#scorned violets and frozen stars

[prof-polaris]

Polaris is looking longingly at Sprites old hair dye

Don’t do it Polly!! Your hair too white!! The color would never come out!!

I know they miss having actual color in their hair but arceus above Pol get a grip

[the-lonelybarricade]

Hiii!! I've been following your work since the beginning and i just wanted to give u a big squeeze of a hug for blessing us with all of your fics 'cause i feel like we don't deserve u for blessing us with all these wonderful feysand content that u are sharing.

I hope all is well with ur life and in ur studies, and if it's not too much to ask, would you consider writing a feysand au where Feyre & Rhys aren't mates, but are happily in love and in a relationship--when all of a sudden, one of them meets their mate (preferably Rhys..?) or something like that 😚. Won't lie to u that im dying to know what events would play out and how Feyre would react if this scenario happened. Really no pressure to write this or anything just wanted to try my luck with this idea :DD. Thank u!

Bestie, ooof. What are you trying to do to me? Can you imagine how heartbreaking that would be for Feysand to be happy and in love, waiting patiently for the mating bond to snap only to find out they were star-crossed lovers all along? Well you don’t have to imagine it, because I already have. And if I’m going to be in torment over Feysand angst, I’m (affectionately) dragging you all down with me.

P.s. thank you for the submission lovely, I hope you enjoy <3

The Chains That Bind Us

Word count: 1,956

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Feyre and Rhysand were happily married. For 300 years, they had basked in what seemed like an infinite stretch of rapture, working alongside and complimenting each other with a grace and chemistry that had always felt predestined. They had always been certain they were mates, but time had flowed on and neither had felt the inkling of that special, magic bond.

They have resigned that perhaps the mating bond will never snap, perhaps that’s simply not what they were to one another, but that was okay. It was enough to be husband and wife, to be High Lord and Lady, to be happy and in love. They didn’t need a mating bond to reaffirm what they felt for one another. Things were already perfect as they were.

Until they weren’t. Until they had journeyed together to Illyria to oversee the announcement of the first all-female battalion. It had been a long term goal of Rhysand and his brothers to finally battle back the long ingrained sexism of Illyrian culture, and the visit was meant to be a celebration. A liberating ceremony, in honor of their mothers and all the females who had been victims of prejudice.

But when the leader of the battalion stepped forward to be acknowledged for her accomplishments, Rhysand had gone rigid at Feyre’s side, his breathing suddenly ragged. His pupils were blown wide, eyes fixed, riveted to the female.

Feyre felt her whole world had imploded in that moment. Especially when that female’s eyes had met her High Lord’s and had frozen just the same, the two bearing matched expressions of awe and disbelief.

She was certain she was going to be sick. Such a thing would be far from befitting of a High Lady, so Feyre had immediately winnowed back to their River House, back into their bathroom where she was instantly emptying the contents of her stomach into the toilet bowl.

Rhysand was there not too long after, holding back Feyre’s hair. They said nothing to each other, not until Feyre had recovered enough to turn and face her husband.

She was entirely unprepared for the way her heart shattered to meet his face, to meet those lovely eyes she had loved for centuries. Eyes that had only moments before been staring at another female with so much blind devotion it had torn her open.

“Feyre—” he started.

“I suppose we should have assumed that something like this could happen,” she interrupted, because she couldn’t bear to hear him apologize. Not for something like this, something that was entirely out of either of their control.

“It doesn’t change anything,” he insisted, but there was a strain to his voice that had never been present before. A bite that Feyre was convinced was the result of Rhysand battling against his instincts to return to Illyria, to that female.

“It changes everything, Rhys.”

She was already weeping as she choked the words out, because speaking them made them true. Those few centuries of bliss between them, they were a bubble, a perfectly crafted delusion that had finally popped.

“I love you,” Rhys seethed, as though arguing with himself. “I don’t even know that females name—”

“It doesn’t matter, Rhys. She’s your—”

“Don’t say it,” he begged, his voice a broken rasp. “Please, don’t say it.”

Somehow, that made it impossibly worse. That Rhys had been gifted this incredible, Cauldron-blessed thing, but was scorning it for her sake. Most Fae dreamed of the moment their mating bond would snap, and here was her husband acting as if it was his worst nightmare.

But Feyre knew what it was like for males. She knew he was clawing against every instinct in his mind, screaming at him to go to his mate, to know her name, to claim her. Feyre stifled another sob. Rejected mating bonds could drive a male mad. How could she ever think to do that to him? How could she deny him this piece of himself?

What broke her heart more than anything is that Feyre knew he would. Rhysand would reject his bond, would let that intrinsic part of his soul be torn away, for her sake. If Feyre asked, he would stay. He would stay and be miserable.

“I can’t do this to you, Rhys. I can’t force you to stay with me out of duty. I will not be your jailor.”

“You are my wife,” Rhys choked, reaching for her hand. He drew her palms to his face, allowing her to caress his cheeks. He shut his eyes as he nuzzled into her touch, causing his unshed tears to fall, racing down to collect at her hands. “You are my High Lady. You are the only one I want to be with.”

That wrecked another sob through Feyre’s body, which came out as a harsh exhale as she tried to restrain it. “You’d be a broken male without her, Rhys. The Cauldron—” she sucked in a strangled breath. Some truths were just too difficult to confront— “The Cauldron didn’t intend for us to be together.”

“Damn the Cauldron,” he growled, reaching for her with newfound conviction. “No one and nothing can decide who I love. No one can tell me that you are not who I belong with—who I belong to.”

Feyre allowed him to bundle her in his arms, to press her fiercely against his chest. She knew moments like this were fleeting, where they could hold each other as husband and wife. Already, their love was tarnished. Tainted. Blood spilled onto white snow. How long would it take for this mating bond to seep, to spill into the cracks, to spread until it consumed them? She couldn’t see an outcome where they could stay together unblemished, where they wouldn’t come to resent one another.

“Rhysand, listen to me love,” Feyre said, and found that her voice was steadier than she anticipated. “I care more about you being happy than I care about that happiness being found with me. Do you understand?”

“I would not be happier without you, Feyre.” His voice was ripe with earnesty. When she turned those eyes to meet his, those violet depths were burning, the silver constellations completely eclipsed by molten amethyst. He swallowed thickly. “Do I… want that female? Yes.” Feyre cringed to hear her husband admit it outloud. “But, that is just my instincts. I will be able to manage them with time. This bond is nascent. My love for you? It’s endured for centuries. The cauldron is not faultless; my parents were mates and they were miserable together. I could never imagine someone so perfect to walk beside me as you, Feyre. I do not seek another, no matter what fate has to say for it.”

Feyre allowed the comfort of his words to wash over her. She rested her head against Rhysand’s shoulder, inhaling his familiar scent, letting herself lavish in the rhythm of him, the beat of his heart steady in his chest.

“I will understand if you change your mind,” she whispered. “I do not hold you to your vows. If you become unhappy, if one day you cannot resist the pull you feel towards her… I will not hold it against you. I give you permission to… to leave me.”

Rhys let out a small, rueful laugh before he pressed a tender kiss to her temple. “How could I desert a love that is so selfless? The least I could do in the wake of such a declaration is promise to never see that female again.”

Feyre shook her head emphatically. “Don’t promise me that, Rhys. Just—just promise me that we’ll always be honest with each other. That we’ll always be a team, whether it be as rulers, or as lovers, or… or just as friends.”

“I promise,” he swore. “I vowed on my court and crown that I will love you for eternity. And I still know that to be true, even now. My soul… it might belong to someone else. But my heart, Feyre, it will always belong to you.”

There was something irreparably changed between them. They both knew it, could sense the way it lingered between them. The first crack, and possibly not the last. What they had was fragile now, but they had a gift for being delicate with one another.

The silence hung between them, a wretched, discomfiting presence that had never been there before. Both not quite sure what to say, not quite sure where this put them. She watched Rhysand’s lower lip quiver, understood that it was from the strain of not burdening her with his own turmoil over the situation.

Feyre tutted as she threw her arms around him, recognizing the signs of his crumbling. Rhys bowed his head in shame, burying his face into her chest.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped against her, releasing a sob of his own. “I’m sorry it couldn’t have been you. I wanted it to be you. I’m a failure of a husband, for putting you through this.”

“You are an excellent husband,” Feyre protested, threading her fingers through his hair soothingly. Her voice was still raw. “I don’t blame you for this, Rhys. I love you just the same.”

He lifted his head so their tear-stained faces were level. His eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, still glistening in silver. “What do we do now?”

They clung to each other so tightly, as if they pressed hard enough they could redirect fate, could mold their souls together and correct the misdeed of the Cauldron.

“I don’t know,” Feyre answered, burying her face in his shoulder as if it would hide her from the truth of the world. “I suppose we have no choice but to keep going. We’ll find our footing again. Together. And if we don’t… well, maybe we can wish on the stars.”

