#Indigo Iverson

[deprivedofbraincellsandsleep]

Taylor swift wrote you're losing me about indy and Alex and no one can convince me otherwise

[andrewlovely]

Ultramarine

Overcast breeze Cool blue sea Electric indigo ultramarine On still wind fell the veil Hot air Bubbling no wrinkle Soft ripple past the buoy To the merchant ships

Fisherman makes his daily catch I pace my prey like a lioness 'hind glass Or a fighter waiting for the bell But the bell never sounds And so the hunger devours itself Blessed to see everything beautiful yet cursed to capture

A stranger with no homeland Always on the outside, looking in Imagining belonging, and identity, And brotherhood Gaia's only son A tourist in every country Wishing he had a friend

The days pass all the same And blur into one long drink A weak ale, flat and temperate White lotus tea Routine deja vu

Yeah, you've lived it all before alright But it ain't exactly much to write home about Allen Iverson scores 48 on the Lakers as you wash the dishes Three plates lean a certain way The stove top just so Your mind takes a still photograph "Well you watch that game every year dummy" Thanks Charles Barkley

You were endowed with a smile for radio And every year it looks more like your father's Fair maidens now wholly out of reach It was a young man who covets them His knees hurt now I care not for these things I roam the town like a lonely widower My wife didn't want me

Woe is me, woe is me, woe is me The townspeople gossip I walk far away from their nonsense Every now and then I trip on my own shoelaces And fall into life by accident

A court jester turned holy man turned renegade and back again Highway heyoka walking backwards into town, thumbs up Black clouds and dark lightning over skyscraper horizon Neon blood runs down the window panes Spelling out brand name philosophy

Heyoka wants a ride into town He'll gamble just enough to get drunk And tip the waitresses Sometimes they let him sleep by the old slot machines He gets sad sometimes, sure But mostly he just chuckles to himself When he sees himself in the funhouse mirrors He takes pleasure in his own anonymity and utter irrelevance

- “Andrew Eugene Lovely”

[its-artsy-author]

Purple Comes From Red And Blue Chapter One

prologue

chapter one:  in which the Naughty Boi takes the Pure and Nerd Bois on a ride, and aliens happen (part one of two)

ship(s): klance as a fusion, eventual klunk

word count: 3,883

tws/cws: running away, being yelled at/ridiculed by authority figures, aliens??? is that a trigger???, syringes, medical experiments, non-consensual experimentation

Our story begins with a flight simulator in the most prestigious astro-explorer academy in the world, the Galaxy Garrison.

A dark-haired boy in an orange, white and grey flight suit grabs a walkie-talkie from its stowage point above him, “Galaxy Garrison flight log 5-11-14. Begin descent to Kerberos for rescue mission.” He tilts the control stick on his dashboard forward.

“Ugh. Klance, can you keep this thing straight?” A large Samoan boy in the same flight suit exclaims, hands moving frantically over a screen in front of him. He retches, nauseous, as the ship swerves.

Our pilot, Klance, is a tall boy with dark brown, almost black, hair and pale brown skin. “Relax, Hunk,” presumably the engineer behind him, “I’m just getting a feel for the stick. Besides, it’s not like I did this!” Klance jerks the control stick sharply to the right. The ship swerves in that direction, tossing its contents around wildly.

“Klance, stop it, unless you want to be stuck on cleaning duty again! I will throw up!” Hunk grabs the dashboard in front of him, stomach lurching. Klance huffs an annoyed sigh, but complies, shifting the controls for a smoother flight. A disruptive beeping sounds from the walkie-talkie that the communications officer has hanging on a small perch above them. The smaller figure, pale and slender with wide owlish eyes, calls out to the rest of their team, “Klance, we’ve picked up a distress beacon!” they peer over at the pilot, who somehow manages to exude an aura of nonchalant confidence while also having taut muscles and a focused expression.

“Look alive, team! Pidge, track coordinates.” The communications officer- Pidge, their name was- turns back to their console, muttering their assent, just as the ship begins shaking again; the overhead fluorescent lights flash red and alarms blare from every speaker.

Hunk groans, clutching at his mouth and pushing his monitor away from him. The craft rumbled and shook again, “Knock it off, Klance, please!” he complains, lurching in his seat.

Klance sends a sharp look Hunk’s way, “Oh, this one’s on you, buddy. We’ve got a hydraulic stabilizer out, and, last I checked, that was your area of expertise, not mine.” He turns back to the front window of the craft.

Hunk pulls his monitor back to himself before leaning forward and clamping a hand over his mouth. “Oh, no-” his stomach lurches again and Hunk barely avoids retching.  Klance groans, running a hand through his dark hair and rolling his eyes- a kind-of dark indigo-blue.

“Nope! Fix now, puke later, Hunk!” He refocuses intently on the screen. Pidge calls out to their team that they've lost the signal because of the shaking. “It’s interfering with our sensors!”

Klance drives the base of his palm into his temple, chastising his nauseous teammate as he returns to the screen in front of him. “Ah, nevermind, boys, thar she blows!"

Fatal last words, he thinks, standing in front of Iverson and taking his shit yet again.

"You are the most incompetent officers I've ever seen in this program, and what's more, the worst team! This kind of shit is what cost the lives of the men on the Kerberos mission!" Klance (literally) glowed in anger at that, their two souls dangerously close to splitting. Keith nearly punched Iverson, and Lance barely held them together and shoved a hand over the indignant mouth of his crewmate, Pidge. "Tomorrow'd better be the best run you've ever had or so help me god, you won't live to see the end of this program!" Klance winces at his harsh tone, flinching as spit falls on his face with the end of his sentence. "Get out of my sight," he growls.

"NEXT!"

That night, Klance and Hunk sneak out.

Hunk bites his fingernails, looking around nervously as he and Klance creep down the halls. "This is a bad idea- This- This right here? This is a really bad idea." Klance makes an offhanded, nonchalant noise in response, opening the roof door with a creak. Hunk winces at the sound, head whipping back to see if anyone heard.

A lone figure rests there, hunched intently over a bright screen of numbers. Large headphones engulf a good bit of their head. Klance tiptoes over to them, eyes widening in surprise at the figure being Pidge, then smiles impishly, reaching out one hand to yank off the headset. "You come up here to test your cryptid theories?" Pidge's head turns so fast it gives them whiplash, flailing in the air and losing their balance onto the concrete roof.

"Wha- I- No- What are you doing here? You're the one always complaining about your beauty sleep."

Klance mumbles to himself, "Keith's the one who never washes his goddamn face, but sure,"

Hunk looks at him weirdly, "Dude, what'd you say?"

"Uhh, nothing?"

"Sure, Jan."

"Anyway, what're you doing up here? Shouldn't you be, uhh... Doing... Something? Look, I'm not good at this, okay?" Klance rambles, reaching down to his waist to fiddle with something, but it's not there. He looks almost worried before seeming to remember something.

All this is observed by Hunk, resident goofball, and crusher on friend of Klance. He and Klance met on the first day at Garrison, and they've been roommates ever since. Granted, they were governmentally mandated roommates, but they got along happily besides! Hunk has a moderate anxiety disorder, and Klance is usually great with helping him out with it. (In the sims, he got really weirdly focused and couldn't deal with anyone's anxiety but his own, but otherwise he was really good about it.) Hunk suspected that Klance had some sort of behavioural disorder, as he displayed symptoms of ADHD, but found it difficult to remember social cues occasionally.

However, that didn't stop him from being an absolute living meme, and Hunk truly enjoyed being in his crush's friend's company.

"So, what're you even doing up here anyway?" Hunk is jolted out of his reverie by Klance peering over Pidge's shoulder at their code.

"You wouldn't understand. Or take me seriously, for that matter."

"Try me."

Pidge sighs, "We're not alone in this universe. Now, I know what that sounds like, with me being an avid cryptid fan, but, seriously." They grow somber. "I've been scanning the solar system, and picking up alien radio chatter."

Hunk shook his head, "What? So- so you mean, like, aliens? They exist?"

Klance looked both skeptical and enthused at the same time, if that was possible. He settled on enthused. "Ahh! Oh my gosh, really? That's so cool! Show me!" He slips on a pair of headphones, his eyes growing brighter as he hears the supposed '"alien radio chatter."

"They've been repeating one word: Voltron."

"Really?"

"Mhm."

"Awesome!"

Their nerding out is interrupted by a bright spot on the horizon. Klance snatches up a pair of binoculars of Pidge's, staring up at the dot of fire. "That ship is not one of ours!" He exclaims, Hunk panicking in the background. It crashes with an explosion behind a hill near the Garrison building.

"We've gotta go check it out!" Pidge jumps up, packing up their tech and running back to the roof door.

"I don't know..." Hunk mumbles.

"C'mon, Hunk! Think of it as a team-building excercise!" Klance dashes after them.

"Oh, this is the worst team-building excercise ever." Hunk grumbles, reluctantly following the pair.

 They set up shop on a cliff ledge overlooking the place where the ship crashed. Pidge has their tech out, graphing data from the crash; Klance looks at the crash site, overrun by med techs and officers, through binoculars; Hunk bites his nails worriedly behind them, occasionally commenting on their collected data.

"What the heck's even in that ship?" Klance asks himself, wincing as Keith has a different opinion than Lance. His- Their fingers glow, and hethey struggles to keep it together.

"Dude, you good?"

"Uhh..." They pull their sleeves over their fingers. "Yeah, all good!" Klance says, high-pitched with the lie, feeling the glow subside as they reassimilate. They- he's going to have to defuse soon. Staying fused after nearly unfusing isn't good for them- him.

"Sure, Jan."

Klance leans over Pidge's shoulder. "How's it coming on that security footage?"

Their eyes are trained completely on the screen. "Almost there... c'mon... got it!" The screen fills with a live feed of inside the ship.

[Shirogane struggles against restraints.]

'You've got to listen to me! Aliens are coming!'

 "Whoa." Klance jerks back from the screen. "That's Takashi Shirogane! The best pilot at the Garrison!" Pidge looks like they want to argue, but stays quiet as Klance continues his rant. "And is that Matt Holt? And they're not even going to listen to them? How dumb can you get?" Klance is shushed and the quartet trio returns to the screen.

"The subjects appear to have cyborg prosthetics, sir. One with an arm, the other a leg."

"Put them under until we find out what those things can do."

"No, no, don't put me under! You have to listen to me! Listen to me-"

[Shirogane's voice cuts off, strangled, as a med tech injects a syringe into his arm. Next to him, another humanoid flails wildly, being put under a similar procedure. The second subject is identified as Matt Holt, though he stays silent.]

