#WITH MATCHING GALRA MARKINGS

[depressocafe]

Galra Genetics

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Basically just a list of unique Galra only genetics I've seen within the show.

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1. Hair line/Markings:

The Galra seem to have a very specific hair line within the show that can be seen even on scalier Galra, such as Zarkon. This Hair line isn't as straight as others we've seen in the show and appears to point down closer to the Galrans' face in comparison to other races. Galra with markings instead of large quantities of fur tend to also have this as their markings end up pointing towards their face as seen with Ezor, Narti, and Ranveig. This is seen in only Galra and Galra half breeds, such as Lotor's generals.

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2. Mohawk/head point:

Mammalian Galra typically have a Mohawk on the top of their heads and reptilian Galra tend to have the scales end at a point as seen above. Though there are some Galra that don't quite have this such as ranveig, I haven't seen the specific type of hair growth on any other races. And while one could dress their hair up like a Mohawk, the Galrans tend to be more naturally occurring. Possibly due to skull shape? Or maybe some genetic evolution not told to us in show.

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3. Detached ears/predators ears:

This refers to the loose skin and tissue at the bottom of the ear. This is the area where you'd typically attach earrings to. Detached ears are when that skin and tissue is not attached to the side of the head where the jawbone meets the skull. Having detached or attached ears will not affect your hearing in any way. Galra tend to have detached ears or Animal ears genetically closer to that of predators. I tried to see if there were any types of classifications to animal ears and couldn't find squat.

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4. Elongated arms:

While human arms are typically long enough to be a hip length or a tad lower the Galran arms are a tad closer to the knee than other limbs shown in show. This also indicates that unlike humans, when Galrans' stretch their arms away from their bodies, the length from one arm to the other may not match the length of the individual's body like it does for Humans.

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5: Sharp pupils/overall eyes:

Just as said, the Galra typically have sharper more predatory like pupils compared to other races. Though some Galra seem to lack any distinct factors to their eyes compared to other Galra, my personal theory is that when a Galran undergoes large amounts of quintessence treatment, the quintessence in the body begins to take over and seemingly hide the pupil, iris, or other parts of the eye. We can see this happen first hand with Haggar/Honerva and Zarkon. As well as Sendak when we see an alternate version of him in season 8. Other factors of the Galran eye, the Sclera is yellow in color instead of white and the iris is usually red in coloration. I've also noticed that in terms of eye shape, eyes lacking in an iris or pupil, tend to have a more exhausted expression to them (dipping downwards and having eye bags). This could also be attributed to larger amounts of quintessence within the body.

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Like I've said in previous posts, I'm not an expert in any of this stuff regarding, psychology, genetics, ect. While I have studied with ambition into these topics I'm not a viable source for information regarding anything in relation to science and at most may know more than the average individual but that's about it.

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Post Made: 3/12/24

[randomficrecss]

Klance Fic Rec

been so busy guys but trying to catch up i promise!!

I dreamed you were a cosmonaut (of the space between our chairs) by iybms

T | 11K | 1/1 | getting together, flirting, kissing, near death experiences, mutual pining, canon compliant

"You know, you can be a pretty hard guy to find," Lance says, and his steps end at Keith's side, overlooking Orla'an canyon.

"Funny you always say that," Keith remarks, "since you find me, regardless. And," he finally glances at Lance, "…always wearing something weird."

---

Lance comes to Keith when he needs someone to pry him open.

Nameless by AveryScribbles

E | 97.8K | 22/22 | AU college, vampires, soulmates, major character injury, angst with a happy ending, blood drinking, slowburn

Lance McClain was not pale. He enjoyed the sun as much as any other, and though he was often run down or fatigued, this was due to his amounting college work, not his need to sleep upside down. He was everything a vampire wasn't. Oh, except for his constant cravings for blood, and the name in cursive imprinted on his wrist.

Since the name had appeared on Lance's thirteenth birthday, he'd been desperately waiting for the day he'd finally meet his soulmate. And then it finally arrives, delivering a boy that causes everything Lance had fantasized to come crashing down around him. Not only is his mate a human, but he's the kind of human that despises vampires. A hunter named Keith.

But matters of the heart aren't the only thing standing in Lance's way, for a much greater enemy is on the horizon, posing a threat not only to Lance and his family, but to Keith, too. The nameless are coming for them, and soon.

just come to me once by laallomri (absolute fav fic ever)

T | 94.5K | 3/3 | fluff, angst, pining, canon typical violence, post season 6

Lance’s smile widens. He leans forward, and the prickling in Keith’s chest gives way to butterflies, fluttering wildly in his stomach, and oh wow has Lance always had this many freckles, has he always had eyelashes that long, has he—

Lance pokes his cheek, right over the Galra mark. Keith blinks.

“I can’t believe you and your mom have matching face tattoos now,�� he says, and it’s so fucking dumb, but it’s exactly the kind of dumb thing Keith has longed to hear, and before he knows what he’s doing he’s surging forward, almost knocking Lance back against Red’s paw, and throwing his arms around him.

In which Keith lives on a space whale, goes on a road trip, and (eventually) gets a boyfriend.

Like the Night Falling by iybms

E | 51.9K | 1/1 | rivals to friends to lovers, slow burn, astrophysics, sexual content

Keith reluctantly takes a lead role in an outreach program that forces him outside his comfort zone of solitary work. It would be a lot easier if he and his partner in the endeavor had anything in common.

Catch Feels, Not Covid-19 by Jenanigans1207

G | 20.2K | 7/7 | quarantine AU, covid 19, falling in love, confessions, artist keith

“Well, there’s really only one option, then.” Lance says as he steps further into the room. At least he looks equally as uncomfortable as Keith feels. At least he seems to know he’s broken their boundaries.

“Really?” Keith grinds out, but his anger is deflating. The stress of the situation is starting to wear on him and he just wants it to be over. “Because as far as I can tell, there are no options.”

“You’ll just have to come home with me.” Lance says and Keith balks. He physically feels the color drain from his face as he whips his head around to meet Lance’s blue eyes. He doesn’t even get the incredulous question off of his tongue before Lance is rushing on to explain. “My family visits Cuba every year at this time and since they closed the borders, they’re stuck there until this is over. So my home is completely empty which means there will be tons of room for you, too! And it’s only a couple of hours away, so we won’t risk getting caught anywhere in the middle. And it’s free.”

-- Or:

The coronavirus shuts down Keith and Lance's college and Keith has no choice but to go into quarantine with Lance.

At the Bottom of the Ramp by iybms

T | 12.2K | 1/1 | aggressive rollerblading, strong language, minor violence, getting together, rivals to friends to lovers

Lance is usually the first person to befriend new rollerbladers at the skatepark; it's a small community, and he's a friendly guy.

But not this time. This new guy looks the epitome of edgy and unapproachable, and he's stealing all of Shiro's attention.

[uniquecellest]

More Adashi AU

- Adam talks to Shiro while Shiro pilots the Atlas, Adam says some words that feel like a goodbye and Shiro calls out to him. He thinks Adam is dead (Adam was able to evacuate his plane before it crashed with the Galra)

- Upon hearing that the Galra are coming, Shiro and Adam argue over Adam being involved

- Once the quartet of Matt, Adam, Shiro, and Keith are reunited Matt and Keith hound Shiro like annoying brothers for leaving Adam and Keith behind

- Adam saying the words "we're going to get you to the medbay and once you're all healed up we're going to have a sparring match where I throw you around like a rag doll" / "don't ever worry me like that again. I don't know if I can ever take a loss like that again"

-Adam infiltrates Galra forces and travels with them in space. Shiro can't believe what he sees when he thinks Adam is willingly working with Galra

-with Kerberos being considered a bust bc of "pilot error" The Garrison wants to send others into space to retrieve the Kerberos crew. Voltron crew finds Adam's ship just floating in space with no life force seeming to be inside. They investigate to find Adam on the floor and alone. Turns out there's barely enough oxygen for even a new born let alone a grown adult (bonus if Adam's ship was hit with quintessence); Shiro refuses to leaves Adam's side while he's in the healing pod

-Adam somehow being used to help power the Galras main ship that attacked earth like some Alteans were

-They never confessed their feelings so when Shiro is determined to go on Kerberos Adam just sits with his feelings and waits; both thinking they've missed their chance with the other (cue Matt, Keith and Pidge trying to get them together when they reunite)

-Soulmate/soul marks AU where Shiro and Adam do not meet until Shiro comes back from space

- (shout to Chibi-pix for this one) Adam is like a brother figure to Pidge which results in Keith and Pidge being siblings causing Iverson to lose his mind bc Keith and Pidge are Matt and Shiro 2.0s (Lord help him when an Adam 2.0 enters the picture); Adam and Shiro are blissfully aware of their siblings antics but act like they aren't

-Kuron goes to Earth and kidnaps Adam

-Shiro is forced to choose between Keith and Adam

- They start off as a one-sided rivalry until an incident forces them together and they start to get to know each other

-more patient Adam and reckless Shiro

-Adam joins the Blade of Marmora where he runs into Keith (Adam still thinks Shiro is dead) Adam is with him in the two years in the Abyss and reunites with Shiro when Keith returns to the Paladins

-Eros!Adam and Psyche!Shiro

-Teen Titans AU where Shiro is Cyborg and Adam is Bumblebee (points for Kuron being Brother Blood)

-Camp Half-Blood demigod Shiro and Camp Jupiter Half-Blood Adam

-Adam and Matt get buried alive and Shiro is a reck trying to find them (Adam) so they don't die

-Baker/Cook Adam and Shiro who can't boil water without setting it on fire

-Adam and Shiro swap roles (neither are dead though)

-Shiro and Adam meeting once when they were kids but not meeting again until they are older. Both remember but Adam acts like he doesn't recall it at all

-Both are cadets and one has a significant other while the other is pining hard (s/a with the significant other doesn't last long, significant other also happens to be mutuals with Adam and Shiro)

-Shiro trains and gets a bad bruise on his neck that everyone thinks is a hickey until Adam returns from a trip (cue Keith defending Shiro but the other Paladins and co think maybe Shiro cheated)

-Shiro confesses to Adam one night but acts like he doesn't remember it then he and Adam spiral in their feelings

[mixedkid-matchup]

INTRODUCING THE MIXED KID MATCH UP!

tournament where you vote for your fav multiracial (or multispecies!) character(s)!

inspired by polls like: @blackandpinkbracket @blorbo-archers-tournament @blueandyellowbracket @ultimatepinkgirl @homoeroticbetrayal @adhdswagcompetition @autismswagsummit @beefy-babe-showdown (HIII) tagging @competition-list

twas not planning on taking submissions, BUT IF YOU HAVE SOMEONE I DONT ALREADY then send me an ask bc im too lazy to make a google form. (characters i have are below cut + rules)

Submissions will stop being taken on Thursday, March 9th @ 7PM MST Tonight at 7PM MST SUBMISSIONS CLOSED

Rules: 1. fictional characters only. i’d love to put myself on the poll for kicks but fr I don’t know how your fave youtuber would feel about being put on a tumblr poll lmao.   2. pjo characters do not count. their greek ancestry is not incorporated in dna (this is stated in the books, but there is evidence against it, like percy’s greek eyes, but this is a fantasy/mythology book so like whatever. also this is stated so the characters can date outside their cabin.) 3. you can submit more than one character but dont submit one more than once 4. my matches so far are color-coded based on anime character, cartoon character, comic/graphic novel character, live action character, and book character. so in the beginning i will match the anime ones together and so forth to keep it fair for at least the beginning. 5. dont submit the entire family in the poll. keep it to like a pair of siblings that are the focus or something. or the main character. 6. polls will last 24 hours because im impatient 7. you can campaign!!!!! TAG ME!!!!!! I’LL SHOW IT OFF!!!! 8. you do not have to be nice in the comments and tags idc!!! trash talk!!! have fun!! just dont like actually legit send death threats or slurs to people. in seriousness. and to people you dont know. Characters so far: - Tamaki Suoh (white-french/japanese) - Luz Noceda (afrolatine/black dominican) - Kipo (black/korean + mute/human) - Inuyasha (human/demon) - Miles Morales (afrolatine/puerto rican + black) - Hiro Hamada (white/japanese) - Glimmer (asian/??? whtever tf her mom is ig) - Damien Wayne (white/arabic) - Alex Russo (Wizards of Waverly Place) (white-italian/mexican) - Alina Starkov (white/asian) - Sabrina Spellman (mortal/witch) - Aquaman (atlantean/surface dweller LMAO WHY DID THE CREATOR SAY IT LIKE THAT) - Keith Kogane (galra/human) - Raven (human/demon) - Mark Grayson (human/vultrimite + white/asian) - Marceline (half human) - Scott Mccall (white/hispanic) - Steven (Steven Universe) (gem/human) - Marinette Dupain-Cheng (white/asian) - Cassandra Cain (white/chinese) - Alex (Totally Spies) (afrolatine + white) - Aster (The Witch Boy) (black/white) - Ginny (Ginny and Georgia) (black/white) - Wednesday (white/hispanic) - Mako and Bolin (LOK) (fire/earth bender) - Elisa Maza (black/indigenous) - Carter and Sadie Kane (black/white)

[littleredpencil]

Fate Claims Us All

Type: Oneshot Fandom: VLD Pairing: Curtis/Kuron

Credit to the cool Anon who gave me this prompt in my tumblr asks (regarding a soulmate AU idea):

"I've been thinking of recently divorced Curtis finding the kanji for "black" tattooed on his wrist one day. He thinks it's somehow related to Shiro - because what are the odds of another Japanese man in his life? - but can't quite figure out how..."

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Black.

The character was clear and unmistakable when he looked closely, blending in with Curtis’ skin tone from afar but a shade or two lighter up close. It painted the inside of his forearm, where he could see it every time he changed his clothes or rolled up his sleeve, the same unexplained riddle billions of people had dealt with before him.

Curtis remembered back when he was in high school, reading young adult novels about soulmate marks that were simple and straightforward. The other person’s full name, perhaps, or the first thing one heard them say upon meeting. Matching shapes. Countdown timers. All manner of fanciful ways that got around the intrinsically mysterious nature of the marks to move the plot along and help the hero find his or her One.

It sucked that real life wasn’t so simple. No, instead of names or phrases people were born with marks that had to be interpreted. Sometimes words, sometimes symbols, and in one case he’d read about in a magazine, a woman had been born with coordinates but no date or time.

Of course, then there was the added confusion that not everyone was born with a match-mark. Some people didn’t develop one until a bit later in life. Some didn’t have any at all, they were free of this horrible weight of destiny and able to mix freely with anyone they wanted without the crushing worry that they were thwarting some all-important fate.

Curtis had been one of those people. He’d been born mark-free, and he had never envied his peers. Year after year from puberty on, watching his friends drive themselves up a wall trying to interpret the clues on their skin. They were all married now of course, having each found that their match was out there looking just as fervently for them. Able to look back and laugh at how worried they’d been that they’d never find their partner, aware now that while fate might be a trickster in this she wasn’t outright cruel.

Until fairly recently, Curtis had sat back and watched all this happen, content in the knowledge that it wasn’t his problem. Even after the Galra invasion, when fate had taken a hard turn and so many people on Earth had died, many peoples’ marks had changed and many who had previously been clean found themselves suddenly tapped in...as if they’d been backup partners who were now needed. But Curtis had not been one of them.

It wasn’t the first time there had been a mass shift in match-marks. Everyone was bound to each other through their attachment to their planet’s quintessence, in times of war or plague that had caused mass casualties large numbers of soulmates were obviously lost, and somebody else alive became the next best match. Soulmate pairs who were both still alive remained untouched, while those who had lost theirs changed and those who had none woke up to find themselves “assigned.” But that shake up had not affected Curtis.

He had been free to fall in love with the Captain of the Atlas, admittedly a terrible idea right from the start due to Takashi being his direct superior officer. But war was hell and being out on deployment away from Earth was worse; confined in a small space with a limited amount of people, most of whom were already marked for somebody else. After the invasion, unmarked people had gone from a common occurrence to almost unheard of, and there were only six of them on the Atlas.

Four of them had not even been from Earth. He and Takashi had been the only unmarked humans aboard the ship, just one more thing among many they had in common.

Over the course of the war, it became very easy to believe match-marks were just a bunch of bullshit. After all, he and Takashi didn’t have them, and they got along perfectly. Their chemistry was good, enough to result in a war-long span of sneaking off to meet in secret since their relationship was against the rules. Good enough that when the war was over and they retired, getting married was already a foregone conclusion. Good enough that their marriage had been a match made in heaven for three years.

But then, reality came crashing in. Takashi came home one day with his usually happy demeanor gone, clearly troubled. He finally admitted to Curtis that he wasn’t really unmarked…marks could be on any part of the body, and his was on the back of his neck. It was hidden by the white hair he’d let grow out, which was why he’d never gone back to the buzz cut he’d been so fond of in pictures from his younger days.

Not only was he not unmarked, but the person his mark referred to had been a fellow soldier. He had been badly wounded in the invasion and had been found in a coma after the Galra overthrow. He had been unconscious in a hospital for six years, but now Takashi had gotten word that he’d woken up.

And just like that, the stupid marks that Curtis had been so sure had no bearing on his life had completely ruined it. Although to be fair, it was Takashi keeping secrets that ruined it, not the existence of the mark itself. Perhaps if Curtis had known the truth he would have been willing to continue the relationship anyway. But at least then he would have been prepared for the possibility that it would end, instead of coming home from doing the goddamned Christmas shopping to be blindsided by it.

Black.

It was a Japanese kanji, which made it that much worse. There were plenty of Japanese Americans in New Mexico, just like anywhere else, but the only ones he really knew were Takashi and his family. And the only one the mark made any sense for was Takashi himself, whose nickname was literally Japanese for “white.” Black was a color, the opposite of white, which brought him to “Shiro�� and thus to Takashi, which was exactly the screwed up way these damned riddles liked to work.

But for it to be referring to Takashi, it would have to mean the man he’d recently gotten back wasn’t going to be around for long. That he would pass away and leave Takashi free to come back to Curtis again.

And that was just a fucking terrible read all around. Curtis had not willingly gotten the stupid divorce a year ago. He had wanted anything but to give up his husband to somebody else, but that didn’t mean he wanted anybody to die over it. Nor did he think he could stomach just being somebody’s backup.

“Stop playing with your bandage,” Curtis’ sister Roxanne whispered from the chair next to him, elbowing him lightly. “Staring at it isn’t going to give you an answer.”

The bandage she was referring to was the one that was currently wrapped around part of his forearm, thanks to a nasty cut he’d gotten last week during a local private investigation job. It covered the injury, but it also covered the match-mark, and he couldn’t help absently playing with it.

“I can’t just ignore it,” Curtis whispered back, giving in and rolling his sleeve back down. “Don’t you think it’s a little bit weird that it only just appeared two weeks ago? They don’t just come and go unless something’s changed somewhere.”

“Maybe the person its referring to was just born a few weeks ago,” Roxanne suggested, flipping a page in her magazine. “That makes sense, right? You can’t have a soul mate who’s not born.”

“I’m thirty-five years old!” Curtis exclaimed. “I am not going to get involved with somebody more than three decades younger than me, ever!”

“Well you don’t really have a choice, do you?” Roxanne asked. “Fate is fate.”

“Fate is bullshit.”

“You say that now. Just wait until we take you out for your 55th birthday and you meet a hot twenty-year-old.”

“How can you sit there and make fun of this?” Curtis asked, pulling the magazine out of her hands. “This is serious. This is something that’s allegedly supposed to affect the rest of my life.”

“I’m not making fun of you, I’m just enjoying your discomfort,” Roxanne corrected. “All my life I had to put up with my snooty big brother, always looking down on match-marks like they were some kind of prison sentence and going on about how he’s not held down. Now I get to watch you have a nervous breakdown because you’ve suddenly got a predetermined lil’ boo out there.”

“You’re loving this.”

“I’m loving this,” Roxanne agreed.

“You know I don’t actually care about the mark, right?”

“Of course you care about the mark.”

“No, I just hate not knowing things,” Curtis corrected. “I only want to know what it means because I’m a nosy little shit.”

“You’re telling me you wouldn’t go running off to start checking people the second you got a real clue from it about who it might be for?” Roxanne asked skeptically.

“No, I wouldn’t,” Curtis answered. “I’m not insane like everyone else I know. You do realize that if a match-mark means you have a fated soul mate, they’ll find you eventually, right? You don’t have to go looking like a nutjob. That’s what fate is. So if this is actually real, eventually the person it’s pointing to will show up on my doorstep. Or wherever. I just hate having something on my body that I don’t understand the meaning of. That part is driving me nuts.”

“You have no sense of romance,” Roxanne sighed. She looked up at the clock on the wall. “What time are they supposed to get here? And where are these doctors from again?”

Curtis took out his phone to find the last email from Takashi. He still didn’t know who this other man was, or what his ex-husband’s mark even looked like—he hadn't wanted to know any of the details, though from what he remembered of life before the invasion he had his suspicions. But the band-aid had been ripped off quickly, so a year was enough for the worst feelings to settle. It didn’t even go to court, Takashi simply had to prove he had a match-mark and that its target was alive and the divorce was immediately approved, leaving them putting their house on the market and Curtis moving into a new apartment barely a month later.

A year in his own place, with only his things. All shared items accumulated during the relationship had been gotten rid of. Curtis still felt a little bitter about how things turned out, but that bitterness was at this so-called “fate” in general, not at Takashi specifically. He still hurt sometimes but he didn’t have any ill feelings, and they still kept occasional contact since Curtis had made good friends in Takashi’s family and vice versa.

So when Roxanne’s little girl fell ill, and no specialists seemed able to figure out what was going on, Curtis reached out to all the contacts he had. That included the former Captain of the Atlas, who now held a Council seat on the Galaxy Alliance and a much farther reach than Curtis had. A week and a half ago, Takashi got back to him saying that he'd gotten approval for a small team of doctors from an Earth colony on Altea to visit Earth, to see if there was anything in Altea’s vastly more advanced medicine that could help.

“Pollux,” he answered. “It’s an island country off the coast of Altea’s capital city. It was uninhabited, so they let Earth use it for an embassy and colony. Some of the team coming are Earth natives, some are Altean. They should be arriving any time now.”

“Shiro really feels bad, huh?” Roxanne asked, shaking her head slightly. “He’s really pulling a lot of strings here to help.”

“It’s the least he could do,” Curtis answered. “And he still owes me, as far as I’m concerned.”

Roxanne went back to her magazine. Curtis rose and crossed the small, private office, opening the blinds to look out across the air field. A lot had changed on Earth since contact with outside life had been made…instead of watching only airplanes take off, he was also watching small space transports launch and land.

The door eventually opened to admit a familiar face. Lance, Earth’s ambassador to Altea and the man who Curtis suspected was ultimately responsible for helping them at Takashi’s request, smiled brightly as he came into the office.

“Hey! Sorry I made you guys wait, I was actually in a meeting with Coran and the transport had to wait for me to come back,” he grinned offering Curtis his hand. “How have you been? Shiro says you’re a merc!”

“It’s espionage for hire,” Roxanne said before Curtis could respond, clearly smirking behind her magazine. “Mercenary work is for hotheaded brutes.”

Curtis didn’t know why she thought that was so funny, since it was true. Stealth and espionage was what he did, if somebody wanted to hire somebody to go into Imperial Faction territory with guns ablaze then he was not the one they wanted.

“Technically, I’m retired,” was the answer Curtis did actually give, welcoming Lance’s hand and shaking it more than happily. “You look good. How’s Keith doing?”

Keith and Lance had been a real trip during the war. Two people who everyone could clearly tell were bound by their match-marks, but neither seemed to grasp that the other was the answer to their mystery until they were in their twenties. From what Curtis heard, they still acted exactly the same toward each other as they had before, but now they had a marriage license.

“He’s good! The Blade has been following the Coalition and Daibazaal along their route. They have a system down now, every planet that gets liberated from the imperials is back up and running within months.”

“That’s impressive,” Curtis complimented. And it really was; the Blade of Marmora had become one of the most effective disaster relief groups Curtis had ever seen under Keith’s leadership.

“Yeah, he does a good job for an idiot,” Lance agreed. “Can I just talk to you alone for a minute? Customs is checking in the medical team, but there’s something I need to brief you on before I take you down.”

Curtis glanced over at Roxanne, not certain what might need to be said that she couldn’t hear. But Roxanne didn’t put up a fight, she was more interested in having this run smoothly for her daughter’s sake than in being curious.

“I’m just going to go grab a soda from the vending machine,” she offered, grabbing her purse and leaving the office.

“Just for the record,” Lance said once she was gone, “I’m still sorry about the divorce. If there’s anything Keith or I can do, let me know.”

“It’s fine,” Curtis shook his head, leaning against the empty desk. “That’s life, right? Things happen. It’s been a year and I’m doing okay. I just have to get through another year or two and all of it will be behind me.”

“Good,” Lance answered with a slight nod. “Because one of the doctors here might really test your patience in that regard. But I need you to trust me when I tell you that he’s absolutely one of the best.”

“I don’t like the sound of that first part.”

“I know, but you’d like it less if I didn’t warn you,” Lance said. “You know about Shiro dying in the fight with Zarkon, and that Allura managed to pull his soul from the Black Lion and put it in a clone. But do you know the details?”

“I never knew there were any details to ask for,” Curtis answered, frowning. “I mean, Keith told me about the fight on that moon. I know he brought the body back, I know he discovered Takashi’s soul in the Black Lion on his return. What other details are there?”

