bluemantics

[bluemantics]

would you happen to have any protective keith/lance fic recs? ive been looking all over for good ones 😭

hey anon! this actually gives me a great opportunity to let everyone know that i will no longer be answering fic recommendation asks! while that is how my blog started, school & my own writing has unfortunately limited the amount of time i have to answer these.

(anon i absolutely am NOT upset with you btw, you're totally fine for asking)

HOWEVER! i have 2 things that might help as resources for yall in the future

my bookmarks! every fic i read & love is in here. filter by klance to avoid my other fave ships! there are like 500+ fics here

@still--kicking is an AMAZING fic rec wizard. she’s the person to ask if you’re looking for any specific aus & tropes!

hope this also explains why i have not answered yalls fic rec asks lately </3 and that you find what you are seeking anon!

[bluemantics]

It’s Keith and it’s Lance and it’s

“I’ve done awful things, Lance,” Keith whispered into the dark. “I became a person you would hate, just to survive. I wanted to see you every day.”

“I know.”

“You should hate me. You shouldn’t want me here, in your bed, next to you while you sleep. I’m bloodstained. I’m violent.”

“Do you want to be here?”

“What?”

“Do you want to be here.”

“Of course.”

“Then let me decide if I feel safe with you. I do, by the way. If I’m some judge of your morality, your actions, I’ll find you worthy of redemption every time.”

“You don’t know what you’re agreeing to.”

“But I know you, Keith. I know your heart. I know what it beats for. Now, sleep, and let me love you in peace.”

“…okay.”

“You love me. I know that, too.”

“I do.”

[bluemantics]

Hunk can see wholeness in broken things.

When he was a kid, his mother taught him to cook, and she’d take his hands in her soft, calloused ones and guide him to slice an onion or peel a carrot. Her deep, brown eyes watched every move he made with fondness as he desperately tried to replicate her seemingly perfect technique. He anxiously sat by the stove as she stirred all the ingredients in a big, metal pot. 

After they’d finished, Hunk remembered the anxiety that nestled in his chest, squeezing his heart while he waited for her to take the first bite. She’d dipped her spoon straight into the soup and lifted it gingerly to her lips, a whisper of breath curling over it that blew steam off it in spirals. 

When she tasted it, her eyes lit up, widening with joy that Hunk would carry with him to school and to the desert and to space and back home. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t actually cooked it alone or that his mom had to work the stove. Hunk had taken all these things and made them something new, something whole. “Wonderful job, my little chef.” She ruffled his hair. 

So, Hunk continued cooking. He found love and pride he could only communicate in food. Little labors of dicing tomatoes, mixing sesame and soy, slathering chicken in herbs and spices, it was all a language Hunk spoke fluently, a way for him to communicate when his tongue failed and his nerves tightened. 

Then, he grew up, and cooking wasn’t enough. It was an escape, but it wasn’t realistic. However, the Garrison was. His mama and mom argued a lot over what was right for him. Mom said he would be fine at home, but Mama disagreed, told her that they should foster the first sign of ambition Hunk was showing.

Hunk wasn’t sure if he’d call it ambition. All he knew was that being a chef hadn’t worked out for Mom, what with her late nights in their dimly lit kitchen, clutching letters she’d failed to answer. His moms had provided so much for him. Being a chef… probably wouldn’t enable him to return on any of that. 

Eventually, his Mama won, and Hunk was set for the Garrison. There, he learned a new language, of tools and tech and cogs. Just like cooking, he was shockingly good at creating something new from all the metal parts and circuit boards. Engineer, though not his first choice, fit him just as well as chef. Teachers fawned over his creations, and his new teammate, Lance McClain, raved about how “dope” and “radical” his projects were. 

Hunk loved his new teammates. Lance was hilarious, totally different from all the people he’d grown up around. He was unafraid to speak his mind and take action in a way that Hunk was envious of. If he’d get his act together in the simulators, Lance would probably have made fighter pilot. Pidge was cool, too, even if he didn’t speak much. 

So, Hunk continued building. He pieced together plans and projects by day and cooked for Lance and Pidge at night. He collected all the parts he needed to make a life for himself in this strange, militaristic place, despite never picturing himself even adjacent to a soldier.

Yeah. Ironic.