Pidge looks up, wide-eyed, to Klance- except Klance isn't there, he's sprinting towards the ship. Pidge calls out to him, but he's too far. As Klance knocks out the guards with a few well-placed punches, Pidge settles for watching the live feed of the med room.

The med techs inside are taken out swiftly, and Klance lifts both of the patients up- seriously, this guy has the strength of two men- and hefts them out of the ship.

Pidge watches as they exit. Klance picks up a small, round item out of his pocket and lobs it in the opposite direction. A small explosion rocks the area there soon after. He makes his escape swiftly, grabbing an unused Jeep and tossing the pair in. "Pidge! Hunk! C'mon!" He hops in the driver's seat, and Pidge and Hunk race down the hill to meet them.

Sometime along the bumpy journey over sand dunes and rocks, Pidge realizes something. "Do you even know where you're going?" They shout over the motor, sand spraying their face.

He yells back something garbled that sounds like, "No, but Keith should!" and they know they've misheard.

"What?"

"I said, uh, I think I should!"

"Oh, okay!"

It's got to be three in the morning, the moon shining over the Arizona desert, when they finally reach a little middle-of-nowhere, dilapidated shack that looks like it's falling apart slowly under sand spray and wind erosion.

Pidge gives zero fucks, however, and drags Matt in, collapsing on a couch and passing out. Hunk does similarly on a loveseat. Klance situates Shiro on the floor, dragging a couple blankets onto him before going to Keith's tiny, cramped room and defusing.

Lance barely stumbles into Keith's arms before dragging them both into the tiny double trundle bed and tangling their legs together, kissing him sloppily once and passing out five seconds later.

Pidge wakes up with a crick in their neck and a taste like old lemons in their mouth. They yawn and open their eyes blearily, pinching sleep out of their eyes. They snatch up their glasses, smiling in relief at Matt's sleeping form, silhouetted by the desert sunrise. Shiro is curled up next to him, and their hands are clasped together like a lifeline. Pidge chooses to ignore that fact, looking around the small, shabbily furnished room. Something looks a little off, though, and it takes their sleep-addled brain a second to catch up to their surroundings.

Where's Klance?

Memories from last night come rushing in. How did Klance even know this was out here? Is it his?

Pidge shoves themself up forcefully from the couch they passed out on, wandering on unsteady legs down a tiny hallway that has three doors. One is ajar, grimy tile and porcelain visible in the dim light of a bulb on the ceiling that fizzles out soon after they turn it on. The other is a small closet, filled with supplies like rope, a ladder, and is that a hatchet?

The last room is firmly shut, and, upon further inspection, is locked with a rusty bolt used well beyond its years. A strong scent of coffee wafts from the room. This must be Klance's room. They knock, "Klance? Y'in there?"

Klance's voice shouts back at them, "Uh, yeah! Be out in a bit!" His voice seems off. It's too gravelly, too masculine, although that could be attributed to waking up.

Inside the room, Keith sighs in relief in tandem with Lance. "C'mon, Lance. Let's fuse." His voice is bored and tired, but the creases in his face light up when he says the word fuse. For them, it's the ultimate form of intimacy and closeness, something physical contact just can't compare to. Opening your mind, being vulnerable to your partner and sharing your entire self with them- it's perfect to them.

Lance makes grabby hands at Keith, pulling him close and giggling at his truly elegant squawk of surprise. Lance presses himself against Keith, and then they're not Lance and Keith, not two separate beings, they're one. Klance.

Klance shrugs on a black t-shirt and Lance's green army jacket, undoing the bolt on the door and stretching. He slips on a pair of flip-flops, trudging towards the kitchen and setting a pot of coffee. He mutters a greeting to Pidge, dutifully ignoring their questions about their location, and fries up some bacon and scrambled eggs. Toast? In the toaster. Plates? On the table. Hotel? Trivago.

Pidge pours the coffee on Klance's request, refilling the pot and handing out mugs to people. Hunk is shaken awake, and Shiro is woken up by the smell of coffee. He and Matt sit quietly in the corner, sipping coffee and watching their surroundings warily.

The strange congregation perches on various bits of furniture, eating quietly, when Pidge pipes up, "Okay. Enough's enough. Where are we?"

Klance sighs. "This belonged to my parents." It's not technically a lie.

Pidge raises an eyebrow, "I thought your parents were from Cuba. They pick you up every year."

Lie, lie, lie. Deflect, deflect. "Uh... a couple generations ago, the conquistadors came here and a couple eloped?"

"The conquistadors were Spanish."

"Fuck."

"It's mine," Shiro puts in. "I gave it to K- Klance before I 'went off gallivanting into space,' as your mother would put it." He smiles weakly.

Pidge rounds on him, "You know Klance? From where?"

"Hey, hey, let's calm down. We don't need to know all the answers at once," Matt puts in sleepily. Pidge practically vaults over the table to get to him.

"Matt! You're okay! What happened to your leg? I knew you were alive! They kept saying you were dead but I never believed them, oh my god, Matt, you're alive!"

"Yeah, I noticed." Matt says tiredly, giving Pidge a sloppy hug and ruffling their hair.

After breakfast, Klance puts their ragtag team into employ to... drumroll please... Clean the cabin! They all work together, and, with some music from Klance's iPod (all his stuff is purple, red or blue. It's creepy, almost. Like those colours mean something. -Pidge, making observations as they enter the rich life of a Garrison student.), they make quick work of it.

 After they've finished cleaning, the group drapes themselves over a variety of furniture. Pidge spies a sheet covering something in a corner. Unable to sate their curiosity otherwise, they walk up to it, yanking down the sheet and gasping at the board behind it. Pictures connected by strings and charts and graphs cover the corkboard. Star charts depict the exact date and time that Shiro and Matt arrived. Pictures and data readings of a giant mechanical thing litter its surface.

"Hey, Klance?"

"Yeah, Pidgeotto?"

"What's this?"

"Shit."

"Alright, everyone! Gather round, children, because it's time for Uncle Klance to tell you a story," Klance calls the group to sit in a semicircle around the closest chair to the corkboard. "Okay. So, I've been sneaking out at night." It's not technically a lie, because Keith had been sneaking out to the shack and Lance had entertained his "crackpot conspiracy theories." "But, while Hunk-a-burnin'-love over here thought I was sucking dick, I was actually coming out here. There's this crazy energy out here. It felt... Almost like it was calling me to search. So I did. And I found this cave with these weird lion carvings."

Pidge jumps up, "Do you think that that's Voltron? Weird energy, that could be aliens."

Hunk hums, considering. "Could be. Do you have proof?"

"Yeah. I've been tracking the energy. It's a tangible thing, like something on the periodic table. It's not any element I've ever seen before, though."

"Maybe I could build something to look for it, like a Voltron Geiger counter."

"Sure. The wavelength is so weird. It looks like this." Klance holds up a sheet of graphing paper with a seemingly random red line on it.

Matt snaps his fingers, "Give me that!" He snatches the paper, muttering an apology as he lifts it up to a picture of the cliffs near the cave. The red lines up with the outline of the cliffs almost exactly.

Hunk whistles. "Creepy, my man."

------

The group treks through craggy terrain made of crumbling reddish rock. Hunk and Pidge have a complicated setup of wires and junk parts going. Although the sound of the makeshift tech is annoying, the group follows with minimal complaint (apart from Klance, who says what Keith's thinking with Lance's attitude.). They approach a cave, Klance leading the way once he starts recognizing landmarks ("Ooh! I remember busting my ankle on that rock!" -Klance. "Dude, that's why you couldn't walk for a week?" -Hunk. "Oh, I thought he just got really fucked out." -Pidge. "Language!" -Shiro. "Yeah, watch your fucking language, kiddies." -Matt.)

The group stands at the mouth of the cave, peering down into the dank, dripping gloom. "Well!" Klance bounds forward, "This is the cave, so, if you'll excuse the miscellaneous coffee cups, various pieces of tech and other junk lying around, let's go!"

Matt shoves his hands into the pockets of his borrowed hoodie, looking at the cool carvings everyone is gawking over. "I don't see what's so special about carved rock," Matt says, wiping the dust and rock debris from one of the carvings of a lion.

A piercing noise, not unlike a sound effect in a show or movie, emits from the walls, and the carvings glow bright blue. The blue energy spiderwebs across the cavern floor like cracks, and that's about when the floor collapses and they all splash down into a lower level in the cavern.

In a gigantic blue bubble- the same colour as the carvings glowed- lays an equally gigantic blue mechanical lion. Klance hums and steps forward. Shiro gasps. "So this is what's been causing all this crazy energy out there."

Pidge gulps and rubs their eyes, "So this is it? This is the Voltron?"

Klance shrugs, "Must be-"

Five lions, a voice rumbles in their minds, deep and timeless. Five lions become one. Six souls, one bond. Deeper than life itself. The bond of the lion. Voltron.

"Did everyone else just see that?"

"Voltron is a robot. Voltron is a huge, huge, awesome robot!"

"And this is only one part of it. I wonder where the rest of them are!"

Klance steps forward, pressing his hands against the bubble, "Now, I wonder how we can get in here."

Matt shrugs. "Maybe you just have to knock?" He raps his fingers against the bubble, jumping back when it disappears and the lion's head moves down to him, opening its jaw. He laughs. "Well, alrighty then," smirks, and walks up the platform.

Klance glows blue and red behind him.

-------

"You," Klance says between gasping breaths. "Are the worst. Pilot. Ever!"

"Pidge has told me that you thought I was one of the best pilots at the Garrison, so, like..."

"Shut your fuuUCK!" Klance trips on his own feet in the cramped cockpit.

       Iverson and a lower-ranked officer stand on the roof, a pair of binoculars shared between them.

"What in the Sam Hill is that?"

"It appears to be a flying blue lion, sir."

Matt grins back at the others. "Isn't this awesome?"

Hunk makes a motion as if to vomit. "Make it stop! Make it stop!"

"I'm not doing anything. It's like it's on autopilot!"

The blue lion soared ever higher.

"MAKE IT STOP!"

"I just said, it's on autopilot!"

"Hey, what's that up ahead?"

"Holy crap- is that an alien ship?"

"They found us."

Matt tries to steer the lion as best he can. He feels a rumbling in his chest- like the lion is trying to speak with him- and he listens. "Guys the lion is talking to me. It says we need to fight the alien ship."

"Okay, you're crazy," Klance grumbles.

