#air force shiro

[lumiambrose]

✰ the sharp edge of passion

kinktober 24 - day seventeen

featuring: best friend!soshiro hoshina x f!first division!reader

summary: after months of distance, you finally get to see your best friend at the jakdf annual event. you two decide to make up for the lost time away from the event, only for your teasing to finally make him snap.

tags: smut, knifeplay, he actually cuts you (lightly), brat tamer!hoshina, degredation, praise, p in v, oral(m!receiving), he cums inside, petnames (dear, slut), imlpications of getting caught (if you squint reaaaallly hard at the end)

wc: 1.8k

the annual defence force celebration is in full swing, with officers and personnel from all divisions gathered together for the night. you've been looking forward to this event for weeks, not for the fancy drinks or the chance to network, but because you finally get to see your best friend, soshiro.

as you scan the crowded room, your eyes finally land on him. he's standing near the bar, looking sharp in his formal uniform. your heart skips a beat as you make your way towards him, weaving through the sea of people.

"shiro!" you call out, unable to contain your excitement. he turns at the sound of your voice, immediately beaming.

"there you are," he says, pulling you into a quick hug. "i was beginning to think you stood me up."

you laugh, shaking your head. "never. i wouldn't miss the chance to see you for the world."

the two of you spend a while catching up with each other, sharing stories alike. but in the busy hall, you can barely hear him. opting to ditch the event to talk to him, you nudge his arm, "want to get some air? maybe take a walk?"

hoshina nods, seeming just as eager to escape the crowd. "lead the way," he says, gesturing towards the exit.

you slip out of the event together, the cool night air a welcome relief as you explore the ariake maritime base together. you walk side-by-side, happy to be in his presence again, reminding you how much you missed him.

the two of you ultimately find yourself in one of the training rooms, with machines and weapons decorating the walls and floors. your eyes dart to a set of dual blades laying on the floor. without thinking much of it, you pick them up, feeling them up in your hands before messing around with them. much to hoshina’s amusement, you’re swinging them around, pretending to fight an invisible enemy, even attempting some of his signature moves.

"what are you doing?" he asks, clearly amused by your antics. you simply shrug, continuing to play with the blades. "just having some fun," you reply nonchalantly.

"you shouldn't be playing with those if you don't know how to use them properly," he scolds, now sounding more serious. "give them to me." he reaches out to take the blades from you, but you dodge him before pressing one to his neck playfully. "or what?" you taunt, a mischievous glint in your eye.

something snaps inside of him at that moment. whether it’s natural instincts or he simply can’t take the tension between you two anymore, he doesn’t know. "you little brat," he growls, his hot breath tickling your ear. "you have no idea what you're getting yourself into."

before you could even react, he grabs your wrist, twisting your arm behind your back as he takes the blades from you. once in his hands, he spins you around, pinning you against the wall with his body. the cold metal of one of the blades presses against your throat as he leans in close, his stern gaze boring into yours. “it seems i have to teach you a lesson, one you certainly won’t forget,” he promises as his lips ever so slightly curl up into a smirk.

“i’m quite disappointed. who knew captain narumi’s officers were so ill mannered?” he starts to run the blade lightly over your skin. for now, only using the blunt side. you feel it glide over your clothing before somehow catching onto it, leaving a cut in your evening dress. it makes you shiver. as scared as you should be of the man in front of you, you’re nothing but excited to know what he’ll do next.

“p-please…” you whimper, your tone unclear of whether you’re begging him to stop or continue.

“please what?” he asks, danger laced in his voice. “please stop? or please continue? you need to be more specific, dear.” he chuckles darkly, sending shivers down your spine. “i guess i’ll decide for you.”

and with that, he cuts the straps of your dress, the blade slicing through the fabric like it’s nothing. you let out a sharp gasp as the cool air hits your exposed skin, your nipples hardening under his gaze. “fuckin’ gorgeous,” he murmurs, eyes searching your body with hunger.

he traces the blade down between your chest, now using the sharp side to tease you. it catches on your skin, drawing thin lines of blood. you whimper at the sting of pain, but it’s quickly replaced by something else. hoshina leans down to where the cut is, lapping the crimson trail with his tongue, his eyes never leaving yours.

"you're mine," he growls possessively, his free hand gripping your hip tightly. "i'm going to mark every inch of you, claim you as my own.”

he cuts away your remaining clothing with utmost precision, making sure you’re unscarred for now. the blade slicing away the expensive fabric with ease. you stand in front of him, completely exposed and vulnerable, while your body trembles with fear and desire.

he steps back, admiring your naked body. “on your knees,” he commands, his voice booking no room for argument. “it's time for you to show me how sorry you are for your little stunt.”

you initially hesitate, but the look in his eyes tells you that disobedience won’t be tolerated. slowly, you sink to your knees before him. the man you consider your best friend, completely unrecognisable.

he reaches down, fisting a hand in your hair and guiding you towards his clothed erection, unbuttoning his slacks with his free hand. “open your mouth,” he orders, the grip he has on you tightening. “and if i feel even a hint of teeth, you’ll regret it.”

you part your lips, tongue darting out to wet them. he lets out a low groan as you take him into your mouth, his length hard and heavy on your tongue.

“that’s it, take it all,” he encourages, hips bucking forward slightly. “show me how well you can please me.”

you relax your throat, taking him deeper, stretching your throat around his girth. his scent fills your nostrils, entracing you while you taste him, making you eager for more.

the grip he has on your hair tightens as he starts to thrust into your mouth, losing himself in the sensation. you gag slightly as his dick hits the back of your throat, but you don’t pull away, you don’t want to.

"fuck, just like that," he groans, his head falling back in pleasure as you take him deeper into your throat. "you look so pretty with your lips wrapped around my cock.”

he speeds up, desperately fucking your face and chasing his high. your eyes are watering and you’re lacking oxygen, but you keep going, you know he’s close.

"i'm going to fill this pretty mouth with my cum," he warns, his thrusts becoming more erratic. "you're going to swallow every last drop like a good little slut.”

you moan around his length, his words hitting your core, which is all it took to push him over the edge. with one final thrust, he buries himself deep in your throat, his cock pulsing as he shoots his load down your throat. you swallow it all, desperate to please him.

he pulls out slowly, his softening cock slipping from your lips. He smears the remnants of his release across your face, marking you as his.

"so pretty, such a good girl for me," he praises, sounding satisfied with your performance. "you took your punishment so well.”

he helps you to your feet and grabs the blade he once discarded, while his other hand roams over your body possessively. "but don't think we're done yet," he warns, a wicked glint in his eye. "i'm going to take you in every way possible, claim you so thoroughly that you'll never forget who you belong to.”

he bends you over a nearby table and holds the blade to the back of your throat, making you whimper in fear. your chest is pressed against the cold surface as he kicks your legs apart, and you feel the thick tip of his cock pressing against your entrance, teasing you with what's to come.

"beg for it," he demands, his blade egging closer and closer to you, applying pressure to your fragile skin. "beg me to fuck you like the desperate little slut you are.”

you whimper needily, aching for his touch. "please, shiro," you gasp out, your voice barely above a whisper. “please fuck me. damn it—make me yours."

your desperation makes him chuckle. “that’s more like it,” he purrs, his cock teasing your wet folds. “you sound so pretty, begging for me.”

he lines himself up once again, this time seathing himself inside of you, stretching you around his thick cock. the sudden intrusion makes you cry out in pleasure, back arching as he fills you to the brim.

"fuck you're so tight," he groans, his hips setting a brutal pace as he pounds into you. "i'm going to ruin this pretty little cunt, make it mine.”

you can only moan in response, hands gripping onto the table as he fucks you mercilessly. each thrust hitting deep inside you, sending jolts of pleasure through your body, bordering on the verge of pure ecstasy.

the blade, which was once at your neck, now finds itself to the side of your thigh, slapping the soft skin. he leans over you, his chest pressing against your back as he whispers filth into your ear. "you're mine now, all mine. i'm going to fuck you whenever i want, however i want. you're my cute little fucktoy to use as i please.”

you shamelessly clench around his words, enjoying the harsh contract to the man you usually see, the depravity of it all only heightens your arousal.

"cum for me," he demands, his blade snaking around to tease at your clit. "cum on my cock like the desperate slut you are."

his command is all it takes to send you over the edge. your orgasm crashes over you as wave after wave of pleasure washes through you.

he follows soon after, giving it a few more needy thrusts until his cock pulsing inside you, filling you with his seed. you can feel it, hot and thick, painting your insides with his claim.

he pulls out, cleaning himself up as he takes in the sight of you. fucked out and stuffed full of his cum. to him, you look absolutely breathtaking right now. “so pretty,” he mumbles under his breath. “you take me so well, dear.”

you can only nod in response, still catching your breath from his ‘punishment’. he unbuttons his shirt before helping you up and dressing you with it. “how about we continue this in your room? after all, i promised to make you mine.”

you sneak out of the training room, eager to continue your little game with hoshina. so eager that you forget the remnants of your cut-up dress, which a certain first division captain finds scattered across the floor the very next day…

taglist: @ryescapades @justwinginglife @143-ilyuu @maruflix @pixelcafe-network @ouiouimochi @hoshinasblade

©lumis kinktober 24' ─ do not translate, repost, copy any of my works

[justwinginglife]

How Soshiro Hoshina Broke The Internet

Just a silly lil fic based off of a conversation I had with @ryescapades and @minasfwoopyponytail, thanks for indulging my goofy ideas! We love our precious baby Soshiro. Once again, mentions of mature content, but no explicit detail, we're here for a silly time not a sexy one.

“You’re 50 Shades of Stupid and this is your dumbest idea yet.” 

Hoshina grumbled and grumbled, but it didn’t stop Narumi from eagerly setting up the camera and chuckling to himself. “Hey, you lost the bet; this is your punishment, own up to it.”

If it had been just the two of them alone, he might’ve socked Narumi in the jaw. Might’ve declared the bet faulty and stomped off. Might’ve challenged him to another dare with double the stakes to distract Narumi and to avoid paying the price of his last lost challenge. 

But Okonogi was there as a witness, Captain Ashiro was there for moral support (she wanted to take pictures of this whole ordeal and claim it was for the good of the Defense Force), and you were there to make sure he didn’t storm off, with your big brown eyes that he fell victim to every time. 

If Hoshina even looked like he might bail, Narumi would call out to you, “Y/N! Looks like your man’s a big wimp. If you ever wanna know what a real man is like, my door’s always open,” and then Hoshina would stare him down, storms in his eyes, thunder in his throat, as he swore misfortune upon the Narumi line for the next 70 generations if he so much as breathed near you. And Narumi would laugh, knowing he had Hoshina right where he wanted him. 

It didn’t help that you were also curious to see this all play out, so whenever Hoshina would start to sulk, you’d dance your fingers through his hair and murmur against his ear, “But baby… I wanna see it too. Do you think, maybe, you could do it just for me? Please, ‘Shiro? I’ll love you eternally.”

So he begrudgingly put on the bunny ears. 

When Ashiro snapped a picture of him, Hoshina cursed her family name too. Then he threatened to tell Kafka every embarrassing story he knew about her until she put her phone away. But her hand hovered by her pocket as though she was just waiting for the opportune moment to strike.

Narumi finally had everything set up the way he wanted it; all Hoshina had to do was dance. Apparently dancing was all the rage on TeekTook these days. 

Hoshina flipped Narumi off but when the music turned on, he danced as promised. And when Okonogi laughed so hard they had to redo the take, he made a mental note to curse her family line as well. 

Finally, the video came to its conclusion and his debt was paid. Hoshina collapsed on the ground, exhausted from the shame of it all. Narumi snickered, but you shooed him off, even bothering to kick the girls out of the room too. Then you knelt down on the floor in front of him and took his face in your hands. 

“See, all done, baby. That wasn’t so hard.” You murmured as you planted kisses over every square inch of his face. 

He accepted your kisses but he still pouted. “Easy for you to say. That was worse than going to battle.”

You nibbled on his ear and trailed kisses down his neck. “Aww, don’t say that, love. You looked so sexy dancing like that. I might be your number one fan.”

He yanked you closer to him. “Yeah? Keep saying things like that and I might just take you right here, in Narumi’s office.”

“It would serve him right, don’t you think? Besides, I think your number one fan deserves an autograph. Maybe you could write it out to me with your tongue? Hmm?” Your voice was dripping with innocence though your intentions were anything but. 

And when Narumi finally came back to his office to find the smell of sweat and sex stenching the air, to find his chair had been broken from exertion, to find his desk was sticky with slick, he cursed Hoshina and then cursed himself for not thinking up a more torturous punishment. 

Narumi’s displeasure continued when he awoke the next morning and discovered that Hoshina’s dancing video had gone viral, but not in the way that he’d wanted. Everyone was calling him the sexiest captain in the Defense Force. Narumi snapped his phone in half after reading all the comments in favor of Hoshina.

When you got your hands on this information, Hoshina should’ve run. You were far too devious not to use this to your advantage. But he fell victim to the curl of your lashes as they batted at him and the next thing he knew, you were setting up the camera for another video. 

“R-remind me why we’re doing this again?” He asked meekly as he watched you flit about, prepping the equipment. He could feel an impending sense of doom settling in, but you were so adorable that he found it impossible to resist you. He could only hope you’d go easy on him. 

“Baby, you can’t let your followers down.” You said matter-of-factly, still fiddling with the camera. “Think of this as boosting citizen morale.”

“Please, I don’t want to dance again,” He pleaded.

You took him in your arms and ran your hands up and down his back until he relaxed. “No more dancing, I promise. How about we just do a trend, okay?”

He sighed. “Do I have to?”

“I’ll let you try that position on me again, the one we almost broke Narumi’s desk with.”

He sat up straight. “Fine. Fine. Strap the mic to me. What are we doing?”

You handed him a script. “Just need you to say this and then we’re all done, easy peasy.”

He took the paper from you and peered at the words. His brows furrowed in confusion as he skimmed the page. “Okay, what does ‘very mindful, very demure’ mean and why am I saying it?”

Several videos later -he was unsure how you’d managed to coax multiple out of him when he’d only originally promised you one- his views had doubled and he’d acquired a fairly large fanbase, much to Narumi’s dismay. With every follower that he accumulated, you found yourself brewing more and more schemes. Just how much could you make him do? Just how much would he let you make him do?

It was too early to convince him to wear a maid outfit… but maybe if you convinced him to wear other things and his followers liked it, he’d eventually cave in. You’d always wanted to see him in a compression shirt and now that you’d been given this opportunity, you couldn’t waste it. You bought him one and presented it to him under the guise of wanting to use it in a “get ready with me” video.

When he first put on the shirt, you almost forgot about your goal of getting him into a maid uniform. In fact, you almost dropped the camera. But you got ahold of yourself, gripped the camera tight, and panned over every ripple of his muscles in slow motion. After views skyrocketed, you convinced him that he needed to do a “get ready with me” video every day.

Washing his face made the viewers go crazy, because he’d run his fingers through his hair to get it out of the way. Eating breakfast made the viewers go crazy, because he’d lick his lips. And of course, the viewers would go absolutely feral when he’d put on that damn compression shirt that by now all of them knew well. You knew how they felt. You were lucky you were hidden behind the camera so he couldn’t see just how much you were drooling, just how much you were enjoying yourself. How much you were enjoying him. 

And his damn intros killed you every time. It took all your willpower not to pounce on him because of how fucking adorable he was. 

“Hi guys. It’s me. Again. Don’t know how this is interesting to you all, but I’m back with another video, I guess?”

“Good morning, all. Turns out you really liked the last video. Not sure why, but I suppose here’s another.”

“Greetings. Um. I guess you’re getting ready with me… again?”

When he started to get weary of doing the same video over and over again, claiming that there was no way that people on the internet actually wanted to keep watching him do such mundane things everyday, you suggested doing a poll. Make his site more interactive. Ask the people what they want. 