There was a huff of air at her ear. A laugh, she guessed, or something like it, something wry and humorless. Rhys moved underneath her, and Feyre pulled away to watch in confusion as her husband rose to his feet.

He extended his hand towards her. Curious, Feyre accepted, allowing him to pull her to her feet. In a blink, they were on the rooftop, beneath the stars. She hadn’t even realized the sun had set until she was staring up at the impossibly bright cosmos.

“Where better to find our footing than under those very stars?”

She turned to him, and Rhys was staring at her the way he had on starfall, all those centuries ago. Staring at her as if she were the brightest star in the sky, as though he looked to Feyre to cast his wishes.

“Will you dance with me, wife?”

Not convinced she was capable of speech, Feyre nodded. Using the hand he still held, Rhys twirled her into his arms. And though no music played, they found their own rhythm, lost in the cadence of each other, spinning endlessly under the stars.

As they swayed under the endless expanse of sky and starlight, Feyre mused how even the brightest of stars eventually burned out, but that didn’t make them any less worth wishing on. That didn’t mean they weren’t worth fighting for.

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[the-house-of-the-nine]

The Damned Never Die: Haunted, Part 1

  ] Greetings friends and followers.  The return of one of our founding authors and writers is poised to return to our collective group.   Keeping with the canonized theme; Lazarius takes this time to meet with the council one by one, going consecutively through his trusted advisors to weigh in on the dilemma he now faces.  Thank you to Poeta’s Mun who helped to write this scene.  Everyone please enjoy! and Thank you for the support! [

“The younger students have developed a little rhyme about you… it seems they realize that the further they stretch down this hall the colder, darker and more terrifying it feels…. “Fear the darkness, cry and cower … Avoid the halls of Magus De’Mour.” I find it…charming.”.

[ L.K ]   Lazarius calmly trudged down the long since abandoned halls of the great chamber within their sanctum. The crystalline decor and magnificent tapestries were long since neglected since both the Grand Magus and Blood Magus who both used them were missing. More the later had vanished completely.

As he recalled latent memories and past events he would come to the magnificent double doors. A ward had thusly been put across it just Incase any of the wandering students or members of the order would be curious about what was in here. Lazarius placed his hand across the translucent energy barrier and began to scribe insignia after insignia, and before long it was deactivated.

“You’re a fool Kashebahl. You trust that woman, look what we’ve become, look what she has done to you.. stop pretending and do something about it.”.

Lazarius peered around the huge sanitarium that was once the home of one of the most powerful magi to ever live and certainly the most dangerous to ever grace these halls, save for her predecessors. Lazarius looked over the room and recounted once more on the various levels of interaction that took place here.

Fond memories accompanied by a hurtful scorn that was a constant reminder of not only his failure as a leader, but as a companion. To the writing desk with a pile of books; unmoved and unshaken since the former resident had pulled them.

“Mind sheering: Volume six… Developing A Ghost Image…. what is that you were working on… Time Reversal and Dangers therein. Interesting stuff…”.

Lazarius thumbed his deep violet wrapped digit across the spine of the text. His own jet black eyes would dart back across the table top and notice the smudge where the oils from a hand once rested. It was so intense on the fatigued wood of the desk that the dust that had formed around it appeared to give it a ghostly visage. Nothing had moved since it was haunted many years ago. 

As he made his way to the swirling clock like gizmo in the center of the sanctum he would notice how it was frozen. The wheels badly needing tuning and oil, the winding device locked firmly in place. How odd that on the greater scale of things; the planets that were revolving around the large star had actually lined up in the same galactic waypoints that point Azeroth toward its run in with Argus and the Legion. Perhaps the Nathrezim knew all along?

He was glad they had abolished that creature. Hopefully it felt pain even in death within the Nether. Lazarius would turn and begin making his way toward the various cabinets, cupboards and shelves with concoctions. She was a busy little bee, stockpiling whatever she could. So many nights they had spent tirelessly researching and creating.

The final memory to flood his mind was that night he and Pyravari went to her manor in the Ghostlands. They’d purged the demon, freed the mind of their former ally and she vowed to return one day. Lazarius smiled thinking about it. Despite what had transpired from then to now, at least; if she was still alive, she was free and not a slave to that curse any longer. Such a brilliant mind deserved it’s own will.

He plucked a text from the table top, just the one he was looking for. Something to do a bit of light research on his newest plot. Combustion Magic’s we’re not easily ready within the order, he would need some knowledge. And thus he would stand there for a brief moment alone, in the silence of the dead quarters of the once illustrious Grand Magus.

[ P.D ]   As if sensing the authoritative presence of Lazarius Kash’ebahl, the tainted, intoxicating shadows of the sanctum wafted forwards, enveloping his frame in a warm embrace. Almost as if this long-abandoned chamber was crying out for a soul to occupy its walls once again.

An echo lingered beside the towering bookcase not too far off from Lazarius, where a silver scepter had clattered down upon the cold, stone floor. An effigy spirit slowly materialized, roused from a prolonged slumber, but, do not fret! The spirit was merely a fragment of a memory attached to the fallen scepter. This remnant began to pace back and forth, circling the same dusty, limping desk over and over again.

The spirit retained a vacant stare, offering no acknowledgement towards the Kash’ebahl, but despite the air of silence, was there a clue to be offered? The slanted desk of the once-great Magus offered an array of tomes and parchments scattered across its surface.

Upon closer examination one may see: The Liturgy of Death, The Journey of the Perished, A Harvester’s Perspective on Immortality, and Conceptions of the Soul: The Realm of Shadows. A torn, wine-stained parchment was delicately draped over one of the books and contained the scattered notes of the Magus De’Mour—But, the chaotic handwriting was nearly indecipherable, only a few phrases were able to be read:

“…build the bridge to immorta-… shattered pieces of another’s s-… The Nine . . . to eternity…”

Click-Clack. Abruptly, there was a faint tapping that echoed throughout the chamber. The memorable sounds of the Lady De’Mour’s typical shoe preference… heels? Or was that the sound of a faint… knocking? In the far corner of the chamber an obscure light pulsated gently from the dust-covered, glass surface gracing the wall. Click-Clack. Click-Clack. CLICK-CLACK – The impatience is… palpable.

[ L.K ]   The spirit like ether would cause the dark eyed man to slowly rouse his attention from the book and it’s contents. My how he had recalled all of her little Knick knacks and enchantments. The spiders that would carry little messages. A brilliant wicked mind. But as he followed the spirit like mist toward the writings and texts he could not help but peruse them. Yes of course. He remembered.

“Oh Poeta… I knew we would find it eventually…we worked so hard.”.

Immortality. The last true hunt they had gone on. The two were not obsessed with it by any means. But they were interested and highly motivated to seek a means and way to do so. As his wrapped finger tip began to flip through the contents he would be reminded of the night they obliterated those two bottles of Cindervine Red, laughing and channeling their magnificent minds to find an answer. Sadly they had never gotten close.

Click-Clack

He was far too focused on the writings, even locating a few penned notes of his own, mostly just little things.

Click-Clack, Click-Clack. CLICK-CLACK.

Lazarius broke from his attentive gathering of his past and followed the sound. His perked ears twitching; the pair of Shal’dorei sterling ear covers twitching as well and the soft clack of the marching hoops in his ears resonated around the clacking of the noise. The mirror.

Lazarius calmly began padding his way toward the decorative accessory, the black eyes fully focused on it. A lofted brow would raise as he got closer. He thought for a moment that it may have been another memory latched to the room. The activity and his overall presence here may have been enough to rouse the decaying thoughts here.

As he grew closer; several meters away, his fingers raised and he would flick them aside. A pair of voided claw like tendrils lurched from the shadows and yanked cloth covering from the preserved, unkept mirror. And in the silence and shadows, the black eyed inquisitor looked on.

[ P.D ]   “Hello…”

The whisper of an alluring voice danced among the shadows of the Sanctum.

“I see you…”

Another inviting whisper licked the ear of Lazarius.  Such a voice would have been unforgettable. Peering into the cracked mirror one would see nothing be a shadowed figure, however the silhouette pounced forwards like a vindictive ghost or ravenous lioness.

“Do you see me…”

A pair of fel-misted eyes nearly filled the whole expanse of the scrying glass.

“Oh, Kash’ebahl…” The voice flickered faintly, a hint of grief enveloped the spoken name… “Won’t you let me in?” She cooed, “Just a flick of those slender digits… It’ll be like the good old days.”

[ L.K ]   The hairs on the back of his neck feathered outward like quills ready to protect the flesh. The sight of something within the mirror was not exactly something he expected but was not something to alarm him either; the mystic arts were not anything new .

“Lady De’Mour.”.

He sang back in the same draw, his tongue slowly pressing against the roof of his mouth and back of his teeth as he sneered. As if just the simple speaking of the name reacted like a bad taste of something eaten.