“Well, for starters, the clone was a copy of Shiro in everything,” Lance replied. “His memories, his personality. It was the clone who piloted the Black Lion and fought in some of the most major battles of the war before we were caught in the time dilation. He was under Haggar’s control when he attacked us and Keith, but besides that he was just another version of Shiro. Allura wasn’t about to kill somebody who was our friend.”

“One body, two souls,” Curtis did that math. He had never really thought about it before. “One’s got to go if the other’s going to live.”

“The clone went willingly,” Lance nodded. “The war, fighting Keith, finding out he wasn’t who he thought he was...it was a lot of stress. A lot of trauma. But Allura wasn’t going to just dump him into the ether. So she switched them out instead.”

“Switched them out,” Curtis repeated. “What does that mean? She took Takashi out of the Black Lion and put the clone in?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what it means,” Lance answered. “And he stayed there. After we ended the occupation on Earth and the rebuild started, Keith pulled us on a covert op to go back and check out that lab. What we ended up finding was that part of the mainframe and three pods were still intact. They were on the portion of scaffold that was physically attached to the moon, when everything broke off that part was still attached.”

“You found three more clones,” Curtis asked in disbelief. “There are three copies of Takashi out there?”

“No,” Lance sighed, running a hand through his hair. “We tried to save them…I mean, it wasn’t their fault they existed. But they were just empty bodies, they weren’t alive. They never had been. Any attempts to take them off complete life support didn’t work, and eventually we had to do the merciful thing and just let two of them die.”

“And the third?” Curtis asked, beginning to think he already knew where this was going.

“The third…Allura used as a vessel for the soul that was still stored in the Black Lion,” Lance answered. “Iverson quietly got him resettled at one of our Japanese bases, got him ID paperwork and some counseling. He technically already had Shiro’s degree in biological sciences, so he started at a med school while we were all out at war.”

“Hold on,’ Curtis couldn’t believe what he was being told. “So while we were out there on the Atlas chasing down Honerva, there was a Takashi clone back on Earth the whole time?”

“Look, I fought with this guy for eight months,” Lance said somberly. “He was always there for us, the same way Shiro was. The least we owed him was a shot at his own life. He’s not dangerous, the clones didn’t have any of the mechanical implants Honerva was using for control. And he’s really, really smart…he was already better than most of the doctors on Earth by the time we got back from the war, and he’s spent the years since as a student on Altea getting even better. I have dinner at his house when I’m there for meetings, he’s a good man. He’ll take care of your niece.”

Curtis nodded slightly, his head reeling. He could understand why he wasn’t told before about the existence of this clone, the quieter everything was kept the better for everyone involved, but it still threw him for a loop.

“As far as anybody else is concerned, we’re telling them he’s a cousin of Shiro’s,” Lance said, stepping over and opening the office door. “I just needed to make sure you knew that you can’t go asking the family about him. Shiro is introducing him to them little by little.”

Curtis stepped out into the hall to find Roxanne waiting. Lance led them down to the elevator, then through a series of security checkpoints downstairs. When they arrived, there were two humans and two Alteans in the waiting area just past security. Lance frowned as they approached, looking around.

“Um,” Lance called their attention as he stopped and looked around. “There are only four of you. Did number five escape?”

“Security took him to an office,” a human woman said, gesturing back toward the scanning area. “He…uh…required a strip search.”

“Wait, what?” Lance looked surprised. “Why?”

All four of them pursed their lips, visibly trying not to snicker. An Altean man cleared his throat.

“He had to prove to them that something setting off the detectors wasn’t a threat,” he said. He made a hand motion to the area slightly lower than his belt. “You know. Piercing.”

“Oh my God,” Lance groaned, rubbing his face. “Oh my God, I didn’t know he had one of those to warn security about. Oh, Jesus, why didn’t I know? I should have known. I should have just assumed the worst.”

“—but honestly you barely feel a thing,” an eerily familiar voice came from down the hall as an office door opened. “The tissue’s soft enough that there’s minimal resistance, and it’s supposed to really add to the sensation during intercourse.”

Two of the customs security guards came around the corner with a man who Curtis thought he might not have even recognized if Lance hadn’t warned him. The face and height were the same, and though he wasn’t huge there was at least some decent amount of muscle there.

But that was where the similarities ended.

This man didn’t have a facial scar, or a prosthetic arm. His hair was black, except for a patch in the front that had been bleached and dyed a deep purple, and long enough that he had it pulled up in a ponytail. His ears were studded with several piercings apiece, and he was wearing what was clearly a dog collar.

And that was only the differences as far as down to his neck. He was wearing a band t-shirt and two pendants in different length chains, over black leather pants and combat boots. One of his visible arms was covered in a tattoo sleeve that went all the way down to his wrist, and he had a leather jacket slung over his shoulder.

“There you are!” He brightened when he saw Lance as he was released and made his way over. “You missed it, I almost made two grown men cry.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Lance sighed, opening the gate for him to step out and join the others. “I was just grabbing the family for you guys so you could get some details. This is Roxanne Bernard, Vivienne’s mother. And this is Curtis Duchesne, Vivienne’s uncle.”

“Hello,” the man—Dr. Shirogane, Curtis had to remind himself, as gobsmacked as he currently was—politely shook Roxanne’s hand. “Nice to meet you. And hello.”

That greeting was aimed at Curtis himself, and he was already too unsteady to properly respond. He felt like the world was upside down as he took the offered hand.

“Hey,” Lance said sharply, pointing at Dr. Shirogane as if he were a disobedient puppy. “No. We have a meeting, behave.”

Dr. Shirogane gave a mock-disappointed “tsk” and went to grab the two bags that were waiting for him. Lance gestured for everyone to head down the hallway toward the meeting rooms and Curtis obeyed, still feeling like he’d just stepped into the Twilight Zone.

* * * * *

There was a lengthy meeting about Vivienne’s case. Lots of questions were asked about the care she’d already received, but Curtis remembered none of them. Roxanne and her husband, who’d come to join them, knew the answers to those questions best so Curtis didn’t really pay attention.

He couldn’t, even if he wanted to. All of his attention was on Dr. Shirogane as he continued to try and convince himself that he was awake and this wasn’t some kind of fever dream.

Once niceties had been exchanged and the medical file brought up, Dr. Shirogane’s entire demeanor had changed. He sat up straight and spoke authoritatively, asked direct questions and voiced his opinions strongly. It was like watching Takashi himself speak, but the fashion was all wrong and the voice was slightly different. Several years in different environments had given the two men some faint biological differences, but the gestures and the posture and even the way Dr. Shirogane rolled his eyes was the same.

What came out of his mouth might as well have been another language. Curtis couldn’t focus on anything he was actually saying through the dissonance. And to make matters worse, Curtis was sitting at one corner of the table with Dr. Shirogane right next to him on the other side. The air around him was tinged with the faint but luxurious scent of Black Orient, a favorite cologne Curtis had previously attempted to get Takashi to wear with no success.

There was a single tattoo on his other arm, the one without a sleeve. It was on the inside of his forearm, the silhouette of an oak leaf with a rainbow-gradient galaxy scene in it. It was the only decoration on that arm, not part of any larger piece, and Curtis couldn’t quite figure out the symbolism.

There was also the slight problem that Curtis knew next to nothing about medicine and had no direct say in Vivienne’s care, he was just here as moral support for his sister and brother-in-law. So he didn’t know exactly how long he’d been sitting here staring like an idiot when Dr. Shirogane finally picked up the papers in front of him and straightened them by tapping them on the desk, effectively calling the meeting to adjourn.

“There’s not really much we can do right now,” he was saying as Curtis snapped himself out of his daze. “So we’ll send the recommendation over to the children’s hospital and have them start the treatment change. We’ll each do five-hour shifts to keep an eye on her and document any changes or improvements…I think within a few days we can probably gather enough information to be on our way to a solid diagnosis. I’ll take the first shift, if nobody minds.”

Nobody minded. The others offered to take his things to the hotel while they went to settle in, and an Altean woman promised to come and relieve him in five hours.

Everyone rose to leave. Curtis remained seated while the other doctors picked up their bags to get out of the room, hoping to trail behind far enough that he wasn’t asked anything that might reveal he hadn’t been paying attention. Dr. Shirogane followed his colleagues out, and Curtis’ traitorous eyes went right to the one place he had been trying not to let them go as the other man left.

God, were those leather pants painted on?

“Nice,” Curtis heard Roxanne whisper when her husband wasn’t listening. “I didn’t know Shiro had a cousin who was a doctor. They look so much alike, don’t they?”

“I didn’t notice,” Curtis lied, dropping his eyes down to the table. “He’s got a lot of family still over in Japan though, maybe the looks run in the family.”

“Maybe,” Roxanne conceded, rising with him. “John’s going right to the hospital to be with Vivienne, let Mom and Dad come home. I have to go to the house and clean up, and get a fresh overnight bag for us. Can you drive me if John takes the car?”

“Of course,” Curtis nodded, finally getting up as well now that the coast was clear. “While you get that together I’ll throw together some dinner for you to take with you.”

“Thanks,” Roxanne gave him a peck on the cheek as they left the meeting room. “I really don’t know how we’d get through all this without your help.”

* * * * *

Roxanne getting cleaned up and repacking their bags for what could potentially become another week at the hospital took about four and a half hours. Which was fine with Curtis, he had nowhere he had to be today and Roxanne had to run a few loads of laundry. He spent the time cooking a few meals, putting them into individual lunch containers and packing them up so they had dinner for the next five nights.

Roxanne and John spent almost every night at the hospital, and when one came home to get a good night’s sleep in their bed the other one stayed. Curtis didn’t mind helping out with these sorts of tasks; he felt helpless to do anything useful for his niece, so he could at least help make sure her parents’ needs were met so they could be there for her. Once everything was done, he put the bags in the car and drove Roxanne to the hospital, helping her carry everything up to the room.

John was in the chair by the bed, quietly reading a book. In addition to the food Curtis had cooked, he and Roxanne stopped by a drive thru for something hot for right now. While they went to the cafeteria to get some coffee and eat, Curtis took a turn at the little girl’s bedside. Everything was quiet while he was there, there was no change in Vivienne in the meantime, and Dr. Shirogane did not make an appearance.

At least, not until the Altean woman did. The two of them walked in together, discussing a chart, and Curtis assumed they met up in one of the hospital offices. They were both wearing white lab coats, which made Dr. Shirogane look almost like a normal doctor.

“…they got a little elevated after the IV started, but everything evened out after about an hour,” Dr. Shirogane was speaking softly to the other doctor as they came in. “We’re not going to know for another two days or so, but if she’s responding this positively already I think we’re looking in the right direction.”

“I’ll keep an eye on it,” the Altean woman promised. “Did you give her the dose I suggested?”

“Yes. She’s due for another in about two hours. I’m going to head out.”

Curtis stayed sunk down in the chair, praying not to be noticed. His prayers were almost answered, but Roxanne and John returned just as Dr. Shirogane was leaving. They of course called attention to Curtis as they thanked him and let him know he was free to go.

Dr. Shirogane had already removed his lab coat, so Roxanne and John turned their questions to the Altean woman. Curtis didn’t want to be in the way so he stepped out of the room, and found himself walking toward the elevator next to a disturbingly cheerful clone of his ex-husband. He wasn’t sure what to say, so he said nothing, letting the silence stretch out as they both stepped into the otherwise empty elevator.

And then there was that cologne again. Nowhere near as strong as this morning, but the last traces still clinging for the day.

“So…I don’t mean to bother you when you’re just stepping off duty here,” Curtis finally said when he couldn’t stand the silence any longer. “But I have no idea what’s going on with Vivienne right now.”

“Well, if you paid attention while we were talking this morning instead of staring at my arms, you’d understand what was happening,” Dr. Shirogane answered simply.

Curtis winced a bit. He hadn’t realized he’d been being so obvious. He felt like a complete idiot, and it must have showed. The somewhat stern countenance evaporated, and Dr. Shirogane chuckled slightly. He had a low, throaty laugh that was a little more mischievous than Takashi’s.

“I’m just picking on you,” Dr. Shirogane said as the elevator opened to let them out on the ground floor. “I already know who you are, Takashi warned me. I’m sorry, when all you did was stare instead of punching me in the face on instinct, I couldn’t resist.”

Dr. Shirogane folded his hands behind his back and flipped around so he was walking backwards. Curtis wasn’t sure if he could somehow tell where he was going, or if everyone was just getting out of his way due to how much he stood out.

“Vivienne has a bug we think isn’t of Earth origin,” he said as he walked, matching Curtis’ pace so they moved along face-to-face. “There are a couple humans can catch, but they don’t usually get this bad. It looks like she caught something here that might have weakened her immune system, and then this other disease came along and took advantage of that.”

“How would it have?” Curtis asked, reaching out to grab Dr. Shirogane’s shirt and stop him from backing square into the automatic doors, which were a bit slow to open. “She’s never been off world. Neither have her parents, and I’ve been home for the last two months.”

“There are a lot of ways,” Dr. Shirogane shrugged. “Things like this, they can jump from person to person and in most people be just a sniffle, then hit somebody who’s already very sick and knock them down. From Vivienne’s chart, it looks like she had pneumonia.”

“Yes, the doctors were trying to treat her for that, but then she only got worse.”

“So she was probably already weakened from that, and then any one of you could have been passed this other virus simply by walking past the wrong person on the street. The only problem is that Earth just isn’t equipped to deal with these cases yet because Vivienne’s is probably one of the first. There will be a lot more medical firsts now that humans are interacting with other planets.”

“But is she going to be okay?” Curtis asked as they stepped out onto the sidewalk. “Did one of us give her something that might…?”

“We’re treating her for three different viruses,” Dr. Shirogane replied. “Two Altean, one Galran. We won’t know for a few days which one it is, when certain reactions start, but the fact that the fluid in her lungs is already thinning tells us it’s definitely one of them. Once we know which, we’ll be able to figure out how to treat it without making the pneumonia worse. So, yes, she’s going to be okay…eventually. But we were brought in pretty late, I can’t promise you it won’t get worse before it gets better.”

Curtis nodded dully. Vivienne was so little, he hated the thought that this might get worse. And he hated the thought that he was one of the people who might have made her even sicker while visiting her during her initial hospital stay.

Dr. Shirogane pulled out a phone and stepped away from him, raising an arm to hail a taxi. Curtis knew they were paying a pretty penny for the services of five off-world specialists already, but it still seemed a little ungrateful to make him take a cab.

“Hey, I can drop you off at your hotel,” he offered, pulling his car keys out of his pocket and giving them a shake. “I don’t have anywhere to be.”

“That would be nice,” Dr. Shirogane answered, holding up his phone. “I don’t actually know where I'm going, I was just going to show the driver the address.”

“I’m parked over in the lot across the street,” Curtis nodded in the direction of the parking lot entrance. “Do you need to stop anywhere else?”

“No, we’ll probably be doing a group shopping trip for essentials at some point,” Dr. Shirogane answered, falling into step beside him and showing him the address for the hotel. It wasn’t far. “But thank you.”

“It’s fine. I have to ask though, since you brought it up…what kind of horror stories did Takashi tell you about me, oh doctor who he never mentioned before?” Curtis wondered.

That made Dr. Shirogane laugh again. It was just such a playful, teasing kind of sound…Takashi could never.

“He keeps things pretty close,” Dr. Shirogane admitted. “He especially keeps the rest of his life separate from me, and for good reason. I’ve only been my own person for a few years, he wants me to be able to settle into my own life without being pressured by his. Holding back the dam, so to speak, so I don’t drown. Only letting people meet me drip by drip so I don’t get overwhelmed. All I ever knew was that he had a husband, the first time I ever learned your name was when he called me last year and his only greeting was “I fucked up I fucked up I fucked up.”

“Yeah, he definitely fucked up,” Curtis confirmed.

“It’s Ryou, by the way. Since Lance completely forgot to actually introduce any of us.”

Ryou. Curtis only knew a little about Japanese naming conventions, so he didn’t really know much about the meaning. But from a strictly audial standpoint it was nice. He kind of looked like a Ryou, the same way some people just looked like Chads or Harrys or Jennifers.

“He definitely didn’t tell me you were so tall,” Ryou added as they reached the car. “He gave me the impression that you were sort of…proper and compact and polite, not six-foot-five and built like a fireman’s calendar model.”

“Well, much like whoever his current partner is, he didn’t prepare me for you at all,” Curtis admitted, opening Ryou’s door for him. “I’m still getting whiplash every time I look at you. I never thought Takashi even had a wild side.”

“Everyone has a wild side,” Ryou smirked slightly as Curtis came around and got in. “Even you, I hear.”

“He didn’t,” Curtis groaned, feeling heat start to creep up his face. What happened in the bedroom was supposed to stay in the bedroom, especially between married couples.

“Not on purpose,” Ryou was clearly having a lot of fun with Curtis’ discomfort. “He just let it slip that I shouldn’t piss you off, because if you have to break out the restraints I’m not going to get free.”

Redder. Probably glowing at this point. That was what Curtis was sure his face must look like right now as he pulled out of the parking lot and studiously tried to pretend all of his attention was on traffic.

Which was very difficult as the confined space of the car began to fill with those last teasing traces of cologne.

“He mostly just reminded me that it hasn’t been that long since the divorce and that if you were an asshole to me it was his fault, not yours,” Ryou thankfully turned back to the original question.

“Which you haven’t been. Mostly you’ve just been an adorably weird mix of avoidance and staring. I assume you’ve been sizing me up to see if you can take me directly, or if you have to knock me out from behind.”

“Oh, I can take you directly,” Curtis finally let a little smile slip through. “Don’t think otherwise. No, you’re just a very shocking change from what I’m used to. Takashi was so straight-laced, even when he was casual it was more military jock than anything. He’d never be caught in leather pants that tight.”

“No?” Ryou shifted in the seat so he could lift one leg up to plant a booted foot on the dashboard. He was disturbingly flexible. “I think these are pretty moderate, personally.”

The maneuver just made it easier to see how snugly the pants fit. No, Takashi would never be caught dead in those.

“I think the difference is that he…died,” Ryou decided, putting his leg back down. “And I didn’t. What he went through was traumatic, but he didn’t have the same prolonged exposure to a galactic war that I did. He fought for a month after he escaped the Galra, and then the worst happened.

"And I’m not even going to pretend floating incorporeally inside something like one of those Lions is nice, but he still wasn’t directly exposed to the war. I was, for eight more months. By the time he was ready to go back out and face anything the universe threw at him, I was just ready to rest. So he’s a soldier, and I’m a civilian. Two very different environments, it makes for two very different people.”

That made sense. By design and necessity, a military life tended to squash most individuality out of its soldiers. Ryou was very likely a full manifestation of what Takashi would have been, if every time he developed an interest that didn’t mesh with the Garrison it wasn’t forcefully wiped away. The military hadn’t been cruel to Takashi, he had thrived there, but his most blatant personality trait because of it was “soldier.”

The hotel wasn’t far at all. They came up on it then, and Curtis pulled up to the drop off, putting the car into park.

“Thanks,” he said sincerely. “To you and the rest of the team, for coming here just for one little girl. I know you probably all have responsibilities at home, but this means a lot to us.”

“Well,” Ryou opened his door and put one foot out on the curb, but didn’t get out immediately. Instead he slid down a little, folding his hands behind his head lazily. “Why don’t you come up and tell me a little more about it over coffee?”

Alarms went off. Curtis knew that pose and he knew that look, and he was very well-acquainted with what it meant to be invited up for coffee.

“Isn’t it a little late in the afternoon for coffee?” He stalled, not quite sure what his answer should be.

One one hand, this was a clone of his ex-husband and there were so many different levels of wrongness to even thinking about indulging. On the other…Ryou looked really good in those pants.

“A beer, then,” Ryou corrected course. “Hotels here still have bars, right? Or, no…you’re more of a wine man, I think. I think a glass of wine and a casual chat would be a nice evening, don’t you?”

Curtis raised an eyebrow. This was not the first time he’d met someone and had sparks fly immediately, but it was definitely the first time he felt like he had to temper those sparks.

“Just a glass of wine?” Curtis pressed. “And a little bit of company out on the balcony?”

“Of course,” Kuro made a show of crossing his heart. “What could I possibly want from you right now except a good drink and a little bit of pleasant conversation?”

* * * * *

“Fuck,” Curtis whispered breathlessly, slowly pushing himself up and rolling over onto his back. He stared up at the ceiling, panting heavily.

Next to him, Ryou struggled to push himself up on his elbows, trying to catch his own breath while simultaneously attempting to blow the hair out of his face. He kicked Curtis lightly in the calf, giving him a crooked, lazy grin.

“Do you mind?”

Curtis tilted his head to get a good look at him, and couldn’t help the bark of laughter that escaped. His long hair, which had been gripped tightly in Curtis’ fist a few moments ago, had at some point lost the band holding it up and was now in a messy curtain in his face. He was also still stuck, his wrists rather firmly bound to the headboard with Curtis’ tie.

“Or I could leave you there for half an hour or so and then give it another go,” Curtis suggested.

“If you’re giving anything another go, it’s your turn to be tied up,” Ryou stated. “Where did you learn to tie knots? The CIA?”

“Something like that.”

Curtis had mercy on him and released him from his bindings, letting him sit up on the edge of the bed and smooth back his hair. He stood up and stretched, still panting slightly, giving him another view of the vivid tattoos running down his spine from a slightly different angle. Curtis at first thought he was heading to the bathroom to clean up, but instead he picked up the as of yet unopened bottle of wine they’d grabbed down in the hotel bar and two glasses from the table.

Rather than being as fastidious as Curtis initially assumed, Ryou seemed almost indifferent to being a mess as he opened the bottle and filled the two glasses. He handed one to Curtis as he sat up, then stretched out lazily beside him. There was a casual and comfortable silence as they both recovered in the dim light of the hotel room, the chill of the air conditioner slowly chasing the excess heat from their bodies.

“I guess this is something I have to tell my therapist, so she can tell me I probably used you to compensate for the divorce,” Curtis eventually supposed.

“I’ve just come to Earth after several years surrounded by aliens I’m not interested in, and straight humans who aren’t interested in me,” Ryou said airily. “I don’t care why you did it. But I’m thinking it probably has more to do with you not having dated anyone in a while, if your…fervor…is any indication.”

“You told me to pull your hair,” Curtis reminded him.

“Oh, and God but you listen really well,” Ryou smirked around the rim of his glass.

“Maybe I don’t have to mention it to my therapist,” Curtis decided after a moment. “But I don’t know what I’m going to tell Takashi.”

“Don’t tell him anything,” Ryou suggested easily. He was clearly not a man who had many tough internal struggles. “I’m not going to. I doubt he tells you what he does with his body, just return the favor.”

That was really the simplest answer, wasn’t it? Just don’t tell him. And Curtis wasn’t sure why he hadn’t thought that was an option himself, because Ryou was right. They didn’t regularly speak much, and even when they did it was about their families. They didn’t talk about each others’ personal lives, Curtis wasn’t ready to hear about it.

“I have a question,” Curtis said, after waiting a moment to let that topic settle.

“Yes, I did like it when you did that thing,” Ryou answered, making Curtis laugh a little. He held out his now-empty glass and Ryou refilled it.

“No, I’m talking about your tattoo.”

“Which one?”

“The one on your arm,” Curtis nodded toward the leaf. “Everything else you have is part of a bigger piece, but that one’s there alone. Why an oak leaf?”

“Is it an oak leaf?” Ryou asked, lifting his arm to look at it. “I’m not exactly current on my dendrology.”

Curtis had begun to slouch down into the pillows. He leaned over to set his glass down on the table on his side of the bed, then pushed himself up, reaching over to take Ryou’s wrist in one hand. He traced along the shape of the tattoo with his other hand, one fingertip following the edges of the leaf.

“Oak leaves have this curve,” he explained. “Some have points, but this leaf is from a European oak. That’s the one that grew on the grounds of my family home in France. Curtis Duchesne, from chêne, the French for oak tree. Honestly? It’s literally the only leaf I can identify, and only because it’s so important in French culture. So don’t ask me about any other trees.”

Ryou had been watching him trace the shape with a small smile of amusement playing on his lips. But as Curtis finished speaking the smile disappeared, and he gently pulled his wrist out of the other man’s hand.

“It’s not a tattoo,” he said flatly. “Two weeks ago I came home from work and went to get in the shower, and it was just there. You know how these things are…just plain and boring outlines. A little bit darker or lighter than the skin around it. It was messing up my aesthetic, so I had it filled in by my tattoo guy.”

Not a tattoo.

Just appeared a few weeks ago.

A few shades off from the skin.

So, it wasn’t anything that had any particular meaning for him, at least not yet. He had simply wanted it to match with the rest of his skin, and had turned it from a bland splash of discolor into a work of art. It was a match-mark, something that for some reason Curtis had never even considered Ryou might have.

And it was one that hit disturbingly close to home.

“Hey,” somebody called from out in the hallway, knocking lightly. “Kuro?”

Curtis sat up straighter, not sure if he’d heard right.

“I’m here,” Ryou called back, louder. “Hold on.”

He grabbed a robe that was hanging up by the door and threw it on quickly, opening the door a crack. Curtis heard some conversation happening, but he didn’t really hear the words. He almost felt like he had a ringing in his ears. After a moment the door closed quietly and the lock clicked into place, and Ryou came back into the room.

