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Summary: Prince Lotor goes through some self-destructive habits.
-
★ Disclaimer: I do not ship Lotura and I respectfully ask that this story to not be tagged as Lotura. This is a Lotor x Ven’tar story which is in no way related to Allura at all. Please be respectful of my chosen pairing.
★ Warnings: Depression, drinking, suicidal thoughts, vomiting, death mention.
★ A/N: Heed the warnings.
-
Today was the anniversary.
The liquid burned going down his throat, yet it did little to thaw the cold ice spiking through his heart, through his entire body. He was frozen in all sense but literal. It was a familiar feeling that he made friends with long ago, this muteness. Part of him never really pushed it away, he supposed. Part of him never really knew what to do with(out) it.
Because that’s it, isn’t it? Pain makes you feel (sort of) alive. Numbness is a feeling (note: lack of feeling). And grief, as much time has passed, always finds a creeping way to force him into these bad, awful habits that reared its ugly head specifically for today. Drinking until he passes out. Forgetting food until he is puking stomach acid (it burns just like alcohol). Building brick walls and refusing to speak about anything with anyone.
Just for today. Today, only today.
Therapy. Go get help, he was told by himself. But why? He knew what was wrong. He was just too stubborn (too busy, he lies) to waste time when he already had an abundance of it filled with irreversible decisions. It’s easier this way, more controlled this way, because vulnerability is never something he will be comfortable with anymore. (Ever.)
Another gulp and the dark room begins spinning shadows. Demons that he looked upon with dull, passive eyes as if his existence also thrived on what lurked in the pathetic corners of this life. Fuck, this was horrible. His thoughts were stabbing and clawing and tearing this...this ghost into shreds. That’s what it was, he felt like a ghost. Or maybe that’s what he wanted to be? Maybe he wanted to be dead so he could be celebrating this anniversary the right way.
With Ven’tar. It’s been years since she died. By his own damn, idiotic actions. By his stupid, fucking, powerless, weak -
He drinks again. It doesn’t help him in any way at all.
Lotor misses her. He can’t lie to himself about that. He misses her so damn much, he has dreams about her, and he wakes up crying with a panic attack, or anxiety attack (or both) and he finds that he can’t breathe in the middle of the episode. Like half of his everything was severed from him - half his heart, half his lungs, half his mind, half of his will to live.
And when he’s done and remembers his exercises (slow breaths, count to 20, touch the blanket), he drowns in grief. It happened last night. It’s happening now, yet those streaks of tears dripping down on his shirt did nothing to alleviate his mood. Crying helps. It helps, he swears it does, so why does he feel (or not feel) better?
Lotor had too many feelings and too small of a body to contain them. The weight of them was crushing his shoulders sometimes. The hole in his soul was getting bigger and bigger with every day that passes. One day, he knows it, one day it will swallow him up, and he won’t be able to return from it. He won’t have that strength anymore and he will be glad (will be at peace) with it. He’ll be happy to be with her.
It’s funny. He and Ven’tar celebrated everything together. They drank, partook in festivities (both in public and in private), they ate questionable food with equally questionable side-effects. When it came to this, though, he found it hard to “celebrate” her death (a death he caused, that’s what he gets for carelessly playing with people’s lives as if they were dispensable pawns.)
Oh, if she were to see him now. She might weave words of wisdom, something like it wasn’t his fault. He just has a shit father. A shit mother. (He’s the result of them, after all.) Or she would push him on his back and envelope him in her warmth until all he knew was her, her, fuck, he loved HER -
But she’s dead. And she took his better half. And he took another drink.
It felt like a kick to his stomach, that bile just about ready to make him hurl because of his aimless actions. Lotor was tired. He was capable of saving himself from, well, himself (sometimes). He was alone. (Not really, he knew Acxa was lurking right outside his door). He was...not living right now. He’s hopeless, he’s terribly hopeless, and he’s not sure how long he’s going to let this haunt him.
He’s so sorry, but that won’t change what happened.
Lotor is not okay. He has no more pieces to pick up. He’s bleeding out and he can’t stitch himself up anymore, not when there’s so much guilt on his hands. He both hates and cherishes this, this self-pity, this unfairness (he didn’t ask to be born, ask to be motherless and raised with an iron fist in his face by that pathetic excuse of a father), because he is stubborn.
He is stubborn to know “Maybe tomorrow might be better…”
Maybe after being kicked down, after having his face rubbed into the dirt, after the ghosts stop following him (he only meant to do good), after life goes on no longer hurts to think about, maybe it gets better.
Heartlessly, he kissed the bottle until there wasn’t even a single drop left, then threw it on the wall. It shattered (he’ll have to clean that up later), but like the drink itself, it did nothing to quell this hollowness. There was no anger behind his actions, just acceptance. He threw the chair he was sitting on. He can’t feel his heart. He threw the dresser, watched it break and spill the contents of it on the floor (morbidly, he thinks that’s how he’s going to die one day.)
Killing his father won’t bring her back. Killing his mother wouldn’t satisfy his revenge. Killing himself would dishonor her memory (but it will bring him closer to her.)
It’s been 247 years. Lotor didn’t heal from her death, if that gaping hole in his chest was anything to go by, and he doesn’t think he ever will. It’s an addiction that he doesn’t want to give up. He’s scared of it, sure, but he also knows how to get rid of it (if only until next year). It’s a nauseating fix he shamefully uses to push on with this disastrous life he made for himself. There’s no forgiveness for him, not for this and not for what happened to her.
It’s...this is a poison he never found the cure for.
Lotor is sick, this time in both literal and metaphorical sense. His depression is getting the best of him. He doesn’t want to forget her, but he knows that he wants (or needs?) to remember her in this way. There’s a reason for this unhealthy madness, this never-ending descent into self-destructiveness. He loved her. His beloved Ven’tar. His best friend. His wife.
He blinks and he finds himself hunched over the toilet, puking bile until his stomach clenches and convulses in itself. It hurts (he forgot to eat today and yesterday and the day before…), but it’s clearing his head. There is no medicine for this, no vaccine for this disease slowly destroying him from the inside of his decaying mind. That’s okay, he tells himself. It’s okay, you have time.
You have time. Get up. You have to keep going.
Lotor robotically walks to his bed, a sway in his step and a goal in mind. He will be with her one day. Not today, not tomorrow, but one day. The monsters are gone for now. They will be back and he’ll do this all over again. It’s a cleansing, in an odd (miserable) roundabout way. Darkness begins creeping in the corners of his eyes, exhaustion finally claiming victory after a week-long battle with himself.
★ Disclaimer: I do not ship Lotura and I respectfully ask that this story to not be tagged as Lotura. This is a Lotor x Reader/Self-Insert OC story which is in no way related to Allura at all. Please be respectful of my chosen pairing.
★ Warnings: N/A
Touch Series: Part One___Part Two___Part Three___Part Four___Part Five
Taste Series: Part One___Part Two___Part Three___Part Four___Part Five
Sight Series: Part One___Part Two___Part Three___Part Four___Part Five
Scent Series: Part One
-
“We are all on the same side. It doesn’t have to change our future together.”
Kylan would never dare consider doubting Lotor, but he was also no fool to leave loose ends hanging, so to speak. He worked along with their leader and his intentions - his goal - was always about keeping Alteans and the invaluable culture of said race alive. Against all odds, all naysayers and doubters, he kept to it. And he succeeded.
“You enslaved countless Alteans! How many innocent lives did you destroy?!”
Slaves? No. They were not slaves. They were not treated as such. If anything, they were flourishing and well on their way to becoming a better society than the one led by King Alfor. The progress was well on the way and the future looked bright. So, what happened? He needed to hear it, needed to have the physical evidence right in front of him.
“Surely, you can see the greatness we’ve already accomplished -”
The audio distorted then, signifying Sincline was most likely damaged from an unsuspecting attack.
“-llura, stop! You and I - zzt - Altean culture. We were meant - kkzzt -”
The black box was heavily damaged. Being exposed to the elements, especially quintessence, no doubt rendered it beyond repair. Except, Kylan knew how to save the proof and secure the device for future use. Plan B. Have a backup. Always have a back up.
“You’re more like Zarkon than I could have imagined.”
He closed his eyes slowly, releasing a solemn and heavy sigh of disappointment. He wasn’t going to say he knew everything, even if the hidden picture was revealed right in front of him. No, what he has here ultimately didn’t matter in terms of putting Lotor back on the throne.
“Who are you to question my tactics - “
But it was enough to clear his name. It was enough to show that Voltron started a whole new, deadly, and severely costly war by attacking the Emperor.
*
They had suggested putting him in a pod to stabilize his quintessence levels. Lotor’s soul may have returned, but that doesn’t mean his body was in a relatively safe state. Logically, it made sense to use the technology at hand to quicken the process, but you convinced them to keep him on a bed instead. Convinced was putting it lightly. You wouldn’t move on your decision, even if it meant using logic as a tool to get what was best for Lotor.
“I will siphon it from him, as I do with the other patients,” you explained, “It’s safer this way.”
It was your reasoning and also what you used to convince yourself, too. Your hand was loosely holding his as the steady flow of quintessence ebbed through the contact. When he had collapsed from exhaustion in your arms, you already knew that a confined space wouldn’t do well for his recovery. He needs to wake up naturally in a comforting environment, somewhere open, somewhere...safe. You promised him that at the very least.
But the longer you stayed with him, the more you came to the haunting realization at exactly how bad it was for the Galra Emperor. His skin was shriveled, no doubt either from over exposure or the action of his soul literally being sucked out of his body. Maybe even both. But the inside is what worried you the most. Starvation. His organs were scarily dehydrated. Lotor’s system was off for so long, you weren’t sure he could even eat anything nourishing.
And, oddly enough, there were times you couldn’t...see him as a patient. You saw him as something more, something beyond just Emperor. Allowing those buried thoughts to unfurl left your stomach stirring in uneasiness.
Lotor wasn’t talkative. Recovery was slow and, sometimes, he barely woke up long enough to sip water or open his mouth for ice chips. You weren’t even sure if he was coherent enough to answer the typical questions for patients who experienced such acute delirium. Do you know who you are? Where you are? What happened?
No. No, overflowing with too much would stunt his progress. Plus, you often found yourself hesitating to even speak with him. Maybe it was wrong of you to take advantage of his illness to push your own discomfort away. If he didn't ask, you don’t need to answer. But there were urgent questions lingering between you two and you know they will come around to rear its ugly head eventually. You’ll have to face them, whether you like it or not. You’ll have to hear what he has to say. What you’ll say. What you’ll feel.
But...
Lotor first. Your thumb ran over his knuckles softly, gaze longingly focused on your conjoined hands. Lotor first. That’s how it felt like when trapped in Sincline’s…
*
The Black Paladin has seen many haunting horrors in his life, but nothing will be more traumatic than seeing his own body as a corpse. No...his alternate self was alive, he just looked shriveled and sick and rotten. Sunken eye sockets, skin blemishes from what he knows as quintessence burn. The bite marks, oh, there were so many torn in his suit. Different sizes, different states of decay.
But he was safe and, more importantly, alive. Now, the matter of what state his mind will be in is something not even he can help with.
“I will pass the message on to the doctor once Emperor Lotor is in stable condition,” Kylan accepted the letter handed to him by the Black Paladin then carefully slid it into his coat pocket, “Thank you, again. You have done us a great honor. Saved us all, actually.”
Yet, as much as he would like to accept such gratefulness, he couldn't help but keep his lips set in a firm line. Saved them? Or condemned them? This war in his reality wasn’t theirs to deal with, but wouldn’t it be just as neglectful and dispassionate to allow the hoktril to be exposed to other realities? A double edged sword. Damned if he does, damned if he doesn't.
“I only hope that his return was not too late. Unfortunately, time does not appear to be on our side as of late.”
Kylan nodded in agreement, “You have your duties, we have ours. And yours must be urgent if you need to leave so soon.”
Nebulous orbs slowly closed, easily remembering the scribble he quickly jotted down for your eyes only. A message, a dire one, explaining why his leave of absence was absolutely necessary, but not for the reason anyone would assume. The Black Paladin had received a distress call, one he had not heard from in a very, very long time, and he had every intention to answer it. Sven’s voice rang in his ears clearly, as if he was standing right behind him. His hushed whispers panicked from hiding. He knows the tone well.
