#actually its the stock market but this had a better ring
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we’ll meet again
“we’ll meet again… don’t know where, don’t know when…”
alastor x angel!daughter!reader
CHAPTER TWO: smile like you mean it!
— — CHAPTER THREE: weak ankles!
warnings/notes: EPISODE 6 SPOILERS! not proof read, no use of y/n, used she/her pronouns, reader is on the fem side, maybe vaggie x reader and maybe emily x reader if you squint but its all platonic
chère- french for dear
remercier dieu- french for thank god
court reporter- someone who transcribes everything said during a court meeting
wc: 2336
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
ROLLER skates. flashy lights. bursting colors. street jazz at every corner. twists and turns.
NEW ORLEANS had it all. all you could need in your heart. soft, live jazz rung through the tiny diner that everyone got their morning coffee from. skating through the diner, you tipped your hat from one couple to another. there was the occasional (and by occasional you mean somewhat often) jerk who flirts with you, a teenager, but you brush it off.
ever since the stock market crash of 1929, people have been living off the hook ‘round these parts. you were lucky enough to snag a job, let alone have a father that's able to put food on the table for you.
the bell of the door rings exactly at 9:01 am, you don’t even need to turn around to check who it is.
“good mornin’ ladies! fine morning today, isn’t it?” alastor’s voice rang through the diner, sound waves bouncing the walls and into your ears. his presence was certainly not something anyone would miss. your coworkers nodded in agreement, saying their tiny welcomes, the occasional giggle for one of them.
pouring out straight black coffee into a medium sized cup, you skated towards the counter and slipped your dad a napkin and his cup.
“mornin’ papa.” you said with a smile, taking his coins and filing it into the register.
“good morning, my dear!” he said with his chipper smile, one that made the men grumble and ladies swoon, but it just made you happy to see your father happy. “day treating you well, i hope.”
he took the coffee and took a sip. a sound of satisfaction left his lips “perfection! you know me so well, chère.”
“pa, you drink the blackest coffee on earth. it’s not hard to mess up, dontcha think?”
“ah, don’t sass me now, little miss. i’ll have you know this is the best coffee i’ve had since yesterday mornin’!”
“i made that coffee yesterday morning.”
“hmmm, did you now? seems i dont remember…” he grinned teasingly, pushing up his glasses in ‘thought’.
“yeah, course ya’ dont, ya old man.” teasing back, slipping him a slice of pie “i know you didnt eat, pops, cant have ya flopping dead during your morning show. who knows, maybe the cannibal will getcha. then i’ll have to take over the show.”
he smirked at her words, ha, if only she knew.
“well, aren’t you the sweetest little thing?” he said, taking the to-go box from her hands.
“well, you raised me, so you tell me.” you smiled brightly
his laughter rang through the diner, and soon yours as their vocals mixed together in a medley of sounds. they nearly mixed together perfectly. nearly.
some people looked at you weirdly, but you both never really minded. everyone in town knew you were his daughter and everyone in town knew he was your father. the talk of the town, especially when people found out your father of all people adopted you all those years ago.
he smiled at you wholeheartedly, something you only get to receive from him. “thats my girl.” his hand cupped your face, thumb brushing against the skin.
you placed your hand on top of his and smiled. “love ya’, pa.”
“love you more, my dear.”
you patted his hand, signing him to let go. “now shoo, before you’re actually late. you got an audience waiting for you all ‘round the area. can’t have them sitting for too long, hm?”
with a tip of his head, he bidded you and the ladies of the diner farewell, grabbing his coffee and pie, slipping out the door.
one of your coworkers called out your name “hunny, you better help a girl out! is your fatha’ up for grabs?” she giggled, winking at you.
“oh hush, lonnie! that's my dad..!”
——————— PRESENT.
“OH, don’t worry, it’s really not that hard! you just flip the book and let them in! see? simple.” st. peter directed you to the golden podium of the pearly white gates.
“are you sure i’m even allowed to do this? look.. i’m happy to help. i just don’t wantcha to get in trouble with the Seraphims.” you floated down onto the podium, scanning the big book of entries.
“it wouldn’t be for long! thank you so much, by the way. you really are heaven’s little helper, huh?” he elbowed you and gave that big smile he had. it was almost blinding. literally.
“haha, yeahhh… if you say so.” you turned and flipped through the pages for what seemed to endlessly go on.
“who names their kid breakfast?”
“now, now, we dont go and judge what those humans name their offspring!” he placed his two hands on your shoulders in reassurance. you cock an eyebrow at his word choice, but next thing you know hes already flying off to do who knows what. ‘saintly duties.’
“huh.” you continued to flip through the pages to examine the very odd name choices, nodding at some and… skipping through others.
minutes, maybe even hours went by until sudden echoes from down the golden pathway filled your ears. they shoot up in reaction to the newfound sound.
“uhhh, heelloooo? helloooo!” the blonde hair girl called out
“hiya!,” you call out , “how may i help ya’? well, getting into heaven i guess, huh?” you laughed at yourself, watching the girl’s nerves calm down a bit. behind her was a recognizable individual. you know, it nearly looked like vagg—
“OH— uh, uh, uh— hello! my name is charlie morningstar. heh.”
“alright, lets see…” you flipped through the alphabetized record only to find every name known to man BUT a charlie morningstar.
panic fills your core when you cant find it, scanning the page over and over and over again to no avail.
“uhhhh, you see, slight problem, hun...” you start, throwing in a name to ease her name. “i, uhm, can’t find your name… but you know! the trek all the way to the uh, other place, is a long way. maybe i can like… sneak ya’ in—”
“OH, no, no, THAT won’t be necessary. uh— see, my dad got me this meeting, so maybe try lucifer… morningstar..”
THAT CERTAINLY RANG A BELL.
“OH, uh.. uhuh.” you nod “i see.” you nod quicker. your eyes darted to the gray haired girl who looked at you with the same tense expression.
“i think there may have been a, um..” you put your hands together “mishap… but i am SURE it is a just BIG misunderstanding, haha!”
a mighty voice called out to you, one that could shake all of heaven’s foundation.
“remercier dieu…” you say, quite literally.
“don’t worry, we can take it from here.” sera’s voice reassured, the normal call smile present on her face. you bowed your head in respect which she kindly returns.
behind her was an excited emily which shot you an ecstatic wave. her smile was about to explode with happiness which only grew more as she approached charlie, the princess of hell.
st. peter pops out of nowhere and of course, starts singing his welcome song.
see, you didnt think it was bad, it was quite good, but hearing it over and over again for the past century really takes a toll on your ears.
after his musical number, em is basically ready to explode into a pile of rainbows and sparkles. “oh, oh! i gotta show you! the zoo, the petting zoo, the aquarium, the- the EVERYTHING!”
her and charlie jump for joy as they start running off.
“oh come on, do we need to ru— yEUP okay.” you’re dragged along the crossfire, em tugging on your wrist.
you catch a glimpse of adam and lute. they did not seem… very ecstatic.
hm.
“em. emily. emmy. e.” you bring her to the stop. her happiness was contagious, a sickness, her happiness basically flooding into your veins.
“i know you’re excited, sugar,” you start, “but maybe, i show them their room first. how's that sound?”
with some reluctance, emily allows you to guide the two girls to their temporary room.
“here, let me get that—” with an easy spell you learned, you pick up their bags weightlessly.
“follow me, i’ll show ya your room.”
— — — — — — — — — — — —
on the way there, you’re bombarded with questions from the princess. not that you were complaining of course, you found it quite endearing.
“wow, your sprinkles have RAINBOWS in them?!”
“yup, those are just rainbow sprinkles,” you chuckle lightly at her innocent excitement, “so.. about this hazbin hotel you were talkin’ about, mrs. morningstar…”
“oh, please, call me charlie!”
“charlie,” you smiled ,”i really do love the idea. quite innovative! you have my support. do you already have people staying?”
“oh, we only have.. two residents. but we do have lovelt staff! we have a maid.. nifty, she’s harmless, most of the time.. and a bar-tender, husker, he’s great, grumpy, but great! vaggie, my lovely girlfriend keeps the hotel safe,” she smiles brightly at her partner, “oh, and our host, alastor! he’s uh.. the radio demon, BUT HE MEANS WELL! i think.”
the name rung in your mind, bouncing off the walls and causing them to shoot jolts through your head. it was like a migraine, but worse. radio demon. it was strikingly familiar resemblance to your father (father?), but who knows! there are probably many alastors that loved radio.
“i see,” you nod, “well i wish you luck on the growth of your hotel.” you opened the entrance of there room and landed their bags perfectly in the corner.
“wow, okay, i LOVE heaven! everythings so clean and nice! AHH, and emilys going to bring me to a zoo where everythings fluffy and soft!” you zone out the rest of their conversation before charlie bids her goodbye.
“safe travels, charlie.” you bow your head in respect, earning a giggle from the princess.
“thank you sososososo much for your help! heh, alright SEE YOU LATER!”
silence filled the room.
“vaggie.” you started, not bothering to around and fully face her. “knew that was you, cant hide from me under all that hair. looks good, though.”
“uhhhhhhhhhhh—” she says your name in a frantic manner, causing you to cock your eyebrow “ah, fuck, i can’t think of an excuse.”
“look, vaggie, i dont know.” you sigh “you disappear for your ‘yearly outing’ to god knows where then you go missing for years, now you come back to be dating lucifer’s daughter.”
“i know, i’m so—“
“no no, don’t apologize. i get it. im happy for ya, vags, but damn, years. i dont know what you do on that one day, but adam and lute didnt seem very happy when they saw ya today.” pinching the bridge of your nose, you turned to her.
“look, adam tried recruiting me to god knows what when you went missing. said i got good aim or something. im just telling ya to be smart. i got no idea what he was trying to do with me, so im telling ya’ to not give in to that prick. i’ll be at todays meeting; i work as the court reporter.”
she pondered your statement for a bit, snapping out of her thoughts once you handed her the room key. you offered her a smile, which she hesitantly returned.
“ah, come on, smile like you mean it! though a smile may not mean everything, you’re never fully dressed without one.” that phrase rang in vaggie’s ears. that was oddly familiar.
a little too familiar.
it was your time to bid farewell, but before you did, she called out to you.
“thank you.”
“ah, don’t mention it. we’re friends, arent we?”
and with that you shut the door.
— — — — — — — — — — —
SCRIBBLING. writing. swirls of ink as you titled the paper in preparation. COURT ISSUE 36789127. it made you think, whos counting all these issues?
“WHAT’S UUUP, BA-BY!” the annoying ring of adam’s voice filled the court room. he was like a toddler, ironic as he is the oldest human soul known to mankind. he was mankind. a sick joke for it too.
every little thing he said you were required to write down, even if it was a dumb, immature response.
“we are gathered here today to determine whether or not a soul in Hell, can be redeemed into heavenly realm by the means of this Hazbin Hotel… Princess Morningstar?”
the blonde takes a stand and clears her throat,
“Webster’s Dictionary defined redemption as—”
you scribbled that down.
“..incredible progress..”
scribble.
“… the porn demon …!”
scribble.
“well, if you know so much, what do you think it takes to get into Heaven?”
that puts a halt in the discussion, causing you to lift your head and wait for an answer. she had a point. how did you get here in the first place?
a copy of adam’s terms were presented to your table: act selfless, don’t steal, stick it to the man.
well damn, if those were the terms, even your father (father?) would be in heaven, right now.
evidence was presented, words have been thrown, objections were made. the endless back and forth of right and wrong being thrown around the courtroom. not even the written word could convey the thick tension lathering the walls of the heavenly court.
all the evidence weights to charlie’s side, and yet, the judges say otherwise.
“wait, none of you know what gets someone into Heaven?”
this sparks a musical entrance from emily which you would say was surprising, but you would be lying to yourself.
good thing i took band and choir you thought. perfect pitch came in handy as you noted every chord and pitch in your work.
at this point, you were ready to combust. it was clear who won but the rulers of heaven seemed adamant to keep it from happening. it was suspicious, ironic even.
“..don’t you care, sera…”
scribble.
“..just because someone was dead..”
scribble.
“he blew the shot like the cocks in his…”
scribble.
“..come down and exterminate you..”
your quill snaps in half as you look up from your paper. extermination.
murder.
genocide.
from heaven itself.
#alastor x reader#platonic#dad!alastor x reader#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel x reader#platonic hazbin hotel#alastor hazbin hotel#charlie hazbin hotel#vaggie hazbin hotel#emily hazbin hotel#st. peter hazbin hotel#sera hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel adam#hazbin hotel lute#angel reader#hazbin hotel spoilers#french…
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dear @swinginmakerbonkplaid - i hope your week gets better. <3
The market is busy. Saturdays are always the worst days for shopping, but Yamato had no choice this week.
So here he is, flustered and irritable in the middle of a bustling crowd of civlians and shinobi, families and couples, wishing more than anything that he could transport himself to the middle of the forest away from every human being in existence.
"Yo, Tenzo."
Great. Just what he needs.
Yamato turns, doing his best to hide a grimace as he says, "Good morning, Kakashi-senpai. I think you mean Yamato."
Kakashi glances up at him over the pages of Icha Icha Violence and says, "No," before returning his attention to his book.
Yamato closes his eyes, takes a long, slow breath through his nose. "Well, if that's all, I'm afraid I have errands to run. I'll see you at training tomorrow."
With that, he stalks off toward the vegetable stand. Or at least, he tries to. But the firm press of bodies is everywhere, and apparently no one actually comes to the market to shop since everyone appears to just be standing around, primarily directly in Yamato's way.
"Crowded today."
Yamato jerks his head to the side to glare at Kakashi, who has apparently decided to plaster himself to Yamato's flank, despite giving no indication that he is also stuck in this hellscape for the purposes of shopping.
"Can I help you?" he asks, raising an irate and semi-skeptical eyebrow.
Kakashi just shrugs, turning the page of his book with his thumb. Yamato rolls his eyes, too overwhelmed by the crowds and the noise and the heat and the scrape of his clothes against his neck when he's jostled and the high-pitched ringing in his ears and the weight of the happuri on his temples and his heart feels like it's getting too big and maybe he should just go home because he's pretty sure--
Where the hell...?
Yamato turns around, finding himself no longer in the supremely overcrowded market at the center of Konoha, but some strange half-abandoned street he's never seen before.
"Where did I--"
"There's a store over there that will have everything you need."
Kakashi points to a non-descript building, eyes still fixed on his book. Yamato shakes his head.
"Did you..."?
Kakashi nods before Yamato can finish his question and as irritated as he is at being subjected to a transportation jutsu without any warning, he can't deny that he's more grateful at no longer being stuck in the middle of an unruly throng of bodies.
He takes a deep breath while he waits for his heart rate to return to normal, for his hands to stop trembling. "Thank you, Senpai," he says, before stepping into the store.
Kakashi doesn't answer.
The shop is small, and barely lit, but Kakashi was right, it's well-stocked with produce and fish, even if it doesn't have everything Yamato would have been able to find at the larger market.
He takes his time perusing the shelves, mentally calculating all the things he will need to prepare his meals for the coming week.
As he pays for his purchase, Yamato is sure to thank the clerk and makes a mental note to come back next time he needs to shop on a weekend. When he steps outside, he is surprised to find Kakashi still there, standing in the middle of the street, reading.
"Kakashi-senpai, what is up with you today?" he asks, genuinely confused by the other man's stranger-than-usual behavior.
"Nothing, Tenzo. Why would anything be up?"
Yamato doesn't correct him, opting instead to begin the short trek back to his apartment, and somehow expecting it when Kakashi falls into step beside him.
As they approach the market again, Yamato feels his anxiety return. He knows he can go around, take the long way back to his apartment. But more than that, Yamato knows this should not bother him.
He feels Kakashi move closer as they approach the more crowded parts of Konoha, and Yamato is not sure whether its for his own benefit or his Kouhai's. Either way, Yamato is grateful. The breadth of two shinobi opens slightly more room in the crowd for them to move, and it lessens the sensation of claustrophobia that overwhelmed him earlier.
Yamato has never done well with tight spaces, a fact which he knows about himself and understands the reasoning behind. Still, it's frustrating that such a simple thing can make him so upset when he has spent his life as a highly-skilled shinobi.
He hears the snap of Kakashi's book closing, but before Yamato can throw him another skeptical look, he's taken by surprise when he feels Kakashi's hand close around his wrist.
Yamato looks down, blinks a few times to assure himself that what he's feeling is really happening, and it is.
Kakashi Hatake's pale fingers circle his wrist, pulling him along behind him through the crowd like a child.
Yamato hates that it makes his stomach feel jumbled and light, that he can feel a blush prickling along the skin of his neck to tickle his cheeks.
"S-Senpai," he hisses, but Kakashi ignores him, just continues to plow ahead through the crowd with one hand holding onto Yamato and the other shoved into his pocket.
Even when they're out of the worst of the crowds, Kakashi doesn't let go until they reach Tenzo's apartment complex where he stops at the front door, but still doesn't say anything.
Yamato, flustered and confused but also inexplicably happy for reasons he is not quite sure he understands in full, clears his throat. "Do you... want to come in? I could make us dinner."
Kakashi gives him that exagerated one-eyed smile and says, "Sure," as if he doesn't still have his fingers wrapped around Yamato's wrist.
When Yamato looks down, Kakashi jumps, as if only just remembering the contact. He loosens his grip to pull away, but before he can, Yamato tangles their fingers together in a panicked rush, suddenly terrified.
"Oh," Kakashi says when their hands knot together, though he doesn't sound all that surprised.
Yamato's palm is slick with sweat, clammy from his nervousness and confusion.
"I-is this okay?" he asks, staring pointedly at Kakashi's chin because he's not ready to make eye contact.
When he doesn't receive an immediate answer, Yamato tries to untangle their hands, but Kakashi's grip tightens.
He chuckles and for a moment, Yamato is sure he's about to make fun of him for wanting to hold hands. Instead, though, he says, "Yes, Tenzo, it's more than okay."
He guls, still unable to make eye contact, so Yamato simply turns to enter his building, tugging Kakashi along with him as he mutters, "It's Yamato."
Whatever his name is, he supposes, doesn't matter nearly as much as how nice it feels to hold Kakashi's hand as they make their way up the stairs to his apartment.
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Week 21 Transcript
Video Link
Intro
Extra extra, read all about it! Welcome to the Empire’s Recap, and today we will be going over the chaos and drama of our (somewhat) respected rulers!
This week, the emperors may be headed down a road of potentially-illegal actions, including a black market, stealing, and several instances of murder. It wouldn't be empires without it, and the hermits fit right in with their new tag game!
Pix
Pixlriffs hears a zombie in his catacombs, and tracks the sound to a secret chamber behind the painting of Santa Perla. One of the tombs inside is making noise; has Pix’s ability to bring back extinct creatures made it to dead kings as well?
Not quite - it’s Rendog, who was a king that a little a bit ago back on Hermitcraft before finally making his way through the Rift. Pix dusts the dirt off him and brings Ren into the sunlight, who then confidently declares he can make his own start, heading off to the uninhabited West.
The strange things don’t slow down; Xisumavoid turns up, looking a bit shorter than normal. Pix introduces him to David, happy to be having someone who actually knows redstone take a proper look at his creation. The copper ager impresses Xisuma, and is also why he’s here; he wants to build a copper farm, and thinks Pix would be interested considering his usage.
They build up a platform in the End out of prismarine borrowed from Joey’s shop - blanket access to a shop is a dangerous thing - and plan to lead a bunch of zombies through the End portal to start the farm working. Pix’s sharp ears are used to hearing zombies by now, and he even finds a spawner with convenient placement to dropping them through from above, even if a few still need to be baited in with a game of ring-around-the-end-portal.
Unfortunately, once through the portal, the number of successful transplants proves too great, and not even a totem can save Pix from dying. He returns, slaying the zombies who stole his things since Xisuma stuck them in boats, and NOW things can proceed. Xisuma leads an army of zombies through the void, with Pix in the back acting as his eyes.
Now they can run the farm, and explain its workings with terms like Local Difficulty and Reinforcement Mechanics. Ah, technical players. Zombies go in, copper comes out, good enough for me.
On his own, Pix runs the farm as testing and improvement. His attempts to big-brain things with snowballs falls short, but the big-brain boats are a success, keeping anyone who has to refill the zombies from meeting the same fate he had.
The output of the farm is impressive, and plenty to refill David, so he and Xisuma return and have more redstoner talk, this time with Tick Ranges!
The hands-on learning from creating David has made Pixlriffs a true redstone engineer.
Scott
Today in Chromia, Scott the totally-not-the-emerald-ore-thief is showing off some houses that he built on stream. They're a work in progress, OK? Then he decides to give the server’s resident pirate a taste of his own medicine and plunders the booty from his treasure chest. Wow, sounds weird.
He temporarily hides it behind a painting – the oldest trick in the book, which works for about three seconds until Pixlriffs shows up and confronts Scott about his missing items
[PIX] I owned a deepslate emerald ore that’s gone missing from my museum very recently and the lore compass pointed me directly to you.
[SCOTT] A lore compass?
[NARRATOR] Swearing innocence and placing the blame on his deepslate emerald perfume, Scott realizes that he needs a better place for his stolen goods, and what better place than a market made just for illicit items?
Unfortunately, he gets caught while stocking the market up. Fortunately, it’s only Lizzie, and she’s easily bribed into silence with Joey’s stolen trident and a head. Really, the suspiciously low price she paid should have tipped her off that something fishy was going on. Not that she’s all innocent, either – in return, Scott receives a stack of bottles of enchanting, and a shulker box named, somewhat alarmingly, ‘Sorry you got tagged.’
The next invitee on the list for Scott’s market is a certain goblin who might not be too fond of the sheriff these days…
[FWHIP] -sell whatever…
[SCOTT] Yep!
[FWHIP] And it’s fine?
[SCOTT] Yep! You can sell whatever, you can sell things you find, things you acquire, whether its legally or not…
[NARRATOR] After paying him and his kingdom a visit, they head back to the bridge for a tour of the market. Both fWhip and Lizzie have been sworn to silence over this. Shh, they were never here…
fWhip
Speaking of, looking underground for an update on fWhip, he has decided he needs to send a strongly worded note to Oli about his debt.
The fact that Oli is at home when fWhip arrives is of no consequence as it seems Oli is up in the clouds, so fWhip leaves his notes and gets out without confrontation.
Scott visits his underground cavern to introduce him to an underground market out of range of the Law, so of course he has to sell some stolen sweet berries from Animalia! Except… he finds some odd items hidden in the chest. Wonder why they were hidden like that? Not that it’ll stop him taking them, of course.
Now, he wants to make a tram system all the way to Animalia, and seeing as he is basically under the empire, there should be lots of amethyst! Lizzie agreed and he pays her by building this system - after she tells him where she wants it to end.
Now last week fWhip forgot to pay Sausage, so he takes a quick fly to Sanctuary to leave a stack of copper before he gets back to work on the tram station.
Jimmy visits, smaller than usual, and fWhip mocks him by making squeaky toy noises with the deputy badge. However, him and Scar are apparently on an assassination mission! Well, let’s see how they do in the deep dark!
fWhip comes out on top and then sets up another stall in the underground market selling deputy badges specifically to mess with Jimmy.
Jimmy
The sheriff of Tumble Town seems… a little shorter than usual today. On stream, Sausage threw a Lore potion on him to turn him small, and he doesn’t know how to turn it back!
Now, remember last time where Joel defeated Jimmy in that duel they had? Well Jimmy’s received his consolation prank - over the wall of Tumble Town is a massive statue of Joel. The man is a MENACE!
Anyway, it’s time to meet with Scar - the plan is going to be put into action, and it’s time to get the deputy badge back.
The code phrase is Volleyball, not that it works the first few times Jimmy yells it, but Scar swoops in and they try to kill fWhip chasing him all over the Goblands. fWhip fights back with his new weapon and makes them chase him down to a not well traversed part of the Goblands - the ancient city.
Jimmy gets killed by fWhip who follows them back to Tumble Town, where fWhip manages to kill them both. He’s gone mad with power… there's only one man to turn to now.
[JIMMY] Guys, fWhip’s mad with power. I can’t stop him! There’s only one man to turn to…
Joel
[NARRATOR] Oblivious, Joel decides to continue work on his megapalace by building three of the towers, or "magical plinths," surrounding the central building. First though, he needs to get quartz. A lot of it. He wrangles some additional villagers to trade with, and 12,000 trades and a lot of smelting later, he has all the quartz he needs.
Before he starts on the towers, Joe Hills drops by with his resume, and a cover letter in the form of an all-purpose diss track for Joel to use on future rivals, thoroughly impressing him. The full thing is an experience we left for you in Joel and Joe’s videos. Have fun!
Joel then starts on the first tower, but halfway through, realizes he dropped an entire shulker of smooth quartz. Cue pain and suffering.
[JOEL] So! One second, please.
[JOEL, SCREAMING IN THE DISTANCE] Ahhhhh! No! Oh my goshhhhhh!
[NARRATOR] He trades and smelts some more quartz, and finishes the tower to go meet up with Grian at Tumble Town.
There, despite the Sheriff's best attempts at stopping them, they spawn a wither on the mountaintops right outside Tumble Town. The fight goes... chaotically, with most of it being done in total darkness. Jimmy manages to grab the star first, trading it back to them for a wither head and some other items. The three of them fly down to Tumble Town to inspect for damages, and after some more shenanigans (and an explosive death), Joel returns to Stratos.
He finishes off the other two towers and plans a new build for Hermes off the central walkway.
Lizzie
Lizzie’s mob drop bundle looks a bit empty compared to her other ones. Mission: decoration is once again the theme of this episode. On the list today, bee-hunting;
[LIZZIE] Now, lets be smart about this!
[NARRATOR] --impersonating a princess;
[LIZZIE] ‘Tis I, Princess Katherine, back from another hard day working in the spider farm!
[NARRATOR] --and reusing abandoned mob heads that she forgot until now are all in store.
Now onto the more difficult mob heads. The blaze comes rather… quickly.
[LIZZIE] –a grand total, of 208 blazes, I have the head!
[NARRATOR] The enderman head chase is at least more intense involving a lot of boats and a lot of death.
[LIZZIE] No, you have not got déjà vu, I am in fact making this journey for the seventh time.
[NARRATOR] When placing Mr.Enderman head, Lizzie is suddenly inturrupted by a voice *cough* Grian *cough* her quote-on-quote “conscience”. He leads her into a genuine tea party where Grian is waiting for her, revealing it was all a ruse for the tag game. Instead of pushing her, it is Lizzie herself that falls into the Void - lost one of her nine lives there!
It is now Lizzie’s turn to be the tag and obtain a new mission: kill a hermit, this time with lightning. But it all benefited her as she needed lightning to get her last mob heads. Being near the black mark–, I mean great bridge, Lizzie acquired from Scott a trident, a zombie head, and some mysterious trinket that she immediately hides in her berry farm.