“Letting you in would certainly be a favorable choice.”.

He crept ever closer, at this point the shadowed appendages were gone and he slowly leaned forward to gauge her reaction when he went to go touch the mirror but stopped well short of any shenanigans.

“But… since reworking the defenses of our sanctum … the mere presence of you standing here would instantaneously vaporize you. The Bastille truly hates unwanted pests boring holes in its walls and scurrying about where they are unwanted.”

[ P.D ]   “Psssshaa, you’re always no fun.”

An indecipherable phrase was gently spoken, and the listless frame of the once-great Magus came into view. The tiny, petite frame of the Lady Poeta Idril De’Mour… and her usual duplicitous grin to match.

The bewitching creature slipped a velvet glove from her hand and ran her fingers along the glass barrier between them. Snow-white locks fell from the loose bun atop her head, draping gently over her pale shoulders.

“I even have our old favorite…” with a snap of her fingers a bottle materialized in her grasp… Cindervine Red.

“I have something you may wish to know…” The Lady De’Mour sung the words like a sultry tune. “You wouldn’t pass up a chance at …immortality, would you?”

[ L.K ]   His jet black, shark like eyes rolled over white when he heard her sing song voice tempt him with olden days, wine and the topping on the cake; immortality.

When he looked back toward the mirror, the eyes of the dark lord were yet again stone cold and black as night, like a creepy doll peering back.

“It pains me to say this but in my naivety of youth, more than likely would have lunged at the chance to sample such a veritable buffet of goodness droplets. But…”. He waved the coiled, void wrapped fingers as if neglecting the invitation. “You see, I have found a way to bypass that. Amazing thing really.”

As he spoke, his other hand was calmly twitching and crawling back and forth. A small wisp of violet energy poised at the tip, leaving a faint trail behind it as it motioned about.

[ P.D ]   The elven woman slumped back upon a velvet sofa, exhaling a heavy, playful sigh. Unfurling her arm from its folded place at her chest, she reached a pale hand towards the bottle of red wine. “

I can’t say I’m entirely surprised by your reaction, I suppose it’s quite understandable—having been a few years and all. But I was hoping you’d be more… pleased, about my studies.”

The dark contents of the bottle were slowly poured into a wine glass…or two, with her free hand resting upon her red-stained lips. Deep in thought the tiny illusionist appeared to be, her calculating, fel-green gaze was dancing with an array of emotions far too difficult to pin down.

[ L.K ]   “Given what I know about your experimentation’s. I can only gather that this is some sort of gateway. Or a time loop?”. As his hand rose, he would suddenly begin to scribble energy into the air between them. A series of Shath’yari written notes holding there like a suspended chalk board.

[ P.D ]  “You know, I miss the beginning. I miss the ways things used to be before it got so… muddied. It was hard to try and be a part of a cause when the disdain was so. . evident.”

But, with the wave of a dismissive hand the guise of such vulnerability quickly evaporated. Playfully wiggling her fingers at the surface of the mirror, shadows of minuscule spiders began to accumulate against the cracked plane.

[ L.K ]   “Analysis doesn’t show a curse. Not a possession either So what is it? A doorway through time to a specific version of yourself locked in there? If I was going to be sure I was well preserved I would do it that way, that is for certain. Freeze a version of myself in a suspended animation… wait for the right person and use them to free me after my death… leave little bread crumbs to my former self and my notes… walla… instant resurrection and retaining knowledge.”.

Lazarius suddenly waved his hand through the image of his notes and peered back toward the mirror.

[ P.D ]    “And No. No, time loop.” She stated, as the minuscule spiders faded into shadows.

“Although, curious little idea you’ve proposed I’ll admit.” A devilish smirk lightly tugged upon the sides of her striking features.

[ L.K ]   “Well into two years now, if you are the current, real, living De’Mour, you know well enough that I cannot trust a word you say, especially not cryptic invitations and plays on my greed for power. What is it YOU really want Image.”

[ P.D ] “Lazarius…” The enticing voice fell to a whisper once more, “Haven’t you missed me?” she purred. “You restored my mind. I told you I’d return to you… and the Nine…But, I never said -when-. I had to do some…soul-searching.”

The final two words dripped off her tongue with a curious amount of amusement, even a little giggle escaped her petite frame—an inside joke? Perhaps.

“I met those that named themselves the perished—an organization devoted to walking the shadowlands, step in step with death like a fantastic dance. . .” Her tongue dipped out from between red-stained lips with a playful flick. “I could tell you more… But you hardly seem receptive to my presence…”

The Lady De’Mour leaned back within her velvet couch, a pale leg having darted out from beneath golden silk and was delicately crossed over her lap.

[ L.K ]   So many things to reflect on during that amount of her talking and trying to communicate through the mirror. As she was dressed to the hilt, the lord of the keep was hardly looking any more than half as smashing. He wore a plain white tunic, tucked lightly into a pair of silken black slacks. The sleeves were cut short about mid bicep and from his elbow down, a pair of violet ethereal bands coiled around his flesh. Some sort of magical makeshift bandage.

“Gods only know that you are correct on so many levels De’Mour. About the past, about the world we live in. I’ve seen so much and we’ve all toiled through so many tests of our resolve. Yet the Nine stands firm, full, and if I must say… stronger than ever.”

His hand stretched outward and a large shadowed appendage shot forth and lurched across the room. It would grab a large cushioned chair and drag it across the room; a job for easier two men. And plopped it down in front of the mirror. He would collapse into it and calmly crossed his leg over the knee of its mate and peered back at her.

The sunken in black eyes were reflected beautifully against his ghostly pale face and spider black veins around the sockets and lips. “Receptive…”. He would say with a sigh.

“My apologies Poeta. You , and I… well you should understand that it is nothing personal. I would think that the preservation of your sanctum here and all you stood for remaining in tact should at least be a testament to my devotion and hope that you would one day return as you were before you lost your will. You were; after all next to my sister, my most devote and trustworthy advisor. Even after your slip and fall backward… you were never once thought to have been a lost cause.”.

His hand rose upward and just gently massaged his brow. “I mean nothing by it in the offensive… just most unsure of you… I hope you’ve found what you need? Gotten back to yourself?”

[ P.D ]   The fel-green gaze of the Magus had metaphorical stars in them as she regarded the Kash’bahl’s change of demeanor. The devilish grin shifted into a small smile, lighting up the Sin’dorei woman’s face. The golden silk of her gown pooled around her and she playfully kicked off her long black heels, allowing them to fall noisily upon the ground.

“I knew you couldn’t be -so- cold for -so- long,” she murmured, “I’ve made many mistakes, but I’ve vowed to set them right—you saved me from a lost mind, Kash’ebahl… I needed time to fully recover and to find myself again, so I engrossed myself in studies pertaining to a topic that would benefit us all… And I’m much better for it.”

She pounced upon her delicate, bare feet with a sly wink towards the sitting Lazarius. Twisting and turning on her toes, her feet traced about in a playful dance, long golden silk shimmering about her frame. Red-stained lips parted for a teasing whisper as she leaned closer into the mirror.

“Can you still deny me?” Biting softly upon her lower lip, she fluttered her long lashes, “Into the Bastille, I do mean. Don’t get -too- excited.” Her laugh echoed throughout the Sanctum, and she lazily plopped back into her velvet couch.

“I do appreciate you having preserved my sanctum, so don’t think I haven’t noticed. Furthermore, I do have the best intentions at heart… I wouldn’t have come knocking otherwise. What I have learned isn’t perfect, but you’re the only person who could match my ideas—or even out-smart them. You and the Nine were my greatest allies…my only allies to be honest.”

She cocked her head to a side, snow-white locks falling gracefully over her exposed, bare shoulder. Her inquisitive gaze lingered over his form, noting the magical make-shift bandage.

“What can I do to persuade you?” She queried, “And why do you appear…injured?”

To be continued in… The Damned Never Die: Haunted, Part 2

[justanotherrandomperson]

A Familiar Melody for @idar-cymera​

Elliot just stood there. Every piano note reverberated in his head, every key familiar, his fingers moving ever so slightly with it. And there was the boy who sat there; a scruffy mess of black hair, pulled back into a ponytail, unaware of Elliot's presence, as enchanted with the tune as Elliot was. Elliot's throat felt dry, he couldn't help but feel something... nostalgic about the tune, like he had heard it as a child, almost on the tip of his tongue. "Le..." As soon as the words spilled out, the piano’s silence broke it.

In the silence the boy turned, surprised. His eyes were wide, an odd dark shade of violet, as though he held the cosmos within them, contrasting his pale skin, his eyebrows ever so slightly furrowed with a look of faint irritation. Elliot was frozen at the sight, trying to reach for something that he couldn’t understand.