“I implore you to use the communication stone with utmost discretion. However, as soon as matters have settled here,” Paladin Lotor gave a wave, a vague gesture at all of this, “Let me know when your forces are ready to fight.”
He gave a noble, respectful bow. He shouldn’t have regrets, but perhaps he had one nagging the back of his head. Chewing on his tongue, he wonders if it was his cowardice that told him it was better to leave without telling you face to face.
*
If there was one thing Emperor Lotor despised about hospitals, it was the smell. The acute, sanitized scent of alcohol and sterilization never brought him comfort when awake. Even now, during every odd moment he would rouse from a deep comatose-like state, he found it absolutely much worse. The air was cold, chilling his nostrils, yet there was a warm blanket covering most of his body, all the way up to his shoulders. Warmth...something he cherishes now that he had the cold touch of death’s finger beckon his soul from his body.
It took days for him to realize he was alive, longer to know that the doctor had dutifully tended to his recovery. It wasn’t easy, regaining his senses and awareness. His thoughts were slow, as if relearning everything that which went dormant in his mind. Words, thoughts, actions, feelings. Feelings...like your hand gently clutched in his. Not at all unlike that memory of falling in a pit of darkness, tethered by the mere simple contact of entwined fingers.
And damn, to remember that utopia-esque simulation. Was it a simulation? It all felt too real. Too perfect, too...happy, one he thinks he will never really get to experience ever again. That love, that peaceful life, that completion. At the time, he didn't question it. Who would? But now, now as you read the holographic screen and scanned the details about his vitals in silence, he has so many to ask you.
Was it a hedonistic crime to still feel that inkling of love as he stared fondly at you?
Or maybe...that was just a lingering side-effect. A sort of after-high from being forced into an addictive drug-induced state of mind from a mere memory.
You knew he was awake. Lotor made it clear with his silent shifting, a gentle squeeze of his hand in yours, and a slight, almost quiet, groan of discontent when he felt his body ache in the worst possible ways. Part of him would've chuckled at the thought that maybe you were avoiding him, or rather, avoiding looking at him. Then another part would caution that it was wise of you to do so, for both yours and his sake.
Maybe, just like him, neither of you were ready to ask questions about the intimate life you shared. Maybe if he kept his mouth shut, both of you can pretend it didn’t happen. It was a trick. A ruse, a test. One conjured deep from within the heart’s desires and brought to the surface without warning or care.
The light above was dimmed in a cool blue hue, offering him a sense of peace and tranquility, but what really helped calm his nerves was the smell of a warm cup of hot chocolate wafting through the air. A promised treat, giving him the freedom to choose if he wanted to drink or simply hold it in his hands. And yet, he didn't reach for it.
Lotor reached for your hand. You gave it willingly, almost instinctively, and he was quite aware of how his heart beat just a little louder at the gesture. Lotor wasn’t sure he liked that or not. Well, he did, but he shouldn't. He really shouldn't because it was wrong to harbor such feelings for you considering the circumstances. But the heart wants. The heart yearns.
Lotor can control it. He swears he can.
So many unspoken words between you two, yet silence was clearly winning here. Then again, he can’t complain too much. Or at all, really. Your thumb slowly roving over his knuckles was nearly entrancing. The simple touch made his body compliant, whether because it was you or because the action itself was an unconscious act on its own, he would never find out.
You stopped suddenly then gave him a light squeeze, “How are you feeling?”
“I’ll be…” he paused, recalling how he felt when falling out of that cockpit, the panic, the pain, the cold, so, so cold, “fine.”
And while normally, those few words would be firm confirmation that you’ve done your job flawlessly well, you can’t help but let your heart seed doubt in your mind.
“And you, good doctor?”
Was he asking about your health or how you felt coming out of that life-like experience?
You twisted your wrist, closing the holographic screen before giving him your full attention, “Coming back to life is not what I expected, but neither was dying. It was different than-”
A twinge in your shoulder pulsed, reminding you of the last time you danced with death so romantically.
“I recovered faster than you. Kylan informed me i was gone for a mere few minutes. Clearly not long enough for all the heat to leave my body, but long enough to give him a fright.”
Lotor had a certain look behind his eyes, a certain longing for the truth. You turned away.
*
It’s been a week. The metaphorical wall was back up. But it wasn't just you that decided avoidance was the best course of action for now. He, too, opted to shove those unanswered questions in the back of his mind as far as he could. Lotor only wondered exactly how long he can let it fester. How long you could let it fester. Maybe the two of you were more alike than you want to admit.
When the deepest, most intimate, most raw secrets and desires surface, that exposed vulnerability suddenly becomes a dangerously choking weak point. Becomes something to fear. Becomes tangible and no longer yours to hide. But to acknowledge such a thing now? What? Were you two going to sit and talk about it? Have a coffee date and reminisce of those fake nights of feeling safe in each other’s arms?
No. It was much easier, much smarter, to stay focused on the goal. It was more important.
Was it awkward? Not at all. You dressed him in silence with careful fingers, wary that the lightest of touch could bruise his still-healing body, and he watched the concentration consume your task. Such a simple thing spoke volumes to the careful observer. Lotor was the patient. You were the doctor. Play the roles well and everything will be fine.
But just to be sure…
“We are not going to talk about this, are we?” he asked his one question, voice just a tad lower than normal, meant only for you to hear.
Slipping the new bracelet around his wrist, you waited a few moments until the indicator glowed green, “No. Not now.”
Lotor’s hands went slack at his side, a sign of obedient understanding. He offered his hand to you, not as a gesture of intimacy. It was for his health, of course. His quintessence levels were still a little high. He was sick, still out of sorts, and a full recovery only worked if kept to schedule.
For his health, you told yourself as the two of you walked out of the room hand in hand.
*
“Dear Esteemed Doctor,
By the time you receive this letter, I will no longer be in your reality. I have been called back with urgent news and must return post haste. Please accept my humblest apologies for the sudden leave. If I had the time, I would have stayed to offer you my aid at any cost. With your Emperor under your care, I have no doubt that the next step with our alliance will be needing as much resources and command as possible. Rallying the forces as soon as possible will be difficult, though if there is any advice I may impart with, it is this:
Galra are survivors, through and through.
When civil wars raged upon our brothers and sisters, history has repeatedly shown that it is not the toughest fighter who wins. Rather, it is the one who fights to protect the one at their side.
I look forward to seeing you once more in the near future. Please, stay safe.
Sincerely,
Lotor”
His handwriting was eloquent, not a curve or line extending awkwardly in the entire paragraph. At first glance, anyone would take in the script as romantic at face value, but the prose itself was completely opposite. He wasn’t here anymore and, as the Black Lion Paladin, of course the he had to tend to his duties. With Voltron, no doubt a shining beacon of hope for those suffering in his reality, he couldn't risk squandering his time.
You folded the letter then pocketed it in your coat, waiting for orders from Emperor Lotor, who was sitting at the helm of the ship and staring deeply off into space. Kylan had updated him about the current situation. Colonies displaced, warlords razing worlds for their own, Haggar’s search for him. That last one put him on edge. Yes, he’s well aware you worked for her, but he is also aware of your need for self-perseverance.
Or perhaps, it was for a completely different reason? If Sincline utilizes memories from souls, then he should’ve seen his mother’s memories mixed in yours, as well. Assuming, of course, you were brainwashed like his previous...
Lotor isn't such a naive fool to believe you would never lie in the face of certain death. He caught on faster than expected, knowing full well that sometimes telling people what they want to hear is for your own benefit, not theirs. Manipulation was often a tactic swept under the rug and reserved for those who were labeled as cowardice rats. Weak. Not strong enough. Not smart enough.
No. Not you, though. In the short time he’s known you, words were your choice of weapon in a fight. And apparently, his mother was desperate enough to fall for your schemes. One day, he’d compliment you on such a ruse. One day, he’ll tell you that she was actually the one who gave birth to him. How would you take it, he wonders? Anger at leaving the minor details out? Distrust? Betrayal?
“-of Marmora have gone underground. There has been news of Voltron recently en route to Earth months ago in response to Sendak’s battalion overthrowing the planet. Olkarion has been devastated by unknown forces and survivors have been scattered. Currently, no one has claimed the throne at the main headquarters and the next crowning ceremony will begin in but a few short weeks. Many separated factions are - “
Lotor had options. Many paths he could take to begin repairing the split and broken empire. He could free planets that were overtaken by warlords, spreading hope and securing rogue armies. No, that was what Voltron did and they failed to protect those they promised. Perhaps return to headquarters then declare his status as alive? He will certainly have more resources at his hand then. But no, Haggar and her spies would discreetly sabotage his throne.
Recruit the scattered Alteans? No, he doesn’t have the forces necessary to defend them all right now. They were safer with their captains, fortified with the necessary firepower and supplies. What of the Blades of Marmora? Should he spend valuable time searching for them? Their espionage skills will be most beneficial, especially with their network of spies spread out all over the universe. Then again, what about Voltron?
What about Voltron, indeed.
In truth, Voltron had more use as a gun than anything else. Perhaps there were still people faithful that it was their savior, their answer to all this despair and death in the galaxy. Yes, he could save them. That fight when he was piloting Sincline showed him where Voltron’s strength truly lies: as a false ray of hope. It was weak, in more ways than one.
However, the problem with saving Voltron would confuse many people. If he were to align with them again, that would leave many to doubt his role as a leader and the Emperor of the Galra Empire. He would lose support in the time of need and Voltron itself wasn't good enough to go around. He needed numbers and he would take a loyal military over a disillusioned vigilante any day.
A conundrum, indeed.
“Doctor, Kylan. A moment of your time, please.”
The Emperor ordered the rest of the crew around to give you three some much needed privacy. You stood at his left, Kylan at his right, both in silence. It was no surprise that just like Lotor, you were already calculating what the best course of action would be. Or at least, the best without risking potential deaths and destruction.
“Sir, rallying the Blades would greatly help connect our network with those still loyal to the throne. Although it may take some valuable time to search for their leader and the rest of their members,” Kylan took a deep breath before continuing, “We simply do not have the power alone to protect the Colony and the entirety of the universe, let alone the upcoming war with the other reality.”
Lotor glanced at you from the corner of his eye, awaiting your input. While Kylan’s plan was sound, he couldn't afford to make a hasty decision so soon.
“Sendak has taken over Earth, where Voltron currently resides. I don’t know the lore following the mech, whether the pilots need to be dead before the lions accept a new paladin, but leaving a nuclear cannon that can rip holes into other realities is not something we should leave to a power-hungry warlord. Find out if the paladins are alive. If they are, fight Sendak with both Voltron and Sincline on your side.”
“And if they are not?” the Emperor asked, partly curious about how you would react to your friends dying and partly curious as to why Earth, the one place you didn't want to return to, was even an option you’d consider.
“If not, then…” you trailed off, “If not, steal one of the lions. Voltron cannot be formed without all 5 pieces together. At the very least, it will prevent Sendak from using it to its full potential, regardless if he has located new paladins.”
“Stealing requires stealth. Something the Blades can provide,” Kylan interjected.
“A distraction works just as well. Drawing Sendak’s eyes off of Earth, even for a short time, will give us a small chance to enact our plan,” you countered, then placed a finger on your lips in thought, “If Sincline can attack his battalion, that’s more than enough attention to keep Sendak on a trail.”
Lotor found both plans sound, but there was a small problem, “Sendak will not take the bait. He fights with the ferocity of a thousand suns, but he views a proper battle for the throne as an honor. To taunt him to fight me, use my status as alive in order to claim rights over the empire is not how he views righteous combat.”
“You are the Emperor. If strength is not what determines loyalty, then perhaps it is better to show him with fealty and duty.”
You knew little to nothing about Galra culture, but that letter folded in our pocket did tell you one thing: Galra are not savages. Their history goes beyond blood and guts and gore. It’s a mystery you hope to read about one day, discover how wise veterans compare to the current warriors of the Empire. If what Lotor says is true, then maybe one of the strongest warlords in the galaxy will yield to the rightful emperor.
