#made using the Oh My Stars pattern (but modified) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mania-sama · 8 months

Text

with every line, a comedy

Thus Always To Tyrants - The Oh Hellos

➼ 06 - rattle and shake in the wind that remakes all that time has worn away ❧ Information (Summary, Tags, Chapters) ❧ Previous Chapter ❧ Word Count: 6,018 ❧ Cross-posted from Archive of Our Own

When he climbed into bed, Alhaitham pulled on his hearing aids. His head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton, and he was willing to risk Kusanali and his friends’ voices in the chance that he may hear Kaveh’s splinted foot stumble across the hardwood floor. He may be able to catch his sleep-walking figure before it was too late.

He laid his head against his pillow, expecting to have trouble falling asleep with the feedback now filling his ears. Thoughts and voices were meant to keep him awake as he pondered the interaction with Kaveh and everything before, cataloging and organizing every bit of information he had to reach his final conclusion.

It was all there, all within his grasp.

Alhaitham supposed he was more tired from the agonizing day he had than he had originally assumed. His breathing evened out before any proper thoughts could cross his mind.

He opened his eyes to a steel-blue door, dressed in his usual attire, with his hand reaching for the silver door handle. It was cool under his exposed fingers, contrasting the stagnant, warm air of the evening. A nervous thump in his chest called for him to pause before he went through with opening the door.

Turning around, he eyed Kaveh up and down for a gracious moment. The architect was wearing an outfit slightly fancier than his usual attire — a white overcoat decorated with microscopic silver laces that intertwined into a floral pattern, the collar popped up at his neck, with a loose iron gray shirt underneath it. The collar of that shirt hugged the base of the top of his collarbone, accentuating the ornamental silver necklaces that wrapped tightly around and hung from his throat. His pants, although partly covered by his upper body attire, were black and steam-pressed, ending with polished, pointed black shoes.

He dressed wonderfully, and the way the white overcoat was slightly cinched at the waist made Alhaitham’s brain go a little fuzzy. However, Alhaitham found his attraction to lie in the man’s blond hair. It hadn’t changed at all from his usual style with it being partly tied back from his face, with one part pulled three-strand braid, and the rest being pinned together with red clips. A blue feather stuck out of his hair, which only Kaveh could make look charming.

With the sun kissing the ground behind him, it looked like his hair was a ray of light sent from the star itself, brightening Alhaitham’s world right before his very eyes.

The best part, he knew, was that Kaveh’s hair was soft to the touch. The comb he had used had taken out his knots, leaving behind a clean waterfall for Alhaitham to run his hands through. Even then, as he admired Kaveh worrying at his lip and furrowing his eyebrows, he had the intense desire to feel each strand underneath his fingers. It would feel like he was touching the sun, instead of the cool door handle his hand was resting on.

“My grandmother won’t bite your head off ,” Alhaitham signed in modified sign language, using a free hand to reach for Kaveh’s. They had been fiddling together, trying to erode each other away in the incessant way that he only ever did when he was anxious.

Kaveh squeezed Alhaitham’s hand with his own. “If she’s anything like you, I’ll be more afraid she’ll criticize me to an early grave ,” he sighed back without any aggression. His eyebrows lifted, but his lips and jaw never lost their tension. “ Cannibalistic decapitation would be the merciful way to go. ”

“I always held the belief that she was the more pragmatic one when it comes to the two of us, ” Alhaitham mused.

Kaveh shuddered with horror, his face twisting to that of a boar before an arrow strikes its heart. “ You can’t be serious .”

His lips quirked ever so slightly. “ That wouldn’t be very pragmatic of me, would it? ”

It was when Kaveh’s eyes would alight with emotion, Alhaitham thought, that he felt that he could no longer bring air into his lungs, He was struck by a wave of nerves crashing down onto his ribcage and drowning his heart. It struggled to beat underneath the heavy weight of sea salt and shuddering breaths.

Kaveh laughed, his eyelids squinting and his hand tugging down on Alhaitham’s. Even though Alhaitham couldn’t hear it, he knew the reaction was born of anxiety rather than genuine humor. The Scribe gently cupped the architect’s jaw and rubbed his thumb along the smooth skin of his cheek. Pressing his forehead against Kaveh’s, he took one deep inhale, allowing Kaveh time to adjust to his breathing pattern.

Their chests moved in tandem, and only when Kaveh pulled himself away did Alhaitham let go. His lover smiled, his skin pulling and eyes shimmering in the way polished rubies reflect light. The entire world’s collection of scarlet hues cascaded through his eyes as though it were a waterfall. If Alhaitham were blind, he’d give his eternal soul to the Archons in exchange for the ability to perceive Kaveh’s colors.

“Are you ready?” Alhaitham asked, letting go of Kaveh only for the ability to use his hands. His lover nodded, and Alhaitham finally twisted the knob of the steel-blue door.

The scent of old books immediately greeted him as he set foot on the hardwood floor. Their spines lined the interior from corner to corner, only breaking for a window to let in natural light. Behind the dark-wood bookshelves was a backdrop of calm yellow walls, the color of a cornfield. The brown couch has a patchwork quilt draped over the back with two pillows the shade of the walls propped against the armrests. It was a small living room, and the miniature archway opened to the even smaller kitchen.

Alhaitham watched from his peripheral vision as Kaveh, ruby eyes bright and lips slightly parted, took in his childhood home. While he didn’t move from Alhaitham’s side, the Scribe was well aware of the barely-restrained urgency in his gaze. The architect, living to his true name, would be touching the walls, the decorum, the lamps, marveling at his grandmother’s house as closely as he could.

When Kaveh looked back at him, he clamped his jaw shut and signed, “You didn’t inherit her interior design skills.”

“I have the notion,” he resigned, “that you will get along just fine with her.”

And Kaveh grinned at him, warm and true, with his anxiety lines dissipated from his brows and lips. Alhaitham was captivated by his presence, so enraptured in his blinding light that he didn’t feel his grandmother approach them. It was only when Kaveh’s gaze averted and eyes widened did he remember where exactly he was.

He shifted to meet his grandmother, her face wrinkled with smile lines lining her cheeks. Her frail, gray hair was held back in a small bun at the back of her head, and she wore a fine blue spring dress, light in its color with a dark lace accent at the neckline. It draped on her light wood floor.

“I never imagined I’d see that look on you,” she signed, her mouth subtly following along with her words. Her miniature smile held nothing but fondness. “How do you manage to get anything done if you’re always dazed like that?”

Kaveh went a shade of pink Alhaitham usually only saw when he kissed the back of his hand. “You will soon understand once he starts talking,” Alhaitham explained, forcing back a smile when his grandmother gasped and swatted at him.

“It seems living on your own has taken away all of your manners,” she signed, even though she knew he’d always been this way and had not made the comment out of malice. She redirected her attention to their guest. “Kaveh, dear, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person.”

“As is mine,” he replied, and Alhaitham was pleased to find that Kaveh’s nerves had not visibly returned. “Madame,” — his grandmother's smile increased by only a fraction — “your house is positively stunning. I have never been more comfortable in a new environment as I have here.”

Before responding to the compliment, she regarded him up and down, her gaze flickering back and forth between him and Alhaitham. It was a cultivated silence, one that only Alhaitham could be left to predict what would come out of her hands next. “You’ll do nicely with my grandson,” she signed. “He doesn’t know the first thing about politeness nor home design.”

His lover laughed again, and although it fell on the deaf ears of the Scribe, he could tell the difference between this sincere chuckle versus his previous nervous titter. “Madame, I’m afraid I have come to be well acquainted with both of those traits.”

She did not question his love for her grandson. Alhaitham saw it on her grin, the one that he never saw this wide — he had thought her physically incapable. It had seemed that the older she got, the lesser her smiles became. This did not mean she was unhappy, necessarily, but she couldn’t exercise the same muscles as she used to.

It was not at all surprising to Alhaitham that Kaveh was able to make his grandmother achieve the improbable. Even if it was at Alhaitham’s own expense.

“I once asked that child to organize my book collection in any way he liked. Do you know how he chose to organize? By the number of pages, of course!” She signed as they sat down at the small, round wooden table for tea.

Especially at his expense.

Their drinks were warm and sweet, fresh out of the steaming kettle and poured to them by his grandmother’s unsteady hand. It came with age, her shakiness, hunched back, and various aches and pains that prevent her from standing and walking longer than necessary. However, with that time she no longer spent walking and cleaning, she spent divulging in every book on her shelf.

Alhaitham let them do most of the talking — the whole point of the get-together was for Kaveh to properly meet her, after all — and watched them closely. He wasn’t analyzing their interactions deeply, but rather, he noticed the way they acted so at ease with each other. It was as though they’d known each other their whole lives, rather than the half-hour timespan that they’d been conversing in.

They talked in length about the various Sumerian infrastructures and buildings Kaveh had a hand in designing, and not once did his grandmother let him speak poorly about himself or express any unresolved regret. She didn’t make an indication she’d known anything about him previously, outside of what her grandson had told her, although both he and Kaveh were well aware that could not be the case with how famous he was in Sumeru.

It was when the topic shifted in his grandmother’s favor — literature, involving both old and modern authors — that Alhaitham had a sudden sinking weight in his stomach.

“There is one book I have given Haitham, though I should say the author is himself. It was a journal,” she signed, then tilted her head in Alhaitham’s direction. Her smile is light and ever-present, as it had been the entire evening. “Do you still have it? Remember what I wrote?”

And that was an odd question, wasn’t it? She hadn’t asked with curiosity if he remembered, because she knew he wouldn’t have forgotten. Instead, her question was less of a question and more of a prompt, wanting to hear her own words parroted back to her.

His grandmother was dead.

It rushed to his mind at the same time that the table freezes, Kaveh’s wide, imploring stare and his grandmother’s smile which had only gotten shorter as she had gotten older, were left as complete statues at her kitchen table. The one that belonged to a different family, as Alhaitham had sold it some years into his Akademiya education.

Alhaitham wakes up in his empty, pitch-black bedroom with an unrelenting ache in his chest. His hearing aids rang with quiet static, substituting the silence of the sleeping world for his unhearing ears.

He recalled his grandmother’s face, her hair, and the way she shook. Somehow, it looked entirely different from how he remembered her. She had never made it to the age where she was mentally debilitated. Rather, her death had been a result of her weak immune system. It was something she had fought since her childhood.

The grandmother in his dream looked like how she would have if she had made it to see her grandson become the Acting Grand Sage.

She would’ve loved Kaveh. Alhaitham rested a hand on his face, trying to steady his overwhelming longing for someone that was gone. It intensified with the reminder of the person that was still within his grasp, but fading away all the same.

Do you still have it? She had signed to him. Remember what I wrote?

Of course he still had it. There was nothing that he owned that was more invaluable to him than the journal she had given him as an ‘early graduation gift’ all those years ago. By that time, her skin had paled and her lungs made the sound of a dying cat. She had been stricken with illness. There would be no recovery.

Alhaitham pulled himself out of bed, not bothering with his slippers as he made his way across his house in the dark. It felt cold and unfamiliar in comparison to the comfort of his childhood home. Anything he’d found significant from his grandmother’s he’d taken with him to his current residence, yet he hadn’t been able to bring her.

Maybe that was the reason when he turned on the lights, he wanted nothing more than to repaint every wall to a cornfield yellow and replace all the blankets and rugs with patchwork quilts. He wanted to walk into his living room and catch the scent of old books and steaming tea in the kitchen.

It was the smell of coming home.

Alhaitham plucked his journal from where it rested next to his other five notebooks, all filled with notes on various topics. The emerald-colored cover once sparkled, but over time and usage, it became dull and smokey. Alhaitham didn’t mind. The fingerprint smudges and frayed edges proved the years of love from its owner.

The journal weighed heavy in his hands as he sat on the edge of a couch, running his fingers over the spine and cover. His grandmother had lived a simple life, spending most of her money on food and books rather than needless personal items. Alhaitham had inherited both her small wealth and minimalist lifestyle, and it left him with that emerald notebook as his only remaining gift from her.

He thought, as he gently opened the journal and made a cracking sound of sorts, that he would not have graduated if not for her. The reason he had begun his education at the Akademiya was from her insistence, not for the sake of his parents’ legacies. In truth, he had hated it. There had been a reason why he had chosen homeschooling over early enrollment, and his opinion hadn’t changed all that much in his second attempt at the Akademiya. However, she had given him a blessing — the words he could no longer recall — and the journal, and he stayed until he graduated higher education and applied for the position of the Scribe.

At the bottom of the first page, where he was meant to sign his name and address should the journal be lost, was a short sentence written in loopy cursive. The ink was faded and nearly hard to read, but Alhaitham hardly needed to see it in order to recall what it was. He’d spent so much time in his youth reading and rereading the same eight letters until he had seared it into his brain.

He dragged one finger across the high loop of the capital M and the lower loop of the y’s, following it all the way to the end period. May my child Alhaitham lead a peaceful life.

Alhaitham’s face tightened, lips pressed together, and he tilted his head back so his tears wouldn’t stain the worn title page.

He missed his grandmother.

When she had died, he was sixteen. They had already worked together to plan his course of action to prevent any panic and chaos once he was alone. He’d agreed to return to the Akademiya, and she had smiled at him, small and incapable of making her cheek muscles work in the way they used to. He planned her funeral with part of her fortune, inviting her friends and no relatives because there weren’t any. It had just been grandmother and grandson for as long as he could remember. His parents were dead, his grandfather had drowned in a sinking ship, and neither she nor he had any siblings to speak of. Alhaitham hadn’t been aware of any cousins, nor aunts and uncles. If there were any, they hadn’t cared to step forward.

Even though everything was straight, and there was no room for him to worry about when or where his next meal would come from, nor where he would sleep or pay for hygienic products, Alhaitham lived the following year of his life as though the world had already ended. And for him, it practically had.

He’d abandoned the hearing aids he’d made to hear his grandmother’s small laugh and wise words. He had sold his childhood home to keep himself afloat while he worked a low-wage, part-time job and paid for all other living and education expenses. Her library had been packed into cardboard boxes and stored in the apartment he rented with a roommate he rarely ever saw. His tea held no warmth nor sweetness, every meal lacked her flavor, and reading became a near excruciating task.

Alhaitham turned his head slightly, meeting the wide ruby eyes of the man standing in the hallway, his stance rigid and prepared to flee at the faint sound of a pin dropping, and wondered if that was why he cared so much.

It was a year after his grandmother died that Alhaitham had his first conversation with Kaveh. Not every student in the Akademiya knew sign language, but he did. They sat together at lunch, with Alhaitham’s bland sandwich and cold tea, and Alhaitham saw color for the first time again.

It was his eyes. Because of course, no matter what Alhaitham did or however many people he met, he’d never found a color more captivating than what Kaveh naturally possessed. He’d never even cared about red before, but suddenly he found himself chasing after every red-ish hue the world had to offer. And it was all in one person.

A month into their friendship, Kaveh had made Alhaitham tea. He’d expected to be greeted with bitterness and an unfriendly cold liquid that he had become acquainted with since his grandmother stopped boiling it in her kettle. But when he had brought the cup to his lips, closing his eyes and resigning to his fate, he was surprised to find a gentle burn on the tip of his tongue.

Kaveh had been upset. He’d assumed Alhaitham’s dazed reaction meant that he’d found the tea repulsive, and he even tried to pry the mug away from Alhaitham’s hands. It had only been a misunderstanding, but Alhaitham had come to the sudden and intimate realization that his world was no longer lifeless.

It was when he started wearing his hearing aids again did his world finally right itself. With Kaveh around, it felt wrong to keep himself deaf. He could hear his friend’s voice, his laugh, his angry mumblings about essays and complex trigonometry and ancient languages that were hard to grasp. The original person the hearing aids were made for was dead, but perhaps the simple fact of being made to hear a loved one remained.

When their friendship had fallen apart, Alhaitham did not return to the intense state he had before. There were remnants of it, like not wearing his hearing aids for a month, and he avoided staring at anything architectural for too long, but it was not like how it had been with his grandmother. Maybe it was because he knew Kaveh was never truly gone, or he assumed that one day they would reconnect. What he did know for certain was that he had told himself one blissful lie:

He never truly loved Kaveh like he’d loved his grandmother.

And what a convincing deception that was. At the very least, it kept him afloat until graduation and up to when he caught wind of an architect that never left Lambad’s Tavern. When he had shared a drink with him — and later in the month, tea — and felt the smooth edge of sweetness on his tongue, he realized that he hadn’t been able to taste sugar since their relationship collapsed.

Kaveh’s face was frozen in a state of mortified shock, and his body slightly leaned from the splint elevating his foot. One hand gripping the edge of the wall as tightly as it could, while the other curled into his night pants. At the very least, he wasn’t sleep-walking. Alhaitham swiped under his eyes as his tear ducts slowly closed. Salt clouded his tastebuds from where his tears had trickled into his mouth.

“I- I’m sorry,” Kaveh started, his eyes stuck on Alhaitham. “I couldn’t sleep, and I saw the lights turn on—”

“I dreamt of you and her,” interrupted Alhaitham, turning his own gaze back towards the eight-word sentence. He couldn’t bear that trembling voice ringing in his hearing aids any longer. “We went to her home and had afternoon tea and, if I had been asleep for longer, dinner. If I had not known better, I would’ve assumed you had known each other for years based on how well you two conversed.”

Alhaitham could feel his roommate’s stare on the back of his head. The air between them settled into a tense silence, save for the static that only Alhaitham could hear from his hearing aids.

She was dead. Alhaitham will never drink her tea again, watch her read books on the brown couch in the living room, watch her hands move as she bestowed upon him wisdom that only a woman like her could possess. She will never have the pleasure of meeting Kaveh, talking to him, learning and understanding all of the reasons why Alhaitham fell in love with him.

“I have spent months trying to understand why I care about you. It hadn’t made any sense; the only person I have ever loved is my grandmother, and she has passed on. I don’t bother myself with other people, with their emotions, or their aspirations. I don’t care. I shouldn’t care. If their lives aren’t affecting mine, then I leave them alone. So why, when I saw you at Lambad’s Tavern, did I ask you to live with me?” Alhaitham paused and looked up at Kaveh, observing the way his hand dropped from the wall and eyebrows furrowed into an expression akin to confusion.

“And these past few days, you’ve been hurting yourself. You’re hiding and I want to help you, but I couldn’t figure out why. Why are you the exception to every rule I’ve ever made for myself?�� He took a shuddering breath. “I’ve learned that I’ve been focusing on the wrong part. It doesn’t matter the reason. I love you, Kaveh, and I have waited far too long to tell you that,” he said, and his breath hitched as he continued. “And I am quite afraid of losing you, too.”

He closed his eyes, trying to prevent more tears from slipping past his eyelids. It had been in front of him all along, but his attention had been averted to the root cause rather than the problem itself. Perhaps he had been scared of admitting this, because if he said it out loud then it had to be true. The only other person he loved in his life was disappearing faster than he could reach out and pull him close.

The sound of Kaveh’s splint hitting the floor resonated with Alhaitham’s labored breaths, and he was sure there was a joke somewhere in there that he was missing. The couch dipped with the added weight of another person. It was quiet, but not in the same way it had been before. The silence had no anticipation, no expectation of an outburst or confession. After all, Alhaitham had already popped that bubble.

When Alhaitham pried his eyes open and swiped at the tear that had managed to escape, he watched the way Kaveh studied his open palms with intense faux interest. The skin on his neck shifted when he swallowed, and the silence shifted with it.