"What did it say, exactly?" Pidge asks, short of breath.

"I- It's not like it's saying words, more like feeding ideas into my brain, kind of."

Hunk spoke up. "Well, if this is the weapon they want, why don't we just, like, give it up? Then they'll leave us alone, right?"

Shiro glares at him. "You don't understand. These monsters spread like a plague throughout the galaxy, destroying everything in their path. They won't stop until everything is dead, and giving them this weapon won't help anyone."

 Everyone turns to look at Hunk.

"...Oh. Nevermind, then."

The Galra ship, which previously was lying cold and dead in space, opens fire at them as they breach the atmosphere.

"We have to get that ship out of here!" Pidge says frantically.

"Okay, I'll try!" Matt says, shooting lasers and avoiding recapture, moving away from Earth.

Inside the ship, a Galra officer faces a large screen. "Lord Zarkon, the escaped prisoners and their people found the lion. It attacked us and is heading out of the system."

On the screen, Zarkon's magnified face says, "Follow that Lion and alert all ships in the area to intercept. Capturing that Lion is your first and only priority."

"Yes, your majesty." The call ends, and the galra turns their head back. "FULL POWER AFTER THE LION!"

       The lion speeds away, the Galra ship in close pursuit. Hunk bites his nails. "Oh, no!"

In front of the lion, a huge circle of swirling bluish-purplish light opens up in front of them. "I think the lion wants us to go through there!"

Pidge furrows their brow, "Do we know where it goes? Matt?"

Matt defers to Shiro. "I don't know. Shiro, you're the highest-ranked officer here. What do we do?"

Shiro picks at his cuticles. "Um- Okay. Whatever's happening, the Lion probably knows more than we do. If we don't listen to it, we might die in this ship. I say we follow what it thinks, but we're the only humans up here. We're a team now."

Matt nods at him, shoving the controls forward and blasting through the air to get to the wormhole. Klance shifts nervously.

"Guess we're all ditching class tomorrow."

next chapter

[curiosity-killed]

prom night

@n00dl3gal​ first time writing anything for this pairing so woo!! ^-^

Pairing: Hunk/Shay

Word count: 751

15. A Hope We Don’t Get Caught Kiss

They weren’t supposed to leave in the first place. Prom rules are simple but ironclad: you leave, you don’t get back in. Hunk gets it, of course. He already saw Rollo getting led away from the door by one of the cops on duty, a cloud of weed drifting after, and Lotor had nearly thrown a fit when he was stopped at the door. It makes sense. But the gym had been suffocating, sweat already soaking through his shirt and vest, and they weren’t doing anything wrong, really. Shay had led him up a staircase in the band room he’d never realized was there, and one door later, they were on the roof. When the wind first buffeted him, he’d been swamped with a wave of vertigo bad enough he nearly grabbed hold of Shay for some solid ground. She’d laughed, that rumbling sound that came from deep in her belly, and wrapped her arms around him. “Don’t worry,” she’d said, close to his ear, “I’m here.”

It had passed, and they’d settled hip to hip on the roof. Though the bass of the music still thudded through the building, it was distant enough that it faded to background noise. Out here, beneath the sweeping sky, the soundtrack was composed by the night breezes through the sad little grove of trees planted by the school and the far-off thrum of the highway, hidden by the hills.

Overhead, the sky was an impossible blue, too rich an indigo to be black and yet too dark to be anything else. Star-speckled, it stretched from horizon to horizon with only the earth itself to cut short its panorama. “What do you think it’s like up there?” Shay had asked. “Quiet,” he’d said, because it wasn’t the first thought that came to mind but the easiest to say aloud.

He’d grown up on space travel, on a race to the ever more distant edge of the universe. He’d grown up with the photos, the videos, the promises of the Garrison. Each of them brushed around the great paradox of the whole experience: to be one of the select few, the great, chosen from your people to go where others could not – and to get there and realize that you were nothing more than dust, a flicker in an incomprehensible eternity? Shay had smiled and leaned into his shoulder, and the night had fallen gentle around them. And then they had to get back in. It goes fine at first. No one’s locked the door while they were out, and the band room is still dark and empty. Shay gets the giggles partway down the stairs, the catching kind that soon have Hunk stifling his own laughter with the back of his hand. There isn’t anything that causes it, really, except that it’s late and this is against the rules and their cheeks are still nipped by the night air. They get to the ground, still laughing into their hands. The door swings open. Light spills in white and bright from the hallway, Iverson’s staunch frame a silhouette cutting through it. Hunk pulls Shay down into the corner between the choir risers and Mr. Baujal’s office. “Who’s in there?” They have to press together to fit in the shadows, and Shay tucks her head down against his shoulder to stifle her laughter. Hunk bites his lips together, wrapping his arms around her waist to keep them close. Iverson steps into the room, and Hunk’s heart ramps up, thudding in his ears. “Students are required to remain in the gymnasium and cafeteria,” Iverson adds. When silence greets him, he gives another slow survey of the room before turning on his heel and marching out. They stay pressed together for a few moments longer, just to be safe, before Shay pulls back a little. She glances over her shoulder before turning back to Hunk with a grin playing at the corners of her mouth. It’s nearly pitch black in here, but there’s just enough glow from under the door to catch the outline of her cheek and bob and spark gold in her eyes. She draws her bottom lip in under her teeth, and Hunk’s gaze drops to follow that motion. When she leans in, he follows, and they meet in the middle. It’s soft, chaste, and Shay pulls away with a smile. “Come on,” she says, “let’s go dance.” He follows at the slightest tug, cheeks warm with something he can’t blame on the chilly night air.

[ao3feed-lotura]

Voltron Legendary Defender: The Indigo Lion

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2m9P0VI

by Dragonfairofberk

“The Indigo Lion is the heart,soul and mind of Voltron. The indigo lion is sincere and integral, The wisest of the lions, its paladin is highly responsible and highly intuitive, a dreamer and orderly warrior. It is faithful to its pride. Though it is not a known fighter, the indigo lion is the seeker and protector of truth and will protect its fellow pride members in time. It is fast as it is wise, stern yet kind it is a lion of many talents of the mind, ” Avigayil is a girl of many mysteries that she doesn’t even know about,Always trying to hid from the world because of what happened,she is thrust into an intergalactic space war with her cousin and friends. Slowly she uncovers a mystery she has been trying to solve and takes her place in the destiny she is given, A story of the listener learning from a story. I Don't own Voltron Legendary Defender, just my characters.

Words: 157535, Chapters: 51/51, Language: English

Series: Part 1 of Chronicles of Darkness

Fandoms: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/M, Gen, M/M

Characters: Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s), Keith (Voltron), Keith's Wolf (Voltron), Krolia (Voltron), Shiro (Voltron), Lance (Voltron), Hunk (Voltron), Pidge | Katie Holt, Coran (Voltron), Allura (Voltron), Alfor (Voltron), Ulaz (Voltron), Kolivan (Voltron), Romelle (Voltron), Zarkon (Voltron), Haggar (Voltron), Sam Holt, The Blade of Marmora, Matt Holt, Iverson (Voltron), Gyrgan (Voltron), Trigel (Voltron), Blaytz (Voltron), Galaxy Garrison Staff (Voltron), Galaxy Garrison Cadets (Voltron), Lotor (Voltron), Lotor's Generals (Voltron), MFE Pilots (Voltron), Galran Soldiers (Voltron), Galrans (Voltron), Space Mice (Voltron), Voltron Lions, Atlas (Voltron), Original Alien Character(s)

Relationships: Allura & Coran & Hunk & Keith & Lance & Pidge | Katie Holt & Shiro, Keith (Voltron)/Original Female Character(s), Adam/Shiro (Voltron), Curtis/Shiro (Voltron), Allura/Lance (Voltron), Allura/Lotor (Voltron)

Additional Tags: Action/Adventure, Fantasy, My First Work in This Fandom, Happy Ending, Diary/Journal

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2m9P0VI

[transnamesuggestions]

Can you please suggest some neutral names beginning with I ?

Idris, Ira, Isa, Izzy/Isidor/Isidore, Indy/Indiana/Indigo, Ivy/Iverson 

[stardust-and-blades]

Keith’s First Halloween

This is for the voltron games I’m participating in! Team: Red Lion Round: 1 Challenge: 3 with Shiro, Keith, and Adam

Summary: After finding out Keith hasn’t celebrated Halloween since the death of his father, Shiro and Adam invite him for some pumpkin carving and caramel apples! ----------------------------------

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

“You’re kidnapping me. You’re kidnapping me and going to sell my organs on the black market, aren’t you?”

Shiro barks out a laugh, veering away from a slowing car ahead of them, but maintained hands on the wheel. Shiro is great at flying, but sometimes Keith questions how he got his license with all the risks he takes. “Patience yields focus, Keith. Relax, it is nothing bad.”

Keith quirks an eyebrow, but nonetheless allowed Shiro to take him to God knows where. Since his arrival at the garrison, he has been living there rather than the group home. His roommate wasn’t particularly fond of him, what with his bad temper and representation for being a discipline case. But it was better than where he was, an invisible boy unable to find a home. Unable to be seen by a family as worthy. The only person who ever truly loved him has left the land of the living, leaving Keith wishing the fire never occurred. That his father never ran back into the building, though he knew it was a selfish wish. A child is alive today because of him. As much as Keith wanted to keep his father, at least he died a hero. His hero.

Shiro glances at Keith, the sixteen year old looking out onto the road with a far off gaze. He is leaning on his right, arm propped up on the arm rest and a fist to his cheek. His usual stance when he is deep in thought. 

He didn’t say anything, but he knew what Keith was thinking. Most likely his father, maybe his future. It was only recently that Shiro found out Keith hasn’t celebrated halloween for awhile, what with the death of his father severely impacting his joy in holidays meant to spend with family or friends. Keith’s only family passed away, and as far as Shiro knows, he hasn’t been able to make any friends. Students and teachers of the school are weary of him. They believe he represents nothing but trouble, and the higher officials at the garrison severely question Shiro’s judgement. Iverson going so far as to say he made a mistake by bringing Mr. Hotshot to the school. 

What they didn’t understand was he is a kid. A child who felt abandoned and dysfunctional. 

And every kid deserves to have some happiness in their life, at the very least.

So, Shiro talked Adam over having Keith over, explaining his background and how excellent he is in the garrison flight simulator. Adam was skeptical at first--not of Keith being a good kid--but of him willingly coming over. Shiro has spent more time with him than Adam, who unfortunately had no classes with him and only passed by the kid every now and then, greeting them on sight and Keith waving silently as a means of respect. 