“Very well. Here is my thought: Kylan and I will send for a search party to locate the Blades of Marmora. They will need this ship and I will not risk the Alteans on board near Sendak’s sights. While we are carrying out our side of the plan, doctor, you will go to Earth and infiltrate the military base as a slave. Give us the details of where the lions are and generally pass on the intel about what is going on. Because you are human, I would imagine it would be quite a simple task for you to blend in,” Lotor bit the inside of his cheek, “Blend in carefully. You are going into the mouth of the beast, after all. From there, we go either two ways: take a lion or confront Sendak. I will leave that judgement up to you, doctor.”
“It’s risky. I don’t suppose you know how long it would take for you two to find the Blades?” you questioned, though already knowing the answer.
Kylan pinched the bridge of his nose, “No. We are not even sure if the Blades still exist. If that be the case, then we should have a back up plan.”
“Regardless of how this turns out, doctor, we will need updates about Voltron and Sendak. Can you handle this on your own?” came Lotor’s final question, but there was a hint of...concern visible in his tone.
Earth, the place you were born in. Earth, the place you left behind for good. Earth, the place soon to be used as a slavery planet for Sendak’s militaristic needs. You’re not heartless. You don’t like the idea of death and destruction on any planet. And that’s what Earth was to you, after spending so many years away, it was just another planet. The attachments you had all died with your father.
For what reason did you have to keep any ties with the land? This was for the safety of the universe and much more.
“Yes. yes, I can. Just don’t leave me behind if things take a turn for the worst.”
Again.
*
There was a knock at your door, drawing you to pause from packing what little belongings you had into a rucksack.
“Come in.”
And so he did, all of his tall glory stepping into your meager room. Bland, plain, empty and void of sentimentality. Lotor wonders faintly if you lived your entire life like this, with little color and even littler personality. It looked remarkably like the room back on the Castle of Lions. The door behind him closed slowly, but he had no intention of leaving soon anyways.
“Was there something important I missed?”
Lotor stayed silent, watching you and trying to think of how to exactly say his thoughts. He was a man of action when the time was right and right now? Part of him was choking at the very thought of you being alone on a planet ruled by Sendak. His heart screamed at him when he suggested the plan, calling him a fool, an idiot, a bastard that keeps risking those he loves -
No. No, it wasn't love. He had to remind himself that. It was NOT love.
If it wasn't, then why did you come here?
Wordlessly, he bent over to unclasp his boots and pile them neatly by your door. Next came his gloves, followed by his waist cape, and then the rest of his armor until he was standing before you in nothing but his skin-tight body suit. The entire time, you watched in silence with only the beating of your heart getting louder and faster in your chest.
The heart wants. The heart yearns.
“May I stay here tonight?” he asked, but surely he already knew you would say yes. Surely he did. Surely you would.
With a soundless nod, you slipped off your coat then hung it up, just for tonight. Not a doctor, not a soldier, not fighting, not running. Just...being. Existing. Like when trapped inside Sincline’s simulation, except this will be real. Was it okay to do that one more time?
Lotor slipped under the sheets with you, trapping you between the wall and his solid frame. He was never one to call himself a man who hesitates, but he did exactly that when he cautiously slid an arm over your waist to pull you closer. Closer still, until his chest was flushed with your back and his nose nuzzled the top of your head. This let him take in your scent, as if trying to burn it in his memories.
That’s when it clicked. As much as part of you wanted this, you needed it. You both did, after cheating death together. The way he held you tight. The way you leaned into him. He was … scared, just like you. There was no certainty you would not be killed, nor him surviving the trek to find the Blades. You two just found each other again and, while your partnership before wasn't deemed as together, as someone to fight alongside the other, the idea of being separated so soon started to leave an uneasy tension in the air.
There were other ways. More safer, less isolating. He could come with you. Or you can stay with him. Strength in numbers, right?
Oh, where did the confidence go?
Gentle fingertips touched over his knuckles, asking permission to hold, to thread together and seal an unspoken vow between you two. A promise that you can do this, that he will find the Blades, that everything so far is only the beginning and it will work out in the end. It was two simple words. Just two.
★ Disclaimer: I do not ship Lotura and I respectfully ask that this story to not be tagged as Lotura. This is a Lotor x Reader/Self-Insert OC story which is in no way related to Allura at all. Please be respectful of my chosen pairing.
★ Warnings: N/A
Touch Series: Part One___Part Two___Part Three___Part Four___Part Five
Taste Series: Part One___Part Two___Part Three___Part Four___Part Five
Sight Series: Part One___Part Two___Part Three___Part Four___Part Five
Scent Series: Part One
-
“We are all on the same side. It doesn’t have to change our future together.”
Kylan would never dare consider doubting Lotor, but he was also no fool to leave loose ends hanging, so to speak. He worked along with their leader. His intentions were always about keeping Alteans and the invaluable culture of said race alive. Against all odds, all naysayers and doubters, he kept to his goal. And he succeeded.
Summary: You find Lotor, but bringing him back to reality is harder than expected.
★ Disclaimer: I do not ship Lotura and I respectfully ask that this story to not be tagged as Lotura. This is a Lotor x Reader/Self-Insert OC story which is in no way related to Allura at all. Please be respectful of my chosen pairing. ★
Warnings: Minor gaslighting, triggered moments, mentions of blood and death.
Touch Series: Part One___Part Two___Part Three___Part Four___Part Five
Taste Series: Part One___Part Two___Part Three___Part Four___Part Five
Sight Series: Part One___Part Two___Part Three___Part Four___Part Five
-
“The mind is a dangerous place. A place where anything and nothing can coexist at once. A place that will drive even the most virtuous of people to madness. A place where a careless soul can find themselves wandering aimlessly, lost for all of eternity.”
Lotor’s words echoed in your mind as you stared at the sharp-edged face of Sincline. It was much more intimidating up close, especially with those eyes radiating specks of power, of quintessence, directly at the two of you. He stood by your side to also take in the magnificent creation in terrifying, yet awed, appreciation.
He tilted his head down just a bit, just enough that you noticed his solemn expression from the corner of your eye. “You must be careful. Do not trust what you see with your own two eyes. When I showed you my memories, it was my choice to do so. My choice to trust you, to share with you.”
Now, you turned to fully face him. The defined, regal edges of his face, those nebulous eyes gazing far into space and beyond. He was worried. He was giving you all this information to prepare you for the worst, which you were absolutely sure he witnessed first-hand plenty of times before. The hoktril did more than control people’s bodies. It controlled their minds.
And breaking that control? It comes with a hefty price.
“Sincline is different and so is your Emperor. One wrong move can start a series of irreversible damage, both to you and to him,” Lotor tried to suppress the guilt he felt over Narti, he tried so hard, “Not even in my reality have we had the proper research done about mind sharing. If this does not work, if you are...if you can not return to your own body, Kylan knows what must be done.”
“Yes. Yes, he informed me of what he will do if I fail.”
Four of the five years have already passed since both Voltron and Emperor Lotor disappeared. You know not what happened to the Coalition nor Blades of Marmora. All you knew was that this was the last year before the Galra Empire declares Lotor dead. The last year before another Kral Zera ceremony commences and someone else sits on the throne.
But what happens after that? Would the universe be submerged in war for another 10,000 years? Can the universe survive that long without peace? Or will planets rely on the return of Voltron once more?
No. No, Kylan knows better than that. Voltron was not an ally anymore. Voltron was not reliable. It was no use depending on weapons of mass destruction to save those suffering under war. This was something Kylan understood and, after all that has happened? You would be slapped silly to believe anyone else would side with Voltron if they came back.
No more one savior. It was time to unite everyone for a chance of peace, both through the Galra and the rest of the known universe.
“Before I go, there is something...else I wish to share. Something personal,” his voice quieted down when he reached the last word.
You remained silent, allowing him to continue gifting you with his advice, but no more words followed his train of thought. Now, he took a few precious seconds to study you. Your complexion had paled slightly since he first laid his eyes on you. The shine in your hair? Dull and unkempt, save a quick run through with your fingers as a poor replacement for a comb. Overall, it seemed as though your health was failing. And failing fast.
It tugged at his heartstrings to see you like this, but you needn’t know that bit of information. Perhaps you just needed...time to recollect yourself. To take care of yourself without his aid. Sometimes, for one to grow, the best course of action is inaction. Step out of the way. Finding Lotor on your own would do you good. Reaching for that hope, achieving what you thought was impossible, it will do you good.
“What is it?” you asked after a prolonged moment of staring on both of your ends.
“Nothing. It is nothing.” Lotor raised his chin proudly, which you mimicked perfectly.
Good, good. You still had that spark in you somewhere. That inner compass has not shattered yet. He hopes this trial will be successful. You have the tools, you have the means, you have the drive and the unbreakable will. You learned from the best, know the humbleness that came with your lessons, understood the risk of commanding the power of life-sharers.
“I wish you all the luck in the universe.”
But he knew, deep down, you didn’t need luck. Especially when he saw the elite skills of the survivor in your eyes.
*
The plan was solid. Everything was set up how it should be, whether you failed or not. Your training was your strength, your mind resolute, and the choice? The final decision resting in your overworked hands? You were ready. And yet, some part of you, some small throbbing part in the scar on your shoulder, kept whispering caution signs. Warnings. Remember the past.
Remember how you almost died when you thought everything was going according to…
“Are you ready?”
You took a deep breath, truly considering Kylan’s words. The Paladins were watching with tension thick in the air as the platform floated in front of the mech’s face. There was something unnerving about those hollow eyes, those quintessence-fueled mist leaking out of the corners of it. That feeling of being watched, being judged, being held under a microscope only intensified the closer you stepped towards it.
It reminded you facing a door, completely unaware of what would happen when you opened it.
“Kylan,” your voice held no inflection, no hesitation, but when you turned to face him, he saw something different flutter behind your eyes.
Resolute, yes, but also...peaceful in a way he only saw in the most desperate of patients. Those who knew the road was ending. Those who still walked forward knowing their choices were running out. But even in the face of the unknown, there was always a choice. You were confident. You were ready for whatever you will witness within Sincline.
This was not the final destination for you, but if it was, then you would be damn glad for Plan B.
“You are ready,” he answered for you.
And that was what you needed to hear. Closing your eyes, taking a deep breath, then reaching forward, your fingertips grazed the cold, dark metal. You pressed your palm flat against the faceplate, calm and collected, but your heart was loud in your ears. You’ve gone off by yourself before. You’ve survived by yourself before. Yet, this? Going somewhere no one else has gone before? Into a realm where the hypothetical soul resided?
It was a new frontier you weren’t sure you would return from. Or want to.
With your mild glowing hand, you felt some force pulling you. From your wrist to your shoulder, your chest, your entire body, all the energy began draining from your very soul. What you expected was to feel cold, feel fear, feel a shared connection of some sort. A prodding into your mind, something familiar like with Kylan or with the Black Paladin.
Panic should have instinctively kicked in, should have forced you to back away, retreat from this unfamiliar path before you. This wasn’t the expected result. You weren’t meant to feel...warm. Comfortable, peaceful in the mind, untroubled, as if unreasonably high on a dose of serotonin. The inner turmoil was gone, the black haze clouding your mind these past years was dissipating and clearing a way for tranquility.
It felt so, so good. You couldn’t think of a time when you last felt such innocent emotions. And it lured you in. Made you forget for a moment where you were, what you were doing, what your plan was. The hum of the ship was muted. The thudding in your chest reduced to normal. Slow, slower yet. Your sight became hooded, body too lax to hold yourself up properly, and you fell.
You fell into a deep sleep, unaware of Kylan’s voice calling to you, catching you in his arms as his hand immediately reached up to test your pulse. You had none.
*
It was odd to say, to even think about considering the grand years of the human lifespan, but you believed that souls simply cease to exist after the body can not function any longer. For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. For the birth of life, there are fatal wounds of death. For tears of sadness, there are tears of happiness. For every act of war, there are strives for peace. It was a cycle. Always changing, always moving, never stagnant.
Once the body fails, what is the point of the soul staying?