Finally obtaining her last two mob heads, Lizzie now only has her “kill a hermit” mission left. She successfully attracts hermit False and with a genius plan--
[LIZZIE] –around, and count- count the cobbles in the cobblestone real quick for me…
[NARRATOR] --she manages to kill her, making her the new jester. She went through with the murder with an apologies box to gift the victim and left with a possible enemy.
False
Things are getting glitchy in Cogsmeade. The Grand Architect wakes from a strange vision, echoes of her own voice ringing. Anyway, she checks the sign, which seems to be covered in lichen, which informs her it was not her who built the tower, but someone else.
In response, she builds an interior for a potential resident! Joe Hills comes in for an interview—
[JOE] Oh, I might have a resume here for ya, if you’re interested!
[FALSE] Ooh!
[NARRATOR] --and is hired to keep an eye out for the tower. He gives her a report, which is basically…
[JOE, HIGH PITCHED] False Report, by Joe Hills!
[FALSE] Who?
[JOE] Someone’s dressed as False, but in different clothes!
[FALSE] How they got in?
[JOE] Threw a book at the carpet and a new book was dispensed.
[FALSE] Any other suspicious activity?
[JOE] Climbed the tower. Flew away.
[NARRATOR] To pay him, she checks out Hermepire, for loyalty books. There she meets Scar, who immediately tries to swindle her and Cub, who tries to get them to join his, uh, his cult. A chest labeled "False" catches her attention, so she comes back later and grabs some stuff out of it. A trident, a key card and a map that are definitely hers.
Sausage
Family is important, especially to the Guardian of Sanctuary. The blank slate that Bdubs left last week is changed to a gold sun, for his dear Joel, and his Tia Maria arrives. She's a leatherworker, the best in the business.
Bdubs shocks him when he visits. They joke around about the Godly tierlist, but the visions come for Sausage and they travel back in time: this time to Hermitcraft Season 8. It's the first time Sausage has ever taken anyone on the trip with him, and it's somewhere Bdubs recognizes! It's a nostalgia trip for Bdubs, who last saw his season 8 base - and his horse, Lulu - when the moon crashed! If you don't watch Hermitcraft and don't understand this reference, we recommend watching the Hermitcraft recap, especially the finale episode of season eight.
ANYWAY, the Brains of the L.O.R.E team shows up, and gives Sausage a showcase on dreams and multidimensional travel. They decide dreams must be the case, and head off to interrogate the number 1 sleeper on the server: Gem. This goes about as well as one might think.
[SAUSAGE, SOUNDING VAUGELY OFFENDED] Thanks for telling us the truth now, GeminiTay from multiple realities!
He calms down by building a couple new buildings on the new road to the Cathedral so some more villagers can move in - Sanctuary is getting livelier by the minute.
Gem
Somewhere else getting an upgrade is Dawn! it’s time for Gem to tackle the town centre of, add some more infrastructure other than a tavern and a church.
One of the builds that is missing from Dawn is a storage room! Princess Gem is outgrowing her starter storage and she wants to build some stuff anyway, so why not combine the two!
She decides to build a warehouse in her town centre, but gets interrupted by Sausage and Pix who are apparently becoming conspiracy theorists. She works out they’re confused about her world hopping stuff, but that’s easy enough to explain - she’s just LARPing with her friends!
[GEM] –a key part!
[SAUSAGE] You killed Bdubs in two seconds.
[GEM] Well, where Bdubs is from, we kill Bdubs a lot.
[NARRATOR] Well, everyone might be going insane but at least the warehouse turns out looking amazing! Deep slate in hand and inspiration in mind, she brings a path along the dock and builds a crane to help bring packages from ships onto land!
She takes a visit to her friends in Hermitopia where she meets Impulse and Jevin, and False - the current owner of the Tag hat - makes a mild effort to kill her with dripstone. Gem tries to convince them to join her religion but it… doesn’t work that well.
[GEM] --so good! Oh my…
[FALSE] Oh they do!
[JEVIN] Oh my god.
[FALSE] I’m sold!
[GEM, LAUGHING] Jevin, they’re on your nose a little bit.
[JEVIN, LAUGHING] I know right, I’m like a librarian right now.
[IMPULSE] They look natural on False though, that’s great.
[JEVIN] You know what, I’m out, never mind, take ‘em back, I don’t want ‘em.
[IMPULSE] Oh…
[GEM, OFFENDED] What?
[FALSE] Wow
[NARRATOR] After visiting Hermitopia, Gem feels she needs to step up her game a little bit - she wants to build the first ship in Dawn! It really makes a difference in the atmosphere of Dawn, and Gem is very happy with her new ship!
Joey
Joey wants to be a good captain to his new crewmates, despite them murdering him, so he heads back to the End to gather them some wings. It takes a while to find places to pillage that aren’t already raided, but he does come home with an ender chest full of treasure, as well as enough wings for everyone and a few spares.
And he can’t even put those things away before Shubble, Xisuma, and Cleo roll up on his storage room and start unloading fireworks from crossbows. The rapid spawncamping lags him out too hard to run away, and he dies four times in a row (that we see).
When he can finally get a word in edgewise, Joey lies about sending his pirates to assassinate Shelby, but since their truce is now DEFINITELY gone, a little bit of blackmail drops onto the table. The Witch leaves, and we’re sure this isn’t the end of things.
Once again, Joey pretends this was all a test for his pirates; it wouldn’t be Pirate Joe if he wasn’t deluding himself, would it? He does still grant them their pirate wings, and they formally gift him Reginald - the ship, since the ‘fat parrot’ of that name dying was what started the whole thing - before returning to their new Hermitopia. A place he’ll have to check out.
But today’s events have crossed the line. Pirate Joe needs better defenses.
First up is a shield, forged - of course - by Gator. What is seemingly just a really cool hook transforms into an even cooler barrier of light to catch his enemies off guard.
Next is storage. He’s had enough of leaves appearing in his chest room, and of risking all his fancy new gear being stolen, since people are getting bolder. Instead, he digs out a space under his chest room to make a secret hideout with a hidden entrance.
He DOES show the trick to entering this secret hideout on camera, which could be dangerous now that the fourth wall on Empires is basically a trampoline. The Captain’s Quarters are nevertheless magnificent, a perfect place to hide goodies and plan raids on his foes. As long as no one else watches his videos of course.
Outro
And with that join us next week for more chaos and shenanigans! Thank you for watching, liking, and subscribing, and thanks to everyone helping with the project, check them all out below!
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Rose Yellow Gold Halo Cushion Engagement Rings Set 925 Sterling Silver Wedding Bands Ring Enhancer
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Prada Men's Leather-based & Nylon Luxurious Belts
As a outcome, snowboarding has become an more and more popular pastime — and gross sales of its unofficial uniform are booming. Fashion brands are actually dashing to answer the demand for sporty puffers, ski suits, ski pants and goggles. Prada and Adidas introduced their ongoing partnership in November 2019 when the manufacturers posted on social media of a white Prada bag with two Adidas shoeboxes protruding from the top. Since the announcement, the duo has released several sneaker collabs together with premium takes on the iconic Superstar shell-toe shoe as well as the sailing-inspired Luna Rossa 21 shoe. The subsequent step saw the launch of the A+P Luna Rossa 21 sneakers worn by the Luna Rossa Prada Pirelli team.
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In 2020, the pair debuted three pairs of $525 Superstars (with little justification for the price, apart from Prada’s logo), and final July, the manufacturers upped their sport with the A+P Luna Rossa shoe, an original design. Classic clean leather belt detailed with squared logo metallic buckle. Kendall Jenner might hail from Calabasas, California—but her love for the designer Michael Kors’s hometown of New York City has been captured in the American brand’s newest marketing campaign. Photographers Inez van Lamsweerde and Vinoodh Matadin captured Jenner on the roof of the Prospect Tower in Midtown Manhattan for spring 2022, sporting the label’s female silhouettes and hand-worked materials for this season. The assortment options purple carpet-ready slinky gowns and eyelet tea-length clothes, just like the one proven right here. Along with pandemic-driven shifts in consumer conduct, some experts owe the ski frenzy to the 2022 Winter Olympics, set to kick off in Beijing in February.
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The biggest highlight of the report is to offer corporations in the business with a strategic evaluation of the impression of COVID-19. At the identical time, this report analysed the market of main 20 international locations and introduce the market potential of these international locations. According to Adidas, each bit has been made in Italy by Prada, composed of the Italian luxury brand’s recyclable Re-Nylon material. To ring within the new 12 months, the two brands are again and higher than ever, returning with a recent chapter of their ongoing collaborative union, extending far past just sneakers. Celebrating the timeless adidas Originals Forum and Prada’s Re-Nylon cloth, this third assortment elevates both brands’ iconic silhouettes, mixing them with forward-thinking innovation and meticulous experience. The Re-Nylon assortment marks Adidas and Prada’s third project collectively.
The adidas for Prada Re-Nylon assortment launches globally on January thirteenth, 2022 via Prada boutiques, prada.com and adidas.com/prada. Activation, bringing manufacturers and different people collectively in a radically inclusive method. Collaborative by nature, followers of the gathering will be invited to participate in the metaverse with adidas and Prada via open-source co-creation. And as we mentioned above, Ripa also wore her hair in a facet part rather than her usual center fashion. This has been a latest theme for the TV persona, who has opted to put on the coiffure a handful of occasions during the last two months. Every every so often we purchase an accessory that manages to stand the test of time in our closet.
prada belt women Schafer was named one of many Italian house’s faces in 2020—just a pair months after Raf Simons and Miuccia Prada introduced a brand new collaborative approach to designing for the label. For spring, the actress wears the ladylike silhouettes of the season alongside fashions Lina Zhang, Selena Forrest, and Julia Nobis. And MatchesFashion has been promoting its own “ski edit” on Instagram for the reason that start of holiday shopping season.
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Each Forum, obtainable in each high and low prime styles, comes with embossed Prada Milano branding on its tongue. Adidas and Prada are dedicated to making waves in the luxury streetwear market. After debuting their original A + P Luna Rossa sneaker last 12 months, the duo has returned with a footwear collection centered round Prada Re-Nylon, challenging whether exclusive designer types can align with recycled supplies. Nylon revolutionized the style house’s business, with the first Prada nylon backpack released to universal acclaim in 1984. Soon the sturdy, waterproof material was integrated into Prada’s ready-to-wear collections for both men and women.
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Doing it on our terms
#gamestop#gamestonks#wallstreet#wall street#wall street bets#actually its the stock market but this had a better ring
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the medic (keith x reader)
17k. something weird’s going on with keith, like alien weird. as the team medic, you’re concerned.
“So he is avoiding me,” you muse aloud, grabbing one of the pink alien food biscuits that were Hank’s latest experiment. Though it had been hours since Voltron had taken out the Galra Empire’s presence on this Balmera, you’d only just seen the last of your patients. Altean medical equipment did wonders.
After a battle, you were hardly surprised to find Hank in the kitchen, grounding himself as he cooked. You were surprised to run into Keith.
“Yeah,” Hank nods, “Probably trying to avoid another dental exam.”
You flush bright red, “His teeth fell out! Sorry for being concerned.” Between you and Lance, you’d managed to get a look at Keith. A fist fight with some alien species that was cooperating with the Galra had not gone Keith’s way, knocking out two of his teeth.
Shiro, predictably, had waved it off and accepted Keith’s insane explanation that his teeth would grow back on their own without question: given his hand waving of the red paladin’s eyes glowing slightly in the dark, more than any human’s should (human eyes didn’t glow at all!). Hindsight was twenty twenty.
The yellow paladin shrugs as he mixes orange noodle-esque things in a bowl.
Team Voltron was full of strong personalities. Add in Lotor and his friends dropping in, there was always something going on.
Hank just wanted to unwind from spending the past few hours destroying heavy duty mining equipment without hurting the planet. “So how are the biscuits?”
You chew on one, still bothered by Keith. Maybe Hank was right and he was trying to hide something from your keen gaze. You hoped not. Knowing the red paladin, and after two years in space, you certainly did, he’d rather suffer in silence until there was no other option than get medical attention. Back on earth with needles and scalpels, you understood, but in the Castle of Lions…
“Kind of like a rice cracker,” you tell Hank helpfully. “In a good got snacks at H-Mart way, not the sad quaker oats rice snacks.”
“Oh H-Mart,” Hunk smiles, “they don’t have those in space. They do have salt though. Found that at the last market we went to.”
“As long as alien food doesn’t poison us,” you comment. It was lucky that hadn’t happened. It was alien food. But not one negative reaction which either made humans some of the most hardy species or you were just lucky.
“Yeah,” Hunk chuckles, “I’ve gotten pretty good at recognizing what’s edible and not. I know Pidge said there’s some books, but my Altean is pretty bad.”
“Languages are hard.”
“Wish there was a space version of google translate.”
“Hunk-”
“Yeah.”
“That’s genius!” You look at the yellow paladin, wondering how a universe with speech translators never thought to do the same for written language.
“I know,” Hunk smiles while popping another tray into the oven.
—————
Lance finishes painting your toenails. It was a rare day when there were no space battles or rebel meetings. “Pidge,” the blue paladin whines, “let me paint your-”
“Don’t even think about it!”
“It’s supposed to be team bonding night,” Lance counters.
“Lance,” Allaura frowns from where she’s sitting with Shiro, “the castle’s night cycle has not started.”
“Well we can change it,” he counters, “there’s no up or down in space. OR day or night.”
“You can paint my nails,” Hunk offers. “Won’t last long though between the cooking and the vents I’ve been cleaning. This is a 10,000 year old castle. No offence,” he glances at Allura.
“No offence at all. The battles have taken their toll and I’m sure Coran appreciates the help. He is only one man.” She lets out a sigh. The only other remaining Altean was a bittersweet subject for her.
Hunk kicks off his shoes. “My pleasure. Literally. This Castle is so cool. The artificial gravity alone!”
You watch the paint dry on your toes. Only your big toes had actual drawings on them, strange alien creatures you’d all encountered over your time in space. The others were clear with green and blue swirls. “You’re a good artist Lance.”
The blue paladin winks, “I’m a regular old Michaelangelo.”
You laugh, “of course you are.”
“And I’m not just good with a brush,” he wiggles his eyebrows, more boyish flirting than anything serious.
You roll your eyes.
Pidge throws a cushion at Lance. “Oh please like you’ve got past the first date!”
“I have! Vivian Tran from Calculus.”
“Can you focus on my nails,” Hunk asks, but Lance is busy waving the thin brush in hand as he argues with Pidge.
“And Atticus from Cantonese.”
“Didn’t you drop that class,” Hank asks.
“Well, the hindi teacher was way nicer and didn’t hate me. I was good at drawing the characters though.”
“Can you speak hindi,” you ask, having taken French for your language fulfillment.
“Eh-” Lance shrugs.
“Can you flirt in Hindi is the real question,” you ask with a grin.
“He can’t even flirt in English,” Pidge points out scathingly.
“Hey!”
“My nails Lance,” Hunk grumbles.
“Right. Right,” Lance focuses back on his task, going with a yellow that matches Shay. “What language did you take Shiro?”
“English.”
“How many dialects does Earth have,” Allura asks.
“A lot,” Shiro tells the alien princess. “The Garrison pushes being multilingual in its program. Most cadets were already bilingual to start with, generally covering major languages.”
“Ah.”
“Got bored of the training room,” Pidge asks Keith as he walks in, flopping down on an empty sofa.
“It timed out.”
“Sure,” Lance immediately starts, a dog with a bone, “not like you couldn’t beat it or anything.”
“You can’t even get past level 9!” Keith growls back, sitting up with a jolt, skin still slick from sweat and his cheeks were flushed with exertion.
Lance gets up, puffing out his chest. Oh boy, here they go again. The rivalry thing they had going on got old fast to everyone around them. While it did push them to be better paladins, it was annoying to hear. “Oh like you’re any better.”
Hunk takes the brush from Lance, finishing off his last toe on his own.
“I am,” Keith bites back, a growl still audible from his chest.
“Only because you cheat!”
“It’s not cheating!”
“How is it not-” Lance stops, furrows his brow, then grins. “You got a little something there.” And like a thirteen year old, Lance points and laughs.
Keith frowns, his hand coming up to his cheek.
Sure enough, Lance was right. Keith had a couple of angry red blemishes on his cheek.
“You have adult acne,” Lance giggles, immature as ever. He was always able to find an angle to everything. It was what made him such an excellent strategist.
“It’s not adult acne!” Keith scowls, scratching at the blemishes.
“Its been three years,” Lance retorts smugly.
You frown. “No. It’s been like two.” You look over at Pidge to confirm, “Right?” You were like ninety percent sure you were twenty.
“Two and a half,” Pidge answers.
“Ha! You’re twenty! Adult-”
“I don’t have adult acne!”
They’d fought over more meaningless things before.
If it was two and a half years, maybe you were twenty one? You frown. How old would you be before you ever saw your family again?
Stashing that depressing thought away, you focus on Keith and the red marks on his cheek like a line coming down to his jaw. “It could be a rash,” you utter thoughtfully. Pidge and you had already encountered a very itchy plant before. “Or space ringworm-ring line?”
For the first time in days, Keith looks at you, meeting your gaze. “It’s not a rash!”
You lift your hands up, “okay. Okay. Geez.” When it came to Keith, you didn’t push too hard. He was too stubborn for it to work.
Lance, however, “hey, it’s okay Keith-buddy, just use toothpaste.”
“Toothpaste makes it worse,” Hunk counters. “Not great for your skin either.”
“It always worked for me,” Lance counters. “Or a clay skin mask.”
“Clay? You mean that green mud,” Keith clarifies.
“It’s clay!”
“Clay would work,” you agree with Lance. “Hey it could be like a spa day!”
“I could go for a spa,” Hunk nods.
Pidge shakes her head, “right. I’m going to try and see if I can get a signal back home.”
Shiro looks over at you, “do you really think it could be something serious?”
You shrug. “No clue.”
Keith huffs, “Just drop it,” he states dramatically, headed for the door. He was over being the center of attention.
“So face masks?”
You nod, “want to try it Allura?”
“I would love to try the clay mask,” she smiles brightly.
——————
Te-Osh’s rebels had sent for Voltron, less fighting than rebuilding.
While you were no paladin, you had spent the majority of the day helping Allura take stock and synthesizing medicine, everything from serums to numbing gels. Just your luck the machine had overheated and given out on the last batch. It was a pretty large machine.
You stick your head inside, waving off the smoke. With your nails, you pry open the hutch and take stock. You were no Pidge or Hunk, still unsure how the thing even worked, but it was clear it needed a new regulator and starter. “Plenty of those lying around,” you utter, scrunching your face at the awful burnt hair smell. Your finger finds the ventilator button on your wrist controls, and there-the smell gets sucked out of the room.
“Is this a bad time,” Keith asks behind you.
Startled, you bang your head on the mental. “Keith,” flushing hotly when you look back and realize you were ass up in front of him.
He doesn’t even notice, grimacing, hand rubbing his nose bridge.
“What’s wrong?” You hurry to wash your hands.
Keith sits down at one of the medbay tables. “My skull feels like it’s being cracked open,” he explains flatly.
You look him over closely, standing right in front of him. “Where exactly,” you ask, frowning when you notice the blemishes had grown to a full blown rash, hot angry skin peeling and cracking like twin marks down his cheeks. You should have pressed. What if it was a parasite? Keith was half galra.
It was easily forgotten given how human he looked. Sure, the signs were there: his unhuman night vision, more strength than he should have, good ears and nose, nails that had torn through metal, but it all faded into the background.
“Does it itch,” you ask, raising your hand, fingertips hovering over the marks on his cheeks.
“Yes,” Keith nods, averting his eyes from your gaze, “mostly it’s hot. And my sinuses…all the way down to my neck. Hurt.”
“Hm,” you turn, reaching for the medical scanner. There was no way you could ever go back to being a medical officer at the galaxy garrison. Earth’s technology was ancient in comparison. “Hold still.”
“Alright,” he says seriously. Keith holds his breath.
You look up at him, in his violet eyes, and smile before laughing. “Keith!”
“You said to hold still,” he points out sincerely, before the corners of his lips turn up. Keith was an expressive guy, his smile lit up his entire being, a lightness in his eyes that made you smile wider.
“Let’s try this again,” you giggle, clicking the scanner and aiming right at his rash first. “Pew.”
He rolls his eyes, snorting. “You too?”
“Mine’s the only right one,” you wink, then look over the reading.
“Not even close.” He scratches at his cheek listlessly.
Whatever reason he had for avoiding you had worked itself out. You’d missed his company.
“Oh yeah,” you challenge, “then what’s the sound?” The readings came up clear. Keith was in perfect health. So not a parasite…space allergies? Those wouldn’t come up on the scanner.
“What is it,” Keith asks, noticing your pensive expression.
“How’s your sense of smell? Stuffy nose?”
He looks up, then takes a deep breath, “now that you mention it…I can’t smell your soap anymore.”
“What?” This was news to you. “You can smell my soap?”
“And whatever planet we’ve been on,” Keith fidgets, blushing as he ducks his head, bangs falling over his eyes, “the soil. It’s all different. But I can’t right now.”
That was worrying. But if the scanner said nothing was wrong…you had to wait and see. It might clear up on its own. You’d give it a day or two.
“Nothing came up on the scanner,” you tell him, “so it should go away on its own. It might just be allergic to something out here.”
He nods, accepting your diagnosis.
“Let me get the medicine.”
“Mhm.”
You pass him a tube of gel and add that to the list of medication you need to synthesize once you fix the machine. Then grab a weekly supply of pain tabs. “Here.”
Keith pops one in immediately.
“Let me know if it doesn’t clear up in two days,” you tell him.
“Worried?”
“Eh, I can always set Lance on you again,” you snort. Shiro was a pushover when it came to Keith. He was no help.
Keith laughs, looking a little more himself. “I could take him.”
“You could,” you agree, “but don’t tell him I said that.”
He tilts his head, smiling. “Coming? Shay got food for us.”
“I’ve got to fix this machine first.”
“Need help?”
“Might ask Hunk or Coran,” you admit.
“I could-”
“No,” you cut him off, placing your hand on his shoulder, “go eat and rest. That’s an order.”
Keith leans into you. “Are you going to write me a doctor’s note too,” he asks, his delivery always so earnest you had to do a double take to figure out if he was joking or not.
“If I have too,” you stick your nose in the air. “I’ll even send one to Zarkon.”
Keith laughs easily. “Why didn’t Lotor think of that.”
You snort. “I’m going to check your lymph nodes,” you tell him, taking a step towards him again. “That okay?”
Keith tilts his head back, “Go for it.”
“Wow,” you chuckle, “who are you and what did you do with Keith Kogane.” You brush his hair out of his face.
“What?”
“Remember when you broke your arm,” you point out, gently pressing your fingers over the side of his throat, feeling the swelled bean shaped lymph nodes under his ears, behind his jaw. “And said nothing for like a week?” It had been your first year at the Galaxy Garrison.
“It was only a sprain,” Keith grumbles.
“Still!” You laugh, “I’m glad you asked for help.” Because this was still Keith and you didn’t want him to think you were laughing at him.
“Mm,” he closes his eyes as you trail your fingers lower, making sure it wasn’t too bad.
The fact they were inflamed at all worried you. You had no clue what was the space equivalent of antihistamines.
Keith’s breath tickles your shoulder, deepening and evening out like he’d finally relaxed. That was most of your patients once you gave them answers and they knew they’d be getting care and treatment. You liked helping people.
You pull your fingers back, ever the consummate professional. It was like the ghost of your garrison advisor was hovering over your shoulder. “They’re not too swollen if you can still eat. Can you still chew?”
“Hm?”
Keith opens his eyes. His expression is glazed and feverish.
“Keith,” you utter, worried.
“Yeah?” His gaze is heavy as it meets yours.
Your skin warms up because he wouldn’t stop looking at you like that.
“Any jaw pain,” you ask, focusing on the task at hand. You bring your hand up to his forehead. He was warm.
Keith leans into your touch, “no.”
“Good.” You bite your lip. Could it be some weird galra thing? Wouldn’t it have come up? You feel your own forehead. He was for sure warmer.
You were going to have to corner Coran about it.
Keith lets his eyes fall shut again and honest to god purrs, leaning into you.
Add cornering Lotor to your list.
You don’t pull away, figuring it was harmless. Lance, Hunk, and Allura were more prone to random hugs. You were more than happy to indulge Keith as well. He already wasn’t feeling well.
You wrap your arms around the red paladin’s shoulders, hugging him, “I’m looking forward to a break from Coran’s post mission food goo once I get done with the machine.”
“Mm.”
He was completely out of it.
His breath tickles your cheek.
“Though I’m not sure there’ll be any left if I don’t go there? Maybe I should grab a plate and then come back here,” you ramble. Keith had never sought you out for comfort. It was touching that he trusted you now. You’d been friends with the others before, with Keith and Shiro and the Alteans, you had skipped right over friendship and gone right to family.
“Oh.”
You look behind you.
Te-Osh takes a step back, “forgive my intrusion. I was unaware-”
Keith snaps out of whatever was going on with him. Bolting off the exam table. “It’s fine. We’re done here.” He hunches his shoulders and beelines for the door.
You frown, still processing.
“I can come back,” Te-Osh tells you, glancing between you and the door Keith had just escaped through.
You shrug. “No. I’ve got time. What do you need?”
“If you’re sure?”
Nodding, you smile, “yeah, what can I help you with?”
———————
“Here is where we will focus the blunt of the attack on. Keith, Lance, engage the fighters. Hunk,” Shiro explains, “you’ll be with me taking out the communications towers. We want to keep the damage to the minimum. The resistance leaders want the factory intact. Pidge-”
Pidge waves the Black Paladin off, “I’ve got the code written.”
“It really does come in handy,” Lance observes, “all those vents are Pidge size.”
The green paladin grumbles, “easy for you to say when you’re not the one crawling around in there. It’s not your knees getting banging up.”
“Well the galra are all like nine feet tall,” Hunk points out, “the vents probably aren’t that small from their perspective.”
Lance unsubtly glances over at Keith.
His rash had cleared up, but not before spreading. In its place were two purple slash marks running from his cheek to jaw, galra markings. No one had pressed…yet.
You were just glad it wasn’t some weird space parasite.
Her brother ruffles her hair, “Pidge sized! A micro pidge,” Matt jokes to himself.
She smacks his hand away, “five feet is a perfectly reasonable size.’
“She could still have a growth spurt,” you add, though it was highly unlikely.
“No,” Matt’s eyes go comically wide as he hugs his sister, “not my hobbit,” relishing in her embarrassment.
“Matt!”
“In summation,” Allura calls you all back to attention, “the paladins will take out Galra forces and Pidge will open the weapons factory up to Vexuin rebels to take over. I will be manning the Castle to ensure no fighters target the work camps and coordinating communications with the rebels.” She turns to look at you, “Matt and you will take down the sentries, freeing the people from the work camps.”
“No!”
Everyone looks over at Keith. The horror on his face is easy to read.
What had brought this on?
Shiro clears his throat.
Keith ducks his head, letting his bangs obscure his features.