Despite Adam’s opinions, Shiro has a gut feeling this is what Keith needs. And who knows, maybe he will take a liking to Adam and the treats he has in store. --------

As they approach the house, Keith turns to him, confused.

“Um, is this your house?”

“Yup.”

“Uh...” He looks around, waiting for Shiro to continue, but received nothing. “What are we doing here?”

“We,” Shiro begins, reaching behind his seat and grabbing some plastic bags full of groceries he picked up earlier. “Are going to prepare for Halloween.”

Keith looks uncomfortable. “I don’t really celebrate halloween. Or any of the holidays, for that matter.”

“I’m aware,” Shiro said, leveling him with a kind look. “You mentioned it when we had lunch the other day. But we need a helping hand with the pumpkins.”

“We?”

“Yeah, me and Adam. He’s my--er--He’s my boyfriend.” Shiro can feel a blush creep on his cheeks. He neglected to tell Keith of his and Adam’s actual relationship. It wasn’t that he was ashamed, it’s just he totally spaced on the little tidbit. So much for making the kid less awkward.

Keith doesn’t blink, cocking his head to the side. “Professor Adam? Doesn’t he hate me along with the other instructors? You’re getting serious flack for getting me into the school.”

He shakes his head. “Nope. In fact, he was more concerned on if you would show. I told him about you. He is looking forward to getting to know you as both a pilot and person.”

“I still don’t think this is a good idea. You should just--”

“Nope!” Shiro interrupts, snatching a pumpkin in the back and plopping it on Keith’s lap. “You’re a kid, and kids should be having fun. Not brooding in their room at night while halloween is just around the corner.”

“I don’t brood.” Keith exclaims, his lip jutting out in a pout.

“Right, and I have white hair.” Shiro said, sarcastic. “Come on, up and at ‘em. And don’t even think about stealing the car. I have the keys wrapped around my fingers.”

------------------

It was a little awkward, Shiro admitted. As Keith lugged the largest pumpkin Shiro gave him and entered the house, Adam emerged from the kitchen to greet the two, kissing Shiro on the cheek. He smiled down at Keith, introducing himself and holding out a hand to the tiny boy. There was a moment of silence, Keith not used to friendliness outside of Shiro. He half expected Adam to pull Shiro aside, meaning to be out of ear shot so he could chastise Shiro for bringing the “problem” child in their home. But he just gazed down at Keith, soft brown eyes never breaking from the starstruck indigo. Not until his expression morphed into that of discomfort, not sure what to do since Keith wasn’t responding in any way.

As he lowered his hand, Keith shifted the pumpkin to one arm and on his hip, carefully reaching out to grasp Adam’s hand.

“It’s nice to meet you, sir. I’m Keith.”

Adam smiles, toothy and proud. “Please, call me Adam. I’m not one for formalities.” He motions to where the kitchen is. “Come along, I was getting the newspaper ready for the pumpkin carving.”

They followed Adam, Shiro’s boyfriend asking Keith many questions as they prepared and began to pumpkin carve. He stuck to his interests, avoiding any semblance of questions having to do with Keith’s past. Shiro had already informed him of the touchy subject and to approach it if Keith chose to open up. To which, he eventually did, mentioning how his dad was never good at carving pumpkins and sometimes burned the seeds when they would roast them for a horror night. It was a small tidbit he lent; a sliver of his childlike, nostalgic side, void of sadness and regret. As Adam asked if he was good at carving pumpkins, Keith gave a small smile and said he was, sometimes using the knife his father gave him. Shiro watched the two interact, a fond and loving smile gracing his lips as he forgot about his pumpkin and focused more on the two bonding.

Shiro hadn’t seen such a big smile since he taught Keith how to land the hoverbike perfectly from jumping off a cliff in the desert. His eyebrows raised, eyes dancing in the florescent lighting, galaxies and mirth erasing the secret darkness he held whenever he is seen. The child Shiro encountered in the classroom, the boy who sadly looked out the window and strayed from the other children, not bothering to line up for the simulator, was overtook by a sense of peace. Meanwhile Adam, who expressed anxiety over the young teen hating Shiro’s idea, ruffles the raven haired boy’s locks and joked about how Shiro does that all the time, eliciting a squawk from Shiro. 

“I burned them once! Once, Adam!”

“Once was enough to make sure you never touch an oven again.” He jokes, laughing as Shiro grumbled about being betrayed by his own lover.

Adam leans towards Keith, a hand coming to partially cover his mouth as if to tell him a secret. “He may be a pro at flying now, but he crashed the simulator three times in one go in our cadet days.”

“Don’t poison his mind with lies!”

“It isn’t a lie when history is true.” Adam counters, grinning. 

“Oooooo he got you there.” Keith joined. Shiro shook his head, dipping his hand in the orange fruit and flicking it on Keith’s nose.

“Respect your elders, kid.”

“You’re 24.” Adam stated, Keith wiping his nose on his sleeve and chucking a large pile of orange goop at Shiro. Suddenly the three were engaged in an all out pumpkin guts fight, streamers of fruit coating the kitchen and their clothes. they were all laughing, Keith and Adam teamed up against Shiro as they hid behind the table, whispering strategies as Shiro gunned for another chunk of seeds and squash. Before he could land a hit, he is pummeled by two flying chunky globs, one hitting his chest and the other his neck. He chucked the stash in his hand, landing a hit on Keith’s tiny head. The atmosphere, so used to the voices of two, range with the laughter of three. They ran around the small kitchen, their pumpkin war ending only when they ran out of fuel from the three pumpkins Shiro brought home.

They laid on the floor, tired from their food fight but letting out a couple of giggles every now and then. Shiro noted how the two were smiling so wide, he couldn’t help but smile himself. Yes, this is what Keith needed. A sense of being a kid. A sense of having a family, whether it was a mother and father, or a brother figure and his boyfriend. Keith’s walls were up, pure stone covering the tenderness of his bruised heart. But now, they were down. Keith’s heart was wide open, the burden of his past forgotten and filled with glee he hadn’t felt in years.

Adam stood up and began to clean up, announcing they will make some candy apples after they all scrubbed the place clean. Keith didn’t put up a fight, he really didn’t mind.  He was chivalrous in his cleaning, asking Adam and Shiro if he missed any places. 

He is a good kid. His problem lies in trusting others, in trusting the human race. But when he ignores the darkness of humanity, he is a quiet teen who wants to have fun and acknowledges when there is chores to be done. 

He isn’t a problem child. He just needs to be given a chance.

The night ended with Keith curled up in the couch, a half eaten caramel apple on the coffee table in their living room. Shiro gingerly lifted his head to place a plump pillow under his dark head, and Adam covered him in a red fleece blanket he had stashed in a closet. Tiny snores escaped Keith’s nose, his face in a state of peace and content.

Shiro doesn’t regret giving him a second chance in the least.

[theloniousbach]

COUCH TOUR: ETHAN IVERSON/THOMAS MORGAN, MEZZROW’S, 14 NOVEMBER 2020

What a delightful surprise on several levels! I finally caught up with esteemed bassist Thomas Morgan whose work wasn’t quite in my natural stomping grounds (Ethan Iverson called it “spiky”) and, then, expecting something, well, spiky from the founding pianist in The Bad Plus, we got a set of Duke Ellington and Count Basie.

Ellington (and Billy Strayhorn, whom I’m always quick to add) are rightly regular parts of the repertoire, but, wow, Basie. Then Morgan and Iverson swung it all hard, respectfully and not kitschy but also not deconstructed and made avant-garde.

Yet they were thoroughly themselves. Morgan was modern—all over the neck and playing around the beat. But it swung. Iverson, whom I’ve gotten to know more post The BP, is hard to pin down (and more so after this gig). He’s with Mark Turner, both for duets and in the Billy Hart Quartet; he has a recent quartet album with Tom Harrell that prods some standards. He writes for the New Yorker (perhaps it was there, maybe the New York Review of Books, that he gave an appreciation of his odd, to me, friendship with Stanley Grouch (not a typo)) where he is rhetorically spiky but musically tempered, conservative, (Crouchian??): Ellington in 1967 was more (something good—authentic?) than Bill Evans at the same time.

In any case, this was huge fun, despite some streaming issues (I missed Iverson’s announcements of many of the Basie titles). Again, the playing was interesting and distinctive to offer fresh insights into the music while compromising not a jot on the swing.

The Ellingtons framed the set—C Jam Blues to open (fitting as of course the Basie material is so blues based, indeed the next to last tune was an in the moment blues in a key, G# which makes more sense to me as A flat, proposed by the audience) and the less familiar Melancholia as a didn’t leave the stand encore. Don’t Get Around Much Anymore and Mood Indigo (a repeat from the first set which maybe had otherwise completely different tunes, so I’ll hare after it when it is up in the treasure that is the Small’s Live Archive). It was a moody Mood Indigo with a patient exploration of the sonorities of the chords; I wonder about the first set one now.

But it really was the Basie that was cool. Jumpin’ at the Woodside was the familiar one (I think there was Topsy (which cool as it was I didn’t recognize) and one that I thought was his theme and, though Basie and others have backed into One O’Clock Jump after jamming around it, this one never did). All of them though swung with Iverson’s left hand evoking all of the horns sometimes with Basie’s own spare piano in the right hand. But those single notes, in situ and here, cut through all the bombast.

I had a lot of Basie growing up—both as a hometown Kansas City thing and my father’s predilection over even Ellington. So I welcome/champion the idea of contemporary players drawing on his body of work.

Iverson/Morgan proved the concept very well with this gig.

[stop-klancing-around]

Defuse

I’m Back. This was supposed to be posted a few hours ago as a birthday fic here, but I fell asleep.  Now that the semester is done, I have all of the time in the world to write fics and draw klance and what not. Thank you @raythenerdyfangirl for being my beta. Enjoy :)

You can also read here on ao3

Keith opens the door to Lance’s apartment with ease. It reminds him to talk to Lance about constantly leaving the main door unlocked. It’s not going to be the first time that Keith talks to him about this. He leaves his bag and shoes by the couch and explores the tiny apartment. Keith hears the water running somewhere and walks towards the sound.

“Lance, where are you?” Keith yells out.

“I’m in the bathroom” Lance yelled back. The water was filling the tub so Lance decides to come out the bathroom and to the bedroom to pick out a bath bomb for tonight. Keith just so happens to walk into the bedroom to see Lance setting both a pile of clothes and a box full of bath products on the bed.