Then, Hunk found himself a soldier, fighting a war 9,983 years older than his lifespan. Soldier fit much worse than engineer or chef. He didn’t put anything together on the battlefield, didn’t understand the language of violence or bullets. Every cry of pain was muffled in his aching eardrums. Armor fit him poorly, feeling more like a cage than a defensive wall. Over and over, he looked around, searched for the pieces he could shape together to make warfare understandable, digestible. His teammates seemed to have no problems with it, making strategies and executing missions without doubt or fear. Hunk just had to think, he had to adapt, he had to puzzle, he had to plan, he had no choice, where did it start? Where did it end? What is waiting for him on the other side of this, when the puzzle’s been fixed and the team has— 

The team. That was it. They functioned like a group of individuals. If anything, Hunk knew people. He wasn’t Lance, all hyper-EQ and intense awareness, but he had his own thing: approachability. 

If they were going to be in space for an indefinite amount of time, Hunk would piece together a team.

So he cooked. He made dinners, a place where they were forced to spend time together and talk like normal teenagers. He fed Allura and Coran and Shiro comfort foods during late-night episodes of nightmares.

So he built. He tinkered with his lion, fixed her up while chatting with Pidge and Keith, lending an ear to their worries and their silences alike. 

And when he got tired, he leaned on Lance, who would smile knowingly and say, “Nice work, buddy.” 

Even if war would never become understandable, Hunk would make it quieter during the off-moments. He’d fix something else, with hands passed on from his mom, calloused and gentle.

[bluemantics]

belated wip wednesday! sorry gang i had an exam yesterday night 🫡

walk with me ch 2 comes out 4/19

tune in for: i love the way you work ; i love the way you fight ; i love it when you’re sunburned ; and i love it when you can’t admit it but you totally love me too

[bluemantics]

hi!! omg i actually got into voltron last year and this year keith and lance came to haunt me back- 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️ i followed you last year and because these two came knocking again this year i ended up going through ur account again asdfghjkl then i found out u had twitter and wahhh immediate follow!! srry im rambling-

so… about that giveaway… 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🤸‍♀️🤸‍♀️🤸‍♀️

i feel like i never did find fics of these two struggling to adjust with their new roles as the red and black paladin. and i LOVE the takes you made abt bp!keith and rp!lance. so if u you got anything to share abt them arguing, possibly tension-filled, omg please share- (i actually was so starved i ended up writing one of my own asdfghjkl but omg to read one written by you would be an absolute blessing like??? 🫶🫶🫶)

anyways love ur writinggg please keep on wrting abt these sillies!! ^^

p/s: this thread of yours abt lance always only ever earned keith’s leftovers hurt so bad yet so good please keep on cooking always 🫂🫂🫂

CONGRATS ON WINNING THE GIVEAWAY!!!! i am so so excited to write this ficlet bc i simply ADORE the rp bp dynamic. push and pull & balancing acts rly are some of my favorite things to write so i can’t wait!

also this message is filled with so many lovely things so lemme just say thank you very much op! while i don’t use twitter anymore that is where i started to write a lot of klance so i am glad u like my account there ❤️

hopefully will have this ficlet done sometime in the next 1.5-2 weeks!! thank you to everyone else who entered— ur ideas are all amazing and some were insanely funny/tragic lol i loved them ALL. i was surprised by the amount of submissions i received— yall are the BEST

[bluemantics]

last day!

thank you so much for 500 followers! y’all are absolutely insane and i am so grateful for your support and kindness!!

in honor of this milestone i’ll be hosting a klance ficlet giveaway to thank you guys!! YOU COULD GET TO CHOOSE WHAT I WRITE!

rules:

to enter, you must submit a prompt for a ficlet in my ask box! you can be anonymous or not, but the winner will have to dm me so i can @ them later on. the prompt can be as loose or as rigid as you want! for example— “volleyball au” OR “postcanon keith and lance go bowling with the gang, lots of fluff, lots of stupidity.” PLEASE PUT THE WORD GIVEAWAY SOMEWHERE IN YOUR ASK!

prompts must be submitted by 4/9 at midnight (eastern time)! i will announce the winner on 4/10 by posting their prompt. if they are anonymous, the winner should dm me so i can credit their idea when i post.

the winner will receive me writing & posting a ficlet based on whatever prompt they wanted (and they will be tagged in the post).

good luck!!

[bluemantics]

An unstoppable force meets an immovable object.

Katsuki Bakugou’s hand implodes against Eijirou Kirishima’s arm; a flurry of sparks surround them with a sound that rings between his skull. 