“Why not,” Pidge asks grumpily, time was running out. You were all just ironing out the details, “your plans suck.”
“Pidge,” Shiro chastises.
The green paladin was right.
Keith fought the same way you played video games, caring about nothing but reducing the enemies stats to zero. He’d gotten great at teamwork, but he was hardly a strategist.
“Keith,” Allura asks, “do you have any legitimate reasons why Matt should go on his own?” And when she phrased it like that…
The red paladin crosses his arms over his shoulders.
Pidge taps her foot on the floor.
“Okay then,” Shiro takes over, “let’s get to our lions.”
“Coms. Come in earthlings!,” Coran chimes in over the system, “remember this planet’s atmosphere is toxic to breath, too much sulfur in the air, not to mention the heat will give you all a taste of the slipperies. And worse! So keep those space suits on Vol-”
“-Tron,” Lance grins back, having taken a liking to having a kooky space alien uncle.
You lock your helmet in place as Matt pilots the pod towards the work camps. They were just as grim as the first time you’d seen them. It was the same all over in many of the Empire’s work planets. They were at the bottom of the totem pole. There were some planets where the native species and Galra coexisted more or less peacefully, this was not one of them.
“So what’s up with Keith,” Matt asks you.
You shrug. “No clue. I keep waiting for Lotor or one of the Blades to drop in so I can corner them but he’s a picture of perfect health so I’m not worried.”
“But the,” he takes a hand off the wheel, motioning to his face.
You frown, arching a brow. You’d never looked at Allura quite the same after the way she had treated Keith upon learning about his heritage. It’s not like he’d been a completely different person, she’d known him for over a year.
Matt might be Pidge’s brother, but you weren’t about to let anyone get away with giving someone you loved shit. Especially not Keith who would just silently take it.
It made your chest ache, thinking about how sweet he looked when he smiled. He didn’t deserve any of it.
“What about it?” You stare back at him cooly.
Matt focuses back on landing the pod just beyond the sentires line of sight. “Nothing. Pidge figured it was nothing, didn’t even seem curious. I figured you might know, you two are pretty close.” He glances over at you meaningfully.
“We’ve known eachother since the garrison,” though you hadn’t really been friends. Keith had been kind of a loner. You’d tried to include him, having shared a couple classes with him here and there, but he’d never taken you up on any offer.
“Right.” He doesn’t sound all that convinced. “Glad to hear it’s all good. I caught the sneazles while in the work camp,” Matt makes a face.
You laugh.
“It was horrible! But also like an episode of spongebob somehow?”
“Space is weird.” You had way bigger problems and had seen stranger things by now. For fucks sake, you were saving dragon looking aliens from the Galra right now. This planet was like a silent hill game!
Thick fog obscured the rocky landscape. Even from within your suit you could smell the stench of rotten eggs. Yet this was home to the Vexuin.
Shiro gives the signal.
You take the safety off the taser gun Pidge had built for you. Anything pilfered off the Galra was too large for your small stature, just a hair shorter than Keith. The gun packed a punch, with enough voltage to take out the robots.
Matt and you get to work.
“Almost got it,” Matt mutters as you take aim and shoot.
Stupid damn biolocks.
“Hurry the fuck up,” you tell him, dodging a shot from another sentry before frying it with your own weapon. One shot, one sentry. You needed to take them down before they got close. The robots were durable and strong. You knew better than to think you could go hand to hand with one, you were a medic not a fighter.
“I am, I am,” Matt insists. “Ah there,” he grabs a taser flash bomb out of his pocket and tosses inside the sentry outpost.
You shoot again, trying to keep your hands steady. It was easy when it was just programmed machines. Nothing to feel bad about.
Matt and you rush inside, stepping over more fried sentries. You take position at the entrance, gunning down anything that makes its way towards the two of you.
“You in,” you ask him.
“Patience my young apprentice,” Matt says, laughing at his own joke, “it’ll take a moment for my worm to work its way through the software and give me complete control.”
The ground shakes as the main part of the battle takes place outside, at a monsterous factory that’s gray, chimney shooting out smoke. You can only see hints of lions shooting and Galra fighter ships lighting up the sky.
The sulfuric fog coats everything.
You taste rotten eggs on your breath.
Inside your suit, sweat runs down your back.
“Okay,” Matt chimes into the coms, “I’ve hacked the camps. Ready to open the gates.”
The rolling low grutal voices of the Vexuin rebel leaders fill your coms, “Good.”
“Go ahead Matt,” Allura gives the order, “Voltron?”
Pidge answers, “dropping in, should override their” static, “ticks.” Then an explosion reverberates in your ear where the communications device is.
“Pidge,” Keith yells out.
“Keith cover Lance,” Shiro grunts out, blasts audible from here. “Pidge?”
Nothing.
Matt’s face goes ghostly white.
“Pidge, come in Pidge?” Allura asks. “Paladins? Are you able to reach Pidge?”
“Negative,” Shiro replies, “Hunk, take the main gate! Time to land.”
“On it.”
“Guys,” Lance yells, “the shield’s down. Pidge hacked them.”
“Keith,” Shiro yells, “wait!”
“Fine.”
You decide to hope for the best. There was nothing you could do for any of the paladins all the way from here. “Turn it off,” you tell Matt.
He steals himself. “Right.”
The lights of the compound go out. Sentries power down where they stand, puppets with their strings cut. Locks disengage, and for the first time in decades, the Vexuin are free to leave the barracks free from Galra supervision.
You and Matt go out to meet them.
“I could get used to this,” Pidge calls out as everyone meets on the planet’s surface. Rebels come in from the forest slowly, making sure this is for real, before sniffing the air and calling out to their loved ones lingering around the liberated camp complex. Their vision worked in the infrared, all the better to see on this planet. You’d need at least three showers to get the smell out of your hair.
Keith carries Pidge, careful not to jolt the youngest member of Voltron. She holds a leg stiffly, a sprain or fracture.
Matt rushes to his sister, “Katie!”
She waves him off, “I’m fine.” Then snaps her fingers, “Down.”
There’s a small smile on Keith’s mouth as he places her down on the ground gently.
Lance comes up behind Keith, ruffling his hair, and being every bit himself as he comments with a smirk, “good boy.”
The shorter paladin smacks Lance’s hand away, but it’s too late, Lance is already smothering Keith in a hug that turns into a competition, like always with those two. Keith shoves at Lance’s face while Lance tightens his grip on Keith.
Shiro clears his throat, “paladins.”
“A dobesh in the pod,” you ask Pidge as Matt gets his turn to fuss over her.
“Yeah. Landed right as an explosion went off,” Pidge frowns. “Not my best moment, but my program still did it’s job and,” she pats her bayard, “I took them out.”
“Can’t be that bad if you can stand,” you agree. Nothing serious but you’d be keeping an eye on her all the same. The faster she got into the pod and took weight off her injury the better. You didn’t want to exacerbate the sprain.
“The jet pack helped,” Pidge points out.
“Lucky you,” you grin.
Shiro and Allura are consummate professionals as they go over the last of the logistics with the Vexuin, “It would be wise to stay until your people have situated themselves in case the Galra Empire retaliates,” Allura states, ending her sentiment in a question, “but it is ultimately up to you.”
The Vexuin chatter among themselves for a moment before one speaks up, “we would not turn down Voltron’s help. A few quintants should be enough time.”
“Then we will make ourselves of service to you,” Shiro nods. “Please, let us know anything we can help with.”
A red scaled one smiles, showing off her many sharp and jagged teeth, “our people long to see the camp destroyed.”
Hunk offers, “I could help rig a controlled explosion.”
“Very good.”
“The system inside the weapons factory is down,” Pidge tells them, “but I can reprogram it to keep the Galra out so that you can decide what to do with the place.”
“Oh no you don’t,” you cut in, “Matt can take care of that. You’re going in a pod first.”
“Pod person,” Matt mutters under his breath with a snort.
“Then let us get to work,” Allura dismisses everyone.
Pidge tries to take a step, and almost falls over.
You grab her.
Her face goes crimson from the pain.
The adrenalin must have been keeping the bulk of the pain away.
Keith picks her up.
It’s not until you’ve loaded Pidge in for three vargas that you pull off your helmet, savoring the crisp clean air of the Castleship.
“I can still smell the sulfur,” you comment, wrinkling your nose.
Keith shakes his hair out.
You look at him thoughtfully, “must be worse for you though.”
“Why,” he asks, genuinely puzzled.
“Because your nose,” you point out, then frown, “your sinuses did clear up yeah?” He never said anything about it so you figured they had and he could smell fine again, but you weren’t sure.
“Oh. Yeah. They did.”
You smile fondly, “very convincing Keith,” you tell him, reaching out to him. He lets you run your fingers right under his ears, behind his jaw. Everything was in order.
A knot of anxiety dissolves in your chest.
“Well,” he asks, “satisfied?”
“Mhm.” You look at the purple markings on his skin.
Keith’s breath hitches. His gaze is trained on you, watching carefully.
“So if not rotten eggs,” you ask, slowly bringing your fingertips over the marks on the sides of his face, giving him every opportunity to pull away, “what do you smell?” You couldn’t help it. It was that scientific curiosity. Everyone at the garrison had ended up there because they were nerdy in some way: devoting themselves to some STEM field while other kids were watching cartoons. You’d had a stutter as a kid, self conscious about it too, so instead of trying to make friends you read your textbooks under your desk, racing ahead.
Keith’s eyes meet yours. There’s a level of vulnerability in his gaze that worms its way into your chest and all of a sudden you’re incredibly aware of how close you two are, the lack of space between your bodies, your fingers caressing his skin.
You look away, focusing on the marks. They were purple, which was obvious. His skin itself had grown purple, perfectly delineated.
“Like wet soil,” Keith explains finally, “when they just added fertilizer.” You wince, remembering the smell of the horticulture center wafting through the garrison’s campus during the spring. “And garlic.”
“I like garlic. I’d kill for some,” you tell him, sounding very much like Hank. You hadn’t expected to be homesick for food. “Best food they served at the cafeteria.”
“That’s not saying much,” Keith mutters, amused.
You chuckle, pulling your hands away from his face.
He leans forward, asking for physical comfort in a very Keith way: unsubtle and wordlessly, putting the onus on you to get the hint.
Pidge must have freaked him out more than he was willing to discuss.
You wrap your arms around his waist, hugging Keith. “Pidge’ll be fine.” Sure, she was younger and short, but she was more than capable of handling herself. “I’m more concerned about how she left the other guys,” you comment lightly resting your chin on Keith’s shoulder.
His shoulders shake as he laughs easily. “They asked to surrender to her personally.”
“That’s Pidge all right.” You glance over at the pod. She’d be back on her feet in no time.
Keith’s breath against your skin feels nice. Your heart flutters in your chest and you find yourself blushing and pulling away, thoughts racing as you realize just how much you liked this boy. You pull away, unsure what to do and suddenly finding it too awkward to be around him at all.
The start of a whine escapes his throat before he smothers it, looking away, as he lets his bangs fall over his eyes, effectively hiding his easy to read features.
“Let’s go help the others,” you say, fumbling to grab a med kit and click your helmet back in place, your face too warm and it must be obvious. You didn’t want to make things weird. You didn’t. But-
“I’m going to stay here until Pidge wakes up,” Keith tells you.
“Oh. Okay.” You nod. “That’s a great idea. It’s always confusing as hell to get out of the pods.” It was akin to waking up from a midday nap: completely confused and exhausted instead of rested.
Your skills would be more useful with the Vexuim than fussing over Pidge at the moment. And having something to do would keep your mind off Keith.
—————
“You know,” Lance comments, sliding up to you as you watch Lotor strut away from you after another failed attempt to talk to him. “If we bottled up whatever galra repellant you have going on, we could defeat Zarkon with perfume.”
You look over at Lance, trying to suppress a smile. “What would you call it?”
“Starlight.”
“That’s-that’s actually pretty great,” you tell Lance.
“I know,” he grins. Then the latino boy sobers up, “trying to find out what’s going on with mullet?”
You nod. “I even tried to corner Acxa,” you admit. For an eight foot tall purple alien, boy could she make herself scarce.
Lance’s eyes widened in delight, “like could and should peg me Acxa?”
You groan. “Lance, sometimes it’s okay to keep things to yourself.”
“I’m just saying,” he laughs, “the ship’s not that big…”
“It’s designed for six thousand people.” You’d learned that fun tidbit while practicing your Altean with Pidge.
“Like for real!”
“Yeah.”
“Ay dios mio,” Lance utters, “you’re screwed.”
You finally hit the motherlode.
Lotor and his generals are in a stately room that reminds you of the socratic lecture halls at the garrison, sofa arranged in a half circle, with Shiro and Allura. The former Prince had shown up for a reason beyond making a nuisance of himself. Allura looks at her wits end with him, as he smiles like a douche, her eye twitching.
She invites you in without hesitation, “take a seat next to me,” and effectively uses you as a human shield against Lotor.
Literally since you and Shiro were the only humans here.
“Everything has been thoroughly discussed,” Lotor comments dryly, snubbing you once more. Normally, you wouldn’t have cared but you were trying to get information out of the man. “Unless either of you have further questions?”
Shiro hums, rubbing his chin, “I know saddling you with a rebel ship or two will slow you down but I don’t see another way around it. A display of size on their part will go a long way to show it is an alliance and not the Galra Empire hy another name.”
Allura nods, a small smile on her lips as she looks over at Shiro, “The black paladin is right. It will be a steep hill to climb to show that you are not the Galra Empire. Their fears would be alleviated with the presence of the rebel alliance.”
Zethrid sucks in a sharp breath, “So that’s it then. We will always be scorned and merely tolerated.”
“Time,” Shiro sighs with a look of gentle understanding at the muscular woman, “they need time. You can’t erase 10,000 years of history. It is hard to extend trust after being imprisoned and enslaved.”
“The alliance has started coordinating with you and the Blade directly have they not,” Allura asks stiltedly. It was by the necessity of time that they had stopped going through Voltron first. Lotor might be too smug for his own good, but his team was effective at sabotaging warships and infiltrating Galra ranks to liberate prisons and cities, enough to turn the tide for the rebels.
Her feelings towards Lotor and the Blade were still tinged with suspicion, her treatment of them lukewarm at best.
Still, Lotor brushed it off and continued to help. “Well then, Princess, Shiro, we have a long journey ahead of us.”
Shiro nods.
They shake hands.
You stand up, ready to corner Lotor.
“But first a word Shiro, it is a private matter.”
“Yeah, sure,” Shiro leads Lotor away.
Your eye twitches.
That snake!
Zethrid and Narti walk purposefully away as Allura pushes in her chair, ignoring the last two of Lotor’s team. “Princess,” Acxa, tries. “Until next time.” She nods at you, “stay safe.”
Allura gives the woman a strained smile, hooking her arm with yours. Human shield.
“You too,” you tell her. She doesn’t wait, already halfway out the door. You sigh.
Ezor giggles, by far the friendliest and easiest to get along with of Lotor’s team. “Stashing food and water will cut down the embarrassment by half.”
“What?”
“Oh,” she shrugs, “I guess Lotor was right. Darn it! Now I owe him one hundred GAC.”
“Wait-”
But she scurries off.
“Ugh,” you kick the wall, tired of everyone being weird. The usual frustration with being caught up in a space war was just the salt on the wound.
Your toe throbs, “fuck,” you hiss.
“They are rather tiring to deal with,” Allura agrees, reading the situation wrong, “but it hardly calls for assaulting the Castle.”
“Sorry,” you flush red with embarrassment. “I just had a question for Lotor and he seems intent on never being in the same room as me.”
“Ah-,” Allura smiles easily, “Lance did mention that you were in possession of a Galra repellent.” The twinkle in her eyes lets you know she was in on the joke.
“Come, let us work our frustrations out with some introspection.” Which was just Altean for weird breathing exercises that supposedly helped you do alchemy. She had managed to rope you into practicing with her before.
“Anything to spare the wall,” you joke.
——————
You walk back from the library. It was a cozy room, especially when you dimmed the lights. The Castle was always so bright, designed with the Alteans sight needs in mind.
Sometimes you just needed some time away from everyone. You loved them, but spending years with the same people while floating through space…you had no clue how Shiro had managed it.
Getting a walk around the ship was also nice. It was easy to forget how big the Castle was when you mainly stayed on the same three floors. Just a couple months ago Coran had rediscovered the greenhouse. The plants were a little piece of Altea, and had quickly become one of Allura’s favorite spots.
The windows were wide portholes. It unnerved you still, looking out and not recognizing any star, any constellations.
A lump of homesickness lodges itself in your throat. It had been over two years, your siblings would have grown so much in that time. You certainly had. The last vestiges of childhood had gone from your face.
Acne cleared up even without Lance’s ten step routine.
You walk across the bridge, trying not to look down. The viewing platform was clear glass in space, you could lay on it. It freaked you out a little.
It was the only constantly dark place in the castle.
You still yelp when you spot Keith, his eyes luminous violet like a glow in the dark t-shirt. That should have tipped all of you off, but alien was not the first thing that came to mind when you previously believed aliens had never visited earth.
He whimpers, curling up further.
“Keith,” you gulp, focusing on him and not the glass separating you from the void of space. “What’s wrong?”
He looks up at you miserably, blinking sluggishly. “I have the worst migraine.”
“And you’re down here instead of getting painkillers?”
Keith shrugs. “It’s not as bad, quiet. Dark.”
You sit down next to him. “I can go get you something,” you offer, your cheeks warming up and it was ridiculous how you can’t even manage to act normal around him anymore.
“Coran already gave me a dose.”
“Oh.” You were hurt. You were supposed to be the medic. That was your role on Team Voltron.
You hug your knees to your chest, and look down at space. It was darker than the photographs back on earth. Not so purple and blue.
You weren’t Matt who was just as good as Pidge with technology or Allura who was the leader and a princess to boot, you’d just planned on having a late dinner with Hunk once he got over the motion sickness before Lance roped you into following Pidge. You weren’t a paladin.
Keith shuts his eyes. “You were with Allura. I didn’t want to bother you.”
“It’s no bother.” You swallow thickly, letting silence fall over you both.
You listen to Keith breathing, looking around the darkness of space for any familiar stars. You knew the space around Shay’s Balmerra, and Arus was at least a little familiar. But the universe was so vast and wide.
There were planets you’d only ever been to once, each with a different night sky. Some of them never even had a night, with multiple suns staving off a night cycle.
“Do you think Allura minds?”
“Mind what,” you ask.
Keith clenches his jaw, rubbing his temples. “That I look more Galra.”
Allura has always been harder on the Galra. For her, it had been such a short time since Zarkon had destroyed her world and her people. You didn’t agree, but you could understand where she was coming from, the pain still there as she continuously wore Altean mourning pink.
You look over at him, the outline of his body against the glass. “I think your marks look cool.”
“Bullshit.”
“I do,” you whisper gently, considerate of his migraine. Those were the worst. “They frame your face. You look nice,” you finish lamely, looking away. You look nice. Lance might say stupid things but at least he tried.
“What if I looked even more Galra?”
“Like completely purple and tall?” You couldn’t really wrap your head around it. It also seemed incredibly unlikely. Could his phenotype change so drastically? On earth the answer was no, but who knows how the Galra work. It was fascinating to see such a wide range of traits in one species.
He was also half human.
You worried if his body would even tolerate such a drastic change.
“Yes,” he says, not waiting for you as he rants in agitation, “the rebels hate the Blade and Allura doesn’t trust them at all and that’s not even mentioning Lotor.”
“That’s not true. Te-Osh likes Acza and Ezor. Lotor’s kind of annoying if we’re being honest, and I’m sure his being Zarkon’s son makes it a little hard to believe he’s on our side,” you try to reason. “And don’t write off the Galra who have changed sides or were in the camps right alongside other aliens.”
Keith says nothing in response, mouth a thin line as he thinks.
You wonder how long it’s been bugging him.
You want to reach out and hug him, but he isn’t Hunk. You’re not sure he’d want to if he’s not initiating the contact. So you don’t.
“Everyone knows how the last Galra paladin worked out.” A low growl in the back of his throat is enough to clue you in to how distressing this was for him.
Your heart hurts. “And everyone knows you’re not Zarkon,” you state evenly back. “We already know you’re Galra.”
Keith snorts humorlessly. You can’t see his eyes; they’re hidden by his bangs.
“The glowing eyes are not exactly subtle dude,” you point out, “not to mention your hair does the poof thing guinea pigs do when they’re eating, but not when you’re eating, more like when you get annoyed.”
“I-what!” His eyes go comically wide as he sits up. His dark hair does the thing, making him look like a character from those old Japanese kids movies.
You giggle, “you’re doing it.”
Keith tries to look at his reflection in the glass.
You blush, grateful that it’s too dark to see, and then realize that wasn’t true for him, so you look away, hoping he didn’t notice. “Yeah. I’m the medic, it’s my job to know these things. Like how Pidge has two webbed digits on her foot and Lance is allergic to flax seeds and bees.”
“That…makes sense.” Then he smiles, “still didn’t put two and two together.”
“Don’t be a smartass.” Reason number three thousand Iverson had it out for him back at the harrison. “And if anyone has a problem with you I’ll kick their ass.”
“You?” Keith snorts. “You wouldn’t even flip me during self defense.”
“You remember that?” You run a hand over your face, “I didn’t want to hurt anyone,” you always took forever to practice on your partner. And your weak arms didn’t help.
“That’s what the mats were for.”
“Still!”
Keith laughs at your expense.
You smile, taking delight in watching him smile and laugh and you wish it could always be like this and the war would just end.
Then you sober up. “You’re going to be okay, right?”
He doesn’t answer you right away.
“Keith-” you reach out, voice cracking. “You’re going to be okay, giant purple space cat or not, right?”
He takes your hand, squeezing it firmly. “Yeah. Don’t worry about it.”
“Good,” you utter, but tears bead up in your eyes anyway. It was terrifying watching someone go through something unknown that you couldn’t help them through for all your medical training. You knew how to set bones and run a pod…not whatever this was.
You trusted Keith.
He knew himself better than anyone. After all, he’d been right about his teeth growing back.
“You really are worried,” he whispers in disbelief.
“Duh.”
“I can smell it on you,” then he seems to realize what he said, and pulls away, ducking his head. Like he hadn’t meant to say so much.
“Really?” Learning about anything alien biology was pretty cool, you had to admit. Allura had once described colours that you couldn’t perceive. It was a fun talk. And then she’d made you meditate for alchemy stuff or so she claimed. It might have just been payback. “Is that new?”
“Yeah,” Keith admits, still drawn into himself. “Can we not-I already feel like enough of a freak already without,” he waves aggressively at himself.
You bite your lip, nodding. You wanted to say something, to get it through his head how you saw him, incredibly kind and fiercely loyal (to the point of taking on Zarkon by himself) and an endearing smile you never got tired of seeing.
You liked him.
The universe was lucky to have him as a paladin.
But you don’t know how to say it in a way he’d accept. And he asked you to drop it, so you do. “Right, I’ll just go then.” He’d been here first, and the glass made you nervous.
Could it withstand a hit from a galra battleship?
Keith opens his mouth like he wants to say something else, but he just nods, then winces, “Argh,” he groans as he curls up on his side, covering his ears with his hands.
You rush to his side, kneeling next to him, “Keith,” you utter softly, not wanting to make it worse.
His eyes are pressed close and for all your medical know-how, you’re at a loss.
So you running your fingers through his hair soothingly and wait for the pain to pass.
He shifts, laying his head in your lap as he whimpers.
You can’t stand to watch him and do nothing. You press your com, pinging Shiro and Coran. This was beyond you. He’d trust Shiro with whatever was going on and he’d gone to Coran. You respected that even if it did sting.
Your pride meant little so long as Keith felt comfortable and sought help.
“Shh, shh,” you whisper gently.
Sweat beads on his brow.
Whines escape his throat.
“Fuck,” he grunts, clenching his teeth.
He’s warm to your touch and that rouses another bout of worries. At this temperature it’s a fever, but he didn’t have the symptoms, the flushed cheeks and chills.
Keith curls up further, muscles stiff.
You’re helpless.
After what feels like ages, Shiro and Coran finally appear.
“Number four, Number five,” Coran claps his hands.
You hold out your hand, motioning them to shut the fuck up as Keith winces at the sound.
His hair is damp near his ears.
“Keith,” Shiro utters much more gently, kneeling down on his other side, “I’m here, I’ve got you.”
He raises his head, blinking groggily at Shiro, trying to concentrate through the pain, “Shiro,” he reaches for his brother who easily pulls him against his chest. Keith buries his head in the crook of Shiro’s neck.
You sit back, trying to get out of the way. Your hands are wet.
You look down and realize it’s blood. His ears-
Oh god.
“Number five,” Coran says gently, helping you up, “I’ll take great care of our Paladin. Why don’t you go get cleaned up.”
You don’t get any sleep that night.
——————
You were always struck with cognitive dissonance walking around colonized planets like Rahiri where the natives and Galra lived side by side. This was not a planet ravaged by the empire. The flora-like aliens in all shades of green with rootish limbs and leaves and petals for hair had assimilated into the Empire, achieving citizenship over generations. 10,000 years deca-phoebs was a long time. That was a huge source of tension in the Alliance, what to do with the world who neither wanted or wished to leave the Empire.
It was also a source of dark humor that no one spared the four of you a second glance despite two paladins of Voltron walking around.
Hunk holds Shay’s hand in front of you as they point and awe and drag their feet on the way to the space port.
“You could always stay with,” Hunk says hopefully, “we could just drop you off. Personal taxi service.”
Shay smiles back kindly, “that would be wonderful but I have been away from home for too long. I am, as you say, a homebody.”
“Aw, yeah,” Hunk chuckles, “I feel that. I like the ground. And dirt. Piloting is overrated.”
“Don’t let yellow here you say that,” Keith comments so dry, you think he’s serious for a second. Allura and Pidge had gone shopping for supplies. That was an advantage of a planet that had not seen war.
Hunk glances back, clearly having forgotten we had tagged along in case anything went down. “Yeah well, she’d like a small moon. Or an asteroid. There’s colonies on those.”
“Very true,” Shay laughs. “I think my balmerra is also like a moon. A beautiful creature. We have learned how to ask for crystals so we do not need to cut them.”
“That’s impressive. Did the books from Allura help,” Hunk asks.
As much as you liked getting to stretch your legs, seeing a different planet where the threat was not imminent, you didn’t like being a third wheel, or fourth wheel if you went according to Coran’s favorite numbering pattern. That inch difference between you and Keith mocked you.
You glance over at the red paladin.
His gaze kept flickering back and forth, around the street. The occasional loud noise of crates being unloaded made him jump.
“You good,” you ask Keith, cracking a joke so he’d know you weren’t judging him. “You see la llorona or Davy Jones?”
“Hm?”
“You know…a famous ghost? Do they have ghosts in space?”
Keith snorts, cottoning on. “They don’t even have ghosts on earth.”
You pull a face, “well that’s no fun. Seriously, you okay? Or have we been made?”
He shakes his head, glancing around again just to be sure. “So much for Zarkon’s finest.”