The comment section blew up with requests for more compression shirts and his fans even sent him the money to buy a whole wardrobe full of them. So now he had compression shirts of every color and he was still unsure why. They were just shirts to him. 

But you convinced him to give the people what they wanted. You told him if anything, he could consider this as part of his job, because he was advertising the Defense Force. You could tell he only barely believed you when he reluctantly agreed to more videos. 

Eventually, he got camera shy and wanted you to be in videos with him. 

This worked out perfectly for you.

From the very first video you starred in with him, you had a maid uniform on. You thought the least you could do was get the idea in his head. He questioned it but you told him you were trying to draw the attention away from him so he could feel more comfortable on camera. He adored you for it. And he loved the way you looked - you knew because he would steal glances at you in between takes and sometimes even during takes- so he didn’t think too hard about it at the time.

Then you did more and more videos with him, all in the maid uniform, and when you’d worn out almost the entire catalog of TeekTok trends at your disposal, you finally proposed the idea of him wearing a maid uniform.

He turned bright red.

You almost kissed him for it.

“But w-why? No one wants to see that.” He squeaked out.

“Trust me, baby, the viewers will love it.”

The red traveled from his cheeks to his ears. “But w-why?” He repeated again.

“Because you’ll look so good, I promise.” You rubbed calming circles into his palm.

He bit his lip. “D-do I h-have to?”

You faked a pout. “I mean… you don’t have to. It’s just,” You sighed dramatically, “I’ve been wearing one this whole time to make you feel better about being on camera and now I’m getting a little shy… it would just make me so happy if you wore it with me.” You peered up at him with the same big, brown eyes that always ensnared him without fail. 

Then you got on your knees in front of him. 

He choked at the sight of you. 

You crawled in between his legs, nuzzling up against his thigh. “I just want to match you baby. I just want everyone to know we’re together and we love each other. Don’t you love me baby? Don’t you wanna match with me?”

He gulped. “I-I… I s-suppose if it would… if it would make you happy… I could maybe… do it. For you. Just the once.”

Your eyes lit up. “Really? You’ll do it? I love you so much baby, I’ll be right back!” And then you procured for him the maid outfit that had been patiently waiting for him in your closet. He didn’t even dare to question how you’d retrieved it so fast. You were so sweet and innocent, he could hardly accuse you of masterminding this entire situation even though that was exactly what you’d done. 

When he put on the uniform and you saw him standing there, cheeks tinged with pink, thumbs twiddling nervously, dress fluttering from the fan, you couldn’t hold back anymore. He was too adorable. You kissed him. 

And then you pinned a mic to him, turned the camera on, and made history.

[autisticlancemcclain]

The situation starts on the couches of a hotel lobby on a random planet at three-something in the morning, sprawled all over each other, exhausted, as Coran quietly checks them in.

“Hey, Lance,” whispers Keith, from somewhere beside the shoulder he offered. Lance groans, feigning more tiredness than he actually feels, heart racing since Keith first shifted so Lance would have somewhere to rest his head. He has this strange feeling of invasion, even though Keith offered, even though they’ve been in this position dozens of times before. He’s waiting almost for the other shoe to drop.

“Mm-what,” he mumbles, muffled into his roughed shoulder pads, words smushed together.

Keith sighs instead of answering. For half a second Lance tenses. But Keith only shifts again, not pushing Lance off but moving so Lance is pressed closer to him, and then the heat of his breath tickles the shell of Lance’s ear, and he tenses for a whole different reason.

And then there is, inexplicably, the feeling of what must be Keith’s lips, pressed to the side of Lance’s skull, gentle and lingering, and Lance thinks clearly to himself: what the fresh actual and genuine fuck.

“‘M sorry,” says Keith, so quiet it would be impossible to hear were his mouth not one single inch away from Lance’s ear. He kisses again, and he almost sags into the motion, into Lance. “I shouldn’t have been so dismissive of you earlier. I was stressed. I missed you, too.”

Lance opens his mouth. He muffles a choking sound with all of his strength.

“All good in the hood,” he finally manages, and then wants to strangle himself. “We’re — tight, Keithalicious.”

Somewhere, somehow, there is a God, and this God looks upon him with the utmost cruelty, and so Lance suffers, unjustly, every day of his life. He often prays that he will wake up one morning in the absence of a tongue. A hindrance and horrible sacrifice, of course, but one that may be worth the total sum of humiliation he feels so acutely and so frequently by virtue of God’s gift of language.

Shit is just not worth it, sometimes.

Keith’s laugh tickles a little. “I’m glad, sweetheart.” His final kiss is light, more of a peck than anything. He pats Lance’s hip twice before standing. Lance wonders, vaguely, when the hell his hand was in his hip area in the first place, and how the hell he’s supposed to rationalize that somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind. “‘M gonna go help Coran. See you in a few.”

“Yeah,” is what Lance means to say, but unfortunately when he opens his mouth the only sound that escapes is a strange kind of croak, clawing its way out of his throat and withering to death somewhere in the air between them. It may be, he realises with an intense flash of solemnity, the last remaining dredges of his dignity. Rest in fucking peace.

Keith just smiles again (a real one that shows his crooked incisors and crinkles his eyes and makes him looks handsome, not hot or sexy or beautiful but handsome, in a way that genuinely makes Lance weak in the knees) and jogs over to the front desk. Lance watches him place a friendly hand on Coran’s shoulder, leaning in and narrowing his eyes at the paper the front desk worker offers, saying something Lance can’t hear with his Black Paladin face in full force. When he finally manages to wrench his eyes away, he sees the faces of his team, gobsmacked, staring at him with wide eyes and jaws brushing the polished blue tiles.

“What,” Shiro manages eventually, “the fuck.”

“Since fucking when are you two boning!” Pidge adds, shamelessly.

“I thought you had a thing for Allura?” questions Hunk.

Lance’s own jaw snaps shut. His ears burn, worse than they already were, and he glances at the princess only to find her already looking away. Shame burns something fierce in the pit of his stomach. It’s an unwelcome replacement of the butterflies.

“What me and Keith do behind a closed door is none of your business,” Lance says hotly, straightening his shoulders and puffing out his chest ridiculously. His heart pounds. He raises his voice to drown it out. “We had a bonding moment, after all.”

Pidge barks a laugh. The rest of the snorts and giggles soon follow, and soon the team is looking at him in fond exasperation, rolling their eyes and muttering about Lance and his antics. Allura, even, looks him in the face again. The roiling in his stomach doesn’t change, but the pound of his heart is replaced with something bitter on the back of his tongue.

Anything is better than looking ignorant. Even if you look like a fool.

He settles into the corner of the couch — much less comfortable than Keith’s armoured shoulder, somehow — and lets his eyes slide shut, lets the familiar sound of his team quietly conversing and the ambient sound of a public place at night wash over him as he fades into a half-sleep. The same kind of sleep in a car on the way home from a long road trip, late at night; half aware of the movement and murmured sound of your parents’ whispering in front seat, time stretching around you like taffy.

He stirs slowly at the sound of boots hitting the floor, bleary eyes still half-shut. Keith slowly comes back into focus, standing in front of him now. He’s frowning, troubled.

“They booked us two separate rooms,” he explains, pursing his lips at the two keys in his hand.

Lance pauses. “…Yes.”

Keith doesn’t pick up on it. (That, at least, is familiar enough to make Lance smile.)

“You’d think they’d…well, whatever. I suppose it’s fine. I’ll come join you after you’re showered?”

“Keith —”

“I think my room has the bigger bed, actually. You come to mine.” He opens the little envelope thing and pulls out the extra key, sliding it into Lance’s hands. “I’ll bring up your luggage.”

“Keith, I’m not going to —”

Lance stops.

Keith, I’m not going to sleep with you, is what he was going to say. Keith, what the hell. Keith, you’re acting like a pod person. Keith, I don’t understand what’s going on. Keith, everyone is laughing at us and you don’t seem to notice. Or care. Keith, you’re acting like you’re my — boyfriend, or something. Keith, one day ago you didn’t want anything to do with me. Keith, now you can’t seem to get enough of me. Keith, I am going to lose my mind. Keith, Keith, Keith.

“Okay,” Lance says instead, quiet. He turns the key over in his hands. It looks like a regular white hotel key. It feels heavier, somehow. “Okay, I’ll meet you in twenty.”

Keith flashes a quick smile. It, too, is genuine, and Lance lips are quirking up to match before he can think about it.

“Liar. You’ve never taken less than a half hour shower in your life.”

“I have — so.”

Shaking his head, fondness bleeding from him, Keith steps forward, bending down and pressing a gentle kiss to Lance’s forehead. Lance feels all the air exit his body in one huge whoosh.

“I know you, goober. We got all night. Decompress. I’ll check the closet and under the bed before you get there. Don’t take too long.”

Lance stills. He watches after Keith with wide eyes. His heart, finally calmed again, fucking races.

He’s never, not once in his life, told anyone about the — thing. With the — closets, and under the bed. Not one person; not even Hunk.

It’s stupid, is what it is.

But Lance’s older cousin was kind of a — jerk. And when they were kids he would make these freaky fucking paintings with red eyes and smudged faces and — hide them, in Lance’s closet or dresser drawers or under his bed, and convince him they would come to life in the night and posses him, and it was so fucking dumb, but Lance has always been gullible and it used to scare the shit out of him, because he would never know when they would appear and it would just — freak him out. All the time. Unless he checked his entire room once in the daytime before sleeping, he would never be able to fall asleep.

And he’s never fucking — told anyone about that. Because as a kid it was terrifying to say out loud and as he got older it was just embarrassing. But Keith knows, somehow.

Keith knows.

Lance exhales, air whistling sharply from between his teeth, “Whatever. Whatever. You know what? Whatever,” and stomps over to the elevator. “This is — I’m going to shower. And not think. I don’t — whatever.”

He stews the whole way up to his room. He stews as the key doesn’t fucking work in the slot until the fourth try. He stews as he yanks off his armour and flings it into a random corner, relishing in the heavy thud as it hits the wall, hoping it cracks. He stews as he angrily presses all the buttons in the shower and hops in, cussing as he’s assaulted with an onslaught of hot-cold-hot-cold-soap-soap-soap, aggressively blinking away the sting in his eye and cursing the very air molecules around him. He stews the entire fucking forty minute shower, although admittedly he does, by the ten minute mark, start to calm down a little.

By the time he steps onto the bathmat, he’s just — tired.

“Whatever,” he sighs to himself again, but this time it’s more weary than anything. “Just — I guess. Sure. Whatever.”

There’s a fancy complimentary robe folded neatly on the stack of towels. He swallows the lump in his throat, thinking of his beautiful blue one, now ashes with the rest of the castle.

“Whatever,” he repeats to himself, firmly. Eventually he manages to blink the tears away.

The walk to Keith’s room is short, and cold, and probably embarrassing, since he is in a robe and slippers and a twisty shower hat, but he’s too drained to care. Every step is heavy. By the time he manages to slide the key in the lock — this key cooperates, go fucking figure — and shove the heavy door open, he feels…precarious.

Fragile, maybe.

It takes one look from Keith, one flash of soft indigo eyes and bedsheets untucked and folded over like he likes them and a nightlight shining low on the side table, for him to simply burst into tears.

“It has been a long fucking day,” he sobs.

“It sure as shit has,” Keith agrees, opening his arms, and Lance doesn’t bother thinking before collapsing into them, curling into Keith’s lap and tucking under his chin. Keith grips him tightly and squeezes, and it feels so strangely familiar and so perfect that it’s simply too much for Lance to worry about. He does not have the energy. It’s just — too good, and he’s so tired, and if this is all a trick or a dream or anything like that then he’ll handle it in the fucking morning. Right now Keith is warm and he’s a real fucking person offering real fucking affection with absolutely zero strings attached, none of them, and Lance is allowed to have nice things, actually, it’s written right the in paladin handbook, he knows because he wrote it there himself.

He can just — have this one thing.

“Let’s just sleep for a few thousand years,” Keith says, and he sounds exhausted as Lance does.

And if this is a dream than there’s absolutely nothing to lose, and also whatever, truly, so Lance gives fully into every impulse he’s been too ashamed to even admit in his own head and leans up to kiss him squarely on the lips. He is warm and sweet and tastes like toothpaste, and he kisses back without a second of hesitation, and his hands cup the side of Lance’s face and his calloused thumb brushes across his cheekbones, and it’s everything Lance could ever want it to be, and it makes all the horrible everything melt away. So Lance says screw you, universe, and kisses him until he’s too tired to keep his eyes open, and then he tucks in next to him and relishes in his arm over his waist and falls asleep faster than he ever has in his life listening to Keith’s heartbeat.

This is where the situation starts.

———

based on this thread

[bluemantics]

Keith felt bruises behind his eyes as he stared up at the hologram. No matter how many times he ran the battle simulation, BOOM. He watched for the 100th time as the planet that Voltron was simulated to defend exploded in fiery death-ray style.

The black paladin rubbed at his face and sighed.

“End simulation.”

Keith whipped around at the surprise voice, spotting Lance entering the dimly lit room, blue holographic light shining across his freckled skin.

“What was that for?” Keith huffed. He knew he wasn’t fooling Lance with the whole “respect your leader” act, that his voice was too weary.

“You’re going to kill yourself over this stupid sim,” Lance told him, forcing a warm cup into Keith’s hands. He turned toward the blue light, reaching a hand up and gently over the planet debris, still frozen in time. With a flick of his wrist, Lance dispelled the image.

“I just can’t figure out what’s wrong with our formations,” Keith started as the light changed to a glowing yellow. He took a sip of the cup. It was warm and sweet, not quite tea, but likely one of Hunk’s comforting creations. Still, it couldn’t settle the writhing mess in his ribs.

“Why don’t you let Allura or Pidge help? Or… me?” Lance asked. “I’m your right hand guy for a reason.” Keith dismissively waved a hand through the air, ignoring Lance’s look of offense.

“I have to do this on my own, Lance,” he told him sharply. “I’m the black paladin. Shiro did this a million times. Sure, sometimes with Allura, but he also did it alone.” Keith’s hands hovered over the buttons, but Lance stepped in front of them, forcing Keith to take a step back.

“Hey. You don’t have anything to prove here,” Lance said, tone full of caution. “You’re not Shiro, Keith, you can have a different strategy. Just because he isn’t here doesn’t mean you have to fill any hole he left behind.” Keith felt something burn inside him and he clenched his fists.

“I’m not trying to be Shiro, okay? I know I won’t live up to that.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know—“

“I just have to do this without distractions. I’m the fucking leader, now. You just have to trust my decisions here.” Keith looked Lance in the eye with a challenge. He knew he was too tired for this, but he didn’t back down even as Lance straightened to his full height and jabbed a finger at him.

“Fuck you,” Lance hissed. “I’m your second. I get to challenge you, talk shit through with you, and tell you when I think you’re acting like an ass. Breaking news, Keith! This is peak asshole behavior.” Keith rolled his eyes.

“You aren’t needed here, Lance, and if you can’t let go of your insecurity for the sake of the team and let me figure this out, then this will be on you.” He gestured to the empty air where the battle sim had been, anger clouding his words.

Lance paused. He took a step back, his legs hitting the console table.

“You’re right, you’re not like Shiro,” he responded, voice cold, eyes sparking with something hidden. “Shiro wouldn’t dismiss me like this, especially if he knew I was right.” With that, he shoved past Keith and stormed back out of the room.

“Computer off.”

Bright yellow light faded to a dim, barely lit red, as if to taunt him.

[shadowwolflady]

Shiro Headcanons

First and foremost,

Shiro is a WARRIOR. He does not simply LEAVE the battle field. I REFUSE to believe he simply accepted his civilian role.

He HAS to be put back into action. Even if that means commanding voltron or piloting black. Domestic life does NOT suit him.

Look at his Garrison days, he was constantly pushing limits and himself. I refuse to believe he will just STOP. I refuse to believe he just accepts things so easily, especially things he can change.