This is something he knows how to do well. With every blow that Katsuki unleashes, he feels Kirishima retaliate with more, responding like a dance to his every movement. Katsuki is a fine-tuned instrument of destruction, every muscle on his body worked with the intention of winning. 

His back, flexible from years of stretching, twists around as he spins in midair to unleash a flurry of miniature, controlled explosions. His shoulders, the sturdiest part of his body, brace him as he rolls against the ground and absorbs the impact of returning to earth. His legs, built from running endless miles, coil underneath him as he jumps back up, forever ready for action.

Katsuki hears Kirishima laugh, his hands raised to protect his face. He already knows what’s coming when Katsuki raises his hands. 

While the rest of his body may be useful in a fight, only his hands are truly necessary.

Calluses line his palms and fingertips. His hands flex into a bent-open shape. Scars twist from the sides, proof of past failures. 

These are hands created solely for ruin. 

He launches himself at Kirishima. 

They begin their weaving dance again– Katsuki lands two blows for every swoop of Kirishima’s legs or arms, feeling the anger and satisfaction burning like twin flames beneath his ribs. Kirishima always seems to last longer every fight, causing Katsuki to move more, losing stamina and exposing his weak spots. 

Katsuki is a man of science, and he considers himself decent at physics. Understanding the molecular structure and the trajectory of an explosion felt relevant to his work, so he took electives and studied extra.

He knows this scenario well, but has yet to find an answer for it. What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object? What happens when someone who always wins goes toe-to-toe with someone who refuses to lose?

Kirishima spits at the ground, flexes his arms, and somehow toughens his skin even more. A wicked grin takes over Katsuki’s face.

At first, he thought that the solution to this paradox was Kirishima always losing. The issue with that? Kirishima wouldn’t stay down . 

“Again?” he asked, the reply the same after every defeat. Katsuki always nodded, as much as it pissed him off. He had to respect Kirishima’s goals. He wanted to be undefeatable, strong enough to take on anything that came his way. 

Katsuki didn’t think he realized that he already was unbeatable due to his spirit alone.

Now, Katsuki thinks that the solution to their physics problem was simple all along. An unstoppable force meets an immovable object, a knife meets a stone, both of them get stronger, sharper, better, make each other better. 

Until, finally. Kirishima grips Katsuki’s ankle as he flies overhead. He made a mistake. 

Katsuki goes down, gets pinned, and loses his breath in an instant. The pain is instantaneous and leaves quickly when Kirishima’s smiling face comes to hover over his eyeline as he unpins Katsuki. 

He’s breathing heavily, sweat dripping into his eyes and making him blink.

“Need a hand up?”

Katsuki’s hand slowly raises. He looks at it before he places it in Kirishima’s, wondering if it might have more than one purpose now. Kirishima’s hand is rough and warm as he yanks Katsuki to his feet. He’s glowing under the midday sun, and he should be: this is the first time he’s ever beaten Katsuki in a sparring match. He expects Kirishima to gloat or to celebrate or to at least beam with pride, but he does none of those things. 

Instead, he utters the same old call.

“Again?”

Something thrums within Katsuki, deep down, an answer. 

He looks at Kirishima, who is unwavering in his stance and his gaze. He accepts. 

[bluemantics]

5 days!

thank you so much for 500 followers! y’all are absolutely insane and i am so grateful for your support and kindness!!

in honor of this milestone i’ll be hosting a klance ficlet giveaway to thank you guys!! YOU COULD GET TO CHOOSE WHAT I WRITE!

rules:

to enter, you must submit a prompt for a ficlet in my ask box! you can be anonymous or not, but the winner will have to dm me so i can @ them later on. the prompt can be as loose or as rigid as you want! for example— “volleyball au” OR “postcanon keith and lance go bowling with the gang, lots of fluff, lots of stupidity.” PLEASE PUT THE WORD GIVEAWAY SOMEWHERE IN YOUR ASK!

prompts must be submitted by 4/9 at midnight (eastern time)! i will announce the winner on 4/10 by posting their prompt. if they are anonymous, the winner should dm me so i can credit their idea when i post.

the winner will receive me writing & posting a ficlet based on whatever prompt they wanted (and they will be tagged in the post).

good luck!!

[bluemantics]

“You’re coming, right?” Bakugou waits expectantly by his car, trunk stuffed with everything from his dorm. Kirishima stares at him in return, mind darting, his hands clenched at his sides. The sunset douses his friend’s back in golden-pink hues, casting soft lines on his messy blonde hair. 