You laugh, following Hank and Shay into the space port. Shuttles were departing pretty consistently. Everything was in orderly fashion. You especially liked how no one was shooting at you.
“It takes some getting used to.”
“What does?” You watch as Keith shakes his head, making his hair fall back from his face.
Shay and Hunk go to the ticket counter, but you decide to find somewhere off to the side, wanting to give them privacy.
“Stuff.”
You roll your eyes at Keith, “you suck.”
He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against the wall, looking anywhere but at you. “Lotor explained it to me and Shiro…what’s happening.”
“Oh.” You swallow, looking at Hunk and Shay hugging and saying their goodbyes yet again. They’d said them last night at dinner, this morning in the pod, and again when you’d split from Allura and Pidge. It was cute. They were adorable.
“Sorry.”
“Hm,” you glance over at Keith, not sure why he would be sorry about anything. He was the one getting screwed over by half of his heritage.
“You’re hurt.”
“You can smell that too,” you ask him, holding his deep gaze. There was an intense commitment to everything Keith did; it was reflected in the depth of his violet gaze. He didn’t do things in halves.
“Now I can.” He looks at his shoes, red dusting his cheeks. The red didn’t tinge the purple marks on his skin.
“So this is all,” you’re not sure how to put it, “nothing to worry about?”
“He said it was normal. But because I’m half there’s no way to know what to expect.” He looks away as he says it, stiff as he glances around.
The anxiety that had settled into your jaw since you’d had to wash his blood off your hands eases up. “Giant purple space cat,” you joke, nudging his side.
“Oh fuck no,” Keith grumbles. Even that furrowed expression that crossed his chiselled features made you feel all giddy inside.
Bad timing.
“I’m not hurt I-I just wish you trusted me,” you finally admit. It was silly. You felt selfish, so you tack on, “You know I’m here for you if you need me. We all are. I know Shiro’s your brother, but we’re your friends.”
“I know,” he sighs wistfully, “I do trust you…it’s just-it’s been hard. I don’t know how to feel about any of it and I’m not used to it either.”
“It’s fine,” you tell him, “I’m being silly, making this about me. As long as you know I’m here for you…I’m not trying to force you to tell me anything…” you cringe internally at yourself. The galaxy garrison had been made up of nerds, so it followed everyone was a character. It hadn’t helped anyone’s social skills.
You wish you could just go, I worry about you because I love you instead of stumbling through word vomit.
“Come on,” Keith brings you out of your thoughts, grabbing your hand and pushing through the crowd of people coming and going to different boarding gates, “I think Hunk’s going to need some comfort food.”
You glance around, finding Hunk’s form making it’s way to you both. He was wiping his eyes, bittersweet smile, making no move to really hide that he was crying.
“Let’s get back to Allura yeah,” he tells you both.
“Or,” you go with Keith’s idea, “we can get something to eat. Allura gave us a good hour or so.”
“Varga,” Keith supplies.
“Yeah, that.”
Hunk nods, “that sounds nice. It’s just,” he looks back at the departing shuttle, “it’s hard. It’s war and you never know when your going to see each other again but it’s not like she can just drop everything and I wouldn’t ask her too, if anything I’d like to retire there. Nice and quiet. Maybe open a restaurant…”
“Vrepit Sal two,” Keith offers.
“Could make it a chain,” you add with a smile. Hunk, like you, was not such a gung ho pilot. You had landed the flight simulation without crashing exactly once, for your final emergency protocol exam.
“Thanks guys,” Hunk grins, “but I think I’ll bring some earth out here. Give these people a taste of traditional earthlign cuisine.”
“So your menu’s going to be as long as Cheesecake Factory’s,” you ask with a silly grin.
“Maybe not that long. A burger, ramen, scratch that, pizza instead of a burger.” Hunk rubs his chin thoughtfully sniffing the air and following his nose to a food stand. You trusted him for food. He had a knack for combining goo and exotically colored food that screamed fake and poisonous into pretty great meals.
Keith was still holding your hand, not as a loose afterthought: every now and then he’d rub his thumb against the back of your hand and it sent a thrill down your spine.
You don’t pull away, wanting to savor the feel of his skin against yours even if it wasn’t that deep. You’d hugged and napped with everyone at least once, grabbing each other’s hands in the confusing crowded hovels of swamp malls (actual swamp malls and not places Coran thought of as a swamp mall).
You nab a table outside the stand.
Everything was in Galra which none of you could read. “Damn,” you mutter looking over.
Hunk glances at Keith without subtlety.
You were starting to think only Allura and Shiro could do subtly.
Keith raises a brow.
“Nothing,” Hunk looks down at his screen.
“Point and hope for the best it is,” you shrug.
“I love a good surprise,” Hunk nods, then looks down at his hands, “we’ll see each other again right? Shay…they’re pretty safe. And well…yellow’s got thick armour.” He sighs, resting his cheek against his fist, elbows on the table.
“Shay’s a badass,” you confort Hunk, “she figured out how to communicate with the Balmera and through the Balmera. She’ll be okay.”
“Yeah, she’s pretty freaking amazing,” Hunk blushes.
You order from an alien that somewhat resembles Ezor, all cotton candy color, and twiddle your thumbs, enjoying the rare moment of rest and relaxation.
“I could get used to this,” Hunk comments, savoring the strange dish he’d been served.
“Get a travel food show,” you tease, “I’d watch it.”
“It could be like this all the time,” Keith muses hopefully, “aren’t planets like this proof we could all get along.” He bites into the glowing blue lotus root shaped meal, and blinks widely.
“What,” you ask, looking over at him.
Keith grabs a napkin and spits out his food. “I think I just lost another tooth.”
“You think,” Hunk raises a brow, “how could you not notice a missing tooth?”
“Smile,” you nudge Keith sitting next to you.
He rolls his eyes, before fake smiling which was always so undeniably forced when he did it. You laugh, nodding, “yup, missing tooth.”
Keith frowns for a second, before continuing to eat.
“Oh,” Hunk utters, before he kicks your leg lightly.
You look up, meeting the yellow paladin’s searching gaze.
He looks at you with a knowing smile.
Heat rushes to your cheeks, the tip of your nose burning hotly, you look down, shoving a questionable sticky black slice into your mouth. It was easy to chew despite the sticky-ness, the flavor starchy and nutty.
There was no way this wouldn’t get back to everyone else in the Castle. No way.
They were all so nosy.
Oh fuck.
——————
“It sure is hot in here,” Lance says with a challenging smirk at Keith.
You roll your eyes.
Lance stretches, resting his arms against the back of the sofa, his hand tapping annoyingly against your shoulder.
Keith is unmoved. Or more accurately, Keith’s mouth twists as he tries hard to ignore Lance’s latest attempts to get him to remove his hat, a lime green thing that clashed perfectly as was his fashion sense, or lack of any fashion sense.
Pidge smacks her head, then peaks curiously at Keith: at Keith’s hat.
You flick Lance’s cheek. “Hey hot shot, don’t hug me when you’ve set the thermostat to ninety degrees.”
“Ninety five actually,” he winks, hugging you towards him. Ugh, you couldn’t do it. You’d already done away with your afghan coat, tied your lavender flannel around your waist, what more could you do. You didn’t have shorts in space. The skirts stored in the castle were breezy, but made you feel at risk of tripping over the hem with each step.
“Hm,” Keith voices, taking a seat, “reminds me of home.”
Hunk snorts, “really thought that through,” he tells Lance.
Lance is undeterred. “Could go higher.”
“I don’t think your cow would like that very much,” you point out.
The blue paladin sulks, looking down at you, “you’re just saying that because you like-”
You jab your elbow into his side.
“Ow! What ever happened to do no harm?”
“Technically,” you tell Lance, “I never graduated.”
“She’s got you there,” Pidge smirks from beside Keith. She was taking apart yet another radio. The signal had yet to reach earth.
“Thank you Pidge.”
She shrugs, “It’s true.” Then turns on Keith, “The hat, explain.”
He looks like he wishes he could merge with the sofa at that, slumping in his seat.
You decide to step in, “I’m going to turn the thermo down.”
Lance is quick to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you back onto the sofa, “come on, relax. Like mullet said, it’s homey.”
You throw him a dirty look.
“Keith?” Pidge side-eyes her fellow paladin. He’s sat up, gripping the sofa cushion so tightly he’s ripping hole into the ten thousand year upholstery.
“You okay there buddy,” Hunk asks.
“No.”
“Oh.”
Keith sucks in a breath, and with deliberate motion, pulls the hat from his head.
Oh.
Your eyes widen.
OH.
His ears had changed.
They weren’t nearly as alien as Allura’s, but no one would mistake their shape for human. Keith’s ears tapered up and out, portrudding, but it was more than just a pointed tip, the entire shape of his ears had transformed, resembling a butterfly’s wing. It was still human in color, but…
Hunk breaks the stunned silence first, “so are you going to like to end up purple?”
Keith ducks his head, wrapping his arms around himself.
No one else gets the chance to further interrogate Keith, or hear his own thoughts, because Allura calls everyone up to the bridge.
Lotor hailed the Castle of Lions. Everyone stands around the bridge while Shiro and Allura take the lead as usual. They might as well be twins given how well they got on, communicating differing ideas without undermining the other.
“There are nine warships in the system,” Lotor acknowledges, “I would be much indebted if you would do me the favor of sending Voltron for the aerial battle.”
“The Empire’s presence is still in its early stages,” Acza explains, “but their terraforming development for the planet will cause the destruction of the Talpidae living there.”
“Then we have no choice,” Allura clenches her fist, never one to sit back while there was something she could do about it, “we will provide air support. Sent me the coordinates so that I may Teleduv there.”
Lance is still obviously eyeing Keith’s latest development. It was readily visible, and you were fighting the urge to do the same.
But you weren’t also trying to flick his ears.
Keith growls lowly.
Lance sniggers.
Pidge offers Lance a piece of paper to make paper balls with.
Hunk sighs long sufferingly, having resigned himself to the more childish side of his two friends. They were terrors. Put Pidge and Lance together, and they were gremlins out of a horror movie made for elementary school teachers.
You slip your hand into Keith’s, squeezing reassuringly. It would take some getting used to like anytime someone got a new haircut, but you would. Like his atrocious boots, they’d become an endearing part of him.
Keith squeezes your hand back.
Shiro nods, agreeing with Allura, “have the Talpidae been contacted.”
“Very much so,” Ezor chimes in, “they’re funny little people. And their sensory-”
“The point Ezor,” Lotor sighs, rubbing his nose bridge.
“They sent for help to the rebels. We were closest to their system,” Exor elaborates with a shrug, “they do not have the background to fight head on, and will evacuate most of their people into bunkers, but they have been digging under the new construction and weakening the structural integrity of the Galra outposts.”
“Very well,” Shiro accepts, “Princess Allura and our chief medic will meet with the Talpidae as a show of goodwill.”
“Our only medic,” Hunk points out.
Keith growls, his hand squeezing yours hard.
You all look over at him.
“Red Paladin,” Allura says, trying to look as professional as possible in front of her least favorite of Voltron’s allies, “is something the matter.” She shares a look with Shiro, but otherwise looks unsurprised at Keith’s less than human ears.
Or maybe she’d make a great poker played.
“Can’t you meet with the Talpidae after the battle,” Keith utters harshly.
“They may need immediate tactical support,” Allura reasons, “we should be there in person to provide it.”
“It’ll be fine Keith,” Shiro adds.
Their words do little to calm Keith down. His dark silky hair puffs up. His grip on your hand tightens and you feel miffed. You’d been on the ground working triage before. You might not be a fighter or pilot but you could look after yourself.
You pull your hand out of his. “I really don’t see what the problem is,” you tell Keith pointedly.
“I’ll watch Allura’s back and she’ll have mine.”
Allura nods. “Our chief medic is correct-”
His ears twitch, “You’re not exactly a fighter.”
Shiro covers his face with a hand.
Your brows furrow. You’re livid. “So! I won’t be fighting. We’ll be in the bunkers with the Talpidae. It’ll be safe so it doesn’t even matter.”
“If it’s perfectly safe then you don’t need to be there,” Keith’s voice breaks, a whine escaping his chest but you don’t care, done with the conversation.
“Yikes,” is Ezor’s quiet whisper.
You’re not a paladin so you don’t care, you just stalk off the bridge ready to go scream into your pillow in frustration. Or better yet, go for a swim and scream underwater.
“Wait-” Keith follows you.
You ignore him.
“I just-,” he keeps trying as you stalk down the stairs, deciding your room was better after all if only because you could lock Keith out.
“Listen-,” he whines.
“I didn’t mean-”
“You didn’t mean what,” you round on him, hands on your hips, pissed off and maybe some of its was from being stuck on this stupid ship all the damn time but like eighty percent was earned. You might not be taking on a squad of Galra soldiers, but you could take one on if it came to it.
Keith at least has the decency to look miserable, sad chirrups in his throat as he crosses his arms over his chest and looks at the ground.
“Well?” You tap your foot on the ground.
“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” he finally manages. “Especially if you don’t need to be there.”
“But I do,” you counter, “There’ll be people running into those bunkers having escaped soldiers and sentries and the faster they get treated the better chance they have.”
“I didn’t mean it,” Keith repeats himself. “You-you can hold your own.” He looks up at you through his bangs, still hunched in on himself.
“Obviously.” There’s no heat, the anger having deflated already. It was just white hot ache in your chest, hurt at the idea that Keith thought you would get in the way, that you had nothing of value to add to the Alliance and Voltron.
You bite your lip.
Don’t cry, you think to yourself.
You were being dumb.
He was just being plain stupid.
“I mean it,” Keith repeats, “I’m sorry. I was just looking for an excuse to make sure you were safe.”
“Right, because Allura can handle herself but I can’t.” Your voice cracks.
“No,” Keith says in a rush, “it’s not the same.”
“Because I can’t fight?”
“That’s not,” Keith runs a hand through his hair, “It’s me okay. I’m-I’ve always jumped into things without thinking, but I decided to go for it, like breaking Shiro out but now I’m doing things before I even notice and it’s all these stupid Galra instincts!”
You swallow.
“I’m sorry,” he tells you once more. “I didn’t mean to and I’m sorry. No one thinks you can’t handle yourself. That’s why Shiro paired you up with Allura, because he knows you’re capable of watching her back.”
Your smile is fragile as you look over at him, “yeah?”
“Yeah.” Keith holds your gaze, looking as skittish as a stray dog. Another whine escapes his throat.
What the heck.
You hug him, “you’re such a dumbass.” You understood why he’d worry. This was war. Pidge was on a two man campaign with Shiro to get Matt to stay on the Castle, both scared witless that Matt might die on a mission with the rebels. Ulaz had died so everyone could get away.
You’d had patients in the last decaphoebs you could do nothing but ease their pain. You’d had patients that you couldn’t even administer anything for the pain because of how torn apart they were: guts spilling out, charred people shapes that you were surprised to still find breathing.
The images would never leave you as long as you lived.
“I’m sorry.” Keith buries his head in the crook of your neck, his breath tickling your skin sent shivers down your spine.
You hug him tightly, aware that every battle could be your last: the last time you saw him. “You’ve said that already,” you tease, memorizing the smell of him, stale sweat and something cloying that you had wanted to bottle up from the moment you’d met him and had never found on anyone else. As embarrassing as it was to admit to anyone other than yourself, Keith smelled good. Really good.
Most people smelled like nothing at all.
He stiffens.
“But it’s nice to hear again.”
Keith smothers a laugh.
You kiss his hair. Boys were so dumb.
He purrs.
You smile goofily, warmth building under your skin, and toes curling up in your shoes. You should say something. Right?
At some point?
Or maybe it shouldn’t be said under the looming threat of an upcoming battle.
Fuck.
You can’t decide, so you say nothing at all.
——————
Bombs still pelt the surface.
Your teeth chatter as the ground shakes even deep underground. Even more soil falls onto you. Your spacesuit was more oche than white at this point as you carry an injured Talpidae in your arms. It’s arm had been completely blown off. Sluggish blue blood oozed out.
Allura was last, tailing the group.
You reach the bunker.
The sentries had followed some of the feeling Talpidae into the tunnels, but they’d been sorted out.
The people here were strange, russet in fur colouring, with no discernable eye, just strange pink flagella protruding from their nose and large claws for digging. They stood at about Pidge’s height.
The bunker seals and you get to work.
Tourniquet here, pain patch there. There were so many of them banged up.
The fight continued on the surface.
The paladins had to form Voltron.
You and Allura work as a team, she takes the bruises and broken bones with no immediate risk of death. You triage the worst of the Talpidae, giving away your precious stash of painkillers to those you can’t save and are not in for a quick death, a Talpidae lies twitching, it’s nose blown off but alive. Another holds it’s hand, but shakes their head when they look at you. They weren’t going to make it.
Training kicks in and you focus on saving those you can.
Your hands stain blue from the blood.
Allura works alongside you.
You cauterize a Talpidae named Soedob’s hand, the claws on their right limb were gone, but most of it was spared.
“You smell Galra,” Soedob utters, blinking out of the pain induced haze as the painkiller kicked in.
You half hear, half don’t, so focused on the task at hand. It was easier to not stop until you were finished and could curl up and sleep and not think about blood and war and Zarkon.
“We have Galra allies,” Allura answers diplomatically, leaving the issue of the half Galra paladin alone.
It irked you.
“No, not them,” Soedob notes. “Those had a different aura.”
“Smell,” you guess, finishing off. You hoped the fighting ended soon. You supply was not unlimited. The castle had better facilities.
“Is that what you call it?”
“Our primary sense is sight,” Allura explains, giving you a long look.
You shrug. You hadn’t even seen any of Lotor and his team. There hadn’t been time. It had all been relayed over coms, over video.
“Another then?”
You swallow thickly, flushing with embarrassment because you both spent time around Keith but Soedob was only smelling him on you and it’s not like you had been doing anything intimate…well, it had felt intimate, hugging Keith, but it wasn’t anything like when cadets snuck into each others dorm room, shoving a sock on the door handle in the universal symbol of don’t bother us. “The red paladin is part Galra.” Mercifully, your voice doesn’t shake from the embarrassment, but you can’t look at Allura.
“Ah,” Soedob nods, neither outraged nor pleased.
Then there’s no more time, you have more Talpidaes waiting for medical aid. You give their own healers some of your supplies, freeing up Allura to find the clan leaders.
You can feel Allura’s questioning glance on you.
——————
“Team meeting in the mess hall,” Shiro calls over the coms system.
“Mess hall,” Pidge rolls her eyes, “it’s the dining room.”
You snort.
“I like to think of it as the dining room too,” Hunk offers. “I mean there’s only eight of us. It’s sort of like being home again.”
“Mess hall makes me think of the garrison,” you admit, falling into step besides them. “and the food.”
“Ugh,” Pidge groans. “That was the worst. Matt wasn’t kidding.”
“It does make the space packs easier to digest,” you muse, “maybe that was the point.” It took the garrison two years to get to Mars. It was funny, once you’d thought that was a long way from home.
“I liked the cheese garlic bread,” Hunk allows.
“Food goo,” Pidge grins, “or the garrison space food?”
“Food goo.” Hunk doesn’t even have to think.
“Food goo,” you agree. “Though not Coran’s paladin special.”
“You don’t even eat that,” Hunk huffs, half outraged half amused, “you’re always like well I’m not a paladin so…”
You laugh. “Seeing it is more than enough.”
The rest of the ship’s inhabitants are already there waiting for you. Lance is trying to teach Coran how to play slide, moving very slow as he claps their hands together.
Shiro and Allura are in easy conversation. Her mice scamper around her feet.
Keith looks absolutely miserable next to Shiro, folding himself into the smallest possible size, trying to disappear. It was hard to reconcile the Keith that was quiet with the Red Paladin that shot first and asked questions later.
You smile at him, excited to see him, but also figuring he could use some reassurance, whatever it was going through his head. Keith meets your gaze and the corners of his mouth turn up, before he ducks away.
You know better than to take it personally.
It was Keith.
Your toes curl inside your shoes and you bite back your smile, suddenly aware of how much you might be revealing and not wanting Lance of all people to start a meeting by commenting on it. For him, it might be all fun and games, but you weren’t sure what to do with these newfound warm and fuzzy feelings. You sure as fuck didn’t want to be called out on it.
You weren’t sure what to do about liking Keith so your current plan of action was: nothing.
“Thank you everyone for being here,” Shiro claps his hands together, his leader impression defaulted at awkward dad. He thought he always had to be on. Despite being the most trained out of us, he’d only just started his career during the Kerberos mission.
You wonder if he’d picked up his leadership style partly from Pidge’s dad.
“Where else would we be,” Pidge shrugs, never one to miss a shot.
“All the same,” the older man smiles.
“Yeah, no problem my dude, bro,” Lance flashes finger guns at Shiro.
You snort, taking a seat between him and Hunk.
“But seriously, what’s up,” Lance leans forward. “Or is this some lowkey way to keep us on our toes,” he winks at Allura who smiles indulgently.
“I await the news alongside you paladins,” Allura answers, hands resting in her lap. She looks over at Shiro.
The whole room turns to look at Shiro.
He had called the meeting.
Meetings tended to be informational in nature: updates about the expansive war, rebels hailing Voltron for intervention, the Blade passing on the rare bit of information, and the always popular distress signals. But Shiro and Allura both looked too calm for that.
Keith goes rigid, a spring wound up too tight.
Hm.
You wondered if the elephant in the room would finally be addressed.
Shiro puts his hand on Keith’s shoulder, smiling encouragingly the way a parent dropping their child off for their first day of school would, “go ahead Keith.”
The red paladin focuses his gaze on Shiro, his expression more sour than it’s been in a long time.
The past few years had done a lot to get him to open up to everyone on board, but right now, he looks exactly like the stubborn closed off cadet he had been back on Earth.
His ears twitch slightly. He manages to look even more taunt, and you wonder if he’s going to wave this off. Then, he lets out a breath.
His body is stiff, but Keith no longer pulls away from Shiro. He looks down at his hands pensively, nails cut to the quick. “Right.”
You can feel the nervous energy of the rest of the room, leaning in, waiting to see what Keith wants to say.
“Mhm, go on,” Lance says, chin in hand.
Hunk elbows him in the side.
“Hey!” Lance is about to start in on Hunk.
“Guys,” you snap, shoving Lance’s shoulder.
“Okay, okay,” Lance zips his mouth and throws away the key, “shutting up.”
“Looks like that didn’t work,” Pidge snarks.
“Paladins,” Allura’s clear commanding voice rings out. When everyone shuts up again, she nods at Keith, “you may continue.”
He looks up at everyone through his bangs, “I’m going through Galra settling.”
Hunk looks over at Allura, who was far more familiar with all this alien mumble jumble than anyone else.
Shiro squeezes Keith’s shoulder.
“And that is,” you prompt gently, before Keith hastily decided that was all he needed to say and left.
He meets your waiting gaze. Under the ship’s bright rooms, his eyes were obviously violet, heavy on the purple. He’s chewing his bottom lip like he isn’t sure he wants to go through with saying any of this and you wonder if he must be thinking of how weird things were between everyone when he learned of the alien part of his heritage.
Your mouth quirks up into a smile.
You were more than willing to stuff someone into a cryopod if they bothered Keith. He may be part of Voltron, tasked with defending the universe, but you’d make sure there was someone to defend him.
An embarrassing rush of heat bubbles under your skin. You look away, nervous.
“Shiro,” Keith asks.
Shiro nods, wrapping his arms fully around Keith’s shoulder. “Galra settling is when Galra,” he looked like he was trying to figure out exactly what he was talking about as he said it. Aliens were weird. “When Galra reach a certain age their appearance locks in.” Even Shiro looks a little puzzled. He was a pilot, not a biologist. You knew organisms back on earth who could manipulate their genotypes, generally sex changes with the right environmental conditions, but you weren’t sure there was anything comparable to whatever this was. “The Galra are apparently very adaptable in individuals. That’s why there’s such a range of them.”
Huh.
That explained the fur, range of tails, more reptilian looking once, and the eyes.
You wanted a Galra biology course, a full semester long one. What exactly caused such a plasticity in their phenotype? Did the trait have to be encoded in their genotype to appear or was there something freakier, Allura’s space magic, going on?
“-because he’s half human and we don’t go through anything like this it’s more painful than it would be. Lotor said the chameleonic abilities of Alteans helped him when he went through this,” Shiro finishes without a satisfying or thorough explanation.
At least Keith wasn’t dying.
Thank god.
Thank whatever freaky Altean magic existed in the universe.
“So,” Lance starts, “it’s Galra puberty.”
In a split second Keith loses any self consciousness about the situation, “it’s not Galra puberty!” His hair puffs up and you have to fight the urge to laugh, covering your face with your hands.
“There’s…” Shiro glances at Keith, before Lance and Keith could really get into it, “there’s more.”
Keith looks mullish, but ultimately gives Shiro the go ahead.
“Part of these..changes,” the black paladin explains, “have brought out some Galra instincts.” Clearly he was having as much trouble grappling with what this meant as Keith was. Your body suddenly deciding to change was no fun when you had no context for it. “Among them, the need to scent family…”
Pidge tilts her head, “is this like the most convoluted and emotionally constipated way of asking for a hug,” she asks Keith.
Keith smiles wryly, “pretty much.”
“Oh come here dude,” Hunk grins, engulfing Keith and Shiro in a hug.
“Ah number four,” Coran points up in the air, “I am now just recalling the galra that lived on Altea having explained this once, of course it didn’t occur to me because of the apparent dominance of your human genes.”
“So they’re actually co-dominant,” you muse as Lance drags Pidge along for a “group hug!”
“No.no,” Pidge makes a half-hearted effort to wiggle out, being a younger sibling herself, was used to being subjected to affection. She smiles even as she struggles.
“It would seem so,” Coran nods, “though not every gene.”
“Just these.” You wonder if there’s a space equivalent of the human genome project.
“Lance,” Keith yelps, “that’s my foot.”
“Buddy, I am not feeling the love here.”
“Is it working,” Hunk asks, peering at Keith, “are you going to turn purple now?”
“No one turns purple from hugs,” Keith replies, annoyed but makes no move to pull away.
“Thank you for trusting us with this Keith,” Allura smiles, her eyes crinkling.
“Get in on this too Princess,” Shiro motions over, before catching your gaze, “you too. Don’t think you can get out of this. You’re part of Voltron too.”
You snort, and join the group hug.
Pidge’s elbow is a bony thorn in your side and there’s the slight hum from Shiro’s prosthetic, but it’s a good mix of warmth and intimacy with the people you were closest to in the entire universe. Allura’s shoulder presses into you back and it’s sort of ballooned to ridiculous proportions, Keith somewhere in the center of it all, his hair barely visible to you.
“Add cuddling Keith to the chore wheel,” Pidge proposes.
Keith groans.
“How about we let Keith decide,” Shiro proposes.
You snort, knowing him too well. “Are you willing to take that risk? Died-from lack of hugs.”
Lance laughs.
