#galramade

my muse dies in your muse’s arms.

          “ lotor! ”

          it seems pointless.  screaming into the astral as if someone might hear him , but it’s all he has , confined to this plane , watching his friends battle each other.  they fight as if death is the only viable outcome , but it should never have come to this.  some part of him believes he is to blame.  if only he had been there , been himself to divert the impending battle , to cease the fighting and work this out.  lotor had wanted to change the future for the galra , and he knew that hadn’t been altered.  perhaps there was no forgetting the choices he made , but would they condemn him when he wanted to be better?  would they be so unforgiving as to sentence him to a mindless death , consumed by energy so powerful it could ruin him?

          “ lotor! ”

          he wished desperately that it wouldn’t be so.  but where keith had once heard him , he now stood alone amidst a field of blinding light , surrounded by energy that continued to press down on him , crushing black until he was sure they’d collapse into themselves.  they were quickly running out of time , and his fears were slowly growing.  he could hear the others shouting , understood that they would die here if they stayed any longer , and it became painfully apparent they intended to leave lotor behind. 

          he doesn’t know if it’s black , the quintessence , his charged feelings , or a combination of everything , but the dynamic shifts and he can see lotor sitting in the cockpit of the sincline.  his heart aches at the sight of him , lost and consumed by the energy pulsing through every fiber of this dimension.  it warps and twists him until he becomes something almost unrecognizable.

          “  lotor , listen to me —  ”    but his voice goes unheard as he watches lotor fight voltron with single-minded focus.  shiro knows that he can’t be heard , but it doesn’t stop him from reaching out , from pressing a palm to lotor’s cheek , holding him gently despite the deranged , feral look that painted his features.  he didn’t know if lotor could hear him through the quintessence pouring out of his veins , blinding him to everything , or if somewhere deep inside he was desperately trying to reach back , but he didn’t pull away and shiro forged on.

their hands are gently intertwined, fingers clasped together with a hypersensitivity drawing attention to itself via the color of her cheeks. her hands are clammy, heightening the urgent nervousness creeping its way into her consciousness, and perhaps he is feeling the same way in the moment. in a cognizant effort to quell her nerves as well as his own, perhaps, he begins stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. it’s an endeavor she greatly appreciates, and it matches the softness of the exchange between them. allura’s heart is beating rapidly in her chest, the gravity of her feelings towards him seemingly expanding it by the minute.

『       "Why do you keep your hair so long?” she asked the Galra, as she’d been going through some of her own internal debate on it. “Doesn’t it get in the way in battle? I mean, you maintain it well, probably almost as well as Lance cares for his skin but...it seems like it would just get in the way.”       』

send memes.

An anarchist heart burned in him; held apart from the world and guarded from outside influence by his independent mind.  He was a skeptic—he distrusted consensus, questioned order— and he would not hesitate to break any rule that threatened to bend his fiery will.

The world would encircle you with all its hard lines and dictations, tighter and tighter until you couldn’t make a move. But his lines were constructed with chalk. The could be washed away and redrawn without limit, giving him room to learn and adapt.

Keith thought he sensed something kindred in Lotor, and he’d shoved that unwelcome impression into the furthest corner of his mind. But now it’d clawed its way out, settling uneasily in the pit of his stomach, like something rotten.

Metal clanged as Keith struck the sandbag with a wrapped fist, rattling the chain suspension. Beneath the tape, his knuckles were white. Keith rolled his shoulders, releasing some of the tension from his forme. His body was taut like a spring ready to snap, but his voice was smooth.

‘ Speaking from experience, Lotor—? ’  he remarked, eyes sharp like diamonds as they turned on the prince.

Some boundaries couldn’t be crossed without consequence. Even in times of war, when the limits of what moral law allowed was crushed by the demands of what needed to be done, individual conscience remained. Keith felt the weight of it—they all did—but Lotor, for all his supposed sacrifice, did not seem terribly burdened by regret.

Perhaps Keith’s judgement was biased. He’d spent months hunting Lotor, an endeavor that had left him little empathy for the man. Finding him had been costly, and Keith wouldn’t forget it anytime soon. So maybe his outreach was genuine, but Lotor was the last person he wanted inside his head, privy to all his doubts and uncertainty.

                                            ❛ how long will  you  play  this  game   ...   will  you   f i g h t   or  will  you   walk away ?  ❜