Moving meant being alive. Running meant going forward. And fighting meant defending. You reject times of peace because there really wasn’t a time of peace. You reject war because war doesn’t last forever. There was a balance you learned in life, your life, other people’s lives. Something you would have never discovered had you not took that step into the unknown. Had you not tripped, had not begged, had not fallen into the pit of despair and pulled yourself out of it.
And yet, you were glad you were wrong.
”Good morning, darling.”
Blearily, your eyes parted and slowly adjusted to the view before you. The sight was one for sore eyes, one a deep part of you doubted was real at all. It couldn’t possibly be that easy. It couldn’t possibly be...him, staring at you with curiosity and a softness you didn’t dare believe was directed at you. And was that a smile?
He was smiling. Lotor was wearing a genuine smile on his face.
Silver locks were draped over his pillow as he used his palm to hold his head up, elbow propped on the cushy bed. He wasn’t in his usual armor attire. Actually, he wore a loose shirt that showed off his defined collarbones and smooth skin along his neck. You dragged your eyes upwards, from his mouth to his nose and eventually his nebulous orbs, those colors you rarely glimpsed at when in a deep dream.
And you whispered, quietly, hesitantly, hopefully, “...Lotor?”
At that, his entire demeanor brightened up, “It is good to see you again.”
Why were you so...comfortable?
“I am here.”
He raised his fingertips to skim over your cheek, brushing a stray hair from obstructing his view of you. The affectionate gesture felt potent, much more than you ever recall like the time he kissed you, held you at night, kept you safe and secure against his encompassing form. The night he bit you was one that burned into your memory. The panic you remembered, the demand to stop, the weak excuse you gave him.
But now? Oh, your chest was blooming with caressing tendrils of happiness as if this? Right here? With Lotor? It was meant to be. It felt perfect. Nothing felt wrong, not even the flow of peace surrounding your very being. There was no pain, no fatigue, no dark thoughts suffocating your mind with every breath you take.
It was...tranquil. And it felt so, so good.
“Why are you crying, my dear?” he held no worry in his tone as he erased tears away from the corner of your eyes with his thumb.
And you were. Your brows were pinched and the trickle of tears watering your sight, blurring the image of Lotor - fuck, he really is here - right besides you. His gentle smile, his luminous shining gaze, the warmth of his hand reminding you of the very first time he held you like so. You sobbed, you couldn't contain it, your heart aching and yearning for you to go. Go to him. Be at peace.
This is what you were born for, to be with him. To be happy.
No words were said. You rushed forward and buried your face into his chest, tucking yourself under his chin as if the galaxy itself fitted you there. These aren't tears of sadness, or agony, or slow-spiraling despair into an empty hollowness. These were joyful tears, feelings of accomplishment after toiling for years under duress. Tears of relief. At long last, you found your sanctuary.
“Lotor…” you choked out, he held you tighter, “Lotor...you...Lotor…”
It was then you would come to realize that, when the matters of the heart and the brain were at battle with one another, your mind has always, always, became the champion. Except here, right here and right now. When you shunted away those festering feelings, boarded them up and told them to stay, nurtured them in your own silent spring way, they finally burst forth in never-ending waves of unfiltered, unrestrained happiness.
You once thought it was suffocating to release so much. Your father’s death, the guilt of inaction costing him his life, it never left you. And again, this time, by choice. You chose the wrong side of the morality battle with the universe on the thin, fine line and it took more and more energy to reinforce the inner chambers of your heart. You lost Lotor. You swear, you lost him.
“I am here. Please, let me see your face once more. Let me banish this sorrow from your eyes.”
And he did as he promised, touches so soft you were hard pressed to believe he really was a gentle giant. Carefully tending to you with eyes shining so brightly of peace tenderness, as if time itself no longer existed. This felt right. You could sense that he, too, radiated the same feelings of completion between what little space was left between you two.
This felt perfect.
*
They say happiness is a mix of chemicals released in the brain which triggers those good, addictive feelings. If that were the case, it was a wonder they never created it into a morally-acceptable pharmaceutical drug upon discovery. But, with your gaze lingering on the eternal sun setting over the horizon, you thought maybe this was better. Especially with Lotor holding your hand in his, that curious thumb idly tracing mindless paths over your skin.
The tickling sensation pulled a grin from you. The squeeze pushed you to lean against him, shoulder to shoulder. He wasn’t warm, but you still felt the comfort of companionship wash over you regardless. Not even the sun’s rays were of concern to you. Just him, just Lotor.
“It feels good to be home,” you said, “I never thought I would see this place again. I thought the sea had swallowed the island whole.”
“Nature has a funny way of taking and giving,” he spoke softly while shifting to slide his hand around your waist and you had a sneaking suspicion he wasn’t talking about the ocean, “Will you tell me about your life here?”
Oh, but where to start? Do you tell him why you moved here? Tell him about abandoning your post as a doctor to live a simple life of fishing? Or about how every night, you childishly watched the stars and wondered if that age old myth about wishes were true?
“I was scared, after my father passed away. So, I ran to the only place he told me about. His home, the island he grew up in without a care or concern in the world. I thought that I would feel safer here. Safer from...death, I suppose,” you paused, reflecting upon your past, “But even though the weight became lighter, I still felt terribly alone. If Shiro hadn’t found me first, I would’ve eventually looked for him.”
“You do not have relatives? Your mother? A sibling?”
Usually, you would feel a disturbing, harrowing emptiness when your mother was mentioned. A reluctance to speak about her, to even think about her, would have left you disheartened for many days and nights.
Old habits die hard, especially when they turn into an instinctive reflex.
“What about your mother, Lotor?”
Then he leaned his cheek on the crown of your temple.
“Honerva. Her name was Honerva. An intelligent woman, or so I have read in her research. And then, she became ill. Poisoned with pure quintessence exposure.” Lotor contemplated about his mother, about the evil woman she became, about the monster, the witch who was his only tie to Altea, “She died long ago. The hollow person she is now is nothing more than a shell of her former self.”
His father’s puppet. How did they fall so far? He supposed he could ask himself the same thing, but that thought never had a chance to flutter over his head. It was instantly wiped away, banished into nothing, and those good, good feelings came back again.
“Do you miss her?”
“No. What has happened, has happened. We may be tied by blood, but I will never accept her as kin.”
Not after everything she has done. Not after everything she allowed to happen. Not after preventing him from saving those he loved.
And yet, the calmness pulsating from Lotor’s soul mixed with your own feelings as well. It was...it was refreshing, like two rivers finally joining in kindred spirit after years of wayfaring. Of carving new paths, of going where no road existed, of coming to terms with the cards dealt to you. No one was ever a lone wolf in the galaxy and it truly seemed like you finally found your partner for life.
“Well, that makes two of us with less than subpar mothers.”
*
The meager pace of daily life was, in fact, something you greatly enjoyed. In times of war, peace prevails, and all that hoohaw. Now, it seemed like fate had decided that the horrors of bodies dropping, blood oozing, limbs breaking, and sorrowful cries should no longer be placed upon your shoulders. And, by that strange stroke of luck, it was decided that Lotor should have a well-deserved break, too.
And, boy, you were going to extend this ceasefire zone for as long as you can. Days, months, years, you lost track, and you lost something equally as important during that time as well.
“My love, will you come here for a second?” you asked from the kitchen, ladle stirring the pot slowly, “Can you taste this for me? I think it might be a little too spicy.”
He came through the door, towel around his neck and droplets of water glistening on his face. A thing that became a normal occurrence was his fascination with being as bare as possible within the meager home, sans briefs per your request. A thing that also became a normal occurrence was his unquenchable appetite for trying different foods.
“Careful, it’s hot. Very hot,” you warned, holding the lip of the utensil up for him.
He sipped. He licked his lips. He grinned with a nod of approval, like he always did before.
“Tastes perfect. You must be a natural at this, no? Perhaps I should cook for you a famous dish a kind old lady on Balmera made for me,” Lotor leaned against the wall, showing off only his best assets for your eyes only, “Did I ever tell you about my travels to the Balmera?”
You loved listening to his stories, especially about those of his trials and tribulations throughout the universe. One day, you will experience it for yourself. One day, he will take you there. One day. Lotor always ended his rambling with those two little words. One day. One day, I promise.
Traveling around Earth was one thing, but traveling the entire known and unknown cosmos? That was the adventure of a lifetime and you would be a fool to pass that up. Who else better to go with than Lotor? Than your friend? Than your...your best friend? Was that the right term? Or was it something more?
His voice faded into silence, soup still piping hot and tempting right before him. Strange, considering he was right in the middle of the interesting part of his story, the part where a cave-in nearly took his leg, but as fascinating as that was, as much as he adored sharing such personal anecdotes of his life, there was something that caused him to stop so suddenly.
And as you could feel his emotions, his thoughts, Lotor could damn well feel yours, too.
“May I kiss you?”
You felt his desire before you heard his question, if those smoldering, curious, wanting, needing stares was anything to go by. The intensity of that small, burning ember - that spark ignited many moons ago, that which never went dormant - was waiting solely on your word. This fervent passion connecting you two together through unseen bonds was always so potent, if not willfully repressed.
“Please?”
Lotor was a man of love, despite being devoid of it from his parents, despite it being cruelly yanked from him by fate, and despite his battle with the entire universe itself.
You felt this. You felt all of this. You kissed him.
And he tasted like freedom.
*
Where there was water, there was land. And when the land is rich with nutrients, so are the luscious trees growing tall and ripe with seeds of fruit. Today, you had told him you wanted to watch the sunset from the cliffs, just high enough that the tree tops wouldn't block the scenery but add to it instead. And, never one to turn down adventure, he gladly let you lead him along.
This was your territory after all. This jungle was not one he knows of, but he does know your fingers entangled with his will guide him where he needs to be. Whether that be in safety or danger, Lotor felt deep in his chest that no matter what happens, things will turn out fine in the end. Blissfully fine and happy. Ignorantly unaware and falsely sheltered.
Shyness? Secrets? Hidden feelings? No such thing existed between you two. Nothing but the love of lovers, the barest truth of trust, the unwavering loyalty of the heart.
By the time you helped haul him up the last edge, the sun was just beginning to set in that picture-perfect sky of orange and red. No clouds, just the distant call of gulls accompanying a windward breeze. Neither of you remembered anything but this moment, here and now. This was all you needed to achieve that serenity etched in your soul.
“Beautiful,” Lotor murmured, eyes half-lidded in a daze, then he added, “The sunset is not bad either.”
The result was instantaneous and exactly what he wanted. A smile, a pure smile of joy, adding to the gorgeousness of your being.
He brushed his knuckles against your cheek, touching you for the sake of touching, “Thank you, my dear.”
“For what? I know that hike up here wasn’t rough. You didn't even break a sweat.”
“No, it was easy. In fact, I could have gotten us here quicker if you let me carry you,” came his cheeky reply, but before you could retort back, he traced his thumb on the plump of your lower lip to silence you, “No, dear, I wanted to thank you. For being here, with me.”
You leaned into his palm, your own hand coming up to make sure he didn't pull away, and a fluttering softness fell over your eyes. “There is no where else I would rather be, Lotor. I love you.”
You have to know that.
He does. Of course he does and he meshed his lips with yours to prove exactly how much he loves you in return. Actions speak louder than words, they always have. Although Lotor was a man who could articulate poetry without putting any effort into it, he knew that the best way to express exactly how he feels would be through his hands.
It took years to carefully nurture this bond, this connection no one else would understand, and it all started with a single touch. And you were so, so glad that burning sensation was no longer there. Not when his fingertips idly meandered their way up the side of your hips, not when he meticulously drew calming symbols on your sensitive skin, and not when he...caressed the raised indents of that scar on your shoulder.
No, no, when he touched that, there was no burning sensation, only an intense throb of discomfort. That surge of something different was enough of a shock to make you pull back, away from his pliant lips that promised oh so much. That feeling...you didn't like it. And it was such a new touch you never thought you would experience with Lotor that it left you confused and hesitant.
For the first time in what you thought were years of living a normal, peaceful life with him, something prodded you in the back of your mind. An unpleasant seed of...bad omens? Is that what it was? No, impossible. As long as you can remember, the two of you have felt nothing but absolute bliss and happiness when being around each other.