“The others were making a pizza run, it’s been a while since they got real Earth food,” he said. “I just asked them to bring us something back.”

“Kuro?” Curtis asked dumbly, trying to verify. “Is that what she called you?”

“Yes, it’s what people call me,” Ryou nodded, letting the robe slip off his shoulders and pool at his feet. In the dim light, it made for a very alluring picture as he moved back over to sit on the edge of the bed so he could refill his own glass. “I took the surname Kurogane when I picked a name, to differentiate myself a little more from Takashi. It was like some kind of symbolic chain-cutting, I guess.”

He looked over his shoulder with that little smirk in place again.

“But you sounded very nice calling me some of those things you were using a little while ago,” he teased with a wink. “Or just stick to Ryou. I don’t mind.”

Kuro. The opposite of Shiro.

Kuro. Black.

With a match-mark in the shape of an oak leaf, coincidentally the meaning of Curtis’ own surname and a hallmark of his childhood home.

Curtis retrieved his glass, not sure how to handle the situation. It was possible he was completely wrong and reading too much into it, and after all, he was a man who did not have a sense of urgency about his mark except his curiosity over the mystery. He had made no effort to actually go looking.

“So what are you going to do about it?” Curtis wondered.

“Do about what?”

“Your match-mark,” Curtis clarified. “Obviously there’s nobody on your colony with the other one, you said yourself it’s filled with aliens and straight people.”

“I’m not going to do anything about it,” Ryou answered lightly, looking at his arm again. “What happens, happens. Everyone gets so bent out of shape over these things for no reason. If it’s really your soul mate, then they’ll eventually come to you no matter what, won’t they? You don’t have to go looking, that’s the point of fate.”

Curtis groaned internally. Of course the attractive, smart, ridiculously sexually compatible doctor would match his philosophy perfectly.

“That’s a very healthy take on this,” Curtis praised.

“I think so.”

“I have one more question.”

“Yes, I want you to do that thing you did to me again,” Ryou sniped, making Curtis laugh slightly again.

“No. As a doctor, can you take a look at a gash I got last week?” Curtis requested, holding up his bandaged wrist. Ryou had respected that Curtis hadn’t mentioned it, and hadn’t asked about it himself. “I cut it on broken window glass. I just want to make sure it looks like it’s healing well.”

Ryou took a big sip from his glass and set it aside, turning to face him and motioning for him to move closer. Curtis slid over and offered his arm, watching Ryou’s face as he carefully unwrapped the bandage.

As the wrapping fell away, his eyes immediately went to the injury. That was only to be expected, he was a doctor and the deep cut certainly drew attention. But Curtis already knew it was healing just fine and he wasn’t looking for advice. He was looking for the moment when Ryou’s gaze slid a bit to the side, to the very clear kanji for ‘kuro’.

Curtis was a reserved person. He didn’t like to have big reactions to things, not when people were watching. Either Ryou was similar, or he simply didn’t know how to react. Curtis knew that he knew what he was looking at, it was readable on his face and clear in the extended silence during which Ryou was obviously trying to process what he was looking at. Finally, he gently let go of Curtis’ arm.

“It looks fine,” he stated, picking his glass back up and rising. “You don’t have to wear that bandage anymore, either. Let it breathe a bit.”

He walked around the bed and kept going, leaving Curtis to watch him leave.

“Where are you going?” Curtis called as he disappeared around the corner.

“To get a shower,” Ryou called back. “Pizza is coming.”

“So we don’t have to have a talk?” Curtis asked.

Ryou reappeared, leaning back around the corner to look at him.

“If you want to talk, then come get in the shower with me.”

He was gone again. Curtis only hesitated for a heartbeat or two before he shoved his glass back onto the bedside table and hurried into the bathroom.

Who was he to question fate?

[slothgiirl]

the medic (keith x reader)

17k. something weird’s going on with keith, like alien weird. as the team medic, you’re concerned.

“So he is avoiding me,” you muse aloud, grabbing one of the pink alien food biscuits that were Hank’s latest experiment. Though it had been hours since Voltron had taken out the Galra Empire’s presence on this Balmera, you’d only just seen the last of your patients. Altean medical equipment did wonders.

After a battle, you were hardly surprised to find Hank in the kitchen, grounding himself as he cooked. You were surprised to run into Keith.

“Yeah,” Hank nods, “Probably trying to avoid another dental exam.”

You flush bright red, “His teeth fell out! Sorry for being concerned.” Between you and Lance, you’d managed to get a look at Keith. A fist fight with some alien species that was cooperating with the Galra had not gone Keith’s way, knocking out two of his teeth.

Shiro, predictably, had waved it off and accepted Keith’s insane explanation that his teeth would grow back on their own without question: given his hand waving of the red paladin’s eyes glowing slightly in the dark, more than any human’s should (human eyes didn’t glow at all!). Hindsight was twenty twenty.

The yellow paladin shrugs as he mixes orange noodle-esque things in a bowl.

Team Voltron was full of strong personalities. Add in Lotor and his friends dropping in, there was always something going on.

Hank just wanted to unwind from spending the past few hours destroying heavy duty mining equipment without hurting the planet. “So how are the biscuits?”

You chew on one, still bothered by Keith. Maybe Hank was right and he was trying to hide something from your keen gaze. You hoped not. Knowing the red paladin, and after two years in space, you certainly did, he’d rather suffer in silence until there was no other option than get medical attention. Back on earth with needles and scalpels, you understood, but in the Castle of Lions…

“Kind of like a rice cracker,” you tell Hank helpfully. “In a good got snacks at H-Mart way, not the sad quaker oats rice snacks.”

“Oh H-Mart,” Hunk smiles, “they don’t have those in space. They do have salt though. Found that at the last market we went to.”

“As long as alien food doesn’t poison us,” you comment. It was lucky that hadn’t happened. It was alien food. But not one negative reaction which either made humans some of the most hardy species or you were just lucky.

“Yeah,” Hunk chuckles, “I’ve gotten pretty good at recognizing what’s edible and not. I know Pidge said there’s some books, but my Altean is pretty bad.”

“Languages are hard.”

“Wish there was a space version of google translate.”

“Hunk-”

“Yeah.”

“That’s genius!” You look at the yellow paladin, wondering how a universe with speech translators never thought to do the same for written language.

“I know,” Hunk smiles while popping another tray into the oven.

—————

Lance finishes painting your toenails. It was a rare day when there were no space battles or rebel meetings. “Pidge,” the blue paladin whines, “let me paint your-”

“Don’t even think about it!”

“It’s supposed to be team bonding night,” Lance counters.

“Lance,” Allaura frowns from where she’s sitting with Shiro, “the castle’s night cycle has not started.”

“Well we can change it,” he counters, “there’s no up or down in space. OR day or night.”

“You can paint my nails,” Hunk offers. “Won’t last long though between the cooking and the vents I’ve been cleaning. This is a 10,000 year old castle. No offence,” he glances at Allura.

“No offence at all. The battles have taken their toll and I’m sure Coran appreciates the help. He is only one man.” She lets out a sigh. The only other remaining Altean was a bittersweet subject for her.

Hunk kicks off his shoes. “My pleasure. Literally. This Castle is so cool. The artificial gravity alone!”

You watch the paint dry on your toes. Only your big toes had actual drawings on them, strange alien creatures you’d all encountered over your time in space. The others were clear with green and blue swirls. “You’re a good artist Lance.”

The blue paladin winks, “I’m a regular old Michaelangelo.”

You laugh, “of course you are.”

“And I’m not just good with a brush,” he wiggles his eyebrows, more boyish flirting than anything serious.

You roll your eyes.

Pidge throws a cushion at Lance. “Oh please like you’ve got past the first date!”

“I have! Vivian Tran from Calculus.”

“Can you focus on my nails,” Hunk asks, but Lance is busy waving the thin brush in hand as he argues with Pidge.

“And Atticus from Cantonese.”

“Didn’t you drop that class,” Hank asks.

“Well, the hindi teacher was way nicer and didn’t hate me. I was good at drawing the characters though.”

“Can you speak hindi,” you ask, having taken French for your language fulfillment.

“Eh-” Lance shrugs.

“Can you flirt in Hindi is the real question,” you ask with a grin.

“He can’t even flirt in English,” Pidge points out scathingly.

“Hey!”

“My nails Lance,” Hunk grumbles.

“Right. Right,” Lance focuses back on his task, going with a yellow that matches Shay. “What language did you take Shiro?”

“English.”

“How many dialects does Earth have,” Allura asks.

“A lot,” Shiro tells the alien princess. “The Garrison pushes being multilingual in its program. Most cadets were already bilingual to start with, generally covering major languages.”

“Ah.”

“Got bored of the training room,” Pidge asks Keith as he walks in, flopping down on an empty sofa.

“It timed out.”

“Sure,” Lance immediately starts, a dog with a bone, “not like you couldn’t beat it or anything.”  

“You can’t even get past level 9!” Keith growls back, sitting up with a jolt, skin still slick from sweat and his cheeks were flushed with exertion.

Lance gets up, puffing out his chest. Oh boy, here they go again. The rivalry thing they had going on got old fast to everyone around them. While it did push them to be better paladins, it was annoying to hear. “Oh like you’re any better.”

Hunk takes the brush from Lance, finishing off his last toe on his own.

“I am,” Keith bites back, a growl still audible from his chest.

“Only because you cheat!”

“It’s not cheating!”

“How is it not-” Lance stops, furrows his brow, then grins. “You got a little something there.” And like a thirteen year old, Lance points and laughs.

Keith frowns, his hand coming up to his cheek.

Sure enough, Lance was right. Keith had a couple of angry red blemishes on his cheek.

“You have adult acne,” Lance giggles, immature as ever. He was always able to find an angle to everything. It was what made him such an excellent strategist.

“It’s not adult acne!” Keith scowls, scratching at the blemishes.

“Its been three years,” Lance retorts smugly.

You frown. “No. It’s been like two.” You look over at Pidge to confirm, “Right?” You were like ninety percent sure you were twenty.

“Two and a half,” Pidge answers.

“Ha! You’re twenty! Adult-”

“I don’t have adult acne!”

They’d fought over more meaningless things before.

If it was two and a half years, maybe you were twenty one? You frown. How old would you be before you ever saw your family again?

Stashing that depressing thought away, you focus on Keith and the red marks on his cheek like a line coming down to his jaw. “It could be a rash,” you utter thoughtfully. Pidge and you had already encountered a very itchy plant before. “Or space ringworm-ring line?”

For the first time in days, Keith looks at you, meeting your gaze. “It’s not a rash!”

You lift your hands up, “okay. Okay. Geez.” When it came to Keith, you didn’t push too hard. He was too stubborn for it to work.

Lance, however, “hey, it’s okay Keith-buddy, just use toothpaste.”

“Toothpaste makes it worse,” Hunk counters. “Not great for your skin either.”

“It always worked for me,” Lance counters. “Or a clay skin mask.”

“Clay? You mean that green mud,” Keith clarifies.

“It’s clay!”

“Clay would work,” you agree with Lance. “Hey it could be like a spa day!”

“I could go for a spa,” Hunk nods.

Pidge shakes her head, “right. I’m going to try and see if I can get a signal back home.”

Shiro looks over at you, “do you really think it could be something serious?”

You shrug. “No clue.”

Keith huffs, “Just drop it,” he states dramatically, headed for the door. He was over being the center of attention.

“So face masks?”

You nod, “want to try it Allura?”

“I would love to try the clay mask,” she smiles brightly.

——————

Te-Osh’s rebels had sent for Voltron, less fighting than rebuilding.

While you were no paladin, you had spent the majority of the day helping Allura take stock and synthesizing medicine, everything from serums to numbing gels. Just your luck the machine had overheated and given out on the last batch. It was a pretty large machine.

You stick your head inside, waving off the smoke. With your nails, you pry open the hutch and take stock. You were no Pidge or Hunk, still unsure how the thing even worked, but it was clear it needed a new regulator and starter. “Plenty of those lying around,” you utter, scrunching your face at the awful burnt hair smell. Your finger finds the ventilator button on your wrist controls, and there-the smell gets sucked out of the room.

“Is this a bad time,” Keith asks behind you.

Startled, you bang your head on the mental. “Keith,” flushing hotly when you look back and realize you were ass up in front of him.

He doesn’t even notice, grimacing, hand rubbing his nose bridge.

“What’s wrong?” You hurry to wash your hands.

Keith sits down at one of the medbay tables. “My skull feels like it’s being cracked open,” he explains flatly.

You look him over closely, standing right in front of him. “Where exactly,” you ask, frowning when you notice the blemishes had grown to a full blown rash, hot angry skin peeling and cracking like twin marks down his cheeks. You should have pressed. What if it was a parasite? Keith was half galra.

It was easily forgotten given how human he looked. Sure, the signs were there: his unhuman night vision, more strength than he should have, good ears and nose, nails that had torn through metal, but it all faded into the background.

“Does it itch,” you ask, raising your hand, fingertips hovering over the marks on his cheeks.

“Yes,” Keith nods, averting his eyes from your gaze, “mostly it’s hot. And my sinuses…all the way down to my neck. Hurt.”

“Hm,” you turn, reaching for the medical scanner. There was no way you could ever go back to being a medical officer at the galaxy garrison. Earth’s technology was ancient in comparison. “Hold still.”

“Alright,” he says seriously. Keith holds his breath.

You look up at him, in his violet eyes, and smile before laughing. “Keith!”

“You said to hold still,” he points out sincerely, before the corners of his lips turn up. Keith was an expressive guy, his smile lit up his entire being, a lightness in his eyes that made you smile wider.

“Let’s try this again,” you giggle, clicking the scanner and aiming right at his rash first. “Pew.”

He rolls his eyes, snorting. “You too?”

“Mine’s the only right one,” you wink, then look over the reading.

“Not even close.” He scratches at his cheek listlessly.

Whatever reason he had for avoiding you had worked itself out. You’d missed his company.

“Oh yeah,” you challenge, “then what’s the sound?” The readings came up clear. Keith was in perfect health. So not a parasite…space allergies? Those wouldn’t come up on the scanner.

“What is it,” Keith asks, noticing your pensive expression.

“How’s your sense of smell? Stuffy nose?”

He looks up, then takes a deep breath, “now that you mention it…I can’t smell your soap anymore.”

“What?” This was news to you. “You can smell my soap?”

“And whatever planet we’ve been on,” Keith fidgets, blushing as he ducks his head, bangs falling over his eyes, “the soil. It’s all different. But I can’t right now.”

That was worrying. But if the scanner said nothing was wrong…you had to wait and see. It might clear up on its own. You’d give it a day or two.

“Nothing came up on the scanner,” you tell him, “so it should go away on its own. It might just be allergic to something out here.”  

He nods, accepting your diagnosis.

“Let me get the medicine.”

“Mhm.”

You pass him a tube of gel and add that to the list of medication you need to synthesize once you fix the machine. Then grab a weekly supply of pain tabs. “Here.”

Keith pops one in immediately.

“Let me know if it doesn’t clear up in two days,” you tell him.

“Worried?”

“Eh, I can always set Lance on you again,” you snort. Shiro was a pushover when it came to Keith. He was no help.

Keith laughs, looking a little more himself. “I could take him.”

“You could,” you agree, “but don’t tell him I said that.”

He tilts his head, smiling. “Coming? Shay got food for us.”

“I’ve got to fix this machine first.”

“Need help?”

“Might ask Hunk or Coran,” you admit.

“I could-”

“No,” you cut him off, placing your hand on his shoulder, “go eat and rest. That’s an order.”

Keith leans into you. “Are you going to write me a doctor’s note too,” he asks, his delivery always so earnest you had to do a double take to figure out if he was joking or not.

“If I have too,” you stick your nose in the air. “I’ll even send one to Zarkon.”

Keith laughs easily. “Why didn’t Lotor think of that.”

You snort. “I’m going to check your lymph nodes,” you tell him, taking a step towards him again. “That okay?”

Keith tilts his head back, “Go for it.”

“Wow,” you chuckle, “who are you and what did you do with Keith Kogane.” You brush his hair out of his face.

“What?”

“Remember when you broke your arm,” you point out, gently pressing your fingers over the side of his throat, feeling the swelled bean shaped lymph nodes under his ears, behind his jaw. “And said nothing for like a week?” It had been your first year at the Galaxy Garrison.

“It was only a sprain,” Keith grumbles.

“Still!” You laugh, “I’m glad you asked for help.” Because this was still Keith and you didn’t want him to think you were laughing at him.

“Mm,” he closes his eyes as you trail your fingers lower, making sure it wasn’t too bad.

The fact they were inflamed at all worried you. You had no clue what was the space equivalent of antihistamines.

Keith’s breath tickles your shoulder, deepening and evening out like he’d finally relaxed. That was most of your patients once you gave them answers and they knew they’d be getting care and treatment. You liked helping people.

You pull your fingers back, ever the consummate professional. It was like the ghost of your garrison advisor was hovering over your shoulder. “They’re not too swollen if you can still eat. Can you still chew?”

“Hm?”

Keith opens his eyes. His expression is glazed and feverish.

“Keith,” you utter, worried.

“Yeah?” His gaze is heavy as it meets yours.

Your skin warms up because he wouldn’t stop looking at you like that.

“Any jaw pain,” you ask, focusing on the task at hand. You bring your hand up to his forehead. He was warm.

Keith leans into your touch, “no.”

“Good.” You bite your lip. Could it be some weird galra thing? Wouldn’t it have come up? You feel your own forehead. He was for sure warmer.

You were going to have to corner Coran about it.

Keith lets his eyes fall shut again and honest to god purrs, leaning into you.

Add cornering Lotor to your list.

You don’t pull away, figuring it was harmless. Lance, Hunk, and Allura were more prone to random hugs. You were more than happy to indulge Keith as well. He already wasn’t feeling well.

You wrap your arms around the red paladin’s shoulders, hugging him, “I’m looking forward to a break from Coran’s post mission food goo once I get done with the machine.”

“Mm.”

He was completely out of it.

His breath tickles your cheek.

“Though I’m not sure there’ll be any left if I don’t go there? Maybe I should grab a plate and then come back here,” you ramble. Keith had never sought you out for comfort. It was touching that he trusted you now. You’d been friends with the others before, with Keith and Shiro and the Alteans, you had skipped right over friendship and gone right to family.

“Oh.”

You look behind you.

Te-Osh takes a step back, “forgive my intrusion. I was unaware-”

Keith snaps out of whatever was going on with him. Bolting off the exam table. “It’s fine. We’re done here.” He hunches his shoulders and beelines for the door.

You frown, still processing.

“I can come back,” Te-Osh tells you, glancing between you and the door Keith had just escaped through.

You shrug. “No. I’ve got time. What do you need?”

“If you’re sure?”

Nodding, you smile, “yeah, what can I help you with?”

———————

“Here is where we will focus the blunt of the attack on. Keith, Lance, engage the fighters. Hunk,” Shiro explains, “you’ll be with me taking out the communications towers. We want to keep the damage to the minimum. The resistance leaders want the factory intact. Pidge-”

Pidge waves the Black Paladin off, “I’ve got the code written.”

“It really does come in handy,” Lance observes, “all those vents are Pidge size.”

The green paladin grumbles, “easy for you to say when you’re not the one crawling around in there. It’s not your knees getting banging up.”

“Well the galra are all like nine feet tall,” Hunk points out, “the vents probably aren’t that small from their perspective.”

Lance unsubtly glances over at Keith.

His rash had cleared up, but not before spreading. In its place were two purple slash marks running from his cheek to jaw, galra markings. No one had pressed…yet.

You were just glad it wasn’t some weird space parasite.

Her brother ruffles her hair, “Pidge sized! A micro pidge,” Matt jokes to himself.

She smacks his hand away, “five feet is a perfectly reasonable size.’

“She could still have a growth spurt,” you add, though it was highly unlikely.

“No,” Matt’s eyes go comically wide as he hugs his sister, “not my hobbit,” relishing in her embarrassment.

“Matt!”

“In summation,” Allura calls you all back to attention, “the paladins will take out Galra forces and Pidge will open the weapons factory up to Vexuin rebels to take over. I will be manning the Castle to ensure no fighters target the work camps and coordinating communications with the rebels.” She turns to look at you, “Matt and you will take down the sentries, freeing the people from the work camps.”

“No!”

Everyone looks over at Keith. The horror on his face is easy to read.

What had brought this on?

Shiro clears his throat.

Keith ducks his head, letting his bangs obscure his features.

“Why not,” Pidge asks grumpily, time was running out. You were all just ironing out the details, “your plans suck.”

“Pidge,” Shiro chastises.

The green paladin was right.

Keith fought the same way you played video games, caring about nothing but reducing the enemies stats to zero. He’d gotten great at teamwork, but he was hardly a strategist.

“Keith,” Allura asks, “do you have any legitimate reasons why Matt should go on his own?” And when she phrased it like that…

The red paladin crosses his arms over his shoulders.

Pidge taps her foot on the floor.

“Okay then,” Shiro takes over, “let’s get to our lions.”

“Coms. Come in earthlings!,” Coran chimes in over the system, “remember this planet’s atmosphere is toxic to breath, too much sulfur in the air, not to mention the heat will give you all a taste of the slipperies. And worse! So keep those space suits on Vol-”

“-Tron,” Lance grins back, having taken a liking to having a kooky space alien uncle.

You lock your helmet in place as Matt pilots the pod towards the work camps. They were just as grim as the first time you’d seen them. It was the same all over in many of the Empire’s work planets. They were at the bottom of the totem pole. There were some planets where the native species and Galra coexisted more or less peacefully, this was not one of them.

“So what’s up with Keith,” Matt asks you.

You shrug. “No clue. I keep waiting for Lotor or one of the Blades to drop in so I can corner them but he’s a picture of perfect health so I’m not worried.”

“But the,” he takes a hand off the wheel, motioning to his face.

You frown, arching a brow. You’d never looked at Allura quite the same after the way she had treated Keith upon learning about his heritage. It’s not like he’d been a completely different person, she’d known him for over a year.

Matt might be Pidge’s brother, but you weren’t about to let anyone get away with giving someone you loved shit. Especially not Keith who would just silently take it.

It made your chest ache, thinking about how sweet he looked when he smiled. He didn’t deserve any of it.

“What about it?” You stare back at him cooly.

Matt focuses back on landing the pod just beyond the sentires line of sight. “Nothing. Pidge figured it was nothing, didn’t even seem curious. I figured you might know, you two are pretty close.” He glances over at you meaningfully.

“We’ve known eachother since the garrison,” though you hadn’t really been friends. Keith had been kind of a loner. You’d tried to include him, having shared a couple classes with him here and there, but he’d never taken you up on any offer.

“Right.” He doesn’t sound all that convinced. “Glad to hear it’s all good. I caught the sneazles while in the work camp,” Matt makes a face.

You laugh.

“It was horrible! But also like an episode of spongebob somehow?”

“Space is weird.” You had way bigger problems and had seen stranger things by now. For fucks sake, you were saving dragon looking aliens from the Galra right now. This planet was like a silent hill game!

Thick fog obscured the rocky landscape. Even from within your suit you could smell the stench of rotten eggs. Yet this was home to the Vexuin.

Shiro gives the signal.

You take the safety off the taser gun Pidge had built for you. Anything pilfered off the Galra was too large for your small stature, just a hair shorter than Keith. The gun packed a punch, with enough voltage to take out the robots.

Matt and you get to work.

“Almost got it,” Matt mutters as you take aim and shoot.

Stupid damn biolocks.

“Hurry the fuck up,” you tell him, dodging a shot from another sentry before frying it with your own weapon. One shot, one sentry. You needed to take them down before they got close. The robots were durable and strong. You knew better than to think you could go hand to hand with one, you were a medic not a fighter.

“I am, I am,” Matt insists. “Ah there,” he grabs a taser flash bomb out of his pocket and tosses inside the sentry outpost.

You shoot again, trying to keep your hands steady. It was easy when it was just programmed machines. Nothing to feel bad about.

Matt and you rush inside, stepping over more fried sentries. You take position at the entrance, gunning down anything that makes its way towards the two of you.

“You in,” you ask him.

“Patience my young apprentice,” Matt says, laughing at his own joke, “it’ll take a moment for my worm to work its way through the software and give me complete control.”

The ground shakes as the main part of the battle takes place outside, at a monsterous factory that’s gray, chimney shooting out smoke. You can only see hints of lions shooting and Galra fighter ships lighting up the sky.

The sulfuric fog coats everything.

You taste rotten eggs on your breath.

Inside your suit, sweat runs down your back.

“Okay,” Matt chimes into the coms, “I’ve hacked the camps. Ready to open the gates.”

The rolling low grutal voices of the Vexuin rebel leaders fill your coms, “Good.”

“Go ahead Matt,” Allura gives the order, “Voltron?”

Pidge answers, “dropping in, should override their” static, “ticks.” Then an explosion reverberates in your ear where the communications device is.

“Pidge,” Keith yells out.

“Keith cover Lance,” Shiro grunts out, blasts audible from here. “Pidge?”

Nothing.

Matt’s face goes ghostly white.

“Pidge, come in Pidge?” Allura asks. “Paladins? Are you able to reach Pidge?”

“Negative,” Shiro replies, “Hunk, take the main gate! Time to land.”

“On it.”

“Guys,” Lance yells, “the shield’s down. Pidge hacked them.”

“Keith,” Shiro yells, “wait!”

“Fine.”