Shiro looks convinced by your stellar argument.
“I’m not that bad,” Keith grumbles.
“You’re a terrible hugger,” Lance argues back. “You’re all stiff, like you’re enduring one of Iverson’s paradox sims. Not as bad as my abuelo but still.”
Keith lunges for Lance.
Someone topples over.
Everyone falls.
You laugh, smothered by limps and someone’s hair in your mouth…maybe Hunk’s? You don’t move, worried about kicking someone’s head.
From somewhere, Keith does that low rumbling chest noise that reminds you of a cat purring happily.
No one makes fun of him for it.
——————
“You should comb your hair before we take the pod down,” you tell Keith. You’d spent your free time before this alliance dinner scrolling through a datapad, trying to learn names, where they hailed from, species, things that may prove useful.
Half a varga ago, Keith had found you balled up on a sofa, and sat next to you, his way of asking for physical comfort. You’d obliged him readily, throwing an arm over his shoulders and spooning him as you both laid on the sofa. He was already in the paladin uniforms that Allura had dug out once the alliance became a reality instead of a loose string of rebel groups fighting the Galra empire.
You’re both short and slight, fitting together perfectly.
You squash any feelings you have, this wasn’t about you, it was about him. You’d done it a thousand times with Hunk or Lance, fallen asleep listening to Allura, why should Keith be any different? (You know why.)
He’s reading the screen with you.
“I doubt they’d notice,” he remarks as you scroll to a particularly vivid color alien race with sensory appendages sprouting from their heads.
“You have a point desert bum,” you tease, “I’d rather be a bum by a beach town. All surfer bro.”
“Can you even surf,” he asks flatly.
“No. Learned how to swim at the garrison,” you admit. “But tanning by the water has to be more appealing than roasting under the Texas sun.”
“I like the desert.”
“I know.” You were pretty sure everyone just liked their homes.
“It’s quiet,” he admits, “and watching how the sunlight transforms the landscape…”
“It’s too big and wide,” you admit, thinking of space. Flat land that went on forever…empty dark space that went on forever.
“Good for driving,” Keith smirks.
You laugh. Or course that’s where his mind went. “Sure, but it all looks the same, everywhere you turn.” It was disorienting. To be fair, you were a city girl. Your background noise was cars honking and people yelling even at four in the morning. The garrison had been a big adjustment.
“It’s really not. You just have to look.”
“I’ll trust my gps,” you counter, “not my sense of direction. I’d probably end up one of those cautionary tales about mirages and deserts.”
“You can’t really get a good signal,” Keith replies lazily, his body slack against yours, “out there. It’s best to mark a trail with chalk if you don’t know the area.”
“But you do, know it I mean?”
“Out past the Garrison? Mhm. All of it. We used to go hiking…before,” he trails off.
You press your lips to his hair lightly, before shifting, “my arms asleep.”
“Sorry.”
“I don’t mind.” You sit up, “it’s nice. I used to put my sister to sleep this one year she had nightmares almost every night.”
“You miss her,” Keith states, sitting up, looking at you with his intense expression. Having someone focused one hundred percent on you was a new experience. He wasn’t thinking of a thousand other things, just you.
“I do. I miss everyone, but,” you shrug, “I’ll see them again. Meanwhile you’re stuck with me.” You smile fondly at Keith. “I’m going to change before we have to go to dinner.”
“I’d take fighting Zarkon anyday,” Keith mutters, cringing at the upcoming show of diplomacy. There was so much smiling and hand shaking. It was exhausting to be that extroverted with a roomful of strangers.
Even Lance zonked out after these things.
“Knock on wood,” you laugh.
_____________
Treaties have been signed. A wrecked Galra fleet floats in space above the planet your on today, but today’s battle is won.
One of Lotor’s General’s is here, Acza. She’s wary, and surprised at the warm reception she’d received. She might be Galra, but she’d been crucial in taking down the Galra base’s shields. Biolocks, Zarkon should really rethink those.
You sip at your thick drink, warm and flavored like cinnamon oatmeal, that chases off the chill of the night. The idea had been to sleep, your hands still ached from all the sutures and stitches you’d woven, but Allura refused to hear it, dragging you along. There would be time for sleep on the Castle, she’d claimed, joyous to have helped another besieged planet.
“My congratulations,” a Blade utters from behind their glowing mask.
You jump, not having known there was even a Blade here. They were allies, yet their anonymity that made them so useful in information gathering, created a gap between you. You had no way of knowing who this person was. Their suit obscuring any details, the mask a rank.
You couldn’t even see their eyes.
“For what,” you ask, puzzled. You hadn’t fought. Your skills made you most useful after the battle, trying to save lives and patch up wounds. It was important and emotional draining work, but you hardly won battles.
Because of the mask, you can’t get a read on their reaction. Blades. Spies. Maybe if you could see their eyes…
They nod, and walk off without explanation.
You watch them go, still confused until they disappear among the bodies loitering around, celebrating liberation.
It was a feat to disappear when you were eight feet tall.
First the Galra had avoided you like the plague, the black plague, now they were being cryptic as fuck.
You lean your head down, trying to sniff your armpits without making it too obvious. Was it the blood? Or the space bleach? That tended to linger.
You didn’t smell that bad. Certainly like bleach and rubbing alcohol…
You take another sip of your drink, looking around for a place to sit. You’d been on your feet for too long. You wanted to sleep.
Someone would find you.
You wander around. Smiling when someone notices you, and thanks you and you hurry to get away before they ask you a hundred questions. There were only eight humans in space. Well, seven and a half. You stood out.
They wanted Voltron, but you would do.
“There’s space here,” Acxa calls out.
“Thanks,” you plop down next to her, sagging into the seat. Oh, yeah, you were so freaking tired.
“Of course. You look dead.”
“Yeah,” you look around the rebel camp, “I’ve no clue how they have the energy.”
“It’s like that everywhere. This is their home,” Acza offers, “people fight hard for their homes.”
You nod, before looking over at the alien woman, “not avoiding me anymore then?”
She shrugs, not disputing the allegation. “No need anymore, now that you and Keith sorted yourselves out.” She’s so blunt about it. “Galra are so sensitive when settling. We didn’t want to cause any incidents.”
“Is this about the scenting?” You still hadn’t had time to read through the information you’d gotten your grubby little hands on.
She nods.
You put your drink down on the mossy ground. “Yeah, Keith explained it. Well, Shiro did, really. Lance is over the moon about having an excuse to bother Keith.” Now you really all were a family. You’d named it outloud.
Acxa’s brows furrow, “Lance?”
“I think he just misses his family a lot,” you offer. “We all do and while we’re family too, it’d be nice to see our family back on earth too.”
She frowns. “Keith and you are not,” she asks slowly.
“Me and Keith,” you flush, ducking away from her. “No-I, no. We’re not.” You should’ve gone back to the Castle the moment Allura turned her back. She would’ve never known.
Acxa’s frown becomes tinged with anger and worry, her hand grabs your wrist. “Galra have more than one type of scenting, between families, and between partners.”
“Oh.”
You try to connect the dots but your brain gets stuck between ideas. Scenting. Keith. You. You and Keith. It was right there but-
“Keith isn’t marking you as family,” she explains slowly, “he’s marking you as his partner.” Acxa waits until her words sink in before adding, “to do so without letting the other know…” She makes it clear what a social taboo that is.
But you’re one step behind her.
Did Keith like you?
You think back to all the times you’d been with him in the past few vargas, trying to pinpoint any hint: he’d smiled at you but he was happier now in general so it could be a coincidence…
“If you need,” Acxa offers, “I will help clarify the situation.” It’s an awfully kind gesture.
“No,” you say in a rush. “no. It’s-I think I need to go talk to Keith.” He’d known what he was doing…you could draw a thousand conclusions but nothing would be better than confronting him about it.
“If you’re sure.”
“I am,” you stand up, glancing around. During parties, Keith tended to find a quiet corner out of the way. He’d opened up, but he was still more of an introvert.
You find Keith lying stretched out in the shadow of a makeshift building, looking up at the stars. It’s his eyes that give him away, reflecting the light enough to be inhuman, nocturnal vision.
“We need to talk,” you wrap your arms around your body. You weren’t angry, just confused. Didn’t he know he could just come talk to you about it by now?
Keith looks up, startled, then stands. “Alright.” He sounds resigned, a man sentenced to detention for a month which was janitorial duties at the garrison. It kept even the most smartass cadets humble.
You look around.
No one was really here. You could hear the music and people a bit further into the heart of the camp. Here was good enough.
“I talked to Acxa,” you start, “she said-” you look down at the trampled vegetation underfoot. It was embarrassing to your human preconceptions to even think, let alone say, which was why you were pretty sure Keith didn’t mean any harm. Scenting meant nothing on earth, where he’d grown up. “She said you’ve been scenting me, which like I know but not that way?” You look up at him as realization sets in and he ducks his head, looking away. “Is it true?”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “I-,” he takes a deep breath before ranting, the agitation and months of buried emotions flooding out, “I hate this. I hate that I can hear the conversation outside and smell which direction Shiro’s in and how much my eyes hurt on the Castle from how bright it is but I don’t-I can’t say anything because I’m already enough of a freak. Before I was just the weird kid but now I’m just a fucking alien freak! There’s always so much going on and I don’t even know what’s next!”
You wait, wondering if there was more.
It was a lot of changes.
You couldn’t understand, there was nothing in your life comparable to your biology deciding to be a little more Galra after twenty years.
“And I tried not to-,” he admits, meeting your waiting gaze, “I tried to leave everyone alone so you wouldn’t,” Keith swallows, forcing himself to continue with an obvious disgust at himself, “you wouldn’t smell like me or whatever Lotor explained but I couldn’t-it was driving me crazy like this itch, this buzzing under my skull and seeing you guys with others-I thought I was going crazy until Lotor explained. And then when Lance would ruffle my hair or you would check that I wasn’t about to fall over and die and-,” he waves his hands in the air, “I would just zone out.”
“Oh,” you utter, recalling past events with a newfound understanding. Keith had been reaching out, all instinct even when he was trying not to be a bother. It broke your heart, how he always came from the perspective that he was an inconvenience.
“I did know,” he says in a small voice. “That-you…but I don’t know if it’s me or this, or all these things happening to me.”
Your expression wobbles. You bite your lower lip, trying to get a handle on it. How silly to worry about a crush when Keith was going through it.
“I like you, but I don’t know if I like you or if it’s just these stupid Galra instincts messing with my head.” Keith deflates, drawing into himself. “Everything
s…it’s been a lot.”
“I get it,” you utter, “maybe not the situation but I’m not mad. Though Acxa was ready to kick your ass and she totally could,” you try teasing.
But Keith flinches, looking away guiltily.
“I’m joking. I-I get why. It makes sense. It’s a lot to get used to.” You swallow, not sure what to do about anything either.
“Its a huge offence,” Keith utters, “that’s why she was pissed. Made worse because you can’t even tell…I-I couldn’t think straight and I…it took the edge off.”
“Scenting me?”
He nods.
You take a step towards him.
“I-,” Keith’s eyes meet yours, his attention entirely captivated by you. It sends a thrill down your spine. You’d seen how he could be when laser focused: on piloting, on training. “I know they say it’s wrong but you and Lance do stuff like that all the time. And I thought…I figured I could figure out how much of what I’m feeling is me and how much of it are these new instincts.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” you tell him. “I-you’re right, it’s whatever to me. Like, a Blade congratulated me earlier which was weird but fuck them you know? I can ‘smile and nod’,” you smile as fakely as possible to show what you mean, “through it so long as you’re okay.” He’d bled in your lap.
Keith looks a little unsteady, unsure what to do with your lack of anger. “You don’t-”
“So is it like galra marriage then?” You were curious as to what exactly the Blades were going to gossip about you and Keith.
He makes a choked sound. “Sort of. They bond. It can be broken but that generally means someone killed the other.”
“Let me guess,” you reply, “Zarkon fucked even that up.”
Keith nods.
“That guy’s the worst.” Your voice is light.
Keith snorts, smiling for a split second. “I won’t anymore. I’ll-”
“Keith,” your voice cracks as you out your hand on his arm to keep him from rubbing off, “if its really causing you all this additional confusion in too of everything…you can…” the words were too intimate to say, too charged with a sensuality that he clearly was figuring out. You were willing to wait. For him.
He was conflicted enough without you dumping your feelings on him.
“You don’t-”
You raise your hand, caressing the side of his face with the back of your hand, ghosting over the purple mark on his cheek, “I don’t mind.” Sure, you had a crush on him, you could admit that much, but more simply, you loved him.
This was a small ask.
Your gaze flickers to the tips of his ears.
You had washed his blood off your hands.
“Besides, shit’s hard enough. My arm falling asleep is a small price to pay if I can help you.”
Keith’s mouth quirks up in a smile.
You laugh, “come here.”
It finally sinks in that you weren’t just talking bs. You meant it, as you hug Keith, wrapping your arms around his middle. He smelled good in spite of the battle he’d been through earlier.
Without really thinking, you breathe in the scent of him.
Keith hugs you back, cuddling you against his chest, resting his chin on your shoulder.
You yawn. “want to sneak back into the castle?”
“Only if you tell Allura you’re the one who wanted to leave,” he deadpans dazedly.
You laugh.
——————
“Come,” Allura motions as you stand from one of the Castle’s weapons systems, “we must meet with the rebel leadership on planet.”
The planet was a farming camp.
The slaves were overworked and underfed and they had still revolted when they learned Voltron was near. Now, they were free.
“Princess,” Coran calls out, “it appears that number four is heading back to the ship.”
A pained expression crosses Allura’s broad features, her full mouth frowning, before she decides to pick her battles for the day. “I am sure Keith has a good reason for his actions.” She sounds like she’s trying to convince herself.
You don’t want to go down there either.
This entire last week had been spent synthesizing medicine and treating thousands of people made harder by the range of species. The garrison better give you that medical degree immediately.
“I’ll go check on him,” you say automatically, “he might need me to prep a pod.”
“Fantastic idea number five,” Coran believes your excuse.
“Let us know if anything happens,” Allura says, giving you a long look, before heading for the exit.
The central Galra soldiers had been taken out, but small bands of fighters were still fighting to their last breath. It’s why Voltron has remained on the planet.
The lions had roamed the landscape answering calls for aid and hunting down the last of Zarkon’s forces here.
You meet Keith in the red lion’s hanger.
He’s popping his helmet off, running a hand through his flattened hair. “I thought you were headed out with Allura?”
You shrug, suddenly feeling awkward. “I was, but I wanted to check on you first.” That was a normal thing to do for your friends. There was no reason to overthink things.
“I’m fine.”
He sets the helmet aside, working on undoing the armor off. There was dirt and dust but thankfully no blood to speak of, his or otherwise.
“Then I’ll see you there,” you ask.
Keith looks over, a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar, his smile slight when he replies, “I’m not heading there.” Blunt. Concise.
“It is depressing,” you admit. There was so much resource allocation and need planet-wide.
He raises a brow. “Oh. Yeah.”
“Keith?” Now you’re wondering what the real problem was. “What is it?”
“Does it matter. I don’t need to be there. Shiro and Allura can handle it.” He looks away, suddenly very interested in the wall. Unlike the rest of the ship, the red lion’s hanger was dim, in a permanent night cycle.
Pidge’s work.
“I think the people would like all of Voltron present.” Then you make a face, “oh god, I sound just like Allura don’t I?”
Keith laughs, “just a bit. As long as you don’t make us all meditate…”
“It’s so boring. I fall asleep.” You smile softly, “Seriously, go down for a moment. Then you can hide out here.”
“I-I’d rather not.” He shifts uncomfortably. “Four out of five is is fine.”
“I’m sure they’ll understand,” you agree.
“I’m sure they’ll be glad.”
“Keith-” you start, knowing he already felt hyper aware of how his appearance had changed. Before, it hadn’t really ever come up outside of the team. No one would tell and if Keith wasn’t vocal about it…now everyone in the entire universe probably knew.
There were rebel Galra, mostly in prisons and work camps. Feelings varied.
“That’s not true,” you say, not sure if it was true, “you helped free them.” You shift your weight onto your other foot, “there’s a few assholes everywhere.”
He gives you a long look. “The Galra enslaved all these people.”
“Pfft,” you wave off, “you look like one sixteenth Galra. And-”
“They stare.”
“Because you’re a paladin,” you reason. “Pidge is also cranky about the attention.”
Keith sighs.
The paladin armor lies in a discarded pile.
You step forward to him, “anyone would be lucky to have you as a pilot. And Voltron sort of lucked out when the red lion chose you.”
Keith’s eyes widen as he looks at you, pink dusting his cheeks.
In for a penny, in for a pound, you lean forward and kiss his cheek, ghosting over his skin, “face marks and all.” You can’t meet his gaze when you pull away, blushing fiercely.
Why did you do that!
God, you were so dumb-
He cups your cheeks and brushes his lips over yours.
Oh! Oh.
“Is-is this okay-,” Keith starts asking.
You feel giddy, smiling before kissing him. Yeah, it was okay.
#keith kogane#vld keith#keith x reader#voltron#mine#trying this agin to see if it shows up in the tags#as usual: is this any good?#was supposed to b smut but turned into fluff
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How did you get started with investing? I've seen you talk about it before and I know that's something I need to do, but I feel so lost in terms of which companies to invest in and how much money I should put in. I have retirement accounts but nothing outside of that. And really, I feel like I can't talk to anyone IRL about this because I'm too embarrassed - I'm literally a CPA and do corporate taxes for a living but still find investing to be so intimidating 😞.
I mean, when people say "you should be investing" often, until you reach a certain wealth level, they are actually referring to your 401K. This is more general advice for the readers, but don't feel bad if you're not investing outside of retirement, especially if you're early in your career or if you're in a job where you don't have much disposable income. Don't feel bad in general, honestly, even if you haven't got a retirement fund at all; life is hard and money is necessary but stupid.
I only really started to invest invest in the last two years and even then I'm pretty conservative about it. On the plus, as a CPA, you will probably have a leg up in terms of knowing a lot of financial terms and kind of...understanding how money works in at least some sense.
I actually got started studying investing with my retirement fund. I was young and broke and mad that a chunk of my paycheck was going into my 401K when I could use that money NOW (see Sam Vimes Boots Theory for more on why ready cash now can often beat more cash later). I didn't know much about finance but I knew that a) I was basically being forced to play the financial markets with that money and b) the fate of our country's economy is tied to the stock market which is a mood ring hooked up to a roulette wheel. Being the Oldest Living Millennial I also understood I might not actually ever get to retire, so I decided to treat my retirement fund like Monopoly money: real but meaningless. And so I thought, well, let's Learn About Investing with it.
When you invest with a 401K or IRA usually you're not buying straight stocks; you're buying some conglomeration of investments bundled together as a fund (this is not a technical term, fund has a specific meaning in the technical sense, but it's easier to just use fund as a shorthand so I'm gonna). These can include stocks, bonds, mutual funds, and other more esoteric vehicles. So I started looking into the funds available to me -- there's the "retire in this year" fund that most people just dump all their money into, but there were also ways to invest in small businesses abroad, in health care or in funds that are "socially responsible", ways to buy into funds that did nothing but attempt to keep up with inflation, and on and on.
I didn't know any of that, of course -- I just saw something like "International Explorer Fund" and decided it sounded interesting and I'd learn what it was and what it did, and when I was satisfied that the reward was worth the risk, I'd dump some cash from my 2045-Retirement investment into it. While "past performance is no indication of future success" past performance isn't a bad way to at least pick something to research, and usually there's an earnings graph on the fund's prospectus page. I'd start reading prospectuses and looking up every word I didn't know or felt had a specific context I was missing (mostly on Investopedia, a GREAT resource). I'd take the term, add it to a vocabulary list, and rewrite "what is this and what does it do" in my own words. Eventually I internalized a lot of the terminology but I still check my notes once in a while.
There are financial literacy courses you can take, of course, and I don't think you should be AT ALL ashamed about trying to find a good one (lots of scams out there) or asking colleagues about them. "Hey, I'm not comfortable with my level of literacy about investment vehicles; do you know of any good educational material or class that would fill in the gaps?" is a good way to go about it. Very few people know jack shit about investing and my level of knowledge is just BARELY above jack shit, to be honest, so no shame, my friend. It is also totally fine to find a financial planner or investment advisor outside of your work and have a sit-down with them to get advice, which is what my parents do. Many banks offer that kind of service, so check with wherever you do your banking, and almost any retirement fund administrator (like Vanguard or American Funds) will be happy to send someone to meet with you and advise you. I was never prouder of my financial self-education than the one time I met with a guy from Vanguard who said, "Basically, keep doing what you're doing, this is a model portfolio."
Once I was investing in my retirement funds more confidently, I got the RobinHood app and started studying stocks, which is really just like, "find a stock and do a book report on it". Look at past earnings, who the CEO of the company is, what their board makeup is like, what they're doing in the news. And of course the most important advice: Never, ever invest money in the stock market that you aren't prepared to lose.
Aside from my stock adventures on RobinHood, which is about five hundred dollars that I turned into a thousand dollars over a couple of years, I have money in a few savings accounts. I don't have CDs or money market accounts or any of that, because I still don't have quite enough cash to make it worth it. I just parked some in a credit union that pays 6% interest on the first $1K you put in, and the rest in Betterment, which had a 2% interest rate when I started but now is down to .3% which is a bummer. But I haven't found another vehicle like Betterment which allows you equally easy access to your money while having as intuitive and modular an online interface.
So overall, aside from retirement (which is at $116K, which seems impressive until you remember you're supposed to retire with 25x your yearly salary in your 401K) I have a grand in the stock market, a grand in a 6%-interest savings account with a credit union, a grand in an emergency-only savings account attached to my checking, and roughly five grand with Betterment. It's a fairly conservative setup but I'd like never to be poor ever again, so I'm hedging carefully :D
Some great resources that I've used include:
Investopedia
Planet Money podcast by NPR and its sister podcast, The Indicator
The Financial page of the newspaper (I used to read NYT, now I read Tribune)
Rankandfiled.com, a free stock filings resource site that basically scrapes the SEC for financial data -- this is for if you really want to do a deep dive once you've got more experience
Good luck! It's a slog at first, but eventually it gets kinda fun :)
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delicacies
pairing: baker!childe x gn!reader
genre: fluff, modern bakery!au, suggestive
w.c: 1.5k
warnings: making out lol
synopsis: moving to a new country was quite the adventure. and you found new areas to travel further within the cute boy right down the road’s ocean eyes.
--
it had been a total of two weeks since you arrived in italy. getting settled was your top priority, but now that you’ve got your place set up and are getting used to college life in a new country, it was about time you started checking off some of the more leisurely activities on your checklist.
the streets were clearer, less busy than usual, on the weekend you enter the bakery. it seemed like an unpretentious, small business, with the simple, yet homely, beige walls and the old vinyl in the corner playing soft tunes. the bell rings when you enter, but no one seems to be behind the counter when you examine the array of cakes in the front display.
“welcome! i can help you when you’re ready to order!” a perky male voice interrupts you in the middle of eyeing a slice of strawberry cake. you look up to see a ginger with a warm smile, the crinkles around his blue eyes genuine.
“hello! i was hoping to get this slice of cake right here.” you point to said strawberry treat.
“ah yes. my older brother has been WAITING for someone to try his new signature strawberry cake. but there honestly can’t be anything special about something that tastes the same no matter what.” you can practically hear the way he rolls his eyes as he takes the cake out to put it in a box.
you raise an eyebrow. “complaining about your own products? that doesn’t seem like a very good marketing strategy, but i suppose reverse psychology will do its job.”
“you sound like you know about sales quite a bit.” he smiles wryly. “are you a business major?”
“yup! i actually just moved here to study at the local university for an overseas program.” you only knew this guy for a maximum of 30 seconds, and he had already seemed so open and was able to read you like a book. it made you want to know more about him in exchange.
“so your family bakes everything here?” you ask.
“yes we do! my parents usually do the baking while my siblings and i work varying shifts here up front or stocking up the inventory. but we too, also experiment with different recipes to sell new things.”
you hum in response. “you must have a lot of siblings then.”
the boy chuckles in response. “i do. i don’t know what i’d do without them.” he sounded so happy while talking about his family and it made you feel warm just hearing about how they worked together.
“is this a competition for how much we can learn about each other within a span of a few minutes.” he smirks. “when we haven’t even learnt each others names yet?”
you inspect his attire, pausing at a name tag pinned to his shirt pocket. “ajax? nice to meet you, i’m (y/n).”
“well, (y/n), hope to see you again after trying my brother’s cake. hope it makes you realize that you gotta go for the chocolate or vanilla, not something that wasn’t meant to be a dessert in the first place.”
--
“i mean it was good so i came back for another one?” you can’t help but laugh when the same boy you met at the counter last week shakes his head.
“and you came to order right around closing time too, huh? guess this makes you a new challenge for me.” you avert your gaze to the ground, suddenly feeling nervous from his chastising.
“fine, you can lose the pouty face. i’ll accept your questionable taste just this one last time.” he pushes his hair back with a sigh after packing up your order and you catch yourself staring.
and of course, just when you allow yourself to indulge in the sight of a mysterious sea of unanswered questions in his blue eyes, he locks eyes with you. he knows you’re checking him out, causing him to smirk coyly.
“ajax,” you begin, preventing the atmosphere from heading somewhere more tense. “have you lived here all of your life?”
“as a matter of fact, no i haven’t. my family has been around, but i think we’ve finally found where we’re supposed to belong here. i’ve been living here long enough for people to start calling me by two different names too. ‘tartaglia’ and also ‘childe’.”
hm. so he was attractive and went by multiple names....
“‘tartaglia’? interesting, sounds like you’ve even earned yourself a name amongst the locals here.”
“i don’t know why they named me after the guy from that one play, though. maybe it’s because i leave a little bit of a stutter in people’s lives.” childe winks.
--
stutter, huh.
you thought he was just being a boastful young man. until you found yourself just happening to visit the bakery during times you predicted he’d be there.
childe was like a peacock strutting his stuff out in the open, captivating, and divine. you had never met someone so adventurous yet down to earth at the same time. one moment he’d be bragging about his ventures with his friends, and then next thing you knew he’d do a 180 if his little brother called in the middle of your conversation.
it wasn’t just his actions. he grew more bold with his words too. eyes shooting stars as he looked you up and down, noticing the new outfit you wore just for him when he purred about how good you looked and how it was always a treat to have someone as sweet as you visit after a long day at work.
he was always full of surprises. you’re reminded of that when you find him standing behind the counter in a hoodie and jeans instead of his usual work attire.
“what’s up? disappointed that i’m not wearing the apron?” childe exits the space separating you two, and stands dangerously close to you. “don’t worry, i can put it back on when i show you the new frosting i’m working on.” he chuckles and rubs your shoulder, the small exchange of body heat making you feel warm all over.
“a new product, huh? is this to help your family business or to compete with your siblings?” you watch him count the cash at the register with your hands tucked underneath your chin.