“Darling?”
Lotor felt it too. He was concerned, brows furrowed with uncertainty of exactly what just happened. He was suddenly, acutely aware of how this connection, this freedom with no limitations, and how it affected the both of you in great and unclear ways. It came as no surprise then, that your hands clutched his for support.
But support for what? He didn’t know the answer if you didn’t know the question.
*
The scar was the key. While you remembered joyful moments with Lotor, you became aware you couldn't remember any other moment in your life that brought you happiness before him. You couldn't even remember any painful memories at all, not with him and not with anything else in your history. But this scar, fuck, you had a gut feeling that it was a crucially important time in your life.
So why couldn't you remember how you got it?
You apprehensively touched it, staring at yourself in the mirror for any change to happen. Nothing, except that same initial uncomfortable feeling from a few days ago. Although the sun was setting and Lotor would soon come in to drag you to bed with him, you couldn't help but simply wonder with child-like curiosity about it.
He came up from behind you, letting his presence be known by inquisitively humming his arrival, “Have I ever told you how beautiful you are? I feel like I should mention it more often.”
Lotor wound his arms loosely in a hug around you, back pressed against his bare chest, “Getting complimented by a handsome young man such as yourself is always a welcome gift.”
A smooth chuckle rumbled from behind you, “Young? That is debatable considering I am no, how do you say? No Summer chicken?”
“Spring chicken. No spring chicken.” You brought a hand up to guide his face to the space between your shoulder, to which he gladly followed, “But you are young where it counts.”
At that, he greedily pressed himself harder against you, “Ah, yes, where it counts.”
Like right here, where he kissed your cheek. Right here, where he dragged his lips to your ear, releasing a hot breath upon your skin. Right here, along the soft slope of your neck. Right here, at that faded scar with an untold history, a lost history.
“Lotor, do you...know how I got this scar?”
“Mm? This one?” he questioned with a gentle press of his mouth, a whisper of his careful ministrations.
“Yes. I don’t recall anything about it,” your fingertips gently threaded through his hair, “Do you remember your scars?”
Lotor paused, not because of the topic at hand that would have normally brought up instant recollections concerning his bodily scars, but because for the life of him he couldn’t remember either. His body was littered with them, some big, some small, jagged, puckered from not healing correctly, discolored from exposure to intense heat. There was a time he could tell you his personal history for each and every one.
Now? His memory was drawing a blank.
“...No. No, I do not.”
And that was startling, so startling that both of you felt the same urge to discover the reason why neither of you could remember crucial, life changing moments of your past.
Even if they were doused in pain.
*
It happened sometime during the night. You don’t recall how, or why, but you found yourself wide awake and staring in wonder at Lotor’s resting face. Trying to remember how you two met, your first kiss with him, first shared laugh, first time you shared beds, first time you two spoke. But the memories never came back, no matter how much you searched. It was as if the slow poison of amnesia had already claimed what it sought.
And, oddly enough, you were less scared now that you knew the truth you discovered.
It stole everything from you right under your nose. Yet, for the life of you, you didn't know how to get it back. They were your memories, your history, regardless if it was good or bad. But did you want to remember? Maybe this was a blessing in disguise. Maybe you two were better off not knowing about the imaginative atrocities that happened in your past. Maybe you should just enjoy what you have now.
“I can feel your mind wandering a thousand light years away, darling,” a sleepy-laden purr spoke, “And your hands gripping my waist also gave it way.”
Immediately, you released your hold and gave him a gentle, soothing rub in apology. Lotor responded in kind, always holding you preciously in his warm embrace. If he could already feel your thoughts, then he must at least know the vague acceptance drifting between the bond.
“Tell me.”
After he placed a kiss on your forehead, you sighed, “Do you...feel like we’re missing something? Forgetting something?”
“Like what, dear?”
“I don’t know. It’s like I forgot to turn off the stove. Or I left the water running in the tub.”
“Hm. Catastrophically deadly, yet can easily be rectified if we but get out of bed and look for ourselves,” Lotor mused, almost jokingly, almost serious, “In truth, I wonder the same thing.”
He was exquisitely happy. That much was true. It was like a haze, an addicting haze that fogged his mind and distracted him in only the most pleasant of ways. But how did he get here? How did you get here? For all the days that came, the past was gone, and he was a man who lived in the now. Lived for the future, for the endless possibilities he was to face. A future with you.
Lotor shifted onto his back, allowing you to use his chest as a pillow of sorts, then let out a deep sigh. Part of him should appreciate what he has, for he was positively sure he worked hard for it. This was the fruit of his labor. The pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Yet, another part, one muffled and slowly picked away from his thoughts, told him the truth. If he couldn’t remember how he achieved this, all the blood, sweat, and tears he went through, then did he really deserve it?
“Should we be...worried?”
*
“This scar here, how did you get it?”
Your fingertips traced up along his forearm, across the discolored flesh with darkened pigmentation. A burn, most likely, but healed miraculously well. It had a circular ridge to it, one telling the both of you that it most likely was a through and through bullet shot. Lotor followed the curious pattern with his eyes as he tried to rack his brain for an answer.
“I am not quite sure, but the way you touch it sends a delightful shiver down my spine,” he gently plucked your fingers from his arm then kissed them ever so softly, “Which tells me that it most likely had something to do with you.”
Why else would he feel good when you touched him?
He continued with a plan in mind, “Darling, do you get that same feeling when I touch you here?”
His lips trailed to the back of your palm, laying claim higher and higher, until he stopped at the jagged faded lines ending at your elbow. Lotor imagined you must’ve fought a lion, a beast, for such claws to embed deeply into your skin. He imagined you healing yourself, wrapping gauze around your wound to prevent a bloody mess. He saw you as a fighter, a survivor, but from what?
“I do. It feels…” you murmured, your own thoughts muddled with a fading feeling of relief, “Safe. I feel safe.”
Not scared. Not panicked. But rather, a lingering catharsis that you were guarded. You were in good hands.
Then, as you were admiring the fond look behind his eyes, a flash of horrified fear crossed his face. Something was wrong. Shambles of buildings were falling. A dark pit was behind him, just about to swallow him whole. The blaring red alarm, entire room crumbling, glass flying and hazardous electrical wires sparking all around. But his face, you saw him falling, falling, eyes wide and -
And you blinked. It all vanished. You blinked again, breath caught in your fear.
Tears welled up in your eyes and your heart burst with waves of pain, choking your throat from speaking. What was that? What was that grip squeezing your chest? Silencing you from telling the one you love that you saw him die, saw him fall to his death while you couldn’t help him. While you couldn’t save him.
“Dear? My heart, what - “ he pulled you to his chest, crushing you in a hug, a protective shield to defend you from what was ailing you, “What was that?”
Whatever it was, he felt it resonate in his soul. Lotor did not like it.
*
Most, not all, of Lotor’s dreams consisted of the time he spent with you on the beach, or times spent together on the sand stargazing off into deep space. They were tranquil and he always woke up smiling, feeling happier when he could turn around and see your resting face in the morning. They were blissful, even. But this one? His last dream? It was a nightmare, one he didn't think was even possible to conjure up in his mind.
Lotor’s eyes shot open as cold dread trickled over his body. He reacted instantaneously, an instinct his muscles knew by memory when something scared him. The need to survive when danger was lurking in the shadows. And there was definitely something frightening him at that moment. He couldn’t pinpoint it, but he knew what he felt wasn’t good.
“Mm...Lotor?”
His bare back was turned towards you as he sat on the edge of the bed. Shoulders hunched, head hung low and his hair attempted to cover his troubled posture. He was still shocked by what he witnessed, whether real or not, and he found that his voice was failing him right now. Not when it was still fresh in his mind. That scene, they were gruesome, horrendous, and he -
But you felt his turmoil. A small inkling of it, but it was there and he was hurting.
“Go back to sleep,” he managed to whisper just loud enough that you heard him.
“What’s wrong, my love?”
Love. Was that why it hurt so much? Because he saw someone he loves die? He heard the deafening bang of a bullet. He saw it pierce right through your shoulder. He saw you fall, he saw you bleed, he felt it all. The warm blood staining his clothes, your hands, fuck, your hands clinging onto him for dear life. He felt the life drain from your eyes, he felt the pain of his heart ripping into irreplaceable pieces -
No. No, no, no...!
Lotor brought a hand up to cover his eyes, needing something, anything, to tear those images from his mind. The comforter shuffled behind him and your body pressed up against his as an anchor to reality. A reassurance that whatever was clouding his mind, it will pass, and you were alive. You were here with him. The evidence was right there. The proof was in your touch.
“I saw you die.”
And he wishes he never had to say those four words ever again.
*
It happened more frequently now, but with unfamiliar faces neither of you could name. Lotor’s dreams became more vivid, more clear in the night when he was deep in sleep. Your hallucinations would flash randomly during the day, sometimes he would notice with the way you turned away from him. Sometimes you would bury your face in his chest. Sometimes the shared pain would steal the breath right out of your chest.
It got worse and worse. Lotor dreamt of his mother. His father. Then a woman with antennas and triangular facial markings. Then he saw people like him, with pointed ears and uncertainty on their expressions. He dreamt of a cat. A blind teammate. His invaluable generals. Death, there was death. So much death. Countless screams of those he cared for, those he trusted.
Then...a glass cage.
“I don’t want to see this anymore,” you stared at the sunset as the bonfire blended almost perfectly with the sky, “I don’t want to see all this...this pain.”
The war, the soldiers, a man you called brother in arms. Young infantry dying by the dozen. Faces of unknown species seeking your aid, some you felt were evil. Some who were good. Some you purposely murdered to save the planet. Some you saved who backstabbed you for their own gain. The slaves, the refugees, the ones who died in the cell with you. The ones who mourned, who begged to live, who begged for someone to take this pain away.
“Something’s wrong,” he was tired, oh so tired, “This is not...it is not right.”
What happened to the good feelings? The laughs, the smiles, the high he gets when you say those three little words to him? Or was that the illusion? Were you real? Was he? Was any of this?
Lotor had a desperate feeling he was needed somewhere. And you? You had a gut intuition that you were here for something important. Something more important than just you and him living a never-ending peaceful life. Why else would these visions, these nightmares, warn the both of you now?
“We prepare tonight. Tomorrow, we leave at dawn.”
*
You knew the jungle like the back of your hand. Navigating around with not one, but two expert survivalists was no problem. The real issue was that the trees, the dirt paths, somehow kept leading you two back to the small hut you once called home. The ocean was endless, not even with a sliver of land in the distance. And it seemed as if time itself was looped with an eternal sunset painted in place. But more importantly, you two were scarily isolated. There wasn’t another soul on the island. No village, no city, no one at all.
The two of you traveled as far as you can, hand in hand with barely enough determination to keep both of you afloat. When fatigue would hit, you would rest for a shorter amount of time recommended. Was your health also not real? Was it possible to walk until the land underneath your feet gave out? Could you breath underwater? Was drowning only an illusion you set upon yourself?
“We’re...is this a simulation?” you asked Lotor upon realizing that, although it had been days since you two last ate, neither of you were hungry, “Are we...are we trapped here? A spell?”
He squeezed your hand as reassurance, “If it is, they are doing a wonderful job at gating our memories.”
There were bits and pieces missing still. You remembered Shiro. Something named...Voltron. You remembered Coran, but there was a person blurred out from your thoughts. And his. Lotor recalls his time in exile as well as running from his father. He recalls killing him. Lighting the flame at the Kral Zera. Oriande. Then, nothing. He woke up here, in a soft bed with you by his side.
“We will get out of here, my dear,” Lotor sealed the promise with a chaste peck of his lips against yours, “We can not dwell here any longer. Is there anything else you can remember from before?”
You closed your eyes and combed your fingers through your hair, “It’s all very vague. I remember Kylan and the Alteans at the Colony. We were - they were being evacuated. Then...your general, Axca. She was there, too, but I don’t know why.”
“Acxa? The last I remember of her was when I fought my father. I was the Emperor, that much I know, and that is why I must return to my throne. Do you recall the Paladins?”