Kaveh's lips quivered before he spoke. “When I was eight years old, I was kidnapped. Plucked right off the street when my mother wasn’t looking, and I was too enticed by the idea of a free Aranara carving to notice what was really happening.” He sighed. It was shaky and painful to listen to. “I was organ trafficked for a week.”

Alhaitham didn’t prompt him for anything more, because if he learned anything from the death of his grandmother and the slow suicide of his best friend, it was that listening was the best way to offer help. Just being there in the same space, breathing the same air, and hearing — or if they are signing, watching — what they need to say provided more comfort than a thousand words ever could.

“I wasn’t the only one. There were— I believe there were twenty of us in one room. All children. I think that was the worst part. We were all young, innocent children who shouldn’t have yet deserved to see how cruel the world would be.” Kaveh paused, then shook his head. “No. The worst part was that I left them all behind. Those that were still alive and those we buried. I— I couldn’t take them with me. I don’t know what happened to them after I escaped. And that’s… it’s terrifying.”

His skin was pale, near translucent in their living room light. He hadn’t gotten out much since the nightmares started, Alhaitham figured, and he wondered if that came with a fear of being kidnapped again. Plucked off the street as Kaveh had put it.

Kaveh glanced to Alhaitham and back, his lips pressed together and hands fiddling with each other as though they were sentient creatures. It was a bit more of those back-and-forth glances before Kaveh was able to muster up the courage to grab the edge of his shirt and shift his body so he was facing Alhaitham more directly. A heavy heartbeat later, he lifted the hem of his shirt to reveal his stomach.

It was just enough to see a dark, jagged scar run across the middle of the otherwise empty space between his side and naval. Small atrophied dots followed closely to the scar, telling that the wound had once been stitched closed. It looked fresh, as though he had received it only a week ago. Alhaitham had the odd urge to touch it as though feeling it would confirm its authenticity.

“They removed my kidney on my third day there,” Kaveh confessed quietly, his sorrowful gaze trained on his abdomen. “They were going to take the other one when I escaped. There had been a—” he swallowed, “— an incident of some kind. I don’t…. remember all that well. But the person holding me let go to take care of it and I— I ran. We were shackled when we weren’t being handled so I… it was my only opportunity.”

His ruby eyes were clouded in a thick mist, like early morning fog permeating a forest. It was a second before he let go of the hem of his shirt and slowly soothed out the wrinkles. “If I had stopped to help any of them, I wouldn’t have gotten out. I was—” Kaveh cut himself short, eyebrows furrowing in frustration. “I was a child. ”

Alhaitham knew he was fighting his unrelenting guilt. If encouraging his father to participate in a tournament was enough to set his unrealistic and selfless ideals for the rest of his life, Alhaitham could hardly imagine what abandoning twenty or so scared and abused children was doing to his psyche.

“I shouldn’t have survived my escape,” he continued, now reaching down to rest a hand on his other assumed injury. “Remember what I told you about fences? It was the same kind that my traffickers had built. Nobody was chasing after me because they knew I wouldn’t be able to make it past the palisade. It was tall and I was only four days out from previous surgery. I was either not going to be able to scale it or I would get impaled at the top.

“But you know,” he shrugged and let go of a shuddering breath, “if I didn’t try to cross it, I would die anyway.”

Alhaitham trained his attention on the hand curled on the fabric above his thigh, and the final piece clicked in his brain. On any other day and with any other person, he may have been satisfied with coming to the correct conclusion before he was told. He may have been proud, even, of what he’d accomplished. However, all he could feel was bitter and thick bile rising up his throat.

It wasn’t satisfying. It was morbid.

“All of my stitches from the kidney surgery had ripped open from my sprint across the field and my unconventional method of climbing a fence, so my hands slipped as I was pulling myself over and I,” he tilted his head as a shine joined his foggy red eyes, “I impaled myself straight through my thigh. I should’ve bled out. On the fence or when I managed to collapse on the other side. But I kept going. I lost a lot of blood, but at some point, both my thigh and kidney wound healed into the scars they have today. And I don’t… my dreams haven’t provided me an explanation for that.”

Alhaitham knew how it happened, and from the tone of his voice, Kaveh must have had the inkling as well. However, Aranara were elusive to adults. If they didn’t want to be seen, then their presence wouldn’t be known. It was extremely hard for grown-ups, even ones as intelligent and observant as Kaveh, to break the Aranara mind game. Alhaitham likely had his own experiences with Aranara growing up that he could no longer recall with clarity, either.

When Kaveh redirected his gaze back to Alhaitham, the Scribe was struck with amazement. Even on the verge of tears with his mind half-gone in the distant past, he still managed to look beautiful. Alhaitham thought he would never escape those damn eyes, so dark and contrasting against his smooth pale skin.

“For all these years,” Kaveh started again, knocking Alhaitham out of his momentary stupor, “I have avoided looking at these scars in the mirror. I couldn’t remember where they came from. I didn’t wear any revealing clothing because I couldn’t explain to anyone what happened. Even my mother— after everything happened and I reported it to the Matra, my memory of it completely disappeared. She tried to explain it to me, once, what the scars were from. I guess I just… hadn’t believed her.”

It sent an ache into his chest to hear Kaveh’s voice strain in the effort to keep himself together.

“I don’t know if the Matra had ever busted the ring, or if anyone else had escaped. If there was any attempt to reach out to me, I don’t recall it.” His whole body trembled as though an ice cube had been shoved down his shirt. “I don’t know what all I haven’t remembered. And since this is all coming back, the thought is a little terrifying. That my nightmares aren’t all there is to it. That… that I might have seen more than I am being allowed to process.”

Alhaitham knew it wasn’t something he was ever going to fully understand. He knew grief, he knew longing, but the loss and sudden regain of traumatic memories wasn’t an experience he had ever gone through. His life had been relatively easy up until his grandmother passed. He was only three years old when his parents died — the details of he was still uncertain as nobody had any records outside of mangled bodies that were then cremated — and at sixteen his grandmother died in the hospital at a time when Alhaitham hadn’t been allowed to visit.

It had been traumatic in its own right to watch her slowly wither away. But his memories hadn’t been forcibly removed and stuffed away in an untouched compartment of his brain like Kaveh’s had. His trauma had been slowly and gradual for years until his last remaining family member had passed, while Kaveh’s had been a shock to his system. It was an unfamiliar environment with constant intense traumas surrounding him over the course of a week, and then some until he’d forgotten every last bit of it.

And the way Kaveh looked at him now, with his head falling a bit forward and shoulders slumping, Alhaitham knew the dam had finally broken. “I don’t—” his words hitched and he put a hand over his mouth, “What if there’s more?”

Alhaitham did what he thought Lesser Lord Kusanali would’ve done. He did what he thought Kaveh deserved. With two hands, he reached out and drug Kaveh into his chest, holding him tight and pressing his face into his neck. Kaveh wrapped his arms and clung on immediately, and he released the sobs he’d been holding captive for far too long.

He rubbed circles into Kaveh’s back, trying his best to be as placating as possible. Total body physical contact was difficult. A forehead touch or holding hands or his fingertips tracing or running through a head of hair was easier to manage. It was small amounts of another person. A chest against his, knees grazing his, a nose in his hair, and hands pressing against his back all at the same time was harder. But for some reason, he was crying, too. He held Kaveh impossibly closer and didn’t want to let go.

And somewhere, between both of their sobs, Kaveh choked out: “I love you, too.”

Alhaitham kept his tear-stained face buried in a head of sunlight-blond hair.

—

They decided to try something new. Instead of sleeping separately, Kaveh suggested they share the same bed in order to prevent another sleep-walking incident. Perhaps if it had been a day earlier, there would’ve been a furious blush on his face and a stammer in his words. And maybe Alhaitham would’ve teased him for it. He would’ve said that they should recreate one of Tighnari’s dreams while they were at it.

However, it was not the day before. The only redness on Kaveh’s face was from his sobbing confession of the nightmares he’d been having, and Alhaitham had not wasted a second in agreeing. It may calm your mind a little to have me there in the first place, he’d replied, to prove you’re no longer alone.

They’d pressed comfortably together under the covers as though they’d been practicing it for years. For once, Alhaitham did not feel uncomfortable with the contact. He did not hold Kaveh needlessly tight, and he made sure none of his bare skin was touching Kaveh’s aside from his nose against his neck. And with his roommate — his lover — this close, he was able to abandon his hearing aids on the side table.

He wasn’t sure when they fell asleep or who drifted off first. But for the first time since Lesser Lord Kusanali had freed her people’s unconscious minds, Alhaitham did not dream, and neither did Kaveh.

#fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #genshin impact #genshin impact fic #genshin impact fanfic #genshin fic #genshin fanfic #alhaitham #kaveh #alhaitham x kaveh #kaveh x alhaitham #kavetham #kavehtham #kavetham fic #genshin kavetham #genshin alhaitham #genshin kaveh

5 notes · View notes

proudfreakmetarusonikku · 3 years

Text

@sajdd

Ok since one singular person asked for this the Big Explanation for Everything In My C!Tommy Design.

General:

c!Tommy, in general, I always try and find a balance between my really soft style and c!Tommy's rougher personality. I draw him with soft features but very sharp eyes, both to make his facial features distinct from cc!Tommy and a contrast to c!Tubbo who I draw with less rounded features but much softer eyes. I try and keep his usual expressions slightly smug and self-assured, to get across c!Tommy's bravado.

I generally draw him with tanned skin, as I imagine he’d spend a lot of time outdoors. This does vary on the arc I’m drawing him in, though, for example he’s much less tan in Pogtopia because he has less access to natural light whereas he’s more tan in exile due to not having much shelter from the sun. This is also done to make the pale scar on his nose bridge more noticeable- it’s one of the two scars I draw Tommy as having from the beginning, as I feel it shows c!Tommy's scrappy, determined personality very well. The other scar is a long jagged vivisection scar which is there to show my labinnit headcanon lol.

While I draw c!Tommy with varying hairstyles and lengths, I always draw him with curly textured hair that’s a very pale blond. I also draw his hair as leaning to one side and partially covering his eye, similar to how I draw c!Wilbur's hair, to show their closeness. I also draw c!Tommy with similar wings to c!Wilbur and c!Philza- specifically, I draw them with the same starry night sky pattern I do with c!Philza, but a lot smaller and atrophied.

I really like putting lots of fun design elements in characters eyes because drawing eyes is fun and c!Tommy is no exception! I draw his eyes a very bright electric blue, and I use a small brush and very light varied colours to make them look like they’re filled with little stars. I also give him red pupils to match his main colour association in either the shape of a full or broken heart depending on the arc. I went with a heart design to show his hidden kindness and loyalty.

There’s also a lot of design elements that are admittedly there primarily because I enjoy drawing them, and less for any specific reason. The fangs do have the most reason, to help show c!Tommy's rougher personality, but I also just like drawing fangs lol. (I also draw him with braces in every arc, since I imagine he couldn’t get them removed in exile and he didn’t have the time to care afterwards). I also draw him with bioluminescent, starlike freckles and a strange blood colour which is also used to help texture the skin (well, slightly, it’s not super noticeable but it’s pink instead of red) which are both just things I like to draw.

Also, this is a small detail, but I always draw c!Tommy with a Church Prime necklace (unless I forget it which I do sometimes lol). It’s a good way of showing his faith through a quick look.

Fun fact, what’s probably most noticeable about my c!Tommy design is that as soon as Tommy made the joke about his character being made in a lab I picked it up and ran with it, specifically the idea of him potentially being a clone of c!Philza. I draw them with identical facial features and hair colour/texture, though a lot of the more supernatural features of c!Philza are toned down on him. That’s specifically because due to my hc that c!Philza is an angel and angels as ageless it’d be impossible to clone them exactly so c!Tommy has some random human/hybrid dna thrown in haphazardly (which also makes him a mess of instincts from pretty much every animal ever lol)

Disc War:

I really like the headcanon that c!Tommy was nine during the L'Manburg war entirely because its really funny to imagine c!Wilbur looking at this literal nine year old and being “yes, my right hand man, responsible enough to help manage a nation in my stead,” so c!Tommy is roughly 9ish around this time in my design.

During the early Disc War is probably the only time I actually draw c!Tommy as close to his actual Minecraft skin lmao. It helps show that, despite the fact I don’t hc him as human he is mostly just a normal kid. I don’t draw c!Tommy in the traditional red and white t-shirt entirely just because I want to make sure he’s not mistakable for Dave Strider though. I have him in a white button-up shirt, a red and white hoodie, cargo pants, and trainers.

During this arc, I draw c!Tommy's hair as fairly short and very similar to how I draw c!Wilbur, as this was back when he idolised his brother and I think drawing their hair so similar shows that well.

L'Manburg:

This covers the time from the beginning of the L'Manburg war up to c!Tommy's second exile to Pogtopia, so this design covers a period of years from when I hc c!Tommy was nine up until about thirteen.

During the war, c!Tommy wears his uniform without modification, except for of course wearing his Prime necklace, but afterwards he and the rest of the residents of L'Manburg (except c!Wilbur) slightly modified their uniforms to better fit their own tastes. Specifically, he wears his trainers instead of combat boots, loose trousers instead of shorts, and a slightly shorter and short-sleeved revolutionary jacket, for easier mobility.

During the war, his two canon deaths left him permanent injuries and scars. His death in the final control room, where he broke his leg during his desperate attempt to escape, left that leg permanently weakened (along with being badly scarred) and requiring a leg brace to help him stand and walk properly. The arrow through his skull during his duel with c!Dream left him with a large scar on his temple, covering his brows in crack-like scars which also leave him with frequent migraines.

During the L'Manburg arc, c!Tommy's hair in my design still looks like c!Wilburs as they were still close during this arc.

Pogtopia:

Since Pogtopia apparently lasted two years (which is probably from Cursed Timeline Lore but I love cursed lore it’s hilarious,) c!Tommy would be around 13 to 15 here.

In Pogtopia, I draw c!Tommy as wearing similar clothes to during the Disc War arc, however, I also add on a loose belt holding knives, to show c!Tommy's increased need for self defence along with his fondness for knives lol. I actually don’t do the bandanna design with c!Tommy and c!Tubbo a lot of people do mostly because I couldn’t figure out how to get it to work with c!Tommy's hoodie. They have an equivalent but it’s later on alas.

As c!Tommy and c!Wilbur get more distant, c!Tommy grows out his hair slightly, and wears it tied in the back in a short ponytail.

Exile:

Oh I have a lot of things to talk about here >:). As a quick note to my messed up timeline, c!Tommy would be 15 here.

During exile, c!Tommy wears the same clothes as he did in Pogtopia initially, though due to lack of care and supplies, they eventually of course fray and rip. He also wears c!Wilbur's old ragged longcoat, even though it barely keeps out the cold, the smell of alcohol and cigarettes weirdly comforting. Over time, he rips up his shirt for bandages to the point he’s not wearing anything under his hoodie. His leg brace breaks and he makes a new one out of branches and leaves. (He could ask c!Dream, but he doesn’t want to be fucking reliant on him, relying on pity handouts like a child, so he won’t.)

Eventually, since c!Dream doesn’t exactly want c!Tommy to get hypothermia and die anticlimactically, he gives c!Tommy one of his capes. This is one of my favourite character design decisions I’ve made lmao. I specifically draw it looking too-big, despite the fact that doesn’t make much sense because they’re the same height, so it looks almost like he’s getting enveloped in c!Dream's green shades, and it also hides c!Tommy's wings which helps reinforce the loss of freedom.

c!Tommy gains… a lot of scars over exile. I mean he was literally hit by an axe multiple times. Specifically they’re primarily around the shoulders or the torso. I also draw him with a Glasgow grin, specifically curved to resemble Dream's mask, along with smaller, self inflicted, scratch and bite marks covering his arms. In addition, due to him barely eating I draw c!Tommy from this point onwards looking very scrawny. This is also where c!Tommy's pupils change from hearts to broken hearts! They never turn back :)

During exile, Tommy's hair grows out a lot, down to just past his shoulders, in a matted mess. c!Dream used to braid it at the back, like how I draw c!Dream's own hair, but it very quickly grew too matted with saltwater, mud, and blood to style :) :) :)

Bedrock Bros:

c!Tommy turns sixteen here during my scuffed timeline.

c!Tommy patches up the rips and tears in his clothes. He can’t fully salvage his cargo trousers, so he turns them into shorts. He makes his own shoes out of leather to replace the ones he lost. There’s a gaping hole in his hoodie pocket that couldn’t be stitched up. He'll patch it up later. c!Techno gives him one of his capes to keep him warm, fur lined and arctic blue with silvery snowflakes embroidered on. c!Tommy has to be reminded, or he puts on the green cape, turned a dull viridian from the sun, that makes him feel both safe and so, so afraid.

Scars heal, but never fully fade. Still, his eyes brighten again, somewhat, even if the bags under his eyes less disappear and more just turn a strange gold. He finally has the time to clean out his hair, and c!Techno ties it into a short, loose braid at the back. With the cape, he almost looks like c!Techno like that. Obviously, the visual implication here is to show that even though it’s obviously not exile, c!Techno is still suppressing c!Tommy's identity, albeit unknowingly (and the gold is from his constant eating of golden apples).

Final Disc War:

By this point, c!Tommy's back to just wearing his old clothes, tattered and frail as they might be. He finds his old sneakers, and day by day he sees himself in the mirror a bit more than the gunpowder on a battered trenchcoat, blood on a smiley face mask, wither rot on the edges of an elaborate snowy cape. He patches the hole in his hoodie with a piece of the fabric from one of c!Tubbo's old shirts. He lends him one of his too-small hoodies so he can do the same.

He still braids his hair, but in his own way, in a tightly woven ratstail braid more for convenience than for aesthetics. Character design wise, it’s another way to show c!Tommy's openly rougher personality than say, c!Dream or c!Techno, and so’s the patchwork clothes and rough shorts and scars. Like I said, maintaining a mix of rough and soft is very important to me in how I draw c!Tommy, and I’m very satisfied with how I pull it off here and in the next entry.

Revival:

the story has handed me the opportunity to make my favourite boy undead. i will not pass up the opportunity to make my favourite boy undead.

After revival, c!Tommy stops aging, at least in appearance. His skin… less pale, more colourless and almost grey. One of his eyes glows a pure, empty white now, like ghosts do, and the white messy streak in his hair doesn’t glow but it’s white enough it might as well.

The injuries of his death bear apparent on his form. His limbs can bend at impossible angles, his entire body covered head to toe in bruises. Two black eyes cover his face like a raccoon mask, and the ugly mottled marks of strangulation on his throat stand out like a sore thumb. You cannot look at him anymore and not see that he hasn’t died. He avoids mirrors again.

There’s stranger things, too, like how he doesn’t bleed anymore, any cuts just revealing an impossibly dark void beneath his marble-cold skin. Sometimes he goes weeks without eating, the hunger only hitting once he realises. He feels so tired, so cold, in a way not even the touch of fire can stem at all. He doesn’t have a heartbeat, or breathe.

Initially, he was too tired, too out of it to even consider cutting off or dying the white streak. When he wasn’t, he’d soon learn any attempts were futile, dye fading in mere days, cut off hair half regrown in a week. It should bother him more, but he just feels numb.