“You really need to stop leaving the main door unlocked Lance.”

“And why is that, Freckles?” Lance walks to Keith and gives him the tightest hug for a minute and loosen his grip but allowed his arms to dangle from Keith's shoulders.

“I really don’t want to walk into your apartment with all of your stuff taken.”

“Don’t worry, the only valuable thing in the place is the laptop and the TV.”

“Lance, I got you that laptop for your birthday. I would be in a piss poor mood if that was taken.” Lance thinks about what Keith said for a minute. “It took too many hours of me in hell for that to get taken.” Lance snorts.

“Okay, I’ll lock my door from now on. I should give you a spare later” Keith sighs.

“Thank you. What is that anyway?” Keith points to the shoebox full of balls and begins to peer over with curiosity.

“These” Lance picked up a red ball “are bath bombs.” Before Keith could ask another question Lance filled him in “You put them in the water and it basically turns the water to that color and it smells nice.”

“Oh, that’s cool. Is that from Lush?”

“Obviously. Why do you ask?”

“I work at Lush in the Balmera Mall, ”Lance's eyebrows hit the ceiling. He turns Keith around to face him.

“Since when do you work at Lush?” Keith begins to open his mouth but Lance continues “Even better, how do you NOT know what is a bath bomb if you work in Lush?”

“I just don’t... I work as a cashier because some of the products actually fucks with my asthma.” Lance starts to really look at Keith and checks over his face to see if that was really him or some imposter.

“Then why work at a place where you KNOW it will make your asthma act up? Do you even use a mask when you’re working? How are you still walking amongst the living?” Lance did a few laps around Keith before he pokes his forehead.

“I need the money for both of our art supplies. Plus, because of you, I actually take three puffs of this every day before I walk into lush hell.” Keith pulls out an inhaler from his pocket and waves it in Lance’s face. “Anywho, which ones do you have?” Lance began to give out a gleaming smile before giving Keith a rundown of what he has, likes and wants to buy or in deep need of.

“So which one should I use?” From the looks of it, Lance popped Keith out of his little reverie because he gives Lance a confused look. Lance waved his hand in Keith’s face and guided his eyes to the shoe box. “Can you pick one for me.” Keith’s eyebrows pinched together before picking up the purple ball that was littered with stars.

“This one.” He puts the star decorated bath bomb in Lance’s hands.

“I figured that you’d pick this one. This one is named Twilight and it acts as a sleep reliever.” Lance began to walk back to the bathroom to see that there was enough water in the tub. Lance turned off the faucet and slowly dropped the Twilight ball into the tub. Keith stood behind Lance and watched the bath bomb disintegrate in a light shade of purple before moving into a darker shade of indigo. Lance would always enjoy the scent of lavender that slowly ebbs out of the ball and filled the bathroom. Lance looked back to see that Keith had left his side and moved into the hallway to sit down. Lance walked towards him and crouched down with concern.

“Are you okay? Is your asthma acting up?” Lance asked him.

“Yeah, I’m okay, and surprisingly it's not acting up. I left so that I wouldn’t test my luck.” For a short second, it felt like there is another underlying reason for his actions. That is tucked and buried within the asthma one. Lance decides to ask him later on about that.

“Oh, then would you like to join me in this bath?” Lance could see one of his eyebrows perk up.

“I just said that I don’t want to test my luck. Plus, your tub isn’t big enough for the both of us.” Well, Keith is right about the tub. It’s tiny and was not made to hold the both of them, but Lance really wanted him to be with him in the tub. Keith genuinely looks both stress and tired from his classes and Lance would love for Keith to at least relax with him.

“We can try to fit?” Lance gave him an unsure, but pleading look. Keith takes it in for a few seconds before giving up.

“Fine, just let me get a few things and take a few puffs of my inhaler and I’ll join you.” He gets up and walks into my room. Lance raised my fist in the air and gave a good shake at it.

Lance begins to strip and ease himself into the light purple colored water. At this point of his life, Lance felt at ease. All of the stress from college, work, and life had begun to float away with the lavender scent that wafted the bathroom. Lance almost dozed off when he heard a knock at the door. The door opens to Keith carrying some clothes and a towel that appears to be Lance’s.

“Are those mine?” Lance questioned.

“Yes, if you have a problem with that because I can return them.” Lance shook his head.

“NO, no, no, NOPE, no problem.” Lance quickly replied to him. Keith places his set of clothes next to Lance’s and begins to strip. Lance turned his head. Lance doesn’t even know why he did but it felt odd to see his naked state. They have been dating for a while and this is still awkward and new to him. Lance felt the water dip and looks up to see Keith in the tub, but at the other side with his hands on top of his knees. Lance also sees that his hair is in a high ponytail and an Alice band holding back his bangs. Lance gave him a look.

“What? I don’t want my hair getting wet.”

“But this is a bath it’s going to get wet regardless.” He shrugs. “Plus, why are you over there come over here.”

‘I dunno. Are you okay with me being that close to you?”

“Keith.”

“Yes, Lance?”

“We have been dating for at least three weeks now. Why wouldn’t I be okay with this? Plus, I invited you to the tub. Unless you are uncomfortable with all this?” Lance began to feel all of the dread pour all over him. ‘Of course, Keith didn’t feel comfortable in here’ Lance thought and it doesn’t help that he pushed him to do something that he didn’t want. It looks like Keith could sense the oncoming fear that Lance was about to drown himself in because he began to speak up.

“No, it's just that this is all so new to me.” Keith gave Lance his hand and gave a small tug on his arm. Keith begins to move slowly towards Lance to close the gap between them. Keith manages to place his back on Lance’s chest with ease. The water was still warm and some of it began to spill out to the floor. There was too much water in the tub for both of them but they fit very comfortably in the small space. The scent of lavender began to take Lance away once again and almost dozed off when Keith finally broke the silence.

“This feels so surreal.”

“What does?”

“This” He makes a small circle with his finger. “It still feels like yesterday when we met in Garrison Valley. One minute we were like and I quote from you ‘sworn enemies in the art of game designing’ to being boyfriends and doing domestic stuff like this.” Keith's finger quotes this and Lance giggles softly.

“We even got paired for the same project and boy we hated each other for awhile. Until our grade was more important than our differences.”

“The hilarious thing about that was that I was in the design program, while you were in the developing and design program. You still managed to do both without breaking a sweat. I had high respect for you because it was something I could never do and you seem to do that so easily.” Lance could feel the heat rising from his cheeks when he said that.

“It actually wasn’t easy to do two programs in the same semester. I hated everything that had to do with the developing program because the university made their own code called potted. There was easily so many things that were wrong with it, but I got the class done and when on with all of the other languages.”

“You had Iverson right.” Keith groans at the mention of the name.

“Never again. I swear that professor was just hard headed.”

“Like you?” Keith glares at Lance. “What, it's true.”

“You’re rude, you know that?” Keith pouts as he turns his head around. Lance smiles at that.

“Yes, I know that.” He shrugs before continuing. “Before you know it, we began crapping out all these ideas of doing this and doing that and created a whole game in the fit of our bickering.” Lance’s hand began to intertwine with Keith’s freckled one. Lance raised them and gave them a small peck.

“Hey, at least our bickering got us somewhere.”

“Yeah but we still bicker, but it now all replaced with domestic bickering like who has left the paint water in the mug and such.” Lance gave out a loud groan. Keith had to bring it up.

“Oh come on it was that one time. Let it goooo”

“No, do you know how paint water taste? It's not a pleasant taste.”

“And I’m terribly sorry that I didn’t know you drink out of that mug.” It was silent again. Lance could feel Keith trying to get comfortable in the tub while the water sloshed around. Lance slouched his body forward so that they are both semi laying in the tub. Lance looked at the time on the clock to see 10:00 PM.

“Keith do you want me to take you home or would you rather stay with me for the night. I really don’t want you walking home alone at this time.”

“You’re acting like I can’t handle being alone at night. I can if you were wondering” Lance groans at that.

“You got ambushed walking home a month ago. If I didn’t come running to get my charger for my laptop from you, you would of been on the five o'clock news either for being murdered or murdering someone or both.”

“Like I said” Keith moves his head to face Lance. “I can handle myself outside. There is no need to worry about me.” Lance gives Keith a skeptical look.

“Okay, then let me remind you of the scar on your right shoulder.” He looks down from Lance to stare at his right arm. The lightning flower expanded from the shoulder to the tips of his fingers. Keith covers the larger parts of the fractal scar by putting most of his arm under the bath water. He had received the scar from a lightning bolt earlier in the year. It also put him out of commission for a month and a half because of it. “You still have phantom pains and your arm twitches from time to time.”

“I am ambidextrous for a reason.” The tone of his voice pleaded to change the subject, as much as Lance want to tell him that ‘I worry about you too’. Lance took the bait and steered the convo to a more lighter path.

“That’s probably the reason why you get lost so easily. Mr. No-Sense-Of-Direction.” Lance could feel the eye rolling from the shorter one.

“It was that ONE time and that’s a stereotype, Lance. ”

“Of many, Keith you got lost in a strip mall. You only had to go straight. I’m still confuzzled to this day as too how you ended up in the park.” He groans and slouches himself until his nose was submerged. They continued to bicker for a while. He speaks up again after a while of silence albeit in a whisper.

“I’ll stay here for the night.”

“Okay. You are more than welcome to sleep in my bed.” With that, Keith began to giggle. Lance give a confused look and he turned his head to look at Lance.

“Don’t you mean our bed?”

“True,” Lance said. It was silent again, but it was a comfortable one. It was the soothing lavender that finally took them away from the domestic setting and into a restful sleep.

[goonsquadme-blog]

Nike Air Max 270

Es ist genauso einfach wie die Nike Air Max Submarke des Schuhs, die sicherstellt, dass er ausverkauft ist. Egal, ob die Leute sie mögen oder nicht, Hypebeasts werden diese Sneaks immer aus den Regalen streichen. Direkt vor mir an der Schlange stand ein Typ, der ein verprügeltes Paar der “White / Infrared” 6s trug, die früher abgefallen waren dieses Jahr. Er hatte die Nike-Veröffentlichung früher am Morgen verpasst und hoffte verzweifelt, dass sie noch seine Größe (8) haben würden, wenn er dort ankam. Obwohl die Leute von Foot Locker ihm sagten, er hätte nichts zu befürchten, war er immer noch nervös.