As much as I love that he wound up with Curtis, I don't think it will last. It was a trauma bond. Curtis is a rando imo. We don't know a lot about Curtis either, which makes this tougher.

Shiro is going to go through immense withdrawals and PTSD. He needs a crap ton of help and support.

Ptsd is trying and breaks relationships. I have seen it. It is not fun. It changes people, it makes them not who they were.

Okay. Rant over.

General

• Dad and big brother energy

• Semi smart jock energy.

• Protective of his family

• Willing to throw down for his family

• Will resort to violence when pushed.

• Will not be the one to throw the first punch, honorable for the other to throw the first blow.

• He is not above pulling someone away from an argument.

• He has picked someone up and moved them away from a confrontation so he didn't have to deal with the fighting.

• Tries to think through things logically first before going head long into the fray.

• Believes in his team and their capabilities. He knows their strengths and weaknesses and nurtures them.

• Knocks nonsense off. But will enjoy fun when he can.

• After Hunk, he is the best hugger. Despite not hugging alot. He actually likes hugs.

• Likes naps.

• Will nap in the lobby, close to the action, if it is quiet.

• Rarely uses rank as an argue point, he likes to have the opinion of his whole team.

• Will gladly lend an ear to anyone. But rarely has anyone lend an ear to him.

• Always likes to push the limits. He tests the line in an irritating way.

• He sets the routine for the group.

• Leads by doing.

• A bit of a bookworm. Can be caught reading if not looking up things.

• Has fallen asleep with a book on his face.

• He likes cats and dogs. In that order.

• He is the embodiment of Air.

• Scars on his skin are the victories he won. He is a little self conscious about them.

• His first and main love is the stars. His second is being a pilot.

• How he got into the Garrison was because he wanted to explore and push the boundaries of a human. Go further, farther, and faster.

Food

• Can cook a bit, nothing fancy.

• Doesn't like sweets

• Prefers coffee or tea over soda.

• Water.

• Likes savory.

• Can handle some spice.

• Drinks occasionally.

Hygiene

• Showers at night

• Toothpaste and mouthwash

Fighting

• Hand to hand

• Uses his arm as a weapon

• He is more of a brute force fighter vs stealth.

Prosthetic

• Self conscious about his arm.

• Doesn't like that he can't feel temp through his arm.

• Misses the feeling texture through it.

• Stares at it at night while he lays on his back in bed.

• On more than one occasion, pidge has asked to look over his arm. She has plugged it into her computer and tinkered with it, making adjustments for him.

Routine

• Wakes up at 530 for the day.

• Gets dressed.

• Warms up and works out before breakfast.

• Trains every 6 days. One day of rest. Even if it is just for 20 minutes.

• The others started to follow his routine. While he would spend time practicing, the others would do their own thing.

• If he can't sleep, he lays in bed and stares at the ceiling until he gets himself up and out of bed. He will wander around the castle, usually finding himself in the Bridge.

• He will sit and watch the stars or fiddle in his chair with the data on his computer.

• He likes looking at the star chart in the bridge.

• Sometimes he finds himself in the training room. He will meditate or just sit there quietly. Sometimes he will put on the practice bot.

• Sometimes he will head to the hangar and sit in front of Black or in the cockpit. It's his place to think and unwind.

• He rarely likes to sleep due to night terrors. But he will nap.

PTSD and Trauma

• He has scars he isn't proud of.

• He thrashes at night and has put holes and dents in walls.

• He has cried out at night.

Hope you enjoyed some of the headcanons I have for Shiro.

[goldennightengale]

I read your stories/headcannons,they are great!! I love them 🤧 If you don't mind,I want to request how they react to their s/o fell while climbing a tall tree,like the branch break w/ Riddle,Silver,Azul and Rook. That's all~

~Shiro

Howdy hey! What a lovely request, I'm sure these boys would adore being seen as your knight in shining armor~ -GN

Warnings: Heights, falling out of a tree, minor injuries (no blood), slight talk about the reader’s body (they are described to be a bit fluffy with a rounded face), laughing as a panic response

GN! Reader

Looks Like I Fell For You <3

Riddle Rosehearts

It began as a regular day in Heartslabyul and ended as a wild flamingo chase. During a practice game of croquet for the upcoming unbirthday party, one of the freshmen accidentally spooked the hedgehogs and set off a chain reaction of squeaks and flying feathers. It was total chaos, and you were forced to help corral the remaining flamingos out of one of the taller trees in the Heartslabyul gardens.

Grim was of little help since his screaming and flaming response to frustration made all the flamingos scatter wildly. So, in an attempt to get them down, you started climbing the thick branches. It took a while to get up as high as you did but you were proud of your progress. One by one you shooed the multicolored birds out of their perch.

You were in the midst of battling the final blue-tinted bird from its roost when you heard a familiar voice shout in panic. “PREFECT?!” Riddle screamed from below. Looking down revealed him clinging to the base of the tree, eyes filled with worry. “What in the Queen’s name are you doing up there? Come down immediately!”

Before you could reassure him that you were perfectly fine, the flamingo you had been in pursuit of decided it was the perfect time to abandon its hiding place. One of its wings knocked into your head and threw you off balance. You scrambled to right yourself, only half successful when a groaning snap sounded from the branch you were standing on.

The branch gave way, throwing you to the ground with alarming speed. You closed your eyes and braced for impact, already dreading the pain of hitting the thick bark on your descent. You snagged a couple of branches, barely hearing Riddle’s shout before you felt the world come to a halt. The slight whiplash caused your eyes to snap open and witness the gentle red glow of magic surrounding you. Riddle let out a sound of relief, gently lowering you to the ground.

Still stunned, you let him check you over for any bruises or blood and sat through the scolding of a lifetime. “Honestly, of all the things I expected this was not one of them,” he sighed. “What in the world were you thinking doing something so dangerous?”

The words left your mouth before you could think. “I think I just fell for you.”

He sputtered, shocked and embarrassed that his heart skipped a beat at the confession (?) before he let out an ear-shattering screech. You simply laughed, oblivious to the way you sent Riddle’s mind spiraling down a path he refused to acknowledge.

The redness of his face made the hour-long lecture and bleeding ears worth it.

Azul Ashengrotto

Sometimes you wondered if befriending the eel brothers was a good idea. Now, as you dangled precariously above the ground and clung to a rickety branch, you were sure it wasn’t worth any of this.

“This” was you stuck in a tree because Floyd thought throwing you off a broom was a fun idea. Coach Vargas had teamed the both of you up together since Grim was getting punished for burning one of the broomsticks and you needed to get a passing score lest you failed the class. As you were gliding through the air, the only warning you got was the eel’s giggles before he shot upwards and away from the training field with you in tow.

You were too focused on not falling to your death to realize what he was planning. It was only when you were wrenched from your place on the broom and plopped into one of the tallest trees on campus that you were screwed. Floyd’s cackles rang through the air as you screamed after him, only to slip and find yourself clinging onto a fragile branch for dear life.

You were slowly losing hope of getting down safely until you heard a choked shout of your name. It was Azul, panicking and accompanied by an amused Jade. It seemed they were just leaving their alchemy class due to the lab coats. You were just about to greet them when your arm went weak and you dropped with a scream.

You were flung away from the branches, which was good since you wouldn’t hurt yourself knocking against the thick foliage but it also meant you couldn’t slow down your fall or try to catch yourself. A second scream, one of your name, caused you to open your eyes in time to witness Azul summon a stack of gym mats beneath you. You crashed into the plush surface with a loud thwack, the force of your landing punched the air out of your lungs.

You were still wheezing as you were lowered from the impromptu platform, where you were greeted by a frazzled octopus and a slightly worried eel. You were shaken beyond belief but you were still grateful to your rescuer. So grateful in fact, that you leaned into his side and cheekily whispered into his ear.

“Wow, Azul. I think I just fell for you~”

The resulting squeal of a boiled octopus was worth getting inked in the face.

Rook Hunt

Hiding from Vil by hiding in a tree was probably one of the dumbest things you could ever do. But how could anyone blame you? The prideful peacock of a man was hellbent on dragging you into one of his “self-care nights”, the code name for a 5-hour lecture on skincare and healthy eating habits.

You liked your softer features, thank you very much. After all, your mother always said that a full belly would heal the soul better than a pretty face and some high-end clothes ever could. You’d take a bowl of stew over slaving away in front of a mirror any day.

Back to the issue at hand, you watched as Epel sprinted past your hiding spot. No doubt that he was also trying to avoid his fate by the look of panic on his face and the distant yelling of Vil in the distance. You stayed silent but sent him a good luck prayer in hopes that the warden would go easy on the poor freshman. With all the commotion below you, you failed to notice the swaying of a white feather in the bushes.

Rook watched as you leaned against the trunk of the tree, completely unaware of your surroundings. He always found it amusing how easily you’d let your guard down in times of pursuit, like a rabbit in a clearing, ignorant of the arrow pointed straight at it. Of course, he was sent on a mission to retrieve you on behalf of his beloved Roi de Poison, and as a good huntsman, he must deliver his pray with haste in order to please his Queen.

Taking advantage of your blissful visage, he stealthily made his way to the branch beside you, and with a smile, greeted you with his usual flair. “Why hello there, my little Trickster!~” He hummed.

You startled, the force of your flinching caused you to tip over and lose your balance on the branch you sat upon. Anticipating the worst and a whole lot of pain, you squeezed your eyes shut and waited for your body to hit the ground. Instead, you felt a pair of strong arms encircle your waist and pull you into a bridal carry before landing gracefully onto the grass. Still a bit panicked, you giggled and waited for your heart to return to a steady pace.

“Oh la la, you must be more careful little Trickster! Who knows what could’ve happened if you had managed to hurt yourself before Vil’s beauty session,” he chided with a sly grin.

The expression was wiped from his face when you joked about falling for him, a rosey pink flushing his face before a boisterous laugh bellowed from his chest. You were carried to Vil’s room with the sound of flowery poetry filling your ears by a very clingy huntsman.

Silver

Of course.

Of course, you had to be used as a human lifting weight for the one and only living boombox on campus because of a stupid bet.

During a joint gym class with a few of the upperclassmen, one of the Savanaclaw brats made a passing remark toward the knights of Drogonia, calling them pampered and weak enough to hide behind their master like scared puppies. Sebek, never being one to take a pass at his master with stride, challenged them to prove just how strong the students of Diasomnia truly are (and also to preserve the reputation of his beloved Waka-Sama).

It started off simple enough, with strength and stamina tests to gauge their results. But eventually, as all things of this world tend to be, things got a bit chaotic and you were once again dragged into someone else’s mess.

Somehow it had been decided that you were to be thrown into the air like a medicine ball, and whoever threw you higher was the tiebreaker. No matter how much you voiced your concerns and disagreements, it was you against the various students of two of the most powerful dorms in the school. You had no other choice but to agree, and reluctantly you prepared to get the most violent motion sickness known to mankind.

Just as you felt Sebek’s arms around your waist, you knew you were going to regret this choice, and with a scream, you were launched into the air. Unfortunately, in came a gust of wind so powerful it swept you away and forced you to land in the midst of tree branches. Despite the dizziness of being thrown, you heard a soft voice call to you in concern.

“Prefect,” Silver shouted. His face revealed little of his worry, but you could tell by the clenching of his fist that he was close to climbing up there himself to retrieve you. “Are you alright? Can you try to get down from there?”

Before you could answer, the creaking of wood sounded through the air as another gust shook the tree and caused it to sway. The motion alongside your weight caused the thin cluster of branches to snap and hurl you toward the silver-haired knight.

With a swift leap, you found yourself caught by a pair of strong arms and a warm chest as Silver landed gracefully back onto the forest floor. His arms squeezed you closer to him, as if he was afraid of dropping you or worse, losing you to the wind once again. Your face burned in both embarrassment and the fluttering of your heart as you looked into his eyes.

Silver barely got a chance to ask if you were harmed before the words left your mouth. Immediately, he dropped you in shock. He apologized, of course, and helped you back to your feet but you couldn’t help but notice the flushed tips of his ears and the way he’d avoid looking you in the eye.

I may have forgotten about the established relationships you mentioned in your ask whoopsie (+_+’) but I hope you enjoy this! It was really fun to write 🧡

I hope my work fulfilled your fantasy~ -GN

[wannaeatramyeon]

S/o being a real wife material and girl friend and a daughter of a gang leader/yakuza. (To be honest I been messing around the Cai chat group of Gun and my OC somehow it end up being my OC being to wife material that Gun fell for her lol)

SAM!! I DID IT!! So so sooooo sorry for taking so long. Thank you for the ask and providing your services for delicious C.ai. You provide the best little brain children. This turned out REALLY fun to write! As always, I read the request and hit half of it at best 🙇🏻‍♀️

Gun Park x Reader: I do

Part 2 here

Gun easily picks you out.

At first the madame refuses. Gun stuffs her mouth with so much gold that she tells you he is top priority, a V-VIP. You cannot say no to his company, and she would happily face the wrath of your father.

So be it.

Sitting in a quiet corner, where the dimlights are forgiving with the worn leather sofa and the permanent water stains on the low table, Gun watches you sashay across the room to him. In a flimsy dress, cheap and shiny; skin-coloured to allude to nudity and keep the salacious patrons hungry and eager.

Your movements turn many heads. It's not a surprise.

"Hi~" you say, your voice sickly sweet as you take a seat next to him. Too close to be appropriate in anywhere but a hostess bar. "What's your name, handsome?"

"Shiro Oni," he replies simply, the words ringing in the air.

Gun lights up a cigarette, giving you a small courtesy to catch up with the meaning of the name, of tonight.

Your demeanour from a second ago is already long gone.

"Yamazaki Yuzuru," you spit, automatically recoiling away, "Or is it Gun Park you go by now?"

"Call me whatever you want, it doesn't matter," he takes another drag, impressed that you worked it out so quickly. Impressed that you know of his other alias.

"What do you want?" With anyone else you would have stormed out of the room, but you can't afford to leave.

"I'm here to discuss our agreement."

A simple statement of fact that incenses you.

"No fucking way."

"You keep saying no to an arranged marriage. Are you stupid?"

"I don't want to marry a fucking stranger." This is too far. You're in no mood for this conversation. You stand to leave but his hand reaches out, grabbing your wrist.

"Not so fast. I have an offer for you."

His tone compels you, all business and serious. No-one ever includes you in the family business. No-one ever takes you seriously.

It's here that Gun really looks at you. His pitch-black eyes staring into yours and chilling you to the bone. Yet you don't flinch, you're not afraid.

Gun smiles a little at this, you could be useful.

Your reputation precedes you. A spitball with a rebellious streak, a force to be reckoned with. Could have been great if you were born a man. Shame that the Yakuza still has outdated traditions. What a fucking waste.

"You don't want to be the daughter of a Yakuza clan forever. No ambitions, no power, no freedom. Forever under the thumb of your father and other men."

Gun can read you already. No-one behaves like you do expecting to just be a meek and filial daughter all their life. His next words reach into your soul.

"Join me, come to South Korea. I will make you my equal."

An equal? A partnership? Unheard of in the underworld. Scoffed at by your father, your mother, your brothers despite how much better you are. There must be a catch. "And what do you gain from it?"

"It benefits our clans to join. Saves a lot of headaches especially when my attention is elsewhere."

It's an honest admission of a weak spot you did not expect. "What if I say no?"

Gun stubs out his cigarette, so casual, so relaxed. "Then I will just kill every single one of you. Everyone you know will die."

Ah, there it is.

You thought your hairs would stand on end, you thought your jaw would drop in shock. But of course with the Shiro Oni, even with his 'attention elsewhere', when has anyone ever rejected him and lived to tell the tale. The Magami clan bloodshed a grim warning to anyone that would ever consider crossing him.

Gun's full attention is on you. A weaker person would shrink under his gaze. "Do you accept? I won't ask again."

You deliberate.

A chance to be greater than your birthright; to be seen as more than what is between your legs.