#dream smp #dsmp #c!tommy #tw abuse #tw mutilation #tw scars #tw bruises #tw death #tw child death #tw murder #tw child murder

38 notes · View notes

little-murmaider · 3 years

Text

@cthene @squeeto and @failedintsave have written three distinct flavors of Skwistok Apocalypse Fic and they all live in my head rent free so I felt like doing a lil end-of-the-world scene. (If a modified version of this pops up in the Stay Alive sequel that doesn’t exist shh shh shh shut up ❤️)

The bunker didn’t offer much in the way of creature comforts. A holdover from the Cold War, it was 1500 square feet of steel buried beneath four stories of cement. There were suggestions it had been built for a group, but there was only one bed—a twin cot that only Pickles could fit on comfortably, though Toki made due if he tucked in his knees. The bar and the armory were fully stocked. A connection to the outside world was available via a 360-degree live feed of the surface, visible from a claustrophobic surveillance room. It wasn’t impenetrable, but it was a lucky find. And until they received marching orders from Offdensen, it was home. The only spray of color amongst the sterility was a faded, amateur mural canvasing the entirety of the southwest wall. A panorama of the snowy, mountainous Montana landscape. The proportions are all out of wack: Distant trees and prominent foreground boulders seem to have the same weight and dimension. Toki sits on the floor opposite it, eyes fixed on the blobby bug-eyed buffalo grazing the sorta serene-ish tableau. He thinks of the person who painted this. How they were probably really proud of it. How making it probably brought them some form of peace. How they were long dead. The despair makes him nauseous. Skwisgaar is curled in the space between Toki’s legs, head resting on his chest, arms wound lightly around his waist. They all agreed to take turns “keeping watch” in the surveillance room. But everyone was on-edge, everyone was scared, everyone was a little too focused on their own anxiety to notice how deftly Skwisgaar switched shifts. His impulse to assuage the others often tipped into the unhealthy territory but in the last few weeks it had made a full tilt into self-destruction. He’d been holed up in that room, delirious with sleep deprivation, for almost two days days before Toki caught on. He was only convinced to leave when Toki started crying. (He’s not proud of that tactic, but hey, it’s the end of the world. Lots of people are doing lots of things they’re not proud of.) As he idly plays with the ends of Skwisgaar’s hair, Toki hears the echo of footfalls drawing near. They’re so swift, so light, Toki knows exactly who it is well before the worn sneakers appear in his periphery. “Hey,” Pickles says. “Heys,” Toki answers. A half-empty handle of vodka dangles from Pickles’s fingers. He tips his chin at Skwisgaar’s sleeping form. “Why doncha take th’bed?” “Nathan’s using its.” Pickles nods and takes a long pull from his drink. A beat passes. “…That buffahlo is pretty fucked up, huh?” “I can’ts stops looking at its.” “I’ve never SEEN a buffahlo in real life but I’m,” he pauses, squinting to calculate, “73 percent sure they don’ look like that.” “Onlys 73 per-cents?” Pickles shrugs. “I mean, hey, maybe buffahlos look exactly like that, I dunno whut I dunno.” Toki’s silent laughter shakes him. But then a muffled moan vibrates against his collarbone. “Toki?” He murmurs, sluggishly starting to rise. He code-switches on instinct. To answer in English, with an audience, is too raw. “Jeg er her.” He cups the base of Skwisgaar’s skull and guides him back to his chest. “Gå tilbake til sengs.” Skwisgaar’s hold tightens. “Lämna mig inte.” “Aldri, elskede.” He settles against him and sighs. “Tack, älskling.” Skwisgaar’s weight sinks into him, and after a few moments his muscles relax as his breathing falls into a slow, even rhythm. Again, it is quiet. “Whut does it mean?” Oh right Pickles is here. “Whats?” “Th’ e word and th’ a word you guys use fer each other.” Toki freezes. “At least I think they start wit’ an e and an a, I can’t be bothered t’ look up th’ spellin’ in that elven language a’yours.” He smiles crookedly but his eyes glass over. “That and we’re 40 feet underground and th’ internet doesn’t exist anymore.” “You’ve heards us says dat?” “Dood ya do it all’a time. I may naht know what yer sayin’ but I’m pretty good at pickin’ up patterns.” He taps out an invisible rim shot, hissing the cymbal crash as he winks. Toki briefly considers lying. But he knows it’s a waste—Pickles is primed to hacksaw through all his bullshit. “It don’ts...translates, exactly, into English.” He waits a moment to see if Pickles accepts this as an adequate explanation. He doesn’t. Toki continues shakily: “Wells, it does but nots, um, de emotion…” He scrunches his nose and starts over. “Yous don’ts use it for everybodies, yous supposed to saves it for somebody who’s really…” Sighing, he thumbs Skwisgaar’s shoulderblade like it’s a lucky talisman. “I don’ts know whens we starts doesing it.” “A while ago, dood.” Oh.

“Oh. Um. Wells.” Heat rises to his cheeks. “Elskede in Norweigian means,” he winces, “beloved, and älskling ams kinds of de ex-quibbi-kent in Swedish buts it means, uh.” He tucks his chin to his chest and shields his eyes in embarrassment. “It means darling buts you don’ts use its de way you does ins English, it’s, um...” His thumb and middle and index finger squeeze into his eye sockets so hard stars flash across his vision. “...It’s somet’ings you use for de poirson what ams most specials to yous, likes de poirson you mights maybe marry one days wowee saysing all dis outs loud makes me feel real stupids cans I please stops?” “Okey okey.” When Toki opens his eyes he sees Pickles waving his hands like he’s trying to break up a bad smell. “Asked an’ answered.” The tips of Toki’s ears burn, a shameful sludge spreading thickly behind his sternum. He tips his head back, skull thunking dully against the wall. “Don’ts tell de guys abouts dis, Skwisgaar will nevers forgive mes.” “Nah, dood, don’ worry, this stays in th’ vault.” The drone of the overhead fluorescent lights and the muted thrum of generators thrums like locusts. Skwisgaar inhales deeply, exhales sharply, and nestles closer. Toki’s gaze darts about the terrible mural, searching for something to latch to, but his focus swings as if by gravitational pull back to Pickles’s face. When he at last resolves to glance up at him, he’s braced for ridicule. But when he does, his tension deflates. Pickles doesn’t look like he’s about to make fun of him. Pickles looks like...Toki doesn’t know what Pickles looks like. “Whats dat face?” Pickles’s smile widens, head cocking to the side. “Stops dat! What’s dat face!” “What face! There’s no face! I don’ even have a face!” He bites his lower lip, muffling a chuckle. “Awright bud, I’m naht gunna lie, me and these other dooshbeegs have had our suspicions about the, errrr aaaah...” He cinches one eye shut. “...Nature of yer relationship. But none’a us suspected you guys were, y’know…” He rolls the wrist holding the vodka, liquid splashing to the floor. Toki stares at him questioningly. “...Fully in it.” Toki blinks. “In whats?” Pickles pinches his lips and squints as if to say, come on dude, but doesn’t press further. “Welp.” He kicks backwards to push himself off the wall and stand upright. “It’s almost sunrise. Or sunset, I dunno, this steel box has really fucked up my internal clahck. But I’m gonna watch th’ sun do somethin’ wit’ Murderface until my shift on watch.” He pivots to face the long corridor leading to the surveillance room. I’ll see ya around.” He pauses. He points a finger in the air, draws a small circle, and glances over his shoulder with a small smile. “Abviously.” He’s gone as quickly as he arrived. Toki’s attention returns to the mural. The staticky grasslands. The angular mountains. The flat plane of the lake. Toki’s not an art guy but he knows this is bad. Still, it moves him. He doesn’t understand why. Maybe he doesn’t have to. He and Skwisgaar have always talked around it. They’ve always had an understanding, leaving little secrets and codes for the other to crack. They did, mostly. It’s the same, mostly. But it’s the end of the world and Toki needs to say it out loud. He buries his face in that soft golden crown and whispers, “I loves you.” “I loves you, too,” is the sleepy reply. He was wrong. It’s different. It’s better. “Is likes Pickle says.” He pushes himself up to press his lips to Toki’s neck. “We’s fully ins it.”

#skwisgaar skwigelf #toki wartooth #skwistok #metalocalypse #my fanfic

32 notes · View notes

rannadylin · 4 years

Photo

Morning tea picture of the sock along with a couple replies!

@icanfuckthescalenetriangle said:

That’s awesome! I’m glad to be part of inspiring you to learn to knit and impressed that you’re jumping right into sock knitting! It’s my favorite type of project - tiny canvas for all sorts of fun techniques - and I hope you have lots of fun with it!

@theimprobabilitydriveprobably (hm, I’m not able to magic-tag you so I hope you do see this!) said:

Well, the base pattern itself is this delightful thing:

http://danishknitdesign.blogspot.com/2014/04/new-nordic-deer-star-stocking-pattern.html

Which alternates, as the title suggests, between a star chart and a deer chart. So I just modified the star chart slightly to look more like a flower, and I replaced the deer chart with my bees charts. I’m using the original pattern to handle the shaping because while I knit socks all the time (they’re, like, three whole drawers and part of a fourth in my dresser at this point...plus a bunch I’ve made for my mom too), I’ve only once made thigh highs so I opted out of calculating all the shaping for that on my own.

Oh, and the yarn I’m working with is all from Knit Picks and I’m very happy with the colors I chose!

Main Color: Bare Stroll Fingering - https://www.knitpicks.com/yarn/bare-stroll-fingering/c/5420145

Contrast Colors: Iceberg Stroll Tonal Multipack - https://www.knitpicks.com/yarn/stroll-tonal-mini-packs/c/5420346

The bright blue lines down the middle of each flower round, i.e. second contrast color: Irvington Hawthorne Fingering - https://www.knitpicks.com/yarn/hawthorne-fingering-multi-yarn/c/5420251

Once I’ve got past the smaller versions of the charts to make sure that they look all right knitted up, I’ll post those for anyone who wants to use them!

#knitting #socks #jester #critical role #cr crafts #jester's thigh high socks #ranna knits #fair isle

11 notes · View notes

cosplayinamerica · 5 years

Photo

The Mandalorian x Demon Slayer // Cosplayer : Giveway.Studios // Photographer : DTJAAAAM

I was inspired by the concept art of @dishwasher1910 on Instagram. I reached out to them, and they gave the ok to recreate their concept in real life. Of course, I took many artistic liberties in creating the physical cosplay as I wanted the build to be a lot more detailed with more references to both series. One of the many ways I did this was the Baby Yoda carriage for example, in the art concept it’s a simple basket, but in my cosplay it’s a combination of Tanjiro backpack box & Baby Yoda’s floating egg shaped metal crib. I also made it modular so I can wear it like a backpack or carry it like a basket.

Costume was made mostly from Eva foam. I have the tutorials for both the Mando helmet and Baby Yoda builds on the GiveWaveStudios YouTube and the patterns are up for grabs on GiveWaveStudios.com …

For the legs I used my soldier 76 base template and heavily modified it to fit the theme, as I wore traditional geta sandals instead of shoes. Some details that folks don’t get to see is the belt is EVA foam and has a bunch of accessories like light up magnetic Mando timed bombs, battery banks, a voice changing speaker for communication, and a leather holster customized for the Mandalorian hand held blaster that I modeled and resin printed in one piece.

The chest armor, made from Eva also, is skinned with a brushed Metallic vinyl with a piece of leather attached over it with Chicago screws. The chest plate also has 2 screens that light up and say things like “give” “wave” and other Canon text from classic Star Wars Boba Fett, this is affixed to a handmade leather bandolier and electronics were courtesy of my good friend & “husbandou” @orangegoose …

I made the pants based on some lounge pants I had, same with brown kimono, used an existing piece I had from Japan that patterned to recreate it with materials appropriate for the build. Only thing I didn’t make was the shirt but already had a black dress shirt in my closet ( did make the white buttons tho’ out of resin, but made them magnetic so as to not permanently alter my dress shirt lol )

People really enjoyed it I think ( at least those who got it ) … For the majority of reactions tho’ it was things along the line of ” oh my God it’s baby yo… Wait a minute ” followed by lol’s as they walked past me because it clicked in their heads … Those for whom it was too good to be true did stop me for pics tho’. But I guess the thing that’s the funniest is that for the majority, people just wanted pics of #babyyozuko and not the whole thing so the child def stole the show.

https://linktr.ee/givewave.studios

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian cosplay #demon slayer #demon slayer cosplay #star wars #star wars cosplay #cosplay interview