Vin Baker war in seiner Blütezeit so gut, dass Jordan Brand ihn als “Stark” für Eddie Jones ‘”Quick” bezeichnete, ähnlich wie Charles Barkley “Force” und Michael Jordan “Flight” für Nike in den 1980er Jahren . Er trug einen der besten Team Jordans aller Zeiten im Jumpman Pro Strong und verdiente sich sogar einen Signature-Schuh namens Vindicate. Leider hat Bakers Karriere und Privatleben eine Reihe von Nike Air Max 97 Fehlentwicklungen hinter sich gebracht, die ihn bis 2006 fast pleite und aus der Liga herausgebracht haben. Seitdem ist er auf dem Weg der Genesung und wurde das letzte Mal von seiner Ausbildung zum Starbucks-Manager im letzten Jahr gehört. Ich vermute, er wird sich nicht zu streng an die Kleiderordnung für Sneaker halten, die Nike Air Max 95 der Laden haben könnte.

Jedes Mal, wenn ein neuer Air Jordan angekündigt wird oder Gerüchte über seine Existenz in Umlauf gebracht werden, werden wir wieder Kinder. Wie wird es aussehen? Welche wegweisende Technologie wird den Tisch wieder decken? Kann es möglicherweise die Erwartungen der vergangenen Air Jordans erfüllen? Mehr als jeder andere Sneaker sind wir immer gespannt auf den nächsten Air Jordan. Das Sneaker-Spiel nach dem Ruhestand war für Legenden wie Allen Iverson und Penny Hardaway gut, aber nur für die Kicks, die sie in ihrer aktiven Zeit trugen. Niemand bleibt hier, um eine neue Frage oder Antwort von Reebok oder einen Nike Air Penny zu sehen, ganz gleich, Nike Air Max 90 wie sehr er sich bemüht, ihn zu drücken. Aber wir bleiben hier, um ein paar neue Js zu sehen.

Kicks on Fire begrüßt Sie! Ich freue mich schon auf die nächste. Nike verleiht dem Blazer Low einen neuen, unterhaltsamen Look für den Sommer, da wir Ihnen offizielle Bilder des auffälligen Sneakers zeigen Nike Blazer Low wird durch die 3D-Chenille-Swooshes hervorgehoben, die auf den Seitenteilen angebracht wurden. Die Chenille Swooshes sind in den Farben Royal Blue und Ice Blue erhältlich und verleihen dem Schuh auf jeden Fall die Atmosphäre einer Letterman-Jacke. Zu den weiteren Details gehören eisblaue Schnürsenkel, ein farblich abgestuftes Branding an Zunge und Ferse sowie eine vulkanisierte Light Bone-Gummisohle.

Der Strobel ist eine Möglichkeit, wie der Sneaker getragen werden kann – indem das Schuhoberteil an der Mittelsohle befestigt wird. Das Patent würde eine neue Maschine erfordern, die nach dem Hochladen des Musters Nährichtlinien auf den Strobel druckt. Die Air Force 1, die 1982 auf das Hartholz traf und seitdem auf der Straße lebt, hat während ihres gesamten Bestehens unzählige Textilien und einzigartige Materialien angelegt . Die Air Force 1 wurde in Zusammenarbeit mit dem in NYC ansässigen Luxus-Denim-Label 3X1 geschmackvoll nachgebildet und bietet nun erstmals ein weiteres Premium-Textil. “Wenn Sie an jede Iteration denken, die am Schuh durchgeführt wurde, ist es immer eine Herausforderung, die das Team annimmt, um ihn neu zu erfinden.” Nike Air Max 270 geteilt Senior Creative Director für Nike Sportswear Herrenschuhe, Al Baik.

3 × 1 ist für seinen maßgeschneiderten Denim bekannt, der aus dem New Yorker Atelier verkauft wurde, und verleiht der Air Force 1-Silhouette zum ersten Mal Kanten-Denim. “Das erste, worüber wir nachgedacht haben, war die Verwendung von Webkanten-Denim auf eine Weise, die zuvor bei einem Schuh nicht möglich war.”, Erkl��rte 3 × 1-Gründer Scott Morrison Die Zusammenarbeit bringt erstmals in der Geschichte des Schuhs Denim auf das Kragenfutter und die Einlegesohle der Air Force 1. Das kollaborative Design ist in drei

verschiedenen Farben erhältlich: Raw Indigo, Stonewash Denim und Black Denim. Download from Source link

Nike Air Max 270 was originally published on GOONSQUAD COPYBOT FORUM

[princess-tentacles]

I couldn’t help falling in love with you

Sheith Ficlet for @crazy-indigo-child, my wonderful Shirp <3  SFW Garrison Goodbyes

“Give me another night.” Keith is tucked in beside Shiro’s warm body, eyes wide and searching, his face lacking even a bit of the anger others seemed to think was permanently etched on his boyish features.

“I’ll try.” Shiro rolls onto his side, burying his nose at the bottom of Keith’s throat, pressing a few kisses along his collarbone.

“No trying.” Violet eyes fixed to the ceiling, half-lidded as he focused on the feeling of the other’s warm lips against his skin.

“It’s the farewell ceremony, I have to go.” Shiro’s chuckles but Keith can hear the hoarseness in his voice, wanting to keep kissing and stop talking

. Yes, the farewell ceremony. The public goodbyes. The one Keith wouldn’t be attending, instead given the option or not watch or enjoy the broadcast. ‘Families and official personnel only.’ “We can have all the nights we want when I come back.”

There’s a silence except for the chirp of crickets from outside the open window, the air humid and warm. Keith can feel the burning in his throat, vision blurring slightly. He shouldn’t have brought it up.

 The bed was cold, empty, deserted hours ago; early morning light still barely a shimmer on the horizon; the sky above still inky with a scatter of stars. Where Shiro would be - Is now. Their goodbyes had been a rush, despite the fact the Keith had stayed up nearly all night, unable to sleep knowing Shiro was going to be getting a few hours later and leaving. He’d managed to close his eyes for only a moment, the alarms blaring what felt like a few seconds later. Shiro stood in front of their bathroom mirror, hair combed neatly to the side, suit meticulously made. So well put together compared to the mess Keith was. He sat at the edge of the bed, trying to stop his trembling lip by scowling at the Halloween themed rug they’d bought discounted in November. “Come on, Keith, this feels more like I’m going to a funeral.” Violet eyes stayed focused on the ugly orange and black of the rug, the smiling jack o'lantern a reminder of the letter Shiro had gotten only six months ago, letting him know he was the chosen candidate for the Kerberos mission. “Baby, please, don’t cry.” Cry? Fuck. Keith wasn’t aware the tears he’d been holding back were finally spilling and hurriedly wiped at his face, throat tight and painful feeling,

 “I’m not crying, Takeshi.” 

Still, Shiro stepped over and a chaste kiss was pressed to his forehead, two warm hands on either side of his cheeks. “Will you watch the takeoff?”, Shiro’s voice was quiet as he asked. “Yes.” Keith lied, already knowing he wasn’t going to watch, a mess just watching him get dressed. At least this way he could pretend Shiro was going to walk back in later. There was a knock at the door, Matt’s tired voice on the other side yelling to alert Shiro that he and his father were ready to go. Keith's hands came up in a quick beat, grabbing at Shiro’s wrists, eyes wide. “You were supposed to be here until six thirty, it’s only six.” Keith blurted, his breath stuck in his throat.

 “I have to be there by six thirty.” Shiro said gently, brushing his thumbs over Keith’s cheeks, slightly calloused skin scratching at his face. 

“Why can’t I go with you?” Keith pleaded, knowing the answer, already protested at multiple times. Just because he wasn’t blood didn’t make him any less family. “Keith, please, I love you. I’ll be back, it's not that long.” Shiro’s voice sounded ready to crack. “It’s two years!” Keith’s voice cracked. They’d had this argument, too many times to count in the last few months. Shiro squeezed his face a little tighter, leaning in to press a salty kiss to Keith’s mouth before tugging his hands out of the other’s grip.

 “Be good, Keith. I’m gonna need a co-pilot when I get back.” Shiro tried to smile, looking more like a grimace.

 “Do you promise?” Keith’s hands were still in the air from where he’d been holding Shiro’s, “Promise you’ll come back?” “Study hard, Keith.” Shiro said, taking Keith’s extended pinky with his own, a promise.

 “I will.” Keith rubbed at his eyes again, fresh tears welling there. He’d do his best.

___

19. Please cite at least three sources of piloting error in the following situation:

 Keith’s eyes scanned over the paper for a moment, pausing at the words. Piloting Error. He’d heard that phrase too many times in the last month, since the death of the Kerberos crew. Death. That was another word he had a hard time hearing. It was hard to think of Shiro as anything other than his calm, ready and alive self.

 He wasn’t aware his hand was shaking until the pencil dropped, rolling off the desk and onto the floor with a clatter. A boy next to him glanced over, blue eyes giving him a dirty look before he picked up the pencil for him.

Shit. Okay.

 Keith reached out, taking the pencil slowly, hand still shaking but he pushed the pencil and hand to his lap before staring down at the exam. 

What was even the point of taking it? His grades had tanked this quarter despite being a usually good student. Even his simulation training had been suffering, Iverson questioning his piloting ability loudly to motivate him into doing better. Shiro, the greatest pilot he’d even known, couldn’t even stop himself from having an error. What kind of error had it even been? All of it was classified, the death of three people pinned on Shiro. “Fifteen Minutes left.” The voice of the teacher startled him into looking down at the answer sheet, almost twenty out of a hundred done in the last forty-five minutes. Yeah, way to go. Doing your best for Shiro.

Keith stood up suddenly, leaving his exam at the desk as he made his way out of the classroom, not bothering with any other questions. He was going to fail anyways, why bother with the rest. “Mr. Kogane, you can’t leave until the exam is complete.” Keith ignored her as he stepped out into the hallway, needing to figure out his next steps. Takeshi Shirogane was the greatest pilot he’d ever known. There was no way he could have had an error like that, and how could they have known it was his fault? Clearance 5S and above only. The bolded letters stared back at Keith for a pained moment before he was pushing past the doors, a stumble from the others on the other side.

 “You can’t be in here!”

“No cadets, Kogane.”

“Someone get him out of here!”

His boots stilled, legs heavy like lead as he stared at the group of officers, eyes dark and angry, “What happened to Takeshi and the others?”

There’s a hint of a crack in his words, but Keith Kogane stood his ground, refusing to let this go. He’d either get the answer he needed or find it on his own.