You decide to hope for the best. There was nothing you could do for any of the paladins all the way from here. “Turn it off,” you tell Matt.

He steals himself. “Right.”

The lights of the compound go out. Sentries power down where they stand, puppets with their strings cut. Locks disengage, and for the first time in decades, the Vexuin are free to leave the barracks free from Galra supervision.

You and Matt go out to meet them.

“I could get used to this,”  Pidge calls out as everyone meets on the planet’s surface. Rebels come in from the forest slowly, making sure this is for real, before sniffing the air and calling out to their loved ones lingering around the liberated camp complex.  Their vision worked in the infrared, all the better to see on this planet. You’d need at least three showers to get the smell out of your hair.

Keith carries Pidge, careful not to jolt the youngest member of Voltron. She holds a leg stiffly, a sprain or fracture.

Matt rushes to his sister, “Katie!”

She waves him off, “I’m fine.” Then snaps her fingers, “Down.”

There’s a small smile on Keith’s mouth as he places her down on the ground gently.

Lance comes up behind Keith, ruffling his hair, and being every bit himself as he comments with a smirk, “good boy.”

The shorter paladin smacks Lance’s hand away, but it’s too late, Lance is already smothering Keith in a hug that turns into a competition, like always with those two. Keith shoves at Lance’s face while Lance tightens his grip on Keith.

Shiro clears his throat, “paladins.”

“A dobesh in the pod,” you ask Pidge as Matt gets his turn to fuss over her.

“Yeah. Landed right as an explosion went off,” Pidge frowns. “Not my best moment, but my program still did it’s job and,” she pats her bayard, “I took them out.”

“Can’t be that bad if you can stand,” you agree. Nothing serious but you’d be keeping an eye on her all the same. The faster she got into the pod and took weight off her injury the better. You didn’t want to exacerbate the sprain.

“The jet pack helped,” Pidge points out.

“Lucky you,” you grin.

Shiro and Allura are consummate professionals as they go over the last of the logistics with the Vexuin, “It would be wise to stay until your people have situated themselves in case the Galra Empire retaliates,” Allura states, ending her sentiment in a question, “but it is ultimately up to you.”

The Vexuin chatter among themselves for a moment before one speaks up, “we would not turn down Voltron’s help. A few quintants should be enough time.”

“Then we will make ourselves of service to you,” Shiro nods. “Please, let us know anything we can help with.”

A red scaled one smiles, showing off her many sharp and jagged teeth, “our people long to see the camp destroyed.”

Hunk offers, “I could help rig a controlled explosion.”

“Very good.”

“The system inside the weapons factory is down,” Pidge tells them, “but I can reprogram it to keep the Galra out so that you can decide what to do with the place.”

“Oh no you don’t,” you cut in, “Matt can take care of that. You’re going in a pod first.”

“Pod person,” Matt mutters under his breath with a snort.

“Then let us get to work,” Allura dismisses everyone.

Pidge tries to take a step, and almost falls over.

You grab her.

Her face goes crimson from the pain.

The adrenalin must have been keeping the bulk of the pain away.

Keith picks her up.

It’s not until you’ve loaded Pidge in for three vargas that you pull off your helmet, savoring the crisp clean air of the Castleship.

“I can still smell the sulfur,” you comment, wrinkling your nose.

Keith shakes his hair out.

You look at him thoughtfully, “must be worse for you though.”

“Why,” he asks, genuinely puzzled.

“Because your nose,” you point out, then frown, “your sinuses did clear up yeah?” He never said anything about it so you figured they had and he could smell fine again, but you weren’t sure.

“Oh. Yeah. They did.”

You smile fondly, “very convincing Keith,” you tell him, reaching out to him. He lets you run your fingers right under his ears, behind his jaw. Everything was in order.

A knot of anxiety dissolves in your chest.

“Well,” he asks, “satisfied?”

“Mhm.” You look at the purple markings on his skin.

Keith’s breath hitches. His gaze is trained on you, watching carefully.

“So if not rotten eggs,” you ask, slowly bringing your fingertips over the marks on the sides of his face, giving him every opportunity to pull away, “what do you smell?” You couldn’t help it. It was that scientific curiosity. Everyone at the garrison had ended up there because they were nerdy in some way: devoting themselves to some STEM field while other kids were watching cartoons. You’d had a stutter as a kid, self conscious about it too, so instead of trying to make friends you read your textbooks under your desk, racing ahead.

Keith’s eyes meet yours. There’s a level of vulnerability in his gaze that worms its way into your chest and all of a sudden you’re incredibly aware of how close you two are, the lack of space between your bodies, your fingers caressing his skin.

You look away, focusing on the marks. They were purple, which was obvious. His skin itself had grown purple, perfectly delineated.

“Like wet soil,” Keith explains finally, “when they just added fertilizer.” You wince, remembering the smell of the horticulture center wafting through the garrison’s campus during the spring. “And garlic.”

“I like garlic. I’d kill for some,” you tell him, sounding very much like Hank. You hadn’t expected to be homesick for food. “Best food they served at the cafeteria.”

“That’s not saying much,” Keith mutters, amused.

You chuckle, pulling your hands away from his face.

He leans forward, asking for physical comfort in a very Keith way: unsubtle and wordlessly, putting the onus on you to get the hint.

Pidge must have freaked him out more than he was willing to discuss.

You wrap your arms around his waist, hugging Keith. “Pidge’ll be fine.” Sure, she was younger and short, but she was more than capable of handling herself. “I’m more concerned about how she left the other guys,” you comment lightly resting your chin on Keith’s shoulder.

His shoulders shake as he laughs easily. “They asked to surrender to her personally.”

“That’s Pidge all right.” You glance over at the pod. She’d be back on her feet in no time.

Keith’s breath against your skin feels nice. Your heart flutters in your chest and you find yourself blushing and pulling away, thoughts racing as you realize just how much you liked this boy. You pull away, unsure what to do and suddenly finding it too awkward to be around him at all.

The start of a whine escapes his throat before he smothers it, looking away, as he lets his bangs fall over his eyes, effectively hiding his easy to read features.

“Let’s go help the others,” you say, fumbling to grab a med kit and click your helmet back in place, your face too warm and it must be obvious. You didn’t want to make things weird. You didn’t. But-

“I’m going to stay here until Pidge wakes up,” Keith tells you.

“Oh. Okay.” You nod. “That’s a great idea. It’s always confusing as hell to get out of the pods.” It was akin to waking up from a midday nap: completely confused and exhausted instead of rested.

Your skills would be more useful with the Vexuim than fussing over Pidge at the moment. And having something to do would keep your mind off Keith.

—————

“You know,” Lance comments, sliding up to you as you watch Lotor strut away from you after another failed attempt to talk to him. “If we bottled up whatever galra repellant you have going on, we could defeat Zarkon with perfume.”

You look over at Lance, trying to suppress a smile. “What would you call it?”

“Starlight.”

“That’s-that’s actually pretty great,” you tell Lance.

“I know,” he grins. Then the latino boy sobers up, “trying to find out what’s going on with mullet?”

You nod. “I even tried to corner Acxa,” you admit. For an eight foot tall purple alien, boy could she make herself scarce.

Lance’s eyes widened in delight, “like could and should peg me Acxa?”

You groan. “Lance, sometimes it’s okay to keep things to yourself.”

“I’m just saying,” he laughs, “the ship’s not that big…”

“It’s designed for six thousand people.” You’d learned that fun tidbit while practicing your Altean with Pidge.

“Like for real!”

“Yeah.”

“Ay dios mio,” Lance utters, “you’re screwed.”

You finally hit the motherlode.

Lotor and his generals are in a stately room that reminds you of the socratic lecture halls at the garrison, sofa arranged in a half circle, with Shiro and Allura. The former Prince had shown up for a reason beyond making a nuisance of himself. Allura looks at her wits end with him, as he smiles like a douche, her eye twitching.

She invites you in without hesitation, “take a seat next to me,” and effectively uses you as a human shield against Lotor.

Literally since you and Shiro were the only humans here.

“Everything has been thoroughly discussed,” Lotor comments dryly, snubbing you once more. Normally, you wouldn’t have cared but you were trying to get information out of the man. “Unless either of you have further questions?”

Shiro hums, rubbing his chin, “I know saddling you with a rebel ship or two will slow you down but I don’t see another way around it. A display of size on their part will go a long way to show it is an alliance and not the Galra Empire hy another name.”

Allura nods, a small smile on her lips as she looks over at Shiro, “The black paladin is right. It will be a steep hill to climb to show that you are not the Galra Empire. Their fears would be alleviated with the presence of the rebel alliance.”

Zethrid sucks in a sharp breath, “So that’s it then. We will always be scorned and merely tolerated.”

“Time,” Shiro sighs with a look of gentle understanding at the muscular woman, “they need time. You can’t erase 10,000 years of history. It is hard to extend trust after being imprisoned and enslaved.”

“The alliance has started coordinating with you and the Blade directly have they not,” Allura asks stiltedly. It was by the necessity of time that they had stopped going through Voltron first. Lotor might be too smug for his own good, but his team was effective at sabotaging warships and infiltrating Galra ranks to liberate prisons and cities, enough to turn the tide for the rebels.

Her feelings towards Lotor and the Blade were still tinged with suspicion, her treatment of them lukewarm at best.

Still, Lotor brushed it off and continued to help. “Well then, Princess, Shiro, we have a long journey ahead of us.”

Shiro nods.

They shake hands.

You stand up, ready to corner Lotor.

“But first a word Shiro, it is a private matter.”

“Yeah, sure,” Shiro leads Lotor away.

Your eye twitches.

That snake!

Zethrid and Narti walk purposefully away as Allura pushes in her chair, ignoring the last two of Lotor’s team. “Princess,” Acxa, tries. “Until next time.” She nods at you, “stay safe.”

Allura gives the woman a strained smile, hooking her arm with yours. Human shield.

“You too,” you tell her. She doesn’t wait, already halfway out the door. You sigh.

Ezor giggles, by far the friendliest and easiest to get along with of Lotor’s team. “Stashing food and water will cut down the embarrassment by half.”

“What?”

“Oh,” she shrugs, “I guess Lotor was right. Darn it! Now I owe him one hundred GAC.”

“Wait-”

But she scurries off.

“Ugh,” you kick the wall, tired of everyone being weird. The usual frustration with being caught up in a space war was just the salt on the wound.

Your toe throbs, “fuck,” you hiss.

“They are rather tiring to deal with,” Allura agrees, reading the situation wrong, “but it hardly calls for assaulting the Castle.”

“Sorry,” you flush red with embarrassment. “I just had a question for Lotor and he seems intent on never being in the same room as me.”

“Ah-,” Allura smiles easily, “Lance did mention that you were in possession of a Galra repellent.” The twinkle in her eyes lets you know she was in on the joke.

“Come, let us work our frustrations out with some introspection.” Which was just Altean for weird breathing exercises that supposedly helped you do alchemy. She had managed to rope you into practicing with her before.

“Anything to spare the wall,” you joke.

——————

You walk back from the library. It was a cozy room, especially when you dimmed the lights. The Castle was always so bright, designed with the Alteans sight needs in mind.

Sometimes you just needed some time away from everyone. You loved them, but spending years with the same people while floating through space…you had no clue how Shiro had managed it.

Getting a walk around the ship was also nice. It was easy to forget how big the Castle was when you mainly stayed on the same three floors. Just a couple months ago Coran had rediscovered the greenhouse. The plants were a little piece of Altea, and had quickly become one of Allura’s favorite spots.

The windows were wide portholes. It unnerved you still, looking out and not recognizing any star, any constellations.

A lump of homesickness lodges itself in your throat. It had been over two years, your siblings would have grown so much in that time. You certainly had. The last vestiges of childhood had gone from your face.

Acne cleared up even without Lance’s ten step routine.

You walk across the bridge, trying not to look down. The viewing platform was clear glass in space, you could lay on it. It freaked you out a little.

It was the only constantly dark place in the castle.

You still yelp when you spot Keith, his eyes luminous violet like a glow in the dark t-shirt. That should have tipped all of you off, but alien was not the first thing that came to mind when you previously believed aliens had never visited earth.

He whimpers, curling up further.

“Keith,” you gulp, focusing on him and not the glass separating you from the void of space. “What’s wrong?”

He looks up at you miserably, blinking sluggishly. “I have the worst migraine.”

“And you’re down here instead of getting painkillers?”

Keith shrugs. “It’s not as bad, quiet. Dark.”

You sit down next to him. “I can go get you something,” you offer, your cheeks warming up and it was ridiculous how you can’t even manage to act normal around him anymore.

“Coran already gave me a dose.”

“Oh.” You were hurt. You were supposed to be the medic. That was your role on Team Voltron.

You hug your knees to your chest, and look down at space. It was darker than the photographs back on earth. Not so purple and blue.

You weren’t Matt who was just as good as Pidge with technology or Allura who was the leader and a princess to boot, you’d just planned on having a late dinner with Hunk once he got over the motion sickness before Lance roped you into following Pidge. You weren’t a paladin.

Keith shuts his eyes. “You were with Allura. I didn’t want to bother you.”

“It’s no bother.” You swallow thickly, letting silence fall over you both.

You listen to Keith breathing, looking around the darkness of space for any familiar stars. You knew the space around Shay’s Balmerra, and Arus was at least a little familiar. But the universe was so vast and wide.

There were planets you’d only ever been to once, each with a different night sky. Some of them never even had a night, with multiple suns staving off a night cycle.

“Do you think Allura minds?”

“Mind what,” you ask.

Keith clenches his jaw, rubbing his temples. “That I look more Galra.”

Allura has always been harder on the Galra. For her, it had been such a short time since Zarkon had destroyed her world and her people. You didn’t agree, but you could understand where she was coming from, the pain still there as she continuously wore Altean mourning pink.

You look over at him, the outline of his body against the glass. “I think your marks look cool.”

“Bullshit.”

“I do,” you whisper gently, considerate of his migraine. Those were the worst. “They frame your face. You look nice,” you finish lamely, looking away. You look nice. Lance might say stupid things but at least he tried.

“What if I looked even more Galra?”

“Like completely purple and tall?” You couldn’t really wrap your head around it. It also seemed incredibly unlikely. Could his phenotype change so drastically? On earth the answer was no, but who knows how the Galra work. It was fascinating to see such a wide range of traits in one species.

He was also half human.

You worried if his body would even tolerate such a drastic change.

“Yes,” he says, not waiting for you as he rants in agitation, “the rebels hate the Blade and Allura doesn’t trust them at all and that’s not even mentioning Lotor.”

“That’s not true. Te-Osh likes Acza and Ezor. Lotor’s kind of annoying if we’re being honest, and I’m sure his being Zarkon’s son makes it a little hard to believe he’s on our side,” you try to reason. “And don’t write off the Galra who have changed sides or were in the camps right alongside other aliens.”

Keith says nothing in response, mouth a thin line as he thinks.

You wonder how long it’s been bugging him.

You want to reach out and hug him, but he isn’t Hunk. You’re not sure he’d want to if he’s not initiating the contact. So you don’t.

“Everyone knows how the last Galra paladin worked out.” A low growl in the back of his throat is enough to clue you in to how distressing this was for him.

Your heart hurts. “And everyone knows you’re not Zarkon,” you state evenly back. “We already know you’re Galra.”

Keith snorts humorlessly. You can’t see his eyes; they’re hidden by his bangs.

“The glowing eyes are not exactly subtle dude,” you point out, “not to mention your hair does the poof thing guinea pigs do when they’re eating, but not when you’re eating, more like when you get annoyed.”

“I-what!” His eyes go comically wide as he sits up. His dark hair does the thing, making him look like a character from those old Japanese kids movies.

You giggle, “you’re doing it.”

Keith tries to look at his reflection in the glass.

You blush, grateful that it’s too dark to see, and then realize that wasn’t true for him, so you look away, hoping he didn’t notice. “Yeah. I’m the medic, it’s my job to know these things. Like how Pidge has two webbed digits on her foot and Lance is allergic to flax seeds and bees.”

“That…makes sense.” Then he smiles, “still didn’t put two and two together.”

“Don’t be a smartass.” Reason number three thousand Iverson had it out for him back at the harrison. “And if anyone has a problem with you I’ll kick their ass.”

“You?” Keith snorts. “You wouldn’t even flip me during self defense.”

“You remember that?” You run a hand over your face, “I didn’t want to hurt anyone,” you always took forever to practice on your partner. And your weak arms didn’t help.

“That’s what the mats were for.”

“Still!”

Keith laughs at your expense.

You smile, taking delight in watching him smile and laugh and you wish it could always be like this and the war would just end.

Then you sober up. “You’re going to be okay, right?”

He doesn’t answer you right away.

“Keith-” you reach out, voice cracking. “You’re going to be okay, giant purple space cat or not, right?”

He takes your hand, squeezing it firmly. “Yeah. Don’t worry about it.”

“Good,” you utter, but tears bead up in your eyes anyway. It was terrifying watching someone go through something unknown that you couldn’t help them through for all your medical training. You knew how to set bones and run a pod…not whatever this was.

You trusted Keith.

He knew himself better than anyone. After all, he’d been right about his teeth growing back.

“You really are worried,” he whispers in disbelief.

“Duh.”

“I can smell it on you,” then he seems to realize what he said, and pulls away, ducking his head. Like he hadn’t meant to say so much.

“Really?” Learning about anything alien biology was pretty cool, you had to admit. Allura had once described colours that you couldn’t perceive. It was a fun talk. And then she’d made you meditate for alchemy stuff or so she claimed. It might have just been payback. “Is that new?”

“Yeah,” Keith admits, still drawn into himself. “Can we not-I already feel like enough of a freak already without,” he waves aggressively at himself.

You bite your lip, nodding. You wanted to say something, to get it through his head how you saw him, incredibly kind and fiercely loyal (to the point of taking on Zarkon by himself) and an endearing smile you never got tired of seeing.

You liked him.

The universe was lucky to have him as a paladin.

But you don’t know how to say it in a way he’d accept. And he asked you to drop it, so you do. “Right, I’ll just go then.” He’d been here first, and the glass made you nervous.

Could it withstand a hit from a galra battleship?

Keith opens his mouth like he wants to say something else, but he just nods, then winces, “Argh,” he groans as he curls up on his side, covering his ears with his hands.

You rush to his side, kneeling next to him, “Keith,” you utter softly, not wanting to make it worse.

His eyes are pressed close and for all your medical know-how, you’re at a loss.

So you running your fingers through his hair soothingly and wait for the pain to pass.

He shifts, laying his head in your lap as he whimpers.

You can’t stand to watch him and do nothing. You press your com, pinging Shiro and Coran. This was beyond you. He’d trust Shiro with whatever was going on and he’d gone to Coran. You respected that even if it did sting.

Your pride meant little so long as Keith felt comfortable and sought help.

“Shh, shh,” you whisper gently.

Sweat beads on his brow.

Whines escape his throat.

“Fuck,” he grunts, clenching his teeth.

He’s warm to your touch and that rouses another bout of worries. At this temperature it’s a fever, but he didn’t have the symptoms, the flushed cheeks and chills.

Keith curls up further, muscles stiff.

You’re helpless.

After what feels like ages, Shiro and Coran finally appear.

“Number four, Number five,” Coran claps his hands.

You hold out your hand, motioning them to shut the fuck up as Keith winces at the sound.

His hair is damp near his ears.

“Keith,” Shiro utters much more gently, kneeling down on his other side, “I’m here, I’ve got you.”

He raises his head, blinking groggily at Shiro, trying to concentrate through the pain, “Shiro,” he reaches for his brother who easily pulls him against his chest. Keith buries his head in the crook of Shiro’s neck.

You sit back, trying to get out of the way. Your hands are wet.

You look down and realize it’s blood. His ears-

Oh god.

“Number five,” Coran says gently, helping you up, “I’ll take great care of our Paladin. Why don’t you go get cleaned up.”

You don’t get any sleep that night.

——————

You were always struck with cognitive dissonance walking around colonized planets like Rahiri where the natives and Galra lived side by side. This was not a planet ravaged by the empire. The flora-like aliens in all shades of green with rootish limbs and leaves and petals for hair had assimilated into the Empire, achieving citizenship over generations. 10,000 years deca-phoebs was a long time. That was a huge source of tension in the Alliance, what to do with the world who neither wanted or wished to leave the Empire.

It was also a source of dark humor that no one spared the four of you a second glance despite two paladins of Voltron walking around.

Hunk holds Shay’s hand in front of you as they point and awe and drag their feet on the way to the space port.

“You could always stay with,” Hunk says hopefully, “we could just drop you off. Personal taxi service.”

Shay smiles back kindly, “that would be wonderful but I have been away from home for too long. I am, as you say, a homebody.”

“Aw, yeah,” Hunk chuckles, “I feel that. I like the ground. And dirt. Piloting is overrated.”

“Don’t let yellow here you say that,” Keith comments so dry, you think he’s serious for a second. Allura and Pidge had gone shopping for supplies. That was an advantage of a planet that had not seen war.

Hunk glances back, clearly having forgotten we had tagged along in case anything went down. “Yeah well, she’d like a small moon. Or an asteroid. There’s colonies on those.”

“Very true,” Shay laughs. “I think my balmerra is also like a moon. A beautiful creature. We have learned how to ask for crystals so we do not need to cut them.”

“That’s impressive. Did the books from Allura help,” Hunk asks.

As much as you liked getting to stretch your legs, seeing a different planet where the threat was not imminent, you didn’t like being a third wheel, or fourth wheel if you went according to Coran’s favorite numbering pattern. That inch difference between you and Keith mocked you.

You glance over at the red paladin.

His gaze kept flickering back and forth, around the street. The occasional loud noise of crates being unloaded made him jump.

“You good,” you ask Keith, cracking a joke so he’d know you weren’t judging him. “You see la llorona or Davy Jones?”

“Hm?”

“You know…a famous ghost? Do they have ghosts in space?”

Keith snorts, cottoning on. “They don’t even have ghosts on earth.”

You pull a face, “well that’s no fun. Seriously, you okay? Or have we been made?”

He shakes his head, glancing around again just to be sure. “So much for Zarkon’s finest.”

You laugh, following Hank and Shay into the space port. Shuttles were departing pretty consistently. Everything was in orderly fashion. You especially liked how no one was shooting at you.

“It takes some getting used to.”

“What does?” You watch as Keith shakes his head, making his hair fall back from his face.

Shay and Hunk go to the ticket counter, but you decide to find somewhere off to the side, wanting to give them privacy.

“Stuff.”

You roll your eyes at Keith, “you suck.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against the wall, looking anywhere but at you. “Lotor explained it to me and Shiro…what’s happening.”

“Oh.” You swallow, looking at Hunk and Shay hugging and saying their goodbyes yet again. They’d said them last night at dinner, this morning in the pod, and again when you’d split from Allura and Pidge. It was cute. They were adorable.

“Sorry.”

“Hm,” you glance over at Keith, not sure why he would be sorry about anything. He was the one getting screwed over by half of his heritage.

“You’re hurt.”

“You can smell that too,” you ask him, holding his deep gaze. There was an intense commitment to everything Keith did; it was reflected in the depth of his violet gaze. He didn’t do things in halves.

“Now I can.” He looks at his shoes, red dusting his cheeks. The red didn’t tinge the purple marks on his skin.

“So this is all,” you’re not sure how to put it, “nothing to worry about?”

“He said it was normal. But because I’m half there’s no way to know what to expect.” He looks away as he says it, stiff as he glances around.

The anxiety that had settled into your jaw since you’d had to wash his blood off your hands eases up. “Giant purple space cat,” you joke, nudging his side.

“Oh fuck no,” Keith grumbles. Even that furrowed expression that crossed his chiselled features made you feel all giddy inside.

Bad timing.

“I’m not hurt I-I just wish you trusted me,” you finally admit. It was silly. You felt selfish, so you tack on, “You know I’m here for you if you need me. We all are. I know Shiro’s your brother, but we’re your friends.”

“I know,” he sighs wistfully, “I do trust you…it’s just-it’s been hard. I don’t know how to feel about any of it and I’m not used to it either.”

“It’s fine,” you tell him, “I’m being silly, making this about me. As long as you know I’m here for you…I’m not trying to force you to tell me anything…” you cringe internally at yourself. The galaxy garrison had been made up of nerds, so it followed everyone was a character. It hadn’t helped anyone’s social skills.

You wish you could just go, I worry about you because I love you instead of stumbling through word vomit.

“Come on,” Keith brings you out of your thoughts, grabbing your hand and pushing through the crowd of people coming and going to different boarding gates, “I think Hunk’s going to need some comfort food.”

You glance around, finding Hunk’s form making it’s way to you both. He was wiping his eyes, bittersweet smile, making no move to really hide that he was crying.

“Let’s get back to Allura yeah,” he tells you both.

“Or,” you go with Keith’s idea, “we can get something to eat. Allura gave us a good hour or so.”

“Varga,” Keith supplies.

“Yeah, that.”

Hunk nods, “that sounds nice. It’s just,” he looks back at the departing shuttle, “it’s hard. It’s war and you never know when your going to see each other again but it’s not like she can just drop everything and I wouldn’t ask her too, if anything I’d like to retire there. Nice and quiet. Maybe open a restaurant…”

“Vrepit Sal two,” Keith offers.

“Could make it a chain,” you add with a smile. Hunk, like you, was not such a gung ho pilot. You had landed the flight simulation without crashing exactly once, for your final emergency protocol exam.