35 notes · View notes

kriscme · 4 years

Text

One Life To Live

Hi Readers, sorry for the longer interval that usual. It took me awhile to work out where to go from here. The hazard of not working to a plan. Thanks as always to Ronja for allowing me to write fanfic of her Hunger Games fanfic “The Chance You Didn’t Take.” You can read it on AO3 and Fanfiction. Chapter 28 The following morning, I set out for work as usual. All is quiet in the Village. Peeta would still be sleeping off the effects of sleep syrup but there’s no sign of Johanna or Haymitch. I modify my usual route to the school and walk down the main street, curious to see if Lace is working today. She doesn’t open this early, but she can usually be seen behind her shop window bustling about, either sewing or sorting through fabrics. Today there’s no sign of her. Even more oddly, the tailor’s shop is closed. Arthur starts early and finishes late, eager for as much business as possible to fund that factory he intends to own one day. The bakery is open though. Cass and Saffy are serving behind the counter. Saffy replaced Sateen after she quit her job to marry Roy. Her full name is Sapphire and she’s aptly named with dark blue eyes and pale blond hair. She’s someone I might have been jealous of if Peeta hadn’t already been with Lace. Very pretty, she flirts with everyone, male and female alike. Peeta told me she had been training as a career before the war put an end to the Games. Her favored weapon was the bow although she admits that she was only middling good at best. But if Glimmer – also from 1 – had made it through on good looks and charm, then why not her? It’s the early morning rush and there’s quite a few people ahead of me. While I wait, I take the opportunity to examine the contents of the display counters. Bee stings must still be popular as they take up an entire shelf. Below them are apple pastries and jelly slices. Chocolate eclairs and fruit tarts, cupcakes and . . . yes, iced cookies, each decorated with a floral motif. It’s clearly Peeta’s work. In one corner of the bakery is a large glass case displaying a dazzling array of celebration cakes. “Amazing, aren’t they?” says Cass behind me. I look around and see that the other customers have left and there’s only me, Cass and Saffy, who is occupied packing loaves of bread onto shelves. “We’re really lucky to have found him. He could get work anywhere, if he wanted.” He points to the central cake, a large multi-tiered wedding cake decorated with an intricate vine design in gold. The pattern and the shape of the leaves stirs a memory, and I wonder if it had for Peeta too. “We even got an order for one just like it to be shipped to the Capitol.” “The Capitol? Wow! That’s a long way to come for a wedding cake. How did they know to look here?” Cass chuckles. “She actually came in for the beestings. She recognized us from our bakery in the Capitol. But when she saw that cake, she just had to have it. It was the strangest thing. The tattoo on her head was an exact match with the vine decoration on the cake.” “Oh, that is strange. Did she say why she was in 12? We don’t usually get tourists here.” “She didn’t say. But the beestings was a treat for her crew, I know that much. Construction, maybe? There’s a lot of that going on.” “Yeah, probably.” Despite my efforts to keep my voice even, I can’t help a sense of urgency creeping in. “Did she ask to speak to Peeta? You know, to talk about the cake?” “No. She didn’t ask who iced it.” Cass’s brow pinches in worry. “Is there something wrong?” “Of course not,” I quickly assure him. “Just curious, that’s all. I thought she might have wondered how the cake and her tattoo happen to match. But it’s probably a standard design. Peeta likely saw it somewhere from his days in the Capitol.” His face relaxes into a smile. “Well, there was plenty to choose from, fashions changed so fast. None as popular as your Mockingjay symbol though.” “Yeah, it did seem to be everywhere. Although I bet there’s a lot of people who regret they got a tattoo of it,” I say with a laugh. I search for a change of subject. I really don’t want to revisit those days. “Do you have any cheese buns ready?” “A batch is due out of the oven now. Just wait a minute and I’ll get them,” he says, and disappears into the rear of the bakery. The aroma of freshly baked cheese buns would normally have me salivating, but all I can think of is the woman who ordered that cake. Cressida! What’s she doing in 12? The last I heard, she and Pollux had been sent to the Districts to cover the wreckage of the war. This was not long after the Capitol had fallen, Coin was in charge, Snow awaiting trial, and I was in hospital being treated for burns. Maybe she’s here to do a story on District 12’s recovery. That would make sense. I just hope Peeta and I aren’t the subject. Paylor would certainly put a stop to it if we were, wouldn’t she? She didn’t want me attracting any attention when I was in 8, after all. I think as far as the government is concerned; we outlived our usefulness long ago. Nowadays we’re more of an embarrassment. The lunatic who went berserk and kicked a fellow combatant into a pod to his death, and the lunatic who executed the wrong president. I think, if the government have its way, we’ll never be heard of again. No ill will, just please quietly fade into the sunset. Max sheds no further light on the Cressida mystery. When asked if I’d missed anything while I was away, he only commented on Arthur’s uncharacteristic behavior at the pub on the Saturday night. Max describes him as an odd mixture of concern and excitement. “Like he was happy about something, but felt bad that he was happy about it. He didn’t stick around for long. Said he had personal issues to attend to.” Lace, probably. That could explain why his shop wasn’t open as usual. Arthur wouldn’t, would he? Spend the night with her? To give comfort, or maybe something more? Maybe he’s heeding his own advice: be adaptable, be open to possibilities. “Lace and Peeta broke up,” I say, and wait for Max’s stunned reaction. To my surprise I don’t get one. Not beyond a raise of eyebrows and a sardonic laugh, that is. “Did they now? Well, you could see that coming.” “How?” I ask, disbelieving. It’s so typical of Max to claim credit for knowing something after the fact. Peeta and Lace were never anything less than a devoted couple. No one could have seen it coming. I get a disbelieving look in return. “You must have been too preoccupied with making plans for your weekend in the woods with Nature Man. Because while their hands might have been all over each other their eyes weren’t. His were on you and hers were on Arthur. I was surprised Lace held out for as long as she did. If looks could kill, Johanna would have been dead a dozen times over.” Max finishes collating the work sheets on the table and sets to work stapling them together. “So, what’s between them? Obviously, they’re more than just acquaintances if he knew her secret before Psycho Boy did.” “They knew each other in 8. They’re related through marriage,” is all I say. I doubt if Arthur would appreciate me giving away more than that. Certainly not that he’s had a crush on Lace since childhood. “And stop calling people names. It’s immature. And unnecessary.” “But I like calling people names. It’s fun. You’re just jealous I haven’t one for you yet. How about The Scowler? Yes, that fits,” he says, grinning at me. I try to wipe the scowl off my face but give up. Max gives me so much to scowl at. “And now the big question is, who will she choose? Nature Man or Psycho Boy? It should be no contest but there’s no accounting for some women’s tastes.” “There is no choice,” I snap. “And mind your own business.” I plonk my still half-full cup of tea in the sink and stomp out of the staff room before remembering that I’ve just committed the grave offense of not washing my cup and placing it back on the self. Maybe I can get back in time later to do it before Mrs. Matson sees it. But I’m not going back in there right now. Not while he’s in there, no matter the consequences. That man annoys me so much. And the most annoying thing about him is that he can see right through me. Because if I’m honest with myself, the thought had occurred to me too. Which is really, really dumb. The situation bears no relationship whatsoever to the choice I had between Gale and Peeta. Because then there really was a choice. Two boys who were in love with me compared to one man who isn’t, and another I can’t say. But somehow, I sense that there’s still a choice to be made. I don’t know how, or why. Just that at one point, I’ll have to make one. If Max can be trusted with anything, it’s to spread information in the fastest time possible. By lunchtime everyone knows. I get a few looks, especially from the newest members of staff. I suppose I’d better get used to it. People will speculate and assume the way is clear now for Peeta and me. In their minds, anything other than a star-crossed lovers union is unthinkable, an aberration that shouldn’t be tolerated. It’s unfortunate for them that they’re going to be disappointed a second time. I walk home the way I came, down the main street. Lace’s shop is still closed, but Arthur is open for business. I watch him through the window as I walk past. Arthur has really only one expression, but it manifests in varying degrees according to his mood and the situation. Today it’s serious light, and if I’m not mistaken, there’s the barest hint of a smile at the corners of his lips. It’s the happiest I’ve ever seen him. Johanna calls by soon after I arrive home. Marcus isn’t here so I lead her into the sitting room where we can talk openly in comfort. “How is he?” I ask as soon as we’re seated. “Better. There haven’t been any more flashbacks, at least. I think the long sleep broke the cycle. Not that I’ve seen much of him. He kept to his room most of the day, except when he came down to talk to Aurelius on the phone.” “And?” Neither of us pretend that Johanna hadn’t listened in. We’re both shameless. Johanna for eavesdropping and me for asking her to repeat it. But justified, we tell ourselves, because we care about his welfare. Johanna’s forehead crinkles in concentration. “Well, I only heard Peeta’s side of it, of course. And it was muffled at times. But he talked about the flashbacks. That’s how I know they’ve stopped. And then about the break-up. I got the impression he must have already talked to Aurelius about the possibility, because he didn’t explain why they broke up, just that they had, and he felt badly about it. And then, all of a sudden, he started to cry. He kept saying over and over that his life was ruined and he’ll never find a love like that again and that it was his own fault.” It’s a knife to the heart. I know Peeta doesn’t love me anymore but he has some awareness that he once did, and that it was, by his own account, overwhelming in its intensity. But Lace has supplanted me in that too. She’s the love that can never be surpassed. But something doesn’t quite make sense. Why break-up with her if he feels that way? She was the one who had to be forgiven. Peeta did nothing wrong. But then I remember what Peeta told Johanna when she asked him why they had broken-up. He said they’d both lied. Could Lace have initiated the break-up? That whatever Peeta had lied about was a deal breaker for her? And then I think about Arthur and his closed shop this morning and the little smile on his face when I saw him later in the day. That’s more than relief for a disaster averted. He’s had encouragement. From Lace. Poor Peeta. Poor, poor Peeta. Everything about her he adored – her laughter, her bright personality, her ambition. He even liked that slobbering dog of hers. And after everything he’s suffered. The Games, losing his leg, his torture at Snow’s hands. And the loss of his entire family in the bombing too. He had no one except Haymitch and me – a drunk and a depressed recluse, as battle scarred and broken as he. And then he meets Lace. The ray of light in the darkness. And the amount of money he spent on that wedding! To please her, to show her and the world how much he loves her. And now, oh, how could she? “It was heartbreaking. I just wanted to leap out and tell him that little bitch isn’t worth it. But I couldn’t, you know.” No, not without revealing yourself. “But he calmed down eventually. He talked about going the Capitol for treatment but I think Aurelius persuaded him to stay here. And that’s about it. Except to talk again tomorrow. Oh, and Peeta promised to think about returning to work as soon as possible and to get out and see people. And to continue to work on his memories.” That’s similar to the advice Dr Aurelius gave me when I told I was in love with Peeta. To work on myself, to find my direction. “No, that’s not quite right,” Johanna adds. “I left out an important detail. He promised to work on his memories with her. I guess Aurelius appreciated my input. And he did make a lot more progress once I took over. Sorry, Katniss, but he did.” I nod wearily. It hurts, but it’s true. All I managed to do was confirm what he had already convinced himself of. A disaster from start to finish. “Are you going to see him?” asks Johanna. “I think it will help him to know that he still has friends.” I want to say no. But I know that if the positions were reversed Peeta would put aside his own hurt feelings and support me any way he can. “Yes, in a day or two maybe. I want to give him time to adjust first.” It’s a lame response but Johanna seems to accept it. If I were Peeta I could leave a bag of cookies or cheese buns at his front door as a convenient way of conveying support without having to actually engage. But I can’t think of anything I can give him that he’d want so I’ll have to face him. I can’t delay it forever. I tell Johanna about the cake with the vine design and the woman who ordered one just like it. And of my suspicions of who this woman might be. “Yeah, that’d be Cressida. She’s been covering an ongoing story about Marcus and the national parks. She comes around this time, just as Marcus is almost finished wrapping things up. Although, in 7, she was almost there from the start. You know, because of all the trouble we had with the logging companies. I don’t know if you saw it, but she did a special feature on me. It was called “Johanna Mason – Environmental Activist. Her Life After the Games.” It was sensationalist rubbish really. They kept on showing footage of me chained naked to a tree. Even asked if I’d do the interview like that. I did, but I want to be clear, it was their idea, not mine. And they tried to fabricate a love affair between me and Marcus too. Marcus hated it. Especially when memes appeared on social media transposing me naked against the tree with him next to me with his hands in various places.” “But why?” I’m aghast. This is dreadful news. If they did that to Johanna, what would they do to Marcus and me? Or to Peeta and Lace? Or to Peeta and me? This is juicy fodder for the tabloid media. “I thought they wanted us to lay low. To just blend in and be ordinary people again.” Johanna looks at me askance. “Well, maybe you and Peeta. But not for the rest of us. Beetee writes for a science magazine and does frequent guest appearances on “Cool Science” and Enobaria has her own reality show. “Keeping Up with the Barbarian,” or something like that. Annie likes to keep a low profile though.” “Does Marcus know she’s here?” I barely whisper the words. Johanna shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe not if she’s just arrived. But he would have known she’d be here eventually. Marcus doesn’t like it, but he relies on the publicity. And when he goes to 13 next – “ “13?” “Well, yes. He’s doing all the Districts. You know that. And 13’s practically virgin territory. That’s one advantage in living underground I suppose, nothing on top gets damaged. He’ll want to move quickly to preserve the area most in need of conservation before developers make any more inroads. I don’t envy him though. That’s one place I never want to see again.” Me neither. There’re no good memories for me in 13. And they hate me there. I killed their president. Johanna leaves shortly after, but not before extracting from me an assurance that I’ll visit Peeta soon. I have about an hour before Marcus arrives home. Enough time to use his computer to do some research. I find the memes Johanna talked about. One has Marcus with one hand at Johanna’s crotch and the other inside his trousers, pumping away. I search Beetee’s name and find links to articles he’s written and his TV appearances. There’s very little about his personal life other than he still lives in his home district of 3 and has investments in an electrical company. Enobaria attracts the most publicity. As well as her reality show, she’s a regular on the celebrity circuit, her trademark pointed teeth bared for maximum effect. On Annie, there’s been no media reports since the War ended. And there’s none for Haymitch, Peeta and me either. I can understand why Peeta and I have been left alone. At least, I thought I did. Haymitch and Annie would be fair game though. Annie, slightly mad Annie, Victor and the widow of the handsome and seductive Finnick Odair, himself a Victor, the most notorious womaniser in Panem turned war hero. Surely the birth of their son would have garnered some attention. And Haymitch is a news story too. A popular Victor and a prominent player in the Rebellion, you’d think they’d be some public curiosity about where he ended up. But nothing. Either there’s been no interest or it’s being squelched. It dawns on me that maybe the lack of media attention isn’t just because we’re a national embarrassment. It’s because we’re being protected. Enobaria, Beetee and Johanna have chosen to be in the public eye, and they must take the bad with the good. But not Annie, Haymitch, Peeta and I. We’ve lived quiet lives, eschewing the lime-light. I let out a long breath, not realizing that I’ve been holding it. We’re safe then. Cressida will do her news story about Marcus and the new national park and then leave. Peeta and I have nothing to worry about. A door opens and shuts and there’s footsteps in the hall. I close the computer and replace everything as it was. Marcus is home.

9 notes · View notes

darth-eagle · 5 years

Text

Finally got the chance to attend the Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire in Concert last Saturday 29th February 2020 at Esplanade Theatre, Singapore.

Went all out as usual and go as PoA Hermione Granger.

Not perfect as I’m still missing Hermione’s GoF “Kilt Skirt” OR PoA 2-Kick-Pleats Skirt, and I need to redo my Gryffindor School Robe (it’s 15 years old and made using not-so-accurate design as was Version 2 of the pattern I modified/drafted). And after many years, also discovered I have to buy *NEW* Mary Janes Shoes as current pair Pleather had cracked!

Saw a few attendees dressing up in Full Harry Potter Costumes or Coordinates; only managed to take photo of 4 of them.

Love the Beauxbatons Hat one of them was wearing, she said was bought when she was in USA.

Oh ya, my Bertholdt Hoover get to attend his second “……in Concert” too; the first being for Star Wars Episode 7: The Force Awakens years ago!

Anyhow, here’s a comparison of the 1st time I don my Gryffindor School Robe in April 2005, which got nicknamed as cosplaying as “Hermione” (I just throw on my LOTR Arwen Wig!) and the most recent one with correct Hermione Wig and Wand, plus PoA/Style 2 Sweater from Whimsic Alley eons ago.

Got Good Improvements?

#harrypotterinconcert #harry potter in concert #harry potter costuming #harry potter cosplay #hp cosplay #hermione cosplay #beauxbatons cosplay #slytherin cosplay #hufflepuff cosplay #harry potter singapore #harry potter sg #harry potter and the goblet of fire #esplanade

1 note · View note

impossible-rat-babies · 5 years

Text

In Character Interview!

I got tagged by @ariela-of-aedyr! Thank you lovely!

In the spirit of answering for Ariela, I’m going to do Aoife for this meme! :)

I’m going to tag: @apostatetabris, @whispersofyenwood, @dragonie, and anyone else who wants to do this!

—

What’s your name?

Aoife! Aoife Fawcett.

Do you know why you were named that?

One of my mothers was Aedyran and she wished me to be named that when I was born. Sadly, she passed when I was born and my other mother, Ciara, honored her wife’s wish and named me that.

Are you single or taken?

Taken, as of now. Something I didn’t think I’d find myself saying, but here we are.

Have any abilities or powers?

I am a Cipher and a Watcher, so I have no shortage of powers. I’m quite skilled with a bow though, slowly learning to be better with a sword however. I still like a mace better.

What’s your eye color?

Gold. I do have pupils, mind you, but they are the same color as my iris.

How about your hair color?

Black, with a bit of a wave at the end.

Have any family members?

Yes, I do. I have my mother, Ciara, who still lives at home in Ixamitl. I have an older sister and brother, Wren and Daniel. I don’t know where they are now, but I am....estranged from both of them.

I do have Vela, my daughter as one might suppose. She’s a sweetheart and I would do anything for her.

Oh? How about pets?

Ciara isn’t a pet, but she is the closest thing. She is my animal companion, a grumpy war hawk. Bred to be larger than their cousins and fit as any war bird. She likes to play with hair...

That’s cool, I guess. Now, tell me something you don’t like?

Slavery, harming innocents, people who chew with their mouths open. I can’t be expected to be as old as I am and not have a few things I dislike.

Do you have any activities/hobbies that you like to do?

I enjoy reading, when I can manage it. I like listening to Aloth read when I can’t manage it. I like practicing with my bow, enjoying the sun, playing with Vela. Rather simple things for complex times.

Have you ever hurt anyone in any way before?

Yes, both purposefully and accidentally. Being a young cipher without directions from peers or a mentor leads to accidents. It’s a much more purposeful affair now.

Ever… killed anyone before?

Yes and with the intention of doing such a thing. My life has had no shortage of those who have deserved it.

What kind of animal are you?

I don’t fancy myself an animal, but I am rather fond of hawks and other birds.

Name your worst habits?

I pick my nails, can be argumentative, too honest for my own good. Others have said I am too rational or far too sympathetic, but we can rarely be the judges of our own character.

Do you look up to anyone at all?

Rarely, since I’m over six foot tall.

Are you gay, straight or bisexual?

I fancy who I fancy, truth be told.

Did you attend school?

I know my letters and basic math, but the formalities of education didn’t happen. I am not without seeking out my own sort of knowledge and learning however. I do like learning languages though, and Rekke has said I have an ear for them.

Ever want to marry and have kids one day?

I have Vela, my daughter, and Aloth, for so long as we wish to have each other. That is enough for me and for now. Mayhaps things will change one day.

Do you have any fangirls/fanboys?

I would surely hope not, but people do have the strangest obsessions.

What are you most afraid of?

I am afraid of hurting the ones I love and being used as a tool, the later a fact I see everyday when I look in the mirror or think about where I have been, where I have come from.

What do you usually wear?

Whatever will fit, honestly. I rarely find things that don’t need modifying due to my height and my tail, but I’ve made due. I do like patterns and colors, mainly blues, greens and reds. Yellow too.

What’s one food that tempts you?

My mother makes a wonderful rice dish that I miss greatly. No one quite makes it the same, but that’s true of all the foods one grows up on. I do have a weakness for little fried balls of dough rolled in sugar.

Am I annoying you?

No...?

Well, it’s still not over!

Go on then.

What class are you (low/middle/high)?

Class means little when you live on your own with your mother, but I would suppose most would call that low class. Caed Nua did make me a noble and I still have the rights to that land, so I assume I still retain that status. But oftentimes being a noble in the Dyrwood of all places isn’t quite as illustrious as being a Vallian or Aedyran noble.

How many friends do you have?

Many, and I cherish each of them.

What are your thoughts on pie?

It is very good. I enjoy both sweet and savory ones.

Favorite drink?

Water or mead. Occasionally rice wine. It’s not as bad as Rekke says it is.

What’s your favorite place?

The roof of Brighthollow at Caed Nua. I could watch the stars from up there and few knew how to get up there, so it was private in its way. It had a good view of the Keep and I miss it dearly.

Now, I do like my private cabin or being up near the top of the mast of the Tempo. I like the sea breeze in my hair.

Are you interested in anyone?

Yes I am very interested in someone and that interest has been reciprocated.

That was a stupid question…

I’m not the one who asked it, now am I?

Would you rather swim in a lake or the ocean?

Ocean. I was a pirate in my youth. The ocean is in my blood.

What’s your type?

Smart, compassionate, understanding. I do like folks who can tell a joke or two, dry witted or not.

Any fetishes?

None I will say to you, but many find death Godlike interesting in that sort of fashion. Never care to indulge anyone either.

Camping or outdoors?

Outdoors, surely. I spent six months camping across the Dyrwood and five years later I’ve still had my fill of it.

#under the cut bc it long #tag meme #oc tag #oc: aoife #pillars of eternity #weeee my boy who has next to no humor

12 notes · View notes

spoopyghostgirl · 5 years

Text

Oh hey

I made a brief character sheet for my Mass Effect OC!

Name: Hades Alexandria Demetriou

Title: Commander, Spectre, Princess

Nickname(s): Charming, Hey Hey, Hot Head, Star Dust, Super Nova Girl

Gender: Female

Age: 2681 years old

Birthday: August 18th

Previous Homeworld: Olympus

Current Homeworld: Olympus

Sexual Orientation: Bisexual

Race: Celestial

Voice: Thorn, scooby doo

Personality: Hades is a shameless flirt with a short temper and sociopathic tendencies. She tries to be a good person but isn't always the best at it. She is playful and light, commonly being asked if she "takes anything seriously", which can be a good thing when winning people over and a stressful thing when someone's already mad at her. She smiles constantly, being the child of an ambassador and is use to pretending to like people she doesn't. Good for diplomacy, to a point. Will throw hands in necessary. Big into giving nicknames.

Family or Relatives:

• Brother (twin): Poseidon Alexander Demetriou

• Sister: Artemis Emilie Demetriou

• Brother: Apollo Leoni Demetriou

• Brother: Aries Emanates Demetriou

• Brother: Zeus Aniello Demetriou

• Mother: Rhea Alexandria Demetriou

• Father: Kronos Emilio Demetriou

Morality: Chaotic Evil

Pre-Service History: Hades was born around 2158 years ago. She was born on Earth, though she isn't human. She was born during the period her parents were on Earth, parading around as Gods to those who were less evolved. For awhile things were great, until her father and his siblings decided to run tests on the humans. She and her two older brothers, Poseidon and Zeus turned against them, banishing them from Earth and taking over as the big three. For a time, there was peace, the trio restoring what their parents destroyed and helping guide the humans down more peaceful paths. Soon, the humans began to war amongst themselves in the name of the god they most supported. This was what ended the Elementals time on Earth. They left, returning to their home planet. When they returned, they discovered that their mother had founded a new government and led their people to peace. Several smaller "Gods" took to the moons around the planet, making them their homes, and beginning colonies while her mother and father ruled as the King and Queen of Gods. It wasn't long after when her parents were approached to join the council and the other races of aliens. Her father was ambassador for awhile before he decided to take time off, offering the position to Hades. Thankfully, the council, having her of Hades skills and abilities, was chosen to become a Spectre while her older brother, Hades, became the ambassador. This all happened within 30 years of the series starting.

Psychological Profile: Ruthless

Addictions: None particularly, partially an adrenaline junky

Role model(s): Her father, a powerful leader. Her mother for her kind heart and ability to charm just about anyone.

Beliefs: None

Habits: Running in the morning. Practicing both hand to hand combat and her shooting skills. Talks with her hands and has problems standing/sitting still.

Hobbies: Enjoys listening to music and art. Has a large giant of flowers on her home planet that she had originally planted and maintained to impress a girl. Likes to paint and sketch.

Source of Anger/Hatred: Some of her siblings (Aries). Anyone who is stupid or intentionally hurtful. Those who would threaten those she loves. Idiots. People who can't see what's in front of their faces. People who talk down to her or people she cares about.

Source of Sadness/Sorrow: Nothing really.

Source of Fear/Phobia: Fear of spiders and heights.

Likes: Books. Music. Art. Cats. Being physical. Tattoos.

Dislikes: Spiders. Idiots.

Weight: 120lbs

Height: 5'7

Build: Lean Muscular

Scar(s): One, center of her bottom lip. Faint scar from all the times shes split it open.

Tattoo(s): Floral tattoos on both arms ground shoulder to bicep. They're of flowers that she grew in her garden with Persephone. They took the flowers to the tattoo shop and had them dipped in ink and then Persephone pressed them to her skin in an intricate pattern which was then tattooed over. They're cobalt blue and black on her left arm and a deep violet and burgundy on her right.

Skin Tone: Hades is fair, tending to spend most of her time in her armor.

Facial Features: Full lips, with a pouty lower lip. Small, Roman nose. High cheek bones. Dark arched brows. Large almond shaped eyes and long dark lashes. A small freckle under the other corner of her right eye. Small scar on the center of her lower lip.

Hair Style:

ME1: Short, buzzed on the sides and dyed black. White and longer on top.

ME2 and 3: Long and wave, goes pass shoulder blades. Lilac in color and buzzed short on the right side.

Hair color: White and black. Lilac.

Eye color: Yellow/Red/Black

Eye Style: Hades, along with all of her people, have black sclera. Her irises are red around the pupil and yellow in the rest.

Helmet: Death Mask

Chest Armor: Kestrel Torso Sheath

Shoulder Piece: Kestrel Shoulder Piece

Gauntlet Armor Piece: Kestrel Arm Sheathing

Leg Armor Piece: Kestrel Power Pack

Primary Colour: Black

Secondary Colour: Burgundy

Tertiary Colour: Navy blue

Casual Clothing: Hades wears a black crop top and leather skinny jeans. Over her black crop top she wears a silk off the shoulder crop top that is red with gold trim. Hades wears red silky half skirt that is clipped into place by two gold clasps on each side of her hips. She wears a pair of black knee high boots.

