hundreds of thousands.”

Nikos smirked.  “You got me there, Lancaster James.”  His good nature sucked away whatever small slam Lancaster was trying to make.  Then Nikos continued, “There is a growing arms race between the corporate empires.  They have aprended the value of our play things, and they are all gathering them up for hostile takeovers of one another.  Pleasant with it or not, we will all have to choose sides sooner or later. Anyone who doesn’t will be figured an enemy to everyone.  You can either profit from it, or die as an innocent bystander who happened to be in the way.”

“You want me on your side again, don’t you?” Lancaster sighed, stalling again for time, and slightly annoyed.

“I really just want you to give me the information I need,” Nikos said.  “But if that means cutting you in on the deal… I’m a businessman.  I comprend when it’s in my best interest to lose a little to gain a lot.”

Lancaster rolled his eyes.  “No matter how many people you hurt.  No matter what damage…”

Nikos yanked his hand from his pocket and slapped it against the side of Lancaster’s cheek.  The hand was covered in a metal glove that was itself wrapped in electronic parts with small ridges and tiny needles.  Lancaster felt them all dig into his skin, and before he knew it, electrical surges were coursing through his head and neck.  It came so sudden it made him shout, and he continued to scream in terror and pain as the currents shot through him back and forth in waves. Despite his best efforts to hide his feelings, Lancaster could not help but reveal his pain, and he soon could feel froth building up around the side of his mouth.

Nikos spoke loudly so Lancaster could hear.  “I found this little beauty at a Zeborno ruin!  Wonderful isn’t it?  No need to answer, just enjoy it!  I magged to keep it for myself because I just couldn’t part with this one.”  Nikos pulled the glove away from the side of Lancaster’s panting face.  A long line of drool connected to the floor.

“So what do you say, my old friend?” Nikos asked.  “You ready to make a deal?”

Lancaster took in a few deep breaths to recover.  Laboriously, he lifted his eyes to Nikos.  Then he said, “I can suggest a few more things you can do with that glove of yours.”

Nikos reacted without thinking.  Furious and tired of waiting for the information, he smacked Lancaster as hard as he could against the side of his face with the metal glove hand.  It was too much for Lancaster’s senses, and at last he felt the numb, sweet relief of unconsciousness.

 *          *          *

 The flames of re-entry parted like an orange-red curtain, revealing the golden emerald woods below.  A shimmering, reflective string wound its way through, cutting a swath for the river that glowed blinding white when catching the local sun’s light.  Lancaster’s eyes were wide as they took in every inch of the land below.

“Sensors,” Little Jack reminded him from the pilot’s seat.  Lancaster was supposed to be watching his monitors in the co-pilot’s seat which were providing local GPS readings and various scans of the ground. The latter were not providing much information, as Lancaster had expected.  The Siguerans were known for having left little of their presence on any planet.  They were usually discovered when exploring the ruins of whatever nearby civilization they had conquered.  But here, their lost city had been on its own, and Lancaster did not expect to find much in the way of ancient structures; especially from a couple miles above the ground.

They knew the Sigueran ruins were here, however, as it was marked in the Siguerans’ own Constellation Crest, which Lancaster and his team had been using to locate ancient sites across the known galaxy.  Therefore, the local GPS directions would be their greatest guide. This was the site of one of the two pieces of the Uther Maris.  The other was listed as being on a planet that was currently being scouted by corporate surveyors.  It was better for Little Jack to go retrieve that piece since he was better at sneaking in and out of locations without being detected, and Lancaster was better with wild environments such as this one.

Thinking about this fact, Little Jack asked, “Why did these aliens put the two pieces in separate places so far away, anyway?”

“The Siguerans were only developing the technology in the Uther Maris,” Lancaster explained.  “They were still working on the Uther part of it on the world you’re going to.  The Maris was done and is somewhere down there.” He pointed at the trees below.

“Why didn’t they finish it?” Little Jack asked.

“They built something much more powerful.  The TaiperAnslees.  But we have no idea where that is.”

There was a short pause before Little Jack changed the subject.  “You know there are a lot of creatures that want to have you for a meal down below.”

“Nah. I taste too bitter,” Lancaster retorted as he pressed his hat on his head and headed out of the cockpit.  He was now running through his head everything he needed to know.  The Siguerans didn’t leave a lot to find; but they often had some hidden cache preserved and protected by chambers that lasted the eons and genetically engineered animals and plant life to protect it until they emerged from wherever they disappeared for millions of years.  Despite his happy-go-lucky tone to his partner, Lancaster knew he needed to be extra careful.