“Thanks guys,” Hunk grins, “but I think I’ll bring some earth out here. Give these people a taste of traditional earthlign cuisine.”

“So your menu’s going to be as long as Cheesecake Factory’s,” you ask with a silly grin.

“Maybe not that long. A burger, ramen, scratch that, pizza instead of a burger.” Hunk rubs his chin thoughtfully sniffing the air and following his nose to a food stand. You trusted him for food. He had a knack for combining goo and exotically colored food that screamed fake and poisonous into pretty great meals.

Keith was still holding your hand, not as a loose afterthought: every now and then he’d rub his thumb against the back of your hand and it sent a thrill down your spine.

You don’t pull away, wanting to savor the feel of his skin against yours even if it wasn’t that deep. You’d hugged and napped with everyone at least once, grabbing each other’s hands in the confusing crowded hovels of swamp malls (actual swamp malls and not places Coran thought of as a swamp mall).

You nab a table outside the stand.

Everything was in Galra which none of you could read. “Damn,” you mutter looking over.

Hunk glances at Keith without subtlety.

You were starting to think only Allura and Shiro could do subtly.

Keith raises a brow.

“Nothing,” Hunk looks down at his screen.

“Point and hope for the best it is,” you shrug.

“I love a good surprise,” Hunk nods, then looks down at his hands, “we’ll see each other again right? Shay…they’re pretty safe. And well…yellow’s got thick armour.” He sighs, resting his cheek against his fist, elbows on the table.

“Shay’s a badass,” you confort Hunk, “she figured out how to communicate with the Balmera and through the Balmera. She’ll be okay.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty freaking amazing,” Hunk blushes.

You order from an alien that somewhat resembles Ezor, all cotton candy color, and twiddle your thumbs, enjoying the rare moment of rest and relaxation.

“I could get used to this,” Hunk comments, savoring the strange dish he’d been served.

“Get a travel food show,” you tease, “I’d watch it.”

“It could be like this all the time,” Keith muses hopefully, “aren’t planets like this proof we could all get along.” He bites into the glowing blue lotus root shaped meal, and blinks widely.

“What,” you ask, looking over at him.

Keith grabs a napkin and spits out his food. “I think I just lost another tooth.”

“You think,” Hunk raises a brow, “how could you not notice a missing tooth?”

“Smile,” you nudge Keith sitting next to you.

He rolls his eyes, before fake smiling which was always so undeniably forced when he did it. You laugh, nodding, “yup, missing tooth.”

Keith frowns for a second, before continuing to eat.

“Oh,” Hunk utters, before he kicks your leg lightly.

You look up, meeting the yellow paladin’s searching gaze.

He looks at you with a knowing smile.

Heat rushes to your cheeks, the tip of your nose burning hotly, you look down, shoving a questionable sticky black slice into your mouth. It was easy to chew despite the sticky-ness, the flavor starchy and nutty.

There was no way this wouldn’t get back to everyone else in the Castle. No way.

They were all so nosy.

Oh fuck.

——————

“It sure is hot in here,” Lance says with a challenging smirk at Keith.

You roll your eyes.

Lance stretches, resting his arms against the back of the sofa, his hand tapping annoyingly against your shoulder.

Keith is unmoved. Or more accurately, Keith’s mouth twists as he tries hard to ignore Lance’s latest attempts to get him to remove his hat, a lime green thing that clashed perfectly as was his fashion sense, or lack of any fashion sense.

Pidge smacks her head, then peaks curiously at Keith: at Keith’s hat.

You flick Lance’s cheek. “Hey hot shot, don’t hug me when you’ve set the thermostat to ninety degrees.”

“Ninety five actually,” he winks, hugging you towards him. Ugh, you couldn’t do it. You’d already done away with your afghan coat, tied your lavender flannel around your waist, what more could you do. You didn’t have shorts in space. The skirts stored in the castle were breezy, but made you feel at risk of tripping over the hem with each step.

“Hm,” Keith voices, taking a seat, “reminds me of home.”

Hunk snorts, “really thought that through,” he tells Lance.

Lance is undeterred. “Could go higher.”

“I don’t think your cow would like that very much,” you point out.

The blue paladin sulks, looking down at you, “you’re just saying that because you like-”

You jab your elbow into his side.

“Ow! What ever happened to do no harm?”

“Technically,” you tell Lance, “I never graduated.”

“She’s got you there,” Pidge smirks from beside Keith. She was taking apart yet another radio. The signal had yet to reach earth.

“Thank you Pidge.”

She shrugs, “It’s true.” Then turns on Keith, “The hat, explain.”

He looks like he wishes he could merge with the sofa at that, slumping in his seat.

You decide to step in, “I’m going to turn the thermo down.”

Lance is quick to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you back onto the sofa, “come on, relax. Like mullet said, it’s homey.”

You throw him a dirty look.

“Keith?” Pidge side-eyes her fellow paladin. He’s sat up, gripping the sofa cushion so tightly he’s ripping hole into the ten thousand year upholstery.

“You okay there buddy,” Hunk asks.

“No.”

“Oh.”

Keith sucks in a breath, and with deliberate motion, pulls the hat from his head.

Oh.

Your eyes widen.

OH.

His ears had changed.

They weren’t nearly as alien as Allura’s, but no one would mistake their shape for human. Keith’s ears tapered up and out, portrudding, but it was more than just a pointed tip, the entire shape of his ears had transformed, resembling a butterfly’s wing. It was still human in color, but…

Hunk breaks the stunned silence first, “so are you going to like to end up purple?”

Keith ducks his head, wrapping his arms around himself.

No one else gets the chance to further interrogate Keith, or hear his own thoughts, because Allura calls everyone up to the bridge.

Lotor hailed the Castle of Lions. Everyone stands around the bridge while Shiro and Allura take the lead as usual. They might as well be twins given how well they got on, communicating differing ideas without undermining the other.

“There are nine warships in the system,” Lotor acknowledges, “I would be much indebted if you would do me the favor of sending Voltron for the aerial battle.”

“The Empire’s presence is still in its early stages,” Acza explains, “but their terraforming development for the planet will cause the destruction of the Talpidae living there.”

“Then we have no choice,” Allura clenches her fist, never one to sit back while there was something she could do about it, “we will provide air support. Sent me the coordinates so that I may Teleduv there.”

Lance is still obviously eyeing Keith’s latest development. It was readily visible, and you were fighting the urge to do the same.

But you weren’t also trying to flick his ears.

Keith growls lowly.

Lance sniggers.

Pidge offers Lance a piece of paper to make paper balls with.

Hunk sighs long sufferingly, having resigned himself to the more childish side of his two friends. They were terrors. Put Pidge and Lance together, and they were gremlins out of a horror movie made for elementary school teachers.

You slip your hand into Keith’s, squeezing reassuringly. It would take some getting used to like anytime someone got a new haircut, but you would. Like his atrocious boots, they’d become an endearing part of him.

Keith squeezes your hand back.

Shiro nods, agreeing with Allura, “have the Talpidae been contacted.”

“Very much so,” Ezor chimes in, “they’re funny little people. And their sensory-”

“The point Ezor,” Lotor sighs, rubbing his nose bridge.

“They sent for help to the rebels. We were closest to their system,” Exor elaborates with a shrug, “they do not have the background to fight head on, and will evacuate most of their people into bunkers, but they have been digging under the new construction and weakening the structural integrity of the Galra outposts.”

“Very well,” Shiro accepts, “Princess Allura and our chief medic will meet with the Talpidae as a show of goodwill.”

“Our only medic,” Hunk points out.

Keith growls, his hand squeezing yours hard.

You all look over at him.

“Red Paladin,” Allura says, trying to look as professional as possible in front of her least favorite of Voltron’s allies, “is something the matter.” She shares a look with Shiro, but otherwise looks unsurprised at Keith’s less than human ears.

Or maybe she’d make a great poker played.

“Can’t you meet with the Talpidae after the battle,” Keith utters harshly.

“They may need immediate tactical support,” Allura reasons, “we should be there in person to provide it.”

“It’ll be fine Keith,” Shiro adds.

Their words do little to calm Keith down. His dark silky hair puffs up. His grip on your hand tightens and you feel miffed. You’d been on the ground working triage before. You might not be a fighter or pilot but you could look after yourself.

You pull your hand out of his. “I really don’t see what the problem is,” you tell Keith pointedly.

“I’ll watch Allura’s back and she’ll have mine.”

Allura nods. “Our chief medic is correct-”

His ears twitch, “You’re not exactly a fighter.”

Shiro covers his face with a hand.

Your brows furrow. You’re livid. “So! I won’t be fighting. We’ll be in the bunkers with the Talpidae. It’ll be safe so it doesn’t even matter.”

“If it’s perfectly safe then you don’t need to be there,” Keith’s voice breaks, a whine escaping his chest but you don’t care, done with the conversation.

“Yikes,” is Ezor’s quiet whisper.

You’re not a paladin so you don’t care, you just stalk off the bridge ready to go scream into your pillow in frustration. Or better yet, go for a swim and scream underwater.

“Wait-” Keith follows you.

You ignore him.

“I just-,” he keeps trying as you stalk down the stairs, deciding your room was better after all if only because you could lock Keith out.

“Listen-,” he whines.

“I didn’t mean-”

“You didn’t mean what,” you round on him, hands on your hips, pissed off and maybe some of its was from being stuck on this stupid ship all the damn time but like eighty percent was earned. You might not be taking on a squad of Galra soldiers, but you could take one on if it came to it.

Keith at least has the decency to look miserable, sad chirrups in his throat as he crosses his arms over his chest and looks at the ground.

“Well?” You tap your foot on the ground.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” he finally manages. “Especially if you don’t need to be there.”

“But I do,” you counter, “There’ll be people running into those bunkers having escaped soldiers and sentries and the faster they get treated the better chance they have.”

“I didn’t mean it,” Keith repeats himself. “You-you can hold your own.” He looks up at you through his bangs, still hunched in on himself.

“Obviously.” There’s no heat, the anger having deflated already. It was just white hot ache in your chest, hurt at the idea that Keith thought you would get in the way, that you had nothing of value to add to the Alliance and Voltron.

You bite your lip.

Don’t cry, you think to yourself.

You were being dumb.

He was just being plain stupid.

“I mean it,” Keith repeats, “I’m sorry. I was just looking for an excuse to make sure you were safe.”

“Right, because Allura can handle herself but I can’t.” Your voice cracks.

“No,” Keith says in a rush, “it’s not the same.”

“Because I can’t fight?”

“That’s not,” Keith runs a hand through his hair, “It’s me okay. I’m-I’ve always jumped into things without thinking, but I decided to go for it, like breaking Shiro out but now I’m doing things before I even notice and it’s all these stupid Galra instincts!”

You swallow.

“I’m sorry,” he tells you once more. “I didn’t mean to and I’m sorry. No one thinks you can’t handle yourself. That’s why Shiro paired you up with Allura, because he knows you’re capable of watching her back.”

Your smile is fragile as you look over at him, “yeah?”

“Yeah.” Keith holds your gaze, looking as skittish as a stray dog. Another whine escapes his throat.

What the heck.

You hug him, “you’re such a dumbass.” You understood why he’d worry. This was war. Pidge was on a two man campaign with Shiro to get Matt to stay on the Castle, both scared witless that Matt might die on a mission with the rebels. Ulaz had died so everyone could get away.

You’d had patients in the last decaphoebs you could do nothing but ease their pain. You’d had patients that you couldn’t even administer anything for the pain because of how torn apart they were: guts spilling out, charred people shapes that you were surprised to still find breathing.

The images would never leave you as long as you lived.

“I’m sorry.” Keith buries his head in the crook of your neck, his breath tickling your skin sent shivers down your spine.

You hug him tightly, aware that every battle could be your last: the last time you saw him. “You’ve said that already,” you tease, memorizing the smell of him, stale sweat and something cloying that you had wanted to bottle up from the moment you’d met him and had never found on anyone else. As embarrassing as it was to admit to anyone other than yourself, Keith smelled good. Really good.

Most people smelled like nothing at all.

He stiffens.

“But it’s nice to hear again.”

Keith smothers a laugh.

You kiss his hair. Boys were so dumb.

He purrs.

You smile goofily, warmth building under your skin, and toes curling up in your shoes. You should say something. Right?

At some point?

Or maybe it shouldn’t be said under the looming threat of an upcoming battle.

Fuck.

You can’t decide, so you say nothing at all.

——————

Bombs still pelt the surface.

Your teeth chatter as the ground shakes even deep underground. Even more soil falls onto you. Your spacesuit was more oche than white at this point as you carry an injured Talpidae in your arms. It’s arm had been completely blown off. Sluggish blue blood oozed out.

Allura was last, tailing the group.

You reach the bunker.

The sentries had followed some of the feeling Talpidae into the tunnels, but they’d been sorted out.

The people here were strange, russet in fur colouring, with no discernable eye, just strange pink flagella protruding from their nose and large claws for digging. They stood at about Pidge’s height.

The bunker seals and you get to work.

Tourniquet here, pain patch there. There were so many of them banged up.

The fight continued on the surface.

The paladins had to form Voltron.

You and Allura work as a team, she takes the bruises and broken bones with no immediate risk of death. You triage the worst of the Talpidae, giving away your precious stash of painkillers to those you can’t save and are not in for a quick death, a Talpidae lies twitching, it’s nose blown off but alive. Another holds it’s hand, but shakes their head when they look at you. They weren’t going to make it.

Training kicks in and you focus on saving those you can.

Your hands stain blue from the blood.

Allura works alongside you.

You cauterize a Talpidae named Soedob’s hand, the claws on their right limb were gone, but most of it was spared.

“You smell Galra,” Soedob utters, blinking out of the pain induced haze as the painkiller kicked in.

You half hear, half don’t, so focused on the task at hand. It was easier to not stop until you were finished and could curl up and sleep and not think about blood and war and Zarkon.

“We have Galra allies,” Allura answers diplomatically, leaving the issue of the half Galra paladin alone.

It irked you.

“No, not them,” Soedob notes. “Those had a different aura.”

“Smell,” you guess, finishing off. You hoped the fighting ended soon. You supply was not unlimited. The castle had better facilities.

“Is that what you call it?”

“Our primary sense is sight,” Allura explains, giving you a long look.

You shrug. You hadn’t even seen any of Lotor and his team. There hadn’t been time. It had all been relayed over coms, over video.

“Another then?”

You swallow thickly, flushing with embarrassment because you both spent time around Keith but Soedob was only smelling him on you and it’s not like you had been doing anything intimate…well, it had felt intimate, hugging Keith, but it wasn’t anything like when cadets snuck into each others dorm room, shoving a sock on the door handle in the universal symbol of don’t bother us. “The red paladin is part Galra.” Mercifully, your voice doesn’t shake from the embarrassment, but you can’t look at Allura.

“Ah,” Soedob nods, neither outraged nor pleased.

Then there’s no more time, you have more Talpidaes waiting for medical aid. You give their own healers some of your supplies, freeing up Allura to find the clan leaders.

You can feel Allura’s questioning glance on you.

——————

“Team meeting in the mess hall,” Shiro calls over the coms system.

“Mess hall,” Pidge rolls her eyes, “it’s the dining room.”

You snort.

“I like to think of it as the dining room too,” Hunk offers. “I mean there’s only eight of us. It’s sort of like being home again.”

“Mess hall makes me think of the garrison,” you admit, falling into step besides them. “and the food.”

“Ugh,” Pidge groans. “That was the worst. Matt wasn’t kidding.”

“It does make the space packs easier to digest,” you muse, “maybe that was the point.” It took the garrison two years to get to Mars. It was funny, once you’d thought that was a long way from home.

“I liked the cheese garlic bread,” Hunk allows.

“Food goo,” Pidge grins, “or the garrison space food?”

“Food goo.” Hunk doesn’t even have to think.

“Food goo,” you agree. “Though not Coran’s paladin special.”

“You don’t even eat that,” Hunk huffs, half outraged half amused, “you’re always like well I’m not a paladin so…”

You laugh. “Seeing it is more than enough.”

The rest of the ship’s inhabitants are already there waiting for you. Lance is trying to teach Coran how to play slide, moving very slow as he claps their hands together.

Shiro and Allura are in easy conversation. Her mice scamper around her feet.

Keith looks absolutely miserable next to Shiro, folding himself into the smallest possible size, trying to disappear. It was hard to reconcile the Keith that was quiet with the Red Paladin that shot first and asked questions later.

You smile at him, excited to see him, but also figuring he could use some reassurance, whatever it was going through his head. Keith meets your gaze and the corners of his mouth turn up, before he ducks away.

You know better than to take it personally.

It was Keith.

Your toes curl inside your shoes and you bite back your smile, suddenly aware of how much you might be revealing and not wanting Lance of all people to start a meeting by commenting on it. For him, it might be all fun and games, but you weren’t sure what to do with these newfound warm and fuzzy feelings. You sure as fuck didn’t want to be called out on it.

You weren’t sure what to do about liking Keith so your current plan of action was: nothing.

“Thank you everyone for being here,” Shiro claps his hands together, his leader impression defaulted at awkward dad. He thought he always had to be on. Despite being the most trained out of us, he’d only just started his career during the Kerberos mission.

You wonder if he’d picked up his leadership style partly from Pidge’s dad.

“Where else would we be,” Pidge shrugs, never one to miss a shot.

“All the same,” the older man smiles.

“Yeah, no problem my dude, bro,” Lance flashes finger guns at Shiro.

You snort, taking a seat between him and Hunk.

“But seriously, what’s up,” Lance leans forward. “Or is this some lowkey way to keep us on our toes,” he winks at Allura who smiles indulgently.

“I await the news alongside you paladins,” Allura answers, hands resting in her lap. She looks over at Shiro.

The whole room turns to look at Shiro.

He had called the meeting.

Meetings tended to be informational in nature: updates about the expansive war, rebels hailing Voltron for intervention, the Blade passing on the rare bit of information, and the always popular distress signals. But Shiro and Allura both looked too calm for that.

Keith goes rigid, a spring wound up too tight.

Hm.

You wondered if the elephant in the room would finally be addressed.

Shiro puts his hand on Keith’s shoulder, smiling encouragingly the way a parent dropping their child off for their first day of school would, “go ahead Keith.”

The red paladin focuses his gaze on Shiro, his expression more sour than it’s been in a long time.

The past few years had done a lot to get him to open up to everyone on board, but right now, he looks exactly like the stubborn closed off cadet he had been back on Earth.

His ears twitch slightly. He manages to look even more taunt, and you wonder if he’s going to wave this off. Then, he lets out a breath.

His body is stiff, but Keith no longer pulls away from Shiro. He looks down at his hands pensively, nails cut to the quick. “Right.”

You can feel the nervous energy of the rest of the room, leaning in, waiting to see what Keith wants to say.

“Mhm, go on,” Lance says, chin in hand.

Hunk elbows him in the side.

“Hey!” Lance is about to start in on Hunk.

“Guys,” you snap, shoving Lance’s shoulder.

“Okay, okay,” Lance zips his mouth and throws away the key, “shutting up.”

“Looks like that didn’t work,” Pidge snarks.

“Paladins,” Allura’s clear commanding voice rings out. When everyone shuts up again, she nods at Keith, “you may continue.”

He looks up at everyone through his bangs, “I’m going through Galra settling.”

Hunk looks over at Allura, who was far more familiar with all this alien mumble jumble than anyone else.

Shiro squeezes Keith’s shoulder.

“And that is,” you prompt gently, before Keith hastily decided that was all he needed to say and left.

He meets your waiting gaze. Under the ship’s bright rooms, his eyes were obviously violet, heavy on the purple. He’s chewing his bottom lip like he isn’t sure he wants to go through with saying any of this and you wonder if he must be thinking of how weird things were between everyone when he learned of the alien part of his heritage.

Your mouth quirks up into a smile.

You were more than willing to stuff someone into a cryopod if they bothered Keith. He may be part of Voltron, tasked with defending the universe, but you’d make sure there was someone to defend him.

An embarrassing rush of heat bubbles under your skin. You look away, nervous.

“Shiro,” Keith asks.

Shiro nods, wrapping his arms fully around Keith’s shoulder. “Galra settling is when Galra,” he looked like he was trying to figure out exactly what he was talking about as he said it. Aliens were weird. “When Galra reach a certain age their appearance locks in.” Even Shiro looks a little puzzled. He was a pilot, not a biologist. You knew organisms back on earth who could manipulate their genotypes, generally sex changes with the right environmental conditions, but you weren’t sure there was anything comparable to whatever this was. “The Galra are apparently very adaptable in individuals. That’s why there’s such a range of them.”

Huh.

That explained the fur, range of tails, more reptilian looking once, and the eyes.

You wanted a Galra biology course, a full semester long one. What exactly caused such a plasticity in their phenotype? Did the trait have to be encoded in their genotype to appear or was there something freakier, Allura’s space magic, going on?

“-because he’s half human and we don’t go through anything like this it’s more painful than it would be. Lotor said the chameleonic abilities of Alteans helped him when he went through this,” Shiro finishes without a satisfying or thorough explanation.

At least Keith wasn’t dying.

Thank god.

Thank whatever freaky Altean magic existed in the universe.

“So,” Lance starts, “it’s Galra puberty.”

In a split second Keith loses any self consciousness about the situation, “it’s not Galra puberty!” His hair puffs up and you have to fight the urge to laugh, covering your face with your hands.

“There’s…” Shiro glances at Keith, before Lance and Keith could really get into it, “there’s more.”

Keith looks mullish, but ultimately gives Shiro the go ahead.

“Part of these..changes,” the black paladin explains, “have brought out some Galra instincts.” Clearly he was having as much trouble grappling with what this meant as Keith was. Your body suddenly deciding to change was no fun when you had no context for it. “Among them, the need to scent family…”

Pidge tilts her head, “is this like the most convoluted and emotionally constipated way of asking for a hug,” she asks Keith.

Keith smiles wryly, “pretty much.”

“Oh come here dude,” Hunk grins, engulfing Keith and Shiro in a hug.

“Ah number four,” Coran points up in the air, “I am now just recalling the galra that lived on Altea having explained this once, of course it didn’t occur to me because of the apparent dominance of your human genes.”

“So they’re actually co-dominant,” you muse as Lance drags Pidge along for a “group hug!”

“No.no,” Pidge makes a half-hearted effort to wiggle out, being a younger sibling herself, was used to being subjected to affection. She smiles even as she struggles.

“It would seem so,” Coran nods, “though not every gene.”

“Just these.” You wonder if there’s a space equivalent of the human genome project.

“Lance,” Keith yelps, “that’s my foot.”

“Buddy, I am not feeling the love here.”

“Is it working,” Hunk asks, peering at Keith, “are you going to turn purple now?”

“No one turns purple from hugs,” Keith replies, annoyed but makes no move to pull away.

“Thank you for trusting us with this Keith,” Allura smiles, her eyes crinkling.

“Get in on this too Princess,” Shiro motions over, before catching your gaze, “you too. Don’t think you can get out of this. You’re part of Voltron too.”

You snort, and join the group hug.

Pidge’s elbow is a bony thorn in your side and there’s the slight hum from Shiro’s prosthetic, but it’s a good mix of warmth and intimacy with the people you were closest to in the entire universe. Allura’s shoulder presses into you back and it’s sort of ballooned to ridiculous proportions, Keith somewhere in the center of it all, his hair barely visible to you.

“Add cuddling Keith to the chore wheel,” Pidge proposes.

Keith groans.

“How about we let Keith decide,” Shiro proposes.

You snort, knowing him too well. “Are you willing to take that risk? Died-from lack of hugs.”

Lance laughs.

Shiro looks convinced by your stellar argument.

“I’m not that bad,” Keith grumbles.

“You’re a terrible hugger,” Lance argues back. “You’re all stiff, like you’re enduring one of Iverson’s paradox sims. Not as bad as my abuelo but still.”

Keith lunges for Lance.

Someone topples over.

Everyone falls.

You laugh, smothered by limps and someone’s hair in your mouth…maybe Hunk’s? You don’t move, worried about kicking someone’s head.

From somewhere, Keith does that low rumbling chest noise that reminds you of a cat purring happily.

No one makes fun of him for it.

——————

“You should comb your hair before we take the pod down,” you tell Keith. You’d spent your free time before this alliance dinner scrolling through a datapad, trying to learn names, where they hailed from, species, things that may prove useful.

Half a varga ago, Keith had found you balled up on a sofa, and sat next to you, his way of asking for physical comfort. You’d obliged him readily, throwing an arm over his shoulders and spooning him as you both laid on the sofa. He was already in the paladin uniforms that Allura had dug out once the alliance became a reality instead of a loose string of rebel groups fighting the Galra empire.

You’re both short and slight, fitting together perfectly.

You squash any feelings you have, this wasn’t about you, it was about him. You’d done it a thousand times with Hunk or Lance, fallen asleep listening to Allura, why should Keith be any different? (You know why.)

He’s reading the screen with you.

“I doubt they’d notice,” he remarks as you scroll to a particularly vivid color alien race with sensory appendages sprouting from their heads.

“You have a point desert bum,” you tease, “I’d rather be a bum by a beach town. All surfer bro.”

“Can you even surf,” he asks flatly.

“No. Learned how to swim at the garrison,” you admit. “But tanning by the water has to be more appealing than roasting under the Texas sun.”

“I like the desert.”

“I know.” You were pretty sure everyone just liked their homes.