Faction/Occupation/Affiliation: Council, Spectre, Cerberus (ME2), Council/Spectre (ME3)

Artificial Intelligence(A.I)/Companion: Persephone, affectionately named after the first girl Hades loved.

Allies/Friends: Several.

Rivals/Frienemies: None.

Nemesis/Enemies: Seran, Aries, Cerberus, Reapers, Geth

Class: Adept/Solider

Category Threat Level: 12

Rank: Commander, Spectre

Standard/Modified Weapons:

1. Diamond Back X Assault Rifle

2.M-98 Widow Anti-Material Rifle

3. Cobra X line pistol

Supernatural Powers: Hades has the ability to manipulate fire and space.

Skills/Specialization: Immensely skilled with pistols and assault rifles. Is the person who runs ahead and pops off enemies. Is skilled in hand to hand combat.

#mass effect #mass effect 2 #mass effect 3 #mass effect 1 #kaidan alenko #generic shepard #thane krios #oc: Hades Demetriou #mass effect spectre #my girl #alien bb

1 note · View note

dollsworkshop · 5 years

Text

How I made my first custom doll

Hello guys, I am a first-time customizer and I just finished my first customized doll. I think as a beginner, I did a lot of advanced stuff because I wanted this doll to be perfect. I made her as a gift for my professor, and I wanted to make sure that this doll was as perfect as possible.

I was really hesitant about all of this because I wasn’t sure if I was talented enough to customize a doll. I mean, I’ve been perfecting my digital art for almost eight years, but I didn’t think that would reflect onto a completely different medium. However, I beat the odds and perfected her.

Luzvimindas is a cartoon character I developed for a movie idea I had about Filipino culture. This movie idea was very important to me. I shared it with my professor because she was a Filipina as well and she taught Filipino-American issues. I shared my script with her and she was estatic!

Her appearance is derived from a serious of different cultures across the Philippines. Since she is the personification of the country, I wanted to make sure that her appearance was not affiliated with a specific tribe. Rather I designed her outfit based on a variety of different elements of tribes.

For people curious about all the tribes of the Philippines, I suggest visiting this link from LinkedIn about the various types of indigenous Filipinos.

https://www.slideshare.net/PennVillanueva/indigenous-peoples-of-the-philippines

She has very strong Maranao influences as seen by her cropped-shoulder dress and long-talon nails. In the Philippines, there is a dance called “pangalay” that is performed by “jangaay” dancers. These dancers are women who adorn their hands with long finger jewelry and most of the performance derives from the playful motion of their arms and wrists.

I made her shirt cropped, because I wanted to show off her indigenous Filipino tattoos, reminiscent of the Visayan regions such as Cebu, the first island of the Philippines encounter by Ferdinand Magellan. That is also why their is a slit to show of her left on her sarong.

A lot of Filipinos, especially down south wore lots of gold. It was very common for Filipinos to wear gold accessories before it was seized under Spanish colonization. She has golden-hoop bracelets on her wrists and ankles. Her outfit has gold trimming, but I chose not to put that on the doll to prevent myself from making a mess with gold paint.

For her headdress, I was inspired by the Igorot tribe of Luzon, but also wanted it to match with the rest of her color scheme. I also added a gold Filipino star in the middle to make it painfully obvious she was Filipina. I also gave her basic disc earrings and a jewel necklace also similar to the star.

Luzvimindas was made using a combination of different materials. Her head mold came from a blue-dressed wonder woman I found at a discount on Mercari. The doll had a stain on its brown from the gel in the doll’s hair, so I removed that along with her factory paint with acetone. I had so much fun, wiping her clean, and removing the remaining hairs with a tweezer.

As for the rest of her, by the time this doll was completed, she was pretty much three dolls put together. When I bought her, I wanted Luzvimindas to kneel, because I thought that would be the most natural way of posing her without having to use a stand. Little did I know that her knees only bend at 90 degree angles. For a little while, I tried forcing her legs to pose at a kneel, but it wasn’t working. So I went back to Mercari and purchased Antiope’s legs from a friendly seller.

I had to go through the trouble of drilling out that plastic bit inside the doll’s hip and tying an elastic band back into the doll’s body.

It was pretty fun, and I was happy because she could finally kneel. But the problem know was that Queen Antiope and Wonder Woman 2018 dolls have different body-types. I did not know that the Wonder Woman movie dolls used a “fit-barbie” body type and that it was different from the kinds of bodies they used for the more higher-quality dolls for the movie’s release.

Because of the difference in size of the thighs, you could see inside the hip. Since this was a gift to my professor, I thought this was unacceptable. I didn’t have any epoxy sculpt. I was going to buy some, but then I realized how expensive that would probably be. I was doing a polymer clay project the previous year and had various materials I never used. I hade this black premo sculpey that was supposed to be hair for my figurine, but I never used it because it was so hard to knead. But since I didn’t want to spend so much money on epoxy, I struggled my way into forming the hips until they were similar enough to a fit barbie’s figure.

Since they don’t air dry, I picked up a method for baking polymer clay without using a baking-oven. I dumped the doll it boiling hot water for 3-4 minutes and it got the job done. However, it backfired and the left side of her body encaved into itself. I was wondering why this happened.

Apparently, if you boil a doll in hot water, you can get a nice corset figure. Unfortunately, this accident didn’t reap me any benefits and I had to dispose this body and buy a new doll from a WWE Diva of a similar skintone to Wonder Woman’s and place the legs on that new body.

This new body had articulated wrists, which was a MAJOR plus for me. I picked up the dye methods from people DollMotion to color change my doll so I didn’t have to deal with painting her. Unfortunately, it only made her joints brown, and I was left with a monster high doll. Oh well...

I picked up a method from Hextian’s video for his Jessica Rabbit Vladonna doll and mixed modge podge with a reddish brown and yellowish orange to get her to become the correct color.

https://youtu.be/KwbTd-oiw0k?t=109

When it came time to reroot her it was a major mess. I never dealt with a rerooting tool nor fake hair before and I didn’t completely understand how rerooting worked. I stuffed my rerooting with thick strands of hair, and whenever I punched it into the existing holes, it would fall immediately out.

I got really frustrated and boiled wash the hank of hair, which resulted in it becoming incredibly frizzy and difficult to work with. I had to comb it several times in order for it to become even again.

After she dried, I made her a Filipino flag and placed her head back to her body. I thought it was really cute.

Unfortunately, the shoulders kept scudding, and it would constantly reveal her true skincolor by peeling off the paint. I couldn’t accept this, especially as a gift. I took my dremel tool and exacto knives and started shaving her shoulders. I was okay with this, because Luzvimindas isn’t a wrestler.

I had to remove all the paint and paint around her body, because it started to chip. Apparently my formula wasn’t strong enough for the entire body. In the end it still chipped only a bit, but not to a point that it was unacceptable.

This was when I started MSC’ing her and worked on her tattoos. I worked at one side at a time to create as much symmetry as possible.

In the end, I thought she was beautiful.

Consequently, the MSC she took made it difficult to do her faceup.

At first, I thought I had the crappiest watercolor pencils in the world.

Then I had to remove her head from her body again, which actually created even more problems. I tried using a sharpie to draw her eyes, but I knew by looking at her that this was just unacceptable.

I wiped off her face entirely and placed it back onto her body to start working on her dress. I found these fabrics that were very close to the doll’s actual patterns, and used them to make her dress. I trried using a sewing machine, but it would constantly eat up the materials, so I had to do everything manually. I bought a pattern DGRequiem for an off-shoulder tunic and modified it slightly to fit the needs of the character.

https://www.etsy.com/transaction/1619681023

I made the sleeves look more like bells, and I extended the back fabric to fit her large muscle body. I then took an orange string and started tying it around her waist to conform it to the shape of her body.

I wrapped cloth around her waist and secured it with an elastic to create her slit sarong. It is very difficult to take of and put on, because of the size of her hips versus the size of her waist. Fortunately, due to the elastics that connect her legs to her hips, I was able to pull her legs downward to give the sarong more room as it went up her legs.

I then wrapped her body in a zip-lock bag and used scrap fabric to protect her hair. I painted the face to match her skin and then MSC’d her again. This time it worked and for a while the watercolor pencils gave her a face. But after a while, they still weren’t opaque enough.

I then used small tubes of oil acrylic to paint the rest of her face. I added fake eyelashes and glossed her eyes and lips with modge podge.

This was before I added her final accessories. I made her headdress by an orange ribbon I found at Walmart, tied it, and pinned it to her head. Then I hot glued feathers that I dusted with various pastels to match her artwork. The bracelets were made from rings made for ear piercings at Hobby Lobby. The rest of her jewelry came from a local 3D print shop.

I painted them gold. Hot glued the star to her headdress. I hot glued the pendant to her necklace chain also made from more jewelry. I hot glued a gem onto her pendant. I pierced a hole through the earrings, hot glued them with pins, and inserted them into her ears.

And that’s how I made Luzvimindas, my indigenous Filipina Baybalan and beholder of the Bayanihan Spirit. I hope you found this post helpful and that it inspires you to make your own custom doll for the first time. Thank you.

- Dollpartshop

#doll #dolls #doll customs #customs #ooak #ooak dolls #filipino #filipina

5 notes · View notes

caesarsme · 3 years

Text

Celine Info Guide

The software will display graphically illustrated poker action by race to alert potential opponents as to the type of hand a participant is prone to have. As well, it's going to provide a gamers betting patterns, figuring out the potential vary of hands that a player may have. When a player is seeking to enhance their poker game, they may generally in search of more advanced poker software program that can do a selection of issues. Many of these areDesert Storm Poker softwareorTexas hold em poker training software program, which train the history of the game, how gamers adapt to vary, and tips about how to enhance a players technique. Go additional again into Celine’s archives and discover the totally different Celine Shoulder Bags which have been created over time. Carrying one of many Celine shoulder luggage, everyone will know you're a loyal Celine-phile. Celine’s core precept is to give consideration to minimalistic and clean designs. The 16 line options several totally different shapes and sizes, together with the Besace 16, Chain Bag sixteen, Small, Medium, and Large 16’s. The price of a Celine 16 bag is from $2,100 as much as $7,500 USD. This distinctive bag is designed with three individual compartments. You can discover the right size, color, and sort for your wants on eBay. On the true one, the word begins on the top of the clasp. The pretend one is more curved, and there’s a larger gap between it and the clasp itself, whereas there’s a smaller hole between the elements of the actual clasp. Secondly, the bottom of the clasp on the left is totally totally different from the one on the proper. The pretend mannequin has 4 distinct rings, separated by gaps. The Celine brand, now owned by the LVMH group, started as a luxurious made-to-measure shoe enterprise that catered to youngsters particularly. With a profitable enterprise concept, the model went on to open a number of stores in France. While the letters on the right have cleaner and crisper edges than the pretend bag above, they're extra spaced aside. This is particularly noticeable on the ‘A’, which appears like it hasn’t been printed clearly sufficient. By comparability, the word ‘Paris’ on the left is thicker and more defined. Therefore the bag on the best is fake, and the left one is actual. Highest Quality Replica Celine 1 There is so much information out there that you have to know. At the exterior, an important detail that defines a great Celine Phantom Satchel replica is the smoothness of the leather. The original Celine is produced from incredibly delicate and gentle leather-based, a lot smoother than the one used on the Celine luggage baggage. Currently the arms of the bag flower backyard Celine said. If you in relation to techniques Celine bag, instruction, and in relation to motifs make use of aged, their and our yeast ought to, all the time true is sweating over should skilled actual Celine purses. Despite the very fact of the matter is the truth that retailers or too saving data, folks, client comfort, some tossed powerful as the knowledge away from other enterprise. As stated in additional than, information Celine handbags usually asked to pay accountability, bridal ceremony costs of all groups can rise very slowly. And they're, they wish to see what amount of consideration as to if you step away. Data Celine bag is a good way to understand the quality of all of our baggage up Celine yeast, when accounting los angelic, all choices and make the most appropriate. A very, very web site for companions most Celine information purses rely upon to information throughout round, because some permitted, baggage illuminating Celine be certain that may be income per muscle neck. These Flat Top Sunglasses have become a go-to for many fashion-forward folks. This particular design, the love of people can't put it down, and a few people can not understand. However, the charm of the saddle bag is long-lasting. It is unquestionably the type of wholesale replica luggage that you like more and more. If you’re in search of excellent copied replica handbags, you could have come to the best store. Celebsbound.web is specializing in Super Fake High End replica baggage which is far much better than these labeled 7 stars replica, AAAAAA copy baggage, greatest copy bags, mirror picture replica bags, and so on. With Celine's sturdy and sensible functions, it is extremely handy for ladies to carry celine luggage every time they go window buying or partake in a party. We offer the Celine Replica Handbags are dedicate in offering discounted celine luggage. Replica purse is believed to be probably the most convenient approach to personal a designer bag. We are a dependable associate and concentrate on offering the top-quality Celine handbags and purpose to provide the extremely high quality replica purse. When it comes to buying CELINE replica bags you have to be very cautious since they're extraordinarily well-liked at the moment! You might easily fall for what I call replica ugly which is as little as you'll have the ability to go in terms of buying a pretend bag, not to mention a fake CELINE. Usually Replica Celine Bags is only one colour at a time, even if the salesperson doesn't know that they'll obtain that shade cortex. Sorry for being so M.I.A – I’ve had a extremely busy summer so far and had very little time to update the blog. wikipedia Anyhow I am again now and boy oh boy do I actually have a fantastic summer season haul to share. My latest purchases embody a Hermes 25cm Birkin, some Chanel, Chloe, Prada, and Celine (which is being featured on this article!). Cheap Celine Caps # Replica Wholesale [$32.00 USD] [W#866378] on Replica Celine CapsReplica Celine Caps with best quality. Look fastidiously and you may notice that the front body on the authentic tilts slightly inward on the downward angle. The front of the frames on the replica are mainly at a 90-degree angle with the temples . Ok, I wish to be fair I actually do like a Celine by Hedi Slimane structure. Lined in lambskin, both dimensions of the Triomphe tote have a separated inside for maximum company, as nicely two inside pockets–a slit pocket and a zippered pocket. The strap is designed to be worn over the shoulder or crossbody as it is adjustable. The larger of the 2 works properly for the on an everyday basis, although it's a bit on the smaller finish for an everyday bag with complete dimensions of 9″ L x 6″ H x 3′ D. All girls, without an exception have an undying obsession for good sneakers. It is a typical sight to see girls exterior showrooms, wishing that that they had the money to purchase themselves a pair. Most of those girls are unaware of that replica shoes are being made obtainable in all components of the world. We contemplate that the quickest way to spot pretend Celine Luggage (Mini/Nano) bags is to analyze the inside tag with the “CELINE Made in Italy” printed textual content. Then you're in the best place as a end result of we have prepared this article with the best spots you have to analyze to be able to learn how to spot fake Celine Luggage baggage. At the within of the bag there is solely one zipped pocket that has leather-based trimmings in the same sort of leather-based as the surface one. Also, the leather-based trimmings are stamped with “Made in Italy”. Replica Designer Purses, Purses, Sneakers On Sale See the precise need with skimming be about whether Celine bags purchase a house that's.A one di ffernt of convenience many you possibly can have interested by Welcome, when attempting to view considers that the information bag Celine normally is like money really is best authority to group all. Despite the very fact of the matter is the truth that outlets or too saving data, folks, client comfort, some tossed highly effective as the knowledge away from other business. As said in additional than, info Celine handbags usually asked to pay responsibility, marriage ceremony prices of all teams can rise very slowly. And they're, they wish to see what amount of consideration to whether you step away. So if you are true, the very fact is extra appropriate to make use of your story Celine baggage you've an idea, then this becomes a character all. The interior stamp could be very off in comparability with the unique CELINE design. The good CELINE nano replica I reviewed had an correct interior stamp. The bag is of the bag is okay, however you'll find a way to see the shiny sheen on the leather-based right here which makes the bag look really fake. In the autumn and winter, many of the merchandise launched by numerous manufacturers are mostly darkish, but sometimes they are monotonous. Replica Celine Bags has launched a rose powder bag that is very special! However, this powder is brought with some grayscale in it, but it's more like smoked rose, so it nonetheless maintains the brand’s consistent style, not too pink and candy. I by no means considered buying one as I was afraid to hurt my status. But my whole concept about fake purses modified after I came throughout this website called CelebrityHandbags.to. Celine is such a basic act in terms of the world of purses. replica celine Ever fashion-forward without sacrificing sophistication and functionality, for this reason ladies all round the world adore the Luxury replica Celine baggage. Plus, an announcement designer Replica Celine Case bag can literally allow you to get money! If you place plenty of money into them, precisely such as you would with worthwhile funding, they're going to endure and hopefully, hold your issues. However, you want to think about an announcement bag being an investment as properly as an goal. No matter the place you're, we provide fast delivery all through the complete world with out contemplating the price and distance. We promise our prospects that will receive the objects promptly and safely. Be value what carry is we're free transport worldwide this month, so get pleasure from your purchasing right here. Shop an enormous vary of products in our on-line store.There are so many items in low value you'll find a way to chose for,and we're sure you'll get your beloved. We are doing Factory Outlet via web, we purchase the products directly from the manufacturing unit with none step in between, and we now have a fantastic many of suppliers via out the world, that is why we are ready to offer you the product at an affordable worth.

#celine replica #replica celine bags #celine replica bags #replica celine #fake celine

0 notes

scriveyner · 7 years

Text

shining like the stars, p99

“So,” Hunk said, his face coming up on the screen to Lance’s left. “Who wants to say it? I don’t want to be the one who says it, I always say it and then you all make fun of me.”

Read on AO3 or continue after the jump:

“Hunk,” Shiro said firmly through the comm. Lance smirked a little, because it was the slightly-exasperated tone of voice that he knew all too well and for once it wasn’t directed at him. “No one needs to say anything.”

“Really? Because I’m really feeling it.”

“Hunk, buddy,” Lance said. “It’s fine. Things are cool.” He leaned forward in his chair, hands resting on the controls of the Blue Lion, and things felt … normal. So normal … well, as normal as things could be when you were flying a giant, frighteningly sentient ancient alien weapon through relatively uncharted waters in the hopes of luring out the Galra cruiser that had jumped into system six hours ago and had yet to engage. It was refreshing to be back in action, just him and Blue - okay, and everyone else, too.

“Still no transmissions from the cruiser?” Shiro asked, and Allura’s voice came through the comm.

“Nothing. They’re sitting just beyond the planetisimal cloud.” Allura sounded just barely worried. They had lain in wait for two days, not moving from the system of their initial wormhole jump based on Shiro’s gut feeling that they were being followed. It did seem strange that the Galra hadn’t pursued them immediately, but they had wormholed out of the system, and apparently caused a great deal of damage to the cruisers, and the frigate’s core engine block. “I can barely get a reading on the ship at all.”