It's certainly enticing.

As much as it pains you to admit it, he's right. Your entire clan will either die by his hand or best case, stay where you are and you are destined to amount to nothing.

And maybe you can get to know this demon in South Korea. This 'Gun Park'. Being together. Here is a stranger that already offers you something no-one ever has, that fulfils all your desires without even fully knowing you.

Childish notions of romance still float in your head, despite how much you have tried to harden yourself from such foolish daydreams.

Staring into his eyes, you swallow down any doubt. You don't think about how this is exactly like making a deal with the devil.

"I do."

[mania-sama]

feel how the winter succumbs to the spring

Caesar - The Oh Hellos

➼ information ❧ Voltron ❧ Pairing: Keith/Lance, Allura & Hunk & Keith & Lance & Pidge | Katie Holt & Shiro ❧ Tags: episode: s07e04: the feud!, light angst, character study (sort of), hopeful ending, introspection, ptsd in the form of game shows, pining, extended metaphors, keith has issues ❧ Summary: Keith lied about his reason for choosing Lance during Bob’s twisted game show. He comes to some revelations while he contemplates his answer. ❧ Word Count: 3,498 ❧ Cross-posted from Archive of Our Own ❧ Original post date: 18 January 2023

Keith thought he was enjoying himself the least out of everyone on his team.

Their whole situation was a mess. Keith had liked game shows when he was younger, back when he would watch them on the shitty TV his father owned. It wouldn’t receive signals half the time, and when it had managed to show something on the screen, it had only ever been at half volume. Despite the visceral rage it would cause the two of them, they found that watching game shows on the few channels they owned soothed their nerves.

Game shows only served to elicit painful memories for Keith now, so he turned away if he ever saw one playing. He would listen in on a nearby conversation rather than the over-animated host on the screen. The images of his laughing father would be stomped out of his mind with heavy feet.

All in all, he was having a pretty terrible time participating in this alien game show. It actually wasn’t the threat of a lifetime of imprisonment looming over the team’s head that caused him the most anguish. It was Lance.

Emotions weren’t Keith’s strong suit. They hadn’t been when he was a kid before his father died, and they certainly hadn’t gotten better afterwards. When he looked at Lance, he felt frustration and something else—something that he hadn’t been allowed to feel—meld together to create one chaotic mess of heated body parts and cross-eyed stares. This stupid, godforsaken game show was throwing everything for a loop, just as it always did when his emotions started to separate and show their true colors.

Though Lance didn’t say much of anything after his original comment on the liquid, which had something to do with exfoliation, it was obvious that he was beginning to feel true pain. His face was scrunched up and he started to paddle the green acid to keep his head in the air. His encased feet couldn’t be helping the matter since it had a tendency to lean him one way or another. He let out a nearly inaudible hiss of pain that nobody but Keith seemed to recognize.

There was also the fact that there was a missing patch of skin on his exposed hands, the acid having eaten away at the fabric of his gloves. Lance seemed aware of this, too, but he was forced to keep his hands on the liquid to prevent his head from falling under.

As the team leader, he was meant to keep a level head. And he did. For the most part. On the outside, he tried to help as best as he could, staying calm and collected in order to keep the rest of his team the same way. For a second he thought it worked; when Pidge tackled Bob and demanded to let the team leave, he thought he was going to jump from his own skin from elation.

Then everything was set back to rights in less time Keith needed to scream. PIdge was back at his side, her feet encased just like the rest of them. Keith felt hope drain from his body so fast it was as though it had never been there at all. He almost didn’t want to look ahead of him and see Lance drowning in the acid, his face red from eaten flesh.

“It looks like the Paladins have just made it into the final round!”

Only when he did let himself spare a glance, he realized that there wasn’t a tank at all. Lance, in all his confused and pained glory, was carefully touching his face on the other side of Pidge. He appeared just as shocked as Keith felt, his armor fully restored and skin completely untouched.

Keith’s heart was trying to escape his chest, either by beating its way out or by climbing up through his throat. The lights were too bright, the foot restraints were too tight, and there were too many people in the room. Keith liked to be alone. He hated all of these things, and yet they all became a thousand times worse when he came to grips with the fact that they really could just be here, stuck playing this game for an eternity.

‘Final Round’ meant nothing to Keith whenever everything changed and moved so quickly. They could be in this final round for as long as the host wished.

He could be forced to watch Lance drown in acid again, watch him become overheated in the isolation tube as he was forced to sift through his obviously shitty memory, and watch him fail. It was bad enough with their sworn enemies resurrected. It was worse when it was the one person who Keith could never get his heart straight about.

“One of you will now be allowed to leave the game,” Bob said, floating over to them on his UFO. His grin was cocky, and his voice grated against Keith’s brain like chalk against a board. “The rest of you will be staying here with me forever.”

Keith wanted to get them all out of there. He had half a mind to call the host back after he floated away, demanding that he flip the script. One of them has to stay there while the rest get to leave. Of course, he would make sure the one that has to stay be himself. It was fair. However, Bob didn’t seem to be in the business of fairness.

“You have blazzle hoochas to write down your choice for who should get to escape on the screen in front of you.” Blue dividers came up between the Paladins suddenly, scaring Keith more than he’d like to admit. Ever since he’d become a Paladin of Voltron, he’d been jumpy and terrified of almost every step and decision he made.

Not that he’d tell anyone that, though. It felt nice to be able to say it to himself—it meant he wasn’t hiding from the truth as much as Shiro liked to tell him he was.

“Go!”

Music started playing, not too dissimilar from Jeopardy!, one of the game shows that he used to watch with his father.

Keith stared at his blank screen, willing his mind to become clear. But now that the music was blasting in his ears, and all he could see were the contestants on the quiz show writing down their final answer. They would take a calculated risk with their current scores, putting hundreds to thousands of dollars on their answer. Some would risk nothing, and others would risk it all.

His father would grumble and talk to Keith about what he thought the answer to the big question was. He was never right, and neither was Keith, but it was always fun to try. They would cringe when the contestants wagered their entire worth on their score, only to get it wrong. Or they would gawk at the ones that did the same and got it right.

Keith hadn’t been able to properly keep track of their scores during this game show. It was in currency that he didn’t have a strong grasp of, and they didn’t have any individual scores themselves. There was nothing for Keith to wager outside of freedom.

The thought came to his mind only once to put himself down as the answer. He could find a way to save the rest of his team. Or maybe he would abandon them all and choose to live with his mother, finishing off their loose ends with the Blade of Marmora instead of returning permanently to Earth with Shiro.

His dad had loved Krolia. Keith didn’t have as strong feelings, despite the time they’d spent on the giant space worm. For once, he actually did want to sort out his emotions concerning his mother. He liked her as a person, but the strong warmth of a mother-son relationship was only a flame to him. It should be a burning bonfire. It could be, if he fostered it with proper ventilation and tinder.

His own wants didn’t matter as much as his teammates did. They had families they lived with their entire lives, goals they strived to achieve. The reasons for them to leave severely outweighed his own, so he let the selfish thought of writing his own name down leave his mind with the grace of a crook getting thrown into jail.

He leaned over the blue dividers for a second, letting himself spare a glance at all of his teammates. He knew them all like the back of his hand; it was a requirement of him for being not only a leader, but a friend.  

He never thought that he’d actually ever manage to get one. He’d spent so long in the desert with only his dad that he’d fundamentally lacked the social skills to make friends. Then, as the anger seeped in to replace any other emotions he could feel after his parent died, any potential ability to develop a sociable persona went down the drain.

Shiro helped, but he didn’t make Keith sociable. He made Keith tolerable. Then Shiro disappeared and everything they’d built fell apart. 

He didn’t know how the Voltron Paladins became his friends with him, and he didn’t know why they still liked him after he practically abandoned him. However, that wasn’t something he had to understand. What he did need to sort out was why, when he put his alien pen to the screen in front of him, he was spelling out Lance’s name on autopilot.

At first, he only allowed himself to think the obvious: he wrote down Lance’s name because he was Keith’s right hand man. As the new Red Paladin, he took over all responsibilities the current Black Paladin handed down to him. They’d built a trust that only they could have as the roles they filled in the team.

However, as he stared at his quivering hand, he knew that wasn’t the case. It would ultimately make more sense to have Allura leave the game. She could reassemble the Voltron Coalition again, and probably make it better than it was before.. She was a diplomacy master. Between her and Coran, they would ensure peace for the entire universe. She was a natural-born leader.

Both Pidge and Hunk made sense to choose to leave the game. Hunk could make friends with anyone. Even if he wasn’t a diplomat like Allura, he could certainly lead a squadron or army with efficiency. If he couldn’t do that, it wouldn’t take him long to find someone who could. He had an innate ability to sense who was and wasn’t trustworthy, even when the rest of the team was being led blind.

Pidge was the smartest of them all. She could probably dismantle this game show’s entire security system before the first hour of their doomed eternity was over. She would find her way back to Earth now that she didn’t have the weight of her team holding her back, and she would build a new world with her family.

So why, why did he write down Lance’s name?

Keith never had a waking moment since they’d rescued Shiro that he wasn’t frustrated at Lance. Either the other Paladin was mocking his hair or trying to one-up him in whatever they were doing. For a long time, they hadn’t been compatible at all, despite the way their Lions had always complimented each other’s abilities, or the way their bayards were made to have one another’s backs in battle.

It was always one competition to another, one insult to the next. Keith was prone to anger, and Lance thrived off of conflict.

And yet.

Keith was ready to jump over his contestant stand as Lance continued to shout out horribly incorrect answers to his drawings. He knew that they didn’t look that bad, and that Lance’s art comprehension was at the same level as a toddler. Hell, a toddler would’ve done better at guessing than Lance had done.

In the next moment, he was ready to tear out his hair as Lance struggled to name the people they’d met in their time in Voltron. It wasn’t his fault, not really; they had met a lot of aliens since they’d become Paladins, and Lance was already known to not have the best memory out of all of them. It was terrible luck that he’d been picked out of all of them.

It wasn’t the same frustration as before. He knew this because he wasn’t angry at Lance, he was scared for what was to come if he couldn’t answer the questions correctly. Then the worst did happen, and Keith was frustrated because he could only watch as his friend was slowly burnt in acid.

Frustration wasn’t the right word anymore. He knew that because his hands were shaking, his vision was blurry, and his handwriting was all crooked and wrong.

Lance was the hardest for Keith to get along with out of everyone in Voltron, but perhaps that made the most sense for why he wanted Lance to be able to escape shackled eternity the most.

He had trouble with his father in the past. From what he could remember, he wasn’t the happiest child, constantly upset at one thing or another, switching moods left and right. It must’ve been a living hell for his dad. Yet, Keith found that there was no-one else he would’ve chosen to be his father.

For a while, it had been an uphill battle with Shiro. He’d stolen his car, fought with him, screamed at him, and definitely tried to physically assault him on a few occasions. There was no-one Keith would’ve picked to be his mentor and older brother.

He had to work for those relationships. He didn’t click immediately with anyone, but it hadn't been hard to get along with Pidge, Hunk, and Allura. They had their ups and downs, sure, and the whole half-Galra thing certainly threw a wrench between him and Allura for some time, but they had come out with a stronger friendship.

It had taken so long for him to go just one day without arguing with Lance over one thing or another. They had been terrible teammates, and it had brought the whole team down. It was either get along or fail as Voltron Paladins. Somehow, Keith thought, that didn’t make them progress any better.

Keith and Lance built a castle. It was made of sand with a water moat running around and through the middle. It often became mud, and their clumsiness knocked over their hard work constantly. Even now, as they continued to build something grander than it was, they continued to mess up certain portions.

Keith often yelled at Lance to put some sand somewhere else on the castle. Lance would tell Keith to stop stepping on the moat. Their arguments made their castle strong. They saw what was damaged easily by their stomping and waving hands, and they replaced it with different sand. They made little people to defend the castle and to live in it.

It wasn’t finished. It had potential, but Keith was holding them back from finishing it. He was scared of what would happen when they put a flag on top of it, when they added the final touches to the swords the defenders held and the curtains on the windows. He was scared that it would all come tumbling down, and Lance would never attempt another sand castle with him again.

Hunk had chosen Allura to leave the game. His explanation made sense; it was nothing Keith disagreed with.

Keith thought that Lance was becoming a better leader than Keith was now. Perhaps they’d always been at the same level; when Keith was hot-headed and couldn’t make decisions, Lance couldn’t formulate a plan and didn’t take anything seriously enough. Now, though, Keith would leave Voltron in the hands of Lance in a heartbeat.

It was trust, he realized. He had trusted Allura with the Castle of Lions and the Voltron Coalition. But now, the castle was disintegrated and the Galra Empire’s leaders had been overthrown. Keith trusted Lance to take care of what was left, not lead something new.

Allura selected Pidge. Her reasoning had been more personal—she wanted to savor the legacy of her father. Keith thought that his personal reasons for choosing Lance were different.

No-one else could tell Shiro what happened to the team, what happened to Keith. There was no-one else that could tell his own mother what happened to her son. Lance was the only person that could deliver the message, because he was the only person in the room that knew Keith because they’d become each other’s backs. When they failed, they turned to each other as though they were the only two that mattered.

Keith trusted Lance with guiding Shiro back to Earth and bringing Krolia wherever she wanted to go. He trusted Lance to fix what Keith couldn’t, to accomplish what Keith couldn’t. Perhaps his and Allura’s reasonings weren’t so different after all.

“I voted for Keith,” Lance said, his voice the strongest it had been the entire night. Keith thought he was going to explode from where he was standing. He failed to hear most of what Lance said, thought he did manage to catch the last part. “He’s like the future.”

Maybe that was where they differed. Where Lance thought Keith was the future of the universe, Keith knew that Lance was the future of Keith’s world. There would always be an argument between them, and if they somehow made it out of the game alive, Keith planned to start a disagreement over why he would ever consider sending Keith out of the game instead of anyone else.

Although, he couldn't truly say they argued anymore. They would bicker, but nothing heated like they used to. The heat Keith when he so much as looked at Lance wasn’t from frustration, then.

Bob turned to Keith. “Keith, the leader, who do you think deserves to make it out of here, huh?”

Keith hated the way the host sounded, like he knew everything about everyone. Like how he enjoyed torturing Lance and stressing Keith out. The pedestal pinged in front of Keith, and the surprise on Bob’s face sent a wave of anger down his spine.

“Lance? Why Lance?”

There were a thousand things he could say. He had come to the sudden, horrible realization that he wasn’t frustrated at Lance like he always assumed he was. Keith was in love, and that was horrifying.

Lance didn’t deserve to be trapped in the game show for eternity. He deserved to go back to Earth and live with his family. Perhaps he could finish off his schooling in the Garrison and finally put out his middle finger to Keith and say, ‘See, I am the best fighter pilot of our class!’

Lance deserved happiness, and he knew that he wouldn’t get that staying in this game show for the rest of their lives. The revelation was a little too much for him to comprehend, and he did the one thing he always did: fall back to familiarity of red, hot anger.

“I just don’t wanna be stuck here for eternity with Lance,” he said with ire, upset at Bob and upset that he could never say what he meant because his ability to handle his own emotions was embarrassingly terrible. One could say a toddler could do better than him.

They’d voted for each other. They’d always had each other’s backs, becoming almost one and the same. He hated the way Lance looked at him dejectedly for the reason that Keith voted for him, knowing full well that he had lied through his teeth. It was almost too much to bear.

Pidge had chosen Hunk. Her reasoning went deaf to Keith’s ears as he stared at his hands. His emotions were splayed out in front of him, bleeding out of his heart and staining his gloves.

Bob crowned them winners and not a second later, Keith was waking up in the Black Lion. Groggily, he thought that maybe it was all just a dream. One hell of a dream, but at least he hadn’t said that terribly untrue thing to Lance.

Then Hunk started talking. Keith watched a piece of the castle crumble away, and he knew he would have to patch it up. What he said to Lance was heard. Lance would think that Keith meant his until he would finally replace the missing sand in their castle.