“Yes. Yes, Shiro. He was the Black Paladin and my dear friend. We fought in WWIII together. There was...Pidge? Keith, Hunk, and Lance. All of us were from Earth, but someone else was there,” you looked up, trying and hoping and begging for the answer to fall on you, “Two people. Coran and…”
“Allura,” the both of you said simultaneously.
Brown skin. White hair. Child-like morals. A voice with no power. A crown with no claim. A princess who was unprepared for the retaliation of war. A princess who blindly commited murder under the guise of justice.
“Allura...she…”
Realization dawned upon Lotor’s face. His eyes frantically looked at you, then the jungle, then back to you. The fight. The Rift, he was in the Rift, surrounded by white, formless creatures eating him, clawing him -
“...killed. She killed me. They abandoned me.”
Left him to die inside Sincline. The machine meant to save worlds, not destroy them. The machine he worked so diligently on with Allura. He poured himself into it...and so did she. What exactly did her Altean powers do to the sentient being?
“My creator.”
Time stopped then. The wind in the trees froze in place and all the sounds of life came to an abrupt halt. Even the clouds and rays of sunshine filtering through the branches no longer had that whimsical touch to them. The illusion remained still, but the two of you could now feel another presence within the area.
“The...the robot?” you asked, “Sincline is doing all of this? How?”
“Sincline is sentient, just like the lions. Just like Voltron,” he explained while connecting the dots in his head, “It...it can not be. I hear it. Do you hear it?”
No, you didn’t hear it, but you felt like you were being watched. Not maliciously scrutinized, but rather protectively. As if someone was there making sure you were safe and happy. Well-taken care of with no worries in the world. Pampered and secured. Blinded to the reality of what horrors lie behind the door.
And that's when you realize why you were trapped here. You opened the door, volunteered to delve where no soul has gone before, and you found him. You, too, were pulled into the euphoric haze of ignorance, force-fed happiness by the spoonful, and had your memories fade away with every restful night.
“Lotor, we have to - we have to get out of here.”
“I do not think we can,” he pulled you close to his side, now fully aware of the situation you two were in, “It locked us in here. It is not our choice. We are in Sincline’s realm.”
“I will keep you safe, my creator.”
“No, you don’t understand - We have to leave. I - I remember now. Haggar is killing people to look for you. The other reality, their war coming. The Alteans, they need you,” the urgency in your voice matched the panic he felt radiating from you, “And so does the Empire.”
It wasn’t a matter of wanting to stay here. You simply couldn’t. This place was not real, and neither was the happiness that came with it. Your absence, Lotor’s absence, will put the fate of the universe and all realities in critical danger. There was no hiding and you will not stand aside in this dire situation.
“I know, darling. I know -”
“Sleep now.”
“Sincline!” he shouted to the sky, “You must set us free.”
He received no response. No answer to his demand. Nothing, except the environment slowly disappearing, peeling down the image of tropical trees into the very cosmos itself. Stars littered all around you two, blinking and twinkling in the vast sea of deep, dark blue space. There was no floor, no sky. Just the two of you, hand in hand.
“Are you...not at peace, my creator?”
The voice. The voice spoke with such innocence, such confusion as to why Lotor wanted to leave this paradise. Sincline created it for him because it was made to do so. It had both his and Allura’s virtues in one. It knew of the wars and evils out there, which is why it wanted him to stay here. To stay blissfully ignorant and bask in tranquility for all of eternity.
Lotor took a deep breath. A child. Sincline had the mentality of a child who only wanted to take care of -
“I am. However...”
Then, he squeezed your hand tighter, reminding himself that although he was at peace, he still had catastrophic problems to fix. To prevent. And you were here, dedicated to the final result. Ready to see it through to the end, struggles and death and all.
“I am needed elsewhere. We are needed elsewhere. You know this, do you not?”
Of course it did. It was careful to erase the memories of your past, of his past, but the truth can not be hidden. It can not be forgotten.
“Sincline, I thank you for saving me, protecting me, but it is time for me to go back now. For...us to go back. ”
For a while, it was ominously silent. You weren’t sure if minutes or days or years passed. Each tick of a second only made you dread that maybe, just maybe, Sincline wasn’t as virtuous or merciful as you had hoped. If it adopted traits from Allura, then who knows how far it will go to keep you two safe?
“If that is what you wish, my creator, it will be done.”
“I will see you soon...Protector of the Universe.”
The invisible floor gave way and the both of you began falling, falling, falling until visible pitch black darkness surrounded you two.
Neither of you dared to let go.
*
The first of your sense that came back to you was your sight. Then, the chill of death being chased away by your very real beating heart. Kylan was above you with your head propped on his lap and his fingers pressed against the side of your throat. His face was filled with both bafflement and disbelief.
He couldn’t believe it. You were dead, but now? You had a pulse and you were breathing.
“Lo...Lotor - “
A loud hiss interrupted your mumbling as the cockpit window disintegrated into hexagonal light. With what little energy you could muster, you pushed yourself up to your feet and fell forward. You had to get to him, had to be sure Sincline kept to its word. Had to be sure Lotor came back, too. There was that doubt whispering in your head, “What if it all wasn’t real?”
And then, you heard him scream.
Lotor yelled in agonizing pain, the onslaught of all his senses coming back at once was too much for him. Cold, his entire body was freezing, and what should’ve been the comforting warmth of his blood rushing through his veins only felt like searing hot lava tendrils setting him on fire from the inside. The cost of returning from the dead hurt more than anything he had experienced in his life.
He was crying. The sounds of footsteps rushed into his ears, a weak call of his name from your lips, the feeling of taking that first breath, it all sent him into a panic attack. His heart wasn't used to beating again after being off for so long. Lotor’s sight was blurred by his tears and, fuck, why couldn't he stop screaming?
“Lotor, listen - ”
Your arms closed around him, holding him up when he started to lean off his seat. His claws clung to you, dug into you, secured himself to you in his time of facing life again. Too many emotions flushed through him, jolting him with fear, with safety, with love, with hate.
“It’s okay, it’s okay.”
Lotor’s entire body was shaking. He was gritting his teeth together, trying to bide through the feeling of his chest heaving much too quickly. All he wanted to do, all he knew what to do in this moment, was hide. And he wasn’t sure why, but he felt he had to for his own sake.
“You’re safe. Lotor,” something wet hit his cheek, “You’re gonna be okay. You’re safe now. You’re safe.”
Summary: With new companions comes new information you were unaware of before.
Warnings: Mentions of suicide and blood.
★ Disclaimer: I do not ship Lotura and I respectfully ask that this story to not be tagged as Lotura. This is a Lotor x Reader/Self-Insert OC story which is in no way related to Lotura at all. Please be respectful of my chosen pairing. ★
A/N: Click here to learn more about fairies.
1 . 2 .
-
“I didn’t know pirates can read.”
“Aye, fancy that, eh? Learn something new with every rising sun,” you closed your book then fully turned your attention to the man leering over your shoulder, “I didn’t know that incubus’ can be nosy, little whelps, and yet, here we are, mate.”
Lance, he said his name was. Young faced with an offended scrunched up frown because of your comment, he seemed fresh to the battles of blades. And of insults. Rule number one when growing up under the honorable tutelage of your aged seafarer captain: whatever you do, do it well. May he rest in peace, the poor fool who took a cannonball to the gut.
“Hey! I’m not nosy!” came his witty reply, accompanied by a muttered grumble.
You took that as his white flag.
“Pirate.”
“Aye, capitain?”
Shiro said nothing else, only gave you that good old “stop picking on the soldiers” look. You shrugged in response. He stated that he needed to stop by his neighboring guilds and request assistance from a few specific set of people. And thus, along with you and a few others who gathered at Altea, Shiro created a small group of warriors for this expedition.
There was Ulaz, a powerful necromancer who channeled spirit energy from the dead to do his bidding. Attractive mercenary with those glowing eyes and pointed ears, leader of the Blue Tail Guild. Then that one golem from the deep mountains, what was her name? Shay of the Yellow Eyes faction? Those fancy jewels embedded in her rocky exterior were tempting, but you were sure she could pack a punch if you tried to use your five-finger discount. And, last but not least, a dryad ghost who calls himself Rolo, belonging to the Green Claw Guild. His skills with traveling between planes of existence at ease would be most useful for scouting.
Right now, the only one left was meant to be meeting at this farm on the outskirts of a small, unnamed village. Someone from the Red Teeth Guild, supposedly the one King Alfor led until his untimely demise. Her name was Hira, one of the Alteans who was tasked with defending the royal family. Keyword: was. She gave up that title and dedicated her life to hunting monsters with vengeance, more importantly the dragon that razed Altea to the ground. Though she lacked the magical abilities passed down by her ancestors, she made up for it in pure strength as a berserker.
“- He is ready, Shiro. I have seen the boy fight alongside Lance, they both would make worthy comrades in battle.”
You could sense the pride and ushering tone in, who you assumed, was Hira. Off in the distance, the two boys mentioned were tending to a bull peacefully. Out here, it was easy to fall into the dull sense of a domestic life. A farm, crops to harvest, animals to feed. Making pasteurized cheese from only the freshest of milk. A humble existence, not one meant for the explorative type of people. Much too docile, too vulnerable.
“No, Hira. They are just boys. If we were hunting wild boars, yes, I would bring both Keith and Lance along, but this mission is too dangerous for the inexperienced,” Shiro argued, voice muffled behind the bales of hay, “I’m not putting their blood on my hands. Are you willing to?”
A pregnant pause, only to be interrupted by the peppered clucks of chickens nearby.
“Altea needs soldiers, Shiro.”
“Children are not soldiers, Hira. I’m done discussing this. Are you with us or not?”
“Fine. But keep your Galra scum on a leash. This war still isn’t over and I won’t forget what happened a decade ago,” she spat with spite lacing each syllable in her words, “His kind shouldn’t even be joining this party.”
“No one would forget, but his skills are invaluable if we’re going after a dragon that uses quintessence as an energy source. Our mission is to kill it so a repeat of the past doesn’t happen. Do you understand?”
Part of you wanted to say you didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Really, you didn’t, it was just convenient that your hearing was much more enhanced than the average being. And, judging by the pupiless stare of Ulaz, you knew he heard them, too. That slightest, almost barely noticeable twitch in his ears gave him away.
“That bull is going to charge them. Watch,” Rolo informed, also watching the spectacle of Keith and Lance’s shenanigans.
As if able to predict the future, Keith must’ve patted the animal a little too hard, which irritated the beast. He started hoofing the grass, gave one loud baying screech, before shoving both of them away in a disgruntled thrash. Don’t run, you thought, but it was instinct to flee when something once neutral becomes aggressive. Pity that Keith fellow was wearing red, though.
“Useful trick ye got there. Ever thought about trying yer hand as a fortune teller? Could swindle a few fish for quite a bit o’ gold,” you chuckled, recalling the time you did such a thing yourself.
“Huh. Wonder if Nyma would be up for that gimmick after this hunt.”
“This hunt...it is such a small group. Can we really fight a dragon?” Shay’s inquisitive voice openly asked, “I have heard rumors and stories of such feats only being accomplished by massive armies, yet we are of only 10 bodies.”
“We are not going to kill a dragon. Shiro needs us to find it first before requesting for support from Altea. Perhaps the kingdom’s allies can send reinforcements as well.” Ulaz spoke of Shiro as an old friend, an old comrade in arms, and oddly enough, that fact was reassuring, “We can not trek through enemy territory with siege weapons and cannons. Not yet.”
Not until we know what we are going against.
“Can you build, pirate?”
“Can a shark bite?” you immediately retorted, but judging by the blank look on his face, he didn’t understand the reference, “Aye, aye, I can build. Bless me with a keg o’ gunpowder and I’ll gift ye bombs strong enough to take out me other leg.”
Shay giggled, Rolo smiled, and even Ulaz found the dark joke a little humorous.
-
There was something stifling about traveling by foot through the thicket of the woods. You would take the open sea and the ship over mangled trees and looming leaves any day. Rolo, however, was in his element. It seemed like the vines were reaching towards him to give an odd embrace from the trees themselves. Was it just you or did that trunk have a face carved out in it? Perhaps you’ve been spending too much time reading that book of yours.