“And this isn’t worrying anyone else?” Hunk said. “Because I’ve got a bad feeling, man…”

Pidge, Lance and Matt managed to make a chorus of groans that liberally drowned out the rest of whatever Hunk was saying. “Don’t say that,” Matt’s voice was slightly broken up, coming from the Castleship, while Pidge said at the same time; “Hunk, if you fucking jinxed us…”

Shiro let the banter go on for a few moments longer, clearly working something out or just speaking on a private comm channel to Keith, who had been uncharacteristically silent. Not that he dug into Hunk as much as Lance and Pidge did, but he usually offered some input, even if it was just a grunt of disgust. Lance flipped over his system to Blue’s private comm channel and drew up alongside the Red Lion, who he was flying in loose formation with anyway. “You okay, bud? You’re awfully quiet.”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Keith said. His reply was curt and to the point, which wasn’t entirely out of line for him when they were flying into a potential threat. After a moment though, there was a sigh through the open line and Keith’s voice sounded more open. “Thanks for checking on me, Lance.”

“No problemo, my man,” Lance flipped back to the main comm line in time to hear Shiro say, with intense exasperation, “Matt.”

“What?” Matt sounded like he was playing intentionally innocent.

Dammit, sounded like he missed something potentially hilarious. Lance made a mental note to ask Matt later what he had said, as Coran spoke up. “It appears that the Galra cruiser has warped out of system.”

There was a brief moment of stunned, surprised silence, and then Hunk said with total and legitimate enthusiasm, “yay!”

“Okay…” Keith said. “That’s really weird. Why would they hang out at the edge of the system, not engage, and then bolt?”

“They probably got a read on their sensors for all five Lions,” Pidge said. “Maybe they left some snooping satellites or something, we should totally make a pass through the planetisimals just to be on the safe side.” Pidge sounded far too enthused about flying through what amounted to a larger, slower asteroid field so she definitely had some form of ulterior motive. Lance wasn’t going to lose sleep over what that could be, though, because there was honestly no telling.

“I’ll go with Pidge,” Keith said. “Our Lions are the fastest, we can do a quick pass and scan for anomalies and see if the Galra cruiser left us any presents behind.”

Shiro radioed his assent, and Lance watched as the Red and Green Lions, the arms of Voltron, shot across space and were nothing but mere dots on his screen in a heartbeat. The Lions could move stunningly fast, and they would be to the edge of the star system in minutes. Lance glanced at his sensors and realized that Hunk was already flying back toward the Castleship. “And where are you going?”

“Uh…” Hunk didn’t bother popping on visual this time. “Well, if the cruiser’s gone there’s no need to form Voltron, right? No need for all of us to just, um, hang around and burn fuel.”

“Yeah, uh-huh,” Lance said, leaning forward in his seat and grinning. The Yellow Lion hung in space unmoving, waiting for pronouncement at being caught shirking. “And I bet this has absolutely nothing to do with your hot Altean girlfriend waiting for you, right?”

“Lance!” Hunk’s voice gained an octave. “She is not my girlfriend!”

“Oh, I’m not?” Illianya’s voice came through the comm, sounding amused, and Lance saw the Yellow Lion roll completely over, as if dead. They were still on the public comm channel, Lance hadn’t bothered to switch over to private. Oh well, if his buddy wanted to air his private laundry all over the open channels, who was he to stop him, after all?

“Can we not use the public channel for this?” Keith asked, and Pidge snickered. Shiro just sighed.

“It’s okay,” Lance said. “I think Hunk has died of embarrassment anyway.” He flew Blue around Yellow once, in a loop. Yellow was still belly-up, although that was relative, in space.

“Enough,” Shiro said, and Lance obediently resumed formation with the Black Lion. After a minute or so to recover, Hunk joined them. “Pidge, Keith,” Shiro said. “See anything?”

“Just … planetisimals,” Pidge said, sounding disappointed for some reason. “No calling cards. Do you really think that they popped into system, saw all of the Lions, and noped out? I can’t tell if that’s awesome or disappointing.”

“I think it’s awesome,” Hunk said. “Let’s let our reputation do more of the heavy lifting. Save our backs. Voltron’s back. Whatever.”

“I don’t trust it,” Allura mused.

“Think it’s a trap?” Shiro said. “We could always follow the exit vector.”

“That is definitely a trap,” Keith said, and Lance agreed although he was quite sure that they could handle anything the Galra decided to throw at them … together, at least. Keith sounded profoundly disappointed in Shiro, though. “They’re probably waiting one system over with particle canons and tractor beams to disable us and capture Voltron.”

“That seems a bit on the nose, don’t you think?” Lance said.

“The Galra don’t have to do clever, they just flatten down any resistance with the full force of their army’s resources,” Matt said. “They’ve been ruling for literally thousands of years with minimal resistance, if brute force doesn’t solve the issue some of those cruiser commanders are out of their depths.”

“Hm,” Shiro said, clearly considering it. “Princess?”

“No,” Allura said. “I don’t feel the need to risk Voltron for just one measly Galra cruiser. Everyone, return to the ship. We’ll wormhole from here - if they tracked us this far, we’ll see if they track us any farther.”

“Copy that,” Lance said, twitching Blue back around toward the Castleship. He heard the others acknowledge as well; and, not surprisingly, the Yellow Lion beat them all back to the ship despite having the slowest overall speed. Lance made another mental note, this time to definitely give Hunk a hard time about that, as he brought Blue home.

They wormholed four times before Coran put a stop to it, citing both wear and tear on the teludav and, more importantly, on Allura. “We’re halfway across the galaxy from Eaphus,” Coran said busily, his hands on Allura’s shoulders to steer her off the bridge. “There is no need for you to wear yourself to the point of exhaustion!”

“So, now what?” Lance asked, slumped back in his flight couch and arms crossed. “We’ve done four jumps, there’s no way that they’re still tracking us through that, especially since that second one was so…” he gestured his hand in the air for illustrative purposes.

“Haphazard?” Pidge suggested.

“Aren’t there like, navigation charts that are supposed to be consulted before she does that? What if she dumps us out into the center of a star or something?”

Keith sat forward in his seat, leaned slightly to the left. Shiro hadn’t gotten up from his seat yet either, and still had several of the holographic displays open in front of him. “So what is the plan?” he asked, primarily directing the question at Shiro.

“I vote nachos,” Lance said, ticking off the options on his fingers. “Then, popcorn… and finally, movie night. In that order, or course.”

“I don’t know if I can make goo popcorn,” Hunk mused, doing a mental inventory of the Castleship’s larders.

“Please don’t use goo as a modifier for real food,” Matt said.

“Popgoo?” Hunk suggested.

“Okay, no, that’s worse,” Matt said, as Pidge cackled from her seat. “That’s much, much worse.” He had moved to Coran’s station when the elder Altean had escorted Allura off the bridge; and while he hadn’t actually touched any of the controls he was snooping all over them very thoroughly.

Keith got up and actually walked to Shiro’s seat, since his voice had been absent the entire conversation. He was staring intently at his screen, which was scrolling Altean characters very quickly; and it had opened a condensed star map of the local systems in a separate window. “What’s wrong?” Keith asked.

Shiro glanced to him. “Nothing’s wrong,” he said, tapping his fingers against his arm in a certain pattern that Keith remembered all too well. Shiro’s most notable tell. One of these days he’d have to let Lance in on that particular tick, but … not today. Keith put his hand on Shiro’s shoulder and leaned forward, smiling thinly.

“You can’t fool me,” he said, his voice low, and Shiro sighed in a slightly melodramatic fashion, and then squinted at Keith suspiciously.

“The half-breed thing doesn’t lend itself to telepathy or anything, right? You’d tell me if you could read minds.”

Keith cocked an eyebrow at him instead of answering, and Shiro shifted in his seat, unfolding his arms and pointing to the star chart. “This system,” he said, and when his finger brushed the system in question it lit bright on Shiro’s screen, showing the size of it. Keith frowned at the display, the system was labeled “Darpen” and nothing else.

“What about it?” he said, as Shiro folded his arms again, a look of concentration on his face.

“It’s familiar,” he said, and the irritation was clear in his voice that he couldn’t, for the life of him, figure out why.

“Hey,” Pidge said, from Shiro’s other side. They both glanced to her. “Lance has convinced Hunk to make space nachos. Unless you need us?”

Shiro shook his head. “We’re clear for now, and Matt-” Matt froze, halfway up the bridge, “has so generously offered to take bridge duty while Coran is assisting Allura.” Matt’s shoulders slumped comically, although he shuffled back toward Coran’s workstation without a word of complaint.

“I’ll bring you some nachos later,” Pidge said, with a wave to her brother before bouncing off. Shiro sighed and sat forward, dismissing the holographic displays but not rising from his seat immediately. He looked to Keith, and Keith returned his gaze, level and unaffected.

“I think I’m going to stay here for a little while longer,” Shiro said, and stood. He headed for the control station where Allura usually stood; which would allow him to use the larger star maps. “Figure out our next course of action.” He placed his right hand absently on the console, remembered what he was doing, and switched to his left hand.

“I’ll help,” Keith said, moving to stand at the edge of the holographic field as Shiro brought it up. Matt turned around, leaning back against Coran’s station, and watched them. Keith’s attention was on Shiro though, whose face had settled into a perplexed expression. “Unless you want to do this alone, although I really don’t know why you’d want to.”

Shiro gave a dismissive little shake of the head. “No, that’s fine,” he said. Another moment’s frustration and then he turned, looking down at Matt. “Does the Darpen system mean anything to you?” he asked, and Matt shook his head negatively.

“Never heard of it,” he said. He inclined his head toward the star-map, which highlighted both their present location and the system in question. “It’s only two systems over, right? Want to check it out?”

Shiro glanced over to Keith and Keith didn’t know what he was looking for, so he nodded his head. They weren’t being pursued - as far as they could tell, at least - and they were just going to drift until the new course of action had been plotted. Shiro nodded his head in response to Keith, then looked to Matt. “Yes,” he said. “Set a course for Darpen. Let’s see what we can see.”

Turned out, the Darpen system seemed like a whole lot of nothing. A dying star that hadn’t yet collapsed sat in the center of a system with few orbital bodies. “All scans report nothing of import,” Matt said. Keith had returned to his flight couch, looking at his own diagnostic displays. Shiro still had that unsettled look on his face, like he was waiting for a jump scare that would never arrive. “No habitable planets here.”

“No signs of life at all?” Keith said.

“No atmosphere detected on any of the rocks,” Matt said. He’d angled the Castleship to do a wide pass of the star, not wanting to get close enough to fight with the expanding gravity well. Something beeped, and Matt made an interesting noise. “I stand corrected.”

Keith sat up straighter, as Matt tossed some information up on the viewscreen. It was a planet … once. More than half the sphere was missing, and there was a planet-sized debris field spanning out from the remaining chunk. “What is that?” Keith said, as Matt threw more images up on the screen, one after another. At the farthest edges of the debris field there were ships. Not easily identifiable as Galra, though; they lacked the sleek lines and particular coloration that the flagships of the Galra Empire wore. No, these were junk ships, trader vessels, the remains of military ships whose rebellions were long since quashed. All scuttled in the graveyard of a planet. “What is this place?” Keith said, his voice a little strangled.

“Incoming transmission,” Matt reported.

“Incoming-?” Shiro said, and then looked to the main screen, where Matt had already thrown the relevant information. “The ship scan didn’t pick up any live vessels, right?”

“Incoming vessel,” the voice was rough, and set the little hairs on the back of Keith’s neck aloft. “Identiy yourself or be destroyed.”

Shiro’s voice was firm and commanding, the voice of a leader. “This is Takashi Shirogane, a Paladin of Voltron. We mean you and your people no harm. Are you in need of assistance?”

There was a long pause and Keith kept his attention on the ship’s sensors, listening for the whistle of a target lock. He’d raised the particle barried the moment they had been hailed as a precaution, but he could deploy his drone to help deflect incoming fire away from the shielding system if it came to that. Then, the audio window displayed on the viewscreen slid apart, opening to a video screen displaying a squat gray alien with three eyes and a shaggy brown beard shot through with silver. The alien was leaned in too close to the camera, distorting it slightly, but clearly trying to peer down its length to the other side. “Shiro?” the alien said, and Shiro’s expression was baffled.

“Yes?” he responded, his commanding voice slipping more back into his regular tone with confusion. “I mean, that’s me. I’m Shiro.”

Two heads popped behind the first alien; different aliens, Keith hoped, but sometimes it was hard to tell. There was a general background noise now, and one of the two additional heads said, slightly awed, “he came back!”

Shiro’s attention was wholly on the viewscreen, so Matt and Keith exchanged puzzled expressions. “I’m sorry, do you … know me?” Shiro said, his arms folded and brow furrowed.

“We weren’t expecting you to come back, we must celebrate this momentous occasion,” the alien said, and there was joy in its voice. “And with Voltron, nonetheless! Fantastic!” It leaned in even closer to the camera, obscuring the aliens behind it. “We have cleared an approach vector, avoid the Graveyard if you can.” With that, the transmission abruptly ended.

“We’re getting approach coordinates,” Matt said, staring down at the workstation. “It’s, uh…” he looked up at the viewscreen again. This time the image flickered, to beyond the debris field where one of the two oblong satellite moons sat in crooked orbit with the dead planet. Between the moon and the planet there were the familiar magenta-violet running lights of a Galra cruiser. “That.”

Keith was on his feet in an instant. “That is a Galra cruiser,” he said, as if that little fact had escaped the everyone else on the bridge.

“And it’s where the message definitely originated from.” Matt glanced to Shiro. “You got something you want to tell us, Shiro?”

Shiro shook his head, truly perplexed. “I have no idea what’s going on.”

“That,” Rian said, leaning against the wall behind the long, curved couch in the ready room, “is a fucking stupid plan.”

“Okay,” Lance called. “Who taught him how to use fuck?” Pidge raised her hand and Matt smacked it, so she grudgingly lowered her hand.

“I agree with Rian,” Allura said, and Rian looked smug. “But I also do not see any alternative.” She was seated on the couch, at the far end and holding a tablet, frowning at the readout. “It’s not transmitting any Galra code?”

“None,” Matt said. “It’s not transmitting anything at all. No active energy signatures, no IF/F beacons, nothing. The only active comm blasts were our direct communication with it and the coordinates to safely navigate the Graveyard to the moon’s location.” He rubbed his arm with one hand, thinking out loud. “The engines don’t appear to be active at all, and if you look at the live shots only half the running lights are on. I think the ship’s dead in the water… so to speak.”

“Only running life support systems, then?” Illianya asked.

“Despite the threats to fire on us. That would be my guess.”

“And none of them seemed to be Galra,” Keith pointed out. “Outwardly, at least.”

“Remember that talk we had about traps?” Hunk said. “This feels, I don’t know, like a trap.”

“If we worry about every little thing being a trap we’ll just get paranoid,” Lance said. He leaned his elbow on the back of the couch and propped his head against his hand, raising his other arm. “I’m in, by the way. Not that anything good ever happens on a Galra ship.”

“You’re not in,” Keith said. “I’m going with Shiro, you can stay here with the ship.”

Storm clouds gathered on Lance’s face, and he sat forward. “Shiro,” he protested, and Shiro, standing at the open end of the long couch put his hands on his hips and sighed.

“I don’t like this plan any more than the rest of you,” he said. “But I don’t think Keith is enough on his own - that’s not a reflection on you, Keith, but I don’t know what it is we’re walking into.” Lance pumped his arm in victory and hissed a small yes through his teeth. “We’ll all go in one Lion, though. I don’t want to leave multiple Lions unattended.”

“Where do you want us then, Shiro?” Hunk asked.

“Ready to scramble,” Shiro said. He glanced at Lance and Keith. “Suit up. We’re going to see what this is all about.”

There might have been a small disagreement about whose Lion to take in the locker room that Shiro pointedly ignored because it was resolved with a game of rock-paper-scissors and he liked to pretend that his teammates had more mature ways to come to a decision. Keith won (“how are you so good at that game? I had to teach it to you!”) and the Red Lion left the Castle of Lions in the usual fashion

It was unnerving flying up on a Galra cruiser that was half-operational, even more so than the one they had found previously scuttled. Shiro kept expecting all the lights to flare up as it powered on and grabbed them in a tractor beam with no way to get free; but instead the Red Lion flew alongside the ship until they located the open loading bay door and landed with little fanfare.

There was no atmosphere in the loading bay. When they stepped off the ramp from the Red Lion, Shiro glanced around the nearly empty hangar. “Lance,” he said, “stay with Red.”

“...what?” Lance’s mouth fell open. “You brought me along to babysit the Lion?”

Keith held his fist to his face as if he were using a cough to smother a smile, which was real effective in a full helmet.

“If we need to make a quick escape, I would want my best set of eyes waiting to pick off any pursuit,” Shiro said.

Lance’s mouth closed and he straightened, chin tucked down and arms folded. He was clearly still upset, but that had slightly mollified him. “I’m running my playlist through Red’s speakers,” he announced, turning on the ball of his foot and marching right back up the loading ramp.

“Good luck with that,” Keith called after him, knowing full well that Red would spit Lance out as soon as they’d left the hangar.

There had been no one waiting in the hangar bay to greet them. There were still some Galra starfighters scattered about, but they looked different than the ones Shiro had grown familiar with. There weren’t nearly as many of the craft loaded up to launch, and several were lying on the hangar floor, cracked open and cannibalized for parts. Keith said nothing as they passed the wreckage, and it was a long walk to the end of the bay where they found the airlock and cycled through it.

Keith left his helmet on, although the bottom portion opened up once the suit diagnostics confirmed a breathable atmosphere in the ship. Shiro took his helmet off altogether, holding it in his left hand. “You okay?” Keith asked, and Shiro knew that was going to be a common theme on this mission.

Was he okay? That was a loaded question with a loaded answer, so instead Shiro simply nodded and they set off down the corridor. They had barely gotten to the T-junction when they both heard the clatter of many sets of feet and Shiro clenched his right hand, feeling the servos begin to heat. Keith had his bayard out, but untransformed.

Abruptly, eight or nine different aliens in a mixture of ragged clothing and Galran armor ran straight across their path, down the other hallway. Shiro and Keith held their positions for a moment, confused, before they moved quickly to the end of the hallway and looked down the path that the aliens had gone. The cluster had turned about and was heading right back for them so Shiro took a step back as the aliens slowed and finally stopped before them.

Not one of these aliens were taller than Shiro, or Keith for that matter. He recognized the species of two of them, one of the many-armed centipedal aliens and a shark-like alien who had fins that framed its ace. The rest were completely foreign to him, but that was all right because they clearly recognized him.

“The Champion,” a spindly alien that looked like its skin was made from tree bark said, in a distinctly feminine voice.

Ah. Things were starting to make a little bit more sense.

Keith hadn’t put down his bayard yet, but that didn’t surprise Shiro. He held his hand out still holding the helmet, in a stand-down gesture, and after a moment Keith relaxed his posture and dropped his weapon to his side. “You know me?” Shiro said, and the aliens chorused an affirmative. “What is this place?”

“It is the Graveyard,” the first one who had spoken said, raising its hand. It wore the helm and helmet of the Galra armor, but underneath that were the achingly familiar rags that all prisoners of the Empire wore. They gestured. “Come, Jan is impatient to see you, so that the ceremony can begin!”

The moment that Lance sat down in the pilot’s chair all of Red’s screens went dark. “Oh, come on,” Lance complained. “I’m not trying to fly you, honest. Don’t go blind out of spite.” He held up the orange rectangle that was his phone, he’d discovered that it fit well in one of his Paladin armor’s compartments. “I just want to listen to some tunes, you’re a good kitty, you like music, right?”