Keith looked out at the beach that housed their castle. It was all-too much for his heart, and he knew that he didn’t have the capacity to ask Lance about finishing it off yet. So, he settled for a compromise.

When we get back to Earth, he thought, I’ll tell him everything. The fate of their castle would come. Keith was done holding back.

[wei-smiler]

Efforts to complete Shiro's setting 👍🏻

Shiro carries the scent of rotten oranges with her, and this scent changes based on her emotional fluctuations, becoming stronger as her emotions intensify. When she's on the hunt, her scent often becomes a fatal weakness that exposes her location because she easily gets excited when nearing prey. You can gauge your distance from her based on this. However, sometimes she can use her scent to disturb her opponent's psyche, hiding in airtight places waiting for her prey to discover her. When the prey finally finds her, the scent of rotten oranges overwhelms the senses, making it hard to keep one's eyes open.

However, she's very sensitive about the fact that she emits a scent, so it's best not to pinch your nose or fan the air in her presence, as this can easily anger her.

Shiro is not an invincible war god; she can be suppressed by the blood of maidens. Any contact with blood causes a burning sensation for her. Dripping blood into her third eye can momentarily blind her.

Furthermore, it's reiterated that Shiro has the ability to assimilate desperate individuals into the Devour Khan (This is her Khan's name):

(During the 60 years of her rampage in Japan, a village chief, in order to resist her invasion, injured dozens of girls against their will, smearing their blood outside the village wall. Although they resisted Shiro's attack, the chief, who had lost the support of the villagers, was driven into the deep mountains by the enraged villagers and soon fell into despair. He was quickly assimilated by Shiro, who was lurking there, and joined the Devour Khan)

During times when Shiro is not so obsessed with dark forces, she likes to use her identity as a witch to fortune-tell her luck, often going to formal shrines to draw lots. If she doesn't get the result she wants, she'll discard the drawn lot and continue until she gets a satisfactory result. She also uses her "fortunes" to gamble, including but not limited to: card games, backgammon, pai gow, horse racing, and mahjong. Among them, mahjong is her favorite, but she's quite temperamental and either resorts to cheating or ends up overturning the table by the end. So whenever she persuades the generals to play mahjong with her, they usually respond indifferently 👍🏻

[poorlytunedukulele]

Day 5 - Impasse

April 07, 2883; The Last City, Earth

“So.  It’s come to this.”

The Hunters all stared at each other, steely-eyed.  The tension in the air was palpable.  It seemed to stifle breath.  Cayde crossed his arms, optics flicking from face to face.  Shiro kept his arms akimbo, hand never drifting too far from his sidearm.  Tevis scowled.  Azra pressed her lips into a thin line.  For a long second they all stood stock-still, nary a muscle-twich or servo-whine.  The bustle of the Tower Concourse around them was just a background hum.

Andal Brask presided over all of them, chin high and expression hard.  “Cayde,” he commanded.  “You go first.”

Cayde wasted no time.  He spoke confidently, with the occasional sharp gesture to accentuate his points.  “Leo’s is clearly the superior option.  It has the widest variety of food.  Breakfast stuff, Greek.  Coney dogs.  Everyone could find something.”

Andal turned his eyes to Azra.  The younger Hunter added her points quickly.  “They don’t serve alcohol at Leo’s.  Finnegan’s has a bar.  I heard they have a new batch of ciders in.  And you know you’ll be able to flirt your way into a free drink if you want one.”

Shiro tilted his head.  “They do have that new bartender- whatstheirname- that doesn’t flirt with Cayde.”

“What are the chances they’ll be working tonight?” Tevis asked.  “They have like five others.”

“Finnegan’s food is so heavy, though,” Cayde whined.  “It just sits in ya.”

“Maybe if you didn’t order and then eat two entire baskets of potato wedges,” Azra said.

“They had a two-for-one deal!” Cayde said.

“Not your turn,” Andal interrupted.  “Shiro?”

Shiro looked Azra straight in the eye.  “Leo’s has a dish that they light on fire.  In front of you.”

Azra’s resolve clearly wavered at that.  Tevis stepped in before she could recant her vote.  “Finnegan’s is more calm.  Leo’s has those LEDs at maximum brightness.  I feel like I’m in a shopping mall.”

“Bacon and eggs,” Cayde said.

“Pulled pork,” Azra countered.

“Leo’s will be faster,” Shiro pointed out.  “And cheaper.”

“We’re all rich and it’s raining at Camp,” Tevis said.  “What else are we going to do?”

“Do none of you have any better points to make?” Andal asked the group.  “Or any other restaurant suggestions?”

Cayde groaned.  “Well, you won’t let me vote for Ramen again, so this is what you get.”

Andal tsked disapprovingly.  “The Ramen Quota is the only compromise that let you still participate in dinner decisions, Six.  It is not my fault you filled it already this month.”

Azra’s eyes went wide, her voice sweetening noticeably.  “Can’t you vote this one time, Andal?  Just to make things easier?  It’s an even split.”

Andal glared at her.  “You’ve filled the puppy-dog-eyes quota this month, too, Jax.”

Azra swore and looked away.

Andal shook his head.  “We need discipline.  I can’t go resolving your interpersonal conflicts every time there’s a disagreement.  You guys can sit and argue until you get really hungry, or something else forces your hands.”

Someone from outside the circle cleared their throat.  It was a different Hunter- Ashton, a member of Dead End Cure.  (He wasn’t the only onlooker, by far- just the boldest).  “Why don’t you guys just go to separate restaurants for dinner?”

He’d thought the suggestion was a reasonable one, but the five Hunters turned to stare at him.  Expressions ranged from incredulity to outright hostility.  Ashton swore he could feel the air smoldering on his skin. 

He put his hands up and backed away nervously.  “Okay.  Geez.  Didn’t mean to strike a nerve.”

There were a couple of scoffs, and the group turned to resume its tense negotiations. 

“What a weirdo,” Cayde muttered under his breath.  “Go to different restaurants?  Who does he think we are?”

“Okay, hear me out,” Shiro said.  “Sushi-“

“Only if you can find one that doesn’t serve ramen,” Tevis interrupted.

“Why the hell do you care if they have ramen?” Cayde asked.  “You wouldn’t have to eat it.”

“It’s the principle of the thing,” Tevis answered.

Andal sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose as a fresh round of argument erupted.

[ninjapotatohead]

don’t tell me people are still upset at you for daring to say Sonic’s writing is flawed?? Sonic Forces is a masterpiece don’t you now, should be right there next with the greats like Final Fantasy 16, Persona 3, The last air bender and Arcane

Yep, people are still this blind to the franchise's flaws.

They always tout sweet nothings about "not settling for mediocrity", yet are settling for mediocrity of a marginally different flavor.

They always go on about how SEGA of Japan are the only people who know how to handle the franchise compared to how SEGA of America does it, yet they conveniently forget that SOJ has final say on everything SOA does; from the voice casting to the franchise's direction.

They always yap about how Shiro Maekawa is the only person alive who can "save" the series' storytelling and "fix" the franchise's inconsistent lore, yet he's just as guilty (if not more so) of ignoring said lore and other writers' contributions to it.

[lookismaddict]

lookism characters as mythological gods 👀 who would be who

OH SHEEEEEESH, I LOVE MYTHOLOGICAL GODS. ESP GREEK & ROMAN GODS ✨ AYO, YOU A REAL ONE FOR ASKING THIS QUESTION, TY JANN! 💜 I hope you don’t mind this analysis… 😅 (Took a long time to write because there was a lot of research LMAO, I'M SORRY THIS TOOK ME FOREVER TO ANSWER. 🙏🏽) BUT NOW, I CAN PROUDLY POST THIS. 🫡 💖

While matching each god to a Lookism character, I found this very fun because there are so many mythological gods and goddesses that can be associated with any of them. Especially when it comes to their appearances, symbols, and folklore. The depictions of these gods all tie to each of these selected Lookism characters:

Gun and Goo || Fujin & Raijin (Shintoism)

First, let’s start off with Gun. There are many reasons why I see Gun as the Shinto god, Fujin, and here’s why:

Fujin [風神] is known to be the Shinto kami (god) of the wind. A deity that controls the winds of the Earth through his bag of air.

Due to his control of strong wind currents, he is connected to storms, especially powerful typhoons, that would cause the destruction of many trees and and homes. However, Fujin leaves most of the job to Raijin.

According to a Japanese legend from the 13th century, he managed to save Japan by sending storms to Mongol invaders who were trying to conquer Japan. Fujin’s winds were so ruthless, that the Mongol’s fleets were all destroyed in one storm.

Fujin and Gun are both forces to be reckoned with. Fujin’s destructive actions are similar to Gun’s, in which they both initiate both ruin and devastation. Since Fujin had wiped out over a thousand people for centuries, then it wouldn’t be a surprise if Gun’s future would eventually lead to the downfall of many more lives. This man had dealt with so many enemies (100+) all the way up to his current lifetime of about 20 years, that it wouldn’t even be a surprise if he so happens to murder even more people later on.

Also, since Fujin is associated with the use of harsh winds intermingled with water due to typhoons and storms, they are involved in a shared element. The nature element, water, represents them both in some way. Both Fujin and Gun are present whenever it rains. On days when there’s rain, Fujin’s winds are harsh during storms. Whereas, in Gun’s case, he is always present on days when the weather is rainy and gloomy. However, for Gun, he just appears when there’s rain to pass along the message of “the end” for people, especially when it comes to a person not being able to hold their position as Gun’s future successor. You could say, that the both of them also symbolize the presence of melancholy, since they both bring nothing but misfortune upon people during unpleasant weather. They play as the instigators of the end to peacefulness.

Fujin has an appearance of a true Oni, due to his mother Izanami giving birth to him when she reached the underworld. According to Gun’s background when he was still in Japan, many knew him as “Shiro Oni”. In the webtoon, the translation for his name was “White Ghost”. However, the word “Oni” actually meant ogre or demon in Japanese folklore. Of course, it wouldn’t be a surprise that many native Japanese residents would call him a demon due to his infamous yet terrifying background of nothing but merciless violence.

Not only was Fujin’s face alike from Gun’s, but also their attire. Apparently, Fujin usually wears leopard skin. And who else wore something leopard related? Gun Park. That leopard patterned long sleeved shirt really does say something about his fashion. He definitely must be Fujin, but in human form. Both of them really do share the same fashion sense. 💀

In addition to his face and attire, but Fujin only has four fingers on each hand. These four fingers represent the North, South, East, and West. In a way, this association of Gun as Fujin can be symbolic as well. Gun’s affiliation with the Four Major Crews can be shown through Fujin’s fingers since Gun, who had contributed to the establishment of these Four Major Crews, identified the strongest crews in South Korea. Each crew either coming from the North, South, East, and West of the Han River, which splits their territories into four different parts of South Korea.

Gun has the same personality trait as Fujin as well. Fujin is described to be the brother who is less spontaneous in personality, compared to Raijin. He is also unenthusiastic whenever he is met with some sort of issue that he has to deal with and he is more “laidback”, not taking things too seriously against enemies. This is probably due to how aware he is of his own powerful strength. The same goes with Gun. His personality when dealing with those who are against him is also like this as well, with a hint of arrogance, knowing that he can defeat anybody on his own.

Now, let’s talk about Goo as Raijin:

Raijin [雷神] is the Shinto kami of thunder, lightning, and storms. Often times, he’s seen alongside his brother, Fujin. They both mostly appear together as a pair, like Gun and Goo whenever they show up in certain scenes. (However, the only difference compared to Fujin and Raijin is that Gun and Goo aren’t brothers.)

To clarify, Raijin is responsible for the creations of storms, not Fujin. Fujin is only responsible for strong wind currents, so he leaves the work of thunder clouds and lightning to his brother, Raijin.

Raijin’s personality is one of the distinctive factors that many people use to distinguish between Raijin and Fujin. Similarly, with Gun and Goo too. The difference in personalities in each pair are quite the same indeed. Just like Raijin’s personality, Goo’s is very chaotic and he can be mischievous with trickery. Even though Raijin is known as a trickster, he either does good or bad. He produces good in the form of rainfall for crops or he creates storms that destroys both the living and non-living.

Just like Goo, he’s a character that brings good and bad in his own way. In a unique way, he gives people opportunities to help fulfill their own ambitions, by becoming one of his “secret friends”. For example, Goo used to beat up bullies to earn money. In a way, he somehow benefited others, such as that one event when Goo saved his cousin, Vasco, and Jace from school bullies. His encounter with Vasco had led Vasco to become stronger than he was before. In addition to these “good” occurrences, Goo offered Samuel Seo a new chance of power after being rejected by Gun, in which Samuel took him on his offer then became one of Goo’s so called “secret friends”. Another instance of this is when Goo recruited Logan Lee as another one of his “secret friends” too. Logan wanted to get stronger since his goal is to get back at the original Daniel Park, so this event was like Goo opening up a new beneficial start for Logan.

Although this was the case for some people, Goo also managed to cause distruction wherever he goes. Returning to the subject of the bullies, he did beat them up pretty badly. He even found it amusing to see them suffer. With almost every person that he had fought against, he had this maniacal enjoyment that he found in defeating others. It was as if he had fun beating up others just for the sake of his own amusement. Along with his chaotic mind, he took his destructiveness with him, just like Raijin. According to that one chapter when Sinu got a phone call from one of his old friends, his friend mentioned through the phone that he should be careful of someone named “Joon Goo” who had completely wiped out their whole entire crew. Which quickly indicated and foreshadowed, that Goo would eventually cause trouble for Big Deal.

Sinu Han || Heracles/Hercules (Greco-Roman Mythology)

There are some reasons why I believe that Sinu Han should be Heracles:

Even though Heracles was known as a demi-god (only a mortal), he became the god of heroes and the divine protector of mankind when he died. (This is completely unrelated to Sinu in comparison, but just wanted to address that Heracles isn’t a god when he completed his heroic deeds.)

As a defender for all, Heracles acts like a public servant. Throughout most of his lifetime, he protects civilians who are in dire need of help. Just like Heracles, Sinu Han’s mindset is similar. For about 10 years, he protected a street in Gangseo, in which he had dedicated himself to serve as the defender for the women who loved that street. It was his home. Even Heracles loved Greece and had thrown himself into dangerous situations just to defend his home.

Heracles rescued so many beings in need. A special being that he rescued was Prometheus. No matter how bad he may be as a titan to the gods, he was willing to set Prometheus free due to how he had helped humanity for giving them fire. Sinu Han's character is similar to Heracles since he is the type of person to set someone free, regardless if they have done something bad in the past. What matters is how good of a person's character is, and how they contribute to serving others. I can see Sinu letting someone go if they changed for the better, and by giving them another chance to redeem themself. For instance, even though this hasn't been directly approved by Sinu (but by Jake), Lineman used to be a character who caused trouble and lied to others, thinking that he was a big-shot. However, he changed by being accepted by Jake Kim into Big Deal and if Jake approves of these people who he have gained as his friends (or followers), then Sinu approved of them for being good people and they eventually became members of Big Deal. (Hence, believing in Jake's jurisdiction in finding good in others.)

Although he may be a well-known mythological hero, many do not know how much he had suffered. There was a time when Heracles was enslaved, and he was bought by the Lydian Queen Omphale. She made him do many things as a slave, such as forcing him to wear women's clothing (to humiliate him) and spun wool to help her and her maidens. Omphale did fall in love with Heracles, but eventually she set him free (and they got married). Alike from Sinu Han's situation, Mitsuki Soma was head over heels for Sinu, that she wanted him for herself. Treated like a slave, Sinu had to endure hardships of being her "lover". Manipulated and controlled by Mitsuki due to a mystery drug that made him forget his memories, Mitsuki made him stick by her side, in which she made him shower together. Sinu's identity and memories were twisted by her, which gave Mitsuki the power to successfully manipulate him for a long time (until Jake Kim had to rescue Sinu from The Workers).