“sweetheart, even a guy like me can take on baking as a hobby rather than just a way to make ends meet or pick fights.” with that, he slides the cash register drawer closed. “come on, it should be processed by now.”
you slowly follow childe into the back. as promised, he puts the apron over his casual clothes, the sight rather domestic.
he dips his finger into the light pink frosting after giving it one last stir and licks it off. the sight makes you shiver and lick your own lips.
“mmm. so i guess strawberry does taste pretty good. if done right of course.”
“what made you change your mind, mr.strawberry-anti?” you smirk.
“baking is a delicacy. i was never a ‘strawberry-anti’, just wary of how it’s supposed to mesh with desserts for the sake of compliancy. i made this frosting to test it out some more, and as a special treat. for you.”
before you can receive his gesture to claim your treat, childe gives you the same glimmering look that he always uses before pulling at your heartstrings even further.
and it becomes way too much for you to handle when he leans his face closer to yours.
“here, have a taste.” childe teasingly presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. he continues to leave gentle pecks on your lips, and you let out shaky breaths every time he pulls away.
“why did you stop?” you whine and he hovers over your entire body this time, pushing your hips onto the counter.
“hm, not enough? come closer then.” you wrap your arms around his neck, this time, getting a real taste of his creation when he claims your mouth whole.
you grip onto his hair when he adds more pressure into the kiss, pulling especially harder when he nibbles on your bottom lip. as if having unlocked the key to your greatest depths, he effortlessly slides his tongue into your mouth, and you moan upon tasting the lingering strawberry flavor mixed with the feeling of your tongues connecting.
much to your dismay, you both pull away for air. your breaths mingle hotly before he coaxes you into taking a bit more for yourself. not long after you savor the sweetness, childe’s lips are back on yours. the way he sucks the cream off your lips makes your head spin, making you forget about everything else but this one boy in front of you, the mystery boy in a foreign country who sent you through a rollercoaster during only your first month of living here.
“ajax...” you breathe out his name when he lets go of your now swollen and red lips. the boy proceeds to kiss your cheek and jawline gently, laughing softly against your skin.
“i can’t help it, baby. it tastes even better on you.”
#genshin impact#genshin impact x reader#genshin impact fluff#genshin impact imagines#genshin impact scenarios#childe x reader#childe fluff#childe imagines#childe scenarios
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I don’t know if you take requests for nurseydex fics... but if you do the song “omg did she call him baby” by Beth McCarthy screams a heartbroken Nursey when Dex has a girlfriend
i like really can’t do genuine heartbreak but i CAN do angst that ends happy, so here’s my best shot :)
Nursey’s got a red Solo cup in one hand and a plastic champagne flute in the other and it’s sometime after three but before five and he is definitely not thinking about her or him or them together when he looks up between one sip and another to see the telltale blue hair reflecting the murky spotlights of the basement.
Nursey squints. He could be making things up--his brain is nice like that-- but he doesn’t think he’s imagining things. She’s got very distinctive hair, Dex’s--girlfriend. It’d been rather disappointing, actually, the blue hair. The whole thing had been easier to deal with when he’d been picturing some light-haired brunette going for an economics degree who smiled like a mom at soccer practice. Someone who Nursey could reasonably dislike on grounds of, like, predictability.
But no, Dex had to bring home a blue-haired physics major with a nose ring and good taste in music and the ability to out-argue Shitty while polishing off Bitty’s pie, i.e. perfect. Even Lardo couldn’t pretend like she wasn’t awesome for Nursey’s sake. Even Nursey can’t pretend like Amanda isn’t awesome for his own sake. She’s just so--so--
Nursey squints.
So-- making out with some random girl in a blouse at a frat party.
What the fuck.
Nursey is about two margaritas and three years too deep to be dealing with the emotional ramifications of catching the girlfriend of his best friend (who he’s also kind of sort of possibly maybe totally in love with) macking on some consultant for Goldman Sachs or some shit in the basement of arguably one of the worst frats at Samwell. This one doesn’t even have good music, Nursey’s only here to get drunk without the possibility of Dex calling Nursey Patrol and helping Nursey up the stairs and saying nothing about the poetry Nursey spills or the way his hands linger.
(Fuck does Nursey hate Nursey Patrol, fuck does he hate how much he loves it.)
Nursey downs the rest of the champagne flute--which was probably mostly orange juice at this point anyway-- and hands the red Solo cup to a freshman gearing himself up to talk to a cute boy a few feet away and then Nursey gets the fuck out of dodge. He manages to get a better look at the corporate recruiter Amanda is cheating on Dex with (and really, if you’re going to cheat on Dex, you’re really going to pick a chick in a blouse that probably has opinions on the stock market???) and if he hadn’t been sure before, the distinctive tattoo on Amanda’s shoulder proves that it’s really her.
(“Tattoos? Tattoos? I have tattoos.” “I know you do, Nurse.” “They’re really nice tattoos.” “I know they are, Nurse.”)
Emerging from the basement and then the frat house itself is instantly sobering. The chill from winter hasn’t quite left the air at night and Nursey wraps his arms around himself and doesn’t think about how Dex chirped him about not wearing a coat before he’d left. The frat isn’t far away from the Haus, thank god, but it is slightly farther when he turns left instead of right and then has to a backtrack a bit, but he still gets back in under ten minutes and he can still feel his hands, so overall, a win.
Attempting to get into the Haus quietly is a lost cause, given its one thousand year old floor and the fact that a ladybug could fart in the kitchen and wake up the guys in the attic. Still, Nursey gives it the good college try, which is why he’s creeping ridiculously through the living room when the light turns on suddenly and he screams, much to the amusement of Dex, standing in the kitchen doorway.
“Fuck, dude, what the fuck.”
Dex just smirks in that horribly attractive way of his. “How was the Psi-U basement?”
Nursey thinks of blue hair, washed out in the lights, Amanda’s hand on that girl’s cheek, the way Dex smiles when he’s around her. “Fine,” Nursey says, swaying.
The amusement falters and Nursey wishes he could figure out a way to keep the smile on Dex’s face the way Amanda does. Dex takes a step closer. “Are you alright?”
Nursey shakes his head violently and takes a step back, a step farther away. This is the part where he says yes, yes of course Dexy-darling, I’m right as rain, what about you? This is the part where Dex rolls his eyes and loops his arm around Nursey’s waist, his warm side pressed into Nursey’s. The part where they go upstairs, where Nursey writes his best poetry that he’s too embarrassed to write down when he’s sober, where Dex tells him to sleep well and lingers outside the doorway long enough for Nursey’s breathing to slow and then the floor creaks and Nursey knows he’s gone and wishes he’d held on just a little bit longer--
“Nursey, what’s wrong?”
Nursey shakes his head again. He means to say nothing, he means to say, I’m going to bed, he means to-- “Amanda, she--”
The concern turns to alarm. Why can’t Nursey ever make it better? “Is she alright? Did you see her? Is she okay?”
Nursey shakes his head again. He can’t seem to stop doing that. “She’s fine, she--she--” He swallows, and it’s sticky, cloying, citrusy and sweet on the back of his tongue. “She--there was this girl, she-- Amanda, she--”
Dex won’t stop frowning, concern knitting his eyebrows together with three short wrinkles, and Nursey has wanted to smooth them out with his fingertips every time he sees them since sophomore year, and he shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be telling Dex this while he’s drunk, shouldn’t be telling Dex this at all, but he’s Nursey’s friend first and Nursey has to believe he’d tell Dex regardless of the love thing, he must--
“She was kissing some girl. In the Psi-U basement.”
The wrinkles smooth out. The amusement returns. Nursey--he can’t make sense of it over the ringing in his ears. Why is Dex smiling? Did--did Nursey do that?
“Did she look like a lawyer?” he asks, and at Nursey’s confusion clarifies, “The girl Amanda was kissing. Did she look like a lawyer?” Nursey nods dumbly. Dex’s smile only grows. Nursey is so, so confused and also more in love than he’s ever been. “Finally. I just won fifty bucks.”
What the fuck. “What the fuck.”
Dex laughs--laughs. “The girl’s name is Tammy. She graduated last year and moved to Boston. Amanda’s been in love with her forever, and I bet her that she’d get with Tammy before I--” Flush appears high on Dex’s cheeks, the soft pink one that means embarrassment and Nursey imagines would taste like cherry pie against his lips.
Nursey is--still quite a bit drunk. He needs--clarification. “You--you bet your girlfriend that she would get with her friend at a frat party?”
Dex’s nose scrunches up in Nursey’s favorite way--the same way it does when he’s trying to write humanities essays, the reason Nursey always says yes when Dex asks for help. “Girlfriend? Did you think Amanda was my girlfriend?”
Nursey remembers the start, hearing about Amanda every other day, then every day, then it was, sorry I can’t come, I’m meeting Amanda at-- and then one day at Annie’s, a girl with blue hair and a sharp grin yelled Babe! from across the room and planted a kiss on Dex’s cheek, her hand lingering on his shoulder, sipping from his coffee cup, getting him to smile like that--
“Well, yeah.” Nursey’s head is spinning and, for the first time tonight, not from the gin. “Is she--is she not?”
“Oh God, no, she’s so fucking gay, dude.” Laughter twinkles in Dex’s eyes. Nursey is drunker than he’s been since freshmen year of high school when Shitty snuck in some of his dad’s hard liquor and the janitors found them on the roof singing Disney songs at the moon. Dex’s girlfriend is gay. Dex’s girlfriend isn’t his girlfriend. Dex is--is smiling at him like he smiles at his girlfriend who isn’t his girlfriend.
“Oh,” Nursey says, dazed, “chill.”
“Oh wow,” Dex grins, leaning into the doorframe, “I can’t believe you thought--and you thought telling me my girlfriend was cheating on me at 3am while shit-drunk was a good idea?”
Nursey says, “Hey, honesty is important, and I’m not--” He stops. He remembers something. He squints. “Wait. If you bet 50 bucks on Amanda getting with Tammy, who did Amanda bet you would get with?”
The cherry pie blush is back. Nursey takes an absent-minded step forward. The room feels so much lighter now that Dex’s girlfriend isn’t cheating on him. The distance between them feels so much sillier now that Dex doesn’t have a girlfriend.
“Ah, well.” Dex rubs at the back of his neck, all country bumpkin sheepish to ask his sweetheart to the dance, and--and--
“I’m the sweetheart,” Nursey realizes with the kind of crystal clarity only afforded by the most copious amounts of alcohol.
Dex’s eyebrows furrow, those sweet little wrinkles appearing between them, and Nursey takes two long strides forward and presses his thumb into them. Dex goes cross-eyed trying to watch, but moves his eyes to meet Nursey’s after a moment.
Nursey grins, likely a bit sloppy from the gin, but he can’t find it in himself to care at the moment. “I’m the sweetheart,” he repeats, beaming.
Dex tries to repress the smile at his lips. “You’re not a sweetheart.”
“Yes I am,” Nursey sings, listing forwards. “You like me.”
“You’re an asshole.” Dex’s smile grows. Nursey watches its progress and sways.
“They’re not mutually exclusive,” he says, tracking the pink lips as they spread, revealing teeth and--and tongue and--
“I hate that you can still say mutually exclusive when you’re this drunk.”
“I’m not that drunk.”
“Yeah?”
“Mhmm. See, I’ll prove it.”
“How do you plan on--”
If Dex’s mouth weren’t so preoccupied, he might say that the taste on Nursey’s tongue is a good indication that he is in fact fairly tipsy, but as it is--well. He’s got other things to do.
(Amanda asserts that they tied since it happened on the same night and only pays $25. Tammy throws in five more and a condom and they call it even. Nursey kisses away Dex’s protest and pockets the condom, much to Amanda’s amusement. Turns out, she’s even cooler when she isn’t dating the love of Nursey’s life.)
#nurseydex#dexnursey#check please#derek nurse#nursey#dex#william poindexter#my writing#sort of fic#ficlet#i wrote this instead of an essay#bc i make good decisions#also sorry it's like almost not at all based on the song#i don't do heartbreak well#i can do angst with a happy ending#or even jealousy#but no heartbreak#also also i am rather tipsy atm#so if there are any typos#no there aren't#cool?#cool
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Valor Rzeszutek timeline from birth to 2077+ cuz have put way too much thought and planning into his dumb ass. It's not 100% to everything, a lot of things are over simplified and had major effects on him, as well as other smaller events that did occur. But its something to kinda base him on of where he's been and where he's at now.
October 21st 1994 - Valor and Glory Rzeszutek were born to engineer Jeremiah and corpo Vivienne Rzeszutek in South Africa.
August 2005 - Vivienne received a new position with the HQ of her company, uprooting the family from SA to NUSA Las Vegas.
June 2006 - Jeremiah takes Valor with him on a small trip to NC, surprises him with tickets to see Samurai.
October 21st 2006 - Valor gets his first electric guitar for his 12th birthday.
November 19th 2010 - Vivienne dies of sudden health complications. Corporation covers her funeral costs and gives an additional 1 year salary to the family.
July 2012 - Valor joins Lazarus Group starting his mercenary/solo career.
September 2012 - Jeremiah leaves LV joining a group of Nomads heading East.
2013-15 - Valor served as gunner for Trauma Team LV; Glory was quickly rising through corprate ranks with Liive a doll company.
December 2017 - Corprate counter extractions, target found dead in a warehouse with a wreath around his head. First of many to be found this way.
2021-27 - Valor is assigned on military contract back to SA, orders suggested territory dispute and area fortification but actual politics of it was left out for troops. Mostly a show of muscle and patrolling different hot zones.
February 4th 2027 - Transport detail, halfway camp under fire. 14 dead another dozen injured, Valor and 3 others are taken prisoner.
February 6th 2027 - Valor wakes up strapped to an operating table, system diagnosis states a foreign piece of unregistered cyberware has been installed. Installation location is unknown as all ports are open, given the bandaging around his head and the pain at the base of his skull, assumed it was surgically implanted.
February 8th 2027 - Dumped in an unknown location, small town, in the middle of the night. Bloody, bruised, and weak manages to get himself up and starts to stumble down the empty street. Chip is activated, neural system goes offline, cyberpsychosis takes over sending Valor into a chaotic feral state.
February 9th-15th 2027 - Valor is held prisoner by local military company. Believing he works for the black market vendors he is tortured for days on end until information arrives that he is one of the MIA soldiers with Lazarus Group. Returned to a nearby base and sent back to NUSA for medical evaluation.
March 30th 2027 - Valor is released from medical care, honorably discharged from Lazarus for medical purposes. Do to the chip's nature it is unable to be removed, with no known tracers on the technology he is put on as risk for possible cyberpsychosis relapse. No evidence to prove that he will relapse he is free to leave the facility.
June 2027 - Valor meets a street drummer that goes by Rango. Former Nomad, part time roadie. He's a part time drummer and makes for good company, two start hanging out on the regular.
August 19th 2027 - Abduction in progress, high on painkillers Valor gives chase. First official run in with Arasaka Extractor, Umbra. Though the fight was short lived and Valor failed, Umbra, impressed with vitality and fight, severs Valor's ring finger. Taking it as an oath for the fight to continue on a better day for the solo.
December 7th 2027 - Valor is selected among a small group of Solos for a new prototype of cyberarms known as the MonoBlades by Kendachi. Do to his medical records he is unable to undergo the procedure for the new cybernetics though is assured his spot will be held until he's well enough.
April 2028 - Once again confronted with Umbra, though no fight happens, terms of the affair are made clear. Valor is being stalked by the other, for better or for worse. Next several months this obsession is made clear.
September 2028 - Convinced by his sister that he needs to get out more, get back to work, do something with his time. In a haze of foggy memories ends up joining an inferno and becoming a dom for hire. Pays good and keeps his nights filled can't complain.
December 19th 2028 - Clearance for the new cyberarms is granted, Valor is sent to one of Kendachi's orbital stations to receive the procedure and physical therapy for the new arms.
March 14th 2029 - Contacted by an old Netrunner friend asking to meet up. Meeting up at a Café off the old strip Sami introduces Valor to Kelvy Kai-Eurodyne, an independent media hunting down a Netrunner killer in NC. The name Umbra comes up in intercepted Arasaka documents, Valor tells them to drop it if they value any part of their lives before leaving the Café.
September 2029 - Working more on his music, got a group of friends together and produced their first demo by the end of the year going by the name Herken.
April 2030 - Local rock station for Central Vegas started playing their music, shortly there after Damion Kre Saint for No End Records signed the band, started work on their first official album.
August 2031 - Herken releases their first studio album, Remembering Nothing More to major success
October 15 2031 - First major tour for the band, switching from opening act to headliner at different gigs
May 2033 - Second album is released, touring there after
September 2036 - Third studio album is released, Cherish the Pain, album becomes a sensation in the rock scene
2038 - after several strings of murders, and NC naming a new serial killer, Sami contacts Valor thanking him for his warning nearly 10 years ago about Umbra.
February 2040 - Fourth album is released
August 2045 - Valor returns to work with Lazarus, back into solo work, mainly preforming counter extractions.
November 2046 - Attempted counter extraction comes too late, Valor calls in the body only to be confronted with Umbra as he attempts to exit the scene. Conversation was not recorded, both men left unharmed.
March 17 2049 - Glory Rzeszutek is murdered several blocks from her home, during an attempted robbery. Trauma is unable to revive her, information regarding her death is forwarded out to Valor there after.
March 23 2049 - Valor is switched from ops being put back on leave to manage his sister's affairs. He is the sole beneficiary to her estate, inheriting her wealth and stock with Liive, overnight making him a multi-billionaire and part of the Vegas elite.
April 2049 - dealing with the loss of his twin sister, Valor begins to go through a deep pit of depression. Having dealt with loss before, Solo career wasn't uncommon to lose friends, this however was different. Depression began to manifest into visual and audio hallucinations, making work nearly impossible to do
May 2049 - Jan 2050 - Valor is in and out of court and legal hearings in regards to his inheritance and the remainder of his sister's estate. Interviews running like its a celebratory thing gaining this wealth, truth being he just wants to get back to work. Ending result 75% of the wealth is locked in accounts and will not be released for another 20+ years.
February 2050 - Valor once again returns to work with Lazarus taking on smaller gigs for a time. Still dealing with his own mental state, he refuses to take on anymore large gigs.
July 2051 - Contract comes in for a security gig, easy job, 24/7 body detail for 1 year on tour. Contract is immediately pushed forward to Valor who accepts, only during briefing for the gig find out its for Kerry Eurodyne.
July 2052 - contract concluded with the tour a benefits relationship starts between Kerry and Valor. Valor opting to stay in NC for a few months extra on a "private" contract with the Rockerboy.
September 2054 - Kerry once again hires Valor as security for a shorter tour, media events for new album put on by his label.
2057 - Rumors start to surface that Umbra has been decommissioned amongst a small group of extractors, Sami brings up that Arasaka is keeping it quiet because he was the NC Gallery Killer and that is not a PR mess any company wants to deal with. All traces of him have been scrubbed from their databanks.
2058 - Valor receives a token from the Nomad group The Veils, and invitation to join them. Having heard rumors of the group, he's hesitant to act, even more so to inform anyone.
June 2059 - Valor retires from Lazarus and takes up the offering on The Veils token, following it out into the desert.
2060 - He is officially accepted into the clan, given a title by Azera and branded as part of them with his unique code. Beginning of a new life.
2067 - Valor begins spending more time at the Edges of Silence, a bleak stretch of dead desert where nothing grows. The clan believes the desert out there will either consume or the spirits will direct. Something keeps calling him back whenever he is close.
August 2074 - The choice is made to continue heading out West, follow the signs and see if he can make sense of the visions and voices. Gifted passage and return by Azera it is not a final goodbye from the clan.
2075 - Settled into NC, doesn't take long for his reputation to catch up with him, starts taking on independent Solo gigs. Quickly climbing up the chain and becoming a regular at the Afterlife, a gifted work horse for Rogue, but one she knows will get any job done.
2077 - Happens, that was a thing... yeah.
January 2078 - Valor and Kerry make the trip back out to The Veils, after a trial devoted to loyalty, Azera decides to spare them both, attempting to save Valor from the effects of the Relic.
May 2078 - Finally wakes back up, and on the recovery as his vitals have evened out and a sense of normalcy is restored. Though some side effects of the Relic cannot be reverted in his current body, he has his life with no threat of a imminent collapse.
#cp77 valor#cyberpunk oc#oc timeline#cyberpunk 2077#cp2077#i hope this makes some sense to someone who may care#i finally finished it to a point lol
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Inspired by @valdomarx, @therogueheart, and that one anon, here’s a post-mountain Deaf!Jaskier story. Read it under the cut below or find it on my ao3 here.
Geralt stumbled upon Jaskier for the first time since the dragon hunt early the next spring, at a crowded market a week or two northeast of Oxenfurt. He'd stopped into town to stock up on supplies and maybe pick up a contract or two before moving along. If asked, he'd insist it was a series of hunts that brought him so close to the Academy, that he might as well follow the coin. And if he happened to run into his bard (ex-bard?), and happened to have the opportunity to apologize, and the bard happened to choose to follow him again? Well, so be it.
He smelled Jaskier before he could see him, head perking up and eyes searching the crowd for the flash of a colorful doublet and that soft brown hair. The market was teeming, thrumming with chatter, and just as vivacious as Jaskier himself.
"You goin' ta buy that or not?" The stall keeper asked, jarring him back to his abandoned transaction. He dropped a few coins on the stall, pocketed the herb, and disappeared without so much as a grunt. Weaving through the throngs of people, he relied on smell - on that familiar chamomile and saffron - until he finally spotted a glint of emerald green, and the strap of a lute. He watched from a distance.
Jaskier's hands were flashing about as dramatic as ever, glancing back and forth between the balding man tending the stall and another man standing beside him. His companion was as flamboyant as he was, dressed in a regal blue and arms waving about just as exaggeratedly. But then Geralt realized he couldn't hear Jaskier, which was unusual, because the bard had never in the two decades he'd known him been able to keep his voice down. The crowd was certainly cacophonous, but not that loud.
"Jaskier?" He drew a little closer and called his name tentatively. The bard didn't seem to react, carrying on with whatever he was doing. He tried again, a little louder, and then a third time, increasingly forcefully. He was getting irritated now - how dare he pretend to not hear me - and was tempted to simply move on. With a heavy sigh, he approached even further, lingering just a few paces behind him. "Jaskier?"
"Think someone's calling you," the stall keeper announced, jerking his head in Geralt's direction, and Jaskier waved his hands again before turning to follow the man's gaze. He blanched when his eyes finally met Geralt's, mouth hung open and hands dropping to his side.
"Geralt?" He squeaked out finally, dragging a hand up to his heart. There was an unusual quality to his voice, Geralt was quick to note. Not hoarse, like he'd heard him after many a late-night performance. Just different.
"Jaskier," he repeated, casting his gaze down to the russet dirt at his feet.
"Gods," Jaskier breathed. "Just - melitele's tits - I just…" He trailed off, wringing his hands together. Geralt couldn’t help but think he looked like one of the stray fawns that would occasionally stumble upon his campsite and linger frozen for a few moments, cast in the firelight and trembling with fear.
"It's okay, I know." He kept his eyes trained at his feet, trying to pin down the bard’s tone. The way Jaskier produced certain sounds, dragged over his vowels, a little bit of its usual edge missing. He must be overwhelmed, Geralt concluded, but he wasn't particularly convinced. "I'm sorry." He waited patiently, uncertainly, for either his acceptance or rejection.
"I need you to look at me," he said instead, surprising Geralt. He did as he was told, lifting his chin to face him. "Can you repeat that?"
"I'm sorry," he reiterated. He felt frustration welling again - he got his apology, does he really need me to repeat it? - but he quickly quashed it.
"Thank you, Geralt." He could see the emotion brimming in Jaskier's eyes. "We have a lot of catching up to do." Jaskier glanced sideways for a moment, fidgeting with one of his rings. "Perhaps we could share a drink? There's a tavern not far from here." He jerked his head to the right. Geralt grunted, and Jaskier raised an expectant eyebrow.
"Sounds good," he clarified. He was becoming increasingly convinced that Jaskier was toying with him for pleasure's sake. He knew full well how to interpret the Witcher's grunts, after all. And yet the expression drawn across his face looked impressively genuine. Humans are weird.
Jaskier uttered his thanks to the stall keeper and turned to face his companion - who'd been waiting patiently behind him - again. He wagged his hands about wordlessly, and it finally dawned on Geralt that this was not his usual theatricality - this was common sign language, and he wondered when exactly Jaskier had picked it up.
Jaskier was quiet most of the way to the tavern but seemed to perk up once they were seated - in the far back corner, Jaskier's choice. Geralt spoke first, determined to get this apology over with and behind him.
"I'm sorry about what happened." Jaskier tilted his head as he listened, chin resting on folded hands. "What I said was wrong. I shouldn't have blamed you, and…" he exhaled sharply, as if apologizing - or, more specifically, being honest and vulnerable - caused him actual pain. "The best blessing life has given me is finding you again." Jaskier's head tilted impossibly further, and then came the tears, and - fuck - did Geralt say the wrong thing?
"That's awfully sweet, Geralt," Jaskier eventually choked out, and he relaxed a little. "I'm sorry, I just--" He dragged a hand across his face. "That was so kind." He sniffled into his sleeve before finally re-righting himself. "I guess I'm just a tad sentimental." Geralt forced the best smile he could manage across his lips. "Gods, it's been so long. Go on, tell me everything you've been up to."
"Not much," he replied between sips of ale. "I'll tell you everything later." He chided himself as soon as the words left his mouth for just assuming there might be a later. "How have you been?"
"Hmm?" He sighed, fighting hard to keep from rolling his eyes.
"How have you been?" Jaskier seemed to spark to life again at this.
"Oh," he said simply, pushing his hair behind his ear and chewing on his lip. "Well, I returned to Oxenfurt, taught for the winter. I just headed out, actually. I've been a bit preoccupied." He leaned in closer, stared past Geralt at the wall behind him. "I, uhh, I got sick, coming down from the mountain." Geralt hummed, drawing a slow sip of his ale. "I mean, I kinda woke up sick, but then there was the dragon and…" He rubbed his thumb against the rough wood of the table. "Well, I was a little distracted. I don't even really remember making it off the mountain, to be honest."
"I'm sorry I didn't notice." Geralt might as well get all his apologies over with at this point, he thought. Jaskier waved a hand to hush him.
"I woke up at a healer's. Apparently someone had found me not far out of town and dragged me in." He let out a shaky exhale. "He said I'd had an infection in… In my brain." Geralt watched him with a sour mix of pity and regret, unable to shake the feeling that he should've been there. The image of Jaskier, waxy pale and slumped unconscious, trembling in a stranger’s arms, burned into his mind. "Anyway, I'm lucky I survived. But my hearing did not." Oh. Fuck. Suddenly the pieces slid into place - the sign language, the strange quality to his voice, the incessant requests for Geralt to repeat himself.