The viewscreens didn’t even so much as flicker. Lance sighed and slumped in the chair. “You’re so dramatic,” he complained. “Keith isn’t this dramatic.” He stood up and shuffled behind the pilot’s seat. The viewscreens turned back on and Lance stuck his tongue out at them. As much as he wanted to just sit there and observe, it did him no good if Red was going to be a horse’s ass about it and shut off all the surveillance without notice or cause. Instead of exiting the Lion down the ramp, Lance popped the exit on the head and climbed out that way, seating himself comfortably on the head of the Red Lion and giving himself a nice view of the entire abandoned hangar bay.

There was very little to look at, and Lance got bored of this very quickly. He put his hands on his ankles and leaned forward, squinting at the far end of the hangar bay. The comm traffic from Shiro and Keith was minimal at best; Shiro had clearly taken his helmet off and Keith had switched his off, the fucker. So Lance couldn’t eavesdrop on what was going on, he would just have to wait here until someone opened an active line to alert him that trouble was headed his way.

It was nice that Keith seemed to be very much himself again, he had been surprised how much he missed it. Lance tilted his head and without thinking about it laid his hand on the side of his neck, over the now-faded bruise where Keith had bit him. He’d bit hard, too, but the wound was all but healed, the flesh mended while he was in the cryo replenisher. Shiro’s claim mark had almost immediately scarred over, but Keith’s, the open wound, was nearly gone. Omegas can’t claim a partner.

He rubbed his neck again and then put his hand down. Sitting up here perched on the head of a Lion reminded him a little of an ocean of stars, and why he was making that connection he didn’t have any idea. “Wonder if I can connect with Blue,” Lance mused aloud, in part so that Red could hear him because without Keith to needle he could at least annoy his Lion by proxy. “I mean, she came running when I was in distress in the memory core, and we are like super in tune.”

“Lance, are you talking to yourself?” Keith’s voice came through the communicator, and Lance jumped despite himself.

“No,” he said. “I’m talking to Red. It’s a very private conversation, I’ll have you know.” He stuck both his legs out straight and folded his arms. “We’re going to be best buddies by the time you get back here.”

“Yeah, right,” Keith sounded slightly stressed, but more amused than Lance expected. “We’re gonna need backup, do you have a lock on my position in the ship?”

Lance touched his forearm plate, and it brought up a display that, after a brief moment of questionable interference, scanned the ship and determined the location of the nearest sets of Paladin armor. It painted a pair of dots on a level not terribly far from Lance, although the display jumped a few times. “Trouble?” Lance asked, standing up and realizing that Red had closed the top hatch of the Lion behind him.

“Not exactly. You’ll understand when you get here, though.” There was a pause, and a clunk, and some chattering voices distant in the background of the feed. “Please hurry.”

The hallways of the Galra ship started out very normal, but the farther that Lance got from the hangar, the more that changed. At first it was small patches of green and pale blue on the dark obsidian walls; Lance assumed it was paint until deeper into the ship where the green and blue had organically spread and … blossomed, in places; producing tiny violet and emerald-colored buds. Vines began appearing underfoot, which Lance only took notice of when he nearly wiped out. Keith had said it wasn’t trouble, but Lance had his bayard out and in blaster form just to be on the safe side.

Finally, when the corridor started to look less like a military hallway and more like Alice’s most radical entrance to Wonderland, two small aliens clad in rather creative clothing ran up to him. One was carrying a staff nearly as tall as Lance, it had to be three times the alien’s height; and the other was simply waving its short, stubby arms. “Uh,” Lance said, drawing up short and pointing the muzzle of his blaster at the ceiling.

“Paladin!” the one waving its arms said; it kinda reminded Lance a little of the Arusians but it lacked horns on its head. “I require your aid!”

“Um,” Lance looked up and down the hallway, and then down at the map hovering just slightly over his arm. He wasn’t far from the others. “What sort of aid?”

It waves its arms again in what on Earth would be described as a ‘pick me up’ gesture. Lance held his bayard down by his thigh, the armor automatically stored the weapon digitally when he did that. Then, with no regard to cultural differences or diplomacy, he picked the tiny alien up.

Its eyes went wide and Lance had the momentary worry of, oh shit what have I done when it wiggled out of his hands and somehow flipped itself, managing to climb onto Lance’s shoulders and set its hands atop the helmet on Lance’s head. “Grizalt!” the alien announced, and slapped Lance’s helmet twice.

“Hey, what-” Lance yelped, and the other alien pounded the butt of its weapon against the floor. “Grizalt!”

The alien who had hitched a ride on Lance promptly vaulted to the floor and took off down the hallway, chanting the same word rapidly. The second alien clumsily bowed to Lance and almost whacked him with their oversized stick, and then followed their companion down the hall.

“What the hell?” Lance said, completely baffled, as he turned a corner and found what used to be blast doors that were propped permanently open by a lavender-hued trunk. Lance sighed and proceeded to climb over the thick alien wood, and to his surprise that put him on a platform in a very large, open space.

It might have once been a training deck or a cafeteria, or even some kind of great hall where a lot of people were meant to gather together. However the high ceiling was completely obliterated. As Lance craned his head back, he could see that several floors above had been removed, all to make way for the growth of a large tree. It was a lighter color lavender than the trunk he’d just clambered over, and its branches had grown into the broken chunks of the old ceiling.

There was a carpet of planet life thick enough that the original floor was no longer visible; and aliens of all shapes and sizes flitted about. It looked like a gathering spot and as Lance scanned the levels he could see what must be living quarters constructed around the rims of the broken floors, the farther up it went there were ramshackle bridges and wires run across and between the levels.

“Lance!” Keith yelled, and Lance turned to see Keith one level higher than him, waving a hand over his head to catch Lance’s attention. Several o what must be thick vines or even possibly roots ran up to the second level and Lance picked his way higher, finding Keith standing at the edge with his hands on his hips and looking faintly amused.

“What the fuck is this?” Lance said, awed.

“A bunch of prisoners took over a ship,” Keith said. “And prospered, apparently.” He glanced down, looking at the bottom level where there were quite a few aliens at work, clustered around near the base of the tree.

“Where’s Shiro?” Lance asked, and Keith tilted his head, clearly trying not to look as amused as he was. Lance looked back over in the direction that Keith was indicating with his head to see Shiro practically swarmed with tiny aliens identical to the ones he’d had an encounter with in the hall and looking utterly harassed.

Lance turned his head back quickly and smothered his laugh with his hand. “He’s popular,” Lance managed after a moment. Keith nodded his head sagely, and Shiro apparently spotted Lance, because he extracted one arm to wave it above his head like a drowning man.

“Lance, help,” Shiro called plaintively. Lance looked at Keith, who shrugged.

“Seems kinda cruel to leave him like that,” Lance said. “Keith, I’m surprised at you.”

Keith cocked an eyebrow at Lance, missing the ironic sarcasm by a mile. Lance rolled his eyes and marched over to Shiro, which caused several of the small aliens to scatter and at least one to leap from a slightly higher elevation and land on Lance’s shoulders. “Yeah yeah,” Lance said. “Grizalt, I know.”

Abruptly, all the tiny aliens ceased swarming on Shiro, freezing in place. Lance stopped too. “Uh-oh,” he said just before the aliens all yelled “grizalt!” and swarmed him.

Shiro still looked harassed, but now he wasn’t covered in small aliens. Keith started laughing now, as Lance tried to claw his way upright. He pointed at Keith and tried grizalt on him but it didn’t seem to work that way. “That’s what you get for repeating things kids say to you,” Keith said, and Lance wasn’t entirely sure if that was aimed at him or Shiro. Probably both.

Suddenly, there was a loud cracking noise and the small aliens scattered. Lance finally flailed himself into an upright, if seated, position. “Can someone tell me what just happened?” he asked, but then realized what looked like the boss or an elder or something was coming down a staircase made from plant matter stretched along the wall behind Shiro. Shiro stood up, and Keith offered his arm to Lance, helping pull him to his feet.

The squat alien shuffled slowly until he stopped in front of Shiro with a frown, holding a long piece of metal that must have come from one of the support struts. It had been worn smooth and there were berries and flowers tied in a cluster at one end. When they blinked, all three eyes blinked out of sync. “It is you,” the alien said, and shook their staff. “Our Champion has returned to us, at last!”

They hadn’t noticed the hush that had fallen over the present aliens until their leader spoke, and when he shook his staff everyone cheered. Lance and Keith both looked out behind them, to see aliens of every size and shape clambering up to be on the same level that they were. There had to be at least two hundred of them.

“I’m sorry,” Shiro said stiffly. “I really don’t remember …. I’ve been here, before?”

The alien paused, and then pointed to themself. “You do not remember me, Jan?” Shiro shook his head in the negative, and the alien’s expression seemed to grow darker. “You do not remember leading us?”

Keith’s eyebrow raised as Shiro shook his head again, sharper this time. “I’m sorry, no I don’t. I…” he gestured helplessly, and then looked back at Keith and Lance. Then he touched the side of his head. “My memories are all mixed up,” he said. “I’m missing a lot of them. The Galra…”

When he spoke the word Galra, a hissing sound rose among the crowd, and Jan waved his staff again. “Say no more,” he said magnanimously. “You and your friends are quite welcome here. Come, come, we have much to discuss.”

Pidge wandered onto the bridge, eating a plate of crispy, semi-translucent chips that Hunk had fried up. She wasn’t entirely sure how he was making food translucent and her desire to know the exact chemicals that the alien ingredients contained was at war with her ability to sleep peacefully at night, so the best distraction for that was other projects. She’d been looking for Matt and finally found him sitting at the Green Lion’s workstation on the bridge.

“What are you doing,” Pidge asked, holding a translucent chip between her brother’s gaze and the holographic display.

Matt blinked a few times, refocused on the item and took the chip, popping it into his mouth without even verifying that it was actually food going down his gullet. “Decrypting the information Keith sent back from the Red Lion,” he said. “The Galra ship’s not broadcasting credentials, of course, but it uploaded details when the Red Lion landed in its hangar bay. So I’m taking a look to see what we’re dealing with.”

“And?” Pidge asked, leaning over his shoulder and squinting at the display.

“I just got the IF/F and I’ve pinged it through the database of known Galra craft. It’s a prison ship that was decommissioned and scuttled.” He gestured at the display. “About five years ago, relatively speaking.”

“Weird that they scuttled it, instead of strip-mining the useful bits,” Pidge ate a handful of chips and crunched intentionally loud by Matt’s ear.

“They’re not desperate for resources,” Matt said, and pushed Pidge’s head away. “There really isn’t anything else useful in it, and when Keith radioed things seemed … all right. They’re not in danger, at least.”

“But,” Pidge prompted.

“But,” Matt said with a sigh. “Their leader knew Shiro.”

“Yeah, we heard,” Pidge said, as if the entire crew hadn’t been present for the briefing. She crunched for a moment more. “Wait. If the ship’s been there for five years, how does a presumably-shipwrecked crew of prisoners even know who Shiro is?”

Mattt nodded his head. “The time’s relative, though … worm-holing around could be messing with my calculations.”

“It’s still fishy,” Pidge said. She leaned forward and touched the call button on the console. “Hey, Allura? You might want to get up here, Matt’s found something you should see…”

Jan had an entire level to himself; the opening in the floor here was much smaller and only the very top bits of the canopy poked through. Along the edges of the hole in the floor, a fair bit of patchwork electronics were slaved into the main circuitry of the ship, and several of the consoles in the wall had been cleared of growth and were lit active, providing a dull magenta illumination or the room. “How are you keeping a tree alive in a spaceship?” Lance wondered, but his question was ignored by the alien.

“I admit, I am a bit disappointed that you don’t remember me,” the alien said, his voice gruff and distant. He stamped his staff against the floor in displeasure. “Damn those Galra beasts.”

“You said I helped you,” Shiro said slowly, looking around the room. It had clearly once been a high-ranking Galra soldier’s quarters, but aside from the inset consoles the remainder of the room’s fixtures had been completely cannibalized. “Helped you, how?”

“We escaped the prison ship together,” Jan said as he sat himself against a low table, holding his staff in both hands. “You helped a great deal of the prisoners get free, and instead of fleeing the ship into deep space and what was certain death, we took the ship for ourselves.” Jan looked quite pleased at this, but Shiro’s expression was mostly unreadable. Lance had slipped around the tree and was poking around the other side of the room, being nosy, but Keith stayed by Shiro’s side. “Sadly, the last act of some desperate engineers scuttled the ship’s system after our warp jump and destroyed the long-range communications array, leaving us to drift aimlessly until we were caught by the planet’s gravity well and pulled into orbit.”

“So you’ve been here, in orbit with this dead planet?” Keith said. “For how long, that tree is massive!”

“That it is,” Jan said, sounding slightly proud. “It is a kapili tree, and it provides us all the sustenance we require for such a small price.”

“And you say I helped with all this?” Shiro asked, quietly.

“Yes indeed,” Jan nodded firmly. “You took the last working shuttle on board, in the hopes of getting out of the system and finding us aid; and that you would return as quickly as you could!” He looked Shiro up and down, and there was something about the way he was looking at Shiro that left Keith feeling vaguely unsettled. Like he was a piece of meat. Jan smiled, but it was a thin, pained smile. “At last you have returned, but now … now I think it is better that we stay.”

“You’d rather stay on a dead ship?” Keith was incredulous to this idea. “Why? We can figure out how to get the warp drive running again, and get you out of the system in no time. Don’t you have families you wish to get back to?”

Keith’s thought was interrupted by the clatter of Lance stumbling over something in the background. Keith half-turned his head, irritated, while Lance hustled back over to them, looking as unsettled as Keith felt. “Lance.”

“It suits us here,” Jan said, unmoved by Keith’s words. “But,” he turned his attention back to Shiro, “it is good to see that you survived, Shiro. It warms my heart so. Perhaps you and your friends shall stay with us for the final grizalt?”

Shiro’s stoic expression twitched, just slightly; he’d clearly had all of grizalt that he could stomach. “It would be our honor,” he said. “But, Keith is right. I doubt our ship is large enough to accommodate everyone here, but we might be able to get this ship running again, at least enough to get you out of system. Are you certain you want to stay?”

Lance touched Keith’s arm and he looked over to Lance, still slightly irritated. However, Lance’s face was unusually serious. He shook his head negatively, and Keith lifted an eyebrow. “Hey, Shiro,” Keith said idly. “If we’re going to stay for this thing, I’m going to head back to Red to shoot off a message to the ship, let the others know we might be a little longer than originally planned.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary at all,” Jan said, in a tone that was beginning to make Keith twitch. “Grizalt does not … take very long.”

The strange pause was not lost on Keith, but Lance waved his hand in the air. “Nah, it’s fine,” Lance said. “We just gotta update them, last thing you want is some very angry Lions coming to check on their missing Paladins, blowing holes through walls and whatnot.”

That put the elder alien at an impasse, and with a frown he nodded his head. “Agreed,” he said, shortly. “We will wait for your return to begin the ceremony.”

Keith started down the stairs made of plant matter, but Lance lingered in place, staring at Shiro with a strange expression until Keith grabbed Lance by his shoulder and yanked him after.

“All right,” Keith said, once they were in the halls headed back toward the hangar bay and away from the aliens that inhabited the converted Galra cruiser. “What has gotten into you?”

“We have to get Shiro off this ship,” Lance said, and stopped walking. It took Keith two strides to realize Lance wasn’t keeping up with him, and he whirled on his heel and backtracked. “Right now.” Lance had half-turned like he was contemplating going back right now but he stopped himself and folded his arms instead.

“What? Why?” Keith asked, and put his hand on Lance’s arm to draw his attention back to Keith. “Lance, what are you talking about?”

“Everything about this place is wrong,” Lance said. “Wrong with a capital W Wrong.” He shivered. “We should ask that creepy alien what happened to the rest of the original crew, Keith. I bet he won’t have a good answer.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Keith said.

“A ship this size? Yeah, there are the drone soldiers for combat but,” Lance was thinking out loud and only half-paying attention to Keith. “What about the rest of the crew? The engineers, the personnel. Where did they go?”

“Lance,” Keith folded his own arms, aping Lance’s posture without thinking about it. “You’re reading too much into it. It’s weird, yeah, but these guys have been scraping out survival against the odds in a half-dead starship.”

“There were pelts, and bones stacked in piles on the other side of his room,” Lance said quietly. “With armor.”

Keith stared at Lance, and Lance shuddered again. “Am I seriously the only one getting like a, Wicker man vibe from all this? You don’t know Earth movies,” Lance continued that thought without stopping. “Have you ever watched a scary movie in your life?”

Very drolly, Keith said, “my life is a scary movie.”

“...that’s fair,” Lance didn’t unfold his arms; if anything it seemed like he kept trying to curl in on himself tighter. “Let’s just get Shiro out of here before this grizalt-whatever is going to happen because and I hate to be so cliche but my Bad Feeling About This has reached critical mass.”

Keith studied Lance’s face for a long moment, and then he nodded his head once. “All right,” he said. “I’ll trust your gut on this, Lance.” He started to open the comm channel but hesitated, and they both knew that Shiro was carrying his helmet and not wearing it. Keith and Lance exchanged a look and Keith said, “I’ll head back and think of some excuse to get Shiro out of there.”

“Yeah, and what am I supposed to do, stand around and look pretty?” Lance looked somewhat peeved. “It seemed weird that Jan didn’t want us to go back to Red, maybe you should check and make sure no one’s tried to fuck with her and I’ll grab Shiro and we can book it.”

Keith scowled and opened his mouth to fight Lance on this, then paused. “Red wouldn’t let you near her without me,” he said, and Lance grumbled a “no shit,” to his complete lack of surprise. “All right. Keep your comm open, it’s bad enough we can’t communicate with Shiro, if I lose track of you I’m sending Red through the side of the ship looking for you two.”

“My hero,” Lance said, dripping in sarcasm but Keith put his hand on Lance’s shoulder and they looked at each other, then tilted their helmets together so they clunked together softly. “Yeah, okay,” Lance said softly, and then they parted; Lance’s bayard appearing in his hand as he set off down the corridor at a brisk pace without looking back.

Keith watched him go, and when he hit the T-junction Keith turned and headed for the hangar.

When Lance got back to the main part of the ship he found Shiro now on the lower level and patiently entertaining the same herd of small aliens who seemed to think yelling ‘grizalt’ and tackling people was a game. Lance wasn’t quite certain that they were actually children, now, despite their diminutive size; but Shiro was playing with them nonetheless. He looked up when Lance approached and his expression seemed a little strange to Lance. “Where’s Keith?”

“With Red,” Lance said. He looked around for Jan, but while there were a plethora of milling aliens busily at work their leader was not obviously present. Lance kept his tone low anyway. “We need to leave, Shiro. Now.”

Shiro stared at him for a long moment, lips pursed. Then he shook his head. “That would be rude,” he said, flatly. “We’re not in any danger here, Lance. These are … my friends, I guess.”

“And I’m your mate,” Lance said. “Something’s not right, here.”

Shiro put his hand up, palm out, toward Lance. “That’s an order,” he said firmly. Lance’s shoulders stiffened and his bro furrowed, because Shiro’s voice carried with it a casual authority that prickled at his skin and he recognized the way the command sat with him; Shiro was the head and leader of Voltron, yes, but there was something dismissive of Lance there in the mix as well. Instead of being compelled by the order, though, it just made Lance angry.

He didn’t have a moment to express that anger, though, as the small aliens clustered around Shiro scattered quickly when the ambient lighting in the air changed. “Grizalt!” one of them yelled as they abandoned Shiro and hurried toward the base of the large tree that framed the entire space. Shiro stood and gave Lance a Look which, hoo boy they were going to have a Talk about later, and then followed the aliens.