Jake Kim || Balder (Norse Mythology)

This is why Jake Kim can be seen as Balder:

Balder is known to be not just the Norse god of light, joy, and summer. Jake Kim usually brought light and joy to people's lives, especially during his middle school days when he'd start getting himself involved with Big Deal. He had made a lot of friends and allies along the way, which would influence (I'll ignore Balder's death, and will be focusing more on his personal aspects, features, and his background that are similar to Jake's.)

Like Balder, Jake Kim shares handsome features and is a very attractive man. He has a bright smile just like Balder, and he has fair hair. In Norse mythology, it was said that Balder was so noble and handsome, that light shines down on his body in which flowers would bow down before him as he passes by.

Also he is the representation for the themes of justice, beauty, hope, and sacrifice. During the Jake Kim Arc, he sacrificed himself, especially for Big Deal who sought for the rescue of Big Deal's Former No. 1, Sinu Han.

(Side Note: I didn't want to associate Jake Kim with Eros because even though he's good-looking and is strongly related to the idea of "love" and "Romanticism", Eros is usually described as mischievous and unsympathetic due to him shooting arrows at people regardless of how they think/feel. It is the complete opposite to Jake's personality, in which he is considerate and kind towards others.)

Samuel Seo || Mercury (Roman Mythology)

Let me explain why I see Samuel as Hermes:

Mercury is well-known for being the messenger god AND the god of commerce. Alike from Samuel, Samuel specializes in business-related work and he manages finances really well. At one point, he was very close with Eugene and Samuel acted like a messenger to Eugene, since he reports to him about what goes on in the affiliates when Samuel used to be president for some of the affiliates.

Mercury had a dependent role in managing the gods. Just like Mercury, Samuel as well. He was close with the higher-ups of the Workers (especially Eugene) in which he was positioned by him to manage the 3rd and 4th affiliate of Workers. Both of their roles is to keep the gods or Workers

Even though Mercury’s role might seem “helpful” at first, do not be fooled by Hermes’s appearance, because he isn’t who he seems to be. Just like Samuel when he was first introduced in the Lookism series, we didn’t quite expect him to turn out the way that we know him now.

Mercury favors the ambitious, so he supports those who are willing to reach their goals, no matter how wicked they are. Going off by his “work smarter, not harder" ideology, Samuel is quite the ambitious man. He’s willing to reach higher things, in order to accomplish his dream as someone who’s powerful. Or, as he likes to refer to himself someday as a “King”. (As mentioned to Jake.)

As a god who defends tricksters and thieves, Hermes likes toying with others. He even favors cleverness and amusement. During the Workers (3 Affiliates) Arc, Samuel's behavior is shown as one who likes toying with others, initiating the start to Johan's rage when he found out that the Workers' Third Affiliate used to sell drugs to Pungsan, which was the God Dog cult that was ran by the former church pastor.

James Lee || Shiva “The Destroyer” (Hindu Mythology)

Here is why I believe James Lee should be Shiva:

Shiva is mainly known as "The Destroyer" and "The Creator" of worlds, in Hindu mythology. He even represents time as well. James Lee was known to be the man who ended the First Generation by defeating all of the First Generation Kings, which fits his character of being "The Destroyer". Consequently, causing the spark of a new generation, which is the emergence of the Second Generation. In this case, being "The Creator" does suit him because he is literally the catalyst to a new generation of fighters. You can also say, that he manipulates time if he were to be Shiva in this context.

Shiva also represents goodness, benevolence, and is said to be "The Protector". In a way, James Lee shows signs of "good" nature and benevolence, in which he acts as a guide to Daniel Park, in finding the secret to his two bodies. And even though James Lee isn't known as "The Protector", he did protect Charles Choi in the past. By aiding him as the company's head for an entertainment agency, he protected Charles' business by supporting him through this method.

This Hindu god is also named the "Lord of the Dance" or Nataraja, according to a Hindu artwork called, "Shiva Nataraja". From the statue, it depicts Shiva dancing in a halo of fire (which represents time), and Shiva stepping on a dwarf with one foot (which is a creature that represents illusion, who leads men astray from the actual truth). Metaphorically, this relates to James Lee because James Lee had the urge to find out the truth about the secret of the two bodies, and is willing to do anything to achieve his goal. Even if it meant betraying Charles Choi, by allying himself with The Workers, specifically Eugene.

Canonically confirming from the Webtoon, it is known that James Lee has a huge penis. Well, so does Shiva. In Hinduism, Shiva is associated with lingas, or phallic symbols, which represents fertility. 🍆

[kotonoba]

ISYT (Jushiro/F!Reader) Ch. 54

Second Battle, return of the Bankais.

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

The second battle wasn’t a surprise but caught both of you. As Jushiro was in Mimihagi’s shrine praying, you sat within the shrine to negate sound & set up a barrier so no one would disturb him. It was already lovely enough that Jushiro allowed you to sit in with him because you supposed a shrine is quite a sacred place. 

As the battle took place, the captain's spiritual pressure dropped suddenly. It pained you to know you couldn’t help. You could, but you were about to break a law more significant than the one that bound Soul Society. You’d need all the energy you could save up. 

As Jushiro’s two third seats wanted to notify him of the significant changes in Soul Society, he cleared his throat at you & gave you a sad, pleading smile: " Can you?” 

It was rare for Jushiro to ask you favors; usually, you did them before he had the chance to ask. But not this time; this time, you were too late. Nodding gently, you placed a hand on the hilt of your Zanpakutou, & the other hand pointed at the doorway, “barrier.” 

Jushiro watched quietly when the Zanpakutou emitted a soft, ice-blue glow, & a barrier formed around the shrine, negating any noise & entry from others, “your Zanpakutou abilities are so pretty to look at, y/n.” 

You chuckled at his comment; it wasn’t a lie, but you didn’t precisely expose what your Zanpakutou could do. You kept most of the information to yourself, only exposing it as a supportive type of Zanpakutou; & a need to be offensive if the situation was dire. You didn’t exactly tell anyone that you’ve already achieved Bankai a while back in case of dire situations. 

You watched the landscape of Soul Society, a once beautiful place now painted in pure white. It reminded you of a once joyous place stripped bare of its flesh, leaving a white skeleton behind, almost like arrancars. 

Perhaps you weren’t aware of the time that passed, but Jushiro cleared his throat again to catch your attention, “can you dress me?” He smiled, but you anticipated him to say: <i>one last time</i>? 

You nodded, hurrying to his side to dress him. He usually doesn’t ask you to do things like this; it’s usually done when he yearns for your attention. As you were dressing him, & the battles raged loudly outside, you glanced at him only to see that he was watching you intently. "Shiro...” 

He gently touched your cheeks, pulling you into a loving kiss. Since the battle had begun, the two of you hadn’t kissed since you were so busy trying to figure out a solution for everyone. You leaned into the kiss, gripping his attire; it felt like a goodbye kiss, but it was a goodbye kiss in your eyes. “I love you, & depending on how the battle goes, it seems like I may have to sacrifice myself.” 

You knew well that he was going to say something like that. You even anticipated that. But hearing it still made you nauseous, & Jushiro did feel a sudden drop in your reiatsu from that. Quickly, he moved to hug you, almost as if desperately trying to hold you together, “I– I expected that; I just didn’t expect it to be this soon,” tears welled up in your eyes, burying against his neck. He tensed up when he noticed you were crying, “I thought we could pass together, not amid war.” 

You weren’t crying because he was going to sacrifice himself. You were crying, knowing that he was going to blame himself for what you did. No one but you & your Zanpakutou spirits knew what you planned to do in dire situations, “y/n, I love you, I never want to leave you, but if Soul Society is no more, then our family would be no more, this is something I have to do. I don’t wish it to happen, but, worst case scenario, I want you to be happy, & don’t blame yourself.” 

You nodded a little; it felt like the air from your lungs was sucked out by an unknown force; you choked a little as tears streamed down your face, “I love you too, so don’t blame yourself either, okay?” 

Although Jushiro does not understand what you meant by that, he will soon understand, & he will not be able to keep that promise.

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

I ain't even gonna lie, writing these last few chapters stressed me out so much I've been having nightmares & sleepless nights. Only writing that sequel did it ease my stress a little bit. Sorry if you guys have stress & anxiety from reading it too. Not that I feel bad or anything, lol.

Aries' AO3

[autisticlancemcclain]

Keith doesn’t miss Earth the way everyone else does.

He does miss it, of course. He had a few months early in their journey that he stubbornly insisted he didn’t, but he’s grown enough now to admit that yeah, wifi was nice. So was non-recycled air. And a yellow sun. (God, it’s so weird to genuinely miss a yellow sun. He never thought that shit mattered.) None of this even covers how much he misses, to his grand shock, the culture of Earth — it’s strange and humbling to have to explain what a car is. Or a country. Or the concept of global warming, which is an embarrassing thing to have to put into words to someone who’s never really heard of it. (Like genuinely very humiliating. Explaining to someone that they very nearly shortened the life span of humanity because of consumerism, essentially, is something he still thinks of and just shudders.)

Mostly, though, he’s happy to be in space. Space is weird as shit and so is he, so he feels like he has an easier time just functioning, really. He likes the untethered-ness of it all, the lack of general structure. He doesn’t spend a lot of time wishing things were different.

Except for right now.

His sword, which he has been boredly slashing and poking at the wall of the Empire ship, gets stuck in the tiny crack where two sheets of metal panelling are pushed together. He huffs grouchily at it, pulling it out, then has to plant his boot on the wall and yank when it refuses to do so. The tip of the blade gets unstuck quicker than he’d expected and the change in force startles him, sending him sprawling on the floor.

He scrambles to his feet, bright red, clearing his throat and trying to roll his shoulders casually, as if he was intentionally on the floor. He looks like a huge massive dork, so thankfully no one was looking his way anyway.

“Are y’all almost done?” he calls, trying really hard to sound like he’s just innocently inquiring and not whining. It is no easy task — he’s bored and he’s hungry and he’s restless and this stupid ship smells like a stale refrigerator and he’s really really bored, in case he forgot to mention.

He scowls when no one answers, sticking out his tongue at the green and yellow paladins, both of whom are hunched over a control pad, wires everywhere, trying to hack in or out of something. Keith’s not sure. They told him and Lance to keep watch at the door and then stopped responding, basically.

This is the part of Earth that Keith has missed. Back home, Keith got to do all the investigative shit, too. Don’t get him wrong, he likes being the stabby one, as Shiro has so patronizingly put it; he likes being the one to run head first into conflict with a smirk on his face and a sword on the ready. It’s fun to be the impulsive one and be rewarded for it. It’s fun to be able to wreck Empire shit and practice witty one-liners to shoot off at annoying generals and sergeants or whatever the Galra equivalent is, just to watch their eyes twitch in rage before Keith cracks them one. All missions are two parts, essentially, fucking around and finding out, and Keith loves having free reign to fuck around.

He just wishes he got to be part of the finding out, too.

He sighs, long and loud and petulant because obviously no one is listening. He knows that his investigative research with Blue was at a very different level than all the stuff Hunk and Pidge do. He understands that on an objective level. If he wants to be part of the find out portion then he has to be prepared, has to put in the effort to learn and keep learning, to know how to recognise red flags and read code and all that nerd shit.

But computer science is just so boring.

Keith is a science person. Duh. He went to pilot school. Physics was eighty percent of that whole spiel, and he’s always had an affinity for chemistry, even if said affinity caused a lot of explosions and also Adam’s blood pressure condition. Science is cool as shit.

But coding is fucking boring. He has tried and tried to sit down and learn it, but every time Pidge tries to explain the basics his eyes glaze right over, and it’s not fair to her to waste her time.

He sighs again. He gets to wait, then.

Deciding that he’d rather not slash a hundred new scratches in the ship’s wall, lest the damn bridge feel more like a prison cell than it already does, he starts to pace, swinging his sword back and forth randomly. He could try to practice a few of the techniques and swordplay choreo he’s been learning, but that’s no fun without a partner. He’s become spoiled with the castle’s training bot. With Shiro hanging back with Coran and Allura, there’s no one around to clash swords with.

He perks up. There is, actually. He forgot that Lance had unlocked a sword when he first got switched to Red.

He spins around, trying to find where Lance ducked off to. He expected to find him leaning on Hunk’s back or pestering Pidge, like he often does — they’ve long since learned to work around him — but he’s nowhere to be found. Keith walks around the area, poking his sword at piles of sentry parts he cut up a few hours ago, peeking behind control panels and various big important chairs. Nothing.

“Lance?” Keith calls softly. Something like worry sours his stomach.

Please, for the love of all things good and holy, don’t let Lance have been hurt or taken this whole time. Keith will never forgive himself.

Thankfully, a hand sticks up by the far end of the bridge, blue armour glinting in the ugly purple lighting. Keith heaves a huge sigh of relief, jogging over. He thought he’d seen Lance before Hunk and Pidge had hunkered down to get info. But in that brief moment of panic, he wasn’t sure.

“Whatcha doing?” he asks as he comes close enough to Lance to speak. The red paladin has wedged himself between some kind of steel storage bin and the wall, in an impossibly narrow sliver of space, which explains why Keith missed him when he was looking.

Lance doesn’t answer right away, instead nudging a roll of wire with his foot. He has something resting in his lap, and wire is looped around his fingers, sliding back and forth as he carefully weaves it into a pattern. Keith watches, intrigued, for several passes of the craft.

“Nicked it from Team Punk when they really started to get wrapped up in their nerd corner,” he explains, finally looking up at Keith to shoot him a wry grin. Keith grins back. “Standing guard is boring as hell, especially when we took out all the sentries and barred the doors. And the castle is parked outside, so hell if I know what we’re guarding for.”

“Fuck, I know,” Keith groans, sitting down in front of him. Honestly, there is no real reason for them to be here. He half suspects Shiro has sent them all out for some peace and quiet, which is rude.

He grabs the spool of wire by Lance’s feet, inspecting it carefully. It’s very thin, and flat instead of a round tube-ish shape that wire usually is. There are two wrapped around the spool, too, one red and one blue. Keith curiously looks back over to Lance’s lap, trying to get a better look at what he’s doing with the wire. He doubts it’s anything mechanical — Lance gets as bored as he does when Hunk and Pidge try to explain stuff — but he’s intrigued on what has kept Lance’s interest for so long.

He’s surprised to find that he recognises what Lance is making, or at least sort of. It’s a long, spiralling chain, like the wire has been woven together to make some kind of mini spiralled staircase. He remembers, although vaguely, seeing other kids at recess in elementary school, sat down all over the place, clambering all over each other with flat plastic string, making boxy keychains or scratching spiral bracelets.

“Oh, hey, I know that stuff,” he says. He scrunches his face, trying to recall the name of the craft and coming up completely empty. It’s not friendship bracelets, the string was too stiff for that. Not that loom elastic thing either. “I don’t know the name, though.”

Lance chuckles lightly, sliding a last piece of string through a loop before tying it all off. He hooks it next a growing collection of them that Keith just notices, with a wide array of colours and patterns, hanging off his utility belt like leaves from a branch.

“I don’t know the name, either.” He tilts his head in consideration. “Well, I do. I googled it once, and I got some strange French name that didn’t fit, so I never used it. No one ever, like, sought it out or anything. Someone just came to school with a pack of the thread and everyone was obsessed with it for a week before forgetting about it.”

Keith tilts his head in acknowledgment. That’s what he remembers, too, but he doesn’t remember ever having any friends who would give him any of the string to try, nor was he ever comfortable enough with whatever foster parents he had to fumble through a request for the string.

“…Can I try?” he mumbles, after watching Lance start and weave a new one. He’s not entirely sure why, but suddenly his cheeks are red, and shyness pricks at the back of his neck. He’s suddenly nervous that Lance is gonna laugh at him, gonna tell him no, gonna give him a weird look for asking at all.