Graduation set on them in a flurry of emotions, panic, and last-minute decisions. Many of their classmates had big plans set in stone since the beginning of the year, including Bakugou, who had an offer from Endeavor early on. Todoroki also was set to work in the same agency, while Midoriya already had his own currently under construction with Iida. Everyone had decided weeks before graduation, and most people assumed Kirishima was going to Fatgum. 

He wasn’t. 

Bakugou crosses his arms, impatient. “You can’t just wait around all day. We gotta get outta here, Kirishima.”

It’s nice, getting acknowledgment from Bakugou. Use of his given name. Choosing Kirishima to be his partner. Reaching out and grasping his hand, and only his. At some point, though… acknowledgement isn’t enough, and it evolves into reliance. 

Kirishima lets his hands open, and breathes in quietly. He really looks at his best friend.

All he could see before was the sun, blazing brightly, demanding attention and recognition. If Bakugou is the sun, Kirishima is a heap of fool’s gold doing a poor job of reflecting it. Struggling to be seen. Using his warmth as a crutch, even.

While he loves fighting side-by-side with Katsuki, Kirishima knows that he will never become capital-G Great if he keeps throwing punches from the devouring shadow of Dynamight. So, here he is, holding onto this last secret.

Bakugou awaits his response. It’s not his fault, really, and honesty is the most important gift Kirishima can promise him, after all the nonsense that they’ve endured. 

“I’m going to Germany,” Kirishima finally replies, voice thin and choking. “I signed the contract last night.” 

He doesn’t say I’m sorry, or it’s nothing personal, because he isn’t and it is. It’s always been about them. For once, Kirishima has to be for himself. He watches as anger builds in Bakugou’s eyes, but maturing has made him less of a temperamental boy and moreso a rough-edged man. 

“Running away?” he challenges. Always searching for weakness, to the point of exhaustion. 

“Never.” Kirishima bares his teeth in a strained grin. 

In Germany, he will start something new. See what he can do alone. Bakugou nods, as if reading his mind, and turns around to get into his car. 

“Then you’re coming?” He demands, voice unreadable as ever. 

“Soon!” Eijirou declares. “Don’t wait.”

The blond swings open his car door and steps inside, tossing a challenging grin out the window as he slams the door closed. The sun’s almost dipped below the horizon, now, and he’s almost entirely hidden in the shadows of his sedan. 

“‘Course I fucking won’t.” 

Before Bakugou can drive off, Kirishima is the one who picks up his bags and turns around. He doesn’t listen for the sound of tires or an engine starting. With a tall stance and a determined gaze forward, he walks to the airport shuttle. 

[bluemantics]

WIP WEDNESDAY!!! and an exciting announcement 😸

chapter 2 of walk with me will come out 4/19!!

[bluemantics]

OH MY GOD IM IN TEARSSSSSSSS ROBY YOU ABSOLUTE LEGEND YOU SWEETHEART I ACTUALLY CAN’T :”(((( ILY BRO THIS IS AMAZING AND YOU CAPTURED IT SO WELLLLLLLLLLL

Hmm I sure wonder what day it is- HA‼️ YOU’VE BEEN APRIL FOOLED 👆, IT’S BLUEMANTICS DAY !!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE AWESOME LEGEND @bluemanticism, Here’s a lil comic I made for their fic “A Keith by Any Other Name” I hope you have the cooliest of celebrations because you have the coolest of selves ❤️💙

[bluemantics]

thank you so much for 500 followers! y’all are absolutely insane and i am so grateful for your support and kindness!!

in honor of this milestone i’ll be hosting a klance ficlet giveaway to thank you guys!! YOU COULD GET TO CHOOSE WHAT I WRITE!

rules:

to enter, you must submit a prompt for a ficlet in my ask box! you can be anonymous or not, but the winner will have to dm me so i can @ them later on. the prompt can be as loose or as rigid as you want! for example— “volleyball au” OR “postcanon keith and lance go bowling with the gang, lots of fluff, lots of stupidity.” PLEASE PUT THE WORD GIVEAWAY SOMEWHERE IN YOUR ASK!

prompts must be submitted by 4/9 at midnight (eastern time)! i will announce the winner on 4/10 by posting their prompt. if they are anonymous, the winner should dm me so i can credit their idea when i post.

the winner will receive me writing & posting a ficlet based on whatever prompt they wanted (and they will be tagged in the post).

good luck!!

[bluemantics]

Lance McClain usually loved being Chat Noir. While he claimed he did it for the glory—thank you, press—many of the actual accolades were reserved for his partner, Ladybug.