“It’s quiet,” he admits, “and watching how the sunlight transforms the landscape…”

“It’s too big and wide,” you admit, thinking of space. Flat land that went on forever…empty dark space that went on forever.

“Good for driving,” Keith smirks.

You laugh. Or course that’s where his mind went. “Sure, but it all looks the same, everywhere you turn.” It was disorienting. To be fair, you were a city girl. Your background noise was cars honking and people yelling even at four in the morning. The garrison had been a big adjustment.

“It’s really not. You just have to look.”

“I’ll trust my gps,” you counter, “not my sense of direction. I’d probably end up one of those cautionary tales about mirages and deserts.”

“You can’t really get a good signal,” Keith replies lazily, his body slack against yours, “out there. It’s best to mark a trail with chalk if you don’t know the area.”

“But you do, know it I mean?”

“Out past the Garrison? Mhm. All of it. We used to go hiking…before,” he trails off.

You press your lips to his hair lightly, before shifting, “my arms asleep.”

“Sorry.”

“I don’t mind.” You sit up, “it’s nice. I used to put my sister to sleep this one year she had nightmares almost every night.”

“You miss her,” Keith states, sitting up, looking at you with his intense expression. Having someone focused one hundred percent on you was a new experience. He wasn’t thinking of a thousand other things, just you.

“I do. I miss everyone, but,” you shrug, “I’ll see them again. Meanwhile you’re stuck with me.” You smile fondly at Keith. “I’m going to change before we have to go to dinner.”

“I’d take fighting Zarkon anyday,” Keith mutters, cringing at the upcoming show of diplomacy. There was so much smiling and hand shaking. It was exhausting to be that extroverted with a roomful of strangers.

Even Lance zonked out after these things.

“Knock on wood,” you laugh.

_____________

Treaties have been signed. A wrecked Galra fleet floats in space above the planet your on today, but today’s battle is won.

One of Lotor’s General’s is here, Acza. She’s wary, and surprised at the warm reception she’d received. She might be Galra, but she’d been crucial in taking down the Galra base’s shields. Biolocks, Zarkon should really rethink those.

You sip at your thick drink, warm and flavored like cinnamon oatmeal, that chases off the chill of the night. The idea had been to sleep, your hands still ached from all the sutures and stitches you’d woven, but Allura refused to hear it, dragging you along. There would be time for sleep on the Castle, she’d claimed, joyous to have helped another besieged planet.

“My congratulations,” a Blade utters from behind their glowing mask.

You jump, not having known there was even a Blade here. They were allies, yet their anonymity that made them so useful in information gathering, created a gap between you. You had no way of knowing who this person was. Their suit obscuring any details, the mask a rank.

You couldn’t even see their eyes.

“For what,” you ask, puzzled. You hadn’t fought. Your skills made you most useful after the battle, trying to save lives and patch up wounds. It was important and emotional draining work, but you hardly won battles.

Because of the mask, you can’t get a read on their reaction. Blades. Spies. Maybe if you could see their eyes…

They nod, and walk off without explanation.

You watch them go, still confused until they disappear among the bodies loitering around, celebrating liberation.

It was a feat to disappear when you were eight feet tall.

First the Galra had avoided you like the plague, the black plague, now they were being cryptic as fuck.

You lean your head down, trying to sniff your armpits without making it too obvious. Was it the blood? Or the space bleach? That tended to linger.

You didn’t smell that bad. Certainly like bleach and rubbing alcohol…

You take another sip of your drink, looking around for a place to sit. You’d been on your feet for too long. You wanted to sleep.

Someone would find you.

You wander around. Smiling when someone notices you, and thanks you and you hurry to get away before they ask you a hundred questions. There were only eight humans in space. Well, seven and a half. You stood out.

They wanted Voltron, but you would do.

“There’s space here,” Acxa calls out.

“Thanks,” you plop down next to her, sagging into the seat. Oh, yeah, you were so freaking tired.

“Of course. You look dead.”

“Yeah,” you look around the rebel camp, “I’ve no clue how they have the energy.”

“It’s like that everywhere. This is their home,” Acza offers, “people fight hard for their homes.”

You nod, before looking over at the alien woman, “not avoiding me anymore then?”

She shrugs, not disputing the allegation. “No need anymore, now that you and Keith sorted yourselves out.” She’s so blunt about it. “Galra are so sensitive when settling. We didn’t want to cause any incidents.”

“Is this about the scenting?” You still hadn’t had time to read through the information you’d gotten your grubby little hands on.

She nods.

You put your drink down on the mossy ground. “Yeah, Keith explained it. Well, Shiro did, really. Lance is over the moon about having an excuse to bother Keith.” Now you really all were a family. You’d named it outloud.

Acxa’s brows furrow, “Lance?”

“I think he just misses his family a lot,” you offer. “We all do and while we’re family too, it’d be nice to see our family back on earth too.”

She frowns. “Keith and you are not,” she asks slowly.

“Me and Keith,” you flush, ducking away from her. “No-I, no. We’re not.” You should’ve gone back to the Castle the moment Allura turned her back. She would’ve never known.

Acxa’s frown becomes tinged with anger and worry, her hand grabs your wrist. “Galra have more than one type of scenting, between families, and between partners.”

“Oh.”

You try to connect the dots but your brain gets stuck between ideas. Scenting. Keith. You. You and Keith. It was right there but-

“Keith isn’t marking you as family,” she explains slowly, “he’s marking you as his partner.” Acxa waits until her words sink in before adding, “to do so without letting the other know…” She makes it clear what a social taboo that is.

But you’re one step behind her.

Did Keith like you?

You think back to all the times you’d been with him in the past few vargas, trying to pinpoint any hint: he’d smiled at you but he was happier now in general so it could be a coincidence…

“If you need,” Acxa offers, “I will help clarify the situation.” It’s an awfully kind gesture.

“No,” you say in a rush. “no. It’s-I think I need to go talk to Keith.” He’d known what he was doing…you could draw a thousand conclusions but nothing would be better than confronting him about it.

“If you’re sure.”

“I am,” you stand up, glancing around. During parties, Keith tended to find a quiet corner out of the way. He’d opened up, but he was still more of an introvert.

You find Keith lying stretched out in the shadow of a makeshift building, looking up at the stars. It’s his eyes that give him away, reflecting the light enough to be inhuman, nocturnal vision.

“We need to talk,” you wrap your arms around your body. You weren’t angry, just confused. Didn’t he know he could just come talk to you about it by now?  

Keith looks up, startled, then stands. “Alright.” He sounds resigned, a man sentenced to detention for a month which was janitorial duties at the garrison. It kept even the most smartass cadets humble.

You look around.

No one was really here. You could hear the music and people a bit further into the heart of the camp. Here was good enough.

“I talked to Acxa,” you start, “she said-” you look down at the trampled vegetation underfoot. It was embarrassing to your human preconceptions to even think, let alone say, which was why you were pretty sure Keith didn’t mean any harm. Scenting meant nothing on earth, where he’d grown up. “She said you’ve been scenting me, which like I know but not that way?” You look up at him as realization sets in and he ducks his head, looking away. “Is it true?”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “I-,” he takes a deep breath before ranting, the agitation and months of buried emotions flooding out, “I hate this. I hate that I can hear the conversation outside and smell which direction  Shiro’s in and how much my eyes hurt on the Castle from how bright it is but I don’t-I can’t say anything because I’m already enough of a freak. Before I was just the weird kid but now I’m just a fucking alien freak! There’s always so much going on and I don’t even know what’s next!”

You wait, wondering if there was more.

It was a lot of changes.

You couldn’t understand, there was nothing in your life comparable to your biology deciding to be a little more Galra after twenty years.

“And I tried not to-,” he admits, meeting your waiting gaze, “I tried to leave everyone alone so you wouldn’t,” Keith swallows, forcing himself to continue with an obvious disgust at himself, “you wouldn’t smell like me or whatever Lotor explained but I couldn’t-it was driving me crazy like this itch, this buzzing under my skull and seeing you guys with others-I thought I was going crazy until Lotor explained. And then when Lance would ruffle my hair or you would check that I wasn’t about to fall over and die and-,” he waves his hands in the air, “I would just zone out.”

“Oh,” you utter, recalling past events with a newfound understanding. Keith had been reaching out, all instinct even when he was trying not to be a bother. It broke your heart, how he always came from the perspective that he was an inconvenience.

“I did know,” he says in a small voice. “That-you…but I don’t know if it’s me or this, or all these things happening to me.”

Your expression wobbles. You bite your lower lip, trying to get a handle on it. How silly to worry about a crush when Keith was going through it.

“I like you, but I don’t know if I like you or if it’s just these stupid Galra instincts messing with my head.” Keith deflates, drawing into himself. “Everything

s…it’s been a lot.”

“I get it,” you utter, “maybe not the situation but I’m not mad. Though Acxa was ready to kick your ass and she totally could,” you try teasing.

But Keith flinches, looking away guiltily.

“I’m joking. I-I get why. It makes sense. It’s a lot to get used to.” You swallow, not sure what to do about anything either.

“Its a huge offence,” Keith utters, “that’s why she was pissed. Made worse because you can’t even tell…I-I couldn’t think straight and I…it took the edge off.”

“Scenting me?”

He nods.

You take a step towards him.

“I-,” Keith’s eyes meet yours, his attention entirely captivated by you. It sends a thrill down your spine. You’d seen how he could be when laser focused: on piloting, on training. “I know they say it’s wrong but you and Lance do stuff like that all the time. And I thought…I figured I could figure out how much of what I’m feeling is me and how much of it are these new instincts.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” you tell him. “I-you’re right, it’s whatever to me. Like, a Blade congratulated me earlier which was weird but fuck them you know? I can ‘smile and nod’,” you smile as fakely as possible to show what you mean, “through it so long as you’re okay.” He’d bled in your lap.

Keith looks a little unsteady, unsure what to do with your lack of anger. “You don’t-”

“So is it like galra marriage then?” You were curious as to what exactly the Blades were going to gossip about you and Keith.

He makes a choked sound. “Sort of. They bond. It can be broken but that generally means someone killed the other.”

“Let me guess,” you reply, “Zarkon fucked even that up.”

Keith nods.

“That guy’s the worst.” Your voice is light.

Keith snorts, smiling for a split second. “I won’t anymore. I’ll-”

“Keith,” your voice cracks as you out your hand on his arm to keep him from rubbing off, “if its really causing you all this additional confusion in too of everything…you can…” the words were too intimate to say, too charged with a sensuality that he clearly was figuring out. You were willing to wait. For him.

He was conflicted enough without you dumping your feelings on him.

“You don’t-”

You raise your hand, caressing the side of his face with the back of your hand, ghosting over the purple mark on his cheek, “I don’t mind.” Sure, you had a crush on him, you could admit that much, but more simply, you loved him.

This was a small ask.

Your gaze flickers to the tips of his ears.

You had washed his blood off your hands.

“Besides, shit’s hard enough. My arm falling asleep is a small price to pay if I can help you.”

Keith’s mouth quirks up in a smile.

You laugh, “come here.”

It finally sinks in that you weren’t just talking bs. You meant it, as you hug Keith, wrapping your arms around his middle. He smelled good in spite of the battle he’d been through earlier.

Without really thinking, you breathe in the scent of him.

Keith hugs you back, cuddling you against his chest, resting his chin on your shoulder.

You yawn. “want to sneak back into the castle?”

“Only if you tell Allura you’re the one who wanted to leave,” he deadpans dazedly.

You laugh.

——————

“Come,” Allura motions as you stand from one of the Castle’s weapons systems, “we must meet with the rebel leadership on planet.”

The planet was a farming camp.

The slaves were overworked and underfed and they had still revolted when they learned Voltron was near. Now, they were free.

“Princess,” Coran calls out, “it appears that number four is heading back to the ship.”

A pained expression crosses Allura’s broad features, her full mouth frowning, before she decides to pick her battles for the day. “I am sure Keith has a good reason for his actions.” She sounds like she’s trying to convince herself.

You don’t want to go down there either.

This entire last week had been spent synthesizing medicine and treating thousands of people made harder by the range of species. The garrison better give you that medical degree immediately.

“I’ll go check on him,” you say automatically, “he might need me to prep a pod.”

“Fantastic idea number five,” Coran believes your excuse.

“Let us know if anything happens,” Allura says, giving you a long look, before heading for the exit.

The central Galra soldiers had been taken out, but small bands of fighters were still fighting to their last breath. It’s why Voltron has remained on the planet.

The lions had roamed the landscape answering calls for aid and hunting down the last of Zarkon’s forces here.

You meet Keith in the red lion’s hanger.

He’s popping his helmet off, running a hand through his flattened hair. “I thought you were headed out with Allura?”

You shrug, suddenly feeling awkward. “I was, but I wanted to check on you first.” That was a normal thing to do for your friends. There was no reason to overthink things.

“I’m fine.”

He sets the helmet aside, working on undoing the armor off. There was dirt and dust but thankfully no blood to speak of, his or otherwise.

“Then I’ll see you there,” you ask.

Keith looks over, a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar, his smile slight when he replies, “I’m not heading there.” Blunt. Concise.

“It is depressing,” you admit. There was so much resource allocation and need planet-wide.

He raises a brow. “Oh. Yeah.”

“Keith?” Now you’re wondering what the real problem was. “What is it?”

“Does it matter. I don’t need to be there. Shiro and Allura can handle it.” He looks away, suddenly very interested in the wall. Unlike the rest of the ship, the red lion’s hanger was dim, in a permanent night cycle.

Pidge’s work.

“I think the people would like all of Voltron present.” Then you make a face, “oh god, I sound just like Allura don’t I?”

Keith laughs, “just a bit. As long as you don’t make us all meditate…”

“It’s so boring. I fall asleep.” You smile softly, “Seriously, go down for a moment. Then you can hide out here.”

“I-I’d rather not.” He shifts uncomfortably. “Four out of five is is fine.”

“I’m sure they’ll understand,” you agree.

“I’m sure they’ll be glad.”

“Keith-” you start, knowing he already felt hyper aware of how his appearance had changed. Before, it hadn’t really ever come up outside of the team. No one would tell and if Keith wasn’t vocal about it…now everyone in the entire universe probably knew.

There were rebel Galra, mostly in prisons and work camps. Feelings varied.

“That’s not true,” you say, not sure if it was true, “you helped free them.” You shift your weight onto your other foot, “there’s a few assholes everywhere.”

He gives you a long look. “The Galra enslaved all these people.”

“Pfft,” you wave off, “you look like one sixteenth Galra. And-”

“They stare.”

“Because you’re a paladin,” you reason. “Pidge is also cranky about the attention.”

Keith sighs.

The paladin armor lies in a discarded pile.

You step forward to him, “anyone would be lucky to have you as a pilot. And Voltron sort of lucked out when the red lion chose you.”

Keith’s eyes widen as he looks at you, pink dusting his cheeks.

In for a penny, in for a pound, you lean forward and kiss his cheek, ghosting over his skin, “face marks and all.” You can’t meet his gaze when you pull away, blushing fiercely.

Why did you do that!

God, you were so dumb-

He cups your cheeks and brushes his lips over yours.

Oh! Oh.

“Is-is this okay-,” Keith starts asking.

You feel giddy, smiling before kissing him. Yeah, it was okay.

[dailyklanceficrecs]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15325449/chapters/35556942

[just come to me once - laallomri]

heres a fic that focuses on the events during the time skip thing with keith and krolia, and then the space road trip back to earth. it raised my expectations for fanfics in general, and is probably one of my favourite stories i've read. it's got silly little tropes like only one bed that make you giggle with excitement <3

just come to me once by laallomri

Lance’s smile widens. He leans forward, and the prickling in Keith’s chest gives way to butterflies, fluttering wildly in his stomach, and oh wow has Lance always had this many freckles, has he always had eyelashes that long, has he—

Lance pokes his cheek, right over the Galra mark. Keith blinks.

“I can’t believe you and your mom have matching face tattoos now,” he says, and it’s so fucking dumb, but it’s exactly the kind of dumb thing Keith has longed to hear, and before he knows what he’s doing he’s surging forward, almost knocking Lance back against Red’s paw, and throwing his arms around him.

In which Keith lives on a space whale, goes on a road trip, and (eventually) gets a boyfriend.

[words: 94,586, chapters: 3/3, rating: T]

[luna--dragon]

I think one of the things I hate the most about Voltron is the fact that the Alteans are just so boring and human looking.

Unless they're half-breeds, their skin tones and body shapes are identical to humans. The only things that make them look alien are the multi-colored markings on their faces, the matching pupils, the (sometimes) unnatural hair colors, and the pointed ears. If you can literally cover up all of an alien's unnatural features with a hat, foundation, and eye contacts, that's not a good alien design.

Give them fucked up eyes! Make their hair all goopy or tentacle/antennae like! Deform their bodies a little! Cut off or add on fingers and toes! Limbs even! These are aliens that had no idea humans even exist! Go crazy with their designs!!

I don't CARE if Altea has a similar atmosphere and climate to Earth! If every other alien species in the show, including the Galra, look cool and unique, why are the Alteans just humans with markings on their faces!?

"It's to humanise the Alteans and make them more relatable-" I AM A FAN OF AMPHIBIA. I HAVE DEVELOPED EMOTIONAL CONNECTIONS TO CARTOON FROG PEOPLE. THIS IS NOT A VALID ARGUMENT.

[raziroo]

Cotton Candy

Pairing: Lotor x gn!reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Saying "Shit" twice

Word count: 2,076 (yay) (also, I edited this, I still need to update the word count)

Author’s Note: I'm crap at writing dialogues, and this is my first time writing for a gay couple. I'm so sorry if it seems forced or unnatural or shitty. Don't be afraid to call me out.

Story Moodboard!

It’s with a grunt of effort that I manage to lift the carton containing the cotton-candy-maker.

‘Here, dad,’ I say as my dad takes the box from my hands. ‘That’s all?’

‘Yep, that’s all of it. We’ll conquer this carnival with our delicious cotton candy,’ I nod, doing jazz hands while saying the last part. Dad chuckles. I grin.

‘Hey, Honey!’ I turn back, squinting to spot where my other dad is in the crowd of bustling people. Where, where…? Yep, there he is – in his embarrassingly brilliant sunshine yellow and bottle green striped shirt and hot pink trousers, a sharp contrast to his natural bright red hair. Don’t say that it can’t look that bright; you’ll never know just how blindingly bright bottle green can really be until you see the shirt my dad’s wearing. And trust me, he usually dresses in simpler tones; such bland tones that you’d be surprised to know he was capable of wearing colourful hues as well. It’s only that he’s very passionate about his job, and so whenever we set up a booth in fetes such as the current one, he never misses to match the shop logo.

‘Hul-lo, father dearest, how seems to go your day?’

‘Oh, quite lovely, if I do say so.’

‘Well, that’s simply charming –’

‘Alright, enough,’ my other, not redhead dad snaps with an exasperated sort of smile on his visage. You see, my not redhead, a.k.a. brown-haired dad happens to be British. And that means that me and dad would rather paint our teeth blue than to not tease him. ‘You both need to shut it and start helping me with the decorations, now. You know I’m trash at all that.’

‘Aw, now don’t get discouraged,’ I say, patting dad on the back. ‘After all, not everyone can be as blessed as me, can they?’

‘Hey, why don’t you go look around for a bit? You’ve been helping out since before I have.’

‘Yeah, he’s right, pet. You should.’

I huff, rubbing my palms on the fabric of my jeans. ‘You guys sure? I’m not tired, if that’s what you’re worried about.’

‘We’re not worried, we’re just saying you should also get a look, you know? There’s a lot of surprising booths this time around. I mean, there are aliens participating too, so…’

‘Hmm,’ I play with my bottom lip a little, then, ‘yeah, okay. I’ll be back in like, an hour? Forty five minutes? Sound okay?’

‘Sounds great.’

‘Bye, then.’ And with that, I turn on the heels of my Converse, wandering about the pretty stalls and eager children and kissy couples and aliens with curious features.

It really feels bizarre, just how astonishingly fast mankind has accepted the existence of aliens. It seems simultaneously ages and just a day before when conspiracy theorists raged all around the world, presenting baseless theories and concepts as to why and how the three-man squad on the Kerberos mission disappeared. Then came the Galra, bringing along with them global terror – because alien life, intelligent alien life existed and humanity remained oblivious all these millennia, and now they were actually attacking us. It could’ve been, perhaps even was, in some other dimension, the end of Earth. But then a defender appeared; Voltron appeared in all its glory, bringing along with it proof that however much these purple aliens claim that humans are scum of the universe, humans were, in the grand scheme of things, the ones that saved the universe too.

It feels even more puzzling to actually be on a first-name basis with the leader of Voltron; that’s right, I’m personally acquainted with Keith Kogane. It was around six months after him leaving the Garrison did I come across him. He’d been loitering around the neighbourhood, had ended up in a fistfight with some other kids, and along with that a split lip and bruised cheek. I’d been watching. When the fight ended, I (somehow) persuaded him to come along so that I could at the very least provide him with a band-aid.

Long story short, we’d bonded over how our moms were no-shows and how dads were the best and we became surprisingly close friends; the only difference was that after the death of his old man, he lived alone. I’d been adopted by my two current fathers. I told him about how when they’d initially adopted me, I was excruciatingly shy. I wouldn’t even come out of my room except meals. It was only when I came to know that they knew how to make candy floss had I timidly approached them if I could have some, because previously I’d always been grossed out at the thought of having to eat that. I’d overheard this group of kids saying that cotton candy was actually just dyed granny hair, so that’s where that came from.

I love cotton candy now. So much so, that even at the age of twenty-six, I will pout if someone takes some of mine without my permission. As if I’d ever allow them to.

Speaking of Keith, I haven’t seen him in years. We lost all contact when he turned eighteen, and then he went off into space, and even when he came back, I didn’t get a chance to meet him. I bear no ill will, though. He must have formed some close relationships. Our past friendship is comparatively much more trivial.

I spot a booth selling grilled corn. I instantly head there.

As I’m about join the crowd of humans and aliens who also want corn, a familiar call of my name leads me to pull a three sixty.

Lo and behold. Keith Kogane.

Despite him having obviously grown a lot, the face was still the same. I’m sure that, if he gets a split lip and bruise on his cheek right now, he won’t look all that different.

There’s a questioning hesitance on his features; he’s probably wondering if he’s got the right person. My pleasantly surprised smile and raised eyebrows assure him. As I step away from the grilled corn stall, I notice a motley crowd behind him; some are purple, some are holding Voltron plushies, and some look way too curious to be in a carnival. The introduction is going to be fun.

‘Keith! You're gonna live a hundred years - I was just thinking about you. But anyways, it’s – it’s great to see you,’ I say with a little giggle. ‘Though I am kind of surprised you actually approached me. The sixteen-year-old you would never.’

He smiles awkwardly in return. ‘Y – yeah… I, just… oh God, this is – I’m sorry,’ he says, his inner turmoil evident.

‘It’s all good. I know you’re shit at small talk, so… like, introduce me? Maybe?’

He nods rapidly, brows furrowed. ‘Yeah, um,’ he turns to the people behind him, telling them my name, how we met, the whole affair. I give them a wave. Most of them greet me back.

‘And, this is Shiro and Curtis,’ he points to the tall, white-haired yet young man, holding hands with a tanner guy, ‘Lance, Pidge and Hunk,’ he points to a lanky, bright-smiled guy, a buffer, kind-seeming person, and a short chestnut-haired woman who, despite wearing baggy jeans and a baggier tee, looks somehow better dressed than me. ‘Then that’s Allura, Coran, and Romelle, they’re Alteans,’ a woman with enchanting beauty and a regal aura surrounding her, a redhead who’s significantly older than the rest with an impressive moustache, and a youthful appearing girl with a big grin, ‘and Lotor, he’s Galran. The Galran Emperor, in fact.’ Lotor is a tall, lilac-skinned man with aristocratic features who shares the same cheek markings as the Alteans. Oh, and he’s unfairly gorgeous, his hair a luscious mane of white which I just know will be soft. It’s hard not to stare. You remember how I said Allura looked like royalty? Yeah, the way this man carries himself, he has the aura and visage of a God. Even in a white tee-shirt and jeans he looks way better than should be legal.

I rip my eyes away.

‘So…are Noah and Oliver here too? I’d love to see them. I mean, I never did get to thank them to permit a possible criminal to sleep in their house.’

I laugh. ‘Never mind that, but we actually sit up a stall here. I could, you know, maybe even get you guys something to eat.’

‘Free? Please don’t.’

‘It’s nothing, really, just… I don’t know, accept it as a small thank you present for not letting the planet go to shit.’

A bit of thinking. Even after a nod from Shiro, it was Lance who said yes. Good ol’ Keith.

When we reach the stall, my British dad is the only one we find there. He looks up, about to say something to me, when he notices Keith.

‘Dad. You remember Keith?’

‘Your possible criminal friend who turned out to be the saviour of the universe Keith?’

‘That Keith. He wanted to see you.’

‘Oh? Well then,’ he dusts his hands, stands up, and greets Keith. Both of them engage in a conversation.

‘You guys wanna try something?’

‘What do you got?’ asks Pidge.

‘What do we got? Um, we got chocolates, candy, marshmallows, jellybeans, tortilla chips, ice cream, popcorn – butter, cheese, caramel, peri peri – Lays, like, a lot of Lays, and the good old cotton candy. What d’you want?’