It’s ridiculous. Lance wouldn’t do that, and there’s nothing wrong with Keith asking. But he feels the nerves anyway.

“Sure,” Lance says easily, tugging on the strings and setting his chain aside. He smiles brightly at Keith, brown eyes crinkled and soft, and although the shyness fades away his blush goes nowhere. If anything, Keith feels his face get hotter. “What colours do you want?”

Keith clears his throat, wishing the flush away. He points to the red and blue spool he’d seen first. Lance quickly unravels thread to the length of his arm, matching up both colours before cutting. He sets the spool to the side then carefully lines up both threads, folding them in half and wrapping them over his thumb too quickly for Keith to see what he does exactly.

“I’ll start it for you, ‘cause it’s hard.”

“Hey,” Keith protests immediately. “I can start my own.”

Lance raises an eyebrow. He blinks at him, slowly, for several moments. Keith huffs and looks away.

When he looks back, Lance is grinning, and he holds out the carefully started craft.

“It’s genuinely very difficult to start them,” he promises. “I’m the only one of my siblings who knows, they used to ask me to start theirs all the time. It’s way easier to do rather than start, trust me.”

That mollifies Keith a little. He does trust Lance, and now that he thinks about it he can vaguely recall how one person on the playground would hold court while a million people crowded around them, fielding dozens of requests for starts.

“Okay, watch me first, then I’ll walk you through doing it yourself.” Slower than he was moving before, Lance loops and weaves the thread, taking great care to keep his hands open so Keith can see the entire process. The chain he’s making looks different from the one he made earlier, and Keith says as much.

“Yeah, this one’s a box chain, it’s way easier. The spiral one is hard.” He snorts at Keith’s pout. “Don’t give me that look, doofus. You can work your way up to spiral. Try this one for now, okay?”

He hands the started chain off to Keith, then scoots out from his little nook, settling in beside Keith to help guide his hands.

Right beside Keith. His entire left side is pressed against Keith’s entire right, and he slides one hand under Keith’s arm, accidentally brushing across Keith’s ribs, to help guide his hands. Keith tries everything he can to stay still, breathing shallowly out his mouth, determined not to move even a muscle, either so Lance doesn’t move or does he’s not sure. He’s not sure what’ll make him feel less like he’s going to explode, less like every spot Lance touches isn’t going to burst into flames.

“Okay, start with the loops. See how there’s already kind of a square shape? Flip the red thread in either side of it, yeah, like that. There should be two loops and the extra string should hang opposite of each other. Okay, now take the blue string, and weave it over and under — yeah, just like that! It should create four mini squares in a big square, you nailed it.”

Lance looks up at him to shoot him that big beaming grin again, and Keith tries to muster a weak smile back at him, realising for the first time that he has yet to breathe and he should probably do that before the spots in his vision get any worse and he passes out.

This is fine, this is normal, Lance touches people all the time. He is a touchy person. This is so not worth him going batty about, what is his brain’s deal.

“Alright, now loop the extra thread around your fingers and pull it away from each other. It’s kind of a pain because it’s super smooth so it doesn’t really want to stay together, and it takes a learning curve, but — oh, hey, you got it! Good job. Now do it again.”

Trying to remind himself to breathe every few seconds, Keith repeats what Lance taught him, over and over again until the chain starts to look like an actual chain, to Keith’s pleasure. He’s fascinated by the quick way the squares build, how the layers are so thin but it doesn’t take long at all for them to stack into something longer than his pinky finger.

Keith blinks, startled, when Hunk and Pidge clap their hands, calling out that it’s time to go. He realises that there’s a bit of a crick in his neck from hunching over, the tips of his fingers feel raw, and the chain has become as long as his hand. Although it hasn’t felt like more than a few minutes, he’s clearly been doing this for a while.

This is amazing. A boring mission has never flown by this fast before!

“Looks great,” Lance says, genuine pull of his brows belying the truth to his words — he’s not just saying that at all. “You picked that up fast.”

Keith coughs, standing on wobbly, half-asleep legs. “Uh, yeah. I’m good with my hands.”

Lance makes a strange noise as he bends down and tucks the spools of wire away, a muffled, kind of derisive snicker. “Yeah, I bet you are,” he mumbles to himself, turned away, as if he didn’t mean for Keith to hear it.

Keith stumbles. His jaw drops. Lance is out the door and on his way to his lion before Keith can react.

He twirls his chain in his hands when he finally remembers how to do other things rhan have Lance’s words repeat in his head a bajillion times, walking slowly to his own lion. His right side still tingles ever place Lance touched it. He grins a little to himself, remembering the easy way Lance guided his fingers, smiled at him.

Maybe these boring missions aren’t so bad after all, actually.

[onlythegoodpretzels]

"We'll get it out."

Followup to this sketch!

Been coloring this for a while! So many people to shade. But I finished it in time for @augustofwhump's Day 7 prompt: Promise.

Snippet of WIP fic for it under the cut, ft. more promises and Shiro flashbacks.

***

“Ok. Ok, let’s get this off.” Hunk balked for a second, but he managed to reach for the muzzle. Ulas winced but held rigidly still as Hunk ran his fingers tentatively over the surface.

“This isn’t what muzzles are for,” Hunk said into the quiet. “On dogs, I mean. They don’t keep their mouth closed, its only to keep them from biting. They need to be able to pant. This…this is just…cruel. What’s it even for?”

Shiro forced himself to see the mechanism rather than just blur over it. He might know. He might know, and he didn’t want to know, but he might. “Most Galra don’t pant like dogs do.” He shivered. “And they are cruel.”

Curved bars matched the shape of Ulas’ head and neck tightly, holding the heavy cage in place. Tightened automatically, too seamless to pry under. The muzzle’s central panels were dark and opaque, emblazoned with the imperial sigil over where they sealed the wearer’s mouth. The only holes for air were two narrow slits in front of Ulas’ ears, whistling softly as he breathed.

The higher bar, the one that curved under Ulas’ eyes and across the back of his head, was a disturbingly familiar, magenta-ish metallic color.

Dizzy something ached in the back of Shiro’s head, where the crescent scar jagged across his neck. “There’s two components here.” He tried not to wince, and moved slowly as he pointed. “This section, is a prisoner head collar. Across the skull under the eyes.” Hunk froze, fingers shaking on the bridge, but Shiro made himself keep going. “The muzzle was anchored to it. Maybe activated from it.”

They were looking at him, both of them. Katie’s face was torn between furious curiosity and blazing anger. Hunk looked sad and scared and like he knew ---

Shiro couldn’t not blink. He couldn’t not lose the thread, suddenly blotted out by phantom ---

Pain dug into his neck, the sound of his own muffled cries in his ears, hard edge biting into his hair.

Galra words. Over him. “Face down, and it stops.”

He hadn’t. He’d snarled and fought, scrabbling against hard metal, dragging against the awful snap of the shortening chain wrenching on his head. He’d kept his knees under him, his chest off the ground.

“Prove you know the word, olka. Or do you want me to make this worse?”

VRRRR

Pressure crushed suddenly into his jaw, the panels of the muzzle grinding into him from all sides. Pain jagged and sudden, shallow spikes extruding into his cheeks and under his chin.

He screamed.

“Coryx! Enough! You already confirmed ---.” 

“If I wanted your opinion, Ulas ---

“Shiro!”

Shiro blinked, torn suddenly in between. He was down on his knees and he was standing with his arms curled over his face. He was howling into a gag and he was heaving gasping, whimpering breaths in empty air. It was dark, purple, and it was bright, blue.

Ulas the Galra pushed another dark form over him, armored, unbattered,, and Hunk his friend stared up at him, hands out, pale with worry. There were Galra yellow eyes behind Hunk.

He couldn’t keep Hunk safe here! He had to get him out!

“It’s ok. Shiro? It’s ok.” Hunk’s eyes shimmered, like he’d been crying. “I promise. It’s not on you. It’s not going to hurt you again.”

The panic tilted, unbalanced, as the reluctantly focused. Hunk didn’t sound scared. What was going on? At first Shiro only saw the damn head collar, muzzle extended. Not --- not on him. He could see it and all its awful crosses. 

The strap dug wrong into fur, biting into Ulas’s face. The same face. Ulas sat curled in on the table, face narrowed, eyes sharp. He swiveled his ears forward and Shiro realized with a start they were even rounder now. “Shhhhr,” Ulas wheezed, face drawn with pain from trying to talk. “Mkkkkkr.”

The memory had a tail, a faint echo that barely clung on now. Hands on him, holding him pinned. Unhooking the tension dragging him down. Makur, stop. You’re exhausted.

Ulas’ voice. Shiro knew without even having heard it.

He shuddered, lowering his hands. He didn’t want to know anything else right now. He nodded shakily to Hunk. “S-sorry. I’m ok. Let’s just…get this over with.”

Katie watched him, her face clouded with things she wasn’t saying. Like a trap he might fall into someday. But instead she said, “Yeah, now that you pointed it out, I can trace the interface signals between those two pieces.” She waved a small detector wand near Ulas’ jaw. “They are real chatty.”

A small panel lay on the table next to her, with bent metal and detritus next to them. It looked like while Shiro was freaking out they’d made some progress. He cursed being so easy to make useless.

Hunk hesitated, but when Shiro came back, he followed. Ulas didn’t turn his head, jarringly pliant as Hunk reached into a small opening in the neck loop of the muzzle. “There’s lots of conduits in here. And I still have no idea what energy source they use.”

He should stay quiet. He should focus and do what he had to and not jab at any of the rest. But Shiro watched Ulas shudder, and couldn’t. “Tell us if it hurts you,” he ordered quietly in Galran, confused again with how steady his voice came out. “I want to know.”

Ulas twitched, blinking rapidly. Then, as Hunk worked, he began to make small, soft sounds, back of the throat, no attempt to make them into words.

Not very bad then. Despite himself, relief chilled up Shiro’s shoulders. He knew Galra could shriek if they were in pain.

Hunk paused, looking queasy at the sudden feedback from his work. “Is he…um…ok?”

Shiro nodded, swallowing hard. “Quintessence can be intense if it touches skin. Be careful if something splashes.” Tingles across his tongue were something he needed to not think about right now.

Hunk’s eyes widened. “You know what this is? What state of matter is it? Does it sublimate?” He bit his lip. “Wait, I think…”

Before Shiro could answer, the muzzle lit up, awful purple lights. The snap smell of sweet and glass itched along Shiro’s mouth. Ulas flinched, sitting suddenly straight, hoof cloves lurching sharply apart. “Whoa!” Hunk wrenched back, hands fluttering in the air like he wanted to help but was too scattered to know where. “Well it’s on, but it’s expecting some kind of cue? Like a key?”

But something jarred in Shiro’s head. He’d tried to remember this, over and over and over again. “Wait, Hunk, keep it…Ulas, grax.” He caught Ulas’ arm with one hand, curbing and steadying him at once, and reached for his head with the other. Ulas yelped, dragging away from Shiro’s hand for a second. Then he seemed to catch himself, and, slowly, painfully, he come back.

The muzzle’s awful edge loomed centimeters in front of Shiro’s fingers. Some part of his brain was trapped in a screaming circle, convinced if he touched it somehow it would crawl up him and find his scar, bite into it again.

Shiro tapped the muzzle in sequence, thumb and forefinger. He tried to be gentle, and he heard how each key hurt in Ulas’ faint, louder sounds. Jaw. Side. Center. Jaw. Jaw. He let himself slide between which finger and which place quickly, without thinking, just where they ought to go.

Neck.

Neck was last.

Vrrrrrr.

Shiro froze, still touching the back of Ulas’ neck, his entire body locking rigid. The sound made him want to swing at something --- anything --- make it go away. Force it farther from the parts of him it wanted to capture. Hunk startled, pulling out of the guts of the collar as the contraption clacked and shifted. The tight bars glinted hungrily, shimmering as they woke up.

“Hell yeah!” Katie swarmed forward triumphantly, suddenly too close. “Shiro, you’re a genius! I need you to write that down later!”

Ulas reached up as the muzzle began to fall, but stopped as Katie caught it. It kept whirring and unknitting, bright lights glaring like eyes.

It was unlocked. He’d unlocked it. Something about that shook Shiro so hard it was hard to see the parts reconfigure. But he shuddered --- why weren’t the muzzle panels dematerializing?

But he saw Ulas’ face crumple in pain when Katie pulled to ease it off his head. “Wait!” Shiro caught the crest just as Ulas whimpered, ducking to follow the pull. The jarring urgency cluttered so far into him it felt like he needed to run somewhere. Spikes. Were there spikes?

Hunk and Katie stared at the two of them. Katie let Shiro brace the muzzle, eyes wide, and Shiro realized he’d spoken in Galran again.

“Wait. Something’s wrong.” Shiro blinked hard, trying to stay present.

It’s ok. Faelbar’s voice filled up his entire body. We are not hurt.

Shiro wanted to tell him, yes, he knew that, but for some reason it helped anyway. It helped him keep his voice steady, keep the panic roiling somewhere in his fingers from shuddering out into Ulas when he asked, “What? Where?”

Ulas blinked hard, clawing the air between them in small, reflexive motions. This close, Shiro felt a faint double-shudder in his breaths, like something was garbling up his throat. How long had it been on him? Katie hadn’t said how she’d found him, only that it had been bad.

“Show me.” They needed to know. He needed to know.

Slow, tentative, Ulas caught the edge of the muzzle near Shiro’s hand. His fingers were jarringly, confusingly big. He nudged against the edge, angling his head slightly back and forth, figuring out the right way to move with whatever was hurting him. Then, with a wet, ragged pant, he pulled back, the straps scraping deep furrows in his fur as they dragged by.

For a moment Shiro saw his face, so familiar it made him freeze. Long, shallow, inhuman snout, bony, wide forehead, light shimmering off the strange flat span between his eyes and nose. Shallow gouges scraped and scabbed across jutting cheekbones which were incongruous with the hollow cheeks and narrow chin under them.

But Ulas held his mouth open, and then Shiro wasn’t seeing anything else, because a narrow chain snaked between his teeth. As he moved, Shiro felt rattling in the muzzle. It was attached.

Tense, unsettled feeling tingled up Shiro’s fingers. He didn’t recognize this. He didn’t know if it had ever…

Ulas reached some sort of end on the chain. He paused again, orienting, and then leaned away, extending a tapered orange tongue. His hand tremored next to Shiro’s.

No wonder. The chain anchored to a dark eye bolt connector pierced six centimeters from the tip of Ulas’ tongue. Yellow winked around the studs where it had tugged against him. 

Shiro tasted bile. Shit. He’d sounded muffled and pained even when the muzzle let him speak, before the druids changed whatever stopped him short. It must have been there, punishing him for every word. And now it sat tethered so close to the muzzle he couldn’t speak at all.

“Fuck no wonder you couldn’t talk.” Katie’s entire body tremored with fury.

“Wait, that --- that’s what it’s for? That’s awful!” Hunk covered his mouth with his hands, clearly vividly imagining the sensation. “What is wrong with these people?”

Galra who speak against the empire don’t exist. You won’t ever find one.

Shiro wasn’t sure who he remembered saying that. He didn’t want to know. He held still in a way he didn’t recognize, sweat pricking on his neck that he was holding the other end of something that painful. Ulas mumbled wordlessly, falling back forward, trembling from the effort of holding the chain weight.

Damn it. Shiro didn’t think he had piercing scars on his tongue. But now he’d have to check.

“Katie, bring one of those casings.” Shiro was startled by how calm he sounded. The palpable panic in the other two made him very still inside, like if he touched it it would explode. “Hunk, what do you have to cut this?”

Thankfully, having something to do was right for both of them. Katie snatched the nearest capsule of Altean medical something with its square edges. Hunk balked a step away, but he leaned forward, peering at the inside of the muzzle. Shiro didn’t dare glance down himself, keeping all of his attention on Ulas.

“Here.” Katie held the tin out to Shiro.