He was the real reason Lance giddily transformed every night, jumping out of his university dorm window with bright blue eyes and adrenaline. Brooding, goal-oriented, wildly talented Ladybug seemed to have a permanent hold on his heart, even when the man in question was angry with Lance. 

Case in point: today’s patrol. It was a dark, low-lit fall night in Paris, with crisp air masking the normal city smells. Overhead, a few stars could be seen beyond the haze of light pollution. They winked down over the chaotic scene Lance had unfortunately been blamed for.

“How did you miss the giant stuffed bear?” Ladybug yelled at Lance, slinging his yo-yo and flying across the rooftops. Lance, wearing his signature black cat outfit and mask, let out a huff as he chased after his partner. 

“He must have been behind me, I swear. Parisian streets are super narrow, man; it’s insanely hard to patrol.” He sent a pleading look to Bug, complete with a pout stretching his lips.

Ladybug glared in return, but Lance took a second to admire his muscles flexing under his red spandex uniform as they hopped over buildings. “No more excuses. Let’s just fight this guy.” God, even when he was a complete dick, Ladybug was hot. Maybe it was the meanness that Lance was attracted to? He should probably talk to a therapist. 

“On it, Bugaboo!” 

“Don’t call me that!” 

Lance didn’t listen, already extending his baton to a staff so he could launch directly into the fray. Surely it wouldn’t be too difficult to take down a massive teddy bear. They had this in the bag. With his sharp, catlike reflexes, Lance swept his staff toward the top of the bear’s fluffy head and cracked down. Instantly, the bear’s springy exterior cushioned the blow and whipped the force right back.

“Uh oh,” Lance muttered, recalling his physics classes on how every force has an equal opposite reac–

He went flying. 

“Chat!” Ladybug’s cry rang out as he desperately landed in a roll on the roof of a grocer's, tumbling gracelessly to a stop. “Are you alright?” Lance stuck a thumbs up in the air.

“All good, but we probably can’t hit this guy,” Lance groaned, pulling himself into a crouch and rubbing his sore tailbone. Ladybug’s attention snapped back to their enemy, his gaze calculating. The sight stirred a little flutter in Lance’s chest. In his opinion, the most attractive thing about Ladybug wasn’t anything the news tended to debate over. Sure, his dark hair was thick and shiny. Yes, his rippling biceps were anything but ugly. However, the real thing that made Lance fall for him was this: how naturally he fit into battle, using his sharp instincts to act on the fly. 

Sometimes it was reckless. Most times, it was beautiful. Tonight was no different, as Ladybug quickly deduced a hidden detail on the bear’s paw and got to work. He sent Lance to sneak under its foot while it lifted to take a step, using himself as a distraction while Lance broke the sound box at its seam with Cataclysm. That process alone took a solid five minutes as the bear kept nearly crushing Lance with its thudding footsteps, Ladybug taunting it from above.

Finally, as he broke the box, a blackened butterfly zipped out and zipped into the air. Ladybug was right in place, waiting for his opportunity to catch it securely in his yo-yo. Lance clambered up next to his partner and watched him complete their post-battle ritual.

“Bye-bye, butterfly.” Lance grinned and waved as the newly purified butterfly floated off on a gentle breeze. 

As Ladybug’s magic reset the city, Lance tried to ignore his miraculous beeping. “So, are you ever going to reveal your identity? I purr-omise to keep it a secret, hot stuff.” Satisfaction filled him as Ladybug’s pale cheeks dusted red below his mask.

“No. That would obviously compromise our safety if we got caught,” Ladybug said (again). 

“A shame,” Lance sighed, leaning on his staff and cocking his head. “We would make a meow-velous pair, Bugaboo. Don’t you trust me?”

“It’s not about that, Chat, and you know it,” Ladybug replied shortly. He prepped his yo-yo to leave, much to Lance’s disappointment, twirling it in his hands as he prepared for takeoff. “Also, your puns are shit.” With that, he zipped away, leaving Lance alone on the roof. 

“Ugh,” Lance groaned at Ladybug’s retreating silhouette, his head rolling to the side. Suddenly, a bright sign caught his eye. “Eau de Kogane– oh hell no!” 

Looming above him was a billboard for famous model Keith Kogane’s new signature fragrance. Keith’s flawless face was tossed back in a neutral expression while his hands were positioned elegantly around his neck. Soft white light haloed his curved pose, making Lance stick out his tongue.