"Fuck, Jask, I'm sorry." He rarely shortened Jaskier's name, but he knew the bard liked the nickname, and it was the least he could do for him. His mind reeled with regret. He should've been there. A random stranger shouldn't have been the one to find him and rescue him. If he'd known, he'd have never - no. No, what he did was wrong outside of the context of what'd happened next, and he was not about to qualify it. Jaskier, for his part, seemed relatively unfazed.
"Nothing you could've done about it, really," he insisted, running his finger along the rim of his glass. "The healer said I just needed to fight it off on my own." This did absolutely fuck all to ease the guilt gnawing in Geralt's gut. Questions swirled in his head - how was Jaskier going to sing or play anymore? Could he still compose even? How was he going to survive; that was how he procured coin, after all? Was he… was he happy? Did he blame Geralt?
"I know, I just… can you still sing?" This question seemed to amuse Jaskier, who laughed heartily.
"Yes, Geralt, I can still deliver my fillingless pie." Geralt couldn't tell if he was serious or not, and while he used to be able to read his voice a little more consistently, he was unsure now and kicking himself for not making a better study of the bard's facial expressions and body language when they'd been together.
"You know I didn't…"
"I know. I know you didn't mean that." They sat in silence for a beat while Geralt wracked his brain for his next question.
"How? Do you sing, I mean, if you can't hear. How are you even talking to me?" He shrunk behind his tankard, suddenly embarrassed by the utter lack of tact that'd never bothered him before.
"Well, one of the perks of teaching at a premier Academy is access to some of the finest physicians this side of Nilfgaard. I'll be honest, it took a lot of work to relearn how to sing and speak; I was mute for most of my travels back to Oxenfurt, mostly out of shame." Geralt's stomach churned, imagining Jaskier entirely and utterly silent. That wasn't the bard he knew. His Jaskier never shut up, mouth constantly running faster than a horse, always a story to tell or a song to share or a joke to crack. And certainly never worried about whether anyone else wanted or needed to hear him. Jaskier was not quiet. "But fortunately I still have a tiny bit of my hearing - on the lower end, mostly, which is good for you. Plus I have decades of muscle memory, so it wasn't so bad. And as for right now? I'm mostly lipreading, though the pitch of your voice is helpful." Geralt couldn't tell whether he was being genuine or just trying to placate him. "It's just different. Have to feel it more than hear it, which if you ask me more musicians should try."
"I'm glad," Geralt gritted out, nodding at the bartender to bring another round of ale. "That you can still sing." Jaskier beamed.
"I knew you always liked my singing," he declared triumphantly, arms folded across his chest.
"Did you already know common sign?" Geralt asked instead of retorting with something snarky; let the bard have his victory.
"A tiny bit, but the language professor at the Academy was fantastic at teaching me." Geralt closed his eyes and tried to envision the odds and ends of common sign he'd picked up over his years of travel. "I made a lot of Deaf friends; they've been so supportive of me." With a sigh, Geralt decided to give it a try.
"I know a little," he signed, tentative and deliberate. Jaskier's eyes lit up.
"You do?" He signed back, eyebrows raised and grin spread across his face.
"Not much. I can…" His hands slowed, wracking his brain for the sign for learn. He sighed again and said it aloud instead. There he goes again, assuming Jaskier will stick around long enough to warrant learning more. Jaskier teared up again, and he cursed inwardly, wondering for what must've been the trillionth time that afternoon if he'd messed up.
"You'd do that? For me?" Jaskier squeaked, pawing at his eyes with a hand tucked in his sleeve.
"Of course." For a moment Jaskier looked like he might fling himself across the table and into his arms, but instead he fidgeted in his seat.
"That's enough about me now, isn't it?" Jaskier asked, always a master at changing the topic when he grew bored with it. "Tell me about your hunts." He leaned over, fished around in his pack, and plucked out his notebook and pen.
"First was an infestation of drowners," Geralt began, taking extra care to face Jaskier as he spoke, and pausing when he went to scribble something in his notes. They spent the next hour like this until, just as Geralt was beginning to wonder if the bard was going to force him to talk all night, Jaskier was tugged to the front of the tavern while excited patrons clamored for a performance. Jaskier obliged, as always, and Geralt watched, as always.
When Jaskier dropped back into his seat, shuffling his lute unceremoniously to the floor beside him, Geralt expected him to bid him a hurried goodnight, get on his way, and leave. Just a nice day catching up shared between two friends (?), and decidedly not the start of their next joint adventure. But instead of any of that, Jaskier called to the bartender for another mug, busied himself fixing his hair and his doublet.
"Told you I could still sing," he said with a wink as the bartender deposited his ale on the table in front of him. "And something to eat, please," he added before returning his attention to Geralt.
"I never doubted you," Geralt's reply came easily. It was, perhaps, the truth.
"Now then, would you say it has more or less filling now?" He leaned forward on his elbows, cheeky grin and narrowed eyes, and even Geralt could recognize the facetiousness of his words. Before Geralt could answer, he waved a hand, as if dismissing himself. "So, where were you? Something about a missing cow?" Geralt nodded, leaning back in his seat.
"So the boy told me his father would pay me, if I could find the cow. So I said, 'how much?'" He continued on with his tales, no matter how excruciatingly mundane they felt to him, until Jaskier's head dips forward and then picks back up for a third time. "Think it might be time for you to get some sleep?" He asked, and Jaskier blinked away the sleep in his eyes.
"Yeah, probably," he muttered, scrubbing at his face with one hand, the other dipping down to reach his lute. "Are you staying overnight?" He asked, and immediately flushed at the confused look he received from Geralt. "I just mean… I don't… you can't leave before I get to say hi to Roach."
"It's too dark now. I'll get a room at the inn." Jaskier’s face lit up, and he followed him in rising to his feet. "Just have to grab Roach first," he said when they finally made it out the door and into the cool early-spring night.
"M'kay," Jaskier hummed with a fond smile. He rested a hand on Geralt's shoulder. "I'll see you in the morning." It was a firm statement, certain and unquestioning.
"See you then," Geralt replied, heading back to the stable where he'd docked Roach so he could bring her closer to the inn. And he, too, was certain.
#the witcher#the witcher fanfic#the witcher fanfiction#geralt#geralt of rivia#jaskier#dandelion#julian alfred pankratz#henry cavill#joey batey#mountain breakup#deaf jaskier#deaf character#fanfiction#the witcher netflix#ao3
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Cold Snap: Chapter 3
I forgot how much I enjoy writing Anna and Carl’s relationship. We get to revist them the morning after their fun. Hope you all enjoy it too.
Chapter 1| Chapter 2|
Anna was already awake, a smile on her face as she watched the screen of the monitor on the bedside table. She let herself slip into the memories of last night. It was almost like a dream. Everything she had imagined and more. She shifted a little, sliding a hand from beneath the pillow, down to her chest. The monitor picked up the increase in heart rate as her fingers brushed across the foam backing of one of the AEDs pad that were still stuck to her skin.
She felt Carl stirring beside her and a few moments later the groaned a little as he rolled over. She felt his warm chest settle against her back, his arm wrapping over her, finding the hand that was brushing the pads. His fingers aligned over hers, and together they traced around the electrode with their fingertips.
"I knew there was something we forgot to clean up..." He commented, his voice rumbling through his chest into her spine. It sent tingles through her.
"I'm glad we did." She replied, guiding his hand across her chest, circling around her breast and down to the other pad.
"Hmm..." Carl grunted in satisfaction, then he shifted again sitting up slightly and leaning over her. Anna felt a slight tug on the wire of the pads. "Could have done without sleeping on this though." He said, dangling the hard plastic connector in front.
Anna winced, rolling to look up at him. "Sorry." She had to suppress a slight giggle, at the way he raised his eyebrows.
"That's it? Just sorry?" His tone was light an playful. "I think it's going to take a little more than sorry."
She pulled him down for a kiss, soft and gentle and still breathtaking. "Good enough?" She whispered when they broke apart.
He looked thoughtful for a moment. "It's a start at least. I'll have to think about ways for you to make it up to me." He told her, before he rolled onto his back, stretching out his arms. "I suppose we should get up."
"Do we have too?" Anna moaned, pulling herself up to sit against the headboard. "Neither of us are working. We could just stay here, enjoy ourselves for the day. Play with some of the other toys..." She suggested, looking at him in what she hoped was an alluring way.
Carl looked at her, his hand reaching up to brush some of her sleep-messed hair out of her face. "You have no idea how tempting that sounds." He told her, his finger looping over her ear then running down her jaw. "But the fridge is almost empty. So I was thinking we could go the market, stock up, and maybe head to your place."
"My place? Why?" She asked, thinking about her own dreary apartment. Cramped, dull and lacking that heavenly cupboard of her dreams.
"Well, erm. I know we didn't actually get around to announcing...us. But I figured if you were ready for that, you would maybe want to... move in here more... permanently." Carl said, that nervousness she had seen a few days ago coming back. He really did love her.
She leaned over and kissed him, deeply. For almost a minute they were totally connected, breathing each other in. It natural came to an end, both of them a little breathless. "That's a yes by the way." Anna whispered, before pulling away.
Carl grinned. "Great." He whispered back, then swung his legs out of the bed. "I'll put the kettle on, if you want to..." He waved at the electrodes, ECG and AED, that covered much of her chest.
Anna chuckled, and nodded, then had to stifle a cringing gasp when Carl stood up. A large red mark from the AED connector stood out like a brand on his side. She couldn't help but giggle. "Sorry again."
"Oh...You will be....You will be...." he replied with a low grating voice.
"Seriously? A Yoda reference? Nerd." She told him.
"And yet you knew it instantly. So who is really the nerd?" He countered, slipping out of the room before she could retort. Anna rolled her eyes, yet couldn't help but smile as she began to peel off the electrodes. She was slowly peeling off the AED pads, when she heard Carl's phone ring in the other room. She didn't think too much of it, but a few moments later, her own began to sound. She ripped off the pad, cringing slightly, then looked around for her bag, spying it on the stool in the corner.
She had to step over the CPR board and other leftovers from last night, grabbing the bag and pulling out her handset. She looked at the name. It was Sara, one of her co-workers. She answered.
"I'm sorry Anna, I know its your day off, but they're calling in everyone. You'd better check the news."
* * *
The explosion made the entire boat buck, sending everyone left on the deck sprawling, a plume of fire ballooning into the sky. Shouts and screams rang out, as panic began to take hold. Jones couldn't let that happen. He winced as he pulled himself to his feet. With a glance to one side he noted that at least the injured had managed to get onto that patrol boat before the explosion.
"Get everyone onto the boats. Now!" He shouted at the nearby officers who had regained their feet. As he walked over to that first patrol boat he staggered a touch, the deck pitching up slightly as the rear of the boat took on water. He peered over the side, relieved to see that everyone was ok. "Cast off, now, carry on as planned." He ordered, then signaled a different boat to take its place. The other officers were marshalling the remaining passengers, getting them organised and ready for a much quicker exit. It seemed to have stopped the panic before it could cause any problems. Which was just as well, he had more than enough already.
He turned and looked around for that Paramedic. Lucy Branthwaite he reminded himself. She was kneeling down, and he saw blood on the deck. He started to rush over, concerned for her safety, before he noticed that she was crouched over another figure. One he didn't recognise from earlier. He braced himself on the cabin as he leaned over, taking a quick look. The young man had a badly broken arm, and a nasty cut to his head.
"Miss Branthwaite," he tried to get her attention, but her focus was on the young mans arm as she flicked a penlight across his eyes. "Lucy! You both need to get off the boat. Right now."
Lucy shook her head. "I need to splint this arm before we even try and lower him down." She replied, turning and reaching out for one of her bags. As she pulled it closer and started to open it up the young man stirred, then started to get up. "Woah! Woah. Hold him!" She shouted at Jones. "You need to stay still okay. You're going to be fine. Just stay still."
The young mans eyes seemed glazed, roaming between Jones and Lucy, then the suddenly snap into focus, and he started to say something. It was hard to hear over all the other sounds as police officers tried to evacuate all the passengers. Both Jones and Lucy leaned closer. "Help her. Please help her." The young man was crying, desperate, afraid.
"Help who?" Lucy asked. "Who are you talking about sweetie?"
"Sh...Shona. Please help Shona." He mumbled.
Another passenger, another casualty, Jones thought. "Where is she? Why didn't see come with you?" He asked.
"Luggage...Trapped...Couldn't help her...Please." He sobbed. "Please..."
Jones looked at Lucy, both knowing what it meant. There was someone else, injured and trapped. At the end of the boat that was rapidly filling with icy river water, water that would soon drag the entire boat under the surface of the river. There was no question about what must be done. "Get that splint on then get out of here." Jones told her, ignoring her half-hearted but obligatory protest as he turned to a nearby officer. "We've got another casualty. You're in charge. Get the passengers, then yourselves clear, Understood?" He didn't wait for an answer, turning for the door into the passenger cabin.
Lucy stood in his way. "Be careful." She told him.
Jones nodded. "Don't wait. You get clear, as soon as you can."
"Don't worry. Patients come first," She replied.
Jones headed through the door, sprinting up the steps, towards the half submerged rear of the boat, dreading what he might find.
* * *
Shona was still in the luggage area, watching the stairs, hoping to see rescue come for her, when the fuel tank exploded. The noise was like a physical wall, flattening her to the floor. The whole boat seemed to jump, giving a moment of weightlessness. That ended abruptly and prompted the heavy luggage to slam into her again. She screamed as her leg became little more than blinding pain. For an almost endless time, the pain was the entirety of her existence. Until she was pulled back to reality by something even worse
An icy, wet feeling running down her spine, and rapidly expanding.
She gasped as cold gripped her, her eyes snapping open to see the water rushing into the luggage compartment. Desperately she tried to move, her hands splashing in the water that was already rising. Her fingers instantly numbed, and her efforts got her nowhere. Her legs were still trapped, there was no escape.
"Help! Please help!" She screamed, her voice breaking into sobs as the cold began to encase her body. There was already two inches of water in the compartment, it was rising fast, way too fast. "Please..." She whimpered. The cold, pain and shear stress of her injuries became too much. The will to fight left her, her head fell back into the water, already above her ears.
Her breath shuddered as her body shivered, her temperature plummeting in the cold water of the river. Her eyes felt heavy. So heavy. Her head fell to one side, and she shot back to consciousness as water trickled into mouth and was pulled into her lungs. She sat up as much as she was able, her body acting almost entirely on reflex.
The water covered her legs now, which was actually almost pleasant, the water stripping away all warmth but also all feeling, dulling the pain somewhat. There was less pressure on her too, as cases and bags gained a little buoyancy in the water. Not enough to let her free herself, but it no longer felt claustrophobic and crushing. In fact it was almost comfortable. Like a weighted blanket, without the warmth.
She let herself half float on the water as it rose, raising her up to a full sitting position. There was a strange feeling. It was almost like serenity. Even though she arched her neck, trying to keep her mouth out of the water, her panic was ebbing away. Her whole body was so numb that she felt nothing. No pain, no pressure. Even the actual feeling of cold had disappeared. All replaced with a feeling of peace and acceptance, even as the water slipped over her mouth, submerging her completely.
On instinct she held her breath as she descended into the water, all sounds being muted away except one. Her heart became loud in her ears, slowed by the rapid onset of hypothermia, each beat was like a drum, thumping out every couple of seconds. It picked up as her oxygen ran low, as her lungs couldn't hold her breath in any longer. She blew out a stream of bubbles, then drew in a lungful of chilled river water. Her body spasmed, trying to cough out the water, only to draw more in, leaving her trashing as much as she was able. All of this was automatic instinct alone.
In her mind, she still felt only peace, as her heart slowed once more. Each resounding thump carrying her off. Each thump taking her further, drifting closer to oblivion. With a soft, accepting smile on her face as she slipped away, Shona's heart beat one more, then came to a standstill.
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Tides of Renewal (SU one-shot)
Fandom: Steven Universe
Rating: T (Mild TW for vague allusions to past suicidal thoughts.)
Words: 2500~
Summary: Now twenty years old and living on the other side of the country, Steven spends his morning relaxing on the beach, musing about his past, and having a chat with his dad.
Hi folks! This is actually my two-months-late “Happy Birthday, Steven” fic, ahah- amusingly, posted two months late to the day. I’m quite happy with how this short turned out.
If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3 as well. AO3 link will be provided in the reblogs. Thank you! <3
____
Tides of Renewal
Steven rises alongside the sun, but not by choice.
As he abruptly stirs, jerking onto his side under his tangled blanket, he soon realizes that he has little lingering memory of the nightmare that shook him from his slumber. Nevertheless, his heart pounds so hard it feels like it’s hanging in his throat. There’s feelings, faint impressions— someone’s blood (his, or hers?), Connie’s screams, a bubble of terror boiling from within— but that’s all he’s left with. The young man clutches at his sheets, struggling to catch his breath as is the norm most mornings. Dim light sneaks in between the edges of the curtains, offering a rough estimate of the time.
Once it’s clear his chances of sleeping in have become null and void, he entices himself out of bed with the promise of buying himself a muffin at the local coffee shop later today, a birthday treat. His routine is sluggish, but precise. He uses the bathroom, throws on his swim trunks and a thin cotton shirt, downs the pills he forgot to take last night with a quick swig of water, carefully runs his fingers through his long curls to work out the tangles, and slips his feet into the flip flops he always leaves lying right at the foot of his bed.
The young adult only takes his guitar, phone, and keys with him as he walks the mile distance from his humble studio apartment to the public beach. Around him, the world is at peace. The only sound intermingling with the gentle ebb and flow of the Pacific at this hour of the morning is the chattering of puffins that nest on the large rock outcroppings in the tide pools nearby. The edge of his lip quirks up when he finally crosses that sacred boundary— the sidewalk meeting the shore— and removes his sandals, reveling in the satisfying, grainy texture of sand squishing between his toes. Hah... the beach. Funny, that. All his traveling these past years, from mountains, to prairies, to sprawling suburbs to wooded forest towns, and it only succeeded in deepening his childhood love for the familiarity of saltwater air and tourist-filled boardwalks. Still, the secluded, rustic charm of Haystack Cove is a far cry from the Beach City he grew up in. Different people, different sights, different types of seafood sold at the markets. This place feels like a home all his own, appropriately distant from the Gem influenced settlement he’d left behind.
He crosses the fine grained sands towards his favorite sitting spot, a hefty stone jutting out from the ground, its surface buffed to a glossy finish over the years by the high tides. The water’s still distant this early in the morning, glimmers of sunlight sparkling off of the foam and spray. Yawning, he plops himself down on the stone and lifts his guitar into his lap. He strums a few random chords as a warm-up before settling into an experimental melodic sequence.
As he plays, the early morning breeze teases at the ends of his shoulder-length hair, untied and let free in all its curly splendor. It’s still quite chilly, but with the sun peaking over the horizon behind him and not a cloud in sight, the air’s bound to heat up in no time. Steven inhales deeply, soaking in the salt and light and pushing away the shadows lurking at the periphery of his mind, that twitching, exhausting anxiety that never quite seems to leave him alone these days. Unfortunately, functional does not mean carefree. While far fewer in number then when he was a teen, he still runs into plenty of moments where he’s struck blind by particularly painful reminders of his past, his gem snapping into overdrive in an instant. He’s a bit better at coping in these moments now, and walking himself down from panic attacks, but deep-rooted traumas don’t simply melt away. With that in mind, at this point he suspects he’ll likely have to deal with a mixture of therapy and meds for the rest of his life. That’s fine, though. If that’s what it takes to be at peace. He’s thankfully reached a point in his recovery where he’s more than willing to work for it.
Startling him out of his roaming thoughts, his phone chimes to life, touting the same cheery ring tone he had as a kid. He gently sets his guitar down in the sand and fishes his cell phone out of his pocket, a silent bet as to who’s calling rising within his mind. Sure enough, his dad’s contact photo proudly greets him. Hah— he called it. Steven stifles a giggle as he hits accept and lifts the phone to his ear.
“Hey, Dad!”
“Hey, Schtu-ball!” his father chimes from the other side of the country, three hours ahead. He hears a faint shuffle over the line, and then the beginnings of guitar accompaniment as the man begins to sing:
“Happy birthday to you~!”
Dad ends the line with a resounding vibrato, and a few extra jazzy chords for good measure.
“Heh heh, thanks,” he says, bashfully blushing at the attention, and gazing across the loose sands as if ensuring the secret of his birth hasn’t swelled into a nauseatingly public affair like half of his birthdays had since the start of Era 3. “Gotta say, the impromptu guitar solo pushed that to a whole new level. You just get up?”
“Yep! Bright and early. Garnet said you’d probably be awake by now, so I figured I’d call and give ya’ a good greeting to start the day. Lemme guess, you’re down there at the beach already? I think I heard waves.”
Steven’s glance lifts to admire the slowly rising tides, and the promise of each tomorrow that lies beyond. “Hah, you know me,” he says softly, taking a deep lungful of that precious salt-touched air he’s always adored. “I live for the water. Might force myself to go for a swim later before all of you come. Not sure yet,” he says, shrugging as he turns and squints in the wake of the steadily rising sun. “But my therapist said I should probably keep as active as po—“
“It’s your birthday. You do whatever makes you happy, bud,” his dad promptly reminds him, slight concern sticking to his voice. And yes, it’s practically a father’s job to worry, but his chest tightens with lingering guilt for pressing that upon him anyways. Ugh, this is because he said ‘force myself,’ isn’t it?
“Doing my best to,” he lamely offers, hoping it’ll at least end that segment of conversation. He twirls a stray strand of hair around his finger as he scours his memory for something new to offer. Thankfully, his mind quickly lands on the exciting email he received last night. He grins, knowing for sure his dad’ll love this. “Oh, uh- topic change, but I got that last job I applied for, by the way.”
“Oh? The taffy shop one?”
“Yeah! I start on Tuesday.”
“Wow, that’s- that’s awesome! They responded fast, then.”
“Yup,” Steven nods, popping the ‘p.’ “Honestly, it’s nothing much, just stocking and working the register, but it’ll give me some cash to work with.”
Some cash to finally pay for his own food instead of continuously bumming money off his dad. There’s no way he can handle full month’s rent on his own with this minimum wage job, (who on Earth could in this economy), but it might be enough to cover the smaller things. Groceries, electricity, internet. That sorta stuff. Fidgeting on the edge of the stone outcropping, his bare toes dig narrow lines in the sand. He hasn’t really had this discussion with Dad yet, but the mere concept of being wholly reliant on other people steers his mind uncomfortably close to the I’m a Burden Zone. He’d far prefer to feel like he has a stake in the game.
“I know you said you don’t mind supporting me,” he continues in a hesitant tone, twirling his finger through one of his curls, “but I still feel kinda bad—“
“Don’t. I’d rather you not have to stress yourself to the bone about money like I did when I was your age.”
The line shakes for a second. He’s pretty sure he hears the faint clink of a bowl meeting the counter from his dad’s side.
“Dad...?”
“Sorry, bud. Just putting ya’ on speaker. Figured I’d make myself some instant oatmeal,” he says, his voice sounding a bit further away from the microphone. “Goodness, though. Twenty years. That still boggles the mind.”
He gives a soft laugh. “You’re telling me. Could’ve sworn I was twelve just yesterday. And to be honest, it’s... it’s kinda weird sometimes, you know?”
“What is?”
“Being another year older. ‘Cause... well, uh...”
Steven grits his teeth, searching for the most delicate manner in which he can discuss these emotions. The feelings of his past are a really hard topic to dwell on sometimes, even in therapy, and even though he and his dad have long since had scattered discussions about what a poor mental state he was in then, he doesn’t wanna upset him too much.
“There were definitely days I assumed I wouldn’t have a future, or didn’t want one to begin with,” he continues, throat thick. “Back during all the conflict, before Homeworld reformed. And even after that, when I was... you know. And things are better, now, they’re definitely a lot better. But the idea of a ‘future’... even if I’ve got a job, a home, a girlfriend... it’s still weird to think about, I guess.“
There’s a brief silence on the line as this vulnerable admission sinks in.
“Yeah,” Dad replies eventually, clear sorrow in his voice despite how careful he thought he was in phrasing these matters. “I hear ya’.”
With a quick nervous laugh, he scratches at the nape of his neck, fingertips brushing against the thin, wispy strands of hair growing back there. “Geeze, sorry for bringing the mood down so quick. Didn’t even know I had all that on my mind until it spilled right out.”
“No, no! No need for apologies, I’m always here to listen. And in any case, I’m glad you’re in a better place now.”
Steven nods his head to himself in full agreement (momentarily forgetting that his dad isn’t actually here in the flesh to see this response). Sixteen and seventeen really, really weren’t good years for him. And even though he’s put lot of work into himself since then, he can’t help but constantly fear the possibility of relapse. His therapist told him a few sessions ago when he expressed this worry that... relapses into old thinking patterns can be common for people living with C-PSTD, and that it’s important for him to be cognizant of any unusual changes in his patterns and routines so he can quickly intervene with his box of healthy coping tactics, but... geeze. The dark, traumatic destinations his wandering thoughts end up stagnating in when the concept of relapse brushes his mind aren’t fun to acknowledge. It makes him yearn with deafening hunger for a simple switch he could flip, some magic cure-all for his brain that would stop him from having to deal with any of this awful shit in the first place— but of course, cruel universe this can be at times, those don’t exist.
“Speaking of that,” Dad speaks up again after clearing his throat, “how are those new meds treating you? You said last call your doctor was gonna change them, yes?”
“Nah, not change. There’s no need to change types,” he shrugs. “It’s just a dosage shift. And it’s fine, I think. I’ve been on ‘em for a few days, and there’s no problems so far. Brain's been treating me a little better.”
Nightmares aren’t quite as bad.
His energy isn’t totally zapped by noon.
The whirling, panicked trajectory of his thought patterns is a little easier to wrest control of.
All in all, nothing’s perfect, but he certainly feels a good deal more stable than before. Now, if only he can remember to consistently take his meds before he goes to bed like he’s supposed to instead of totally forgetting like he did last night and having to scarf it down when he sees that forsaken capsule in his pill box the next morning. Tsk, tsk.
“That’s real good to hear,” his dad responds to his news.
He flexes his knuckles against his lap, gaze reflexively drifting back towards the welcomed distraction of the tides. “Yeah.”
“Anyways, I, uh...”
“So, party logistics,” he cuts in with an overly cheery tone, changing the topic from his boring mental health crap entirely. “We should probably hash this out now. I know Connie’s planning on dropping around about noon. What’s your guys’ plan? She can probably send Lion to you after she gets here, if you want.”
“Yeah, that’d be best. Pearl said there weren’t any convenient warps nearby. Well, there’s one- but apparently it empties out into an active lava tube. And that’s not exactly Dad-friendly.”
“Aww, you mean you’re not filled with the intense desire to dip your hand into molten lava and shlorp it up like it’s soup?” Steven retorts, only barely holding back his laughter as he thinks of this absurd text thread he had going with Connie a few weeks back, wherein she sent him a video of some volcanic flows and told him, verbatim, that 'despite all logic and reason sometimes I can’t help but look at super viscous lava and think... forbidden s o u p, mmmm.’