“This… tune, What’s it from?” Elliot asked breathlessly. “I feel-” The boy interrupted, laughing incredulously.. “Uh, No.” He said, bewildered by the situation. “You wouldn’t have heard it before, I….. wrote it….” As he spoke he became slightly more sheepish and turned to his sheet music. After a short cough, he pulled back one of many loose strands of hair behind his ear then reached out with his other hand towards his sheet music and traced his finger over the title. “It’s called… Elliot,” he murmured, his voice softer. Elliot tensed, confused, His mind suddenly bombarded with too many questions. As the smaller boy lingered, looking upon the sheet with a wistful look his gaze crossed over his watch, snapping him back to reality.

He stood up suddenly, shoving the sheet music into a bag, swinging it over his shoulder as he double-checked his watch. “Oh shit, it’s later than I thought, I’ve got to go,” He barely looked up as he anxiously moved. “You can- uh, use the piano now.” Elliot just stood there, yet again. Elliot. The name, the way the words fell from his lips, it all kept replaying in Elliot’s head. As the boy began to leave in one sweeping movement past, Elliot quickly grabbed his arm, reacting before his mind had managed to calm down. The star-eyed boy stopped in his tracks and looked up at Elliot who merely fumbled out all he could muster. “M- My name is Elliot…”

The pale boy blinked for a bit awkwardly before responding. “Um… okay… I’m Leo…” then, realising the connection began to smile nervously, almost a little disgusted, beginning to sweat with a slight flush. “I- I didn’t write the song for you, just so you know, I mean, I have no idea who you are, so of course I-” he stumbled, finding the whole thing so ridiculous, not knowing what to say. “I, uh, have to go.” As soon as the words left Leo’s mouth, Elliot’s mind began to settle, the odd situation he had put himself in and his own words dawning on him. He quickly brought his hand back behind his head, dropping Leo’s arm, incredibly flustered and frustrated over his own actions. “I- I didn’t think you did!” Elliot rebutted, with scorn, trying to justify himself. “I just thought it was strange! Don’t treat me like a stalker or something!” In the heat of the moment, Elliot gritted his teeth and the raven-haired boy, Leo smiled tauntingly, feeling more at ease. “Ok…. suuuure” he said, playing out his disbelief slightly more to Elliot’s annoyance as he turned to leave with a small wave.

“HEY THERE!” Elliot yelled out, incredibly frustrated with his integrity being slandered so callously. “I’M NOT A STALKER!!” Leo continued towards the door. “See you, Elliot. I’m sure you’ll make sure of it.” “NO I WON’T!” Elliot lashed out angrily with conviction. He would never ever ever see that cosmos-embodying brat again as long as he was at this school. Never. He would swear on it.

That afternoon he discovered who he would be rooming with for the rest of his academy days. Through gritted teeth and flustered cheeks, Elliot muttered, “God fucking dammit.”

I actually doodled out this whole encounter years ago in a notebook right after the final chapter when I realised all modern reincarnation AUs would be cannon and I just love the idea of these two falling right back into each other's’ lives, repeating history with vague sensations of familiarity and being in an environment where they can grow up together and into their own, AND IN LOVE. I did the drawing of the Elliot overhearing the tune in the Academy walls but I also wanted to do a little drabble to capture the fun belligerent banter these two have, similar to their encounter in their previous life (but I’m not much of a writer, rip). I cry too much over Elleo angst so it’s nice to indulge in some post-series-reincarnation fluff C: and I hope I was able to capture something you love in Elliot and Leo and their relationship, Cym!! Also, Thank you @pandoraheartssecretsanta for hosting!

Merry Christmas CYM!!! <3 <3

[scriveyner]

shining like the stars p98

Lance’s room had acquired the most stuff over the course of their adventures; which included an additional display console that was not, thankfully, holographic. Not that Keith really had a problem with the holographic displays in the Castleship, but it sometimes made things simpler to be looking at them on an actual screen. He still hadn’t gotten dressed though, and made movements like he was going to retreat to his room to fetch some clean clothes when Lance rolled his eyes dramatically at Keith and pulled open the wall panel that hid their clothing. “You took over my room, remember?” Lance said, pulling out some of Keith’s stashed clothing. “At least I’ve made sure everything in here is clean.”

@ ao3 or continue after the jump

“The Castleship automatically cleans all the clothing,” Keith said, amused, as Lance shoved the balled-up clothing into Keith’s chest. Lance stuck out his tongue at Keith and then set to inspecting Pidge’s thumb drive, checking to make sure it was compatible with Lance’s console. Keith pulled his shirt on over his head and felt so much relief it was staggering. Lance was being normal, and that things seemed more normal than they had been in a week and a half.

He sat down on the floor in front of the console as Lance finally got the drive connected and pulled a keyboard out of somewhere. Keith stared at it, and Lance looked down at the keyboard and then over to Keith before shrugging. “Pidge,” he said, as if that were the answer to every single bit of technology-driven strangeness on the ship and not a huge can of worms in and of itself. Keith shook his head, as Lance opened the file drive and pulled up the data files.

Immediately, the screen filed with text, all violet and magenta-hued. Lance blinked, and made a noise of disappointment. “I can’t read Galra writing,” he said. Keith’s heart had frozen in his throat, the happiness of normalcy already long gone. He hadn’t sat down to talk with Pidge yet - he hadn’t had a chance, so much happened so fast, everyone else knew but he’d forgotten they were already gone when his secret was dragged out of him. “Boring,” Lance announced, and started scrolling faster than Keith could even begin to read the page.

Several images flashed past quickly, embedded into the data, before the file seemed to hitch and then shot all the way down the page, automatically pulling up a recording that made Keith’s blood run cold. It was a monitored recording, the sort taken by a camera set up in a lab, and as such the quality of the image was slightly lower due to the cheapness of the technology. Lance was frowning at the screen, leaning forward to try to make out the display, but Keith didn’t need to, the terror clinched tight in his gut and the memories he’d long fought to repress threatening to overwhelm him.

“Turn it off,” Keith said suddenly, his arms shaking as they wrapped around himself, unable to tear his eyes from the screen. Lance looked over to him, as if now suddenly aware of Keith’s altered demeanor, his expression baffled at the sudden change in the mood of the room.

Abruptly, the recording buzzed to life with activity as a high-pitched yell filtered through the speakers. It was static-filled and much younger than even Keith remembered but still recognizable. Keith could still remember the shape of the words. “Let me go, let me go, no-”

Lance whirled on the console, jaw gone slack as some Druids entered the frame. “Turn it off,” Keith’s voice hitched and overlaid his own young voice as a tiny, struggling form was revealed between two guards. “Lance, please turn it off, turn it off-”

“Unsuitable,” one of the guards said in a thick voice, full of scorn; but a Druid held up what looked like a syringe. Lance’s entire expression had frozen over but Keith wasn’t looking at him any more, his arms over his head and clamped tight over his ears, trying to drown out something he never thought he would hear again.

With his eyes closed tight he didn’t see Lance stagger to his feet and lunge, yanking the drive out of the console without ejecting it, he didn’t hear the high-pitched whine of disrupted playback or even hear Lance’s boot slam on the delicate electronics. He jerked physically when he felt Lance’s arms around him and nearly headbutted him but Lance didn’t let him go, pulled him tight and wrapped his own arms around Keith’s head himself, holding him close. “It’s all right, buddy,” Lance’s voice was quiet in a way he’d never heard before, but soothing still as Keith pressed his face against Lance’s shoulder and shook, choking, against him. “You’re safe now. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

#

Keith lay curled up on his side in Lance’s bed, the sheet wrapped securely around him. Lance sat on the edge of the mattress and watched Keith quietly; he hadn’t moved in a while and his breathing had finally evened out. Lance had never actually seen Keith cry before, to look so helpless and vulnerable and he was shaken to his very core.

A core that was now a tightly-packed ball of incandescent rage. Keith was strong, and he was good, and he didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve any of this, and he’d come from such a terrible place and was able to keep it all packed away and even shouldered so much more without complaint. Lance was almost shaking. He wanted to find every single creature in that video and make certain that they couldn’t harm another sentient being in this universe, or any other one, ever again. Why had Pidge given that to Keith? And expected him to watch it by himself, holy shit…

Wait, Pidge.

Lance looked down at Keith again, and then tentatively brushed his hand through Keith’s hair, pushing it back slightly. He looked absolutely human like this, not a hint of anything alien about him … unless you counted his taste in hairstyle. Lance smiled at that thought, even if it was watery, and then leaned down and kissed Keith’s temple. Then he picked up the smashed drive from the floor and went to find Shiro.

#

Lance’s immediate impulse to smash the drive had actually only damaged its outer casing, once stripped of the damaged parts Shiro was still able to plug the drive into the console he’d set up in his own room. He watched the entire thing. Lance couldn’t stomach the thought of seeing any of it and stood outside the door to Shiro’s room, his back to the door and arms crossed, feeling sicker than he’d ever been. It was against every single instinct he had to stand there, but he waited for Shiro because he didn’t feel he could trust himself.