In addition to being an internationally famous model, Keith also happened to be Lance’s classmate, whom he hated. Despite consistently missing classes in their program, he managed to eke out incredible grades and end up at the top of their year without even trying. The guy had a magic touch.

He was Lance’s sworn rival.

Lance’s brow wrinkled as he stared up at the advertisement. He’d much rather it be Ladybug’s handsome face saying farewell as he closed out his night of heroism, not Keith Kogane’s ugly mug. “Bye, bitch-ass.”

With a sudden leap and a run, Chat Noir returned to the shadows of the night.

[bluemantics]

it’s been a week so i am boosting one final time!!

currently at 3K of chapter 2 and the boys are driving me insane

Walk With Me

8k+, klance, postcanon

Lance McClain is content at home-- really, he is-- but when Keith shows up at his door, begging for help, he can't say no.

"They want to turn a property of mine into a museum, for some reason," Keith said.

“Which property?” Lance asked. He held his hand to shield against the bright sky as he looked up to Keith.

“The desert shack."

Now, Lance is on the universe's most exclusive weekend trip, forced to help Keith go through a musty pile of memories. Fabulous.

Here are the facts: 1. Keith is still the most smart-yet-stupid motherfucker Lance has ever met 2. Shiro and Curtis are disgustingly adorable 3. A twin bed is far too small for a grown man, and 4. He should have fallen out of love with Keith when he had the chance.

[bluemantics]

I respect and hear and love people who say Lance’s love language is touch. However, I raise you quality time:

When Hunk is tinkering with his gadgets, Lance is thrilled just to ramble on about his day in Hunk’s presence.

Pidge says she’s going to a planet for a rare metal alloy and Lance immediately volunteers to go, just for a change of scenery and a chance to spend time with Pidge.

Allura rubs her eyes late at night, but she isn’t alone, ‘cause Lance is leaning into her as he blinks away exhaustion.

Shiro reading silently and Lance reading beside him, occasionally laughing at his book because he can’t hold it in.

Coran looks for someone to play an Altean board game against and Lance agrees. Even though he hates the game, he loves being near Coran, especially when the man is so bubbly.

And finally Keith, quietly asking if Lance wants to go look for food with him. Lance is so shocked and strangely honored to be asked that he beams, eyes sparkling.

All he ever wants is to exist in the presence of those he loves. Being invited just makes it that much sweeter, makes him feel that much more wanted.

[bluemantics]

my favorite national holiday has returned: wip wednesday! here is a snippet from chapter 2 of walk with me 👀

all i can say is modern problems require modern solutions. so far I'm at 2.5K words for chapter 2!

[bluemantics]

Lance knows his sand is different than Keith’s sand. He looks across dunes and catches glimpses of a huddled teenager, a young man. All those years Lance had spent desperate to hate Keith, to be him, to love him. With a shaking voice he’d begged to inhabit the same space as his unreachable rival. Beyond the dunes, by his side, feet gliding in his desert. 

Now, he isn’t sure. He looks down at the stirring beach underneath his toes, the little shells that dot the coastline and collect around him, pulled and left by gentle waves. There are footprints around Lance, pieces of driftwood and rounded pebbles of sea glass. Lance is surrounded by color and memories tucked within each detail.

Each time he’d gotten close to Keith, he’d seen a difference in their roots. Keith’s sand was coarser, barren and infinite. It held a distinct lack of footprints. There were no pieces of wood or glass to break the dryness, to conceal the vast empty. Wind swept the desert into misshapen piles, chaotic and uncontrolled, pushing Keith along with it.

With no landmarks, Keith wandered.

Every realization about their different worlds only broke and rewrote Lance’s perceptions. How desperately had he wanted to be Keith, when this was what it meant? How tired must Keith be? How foolish was Lance, to think Keith would ever slow his wandering, find peace in the shore when he could find reward in the hidden tunnels of desert tombs? 

But Lance could not follow him there, in that empty. The promise of reward was so little, the price too heavy, the desert too infinite. He had tried. And tried. And tried. Lance’s calves ached. Sand lined his throat. After all his attempts, he was weak, unable to abandon the shore and look for the impossible. So he drew back, retreated to the ocean. He dug his toes in the coastline right where the water met the sea. 

If Keith wanted to, he would follow Lance to fresh, salty air. He’d dig his feet in right beside Lance’s and admire the horizon: equally infinite, promising the sunrise.

Instead, he wanders, and he doesn’t look back.