“Not particularly, no,” his dad says, sounding thoroughly confused. “I’m- why are you laughing? Is this some sort of weird internet thing I’m not familiar with again?”
He wipes tears from his eyes as he tries to catch his breath. “You, ah- you kinda had to be there, sorry. Anyways, yeah. I’ll have Connie send Lion. I’ll text you right before, how’s that?”
“Sounds great! Can’t wait to see ya’, bud. I’m gonna let you go, now, okay? I can talk your ears off later. Go enjoy your morning. Love you.”
“Love you too, Dad,” he says, grinning. “Bye.”
“Buh-bye.”
Once his dad hangs up he sets his phone beside him on the rock and takes a deep, steady breath, trying to capture the full nuance of each diverse scent in the air. He may just be imagining it, but he swears he’s able to pick out the faint scent of taffy intermingling with the ocean saltiness and the hint of cedar from the nearby state forest. In the end though, whether it’s real or not it’s a welcomed reminder of all the possibility the future holds for him.
He’s twenty now. It’s a brand new decade of life. He’s got a new job lined up, a stable and loving relationship, a supportive family, and plenty of courage in facing the shadows of his past. Sure, so maybe he’ll never know with certainty what will happen— maybe he’ll relapse a little, maybe he’ll still have some bad days sprinkled amongst the good ones— but as he watches the tides flow in to greet him, he smiles... and resolves to just take this year as a renewal of his vow to care for himself as best he can.
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BASICALLY its about tony showing his love through food sorry that was really long
okay so i had this idea, and im really swamped with work so im passing it over to you: tony associates caring and love with food. when he was really young, he would sit on his mamma's hip, one of her arms around his tiny waist as she stirred with the other, and as he grew older and howard started demanding more of her attention (for this charity or that benefit); the only time tony and his mom spent together was in the kitchen together. 1/2)
years later, tony equates food to love. he cooks for the people he cares about. and then i lost the thread of the idea but it involves steve and tony and peter and tony cooking for steve and teaching peter recipes that he can later teach his kid (2/2)
Please enjoy 3k words of Tony in the kitchen; preparing meals for his husband and their friends, his&Steve’s adoption process, and then Tony’s legacy
*******
Spaghetti Bolognese
It was an affront to the meal. His Mama would kill him if she knew how he was preparing it.
It was the only meal she’d actually known how to cook and they had a weekly Thursday night dinner date in the kitchen when Howard worked late at the office. She’d carry him round on her hip when he was too small to see what she was preparing on the countertops and, when he’d grown a little taller, sit him in pride of place to sound out every word of the passed-down recipe written in her mother’s cursive handwriting.
Of course, Maria knew exactly what the recipe called for – which was a good job when Tony tripped over some of the measurements or skipped down a couple of lines by accident – but she let him play along until he was old enough to help her cook the actual meal itself.
It was definitely the thought that counted, Tony tried to tell himself as he stared down at the meagre ingredients in front of him. He had to work with what he had and what he had wasn’t much. The only tomatoes he’d had in his cupboards were the tinned kind, so the sauce wouldn’t be as good as his Mama’s when she used the fresh tomatoes from the farmer’s market they had to drive out of town for.
He’d only wanted to make something a little special for Steve. Their anniversary had been interrupted by a battle and they’d gone from a romantic meal at a five-star restaurant to suited up and locked in a fight with an alien invader. Given that they were meant to eat out, their kitchen wasn’t exactly stocked for cooking.
“Need a hand?”
Tony lifted his gaze from the two jars of dried herbs he’d been choosing between. Neither were particularly appealing so he was glad of a distraction. “I thought you were sleeping.”
“Woke up,” Steve said, stifling a yawn behind his hand as he wandered over to Tony. “Obviously.”
“Obviously,” Tony agreed with a roll of his eyes, a fond smile tugging at his lips. He turned back to the dried ingredients in front of him as he waved to the other side of the kitchen, eyes drawn to the way his ring caught the light. “You can chop whichever onion hasn’t gone off over there. I think there’s actually a part of the serum that means you won’t cry whilst you chop it.”
Steve huffed a laugh, trailing his hand over Tony’s hip as he passed him. “Pretty sure that’s not a thing.”
“Well, there’s only one way to find out. Dice it finely, please.”
Vegetable Soup
Vegetable soup was easy. Most soups were easy, really. Tony could make most of them with one hand. Chopping the vegetables was sometimes a little tricky with his arm in a sling, but he could stir the vat of broth easily.
After a battle, it was all that anyone needed. A few loaves of bread in the centre of the table and a mountain of pain relievers handed round with the crockery and they were set.
“Can I help?”
Tony looked up from the pot and over to Peter, hovering in the doorway with his arms wrapped round himself. He looked young, so much younger than he was. “You’re meant to be resting.”
“Couldn’t sleep. The pills hurt my head.”
“But they heal everything else.” Tony beckoned Peter over before he turned back to the stovetop. “How do you feel?”
“Like someone dropped a bus on me.”
“Been there. Grab a tomato and stop chopping.”
Peter did so wordlessly, shooting Tony a soft smile as he slid into a chair by the table. “What else do you want me to do?”
“A few peppers, if you’d like.”
“How thick?”
“Whatever you want.” Tony watched Peter out of the corner of his eye, the way that he winced when he reached for a fresh vegetable in the middle of the table and how he moved gingerly with his eyes narrowed into slits. “How bad is it?”
Peter sighed. He worked on carefully dicing his whole pepper before he spoke again. “Bad. I can’t go home. No one can see these injuries. They’re already questioning me and this will push them over the edge of kicking me out.”
“You’re already home,” Tony said lightly, concentrating on adding a few spices to his soup instead of looking back at Peter. He could feel eyes on the side of his face and fought the urge to turn with everything he had. “After we’ve eaten, I’ll show you the papers.”
The pot bubbled, loud in the otherwise silent room. Tony smiled down at it as he stirred in large circles, scraping the side of the vat where the sauce threatened to burn.
“I’d like that.” Peter sniffed a little and let out a muffled curse. “Well. I’m done with these. Can I help you make the bread?”
Rosemary Focaccia
Tony loved making his own bread. When he was a child, their cook would only let him in the kitchen if he promised to be calm and quiet and she’d quickly realised that one way to keep him like that was to prop him in front of an oven to stare at the bread as it rose.
The smell of yeast and the uncooked dough turned Tony’s stomach as he’d gotten older, but there was nothing better than the scent the bread produced when it started to bake. Fresh rosemary only added to that, or maybe even a few cloves of garlic mixed in with the dough.
Focaccia took a long time to knead and for the rising process to get done perfectly, but spending that long watching over it in the kitchen meant that Peter could sit at the breakfast bar to finish his homework and not be alone.
Peter hated being alone. They’d discovered that pretty quickly after he’d moved into the tower with the rest of the team and had all started going almost out of their way to ensure that Peter didn’t have to suffer by himself. It wasn’t exactly a hardship for Steve to sketch in the communal living room instead of his bedroom, or for Sam and Bucky to train on the mats in the middle of the gym whilst Peter ran laps around the edge to get out of his own head.
And if definitely wasn’t a problem for Tony to dig out the recipe books that had been sent to him after their cook had passed away and flick through them to find an old Italian favourite that would take him a good couple of hours to perfect.
Cookies
Cookies were a staple in Tony’s recipe book. There were many different varieties, so many tweaks that could be made to each batch to make a different cookie type for any occasion.
“–so that’s why Ned isn’t allowed into the theatre practice room anymore,” Peter said in-between bites of a pecan and chocolate chip cookie. “So we can’t go in to see Madison when she’s in there. We have to meet in the math rooms.”
Tony nodded along as though he’d understood any word Peter had been babbling on about. “Right.” He wasn’t sure what exactly he’d asked to prompt Peter’s longwinded explanation, but he didn’t mind the company.
“Oi, Spider-kid.”
Peter jumped comically at the voice from behind them and Tony shot an arm out to catch him before he fell off the breakfast bar he’d perched himself on. “Jeez, what – oh. Black Widow. Ma’am, I didn’t, I’m sorry, I–”
“Gym,” Natasha said, throwing a thumb over her shoulder to show where she wanted Peter to go. “Spar session. You’re ten minutes late.”
Peter’s eyes went wide and he scrambled for his phone, paling when he realised that he was, in fact, late. Tony couldn’t hide his amusement and snorted loudly, earning himself a dirty look from Peter and an unamused eyebrow raise from Natasha.
“And don’t think you’re getting out of it, either,” Natasha said to him. “Steve is already down there with Thor. They could do with a third. A mediator of sorts.”
“Oh, no.” Tony shot a faux-upset look towards Peter before grinning at Tash, “sorry, but these cookies just aren’t going to bake themselves, now, are they? Pete’s good for the job, though. Practical experience and all that.”
Peter’s glare was about as powerful as a newborn kitten’s, but it tugged at Tony’s heart nonetheless. Giving him a smile, Tony reached for the batch of raspberry cookies he had just pulled from the oven and counted out ten.
“A special treat,” he said, urging Peter off the breakfast bar and herding him in Natasha’s direction. Setting the cookies on a plate at his side, Tony winked at the kid. “For when you’re finished. You’ll need to get your sugar levels back up.”
Rigatoni Pasta Bake
The only difference between Tony’s preferred version of a pasta bake and the classic that Ana had taught him as a child was that his was a bit more adventurous. It served to make things just a little bit more exiting. Everything he did was done with a flair of the dramatics, so it made sense for cooking to follow the same lines.
Making his pasta bake was an excuse to throw everything in his cupboards into the mixture. A hundred different varieties of cheese for the topping, ground beef and sausages for the filling and whatever vegetables he found in the back of the fridge to make the meal just a tiny bit healthy. Tony loved to make it, loved to spend an entire afternoon shaping each piece of pasta if he really wanted to get out of his head. Experimenting with different sauces was his favourite – a tomato sauce for a rainy Sunday afternoon, a cheese sauce for an evening in front of the television, a mushroom and white wine sauce for a romantic evening in.
His pasta bake was the first meal he’d made when they’d finally adopted Peter, legally and truly. Maybe a small part of him had been wanting to show off, but Tony had really cared about making sure Peter had a real square meal. Something to help him recover from the small scrapes he’d gotten in his night-time brawls, to repair some of the damage of malnourishment from his previous home.
It was something so simple, but made with so much care.
Apple Pie
As stereotypical as it may have been, Steve loved apple pie. It had been something of a staple in his household when he’d been growing up and his mom had made it whenever they managed to get the fresh ingredients needed. Steve spoke so fondly of her hours in the kitchen, telling how he was often too ill and weak to do much more than sit at her side and watch, that sometimes Tony felt as though he’d been there too.
Sweet pastry wasn’t Tony’s favourite thing to make, so he chose to keep it for really special occasions. The sort of days where he wanted to spoil Steve a little, wanted to make him feel important and loved and all the things that Steve made Tony feel every day.
Tossing out the apple cores and scraps he’d collected on the side of his chopping board, Tony settled in to decorate his pie. He preferred the open-top approach, liking to cover his filling with thin slices of apple and a sprinkling of cinnamon and sugar instead of more pastry. Lost in thought, Tony startled when Steve wrapped his arms around Tony’s waist and pressed a kiss to his neck.
“Happy birthday,” Tony murmured as he fell back against Steve’s chest. “Wasn’t expecting you up just yet. Thought I tired you out last night.”
“Hm. You did a pretty good job, but the bed was empty. I don’t like it when the bed’s empty.”
“Sorry, darling. Wanted to make this for your birthday breakfast.”
Steve nosed at Tony’s shoulder, dropping kisses to the bare skin there. The first thing Tony had found on their bedroom floor when he’d woken at the crack of dawn was a workout shirt of Steve’s. Given its size, the material hung off Tony’s frame. It wasn’t practical, but it was cozy.
Sexy, as well, apparently, if the hardness pressing against his ass was anything to go by.
“Pie for breakfast?” Steve asked, hooking his chin over Tony’s shoulder as his hand shot out to snaffle a piece of apple floating in the bowl of warm water at Tony’s elbow. “How lucky am I?”
“Of course it’s pie for breakfast,” Tony said, hands working quickly to place the apple slices on the top of the very-nearly finished pie. He kicked at Steve’s ankle for punishment of the theft, but couldn’t find it in him to be too mean. “It’s not every day you turn four hundred and seventy-three.”
Standing as close as they were, Tony felt Steve’s laugh vibrate through him.
“Demon.”
“That’s me,” Tony replied happily, laughing with Steve and tilting his head to one side when Steve bit at his neck in retaliation. “Now, get off me, you brute. Let me stick this back in to brown.”
Moving back a fraction, Steve’s hands danced over Tony’s stomach. “How long do we have?”
Tony sighed happily when the pie was in, his eyes falling closed when Steve swapped from biting to sucking a deep bruise just above his pulse point. “Long enough.”
Indian Potato Pie
“Here, try this.”
Whatever Steve had been about to say was cut off by Tony shoving a forkful of potato-filled pastry in his mouth.
“Well? What do you think?”
Steve fanned his mouth. “I think it’s hot,” he said through the mouthful of crust. “Did you cook this with lava?”
“But what about the texture? The filling – do you think it needs more of a kick? I only put in a small amount of chilli flakes this time and a lot less ginger than I did before. I think I liked it better last time.”
“Tony,” Steve reached out and caught Tony’s hand, taking the fork from him before twisting their fingers together, “this pie is perfect. You’ve been making it since you were a child. You’ve perfected it so much you could make it in your sleep.”
“No,” Tony said dismissively, turning back to the counter and peering at the unbaked pie on the side. “I think it needs more salt. You can taste it in the crust. Let me just redo the pastry.”
Steve used his grip on Tony’s hand to pull Tony into his chest, wrapping his free arm around Tony’s waist to hold them close together. Tony gave up without a fight, his shoulders slumping as he rested his hand on Steve’s chest.
“Please stop worrying,” Steve whispered. “Replace the bit you shoved in my face and pop it in the oven. It’s going to be fine.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do.” Steve ducked his head and caught Tony’s lips in a sweet kiss. “I know you and I know our son. He wouldn’t be bringing someone home unless they were special to him. There’s no way we can scare them off. Not with a pie, at least.”
Tony Stark-Rogers’ Recipe Book
The book had taken him years to complete. Tony had started it as a young boy when Jarvis had bought him an empty journal for his fourth birthday. For the first few years of its existence, Tony had hidden it under his bed just in case Howard ever entered his room and caught sight of it.
Every page had been handwritten, carefully crafted letters spelling out the words of each recipe (and most of them had even been spelt right because Jarvis had helped him).
There were sections of his Mama’s recipes, the ones she’d passed down to him from her Mama and even her Mama’s Mama. Though Tony had never gotten to meet either of them them, he’d known even as a child that that was pretty important.
Ana Jarvis had a section as well, one with special Hungarian recipes that Tony had needed a lot of help to spell. He’d shown Ana one day, down in the kitchens. He’d pointed out all the best bits that he’d coloured in the colours of Hungary’s flag and Ana had started crying. Tony had been horrified and started tearing up himself before she promised him that he was a lovely little boy and she was crying because she was so very proud of him. Even as an adult, Tony remembered that he’d gotten a huge hug that night before bed and an extra special plate of lemon squares brought up to his room – made just for him!
As he’d gotten older and his book had gotten fuller, Tony had carefully moved it from journal to journal, cutting out pages and sticking them back into the next edition with slight amendments or scribbled changes to quantities. It was his pride and joy.
“You’re going to take care of this, aren’t you?”
The child stared at him with wide eyes, so big they were nearly popping out of their head. They didn’t speak a word, but their head just about wobbled off with the velocity of their nodding.
“You’re going to listen to Nonno when he tells you what to do in the kitchen?”
Another round of silent nodding and Tony laughed, bending down to his grandchild’s level. Holding out his arms, he let his precious recipe book rest in the palm of his hands, ready for the taking.
“Go on then, bambino. It’s yours.”
Tiny fingers curled over the edges of the stained and battered book, complete concentration etched all over the child’s face. The love Tony felt threatened to beat right out of his chest and he reached out to flick his grandchild’s nose.
“What shall we bake for your first try? I’m pretty sure there’s a good recipe for mini cupcakes in there, somewhere, and I need an assistant chef.”
Tony had no qualms about handing his book down to the next wave of Starks. His children had grown up in the kitchen working tirelessly next to him to feed their teammates and friends, their siblings and their partners. It was time.
The kitchen was the heart of the home, after all.
#i wrote a thing#i loved this idea and i hope i did it justice#thank you for handing it over to me sweetheart#stony fic#stony au#stevetony fic#steve rogers#tony stark#natasha romanoff#peter parker#peter stark rogers#superfamily fic#i don't know what this is or where it came from but I WANT TO MAKE IT A REAL FIC#stevetony#stony#superhusbands#an april assortment#ad1thi#italian tony stark#that is quite important here
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“I don’t believe in you!”
“I believe in you…”
You can’t help but snort, bursting into a fresh round of giggles. The dialogue in Nightmare on Elm Street is absolutely diabolical-- you struggle to figure out how anybody could consider this a horror movie. But hey… meteoric fame is hard to come by. It’s a cult classic for a reason.
You’d usually be marathoning classic slasher flicks with your roommate, Chloe, but she’s on a month-long Hawaii dream vacation with her new boyfriend. What happened to bros before hoes? But hey, his wealth is apparently abundant enough to fund weeks of paradise beachside living, so good for her for getting that bread. And anyway, you’re content to sit alone in your little mousehole apartment and melt into the couch after work with a family-size bag of salt & vinegar chips under your arm.
You watch the flickering screen with mild interest as you chomp down another handful of chips. Freddy Krueger is definitely failing to get you on the edge of your seat. Wiping your hand on your sweatpants, you pick up the remote and turn the movie off.
“Nightmare, my ass.” you mutter under your breath.
As much as you’d like to, eating nothing but salt and vinegar chips for dinner seems like a great way to end up with an upset stomach and a lot of regret later tonight. The pantry is well stocked with Chloe’s foods of choice-- organic steel-cut rolled oats, a billion different kinds of nuts and seeds all in cute little labeled mason jars, gluten free bread, a mockery of cheese puffs (chickpea puffs? Come on!). Your side is a library of boxed or canned foods in stark contrast: a couple opened boxes of Pop-Tarts, a few boxes of Kraft mac & cheese, a family sized box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, and, the only thing not in a box: another bag of salt & vinegar chips.
The fridge tells a similar story. Chloe’s avocados, farmer’s market tomatoes, and thick stalks of celery gleam in the vegetable drawer. She’s consumed half the shelf space with just kombucha and a few swanky craft beers. And bottles of oat milk, or soy milk, or some kind of thing pretending to be milk. You actually don’t have much in the fridge besides leftover Indian food from your favorite place downtown and a gallon of milk for your cereal, so you don’t mind her hogging more space.
Muffy, Chloe’s ragdoll cat, stalks into the kitchen with you and gives you a tiny yowl. You lean down and give her an affectionate scratch behind the ears.
“Scram, Muffy.” you murmur to her. “I’ve already fed you.”
She looks up at you with a look that can only mean “and you’ll feed me more.”
She stalks back into the living room, fluffy beige tail disappearing behind the wall in a flick and a wave. You tie your hair back and yawn. What’s on the menu for dinner tonight?
Before you can think too much about eating, you remember that Chloe left you a voicemail before she took off. You fish your phone from your pocket and open your voicemail, tapping your toe against the linoleum floor as the dial tone plays.
You have one new message, chirps the robot voice of your mailbox.
“Hey girl. I’m boarding soon, so you probably won’t hear from me for a while. Make sure you feed Muffy, water the plants…” she clicks her tongue a few times, “take your meds, and don’t lay in bed for too long on the weekends. You know how that tanks your mood.”
Chloe might be a total hipster health nut, but it doesn’t make it any less sweet that she frets over you so much. You break into a smile and make a mental note to call her back.
“And. You can eat anything perishable of mine in the fridge or pantry while I’m gone. I doubt the bread or the veggies are gonna last long… you need to eat healthier anyway. No potato chips for dinner.”
Your smile grows. She knows you so well.
“I gotta go, but I’ll send you tons of pictures when I get there. Bye, babe.”
You hang up and set your phone down on the counter. Eyeing the bland looking loaf of brown bread, you decide you’ll have breakfast a la Chloe for dinner.
You toss the loaf onto the counter, then stalk to the fridge. The avocados seem pretty ripe. Tomatoes, too. You pick out one of each, then pluck a couple eggs from the carton you two share and set it all on the counter. Avocado toast with scrambled eggs sounds pretty Chloe.
You gut the avocado, tossing its pit in the trash and scooping its innards out into a bowl. The fork makes quick work of it, turning it into a mound of mild green paste. Salt, pepper. Done.
Hey, if Chloe let you eat her food, she’s bound to not mind that you’re using her nice kitchen knives too, right? You cut a few slices of tomato and grimace at its gelatinous, glistening center. You never liked tomatoes much, but she’s kinda right-- you do need to improve your diet.
Before long, you’ve got a nice thick slice of toast slathered in avocado and garnished with ripe red tomato sitting next to a steaming pile of scrambled eggs. This may not be your beloved salt & vinegar chips, but it sure looks delicious.
You snap a photo of your meal and text it to her. Am I healthy yet? you type, with a grin on your face.
Muffy stalks up to you, looking up expectantly. You sigh and toss her a morsel of scrambled egg. “That’s all you’re getting, you little twerp.” you admonish through a mouthful of toast. It’s not… delicious, but it’s not bad for some mushed up vegetable on top of an excuse for bread. You curse yourself for not adding some cheese to your scrambled eggs. That would’ve really been delicious.
You’d usually be scrolling through your social media right now, but something inspires you to look longingly out the window of the kitchen. The sky is a starless, inky black, obscuring everything except for whatever is illuminated by the weak orange streetlights. Usually there would be more traffic or drunk yelling-- you and Chloe didn’t exactly get lucky with the placement of your unit-- but tonight it’s eerily silent. That’s perfectly welcome to you, though. It’s much better than cranking up the volume of your music to drown out whatever street fight is occurring three floors below you.
Suddenly, your musing and its silence is broken by the sound of your ringtone. It’s half past midnight… who in their right mind would be calling you right now?
Unknown number. You frown and let it go to voicemail. Probably just some spam caller.
You finish your dinner and sit there in the silence, then check your phone again. You can’t help but be curious as to what message they’ve left you. Gingerly, you open your voice mailbox again and listen dispassionately to the dial tone and the little robot voice.
You have one new message and one old message.
The voice that erupts through your speaker is unfamiliar, smooth, low. All you can discern is that it’s a male voice, its tone almost perversely cloying.
“I was hoping you’d pick up.” A long inhale, a long exhale. “You seem a little lonely. Breakfast for dinner… cute.”
Ice cold horror washes over you and you can barely move your fingers to hang up. This has to be some kind of joke. Some stupid kid getting really, really lucky with their prank call.
But a question still sears into your thoughts:
Who would have known what you were doing?
That you were alone in your apartment?
Maybe, just maybe, by some insane stretch of the imagination, Chloe’s new boyfriend got ahold of her phone, saw your text, and decided to pull some prank. Yeah, that sounds about right. That’s the only situation that makes sense, unless…
Somebody is watching you.
You nearly jump out of your seat as the phone rings again. Unknown number. Your hands tremble over it as your panicked brain deliberates picking it up. Before you can think about it any more, you’ve snatched it into a sweaty palm and brought it up to your ear.
“Chloe, this isn’t fucking funny. Cut it out.” you try to sound intimidating, but your voice trembles in just the wrong way with each word.
“You picked up.” the voice breathes, and you swear you can hear a sinister smile creep onto whoever’s face it belongs to. “You must really be lonely.”
“I said stop, Chlo--”
“My name’s not Chloe.” he snarls, and your empty threat dies in your throat immediately. Then, as if nothing had happened at all, his voice slips back into that relaxed, amused tone. “But I do wish I were spending a month in Hawaii right now. Lucky girl, isn’t she?”
Another pang of fear hits you like a brick. You swallow hard, biting your lip. “Whoever you are, leave me alone. Or I’ll… I’ll call the cops.”
“What exactly are you going to tell them, sweetheart? That some big mean boogeyman is leaving scary messages on your phone?” he lets out a mocking laugh. “They’ll send their best officers, I’m sure.”
“Leave me alone.” is all you manage to say, breathless and trembling, before you force yourself to hang up and practically slam your phone down onto the counter. Muffy jumps and cocks her head at you. You force yourself to break out of your panicked stupor and hurry over to the kitchen window, glancing hurriedly to the left and right of it. If somebody were on the fire escape, you surely would have heard it.
At least, that’s what you tell yourself.
You yank those curtains shut, then the curtains on the living room window, then finally the ones in your bedroom. You remember Chloe locking and shutting her windows, so there’s no need to check in there. Something tells you to anyway.
You creep to her doorway, palms sweaty. There’s probably nothing to see in there, you think to yourself, the curtains were already shut.
Looking into her room, your stomach drops.
The curtains are tucked neatly to the side, and her window is cranked all the way open, letting in the cool night air and the sounds of the streets. You nearly choke in horror and rush over to shut the window, making sure the lock is tightly down before throwing the curtains back over them. You must have just misremembered. She probably left the window open to let some fresh air in, or something.
But she never leaves her window open, or Muffy would get out, you realize.
“Oh my God.” you gasp to yourself, before you sprint to the kitchen and grab the biggest, meanest looking knife in the drawer, as well as your phone. Muffy meows at you curiously, then yelps in indignance as you swiftly scoop her up by the stomach and fly to your room.
“Sorry.” you mutter as you practically toss her onto your bed, then lock your door. It’s a pathetic, flimsy mechanism, and could probably be picked with a fork, but it’s better than nothing. You pause, surveying the room for any heavy objects, and settle on jamming your full laundry hamper under the doorknob. At least this way you’ll hear any intruder before they make it into your room. The knife you tuck under your pillow as you scramble under your covers and turn your lamp off.
Your hands shake as you dial Chloe’s number. The phone rings once, twice, then goes straight to voicemail.
“Hey, Chlo,” you say shakily. “Uhm, I got some really weird calls from somebody tonight and I think our apartment might have been broken into. Or something. Uh,” you swallow hard, “Muffy and I are locked up in my room right now and I have a knife. I could be just imagining things, but if you don’t hear from me for a while, I probably got murdered or something.”
God, you sound so stupid right now, but it’s the best you can muster when your thoughts are racing at a million miles an hour.
“I’ll call you when I wake up tomorrow. Bye.”
You plug your phone in and set it on your nightstand, shrinking down underneath your duvet. Nothing is visible in your room, even as your eyes adjust to the darkness, except for the glow of the hall light you left on under your door.
It’s going to be a long night.
Check out this story and the rest of its chapters on AO3!
https://archiveofourown.org/works/28688007/chapters/70331253
#dead by daylight#danny johnson#the ghostface#jed olsen#fanfiction#murder and intrigue huehuehue#getting stalked basically#cat and mouse type shit
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