The sound of playback, muted enough that he could only distinguish noise from silence and not much else, ceased. It was a very long stretch of silence that followed, long enough that Lance was considering opening the door before there was a sudden loud and violent crash. Not ten seconds later the doors to Shiro’s room opened and Lance’s blood went to ice. Shiro looked absolutely fit to kill. “Where is he?” he asked, and Lance had a split-second of worry. Shiro sensed the way he reacted to Shiro’s question and he sighed, but that didn’t entirely take the edge off. “Is he okay, Lance? Is he safe?”

“I can’t answer the first one,” Lance said. “But he’s safe, at least.”

Shiro surprised him then by enveloping Lance in a tight hug. Lance didn’t realize how badly he’d needed it until Shiro’s arms were around him, and he pressed his forehead into Shiro’s shoulder and took deep, steadying breaths. “What do we do?” he asked quietly.

“That’s up to Keith,” Shiro said, and Lance raised his head.

“Like hell it is,” he said. “I’m going to turn those fuckers into ionized carbon and launch anything left over into a fucking star.”

“You’re assuming I would leave anything behind,” Shiro murmured, but his arms remained tight around Lance. “But it’s up to Keith. Not us. Remember that.”

“If you guys wanted to swing by Earth and turn those alphas inside-out I wouldn’t peep a word of protest,” Lance grumbled, and Shiro rubbed his back.

“You said Pidge gave you the files?”

“Yeah. What the fuck.” Lance lifted his head again. “Why would she do that?”

“We’ll talk to her,” Shiro said, and Lance nodded.

#

Pidge was in the Green Lion’s hangar bay, sitting at the mass of consoles and computers she had wired together that Lance had affectionately nicknamed the bat-computer. Matt was sitting on the ground by her chair, the outer casing of a computer sitting empty behind him and its innards strewn about. “Hey guys,” he said cheerfully when he saw Shiro and Lance enter the bay. “Uh,” he added, when he sensed the mood. “Everything okay?”

“Pidge, what the fuck,” Lance wasn’t able to contain himself.

She half-turned and looked at him, baffled. Then her gazed sharpened. “I told you to give that to Keith,” she said, and Lance’s entire frame went rigid with the implication. Shiro put his hand on Lance’s shoulder firmly, and then looked to Pidge with a severe expression.

“Did you know what was in those videos?” he asked, his voice forced very level.

Pidge’s expression had shifted from Lance’s strange reaction back to Shiro and she realized suddenly that something was very wrong. “No,” she said. “I didn’t even realize there was embedded video. I just grabbed an entire sector packet about a Galra breeding experiment, there were pictures that looked like…” she glanced sidelong at Matt for a moment before she continued, “that looked like Keith was in them, so I packaged the entire file cluster for him. I haven’t had time to actually go through any of the raw data yet, things keep coming up.” There was a hard edge to her voice, with the next statement. “He is Galra though, isn’t it?”

“He’s Keith,” Lance spat, and Shiro didn’t remove his hand from Lance’s shoulder but he also didn’t stop him from speaking. “He’s our friend, Pidge!”

“I know,” Pidge said and finally spun her chair all the way around. “I know he is.” She folded her arms and glared at them. “What was in the videos?” Notably, she did not move to pull them up herself. Matt stood up from where he was seated, his own face concerned.

Shiro’s jaw moved around but he did not speak, and Lance said, finally, “they tortured him, Pidge. He was a kid, and they…” Shiro’s hand again, tightened, and Lance fell silent because Pidge’s face had fallen even further. She pushed her glasses up off her eyes and into her hair, before she pressed the palms of her hands against her eyes for a long moment.

“Shit,” Pidge said softly. Then, after a moment she spun in her seat and changed the console she was working on. “My first instinct is to destroy the files,” she said, anger tinged in her voice, “but that’s a stupid idea because there might be information in them that we need. But I can at least lock their archiving so no one accesses them accidentally.” She slammed her had down on the keyboard in front of her suddenly, and leaned forward. “God dammit.”

“Pidge,” Matt said, and slung his arm over his sister’s shoulders.

“Can you tell Keith I’m sorry?” Pidge asked. “I’m sure he doesn’t want to see me, and I don’t blame him. I am sorry,”  she added, looking to Lance. “I really didn’t know, I didn’t … okay, no,” she self-corrected. “I was mad that he was concealing this from us and maybe wanted to give him a little ‘gotcha’ but I really didn’t know what was in most of the data. I didn’t think he’d go deeper than the pictures.”

“It would mean more coming from you directly,” Shiro said. “But we’ll tell him.”

“Thanks,” she said, quietly.

When Lance and Shiro left, Pidge pulled up the file that she had just locked. Matt kept his arm over her shoulder, and when she leaned into him he let her cry for a little while, rubbing her back. “You didn’t know,” he said softly, and Pidge lifted her head, smearing her wet eyes on his clothing.

“It’s no excuse,” she muttered, and this time scrubbed her hand over her eyes and wiped her nose with her sleeve.

leaned over and hugged Matt tight. Her brother wrapped his arms around her and let her cry for a little while, rubbing her back. “You didn’t mean to,” he said softly, and Pidge nodded, smearing her wet eyes across his clothing. She let out a quiet sob, and then this time scrubbed her hand over her eyes and put them back on her nose, returning her attention to the console.

“I’m going to see what information I can pulls from these files,” she said, her voice still uneven but forceful. “If I slingshot the data to your terminal, do you think you can map it to a star chart, or at least glean the location data?”

Matt said, “you don’t have to do that right now, Pidge.”

“Yeah,” Pidge said. “I do.”

“Okay,” Matt said, pausing for a moment. “Okay. Yeah, I can see what I can do with the info you pull.”

With that, the siblings got to work.

#

“I’m going to go talk to Allura,” Shiro had said, standing outside of Lance’s room. His arm had remained over Lance’s shoulder the entire way back to the pilot’s quarters, and it was a small comfort. Lance suspected it was as much for Shiro’s benefit as it was his. Lance had nodded quietly, and accepted the kiss from Shiro without complaint. They both should be there if Keith woke, he felt, but … there were other things afoot, even now.

Keith hadn’t stirred, his back presented to the room and still curled into a tight ball. Lance sat at the edge of the mattress for a while, far too keyed up to consider sleeping but at a loss for what to do next. So he sat silent and waited for Shiro to return.

His nature had always been to react instead of act - let something happen, and he’d deal with it or its fallout in due time. That was changing, Lance realized, and it was something that had started with the introduction of the Blue Lion into his life. Lance stared at his hands and thought again of how he would Handle This if Keith deigned to let him, and his mouth quirked a little with savagery of it. He was enjoying a rather visceral plan when he felt the mattress shift and Keith rolled over, pulling him from his thoughts like an anchor. “Lance?”

“I’m here,” Lance said immediately, turning slightly. Keith shifted again and sat up, staring listlessly ahead. Then he rubbed both of his hands fully over his face and let out a low noise which was almost a growl, but when his face emerged from behind his hands he looked so much more like Keith again.

“Who have you told?” Keith asked without looking at Lance.

“Shiro,” Lance said. “Pidge… kind of. She doesn’t know exactly, but … she is sorry. Said she hadn’t watched the videos, only saw some of the data files and some pictures and was hurt you hadn’t told her yet.” He trailed off and immediately felt bad for making the excuse for Pidge, but Keith tilted his head forward and sighed raggedly.

“I’m sorry, Lance,” Keith said. “You shouldn’t have had to deal with that.”

“You’re…” Lance’s mouth actually fell open, because he couldn’t quite process that. “Excuse me, you are sorry? Why the fuck are you sorry? Fucking hell, Keith…”

Keith said again, his voice almost too calm, “you shouldn’t have had to see that.” He started to move, like he was going to get up, but Lance threw an arm out and blocked the way off the bed.

“Keith,” Lance said, his voice hard. “That was not your fault. I’m going to find whoever the fuck was on that video and kill them, do you understand? That isn’t an exaggeration, I can put a bolt of plasma between their eyes at a thousand meters, and I will-”

“Lance,” Keith said, and he had a strained smile on his face. “You don’t have to do that.”

“The fuck I don’t,” Lance said. “I will.”

“No, I mean you really don’t have to,” Keith rubbed his knee with one hand and stared at the top sheet, instead of looking at Lance. “They’re all dead.” He dragged his gaze up to Lance’s and for a brief moment Lance was scared of what he saw there, reminded terribly of the bloodthirsty expression he had seen on Keith’s face in the arena as he headed for Rian with murder on his mind. “Didn’t you wonder why I was on Earth, and had been?” Keith didn’t wait for Lance to ask the inevitable question. “I escaped. I made sure I wasn’t followed.” Keith shrugged his shoulders without moving his arms. “The end.”