Shiro stopped dead in his tracks, not far from where the floor dipped down, caved in under the weight of it all. There were thick lavender roots here, crawling up from the floor below, and many of the aliens used these roots to climb down beyond the lip of the collapsed floor. When Lance caught up to him, he saw exactly why Shiro had stopped in place, and without conscious thought Lance’s bayard manifested in his hands, already in rifle form. Shiro said quietly, “god dammit.”

There was a makeshift altar between two of the largest roots, with all sorts of indentations cast into the metal surface that lead right back to the kapili tree. Lance lifted his left arm slightly, the butt of his rifle cradled against his elbow. “Well, that looks a little too Temple of Doom for my tastes,” he said. “I suppose now’s not the best time to tell you that Jan had an extensive pelt-and-bone collection just, chilling in his room.”

The smaller aliens had all trickled through the crowd toward the front, already chanting the only word that they seemed to know. Two guards had entered at the far end of the room, dressed ridiculously in remnants of Galra armor that was far too big for them - however the weapons they had trained on the two prisoners between them were very real. The two prisoners were chained together, clad only in the traditional prisoner attire of the Galra Empire and wearing bags over their head. Lance’s attention went to them immediately, he flipped his blaster rifle up to his shoulder and used the scope to magnify his sight, but Shiro put his hand on Lance’s shoulder, causing him to drop position.

“To honor our friends,” Jan’s voice cut over the low chant of grizalt, and Lance and Shiro both looked to the altar. Jan had appeared there in a change of clothes, now wearing a dark hooded cloak paired with his staff. He gestured the staff toward Shiro. “And to honor our Champion!”

The aliens cheered. Shiro took a step forward, to the very edge of the lip before the indented floor sank toward the roots of the tree. “Whatever this is,” Shiro called, “you don’t need to perform it, on our behalf.”

“The tree needs its nutrients!” one of the aliens shouted from the crowd, and several more took up the chant. “The tree, the tree-!”

“We honor you with the last of our sacrifices,” Jan said. “We have waited long for your return.” One of the two prisoners was jabbed forward, the chain between them longer than Lance had realized.

“Shiro?” Lance said, rifle on his shoulder.

“What’s going on?” Keith’s voice buzzed in his ear. Shiro still hadn’t put his helmet on, but it was in both hands, now.

“I’ll explain later, you might want to prep Red for a quick exit,” Lance said, as Jan gestured at the crowd, hyping them up with the hypnotic waving of his staff.

“Yeah, no shit,” Keith said. “We’re ready to go. What’s happening there?”

“Jan,” Shiro’s voice cut through the noise. “Stop this. This isn’t necessary. Let these people go, and we’ll talk-” as he was speaking Jan reached up and grabbed the hood on the first prisoner’s head, yanking it off. A mottled purple and black head was revealed, with familiar glowing golden eyes. A Galra prisoner. Shiro’s voice didn’t even hesitate. “Jan.”

“These are the last of our oppressors!” Jan called back, the Galra’s hood held bunched in one fist. Their head was mostly titled forward, they didn’t lift it - and Lance realized how gaunt the frames of the two prisoners were and how tired this one looked. Lance shifted slightly, his finger on the trigger and waiting on Shiro’s orders when the alien moved forward quickly, grabbing the Galra by the back of its head and in one motion, slit its neck.

Lance didn’t hesitate, he immediately sprayed a blast of plasma energy down toward Jan and the guards holding the second prisoner. He wasn’t shooting to kill, not yet, but it was enough to cause the crowd to lose its mind. Shiro didn’t say anything but leaped down into the pit, slamming his helmet on his head with his left hand, his right already glowing violet with kinetic energy.

The mass of aliens didn’t think to actually charge either Lance or Shiro - these were civilians, albeit greatly warped ones - and their first and only priority was to save their own skins. Lance didn’t even have to move, being naturally taller than most of the stampeding aliens - and he only shifted his position slightly as he laid down a pattern of cover fire for Shiro. He didn’t want to kill any of the aliens, not yet … he was more concerned with getting out of here, but Shiro had other ideas, apparently.

Shiro wasn’t charging the altar, which surprised Lance. He instead went straight for the guards with the other prisoner, although there was only one guard left standing by now. Shiro ripped the chain off the prisoner and pulled the hood from his head and this Galra recoiled, clearly anticipating being killed as well. Shiro didn’t pay him any mind once he was freed and then finally turned toward the altar. Jan stood atop it, one clawed, grayish foot on the back of the dead Galra. He held out his knife, pointing it at Shiro. “I should have known,” he said. “You are not our Champion.”

Shiro stood his ground, staring up at the alien who had called him a friend. “You said these two were the last of your sacrifices?”

“No Champion would free the enemy!” Jan’s voice had gone high-pitched as he screamed. “Kill them, kill them! The kapili tree demands blood!”

“I’ve got a clean shot,” Lance said calmly.

“What are you waiting for?” Keith asked, but Lance stayed silent, his cross hairs on the alien and waiting for Shiro’s go-ahead.

“No,” Shiro said, and Lance wasn’t certain if he was the one being addressed, or Jan. “Not like this, Jan.”

The Galra, taller than Lance but not by much, scrambled weakly up over the lip of the floor near where Lance stood. It was easy to see him as the aliens all parted around him like water around oil. Some were beginning to accumulate crude weapons and, well, Lance was in no mood to get beaten to death by tiny cannibals. The Galra looked back at the altar and let out a choked noise; and then fell to his hands and knees, pressing his forehead to the floor. The aliens immediately advanced on him and Lance fired a few shots into the air, well above their heads. It was enough to scatter them and allow Lance to get close.

He wasn’t mistaking it from the distance, the Galra was skin and bone; his fur mottled dark blue and violet with a crest of hair? Fur? Whatever it was, it started above his brow and continued down his back, vanishing under the collar of the rags he wore like a mane. He didn’t lift his head when Lance stopped beside him, and his tail brushed the floor, unmoving.

Shiro followed the Galra up over the lip, and there was a splash of discolored dark matter washed over the front of his armor. Lance didn’t even bat an eye. “He’s too weak to walk, we can’t leave him here,” Lance said, and without a word Shiro crouched down and hoisted the Galra over his shoulders like he weighed nothing at all.

Lance would be more impressed by that display of strength if they weren’t surrounded on all sides by a growing hostile crowd. An alien from behind them screamed, higher-pitched than any human voice, and Shiro said matter of factly, “time to go.”

“Yup,” Lance said, and started firing into the crowd.

“This is a problem,” Lance said, as Shiro unslung the Galra from his shoulder. They’d made it to the airlock, but there was no atmosphere between the airlock and the Red Lion … and their new friend wasn’t exactly in a vacuum-friendly outfit.

“Go,” the Galra croaked, his voice nothing but air and gravel. “I will only hold you back. You have at least allowed me to meet my end honorably.”

“None of that now,” Lance chided, while Shiro frowned at the airlock, and then looked up and down the hall. Lance had blown one of the blast doors at the T-junction, which kept the pursuing aliens at bay for the time being, but who knew how long that would hold.

“What’s the hold up?” Keith said, and Shiro looked back to the airlock.

“We have a prisoner who doesn’t have a jump suit,” Lance said. “No way to get him to you.”

“He’ll be hitting up the cryo replenisher when we get back to the Castleship, right? Just slap a helmet on him, I’ll get Red right next to the airlock.” They both felt the ship shake as the Red Lion moved about the hangar bay, and Lance and Shiro exchanged glances.

“Why do I feel like this is a terrible idea?” Shiro said.

“Do you have any better ones?” Lance asked, tucking his fingers under his helmet to pull it off. Shiro held out his hand and slid his own helmet off. “Shiro,” Lance said, concerned, as Shiro placed the helmet on the Galra’s head as carefully as he could, minding the large ears. “You sure?”

“You’ll be quick,” Shiro said, tapping the helmet and watching it seal around the Galra’s face. He smiled at Lance. “I’m sorry I didn’t trust you before.”

Lance’s own helmet hadn’t sealed yet, which allowed him to give Shiro a brief kiss. They smiled at each other, then Keith was in Lance’s ear. “Okay, if you follow the path of air that gets expelled from the airlock’s cycle, you should make it straight to Red’s mouth.”

“C’mon,” Lance said, getting the Galra’s arm over his shoulder. “You got a name? We’re getting you out of here.”

“Verus,” the Galra said, voice muffled by the helmet. He wasn’t on comm, since the helmet wasn’t connected to Shiro’s Paladin armor currently.

“Okay, Verus,” Lance said as the airlock closed behind them. “This is gonna suck, a lot, but we’re gonna make it work. I need you to stay with me as long as you can.”

The airlock’s cycle was quick, and sure enough when the doors opened all the remaining atmosphere in the airlock whooshed into the vacuum. Lance was as ready as he could be and as soon as the doors opened he was half-sprinting, half-dragging the Galra prisoner with him. Red was right there, just as Keith had said and Verus stiffened and tried to pull away but Lance had a good grip on him.

There was still gravity to contend with, and while Lance’s jet pack was enough to get him going easily both him and Verus changed his calculations a bit and they collided inside the Red Lion’s mouth, slamming into one side as Keith had the Lion close its jaws, sealing them in and restoring atmosphere.

Lance half-carried, half-dragged Verus into the cockpit proper. “Don’t freak,” he told Keith, who hadn’t turned around. Lance touched along the jaw of the now-unconscious Verus, found the seal of Shiro’s helmet, and removed it. That was the point where Keith glanced back at the, and did what would have been a hilarious double-take in other circumstances.

“That’s a…” he started to say.

“Yup.”

“Do I even-?”

“Nope.”

Keith shook his head. “Go get Shiro,” he said, “and we can get out of here.”

“Already on it,” Lance said, and the doors to Red’s cockpit closed behind him.

It was much easier getting down than it was getting up; but the entire hangar bay shook again. Lance stumbled as his boots hit the floor and then bounced right off; the artificial gravity had been disabled. Shit. “Lance, go,” Keith yelled in his ear and Lance was moving, the thrusters on his jet pack taking him right to the airlock and jumping inside it so it could cycle immediately. It was a quick cycle, the Galra were nothing if efficient, and Shiro was waiting right there for him, floating just outside the airlock and none the worse for wear. Lance tossed him his helmet, and the entire area shook again, just as the power went out.

“Fuck,” Lance said, as the interior lights on their helmets lit up and made a dark corridor slightly lighter.

“Stand back,” Keith said. “I’ll use Red to get through the walls.” As he spoke, they both heard the chatter of the small aliens, but when Lance scanned down the hallway he didn’t see them, floating in the darkness. Okay, that was unnerving as hell.

“Negative that, Keith,” Shiro said. “There are people on this side without jump suits. We’ll head toward the next airlock.”

“You do realize that you’re protecting the same people who are actively trying to kill us, right?” Lance said, his bayard in hand. Shiro gave him a Look, and Lance shrugged. “Just saying.”

The problem was, there was no next airlock. They were able to divert down another corridor, Shiro using his Galra hand to override what operating systems the ship had and close blast doors behind them, but that was taking them away from the hangar. “There’s got to be another way off this ship,” Lance said in frustration, one hand on the wall to keep from floating into it as Shiro shut another door behind him. “Why can’t we use your hand to cycle the airlock?”

“No point of contact within the airlock to keep it running,” Shiro said. “Although I could cycle you through, somehow I don’t think you’d be too keen on that plan.”

“Damn straight,” Lance huffed. “I’m not leaving you alone here. We’re not, right Keith?”

“Shiro, you okay?” Keith asked, and Lance looked at Shiro as they flew down the corridor. Maneuvering the thrusters on the jet packs wasn’t very difficult, but even then Lance could sense he was lagging a bit. “Your suit’s biometrics are reading low.”

“Just tired,” Shiro said, his voice clipped.

This part of the ship was completely dark, no emergency running lights at all and no additional power sources, so it was literally taking Shiro’s arm to power the blast doors open and closed again. No wonder he sounded so tired, draining his prosthetic arm’s energy had to be sapping his own reserves, and Lance had a disquieting flashback to a different escape. “Where are we headed?” Lance said.

“The escape pods,” Shiro said. “We’re headed to the escape pods, Keith, do you copy that?”

“I copy,” Keith’s voice was thick with static. “What do you want me to do?”

“Stand by,” Shiro said. “When we eject, you’ll need to be on it right away.”

“That is, presuming there are any escape pods left,” Lance muttered.

“There won’t be,” Shiro said. “We’ll just use the airlock to eject ourselves into space. Keith will pick us up.”

“Great plan,” Lance said. “Excellent plan. We’re going to die.”

Though Shiro’s voice was still tired, there was a smile in it. “How many times has Keith done something similar, and he’s still with us.”

“That is not a metric I want to be measured against,” Lance said. “Keith is like, a space-cat ninja.”

He heard Keith make a funny, static-filled sound through the comm. “Yeah yeah, yak it up, Captain Fuzzypants.” Keith’s reply was too cut through with static to be distinguishable. Lance tapped the side of his helmet a few times. “Uh,” he said, as if Shiro wasn’t on the same comm channel. “What’s causing the interference?”

“If I had to guess,” Shiro said, “it would be the tree.”

“So how is Keith going to know where to find us?”

“We just have to trust him,” Shiro said, and continued on.

“Great,” Lance muttered quietly. “This just keeps getting better and better.”

There was nothing at all on the comm from Lance or Shiro.

Keith flew Red the breadth of the hangar, trying to pick up some scraps of audio, but nothing came through the system, not even static. Frustrated, he flew out the bay door and looped the Galra vessel - there were far less running lights on it now, primarily located in the main body of the ship where the tree was. He wasn’t exactly sure where the escape pods were on this particular ship, and when he pulled a ship schematic from the Red Lion’s memory banks it showed twelve different escape pod locations. Keith rubbed his face with one hand, and tried the sensors instead.

There was a weak cough from behind him, and Keith glanced over his shoulder to see that his newest passenger had rolled onto his back. This was a full-blooded Galra, though on the smaller end of the scale. He looked like he hadn’t eaten in weeks, emaciated as he was, and the dark blue fur that trailed from between his ears and down his back was lank and limp.

Lance had dragged a Galra onto his Lion, and Keith really didn’t know what the fuck he was supposed to do with that. But, that was for later, once he’d retrieved Lance and Shiro and they figured out what the heck to do next. This whole thing had gone belly-up on them, and Keith hovered his hand over the open comm switch to the Castleship. If he switched bands, he might miss Lance or Shiro’s transmission.

“... should have died,” the Galra behind him croaked, and based on that voice alone it sounded like he had.

“Well, you didn’t,” Keith said, all business. After a brief query he pulled up Red’s sensors and started scanning the ship. Maybe if they couldn’t talk, he could at least find his friends that way. After a few frustrating minutes finally a pair of colored dots appeared on the map; black and blue. Keith let out a relieved noise and angled Red away from the ship, looping around to one of the dark sides and hanging out there, watching the dots as they slowly progressed toward what must be an escape pod bay. He glanced back over his shoulder at the Galra when he realized no other noise had come his way, and the Galra was lying motionless on his back. “You’re not dead yet, right?”

There was no response from his passenger, and Keith frowned, glancing back and forth from the display to his unconscious cargo. “Look, Lance and Shiro will both be pissed if they stuck their necks out for you and you expired in my cockpit so can you at least hang on until we’ve gotten you into a replenisher?”

The Galra opened its eyes and breathed out a rattling breath. “You stink of half-breed,” he said, and Keith rolled his eyes.

“I am sure glad we didn’t meet you a month ago,” he muttered, and turned his attention back to piloting.

They made it to an escape pod bay fortunately without any further complication. It was eerily dark as they floated along the corridor, one hand on the corridor wall to keep their bearings, the only light reflected from their Paladin armor. Shiro was flagging fast, having to use his arm as a sole power source for so long seemed to have drained nearly all of his energy, and Lance kept one hand on his shoulder, letting him lead but also there to keep him on the right path.

Once they had crossed over into the part of the ship that had been mostly destroyed by the initial uprising, they had found no more closed doors. They’d also found a couple of bodies - Lance was not ashamed of how quickly he had shot two before he realized that they weren’t under attack.

The escape pods were, as guessed, all jettisoned. Lance put one hand on the airlock that once led to an escape pod; now it just led into a dark, empty tunnel. “We’re really doing this, huh?” Lance asked, hoping that he’d get some response from Keith now that they’d traversed the ship and were hopefully out of range of the fucking kapili tree, but no luck there.

“Unless you’ve made your peace with being eaten by aliens,” Shiro said, and Lance shuddered.

“Well,” he said after a moment, tapping the chin of his helmet thoughtfully as Shiro tried to figure out how to force the sealed airlock open. “Keith counts, right?”

“I walked right into that one,” Shiro muttered as his hand lit violet again, although the light was very dim compared to what Lance was used to. “We’re not talking about Keith eating your ass, okay? We’re just not.” He placed his hand on the control and then tilted back a little - without the gravity, he wasn’t going to hit the floor but Lance pushed off and caught him anyway, before he floated back too far.

“Man, Shiro, don’t do this,” Lance said, and took his hand, placing it on the controls and holding it there. “I know this is taking a lot out of you, but we’re almost there. You get us out of here and I’ll eat your ass, promise.”

Shiro pushed forward as his arm lit brighter for a moment, and the airlock slid open. There was no burst of pressurized atmosphere venting, and Lance had a bad feeling that there was a closed bay door at the end of the long, dark tunnel - but he had a blaster rifle and they would burn that bridge when they got to it. “Gonna hold you to that,” Shiro muttered, but managed somehow not to pass out. Shiro hooked his arm over Lance’s shoulders and Lance navigated them into the long, dark tunnel that led to the launch point of the escape pod.

As he’d suspected, the tunnel ended in a heavy, shielded door. Lance propped one foot against the wall and Shiro the other wall, bracing him so that when he fired his weapon the rebound wouldn’t send them both halfway back the way they’d come. The plasma beams were dazzlingly bright, and it took three sprays of blaster fire before the door popped, and thank goodness when it breached it got sucked out into space first because Lance wagered that going through a hole the size of a few blaster shots wouldn’t be particularly fun.

The venting atmosphere sent Lance and Shiro tumbling out, spinning in different directions with no regard for where they were headed. Lance flailed, spinning head over heels as he tried to engage the thrusters on his jetpack to level off and get a lock on which direction Shiro went, all the while yelling into his comm at the same time. “KEITH!”

There was a split-second of silence; just Lance and the uncaring vastness of space. He saw out of the corner of his eye the shape of a Lion and he turned quickly, tracking its movement. His first thought was Blue; connecting to her and he remembered how she came to rescue him on Eaphus without him even realizing it; but the flash of a figure flying toward him, toward them wasn’t Blue, and it wasn’t Red….

It was the Black Lion.

“Shiro!” Lance yelled through his comm and this time saw the distant teal of a jet pack engaged; he knew that had to be Shiro moving toward the Black Lion. Keith still hadn’t responded so Lance followed Shiro and a few seconds later the Red Lion looped the Galra cruiser and Keith’s voice exploded over Lance’s ears.

“What the fuck,” Keith bellowed, and Lance laughed, giddy with relief as he caught up to Shiro. Shiro reached out to him, gripped him tight by his forearm, and maneuvered them both into the open mouth of the imposing Black Lion.

#voltron #slts #shklance #omegaverse #just a warning y'all might want to set some time aside #this chapter is a little bit on the length side

10 notes · View notes