[curiosity-killed]

Sheith #22 for the writing prompt thingie :3

guess who still can’t follow prompts like a rational human :3

(me. it’s me)

send me a ship and a number for a short fic 

Shiro is delighted to be Matt’s Best Man - no, really. Sure, he can’t possibly fathom how his best friend wound up with a woman like Allura, and yeah, maybe he’s a little bitter at the scratched out “plus one” on his RSVP, but really, he’s delighted. Thrilled. Ecstatic. He groans and takes another drink. Water, of course, because he’s driving the newlyweds to the airport after this. He can’t help eyeing the champagne that glides past on a server’s flat palm, but he’s reasonably sure that wouldn’t help too much even if it was an option. There are two sides to Drunk Shiro, but only one comes out when he’s already feeling blue. Suffice to say, it’s not the fun side.

Matt and Allura are still on the dance floor, though it’s hard to call what they’re doing ‘dancing,’ really. Allura’s leading, Matt’s hand cradled gently in hers, but they’re barely doing more than swaying as they smile at each other. From this distance, Shiro can’t pick up what they’re saying, but the aching fondness with which they look at each other is unmistakable. It makes something warm unfurl behind Shiro’s ribs, that two of his best friends are so utterly happy with each other, but it doesn’t do much to dislodge his own despondency. 

“Anyone sitting here?” Shiro glances up, lips already curving in a polite smile. The newcomer is striking - dark hair starting to fall out of its coif, high cheekbones stark against the dark of the room. The low light glitters over his face, violet catching in his eyes. “Nah, feel free,” Shiro says, even though he’d kind of prefer the solitude.He’s not really looking to hook up here - not at his best friend’s wedding reception, and not so soon after an ugly breakup. Otherwise, the sharp angles and trim figure of this newcomer might be enticing. For now, it’s just another nail in his mood’s coffin. The man settles into the seat next to Shiro, heedless, and pushes his chair back. For a few minutes, the silence between them is filled only with the music from the DJ. It’s a slow song, one Shiro doesn’t recognize, and most the couples on the floor are curled around each other with the kind of intimacy that comes from long relationships. His heart gives a little pang at the thought. He and Ulaz should be out there, too. He can still imagine how his ex’s hands felt in his own, pressed to the low of his back - if he closed his eyes, it would be tantalizingly easy to pretend those phantom hands were real. “I’m Keith,” the newcomer says abruptly, breaking into Shiro’s downward spiral.  He’s extended a hand, and Shiro blinks at it once before reaching back and shaking it. 

“Shiro,” he replies. “I know,” Keith says. When Shiro raises an eyebrow, Keith shrugs and nods to where Matt and Allura sway in the blue lights. “You’re the best man,” he says. Shiro frowns at that. His name is listed in the wedding program, of course - as Takashi Shirogane. When Keith looks up and catches Shiro’s frown, he immediately looks away. There’s a dusting of pink over his cheeks, as if he’s blushing. 

“I’m in the Garrison,” he explains. “You’re…pretty well known.” Shiro nearly chokes on that understatement and then fights back a groan. One of the youngest fleet pilots in Garrison history and the first pilot to lead a mission to Pluto’s far moon Kerberos, he’s become resigned to his name being passed around in certain circles like a well worn baseball card. He really isn’t in the mood for a cadet’s hero worship, though. On the best days, it itches along his nerves with discomfort. Today isn’t his best day. “I’m sorry,” he says politely, “I’m really just here as Matt’s friend – not as a captain or anything.” It’s the most diplomatic way he can think to say it – to beg for a reprieve from his public life for a night. He’ll be the Garrison’s poster boy again bright and early Monday morning, but right now? He just wants to be Matt’s friend. “Oh,” Keith says. His eyes widen a little and there’s a pause before he closes his mouth and frowns down at the tablecloth. His one hand’s tensed, thumbtip rubbing the knuckle of his index finger. Guilt creeps up Shiro’s spine, and he’s about to relent when Keith speaks.“I didn’t – I wasn’t coming here for an autograph or something,” he says. “Pidge told me to go talk to somebody. I’m…not big about crowds, and you looked about as miserable as I feel.”The honesty startles Shiro enough that he stares at Keith for a moment. Keith looks away, jaw clenching and regret furrowing his brow. It’s enough to prompt Shiro to act. He laughs.“Alright,” he says. “I didn’t realize I was that obvious.”Keith turns back to him, then, cautious hope on his face. At Shiro’s reply, the nervousness vanishes from his expression and he grins. It’s small, just baring the tips of his top teeth.“You kinda look like you’re pining after Matt – or Allura. Or both?” Keith replies.Shiro snorts, looking back out at the dance floor. He’s not entirely surprised to hear that, but he can’t help a mental wince at the rumors it might cause. Fortunately, most the people here know him well enough to not think twice (probably), but, as Keith demonstrates, there are definitely enough to get the wrong idea. He sighs.“Iverson will love that,” he mutters. He shakes his head. “I’m definitely not in love with either of them. Just didn’t expect to be alone tonight.”He winces as he says it, hating how pathetic it sounds. He doesn’t mean to petulant, and he definitely doesn’t feel like opening up to a complete stranger, but Keith only nods. When he turns back to Shiro, there’s a little frown on his face and Shiro braces himself for unwanted questions. “I know a way to the roof,” he says, “if you want to get some air.”Shiro pauses, catching himself before a polite rejection can escape. Why not? It’ll be another few hours till the reception winds down, and Matt’s not going to miss him now. No one is going to miss him. He shrugs.“Sure.”Keith’s lips quirk up, just a little, in a small smile. He stands and Shiro follows as they make their way across the crowded ballroom. They keep near the wall and pass by mostly unnoticed. The door closes with a click behind them, suddenly muting the noise of the music and conversation behind them. Relief rushes out of Shiro with the sudden quiet, releasing tension he hadn’t realized had built up in his shoulders.  Keith walks with a surety that Shiro can’t quite match, headed with singleminded focus down back hallways and once through a room Shiro’s pretty sure isn’t meant to be entered. There’s an official-looking desk and chair surrounded by file cabinets and bookshelves that suggest it belongs to Coran, the caretaker of the Altean estate. Keith doesn’t even hesitate before opening a narrow door and heading up into the darkness. Shiro pauses, eyeing the doorway and dark stairs beyond uncertainly before he sighs and squeezes after Keith. These stairs seem like the remnants of a feudal past – servants’ stairs or something of the sort – and Shiro has to angle his shoulders to fit between the tight stone walls. He’s about ready to admit defeat and return to the party when Keith stops and he hears the sound of a door knob twisting.Cool air rushes in, and Shiro follows Keith out the door to find them surrounded by the night.“Oh,” he breathes out, tilting his head up. “Oh, wow.”“Pretty cool, huh?” Keith says.Shiro’s lips quirk upwards at the comment. Understatements seem to be Keith’s modus operandi. The sky unfolds before them in a dazzling display. As Shiro’s eyes adjust to the darkness, more and more stars reveal themselves as faint specks in the indigo sky. From this high on the estate’s walls, the land sprawls around them like a map unrolled just for their eyes. The moon and stars provide faint illumination, subtle highlights on the crests of the hills and tips of trees. It’s unearthly in its beauty, like a dreamscape opened up for only their eyes.“Yeah,” he agrees, “pretty cool.”Keith leans back against one of the parapets, and Shiro joins him. The night wind bites at his cheeks, a breath of winter on his skin. He can’t pull his eyes from the constellations above him, but then, he doesn’t really try. With the warmth of Keith’s arm pressed to his and the infinity of space unfurled overhead, he has no desire to move.  They wind up sitting against the parapet, sides pressed together, and pointing out different constellations. The stories of the stars give way to their own, and by the time Shiro has to leave to drive Matt and Allura to the airport, the warmth from Keith’s arm has spread through his chest to soothe that hollow ache from earlier.  Matt and Allura settle in the back of Shiro’s car in a contented heap, Allura half-asleep on Matt’s shoulder, and Shiro can’t help smiling as he looks in the rearview mirror. Their hands are entwined in Allura’s lap, and happiness surrounds them like an aura. There’s no jealous twinge in his chest, this time, as he looks away to drive down the silent street. Instead, there’s a new number in his phone and with it, a tentative hope.

[anothervldthingiemabibbie]

A Sixpence Song

Chapter 1: Dictionary Definitions

@klangst-week  Let’s do this

Sequel to The Notebook On the Bed. Prompt 1: Unrequited love/pining

Keith writes poems in a notebook, a hobby that he rarely partakes in. It’s strange imagining a brooding, dark-haired teen writing poems about flowers and feelings, but then again...

“I thought you could’ve been something great, but I guess you’re just a dropout.”

“It’s such a shame to see a young man throw his life away like that, without rational thought.”

“Oh what do you know, dropout?”

“You threw away your chance to be something good in this world, you know that? Threw it away on the hope for a dead man.”

“We can’t let him stay, he’s Galran! Who knows what he’ll do!”

“My family is gone because of his kind, my entire planet! All my people! I will not let one of them on my ship, as a Paladin!”

“We were supposed to be fighting Galrans. Isn’t that what we’ve been doing? What do we do now?”

Maybe it’s not difficult to imagine him doing that after all.

It started in a place where you’d expect demons to rise out of, not love.

(Then again, isn’t love a demon in itself?)

“Nope, no what the fuck.” Keith scribbles out the words, black graphite covering the scratched letters on the yellowing paper. “Stupid, edgy emo chunk of-” He crumbles up the page and chucks it at the wastebasket on the other end of the porch, missing by a mile. An impressive mountain of similarly crumpled sheets lay scattered on that side of the wooden floor, and if Keith kept this up much longer, he’d get fined for littering.

No, no I wouldn’t. Not anymore. He reminds himself. It’d been nearly a year since he’d gotten kicked out, a year since Shiro disappeared. A year since he’d lost his best friend, mentor, brother into space without so much as an explanation from those-those fuckers from the Garrison. Three-hundred-sixty-five days since that utter and complete piece of trash, Iverson, called him to his office to bust a vein at him, and then told him that he could either ‘shape up or ship out’. In response, Keith had silently pulled off his Cadet Identification Tag, bearing a small golden star in the corner marking him as an excelled student, and placed in on the desk, before walking stiffly from the room.

Hard to imagine that it was hardly a year since he, a straight-A honor student with promises of becoming one of the world’s best Fighter Pilots, had walked out of school with his bags and back turned towards the entrance. He knew he’d caused a stir, among students and public, but he didn’t care. Not his problem anymore, the Garrison could deal with the confusion he’d left behind.