Lance stared at him, still stunned into silence. Keith looked away. “I never wanted any of you to find out how much of a monster I am,” he said, his voice still quiet. “I’m sorry.”

“Keith,” Lance said. “If you’re a monster for that, then so am I. Same with Shiro.” Keith turned and looked at him, and Lance was deadly serious, more serious than he had ever felt. “I absolutely wasn’t kidding about blowing their heads off, if Shiro hadn’t beaten me to it. You are our mate.” He shifted more on the mattress and reached for Keith’s hand. Keith didn’t jerk away, and let Lance hold his hand with both of his. “You’re the Red Paladin, man. You are badass. You’re a good guy, no matter what you think your past says otherwise. We love you and we’re both here for you.”

Keith raised his eyes to Lance, but before he could open his mouth the doors to Lance’s room opened to show Shiro. The hard expression on his face softened when he saw Keith sitting up, and he crossed the room quickly, putting his knee on the bed beside Lance and nearly smothering Keith with his arms. Lance went to let go of Keith’s hand, but Keith didn’t let go of his, and put his other arm around Shiro’s neck, face buried in Shiro’s chest. “We’re going to find-” Shiro started, but Lance shook his head and Shiro caught the movement out of the corner of his eye.

“No point,” Lance said. “They’re already dead.”

“Well,” Shiro said, “Fuck that, who do I get to kill?”

“See?” Lance said, squeezing Keith’s hand. Face buried against Shiro’s chest, Keith actually laughed.

#

Keith looked like himself in the morning. He beat Lance out of bed, but not Shiro, and when Lance stopped by the training deck he saw the pair of them running laps. “It is way too early for that shit,” Lance said, and bypassed their insane work-out routine for breakfast.

Hunk was super cheerful, and Lance gave him a suspicious glare, although Illianya was nowhere to be seen. “Why is Hunk so happy?” Lance asked Pidge, who jumped at being addressed directly and gave Lance a guilty look. “Did he get laid? Do I have to drag him in front of everybody?”

“Can’t you let Hunk do his own thing in private?” Pidge asked, and Lance shrugged.

“He dragged the shit out of me when I first got laid.”

“Well, maybe that wouldn’t happen if you remembered to, I don’t know, lock your door once in a while,” Pidge muttered.

“Hey, Miss ‘I’m-unlocking-this-door-whether-you-want-me-to-or-not,” Lance said, indignant, and Pidge put up one finger.

“Once. Once, I did that, and boy howdy I have learned my lesson, okay?”

“Hey, Pidge,” Keith called as he entered the dining area. “Can we talk for a second?”

Lance had never actually seen Pidge turn that particular shade of pale before, but she nodded her head and made to stand up. However, before she could rise out of her chair Keith slid into the chair beside hers, across the table from Lance. He smiled at Lance though, and … well, he still wasn’t entirely used to Keith actually smiling like that but Lance felt relieved that Keith seemed to fell like Keith again.

“Keith,” Pidge said, standing. “I am really sorry-”

Keith interrupted Pidge before she could really get going. “It’s okay,” he said, glancing over a moment when the chair on the other side of him was pulled out, but that was just Shiro sitting down. Lance put his chin in his hand and grinned at Shiro, who gave him a Look in return to dial it down for a minute, earning a pout.

“it’s not okay,” Pidge said. “I did it to hurt you, even if I didn’t realize the extent of what was there, and it’s not-” her voice broke for a second, but she caught herself. “It’s not okay,” she said again, reining her voice in.

Keith had an expression on his face like he didn’t know what to do, and looked over to Lance helplessly. Lance gestured his arms at Keith wordlessly, a universal sign for ‘hug her you idiot’ but Keith clearly didn’t get the message. Fortunately for them both Pidge straight-up decided to hug Keith instead. “I know you didn’t mean to actually hurt me,” Keith said, patting her back awkwardly because despite everything he still wasn’t quite tuned to body language.

This was the moment that Hunk bustled into the room and paused at Pidge hugging Keith. He was followed by Allura and Illianya, who had clearly been having a morning meeting of some kind. “Uh,” Hunk said at the display. “So what did I miss?”

Allura glance at Keith, who nodded as Pidge got up from her awkward hug and shuffled back to her seat. All the Alteans had filed in together, and Rian grabbed the seat beside Matt while Coran chose to remain standing as he often did. Keith stood up from his chair after a moment, and that drew attention to him again as well.

“So, I have something I need to tell everyone,” Keith said, finally. “I’ve been keeping a lot of secrets and you all know that by now, but…” he looked across the table and met Lance’s eye and Lance nodded his head. They’d talked about this last night, and it was Keith’s idea to tell tell everyone. His pause lingered though, and then Shiro leaned forward and took his hand, squeezing it. Keith glanced at Shiro and smiled. “But I think it’s time everyone knew the whole story.”

#

“I think it went well,” Lance said, seated on the bench at the end of the training deck. Keith was busy doing hanging crunches, the show-off, his legs hooked over a bar as he hung upside down. Keith didn’t actually answer him, and Lance really didn’t expect him to huffing and puffing, but he knew that Keith appreciated the company. Shiro was sparring with Hunk on the mat, and Illianya was supervising them both, wearing a bodysuit not unlike the ones they wore under their Paladin armor. Occasionally, it appeared that she stepped in and showed both Hunk and Shiro a move.

Rian crossed the room toward them, and Lance groaned. “Our favorite Altean is heading this way, buddy.”

Altean ears were sensitive, and Rian was already scowling by the time he got close. He said something that Lance didn’t quite understand, and Keith stopped doing crunches and snorted. “What the heck was that?” Lance said, but Rian didn’t respond to him and Keith dropped from the bar and straightened, sweat dripping from his hair. “Why did you laugh?” he asked Keith suspiciously.

Keith regarded Rian silently, fetching his towel of the bench. Rian folded his arms and frowned and seemed to be bracing himself to say something. Finally, he sighed. “I don’t like you,” he said finally.

“Feeling’s mutual,” Keith said, and this time Lance snorted.

“I sense a ‘but’,” Lance said, and Rian shot him a dirty look.

“My mother escaped from one of the Galra research ships,” Rian said finally. “Before I was born. I think it was probably the same one.” He looked away. “Thank you for killing them,” he said softly. “I’ve been trying to track them down for years to do it myself.”

“I’m sorry about your mother,” Keith said.

“She lived,” Rian clarified. “For a while, at least. Couldn’t stand the sight of her purple child, just like her.” He smiled bitterly. “That was why she killed herself, or so I was told.” He kept his arms folded, fingers digging into his skin. “She didn’t live long enough to see that her child also inherited the long-lost Altean shape-shifting abilities.”

“Well that explains why you’re not purple,” Lance said, and then looked at Keith. “Wait, do you have Altean blood, too? Is that why you can shapeshift between furry and not?”

“I don’t know,” Keith said. “And I really don’t even care at this point.” He looked over to Rian, who still looked irritated that he had even shared any of this with someone he allegedly didn’t like. Then Keith held out his hand. “Truce?” he said, and Rian looked at his hand for a long moment, then took it.

“We’re on the same side now,” Rian said. “I guess.”

“Good enough for me,” Keith said, and rolled his eyes before he looked back over to Lance. “Why do you look like that?”

Lance’s eyes had gotten large and glittering. “I’m just so glad to see everyone getting along,” Lance said, mock choked-up, his hand on his chest.

Keith smacked Lance in the back of the head, who said a very loud and injured, “ow!” He rubbed the back of his head and muttered something under his breath while Rian folded his arms and shook his head.

“I still can’t believe that you’re with someone who gutted you like a fish,” Rian said, his tone derisive, and Lance shrugged.

“He’s my mate,” he said. “I would bare my throat to him if he asked to rip it out with his teeth.” Both Keith and Rian stared at him, and Lance hesitated. “…what?”

“I think that’s legitimately the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me,” Keith said, a little awed.

“Okay, that’s a problem,” Lance said. “We need to fix that.” He waved to Shiro. “Hey, Shiro! What’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever said to you?”

“Nothing that I’m going to repeat in polite company,” Shiro yelled back from across the training deck.

“God dammit,” Lance said, and folded his arms. “I’m disappointed. I need to step up my wooing game.” He looked up when Keith placed his hand on Lance’s head and leaned down, in close, rubbing his sweaty head against Lance’s.

“You’ve already won me over,” Keith said, and Lance pushed him away, affronted.

“Oh, gross, you’re so sweaty,” Lance yelped.

Rian shook his head and started to walk away. “Disgusting,” he said, as Keith grabbed Lance in a headlock and continued to rub his sweaty face all over Lance.

[littlebundleofbolts]

TAGGED BY: @vxtum

TAGGING: @ruthlessandspeedy, @mnemoiisms,and whoever :3

REPOST ; DON’T REBLOG.

BOLD any which apply to your muse feel free to add to the list !

WHAT ARE YOUR MUSE’S AESTHETICS?