[Not every spirit is malicious. Some belong to those children who ventured too far, unguarded and blind to the dangers lurking deep within. Be careful if you hear echoed giggling of the young. Faes are master tricksters. Under no circumstance should you ever answer their question, lest you wish to be swept up and vanished into thin air. Avoid rings of mushrooms at all cost.]
Below was a quickly drawn image of cap mushrooms formed in a circle. There seemed to be a child-like figure with butterfly wings attached on its back. You came to realize then, while sitting around the campfire and partaking your turn for watch, that the creatures of the land vastly differ than those of the sea. You expected this, of course, but something in the back of your head had one question buzzing in your skull: how far could you flee if you came across such beasts?
Shuffling off to the side alerted you of Shay awakening. Slowly, she emerged from her tent as the fire danced, making those gems glimmer even more beautifully in the night.
“Are you well, p-pirate?” she asked albeit hesitantly stuttering on the title.
With a nod of confirmation, you shut your book quietly just as she took a seat across from you. She seemed to be lost in thought, curious even, and it amused you greatly to see her glance away when you caught her stare. Then, her gaze stayed locked on the very interesting rock by your wooden leg.
“Lass, does this ol’ thing give you the willies?” you tapped your leg, already quite used to not feeling anything come from the action, “It t’aint rigged with explosives, ye can trust me word on that.”
Now, she quickly snapped her wide eyes up at you, “No, no, not at all! I mean, it’s a little...I have seen such things before. But that is not why I was - forgive me - for staring.”
“Eh?”
“Your name. The captain calls you ‘pirate’ and you were introduced to us as so. I have never met someone who doesn’t have a name,” Shay rubbed her hands together unsurely, wondering if her question came out too personal, “ I - does it bother...do you have a name that you wish to be called instead?”
Cute and utterly kind by a default. You liked that about her.
“Would ye like to hear a story, mate? A story of the Name-Stealing witch of the sea?”
At that, her attention was completely enraptured by the flourish wave of your hand and the quill you pulled from your coat sleeve like magic. If there was one thing you enjoyed more than crafting bombs, it would be telling stories embellished in exciting lore and haunting truths. Or lies. That was left to be decided by the listeners.
“Aye, among those who were unfortunately marooned on desolate islands, legends say that the nights following an empty sky, there be but a single bottle floating to the shore. No matter where, it always held a single piece of parchment and quill. You nay see her on the bank, or hear her whisper, but some say she stands afloat as a speck on the horizon. And some say...she will grant ye solace if ye but write yer name on that there paper.”
You now pulled out a rolled-up sheet from your other sleeve, earning a gasp of surprise from your audience. Well, your one audience.
“I came across her one fateful night. There’s a rule among us pirate folk: those who fall behind are left behind. Ye carry yer own weight to survive out there and me weight was just a little too heavy,” cue you knocking on your wooden leg, “I was starved and alone with nothing but me ‘n me pistol. Good ol’ trusty Kretch. Once the taste of sand could no longer sustain me, nor the grass, nor the leaves of the palms, I had to decide if I wanted a quick death to be my end.”
Concern. Of course she was concerned to hear those dreadfully haunting words.
“But she came to me one night, offering me nothing but a bottle. I told meself, if there were a chance to live, I’d take it without thought. And I did. I wrote me name, but oh, what a fool I was. There I lay, death washing upon the shore, and she came to me. She took it with a kiss, so I may never speak it again. She took that parchment so I may never write it again. And when I woke on a different bank, and when those kind souls helped poor little ol’ me, and when they asked who I was…”
You crumpled the paper then immediately tossed it into the fire, the blaze quickly sparking a green flame in a show of bedazzlement.
“...I couldn’t remember it.”
At the end, Shay was practically sitting on the edge of her log with wide-eyed awe. Couldn’t remember your own name? The very idea seemed appalling and completely impossible. Not even magic can do that...right?
“But why? What could a sea witch want with a name? Was she born without one and chose to steal names, collect them, to satisfy her own cruel jealousy? Or was she searching for hers? She may still be out there yet, Shay, ready to make a deal with those desperate enough to survive. Perhaps she even haunts those in the forests or the caves…”
“No! I want to keep my name, I - “ she shook her head to get the jitters out, clearly displeased with the thought of losing something so important, “Can you get it back? Your name?”
“Many have tried, but all have failed or perished in the pursuit,” you paused, letting a slow, sneaky grin spread on your lips, “Unless...ye have more than one name to go by.”
“More than one?”
“Aye. That’s why ‘tis important to make a name fer yerself. And that’s why Shiro calls me pirate, fer me own safety, eh? Not even she can steal a title like that.”
“Can...stealing a name kill someone? Do you think she can kill a dragon if she took its name?” Shay questioned more for herself than for you, “It’s scary to think about…”
“Ah, but then ask yerself, do ye want t’forget the dragon? Pain is the world’s cruelest teacher, but I cannot imagine waking one day and not remembering how me family died by the dragon’s fire,” you explained before tilting your head in thought, “Were ye there, lass? When the dragon attacked?”
She shook her head no, “I wasn’t, but my people helped with saving the injured who were buried under the wreckage. Many were worried about the royal families and of the prince and princess as well.”
Now it was your turn to lean in, intent on catching every word she shared.
“It is tragic that Queen Mellanor passed at Allura’s birth. Even more that her father was killed by the ally he trusted. We weren’t able to find Prince Lotor nor Emperor Zarkon, assuming they had fled as soon as the attack had started. It was horrible, hearing the survivors share their woes. I wish it hadn’t happened. Even a few Galra citizens living in Altea were affected, but…”
Here, she began fidgeting with her hands nervously then lowered her voice down a pitch as if the forest have ears of their own.
“When we uncovered Galra citizens, they were herded off into the castle...and they never came out.”
Somehow, Shay’s story was much more frightening than yours. Not only because you believe her, but you also believe that the fate of those Galra was likely leading to an unhappy ending.
“I think - “
A rustle, one against the wind, and your head snapped in the direction of the noise.
“Shh - wait, I hear - “ and before you could finish your sentence, a blunt force punched you in the face, sending you flying off your seat to knock into an allies tent.
You heard Shay let out a yell, a battle cry and a way to warn everyone that an intruder was here. A cacophony of noises rose in volume, people scrambling to attack a wisping shadow in failure, for the punches came too quick and too powerful. A whirlwind of purple light trailed by each landed blow and, tried as you might, every shot from your pistol did nothing against the flurry of that damn bludgeoning weapon.
“Rise!” Ulaz shouted and, instantly, a cooling spell fell over you, releasing you from the bruising pain of your crushed rib.
You owe him a drink for that one.
“Form up on me! Shields up!” Shiro ordered, equipping his own shield to cover his front, but it was already too late.
By the time the chaos settled and the dust came down, the attacker had Hira’s throat in a deadly grasp while holding her body up in the air. Metal claws were cutting into her skin, drawing a line of blood, just to emphasize how serious she is close to dying. One wrong move, and her life would be forfeit. You waited with held breath on a command, anything from Shiro, but nothing came in one, two, three seconds.
Then, Shiro’s eyes widened at the person standing across from his infantry.
Summary: The world is becoming more and more dangerous, both on land and sea. It’s time for you to face this fight, and dragon, on your own terms. Even if it means siding along with the kingdom who would condemn your kind without mercy.
Warnings: Mention about decapitation.
★ Disclaimer: I do not ship Lotura and I respectfully ask that this story to not be tagged as Lotura. This is a Lotor x Reader/Self-Insert OC story which is in no way related to Lotura at all. Please be respectful of my chosen pairing. ★
A/N: It’s a medieval-ish AU with dragons. What more could you want?
1 . 2 .
-
[There’s an old saying among renegade sea folk: The pirate that counts their booty are mere thieves.
War and death have pillaged the water and dirt of the planet for centuries, costing innocent lives from both sides. It was easy to paint the enemy as the enemy, as the one who needs to die before their sword cuts down your soul. It was easy to defend what you righteously believed needs to be defended, whether that be gold or the treasures that come with family and friends. It was easy to embrace that the laws of the sea were, at best, just rumors among the free people.
And such laws, such rules whispered by the dead man, don’t apply to the mystical wildlife. They don’t apply to creatures who have no loyalty, who have no other moral besides kill and eat for survival. From the trolls of the mountains, to the mermaids of the sea, to the fae of the forests, to the very dragons who control elements with ferocity matching the epitome of death itself, it would do well to remember that a set of fangs have no set order to kill.
But while beasts and monsters roam, and kingdoms rise and fall to the tests of time, and legends become lingering myths by the breath of the wind, it is the folly of prideful ignorance which murders countless more than the culmination of every bloodthirsty demon known in existence. With that in mind, tread carefully around those you would call allies or friends or like-minded folks. The Codex of Life may preach all-for-one and one-for-all, but deep down, it is a beautifully written lie for the over-eager martyrs.
Do not fall for such false speech regarding the dichotomy of good and evil.
Severing a hydra’s head will not kill it. Mana spells are useless against the naga’s of the Ice Plateaus. Beware of the volcano whose smoke takes form of two lovers, for no weapon or mantra can quell their rage should you cross them on a full moon. This collection of knowledge will help spread death, strike fear and hope in the hearts of many, and I leave this to you, my child.
You will have no legacy to follow. You are the bastard child I left behind to reach that unreachable freedom. You will make your own name amongst the farthest edges of the sea with every gale that blesses your sails.
You are a pirate.]
Closing the leather-bound journal, you skimmed your thumb over the pressed design of crossbones and cutlass’ on the cover. A legacy forgotten and one you would never know about? Dead men tell no tales, indeed. But regardless, this book would help with the bounty you were debating on facing. The paper was flimsy, hastily ripped off the pole to save for later, but the words were clear as day. And if you were able to complete this task, pocket enough shiny coin to support your entire crew with all the rum and pleasure they could want for years on end, leave behind your own legend, then that’d be enough for you.
“Seeking Dragonslayers of all kind! Report to Altea, Blessed Kingdom of Oriande!”
Then, hastily scribbled at the bottom.
“Speak to Paladin Takashi of the Black Mane Guild.”
Hefting yourself from your seat, you downed the rest of your mug reeking of ale and moist wood. The jovial band played, the patrons danced, the entire room was filled with fighting life, and it was impossible to not let it flow through you. It felt wrong to hold such a book in this place, the taboo writings from death’s bleeding quill. And so, with a tip of your hat and a silver doubloon for the ever so diligent barkeep, you stumbled out into the chill of the night with nothing but your guns, your sword, and the magical warmth of ale to keep you steadfast and eager towards your freedom.
But freedom always came with a cost and you paid a leg to chase it.
When you passed through the heavily fortified gates of Altea, shimmering in that pristine metal forged only by the elves of old, nothing came as a surprise. This place, this kingdom, the people here, were rich with elegance and practically congested in an air of royalty. Prim and proper. Clean, lethal, and ready to strike while looking mystical by default. Alteans, they called themselves. A long generation of the ancient Elven deities, granted with the dwindling power of magic.
The book states they do not share their secrets with outsiders. Not even to those stupidly loyal to them.
Imagine the raised brow of confusion when you saw their captain, that Takashi fellow, was a werewolf. So far from his pack, this one. Though, it made sense. Ferocious, fierce, werewolves were not meant to be trifled with, full moon or no. The loyalty of the wolf combined with the logical reasoning of man? Smart. Now, the real question was where did his allegiance lie?
“Paladin Takashi, I presume?”
Grey eyes, like the foggiest of winter nights, met yours and you saw him size you up with but a flash. Not lecherously, no, more like how a soldier would assess a fight, a situation, a potential ally or enemy. With amusement glistening in YOUR eyes, you found that he couldn’t pinpoint you down. A pirate on land? Joining the fight for a good cause? Yes, yes, you heard it all before. Walking ironies were always meant to be suspicious.
But pirates had charm and you knew when to use it.
With a flourished bow, both exaggerating in mock and respect, you spoke through a grin, “Allow me to introduce meself, ser. I be known as Peg-Leg the Kegmaster, cannon crafter and duelist extraordinaire of The Mermaid’s Doom, here at yer service.”