“It’s for him. Hold it horizontal.” Shiro blinked, forcing himself to meet Ulas’ eyes. He didn’t want to. Something about the tether in his tongue, and how Shiro could feel it dragging even right now, and how clearly trapped it meant he’d been when Katie found him.

He was the one Shiro was supposed to meet. Supposed to find. The voice shouting to him to run in his night terrors.

But he hadn’t been looking. Hadn’t be sure he would. If Katie hadn’t found him… “Bite down on this. We’ll get it out.”

Ulas slowly lifted his ears. This time when he tried to answer it was visible, his tongue bending but then snapped down by the chain. “Uhhzzz.” He winced, and stopped, instead parting his teeth and tilting carefully so Katie could slide the metal jam into the crook of his jaw. She stared, mouthing numbers quietly to herself. Shiro had no idea what for, he just had to assume it would come up if it were important. 

“Shiro?” Hunk grit his teeth, hand fluttering forward but stopping short of touching the metal rim. “I…none of my repair kit tools will be small enough for this.” Instead of looking just upset, he looked…angry? “Maybe the Alteans have something. I’ll find Coran, and --- “

“No.” Shiro blinked, momentarily dizzy, as repercussions and tradeoffs cluttered off his head. Where had that come from? Had he always been thinking like that? “I don’t want them seeing this.”

He kept his worries to himself, that Allura might decide she liked this safeguard, that he would have to explain to an alien sovereign about what humans would and would not do. But not well enough, probably, judging by the sharp, suspicious look Katie shot at him.

Hunk frowned. “They wouldn’t,” he said softly. But he crossed his arms nervously and didn’t keep heading toward the door.

Maybe. Shiro wasn’t sure what he thought was likely anymore. He shrugged. “I can do it.” He flexed his hand, the mechanisms whirring softly.

Hunk swallowed. But he didn’t argue. “Do you have that kind of dexterity with that thing?”

“You can melt metal?” Katie grinned wildly at him, before she caught up with what she said and frowned just a intensely. “That doesn’t sound safe like this.”

“Cut.” Shiro pressed his fingers together, forcing himself to consider. The Alteans felt dangerous. But so was he. It was sort of refreshing to get direct blunt questions like that instead of people being careful. Usually Hunk tried to tiptoe around it. “Yes. I do.” Shiro paused, expecting more from the certainty, some memory, some data. But, no. Nothing. He just knew.

He glanced at Hunk. That was a lot to trust someone’s tongue to. But, then, it was also the least massive responsibility they’d been handed recently.

Hunk set his shoulders. “What can I do?”

Hell he deserved to be so far away from anything like this. Shiro swallowed down the guilt. Two jobs, only one of which he thought Hunk could manage. “Help him hold still.” As Hunk crossed cautiously to Ulas’ other side, Shiro caught Katie’s eye. “Hold this steady?”

She grit her teeth and barked, “Yes.” Her hands were small and she perched on the edge of the table, both of which helped her be stabler than either of them. Katie looked very pale. “It’s ok,” she told Ulas firmly as she took control of the chain.

He didn’t shiver this time when Hunk reached around him. His entire frame sagged minutely, like the support reached much deeper than just bracing his neck and shoulders.

Shiro looked from one grim face to the next. “Ready?”

Hunk and Katie nodded.

Ulas pinned his ears back and let his tongue droop loose. His yellow eyes tracked Shiro’s face, not his hand.

Eerie. Shiro wasn’t sure how he knew where eyes with no pupils were looking. But he did. He lit his arm, the cold rushing through his shoulder like a warning. It lurched him viciously, suddenly alert, ready to fight. 

Reaching between the muzzle and Ulas’ pinned tongue splashed awful light across the gashes in his face. This close Shiro could almost smell them. It glimmered on his tongue, and edged the scabbing there. Shiro caught the chain, feeling desperate puffs of air on his fingertips.

He had to do this exactly right. A mistake would burn, he thought, best case, or cut, worst.

But the chain was slippery, trailing yellow and clear rivulets from Ulas’ mouth. And the links were small with complex jagged edges. Reaching for it, Shiro felt the barbs, the twists. It was designed to hurt even without pulling. It spun between his fingers before he could get a good grip, shrieking at the heat.

Ulas’ eyes lurched too orange, too dark, and he keened. Involuntary motion dragged his tongue back. The piercing clacked when it brought him up short.

No! They didn’t get to make this worse. THis was something he got to do with the arm that helped.

Shiro snarled and crushed down hard, the kind of hard that made his brain balk, ready to feel pain from the metal. But he wasn’t soft like that, not anymore. The chain sliced cleanly off the muzzle.

For a moment, Shiro was too stuck to see anything other than the chain, the muzzle, and how blood beaded up on Ulas’ tongue as he flinched back. Shiro’s fingers ground into the face plate almost of their own accord, while pain screamed out of his jaw and nose. Memory or not, he could barely tell.

Someone. Someone made him want to destroy this thing. Right now SHiro couldn’t quite put a finger on a face or a voice or anything like that. Just the fierce, burning hatred loose in his head.

Ulas shuddered, hand coming up to catch the links trailing down from his mouth. It looked like a snake trying to twist into him, and he made a faint, pitched pain sound that jittered all the way up Shiro’s spine.

Give it to me, Faelbar hissed. I’ll crush it. Shiro had the echoing, massive feeling that the lion knew what the pain felt like, because Shiro had. That he wanted nothing more than to wipe the horrible thing off the face of the universe.

That helped. At least he could make this one let go.

[sukoshininja]

Supermassive

Keith awoke at the crash. 

He shot up, scanning the room. His door was still closed. It was dark, but everything seemed to be in order. He swung his socked feet down off the side of the bed. Bending in half, he checked under the bed. Nothing. Standing, he snatched his baseball bat off the desk as he approached the closet. As he moved across the room, he faintly heard something, or rather someone, muttering rapidly in a language he did not understand. And that was a sound he was all too familiar with. 

He rolled his eyes, suppressing a smile that tugged at his lips that disappeared when he saw the window. It was broken, a jagged hole (perfect size for a baseball) wafted cold air into the room. Glancing at the floor, he picked up the ball in question, squeezing it tight as he calculated how much the window might cost. Gritting his teeth he marched back to the window and threw it open.

"Assholes!" he whisper-shouted down at the three figures on the lawn. "Which one of you fuckers is paying for my window?"

Pidge pointed an accusing finger as Hunk nodded along.

"¿Por qué no te callas?¹" Lance asked dramatically.

Keith leaned out the window frame and threw the ball back at him with a little more force than necessary. Lance caught it easily, as expected of their pitcher. His cheeks were flushed with visible distress as he anxiously fiddled with his mitt. Well, it's not like he meant to break his window. 

"So...you coming down or what?" Pidge prompted.

"I'm still grounded," Keith reminded them.

"We know," Hunk affirmed. "Just like how we know the comet won't be back until you're thirty and boring and don't care about cool stuff anymore."

"That's tonight?" 

Dammit. He really wanted to see that comet. 

He checked the time on his phone. 01:47 a.m. Best viewing conditions were said to be around 3:15 a.m.

"Come on! We'll get you back before anyone wakes up," Lance promised.

Like he could deny that boy anything. 

"Fine," Keith looked down at himself, he was just in his boxers and socks. "One minute, let me get dressed."

He grabbed his black baggy jeans and his retro GoLion hoodie that Shiro had passed down to him when he got too beefy. He grabbed a stick of gum and shoved it in his pocket. Just in case. He didn't bother tying the laces to his combat boots before he climbed out the window. 

Getting down from here would be so much easier if there was a tree nearby like how it was in all the movies. Instead, he lay down on his stomach and swung his legs over the edge of the roof. He carefully shimmied himself down until only his arms held him up. 

"I gotcha, buddy, go ahead and let go," he heard Hunk's voice below him. 

He dropped and Hunk caught him easily.

"You didn't bring the bat," Pidge observed as Hunk set him down.

"No?" Keith looked around. They all had their mitts. And were dressed considerably warmer than him in their layers and beanies. 

"It's fine!" Lance interjected. "We can just play catch!" 

"Like how that window caught your last throw?" Hunk sniggered.

"It wasn't on purpose!" Lance defended adamantly. 

"Are we going to the diamond?" Keith asked. He needed to get the team on track. If they made much more racket the neighbors might call the police. Or worse, wake his jailer.

"No, not dark enough," Pidge refuted. 

"We're going to the beach!" Lance said excitedly, tossing the ball up and catching it. 

"How the fuck are we supposed to get to the beach?"

A pair of headlights turned the corner and Matt's 1980s station wagon cruised to a stop at curb. "I got snacks! How's the jailbreak going?"

"If by 'jail' you mean 'glass window', then smashingly," Pidge said with a straight face.

"¡Tremendo paquete!²" Lance hissed.

"I thought the beach closed at sunset?" Keith squinted at the massive bags of chips in the passenger's seat. 

Matt winked at him. "I won't tell anyone if you won't!"

Keith reflected that Matt may not be the strictest role model, but he was definitely the most fun, if a little nerdy.

"Seatbelts, everyone!" Matt instructed as they plied in. "Who's got the tunes?"

Keith sat with Lance in the back as Pidge fought with Hunk for DJ privileges. 

"Ms. Frizzle said it's my turn with the music," Pidge said, making a swipe for the aux cord. 

"No, no. I seem to remember that it was my turn," Hunk protested, catching her wrist. 

"Nobody likes your crap," Pidge argued.

"It's pronounced k-rap," Hunk informed her. "And better than that dubstep you listen to."

"Nobody knows what they're saying, they could be rapping about refrigerators, and you wouldn't know!"

"At least it's about something, yours is just robot porn noises!"

"Okay, anime openings it is!" Matt announced, cutting them off and connecting his phone. A bright guitar riff kicked of what Keith was sure to be a cringe-filled playlist. 

"Is this Cherry Blossom Kiss?" Pidge groaned. "My friends are gonna think you're a weirdo."

"What a coincidence. I am a weirdo!" Matt said proudly.

Lance leaned against his shoulder, tilting his head towards him, eyes ahead.

"Sorry about your window," he said just loud enough that Keith could hear him.

"It was an accident," Keith dismissed, as he tried to ignore the butterflies in his stomach that appeared every time Lance touched him. "Don't worry about it."

"No, I'm gonna fix it. I'll watch two and a half TikToks and I'll be a window fixer expert, you'll see."

"I said it's fine," Keith insisted, fighting a smile. He always caught himself smiling when it came to Lance. It was bad for his reputation. 

But Lance shook his head. "You're already grounded. Let me do this."

"How about you make me a sun catcher in that art class you're taking, and I'll just hide it that way."

"Your window will still be broken."

"It's stuffy in there, I always leave it cracked anyways," Keith lied.

Lance pursed his lips, considering this. "What kind of design do you want?"

"Whatever you want."

"Full creative freedom? ¡Dale!³" He gently knocked the side of his head into Keith's. "No take backsies!"

Keith hid his face with his hair as he reached down to lace up his shoes.

They arrived with plenty of time to spare. The night was clear, and the shore was dark. Loaded up with food and blankets, the marched across the sandy dunes to make camp. 

 It was a new moon, so the sky was especially dark. Which made their game of catch especially exciting. Matt passed out glow sticks and they wore them around their wrists and necks, so they would get an idea of where the others were. He also cut a few sticks open and poured them on the ball so they would be able to see it. Problem was, it was kind of hard to gauge how fast the dimly glowing ball was traveling, and Lance had a powerful arm on him. It was the most fun Keith had ever had. He wondered if this was going to be one of those moments he looked back on with fondness and a little bit of sadness, knowing that he could never go back. At least, that's what he had been thinking, when he caught the ball with his face. 

One minute he was up, and the next he was on all fours in the sand, blood gushing from his nose into his mouth. He spat a mouthful into the sand.

The others holding up their phone flashlights for him, Matt pushed his hair back and examined his bloody face, gently pressing on his nose and cheekbones. He even checked his mouth for loose teeth. Everyone held their breath as Matt flashed lights in his eyes, asked him to follow the finger, and some basic questions.

"Well good news is you don't have a concussion! Or broken bones!" Matt finally proclaimed when he was satisfied. 

The team whopped.

"But you're going have the meanest black eye. A true gangster. And by morning that lip will be twice the size it is now, trust."

Through the pain, Keith realized that he would not be able to keep his absence a secret. Whatever. Later problem.

Matt clapped his hands together. "Okay! I say that's enough ball, let's settle in with some snacks!" He lifted up some ziplock bags with homemade goodies inside. "Which one of you is allergic to gluten again? The safe ones have a home plate drawn on the bag."

"No way! Is that a watermelon?" Lance asked. 

Hunk picked up the melon and knocked on it, listening. It seemed to pass whatever test he used. "How are we supposed to open it?"

"Keith forgot his bat," Pidge accused. 

"You didn't tell me to bring it!" Keith's protest muffled by the tissue he held to his dripping nose.

"All good, I got a katana in the car," Matt said, nonchalantly.

Lance eyes grew to the size of moons. "You have a what now?"

"Care to run that by me again?" Hunk blinked at him. 

"It's actually Dad's," Matt admitted. 

"Can I do it?" Lance asked.

Matt looked him over, hand under his chin, evaluating. "You know, somehow I don't think letting a minor handle a sword is the best idea. You almost put Keefie here in the hospital already."

"You threw that?"

Lance muttered what Keith was picking up to be a swear word. 

"Are you cold?" 

They had gorged themselves on sugar and carbs. The comet was visible to the naked eye, but Matt had brought his telescope, setting it up a little ways from camp, closer to the shoreline on the hard sand, letting them see it up close (in timed intervals).

Keith's face was throbbing now, but the bleeding had stopped, thankfully. His whole body shaking in the night breeze.  He lowered the cold soda can that he was holding to his face. "How are you barefoot right now?"

Lance shrugged, taking a seat beside him on the blanket, he had just finished his turn at the telescope. "I run warm. And, you know, ogres and onions or whatever they say."

"Right," Keith said, enviously eyeing the other boy's layers. He really wished he'd worn something under his ratty hoodie. He pulled the blanket tighter. 

"Here," Lance unwound his scarf and handed it to Keith. 

It was warm, and better yet, smelled like him. Keith decided he was never returning it. 

"Sorry I broke your window and your face," Lance whispered, looking at his hands. "That wasn't very cash money of me."

Keith tried to smile. His split lip started bleeding again. He licked it away before Lance could see. "It's fi--"

He was interrupted by excitable shouting.

He stumbled to his feet as Lance did the same beside him.

"Shooting star!" Matt crowed, running in circles, waving his hands at the sky. 

Pidge was pointing.

Keith saw a bright point of light streak across the sky. And another.

"I think it's a meteor shower," Hunk called up to them. 

"Comet and a meteor shower? And we have the best seats in the house?" Lance was bouncing up and down. 

Keith couldn't believe his luck. Both astronomical events were rare enough.

Lance threw an arm around him, grasping his shoulder and shaking him. "Are you seeing this?"

"I'm seeing this," Keith laughed with pure joy.

"Do you think we're the first people ever to see something like this?"

Keith thought about it. "Maybe?"

"Nah, I'm just gonna believe we are," Lance's eyes shone in wonder and Keith could just barely make out the freckles on his smiling cheeks in the starlight. And suddenly, Keith forgot how to breathe. He had never seen a sight so beautiful, a moment so perfect. Keith wanted nothing more than to kiss him. He actually began to lean in, but caught himself before he did something that he couldn't take back. 

Aw, shit. He was down bad. 

"Hey--" Lance turned towards him suddenly, his nose brushing Keith's bangs. It seemed to take him aback how close they were, or maybe he had caught Keith staring. Either way, he paused. 

Keith held his breath, unable to move. Shit. 

"Should we kiss?" Lance asked, eyes wide.

Keith let out a bark of a laugh.

"You're right, sorry. I don't know what I--"

"We can," Keith cut him off. "If you want."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

¹Why don't you shut up? ²So the drama ³Let's go, alright

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