[ COLORS ] red. brown. orange. yellow. green. blue. purple. pink. black. white. teal. silver. gold. grey. lilac. metallic. matte. royal blue. strawberry red. charcoal grey. forest green. apple red. violet. navy blue. crimson. cream. mint green. bubblegum pink. sky blue. pale jade. pale amethyst.

[ ELEMENTS ] fire. ice. water. air. earth. rain. snow. wind. moon. stars. sun. heat. cold. steam. frost. lightning. sunlight. moonlight. dawn. dusk. twilight. midnight. sunrise. sunset. dewdrops.

[ WEAPONS ] fists. legs. sword. dagger. spear. bow & arrow. hammer. shield. poison. guns. axes. throwing axes. whips. knives. throwing knives. pepper sprays. tasers. machine guns. slingshots. katana. maces. staff. wands. powers. magical items. magic. rocks. mud balls. claws.teeth. stealth. strategy.

[ MATERIALS ] gold. silver. copper. platinum. titanium. rose gold. diamonds. pearls. rubies. sapphires. emeralds. amethyst. metal. iron. rust. steel. glass. wood. porcelain. paper. wool. fur. lace. leather. silk. velvet. denim. linen. cotton. charcoal. clay. stone. asphalt. brick. marble. dust. glitter. blood. dirt. mud. smoke. ash. shadow. carbonate. rubber. synthetics. ribbon.

[ NATURE ] grass. leaves. trees. bark. roses. daisies. sunflowers. tulips. lavender. petals. seeds. hay. sand. rocks. roots. flowers. fungi. ocean. river. frozen lake. meadow. valley. forest. desert. tundra. savanna. rain forest. caves. underwater. beach. waves. space. clouds. mountains. snow. mist. pond. moss.

[ ANIMALS ] lions. wolves. foxes. eagles. owls. falcons. hawks. swans. snakes. turtles. ducks. bugs. spiders. birds. whales. dolphins. fish. sharks. horses. cats. dogs. bunnies. penguins. praying mantises. crows. ravens. mice. lizards. werewolves. scorpions. unicorns. pegasus. dragons. ladybugs. scarabs. jellyfish.

[ FOODS / DRINKS ] sugar. salt. candy. bubblegum. wine. champagne. hard liquor. vodka. beer. coffee. sake. tea. spices. herbs. apple. orange. lemon. cherry. strawberry. watermelon. vegetables. fruits. meat. fish. pies. desserts. chocolate. cream. caramel. berries. nuts. cinnamon. burgers. burritos. pizza. ambrosia. eggs. milk.

[ HOBBIES ] music. art. watercolors. gardening. smithing. sculpting. painting. sketching. fighting. writing. composing. cooking. baking. sewing. training. dancing. acting. singing. martial arts. self-defense. war tactics. electronics. technology. cameras. video cameras. video games. computer. phone. movies. theater. libraries. books. magazines. cds. records. vinyls. cassettes. piano. strings. violin. guitar. electronic guitar. bass guitar. harmonica. harp. woodwinds. brass. flute. bells. exploring. playing cards. poker chips. chess. dice. motorcycle riding. eating. sleeping. climbing. running. parkour. studying. storyboarding. true crime. recording. directing. learning. flying.

[ MISC ] balloons. bubbles. cityscape. light. dark. candles. growth. decay. war. peace. money. power. percussion. clocks. photos. mirrors. lighters. pets. diary. journal. fairy lights. madness. sanity. sadness. realism. happiness. optimism. pessimism. wrath. scorn. loneliness. family. friends. clan. assistants. co-workers. enemies. loyalty. smoking. drugs. kindness. love. hugs. kisses. spring. summer. autumn. winter. farmland. countryside. suburban. village.

[mysteriousooze]

Emotional Ectomagnetic Spectrum

Headcanon: the Lantern Corps and ghosts gain power from the same source.

(Scroll to Vlad’s pic for DP content, or past all of the pics for fic content.)

In the DC Universe, there are seven different Lantern Corps. Members use their lanterns to charge their power rings – but where do the lanterns get power?

Emotions. Every sentient being in the universe bleeds emotion, creating an energy field to which the lanterns are connected. Each Corps draws power from a different emotion. (Yeah, it’s hokey. Whatever. That’s canon.)

Who else gains power from emotions?

Ghosts – if you subscribe to a certain headcanon, anyway. Not like Spectra rejuvenating herself; the theory goes that ghosts haunt humans in order to feed on their yummy emotions, thus growing more powerful. And halfas cannibalize their feelings, giving them an internal power source.

If accept those both as true, then it isn’t a stretch to assume ghosts and lanterns tap into the same “emotional electromagnetic spectrum” for energy. Furthermore, I propose that the color of a ghost’s ectoplasm indicates which emotion they draw from the spectrum.

Another DP headcanon: ghosts recharge within the Ghost Zone. It makes sense, if you accept that ghosts need emotional sustenance. The Zone is where they spend most of their time. Of course, this means that the GZ (or ectoplasm in general) is/contains a source of emotional energy.

I submit that the “energy field” the lanterns draw from is the Ghost Zone.

DP canon:

Doors in the GZ can lead to pocket dimensions (like the boy in front of the static TV, you know the one.)

The GZ is a mirror dimension to the “real world,” so close that natural portals open everywhere. If the GZ is destroyed, then so is Earth.

Presumably, the GZ extends beyond the Earth’s atmosphere. A sister dimension brimming with energy, spanning the universe. 

(A metaphor: the “real world” is an assembled puzzle, while the GZ is all of the pieces loose in the box. They align, but not symmetrically. If a piece of the GZ were destroyed, the corresponding piece of the assembled puzzle would be destroyed as well, but not the whole dang puzzle/universe.)

DC canon:

Corps members keep their lanterns in pocket dimensions accessible from a secret location.

This indicates that A) Lanterns are able to reach other dimensions, if very nearby ones, and B) that the location of the pocket dimension is static, relative to the rotation of the planet.

This correlates with DP canon, wherein the Ghost Portal never leads elsewhere as the Earth orbits. The lanterns would also be capable of drawing energy from the GZ.

In conclusion, this all fits together pretty damn well, imo.

But let’s get back to the ghosts.

DC canon: an emotion’s placement on the spectrum indicates how much influence it holds over the wielder. Green, in the middle, is the most stable, but can only be controlled by those of great willpower. We’re starting on the end of the spectrum, however.

Those who are capable of great love, who have lost their loves, or been rejected are capable of wielding the violet light.

Vlad’s motivation is all about love! He yearns for it, would plot and manipulate and kill for it; he feels scorned and deprived of what he deserves. He’s spent his life becoming his idea of the perfect man, all for the sake of love.

Being on the far end of the spectrum, the violet light drives the Star Sapphires to violence through their love. I’m not saying that Vlad isn’t responsible for his own actions; he definitely is. However, I think it’s indicative that he naturally bears the toxic love of the Star Sapphires.

The Star Sapphires are mostly comprised of scorned women. It doesn’t surprise me in the least that Desiree uses the love that betrayed and harmed her to smite revenge upon the living.

Another common trait among the Sapphires is hatred of men – an outdated canon, imo, but it certainly rings true for this ghost.

The Indigo Tribe is a very special Corps, not only for the fact that most of their members are literal slaves to their rings – as it is said people can be slaves to their compassion. The users of this light are capable of absorbing and utilizing the lights of other Corps as they would their own.

Similarly, Ember’s guitar can emit different colors of ectoplasmic attacks, depending on its setting. (I consider Ember’s guitar as intrinsic as Johnny’s shadow.) The theme of being enslaved by a single, overwhelming emotion fits with Ember’s siren-like ability, as well. 

(Disclaimer: I’m not considering her blue hair for the same reason I’m not considering Plasmius’ red eyes. Those are more from their self-perception than the energy they draw from, imo.)

Blue power rings choose those capable of giving hope for the future to others when they have lost theirs.

Even in the depths of a frozen wasteland, Frostbite leads his people with palpable optimism. They’ve achieved science, art, and philosophy worthy of any sci-fi utopia. Their warrior culture is jovial, meant for recreation rather than conflict. He certainly gave hope to Danny.

I never said that ghosts could only use one color, did I?

Danny gained the ability to use blue ectoplasm later in his character development. After he learned to base his self-worth on himself, rather than on others’ opinions; after he wins more fights than he loses; after he gets a handle on his grades. He’s in a more positive place in his life. Most of Amity Park accepts him as a hero, and he’s even on their sign as their town hero. He’s become a symbol of hope.

Now, at this point one might say, “But Amelia, they’re blue because of ice powers.” to which I say, “bullshit.” Ice has no color, and neither does water. They reflect the sky, granting a blue appearance. IMO, their ice powers are illuminated from within by blue ectoplasm.