He would’ve cared even less if it hadn’t been for something else he was leaving behind.

The skinny kid from Cuba was called Lance. He showed up one day with a goofy smile and a friendly demeanor, the kind that others would tear apart like sharks. Except he was strong, he brushed off the comments and insults with a grin and joke, and became the class clown instead. The one that you laughed with and were exasperated at, but you couldn’t hate him. It was so hard to hate him.

If only Keith could hate him. It’d make liking him so much easier.

But what does it mean? His pen is moving again, scratching drily across the paper. He’d need to get a new one soon, but until then he’d push this one to the limit. What does it mean to like, or even love? What does it mean to be able to feel warm with someone, have someone to take the cold away?

Love (v.) - an intense feeling of deep affection

Like (v.) - find agreeable, enjoyable, satisfactory

Just words in a dictionary, so easy to read and make sense of in the head.

But my heart still has questions, what does it feel to love? How do I know when I love? ‘Like’ is too simple, ‘Love’ is too strong…is it even love at all?

His next words are invisible, small curling grooves in the paper. His pen is out, and he sighs and aims it at the bin. It’s a solid shot, clattering around in the near-empty plastic interior for a bit, as Keith closes his notebook and tucks it back into one of his side packs. With a deep groan, he gets up, stretches, and sets to work picking up the balls of failed ideas and poems and tossing them where they belonged.

Why was he thinking about him, now, of all times? He didn’t care about Keith then, he certainly wasn’t caring about Keith now. He had friends, a life, and guaranteed place in the world. He didn’t even know Keith back at the Garrison, probably didn’t care about his existence at all. So why does Keith think about him so much?

Just a silly crush. Just a distraction. He’s gone now, and it’s for the best. That kid doesn’t care about him, why does he care so much?

There’s a place on Keith’s wall where the wood is beginning to splinter, and a dent is forming there. Sawdust, wood shavings, and small sticks have gathered in a small pile beneath it. Here, Keith punches it almost daily, ranging from as many as only one in passing to enough for the house to shake and the pipes to ease themselves a little looser, right above Keith’s bed. It results in bleeding knuckles, and eventually leads to a trip to the store for some gauze and a pair of fingerless gloves, the kind baseball players wear. The cause of that dent? The persistent, gnawing reminder of that kid from school, with his stupid charming smile ( God damn that smile ) his ridiculous jokes ( Screw those jokes ) and his laugh, his chiming, loud laugh that somehow rings as clear as day in Keith’s memory when he least needs it.

The laugh is mostly what results in the punching.

The sun was setting in the distance, when he straightens up and stares towards the horizon. It’s pretty today, sky touched all colors of bright tangerine to lilac and peach, fading away into a steadily deepening blue-to-indigo. All pastels and glitter, tonight, almost enough to make him feel like it was worth coming here.

This little hut in the middle of a desert was all Keith had left. He managed to buy it back off of some old man’s hands by selling his cadet uniform, cheap, to a grateful family for their son. It was hardly enough to afford this place, with it’s leaky plumbing and shoddy electricity, but the smiles of the small curly-haired boy and his teary mother made it all worth it, somehow. It springs back fuzzy memories, filled with purple and warm arms around his shoulders.

He didn’t remember Mom, of course. She’d left years before he could start remembering, but whatever his Dad remembered, he neglected to say. There aren’t any pictures of her in the house, nor any sign of any female having residence in this old shack at all, but she definitely had existed. Old whiskey driven tales had brought mentions of her, and occasionally he’ll find Dad passed out on the couch from a hard night shift, mumbling something that sound like a different language, over and over. A name?

It didn’t matter. Stomping back inside the house, nothing mattered anymore, as he turns to the bulletin board covered in pinned-up photographs of rock formations and strange glyphs, line graphs printed from the city library ten miles away. Scrabbled handwritten notes, red string webbing it all together like a spider on crack, an occasional red marker note and circle directing attention. To a stranger’s eye, it’s chaos. To Keith, it’s a masterpiece.

He’ll find Shiro. He’ll figure out what draws him to this trashy place, what keeps him from leaving no matter how many times he tries to go. Until then, nothing is important.

Not even a boy with a stupid laugh.

Love (v.)-to experience a deep sensation of appreciation and affection for a specific topic, object, person, etc.

Ex: She loves him because of his looks. I made garlic knots, does he love them? I love him because of his laugh.

[thevldimagines-blog]

May I request a scenerio where reader suffers from chronic night terrors that happen nearly every night, and they try to avoid telling the others so they won't be seen as a burden, but one night Lance finds out and spends a whole night telling them funny stories and cuddling with them just to make them feel better? Thanks! 😊

;;sorry for the wait !!!!!!! its been sitting in the drafts for forever and i forget which one of us were planning on doing it so i just took up the job fiskjfs - mod danny

–

[Name] wished the ground would open up under their feet and swallow them whole. Lance stood in front of them at the doorway of their room, an indigo blue blanket draped over his shoulders as he gave a shiver.

“[Name], please?” He whined, puppy eyes insufferable. He’s not far from dropping to his knees at this point, “The air conditioning in my room isn’t working, and Coran said he’d rather fix it in the morning - so you’re just going to let me sleep out in the hallway?”

“Yeah.” [Name] replied dryly, hoping the anxiety wouldn’t interfere into their tone. They don’t want to turn Lance away like this, but in the end it’d be better for the both of them. [Name] wouldn’t end up waking Lance up with their nightly sweating and trembling, and Lance would stay just like he is: clueless. And that’s how [Name] would always want it. The night terrors didn’t concern anyone else, and if they ever did, [Name] would be labeled as a wuss. Or even worse, an actual liability to the team…

“But - why?” Lance inquired, raising a guilty eyebrow, “I thought we were on same-room terms by now.”

[Name] stiffened, “It’s not that. Just - I’m not a good sleeper, alright? Odds are I’ll wake you up one way or another.”

Lance studied them, another question arising on his tongue but [Name] moves to shut the doors. But a hand is reaching out to stop them from closing, and Lance’s eyes are serious this time.

“I’ve noticed - anyone could tell you aren’t getting a lot of sleep. What’s the reason?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“It is now! I’m worried about you.”

“Don’t be.” [Name] felt a painful tug at their heart with Lance’s words, and they can feel a few emotions knocking ominously at the door, “Look, if I tell you why, will you keep it from the rest? It’s…pretty personal.”

Lance’s gaze softened, a rare earnesty on his features, “Of course you can tell me.”

—

Lance ended up staying in their room that night. They talked for what felt like an hour, resurfacing [Name]’s experiences with the night terrors throughout their life, how they’ve managed through it all, and what night terrors are in their entirety. Once the topic was reduced to dust, and not a thing was a secret anymore, it just came natural to grow close to one another, legs tangled and bodies close on top of the warm covers. Lance could feel the discomfort radiating off of them, definitely not used to talking so much about their night terrors. But it was relieving to finally get some things off of their chest, knowing that Lance was here to listen and help them sort through their worries. But after a while, when they were still feeling relatively down about the whole thing, Lance resorted to getting their mind off of it all together.

“One time, when Hunk and I shared a room back at the Garrison-” Lance was on his third story by now, soft smile on his lips as [Name] nestled their cheek against his chest, face still red from giggling. The cold atmosphere was gone now, replaced with only warm, meaningful touches on the other and laughs that are far from forced, “He sleepwalked, like, for the third night in the row and he wandered around the room, knocked down a few stuff, then accidentally hit the emergency button by the door - all the students in that block had to evacuate. And to this day Commander Iverson has no clue that Hunk was responsible for that false alarm at 2AM in the morning.”

[Name] laughed, eyes growing glassy as Lance chuckles along with them, playing absentmindedly with their hair. The funny stories had started coming naturally to him now, and he doesn’t mind giving [Name] a few information that could be used for blackmail against his friends, because they’re laughing and smiling and that’s all that matters.

[lots-of-names]

Boys Names that Start with I

Isaac

Ira

Indigo

Isaiah

Ian

Irving

Indie

Ivan

Idris

Iverson

Ilian

Ishmael

Inigo

Ivo

Izzy

Israel

[ao3feed-adashi]

Voltron Legendary Defender: The Indigo Lion

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/2m9P0VI

by Dragonfairofberk

“The Indigo Lion is the heart,soul and mind of Voltron. The indigo lion is sincere and integral, The wisest of the lions, its paladin is highly responsible and highly intuitive, a dreamer and orderly warrior. It is faithful to its pride. Though it is not a known fighter, the indigo lion is the seeker and protector of truth and will protect its fellow pride members in time. It is fast as it is wise, stern yet kind it is a lion of many talents of the mind, ” Avigayil is a girl of many mysteries that she doesn’t even know about,Always trying to hid from the world because of what happened,she is thrust into an intergalactic space war with her cousin and friends. Slowly she uncovers a mystery she has been trying to solve and takes her place in the destiny she is given, A story of the listener learning from a story. I Don't own Voltron Legendary Defender, just my characters.

Words: 65989, Chapters: 13/13, Language: English

Series: Part 1 of Chronicles of Darkness

Fandoms: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/M, Gen, M/M

Characters: Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s), Keith (Voltron), Keith's Wolf (Voltron), Krolia (Voltron), Shiro (Voltron), Lance (Voltron), Hunk (Voltron), Pidge | Katie Holt, Coran (Voltron), Allura (Voltron), Alfor (Voltron), Ulaz (Voltron), Kolivan (Voltron), Romelle (Voltron), Zarkon (Voltron), Haggar (Voltron), Sam Holt, The Blade of Marmora, Matt Holt, Iverson (Voltron), Gyrgan (Voltron), Trigel (Voltron), Blaytz (Voltron), Galaxy Garrison Staff (Voltron), Galaxy Garrison Cadets (Voltron), Lotor (Voltron), Lotor's Generals (Voltron), MFE Pilots (Voltron), Galran Soldiers (Voltron), Galrans (Voltron), Space Mice (Voltron), Voltron Lions, Atlas (Voltron), Original Alien Character(s)

Relationships: Allura & Coran & Hunk & Keith & Lance & Pidge | Katie Holt & Shiro, Keith (Voltron)/Original Female Character(s), Adam/Shiro (Voltron), Curtis/Shiro (Voltron), Allura/Lance (Voltron), Allura/Lotor (Voltron)

Additional Tags: Action/Adventure, Fantasy, My First Work in This Fandom, Happy Ending, Diary/Journal

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/2m9P0VI