Little Jack flew Odin’s Revenge to just over the tree tops, the bottom tips of the wings nearly skimming their peaks.  He had gotten good at detecting clearings in the nearly five years of dropping Lancaster off on planets like this.  Today he had the added benefit that he didn’t need to land, so he found a clearing that he could lower into that was close to the site, even though it wasn’t big enough for his entire ship.  He stopped, hovered, and lowered just a little, snuggling in among the branches of trees that were all leaning away from the thrust keeping them aloft. “Drop point,” Little Jack said into the intercom.

Lancaster heard him, and he opened the bottom doors, revealing the chaotic swirling of the woods below him.  Attached to a wire line, Lancaster dropped out and hurtled to the grass.  A few meters up he slowed, and he landed gently on the ground.  He tapped his Talki, the signal to Little Jack, and the wire retracted into the ship. Lancaster cleared out of the way, and the hover thrusters were joined by the liftoff boosters, and Odin’s Revenge disappeared into the sky.

The roaring of the ship was replaced by the cacophony of the jungle.  Though slightly quieter, it was no less tempestuous. The local animals were disturbed by the intrusion, and they made their objections known.  Some seemed to be calling to each other, perhaps going about their daily chatter.  Lancaster tried to be as inconspicuous as possible.  He usually had a great deal of information on animals on a planet he was exploring; but not this time.  This was a world that didn’t even have a name, it was so far off the beaten path of human planets.

The woods virtually boasted at being untouched.  Lancaster had to perpetually run his Flora Scanner ahead of him to detect animals hidden in the tall undergrowth.  The massive trees grew unchecked, their roots spreading out like spider legs just before entering the ground and rippling in and out of the mud like ocean waves; sometimes bridging gaps where the land dipped into ravines. Atop the trees, birds sang an exacting tune repeatedly, all of them conforming to the same notes in an endless cycle.  It may have been enough to drive Lancaster mad if it weren’t for the other animal noises that chattered all around him.

It wasn’t long before Lancaster spotted short, spiked mounds peeking out of the earth. Their color and texture conformed to the jungle; they even had yellowish leaves growing out of dirt upon them.  But Lancaster knew how to spot an unnaturally manufactured structure built by an intelligent species.  He approached them and confirmed his suspicion.  Scraping off some of the layers of mud, he found carved stone wound in the corkscrew design the Siguerans often used.  Looking around, he saw other sudden contour changes to the ground typically associated with construction.  These formed well with the jungle, just the sort of integration the Siguerans would have wanted.

But Lancaster was still certain they would have left a cache of something behind, especially after marking it on their master map, the Constellation Crest. There would be a building, or at least a few rooms, somewhere out here.  He just needed to find it.

This was why Lancaster James carried with him a trove of technological tools. Between his jacket covered with pockets inside and out, and his utility belt, he carried a seemingly endless supply of whatever he needed in almost any situation.  The trick was remembering which pocket whatever he needed was in. He took his time and located his Infundibulator, which he used to scan the ground and surrounding hills for underground cavities.  The device’s accuracy varied depending on the ground type, but it was never extremely reliable.  However, it did often point him in the correct direction.

In this case, he found evidence for gaps in the ground not far from a dip in the earth. Several trees grew on the edge, and the ravine was covered in their tangled roots.  This somehow made sense to Lancaster, who began to climb down the roots like they were stairs.

Arriving at the bottom, Lancaster turned in the direction he believed the underground structures to be.  The web-like roots interfered with his search, but from what he could tell, the gully’s wall was nothing more than mud.  There was no door, as far as Lancaster could tell; even one left over from centuries of misuse.

But then Lancaster got a hunch.  He stopped trying to look past the roots and he began staring into them.  They emerged from the ground, reaching up near the muddy ravine’s edge, the two sides connecting at the arched top.  Much of the rest of the door was out of place unless one looked directly on, in which case several branches of the roots that grew out a few meters from the other parts fit into the shape of the doorway perfectly, completing it.  It was an optical illusion Lancaster had nearly missed.

This at last posed another question; how to open it?  The wood was too strong and immovable; and even if it was forced or cut, that would likely lock him out from ever getting inside where he wanted to go. Worse yet, this would be the exact type of place the Siguerans would set a trap; something that utilized nature to capture and murder trespassers.

He had to figure out how to get through this door, and he had to do it right on the first try.

To be continued...