If you’re still not convinced, here’s another example:

Looks familiar. Pandora ain’t using ice powers; that’s blue ectoplasm. Considering she crafted a box to contain the world’s worst evils in order to make it a better place, I think she qualifies as one who brings hope.

Those of an indomitable will that can overcome great fear are capable of wielding the green light.

This kid was hunted by his parents, his government, terrifying other-dimensional ghosts, and a rich, old man smarter and stronger than himself. His own body didn’t obey him, or even the laws of physics – and that’s not even mentioning the normal perils of puberty! Bullies targeted him; teachers were biased against him; his grades, and all control over his life, were slipping.

Fear dogged his footsteps, but rather than hide, run away, or even keep his head down to make things easier on himself, he chose to fight. It would have been easy to say ‘my parents’ portal, my parents’ problem.’ He tackled his obstacles one day at a time, relentlessly putting the safety of others before his own, and relied on his friends to help him through – even if that just meant goofing off to destress.

That took serious determination – or, shall I say, willpower.

Disclaimer: green is the natural color of ectoplasm. I am not suggesting that the murky depths of the GZ are aglow with the universe’s supply of bullheadedness. Nor do I believe that the Fright Knight’s ectoplasm-empowered/enchanted sword is made of stubborness. All that is charged with willpower is green, but not all that is green is willpower.

(No ghostly examples for these. I blame color palettes, but I’m biased.)

Yellow is close to the center, and like blue, these rings choose those capable of instilling great fear in others.

Orange can be harnessed by those whose greed knows no bounds. Wielders become twisted, obsessively guarding their property and stealing from others. 

I don’t need to tell you about the Ghost King’s breathtaking anger issues.

In DC, the red light of rage has the most profound effect on its wielders of them all. Red Lanterns are reduced to little more than rabid animals, and the rings poison their blood so that if they’re removed, the result is death.

However, ghosts are not Lanterns. They are not beings of flesh and blood overwhelmed by otherworldy power. This isn’t foreign to ghosts. This is a ghost’s natural state of existence.

For example, Vlad exibits negative traits of a Star Sapphire. But in the case of a Corps member (correct me if I’m wrong,) the ring is forcing this behavior. Not the light. The ring. Vlad is perfectly capable of changing his ways, of using the Power of Heart™ for good.

This is why I think Danny can use two different types, with green as his primary color. Not a DP post without a pun. Like when Desiree’s eyes glare crimson when she’s furious – she’s tapping into the red light, but when she attacks, it’s still violet, because love is still her source of power. I’m such a nerd, wow

If we can accept all of that, then we can get to the interesting stuff!

Danny could charge a GL’s ring, but he’d be exhausted afterward and maybe not hold his ghost form. A last resort.

Vlad’s cube thing that doesn’t let Danny use his powers? Could totally work on a Lantern. (The Plasmius Maximus, however, requires ghost biology, so no dice)

Danny’s ghost sense goes off when there’s a Lantern around, but only when the ring’s activated. Same thing with ghost shields – they work when they‘re powered up. The first time GL encounters this, they don’t know that. It’s such a stupidly simple solution they didn’t even consider, so they’re just outside trying to smash through with brute force when they could literally walk right in, its hilarious

Lanterns are basically artificial halfas. None of the really fun powers, like invisibility/intangibility, but anything that involves shaping or charging ectoplasm? They’re experts

GL could totally teach Danny how to use some of  his powers

The Oans probably have the technology to stabilize Dani

The Fenton’s portal? That engine Jack made that uses ghosts as an energy source? Or really any of their ghost tech? Is basically following the same path of technological development as the Oans! GLs can track ecto-technology on their rings, as long as its active. Imagine their shock when they find Oan-like tech on Earth! They know about the emotional spectrum, but that’s it. The Oans don’t want anyone replicating their technology, so their people have no idea where their power really comes from If the GLs report back to the Oans about ecto-tech development on Earth, things may get political real fast

If the suit Technus made for Valerie is powered by the red light, what if it starts influencing her personality/emotions?

GL could take Danny into space. GL could take Danny to visit other planets. Danny could explore space with the Lanterns and he would be so happy

Danny vs GL: if it boils down to a battle of stamina, GL wins. His ring has more lasting power than Danny. As a halfa, however, Danny has full ghost powers; if he’s tricky enough, he could squeeze out a win. GL, on the other hand, is only limited by his imagination in what he can create. I’m inclined to say GL would win, unless Danny is willing to use the Ghostly Wail to knock him out, then flee on foot – but even then, GL’s ring would have a recording of him becoming Danny Fenton (Plus GL has way more allies than Danny. Basically, our boy might win a battle, but def not the war)

The Oans and the Observants could totally be in cahoots, and neither of them like Danny

That pocket dimension GLs keep their Lanterns in could totally be behind a locked door in the GZ, and now I’m imagining Vlad scheming up a way to find one

What if GL’s space travel utilizes the GZ’s natural portals like the infi-map?

There’s so much potential here, guys!!

[prof-polaris]

Got that Petra photo of Polaris’ new beastie

This is the she

Polly thinks she’s a dilute, although nobody is really sure what’s up with the forehead marking. It’s cute though ~ matches Polly’s little star thing they have going on

[prof-polaris]

Share a dark thought? (Go on, vent a little)

[Kittsu's blog has been blocked from viewing this post]

im going to kill achlys :)

its not going to be quick. its not going to be gentle

i want him to suffer for what he took from my pack.

i want him to suffer for what he did. for what hes doing.

when all this is over. and we get kittsu back. im pulling the pokemon members of the pack together for a headhunt.

and he will not be able to get away from me. he will not have a chance

distortion hath no wrath like a scorned Chroma.

[prof-polaris]

[IC DM]

Hello Violet

I'm going to be coming with you on the hunt. I would be of help finding them and to be perfectly honest. I want to see what happens to them both. Might help me sleep better at night.

From what I can tell, Kittsu has been taken to alola, I have been given 2 possible location for where she could be

-Beedrill

[IC DM]

Well well, good morning to you too hacker boy

Even if I told you no I doubt that would stop you. Better that I can keep an eye on you regardless.

My money is on them taking Kittsu to the altar of the sunne, on Poni Island. Would match their Sun and Solgaleo theme they have going on.

I don’t mind you coming along with, but let me make one thing clear.

Achlys’ head is mine~

[prof-polaris]

You're wasting your time trying to reason with people on here.

They want to see you fail. Us fail.

We will not.

@a-nickits-den

yeah well. sucks to suck for them i guess cause im not changing my mind

we wont fail. cant afford to anyways.

speaking of failing, stop tinkering with ur science shit and get ur scrawny ass over here to eat some of the food i cooked damnit!! youre going to pass out if you dont eat something and i can smell that your blood sugar is low!! eat the tofu!!! eat it!!!!

[prof-polaris]

what do you spend all day doing? Beedrill isn't telling us jack all

have you considered that maybe there’s a reason for that? that both Beedrill and I are on semi public accounts that for the most part anyone can view. that sharing what we are doing, when and where we are doing it, could actively put what we are doing at risk.

I understand that you all are impatient. how do you think I feel? this entire situation has lasted far longer than I ever planned it to. I thought we would have kittsu home a month ago, if not longer. it’s not my fault that this is progressing slowly.

[prof-polaris]

🕯️

[Thank Arc Polaris has their shit together still because I don't have it in me to handle Sprite right now.

As long as he doesn't say some shit to Polly while I'm gone and I can get Kittsu and Beedrill back in one piece everything is going to be okay.

.........he's so empty right now. It's disturbing.

I don't know if Polly will be able to help it out, but if anyone can it'll be dad of the year over there.]

[prof-polaris]

🕯️ Beedrill

[Brat.

.....I'll be keeping a close eye on him once we get to Alola. I don't trust him not to run off and do something stupid.

I dont like the way that he and that....ice boy are talking to each other.

....If I leave them unsupervised together I fear he will get his shit wrecked..]

[prof-polaris]

What would you even call that anon? tacist? poke...cist?

Anyways good luck, it's obvious you're doing your best here to me at least.

I would call them an asshole <3

…..but. Thanks. I just-

People just. Seem to get upset with me Everytime I get on here lolol. And it’s disheartening I guess :/

I am. Doing my best. To keep the pack together and put it back together without watching our north star crumble under the weight

You aren’t the ones who have to hear Polaris cry. Who come pick up the pieces when they fall apart. Who have to remind them that they haven’t failed as a pack leader because one of their pack members is lost.

You only see what Polaris chooses to show you.

I just don’t want to see them cry again…

[prof-polaris]

but pol doesnt know what's going on though, the actual full story right? reminds me that i heard a story about a man who had cancer, didnt tell his family about it so that it didn't burden them, and his death was so sudden, with no goodbyes to be had, that his family grew to hate his memory

just food for thought

i know you're not as smart as a human to understand these things

thanks for adding that last sentence anon! now I know you’re an asshole and to block you, making my life easier :D

[Anon has been Blocked]