So, after providing the humans with two Cream n’ Onion Lays, a pack of tortilla chips, a double scoop of butterscotch and chocolate, a small tub of popcorn, and three cotton candy sticks, I turned to the aliens.

‘I’m assuming you guys aren’t familiar with a lot of this stuff, so you could either pick whatever looks to be good, ask your friends, or I could recommend something. What’ll it be?’

Romelle was the one who asked, ‘What’s ice cream like?’

‘It’s sweet. It’s cold. And it’s like… heaven in mouth.’

‘Ooh. I want an ice cream. The… pink one?’

‘That’s strawberry. You can eat it in a cone, or in a cup.

‘What’s the difference?’

‘Well, the cup you can’t eat. The cone is like a crispy biscuit,’ judging by her face, she didn’t know what biscuit was. ‘I’ll just give you a cone. It’s all on the house, so no worries if you don’t like it.’

I watched eagerly as she licked the ice cream. An unreadable look crossed her face. Then – ‘This is almost as good as Hunk’s cookies!’

‘Really?’ Coran asked, twirling his moustache. ‘Well, then…’ he squinted to read the names of the various flavours. ‘I would like “cookies and cream”. Yes.’ A cone of cookies n’ cream was served.

‘Allura?’

‘Do you have something that isn’t sweet?’ That was a plot twist. I’d have taken her as someone who appreciated sweeter foods.

‘We do. You want spicy?’

‘…Sure.’ Peri Peri popcorn was given and enjoyed.

And last… ‘Lotor. What would you like to have?’

It takes me a lot of will to not laugh at Lotor’s way too analytical expression. ‘What would you recommend?’

‘Me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Out of all this stuff, candy floss is my favourite.’

‘Candy floss… the item that looks simultaneously like a cloud and an old woman’s hair?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I would like a helping of candy floss, then.’

As I hand Lotor a stick of cotton candy, I wait with anticipation for his reaction.

‘How am I supposed to eat this?’

It takes me a moment to process that. ‘Uh, you just… pinch a little of the stuff in between your fingers, then eat it. Or you could just, um, go in directly, which I’m thinking isn’t really your style.’

He narrows his eyes, but follows my instructions nonetheless. Only a second after putting the stuff in his mouth, Lotor purrs.

Everyone around him, being me, Coran and Romelle (Allura’s off telling Lance how great Earth food is), looks with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. Lotor appears as if he’s just died inside. The berry-shaded blush on his face is adorable, though.

'I didn't, like, poison you or something, right?'

'No. It's that... I would never in my lifetimes have expected something so tooth-rottingly sweet to be this delicious.'

'So you're okay?'

‘Yes. In fact, I quite like… this cotton candy.’

I grin.

[just-my-fandom]

Voltron Headcannons

Date set to post; July 25th, 2020

Date posted; August 6th, 2020

Request; Basically Headcannons where the reader gets hurt and the paladins take care of her!

Style; Headcannons

Note; I went in dept with this. Stay home and stay safe, guys!

Masterlist

Shiro

You scared yourself awake

After the paladins and their lions were thrown into the ports to different areas of space, you, Shiro, and Keith landed on the same planet

Not that you knew that

You had passed out during the fall out of fear, and when you woke up, it hurt to move because of the purple marks on your side,

Your helmet glitched as you tried to look around, noting how your lion, the white lion, had shut down

You heard your name being called through your ear piece, but you couldn’t tell which paladin it is, or if it was Allura or Coran

The back door to your lion hissed open and it startled you enough to jump in your seat, which caused you to hiss when the wound pulled,

“Easy. Try not to move,”

You lifted your head, and behold, your knight in shining armor

Not really, but Shiro was close enough

His brows were pinched with worry as he squatted down in front of your chair, and tried to help you stand without touching your burning side,

After three attempts and a thousand “ows,” Shiro settled on keeping you in your seat and trying to get in contact with Keith

Cue the weird creature things that had spotted the lion and the door that Shiro left open (stupid fuck), and Shiro ended up having to defend you with his glowing hand,

Sure he got a few scratches, but what’s a few more scars to match the rest

Keith eventually found your lion, and Shiro had you laying down because the position you were sitting in made the wound ten times worse

Keith and Shiro tried to patch up your side with what you have in your lions, but eventually they decided that they have to wait for the others to find them so you can be put in a healing pod

That night even after you’re healed Shiro still wouldn’t let you get out of bed even for a cup of water-

Keith

You were just training when it happened

Swinging a few at the training bot with your sword, out of breath, before it got knocked out of your hand and you were left throwing punches

You didn’t catch the arm of the bot pulling back (it had somehow caught your sword), before it lunged forward,

The sudden problem you had to breathe caused your movements to stop, and you finally looked down at where the sword had pierced just under your left breast

A wheezed “oh my God” escaped your lips in horror, the bot pulling the blade out to step back, announcing you had lost before it vanished,

You mentally prepared yourself to scream, only getting out a, “Keith!!” before you dropped to the metal floor,

Keith and Lance were both making their way down the hall to the training deck when they heard your shout, so naturally they both took off towards your voice,

Keith saw you first, cursing out loud when Lance rammed into him due to not stopping fast enough,

They both saw you on your back, one arm sprawled to the side as the other held your workout shirt, that was once a light (favorite/color) and was then stained red,

Keith demanded Lance to go get Allura as he fully stepped into the deck, using the towel he was going to use for sweat to press it to your wound, squatting down to fully look at your face,

“The bot,” You wheezed, eyes wide in a panic, “It stabbed me. I didn’t know it could do that,”

“Don’t talk,” Keith’s voice came out tougher than he had liked. You had gotten stabbed, you didn’t need a lecture,

You instead tilted your head back and whined, and Keith racked his brain to figure out what he could do to stop the bleeding until the other teammates got there,

“Holy Quiznack!” Keith had rolled his eyes at Corans shout, then when he looked up three of the paladins- plus Coran- had surrounded you

When they got to the medic bay and you were put in a healing pod, Coran was able to bring up security cameras that revealed how you had gotten injured,

“What level did you have that thing on? Death?”

That earned Lance a punch in the shoulder.

Keith did scold you when you were healed and out of the pod,

Pidge, Hunk and Coran took time to tweak the training bots so they couldn’t go as far as causing fatal injuries like yours,

You were low key scared to use the training bot again

Keith will do.

Hunk

So you and Hunk were sent on your own mission.

You had to sneak into a part of a Galra ship and steal a piece of tech that Pidge needed for an important part of the castle

Everything was fine and dandy until an alarm was set of- a Galra soldier had spotted you

Galra soldiers ended up raiding the halls that you and Hunk were in

While Hunk was able to to defend himself your bay yard had been shot from your hands so you were only given hand-to-hand combat

You were fine holding your end of the grudge until a Galra Solider had snuck up behind you and Hunk

He must have knew you would be more effected if you were shot, so just as you were about to pin another soldier, a hot wave of pain had hit your shoulder and caused you to release the soldier

You didn’t realize that it actually hurt until you turned to face the soldier who shot you, then black began to spot your vision and you were unable to keep yourself up

Hunk noticed that you’d suddenly just stopped fighting and that’s when he saw the blood on your uniform

Hunk was able to shoot down the remaining guards, then he was left to catch you, but he was freaking out so much he couldn’t bring himself to run, instead he just sunk to his knees and began yelling into his mic,

This led you to laughing despite literally fading in and out of consciousness and telling Hunk he needed to get you to the ship

Which he did, but running back to the ship even with more Galra soldiers chasing him wasn’t easy because he couldn’t just pull out his weapon and shoot with you in his arms

You may or may not had done a badass thing of pulling your gun from your thigh pocket and hazily shooting at the soldiers,

You luckily shot all of them so when you patted the back of Hunks head and dropped your gun, he stopped running to look back and realize he didn’t have to run anymore,

“Babe, I love you more than usual sometimes,”

“I don’t know if that’s a compliment or not so I’m gonna take it as one,”

Hunk then reminds himself that you’re barely there with them so he starts sprinting again and yelling for Coran to power a healing pod

You healed pretty quickly but Hunk had to give you a run down and scolded you as to why you didn’t use your thigh gun during battle instead of just using your fists,

All is good tho dw

Pidge (Short)

Believe it or not, it was Matt who had hurt you

You and Pidge had found a room with a map and locations and realized it was a spy facility

A figure suddenly snuck up on you and Pidge, and while Pidge was able to duck and roll to the side, you were hit upside the head with the strangers staff

And since you had taken your helmet off, it caused more damage to where you had to lay on the floor just to gain your vision back

Pidge is pissed, running at the figure with her weapon and they ended up fighting, and sure enough, low and behold, Matt’s identity was revealed

Pidge almost forgot about you when she hugged Matt, and she turned and called out for you in a panic, having not seen you move to show you were okay,

Which you were, just in pain from the force your head and face took and your head had began to throb,

“I did not mean to hit you that hard,” Matt said, when Pidge ran to your side and helped you sit up, her hand at your jaw giving Matt the go that you weren’t just a friend,

It ended up bruising, so there was just this big line going across your cheek and jaw that was an ugly purple and green color

Matt still apologizes to this day even tho it’s been weeks since it happened

You and Pidge sometimes laugh at him for it

Lance

So what had happened was-

You and Keith had to sneak on Zarkons ship

Yes, you and Keith

Lance wasn’t happy about that but

And right before you reached the area you had to get to, Keith was jumped and you were pulled into a side room, pinned to a wall with a hand at your throat

You easily passed out and when Keith turned around, you were no longer in his sight

Lance was livid

You woke up like three hours later in a cell

It was dark, clammy, and your throat was hurting from the pressure your capturer had put on it

Zarkon had his men chain you up and started electrocuting you for answers on Voltron

Of course as a valid member of the team you weren’t telling him shit

Which ended with you having a broken nose cause you had spit in Zarkons face and told him to “go to hell”

The one time Zarkon left you alone Lance and Keith rescued you, and the whole time Lance was reminding Keith that he should have gone on the mission with you instead of him

You ended up collapsing halfway through Zarkons ship, and it only freaked Lance out more because an alarm had gone off to alert that you had escaped

Cue Lance swooping you up and shooing Keith to run

Again you woke up a couple hours later in your bed at the castle and Lance was all sobby about it because “You could’ve died”

“But I didn’t,”

“Let me have my emotional moment, dammit. I could have left you behind,”

“Keith would’ve rescued me,”

Great, you made Lance mad and pout.

“I’m your knight in shining armor, not Keith,”

“Yes you are. Thank you, Lance,”

[harukamitsuki]

I don't think Lance should have swapped to the Red Lion.

TL;DR at the end.

Lance's connection to Blue was the first connection shown in the series, which makes it all the more meaningful, and it made no sense to the series own rules. Red is temperamental and difficult to control, which is why Keith was her paladin. I have defended Lance's piloting skills in a previous post, but he is not as good as Keith and does not suit the Red Lion. His affinity is water - as emphasised by the start of season 2. Red is aligned with water.

Plus, if he stayed in Blue he would have gotten a proper character arc by living by his own rules and standards and not in Keith's shadow. I know it was supposed to be symbolism - him accepting Keith as leader and not being selfish about it made him qualify as the right-hand man, but the others accepted him as well, despite ribbing Keith about it earlier.

If anyone should have gotten the role as the Red Paladin, it should have been Allura.

Allura as the Red Paladin would, not only make sense narratively, but would also seem right. Colour-wise, she's closer to Red's hue than Blue's, but honestly, I didn't really care about the colour match-up. What is important, is that it would seem like a much bigger deal than Lance accepting Keith as the leader. Lance hates Keith, but that's probably due to being constantly in his shadow and being compared to him, consistently reminded at the Garrison that he was only moved up because Keith was expelled.

Allura, however, has a deeper reason. (Lance's reason is still valid, btw, just not as big as Allura's). She hated Keith for a good portion of Season 2 because he is half-Galra. Obviously, to us, this is a shitty reason to hate someone. It's racism and the show doesn't handle this well. It doesn't handle a lot of stuff well, but whatever. She gives Keith the cold shoulder and Keith knows she hates him. He says so himself to Hunk and doesn't listen to his reassurances. Then again, Hunk was making jokes about something Keith was clearly sensitive about, so that may have had a hand in it too.

Now, I am not condoning her actions. She made Keith feel unwelcome in a team - a family - while he already has abandonment issues, (not that they knew that), and hated him for something he cannot control. Keith probably hated himself for being born. Both of them disregarded the fact that he is still a person with feeling and blood doesn't change that. Hunk too, as much as I love him, was also wrong in his 'Galra Keith' jokes, as if Keith was someone else entirely, when nothing changed apart from their knowledge.

However, what I am saying, is that Allura's reaction was, somewhat, believable and had a genuine reason - and a good one. The Galra Empire completely annihilated her species (as far as she's aware), betrayed the people she loved, and has monopolized entire planets and controlled them - forced them to work and even fight to the death for their entertainment. Apart from Ulaz, she hadn't a single good interaction with the Galra. One good person is not enough to change your opinion about entire races. I know people who are racist, proper racist, to their own race, no joke.

Allura's reaction was actually rather tame, especially compared to how extreme racism can be in the world, even now. She never rose a hand to Keith and kept it passive-aggressive. She gave him the cold shoulder and genuinely hated him, but she never hit him and she never deliberately sent him on a death mission. The Weblum mission was dangerous, but it was also a requirement and she didn't send him in alone. She may have refused to acknowledge his achievements, but she didn't blame him or accuse him of anything. It's likely that, when she saw him, all she saw was Galra. That being said, she wasn't a bad person, simply badly written. There are many people who hurt others for no reason - people who haven't been wronged in any way, but rate a community simply because they exist or they think they're lower than them or less human, which is wrong on so many levels. Allura, at least, had a good reason, though it should have been built on and written better.

In the end, Allura acknowledged her toxic attitude and apologised to Keith. This in and of itself does not make everything okay, but it's more than what Lance did, (virtually nothing except telling Keith that he has to be the leader). Allura knows she was wrong and sets out to make it right, and this development would have been solidified by her becoming the Red Paladin. Like, let's be honest. Lance does not treat Keith right and it's never explained why, in and outside of the show. He's the one antagonising Keith, even during their first proper meeting, and he's the only starting all the arguments, especially in season 2. Keith has been volatile too, I will admit, but he stops his behaviour in the second season. Lance is the one starting everything. Allura, however, stops her behaviour before it takes extreme lengths and becomes a better person and a better friend as a result. It's then that she calls Keith family for the first time, and becoming his right-hand would have shown how serious she was and how far they've come.

Seeing Allura, who, just the season prior, hated Keith's guts, accept Keith as her leader, the Black Paladin, become his right-hand, would have meant so much more. The symbolism goes even deeper. Red's first paladin was Altean and Black's was Galran. Need I say more? (No, but I will). Many of us were incredibly disappointed with the ending of Voltron, especially with Allura dying. The reason she died was to complete the circle, so to speak. The war against the Galra Empire truly started with the death of Allura's father, Alfor, and the entire species of Altea, and the war is finally ending with Allura and Honerva's death. That being said, it was just so insulting and pointless and nobody was happy. Instead of dying to complete the circle, Allura should have survived and broken the chain, for both herself and Red's own paladin tragedy. It was just a huge slap in the face for people who actually powered through seasons 7 and 8 and trusted the show to pull through and get its head together. I know that Shiro was supposed to get Black back, Keith goes back to Red and Allura controls the Atlas, but if that wasn't the plan, then Allura in Red would have made much more sense.

Additionally, the fight in that realm would have been more emotional if Allura was forced to fight her father and bring him back. Lance had no emotional attachment to Alfor, and I know that was the case with Hunk and Pidge, and Allura had attachment to all of the previous paladins, but still. Think about how heart wrenching it would have been for her to face her father, whom she loves dearly. he wouldn't have even recognised her and would have fought her with the intent to kill after his soul was trapped for 10,003 decapheobs/years. (I know they're different, but Allura says 10,000 years even when she didn't know what years were, so I didn't know if that was a mistake or not). Allura would not have been able to fight as well as she did against the Blue Paladin of Old.

Let's not forget that Allura was the one to convince Keith to take up the role of the Black Paladin. Of all the paladins, it was Allura who knew what to say; who knew why Keith was acting the way he was in season 3. Lance saw Shiro as his idol, Pidge as a legend, and Hunk as a mentor. Keith's relationship with Shiro is so much deeper than that. Shiro wasn't the youngest man to be sent into space. He wasn't someone to look up to. He didn't go to the Garrison because Shiro went there - he went there because Shiro convinced him. He doesn't see Takashi Shirogane, piloting prodigy, idol for all. He sees Takashi Shirogane, his best friend and brother, a man he can trust and how can trust him. Nobody else realises how deep this goes. Nobody but Allura. She's the only one to see how much Shiro meant to Keith. She's the one to call him 'irreplaceable' and she's the only one even by the end of the series, who isn't Keith, who has sacrificed something for him. Allura gave up her freedom for him by allowing herself to be captured, and then she gave up the crystal for his arm. Keith has saved Shiro many times, even his clone, and literally gave up his place in Voltron for Shiro. Allura trusts Keith and Keith allowed himself to trust her. She understands his pain when nobody else saw it.

Finally, Allura would have been inheriting Red from her father. Coran has explicitly said that Allura wanted to pilot Red due to her father piloting her. The Lions clearly have some amount of sentience, Red and Black especially. Black only opens themselves to Keith because he of Shiro. The first time, it's to save Shiro from death. The second, it's because Shiro wanted him to become the leader. Red only accepted Keith because he proved himself to her and has saved Keith many times while he's floating in space. She's described as temperamental, which suggest levels of sentience. Obviously, Red would have more of a soft spot for Allura, the daughter of her previous paladin, than she would for Lance, whom she only opens up to well into season 3 and is someone antagonised and even bullied Keith, her current/transitioning paladin. Allura also shows that she's fiercely loyal and is willing to give one up for the team.

Allura has sacrificed her only contact to her father, she has allowed herself to be kidnapped for Shiro, she has constantly exhausted herself for both her friends and strangers such as the Balmerans, she has given up the crystal in her crown for Shiro without hesitation, and she even dated Lance despite not showing any form of romantic attraction previously. (That last one was joke, obviously).

TL;DR - Lance has literally no reason to have become the Red Paladin outside of a rubbish character arc, and Allura has all the reasons. It would have marked an excellent character arc mid-point and would have set up a great ending, if handled well.

I have nothing but respect for the writers of Voltron for their work, especially after all the intervening of their higher-ups that caused many issues, especially regarding Shiro, Keith, Lance and Allura, who were all robbed of excellent character arcs. That doesn't mean I can't hate what came of it.

[amaranthkick]

Spy Games Ch 2

(ao3)

Shiro took a deep breath to calm his nerves. This was just a routine mission: talk to an intel agent and get information on the Galra. It’s just he didn’t do these types of missions often.

He sighed as he remembered why he took this mission in the first place. He was experimented on, tortured and had his arm replaced with Galran tech by the Galra. He had to stay at the Castle of Lions and had constant check ups to see any lasting damage or side effects from his imprisonment. All the concerned looks he’d get when his teammates thought he wouldn’t notice. He was starting to get a little stir crazy if he didn’t get out there in the field soon.

So he took the next available mission even if it was recon with minimal fighting to show them he’s ready for more missions, ready to do what he could to take down the Galra before any more people experienced what he went through. 

Coran said the informant would be waiting at Garrison Park, on a bench near the pond. He told him the informant might be tricky to work with. 

Shiro saw his mark, the person on the bench matched the description: a tall, lanky man, dressed in a blue shirt with a lion design, and expertly tossing a coin in the air. “Pidge, I see the informant and am going to make contact.”

“Roger that Shiro. -zzt-” There was a bit of static after her response but Shiro thought nothing of it and approached his target.

—

“Oh wow, uh, hi.” The target said, a little hesitant, eyes sizing him up.

Shiro tried to relax his posture and make himself look less threatening, it’d be a waste if he scared him away now. He asked if he could sit next to him, which the target allowed.

—

Holy crow, who was this gorgeous man? And he wanted to sit next to him?! Lance was pretty sure he was in heaven.

Lance had to thank Hunk for letting him on this little delivery. The client jipped him of a tip and instead gave him a roll of chips for the new casino that popped up but just meeting this guy made it all worth it.

Oh, he asked about anything of interest in the area. He must be new to the area, and lucky for him Lance has a love of gossip and knows everything about anything around here. Also he needs to keep an ear out in case the Feds somehow track him and Hunk for the ‘sudden black out’.

—

Shiro thought he’ll get a crick in his neck from nodding along as the informant talked about different people and places. He was certainly… knowledgeable. But he was sure to take mental note of these in case they have a connection to the galra; noise complaints from a factory, a club trying to be a cool secret club but everyone agreed it’s totally not, and there was a fire recently…

But then the informant seemed to catch what he was saying and backtracked. He coughs and his smile seems forced as he swears to Shiro that this area is safe.

The informant’s phone buzzes and he gets up suddenly. “Ah, gotta go. Oh wait, here!” Then he tossed Shiro a roll of… casino chips? “There’s a casino near here, you should be able to use those as a freebie, there’s no harm in trying, so long as you don’t spend too much on more coins, right? Nice to meet you!”

Shiro watched him leave a little dazed but somehow satisfied. He didn’t know why Coran said he was tricky to work with. He didn’t seem suspicious, actually he seemed pretty nice. He got lots of information, could some of them be red herrings? He tightened his grip on the roll of chips, might as well start with the casino. Hopefully he’ll find something on the Galra there.

—

Shiro was perched on a nearby apartment trying to look for places he could sneak in. His breath hitched and he nearly crushed his binoculars as he spotted the suits transferring some covered crates. He– He knew some of those grunts. They taunted him while he was chained down and he could only wait for the inevitable torture.

The Galra worked here or at least they have infiltrated this casino. He had to call the rest of the team for a full investigation.

—

“Great work, my boy!” Coran slapped Shiro’s back with a cheer. With Shiro’s warning, they were able to catch many Galra agents as they used the Casino to undoubtedly fund their wicked schemes. But with this they were able to deal some damage to the Galra.

“Ah, thanks.” Shiro sheepishly responded. “I was only able to find them because the intel agent you led me to.” Huh?

Shiro was called away by Keith before he could ask more. Coran twirled his mustache in thought.

Right after Shiro told them he was going to engage the intel agent, Pidge noticed there was some sort of jamming signal that cut off Shiro’s communicator for a moment. Keith immediately went to investigate and found their ‘intel agent’. Allura followed behind after he ran off recklessly. He tried to lead Keith to an ambush but thankfully Allura was there before everything went pear shaped.

They were about to tell Shiro the intel agent was a bust but somehow Shiro said he spotted some Galra grunts at a casino of all places.

Ah, hold on a tick, did they ever tell Shiro the intel agent he was supposed to meet was a fake?

Coran turned and hesitated when he saw the boy in good spirits as he was talking to Keith. No doubt happy his mission was a success and Allura wouldn’t be so hesitant to give him more field missions.

…Ah, why rain on his parade? It all worked out in the end anyway. He was certain the person Shiro met won’t come up anytime soon.

[mckinlily]

.match

Alteans marks are the source and subject of many legends. Cellica, they are called. Babies are born with skin entirely unadorned; the cheek marks are the first to appear about the same time the babies begin to sit up. They start as lighter patches of skin that quickly develop the stiffer, smoother texture of cellica. When the cellica develop to their full fledged color, the baby is taken to the local Priestess for their Naming Ceremony, where they are officially recognized as part of Altea. Throughout childhood and into the beginning of puberty, other marks appear. Along their arms, down their back, over their legs and hips. Although most cheek marks look the same from Altean to Altean, the others vary. The general placement and symmetry remains the same, but some are rounder, some more angular. Some come in continuous lines while others are broken up in patterns.

There’s a lot of superstition about cellica. Only those found on the cheeks are shown to the public--the rest are reserved for partners, family members, and very close friends. There is an old superstition that the shape of your cellica reflect the shape of your soul; to see one’s cellica is to see the essence their soul. Old wives tales and folk lore talk of evil alchemists using the shapes of one’s cellica to cast spells on them. Those tales are considered works of fictions these days, but the general belief--that these are something personal, private, to be shared only under the conditions of greatest trust--remains. The most personal marks are considered to be those that reside on the inside of one’s wrist. These marks tend to be slimmer, more delicate and intricate, and even the most brazen Altean who many be willing to walk with both their arms bare for the viewing will cover their wrists with bands or bangles. Hands are no longer so very scandalous as they once were, but most Alteans will still wear gloves. Even Allura’s fingerless gloves were considered risqué by certain members of the court when she first donned them, but she considered them quite old fashioned.

But other superstitions are more fun. There is a whole market of books and holo-vids and lectures claiming to “interpret” cellica ranging from personality to romance and destiny. The scientific community agrees that cellica are merely the result of random genetic variation and seem to serve a purpose in channelling and keeping one’s quintessence at a healthy level. While this is generally known by the public, is has done nothing to stop the public interest in cellica readings, rather like the Altean equivalent of horoscopes. Sure, everyone knows it’s basically nonsense, but it’s fun to imagine, is it not?

And the most persistent and enticing superstition is that the shape of your cellica will match those of your soulmate. Skeptics will point out that the definition of a match is left so vague and the variation between marks so common, that it is possible to claim any two people’s cellica “match.” Which, indeed, is exactly what happens. Some poor souls spend their whole lives chasing the perfect match or believing they match anyone they come in contact with. But most often, partners choose each other first and then find the similarities that “prove” their cellica compatibility later, thus perpetuating the legend. There are a multiple schools of thought theorizing which marking styles are compatible, which complement each other, which ones should never go together. And thus it is entirely possible for any combination of partners to confidently claim they were “fated.”