“A pirate?”
“Aye, a pirate, and if ye gunna be needin’ a slayed dragon, then yer gunna be needin’ what I have’ta offer.”
“To be honest, I’m surprised the guards didn’t detain you at first sight. But, desperate times call for desperate measures,” he replied freely, not at all with a judgmental tone but one of legitimate concern for you, for a stranger.
“An’ I be the perfect one fer those desperate times, mate.”
You placed the bounty parchment on the table in front of him then slid into the seat, onlookers tending to their own business. Coming here, to the central command of the vigilant army, there were all sorts of different kinds of folks around. Some wielding spears and donning turtle shells on their backs, others like Shiro with ears and tails and even fangs of werewolves, feathered harpies whose talons looked lethal enough to kill a shark, and even dwarves armored with fine metal from top to bottom.
A ragtag group of people, all coming together to fight one monster which has been blighting their landlubbing surface for who knows how long. An honorable cause, but as they say, there’s no honor amongst thieves. That’s why proving yourself right now would be pivotal to your aligned goals.
“By order of Her Majesty, Princess Allura, I have been bestowed the task of ridding the quintessence raged dragon of the north. Because of this, we can not allow magic-wielders to join our group. I know Peg is not your real name - “ you grinned cheekily, not at all affected by the admonishing tone in the truth, “ - but if you use quintessence to fight, I’m afraid you’re of no use to us on the frontline.”
“Nay, I t’aint one for hocus-pocus witchcraft. You start mutterin’ curses and voodoo gobbledee gook, I scatter like-a flock o’ gulls fleeing from the slimy tentacles of kraken itself.” With a nod to the paper, you continued, “If I were to be speakin’ the truth, matey, I’m here fer the gold. Nothing more, nothing less. Anything to do with yer kingdoms rubbin’ elbows with ya fancy silks are of no concern to me.”
Shiro leaned back, arms crossed, then tilted his head just a bit, not at all unlike a puppy trying to understand some strange phenomenon. He wasn’t a fresh soldier from the pack. Battle scars under his fur showed that this isn’t the first time he’s faced a foe bigger than himself. It was only by his strong connection with his righteous virtues and a debt owed to Altea, more specifically Honerva, that he was appointed captain of this draconic crusade.
But his trust in his instincts were always on point. That made him invaluable and right now? With watching you smile that smarmy smile, his instincts told him that, yes, you were good. Rogues were a recipe for trouble, add that with the lot of pirates, and you get chaos. An ace up the sleeve, a random boon that benefits all based on the law of uncertainty. Shiro would take a draw rather than a loss any day.
And he’s dealt with pirates before. Closely, in fact.
The Paladin rubbed his chin with his prosthetic arm, the smooth surface of quintessence run mechanism offering a small calm for his thoughts. “Where’s the rest of your crew?”
“The wind in the sails took ‘em to the sea. I chose t’stay. ‘Tis only a matter of time before this dragon o’ yers starts roosting in other lands and I ain’t one for facing more monsters below and above the waves,” your voice trailed off for a moment before your eyes snapped from his arm to his face, “Nor am I lookin’ to be noosed by yer masters. If this alliance can not be, I’ll be on me merry way an’ ye won’t need ‘ta worry about one more pirate on your plate.”
But he was no fool. Word of the growing stress between kingdoms reached even overseas in the last decade. News about the alliance between Altea and Daibazaal falling out with King Alfor’s death, or rather, “assassination.” It was rumored that the Galra leaders unleashed an ancient dragon, created of pure quintessence, to attack the Elven empire and cripple the nation. After the destruction which nearly annihilated the royal family, it fled to the Kral Zera holy lands, never to be seen again.
Until now. Shiro repeatedly told himself that perhaps this was just a dead end, a fairy tale told to keep kids safe and sound inside. A story meant to induce fear that the evil dragon can sense wrongdoings and will come eat you to gain more power. All leads he followed led to different answers, and this may be an unaccomplished quest in the end, but if that were the case, then he will serve to protect the innocent at the highest cost.
“The Black Mane work with several nations, not just one. If you can prove to be useful, be battle ready when needed, and are willing to help all, then consider yourself part of the pact,” he pulled out a folded paper from his pouch then slid it to you, “It’s a contract, rules to be followed while commissioned by the guild.”
“Yer giving me a set o’ rules?”
Now, this is where he let slip a grin hiding familiar mischief, “They’re more like guidelines should you choose to follow them, for your safety and the successful completion of this quest.”
“Tell me something, cap’n,” you asked, eyes reading but mindful of his attention, “Have ye ever broken one o’ them rules of yers?”
“Yes.” Straight answer with a tone of finality, a tone of that is all I’m saying on the matter.
You signed across the line, temporarily giving your time and life over to this noble cause, “Then do we have an accord?”
Shiro shook hands with pirates before. He’s taken more hands before, too. But what most people would suspiciously think about making deals with pirates were wrong. Honor and loyalty weren’t definitions they followed by their very soul, not like he did, yet as he firmly grasped your offered hand in agreement, his instincts told him one jarring fact.
Summary: You bait a mermaid and find he is a little more terrifying than you heard from stories.
Warnings: None.
★ Disclaimer: I do not ship Lotura and I respectfully ask that this story to not be tagged as Lotura. This is a Lotor x Reader/Self-Insert OC story which is in no way related to Allura at all. Please be respectful of my chosen pairing. ★
=
At first, you thought it was a trick of the light. Maybe the setting sun had gotten in your eye or there was sand stuck in there, causing you to blink at the most inopportune moment. But no, that couldn’t be, because what you thought was a shimmering, triangular black tooth was surely just some…fossil that washed up on shore, right? That made much more sense than the idea that a mermaid had saved you from a vicious wipe out.
Try surfing, they said. You’ll get hooked to it, they said.
Your foam board was snapped in two, but that could have been your spine. Sitting up on the shore, water still lapping at your feet, you squinted to stare hard at the distant waves. Sure, your chest still hurts a bit from swallowing gallons of seawater. Your muscles ache from surfing so unprepared. And those scrapes from brushing against the coral? They hurt, but nothing would hurt more than not knowing the truth.
You blinked and saw the tail fin of…a dolphin?
*
The next time you went to the beach, you were ready. Or, at the very least, more prepared. Calm winds today, so no chance of being swept away suddenly due to poor forecast. Poor forecast and poor judgement, you reminded yourself. This time, you weren’t really focused on catching a wave. This time, you just wanted to see how far you can go. Past the break, past that safety net which kept the fish out.
And this time, you brought bait with you. Nothing fancy, but very smelly. The odor would no doubt be extra potent under water, attracting all manner of dolphins and other marine life near you. That was the plan, to catch that mermaid, because that was definitely what you saw. Well, catch is more or less the right term. You just wanted to see one. You wanted to believe they were real.
They had to be.
But when you waded beyond comfort and the shoreline was but a mere blur in the distance, suddenly maybe this wasn’t a good idea. It was getting dark. The sun had set, but the leftover remnants of the day was still decorating the sky. You had been holding the fish in the water for at least an hour now, but you hadn’t seen fin or scale or even heard a splash -
A spray of water had slapped the back of your head, making you yelp in surprise and drop your slippery bait. Turning around quickly, you saw the disturbance in the water already begin to settle back into a natural pattern. Maybe it was there? This time for sure, you were not going to look away from that spot. Blindly, your hand reached where you dropped the fish, hoping it hadn’t drifted too far away.
Then, you felt something rough brush against the palm of your hand.
“Hey!” you shouted, quickly switching your gaze to the side of your board after yanking your hand back to safety.
There was a faint purple glow beneath the surface. A line of them, illuminating the dark, deep waters below.
*
The locals had taken to calling you a plank, for the sole reason that you always seemed to just sit out in the water instead of ride the waves. Sure, they laughed, and many other surfers even came by to ask if you needed help, to which you only shook your head no. Maybe you didn’t know how to use your board properly? Or you were too occupied with being one with nature?
No. You were too curious for your own good. And, you will admit, too ambitious.
The plan tonight was going to be different, much different. You tossed the fish a few feet away from you and played the waiting game again. However, you didn’t have to linger long. The fish plopped and disappeared after a few spare minutes. Then, throwing another, it was plucked under within a second. Now, knowing that the mermaid was here, you took a deep breath.
And dove right in.
Your trusty board floated away, not too far that you couldn’t swim back to it, but would you even really need to? The knowledge that a real life mermaid was here was way more important right now. Plus, logically, you knew this was the one that saved you long ago. Why would a mermaid change their mind now? Why save someone to only eat them for dinner?
The current underwater was the first thing you felt change as you kicked your feet in a steady rhythm to stay afloat. But still, you saw nothing, except the moon, the clouds, and the stars hiding behind them. Did your heart picked up its pace in your chest? Yes. Did you regret this decision? Not quite yet. What was it that folklore said about mermaids? They were sirens of the sea? Lured people with their disarming voice? Ate poor bewitched humans as they dragged them to their watery grave?
And suddenly, the light from the moon became shadowed. That presence? Was behind you. Looming over you. Watching you like the curious little, wandering prey you are.
Swiftly turning in your spot, you were finally graced with what many believed to be the demons of the ocean. They were all wrong. All the stories. All the gossip and the myths and boastful claims of “I killed a mermaid before.” That was simply not possible because the one right in front of you was too extraordinarily beautiful for both land and sea.
And, oh, you were mesmerized. Enchanted. Captivated.
What drew your breath to stop was not his luminous, silver hair cascading like streams of moonlight over his collarbones. Nor was it his wine, almost grey, shade of skin, but rather his eyes. Inky blackness harboring a ring of nebulous blues and purples, glowing with intimidation and power right back at you. He was studying you, that much was certain if you had been aware of yourself at the moment. But you weren’t. You were trapped, ensnared, unable to bring your mind to think about anything else except those dual-toned irises belonging to this beast of a man.
The mermaid’s head tilted, soft locks giving way to expose those gills along the column of his neck. Markings, he was covered in them. They greatly contrasted against his wet skin in sharp curves, highlighting his handsome assets even more. Along his cheeks, his jaw, those broad shoulders, his well-developed muscles covered in aged scars, all the way down to his dripping waist and below. His…other half.
It was a little different, now that you think about it, that the art depicting mermaids to be remarkably close to, well, a human. But he had no rounded ears or smooth, glistening skin, or even the same row of pearly whites like you did. They were…black and glinting at you dangerously with a smile. A smirk? A grin. He was grinning at you, eyes hooded with lax silver brows and a look one could only describe as deliciously amused.
“Are you lost, little guppy?”
You wouldn’t exactly say his voice was deep. It was more of a growl, a rumble, a warning disguised as nothing more than a simple question. No alluring magic there, but it did give you a shiver colder than the chill of water.
When you didn’t answer him, that grin spread even wider, “I thank you for the fish, but I do not think you should be out here this late.”
“I wanted to see you.”
“Hm. And so, you have.” An order, a tone of finality, and before you could add more to your answer, he waded closer. And closer still, “Now, it would be wise to return you to land before you drown from exhaustion, no?”
The mysterious mermaid had ushered you to your board, the firm plastic nudging your back, “But - no, wait - “
Despite your defiance, you found yourself climbing up on the safety of your surfboard. He swam effortlessly to the rear, getting ready to push you and guide the wandering human back to shore. The man - he was chuckling. At you? Your stutter? No, none of that. He was deviously delighted at this small human who he could easily break in a soul-crushing hug. This mermaid was no small shark, after all.
“I’ll see you again, right?” facing him, not once daring to look away lest the illusion wear off, “Right?”
“No, I do not think you will.”
That is for me to know and for you to find out.
Your face fell slightly at the prospect of never witnessing this marvelous man in all his mythical glory ever again, “Then…then can I at least know your name?”
The name of the one who saved me. The name of the one who will bless my dreams every night from now on. The name of the mermaid with black teeth and the unknown cosmos in his eyes.
“My name is Lotor, dear,” he winked, your heart stuttered, and your mind came to one conclusion.
You wanted, no, needed to know more about this mermaid who so easily trapped your heart in his jaws.