Like most children, Allura grew up imagining of the day she would share her cellica marks with someone special. She had little interest in courting and romance now, caught up as she was in studying and training and all the other duties that came with being a princess, but later (whenever later happened to be) she dreamed of baring her arms to someone she loved while they did the same and tracing out the similarities drawn in their skin. 

But then there was the Galra and the war--even if she had wanted to court, she didn’t have the time--and then waking up ten thousand years later to a people who were gone and a war that was still waging. Any thoughts of soulmates and romance were completely wiped from her mind, replaced by righteous fury, vengeance, and the need to survive. 

Allura keeps busy: planning battles, training the paladins, and most of all, trying to develop her new skills with quintessence. Alchemy had always been something other people did. Allura was more interested in fighting or flying or even law and diplomacy. But now her magic is essential to their survival and all she has to go off of are vague memories and Haggar. She is determined and desperate, racing to learn as much as she can because what she doesn’t know could be what gets someone killed. 

(...one of the paladins killed. Allura had never thought of finding family outside the one her blood gave her, never thought she’d need to, but they wormed their way in and they can’t--she can not lose them now.)

Allura may not know much about alchemy and magic, but it doesn’t take long for her to realize one of her cellica have changed. Where once was a delicate half-moon of shimmery pink inside her wrist is now a disfigured blob, duller and smeared like spilled oil. Horror strikes sharp pain in her sternum that works its way into something heavier and colder as she remembers Haggar’s red and jagged marks. In a sick way, it makes sense. Cellica have always been connected to quintessence, and she has been using more and in ways she had never imagined. Perhaps if she had someone older, someone knowledgeable and experienced to guide her, she could learn the tricks or skills or whatever it is to avoid it. But she doesn’t. She’s completely alone, the only other alchemist being Haggar, and she has to learn because otherwise innocent people will die.

Allura will never run away from the people who need her. Not again.

So she fights, and she learns. She battles Haggar to a standstill and tries so, so hard not to look at her arms. But sometimes she can’t avoid it, and she can hardly bare what she finds. The delicate, intricate cellica on the insides of her wrists are shattered now. Some splatter like spilled numvil, others have gone dull and sickly grey. New marks, disfigured and without symmetry smear over her arms and into her palms. They look like dead things, pressed into her skin and now a part of her. Some marks start out pink but turn grey-white and misshapen, and that’s somehow worse.

Allura tells no one. She knows that cellica are simply a quirk of genetics, that they have no bearing on the worth or character of a person, and that there had been those when Altea was still alive with disfigured or missing cellica who lived perfectly happy, valuable lives. It doesn’t change how she feels. Tainted, defiled, broken. She can’t even bring it up to Coran, the shame too much for her to bear. It was well known that when an Altean loved someone, truly loved them, and in moments of greatest intimacy, their cellica could light up like a personal galaxy. Allura has known since she first woke up that she will likely never have someone to glow for her, but she must now face the fact that she will never be able to glow for anyone else. Not without looking more patchy than starry and highlighting the broken and dead places where her cellica should be. The idea of it repulses her. She’s incapable of love like she wants--like she should--and she feels so broken, tainted and alone. 

But she can’t stop. Whatever she does, she won’t stop until the Galra are defeated and the universe is free again. If the personal cost is her marks and her soul, so be it. It is no one’s burden but hers. She wears her sleeves long and tight, says nothing, and carries on because that was what she was built to do.

Or, at least, that was what she meant to do. But the paladins are nothing if not unpredictable and perhaps no one more so than Shiro. He’s patient and thoughtful. Strong enough to survive the arena, the Galra, and everything they throw at him. And stronger still to remain kind through it all. He’s her strongest ally (tied with Coran), and over time becomes her closest confidant. They discuss the war and the strategies they need to survive, but their conversations frequently turn to something more. Shiro is curious about Altean history and culture and willing to listen no matter how long she babbles on. And although he doesn’t ask and she certainly doesn’t mean to tell, she ends up retelling old folk tales which leads to myths and cellica.

“There’s this old superstition that your cellica will match those of your soul mate,” she says.

“Is it rude to ask someone what their cellica look like?”

“Yes,” says Allura. She remembers her own cellica, damaged and meaningless now. She sighs.“Though perhaps not in my case.”

“Because you’re the princess?” says Shiro, looking adorably earnest and confused.

Allura almost laughs at him, but she can’t. Instead, she wraps a hand around the wrist where the damage is greatest. “No,” she says. “Because they won't match anyone anymore. Even if I did find more Alteans. They’re--they’re ruined.”

“Oh,” says Shiro. He doesn’t quite reach out for her, but his face emotes empathy.

And Allura doesn’t know why she does it, but she removes her gloves and pushes her sleeves up. The sleeves are too tight to get past her elbow, but it’s enough. Her ugly, shattered and disfigured cellica are on display. She holds them out to Shiro saying, “They’re supposed to be pink. And symmetric--” symmetry had always been important, no matter who you asked “--and not like this.” 

Shiro takes her hands, eyebrows pulling together as he scans over her arms and then back to her face. “Is this from the war?”

“Fighting Haggar,” Allura confirms. “The damage has stopped spreading mostly, but...” But it was there, irreversible, the price paid.

Shiro’s expression is sad but too deep to be pity. And he doesn’t tell her she shouldn’t have done it: he as well as anyone knows the costs of war. “I’m so sorry,” he said softly instead.

“It’s...” Allura means to say “it’s fine,” but Shiro is gentle and here, and it all comes tumbling out. The stories and the fear, the superstitions, the glowing and how she will never be able to show someone her love without also reminding them of how she was broken, and the way she feels tarnished, less of a person.

Shiro listens through all of this, his eyes moving between her face and her arms and back again. He’d asked if it was all right for him to touch her marks, and Allura hadn’t said no, but she hadn’t quite said yes either, so he remained, only holding her hands and gently squeezing her fingers. 

Eventually, Allura removes one of her hands to wipe at her eyes. She feels exhausted and heavy, and while sharing has lifted some of the burden, it’s also opened wounds she had been trying so hard to ignore.

Shiro hasn’t spoken in a while. Finally, he gets up, and Allura has the sudden, irrational fear that he’s leaving.

“Close your eyes,” he says. “Or just...” he hitches his shoulders uncomfortably, “don’t look.”

He turns his back on her, but then Allura realizes he’s messing with the hem of his shirt and she immediately looks away, cheeks hot. The idea of Shiro taking off his shirt, even if she isn’t looking, even if humans have very different standards of privacy is horribly embarrassing. She can hardly bare to hear the rustle of his clothes. 

Shiro huffs a soft laugh. “Okay, you can look now.”

He’s sitting in front of her again. His shirt is off, but he still has on the vest he normally wears on top of it, thank the Ancients. Allura is in no way ready to see all the skin of his chest right now. 

Allura is so distracted by her embarrassment, it takes her a minute to notice that Shiro is holding out his hands to her the same way she had to him earlier.

“I know it’s not the same, but...” He trails off, his lip caught between his teeth like he’s nervous.

It occurs to Allura that she’s never seen Shiro’s bare arms. She never questioned it before. He was the oldest of the paladins, and though Allura now knows that humans don’t have marks or any reason to cover their arms as they get older, it simply made sense to her that Shiro’s would be covered. But they’re bare now, and Allura is looking. Most noticeable, of course, is the Galra arm, the silver metal that she had seen before, though now she could also seen the red, scarred, and puffy skin where the metal meets flesh. The sight pains her.

But the other arm is possibly worse. There are scars running from a shiny welt behind his thumb to the gnarled knot over his shoulder. They come in all shapes and sizes, some patterned like claw marks, others smears as if entire chunks got melted or burned away. Still others arc and fracture like electricity. There’s a whole world of pain and endurance and torture in just one arm, and Allura has to be mindful of her strength so that she doesn’t crush his hands in her fury. 

“Just...” says Shiro when she doesn’t respond. He shrugs uncomfortably, looking both nervous and tentatively hopeful. “I’m not symmetric either. We match.”

We match. Allura’s eyes meet his. His smile is nervous--no, embarrassed. His shoulders hunch in even as he holds his arms out to her, and Allura realizes he keeps his scars covered for the same reason she hides hers. Because they feel shameful, tainted, and reminders of pain and trauma. 

And yet Allura doesn’t see Shiro as broken. She can’t. He is the strongest person she has ever known, and she takes a certain, vicious pride in knowing he was strong enough survive this--that he came back to them and leads and fights with them now. The scars are proof that the Galra tried to destroy him. But they didn’t. Shiro is still here, noble and determined as ever, and lending his strength to keep them going every day.

Allura looks down at where their hands rest between them, both covered in random, ugly and disfigured marks. Shiro is right: they do match. Not because of any lore, but because they have both fought--and lost and suffered and picked themselves up and kept fighting because they refuse to be defeated. These are marks they wear so that others won’t have to. Marks of sacrifice, of love and determination.

Both of them would die to save the universe. But they haven’t. They have lived.

Allura gently squeezes Shiro’s fingers. She doesn’t have words, but she doesn’t have to because Shiro understands. For the first time since her first cellica changed, she doesn’t feel so very alone.

“Thank you,” she says softly.

“You don’t need to thank me.” Shiro takes his arms back, tucking them against his chest. His cheeks are red, and he ducks his head. “I know it isn’t pretty.”

Allura places her hand on his shoulder. Seeing the same emotions in Shiro and reflected back at her is strange but also freeing. “Shiro,” she says. “Nothing about you is ugly or shameful. I promise you.”

Shiro’s eyes look over-bright for a moment, but he still smiles. “The same is true of you, Allura. A million times over. We are so incredibly lucky to have you.”

It’s Allura’s turn to blush, and a few spots among her ruined cellica lighten, a disjointed attempt to glow. But this time, next to Shiro who has scars and loss of his own, she doesn’t feel so very broken.

Allura still wears her sleeves long. She will probably never show her cellica to anyone, even though Coran and the paladins are as good as family. The loss is still deep. But when she looks across the bridge, Shiro is there, with his own dark sleeves and hidden pain, and when he catches her looking, his eyes gleam with determination.

They may not both be Altean, but they have clearly been marked by the universe in their unique ways. They match, and perhaps that’s all cellica and soulmates are about in the end: a promise neither one of them is alone. 

[klance-fics]

oh my god please tell me you have space road trip fics 🤲🏽🤲🏽🤲🏽

oof anon good question, space road trip fics are my fave

just come to me once

laallomri

Lance’s smile widens. He leans forward, and the prickling in Keith’s chest gives way to butterflies, fluttering wildly in his stomach, and oh wow has Lance always had this many freckles, has he always had eyelashes that long, has he—

Lance pokes his cheek, right over the Galra mark. Keith blinks.

“I can’t believe you and your mom have matching face tattoos now,” he says, and it’s so fucking dumb, but it’s exactly the kind of dumb thing Keith has longed to hear, and before he knows what he’s doing he’s surging forward, almost knocking Lance back against Red’s paw, and throwing his arms around him.

In which Keith lives on a space whale, goes on a road trip, and (eventually) gets a boyfriend.

in this moment, you mean everything

rosedvst

“You really wanna kiss me, Kogane?” Lance asks, suddenly serious. His fingers twitch anxiously and his teeth gnaw at his bottom lip.

Keith looks at him through the screen, right into his blue-brown eyes. (He can never tell what color Lance’s eyes are--they always seem to be shifting and changing in the light, just like the inside of a kaleidoscope.) “Yeah,” He breathes. “Yeah. You just said you wanted to make me a mixtape in a declaration of your love to me. I want to kiss you so hard right now.”

if you find you're falling

jilliancares

Team Voltron's on their way home! Thus follows a series of adventures as Keith and Lance realize their feelings for each other and fall in love, entirely prompted by a 30 day writing challenge.

[void-tiger]

It just isn’t practical to me for Shiro’s Scars to have come from the arena. Oh, he definitely has some, the majority being defensive, but they’re almost all superficial, and many of them already fading.

Because the Galra aren’t going to waste medical supplies treating gladiator, not even crowd favorites or careers, and certainly not the slaves and fodder. And despite Humans maxing out their endurance even if they’re not the fastest or strongest, bones and organ and skin are still very delicate things. They’re sturdy enough, but one bad fall or hit or wrenching motion is all it takes. Contusions and stress fractures can still be Very Bad if left untreated. And the galra would kill off a sick slave (or even another freeborn galra) rather than risk an epidemic.

“Victory or Death” —wipe out the weakness.

So Shiro’s fighting strategy is to quite literally DON’T GET HIT; Get Fast or Get Dead. Use his mind to outthink and use his “smaller” body and insanely high stamina (and stubborness) to out maneuver and outlast. Don’t be shy about killing blows or disabling strikes—it’s Them or You, and the Galra will either condemn them to a slow, agonizing death or put them down much more painfully than even you in arena conditions. (Also Jiro telling Keith to Just Let Go softly—he probably inherited that from Shiro. Shiro trying to comfort his opponant as he’s killing them, because Dying Isn’t An Option for Shiro, but he also knows that they both can’t survive, that the Galra will just kill the other slave, that the arena is lonely enough void of any scrap of kindness. But giving a swift or easing death? Making sure they won’t die ALONE? That he can do. Be the Angel of Death rather than be the Arena’s Champion.)

That doesn’t mean Shiro doesn’t rebel. He certainly does, and pays dearly for it. The only reason why he wasn’t struck down right then is because Sendak enjoys breaking his toys, and Shiro’s spirit is a delicious challenge he hasn’t seen in milennia. Sendak’s going to relish Champion.

That doesn’t mean Haggar and her Druids and Scientists and Androids won’t take Champion apart piece by piece to see how he’s made, how to put him back together again, see if Terrans are worth the effort to take as stock, see what sets Champion apart from the other two Terrans taken and every other known being she’s seen over her very long life. See what improvements she can make, ideas she can test. (Champion’s illness is also both a frustration but also a wonderful puzzle. She will FIX him. Make him BETTER. And he will be HERS and worship her for it.) Haggar is very deliberate in putting Champion back together again and sealing the wounds she left. But her methods still leave raised, angry-looking scars that are tender to the touch. (She’s careful not to damage nerves. Pain is a nuisance Champion will endure if he’s wise. But she made the mistake in causing a subject to lose feeling—he died soon after. Haggar never makes the same mistake twice.)

So when Shiro looks at himself, his back is a mottled mess of electric burnmarks left by his guards, he assumes. Viciously he doesn’t mind—GOOD. He fought back. They didn’t break him. He knows they didn’t...right? But. He gave them hell right back.

His remaining arm and hand and legs and feet are crisscrossed with faded slashes and sometimes dotted with double-Us left by teeth. Defensive marks. By color they were all presumably superficial. He fought, and he survived. They never got a good hit in. He’a both relieved and overwhelmed with horrible guilt—if he survived, that means they didn’t. He killed them. What kind of monster does that make him if he valued his own life over theirs? But what would’ve happened to his kids and Allura and Coran and the BlackLion if he didn’t? To the Universe? But. He still killed innocents. What right does he have to the Black Paladin mantle over Zarkon after that?

(His thighs and ass and pecks have much deeper bite wounds and claw marks. Shiro tries very, very hard not to think about them or to let anything touch these scars directly. Tries not to remember remember his instant recognition of Sendak, particularly his teeth and definitely his claws, both natural and artificial. How Sendak entering the Castle and hurting his friends and taunting him—don’tthinkdon’tthinknodon’tthinkabouthimtouchingyou—forces Shiro to lie awake or have a new set of nightmares. His guilt over that vicious relief when Sendak was finally gone and off the ship.)

Or the scar on his nose—Shiro hates how visible both it and the shock of white hair are (and how tender that part of his scalp is whenever he accidentally brushes it). He can’t hide it. Not unless he wants to keep his face covered for the rest of his life. He could dye his bangs back to black...if the Alteans even have hair dye. (Do they just change their haircolor like they do their height and skin when they’re bored??) But, other than being so visible and a testiment to the world about that year he can’t remember (probably for the best...right??) and his scalp being this constant itch and his face a raw, tender ache that pulls (and makes him have snuffled snores now. Snoring’s new...) they don’t exactly look bad.

Frosted bangs are a classic look. He’s never had them but he’d definitely been curious about it. (The GG’s just barely lax about haircuts, but still had a stick up their ass with dyed hair. And his faded undercut and bangs were already pretty expensive to have kept all the time.) And he can kinda pretend that his scar’s just the Voltron Symbol upside down—he doesn’t really put much stock in fate or destiny, but still. It’s a nicer thought than most. (His opinion sours slightly after seeing Shay suspended and muzzled. That contour. It’s the same one on his own face. At some point they muzzled him, but it either rubbed his skin raw, or didn’t fit him properly, or both.)

But the scars Shiro cannot avoid and definitely bother him—that mortician Y incision on his chest. It’s raw and it’s raised and it’s ragged. Someone cut into him, mucked about inside, sealed it up, used the same spot and did it all over again. It’s ugly and tender in a way none of his other scars are, and fills him with helpless rage when it catches (all the time) or he sees it (he tries So HARD not to look at it. He’d rather cover the bathroom mirror and use a hand one when he’s stuck shaving off his whiskers. He hated shaving before—it takes so damn long. He definitely hates it now, but traditional blades are slightly better than buzzing electric ones that close to his face and throat...if he doesn’t nick himself, anyway...) The raised lines that follow the contor inside his arms (well, what’s left of his right arm) and legs match in precision, but they’re not as angry looking, if slightly.

The reason Shiro learns why, though, is less than comforting. He could say that he’s Wolverine Now but. He didn’t consent to that. He didn’t consent to any of this, and they still violated him so thoroughly and invasively, anyway. And unlike his Arena Scars, the raw scars and callouses on his remaining wrist and ankles say that no matter how hard he tried to resist, they still got their way, anyway. They took him at his most helpless and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it. And he wasn’t strong enough to keep things from progressing that far.

Before Kerberos, Shiro was already pretty modest. He didn’t like people staring at him or the snide remarks and other unwanted attention. He felt fairly comfortable in his own skin, but didn’t like either being jeered at for “not earning things” or dealing with people liking the way he looked but not really liking him (and okay so he’s tall and his eyes are unusual but...he just looks fairly average?? Trying to buy clothes is also awful—it’s always too tight or HUGE. How can awkward fits be attractive, anyway?)

After Kerberos. Well. He has a new set of reasons to not want the other paladins to see him even with just his shirt off. He doesn’t want to see his own scars, and he definitely doesn’t want to deal with anyone looking at him with pity or morbid fascination or revulsion (either because of his scars being so ugly looking...or worse, because of how he got them. For not being strong or smart enough to stop them, and instead became someone else’s pet to survive many times over. For getting them as “payment” for being unable to save his crew, and flying too damn well and landing them all in danger.)

[shirophantomvox]

Any Advice?

What’s up y’all? I’m here with another story from the prompt : Alfor learns Zarkon is getting married by @vld-prompts. Enjoy! 

The red sky on Planet Daibaazal seemed rather darker than usual. This was a beautiful darker shade of red. The sky was a beautiful ombre blended red to dark red with the sky full of stars. The sky and ground suddenly were full of light brown dust, quickly flying and dissolving in the air.  Out came the creator of Voltron; King Alfor of Altea. He nearly ran up the many stairs of Daibazaal to meet his friend on the platform. When he removed his helmet, Zarkon looked rather upset than content like he usually did. The snow-white haired king frowned, shaking his head. Zarkon had everything he wanted at his fingertips; what could he possibly be upset about?

“Is something wrong, Zarkon?” 

The King saw that he had something folded in his hands, his fists were clenched; hard. Zarkon looked flushed; so flushed as if he’d seen a ghost. 

As the two friends were on their way to the “Board Room”(The board room is a  room where Zarkon had important meetings with his high ranking generals), everyone was running up and down the halls with flowers, table cloths, balloons, and other elegant party favors trying to place them in their necessary places. The inside of the Galra Palace already looked fabulous, but these gold and red decorations made the little details pop. It was customary that no later than 1 phobe after a proposal, the groom has to provide a “welcoming dinner” for the brides’ family and close friends. This was done so that the “strangers” could be quickly acquainted. This event happened up until a movement before the wedding. Galra weddings were slightly different than the ones on Earth. Both the groom and bride wear matching colors of red, black, and gold while the audience wore just purple, pink, or white. Instead of the bride having a veil, she wore a flower crown full of her planet’s most popular flower. This symbolized delicacy and trust. The groom also wore a flower crown full of red roses. The roses symbolized love and commitment. Instead of reading vows, they light three candles; each symbolizing hope, faith, and encouragement.  It could be said that the Galra valued relationships more than any species in the universe. Alfor had asked Zarkon over and over what was bothering him but he kept skurring around the question. 

“Zarkon, you didn’t answer my question. What’s going on? Why is everyone running around like their heads are cut off?” 

“Boy, you can’t just let it go, can you?”

“Well, you’re acting rather strange.”

“How?”

“Well for starters, you haven’t said anything to Blaytz about him asking the server for his fighting schedule.” 

“I’ve never minded that.”

“You’re lying. Dare I ask? Why are you being so...nice?”

“What? I’ve always been nice!”

“No, you haven’t. You’re very stern.”

Alfor folded his arms and gave Zarkon the stare of slight intimidation. He wasn’t going anywhere until the tea was spilled.  

“Very well. I’ll tell you.” 

“I’m listening.” 

“Don’t make a big deal about this but...I proposed to Honerva 3 movements (weeks)  ago.” 

Alfor eyes widened and his mouth dropped nearly to the ground. His reaction was priceless! The King was rather surprised that his stern, follow-by-the-book friend had found love and that he was actually going to pursue marriage for love rather than seeking out a bride. You see, for several deca-phobes, each Emperor, Prince, and Princess would be matched with a partner to marry but Zarkon decided that he would no longer participate in that tradition. When he was a prince, his father tried to arrange for him to be married to a woman that attended the same military school as him. She was very nice and sweet, but he did not love her and she didn’t love him. Some Galra didn’t hesitate to tell  Zarkon about how disappointed they were once they found out that he was breaking tradition. It was more surprising that he was going to marry Honerva of all people. She was free-spirited in a way; not only did she enjoy learning and teaching others about science and the endless solutions it provided, but she also enjoyed her free time and did whatever she wanted. Zarkon on the other hand lives his life on a narrow path. He trained day and night and when he did have free time, he spent it hiding from Kova. Well, you know what they say...opposites attract. 

“That’s wonderful news! I saw her yesterday. Why didn’t she say anything?”

“I told her to keep it a secret. I was planning on telling you all once you came over for dinner. I wasn’t expecting for you to stop by so early.” 

“Well, cheer up! Marriage is a great thing! You’ve found your other half!”

“I’m aware of that I’m just...I don’t know...nervous…?”

Alfor laughed. Is this coming from the strong-willed Emperor Zarkon? No way. 

“This is why I didn’t want to say anything.”

“Forgive me Zarkon.  You are one of the most powerful leaders in the known universe. What do you have to be nervous about?”

“I may be powerful, but a charmer? No. I’m not funny like her. She’s smart and beautiful but me? All I can do is lead the military and that’s it.” 

“Obviously, there’s something that she likes about you. Whenever we met for our morning meetings for the last 12 phoebs (months), you were all she talked about! She said you had a sense of humor!”

“Huh?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Hey!”

“I’m just pulling your string, Zarkon. She said that your ability to lead shows how much you value the people around you and how you care about their safety and wellbeing. Don’t be so hard on yourself, my friend. Everything will be ok.” 

“I hope so. Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.” 

Zarkon pointed to a room where he and Alfor entered and sat in two cherry red comfortable cushioned chairs. 

“What’s going through your head?”

Zarkon sighed and wiped his face. 

“How were you able to confess your love for Melenor in front of a crowd of people without tearing up?” 

“I imagined that we were alone. If you tear up, that’s ok! It’s perfectly normal to cry. Just look into her eyes and speak from the heart.” 

“I know...but--”

“I’m sure you did that when you proposed, didn’t you?”

“Yes. I have another question.”

“What is it?”

“How did you get through your...honeymoon?” 

Alfor smiled and raised a brow. He was a genius by day and a freak by night. 

“I can’t advise you about that. That’s something you and your wife will have to figure out.”

“How?”

“You’re overthinking it. Just wait for you two to be alone together in 5x5 room. Remember how you felt when you kissed her fo the first time? Multiply that by 10 million. Don’t worry. You’ll be fine.” 

Zarkon sighed in relief. Talking to his best friend made him feel so much better and more confident. What’s better than putting that confidence to the test? The door flung open and there stood a woman dressed in a purple gown and a purple hat with a beautiful flower on it. This was Zarkon’s royal advisor; she was his public representative. 

“Sir. Honerva is here,  awaiting your presence.”

“She’s here now? I told her--”

A heavenly sound came from behind this woman’s head. So quiet and elegant, I might add. Zarkon already knew who it was. He stood up straight and proceeded to the threshold of the door. 

“May I come in?”

Her bright blue eyes were piercing through his soul. She smiled because she was finally going to have some alone time to talk about their future and any other arrangements.  Her Altean markings began to glow as she began to scratch Kova on his stomach. She knew Zarkon hated Kova, but this was her way to pick at him in the most loving way possible. 

“Please, do.”